"a sound like someone trying not to make a sound."
never ever. never never ever. never never never never open the door in the floor.
2006-12-12
yesterday i was cycling.
along the coast at sembawang, it started pouring. in buckets and spades. along the coast the wind blew the rain and you could see the rain forming patterns on the floor, like the metronomic sine line of a heart meter.
in the distance of the sea you can see giant rigs, with protrusions like the eiffel tower or horns. the heavy rain blanketed this vision, muting it. it shimmered in and out of focus through this white noise. static in 3-d.
it was strangely beautiful in an apocalyptic way. it is beautiful in the same way Blade Runner is beautiful in its own defeatist way.
along the coast at sembawang, it started pouring. in buckets and spades. along the coast the wind blew the rain and you could see the rain forming patterns on the floor, like the metronomic sine line of a heart meter.
in the distance of the sea you can see giant rigs, with protrusions like the eiffel tower or horns. the heavy rain blanketed this vision, muting it. it shimmered in and out of focus through this white noise. static in 3-d.
it was strangely beautiful in an apocalyptic way. it is beautiful in the same way Blade Runner is beautiful in its own defeatist way.
2006-12-07
2006-12-06
its times like this when i feel the insatiable desire for unrepentant freedom.
and when i think of that i always imagine myself in a car, top down, driving down an empty highway (route 66? haha) with the lads and music blasting (played from a tape, of course). Calexico, Deep Down. or the Libertines maybe. We are the likely lads after all. (whatever will become of us?)
think thelma and louise, but with balls. beer drank from glass bottles, jeans unwashed for weeks and matted mottled hair. with stubble, if i had any.
where there's no where to go but anywhere. where theres nothing to accomplish but everything to do. you know, where you can howl into the night and it doesn't fucking matter.
think fear and loathing in las vegas.
yeowwww.
and when i think of that i always imagine myself in a car, top down, driving down an empty highway (route 66? haha) with the lads and music blasting (played from a tape, of course). Calexico, Deep Down. or the Libertines maybe. We are the likely lads after all. (whatever will become of us?)
think thelma and louise, but with balls. beer drank from glass bottles, jeans unwashed for weeks and matted mottled hair. with stubble, if i had any.
where there's no where to go but anywhere. where theres nothing to accomplish but everything to do. you know, where you can howl into the night and it doesn't fucking matter.
think fear and loathing in las vegas.
yeowwww.
2006-12-04
Rumour has it that it was the beat that his heart skipped that killed him. Another rumour says that we breathe in pairs except at either ends of our life.
It's like custard pies all sweet yellow and creamy made with filthy hands.
He's reaching out to his dying ideals. "Horowitz with his hands like a race horse." At the very end, its only tasted through a proxy. An "approximate".
It's like custard pies all sweet yellow and creamy made with filthy hands.
He's reaching out to his dying ideals. "Horowitz with his hands like a race horse." At the very end, its only tasted through a proxy. An "approximate".
2006-11-14
ok so submission is done with and over.
after that, took a break and went to vivocity where i ended up watching the covenant. this has to be the most accurate and hilarious review of the movie so far, courtesy New York Times:
seriously. those guys are hot.
after that, took a break and went to vivocity where i ended up watching the covenant. this has to be the most accurate and hilarious review of the movie so far, courtesy New York Times:
“Hey, what’s up? I tried calling you last night.”
“I know. I was at a movie.”
“What’d you see?”
“ ‘The Covenant.’ ”
“What’s that again?”
“It’s that movie about these guys who are witches, and they go to this creepy school, and there’s this new kid — Sebastian Stan — who’s, like, the bad witch, and they fight and stuff. It’s super lame.”
“Are they cute at least?”
“Totally. The main guy, Caleb — Steven Strait — has, like, these big lips and sexy eyes, and he drives a Mustang, and everything. And he’s friends with this crazy, like, blond dude, who looks kind of gay, and this motorcycle guy with long hair and some other guy. Actually, the whole thing is kind of gay. I mean, they’re on the swim team, right? And there’s this scene where they’re all in Speedos and everything.”
“Awesome. I think I saw the commercial. That’s the one with a car that explodes and gets put back together by magic, right?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the coolest part. The effects are super cheesy. Like at the end, when Caleb is fighting the evil transfer student, they fly around a barn and throw magic Jell-O at each other. I’m totally serious.”
“Is it scary, at least?”
“There’s this one part, where these spiders crawl all over this girl and go in her nose and stuff.”
“Ew.”
“Super ew.”
-seriously. those guys are hot.
2006-11-12
2006-11-01
2006-10-24
The Squid and The Whale, "if you know what I'm talking about".
Because its better to be a whale than a squid. Whales inspire major novels.
This time last year I was in New York. This time this year I'm in my basement wishing I was in New York. This time next year, perhaps I'll be in New York wishing I was back in New York, "if you know what I'm talking about".
Because New York isn't really New York unless you're not there.
Perhaps no-where, or -body, really is unless one is without.
(Belafonte/The Whale/Jacques-Yves Costeau/Calypso)
Because its better to be a whale than a squid. Whales inspire major novels.
This time last year I was in New York. This time this year I'm in my basement wishing I was in New York. This time next year, perhaps I'll be in New York wishing I was back in New York, "if you know what I'm talking about".
Because New York isn't really New York unless you're not there.
Perhaps no-where, or -body, really is unless one is without.
(Belafonte/The Whale/Jacques-Yves Costeau/Calypso)
2006-09-23
so a guy wants to cross a distance. lets call that distance X.
But before he can cross that, he has to cross half of that. makes sense, right? but extrapolate that. before he crosses that half, he has to cross half of that half. and prior to that, half of that half of that half. half of half of half of half of half. before crossing each half he has to cross the half of that half. it goes on toward infinity. forget your preconceptions and think of it purely within this theoretical boundary. by this logic, it is impossible for him to cross the length of X because before that he has to cross an infinity of halfs which he is unable to do because he is unable to cross the half before that half he has to cross. (its called -somethings- paradox. what -something- is, i forget.)
it makes sense on paper but in real life we know he just has to take a first step. but i think this introduces the concept of the infinity. maybe it is also a metaphor about how absolute conception of the inifinite within our finite perception is absolutely paralysing.
can we wrap our heads around infinity? i dare not. but in thinking about it, i wonder- is infinity linear or is it a loop? taking it in the context of time, if it were an infinite loop, i think it has two depressing conclusions we can draw from our limited understanding of it.
