Monday, May 31, 2004

I Hate Packing

I usually put it off till the last possible minute, and needless to say, always eventually regret it.
I simply don't have enough practical underwear, my mother needs to stop bugging me to run last minute errands for her, and god, i need food.

Well, the Great Singapore Sale is on now. Not that I'm one for shopping -I buy things when I'm absolutely sure I want them- but I got a pretty damn good jacket and the most comfortable pair of sandals at Timberland.

Tired. Exhausted. Irritated.
I've been feeling totally edgy lately. No idea. It's like I get really annoyed when people talk to me; And I just don't want to talk to them.

I really, really need to get laid.
Maybe that'll loosen me up. heh. No pun intended.

I read something really disgusting today. It was this AIDS patient, talking to her friend, telling her she really needed sex.
'It's like my body knows its dying and it wants a last chance at redemption. Like it wants to create life, you know, make a baby.'

Whatever. It was gross because it came with all these weird pictures...
My favouritest painting in the whole wide world.

I think I might get something of his tattooed.
I've come up with a body art resolution.
I will never, ever, get anything with spiritual or mythical significance. With the exception of the crucifix. *shrugs* And maybe a few other things pertaining to the christian faith. But nothing from anyother new age religion or any bullshit like that.

I need to sleep.
I am so going to flunk the mandrian competency examination once again. Because well, *gasp* I'm as competant with the language as I am with practicing abstinence. My mom asked me if I was going to bother studying for it.

Heh. If I had wanted to, I would have. 6 years ago.
Well, I still do. But until there's a dire need; Like where the chances of my employment are determined by how well i can articulate myself in the blasted language...

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Another Sunday

Sundays awlays feel so ritualistic.
Go to church, buy groceries -nearly the same thing everyweek- have lunch (Tomyam/Sashimi/Kebab or Congee, but never pasta. My mom hates pasta)Overload my dad's credit card on clothes/software/books.
And every Sunday the phrase 'oh my god, wasn't I just doing this last week. And the week before and...' (You get the idea) continually pops up in front of me.
Sundays always give me a sense of opportunity, like hey, it's the first day of the week and all. I make resolutions on a weekly basis, and usually break them by the closure of Monday. Mondays are just evil. Always wished I could just bypass them and get on to the Tuesdays already.

The pastor had abit of things to say to charismaniacal belief. In my context, it's the sort of behaviour that compells weird kids to tell me to shape up or I'll burn in hell forever (I used to tell them I'd just probbaly get junked in a room with hot biker chicks bringing down the house to Cradle of Filth's filth). Well, his theory/belief was that these people felt condemned themselves, because they constantly thought about sin and retribution and therefore had to condemn other people, i.e. harmless little girls like me. Well whatever. I'm not here to give a sermon, and I'm not in any position to either.
Hypocite; sacrilegious, immoral, iconoclastic whatever.
I think I believe in a God because she's better then anything else there is to believe in.
You know. Everything else is so transiet. Causes are transient, fame is the ultimate fugitive, money never ceases to change hands... you get the idea.

I'm not very good at expressing how I feel about faith and all.
Think I'll not bug anymore people.
Religion never ceases to make people uncomfortable. It always makes me uncomfortable too. It's allright for me to write about it like that, because I'm not going to be obliged to respond, but in a real life situation, I usually try my best to avoid it.

I've got all these undeveloped abstract ideas i've yet to sort out...

I sourced out some travel material on Vietnam.
I really want to go.

Saturday, May 29, 2004


Right baby. It's confirmed.

Party At Lempicka (Just beside Cayote Ugly) On the 11th of June A Friday.

$15 per ticket, inclusive of the prefunctionary house pour of course.
Jugs go for $25.
Barcardi Breezers $30 per bucket of 4
Storm Shooters from $2

R n B and Hip Hop all night baby.
No technophile bullshit, I swear. I'll whack the DJ if that happens and auction his nuts. Promise.

Come if you love me.

Remember to be civillized.

It's a gorgeous classy club; Fabulous artwork on its wall by a certain unknown Vietnamese artist.


Elated, deflated, whatever.

Mark Kaplan's work is nearly all on exibit in the Opera Gallery's branch in Ngee Ann City. God, I love him. My favourite artist ever. The Ulitmate.
His work has a way of drawing me into them, getting me lost into a delirious, messy, chaotic dimension; There's an atmosphere he evokes and and a special sort of emotion that he calls into being. Slender brush-strokes of deliberate, painted disorder, forming foliage and rustic architecture and -ah my favourite subject for any painting- thin legged tables and chairs, set up for alfresco dining. (Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace is one of my favourite paintings.)

Al Fresco dining is one of the pleasures in life. Just like quasi-isolation in city apartments, Friday martinis and sunday morning sex. Alex Krajewski expresses the former as well as it can possibly be. 10 a.m. after a jog; cold mango juice, scrambled eggs and banana nut muffins, served without the claustrophobia.

Met Mr. Grant today for tea -because we didn't feel like eating anything-. He was about to start gymming but decided to catch up with me instead.
I finally managed to ask him if he'd like to shoot with me (Ley suggested it) I was fussing over how in the world I could possibly put up such a strange request ever since it was suggested, and I eventually did it the way I end up doing most things. By just doing it. It was no big deal. He said I could ask anything of him anytime. Ley's asked me to bring him round to the studio sometime soon; I don't know how Mr. G will be recieved. He's got a great body but only an allright face. It's pleasant to me, and that's all that matters between the sheets and on the streets (in case I meet anyone I know). But it definitely beats the Burmese model Ley suggested. He looked like a monkey. And believe it or not, I no longer find it much fun being naked with men I don't know. Unless they weild a huge Nikon SLR and keep their hands on their equiptment.
He agreed to it anyway.
He also agreed to go to Hanoi with me a couple of weekends from now, if he could afford the time.
That would be fun, and it might just be what I need - and maybe what he does too(?)- to sort out this whole emotional mess I've (we've?) made. Perhaps I'm loosing out on this game for his affection, but I know I've only got myself to blame.

I suppose it's only fair that he's to see someone else while I see someone else, but that really doesn't stop me from being jealous.
Especially not when he dares fuss over her when he's out with me. Sure, I suppose we're better of as friends, and that's fine, but I'm still female, and I still want you. I guess I'm flattered that he tells me his deepest darkest, silliest emotions (I didn't know people his age still fussed over the absence of one text message) but it's not easy to just pretend it doesn't matter that you're affected because You got her* mad at you, and you managed to get mad in return -some silly thing over not having enough cash to go to Athens for the Olympics; apparently she was trying to dictate how he was to spend his money. But I didn't think it was her fault, but it's noneofmydamnbusiness. It's upsetting at any rate.

I suppose he knew I was jealous when he mentioned Miss. Athens; and perhaps for want of hinting to me subtly that, hey, I was seeing someone else too, he had to ask about Mr. Big. Well... what about him? I don't know how he feels about me, and I don't care to know. It's allright, he likes me, and I return the favour. It's comfortable, like baked potato and cheese, and that's all there is to it. *shrugs*

Well, whatever. I don't particulary want to care anymore.

Like, how is it possible to like so many people all at once?
The funny thing is, I don't feel all that passionate for either of them. They're great people to hang out with and do fun things with and appreciate and have appreciation in return, but that's it. Eh, it's been a long time since I felt passionate about any one person anyway.
But Mr G comes so close.

Well, my definition of long is not very long.
Is half a year a long time?
When you're as young as I am, anything is a long time.

I'm a firm advocate of how the fault is in ourselves and not in our stars, but well, there are certain times where there's nothing you can do about anything. You can make plans, but who the hell can plan how to feel?

I'll never be good at sorting out these things.

This elation;
Ship confined in purgatory.
Lost in a sea of blood.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Such Strong Sentiments

Someone told me I was the most fucking ugly slut s(he) ever saw.

What EXACTLY is wrong with these people? I've done nothing to them, I don't know them, and hey. If you're so damn bold to use such strong words, why dont go all the way and reveal yourself, and let's see how gorgeous You are.

People are weird. They are really, really weird.

Did I insult you're little brother? With particular emphasis on... Little?

