tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82765942009-03-02T11:17:17.370ZAssorted narrative fragmentsnickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1135905689874393422005-12-29T23:50:00.000Z2005-12-30T01:25:15.696Z

It's customary at the death's end of a year to look back over the months past, and to measure the distance since that last raising of hopes at the deepest point of winter. I'm usually the type to indulge a near-term nostalgia, but this year I'm feeling less inclined to rise to the inspection. In a way, it's simpler not to think too hard about it. Highlights of 2005 were, in no particular order:

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1134587495445752532005-12-14T11:03:00.000Z2005-12-14T19:11:35.493Z

TurpitudeSometimes, we do bad things. It happens. We know it's not good, but we do it anyway, and sometimes there's just no alternative. What's my bad thing? Well. it's bad enough that Moses brought back one of the commandments not to do it.So they say, "don't break up a happy home", and I decided to behave and leave the married woman alone. Then comes another, and she's engaged, and I just can't

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1134501051633405702005-12-12T22:37:00.000Z2005-12-13T19:10:51.700Z

It's cold in my world at the moment. My boiler died, and is being replaced at a sickening cost to my pocket. When they quoted me the price, I almost vomited - let's put it this way, it's not going to be a generous christmas this year! Anyhow, today the installers have bashed huge holes in my walls, and as night is falling the prospect of sleeping in a perforated apartment looms. So it is cold and

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1133134302325249812005-11-27T23:31:00.000Z2005-11-27T23:31:42.333Z

Toby (My nephew) 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1133133711044660382005-11-27T23:01:00.000Z2005-11-27T23:24:11.203Z

What happens when you run out of things to say to someone? After a few years, you've exhausted everything good to talk about, and all the things that you had in common seem to have been eviscerated by silence and repetition. That's the way relationships go, and the way friendships go, eventually, because if you're honest with yourself there will only ever be a small handful of such connections

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1132358457890300362005-11-18T23:19:00.000Z2005-11-19T00:00:57.956Z

Well, did you enjoy the silence??! Yes, it has been a few weeks, but I was running out of interesting things to say, and the art of word had bolted.So, what's been shaking up and down the nickwong-o-cephalus?Well, my continuing professional escape drama rolls on and on. I'm through to a third interview for a job I desperately want, and man have they put me through the mill to get this far!! First

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1130190429718418352005-10-24T21:37:00.000Z2005-10-25T22:48:21.493Z

Everything changes, and everything must, eventually change. So my mood turned back up from a period of being down. Everything changes, and this is the hope to which I am currently clinging. Recently, I've been very positive. On Sunday, I met up with a friend I used to work with, who left to become a teacher. He told me about how things had changed since he quit and went into teaching. His life is

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1129848910990346322005-10-20T22:42:00.000Z2005-10-20T22:55:10.996Z

Recently, I've been fucking things up completely, and it feels like everything is just coming out wrongly. I just can't seem to shake the doubt... the confidence, the empowerment that should be there has gone awol. I swear, right now I could be the narrative voice of a Coupland novel.Maybe, sayeth the ego, I'm just at a juncture. Maybe, it's a kind of millenial moment, but without the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1129161788755545422005-10-12T23:17:00.000Z2005-10-13T00:03:08.796Z

So, I got busted for speeding yesterday.I was driving back to London in my A3, pulled out into the fast lane, saw an open stretch of motorway gaping into the distance and put my foot down. The car surged forward, and I got that wash of satisfaction that only speed can deliver. I was just checking my rear-view to slip back into the middle lane, when I saw the flashing lights behind me. The cops

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1128982670670485632005-10-10T20:48:00.000Z2005-10-10T22:17:50.710Z

I saw Abby's list of songs she likes to sing drunkenly into her pillow, and was moved to write about my own experiences of singing drunkenly - mostly in an effort to get laid.Since Maverick and Goose burned "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in Top Gun back in the Eighties, it has become a cliche. Hackneyed as the idea may be, in my erstwhile experience, singing drunkenly to a similarly drunk girl

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127863445022614382005-09-27T22:48:00.000Z2005-09-27T23:26:42.883Z

I spent much of today carefully eyeballing the German consultant across the way. She has a permasmile, glasses that make her look like a secretary from a pornflick, and a rear end that just begs to be chewed on. I went through a whole pack of gum in the space of the afternoon, and if things continue I will have to pack something more durable, like jerky, to manage my masticatory fantasies.My

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127586665657472782005-09-24T15:24:00.000Z2005-09-24T23:56:03.886Z

My posts have been pretty unhappy recently, so I'm going to try and make this a more upbeat one - both Abby and Lauren shame me with their positivity, as I languish in my navel-gazing. All my blogging negativity is due, in truth, to laziness - I'm not writing with any regularity, which mis-influences fluency. So, I have a plan to make better my verbal gunfire.I turn 29 on Tuesday, and I have to

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127515575296085662005-09-23T22:28:00.000Z2005-09-23T22:46:15.326Z

I've been remiss in my blogging, and it pains me. I am fast approaching the year's anniversary of my existence in the blogosphere, and words fail me. It's funny how we await word sometimes, with impatience and expectation.Sometimes the words just gush out, and I'm on a train or driving my car, and the words evaporate before they can be captured properly. So much that I could have said that is

