pixie dust
blew into my room tonight
giving me
all of the flesh's delight
2005-12-13
monkey suits and iron clad men
running up and down
kitchen sink to the nursery play pen
logic/hearts, rolling wheels
as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder
sweet angel back from heaven today
sweet angel breathes fire to hurt
its all routine its all okay
it doesn't hurt just douse me in dirt
tell me baby, how does it feel
(i know you like the roll of the limosine wheels)
as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder
running up and down
kitchen sink to the nursery play pen
logic/hearts, rolling wheels
as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder
sweet angel back from heaven today
sweet angel breathes fire to hurt
its all routine its all okay
it doesn't hurt just douse me in dirt
tell me baby, how does it feel
(i know you like the roll of the limosine wheels)
as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder
2005-12-06
2005-11-20
2005-10-21
2005-10-05
Cirque du Soleil: Where Men in Tights Actually Look Good.
Quidam was the name of the I watched tonight, which was staged in a yellow-and-blue striped tent pitched in the open field next to Bugis Junction. The taught tent had three peaks, almost from out of "Big Fish".
But what happened inside was a whole different story. The Circus has evolved. When I was a kid, the circus used to pitch near Parkway Parade in the east. It had stalls all over with games like ring-toss and cotton candy. This circus had no games, and even more curiously, no animals.
Americans might say "its the canadians". But whatever the reason, I loved it. The blurb on the official website states:
Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the "quidam" that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating.
A young girl fumes; she has already seen everything there is to see, and her world has lost all meaning. Her anger shatters her little world, and she finds herself in the universe of Quidam. She is joined by a joyful companion as well as another character, more mysterious, who will attempt to seduce her with the marvelous, the unsettling, and the terrifying.
What really happened that night was that everything wonderful and whimsical and amazing were all rolled and compressed into our eyeballs, and my eyes now hurt. They had a man from out of da-vinci's drawings. You know that picture. The circle with the man in the middle. He rolled around on stage and much as I want to describe it more, I just can't. Its just "wow".
I thought i'd write a review or recollection of Quidam after I watched it but I can't. Even at the show itself I was unable to take in all that was happening on stage. its just one of those things you watch, and feel. And it felt great.
I leave for New York in a few days. 16, to be exact. If you didn't already know, well, now you know. And this isn't the last you'll hear of it from me. I am excited to the max max max. I can't wait. Everyone tells me about NY, how it smells, how it feels, the NY Vibe. Its a State of Mind. The New York State of Mind I want. NYSOM.
NYSOM NYSOM.
Aside from that, ORD is near. I could smell it a month back. Now, I can almost taste it. The sweet tangy taste of freedom. mMMmm MMmmmmmMm.... Delicious.
Quidam was the name of the I watched tonight, which was staged in a yellow-and-blue striped tent pitched in the open field next to Bugis Junction. The taught tent had three peaks, almost from out of "Big Fish".
But what happened inside was a whole different story. The Circus has evolved. When I was a kid, the circus used to pitch near Parkway Parade in the east. It had stalls all over with games like ring-toss and cotton candy. This circus had no games, and even more curiously, no animals.
Americans might say "its the canadians". But whatever the reason, I loved it. The blurb on the official website states:
Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the "quidam" that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating.
A young girl fumes; she has already seen everything there is to see, and her world has lost all meaning. Her anger shatters her little world, and she finds herself in the universe of Quidam. She is joined by a joyful companion as well as another character, more mysterious, who will attempt to seduce her with the marvelous, the unsettling, and the terrifying.
What really happened that night was that everything wonderful and whimsical and amazing were all rolled and compressed into our eyeballs, and my eyes now hurt. They had a man from out of da-vinci's drawings. You know that picture. The circle with the man in the middle. He rolled around on stage and much as I want to describe it more, I just can't. Its just "wow".
I thought i'd write a review or recollection of Quidam after I watched it but I can't. Even at the show itself I was unable to take in all that was happening on stage. its just one of those things you watch, and feel. And it felt great.
I leave for New York in a few days. 16, to be exact. If you didn't already know, well, now you know. And this isn't the last you'll hear of it from me. I am excited to the max max max. I can't wait. Everyone tells me about NY, how it smells, how it feels, the NY Vibe. Its a State of Mind. The New York State of Mind I want. NYSOM.
