Profanely Profound

Bounce-ing

2010-11-15T17:50:00.003+08:00

As i scrolled through another temporary cheap-ass cellular, I stopped at the dot matrix game; BOUNCE and reminisce of the day when you showed me the game and how far you got through the levels excitedly in the way that only you could.

That very innocent-fairy-like sincerity that warms my heart like wool.

It was one of those times where during our 'broken periods' that i wish i had told you how i truly felt. The one where i should have swallowed pride with a mouthful of bleach. And one by one every other scene plays again much like the redundant films the times i slowly tore and tore us apart to find me just to lose you without ever once finding me.

I'm stumbling for words to express what and how this feels right now except its empty, much like how a few hundred million people are feeling right now, i am one of them, way beyond empty (to quote Zakk Wylde) and it's burning like a motherfucker. Like much of what's been written here, it's hell replaying the scene's and knowing where i fucked up and stumbled.

Just like you said i would...

Funny How The Story Goes

2010-09-21T10:23:00.003+08:00

This is pointless isn't it? A waste of cyberspace, time, thoughts and sincerity.

I falter...

I could be empty with you.. but now i'm empty without you.
I could be hollow.. instead i'm hollow without you
I could say goodbye to everything but i've not lost anything except my mind
But right now i'm headed underground swallowing dirt

If

2010-09-19T18:40:00.001+08:00

If I could do it all again or turn back time... i would never have gone. I would have stayed here. I see it now.

Death By Heartache

2010-09-17T13:30:00.002+08:00

Much like Crossfit's 'Death By...' series workouts; where ever additional minute, you add a repetition to whichever movement you are doing until your body gives way to fatigue. What's happening now is on each additional day, the weight and strain of your absence is overbearing. I truly feel like the infernal crestfallen man.. heavy hangs on the strings of the martyr.

You had my heart,; at least for the most part,
Because everybody had to die; we fell apart
Let's make a new start
'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime

Is That You?

2010-09-15T13:58:00.002+08:00

So how do I say hello?
Or are we just going to leave this air space-less and empty while we go about.

It's suffocating.

Hulk Smash You

2010-09-14T11:02:00.003+08:00

I just can’t do it anymore for you.

Through the hell that he has put her through, the betrayal and emotional infidelity over the years he has never truly ever learnt. Maybe it was her constant reminding of his failures, mistakes that caused him to fall again and react in anger to hurt like he hurt so that they could both be broken and mended in time. Maybe it was everything and nothing at all. Maybe it was him. It probably was. He isn’t Superman, he’s more like Hulk without the height and green. As headstrong and emotionless he makes himself out to be, his lives in his failures again and again and again and again and again. The feelings of anguish at his failure to never get his head around and make things better. For him, for them, for her. Yes, for her.

All the Hulk wants to be is understood.

Nobody would ever care to ask and truly care to know how he feels, how he is and what he is going through. No one would ever understand. The Hulk will be never let them into his thoughts for he fears they see his weakness and prey upon them. His curse and the personal pain in which he deals. He sought to figure it out after his last misdemeanor caused all the frayed ends of his badly broken and frayed and taped back relationship to splinter in the different directions. He told no one. He sat alone, filled his days with mindless activities. Put on his game face and stood strong while deep in his heart he wanted nothing more than to say “Take me home babe. Take me where we used to be’. His fear of committing another crime which would just crush her again he knew. He said again and again, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t want us to just explode and fall back into the cycle game of you bastard you did this to me’. While he stopped smoking his tears away, she did the opposite. While he curled up like a fetus cold and sought for an answer she tried to hold up her hand and say ‘let’s try this again’. He’s afraid and he failed. Hulk no like this feeling. Pain. It make Hulk weak. Hulk wrong again. Hulk make you cry. Hulk fail. Hulk bad man. Hulk smash Betty heart again. Hulk run away so Betty will never feel pain again.