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1125868662243901422005-09-04T20:03:00.000Z2005-09-04T21:20:53.856Z

Everyone seems to be on a short fuse these days. My dad, my bro', my friends. Even I, with my known tendency to anger, feel positively serene in comparison.So, in a bid to avoid the wrath of late-summer blues-affected circle, I am retracting into myself and resuming my reading.I'm currently reading "My Ear at his Heart", a memoir by Hanif Kureishi (Note: Anyone who has not read any Kureishi

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1125732479133955652005-09-03T07:27:00.000Z2005-09-03T07:28:00.043Z

“I’m weary. But it’s not a physical weariness, it’s not as if I’m aching all over or succumbing to some debilitating muscular dysfunction. It’s more of a moral weariness.  I just don’t know what’s wrong or right anymore, whereas it all seemed so very clear not so long ago. And I’m only twenty-eight! Who’d have thought I’d be this jaded this young?”“Oh God, that’s not good…”So the conversation

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1123966084952155022005-08-13T18:34:00.000Z2005-08-15T21:31:54.146Z

In New York, just over a week ago, I walked into the Strand bookstore and picked up a copy of Jean Baudillard's "Cool Memories". It's a book I have borrowed from the library numerous times, but I felt compelled to buy it there in NYC as the resonances were full. The book is a successor to Baudrillard's previous book, "America", in which he extolled the experiences of visiting America, and "Cool

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1122247890152553902005-07-24T23:07:00.000Z2005-07-25T21:23:55.546Z

London is a strange place to be at the moment. Recent events have taken our news pages hostage, and amidst perfectly glorious sunshine there is persistent talk of the fatal actions of the fanatically disaffected.Fatalism abounds - it is as though outrage feels too simple reaction, too predictable, and perhaps therefore somewhat insincere. Instead, the eye of the mind looks inwards, homing in on

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1121290686477364252005-07-13T21:17:00.000Z2005-07-13T21:38:06.486Z

Forgive me in advance for poor prose.I tried writing about the London incidents since last Thursday, but failed. There aren't words to describe how I feel about it, and that is not to suggest I am seized by an extremity of feeling. Moral indignation doesn't say it all, apathy is unthinkable as well as unforgiveable and, as the website has stated - I am not afraid. It has emerged that the suicide

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1120518851169296832005-07-04T22:47:00.000Z2005-07-04T23:14:11.183Z

Maybe it's true - babies bring youth into the world and adults take on ae with their coming.I finally got to go see my little nephew over the weekend, a full five days since he emerged into the world. It was good to pick him and talk to him - not that he got any of my messages whispered as he looked and gurgled at me. Holding him, however, makes me feel older. That sounds a little simplistic, but

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1119921846214773822005-06-28T01:20:00.000Z2005-06-28T01:24:06.223Z

My new, as yet unnamed nephew, born at 11.05pm on 27th June 2005. Mother and child are both doing well. He reminded me immediately of my younger brother, and this recognition brought tears to my eyes. I cannot describe the extent of my joy!

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1119090795336114682005-06-18T09:57:00.000Z2005-06-20T18:09:56.930Z

Blog entries, fully fledged, that never made the journey from my keyboard to the blogosphere:"Antiseptic vs. anaesthetic""Baby Love""Specimen X""Beauty, Entropy"What does this say about how life is in the Nicosphere? That I've been thinking a lot about the trade-off between dealing with shit or just shrugging it off; that I'm feeling all manner of emotions in waiting for my nephew/niece to be

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1117478132296996092005-05-30T00:01:00.000Z2005-06-01T22:22:28.260Z

Moments are lost, forever. Opportunities spark into being, flicker for all of the time it takes to lose your nerve, implode into a smokey trail... and then emptiness.Friday night, I drank a couple of litres of a belgian beer that found its way to the back of my skull and began hammering at the walls of my mind. I was wasted within two hours of sitting down on the cafe bench and it was only 8.30pm

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1116404994205517122005-05-18T08:10:00.000Z2005-05-18T23:33:10.566Z

Ah yes, sculpture.Firstly, a bit of background. My interest in sculpture is longstanding, but it's a highly interior interest - I don't sit and talk to people at length about how much I love Rodin or Degas, I just spend time thinking back to experiences in the presence of the object. I guess the first image in my mind of a sculpture can be dated to 1985, when I was first introduced to Classics.

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1116286266119380442005-05-16T22:38:00.000Z2005-05-16T23:48:02.290Z

Where to begin? Confusion in my work, frustration in my personal life, guilt in just about every missed commitment to anyone who means anything to me; in recent days, it has all been a cloud.Nothing seems any clearer, from day to day, and in this state of unknowing I have succumbed to a vague emotional, intellectual and motivational paralysis. If not complete paralysis, then at least a slowing,

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1115590729537694242005-05-08T21:40:00.000Z2005-05-08T22:18:49.650Z

Last night was spent considering the disappointment of my twenties. I'm turning twenty-nine later this year, I'm feeling completely underwhelmed by my meagre achievements and manifold shortcomings in what I've embarked upon. This is not intended to be a weary, negative litany on the dampening of youth. I'm hoping, through the practice of reflection, to extract the defining lesson of the past

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0