We all know where you buy your clothing now. Think John Little at the Specialist Centre. Oh Man. I know. That is such a tired old dirty joke.

But it's just the sort they can relate to.
Note to self.

Do not get tattooed while on the PMS.

But I really do want to get another one. Something smaller, with a little more colour. I thought I'd get one of Anne Geddes's work inked onto the area between my belly button and my cunt. (I've always wanted a little baby in a fetal position just there. Something that'll match the colour of my skin too.) I was all geared up to get one tonight, then I thought, ah hell. I think I'd save the space for my own kid, you know, like a dedcade or so down the road. Besides, it'd be so awful if I had to do a C-Section and get it be all cut up.

I particularly liked this one. There was even one that matched my skin tone.

Yes, I know I sound mildly not in the right frame of mind. Thinking about babies and all. I'd never want an abortion if it'd mean it'd make me infertile for the rest of my life. I'd just die. Really. I think I would.

Oh. I was thinking about tattoos the whole damned day. I think I Shall get one this week.
What is Love me if you Dare in French? I did so like the movie (it's my romantic tragedy of choice. It's my second favourite film after Waking Life. It's Jeux D'Enfants in French, but that is so not what I want to get inked on me.

I'm sure some people will freak when I get it.
*shrugs* I'm still figuring out what I want.


Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Allright. Art is alot of work.

Met Sunday's Photographer (Ley) for a little chat, and a viewing of the photos he took for me. He hasn't got the time to duplicate the set though, so no new shit till two days later I'm afraid. But they ARE beautiful. The ones I look the best in, so far. It was also alot more work then the others I've taken though, but that just goes to show that all the best art takes effort, and alot of it too. But I still won't say they're anything amazing. I thought the photos would come out souless, and I still think they are souless. Well, if there's a soul in the subject of the pictures, it cannot be mine. I am not whatever that's in there. And that's really important to me, and that's why I love Suicidegirls so much. Because you can see the person the girl is in her sets. And that's everything.

We talked alot about his drinking problem (2k on net drinks every month is a little extreme) and the makeup artist and her fucked up love life. There's this French vetenarian whoes in love with her (believe it or not, she used to work in the zoo), but alas, religion has once again taken precedence over happiness. So she's stuck with another bastardy Malay dude. Well, I'm sure there are some nice ones out there *coughcough*, but it's such a pity that religion has to limit her choices. I suppose it's different when you're Muslim. You can't just denouce Allah like how people forsake Christ or Buddah, or whatever.


I walked past Mr. Big's place last night and thought I'd stay over and just popped in without warning, and he was all, oh happy and stuff. Sometimes he gets pissed when I do that. I don't know why. It never fails to freak me out. I wish there were some way I could wring out more consideration for me from him.

Mr. Grant's never like that though. Goddamnit. But he's always busy. Well, you can't have everything. But royalty treatment is always preferable.

Ley tells me Singaporean people are so American. I can't help but think so too. For one thing, they're always thinking about money. Secondly, they're rude. Well whatever. I think they sold their culture so wholly to us, we're like them now.

Anyway, Mr. G was all guilty for bailing out on the poetry SLAM (gasp) and me last night. He called me today *grin* well, that really kinda shows he's thinking about how I feel. And that feels good. Ah, these little triumphs.

We had a nice long silly chat about his roommate whoes shagging a 21 year old Dutchie (she's 33). Apparently she thought she was pregnant and had asked him to grab a pregnancy kit on his way back from work yesterday evening; he said her hands were shaking when she told him about the whole mad affair when he came back for dinner. But anyway, she isn't pregnant, and they had alot of Movenpick chocolate cherry ice-cream after that; she was still under the impression that her hormones were imbalanced, apparently, and thought she had all the right to crave for it. Oh well. Even women that old can make still make ill choices. (No condoms? Bad! -See, I advocate safe sex.)

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Look. Sex is Art allright?

Art is the dream of order out of the sense of chaos; and ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

And I think nudity is one of the best forms of art.
I love naked women, and I love myself naked. I'm not so sure about men, I kinda like them when their naked in private, but there's something so wrong seeing them naked on the movie screen. I don't know if I'm glad they cut of Brad Pitt's nude scene in Troy. Hey, to each her own la.

There are so many ways women can be naked and gorgeous. It doesn't matter (to me) if their Queen Latifah big or Kate Moss emaciated or Paris Hilton Hot (yes I think she's hot. Very too.) It's all up to the artist to make sense of her subject.

I like being my own subject.
The photographer who shot me last Sunday was really happy with what happened with the rosebuds and sequins.

I'm trying to tell him his work is so fucking boring. He's into makeup that makes everyone look the same and into sweet smiles with huge swords. (How is that supposed to work?) Bah. His work is is souless. Beautiful, but empty. I hope what I did with him comes out a little better. But he did force me into doing things I normally wouldn't want to do. Like wear purple eyeshadow and smile sweetly for 3 hours.

Now THIS is more like it!

Monday, May 24, 2004

Because I'm such a Gaiman Junkie...

Neil Gaiman, on Love. Exactly the way I'd say it. Simple, and so damn real.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up these defenses, you build this whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They do something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own any more. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darknes, so working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
--Neil Gaiman

If he ever cam to town, I'd beg him to let me have his babies.

Well, I hope you guys like it.

You can see more of one of the hottest, cutest goth chicks ever at Lithium Picnic.
She's cute AND evil all at once.

My photos are not ready yet :( But I didn't feel pretty enough to meet any photographers today. My stupid, wholly psychological weight problems are back again for no apparent reason. It's PMS time again I suppose. I binged yesterday and go so wrecked with guilt I had to run 6 klicks this evening; or die from guilt. It's really strange. I'm slimmer now then I've been in quite a long while, yet I'm simply not as happy as I thought I'd be. But it's all really in the head. I need prozac.


Some idiot I trusted has passed around one of my photos. I usually don't mind it all that much; I mean, it's the internet, I know the consequences of everything I do. Only this particular one, I did not post up on anywhere public. I sent it to someone I fucking trusted. It's pretty decent I suppose, with the exception of one thing. The fucking tie. Please, if you have that photo, stop sending it out anymore.


Anyway, It's the Poetry SLAM competition/ recital again tomorrow at Velvet Underground, from 1930hrs onwards.
Go prepare something cool to recite, and you just might win a massage voucher. Or a rather good insult from cynical, disillusioned, repressed civil service workers cum tortured artists that simply can't stop whining about the government and teenage disillusionment.


Sunday, May 23, 2004

Nope. I'm not racist. I swear.

I just really suffer a strong aversion towards most muslim men.(With no insult to the ones I actually know and like. Which is uh. One. And he doesn't even really count as muslim *laughs*)

The model I'm replacing is apparently Muslim Malay (I couldn't tell). The last time I met with the photographer, she was hanging around the studio. Then guess who should come by but her husband; He goes up to the photog, yells at him for a good half an hour about how in the world could he actually allow a muslim girl to model nude, then leaves, dragging her along with him.

We didn't know what happened thereafter, but security told us he saw the guy slap the girl on CCTV. We kept that footage of course. If ever she wants a divorce. What bastards they are.

And my makeup artist. She's gorgeous. She's really really gorgeous, and she's malay too. Over some dinner gossip, I got the impression her husband prayed five times a day and slept with five different women a week. Ugh!

Call it blind aversion, but I've seen too much bastardy, chauvanistic behaviour from the lot to bother being tolerant. Blogging about a girl you sleep with on a blog that her friends read? Disgusting.

Today's shoot was allright. It was different shooting with an Analogue camera. Different in a bad way. Each shot has to be so measured, so carefully taken... my whole body aches. Most of the time I'll just be myself and pose however I wish to, and the photogs just snapp away. Today, it was all, "head down, side, twist your body more" Oww. Need Massage. The makeup artist gave me a nice curly hairdo though. I feel like getting a ceramic perm now *grin*


My girlfriend's back from Thailand. Finally. Her boy is leaving this Thursday for Switzerland; all mourn for her. I guess they really shared something special. I didn't think he was all that fantastic. He's allright, not someone I'd up my ante on on a bet for lookers. Or the cash factor. Not that I think that's terribly important, but I still like sashimi a couple of times a week. Ooh. I don't know what'll happen to her after he leaves.