This knife is yours, I handed it to you to end the anguish

Little did he know that she was there holding all the splinters she gathered and found when they broke and tried to mend it. She couldn’t do it herself. Her fingers bleeding from the very splinters that pierced her when she placed them in her hand as she showed and offered to fix them back again. She needed him to find the others and then they could start trying to tape, glue, paint, stick and make them whole again. All it needed was so simple. Yet he blindly and egoistically refused for he had not ‘found himself’ or ‘soul searched’ deep enough. Talk about masochism. Fuck you. He looked at some of the things she had returned to him and his tears would fall. “These are the things you gave me before you left. I wish it was like before. You gave me heaven and you left me in hell when you came home.” He had betrayed her. Emotionally drained her like he had when they first met. As he cleared his cupboard, he held some of her clothes close and could still smell her skin on its fabric. It may have been imaginary but he felt it. And sometimes a feeling is all you need. Still in all his Hulk glory, Hulk think this better this way. Hulk cry but you no see. He wishes that he had handed her a knife and his heart that ended his dream but what it truly was, was it was HE who took that very knife and stabbed her heart as she offered it out to him .

The signs were always there but you never saw them.

She said, “I know it’s random. I know it may be too late. But if you ever sing for me again, sing me ‘You’ve got some growing up to do’…” These very words left him with tears as he drove to his destination and put his phone away. He knew that she was starting to smile. And it had nothing to do with him. He started to question his little ‘find yourself’ trip and yet nothing came to him. Maybe they had but he was probably too dense to grasp it. I mean, he had been stalking her on a daily basis to see how she was doing and if she was alright. How could he not care for her? He now remembers how he took a random drive on a hot Saturday and just drove not knowing where he would go for a few hours. And as sweat dripped down his brow as he stood looking outside his car to the hills and beyond, he spoke under his breath, “This would have been perfect if you were here. You and I. No plans. Just a random drive in the hot afternoon to nowhere. It could have been heaven” but he never told her. Hulk would never allow it.

You’re everything! You’re everything to me.

The clouds cleared at a time where it seemed impossible as he took to the stage and she was among the crowd to support him. He had instinctively stumbled across the small stage that barely fit his band and walked to her and looked her right in her eye and sang ‘I live and I die for you, I’d steal the sun from the skies for you. I’ll be there for you’ as he pushed her hair behind her ear. At that moment he held a tear back as he continued the song. His felt a wave of emotion so strong that very moment that his heart stopped and skipped two beats and he knew it meant something. He knew it. Yet he waited foolishly and thoughtlessly. For he knew what he feared all along that in those months apart, that if he had ever once looked into her brown eyes, he would break apart and weep for he had betrayed her even though she had loved him selflessly and unconditionally. He would have broken his will and begged her for forgiveness. He knew right there that he would have disassociated and disconnected the world for her. For she was the one. She enabled him… and he burnt her, the bastard he is.

Everything is hollow. Time changes the names on the book of our lives.

The day came where she stopped looking at him. She had finally moved on after the countless calls and tears he never saw. And now, right in his forthcoming moments of clarity and how he wants to save her. In his stupid selfish Fulk way. Huck you. Now the one phone call you long for never comes again. And when it rings with her name it is for clarification of further betrayal. It wouldn’t matter to her anymore that he’s crying himself to sleep. That he’s crying in the car as drives drive home in sweaty clothes. That he cried as he slammed the sledgehammer against the truck tire for the hundredth time at his failure to see beyond his egotistically blind Hulk. That he cried and pulled back at his hair and punched a hole in his broken cupboard. That he cried and left bloodstains on his ice box as he punched ice for an excuse. Because he knows now how much she meant to him. She had cried much more while she waited, in the busy train, in the midst of crowds, to sleep, while she walked alone and much more and he painfully knows the needle and the damage done. She was his life. She was literally his life and what made him normal, what made him function. He wants her to be his life. She was what made him in so many ways Bruce Banner: human being. So how does he live without the one he loves? She told him that “We are never going to be. We’re done. I’m done” Distant. People say that he looks vague now. Lost and deprived. He has finally broken himself apart again. While they say it’s never too late. It is too late. While he tries to look for an answer; she lies in the arms of her new superhero. One who will not hesitate for a second to jump at her call of distress. Not to be troubled again for her hero had saved her. Not you Hulk. You were never going to because you were too caught up in your own world of selfish desirees(sic).

