June 2002

hey - 6/3/2002







check out the front page of my diary. just got a digital cam - courtesy of ms tan for the 2nd anniversary ... (i was predictable and got her a rock ...) but realised that the images produced from that gift open up possibilities ...

was twiddling around with frontpage and then copying the code here but it didn't translate very well ... if any one has a way of translating frontpage tables (in html)here - that would be nice ... tables seem to mess everything up ...







Angel of Silence - 6/7/2002







Why do you each waking hour
Haunt these corridors
Of words when the only sound you bring
You make by fluttering your wings?
Your bright eyes want a whisper
to smooth their angry glare
A calm sentence will order
The curls of your golden hair.


Angel of Silence
Why do you predict
Each pause and elipsis
With the pulse of your heart beat?

Angel of Silence -
Or does not that name ring true?
Am I really, merely, you.

alone with ms tan away i guess i get a little more quiet. no need to talk. just shuffle my thoughts along and like a pack of cards hope you get lucky and manage to pick out a good one. it's the hols. teachers talk too much during term time. we go quiet during the hols.







when - 6/8/2002







the night is humid and warm and mittens the cat can't sleep, she curls up in front of the blinking lights of the computer monitor and purrs her approval. The clackety punches of keys distract her momentarily but she nuzzles down onto the small space that is right in front of the screen. Facing it, she glares into a world of colour attempting to make out meaning from the sounds and the words buzzing on the screen. Occasionany, she flicks her ears because she hears the electronic noise making sense to her. But that was a different time, when cats could compute.

Distant - too distant is that memory. When C++ flowed from her paws and she could java with the best of them. Anyway, what's the point of knowing how to do the computer jive when you're one leg short.

She turns her head to check that the vague shape typing knows what its saying. Stading up to obscure the screen, she licks fur coat, pruning approval.

She settles down again, back to the screen now, nonchalent. Into the humid night, into the whirring fan, into the flashing lights of the computer screen, she allows her mind to wander, remembering at the edges of her mind of when she knew more.









Rambling Rose - 6/9/2002







- you know you should only watch England play when Back-ham is playing you know with him in the team then they play with an energy that is worth -

- you know, check out the definition on my arms. Check it out - good definition. See the point where the lines meet. There's a channel - a groove, you actually can -

- you know, babies recieve all sort of stimulii and process them from a very young age. I wouldn't be surprised if she was able to recognise all that she's seen because of the sheer amount of -

-you know the weather here right now is really cold. They just went made when England scored that goal against Argentina. Lots of crazy behaviour. Miss -

-you know it's my body shape. Born like this. You can't balme me. But check out the definition on those arms. I don't pose for nothing. Just need to get rid off -

-you know - I think she shitted. No such word? Ok I think she defecated harh harh harh I know because I think I heard it and I think I felt it her bottom sort of goes -

-you know I haven't written a long sentence, one that has all its parts in propoer place, normalised accurately with connectors and conjunctions relating to one another in clockwork fashion, a sentence that doesn't so much repeat itself as knows itself, its rhythms pulses and intricacies, its logical loopholes and fallacise, its marvellous potential and possibilities - I haven't written one like that correctly for a long time-

Rambling Rose
I don't suppose
This ramble was longer
than the Garden hose
Rambling Rose
I do propose
That you talk through your mouth
And not your nose.







The Suit - 6/12/2002







Watched a French play last night and I won't even pretend that I remember the name. But it was brilliant. The characters spoke of themselves as if they were narrating a story - in third person - and the minimalist setting was so effective in conveying the emotional tension and psychological perversion that manifests itself in the most mundane of activities. A single bed. Two clothes frames. Three chairs. And a suit.

One wonders about how these actors can shed theri inhibitions and put on display human emotion. I tend to think that writing is a less confrontational way of discussing your emotion. But the play was largely in third person - so that may have been a distancing strategy. I don't think I ever got into plays or acting - though being immensely interested in these things when I was very young precisely because of the fear of putting emotion on display. It haunts you doesn't it to think of an entire theatre of strangers participating in a real-time discourse of how a character is. Maybe other kinds of Bretchtian- Political or even abstract symbolic drama would have been a better idea. But I never had the time to get into those things. Anyway those things only became prominent much later on.

Spent the rest of the evening watching this documentary on THE BAND. Essentially know them from the backing up work they did for Bob Dylan. But it was like their farewell concert (1976) and they had just about everyone from the singer-songwriter community performing with them. Raw stuff - guitars jarring and all. Martin Scorcese made the docu. But seeing all these guys in outdated suits and flare pants and funny hats one wonders about being outdated. It's strange - maybe I grew up in such a frivolous time - the 80s - with all that POP stuff the alternative being HEAVY METAL (which was quite a farce also) that I deliberately turned to an earlier time of music.

My Back Pages - Bob Dylan

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I
Proud 'neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
"Rip down all hate," I screamed
Lies that life is black and white

Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Girls' faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history

Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

A self-ordained professor's tongue
Too serious to fool

Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
"Equality," I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.



Indeed a song that grows up with you. Ah but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.











Bad Analogies - 6/14/2002







Portugal NOT qualifying for the next round of the World Cup is like ... someone with an IQ of 180 not making it to a LOCAL Univ because he got D7 for Mother Tongue

Korea beating Portugal is like people with very little flair or talent or interest doing very well in their exams because they studied really really hard.

Portugal getting pissed and frustrated is like being very enthusiasitic in class, doing extra reading, talking passionately about work and then seeing an exam question that is irrelevant to what you studied.

Korea having an army of fans is like the support many parents give to their kids - extra tuition, ferry them to classes, nag and shout and threaten just so they make it to the next level.

Portugal getting TWO red cards is like the System being biased and jealous of talented individuals, trying to take away innate advantages.

Korea getting away with fouls is like the way the System reacts to noisy boisterous unsupportive parents / guardians - it just gives in.

The Argentinian referee is like a teacher / ministry official who didn't make it in life and wants to make sure talented people suffer along with him.

Sigh - why Portugal? They shouldn't have lost to the US in the first match and today a couple os bad calls against them. Don't normally support particular soccer teams and my reasons for supporting Portugal are totally sentimental and frivolous. The players have really cool sounding names. Also, we (Ms Tan and I) watched the Euro 2000 matches during our honeymoon in the UK and liked Portugal very much - esp. Figo, who in Ms Tan's words - should be supported because his name sounds like a dog's ...







What I've been up to ... - 6/19/2002







I've been writing an essay! Posting this here so that more than two people (me and my tutor) get to read this - not that it's of much interest to the rest of the world ...



Activity 7 : Phrasal Verbs in Learner Materials



The Question:

You may wish to consider the entries for phrasal verbs in learners' dictionaries to see how clear and comprehensive is the advice given. In addition, or alternatively, you may consider how a text-book that you use treats phrasal verbs. How useful is the guidance for learners.



The Answer:

Issue one:



How important is it for the learner to understand what a phrasal verb is exactly?

Various descriptions of Phrasal Verbs (offered in Section 6 of Unit 4) suggest that it is a language unit that can be clearly defined. Indeed, these descriptors might be applied as tests to distinguish Phrasal Verbs from the Verb plus preposition combination.

However, dictionaries and textbooks do not seem to provide clear guidelines as to the difference.

For example, the Oxford Advanced Learners' Dictionary (ALD) has a section on Phrasal Verbs. The brief explanation on what makes a phrasal ver is as follows:

Phrasal verbs (sometimes called multi-word verbs) are verbs which consist of two, or sometimes three, words. The first word is a verb and it is followed by an adverb (turn down) or a preposition (eat into) or both (put up with). These adverbs or prepositions are sometimes called particles. (A-2)

What the explanation fails to do is to give a strict definition of Phrasal verbs as opposed to a verb plus preposition combination. The definition given by the dictionary seems to subsume both under the generic category of Phrasal verbs.

Advice is given as to separable and inseparable phrasal verbs. (To elaborate)

A less technical definition is offered in the "Preface" of English in Context: Phrasal Verbs (EC), a reference book used by pupils.

Phrasal verbs consist of a verb followed by a preposition, a verb followed by an adverb, or a verb followed by both an adverb and a preposition. They do not look difficult, but they can cause major problems for those learning English.

The meaning of a phrasal verb is not necessarily simply the literal meaning of the verb and adverb or preposition put together¬Ö. Sometimes an object can come between the verb and preposition and sometimes it cannot. Sometimes the position of the object depends on whether the object is a noun or pronoun. The best way to master this aspect of phrasal verbs is to see them in context, as they are in the book. (Emphasis mine)

The description offered raises several issues. First of all, it is precisely because an "all inclusive" definition of a Phrasal Verb is used, there has to be an acknowledgement that rules for using this version of the Phrasal Verb become difficult to predict. The statements beginning "sometimes ¬Ö" are less than helpful and rather serve to confuse the learner. Secondly, the author of the guide seems to predicate the basis of her approach (teaching phrasal verbs "in context") on this confusion: "The best way to master this aspect of phrasal verbs is to see them in context, as they are in the book." Thus, the differentiation between Phrasal Verbs and the Verb plus preposition combination, while difficult (or at least tedious) to explain in terms of grammar, is deferred to an explanation via context. The underlying assumption is that learning Phrasal Verbs as they are used is a more practical approach than beginning by laying out clear grammatical guidelines.

Added to this is the additional (and non-structural) claim that "they do not look difficult, but they can cause major problems" and explanation that the meaning of a Phrasal Verb "is not necessarily simply the literal meaning of the verb and adverb or preposition put together". This serves to reinforce the notion that a mere structural appreciation of Phrasal Verbs is insufficient in learning how to use them. Yet the alternative offered, studying them in context, aims to solve "this aspect of phrasal verbs", ie the grammatical / structural confusion. Further, "context" being highly influenced by a particular culture and function, does not provide a stable framework for learning through imitation or modelling.

Consequently, these general introductions to Phrasal Verbs indicate the assumption that pupils may not necessarily need to be conversant with precise structural descriptions of what Phrasal Verbs are in order to accurately and effectively use them. However, there is also a concession to the fact that in not laying out clear structural guidelines, the subsequent learning









essay part two - 6/19/2002







Part Two:

Two examples.

"Lag behind"

"Lag behind" is considered a phrasal verb by EC. Interestingly enough, it is not defined as such by either the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (LCE) and the ALD.

The advice given by EC focuses on meanings that only relate to the relative speeds of physical movement. The model sentences provided as examples reinforce this idea. However, when the LCE defines "lag" it provides an additional sense of "develop[ing] more slowly than others (790). What is not made clear in the LCE is whether "lag behind" may be used in a non-physical sense as the example offered only focuses on the physical. Thus, the learner may be faced with the ambiguity of whether or not to transfer the idea of slow development to "lag behind".