Just found out what exactly the tattoo on my hip meant. (It's also the last character of my chinese name)
Huang (3)
Brilliance, success.
Okay, I can live with that for the rest of my life. No problem.


Got a free book in the mail today.
Wild Animus

I have too many things to read.
Time to get down eh?


Saturday, May 22, 2004

Altoids and Oral Sex.

Mr Big and I were waiting at the lift lobby, on our way to catch a movie -it had already taken us the whole morning to get the hell out of bed and do whatever it is people do in the morning (of which includes brushing of teeth, sex, coffee and realizing food in the 'fridges of bachelor pads are always past expiry date)- when he asked me if I'd ever had well... I didn't know what he asked me. I'm not very used to the yank accent STILL. But I just shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, because it sounded like something I didn't have.

"You wanna give it a go... Or are you too tired?"
I still didn't know what he was getting at. So I just nodded my head.
Then he grabbed my wrist and ushered me back into his apartment.
"Do you know what Altoids are?"
"Uh yeah. I read about it in a Gaiman's American Gods. This teenage girl was talking about how great altoids made oral sex."
Then it dawned on me that he had one of those awful Listerine breath mints in his mouth. (Damnit. But I AM tired, and I feel so clean. Oh well.)
I went along with it anyway, and it was allright. Nothing compared to my daddy's shaving foam, which is so minty it's no joke when you nick yourself (Not through oral sex. While shaving. Gah.).

It was erotic.
It was all hot and humid and absolutely quiet and the only sounds were those of breaths and sighs and pleasure.
My leg was coiled around the speaker stand and and my hips where on the armrest of the filthy italian sofa.
And this is where the whole thing ends when I over-estimate the stability of the damn speaker stand; I don't know what happened really (Why would I be noting something like this in the midst of well, heighten physical bliss), but the speaker fell off the stand.
He didn't bother about it, but I am still embarassed about it.
I think it's spoilt now.

I felt the need to go to the bookstore today. Good thing I went. I was waiting for another 20% discount to pop up before I finished my Sandman Collection, and that was JUST what they had today! I bought another graphic novel, Palestine by Joe Sacco. It looked cool; different. A great way to relieve myself of ignorance pertaining to the middle east. Heh.

Anyway, while I was there some retard called me. I think I freaked him out, but hey. I was busy indulging in full colour books filled with cool ads featuring naked tattooed celebrities.
Me: "Yes?"
"Uh... Is this... uh..."
Me: "Yeah. What do you want."
"I want to be friend with you, could you make friend with me"
Me: "Go to hell."
Ugh. Where did he get my number. I have no idea where he's from.

Watched Shrek. Hilarity! :D
It reminds me somewhat of Swan Lake.
I love the dragon/donkey chimeras. There are SO many things about the movie that makes it SO wrong for little kids. And pinocchio's pink thong wasn't the worst of it.
"Lie! Tell a lie, any lie! Say you wear ladies underwear."
"I wear ladies underwear."
-nothing happens-
"Oh my god. You DO wear ladies underwear?!"
-Nose grows-
"Oh mY God! It's a thong. And it's pink too!"
And they made a movie based on Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 days! *grin* I love seeing stuff like that. Think Treasure Island and the Count of Monte Cristo. I love Disney *grin* This movie looks absolutely fantastical.

Photoshoot tomorrow.
You should be too.


Friday, May 21, 2004


The Princess got a message from some Yahoo auction site for the Ericsson P900 at USD$300. Apparently this guy (with some 'tard nick like electronicos4u ) 'sold' cellphones, and we thought we'd buy couple from him, because it does sound like a pretty neat deal. The only problem's that we don't know him, don't trust him (duh), and he lives in Melanga. That's some ulu pandan village in Spain. Maybe it isn't so out of the way, but it does have a funny sounding name.

Anyway, we thought, well we could see how it works out. So we said we'd send him the full $1100 for the phones and UPS service.

Of course we were fucking paranoid, so I changed my mind and told her majesty that we really should buy a dirt cheap phone first. That way, if he's bullshit, we'd only loose about a hundred bucks. Which is allright. So she changed her order.

Oh here's where it gets weirder.

The guy goes something like (I don't remember what he said exactly; and he said it with english far more ungramatically correct then mine) "What?? But I SENT the phones already. In order for you to get them on time, I had to send them this afternoon. You were supposed to pay me then. No no, I'll tell UPS to send it back. I'll just loose shipping, but it's better then loosing the phones to two theives. I have a pregnant wife and two sons! I can't afford this bullshit."

I told the dude to just please send us the tracking number so we could check with UPS. If he really sent it, we'd see it. Then when our nagging little voices are gratified, we'd send him the cash.

"No! You don't know how to do business. If i send you the tracking number you can collect the parcel."

Do you think we're dumb? We'd get the parcel whether or not we have the tracking number. We don't collect it from UPS, UPS sends it to our doorstep!


So I told him we'd send him the money this afternoon, and give him a call after that.
The whole afternoon, all this phones were switched off.
Then all of a sudden, while I was eating persimmons I nicked off the store and the princess was contemplating the fullness of her tummy, he called!
"Hey! Call me back." He said, and he put the phone down.
Weird eh.

Anyway, by this time it was pretty damn obvious he was a load of bullshit and that there was no way we were going to get the tracking number, because there is no tracking number.

It was just a waste of money on international calls, but thank God nothing more.

If there was a way to report him!

All suggestions welcomed, please email me. I don't fancy the idea of other people getting cheated. I actually called up UPS to ask them a bunch of stuff and they told me nearly 2 people got conned daily. *shudder*


In more interesting news. The princess and I are planning to host a party this June at Lempicka, on Mhd Sultan. *grin*
I'm thinking of having a nice theme and some sort of competition.
Oh we'll work on it.
We are after all $1100 richer. In a sense. *laughs*

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Once again, my Baby's mad with me

And I can't even kick her.
My PC really has a way of driving me nuts! Damn virus, whatever it is. Damn internet connection (so slow? Oh why!)

I wrote a mediocre essay on Water Shortage in the 21st century. Oh well, at least I got my writing reflexes cranking again. I've been writing far too much crap and nothing of much quality recently. But then again, maybe you don't think I ever write anything of quality.



More poetry.

From Swinburn's A Leave Taking

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

And a fleshed out Frankenstien of Neil Gaiman's The Gates of Hell from his Sandman's Preludes and Nocturnes.
I really love this poem (And I can't believe I misplaced the novel :( )
This was when Dream went back to Hell to retrieve his helm.

At The Gates of Hell - Complete Piece

It’s a little late
Is there still time for salvation

Any delay to account for
That unjustified bout
Of Aggression?

Or the sinful little round
Of incestuous relation

Can you account for your soul
That has so degenerated
Into moral dissention

Or is it too late.
There’s no time for salvation.

A little trip,
A little tumble,
And fall.

Into the cesspool of
And dissolute shit.

Ding Dong
Goes the great brass bell
At the gates of hell

Says the keeper of hell
To the freshly fell

There’s one at the gate,
The gate to damnation,
And there’ll room for one more,
Till the end of creation

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Evening Out

Ever thought about how everything always tries to reach that state of equilibrum.

Like how military conflict fucks up the environment, but makes in better by leaving all those landmines in the jungles so no one ever wants to go in and hunt endangered animals.

I am too bored.

I made some dessert for my mom's uh... little evening tea party (does that make sense? It started at 7 and they had alot of green tea and biscotti)


This is such a pain in the ass.
I can't seem to host photos tonight :(
My computer is infected with a bloody email virus of some sort, no idea.
The best-friend has $400 of my cash with him and I need him to transfer the money soon but I have no idea how to contact him with his cellphone wrecked.


There's something about the movement, the speed, the wind against my face that makes the daydreams I have while running all the more magnificient. The pavement beneath my feet can be pavement anywhere, anywhere but here. I can almost imagine him running beside me; there's no destination, but that has never bothered me. My purpose in life has never been to find an ending anyway. I just want to do whatever the hell I want, dream whatever I wish to dream.