And now the dream is over.

He’s broken, a mess in silence and he doesn’t want to be alone. He’s robbed himself and left spent as he sinks to the ocean floor. He’s not fine as he constantly looks for her name on his phone as it rings out but it never appears anymore. He wakes up in the middle of the night in cold sweat knowing now how she felt and how it is clearly futile. He knows is that the only thing he needs is her. His Betty Ross, maybe his Mary Jane. Jenny to his Jackie Estacado or Nancy Spungen to his Sid Vicious. How much he wishes he could open a dialog box and speak to her. How everything could just be again when he turned to her and said, "Hey you write right?"

He loves her. In his silly little heart, he hopes there are still the strains of her feelings for him to one day try for again. He wishes she won’t let him go. Please, don’t let him go. But he knows better. Nobody comes back to him. Hulk hurt her bad. Hulk is sorry. Hulk smash himself.

You were my baby girl, And I shared all your fears.

Such joy to hold you in my arms, and kiss away your tears.

But now you're gone, there's only pain and nothing I can do.

And I don't want to live this life, if I can’t live for you

I just want you to heart kiss me again.

Hrts.x.fyr3

2010-09-09T01:33:00.002+08:00

When it breaks it breaks. The walk outside with the streetlamp backdrop while at 4am gave me serenity. Cold breeze and manic suspicions of spirits and ghosts sent slight chills down my spine as i walked past the corner house with the forever barking dogs.

I walked onto the basketball court and watched the empty streets while thoughts of 'why didn't you catch me' slowly creep in and grapevine into my skull of how i am now on the other side of the fence. Its ironic how depression, regret and jadedness enable me to be the joke of those that saw me as a pillar of strength and stability. At least i can still make you laugh.

If i could make it end tonight or dance inside your head, I swear i would, but the real world says at 11:11pm tomorrow you're on a night drive with another heart. I move along knowing that i'm falling apart and when the world comes down, i won't be able to take it without a straitjacket feeling.

Monkey bars a few pull ups and its 6am.

I walk back home glad that no one noticed a shirtless boxer pant wearing guy wandering aimlessly in suburbia.

Nuggets In The Dark

2010-09-07T19:12:00.002+08:00

It's days like these it feels like they throw brittle frayed safety ropes into the eye of the storm to hold on to just let it break apart while they watch intently on their little insincere pity displays. This right now makes me feel like the spare loose change that's left inside the corners of your wallet until the day you coincidentally find the coin to make up for tips to a waiter or to the toll counter. Where that loose change will now be left in the register counter.

It's my turn. I swear I will crucify the insincere if not tonight, someday soon.

This scraped up fist from his visit to the old friend wall complement each other.

Revisitation

2010-09-03T17:38:00.002+08:00

I lost the will and I lost it all again.

I just couldn’t keep up with me and I realize now how much of my life you are part of and I swear despite the silence, I wish you would be home or appear at the door when I return. Or beside me curled up like a ball in bed. How I wish for you to heart kiss me again. How I wish I could re-write the battered script from the start.

And you’re right. Just like it was before, I didn’t know what I had til its gone and left.

Needs Money

2009-06-30T17:08:00.002+08:00

You fellas out there have any dinero you could spare?
Let's say about 7000 dollars?
Hehehehehehe

Fatty Hits The Gym Again

2009-06-05T16:01:00.002+08:00

I have decided to push myself into shape again and hope to look back like when i was in college. So far, my fitness levels have proven to be below par of what i expected of myself since for the past few months i've been in a 'regular' gym.

So here i trudge into new teritory with Crossfit at PushMore Fitness Centre. Four sessions in and i'm addicted to the bloody pain and strain that its given me and the numb legs and sore arms. Crazy awesome excercises and WOD's and some movements i've never ever heard about before like 'Kong Walk's and Renegade Man Makers (?) '. Awesome stuff.

Crossfit's 10 minute workouts leave me more tired than spending 2.5 hours in my old gym. So that's gotta be good or i'm just unfit. Haha.

So raise the knife cut the binds to the curtains and its time to PushMore To HurtMore Baby! No i don't need to cut myself to feel the pain anymore. Heh!