1) we are doomed (or blessed) to repeat ourselves. you will read this again.
2) if we are doomed to repeat ourselves, it means what will happen has happened. and i have serious personal grievances with the notion that we have no control over our future.
if it were linear. well. that be easier to accept but harder to understand.
i don't know. i don't even know why im writing this, but i feel compelled. its been on the back of my mind for the past few days and i've been chasing my own tail.
what do you think?
But before he can cross that, he has to cross half of that. makes sense, right? but extrapolate that. before he crosses that half, he has to cross half of that half. and prior to that, half of that half of that half. half of half of half of half of half. before crossing each half he has to cross the half of that half. it goes on toward infinity. forget your preconceptions and think of it purely within this theoretical boundary. by this logic, it is impossible for him to cross the length of X because before that he has to cross an infinity of halfs which he is unable to do because he is unable to cross the half before that half he has to cross. (its called -somethings- paradox. what -something- is, i forget.)
it makes sense on paper but in real life we know he just has to take a first step. but i think this introduces the concept of the infinity. maybe it is also a metaphor about how absolute conception of the inifinite within our finite perception is absolutely paralysing.
can we wrap our heads around infinity? i dare not. but in thinking about it, i wonder- is infinity linear or is it a loop? taking it in the context of time, if it were an infinite loop, i think it has two depressing conclusions we can draw from our limited understanding of it.
1) we are doomed (or blessed) to repeat ourselves. you will read this again.
2) if we are doomed to repeat ourselves, it means what will happen has happened. and i have serious personal grievances with the notion that we have no control over our future.
if it were linear. well. that be easier to accept but harder to understand.
i don't know. i don't even know why im writing this, but i feel compelled. its been on the back of my mind for the past few days and i've been chasing my own tail.
what do you think?
2006-09-18
2006-09-08
the object of memory/the memory of objects
concept_
Objects come loaded with a personal and shared history. Upon these peels of memories we spin further layers, mixing them into a chauldron of nightmare dreams and pony fantasies.
Many of these memories are buried in our subconscious, ferreted there through the proxy of our 5 senses. The limited scope of our sensory capabilities means that overlaps can and do occur. When this happens, like click of little red shoes, one is transported to within the labyrinth of our mind- a kansas tinted deja vu. The object is thus, as the agent of remembering, layered upon the memory of that memory, while at the same time weaving a unique memory of its own.
An object without a memory has not been experienced and thus does not exist.
concept in 3D_
A paper frieze built upon the image of steel trusses- when unfolded, it snakes around, forming a tangible "memory labyrinth", where the participant must physically peruse through the different panels, slowly revealing the peels of memory imprinted upon that structure. LIke the nature of memory, there is no coherent system of arrangement within the whole, though there are parts that relate. Through my execution I arrived at the conclusion of 3 distinct layers of memory - the memory of the past (memory of memory), the memory of the immediate (memory of experience), and the memory of the process (memory of action/reaction).
When done, the labyrinth folds back into itself. The memories scurry to hide behind the image of the steel truss.
After all, memory is a shy creature - "There is a secret bond between slowness and memory... the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory." (Milan Kundera. Thank you Colin/Mr. Seah for that lecture.)
The use of the frieze also ties in with the notion that the structure studied is a product of mass production. It is supported at regular intervals by these steel trusses, so imagine- it is infinitely expandable. It streches for as long as the supports allow. (how many do you want to cut out? its easy, really.)
snippets from the Memory Labyrinth_
_on the memory of experience
"Smell is the mute sense, the one without words. Lacking a vocabulary, we are left tongue-tied, groping for words i na sea of inarticulate pleasure and exaltation." - The History of the Senses.
Smell is the rawest of our senses, one I can never remember, only recognize.
_on the memory of action/reaction
Sitting atop Mount Emily, the structure has the quality of being within but not part of the city. One experiences a transition from the white noise chaos of the city to one of peace and the serene nature of nature, like the ripples when a pebble ploumps into water.
_on the memory of memory
The memory of a memory is mostly one of sepia-tinted childhood which ripens like wine. Sweet nostalgia given to the forgetful blur of time, letting us build a proverbial house of memories with the white porch, low picket fence and a dog in the yard.
concept_
Objects come loaded with a personal and shared history. Upon these peels of memories we spin further layers, mixing them into a chauldron of nightmare dreams and pony fantasies.
Many of these memories are buried in our subconscious, ferreted there through the proxy of our 5 senses. The limited scope of our sensory capabilities means that overlaps can and do occur. When this happens, like click of little red shoes, one is transported to within the labyrinth of our mind- a kansas tinted deja vu. The object is thus, as the agent of remembering, layered upon the memory of that memory, while at the same time weaving a unique memory of its own.
An object without a memory has not been experienced and thus does not exist.
concept in 3D_
A paper frieze built upon the image of steel trusses- when unfolded, it snakes around, forming a tangible "memory labyrinth", where the participant must physically peruse through the different panels, slowly revealing the peels of memory imprinted upon that structure. LIke the nature of memory, there is no coherent system of arrangement within the whole, though there are parts that relate. Through my execution I arrived at the conclusion of 3 distinct layers of memory - the memory of the past (memory of memory), the memory of the immediate (memory of experience), and the memory of the process (memory of action/reaction).
When done, the labyrinth folds back into itself. The memories scurry to hide behind the image of the steel truss.
After all, memory is a shy creature - "There is a secret bond between slowness and memory... the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory." (Milan Kundera. Thank you Colin/Mr. Seah for that lecture.)
The use of the frieze also ties in with the notion that the structure studied is a product of mass production. It is supported at regular intervals by these steel trusses, so imagine- it is infinitely expandable. It streches for as long as the supports allow. (how many do you want to cut out? its easy, really.)
snippets from the Memory Labyrinth_
_on the memory of experience
"Smell is the mute sense, the one without words. Lacking a vocabulary, we are left tongue-tied, groping for words i na sea of inarticulate pleasure and exaltation." - The History of the Senses.
Smell is the rawest of our senses, one I can never remember, only recognize.
_on the memory of action/reaction
Sitting atop Mount Emily, the structure has the quality of being within but not part of the city. One experiences a transition from the white noise chaos of the city to one of peace and the serene nature of nature, like the ripples when a pebble ploumps into water.