The ALD seems to offer the most comprehensive grammatical advice. It gives two descriptions of "lag behind", first describing it as a [verb + prepositional phrase] and then as [verb + particle]. The ALD indirectly gives evidence for "lag behind" not being a phrasal verb by demonstrating how an insertion may be made between the verb and particle:

Prices are rising sharply, while incomes are lagging far behind. (680)

In summary, while "lag behind" is considered by the textbook to be a phrasal verb, both dictionaries do not agree. However, only the Oxford provides seems to provide alternative descriptions of "lag behind". The LCE seems to place accurate grammatical descriptions as less important than giving examples of the phrase in use. From a pedagogical point of view, while the Oxford shows how an insertion may be made, it may actually confuse a learner with its grammatical descriptions. In using dictionaries for advice, learners thus have to be taught what to pick out as important, in order not to get caught in detail that may act to confuse and inhibit a learner's confidence to use an expression.



Summon up:

The next expression considered, "summoned up" reveals even more disagreement amongst the various sources of authority. Again, the ALD is the most comprehensive grammatically. It considers "summon up" from two points of view, first as a [verb + noun/noun phrase] and also as a phrasal verb. The ALD tries to locate this difference by showing that in the first instance, "up" is often used but is optional. It also makes a distinction between the two meanings:

"Summon something (up)" [verb +noun/ noun phrase] – to make a particular quality come as if from deep inside oneself in an attempt to so something. I had to summon (up) all my courage to face him.

"Summon something up" [Phrasal Verb] – to make a feeling, an idea, a memory, etc come into the mind: to evoke something: a smell which summons up memories of my childhood. (1197)

The difficulty for the learner on encountering the entries above is to clearly see the difference in terms of meaning in the two definitions. The second definition seems to focus on an external stimulus which causes feelings to come into the mind while the first one focuses on qualities "deep inside" the self. But this difference is never made explicit in either entry. Further, there is the implication that the difference in meaning leads to a differentiated grammatical characterisation. This is so as both examples tag a noun phrase after "summon up". The decision to classify one as [verb + noun/noun phrase] and the other as phrasal verb seems arbitrary.

Applying the rules laid out in Section 6 of Unit 4, we find that "summon up" cannot be separated by an adverb and cannot be broken up by moving the part of the sentence:

*I had to summon quickly up all my courage to face him.

*Up all my courage, I had to summon.

On the other hand, summon up can never stand alone:

*The smell summoned up.

The LCE is more direct in characterising "summon up". It's examples indicate that "up" is optional all the time and that "summon up" as a phrasal verb does not exist. However, it's definition does not capture the nuance of the ALD's second definition and leaves the learner with the impression that to "summon up" must involve "making a great effort" (1444). The textbook, EC, is similar to the LCE here but does not emphasise the effort involved:

Summon up : to try to get together enough (of something, such as enthusiasm, energy, etc) to do something. (33)

Some conclusions

Grammatical categories are not considered as crucial in advising on the use of a phrasal verb. This may result from a lack of clear consensus as to what constitutes a phrasal verb and the recognition that even if a student knew the various rules that identify a phrasal verb as such, this might not have a bearing on accurate usage.

Secondly, by comparing different sources of authority, this essay has highlighted that the learner would certainly find it difficult to pin down (conceptually at least) clear semantic principles by which phrasal verbs may operate. Because the advice given in each source emphasises a different aspect of the phrasal verb, clarity may be compromised.

Thirdly, with regards to the issue of comprehensiveness, if a learner were to encounter a phrasal verb and then fail to find it characterised appropriately in one source and then turn to another, the lack of agreement might lead to confusion. By extension, even if a range of possible usages were offered by a single dictionary, not enough goes on to make clear the distinction between different possible usages. This is precisely what happens in the example of the ALD's definition of "lag behind".

you made it! That's what some teachers do with their time - that and read comics ...









Day First Day - 6/24/2002







A million Billion thoughts from home
Waiting for the morning to come (or is it dawn ...)
Why are these thoughts so strange, thoughts of a new school?
So weird? So filled with quirky unexpected worry
that they rob you of sleep.
Where will the classrooms be?
Who will I greet? Where do the teachers meet?
All these thoughts have been there
But are conquered (momentarily) by potato chips
at four am.

And my new table.
Finally, my new table.
Is it there to keep noisy chilren away?
To hide things that creep in dark places?
Things you don't like to MARK?
First day - and already a stack of essays - waiting to
Eat me up ...
What does an essy look like?
Sounds large and dirty.
They make them out of ink.
Whole creatures made out of ink. Imagine.

I do not pretend I am completely at home
Or at ease. Familiar faces - they come in useful
They set you at ease when there's no one else you know.
Set you at ease when teachers are mean.
Tea-cher. Hey, that's me.







Tried Tiredness - 6/29/2002







Tried tiredness on and found the fit too tight
Her creases complicating my skin.
Tried Shrugging her off
But tiredness clung on like the year-old
stench of unwashed jeans.
Tried passing her on
To the street where
I frowned at people passing.
She quickly multiplied
And drugged each glance.

Now tiredness
Rests on my shoulders
Like she's always been there.
People see her first
Not me.


The drab colours of the fabric
strangely catch everyone's
attention.

Mumble mumble some more please.

Consider the dew drop and the bead of persperation. Drip drop splot splat you're dripping sweat on my cat. You're spinning dew before the day is due. Consider the dew drop and the bead of persperation.

May 2002

Poem in Several Scraps - 5/4/2002







"Before you hand in the script
Make sure you have
your name and index number
Written on it."

After 20 minutes
Sighing becomes less frequent.
Initially we objected to breath
Forming moisture on each
Other's faces.
Now it's welcomed.
Packed close like this, refrigeration
Does little to keep life in.

But we make do
a little grunt distracts
As does the trickling
of the next person's liquid warmth
Down his legs, steaming the carriage floor.

Death rattles by
Going the other direction
Carcasses - streaked marble
With blood.

"This way to the Promised Land"
If we keep warm enough.
Packed in close like this
B.O. and halitosis are salvation.

An hour later.
He sits with whip in hand - black ink
Scribbles are power
Forcing space on either side
He struts down the rows to make
Sure they clean up after they
Defecate.

Pens fly over creased paper!

No better than creatures! He moans
To himself as he shoves
A glance at the pattering feet
Retreating into even less space
As he makes his rounds.
No better than creatures!

"What's that rattling by?"
On the concrete it's hard to hear
Jangling steel carriages
Unless you're listening out
For echoes.
Stripes ornate as designer signatures
Random traces -
Streaks where veins
Arteriods, corpuscular twitches
Run.

Just under half an hour to go.
And his heart set on business yet
To be settled.
"Just sign here - right on the dotted line."
In his mind, a deal that can't be be clearly brokered.
"Right here on the dotted line."

Screams, piss, packed in steel carriages
"What's that going in the other direction?"
He scribbles away power
His name in red streaks
A bloodline etched in marble.

-2/3 May 2002

And do you know what it was invented for, and what it is still largely used for there? The control of slaves. If you can write down a woman's name or a man's name, you can write down all sorts of things next to that name, the amount of work they do, the time it takes for them to do it, about their methods, about their attitudes and you can then compare all this very carefully with what you have written about others. If you do this you can maneuver your own dealings with them in ways that will soon control them; and very soon you will have the control over your fellows that is slavery. Civilised people are very careful about who they let write down their names, and who they do not. Since we, here, do not aspire towards civilisation it is best that we halt the entire process.

From The Tale of Old Venn, Samuel R. Delany.











Of Fireflies and mice - 5/7/2002







"Poetry then, is the production of meaning operating through the machines of breath and time. Forcing its way like a fist through the air, it makes the air energy, combining thought and word, transforming relations into a vast energy field of desire."

the night before
The thoughts come quietly sometimes
like a lullaby just as you drift off to sleep
rudely sometimes
a shout jarring waking you up from
dreams

the soliloquy
"who am i and why".
- it never leaves does it?
The fear i think -
is of slipping
into insignificance.

auditions
Just as sure as
once we were told
we would be all things
and you were certain
of what could be achieved

watching a rehearsal from
the wings
so now its shadow-
the fear haunts-
recurring at the edge
of vision

curtains up. Alone.
and the only sense of
all that's possible
all that's yet to be
fulfilled
remains the shapeless
indecision that rehearses
itself in sudden waking
that struts the stage
as prologue to
a dream

If we wrote poems instead of having to speak to one another what would relations and communication be like? The slowing down of the thought process, the deliberation involved, the lack of spontenity and yet the ability to replay each word in your mind. We often think of poetry as an exalted moment of epiphanic revelation: to see eternity in a grain of sand stuff. But what if poetry truely (in Wordsworth's concept - ironically ) spoke the language of the common man, a mode of transmission with fields more open than oracy would perhaps be made available. In these times, when speed via the internet / mobile phones and SMSes have made communication linear and systemised, surely poetry is an alternate machine to open up communicative fields ...

In direction I find intent. In distraction, content
fr T. MickLeson Terms of a New Literary Language















Last Rites - 5/17/2002







Things are finally confirmed about the move to a JC and I'm quite pleased and excited about getting a chance to do something different. I suppose I've never really felt at home in RV in the first place so leaving isn't that difficult. And the fact is, after 2 years one senses that it's good to try a different environment. Obviously a JC environment is going to be different and will take some adjusting to. But I actually think that I'm more suited for that kind of environment.

Anyway I was just thinking about the length of time people stay in one job, or at least one environment. To just be in the same milleu year after year and to interact with the same small circle of collegues may give a sense of belonging and security to some I suppose but I guess too much of it does cause repetitiveness to set in. There's something to be said about being loyal to a single institution of course, but I guess that's for people who really believe in the institution are willing to give up the possibility of the new and the different for the thrill of seeing how a place can be developed and be built upon year after year.

Anyhow this will be the last week in a place where I've spent at least two years - not always fruitfully and not always with joy - and so it would I suppose be justified if I wrote a series of entries about the place and my sense of leaving it.

Again - something new - I don't think I've ever planned a series of entries that will work through a process or will thread through a week. Ah well, it's always worth a try.

Rubbish

The reality of leaving a place after 2 years is the amount of rubbish that gets accumulated. Not rubbish in the literal sense of the word but the piles of papers! The extra worksheets! The numerous books that I just brought in and never took home! The stack of CDs! So I started today to clear it all. Packed them into many boxes. But that's only the beginning. Not being a very organised person, I've just been chucking all the extras, "this and that" in the dark space beneath my desk. And my has the pile grown. Sigh. Wondering what to do. Probably to the recycling bin. Returned my numerous books to the resource room as well. And the CDs that I've brought from home! It's quite amazing I think I've got well over 20 CDs and VCDs stashed all over my desk. And the files and the notes. The books as well. I wonder how I'm going to cart it all home. Must make sure I leave the place pristine. And I haven't even started on the stuff on my table top, drawer or cupboard.