I realized one thing today.
That I really miss him. The feeling of well, infatuation and security. Is that a paradox?
I'm replacing him with so many other things, and its not as if I don't enjoy these people, these things I do, but people really need that sense of romance sometimes.

But WHAT exactly is it!
It's so fustrating.

I don't know about you, but when I think of an ideal romance, it's all mountains and white roses, champange and jazz. It's about sex on grass like the sort in Eden and vacations where you tug each other, running along the corridors of the L'oeuvre. But that's not reality is it?

I'm stuck here, sleeping with people that I like but don't particularly care for (and believe they reciprocate the feeling), and feeling nothing but one thing. Blandness. Is that a flavour?
Comedy Night!

8pm at Bar None, The Marriot Hotel.
Canadian Improv Showcase.

I love Improvs! We never have enough good ones. I hope it's fun.
(No, Selina Tan is not my idea of a good comedienne improv.)

Other Random Thoughts

I think J.Lo is perfect for LV.
I loveRyan McGinness's art.

And I need to sleep.


Tuesday, May 18, 2004

What's wrong with our Government?

Ooh funnies.

Sometime back I watched a little short film at Velvet Underground by an anti-PAP film maker. I really can't remember what the film's title was, or even what it's about. Most Singaporean film makers are so terribly ineffective and unamusing. Pity huh.

I've only ever watched three commercial local film productions: Homerun, Fifteen and Tiger's Whip. They were all pretty good I suppose. Nothing like Bowling for Columbine or Super-Sized me, oh nothing epic like that, but entertaining at least. All other local films welre simply spastic. Oh I forgot Talking Cock. That was really retarded. Singapore's Premier Satirical Humour Website? I think not.

Something like Mr. Brown would be more in order if you want an alternative local voice.

Anyway, I'm digressing.

So I was at Underground and I started talking to the film maker of the mediocre film on the Singapore-Malaysia Water issue (allright. I remember what it was about now. Not exactly though; just know that it's supposed to be anti-PAP and their policies) and he suggested that I left my number with his friend -I recited a couple a poems that night and got a spa voucher for it. He liked my voice- This friend of his never ceased to continually hound me thereafter. It's been oh, 9 months since I gave him my number and I've never met him since and only talked to him a couple of times; conversations which I did not enjoy, and he still calls me.

The acting forreign minister came to the college the other day to hold some sort of forum with the students. I wasn't there -last year's forum proved to be wholly retarded. I got a little too excited and stopped bothering to go up to the mike to speak and ended up yelling across the auditorium. It was about *surprisesurprise* Censorship in Singapore. The baseline for my argument was, by restircting movies non-discriminatorily, they weere infact leaving teenagers with two options, either no idea of the concept of sex (highly unlikely) or the impressions gleaned off slutpost.
His reply, "Does anyone else have anything to say?"
And you know what, someone actually did. He said this "Erotic artistry should be view within the marital bed, so I suggest, to that girl (me) to get a husband if she so wishes to view such materials." Well, you have my pity.

So that was why I didn't go this year -aslo the fact that I was stuck in theatre :P- but the stalker dude had to call me up, oh 6 times the night before -I didn't pick up the calls- and then messaging me to tell me that he'd be at the forum. Ugh. I don't care for what you have to say against the PAP.

You can't bite the hand that feeds you. And people seriously should stop fussing over how governments are elected and start paying more attention to how well they are functioning. And so what if the Lee family monopolizes Singapore's biggest corporations. People need incentives to run a country well. The American export of Democracy is not everyone's answer, and dude, I really don't feel like listening to you whine about the PAP anymore. It's just boring.

He keeps on whining about culture and propaganda and how (he's a teacher) he's forced to teach things he doesn't believe in. Well, if you hate your job so much, they pay up the bond and do something else. Sure, Singapore's wrecked with propaganda, and exggerated optimism for her future in the local paper, but it Runs.

And what about culture? This country doesn't know how to have fun and lacks diversity? Oh My God. Who are you kidding.
Sure we've lost all sense of identity for our ethinicity; I'm the perfect example, but that doesn't mean we don't have an identity. It's just a different identity now.
We were once compartmentalized by traditional asian values, now we're calssified into the different ways we express our individualism; the causes we believe in (pro-choice, pro-life, green, Liberal or New-Age?)The food we eat (McDonalds or Brown Organic rice produced by ex head-hunters from the jungles of Borneo) Whatever.
Singapore is as integrated into the globalized new world as much as a country can possibly be, and we are all influenced by these western thought and ideals, and we are really all bananas (yellow skin, white thought). But so what? It's just a different culture, that's all, not no culture.
It is not as if we have lost our soul and turned into the prototype of an asian society that's been fully overrun by white values and the prototye 'white culture'. I cannot believe that is possible. Every city has its own unique spirit, you can feel it when you step into one, and I know Singapore is different from all the other big cities I've visited.

So should we lament the loss of tradition in the face of progress? I don't know, and guess what. I don't care either.

The Harlot's House

by: Oscar Wilde

E caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.

Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss.

Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

The took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."

But she--she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.

Who doesn't love Wilde.

Monday, May 17, 2004

I HAD to watch It

Berg's execution.

Oh My God.
Oh My GOD!

I need to puke.


I'd like to say that I didn't get down to watching it until today because I thought it would do my soul and on one else's any good; but then my some one insisted I had to so I did. But oh No no no. I don't know what's this human facination with reality and violence, but I suppose we all have it. It's even more appealing when it's real. Not just visually real, but really Really real.

The worst part about it all was how those bastards droned on and on behind, and the poor dude was sitting up front, counting every single second and thinking about his wife and kids and well, everything that could have been. And then the screaming. That was the worst of the worst. I mean, shit! Just shoot the guy. Allah didn't advocate torture you bastards.

Well, but like they say, and eye for and eye.
I'd wish I could say I'm all for turning the other cheek.
But that's the way we are eh.


And you know what?
It's consumption junction that has the video (if you download it over the net's most authoritarian source of all things pirated).

Is this all one big fucking joke?

Oh, and I'm sure there are a million sides tot he damn video. And how death by shooting can really be longer then death by decapitation (Hollywood movies make being shot look way too clean) and how decapitation in Saudi Arabia is done with alot of anesthetic. Blah Blah. This IS an emotional post. Let me be emotional.


Sunday, May 16, 2004

Why Some Local Boys Really Suck

I got another horrid comment on one of my photos again. I don't actually ever bother reading them anymore, I can tell if it's horrid in a glance, and I've simply resigned myself to deleting them. No point giving these weirdos the satisfaction that they actually bother me.

These people are seriously weird and endowed with personalities smaller then their penises. I bet. So small they can't even find it.

Oh you're so disgusting, you're going to hell, blah blah, the whole diatribe. Do these people have sex drives at all? They think I talk too much about sex, well I admit I think I do too. But, hey luv, I'm sure I'll find having intellectual conversations with my books more worthwhile then having them with you.

Sometime back the Best Friend and I, we were having pizza at the best place to have pizza in Singapore -Modesto's across Orchard Hotel- and he suggested going down to the hotel.
"What for?"
"The church I used to go to, they're having some kinda of 2 day seminar there" (Try not to laugh. At Orchard Hotel? What are they trying to prove? In case you don't know, it's where the local girls go to earn a quick buck. $300 for an orgasm, so Mr. Big tells me.)
"My friends have a room there, we could bunk in for awhile and have a smoke and poke around their stuff"
I felt a little akward, because I didn't know his 'friends', but whatever. So we went.
I was in a little tube top and rather decent black pants; but when you go under the sheets in a tube top... nothing looks decent. I looked naked.
So He* was sitting around playing retarded songs on the guitar (They were retarded because he was coming up with the riffs on the spot and I was making up the tune half drunk on Bailey's)Then his friends came in and thought I was really naked. They stared at me for a long while, and I was wondering what the hell could possibly be the matter, then it hit me, so I did the only sensible thing I could; got out from under the sheets and went up to him and said Hi. He shook my hand like I had AIDS or something and they left. I looked at the B-F, he shrugged his shoulders, and we got back to making retarded songs in a vain attempt to emulate Ani DiFranco.
Then 5 guys barged into the room and looked at me with Oh So Grave eyes and told me to get out. Of course we did. Oh I know how these weirdos feel when they're at a religious camp and they feel all self-righteous and super-keen on obeying all of the 10 comandments given on a Mt. Senai.