_on the memory of memory
The memory of a memory is mostly one of sepia-tinted childhood which ripens like wine. Sweet nostalgia given to the forgetful blur of time, letting us build a proverbial house of memories with the white porch, low picket fence and a dog in the yard.
2006-09-06
2006-08-24
2006-08-20
Down in Albion, we're black and blue- but shhh we don't talk about that.
Are you from Albion? Oh, hello! how do you do? Come lets talk about that. Over gin in teacups, of violet passions and yellowing classics (the colour of our teeth cracked in smiles)- its okay we're all from Albion.
But if you're looking for a cheap sunset or a trinket story its in false anticipation. I'll be waiting in the photo booth (its a neoprint station). If you'll smile I'll smile and print a memory we'll never remember.
Are you from Albion? Oh, hello! how do you do? Come lets talk about that. Over gin in teacups, of violet passions and yellowing classics (the colour of our teeth cracked in smiles)- its okay we're all from Albion.
But if you're looking for a cheap sunset or a trinket story its in false anticipation. I'll be waiting in the photo booth (its a neoprint station). If you'll smile I'll smile and print a memory we'll never remember.
2006-08-18
do you think thinking burns calories?
i think so. that would explain my weight loss in sec 3/4 and my good O level results, the subsequent weight gain in JC and the poor results, the flab from office life (its not the physical inactivity that gets you- its the mental void) and finally now i am getting gaunt of cheeks.
i think so. that would explain my weight loss in sec 3/4 and my good O level results, the subsequent weight gain in JC and the poor results, the flab from office life (its not the physical inactivity that gets you- its the mental void) and finally now i am getting gaunt of cheeks.
2006-08-02
in reference to my previous post, because you see i'm like that- I write letters that have postscripts and post-postscripts and so on so forth. BUT i digress.
so as i was saying, in reference to my previous post, (consider this a pt. 2), theres something devilishly nasty, (in an impish manner), about drinking liquor out of an innocent coffee cup. its like having sex in your parents bed (i've never done that) or stealing chocolate (nope, never done that either). but you know what i mean.
"when i speak, no one believes me. when i write it down, people know its true."
so as i was saying, in reference to my previous post, (consider this a pt. 2), theres something devilishly nasty, (in an impish manner), about drinking liquor out of an innocent coffee cup. its like having sex in your parents bed (i've never done that) or stealing chocolate (nope, never done that either). but you know what i mean.
"when i speak, no one believes me. when i write it down, people know its true."
2006-07-31
2006-07-22
2006-05-29
Driving home from Jon's place, I was blessed with the serendipity of coasting through 5 green lights in a row. Passing through each gateway brought mounting tension and joy. "Yes! I made it through!" followed by "will I make the next one?". You know how it is- the higher you are, the harder you fall.
After the fifth green light, the subsequent 6th, 7th and 8th shone an angry red, nullifying what would have otherwise qualified as a homerun. Thus, the net score for the night stood at 2-green-lights-in-a-row.
If I said "make a wish if you pass through 3 greenlights in a row", you would dismiss it as Lennard Being Silly. And so I add the necessary "someone once told me that...", thus sanctifying it as fact/urban-legend.
perhaps thats how the four leaf clover, brokenglass and walking-under-the-ladder-type stories started- "I heard that if you..."
After the fifth green light, the subsequent 6th, 7th and 8th shone an angry red, nullifying what would have otherwise qualified as a homerun. Thus, the net score for the night stood at 2-green-lights-in-a-row.
If I said "make a wish if you pass through 3 greenlights in a row", you would dismiss it as Lennard Being Silly. And so I add the necessary "someone once told me that...", thus sanctifying it as fact/urban-legend.
perhaps thats how the four leaf clover, brokenglass and walking-under-the-ladder-type stories started- "I heard that if you..."
2006-05-19
i'm jealous of you and now you will be my wife.
its like the sun and alcohol because everything revolves around it fuelled by cigarette smoke wisping through our clothes staining it the colour teeth. a stork will fly past at night with no package and don't ask why not. the wrong questions are the ones with the answers. the right questions no one answers because no one asks it.
i am jealous of the moon. i am envious of the sun. you don't have to ask me why, i'll tell you when i will. remember that the right questions are the ones no one answers, so don't ask it.
its like the sun and alcohol because everything revolves around it fuelled by cigarette smoke wisping through our clothes staining it the colour teeth. a stork will fly past at night with no package and don't ask why not. the wrong questions are the ones with the answers. the right questions no one answers because no one asks it.
i am jealous of the moon. i am envious of the sun. you don't have to ask me why, i'll tell you when i will. remember that the right questions are the ones no one answers, so don't ask it.
2006-05-09
i'm still alive still well barely breathing
just saw 5 Takes on discovery and thats the reason i'm breathless - with excitement, anticipation and fear of my upcoming trip to Europe. Will i survive in haughty france? how about the movie Hostel?! and my money - will i get robbed/cheated/conned, or just plain blow it all during my first week in amsterdam?
flashback to bring you up to date on the plot. come may 31 i leave for London for a 50-odd day trek through Europe with yoon. London - Amsterdam - Berlin - Prague - Krakow - Budapest - Brasov - Bucharest - Athens - Corfu - Rome - Venice - Marsellies - Barcelona - Pomplona - Bilbao - Bordeaux - Paris - London. Whew! try say it in one breath. I can barely remember it offhand.
so thats whats new. I got back from bali-jakarta a few weeks back.