And so the sickle turns - 5/18/2002







More Clearing Up

Today I started in earnest to throw away things. So many sheets of paper accumulated! Anyway was good and actually sorted everything out. I threw most of the stuff away into the recycling bin in the TRC but kept all the papers that were only printed on one side for use as scrap / rough paper. At least that makes up for the amount of paper I'm throwing away.

It's nostalgic I guess, throwing away things. Actually found compos from 3M 2000! I think they were late work or corrections or something. Also found all my drafts for the testimonials I wrote for 4K last year - so the clearing up process was quite a nice walk down "amesia lane". Amazingly I realised that I've kept every issue of TIME and Newsweek for the apst two years - which adds up to quite a number of issues. I'm defoinitely not throwing those away though.

What do you feel about it?

You know someone left a note about my not talking about my emotions and not developing the character caught in this process of change or movement. I guess it's true that I don't want to get all mushy-ushy about things. I think I've always been quite reticent about sharing my emotions in a very plain and obvious manner, precisely because of the knowledge that emotions are complex things. But I'm quite sure about the fact that the mechanical nature of sorting through things does in fact make blunt the sharpness of emotion. I think part of the distance from emotion has to do with the fact that I've planned this move from the very first days that I was in RV.

It takes a historical turn

Even before I was posted to RV, I had managed to join an Independent school. It was all quite dramatic cause I hadn't called or scouted around. One day in Apr 2000 I got a call in the school where I was a trainee and was invited to "come for an interview". Anyway just a few days before the official postings were out I actually had resigned from MOE and had "joined" the Indie School. But as things worked out, in that one week before I had to report at my "new school", MOE refused to let me join the Indie school. As such I had to come to RV.

But of course the story didn't end there, cause even as a trainee I already had made contact with the GEP branch and was hoping to perhaps teach there. As it worked out, they couldn't take me in in May 2000 but could in Jan 2001. And so, there was that possibility even after I had been posted to RV. But being naive in the diplomatic game, through a series of rash, silly and perhaps foolish moves (plus demands) I lost that opportunity as well.

Since then, I flirted with the idea of joining other Indie schools, other institutions and was continually on the look out for something different. But it's been a double edged sword. While there's always promise initially, as things develop, one realises that other schools and institutions are also very wary about things and the kinds of games MOE plays. As such most of these forays never went beyond a few e-mails.

I suppose it's a double edged sword also in the sense that the powers that be in RV have always doubted my loyalty to the school - the fact was they knew I was always thinking up alternatives. I don't know - I guess from their perspective they saw it as never being able to fully settle down, and therefore never being able to "give my best" to the school.

But I always maintained that just because I consider alternatives, it doesn't mean that I can't give of my best. I suspect it's more of understanding what "your best" means versus "my best". I guess I've never been fully able to support what one would term "the culture of RV" - as that would take a longer term commitment. And yet, perhaps this restlessness has become a convenient excuse for my non-support of "RV culture" - what is it anyway - perhaps it hides deeper motivations for my non-support of it.

Anyway I guess the breakthrough came when I managed to do some forward planning and get a spot in a JC (though not this one that I'm going to...) and managed to arrange things so that the transition would be easier.

But I think I'm pretty sure about one thing. Looking through the stuff - the notes, the essays, the confi files, the testimonials - I'm pretty sure that in spite of my restlessness, I've never short-changed the kids. That to me is important. In fact it's precisely because I never saw myself as a long-term brick in the wall, that I perhaps was willing to go just a little bit further in wondering about the way things are, and whether things have to remain status quo, and of course constanly shared this with the kids. And even if that doesn't bear immediate fruit - perhaps some day it will.







Make My Day - 5/20/2002







First off, I must say that the notes left by many of those who have been following the series (this entry being the third) have been very sweet and very encouraging. Not that we do what we do in order to receive the ratification of our students but it's always nice to leave something positive behind I guess.

They are also especially helpful as it's been a rough day, one which destroyed any lingering redemptive illusion that this leaving would at least be pleasant.

It had to do with being squeezed to do stuff that was both insignificant and long irrelevant on top of a whole silly Assessment exercise. To go into specifics would just be silly but it's the ressurection of what to me was 1. an already dead-end project and 2. an irrelevant survey. To be highly responsible would be to say - yes yes I'll grit my teeth and push it through - but the fact of the matter is that when I handed one of the projects in for vetting last year, it was just sat on and now over a year later, it's resurrected and "make sure you redo the thing before you leave" - give me a break, the project didn't even see the light of day in the first place and is now entirely irrelevant (it being a web-site), I'll have to overhaul it. SO I was most unhappy about it. The survey - well that was typical me really - conducted the creative writing workshop last year and didn't do a survey of it. And now it's back to haunt me. To me, a survey asking a list of questions is just too artificial a measure of the impact of anything and so I've resisted doing one. But apparently they're not letting me go in peace until I've done a survey. Which is entirely stupid because so much time has lapsed since then. But, if I wanted to be professional and mature about it - it's all due to my lacksidaisical attitude and lack of commitment to "see a job through". Irritated.

On top of that I've got to write up these horrid forms which are supposed to reflect my "competency" levels and the goals I've set and achieved. And here's the catch- they're not even for real ! it's a pilot programme they're trying out. Of course all teachers have to do this so I shouldn't be complaining. It's just that I suck big time at writing down either the obvious or the pretentious.

But all is not lost. I guess some of the emotion with regard to leaving is creeping in. I find it rather difficult to speak of it to the kids that want to know about it. Difficult I think because there's a sense of "why are you leaving us in the lurch" - which I must hasten to add is not the intention at all, plus they may get someone who is a better and more effective teacher than trundling ol' me (I hear a roar of approval from the left hand side of my form class ... near the back ...heh heh). And yet I'm pretty sure that it's important for the kids to learn that their success - whether in learning or being human - has much less to do with who's there cheering them on, but more to do with their desire and willingness to put their shoulders to the wheel. I think there is anxiety about what or who they're new teacher will be like but I'm sure there's also an element of excitement and that they'll come to benefit from that person as well.

Actually I've learnt something in the process that's rather interesting also. The ability to let go of a class, a project, an ambition or a even a plan, means that you've come to acknowledge that you're not indispensible. That's a humbling thought I think for many of us. To know that somebody else could very well take your place and do just as gooda job, or even better. The fact is that unless I come to that place of recognising that, I'll always be occupying a shadow - hoping to be what I'm really not and never developing into, well, someone else. The myth of permanance so pervades our psyche that the temporal and shifting nature of much of existence is often obliterated. To quote from Melville: "and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving" moving from point to point via infinitesimal distances, a dy/dx of nervous energy recurring.

Ah well to cheer myself up I went to watch Star Wars alone at JEC. Was rather entertaining despite all the bad press it's been getting. That Anakin guy and me many similarities in terms of being angry with things and impulsive - just hope I don't get into heavy breathing. Anyway what struck me was how read from a Marxist / Materialist perspective, it dramatises the movement from a feudal society (ie JEDI) to a more mechanistic and materialistic one (ie Droids and money-fed clones). The irony of course is that the liberation from the feudal elite allows the stepping up of a kind of totalitarian power. So that's where the Marxist frame doesnt' fit. The material conditions seem to democratise things (now you don't need a light saber to be powerful) but also leads the order to be susceptible to totalitarian influence. It does therefore set up a situation where conflicting theories of power co-exist, each feeding off the deficencies of the other. But of course the story packages all this under the dark side of the force in a conspiracy theory that would make JFK shudder. The ideological mystification is therefore this notion of the Force which is fallen upon when the material conditions seem to defy analysis and lead to contradictions. So, in spite of the numerous allegations that the conversation was stilted (hey - these aren't meant to be people, but archetypes), that the effects were overdone (the predominance of the technical thus lends itself to a materialist reading) and that the story line is too slow (a comment reflective of our fetishisation of linearly directed plot - again a cultural assumption in part contributed to by the first trilogy and now raged against by this offering - the dominant symbol of movement in the movie, the space craft are hardly linearly designed - the opening sequence is indeed a confounding of linear movement) I think the movie was worth watching.

After a difficult day.







One More - 5/23/2002







If I lived my life one moment at a time, what would that life be?
An endless sequence of plastic images circulating round my mind.
If I lived my life one moment at a time.

If I only dreamt one dream at a time, what would that dream be?
A mark left only in the hazy whisper of memory,
if I dreamt one dream at a time.

If I only sang, one song at a time, how would its melody sound?
The hum of monotony, consistent but never profound,
if I sang one song at a time.

If I read only a single page, what would its message read?
The cold unfeeling image of scattered fragments,
if I read only a single page.

So I will whirl through moments - past present future,
dreaming torrents that carve dreams in hearts.
I will sing songs ceaselessly and read out words carelessly.

Because if I only dared to live one moment,
to dream one dream,
to sing a single song and
read a single page -
What would that life be?

That probably sums up how I'm feeling at this juncture of the leaving. Now, I am aware that writing like this makes the fact artificial and somewhat contrived. But to give shape to events is the artist's perogative and so excuse these musings.

...those i've taught before ...

Hmmm how does one write about kids that you've taught for about half a year and who express a certain sense of gratitude and thanks? I suppose I'd like to thank them as well for teaching me a lot about what teaching means. I've had many ideas about an ideal classroom and ideal responses. But I've come to realise that even the best thought out of things can't work unless some sort of contact is made. And so I think that's something I can thank the kids for - for showing me this. I also think that this particular bunch of kids have lots of potential. Not merely to do well. I say merely cause it's just a by-product. we've made academic excellence a structural assumption - it isn't. It's the learning, the inquisitiveness, the daring to be someone different from what you already are that makes potential. I've enjoyed reading their work (cause many don't say much) and have never failed to be impressed with some of the insights and ideas. I suppose that's one o fthe priviledges of being an EL teacher, you catch a glimpse of an inner life. That's something I'll miss esp. with GP. I think this fusion of work and who we are is a remarkable thing. If we saw each piece we wrote as an extension, a crafting of ourselves, an aspect uncovered, then each piece would be a new world.

So some parting messages I guess are in order:
You've all been very positive about learning. More often than not, you all were conscientious and wanted to learn. Focus on that and let that become more and more a part of you.
I know that there were times that I went off onto what might have seemed tangential - but I do hope it'll make sense in the bigger picture.
I'm sure I'll miss the moments of silliness also. Not that I approved of them all the time but they did liven up the lesson. I guess there were those moments where I didn't know whether to laugh or scold, and that made teaching you all memorable.
And last of all I guess - I sincerely hope you'll fulfil your potential in every way you can. Never let someone rob you of your voice, your style, your passion. Be open to what people (esp teachers!) have to say, and allow your talents and beliefs to be crafted. But never lose sight of that precious thing that is YOU.







