You Got Feel For Sale ?

The Ass Crack-Five; heavy rock that’s damn feel

Simple Plan; heavy medal

Pedro The Lion; the new Simon & Garfunkel

To the emo-panda-eyeliner-on-pornstar-fake-eyelashes-on-acne-face, the indie-so-feel-but-i-donno-what-or-how-to-make-feel-but-is-feel crowd and the fence huggers that gravitate towards shitty radio station music; the quoted bands play to their miniskirt-netting-striped-socks-up-to-the-knee starcrossed hearts on fire with a cigarette lingering on the trigger finger in the corner of the room tears filled sorrow that gets glorified with wet panties of being so feel.

‘The emotion is so real, its like God spoke to me and told me to cut my wrist in protest of my mother cutting my allowance’

Surely it isn’t as bad as it sounds when they can roll in shit with their motorcycle buddies and fuck their cousin sisters because it’s the same theory of us making the bed we sleep in mirroring she who chooses whose cock she jerks off and the same stupid 30 year old senior who can’t tell the difference between an upside down internet cable while forcing it into its socket chooses their ridicule.

Herein lays the shocking revelation of it all. While the bands above have reached the eons of Greek demigods, the technically gifted have floundered in their own little cults with hardly any success compared to the aforementioned bands. Take for example the bands below;

Opeth; mindless inaudible sounds of evil devil expression.

UnExpect; What the fuck is this shit

Paul Gilber; Mad skills but more towards Wank-King noise.

In layman terms the two groups of bands are differentiated by the former having Feel and the latter; No Feel.

Bullshit. Such is the shame of this corporate world we live where we watch our children being forced fed into submission by MTV and a host of ‘reality’ shows that depict voyeurism, sexual debauchery, disassociation and glorified decadence. For a minute you realize that slowly and surely we are being altered to live in this so-called reality and to lose the essence of why we wanted to be where we are today. Putting music into such a perspective is possibly not the best way to describe how life is turning out the way it is but for that one minute of your life not spent thinking about the next paycheck and your selfish dilemmas you might come to realize that we’re only living for material reality and puppeteer’d into a mindless 14 hour day drone.

Take for example; your little 15 year old sister. She tries to look like Avril Lavigne, lets her nip slip from her towel after the shower and flashes her clit when your best friend is seated in front of her like Britney. She may say that it’s all about living for the moment but seriously does she really know what’s ‘living for the moment’? Or more like living in her bubble of what she thinks is ‘the moment’ because Seacrest-Out said so on television and read in the papers. While you now notice how much she has changed from being little miss sweet, doesn’t she look like Amy Winehouse with all the cocks that she might have put inside her?

So what is feel? Trying to be someone else and listening to what is perceived as the right way, the right thing, the right style and the right voice, the right shoes, the right Paris Hilton is so yesterday and Kim Kardashian is the new IN way ? As opposed to the perception of No Feel being mindless shredders of noise pollution to environment protecting Green Peach tree huggers and your little brother who decided he wants to scale the Himalayans and help the Tibetans until he is 27 before he participates in the corporate world?

That’s No Feel in our world today.

It’s aimless and meaningless. It doesn’t make money and wealth rules the evil axis that makes the world go round. We are nothing and its come to the point that we don’t even recognize who we are anyone while neglecting away to the little thoughts inside our little heads that tell what a waste for all the beautiful thoughts and dreams of dust coloured in different hues that we used to share with our parents and anyone who would ask to lose its self in the mechanism of growing up in corporate today? I long for the day I can break free and live as I used to with the ideals I once stood for that meant tomorrow would be a better day, the one that said I would change the world when I am older because I didn’t like the one that was 10 years ago. The same ones I lost along the way of growing old. I miss who I used to be.

Hey Des; will you help me find myself?

The Case Of The Hanging Up

There are times where a little display of etiquette, refinery and class are called for, for other times; you can simply just hang up.

Need Some Sauce With It ?

Say hello to my little baby mouse Uncle Chu Chu. The newborn little mouse that die during ratbirth and left my office with the fresh air of fresh bloody air in a confined office space shared by 4 people. Think of a perverted collection of 100 women's period pads and tampons and a pile of shit all rolled in one. That is exactly the loving smell which hovered around and left the 4 office mates including my manager running. Me ? I had my lunch with its spirit! Celebrating its probably short life of 10 seconds before getting stuck in the air conditioning and having its mother get chopped into a few chunky rat pieces. Think of Chunky Peanut Butter; that's how we found the rat.

Bloodstained carpets and the impending tragedy of Mighty Mouse's baby

That's it, time to feed the fishes.

Leftovers of Mighty Mouse

Splatter house style bloodstains.

Long Live Might Mouse and his infamous rat-scapades.