Bali was dead quiet for what used to be a tourist town. its horrible what the bombings did. I visited the two bomb sites and they had a giant memorial erected at one. i didn't get to surf cause of the (mostly) wet weather but i did eat at this place where they roasted a WHOLE pig and when you order they pull the meat off and slap it on a plate of rice with this oh-so-delicious clear oily sauce that had chopped chillies and onions in it.
jakarta on the other hand was like right out of "blade runner". Apocalyptically chaotic but somehow it worked. maybe the chaos theory doth work huh. the motorcycle riders there were like mosquitos, bzzzzing everywhere, seemingly from out of nowhere. I could be taking a dump and i wouldn't be surprised if a 50cc beeped past me. the young-uns in jakarta also had this odd fashion of wearing their helmet backwards. i kid you not.
but the oddest thing i found. okay not oddest, but weird thing, was that - all indonesian mcdonald's outlets had no breakfast menu! or milkshakes! but the burgers were really nice- the buns were super greasy and so was the patty. mmmMmmmMm.
ok i've covered my past, my future so on to the now. My direct neighbour's doing maj renovations with involves LOTS of drilling. it feels like i'm living in the mouth of a dentist's patients. and my dads a dentist. har de har. poetic justice for the pain he's inflicted? just kidding. he's the best. (seriously. want an appt? ask me- i hook you up goood).
found a killer section at the new national library. found this book on the unique 'space' of architecture and why traditional art-critique doesn't work because of it. it blew my mind reading it today till these gaggle of students came chittychittybangbang and sat their noisy asses next to me. i told them to shhhhhh tho. does that make me a prick? but its a goddamn library! it should be silent as the grave. architecture will save your soul.
ciao
just saw 5 Takes on discovery and thats the reason i'm breathless - with excitement, anticipation and fear of my upcoming trip to Europe. Will i survive in haughty france? how about the movie Hostel?! and my money - will i get robbed/cheated/conned, or just plain blow it all during my first week in amsterdam?
flashback to bring you up to date on the plot. come may 31 i leave for London for a 50-odd day trek through Europe with yoon. London - Amsterdam - Berlin - Prague - Krakow - Budapest - Brasov - Bucharest - Athens - Corfu - Rome - Venice - Marsellies - Barcelona - Pomplona - Bilbao - Bordeaux - Paris - London. Whew! try say it in one breath. I can barely remember it offhand.
so thats whats new. I got back from bali-jakarta a few weeks back.
Bali was dead quiet for what used to be a tourist town. its horrible what the bombings did. I visited the two bomb sites and they had a giant memorial erected at one. i didn't get to surf cause of the (mostly) wet weather but i did eat at this place where they roasted a WHOLE pig and when you order they pull the meat off and slap it on a plate of rice with this oh-so-delicious clear oily sauce that had chopped chillies and onions in it.
jakarta on the other hand was like right out of "blade runner". Apocalyptically chaotic but somehow it worked. maybe the chaos theory doth work huh. the motorcycle riders there were like mosquitos, bzzzzing everywhere, seemingly from out of nowhere. I could be taking a dump and i wouldn't be surprised if a 50cc beeped past me. the young-uns in jakarta also had this odd fashion of wearing their helmet backwards. i kid you not.
but the oddest thing i found. okay not oddest, but weird thing, was that - all indonesian mcdonald's outlets had no breakfast menu! or milkshakes! but the burgers were really nice- the buns were super greasy and so was the patty. mmmMmmmMm.
ok i've covered my past, my future so on to the now. My direct neighbour's doing maj renovations with involves LOTS of drilling. it feels like i'm living in the mouth of a dentist's patients. and my dads a dentist. har de har. poetic justice for the pain he's inflicted? just kidding. he's the best. (seriously. want an appt? ask me- i hook you up goood).
found a killer section at the new national library. found this book on the unique 'space' of architecture and why traditional art-critique doesn't work because of it. it blew my mind reading it today till these gaggle of students came chittychittybangbang and sat their noisy asses next to me. i told them to shhhhhh tho. does that make me a prick? but its a goddamn library! it should be silent as the grave. architecture will save your soul.
ciao
2006-04-01
To all naysayers, think about it.
Hellboy (the movie) is, at its core, a love story about a freak (hellboy) who loves another freak (selma blair) who doesn't want to admit she loves him because she doesn't want to admit shes a freak, but in the end she see's the light (haha.) and they lip-lock in a mouth-to-mouth baked-alaska. How lovely is that? Its a modern-day fairy tale with the obligatory "and-they-lived/loved-happily-ever-after".
if you don't like that then you don't bloody believe in the ideal of love (if we don't have the ideal, then what do we have? the practical aspect sure doesn't cut it!).
To hell with you! even satan's spawn gets it!
Hellboy (the movie) is, at its core, a love story about a freak (hellboy) who loves another freak (selma blair) who doesn't want to admit she loves him because she doesn't want to admit shes a freak, but in the end she see's the light (haha.) and they lip-lock in a mouth-to-mouth baked-alaska. How lovely is that? Its a modern-day fairy tale with the obligatory "and-they-lived/loved-happily-ever-after".
if you don't like that then you don't bloody believe in the ideal of love (if we don't have the ideal, then what do we have? the practical aspect sure doesn't cut it!).
To hell with you! even satan's spawn gets it!
2006-03-23
zouk last night was a hilarious comedy with a guy pushing me and isaac they all jumping in with
bravado and in a weird chain of events we ended up friends with that guy's friends and kennedy and justin had a damn big fight. just don't ask. haha.
tiff- relax. sorry if you feel i hijacked your quote but technically you got it from someone else who got it from someone else who probably got it from someone else. we'd all like to think we're special but its a thin illusion at best.
bravado and in a weird chain of events we ended up friends with that guy's friends and kennedy and justin had a damn big fight. just don't ask. haha.
tiff- relax. sorry if you feel i hijacked your quote but technically you got it from someone else who got it from someone else who probably got it from someone else. we'd all like to think we're special but its a thin illusion at best.
2006-03-20
"you're a bi-curious!" proclaimed Lesley after our night out at Happy with her queens (its a gay soiree! or so i say).
"he dances like one, at least" said her fagfriend. but truth is i love girls (boobies!) too much but i think what jennifer clement says hits closest to home.
"It was clear that his sexual interest was not monochromatic. It did not rely on visual stimulation, such as a pretty girl. It was a very rich multi-chromatic sexuality. He was attracted to people for all
different reasons. They could be boys, girls, thin, fat, pretty, ugly. It was, I think, driven by intelligence. He was attracted to intelligence more than anything and to pain. He was very attracted to people who silently bore some sort of inner pain as he did and he loved
people who were one-of-a-kind, people who had a unique vision of things."
I wish i wrote that, but i didn't. my only claim to fame is posting it. she wrote it in the book "Widow Basquiat" to describe Jean-Michel Basquiat, a notorious nyc artist circa 1980/90. i want his life - fast, furious, tragic.
him, cobain, doherty, eldon. are they just flashes in the pan? maybe, but you'll never know. they die to fast. (i think its because theirs souls were too full. they subsequently burst as a result). but in their brilliant moments, they stood there like proverbial dancers in a forever-priouette. better a moment's perfection than an eternal muddle, ya ken?