Now I'm Nothing

2009-03-12T20:27:00.003+08:00

NINE INCH NAILS : FORT CANNING, SINGAPORE
No excuses; consider me there.

Would you believe in the good and the light, to feel the warmth of the sun against your skin and let me save you because these are the moments that will change our lives. We're not free, shackled against our will and held by circumstances we never signed for. Skin and bones the cold weeps when the rain comes harder than we expected. But pull me back when you're free and let yourself into me, pull me back into your bottle and cap the cork because i don't care if its the world, i just wanna caress your stomach and pepper them with kisses.

Heh

2009-02-24T12:49:00.002+08:00

Half a year seems like a good time to finally put some stuff up. Reasons being that i realized that over the course of growing older i have finally sold out to the corporate suit and given my life and time to the desk and whichever the next assignment demands.

I succumb to self censoring for the feeling of fear that i may offend you; my three readers or anyone who might actually stumble upon this page. I am no more profanely profound, more dickshipdeepthroatarse-ho. Which most will say that i always have been one anyway...

So goodnight and thank you for all the shoes.

You Got Feel For Sale ?

2008-07-30T19:51:00.000+08:00

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

2008-07-17T17:42:00.002+08:00

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 ?

2008-06-19T18:17:00.002+08:00

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

2008-06-13T16:15:00.007+08:00

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

2008-06-02T18:03:00.008+08:00

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.

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.

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

2008-05-30T08:09:00.005+08:00

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!

2008-05-28T18:08:00.001+08:00

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

2008-05-22T17:59:00.001+08:00

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

The Beautiful Girls Cometh

2008-05-15T13:34:00.003+08:00

Supermodels are beautiful girls, Will. A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man - promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay. The supermodels, Willy? That's all they are. Bottled promise. Scenes from a brand new day. Hope dancing in stiletto heels - Beautiful Girls (1996)

One of the best movies for adolescents growing up and learning the different perspective of the life you would never know or understood. Growing up before your time and the old pooh analogies.

The Good Life

2008-04-22T23:59:00.003+08:00

For the past 23 . 5 years i have constantly bathed in the sunlit rays of rising above negativity and adversity, never one to try and be positive or think positive thinking it just might be the corniest of corny porky lame things to listen to like when your mom told you that you come from a stork that delivered your ass at your parents doorstep or the time your grandmother said its bad luck to shave or cut your nails past 12am.

But as corny as i thought it would be i gave positivity a try and as corny as this is going to sound, it has pushed me to evolved a little bit more from being a fucking brat to a more responsible patient driven person. Ahh, the good life. I don't need people to tell me how good i look to feel good or how great i am because i am great; be it a DoTA-God or a crazily creative yuppie to a Zara-cufflink with high Chuck T's to work I am who I build myself to be, the young man who dreams of greatness and is taking the steps toward his dreams no matter how fuckin far-fetched it may seem.

For once in this short life i am content with what i have.. be it lacking in the as i imagined monetary freedom, i am happy. Positively happy at that.

Ha ha. Shen & Positivity. Fuckin insane and fuckin unbelievable.

Cellophane Flowers Look For The Sky With Diamonds

2008-04-01T14:43:00.003+08:00

In this life we yearn for acceptance; in life, in work, in our family and above all else in love. I’ve never wanted to be accepted in any circle of friends, cliques or colleagues except my family and the people who care and love me most. Some say why I futilely strive to be different, some say I’m just different from the others around and some never would give me the time and day (not that I would give a flying saucer about them nor would I piss on them to them out of a fire)

We have the biggest fallouts and the deepest cuts bruises and empty wallets from the damages that occur when I rage stupendously when we argue and fight yet I am more upset with myself for not being able to make you happy or smile or even simply understand my actions. My past has been an endless misdemeanor and you see things in different view from where I stand yet it stems from our mirroring ego-ism of being right and not giving in and cut-through-your-heart spit of remarks that regurgitate situations from bad to worse time and time and time again.