The AOL Sessions Theory Of Sadness and Poignancy

Is this how it’s going to be now? Futility, desolation, seeing nothing as it is while we’re staring right in front of it? Are our egos worth all these pointless fights? Am I being self righteous or are you protecting yourself from the hurt of a selfish person only a few months ago? Are these broken promises justified as my break stuff streak wears thin? Or is it just another one of those days where it all falls back down to simple ‘you suck get out of my life I hate you you shit fucking shit fuck you nothing great I hate you I hate you I hate you you don’t care you fucking mortal we need a break I don’t love you anymore its different fucking shit you make me puke your voice makes my skin crawl you’re useless its not cup noodles I don’t want this I hate you you never know what I want you never buy me anything anyway its not like you buy me things occasionally I feel so different from other girls and their boyfriends im young and I want to enjoy being lavished upon I want more from this I don’t want to grow up not having fun and being treated like a teenager I never see you and me going far anymore you worm you never know what I want anyway I’m leaving you goodbye’ anger phases again.

This is nothing but a reminder how its costing us our love for each other. This isn’t about who is the winner or who is more pro or who is right or wrong. It’s an apology, an honest apology from a lover to a lover, for everything you have said which in its own way has or may have been true. I have never ever once been close to perfect; more garage bin disposable waste category than your average fly on the wall decoration piece. I really am sorry to have failed you again and again and again just like they said I would. I’m sorry. I sleep the night with thoughts running through my head wondering, praying and negotiating how I can right the wrong, how I can erase the thoughtlessness of actions and the stupidity of my past.

We aren’t long; we’re not even a third movement of the bat of an eyelid in the time space of a long loving lasting relationship we often hear of and laud about. We’re still trying to iron out the creases, to try to seamlessly patch up the torn pieces of cloth in our hands isn’t it?

We have to try at least. If it isn’t worth our time; be it long or short then what’s it worth?

I still hurt.

Like a normal person. I still bleed when the glass crudely cuts the flesh in jagged patterns; it stings when the palm strikes across my cheek or when my skull is pushed against the wall. The heart does ache when the tears stream down and the muffled sobs of an infant sound.

How can we even stand anymore, let alone stare at the sun if we let our demons get the best of us? Give it / us / this / a chance, give the possibility and the transitions of time in our youth and maturing years a chance because we don’t want to look at the future and regret this ever happened. I know we will see through the dark futile skeleton closet days and you know it too; you’ve said it so yourself despite retracting those words in anger. All I want is for you to stitch me when I bleed, caress me when I’m ill, hold me when I cry and kiss me when I sleep for I will do the same for you if not more. I’m taking this and holding it up strong and proud, to lead this and show you this isn’t a game or ploy. This is as Richie Edwards painfully craved; 4 Real. To quote Ozzy in his smartest ever lyric from back in 95; I don’t need much, I just want you.

There are no incurable ills
There are no unkillable thrills
There are no unachievable goals
There are no unsaveable souls
There are no indisputable truths
And there ain't no fountain of youth
Each night when the day is through,
I don't ask much, I just want you

We Win When I Take A Shit

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

Despite being 'sloppy'. Despite singing in the wrong key. Despite being gay and carrying bent and slanted mic stands in so-called epic poses. Despite not being tight enough and having punk ass emo eyeliner with expensive gear staring cock at us and getting away with it and despite being the band with the oldest and most receding hairline collectively band. We won.

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

Here's to you motherfucker who gave me dirty looks and your smelly dirty unkempt davey havok hairstyle wanna be and your groupies that looked like my toejam while parading around with your video camera's sitting next to me, scarves with big rounded spectacles bragging the next coming of the strokes, the puki, the mono, the tazz, the serpent, the ash, the lanjiao, the babisials, the hanjing, the _____ (insert next big indie 3 chord downstroke jeng-jeng-jeng-jeng-ring on with deadbeat similar vocals band here). Here's a lesson on how to win at anything your mother or emo friend never taught you which you can most certainly ambik ke bank, your drummer can learn how to hit the drums cause it sounded like my maid closing the garbage dispenser on every attempted attack on the drums. When he's done learning the skins, he should take your little razor from your necklace and cut your wrist and videotape you die because living is a fate not worthy of your shit-faced-talentless-emo-tear-drawn-on-face existence you should never have been given a chance to enjoy. Remember to slice deeply til it cuts at the arteries and viens and not pussy-lingering fingernail-like scratches, pussy lingam.

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

A great big shoutout to Sara from Deumuseth, Calvin EQ, Chuckles, Ahmad, Yuj, Chee Yon, the Teko-Chain Gang and of course Ms Desiree Chow for coming twice; once all the way from Bukit Jalil after your exam and for showing up again on the second day with your little sister riding in the congested train to give us all the support we could only think of getting falthough it was only a combined total of 6 minutes performance time in two days. I love all of you. Thank you!

Natalie went home before the results were announced. Sorry =/
© Photograph courtesy of Chapree from Multiplay

I think i'll go shed a tear about how great this is like the end of the century.

Stomach Shit With Flies

Plain and simple. Before every gig it is a must to fall sick or get some sort of ailment. Its been over a week and i'm still down with the flu and the sore throat and cough. Fuck a fuckin milk cow. 2 more hours before the gig. Great.