"he dances like one, at least" said her fagfriend. but truth is i love girls (boobies!) too much but i think what jennifer clement says hits closest to home.
"It was clear that his sexual interest was not monochromatic. It did not rely on visual stimulation, such as a pretty girl. It was a very rich multi-chromatic sexuality. He was attracted to people for all
different reasons. They could be boys, girls, thin, fat, pretty, ugly. It was, I think, driven by intelligence. He was attracted to intelligence more than anything and to pain. He was very attracted to people who silently bore some sort of inner pain as he did and he loved
people who were one-of-a-kind, people who had a unique vision of things."
I wish i wrote that, but i didn't. my only claim to fame is posting it. she wrote it in the book "Widow Basquiat" to describe Jean-Michel Basquiat, a notorious nyc artist circa 1980/90. i want his life - fast, furious, tragic.
him, cobain, doherty, eldon. are they just flashes in the pan? maybe, but you'll never know. they die to fast. (i think its because theirs souls were too full. they subsequently burst as a result). but in their brilliant moments, they stood there like proverbial dancers in a forever-priouette. better a moment's perfection than an eternal muddle, ya ken?
2006-03-15
2006-03-08
I walked home from class tonight- it was a nice enough night, with a slight breeze and a half-moon.
"blog about it!" said chek.
so here's some of it- the cheerier bits at least, because who wants to be sad these days? lets not glamorize depression. its only attractive to everyone but the one affected.
-
has a belly button ever come undone? honestly i wonder. maybe the doctor failed his knot-tying badge. would your insides spill out? i'd imagine the bandit umblical cord would like the untied end of a water balloon, flailing about in uncontrollable chaos as your inside-juices spew out. and you'd start to shrivel like a prune, starting with your abdominal area, and ending with the flesh of your cheeks, reducing you to skeleton, like skeletor from out of He-Man, only sans the muscles.
oh how gory.
-
i suppose the nature of addiction lies in the quirk of memory. take pain for example- one can remember pain hurts, but is at a loss when asked to remember the specific sensation of it. simply, sensations are "hard to remember but impossible to forget", which is probably why addicts constantly seek a fix. they can't forget its pleasures but can't remember it either.
which is kind of what Placebo is like. their tuneless melodies vacate my head as soon as their song ends but i distinctly remember i loved what i heard which is why i Allergic (To Thoughts of Mother Earth) played on a constant loop on my walk home.
-
tada.
"blog about it!" said chek.
so here's some of it- the cheerier bits at least, because who wants to be sad these days? lets not glamorize depression. its only attractive to everyone but the one affected.
-
has a belly button ever come undone? honestly i wonder. maybe the doctor failed his knot-tying badge. would your insides spill out? i'd imagine the bandit umblical cord would like the untied end of a water balloon, flailing about in uncontrollable chaos as your inside-juices spew out. and you'd start to shrivel like a prune, starting with your abdominal area, and ending with the flesh of your cheeks, reducing you to skeleton, like skeletor from out of He-Man, only sans the muscles.
oh how gory.
-
i suppose the nature of addiction lies in the quirk of memory. take pain for example- one can remember pain hurts, but is at a loss when asked to remember the specific sensation of it. simply, sensations are "hard to remember but impossible to forget", which is probably why addicts constantly seek a fix. they can't forget its pleasures but can't remember it either.
which is kind of what Placebo is like. their tuneless melodies vacate my head as soon as their song ends but i distinctly remember i loved what i heard which is why i Allergic (To Thoughts of Mother Earth) played on a constant loop on my walk home.
-
tada.
2006-03-04
its like being on the outside looking in, or perhaps its actually the inside looking out.
maybe its how a goldfish feels in a bowling-ball shaped tank. or perhaps a voeyuer peeking into a house. but they're all not part of.
does anyone know what love is. its probably at its best when unrequited, salvaging it from the messy reins of reality. maybe thats why its the noblest emotion of all, tho i daren't say i speak from experience. it must hurt knowing that its so perfect because it could or might exist, like a spectre in the corner of one's eye. but if you try to look at it, it'll disappear.
*poof*
maybe its how a goldfish feels in a bowling-ball shaped tank. or perhaps a voeyuer peeking into a house. but they're all not part of.
does anyone know what love is. its probably at its best when unrequited, salvaging it from the messy reins of reality. maybe thats why its the noblest emotion of all, tho i daren't say i speak from experience. it must hurt knowing that its so perfect because it could or might exist, like a spectre in the corner of one's eye. but if you try to look at it, it'll disappear.
*poof*
2006-03-03
2006-02-08
what do you hate?
how about, when something bad happens, some well-meaning soul says "Don't worry. All things happen for a reason". chances the utterer of that cursed phrase is christian, or incredibly naive, to take such a fatalistic stance. after all, "fate is the path of least resistence," said the protagonist in matchpoint. aye to that.
tomorrow, i start my job at video-ezy. but today, an email came. "Hi Lennard, we regret to inform you that..." and i think you know how it ends. Damn. Retrenched before i could even start. But, all of a sudden, i get calls here and there. links of links from the past. a friend of a friend of a friend, and tomorrow i'll be assisting in some event (a Canon event no less! contacts galore!) from 10 to 10 for $150. come friday, i've got a 4 hour photography assignment for $200. and both openings from difference sources.
consider then- might things actually happen for a reason? bollocks to that. remember, "fate is the path of least resistence", and "i'd rather be lucky than good", both of which are from Woody Allen's Matchpoint.
