why a dancing star?

A friend of mine, Friedrich Nietzsche, had much to say about stars, constellations and such. It's part of a quotation, the passage reads:
man muß noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können

so you don't dance?

The phrase, like much else that you find here, is not to be taken literally. It's a question of how one views the world.

so you don't dance?

Nope, though I'm half decent in bed.

doesn't that mean you're half crap in bed?

Go away. Come to think of it, I can think of 5 instances, so the answer is "No".

who were you in a past life?

I was a civil servant in Weimar Germany.

do you have any pet peeves?

If you must know, I detest people with squeaky footwear.

what is your most memorable first kiss?

This is surprisingly easy to answer. Very late one evening, M and I kissed on the pier of Fullerton One, close to the Merlion with not a soul in sight. A gentle drizzle and an angry wind made for a feeling of extreme niceness.

what is your favourite fruit?


is it true that Natalie Imbruglia recorded a song about you?

Yes, she did. The song is question was a world-wide hit; in particular, the following passage was written specifically about me:
"I'm all out of faith, This is how I feel, I'm cold and I am shamed, Lying naked on the floor, Illusion never changed, Into something real, I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn, You're a little late, I'm already Tom"
However, after prolonged legal litigation, the relevant lyrics and the song was re-titled "Torn".

who or what would be your inner voice?

The narrative voice of Private Witt, a character in Terrence Malick's stunning "The Thin Red Line", the vehicle of gems such as
I remember my mother when she was dying, she was all shrunk up and grey. I asked her if she was afraid, she shook her head no. I was afraid to touch the death I seen in her. I couldn't find nothing beautiful or uplifting about her going back to God. I wondered what it'd be like when I died, to know that this was the last breath you was ever going to draw. I just hoped I could meet it with the same calm she did. Cause that's where it's hidden. The immortality I hadn't seen
Who were you that I lived with, walked with? The brother, the friend? Strife and love, darkness and light--are they the workings of one mind, features of the same face? Oh my soul. Let me be in you now. Look out through my eyes. Look out at the things you made. All things shining

if your house was burning down (or caught in a hurricane or other Natural disaster), which book would you take with you?

This is erroneous question is oft-posed erroneously. For one, reproduction - and reproducibility - culls this inquisitiveness before its asking: every single book is replaceable. The contemporary bibliophile's world knows of no loss; that is what we come to expect in the age of commodity reproduction. The book as thing. Such a duplicitous question does not occur in the pre-history of the modern. No Renaissance writer would thus be provoked. The temerity of modern logic lies in the very posing of this question: despite knowing its omnipresence, its role in disseminating the Thing everywhere and always, it attempts to salvage a trace of tangible immediacy, of feigned authenticity - all by asking the question. It is as if the question wishes to convince us of the value of the Thing. But if this is its goal, are we not correct to treat the question with the seriousness it deserves? Thus the question is dishonest in that it is designed to solicit an answer not to the question "What is your favourite book?" but "What book would you risk you life to save from fire?" Thus posed, the question turns on the meaningfulness of the book in question as opposed to the literary merits of the text itself. The thing-for-us, not the thing-in-itself, so to speak. It becomes purely a manner of dissecting the subject's personal trajectory as opposed to the literary merits of the book itself or its historical trajectory. This, however, begs the question: as the meaningfulness of the thing is therefore imbued by the interviewee, so the question's and answer's universal applicability is curtailed.

if your house was burning down (or caught in a hurricane or other Natural disaster), which book would you take with you?

My copy of Love's Work, signed and inscribed by Gillian Rose.