We have the worst relationship you can think about where I hide and learn and display the honesty I have been unable to share in so long yet we still have everything to lose to everyone who knows and nothing to gain except a bleak disappointment for the ones who don’t know. Despite all that we share identical thoughts of cynicism, life, beauty and quirky remarks of people and situations.

I carry with me a box of half opened can of worms as I stand transparent for you. You mean much more to me than the ones from past years and forgotten plans and Hollywood endings. I’ve never much of a fan of Hollywood anyway. As I lie in bed I turn towards your pillow and the scent of your hair and the stands of your wavy hair give me the shivers of longing that you were beside me just hours ago. As I waste days away I am lost in the years of which I see us being together because despite, in spite of it all we still drink sprite and eat cakes to rolling floor little toy 3 year old games that no one would give us the time for.

I see you there making me smile with Eeyore on your head and running across the hall before the 3 count or lying on my back while I do push ups. I see you with the wind in your hair blowing across your face against your light brown skin in a tank top and torn jeans. I see you sitting inside the car asleep when we reach home and I wake you to brush your teeth. I see you and you’ll see me standing there before the end of days.

Through the stars that burn out and the white hair and fallen teeth, through the pain suffering and life we will endure, through each passing moment and awakening beside you as you or I whine I and groan we will smile because it isn’t about till the stars burn out anymore. I’m not 21 anymore; I’m not a fool to let selfishness get in the way of my happiness. It’s about us. It’s about waking up at seven thirty dragging each other out of bed and sharing a thousand dollars to survive the month and laugh like children when the ice cream melts or the cigarette falls off my fingers in the moving care. It’s about everything we have, we share and through your eyes I see me building the castles around us.

I love you.

Sembilu

2008-03-21T18:07:00.002+08:00

...you will be just mediocre. It shows in the way you live, doing nothing more than your usual routine.

it was just sex, nothing more.

as you once said, life is full of unfairness. live as you've spoken.

you're always the same

i hate you

The same words spoken from the eyes of different people. The same person who would loved me for the greatest things about myself but never the frayed pieces. So here's to the one who would watch me drown, the one who would leave me in the face of adversity. Je'taime.

If I Seem Superhuman I Have Been Misunderstood

2008-03-06T11:26:00.003+08:00

Here he is, typing the words that come unnaturally to him as he thinks of reasons for the demise of everything he seems to think he owns. The bruises on his hand and the scars on his wrist remind him of how his broken promises and delusional anger management problems have scarred the ones closest to him; his family, his friends, his you-know-who. He dreams of dreams that will caress her with the lingering perfume of lavender and take her places where she would wonder. He dreams of happiness unconfined and hope distinguished by the corner of every window he opens in his space dye vest. He dreams...

It's never enough

He is sorry for being selfish. The animal whose greed rivals tyrants.
He is sorry for not knowing you.
He is sorry for not understanding you.
He is sorry for the times he could not hold your hand when you cried.
He is sorry for the pain and emptiness you now feel.
He is sorry for being selfish.
He will change.
If only you show him and give him a chance again.

Show him who you are again before the words fall into worlds of chaos and the rush of emotion defeats everything he has tried to build from the embers of his charcoal garden

He loves you; he truly does. Without a scent of fear or selfishness.
Just love

Live At The One Cafe

2008-03-04T14:24:00.002+08:00

Serpent Ash

Pre-show emo poses

Carlsberg sponsored beverages entice singer

The stars above us shone like piercing glass splinters through wicker hearts

Teko Von Kote

Faizal shred's your mother's skirt off

Ryo and his Rock Bass!

Our locker room groupies!

Tribute To Rambo

2008-02-15T03:23:00.003+08:00

So Stallone reprises his 'legend' role again; John Fuckin Rambo in the fourth and 'final' installment of the Rambo series. The trailer looked more violent than illegal torture tapes I bought years ago as a teenager but I suppose the glorification of evil and violence shouldn’t immortalized but fuck it; Rambo! The man that held two AK-47's and shot a thousand soldiers down, the guy who tied that stupid red sweat band on his forehead while waiting dodging bullets (that's bullet time for you!).