This sucks.


---*edit:-

Made it into the finals. Oh thank you God!

This doesn't suck as bad as i thought i would have. So commences the spamming of honey and herbal remedy and tea's and medication in efforts of miracle healing throughout the night to make it tomorrow.

Hopefully i wont sound like a swallowed a bucketful of a concoction of cum-paint-satay sauce tomorrow. This one is for the boys in Mezzo!

Hey Man, There's A Life Out There Too!

Living inside a shell can be a beneficial if not superficial way of saying how great life is with everything you can want to have in your dreams; like living inside the container of the 4 tonne trailer, driving the car of your dreams up and down the fucking trailer, watching MTV and jerking off to Kim Kardashian or Jessica Biel or Jade Goody on the E! channel all day. Of course you have bragging rights to! ‘Fuck! What car do you think I should buy ah? Satria ? Only two doors leh, Vios? The back not so nice right’ to a bunch of people who couldn’t give a flying fuck if you bought a ‘proton saga tujuh-puluhan’ or a ‘01 Beetle’. Great you got a couple of them saying ‘show-off, or fucking prick’. Dude, you’re still living underneath a shell or in your own great words, my comfortable trailer container man!

Lay off on the trying to talk big and do something that will actually shock me. Tell me you have a plane or your dad shot 12 people with 8 bullets back in the day and made his money fucking the opposite your house motorbike trader’s grandfathers ass when he was 14 to get some money to start up his MLM capital. He ain’t rich and neither are you, you drive a fuckin mother paid for car, with a clueless tyre-faced head stuck up her arse in the ground type girlfriend. So please for the sake of humanity and a little class; stop showing off unless you can really bend over and tie your shoelaces without the comments of someone making fun of your skinny ass or 28-cent hair dye dry hairstyle motherfucker.

So take this piece of advice for I only give it out once, take your ass out of your head and open the little locks and bolts inside your little container and fucking breathe in the fresh air ourside your sheltered life and maybe right there you can realize how much we don’t give a fuck about you, your girlfriend, your life, your wannabe millionaire rich parents who don’t have a cent to send you to Europe for an education but are likely to consider Thailand because ‘its closer to home’ for the obvious reasons of decorating the house you live in with the middle upper class ‘nice’ things for the rich to see and scoff and the paupers to marvel and envy at whilst leaving nothing in their fucking bank accounts for themselves should they contract cancer.

Go out there and do something with your life boy. Take a punch from someone and feel how much it hurts. If you fall let’s see how you get up and take another hit. You probably can’t even think about getting up from a hit if you thought about getting up from one. Despite your ‘my balls so big i can tapau anyone in counter strike and world of warcraft, cabal, fifa, lowyat.net and jamtank.net’; you’re still just an undeveloped infant deformed with an umbilical cord stuck with ‘be safe’, ‘cannot one’, ‘we go lim chiu tonight and play my girlfriend’s ning ku pau when she drunk maybe can fuck her’ to the monitors.

I wouldn’t be surprised.

The Day Manchester United Won The Champions League

And so it is just like you said it would be;

That we would fall apart and break into pieces in the process of our own self destruction. Or probably as is always the case, my driven purpose to push the self destruct button at every possible chance. To jump before the catch, to take the dive when its way beyond empty and break the fall withyour heart before mine. The way only I can. Or so it seems. May I for once step forward and say that I have grown up? Would you even believe me or would you believe the hype of the shameless playboy rich kid with his air of nonchalance and fuck all body language.
I am not as you always say I am. Not even close are those that know me skin deep. Please believe in me again

Life goes easy on me most of the time;

I had it all and I threw it all away, you fuck. That despite my personal battle with the demons that plague my adolescence and fore coming adulthood, I never really had it bad. Even when I lived on thirteen hundred dollars and spent nine hundred on rents and fuel life was never Jewish-holocaust-refugee harsh.
I am not from the streets of-lose-everything-you-have-in-life guy I make myself out to be. I am humbled before you

No hero in her sky

Not the superman she envisioned me to be. More of relationship anti-hero that stands his ground without moving from ‘I am right and this is why, blah blah blah bullshit’ despite really being afraid of losing her. As much as you may think I fail you on purpose every single other day, I never mean to but its probably possible I’m the only who believes in this moment we have together is inseparable or at least should be. Like the boy who cried wolf will I earn her trust again? Please don’t say its too late. How can I even think of being superhuman when the saving myself-part roams in its own time, shuffling through lost causes and through the meandering of faith?
Show me where I am weak Guide me

I can’t take my eyes off you

Pull me out from inside and I’ll show you where the flowers grow. I am ready but I’m colourblind. The tie suffocates my neck and I’m gasping for air in blind struggles like when my heart skips a beat and I stutter like that of a seven year old on Christmas in your presence despite my supposed calmness and lucid demeanor.

I love you. I miss you. Please come home