Something Stupid - 5/26/2002







Have looked through the entries of the recent past and realised that of late everything I write seems to take life so seriously. There's been a change in tone to a sense of dread and ominous foreboding, a sense of what is lost and never attained as well. I think some of the earlier entries were much happier - as if there was a lot more to laugh about - especially about myself.

Anyway - to all the nice people that have left nice notes - thanks a million. You know, as much as I'm excited to try something and some place different, there's a nagging sense of anxiety as well. I haven't taught in a JC before and wonder if I'm going to be up to it. I suppose it's important that I try and give myself the challenge and so these notes that give a vote of confidence do go a long way. In spite of appearances, I guess we all struggle with our sense of whether we're up to mark and this sometimes holds us back in the familiar.

Anyway i won't try force a funny entry to make things lighter. But I think a comment on collegues from the school I'm leaving is in order.

I think one of the things that I've never really adapted well to was the staffroom in the school. Ok. This was mainly my fault cause I found it more interesting to hang around in the canteen with the sec 3/4s (2000/2001). But just about this year with everyone suddenly leaving I really found myself at a loss - who do you talk to?

Interestingly enough,I had always got along well with OTC. For several reasons I guess. First - she was friendly from the start. I remember from one of the early days when I was still miserable about being in the school, and was busy laying out magazines at 630 in the morning. She was around and started chatting. Second, she knows quite a lot about art and culture (which is probably surprising to a lot of people) and was the only person I could talk to about Modernism, Post-structuralism etc ... Also, she was always around, hanging around late so we also talked quite a fair bit. Which to me is a real uncanny situation. Cause I think externally we're like worlds apart. She's loud, noisy, without inhibitions and an old girl; while I'm quiet (most of the time) and apologetic. But we got along fine.

Another nice colleague, Mr C. Also because of the magazines. He puts out the TIME and I do the Newsweek and we got to talking that way. Especially last year right around the elections. He had many stories to tell and interesting opinions I guess that not many people were interested in. But I was I guess. He's been really nice, teaching me the tricks of the trade and making me feel more comfortable with the older guys on the staff. I think the more senior members of staff will always feel a little uneasy around younger members of staff unless there are bridges, personalities that can bridge that divide and I'm glad for Mr C for that.

Sadly, there have been friends that used to talk with me a lot but don't anymore. At the beginning I guess people saw me in a certain mould - go-getter / ideas person/ young, enthusiastic, energetic / supporter of school policies - and the corresponding people would hang around with me. But as time whittled away that perception I guess I was no longer worth while to talk to. Which makes things all very mercenary doesn't it? But I kinda understand that cause everyone's so mega busy - it's not worth your while to just sit around and talk.

You know, when I was in Sec 4 I was nominated by my school for some AIA achievement award. This was mainly because I was rather active in community service in sec 3/4 (this was way before the days of CIP and we did it ... well because we cared ...) Anyway: I guess after trying things out for two years, I realised I wanted a change. And so at the interview they asked me about my commitment to these kinds of things. And I think I was too brutally honest. I told them that I'd much rather hang around the canteen and talk to people. Which is an answer that doesn't bring you very far in these interviews. Anyway - I guess the same kind of realisation hit me after a while in school. There are some things that you just want to do and be active in for a season and after that it's time for a change.

Anyway - have made some plans for the June Hols:

1. Ms Tan will be away on some thinking conference in June. So I'll be all alone. Sob Sob. Actually not all bad cause it does mean I can watch the World Cup without incurring her disdain.

2. Must definitely finish writing up some of my assignments for the Masters Course. Have only written up 2 credits worth of work and still have three more credits of short assignments. PLus the long essay. And all this is only for the first module!

3. Must study to be a GP tutor! Will accumulate material and study it. Not so much concerned about the logic and arguments. But really with the simplification and the techniques needed for Compre.

4. Must read up more theory - Delueze and Guatarri - was in Borders and they have a nice new shipment of D&G books! Must read more Dollimore as well ...

5. Must read comics! These are the latest thing to catch my interest. I suppose having spending power does encourage you to buy these graphic novels. Kino sells them at rather competitive prices ...

6. Of course - must watch my weight and build muscle. Still very flabby and not running fast enough ... fast enough for what ... hmmmm one wonders ....









BBQ - 5/28/2002







So sad - yesterday for the first time in my life in RV, there was an informal gathering of teachers for the sake of just - well - gathering. I suppose it was quite a nice way to say goodbue to some people cause it was the first time the staff really took some time off to meet in quite a large group. Of course departments and friends often meet, but I think last night was the first time we had quite a good response for this kind of BBQ gathering. Anyway hope it signals more relaxed and fun relationships between the teachers who are often over worked and pressured to the point that they don't even have time for themselves.

Did the fire for the BBQ and yes! it was another "AWAY" (one of the other memorable BBQ successes being 4B 2001's chalet BBQ) success. Usually feel more comfortable setting up BBQ fires at home where there's the familiarity of the wind direction, shelter, pit as well as the secret weapon (electric fan). Am actually quite pleased with my ability to start BBQ fires. YOu know - it takes skill and technique.

First it takes skill to arrange the charcoal strategically. For a large pit, you need four to five little mounds. These for the nuclei of the large fire. Now a lot of posers when it comes to starting fires refuse to use proper fire starters. They want to use leaves, paper, even kerosene. Don't be stupid. The point of the fire starter isn't merely to get a flame going - it's to get a sustained flame so that the charcoals get hot enough. Further, these other combustibles don't burn long enough to get the temperature hot enough to ignite the charcoal. The idea in arranging the little mounds is for the flames from the fire starter to lick the charcoal so that the charcoal itself gets hot.

A tip: the mounds should be arranged on the principle that the flame won't get blown out from being too exposed. At the same time, there needs to be enough circulation of air to keep the flames going.

Second stage. Just as the fire starters reach the end of their pitifully short life, the next stage of starting the fire is approached. Now here's the thing - if you started about five mounds all at the same time, they will all start going out about the same time. Experience has taught me that out of the the five, only three will be hot enough for the charcoal to catch. Leaving two mounds wasted. What thus can be done is to sprinkle more fire starter (crushed) over the mounds before they die out so the fire keeps going longer.

Here's where a fire makes it or leaves everyone frustrated with frozen food. You need to get the flame going by getting the charcoal to light up on its own. By this stage, some of the pieces of charcoal should be white hot. These are the pieces that are hot enough to burn on their own. The most traditional method is to fan it. But this has certain disadvantages, which I will first consider and then propose an alternative.

1. Slow fanning is a waste of time. Some people think that just waving a paper plate slowly constitutes fanning. Wrong. Slow fanning actually puts out the flame. Further, slow fanning is really the stereotypical picture that many people have of BBQ fires. Once you start slow fanning, people tend to want to "contribute" and you'll hear of chorus of volunteers going, "Let me fan, let me fan." Not only is this unproductive, it's a waste of paper plates. Which is itself another problem because really, paper plates are too flimsy to be of any use when fanning - plastic ones work better.

2. Fast fanning is better. But you need to know the angle of attack. Interestingly, it isn't from the side that causes this to work. It's from the top. However the disadvantages are evident. When you're at the mound stage of fire building, the separate mounds need differentiated treatment. Thus, while you fast fan one mound, an adjacent mound gets adversely affected. Plus a further mound may suffer from the draft. Further, fast fanning is really tiring. After one minute your arms ache. Also, you attract the wrong type of attention. All these macho wannabes come and say (after being of absolutely no help while you were toiling away getting your hands dirty arranging the charcoal), "Eh, let me fan." Then use the act of fanning to try to show off to the girls how strong they are. (Please)









BBQ part 2 - 5/28/2002







3. Blowing it. Now, I know that many people still think that this is a very stupid way of getting a fire started. But let me explain. I feel blowing a directed breath of air at a specfic charcoal mound is the most effectively way to get a fire going at this stage as it means that you provide the air to the point of the pit that needs it most. People think that its unhealthy (it is - the close proximity to the pit and the smoke getting into your eyes confirms irritation) plus unhygenic (it is to a certain extent - my hair smells of BBQ smoke because of the close contact for several days after a BBQ ...) But it's the most effective plus the most spectacular. Imagine a pit with hot coals but none lit up. Then the blower, in a concentrated breath, directs the air, coaxing the coals to light up, again and again, then, a moment's pause and suddenly the coals catch fire! It's a sight indeed! Plus: other benefits? Only those really interested in lighting the fire will come and try it out. The posers will immediately realise the amount of discomfort that the technique brings.

Next stage: once the mounds of fire are getting hot and burning quite well. the idea is to feed more charcoal to the mounds, such that the separate mounds will eventually be joined up by hot charcoal. At this stage, to spread the fire, any kind of fanning works. But my personal favourite is a quick blast from a mechanical fan. I remember in the days that people used to use hairdryers for the job. But if you're at home, a mechanical fan works just fine. But remember, there's no point getting the flame up for its own sake. You want the flame to spread the heat.

Lastly. Once there's a bed of hot charcoal, all burning on its own accord, the trick is to get the flame to die down. There's no point BBQing over a flame. You want the heat, not the fire. So let the flame die down a little (if you have a cover, use it) and then you'll be ready to cook food. Remember - oil from the food will cause the flame to leap up again - and so constant movement and turning of food is essential to keep it from getting burnt.

BTW - my comments are not reflective at all of the BBQ we had last night. There weren't any posers around. Everyone was just content to leave the fire starting to me ... and another teacher's fiance ... ah well ... I suppose it's always good to have someone around who actually likes to start BBQ fires.

Anyway the good thing about having a BBQ with all teachers is that the food is excellent. When the kids have a BBQ it's sometimes quite sub-standard. You'll have to be quite happy if they actually geta fire going. But last night was excellent. Everyone brought something interesting - even the fruit was specially packed and brought! High standards indeed.

Sadly, I didn't stay around very long. I guess part of it had to do with the fact that starting a fire is very tiring work and after doing that you don't really feel like eating. I ate like one sausage and three burnt satays but many pieces of pineapple ... Plus, I had to go quick cause yesterday marked two years since I've been married to Ms Tan! (which is another story in and of itself ...)







At Home - 5/31/2002







It did not take much to make him happy. Just leaving him alone in familiar surroundings was enough for him to well up with gratitude. After all he had not had a free day since the holidays had begun. So this day he woke up lazily, at eight in the morning. He mumbled, "Good morning" and went to read the newspapers. Then he realised that he had not exercised for a whole twelve hours. He shrugged on a work-out T shirt and took to skipping sets. Pyramids. 100, 200, 300, 400, 300, 200, 100. Steps upward then down. Then weights. Weights not too heavy. Weights not pyramids but balanced weights.