This is where the irony of it all comes in.
A couple of weeks later, the B-F was cycling around the resevoir, or drinking and walking about, I don't remember these things; he caught the guy who told me to "Get Out" sitting under a tree with some slut sitting on his trunk. He* only told me that after I got a really queer message from him apologizing for his behaviour that night. Heh.


I've decided that morality has one singular value. To me anyway. Maybe I've know it for a long time already, I just never got down to describing it in words.

I believe it's there to enrich our lives; to give us a semblance of virtue that gives us satiisfaction when we manage to adhere to it. There really is some manner of self-approval to be derived from restraint. Huxley explored it in Brave New World. Sexual Liberation, complete, totalitarian sexual liberation, hyper-sexuality, isn't really genuine freedom into what sex really is. You'll get sick of it. It's pointless; But you already knew that. We all have different levels of morality, varying tolerance for self-control. But I don't think, I genuinely can't believe, having none is a possible level. That's for animals, and even prairie voles are supposed to be faithful to their mates.

Morality is not around to impose on your happiness, and if it does well, don't impress your ideas on anyone else. Because if it's making you feel like a caged bird; well, why promote an unhealthy thing. Other people have enough stress without you putting more uncessary weight onto them with your silly religious ideals.


I bought a new book today.

Reading Lolita in Tehran

Oh. I finially got to watch it today, it was amazing. It's in the league of movies that I'll remember for a long time yet. It wasn't so much about Helen and Paris as it was about Archilles and Hector; about the ideals of romance, of damnation, of honour. Well, sure it's a commercial movie, so all the concepts are well, watered down and easy to grasp. But I think that's how philosphical ideas should be; easily accessible to everyone.

It's because we're doomed, that's why our lives are so beautiful.

We appreciate something so much more because we know they're going to end in awhile.
But everyone knows that.


It was late afternoon when Mr. Grant and I were lazing around in bed- well I was lazing, he was being highly-strung over a bunch of appointments, kept on going over them in his head- and I asked him if the people standing on the road just outside his apartment could see his dick through the window when he gets out of the shower.

Apparently they can't, but you can see enough for it to be indecent to be walking around naked in the apartment.

So anyway, there was this little boy by the street who was playing some, I don't know, Badminton or something like that, and he saw him sorta naked. So later when he went down, the little boy looked at his dad and said, "dad, I saw that guy's penis" Oh my god. Anyway, that was embarassing. Then the dad had to ask his son, "did he show it to you?" eek. They're his direct neighbours, so I suppose things are going to be really weird now.
The best thing is, that wasn't the first encounter with the guy.
There was one particular morning I was leaving his place with my hair bunched up into two ponytails when we saw the dad staring at us through the kitchen window.
Heh. HumbertHumbert.
I think I'm the one with the whole uniform, lolita, AV jap fetish.

Friday, May 14, 2004



Ah, nice way to start a post ain't it.
I had all these cool ideas for what I wanted to do for the shoot. Brought along a few outfits and all, but *laughs* Guess what we eventually settled on? My school uniform. It's a gorgeous set. Now if only my current set on SG would get out of the que and onto the site already so I can send in another one. But no matter. We decided to do a little something artsy with the can of whipped cream in Will's apartment that's seperate from the set; so yeah, more photos for the whole wide world.

He was awfully badly behaved today though. I told him I could summon up a great deal of self-control when need be, and I did. But being naked in front of the camera really does things to me, and I really do wish I could drop by Mr. Grant's, but he's having some silly night with his mates, getting drunk and drugged.

Oh, this is so retarded.

He called me up in the evening asking me to an NZ film (it's NZ film fest this week), but I couldn't make it (othewise no photos, and we really wouldn't want that, would we ). Funny thing is, he did tell me he was busy this Friday sometime earlier in the week; Maybe some other girl played him out.
I think we're both really bad sluts.
He said he'd call me tomorrow morning, we're to catch Troy as soon as we can. I absolutely insist on it. Then I asked him what he was going to do at night. (I mean, why should we be going out in the morning? Mornings are for sleeping with.)
"I might be catching another NZ film. With that girl you met at the bar by hotel 1929..."
Well, I suppose I have no right to be jealous, but I absolutely cannot stand a girl infringing upon my time with my guy. I don't care if you fuck his brains out silly when I'm busy, but when I want him, I want him. Bugger off.
Ah, nothing I can do about it.
Somehow things'll sort themselves out. Nothing matters really.

I've got a dammnable backache. (Well allright, that matters.)

My Girlfriend is currently in Thailand feeing pissed over a sunburn and making holiday plans for an end year trip to Europe.

Well... so am I. Only, I don't have a sun burn; I don't ever tan anymore.

Shanghai in 16 days *grin*

Oh how silly of me.
My darling, dearest, d-whatever, he was just stuck in foggy old London the past month. I thought he hated me, or he thought I wasn't still crazy about him or he felt guilty because he was seeing someone else.

Well... big deal. I mean, we're two oceans apart, can I expect any more.

He told me this;

However the genuine reason was that I desired a kind of a distance, because I really miss you and it probably gets worse if i chat with you every day knowing that it'll be still so long before we can see each other again.

It sounds like something out of a Mills and Boon novel doesn't it. Icky. But oh well. Cest la vie. Life IS melodramatic.

I told him never, ever to do something so horrid like not talking to me for a whole month. Evil bastard. I was nearly contemplating having to seach out his address in that little town where he's from and flying over there at the end of the year if I still felt there was something meaningful in it all. Well, hey. It's May already, and it's strange that I've been able to feel so strongly for someone I havn't seen for so long. It must be something.

Let me be happy and silly and perfectly childish.
All you adults can go be your cynical selves.


Thursday, May 13, 2004

You're going to Hell, don't Forget your FREE Bible!

Yesterday was midly... amusing.

The college took us to a home for the disabled. It wasn't a very pleasant trip. Physically disabled people I can stand, mentally disabled *shudder* Anyone who values sentience will not be able to stomach what I saw yesterday, not if they were there for the first time. There were all these retards screaming and pissing and drooling and trying to trash about (they weere tied up. They weren't really violent, they just kept on trying to hurt themselves). Why are they still alive anyway. I mean, there's down syndrome and there's Down Syndrome. Abortion might have been a better option. But still, who can really know. Maybe they do like... their lot in life, simply because they cannot know any other. Maybe they do. I wonder how their dreams look like.

Went to meet a photographer referred to me by my model agent. More artistic nudes next Sunday.

I was walking around the small waiting for him to show up when one of those crazy street evangelist came up to me and handed me a phamplet that told me I was going to go to hell.
"You shouldn't read this" It said on the cover.
But I opened it anyway -duh-
"Unless you're going to do something about it!"
"You shouldn't read this -insert bible verse about death of christ- either"
Flip over
"But now that you have, you MUST do something about it. Otherwise, it would have been better if you hadn't read all of this at all. - Insert verse about how knowingly rejecting Christ will send you to hell-"
Weird Hey.
Oh! There was a voucher for a free bible attached. Joy!


I feel really neurotic today.
Like I want to jump off a dock and drown.
You know how it is when you listen to an album that you never removed from the stereo while you made love to that someone special, that you wish was still special, but isn't anymore.
Or maybe still is.
But you don't really know.
I don't really know.

Macadamia nut.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Bon Voyage Mr. Big

The last time I saw him, before today, was last Tuesday.
Sometimes I really wonder what he thinks about me, what he feels towards me.

