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Complicity by Julian Barnes, courtesy of one of my favourite publications – The New Yorker.

That’s what you are if you haven’t read The Time Traveller’s Wife:

or caught the film yet:

I watched it last weekend and actually managed to finish reading the book in camp during periods of lull – while waiting for my turn at the firing range or for CAT 1s (inclement weather for the civilians) to clear.

I can’t stop thinking about the action and the plot during the small moments I have to myself. It’s a beautiful book and it’s a beautiful story, and I’m glad to have had the chance of experiencing both because I’ve learnt a bit more about love and life.

I’ve just submitted three poems for a new and independently-run publication based in Singapore!

It’s called Ceriph; you can check out their Facebook group here.

Their mission:

We exist to provide a space for Singaporeans to develop and showcase ideas and work in the form of prose, social commentaries, art, musings, photography, and much more. We want to share these without inhibition, to celebrate these thoughts and their existence. As a non-profitable venture, we are depending solely on the interest of readers and contributions from Singaporeans who are equally passionate about the locally developing arts and writing scene.

If this appeals to you too, I’d strongly encourage to submit some of the stuff you’ve been keeping under wraps.

An s/f poem about robots celebrating their liberation from human colonisation. You might want to check out this Wikipedia page on “Passover Seder” for some contextual knowledge.

(via)

I like this poem, not only because its premise hinges on Stephen King’s cultural sensibilities, but also because it asks a very important question:

What could be sadder … than a clown in need of a context?

Yes, there is nothing sadder than a clown searching for a context, and it is especially apparent in today’s world – we have so many people working in jobs that just don’t fit them, either because these people haven’t evolved to meet the needs of this era, or because they were the wrong people for the job from the very beginning.

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