He was grateful for the fact that the morning was his. He drank a coffee.

Made by himself, not ordered. He stretched out and read a comic. Then the phone rang and tuition called. He took a quick shower. 3 hours helping a friend with GP. Ok.

It did not take make to make him happy - just some time alone.

Teach

Teach : - 2/5/2002

Mold the Future of our Nation
Change lives
Show that you've got what it takes
My Commitment, Our Future.
Teach: Spend three hours learning how to fill in forms.
That's what we did during staff meeting today. Yup, we learnt how to fill in the new compentency forms. Piloting the new teacher assessment process, the school has to compress what normally takes place in one year within a five month period. Further, this assessment is juts for fun, to model what the REAL assessment will really be like and to get feedback. Still, forms are forms and no matter what, forms have to get filled. So while we were taught how to fill in a whole stack of forms that are supposed to represent our aims for the year, our golas and our achieved results, I was happily day-dreaming. And also assigning marks to work (Sat in the back row where even if the important people saw my "ostentatious indifference", they wouldn't be able to make disapproving eye-contact.
Now - in case you're wondering and thinking to yourself - you hypocrite - you expect your students to pay attention to your classes and yet you can't be bothered when someone else is showing stuff, let me expound.
1. Instead of just dismissing it with "they pay to come to school" and "I get paid to come to school", I shall say that the roles a teacher and a student have in life are very different.
2. I'm old enough to vote. IE it's my life and I do suffer the consequences of not paying attention. I won't be able to look impressive on the Work Review and it'll directly affect my career. On the other hand, kids not paying attention in class means I have to explain it again, I have to mark lousy scripts, parents have to be very troubled and worried, their friends will be distressed ... you get what I mean.
3. Forms are forms are forms. How hard can it be to read the instructions and fill in forms? I'm pretty sure I can navigate the forms (if I choose to) independent of the briefing: sadly students can't. And so they need to listen in class to model thought as they're not confident enough to think clearly for themselves.
Three arguments should be fine.
How Quantum Theory is related to Form Filling
One of the "discoveries" of Quantum Theory was that in a quantum universe, because of the smallness of the particles and thus phenomena involved, even the most "objective" act of observation, affects the result. In this case, you ARE what you RECORD. You might be a fabulous teacher in a hundred ways, but the recording process only captures 14 that are valuable to the organisation. The organisation thus sees what it wants to see. It's set up like a science experiment that CAN'T fail, or rather, chooses its failures. As such, you no longer need to be a good teacher, you just need to know how to PHRASE what you do, in a manner that fits the required descriptions.
EG. Teacher picks up litter from the floor and throws it into the bin.
This is phenomena that can be ignored or can be reported as
I constantly model expected behaviours for my students. For example, I ensure that litter is picked up and thrown away, even if it means doing it myself.
Of course it's a silly example but it does not exagerate the kind of reporting that is possible.
You might think that someone who loves writing language and elaborating would love the exercise - but believe you me, I positively detest it. Just for the record, I will state that form filling is one of the main reasons I will leave MOE.
Having said that - a thought occurred to me during the day-dream: I'll fill in my work review this year, as a chain of rhyming couplets ... I might even try putting it as a Sonnet!
Goal for Sec 2 English is 2.5
Towards this goal I daily strive
By conducting Monday and Thursday remedials
And by checking student work via e-mail.
Heh heh - think I'll download that rhyme dictionary I saw recently ...

April 2002

Ladies and gentlemen - 4/5/2002







Imagine you were up here, standing before the gazing eyes of the audience, under the strict scrutiny of these adjudicators, readying yourself for a battle of wit and wisdom against your opponents, and one of your few comforts is the tension filled face of your teacher "who is there only to carry the bags". How would you feel?

Ladies and gentlemen, the motion tonight reads "The RVHS Debaters have proven their worth".

Let me first define the key terms in tonight's debate. The RVHS debaters are Jac Cheok, Lin Lixin, Ritchell Choong, Magdeline Lee, Elgina Chua and fo course the man himself, Bernard Shum. Tonight we are not looking at "debaters" in terms of the general notion of the "RVHS debater". We are focussing our discussion on these specific individuals. We feel that this definition is justified as these are the people that represent the school against many odds, have trained and practised very hard and have grown to work as a team. Of course there have been other key players: the reserves, YanXi, XinYi, Joyce and Ming Chuan. And of course there has been the indomitable Jere, whose constant presence and guidance has never failed to both provoke and inspire. Their support and unflagging confidence in the team has always provided a firm basis for the team's performance.

"Have proven their worth" suggests that there were reservations about the ability of these debaters to achieve the results they have in the first place. Now these reservations would have seemed only natural. One: the majority of them had never debated in an Inter-Schools tournament. In fact compared to other school teams the RVHS team probably had the lowest number of seasoned debaters. Two: Given their hectic schedules, one would assume that they would not have any time to adequately prepare and practice. Three: They did not have a "professional" coach as many other schools did. Hence, even if they had natural intelligence and talent, one would assume that they would not be able to exploit these to the fullest because there wasn't someone experienced to guide them along.

And yet ladies and gentlemen, "have proven their worth" suggests also that we must consider whether or not the debaters have reached some level of achievement. One: have they advanced far enough in the tournament to merit a thumbs up? Two: Have they improved as individual thinkers and speakers such that their latent ability has been honed to a higher level? and Three: Have they learnt to become better people - more concerned about the process of argument and discussion, willing to engage in fruitful debate?

Let us consider the debaters against these yardsticks. I will show how the debaters have more than proven their worth, how their performances have resoundingly answered any questions that might have been raised by tonight's motion, how any reservations about the ability of these debaters to achieve the results they have in the first place must now be considered unfounded and preposterous.

Firstly, the results so far speak for themselves. Both teams have performed exceedingly well. The Junior Team, with 2 wins and 1 loss, was unlucky not to qualify for the knock out round. The senior team, with it's stunning recovery from a disappointing first round defeat, has moved on to greater and greater levels of proficency and effectiveness in dealing with their opponents. In short, even though the majority of the team did not have prior experience, they have come out of each debate on the winning side the majority of the time.

Secondly, watching them in action, you would not have any idea that they planned the debates almost exclusively on their own time. Sacrificing evenings and even weekends, they rose above hectic schedules to make sure that they were well-prepared. But it was not mere hardwork. The debaters have more than proven their worth precisely because of this time constraint. Their intelligence and oratorial skills were constantly stretched as they had to digest huge amounts of information and practise phrases and phrasing in a very limited amount of time. As such, they have distinguished themselves precisely because they rose above the difficulty of their circumstances, choosing not to allow these constraints to become distractors, but focussing and honing their talent instead.

Thirdly, precisely because the odds were stacked against them without a "professional" coach, the debaters have learnt to become better people - more concerned about the process of argument and discussion, willing to engage in fruitful debate. If indeed they had a "professional" coach, they might be overly concerned with the technicalities of "clashing" and "team sliding". But they weren't. Instead they engaged each motion as if it were their own, mulling over it, researching, weighing, balancing, constructing, tearing apart. And at the end of the day, they have emerged as individuals that are engaged, individuals that genuinely think.

In short, ladies and gentlemen, the RVHS debaters have more than proven their worth because they debate from their hearts first. They have learnt to trust each other's opinions and to respect each other's strengths. They have grown closer to each other and have sacrificed for each other. And in the scheme of things, these qualities are immeasureable.

And so ladies and gentlemen, how would you feel if you were standing up here? If I were an RVHS debater, I would be proud knowing how much I've achieved against great odds; I would be confident, knowing I've achieved it because of my hard work and my ability; and I would be pleased, knowing that the process has allowed me to forge close relationships, and that it has enriched my life.

Thank you.

btw: RVHS Team 2 has advanced to the Semi Finals of the Tournament.







Planet News - 4/11/2002







Am slacking in school work. Have been too caught up in debates and haven't marked for a really long time. Spending your time on the net down-loading many sheets of debate motions and outlines sure is time-consuming, but it's one of those things that is worth it.

One thing that hasn't been too worth it was the SGEM stuff. I don't quite think it's very effective in generating interest in speaking good english. But if the powers that be say that I have to do it, I have to do it. Ended up generating a silly story that was really very silly. Still managed to make insider jokes about abused cats and silly characters. But no one's going to laugh except me.

Tried to mark throughout the Sports Day. Wasn't very productive as I kept getting distracted by the finishers. Still, some scripts are better than no scripts.

Was surfing over the weekend and found the website of my sec school's OBA. Must say that it;'s quite impressive. And what d'ya know, they've got a whole gallery from scanned in pictures from the 1960s. Check out good looking guy in the pictures (ahem ahem) ...

this- (fifth pic in first row ... emceeing music night)

and

and this - (fifth pic in first row ... talking to the president himself ...)

Ah - nostalgia ...

















Repetition and Meaning - 4/12/2002







You'll find me receiving the waves. Before the morning breaks over the turbulent see, there you'll see the lone figure of a woman, prayer to the morning sun that has yet to arise. Her prayer is always answered for on the stroke of her Amen, the sun begins his gentle cry across the broken sky. The eye of kings said this, to run the circle and finish the circuit. With tides to contend with and ripped up clouds which submerged his glare, the eye of the king did this. With the stare of a cyclops unwilling to pluck himself out of the brand; a wooden stake driven deeper into his heart, see his hands and feet and fear and sorrow and what about love mingled down do flow? Tonight the eye of kings sleeps, unopressed but daring no longer to look into the sacred fire from whence it was born. Tonight the sky is ripped as from a mother's womb untimely ripped, unwilling to heal the tissue clotting around the scars. Tonight the morning prayers are far off. The long cry for redemption is a meek, thin and ghastly wail.

Of repetition: Played the following "Sting" song about a hundred times on my lap-top while I was doing work. I circled in and out of it moving away to towards the machine, pluggin on and then taking off the earphones. The song is essentially without memorable melody but it haunts with its ambient beauty- it's a ramble, a repetition



Fields of Gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold


So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold

I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold











A Tale of Dragons and Dreamers - 4/20/2002







For as long as he could remember, the carvings on the old wardrobe had fascinated him. Grimy with the dirt that accumulated over time, the wardrobe stood menacingly in the middle of the passage way. Carved from a single teak trunk, the wardrobe was a family heirloom, passed down by his earliest Straits Born Chinese ancestors.

He remembered constantly fingering the rough hewn figures on the wardrobe's edge from when he was little. A prancing lion, the strangely disproportionate flower petals, the hedious bearded goats, and dancing tigers and right at the top, the dragon that was at the center of the design. He loved the dragon that stretched right across the top of the wardrobe. With its elegant undulating body and intricately taloned feet, it was the fitting center of attention.