He messaged me last night (after I went to sleep) asking how the play went. I was too tired to reply then, so I kept it till the next morning, asking him to call me before he left the country (Spending a fortnight diving. Hopefully not into the pussies of the indigenous girls.)
Anyway, I was terribly busy the next day, but he messaged me a rather pointless Hello?? He's done that a couple of times, it usually means he needs a fuck. So I thought I'd amuse him and drop by his place - it has been awhile since I last saw him, and he would be going away for quite awhile. And I do like him, somewhat, anyway, no matter what the hell I say-
He was in a lovely mood, had had his goatee shaved off, and probably lost a few kilos. Looked really cute.
That already made my trip worthwhile.
He was behaving really strangely though, and all excitable. Especially when I showed him the SG panties I just got. (They really are very cute. I'll try to get a photo taken in them this Thursday...)

It was a godawfully warm afternoon, and we were both sweating like animals.
There's something about the tropical heat in the evening, all that humidity and uncomfortable yellow sunlight flitering through wall windows (architecture that was never meant for the equator).
There's something about lying spent, spread-eagled, trying to dry off, and knowing you really need a shower but being too lazy to get up.
I know it's all very crass, but that's how hot equatorial sex should be, so there.
It was the epitome of all the sweaty sex I've ever had. (Well... there was the time in that mud pool in East Malaysia... *laughs*)


I don't know what it was I said to him later on in the cab, but he started telling me why today was such a good day, and the second reason was because he got to see me . Well, that was nice to know. It's almost in the league of the other comment he made when I asked him how he got so lucky -when he got this fantastic job offer- and he said something about how he believed he was 'just blessed'; great job, great girl in his bed, some other thing, can't remember, once my ego is switched on, it's hard for me to think about much else.
Well, I know he likes me, but I really expect more out of him if he really did. Mr. Grant does treat me nicer in some ways, but Mr. Grant isn't dependable. (But I KNOW! That's part of his appeal. I read it in a book today *heh*)
Oh whatever. He said he really appreciated me coming down and then seeing him off to the airport. Mmm mmm... nice to know.


Mr. Big and I were discussing the status of the couple waiting for cabs in front of us today. Hot, exotic looking babe with fat, balding, white guy.
Him, "Prostitute"
Me, "No way, she's too hot. She'd be a kept woman, or a model."
Me, "Well, it's just too easy for a white guy to get laid here. You know. Any white guy will do. That kinda thing. You read Neil Humphreys"
Him, "It can't be that bad. They don't have a relationship, you can see that. And their getting into different cabs."
At this point they kiss and the girl (oh she's so beautiful) looks at the guy (can't say looks up because she's as tall as he is) and asks him to call her. He nods. Oh it was weird. They obviously didn't have any sort of relationship. That was the only sentence I heard them exchange.

So it is true that sex in asia is less cerebral.
What an image.


I love Macadamia nuts.
Listening to the Tosca Tango Orchestra
Paper, Pen and Glue Journals

Blogger has a lovely new user interface!
I love this place. When I first heard about it 3(?) years ago I thought it was a fantastic idea. It was about that time I heard of 1000journals too, both of which bring out my idea of what a journal should be. Something private, yet public. Why bother to put in so much effort only to have no one else but yourself enjoy it. What a waste then. I like the idea of 1000journals, but have sadly not been able to aqquire a copy. Been thinking of starting one; when my site's up, I'll get it done. It'll be fun as long as it moves quickly and people scan in pages regularly. There's an online version, The Couch. It has so much potential... but the creators aren't doing enough.

On the topic of journals, I finally got the nerve to open up this really old one I shared with the only boy I ever felt I was truly in love with. It's all nonsense to me now, but back then it felt so real. There was no cynicism, no apathy, no doubt, within the relationship. Puppy love it was, but no matter. I opened it up to a page where we had our first 'break up', and there's only one emotion I can use to describe it. Disgust. You know how it is after some people fall out of your grace; everything about them, all they've ever done, simply turns sour.
Within the entry, he was telling me how he didn't wish to bother me -it was during the period of one of my most major exams ever- How he's just swallow all his hurt and leave me alone, and I was replying with nonsense like, Oh, you shouldn't do that. We'd still be such good friends, I'd still be there for you; Oh how sweet you are to be so un-selfish *shudder* He's such a self-destructive fool. I never wanted to break up in the first, he initiated it, because he saw that it 'wasn't going anywhere'.
Well, are we ever really going anywhere anyway? We live out the course of our lives, then die. So where are we going? All I'm doing now is leading to nowhere. I just enjoy doing it, that's all. And I find it ironic that such a phrase should come from the mouth of someone who has no purpose in life.
I don't normally dislike anyone intensely, but he is one person I can say this to; Oh how I abhor you.
Good riddiance. It's amazing how you can feel so intensely positive towards someone for half a year and hate him so intensely for a time much longer then that.

In other news...My internet connection's all fixed. All it required was a really simple solution, thank God. No removal of router and other such nonsense.

Monday, May 10, 2004


I haven't been putting alot of thought into my posts lately. I'm just too exhausted. And my internet connection is deteriorating by the day.

I bought a new brocade dress today (from Phuture. $129 marked down to $60. It looks expensive. If you think Scarlett O'Hara looked really aristocratic in her gown made from curtains; And I did, so there.) I shall wear it to one of the dance events at this year's Arts Fest.


And old, old, long time ago aqquaintence called me last night.

Some background information... He was the first boy to ask me to be his steady when I was 11 (sheeh. I was doubly insensitive at 11. I told him he was ugly and had bad BO) Calls me twice a year ever since I moved out of the area I stayed at as a child (once on Christmas and once on Easter), is rather dense (dense is an understatement); and someone I wouldn't care to associate with.
But he only calls, and those are fine; As long as I don't have to be seen with him. I know it makes me sound terribly shallow; but I can already barely stand him on the phone.

Last night he called to tell me how he missed the past, and how it was still mired within him, and how he was still besotted with this girl whom I've known him to like since, oh, slightly under a decade back (who is way out of his league. She's in prestigious college, he can barely pass the polytechnic. I know, how Asian, but academic success is a matter of grave importance, as much as I wished it wasn't).

I asked how one of my best childhood girlfriends was doing, and he told me she was with yet another guy, and how the both of them got sent to the police station a couple of months back for tormenting the random foreign worker sleeping at the void deck. Oh well, She hasn't changed one bit. The last time I visited her 2 years ago, she seemed to think it was an achievement to have a boyfried who was jailed for God knows what reason. She said it with such pride too.

"Where's your boyfriend?"
"In prison lah."
'Yah. My boyfriend go prison la. Like that."
"For what?"
"Alot of things la. He's in a gang... blabla"

Wow. Impressive. I didn't know how to tell her she was wasting her life away; and anyway, it wasn't in my business to do so. It's sad, because she's relaly quite a bright girl, but her parents left her to her own devices a little too soon. So did mine I suppose, but not before I understood the value of an education. But perhaps before I comprehended the necessity of morality, as they saw it.

Which comes leads on the the next thing the guy said to me.
He told me I had low self-esteem.
Well, I never really thought about that. I doubt I have a low self-esteem though. I do care what other people think of me, but my life doesn't depend on their opinions.

I told him that people usually saw their own faults in other people, even when those faults don't actually exsist in the people they try to deconstruct. And I told him, well, maybe I do have a low esteem problem, but it would have to be low esteem for everyone else, which might also translate to having no respect for myself. But then see, I do respect certain people, so that can't be it.

He didn't understand a word of what I said though.

So I told him I really appreciated his take on my life and gave a nice, firm, goobye and went back to dinner.

Sunday, May 09, 2004


We all need that sometimes.

Lock the door, set the phone on silent, turn the vibration off. Light the burner, pour sandalwood oil, chill out in your own little loft.
Strawberries and macadamia nut and blackforest cheesecake, late harvest wine, a stack of magazines from which to rake glossy photographs.
Of beautiful places you wish you could afford to see.

Suicide Girls

Allllright!! I just got a check for $300 US dollars today, just when I thought I was about flat broke.
I can't wait to get another photoset taken. I messaged this guy I met at New Asia a couple of days back (He looks like Alvin, you know, from The Chipmunks. The cartoon. Doesn't anyone remember?) and asked if he'd like to shoot me in his office. His office is really one of a kind. It's like a huge container block made to look like a caravan with a bright red balcony.

