Friday, April 29, 2005

Art Bullshiiit

I’m glad the government has pumped a great deal of money under the name of art. For me, as someone who doesn’t yet need to make money from practicing any craft (I don’t need to, but I do. I’m actually relatively capable of making money under more conventional circumstances), much of what they do is great. The walk up to the Esplanade is always interesting, and this week, I get to watch what would otherwise be obscure New Zealand films that now aren’t because they’re screened at Great World City.

But the way they do some things is still quite absurd. In order for art to really flourish, you have to make sure of two things. One, that people are not going around stealing other people’s ideas and selling it off as your… oops, I mean their ideas. Two, that the government don’t take so bloody long to approve an art piece for public viewing, and that they censor less. And Three, don’t compete with private companies. This actually relates back to One. Don’t put in tax-payer money into a company that’s exactly like the one across the street and then run the fellow dry so you’ll have all the market-share. Of course a private company cannot compete with all the resources that they have. They can run in red ink, but normal business don’t run on empty.

I find it absurd how the government chooses to help some people and ignore a whole bunch of other ones that are equally as good, if not better. Sometimes you wonder if all those theatre companies are only sponsored because they are tame and un-provocative (in other words, easily controlled) or are they surviving because they are sponsored, and are therefore tame. Of course there’s political satire in some of their shows, but just like the speaker’s corner (which, if I’m not wrong, has recently been dismantled), it’s just a token for democracy’s sake. A charade to make people really believe there isn’t a force censoring just about every darned thing.

I don’t notice it most of the time because I’m too busy amusing myself with things they certainly can’t censor or send me to jail for (it cannot possibly be illegal to derive sexual pleasure from getting a good whipping. Otherwise all our cane-wielding parents must be sent to jail, along with the nut-cases from my primary school –I’ve been into masochism since I was 10, when my father started collecting Sin City comics). And my life is completely uninhibited and interesting enough that I’m not complaining if a local theatre production gets censored for being too risqué. Why would I choose a night as a passive audience when I can participate in it myself; where the sensations are absolutely singular and definitely real and unrehearsed.

Oh yes. I’ve nearly forgotten that things actually get censored here.

You know, while I’m writing all this, I’m wondering if I can actually get sued for liable. Too many weird things have happened with this blog since it started and sometimes thinking about them freaks me out.

I’ve talked to a number of people who actually make a living from selling their ideas, and the difficulty with which they have when it comes to dealing with people working for the governmental organizations is just disgusting. And how other local artists working for the big Singapore based and owned companies (and we all know what big and Singapore based and owned means; *ahemnotasprivateasdictatedbythelawsofcapitalism* (or as we’d all like them to be); how these people can actually steal someone else’s idea, sell it off as their own without even the decency to make the stolen idea look good instead of some sort of huge practical joke on a national scale, and *gasp* how they can be supported and paid by the same tax money that has been promised to be used to develop local creative talent.

Of course people steal ideas all the time, and I really wish they wouldn’t. I wouldn’t like my idea stolen, so I don’t do it. And besides, as a creative individual, don’t you have any pride in your distinctiveness as an artist at all. I can’t even stand stealing music off the internet. If it’s worth listening to, it’s worth paying for.

Well, the art scene is still too sterile and dishonest (there’s nothing anyone can do about the latter. People here’ll simply have to develop that sort of ethic where they give credit where credit is due) for this place to truly become a world class art-city, otherwise all the creative people will just leave (I really don’t think creative people have a lot of patriotism in their bones), and vibrancy in a country is not something anyone can buy off a shelf.

And to all the idiots who say our morality does not have to be comprimized for the advancement of the art scene in Singapore. Yes, our morality does not have to be comprimized, but your stupidity and moral narcissism unfortunately will. If you think about all the coolest cities in the world, you’d realize the people there don’t seem to have a problem with nudity, with homosexuality, or simply with a general openessness about sex. Violence, war, death are things that are universally frowned upon, but not nudity, a pair of breasts, and two people making love.

For this place to become truly artistically vibrant, a whole lot of red tape has got to go. People need to be allowed to be spontaneous all the time.

Oh well, in the meanwhile, we’ll all just hinge our hopes of this city becoming ‘fun’ upon the development of the two Casinos. You can compete and cheat on little independent studios, but no one gonna shit around with MGM or Steve Wynn.

Thursday, April 28, 2005


My parents and I seem to have a never ending amount of pointless arguments. So many it’s annoying, and definitely pointless.

‘The bible has rules that you should follow for your own good.’

‘But the rules were meant to bring out our faults, weren’t they, so that we’d know whatever we do, we are hopeless failures and resigned to accepting Christ as our only hope.’

‘But if you don’t follow them, nothing good can come out of your disobedience.’

‘I am happier now that I am not trying to follow them then when I was.’

Oh good lord. Anyway.