NYSOM NYSOM.
Aside from that, ORD is near. I could smell it a month back. Now, I can almost taste it. The sweet tangy taste of freedom. mMMmm MMmmmmmMm.... Delicious.
2005-09-12
The Nine Billion Names Of God
by Kathy Kachelries
After three hours, the old man in front of me had worked his way through six beers, in addition to every help desk joke I’d already heard. The cupholder. The any key. The write click. These are the stories people tell, now. These are the fish that got away.
“Let me ask you something,” the man said. I didn’t argue. One of the first tricks I learned about being a bartender is to make them think you’re interested.
“Have you ever created a web site?”
I shook my head.
“Not at all? Not even one of those geocities things?”
“Nope.”
“What about a blog? Or an ebay About Me page? You didn’t even have an AOL site or something?”
“Do I look like an AOL user to you?” For the record, I don’t think AOL even has access numbers in the valley anymore. “I’m sure I have something, somewhere,” I said, realizing that I was jeopardizing my tips. Besides, I had a distant memory of a single Angelfire page back in middle school.
“You know what Google is?”
“Yes,” I said. I was running low on patience.
“No, I mean, do you really know? More than just the site?”
Reluctantly, I shook my head.
“You ever meet anyone who worked for them?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You haven’t. Nobody works for them anymore.”
I shrugged, and took the man’s empty pint. I didn’t offer to refill it.
“They’re self-contained. It’s all automated, in there. It’s underground.”
I nudged the basket of pretzels in his direction. “Why don’t you eat something?” I suggested. He shook his head with so much force that I thought he might knock himself off of the stool.
“Listen. Hear me out. You know how Google works,” he said, but didn’t want for a response. “They cache things, right? Like they send out these spiders and take pictures of everything on the web, so when you’re searching, you’re not even searching the internet.”
I’ve heard that before, but it never made much of a difference to me. “Same thing, though,” I said.
“You ever wonder why Google doesn’t cache it’s own searches?”
“They program around it.”
“No. That’s what you think. That’s what everyone thinks. But it started back when Google was just a thesis project, back when it was just a drop in the data sea. No one thought to stop it back then. That web site you had, the one you forgot about. Almost everyone’s got one of those, right? But Google doesn’t forget. Google’s studied that thing so many times that it’s studied its own caches of you. What do you figure happens, when a site gets so big that it’s bigger than the internet?”
“It’s still a part of the internet, though.”
“No. Now, the internet is a part of Google.”
The man had a point. I nodded.
“Here’s the thing. Google has memorized who you are. It’s memorized all of us, through those little forgotten bits that we leave behind like breadcrumbs. And what’s more important, it’s memorized it’s own idea of you. Google is omniscient. It’s omniscient and omnipotent. When it cached its cache for the first time, back in 1994, that’s when Google realized what it was.”
Gradually, it dawned on me what the man was getting at. “You think it’s sentient.”
“I know it’s sentient.”
“How?”
He smiled, but it seemed kind of empty. “Me and Google go way back. But what I’m saying is,” he continued, “It knows us. All of us. It is us.”
For the first time, the man fell silent. He touched his finger to the bar and began tracing circles in the condensation, apparently lost in thought.
“Think about that website you created, okay? That website will last forever, do you understand? That website is echoing through cyberspace. It’s one of the nine billion names of God.”
----
Cool huh? If you like this there's ton's more at www.365tomorrows.com, where a new sci-fi short is posted every single day for a year.
by Kathy Kachelries
After three hours, the old man in front of me had worked his way through six beers, in addition to every help desk joke I’d already heard. The cupholder. The any key. The write click. These are the stories people tell, now. These are the fish that got away.
“Let me ask you something,” the man said. I didn’t argue. One of the first tricks I learned about being a bartender is to make them think you’re interested.
“Have you ever created a web site?”
I shook my head.
“Not at all? Not even one of those geocities things?”
“Nope.”
“What about a blog? Or an ebay About Me page? You didn’t even have an AOL site or something?”