If he concentrated very hard he could trace a path over their contorted bodies, a single unbroken path around the entire edge of the wardrobe. But as he was not yet tall enough, he couldn't actually trace the path with his fingers. So he remained content to follow it with his eyes.

"We've got to get rid of it. It takes up the whole corridor! No one appreciates that kind of junk anymore."

"But it belonged to mum's grandfather. Since she passed away there's nothing left to remind us of her."

"Not that there is anything pleasant to remember. Can't you recall what a terrible tyrant the old lady was?"

"Still, she was my mom. I don't think you should talk of your deceased mother-in-law like that."

"I'll talk of the dead in whatever way I want to. And I'll throw whatever I want away."

And so plans were made to get rid of the wardrobe with the dragon carvings. The men who specialised in throwing things away would come and dispose of the wardrobe.

"But mum, I don't want you to throw it away. I can't trace out the animals fully yet. I'm not tall enough. I still can't reach the dragon."

"What's that dear? Oh you want to watch TV? Ok. Just make sure you don't sit too near and strain your eyes."

And so the dreams began. In those dreams he would see himself riding the lions, cavorting with the tigers and drinking the nectar of those strangely petalled flowers. But each time, before he could come close to the dragon, the dream would fade and he would wake up desperately wanting to dream again. But each dream each night never brought him closer. Each dream merely sharpened the details of the other carvings in his mind and increased his desire to run his fingers over the dragon.

"Mrs Lim, we can't move the wardrobe out like this. It's too bulky. I can't imagine how you got it up here in the first place. We need to break it up. Is that alright?"

"Ah whatever. Just as long as you get it out of my house before my son comes home from school. He's acting very strange around the wardrobe these days. Must be too much TV."

When he came home from school, it was not the empty space that the wardrobe once occupied that caught his attention. It was the pile of sawn off wood that lay on the floor. In their haste, the removers must have forgotten some of the pieces that once made the wardrobe. He untied the pieces carefully.

The prancing lions. The strange flowers. He lovingly pieced them together. Then it dawned upon him, the removers had done this deliberately. They had taken care to remove the carvings on the edge, knowing that families often liked to keep these. And like a jigsaw, he lay the pieces out on the floor. Bearded goats, dancing tigers ....

"You know, that lady really couldn't be bothered about the carvings. I tried to persuade her that they had antique value. Anyway, I left a pile. I'm sure she won't miss this piece. It's a dragon! I haven't seen one of these in years."

The dreams became nightmares. Lions that ripped you apart, tigers that clawed you in an endless death sequence. Goats that grew evil grins. And dragons? Dragons that never appeared to end the suffering with a final swipe of their taloned feet.

-21 April 2002
Born out of the frustration of marking too many bad essays based on this title







Of Loss - 4/26/2002







We lost the finals of the B div debates yesterday. And being emotionally drained after the whole roller coaster that was the tournament I sneaked out quickly to be alone and to think about stuff.

I guess we never play to lose. To do so would be a breach of the spirit of competition. And yet when we do lose how we deal with that loss becomes infinitely more important than figuring out why we lost. Obviously, figuring out why satisfies that intellectual aspect and helps us deal with it. But emotionally, things become a little more tricky.

And yet when I think back about the journey, how the teams (yes both) have progressed and all the laughter, insulting, serious thinking, flashes of inspiration, assortments of sweets, infinite distractions, SMSing - yes debaters multi-task a lot - , incessant toilet breaks ... I suppose the whole experience is enriching. I guess while things may have been done more efficently, they would not have been done with as much passion and commitment.

I guess the sense of loss is sharpened by the fact that we won't be doing this again. There won't be the next debate to prepare for and there won't be that sense of working together as a team. It's sad I guess but inevitable.

So in moments like these, there is poetry:

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The delight of the blood drawn from ancient springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth;
Never to deny its pleasure in the simple morning light,
Nor its grave evening demand for love;
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are fêted by the waving grass,
And by the streamers of white cloud,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
Born of the sun, they travelled a short while
towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honor.

Stephen Spender

Another loss: one consolation for yesterday perhaps - for the first time in five years - I hit that KG mark in to squeeze into the acceptable weight-range. But it doesn't stop - pressing on ...







Conversations - 4/30/2002







"If I heard you correctly, you want a divorce.
Is there really no other sensible course
Of action that we could possibly take?
If not for ourselves, for the children's sake."

"No...." Then the silence multiplied
Filling the dim lit corners of the room
Silence heaved and shrugged a sigh
Apologetically adding to the gloom.

"If I heard you correctly, you don't want the kids
This weekend. Fine. I'm, in the midst
Of the most important project of my life
And you're too damn selfish to help your ex-wife."

"No ..." While the disembodied voice
Wailed across the telephone line
Silence retreated into a choice
Long debated - all would be fine.

"If I heard you correctly, you feel we ought not
To get the payments enforced by Court.
Well, I don't care, if you're declared bankrupt.
We have to eat and you're the one paying up!"

"No ...." But this time she no longer waited
For reason or excuse, this conversation was done.
Yet receiver in hand, she hesitated
Her ears catching the "bang" of a fired gun.

- 26 April 2002 the answer to the question, "What do Lit teachers do during 3 hour invigilations?"

In a world of slippery signs, marriage is a symbol of a union that is meant to transcend. What happens when the meanings invested in marriage are overwelmed by desires that break out of that accepted vow? Is silence in any way a decodable reply, when the vows of marriage are made less than clear by desire?

March 2002

Levelling Out - 3/1/2002

Giving out the O level results was quite a novel experience. For once I wasn't at the receiving end of the anticipation, having gotten the results pretty early in the morning. However, I didn't really get a chance to watch the kids as they got the grades either. Managed to mess up on putting out the slips (apologies to kimberly whose slip I conveniently placed in the guys' pile) and things got jumbled here and there. But the act of giving out to individuals these little slips of paper upon which so much depends does I think aptly summarise the amount of time, energy, tears and joy put in.

From a larger perspective I suppose these things don't count that much. From a very pragmatic point of view, you only need grades that are good enough to keep you in the JC that you're already in. The same hold for entry into certain Univs, they'll take you once you've got a certain minimum grade. I remember how relaxed I was for the As because I knew that I was going to the Arts Fac at NUS no matter what and only needed Cs. But realities like these do not change the fact of feeling that you've achieved something. I look back with a certain pride at the near straight line that runs down my O level slip. I am proud of the "3 As, a B and A1 for GP" (notice the convenient leaving out of the AO chinese grade ...) And these things always leave an impression. Even now when I'm shopping for work I always know that there's an edge when people look at these results. However vague they are as an assembled jig-saw of ability, they still leave an impression. Perhaps it's at that level that these results should stay - as vague impression.

But when we think we've developed the analysis of results down to a science, that's when we gain the false idea that we are able to accurately paint a picture of an individual's ability through results. The silliness in many of these methods is apparent. For example, there's that horrid MSG thing. When I was in school, MSG was only found in Japanese instant noodles ... now it's the core of our educational system. What is laughable is how seriously we take these numbers. we plan whole school targets and goals around achieving MSG targets. What is flawed is the reductive manner that MSG is employed to represent a certain average level of achievement. Rather than regard grades in context, they become defining and calculated symbols of ability and success. Take for example what the Old Man tried to point out. He suggested that there were classes that contribute positively to the school's results and those that did not. His gauge? Whether or not the class MSG was higher or lower than the school's MSG for each subject. Obviously there are going to be classes where the MSG is lower than the average, because that's precisely how the MSG tool was developed! So by a sleight of logic, it appears entirely reasonable to argue that classes contribute more or less to a school, and it appears entirely sound as MSG are numerical and calculatable. And in the same way every individual can work out his worth via the contribution he made to the school's MSG. 6 points? Good, contributed because L1R5 is 10."only obsessives can remember exactly how much". 15 points? No good, because its so far off our goals.

What I am sure of is that at the individual level, our measurement of achievement and success has to be grounded in a clear picture of who we are and what we are meant to do in life. I sometimes get these tremendous bouts of inferiority precisely because I was schooled to think that a rank, a grade or a medal is what defines self. It's easy to pay lip-service to the fact that these things really don't matter. We all do it, even the staunchest proponents of the system. But it's in those moments of self-doubt I guess, that I often find the proper perspective and strangely enough, that broadened perspective gives me the confidence and courage to believe in myself and to try for even more challenging goals.

In my Lifetime - 3/1/2002

To celebrate Number 100 - a line from every one preceding ...

In my beginning I encrypt my end
If I remain that long - I'll be a souvenir, a point of discussion, an etching on the canteen table - "Mr Lim Sucks".
Of course I know they will do well and of course I know they need some time off - but I can't stand it when they sit there as if you haven't existed for them for the last year or so ... it's so we're in our own world ...
... why did HuiYi say "Really ah, Mr Lim?"
whose enthusiasm for learning and experience would otherwise be limited (ahem ... forgive the pun on the name)
"Is cyberspace a thing within the world or is it the other way around? Which contains the other, and how can you tell for sure?"
get caught in strange obsessions and anxieties about death - but in very hilarious and quirky ways.
Pronunciation: 'mä-d&-"rAt
A schizophrenia of sorts. To be both examiner and teacher, marker and moderator.
All the kids were like brains dripping out of their heads, GEP kids and like they already knew each other since they were 10
Writing in a Diary is supposed to be a solipsistic activity. You write for youself.
I called you my enigma once
To try to get a reaction
You wore the name like you wear a coat
Hanging it on your shoulders
He's downstairs now sneaking around underneath the sofa - and he's called Marmaduke.
how many of US who are making these expectations are actually qualified to have these expectations
Anyway - bought a cool card from Tango Mango and will try to write her at the old address.
What is probed is the churning of the electric fan, the spinning of its plastic case.
I DID NOT behave ON CUE
Become immune to what everyone thinks and take MC on 26th Oct?
Daytime rain is obvious and can be spoken of in terms of incovenience or the immediate comfort it brings.
O Kopi siew tai tjee pway!
Then in a moment of inspiration I started thinking body parts. Managed to do a pretty decent hand but had to perfect photocopying my face.
And today, I think I uncovered another moment of fondness, of a different sort.
Right. Men aged Fifty-One.
"Limit" was chosen because it's the only word that can be formed by inserted a single vowel into my initials.
"So now I'm married to two people"
Beautiful line because it is precisely that - one line - like the "tendrils" spoken of, the line stretches from movement and motion - "driving along" - into an abstract space of sunlight (yes, light is not a thing but a field, an abstract space) causing the vision of the horizon to unfold.
Perhaps it has begun to rain. Perhaps somewhere else, not here in the west. Because the earth is even more thirsty, elsewhere.
Thought: "The unreflected life is not worth living" -Socrates.
"The life reflected upon, may be unliveable" - ...