Matchpoint, btw, is a really good movie. I love movies. I just usually hate their endings - so many movies lift me up only to let me down in the last quarter. (Great Expectations anyone? with the pseudo-red herring benefactor. pshaw!) But this movie ended how i wanted it to end. *warning: spoilers ahead* referencing my previous post, chris (the shows protagonist) is the ideal devolution from the anti-hero - utterly unlikable, but wholely sympathetic. you want him to get away with his crime. the scene with him in the police station reminded me of the Tell-Tale Heart. one can feel him haunted by this sin, but unlike the tell-tale heart, he does not confess. and i felt a sinful joy that he didn't. getting caught would be too much of a sweet redemption for the wholely unwholesome Chris. better he live his life out in his own private hell. --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous and guilty he was, is and will forever be.
the definite contemporary noir film if ever there was one, its a movie that's smarter than its audience. longer post about it to come if i can, if not, http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060105/REVIEWS/60103004/1023
Ebert can do no wrong. (except with his review of 3000 Miles to Graceland)
how about, when something bad happens, some well-meaning soul says "Don't worry. All things happen for a reason". chances the utterer of that cursed phrase is christian, or incredibly naive, to take such a fatalistic stance. after all, "fate is the path of least resistence," said the protagonist in matchpoint. aye to that.
tomorrow, i start my job at video-ezy. but today, an email came. "Hi Lennard, we regret to inform you that..." and i think you know how it ends. Damn. Retrenched before i could even start. But, all of a sudden, i get calls here and there. links of links from the past. a friend of a friend of a friend, and tomorrow i'll be assisting in some event (a Canon event no less! contacts galore!) from 10 to 10 for $150. come friday, i've got a 4 hour photography assignment for $200. and both openings from difference sources.
consider then- might things actually happen for a reason? bollocks to that. remember, "fate is the path of least resistence", and "i'd rather be lucky than good", both of which are from Woody Allen's Matchpoint.
Matchpoint, btw, is a really good movie. I love movies. I just usually hate their endings - so many movies lift me up only to let me down in the last quarter. (Great Expectations anyone? with the pseudo-red herring benefactor. pshaw!) But this movie ended how i wanted it to end. *warning: spoilers ahead* referencing my previous post, chris (the shows protagonist) is the ideal devolution from the anti-hero - utterly unlikable, but wholely sympathetic. you want him to get away with his crime. the scene with him in the police station reminded me of the Tell-Tale Heart. one can feel him haunted by this sin, but unlike the tell-tale heart, he does not confess. and i felt a sinful joy that he didn't. getting caught would be too much of a sweet redemption for the wholely unwholesome Chris. better he live his life out in his own private hell. --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous and guilty he was, is and will forever be.
the definite contemporary noir film if ever there was one, its a movie that's smarter than its audience. longer post about it to come if i can, if not, http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060105/REVIEWS/60103004/1023
Ebert can do no wrong. (except with his review of 3000 Miles to Graceland)
2006-02-02
which fantasy do you want to live out?
do you want to be tyler durden in fight club and pee into the clam chowder and rant lyrical about how "We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. "
, or be randal graves in clerks and say things like ""Empire" had the better ending. I mean, Luke gets his hand cut off, finds out Vader's his father, Han gets frozen and taken away by Boba Fett. It ends on such a down note. I mean, that's what life is, a series of down endings. All "Jedi" had was a bunch of Muppets." (btw, he's right, though i think above and beyond them Star Wars : A New Hope stands as the best, much in the same way The Matrix was so much better than the 2 that followed. it is neat and self-contained.)
its opposites of the cool spectrum. one is cool and the other so uncool he's cool too. knowing me i'm probably the latter guy, only that i'm not uncool enough to be cool so i just fall flat being straight uncool.
the reason i ask this is because i wondered whether i would rather work as a waiter or a video-rental jockey. tomorrow's my interview with Video-EZY. Wish me luck. if i mess this up i think it means i'm pretty messed up.
do you want to be tyler durden in fight club and pee into the clam chowder and rant lyrical about how "We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. "
, or be randal graves in clerks and say things like ""Empire" had the better ending. I mean, Luke gets his hand cut off, finds out Vader's his father, Han gets frozen and taken away by Boba Fett. It ends on such a down note. I mean, that's what life is, a series of down endings. All "Jedi" had was a bunch of Muppets." (btw, he's right, though i think above and beyond them Star Wars : A New Hope stands as the best, much in the same way The Matrix was so much better than the 2 that followed. it is neat and self-contained.)
its opposites of the cool spectrum. one is cool and the other so uncool he's cool too. knowing me i'm probably the latter guy, only that i'm not uncool enough to be cool so i just fall flat being straight uncool.
the reason i ask this is because i wondered whether i would rather work as a waiter or a video-rental jockey. tomorrow's my interview with Video-EZY. Wish me luck. if i mess this up i think it means i'm pretty messed up.
2006-02-01
2006-01-30
the manly influences of National Service leaks from my memory.
-
i want to be a glitter boy. i want roughed cheeks and glossy lips. i want heeled boots and a lazy, hazy cigarette hanging languidly on my lip. i want the whole she-bang - freed hearts of gilded chains and SETI on overdrive for my extraterrestrial love search. elegantly walking down the street, handbag on one hand, lies on the other, most beautiful only when I'm walking out the door. personality crisis? dear sir i'm just a leftover 20th century boy out to change the world.
-
Glitter Boy, 2006
Text Pastiche on Your Screen
Lenn
-
i want to be a glitter boy. i want roughed cheeks and glossy lips. i want heeled boots and a lazy, hazy cigarette hanging languidly on my lip. i want the whole she-bang - freed hearts of gilded chains and SETI on overdrive for my extraterrestrial love search. elegantly walking down the street, handbag on one hand, lies on the other, most beautiful only when I'm walking out the door. personality crisis? dear sir i'm just a leftover 20th century boy out to change the world.
-
Glitter Boy, 2006
Text Pastiche on Your Screen
Lenn
2006-01-29
people are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues. that is the premise of a tragic hero, or at least it was in shakespearean times. that noble concept as since eroded. from the crevices of prototypical tragic hero a la Oedipus, noble but flawed because of his virtue and innocence, crept out the anti-hero.
the anti-hero is consciously a villian in action but a hero at heart. that is the appeal isn't it? that behind every flawed action there is a shining light of redemption because it is motivated by pureness (though at times reluctently so). take Frank Castle, aka the Punisher. it is because he is driven by the loss of his family that we can rationalize his otherwise inhumane actions in his quest for revenge. we can say to ourselves "what he is doing is wrong, but i understand why he is doing it." one might even go so far as to empathize with him.
the anti-hero brings to light the concept of grey in what was previously a black and white world, which is comforting.
after all, doesn't everyone want shades of redemption?
the anti-hero is consciously a villian in action but a hero at heart. that is the appeal isn't it? that behind every flawed action there is a shining light of redemption because it is motivated by pureness (though at times reluctently so). take Frank Castle, aka the Punisher. it is because he is driven by the loss of his family that we can rationalize his otherwise inhumane actions in his quest for revenge. we can say to ourselves "what he is doing is wrong, but i understand why he is doing it." one might even go so far as to empathize with him.
the anti-hero brings to light the concept of grey in what was previously a black and white world, which is comforting.
after all, doesn't everyone want shades of redemption?