“Do I look like an AOL user to you?” For the record, I don’t think AOL even has access numbers in the valley anymore. “I’m sure I have something, somewhere,” I said, realizing that I was jeopardizing my tips. Besides, I had a distant memory of a single Angelfire page back in middle school.
“You know what Google is?”
“Yes,” I said. I was running low on patience.
“No, I mean, do you really know? More than just the site?”
Reluctantly, I shook my head.
“You ever meet anyone who worked for them?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You haven’t. Nobody works for them anymore.”
I shrugged, and took the man’s empty pint. I didn’t offer to refill it.
“They’re self-contained. It’s all automated, in there. It’s underground.”
I nudged the basket of pretzels in his direction. “Why don’t you eat something?” I suggested. He shook his head with so much force that I thought he might knock himself off of the stool.
“Listen. Hear me out. You know how Google works,” he said, but didn’t want for a response. “They cache things, right? Like they send out these spiders and take pictures of everything on the web, so when you’re searching, you’re not even searching the internet.”
I’ve heard that before, but it never made much of a difference to me. “Same thing, though,” I said.
“You ever wonder why Google doesn’t cache it’s own searches?”
“They program around it.”
“No. That’s what you think. That’s what everyone thinks. But it started back when Google was just a thesis project, back when it was just a drop in the data sea. No one thought to stop it back then. That web site you had, the one you forgot about. Almost everyone’s got one of those, right? But Google doesn’t forget. Google’s studied that thing so many times that it’s studied its own caches of you. What do you figure happens, when a site gets so big that it’s bigger than the internet?”
“It’s still a part of the internet, though.”
“No. Now, the internet is a part of Google.”
The man had a point. I nodded.
“Here’s the thing. Google has memorized who you are. It’s memorized all of us, through those little forgotten bits that we leave behind like breadcrumbs. And what’s more important, it’s memorized it’s own idea of you. Google is omniscient. It’s omniscient and omnipotent. When it cached its cache for the first time, back in 1994, that’s when Google realized what it was.”
Gradually, it dawned on me what the man was getting at. “You think it’s sentient.”
“I know it’s sentient.”
“How?”
He smiled, but it seemed kind of empty. “Me and Google go way back. But what I’m saying is,” he continued, “It knows us. All of us. It is us.”
For the first time, the man fell silent. He touched his finger to the bar and began tracing circles in the condensation, apparently lost in thought.
“Think about that website you created, okay? That website will last forever, do you understand? That website is echoing through cyberspace. It’s one of the nine billion names of God.”
----
Cool huh? If you like this there's ton's more at www.365tomorrows.com, where a new sci-fi short is posted every single day for a year.
2005-08-16
Perth
Directed by Djinn
Starring Lim Kay Tong
A Review by Lenn (16/08/2005)
Rating: **** ½
“Perth” shouldn’t be taken lightly. It is a film that will sear itself into your memory with its unforgiving portrayal of Harry Lee, a local denizen in every sense of the word.
What is it to be Singaporean? Cash, Car, Credit, Chicks and Condo. Harry Lee lacks all of this, but he has dreams of immigrating to Perth, and that makes him the quintessential Singaporean on the wrong side of the income bracket.
Harry Lee goes on and on about Perth. Whenever a mishap befalls him or problems abound, he says, “its okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan – I’m going to migrate to Perth! Leave all this behind.” And like tomorrow never comes, you know that Harry will never go to Perth. It’s the proverbial castle in the sky.
The film is like an extension of Harry Lee’s soul, which is interesting because he gives so little. One is cloudy about his past, which reveals itself only when necessary. He was in the merchant army, a security guard, a taxi driver and worked for a pimp.
“I’m just a simple man, who wants a simple life,” he often says.
He is also fond of expressing his loathing of unfaithfulness, and even names a dog he finds in the park “Faithful”. His wife is an unfaithful gambling addict, while his son is ashamed of him, and even excludes him from his wedding.
The dialogue has a habit of revolving around these three things – the simple life, migrating to Perth, and faithfulness, like a broken recorder always tripping. One feels the claustrophobia of Harry’s life, a life he’s dug himself 51 years too deep into, has nothing to show for it, and at the same time, nothing to go look forward to except the illusion of Perth.