My Life in Time - 3/1/2002

So - 1. wear your shoes to school
I write of returns, not to legislate my past for it is irredemably gone, but to find a thread that runs true.
She's declared herself a "free-lance editor/writer" which means she doesn't want to be tied down doing regular/proper/"i-have-to-fill-in-forms"/keep to schedule kind of work.
Mobile Phone Mobile Phone
Ringing all the way
O what fun it is to spoil
Somebody else's day ... hey ...
obsessions are
merely material
must work much
more harder so that
we can maintain our
results
our
kind of hipness sets in
I was a model soldier for 8 months America, coffee and haikus
. The formal idea comes late in the poem:
But all that you've left behind -
0632 - Mr C maintains his record of being the first person to say hello to me everyday.
2015 - will leave to pick Ms Tan up from ballet then dinner ...
look like they're going to stand any moment
And the great SIN - WHY DON'T KIDS STAND UP FOR OLDER PEOPLE
Chia Thye Poh
The ultimate pragmatist - a "democracy" founded on secret arrests ...
Have been accepted by Leceister for an MA in Linguistics.
People just like to keep rubbish as if they're going to reuse it.
emotionally blackmailed by the most unlikely of people Can start with a clean sheet My Tai chi shoes were not made for standing but for balancing and circulating Qi. The paper for JC was quite unexpected. a dense opaque pond.I deserve a break. we've been on our own and now it's time to say goodbye. I only remember walking down Barker Road late in the night, milk than has been churned up seagulls have turned into albatrosses across So how does one write a "formidable wall of words?" But there I only find the contradictions of sea sky and sand, of depths, surfaces and infiniteness.The "walks" at Cradle Mountain were not quite walks in that sense Just finished a Delany book - Stars in my pocket like grains of sand complaining to his Mom about how the boys will bully him etc and it's revealed only in the last line that he's the Principal. make it significant. Have already sent 4 people out of class for speaking mandarin suddeness of her face flashes across my mind's "mr lim mr lim (some habits die hard ... ) then they're ready for some thinking about WORDS WORDS WORDS. sigh ... need to read D&G again ... I am the word that was written. When men grew old, their backs grew thin and snapped. Grasping for peanuts. One size fits all. Some people are of the opinion that fatness should not be discouraged. for Alvin Tan Peng Hong All it takes is a Bang and a Whimper
to make things right again
Crossing thick needles iron thick with
supple thread
But hey - it's lower sec Lit - prefer to wear my shoes everyday. It's myopia is almost facist - you must love your superiors and working environment unquestioningly in order to be a good teacher. Rubbish. Here, I sit, back against the sun
Across you stare
straining toward the sun
For three hours.13. This is the story of the last line
Does it matter if it doesn't rhyme?I will break the biscotti with care in search of more fresh fish. Did however have to run to several places to look for it ... Was quite pleased in the end when I say it in a nice furniture shop at Suntec. How Quantum Theory is related to Form Filling If I could live for simple things I would. Not much by way of titillation "I dunno whether I'm writing to you or if I'm talking to myself" So the possibilities of paper just bought two CDs. Too bad the adoption policies. and that I'm a lousy teacher cause feed ideas to the reserves Your attention and action is much appreciated. For I was born
In the Year of the Skunk."Literature is not so much a product of what Literature is about but really is due to the way we Literature is practised. MSG.

The point? Reading is the act of writing first, bearing in mind what is on the page and then constructing hisotries, meanings, feelings and schemings. The book is the intersection of what is read and what is written - in that order perhaps.

Obsessions - 3/5/2002

Placing grades for all to see on the Concourse because the grades belong to me. I pound my chest like King Kong and dare all who come by to challenge me. I am the most important person in my life. I am the mentor of many Kings. I produced unending strings of bureaucrats and techo-brats -

I'm so sorry we screwed it for everyone. I'm not here to make excuses, just a quiet appeal that everyone tries to speak English normally. I know that's being optimistic being in a linguistic 3rd world where even our pidgin isn't developed beyond faddish usage. But I'm not here to make excuses I can only say we will work a more rigourous programme.

They used to blame the background. But they are now all English speaking. They used to blame the teachers who spoke in muti-glossaiac rage. They used to blame ... who can they blame now?

Me! Me! I thump my chest in glee. Blame me.

Please remember to learn your language by doing your corrections. In real life, you never get to say something twice, so arm yourself with a green pen because this is your only chance to DO corrections. Let's forget about the fact that we learn through error and that running away from error sets up a mindset of fear.

I no longer teach english - I teach 1120/1 and 1120/2. The rest is irrelevant, only a blimp. Some of us love success. I only wonder about it occassionally. Who is going to be blamed? Surely I play a part.

So you can if you wish be more rigourous, you can if you wish teach the skills and equip them more thoroughly for that distinction in 1120. You can boast about how in the space of 2 years some can remarkably improve. You can. But I can't.

You see, I believe that it's easy to gear a child to achieve a distinction. Just need to teach 4 skills and one tense. Tweak the machine for the optimum results. But - after that - what?

"And so they picked up their badges that said "A1" and muttered, pleased with themselves. The badges seemed so insignificant in this new light. Around them, piles and piles of discarded badges lay. But they did not understand. One of them even suggested that they scavange for old badges, just so their collection looked more complete. But after awhile they tired from the back-breaking activity. Their new badges, they pinned the badges prominently on their collars, as if these would work a charm. But still, they felt the ache of labour weaken their bodies. They were puzzled. Why did they not have any thoughts that thrilled them the way they used to be thrilled? When would that spark of inspiration come? They stared a little while at their badges and decided to stay camped in that place for the night, until they got a thought or inspiration. Somehow, they did not know what to do in this moment of silence."







Of Stuffed Shelves and Spaces - 3/9/2002







I write of shelves burgeoning with books. Appearing like the end of a movie set when all the props become discards, the shelves are here crammed with books that nobody wants to read anymore. Once they were important books: on history, mystery, magic and law. But now they're just waiting to be reduced to pulp. The pretext of this shop? A second-hand last chance for these books to again open up their secrets to the willing listener. The odds of survival are slim.

Once we're out of here I'll show you what we really mean. Once we''ve put on our clothes and dressed up pretty I'll let the sunlight bath you again with it's effervescence.

But you'll prefer the dark I suspect.

We grow yellow skinned, dry taut skin stretched across untoned flesh. We click the corners of our mouths to remind ourselves that beyond the cave is water. Thirst consumes us.

In the parable of the cave, Plato demonstrated that manacled men must make manoevres mustering mind and muscle to manufacture a mission for truth. Don't look at the shadows dancing on the walls - turn out and face the sun. Rise to greet the sun, shining in the East. I remember that Hymn so strangely sung a tribute to Christ in the Orient.

More books: Midnight's Children Salman Rushdie - noses and minds find a special place the body is not dissociated from the psyche no matter what is claimed. Shipment of books from small second hand store - wonderful - many Delany Titles for the Hols.

Pleased with several of the answers they have given for the poem. Am gratified to know that the right question elicits intelligence.

Book: what i was working on but have not touched for a long while

I've been walking in a dream. My feet touch the ground and silver shards of light spin as each footprint leaves an evaporating mist of energy. Or is it the kicking of the dust, mere debris of the land? From within the thonged sandals I find my toes curling up as each stride takes me closer to the house far off. What may be in that house? Will I be allowed to stop there? I have no time for thought in a dream and the dream stays with me pushing me endlessly toward a vague goal. Now gliding by are the birds that grow in the sun. Like unwavering spots they hang waiting for me to fall. They skirt the bright margins of the horizon whenever I look up, threatening to obliviate my sense of direction. When I was small they told me to look to the bright horizon whenever I felt like falling, to look for the place when the haze of earth for a moment catches the sky in its grip. And then, they said, I would have a mental picture of how step preceding must unbalance step proceeding a picture of earth falling into sky, walking walking.

I cast my hands up to my brow, squinting hard to make sense of the mingling dust and brightness. My feet are dirty from the hard road and the dream does not compensate for physical tiredness. I feel a blister breaking out on my imaginary sole. I suspect people with real feet are not half as aware of the physical imperfections these simulators insist on making clear. Today, I've walked fifteen miles already and it is only noon. The muscles of my back, tuned for twitching and not this physical exertion, cannot make sense of this physical activity. I wish to stop for rest but the dream, prods me on. In it I cannot find the right combinations that will allow me to sit or even stoop. One leg plods in front of the other, the next moment a result of the last's nuances. When will the final step be taken and when will my curled toes be allowed to browse the surrounding gravel instead of merely skimming the surface, touching the pebbles and knocking into the wire-like weeds? The dark-winged birds circle the margin of the sun.

The last time I remember walking in a dream was after the Games at Minith. Then, after missing my bout against the One from ¬Ö. I was disqualified from the neural transports that are the only way we ever travel. I had to hook up to one of these Dream Weavers and find my way back, bodily in a dream. It took me some time before I could even walk. But then, the rapture of the dream caught me up and for several miles I found myself running over the cobble stone streets of Old Prague. Then, my feet were in regular rubber trainers and the beat of the electro-pop from the 21st century had been wired through my head piece. I bobbed as I wove in and out of the old district. Down Charles' bride with it's statues corroded beyond recognition. Black rock granite stares. I beat time to the grafitti which asked the passer by to give peace a chance, I waved at the shopkeepers putting up the antiques, the woven baskets filled with irises played like flutes overhead. The beat drove me deep into the dream. And in exchange, I got home quickly. Cobble stones are bad for running on. That time I had to exchange my trainers for a new pair of synthetic shoes. But my first dream was indeed one worth remembering. If you cannot run in life with your limbs outstretched, and limp from wheeled-machined to standing implement, the dream is a freedom to be cherished.

But this dream. Ah this dream. The fifteen miles are not the problem. I can understand it when the dream simulates physical exhaustion such that my bones wreak havoc with my muscles, pulling lone dead flesh in directions so contrary that I no longer am able to detect any particular spot form which the pain is coming. The ache is dull, a general throbbing that mocks my atrophied muscles. While the toes curl up I know they really aren't cause I don't have toes. It's these simulators that are so devastating. Ordinarily the toes would come in handy, for some half bodied freak like me to do things ordinary people could. To feel their way in the dark, to test the temperature of running water. But you do that in small bits. In minute portions. You don't walk home in a dream with neural simulators. Unless you're screwed like me.



a dream in the key of delany











What am I doing - 3/13/2002







am in school now and am supposed to be 1. compiling IPW name lists 2. writing next term's Scheme for EL 3. Preparing next term's materials for EL 4. Marking the 6 stacks I have left ...