So now that I have the extra bit of cash, I''m thinking of investing in a little not-so-novel idea I have for this Friday's fair. Originally I wanted to sell Jordi Labanda rip-offs (well, basically me trying to imitate his art and getting them printed on things), but I didn't manage to finish them in time, what with the play and all. So, I'm thinking of investing in *drum roll* A brownie shoppe.

I went to the foodcourt in Ngee Ann City today, after quite awhile -I hate the food at the food court there- and apparently there's a new brownie shoppe open. I'm sure I can make whatever they're selling -well, who can't make brownies- So I've decided it'll be what I'm gonna sell at this Friday's fair. I haven't gotten the accounts all figured out yet, but I suppose if those clowns are renting primium shopping centre space and selling brownies at $2.50 per piece and still making a profit, I could make alot more (relatively) while selling at a cheaper price.

Well, whatever, At any rate, it will be quite a bit of fun. I'd wrap them up and tie them with red ribbon and get black cards for people to write messages on and give them as gifts, something like that.

Damnable Period

Sure you can have sex while you're having your period, but it's just such a hassel to be having it and staying over.
Mr Big asked me to his place today, for a barbeque. He's leaving on Tuesday, I probably should pay him a visit before then, but right now, I really don't feel particularly attracted to him. Anyway, Tomorrow's Sunday and Mother's day. Have to get up early to get a nice rich cheese cake for her. I had WAAY too much cheesecake. But oh, I never knew how damn good hazelnut cream could be with cheese.

*laughs* the robots were SO BAD in today's performance. But well, what's over is over.
That blasted Omar had to start snorting while on stage. It was SO BAD. And you know how contagious laughter is (it's magnified 100 fold when the laughter is suppressed adn sounds constipated) I couldn't help it either. Some jokers brough a huge sign that said " We love you!" So that's fine, but I really started laughing (well, as much as I could) when they turned the sign around, and it said "World's number One robot" Oh My God. It was so fucked up.

I'm not drunk enough but dead tired.

Saturday, May 08, 2004

First Night

The play went pretty well. The cast was like a mad train ride the first two acts though, rushing their lines; no chemistry. But the script was good enough to make the audience laugh, despite the lack of connection between the characters. When Elizabeth asked Homer to marry her, someone stepped on *laughs* the remote control that was to black out the whole theatre. Perfect timing it was. Just at the point where Elizabeth grabbed Homer and said, "Oh WILL you marry me?", total darkness ensued. Everyone through they were having a moment, and Elizabeth was so sporting as to tussel up her hair and try to look like she did, (Nothing outrageous, so unfortunately).

Mr. Grant invited me to a fashion show sponsored by 42 Below (An NZ produced Vodka that tastes rather nice with Passion fruit juice. But the truth is, most Vodka brands taste pretty much alike to me. Unless it's really, really bad) I arrived a little too late though, and behaved a little too drunk. Ah I keep doing such embarassing things. But then again, it's a bar, and there was a swing up on the ceiling for christ's sakes. It was one of those roped wooden boarded swings too. One of the things I can't resist (among many others. heh.)

What exactly the hell do you talk about to people when you're at a bar? I'm sick of asking the same old questions, sick of getting asked the same old questions, and sick of hearing and telling the same old thing. It's never different anyway, and I'm seriously not quite interested in what anyone does. Unless they turn out to be the editor for Wallpaper magazine. But like I'd ever make it very far as a model anyway. I'm 5 feet and I know that's short; bugger.

Had a pleasant night. I blurted out how I felt to Him*. It sounded kinda retarded because I'm really lousy at telling people how I feel very candidly. He had some rather nice things to say. But it's not just that. It's well, how he treats me that really gets me on. And when I think about it, I've never really ever clicked with someone so well before. It could do with a little more work, that's for sure, but otherwise, wow. I think the next time round I shan't ask him about other women he's slept with. It's just not healthy to get jealous. (Wow! My God. Me. Jealous. Because of something like that. *shudder* Really says soemthing huh.)

Mmm... Have to work on my dreams of becoming SEA's answer to Jordi Labanda right now.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

I'm an Andalusian

The majestic Andalusian, a brilliant white equine with kind eyes and a flowing mane. Your nature is very gentle and willing, and you are likely to perform movements in the haute ecole. You are generous and classical, your love of romance brings you to many places, especially in Europe. Your old-fashioned tastes are refreshing in this all-to-tacky modern world. A famous andalusian is Shadowfax, who appears in the second book (and movie) of Lord of the Rings
You will likely live in Spain or France and have a wealthy, possibly Royal, owner.
Your coat colour is most likely: White, grey, or dapple.

Old Fashioned? Quite correct apparently!

What breed of horse?
It Sucks. I Want to be on Stage

Me doing backstage work?
Well, working on the set was fun (It's a beautiful set. In fact, it's the best part about the play.) But I STILL can't stand it when I see other people on stage doing such a horrible job, knowing I can do better. Well, some people might beg to differ, but whether or not I can do better is not an issue. It just sucks when other people are getting all the great treatment, having all the fun, and worse of all, acting in front of 400 people while you sit backstage feeling miserable an insignificant. I wasn't made for being behind the camera. Unless it's on the set of the next Peter Jackson movie, where I will willingly buy lunch, shine shoes and have Jackson's babies for his Uruk-hai minions.

The only thing I like about being backstage is the fact that I can lie on my back and stare at the high ceiling, the mile long curtains hanging around you, the exit sign that shines a fine shade of green on the second platform of the stage, the metal handles you can climb all the way to the third platform where you get to mess around with the lighting... I like lying on my back looking at all of that when everything is absolutely quiet.

I've always wanted to have sex backstage.

General, Boring Update.

Well, the production is coming along nicely. The set is gorgeous, the script is good, the acting is mostly mediocre but toleratable. It's allright. I'm exhaused to my wits end; but sat through a chinese test today anyway and was the first one to decide it was an absolute waste of time and left when I figured I did all I possibly could (which really wasn't very much). I know, I really should get more in touch with my Asian roots, it's awfully embarassing when everyone else is bilingual and you're not.

Somehow, I managed to drag my ass down to the club last night to put in a few dances after they ran out of time in theatre, and mmm... I finally learnt how to do the Bachatta *grin* Naughty, sexy, and I love the music.

Mr. Big was there. And *gasp* He's broke.
Apparently they haven't written his check for last month since he's changing jobs and the government doesn't want him getting out of the country without paying his taxes. Well... amusing. I went over and he gave me a good rub down with some really lovely body oil. From L'Occitane of course ^^.

This guy rooming with him for the next couple of days -he thought he'd get a position with Nokia in Finland; so he went down to Scandinavia last week and well, he's back here again. So obviously he didn't get the job- He's going down to Thailand tomorrow, and I'm really wondering if I should ask him to purchase, oh say $200 worth of bikinis for this push cart business the Princess has decided to start. I'd go down myself this weekend if I had the time :( I really need to do soemthing totally impulsive. But there are no plane flights to Bangkok at 11 pm on a Saturday night -That's the play's closing night-.

There's also this crazy/insecure/overly-enthusiastic girl I'm working with in the crew who collects used Pizza boxes for god knows what reason and asks to borrow my makeup when I have no damned idea why she would need to use it aside from just wanting to have fun with it; and so I offered to draw this other girl's eyes a-la Death from Gaiman's Sandman because well, I liked her and she wanted to have something special done with her makeup, and the former girl asks me to draw her as well. Well, I didn't offer You. And can't you see you're not putting me in a very nice position because I generally don't like to refuse people things; but I really don't quite like you. Ooh she's really...

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

The No-nonsense Guide to Self-Entertainment in Singapore

Wanted to write something like that for awhile. Someone emailed me for it, so I thought I'd give it a start. I'll fine tune and add on to it when I have more time.

I've been having all these strange thoughts popping into my head lately.
So someone was talking to me about stem cell research, and I thought, my god. What if we were able to produced human beings in a commercially viable meathod... wouldn't that... undermine the necessity for sex. That would be sad.

And what would some religions do (?!)