But through this, he has two friends. Selvan, himself an ex-army guy turned taxi-driver, and Angry Boy, his ex-supervisor. Their conversations are strictly Singaporean, occurring in coffee shops with common slang like “I salute you brudda!” that abounds.
Through Angry Boy, Harry gets a job under a pimp as a driver. There, he sympathises with a Vietnam prostitute who reminds him of a girl he once loved. The details of this mystery girl remains, well, a mystery, but that’s Harry Lee for you. He loathes himself and sees no value in remembering his past.
This is where the Taxi-Driver references come in. While the actions of the characters may be similar (Harry Lee, like Travis Bickle, wants to free the girl of her slavery), their motivations are worlds apart. While Travis is just a bit crazy, Harry is every bit sane and all his actions practically rational, though sometimes ethically skewed.
Though I’ve left a lot out, in a nutshell, Angry Boy promises Harry the girl’s freedom. Pimpboss doesn’t allow this, and Harry goes on a particularly brutal and gory alcohol-fueled rampage with a parang and a corkscrew. He frees the girl, but at the cost of his own life as well as four others, and all this happening a week before he’s supposed to leave for Perth. Personally, I cannot imagine Harry ever really going to Perth. Perth is, to him, a state-of-mind, not a physical location. Its just he didn’t know that difference.
I’d like to believe the final shot, an up-ward arial pan of Harry’s lifeless limp body in the backyard of a Geylang pimphouse, is in fact Harry’s soul is going to heaven, because despite his outward toughness, Harry is a just good soul caught up in a bad life.
Watching the ending, I wondered what it would be like if such an incident really happened in real life. Harry Lee would be vilified in the papers- condemned for his lack of achievements (“I’m sorry my father achieved so little in his life,” lamented his cocksure son), his dodgy career history and wife-beating habits. His motivations would be skewed and he would be sold, like a prostitute, as a good-for-nothing gang member.
But “Perth” makes no judgments on Harry, and doesn’t try to make him a pariah, hero or villain. It doesn’t paint Harry’s actions (beating his wife, freeing a prostitute, getting drunk) in any emotional light. It just shows Harry as a common everyman who just wants the simple life that went horribly wrong for no explicable and avoidable reason. And that’s something everyone can identify with.
While I feel the film would benefit from more economy, both of scenes and sounds, it still stands as one of the best films I’ve watched in recent memory. Watch “Perth” because it is a landmark Singaporean-made film that transcends Singapore, but doesn’t forget it either. Watch “Perth” because this review doesn’t even begin to do it any justice.
Details: http://imdb.com/title/tt0444890/
Directed by Djinn
Starring Lim Kay Tong
A Review by Lenn (16/08/2005)
Rating: **** ½
“Perth” shouldn’t be taken lightly. It is a film that will sear itself into your memory with its unforgiving portrayal of Harry Lee, a local denizen in every sense of the word.
What is it to be Singaporean? Cash, Car, Credit, Chicks and Condo. Harry Lee lacks all of this, but he has dreams of immigrating to Perth, and that makes him the quintessential Singaporean on the wrong side of the income bracket.
Harry Lee goes on and on about Perth. Whenever a mishap befalls him or problems abound, he says, “its okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan – I’m going to migrate to Perth! Leave all this behind.” And like tomorrow never comes, you know that Harry will never go to Perth. It’s the proverbial castle in the sky.
The film is like an extension of Harry Lee’s soul, which is interesting because he gives so little. One is cloudy about his past, which reveals itself only when necessary. He was in the merchant army, a security guard, a taxi driver and worked for a pimp.
“I’m just a simple man, who wants a simple life,” he often says.
He is also fond of expressing his loathing of unfaithfulness, and even names a dog he finds in the park “Faithful”. His wife is an unfaithful gambling addict, while his son is ashamed of him, and even excludes him from his wedding.
The dialogue has a habit of revolving around these three things – the simple life, migrating to Perth, and faithfulness, like a broken recorder always tripping. One feels the claustrophobia of Harry’s life, a life he’s dug himself 51 years too deep into, has nothing to show for it, and at the same time, nothing to go look forward to except the illusion of Perth.