What am I really doing - mooching around and looking for storyboards from Gladiator and the Matrix - which I think will make an interesting lesson - but do we have the time ...

Beautiful Mind begins tommorrow - I'm a sucker for these mad genius films ... math somemore ... even more of a sucker for things I don't quite understand ... Ah well ... math for the lay man is quite interesting ...







Yay! - 3/15/2002







Managed to do mega marking today. Especially pleased cause I did it (one class worth) while attending a workshop on basic counselling. It's a first for me as 1. I had to pay attention, 2. participate in the group discussions 3. make inane conversation to help relieve the boredom of the people around me too and 4 . mark all at the same time. Was thankful that the instructor was this SNAG that was really in love with the sound of his own voice and didn't make a fuss about me marking under his nose. At least I was honest about it and didn't try to take cover as I marked.

So this is a new achievement - first it was marking in staff meeting, then it was marking in a moving bus, then it was marking while drinking coffee and chatting and now it's marking while attending a compulsory course. Maybe the next level should be marking while the kids are writing the piece - that would surely collapse the distinctions.

Have only 20 odd scripts to go - woopee do ... but then still have a pile of work apart from that - ah well ...

A Beautiful MInd is a wonderful show about eccentricity and all that it hides. Give nmy interest in the Schizoid experience part of the free flowing point of undifferentiated being (related in part to the body without organs) the movie was a wonderful protrayal of how the media (ie the text) can be used to effectively mimic paranoia. There are moments in the movie where the audience is transformed into a paranoid / schizoid - an effect of not knowing where reality is posited. However, this being mainstream, the track isn't followed very far and the reader becomes firmly placed in the "real" world of the movie very quickly. It isn't so much an examination of what is real. Rather it is the

creation of a LONGING FOR that schizoid - paranoid existence, precisely because in that moment is the crypto-deciphering brilliance of John Nash, the charm of his Lit Major roomate and the mystery of the Parcher (?) guy.

Essentially, his brilliance with Game Theory is hardly elaborated upon by the movie's moment into the paranoia but his "natural ability" to break codes is.

So the movie flows from screen to eye machine to thought machine to mind machine. Links, breakages, siezures, insulin shocks, befuddlement act to move the Body into consensual participation of paranoia.









get a life - 3/18/2002







get a wife don't bother about marriage strife cause in the end it's only them that dare to wear their feelings in their hair that end up where the birds don't care about gravity and other assorted matters.

pull a mat with a hat out of the magic pack and shuffle a hand of poker cards cut a deck of star-crossed smiles over and over again. wink with only one eye not blink, wink and wee willy wonkee went wondering where wild women wish warily, wearily without wound washing water. Faster you must fly with fingers waeving these words across the plastic keys not the ivory bees but the often helpless chians of associative meaning. If I turned blind and could no longer feel the way words buzz on my retina and deaf so I could not hear the way pictures flash in my broken ears would you still wait for me? I believe I've seen you with pink stripes orange pink stripes with shoulders that run from here to the end of the room. Shiny shoulders, the kind of strange observation that a man makes when he sits next to a woman. Shiny shoulders the kind of bony structures that stand up from the arms and oddly join themselves to the clavicle. Is there an obstacle to observation if ten years later your shoulders have lost their sheen? Would it mean I cannot love you anymore because the exfoliation hasn't gone on as planned? And the taut skin that wraps like a foil a laminate over your bones, would that be wrinkly and unattractive. Now it's shiny shoulders but then what's to say what tomrrow will bring. They tell me that hair is dandruff free and silky long smooth, perfumed. I say hair is crinkly and mossy a verdant growth that permeates the flesh. They say that shoulders are smooth silky sheene I say they are rough from carrying backpacks the whole of their school going life.

But who do I muse about?

Once in a bus sitting and facing the space where those unfortunate enough to satnd have to stand, sitting on one of those seats that do not face forward but face the opposing window, on one of those bench like seats, I glimpsed a strange sight indeed. I was reading a book, a most absorbing labyrinth of a book when, a belly popped up in front of me. A feminine belly it was, not exactly beefy but fattish. A belly not meant to be seen but a belly popping up from beneath a knit top too short. When you stretch up to hold those handles, bellies pop out from under clothes. And it was a hairy feminine belly. Shocked, I read my book, burrowing deeper into the labyrinth. It wasn't a furry fuzzy belly. It was a twiny twisty thick hair belly. Then again maybe it was the fabric from the knitted sweater, unravelling itself and masquerading as belly hair.

Beware! hairy bellies out there Beware!
Your knitted tops are flashing bare your belly hair
Beware! hairy bellies out there Beware!







in response to school policy - 3/19/2002







I think I teach in one of the few schools in the world that has a policy that tries to contain human emotion and expression of affection or fondness. Being a supportive, enthusiastic and loyal (yah right) member of the teaching staff I have no objections to the implementation or enforcement of such a policy. If people think that emotions are that easily controlled and policed, they are indeed the products of a highly efficent political programme that has led to the confidence that as long as a phenomenon is defined as a problem, it can be solved. But the inscription of a "philosphy of the problematic" cannot be naively accepted though a highly politicised campaign against it has never been successfully mounted and philosophical ramblings hardly make a dent on prevailing definitions. But I digress. One of the myths of our modern city state that was founded on a well-timed expression of grief at its birth is the fact that any kind of emotion that is detrimental to the greater good is in fact an emotion that is illicit and one that should not be pursued. Emotion then, is always kept sub-servient to pragmatic ends. First these were political and now they have become increasingly economic. Sadly, we are oblivious to the fact that the fabric emotional detachment is, as a consequence, being silently woven and indeed it is this non-involvement, this non-attachment and this non-emotiveness that allows distances to be kept and ironically allows a strange social fabric to be held together. Indeed, we are willing to carry on this abolishment of genuine emotion to extremes. We police relationships, police activity in argument, police avenues for the expression of genuine emotion.

In the meantime I suspect that emotion called love (and its varients: infatuation, lust, desire, fantasy) has a life that struggles for autonomy. Yes there is love divine that we surrender ourselves to. But really, can a micropolis like a school, control love?

A thought worth pursuing. If an institution is able to dictate the emotional life of its populace, it will suceed in large part, in controlling the energies, talents and resources of that populace. So we tell our students that being involved in a relationship with the opposite sex is outlawed. If you are caught in that relationship, you will have to break up or one of you has to give up the right to membership of this community called the school. A law spoken is sometimes more powerful than a law enforced. To boast of the ability to control love, when indeed those that fall in love claim that they often do so unwittingly, is nothing short of claiming the ability to direct and control the freedom and will of an individual.

Now, here's where it becomes interesting. From an adult perspective, we have certain conceptions of what a relationship entails: marriage, the future, children, holidays, stress, taxes. And we apply this measure of a relationship: Do you believe that he can support you in the future, assuming that is the be all and end all of all relationships. This however may be a misapplication of a concept. Love for a 16 year old has possibilities and thrills that a person of marriageable age can never access.

Instead, a 16 year old may get into a relationship for "all the wrong reasons". Popularity, perfect physique, peer influence, physical desire, poetry and the need to be loved (instead of the desire to give love) may number among them. But this is precisely why the stated reasons for dictating the emotions of 16 year olds fall apart. These lines of desire, no matter how ill-informed, transient, irresponsible they be, cannot be met by the logical arguments of an adult who sees love as responsibility. The failure of any policy is in its conception and this policy is doomed to fail (in fact its design makes it fail) precisely because it was developed to deal with a phenomenon that does not actually exist. The powers that be assume that 16 year olds are attempting a version of love that comes with it disasterous consequences if indeed that relationship does not work out. 16 year old love, while unique in its immaturity and impulsiveness, is also unique in that its tragidies are really, rather comic (in the literary - often redemptive - sense of the word, not the sitcom sense). Misintepretation allows for the failure to appear even more noble because then the policy appears to have tried and appears to be rational and justifiable, on the basis of the policy's own internal logic and assumptions.

The cynics amongst us can then argue that it IS the intention for the policy to fail. We merely need a structure to appear to deal with the perceived problem so we have a school policy to deal with emotion. Never mind that the policy does not deal with the lines of desire. A statu(t)e just needs to look good. And statues often strike fear in the hearts of the uninitiated.

What then? Lines of desire: socially constructed unconscious formations? Or genuine outgrowths of individual lack? In either case, to re-direct lines of desire is the issue. To trace the lines of desire is the issue. To describe lines of desire that do not seem to have an origin or destiny, but lines that merge and converge over a vast shifting network of more lines, erupting on occasion, but more often just existing as arteries, that is the issue.

Describe desire. Listen. Cry. Offer a shoulder. Be there. Be with. Be human.







Excellent - 3/22/2002







Am really sleepy and tired and hungry and everything ... But will write a bit 1. didn't sleep last night cause had to do IPW proposals allocation which was a good thing cause then it meant that I was so sleepy today when I was supposed to scold those that hadn't handed in the form that I ended up not having the energy to scold them.

3. We won. Twice. Both teams won tonight making it a first in this year's debates. Proud of both teams who worked very hard for this debate and did so with very little help. It is a pity that debates aren't taken very seriously in school but it was wonderful to watch both teams execute the game plan. Both teams performed well today and I really hope that they will keep on debating at this level and with this kind of passion. I know they often feel that the odds are stacked against them but I must say there is quite a dedicated group that is behind them all the way. And they distinguished themselves tonight with some style and humour - wonderful. So it's on to the Quarters for one of them and what that may bring ...

4. Sigh - need to keep marking. Have Functionals to finish (ok - haven't even started before the next load of stuff comes) Need to go to school tommorrow and make up more work that will cause complaint from both teachers and kids alike ... is there no end ?

5. Anyway. Will try to watch ALI this weekend. Excellent.







At the end of the day - 3/26/2002







fingers crawl across the well-worn keyboard
striking out words meant to appear on a page
and instead of feeling the rest that should evelope,
at the end of the day
you feel misunderstood, frustrated and alone.

Silence is mere poetic fantasy
with the ever constant whirring fan
disembodied voices descend parquet stairs
squeaking loosened wood against cement.

At the end of the day you wish you stood up
for something more important than your silence
you wish you spoke up
instead you sat on the wooden benches
imprisoned by the rigid rows of bars and rules
and had let the beating of your heart
become words that might have offended
might have disgusted might have
somehow (how?) been true to a higher
vision of yourself.

At the end of the day you
contend with the speculations
"what might have been"
hearing the voices that point fingers
repeat themselves in your head.

At the end of the day
you find refuge in excuses
and bad timing
in "Self-restraint" and "caution"
But what are these,
at the end of the day?