2006-01-28
following the erosion of tragic heros (et tu, brute?) to anti heros (Marv from Sin City, Batman) the next logical step would not only be someone with no redeemable qualities or tragic flaw, save for the fact that the tragic flaw is his very existence. but no, because he is the lineage of tragic heros, one cannot condemn him. And that is Vincent, the assassin in Collateral.
He is not amoral. neither is he confused. he is just very logical. after his first hit, a confused and scared max, the cab driver, sputters on, questioning how he could kill the man.
Vincent: Max, six billion people on the planet, you're getting bent out of shape cause of one fat guy.
Max: Well, who was he?
Vincent: What do you care? Have you ever heard of Rwanda?
Max: Yes, I know Rwanda.
Vincent: Well, tens of thousands killed before sundown. Nobody's killed people that fast since Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Did you bat an eye, Max?
Max: What?
Vincent: Did you join Amnesty International, Oxfam, Save the Whales, Greenpeace, or something? No. I off one fat Angelino and you throw a hissy fit.
Max: Man, I don't know any Rwandans.
Vincent: You don't know the guy in the trunk, either.
with reasons as plain as that, i might be so inclined to off someone myself. what vincent lacks isn't a heart. he did save max's life in the nightclub scene. what vincent does is partition - cruelly, cold-heartedly.
billed as a thriller, the movie is actually more of what happens in between. the action scenes could be sliced right out and the movie would still shine. max's growing confidence and vincent who somehow somehow you think theres something about him and you don't want to write him off as a villian.
ironic how vincent dies in a subway. in the beginning of the movie, he says to max :
Max: First time in L.A.?
Vincent: No. Tell you the truth, whenever I'm here I can't wait to leave. It's too sprawled out, disconnected. You know? That's me. You like it?
Max: It's my home.
Vincent: 17 million people. This is got to be the fifth biggest economy in the world and nobody knows each other. I read about this guy who gets on the MTA here, dies.
Max: Oh.
Vincent: Six hours he's riding the subway before anybody notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices.
so is vincent the by-product of urban living? alienated, disconnected. is he emotionally flaccid, or just guarded? whatever it is, vincent is a caricature of who we all could be.
call it the perks of being alive.
He is not amoral. neither is he confused. he is just very logical. after his first hit, a confused and scared max, the cab driver, sputters on, questioning how he could kill the man.
Vincent: Max, six billion people on the planet, you're getting bent out of shape cause of one fat guy.
Max: Well, who was he?
Vincent: What do you care? Have you ever heard of Rwanda?
Max: Yes, I know Rwanda.
Vincent: Well, tens of thousands killed before sundown. Nobody's killed people that fast since Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Did you bat an eye, Max?
Max: What?
Vincent: Did you join Amnesty International, Oxfam, Save the Whales, Greenpeace, or something? No. I off one fat Angelino and you throw a hissy fit.
Max: Man, I don't know any Rwandans.
Vincent: You don't know the guy in the trunk, either.
with reasons as plain as that, i might be so inclined to off someone myself. what vincent lacks isn't a heart. he did save max's life in the nightclub scene. what vincent does is partition - cruelly, cold-heartedly.
billed as a thriller, the movie is actually more of what happens in between. the action scenes could be sliced right out and the movie would still shine. max's growing confidence and vincent who somehow somehow you think theres something about him and you don't want to write him off as a villian.
ironic how vincent dies in a subway. in the beginning of the movie, he says to max :
Max: First time in L.A.?
Vincent: No. Tell you the truth, whenever I'm here I can't wait to leave. It's too sprawled out, disconnected. You know? That's me. You like it?
Max: It's my home.
Vincent: 17 million people. This is got to be the fifth biggest economy in the world and nobody knows each other. I read about this guy who gets on the MTA here, dies.
Max: Oh.
Vincent: Six hours he's riding the subway before anybody notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices.
so is vincent the by-product of urban living? alienated, disconnected. is he emotionally flaccid, or just guarded? whatever it is, vincent is a caricature of who we all could be.
call it the perks of being alive.
i had one of those lucid dreams last night.
so i went home from zouk and went to sleep, but in my dream i dreamt the rest of the guys came over after zouk and we hung out a bit and then we went out to eat pizza. its one of those dreams that when you wake up, you have to take a moment to ponder - did i dream it or did it happen? especially since it fitted so seamlessly with my night.
-
i vaguely recall a super criterion collection box set on sale last year. does anyone remember this at all? i've been scouring the net to no avail.
so i went home from zouk and went to sleep, but in my dream i dreamt the rest of the guys came over after zouk and we hung out a bit and then we went out to eat pizza. its one of those dreams that when you wake up, you have to take a moment to ponder - did i dream it or did it happen? especially since it fitted so seamlessly with my night.
-
i vaguely recall a super criterion collection box set on sale last year. does anyone remember this at all? i've been scouring the net to no avail.
sunshine through my window,
a smile on my face.
-
i have broken the curse. after a straight hitter of 4-times-in-a-row-drunk at zouk, i return tonight, triumphant and sober, though S$28 poorer. its like when i was always getting drunk in JC till one day i told myself i had to stop and i kept wearing the same pair of red underwear (auspicious!), thinking it would help, (that pair is now lost) till finally, many parties later, i stopped drinking myself silly. i hope its not a recurring theme though.
-
good fucking night.
a smile on my face.
-
i have broken the curse. after a straight hitter of 4-times-in-a-row-drunk at zouk, i return tonight, triumphant and sober, though S$28 poorer. its like when i was always getting drunk in JC till one day i told myself i had to stop and i kept wearing the same pair of red underwear (auspicious!), thinking it would help, (that pair is now lost) till finally, many parties later, i stopped drinking myself silly. i hope its not a recurring theme though.
-
good fucking night.
2006-01-23
"look at them! they're so red and angry!" tsked the doctor when he scoped my nasal passages and throat. and that they did. very red and throbby.
i could see the insides of my nose and throat on a screen. i didn't recognise myself on screen but it seems i have a deviated nasal passage or something like that. he then took out a contraption and stuck it up my nose and schlllloooopppp sucked all my excess mucus out. a mini vacuum! i suddenly could breathe so freely. its like how you feel after just shaving your head. you can feel the air on your scalp.
of the many pills (sans thrills) he prescribed me, one has an advisory that says "causes insomnia". another says "causes drowsiness". so when their powers combine, i think i'll be perfectly fine.