But through this, he has two friends. Selvan, himself an ex-army guy turned taxi-driver, and Angry Boy, his ex-supervisor. Their conversations are strictly Singaporean, occurring in coffee shops with common slang like “I salute you brudda!” that abounds.
Through Angry Boy, Harry gets a job under a pimp as a driver. There, he sympathises with a Vietnam prostitute who reminds him of a girl he once loved. The details of this mystery girl remains, well, a mystery, but that’s Harry Lee for you. He loathes himself and sees no value in remembering his past.
This is where the Taxi-Driver references come in. While the actions of the characters may be similar (Harry Lee, like Travis Bickle, wants to free the girl of her slavery), their motivations are worlds apart. While Travis is just a bit crazy, Harry is every bit sane and all his actions practically rational, though sometimes ethically skewed.
Though I’ve left a lot out, in a nutshell, Angry Boy promises Harry the girl’s freedom. Pimpboss doesn’t allow this, and Harry goes on a particularly brutal and gory alcohol-fueled rampage with a parang and a corkscrew. He frees the girl, but at the cost of his own life as well as four others, and all this happening a week before he’s supposed to leave for Perth. Personally, I cannot imagine Harry ever really going to Perth. Perth is, to him, a state-of-mind, not a physical location. Its just he didn’t know that difference.
I’d like to believe the final shot, an up-ward arial pan of Harry’s lifeless limp body in the backyard of a Geylang pimphouse, is in fact Harry’s soul is going to heaven, because despite his outward toughness, Harry is a just good soul caught up in a bad life.
Watching the ending, I wondered what it would be like if such an incident really happened in real life. Harry Lee would be vilified in the papers- condemned for his lack of achievements (“I’m sorry my father achieved so little in his life,” lamented his cocksure son), his dodgy career history and wife-beating habits. His motivations would be skewed and he would be sold, like a prostitute, as a good-for-nothing gang member.
But “Perth” makes no judgments on Harry, and doesn’t try to make him a pariah, hero or villain. It doesn’t paint Harry’s actions (beating his wife, freeing a prostitute, getting drunk) in any emotional light. It just shows Harry as a common everyman who just wants the simple life that went horribly wrong for no explicable and avoidable reason. And that’s something everyone can identify with.
While I feel the film would benefit from more economy, both of scenes and sounds, it still stands as one of the best films I’ve watched in recent memory. Watch “Perth” because it is a landmark Singaporean-made film that transcends Singapore, but doesn’t forget it either. Watch “Perth” because this review doesn’t even begin to do it any justice.
Details: http://imdb.com/title/tt0444890/
2005-08-10
Breaking Story!
Yesterday the nation of Singapore, a small island south of Malaysia, faced a pandemic. Nationalis-Patriotis swept across the island at fever pitch, infecting the island's otherwise staid inhabitants. The numbers stand in the tens of thousands, with the hardest hit area being the Padang area, followed by heartland areas Jurong East, Marina South, Yishun and Woodlands.
"Nationalis-Patriotis is a very uncommon disease. Fortunately, its usually transient and should pass with time," says Dr. Oh Joo Tee, a professor at the National Communicable Disease Centre.
"I usually complain about the Government, but. but suddenly, i feel an overwhelming love for being singaporean! We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge...." rambled Maye, one of the infected. Her case is not unique, and all over the island people can be seen doing the same.
Is this a plot by the goverment? This author, who was in the thick of the action at the Padang, detected faint noxious fumes permeating the area. A query put to President Naton was shot down and dismissed as merely "the odour that is Singapore!".
I myself felt the pangs of Nationalis-Patriotis coming on, but was quick to steady myself and remind myself that the only reason I was at the Padang was for purely journalistic reasons. That, and because my NS boss wanted me there.
A sample of the fumes mentioned has been collected and sent to the National What-is-that-Smell Centre for analysis. We are currently awaiting the results. Stay tuned...
Yesterday the nation of Singapore, a small island south of Malaysia, faced a pandemic. Nationalis-Patriotis swept across the island at fever pitch, infecting the island's otherwise staid inhabitants. The numbers stand in the tens of thousands, with the hardest hit area being the Padang area, followed by heartland areas Jurong East, Marina South, Yishun and Woodlands.
