So I have the song Between My Legs by Rufie (why do I even call him that omg), which makes me happy in a very weird way. I also have the song Sugar Daddy, which is quirky and fun and er I think rather more respectable than its title suggests. Like, zero bad rap or lines like ooh ooh you can take my panties off oooh. In addition, I have Greek Song by Rufie which rather makes me want to dance. But that is just the 39050250 episodes of Ellen Degeneres talking. Ho.

La! Bones 101 is loading and I am filled with bright joy and happiness, because if nothing, my trip to Egypt has completely reignited my love for TV. It is quite pathetic that during the course of my stay I watched more television than I had in the past three months. Well, I love Bones and I miss well-constructed characters so, so much. You find them in literature of course, but that is completely different because often their journey of education makes you want to tear your hair out. Or commit suicide. It is gratifying at the end but it is oh-so-emotionally draining and I am rather too tired for that. So, really, BIG LOVE TO YOU, strange curly-haired bloke who is secretly rich and is so going to get together with the domestic worker look-a-like. And STEPHEN FRY omg omg.

Oh, BIG OI, I think your Korean dude is secretly gay. Cos The Origin of Love is so from a musical about a transsexual pop star. Like, gay gay musical and gay gay songs! I can hear your heart break. Ho.

Kafka on the Shore

The vague symbolic meaning of which I realised during dinner, two hours after finishing the book. I seem to do that a lot with Murakami's endings, though The Wind-up Bird Chronicle I shall never get.

So. Prostitute sex. Incestuous sex. Spiritual out-of-the-body sex. Consensual sex. Not-quite sex. Most of which involving a fifteen year old boy. Throw in the great kitty massacre (which rather made me want to kill Murakami, then myself), Colonel Sanders (from, er, KFC) pimping, leeches and fish (tuna and mackerel) falling from the sky, an educated homosexual transsexual, a cat named after expensive tuna, a lot of metaphysical talk and the phrase life is a metaphor. Naturally, it all plays out to be quite a lot of love (minus the cat murder part).

I loved Nakata, the "aging simpleton" who kept saying Nakata isn't very bright in that heartbreaking way. Rather a victim of circumstance but lacking even the mechanism to understand that. Up to the point of the book, in fact, he is morally and emotionally vacant, functioning for the sake of functioning. But, naturally, Things happen and emotional and moral responses are pulled out of him and Nakata eventually proves himself to be far wiser, more capable, and even more morally upright than anyone else. Which is, you know, nice. And a direct contrast to our so-called intelligentsia who abuse power relentlessly under the guise of authority.

And I loved the librarian. Something, I suppose, about the way his fringe falls across his forehead, his impeccable taste for clothes, his long, perfectly sharpened yellow pencil, how the gears in his head turn at full speed, and the intellectual authority he oh-so-politely commands. And there's the cutest good-for-nothing former delinquent who unexpectedly finds redemption through Nakata and Beethoven and eventually inherits the ability to converse with cats. And the cast of cats, including a haughty Siamese who watches opera.

The explicitly sex scared me initially. But since life is a metaphor, the book has to be a metaphor. Allegory. Whatever. The Great Greek Tragedy, only the hero doesn't die in this case. Which is really good enough for me. I suspect I don't understand half of it, but the little details, the subtle nuances and the suggestions of hope balances out the moments of O.O-ness.

I shall never read it again, though, for the feline massacre scene made me want to tear my hair out and throw myself into the Nile. Like, stop killing cats, talented authors with astoundingly good writing.

WAHHH

Oh hooray. Having wept copiously, I have dropped the cat off at the Pet Hotel, and will fly off evening to the land of cleopatra.

While I am gone, you kind souls can take the initiative to drop by the Pet Hotel, conveniently located in Pasir Ris, and visit the fluffy white persian in cattery No. 4. Or, you could call the hotel at 6582 222 to enquire after the cat. Drop me an email (because auto-roaming apparently fails my phone) to ensure me that BIG MU hasn't dropped dead in my absence.

Do it if you love me, it will take you less than five minutes to make a call! Or else I shall be forced to weep into the sandy dunes of Egypt, and flood the great Egyptian deserts. Like, pretty pretty please? In return I promise each kind soul a bottle of multi-coloured sand. Or exotic Egyptian artefact of your choice.

Twelve days is a very very long time. )):

entirely non-cryptic

To, erm, the girl: I think I miss you, because you were horribly brilliant and brave and made me so completely mad at you. And mad for you too, of course. I hope you don't mind too much that a tiny bit of your existence is inside my mind. But, really, you set the benchmark way too high. Until I find someone I can yield to not only mentally but also practically this time, until I manage to scrape together enough affection for someone else, you shall remain my muse, inciting my every word. (: HUGE (platonic) LOVE, really.

Because words will be words will be words. There is little point in making other people want to commit suicide. I still wish I had green fingers, however.