There’s something I’m rather puzzled about. Indeed if the laws were made to bring out our faults, then how can anyone possibly be expelled from church because they were gay, especially if they can’t help but be gay, just because the bible says it’s wrong. God had disciples of all sorts, and there were saints from both genders, but shouldn’t he have made it a little more fair and included homosexuals as well. And for that matter, why doesn’t the bible say anything more about it than, if you’re gay, you’ll be sent to hell.

It follows naturally then that if you were Christian and would be going to heaven, then you cannot possibly be gay, because you cannot be going to hell at the same time. But according to both the Catholic and Anglican church (among others), that is totally possible; that an individual is both gay, Christian and God-loving. In any case I know what I am. And I still believe in the idea of a caring God.

My mother has asked me how much money I want, after me having told her all about Chris (except his age). Apparently she doesn’t want me to feel obligated to him.

I told her I was in no way obligated to him. I went out with him because I wanted to, and because it pleased me to.

And besides, her money only ever came with conditions that are no fun, and she’d been using it all my life to control me.

‘You do that, and it’s a little too late to rectify it now, and I know it hurts you when I say it, but at least now you know what not to do, if you don’t want Tori to do what I’m doing… But that’s not it. I’ve no problem going out with Chris, and having him buy me nice things and give me money. It’s not like I’m going out and sleeping with him when I don’t want to because I need the money, I do it because I like doing it. It’s just like any other normal relationship, just that I happen to be lucky enough to have a guy so into me who can afford to be generous.

It’s either you’re just like everyone else, and have these innate beliefs in the virtue of poverty –or in a more modern day context, an obsession with being so damned bourgeoisie- or you’d rather I be controlled by you then by him, because you think you have my best interest at heart and he doesn’t.

And certainly his support for me is conditional, and it’ll not be forever, and I cannot allow it to be forever. I’ll always make sure I have the freedom to do what I will, whether it’s with you or him. But I do know that he’ll not leave me stranded in dire straits. In any case, I know I won’t allow myself to be stranded and caught up in a situation that I’d rather not be in. I actually do know what I’m doing, and you must stop saying that I don’t because you don’t know me enough to actually have the right to say that.

The only problem that exist as far as I can see is that you have an entirely different perception from mine of what should or should not bring happiness. Marriage and monogamy are not instant ingredients to happiness and you know that. And both of them are not for everyone, especially not when I’m my age. They are both a discipline, and yes, good discipline can bring happiness; but in my case, it’s more like forcing a musically disinterested child to play the piano every day.

The only difference is that no one ever loses out by learning a skill, but what you are suggesting in my case is that I suppress who I am. And that’s different, because I have just this one life, this one year, and this one day to live, and there’s never going to be another like it, and I’m not going to forfeit that for the future.

And anyway, the fact that I have not been asking any money from you, and will not ask, even if you ask me to ask (but I will take it if you put it on my desk, because that way it’s a gift and not something with a condition) is proof enough that I am not the sort of avaricious slut you think I am. I will only take money that I believe I deserve, or that are purely gifts. For heaven’s sake, I won’t even allow a guy to buy me a drink if I know he believes that entitles him to a dance and a sneaky grope at my tits. Even if I’m physically attracted to him, I’d tell him to fuck off if that was the way he made me feel.’

I only said about half of what was in there, but it was enough I suppose. I especially needed to tell her what a witch she was being each time she withheld my allowance from me when I didn’t behave. But it certainly made me a lot cleverer in figuring out ways to survive in the world when I can no longer depend on them. (And I’m not only talking about finding rich boyfriends, although that was a plus side, and it was -and still is- the easiest and most lucrative option).

I don’t think I’ve done many things commercially to make myself money, but all that tight-wad-ness on her part has certainly made me force myself to try my best to be as cleaver as I possibly could.


Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Life tastes kinda like Vittoria

I woke up today and life felt like black coffee. I was so tired but going back to bed simply wasn’t possible. Greg returned from Amsterdam the night before last, expressly to see me before he went back home. He brought me lots of hazelnut chocolate. I spent the last two nights at his place and did the dirty with him (unbelievable. After 6 weeks of knowing him and sleeping in the same bed all this while… I’ve really been exercising self-control) Then again, there’s the fact that he’s not around most of the week anyway. He’s paying too much on his place, and I’ve offered to look for a nicer one for him, and do all the furniture shopping etc. and fix it all up when he’s not around. He’s been so very kind to give me liberties over his apartment, I am quite thoroughly surprised.