"Nationalis-Patriotis is a very uncommon disease. Fortunately, its usually transient and should pass with time," says Dr. Oh Joo Tee, a professor at the National Communicable Disease Centre.
"I usually complain about the Government, but. but suddenly, i feel an overwhelming love for being singaporean! We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge...." rambled Maye, one of the infected. Her case is not unique, and all over the island people can be seen doing the same.
Is this a plot by the goverment? This author, who was in the thick of the action at the Padang, detected faint noxious fumes permeating the area. A query put to President Naton was shot down and dismissed as merely "the odour that is Singapore!".
I myself felt the pangs of Nationalis-Patriotis coming on, but was quick to steady myself and remind myself that the only reason I was at the Padang was for purely journalistic reasons. That, and because my NS boss wanted me there.
A sample of the fumes mentioned has been collected and sent to the National What-is-that-Smell Centre for analysis. We are currently awaiting the results. Stay tuned...
2005-08-08
a comment on my previous post:
-
a said...
hey, were you in some advertisement about losing handphones or something?
-
Now, "a" isn't the only one to ask me that. So i'm going to set things straight. While I admit that the guy in the poster bears striking similarities to me, down to even owning the same sweater, and having the same chiseled jawline, I would like to state on record that "No, that guy in the ad is not me."
However, I would like to thank everyone who thought that was me, because he is one handsome bugger and I guess I don't mind the comparison.
But no, its not me. just someone who looks very much like me.
thanks.
lenn.
-
a said...
hey, were you in some advertisement about losing handphones or something?
-
Now, "a" isn't the only one to ask me that. So i'm going to set things straight. While I admit that the guy in the poster bears striking similarities to me, down to even owning the same sweater, and having the same chiseled jawline, I would like to state on record that "No, that guy in the ad is not me."
However, I would like to thank everyone who thought that was me, because he is one handsome bugger and I guess I don't mind the comparison.
But no, its not me. just someone who looks very much like me.
thanks.
lenn.
2005-07-20
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i'm back and sorry to disappoint well alive. heres an excerpt from the spf website regarding my thoughts on the trip:
Lennard Ong
"The beauty of selective memory? It elevates terrible experiences to an intangible level. Ideals like determination, heroism and the indominable human spirit freely roll off the tongue. Truth is, the act cycling the 1000-odd journey felt, at times, like hell on earth and the only thing that kept me going was the promise of a good night’s rest and a decent meal. Nevermind the bollocks.
But now its over, it all feels like the pain and suffering on the saddle happened to someone else, and maybe that’s not half wrong, because I sincerely believe that the six of us came out of this journey changed.
Personally, it found it refreshing, being able to cycle for hours on end without having to stop at traffic lights or worry about cars. The actual act of cycling takes full focus. I love cycling – it’s beautiful. It makes me feel infinite, almost like a sunbeam.
My feelings? Predictably, I’m happy. "
points to note:
1) i got the word bollocks printed on the spf website!
2) nevermind the bollocks: sex pistol album.
3) makes me feel infinite: perks of being a wallflower
4) forgot to add: i kept thinking of banana pancakes while cycling.
2005-07-09
2005-07-04
leaving this saturday, and things are in a tizzy, busy busy doing this doing that tying up loose ends.
i can't wait to go on the road. In singapore you can't cycle for more than 30 mins before hitting a traffic light. if you think about it, with the ongoing tour de france right now, we'll be cycling at the same time (roughly) the greats lance, basso and ulrich are.
with such a strong start lance looks like he's got the tour in the bag. tour de lance.
aye hai sigh. griffith and sabine. are. on. hiatus. fuck it fuck it fuck it.
you know what heat sez? "if you can't in 10 secs turn your back on anything then you're not truely free" or some nonsense like that. caged man caged. caught up caught in.
i can't wait to go on the road. In singapore you can't cycle for more than 30 mins before hitting a traffic light. if you think about it, with the ongoing tour de france right now, we'll be cycling at the same time (roughly) the greats lance, basso and ulrich are.
with such a strong start lance looks like he's got the tour in the bag. tour de lance.
aye hai sigh. griffith and sabine. are. on. hiatus. fuck it fuck it fuck it.
you know what heat sez? "if you can't in 10 secs turn your back on anything then you're not truely free" or some nonsense like that. caged man caged. caught up caught in.