I figure Rambo is America’s trouble shooter for all things war-related, only this time the movie should just have been called Rambo 4: EEMO!!. Black shirt, black sweat band, sullen face uttering unintelligible words except for 'GO HOME!' They made him sound like a teenage emo whose mother decide to leave him home and let him listen to Simple Plan and Fallioutboy.

Then again, the body count notched in Rambo is still high and the movie kicked all the other recent 'blockbuster' bullshit movies in their fathers nuts and showed that RAMBO will never die. NEVER.

Think about it, what would we all do if Rambo never trouched our lives?

1. We would never have thought AK-47's were such great weopons
2. We would never have wanted to slowly tie a read band across your forehead to beat the shit out of the neighbour who tied a karate kid rising sun band on his head while playing Nuts.

So here's to more Rambo films which i'm sure will be made in the next 15 years. Stallone isn't punking out; he's making violent movies. Long live rambo.

I've also read the leaked script for the next 10 Rambo sequels. Go Rambo! Aku caya sama lu

RAMBO 5: RAMBO in the City

RAMBO 6: RAMBO vs ALIEN vs Matrix vs Predator vs Real Madrid

RAMBO 8: Death Of RAMBO

RAMBO 9: Funeral of RAMBO

RAMBO 10: Son of RAMBO

Rambo 11: Resurecction of RAMBO

RAMBO 12: I.AM.RAMBO

RAMBO 13: RAMBO IN SPACE

RAMBO 14:Go go Power RAMBO: A Space Recon

And the final Rambo movie of all ultimate Stallone movie:
RAMBO 15: RAMBO VS ROCKY

Donuts, Broken Strings and Double Peddles

2007-11-29T16:29:00.000+08:00

The funniest thing about being everything and nothing at all is the irony of the scenario by the day’s end. It was the usual audition day for me and the boys at 5.50pm, rushing to a studio to perform our songs for a so-called charity competition when I had the urge to suddenly eat doughnuts. Cutting the corner to the usual route and stopping by the gas kiosk with the guys screaming ‘The fuck man, we’re fucking late. Let’s go wei. What the fuck!’

I go,’ Chill man, I need to eat some doughnuts’

So we arrived late and find that our bassist; The Great Ahmad is stuck in a traffic jam hours away (as usual) and really start cutting our shit into the studio organizers about ‘Mad getting into an accident and to their credit, they were nice enough to push us to a later slot and even given us a free 30 minutes (our original slot) to warm up without our 12-inch cock bass man. Everything is perfect, the pitch, my vocals, the drum beats and the like when we hear Ahmad’s voice outside.

‘Cool right? All of us here and we can perform and rock their socks of their cocks and clits’

Right.
Just fucking right.

Calvin the guitarist man is screaming. His guitar’s 7th string busted out and obviously we still can’t play without THE string. So there I go giving a doe-eyed cheeky little boy face to the pretty lady about pushing us further down the slot, ‘Er.. Rileen ah, our guitarist string burst -la (*wink *wink and partially distorted eyebrow raised inwards and cheek pushed to one side) … we can’t play now.. Er, can you like, uhm… give us a later slot pleaseee. I’ll give you five ringgit and buy you dinner okay? I mean we will buy you dinner’

‘Hmm… okay. You got the last slot, 10.00pm and I want my dinner at 8.30’

Miraculously she agrees and off we go to get new strings and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

We get in, do our whole so called 'Progressive-Neo-Classical-Metalcore-Hard Rock-Metal’ thing with dirty blues guitar solos that transcend to an assault of insane shredding and fretwork with pounding double peddle drum solos rocking the balls off the table. Everyone is impressed and giving up the thumbs up and the whole ‘Fucking awesome guys. Nice vocals. That solo damn power man. Your drummer damn owning wei’

‘But guys, didn’t you read the rules? No heavy metal or hard rock lah. I’m sorry man, we gotta disqualify you. Sorry man’ How the fuck can a band competition work without the stereotypical-confirm-lose-too loud-metal band ?

Story of Mezzo Asphyxia’s life.

Fuck kacang.

New Skin In Constant Motion

2007-11-27T16:44:00.000+08:00

Our fathers and we helped to build this house. Why are we still considered tenants?