-
she took an uninspired bite out of her sandwich.
he stretched and languidly got up
she walked down the hall. her heels clicked like a metronome.
i could see the insides of my nose and throat on a screen. i didn't recognise myself on screen but it seems i have a deviated nasal passage or something like that. he then took out a contraption and stuck it up my nose and schlllloooopppp sucked all my excess mucus out. a mini vacuum! i suddenly could breathe so freely. its like how you feel after just shaving your head. you can feel the air on your scalp.
of the many pills (sans thrills) he prescribed me, one has an advisory that says "causes insomnia". another says "causes drowsiness". so when their powers combine, i think i'll be perfectly fine.
-
she took an uninspired bite out of her sandwich.
he stretched and languidly got up
she walked down the hall. her heels clicked like a metronome.
2006-01-22
poptartttt was fun fun fun for everyone. (you should go) i lived out my big pimp fantasy of drinking moet outta a bottle at the expense of my bank account balance but in the end i say wtf it was fun (whos your daddy?!). for once i dont wake up the next morning feeling like shit and all.
the sun is up and i am feeling much better. i think i may be a plant. i keep saying that, and i also keep saying "have you read philip k dick? because theres one story where they colonise this planet but for some strange reason, everyone there just becomes a plant."
i think we should all be able to photosynthesize. how cool would that be?
i am so looking forward to bangkok. i think it will be so mutherfucking kickass. like poptart, only 1000x more. and S$2 t-shirts! yes, my wardobe is getting a steroid boost.
anyway its noon now. the sun is blasting, so im going out to lie by the pool with shades and a book and a cold drink (with the obligatory hipster look of ho-hum-whats-new).
welcome to my post-NS decandant lifestyle of waste, excess and luxury.
the sun is up and i am feeling much better. i think i may be a plant. i keep saying that, and i also keep saying "have you read philip k dick? because theres one story where they colonise this planet but for some strange reason, everyone there just becomes a plant."
i think we should all be able to photosynthesize. how cool would that be?
i am so looking forward to bangkok. i think it will be so mutherfucking kickass. like poptart, only 1000x more. and S$2 t-shirts! yes, my wardobe is getting a steroid boost.
anyway its noon now. the sun is blasting, so im going out to lie by the pool with shades and a book and a cold drink (with the obligatory hipster look of ho-hum-whats-new).
welcome to my post-NS decandant lifestyle of waste, excess and luxury.
2006-01-16
friday night was rock bottom. and so i have 'nowhere to go but up', which is also a movie starring audrey tatou and justin therox. it's alternative title is 'happy ending', which is predictable enough given it stars audrey tatou. she also stars in 'the da vinci code' so i wonder hmm how will that turn out. happy ending/nowhere to go but up was also set in new york. i recognised soho, i recognised st. marks and i recognised (i think) chelsea.
i think what appeals so much about new york is how you can be a bit odd there. you're expected to be a kook or slightly dysfunctional, or at the very least yourself. abnormal is the normal there, or so my airy-fairy head tells me. even the air there smells different. (i was told its the garbage). don't tell me otherwise. i like my castles in the sky.
do you think leather stretches? technically it is skin and i've seen some skinny kids grow to become mother-fat-asses so i assume leater aka dried skin can do the same.
bob sinclar's love generation is uplifting. rita, 10/10 on that call. he was at zouk on friday spinning. i was too drunk to remember but i hope i danced to that song. i think i would've been pretty stoked when the whistling part came on.
of late i've been a big quitter. i quit smoking. i quit NS. and today i quit my job, after only working through my first morning. i was getting paid proofreading when all i wanted to do was wait on tables in a cafe or bar because its such a romantic notion. if i were an aspiring actor or struggling writer i'd be a living cliche. too bad i'm neither.
"less funk, more punk". remember that lennard. (thank you yoon)
today i was driving to jace's and i left my handphone on the car-roof when i drove off to send ding home and didn't remember about the phone until i got to the east. and i looked back at there it was in the little groove where the rear windshield ends and the boot starts. so i ran out of the car at a red light and grabbed my phone and scurried back to the car. "wow," i thought, feeling very lucky.
i think what appeals so much about new york is how you can be a bit odd there. you're expected to be a kook or slightly dysfunctional, or at the very least yourself. abnormal is the normal there, or so my airy-fairy head tells me. even the air there smells different. (i was told its the garbage). don't tell me otherwise. i like my castles in the sky.
do you think leather stretches? technically it is skin and i've seen some skinny kids grow to become mother-fat-asses so i assume leater aka dried skin can do the same.
bob sinclar's love generation is uplifting. rita, 10/10 on that call. he was at zouk on friday spinning. i was too drunk to remember but i hope i danced to that song. i think i would've been pretty stoked when the whistling part came on.
of late i've been a big quitter. i quit smoking. i quit NS. and today i quit my job, after only working through my first morning. i was getting paid proofreading when all i wanted to do was wait on tables in a cafe or bar because its such a romantic notion. if i were an aspiring actor or struggling writer i'd be a living cliche. too bad i'm neither.
"less funk, more punk". remember that lennard. (thank you yoon)
today i was driving to jace's and i left my handphone on the car-roof when i drove off to send ding home and didn't remember about the phone until i got to the east. and i looked back at there it was in the little groove where the rear windshield ends and the boot starts. so i ran out of the car at a red light and grabbed my phone and scurried back to the car. "wow," i thought, feeling very lucky.
2006-01-14
come into my big black heart.
i feel disconnected and discontented. i should be so happy because i just started clearing my NS leave. i should be happy. but i am sad and i don't know why so that makes me sad and confused which is sometimes depressing. the only comfort is the fact that it can all be explained with chemicals. dopamine. serotonin. its not my fault. who can argue with science.
i don't know whats wrong. can anyone help me.
i feel disconnected and discontented. i should be so happy because i just started clearing my NS leave. i should be happy. but i am sad and i don't know why so that makes me sad and confused which is sometimes depressing. the only comfort is the fact that it can all be explained with chemicals. dopamine. serotonin. its not my fault. who can argue with science.
i don't know whats wrong. can anyone help me.
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