I grew up thinking sex was a dirty thing. And they still teach that. They're like, oh, it's ALLRIGHT within the scantity of marriage since God requires us to procreate and fill the land. Well, it'll be interesting to see what cults might form for the abolishment of sex. Probably right-winged moral bigots that are in their hearts of hearts really lesbians with sagging cunts. Oh that was rude.

Ah, but then we'd be playing God, and that's kinda wrong too. Oh no, what to do.


Michel Houellebecq is so melancholic.

"Men who grow old have it easier then older women [...] Women take tranquillizer, go to yoga classes, see a shrink; They live alot longer and suffer alot more. They try to trade on their looks, even when they know their bodies are sad an ugly. They get hurt, but they do it anyway, because they can't give up the need to be loved."

Well, that's why I'm seizing the day.

Imortalizing my youth in tons and tons of lovely nudes.
Oh and being loved as much as I possibly can too.


Monday, May 03, 2004

Random Thoughts

Maybe someday Ill be strong enough to understand my own self-worth so completely I won't need to give a fuck about what anyone else thinks.

Too many people in the world. Just too many.


I want to hide.

I hate waking up somedays.


I told a girl I could teach her how to get any guy she wanted.
Look sex on legs, be sassy, run 4 kilometres every other day and don't eat carbs.

Oh, and by the way, want guys that will want you.

Sunday, May 02, 2004

Book Swapping

I think it should be an international site.
I've forgotten what it's called, but it's really quite popular. The first time I heard about it was on TIME magazine I think.

It's a site where people can register to and list a book they'd like to share.
The book will then be given a page* on the site, and you'll be given something to print to stick on the insaide of the book that encourages the next reader to go onto the site, get onto the book's page* and write a review about it. Then she passes the book on and the next person does the same thing and so on. And you get to check the progress of... BOOK CROSSING!!!
Oh My God.

I'm typing this half-way and it comes to me!
I was thinking about it for nearly half and hour and trying to source it on Google...
*jumps around madly*

Book Crossing


A boy I used to have a crush on at school used to play this silly game with me, where the both of us were super heroes in a world not unlike Gotham City, or better yet, China Mieville's Perdido Street Station. I can't remember what he was called, I think it was (Orgasmic) Mind-Blower, and I was called Lady-Deathshag -My god, the games kids can play even when they aren't on Diablo-

I didn't contact him for quite awhile, not since he got enlisted into National Service, and he messaged me a couple of days back, out of the blue, to tell me he was no longer Mind-Blower but Charcoal Boy (Oh, how un-kinky :( ... But I DO like my guys nice and tanned...) So I'm now Alienista, from the planet where all the favourite pastimes involve abducting flower-fresh earthling boys.

He asks me to rescue him from camp.
Very well, after I kidnap Bush in return for Iraq and the Gaza Strip.
Then my girls and I shall invade tekong; and my bitches, they'd rip of their Suicidegirl Tank tops and shoot lazer from their boobage.
And that's how I plan to save Charcoal boy.

(Yep. I'm really a pimply, dumpy geek from an all-boy's reformatory with an unnatural passion for crass X-rated Science Fiction. I recommend Rock and Roll Babes from Outer Space, by Linda Jaivin. I read it when I was 12. It's not fantastic, but it's fucking funny. I enjoyed it even more then The Hitchhiker's Guide. But probably because it had alot more sex and involved good looking aliens that had orgasms by getting their ears licked.


Mmm. I love strawberries.
Blend in cream and ice. Brilliant.

I'm all for genetic modification if it gives me bigger, sweeter, not to mention cheaper ($5.95 per box at Carrefour) strawberries.
Oh! and D24 -that basically means top grade- Durians are $20 for a box of six. Seriously, fruit does not only taste better, their so much cheaper. GMGMGM. Screw organic. I don't believe anything is purely organic anymore anyway. We've been genetically modifying our food since we learnt how to cross breed our rice. But the idea of saying "Oh, I only eat organic food" just comes off as so new-age and spiritual it has an appeal in itself.

Genetic recipes. I like the way that term sounds. If I didn't originally op for a perfectly useless arts program, I'd probably study something like biotech, where I get to muck around and play Goddess. But I think I'm abit too lazy for that, and I'd leave my dreams of becoming a research scientist for Pfizer to my SF novellas.

New Zealand ice-cream blends their vanilla with durian into a heavenly confection.

And I know angmos who like durian. GM has made them stink less. See, science has helped breech yet another cultural gap.
(The ones at Carrefour really don't stink all that much. Anyway, you haven't smelled really goddamned pungent durian until you go to the forest of East Malaysia where they have the fruit in it's un-tempered form. You'll die. Really. You would. The fruit would fall on you, crack upon contact with your skull and release a scent that's far more sicky sweet then an Anna Sui fragrance.)

Feeling Good Baby!
Whoop dee doop. It's over. PMS that is; no longer insanely neurotic.

Had a great day with my mom and sis. Shopping.

A trip down to Suntec city always usually means some interesting couple watching. Everyone there on a sunday afternoon look married. There was this really hot javanese girl with a fat, balding white guy eating at the vietnamese restuarant I was at, and they actually looked like they were really comfortable with each other. Well, lucky guy huh. I sometimes wonder what in the world do these gorgeous babes see in those guys, I'm sure she can do much better. But then again, it's not all about appearances. He treated her so very nicely. Or maybe she was just blind, or maybe his wallet was as fat as the flesh around his waist and his car as polished as his head...

My Big and I really do not click. It's just been getting weirder and weirder. Like when I'm alone, I don't feel anything for him, and I don't think he cares much about me either. Weird hey.

My little brother said my boobs look weird to-day.

It is weird when your brother tells you that over dinner.

My maid told me she caught him rummaging through my kinky drawer once (the one with the lacey undies and naughty toys). I've kept it locked up since.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

No More AIDS

all girls have to do is rub it inside their vaginas (or mouths or bums) and it stops them giving or taking away. It’s kind of like KY jelly but with added amazing, life-saving powers

But I'd still like to believe in the virtue of consideration when people sleep with each other.

I've only ever had one one night stand. I suppose it's just one of those things everyone will do at some point in their lives, and I really didn't see the point in it. It was retarded. Period.

Anyway, I flirted with the regular drummer at Harry's last night when he guest stared at Jazz at Southbridge . I was bored, and Mr. Big hadn't messaged me then, so I thought, what the hell, and wrote my number on a piece of card. I was planning to slip it into his hand just as I passed him, but he chatted me up anyway (I vaguely remember the conversation, it had "You're a very attractive woman" in it. Because I'm such a narcissist, that's about the only bit I remember. And that he was from New York. And had been living in Singapore for nearly a decade now), He asked for my number. And I slipped it into his hand. Anyway.

I did so want to go out with Mr. Grant though, but he's in Brunei. I would have died of neurosis if he hadn't messaged me back when I asked him out (again!) last night. I guess I like him a great deal huh?

My girlfried's sister says he looks like a geek.
But I'm a geek too. So there.
I like Antony Burgess, Star Wars, and being called slut in binary.

Great Sex and Breakfasts

I didn't loose a kilo, but I DID have great sex, and a whole lot of fun.
I think, the more you fuck, the better you get at achieving an orgasm. I'm talking about it in a short term context. It makes sense don't you suppose; your insides get more and more sensitive the more and more you do it.
Oh My God. Whatever. God loves me. It was really good sex.

I had a pleasant morning after. He offered to make breakfast for me, but I said I'd boil my own eggs. He's a carbo junkie, and I'm on Atkins. But gosh, what I'd give to have what he suggested... Pancakes, Cereal with pecans and toffee (Mark's and Spencer's makes the evil-est, wicked-est breakfast cereals) Bananas, Creamed eggs, Fruit Bread. Hmm... I'll add comments today, and you must tell me what You really love for breakfast. BTW, Petite Asian women smothered with blueberry yoghurt is a breakfast option. He likes mushy cereal, I like my crisp with fruit.

Borrowed this book he never finished reading: Can Asians Think?. The Economist has an interesting review of sorts on it. Albeit somewhat outdated. And Ani DiFranco's Revelling Cd. (He likes the goddess! My favourite album of hers insofar still is Evolve. Love that Jazz lilt.)