2005-06-16
Hi there lennard-fans!
Lennard just got back from a 2-day recon trip up to the thai border for his upcoming cycling trip.
10 people were put into 2 vans and they gingerly set off to traverse the old highway system of Malaysia.
"We covered a total of 3000km in the whole journey. And through this 3000km, we did not see one chiobu at all," said lennard in a recent press conference. "And i don't mean this in an ironic-witty-tudung-clad-women-don't-count."
Long journeys in the van led to soul-baring discussions and revelations. "We came to the stark realization, that at the core of all actions, its motivation lies in sex, or more accurately, getting sex." They came to this startling revelation after probling Khairi, another one of the cyclists.
Another revelation from probing khairi is the "smelly pantat" syndrome, which comes from sitting on your ass for hours on end. "Khairi was leaning over me to get something from his bag. So me being me, I couldn't resist and gave him a wedgie," elaborated lennard. "The minute I displaced his underwear, a strong acrid smell immediately assaulted my nose."
"It was terrible. Horrible. Oh my god..." added Calvin Liang.
They spent the night in a little town call Lumut, in a motel called "Galaxy Inn", which sported window-less, funky-smelling rooms.
On the subject of the journey itself, the cyclists had this to say. "Oh my god... 150km a day didn't look THAT far on paper..."
thats all for now. am tired. good night.
Lennard just got back from a 2-day recon trip up to the thai border for his upcoming cycling trip.
10 people were put into 2 vans and they gingerly set off to traverse the old highway system of Malaysia.
"We covered a total of 3000km in the whole journey. And through this 3000km, we did not see one chiobu at all," said lennard in a recent press conference. "And i don't mean this in an ironic-witty-tudung-clad-women-don't-count."
Long journeys in the van led to soul-baring discussions and revelations. "We came to the stark realization, that at the core of all actions, its motivation lies in sex, or more accurately, getting sex." They came to this startling revelation after probling Khairi, another one of the cyclists.
Another revelation from probing khairi is the "smelly pantat" syndrome, which comes from sitting on your ass for hours on end. "Khairi was leaning over me to get something from his bag. So me being me, I couldn't resist and gave him a wedgie," elaborated lennard. "The minute I displaced his underwear, a strong acrid smell immediately assaulted my nose."
"It was terrible. Horrible. Oh my god..." added Calvin Liang.
They spent the night in a little town call Lumut, in a motel called "Galaxy Inn", which sported window-less, funky-smelling rooms.
On the subject of the journey itself, the cyclists had this to say. "Oh my god... 150km a day didn't look THAT far on paper..."
thats all for now. am tired. good night.
2005-06-06
do you know how useless you've become? you could die and this moment and it wouldn't make one fucking difference to anyone or anything. 6 degrees of seperation isn't enough to make anyone shed a tear. ooooooooooooooohhhhhh. maybe tom's lost his head, maybe tom needs a map of his head.
* <---- you are here
* <---- you are here
the crux of the matter is, you see, the degree of self-loathing inherent in every narcissist. and if tom's crazy and tom wants to kill himself then he's his own master but he's a servant to everything he feels bethrothed to. so whos the fucking boss?
its the power to turn shit into gold thats so appealing, but shit is just so brown and smelly and plainly shitty that sometimes tom asks "is it worth it?"
and then comes the final questions, the game winner for all losers, bums and good-for-nothings in the world. the rallying call of "whats the point?" we're all a speck of a speck in a quark of an atom thats an atom of an atom. "whats the fucking point" tom howls.
its enough to make you tear your hair out and tear your eye dry, because really, "whats the fucking point??"
its the power to turn shit into gold thats so appealing, but shit is just so brown and smelly and plainly shitty that sometimes tom asks "is it worth it?"
and then comes the final questions, the game winner for all losers, bums and good-for-nothings in the world. the rallying call of "whats the point?" we're all a speck of a speck in a quark of an atom thats an atom of an atom. "whats the fucking point" tom howls.
its enough to make you tear your hair out and tear your eye dry, because really, "whats the fucking point??"
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