My mom’s found out I went to HK, Big deal, I kinda actually wanted her to. Left a bunch of receipts around and my ticket stubs. I don’t think I’ll ever tell her the truth though, I cannot possible see what is there to be worried about. Sometimes I feel as if she feels that I’m slipping away, and she’s just trying to hold on to me but she knows she can’t (if they threaten to throw me out of the house, I will just stay out, and if they stop giving me money –which they don’t anymore, really- what difference would that make-) I’m surprised at the people I’ve met in the last couple of months that have been very willing to help me out. And if push comes to shove, at least I’m not broke. (I know I’m oh so sans-Asian when it comes to this kinda things, filial piety and what not, but there’s how else am I supposed to go about it? I’ll spend time with my mom if she wants me to, but everyone has to grow up sometime) I cannot stand how she tries to use emotional blackmail on me all the fucking time. For Christ’s-sakes, the whole, ‘if you had a daughter, how would you feel’ excuse is just so weak. She’s her mother’s daughter, and she’s not living with her any more, neither does she tell her mom where she’s going or any such thing. I’m sensible enough to figure things out on my own, and I’m responsible for my own well-being, and I must say, aside from her, I’m doing very well.

Greg’s cooks for me all the time, takes me shopping for CDs, and has promised he’ll try his best to go to Auckland with me come June (I really, really miss NZ) He’s been so incredibly sweet (promised me his undying love and dedicated attention, in return for a packet of Japanese noodles every time I want him to cook dinner). I won’t say he’s a fall back after M, he is who he is, and I cannot stand treating anyone as a …what-do-you-call-them? Ah, Rebounds. He is who he is, is crazy about me, and not clandestine about our relationship, although he has much more to lose then M, if anyone ever finds out. And oh, he doesn’t mind the fact that I’m not exclusive and will never be, although he would very much wish it.

Maybe I’ll be going Bangkok this weekend, but I hope Chris comes down instead. That way I can get him to buy me that PowerBook I really, really want. When I that, and bring over my trainers and gym outfit to Greg’s place, a bunch of clean panties, I’ll not have to come home if I’d rather not. And when he’s back with his wife, I hope to be in Paris.

In the meantime, I’ll be partying with the Jim Bean Party Crew along Mhd Sultan tonight!

PS. My apologies for not answering my emails, especially the longer ones. I still read them all, but there just isn’t the time for replying these days.


Monday, April 25, 2005

Why do it for Free?

<>Sex is good fun, but why do it for free when you can get something out of it? Sounds god-awfully harsh, doesn’t it, but any fetching female not using her charms to make her life better is not using all her potential. It’s dead-pan common-sense, and it’s not as if other things have to be comprimized. Sure, there are some snobbish, rich men who think their money is so great (I can’t think of a better way to put it in order to conjure the feeling), and that just because they bought you drinks all night, you should sleep with them. But not all of them are retards, and it’s actually possible to meet decent millionaires, and snag them, without the help of the local paper on a slow day (remember the article in Sumiko Tan’s Urban on how to snag a millionaire?). The lot of them are playboys I’m sure. As far as I know, all the men who can afford it play around and have a very hard time committing, the ones that don’t are over forty. Go figure. This would mean two things: either you settle for not-so-rich and faithful (even then, nothing is guaranteed) or start finding 40-over-ish-es attractive enough to sleep with. I’ve clearly chosen the latter, and it’s not too bad. Just keep your eyes closed during sex *insert acerbic laugh here* (Aside from Chris, I don’t sleep with any other person I’m not all that physically attracted to) But aside from the fact that they are not physically attractive, their company is mostly a blast. Especially if their wives don’t live with them.

Greg is a case in point. Oh he’s lovely… insisting that I have the key to his place after knowing me for only a month, cooking dinner each time (and the only thing I’m required to do for him in return it bring over a packet of Soba noodles when we go Japanese. Which isn’t as often as I would like, and more often then he would want). Then there was the guy who invited me to his boat, entertained me the whole afternoon and told me stories about the neighborhood, which read pretty much like the script for Desperate Housewives, except on a larger scale and conducted on boats instead of little houses with lawns. Where domestic violence would include making the victim walk the plank, or just plain throwing her overboard.

I suppose there are great people around that are more suited for me, age wise, but at this point in time, no one good seems to be coming my way, and I couldn’t careless. I need someone younger I suppose, or at least I want someone younger. Someone around Martine’s age, but for some damned reason most of the men (that I know) in that age group happen to be going through a divorce, are sleeping with a number of other women on the side, and are more confused about their lives then ever. Actually I don’t quite know… just that I don’t seem to really care much for physical attractiveness in men these days, and I’d rather the things they can give me. And no one really loses anything.

Anyway, there’s this article in The Straits Times today about Teenaged Prostitution. $300 is a lot of money? I must have read something wrong. It was my one month’s allowance when I was 15, yeah, but it’s definitely not a lot of money for sex. It’s a pathetic amount, in fact. $300 for sex with a complete stranger you’re probably not going to be attracted to? Damn. I’d set my price somewhere at over a thousand dollars, and not without a health report first. I suppose the measures like controlling your daughter more and sticking the computer in the family hall would lower the risk of her doing something silly like that, but the most effective way would be to teach them how pointless it is. The implications are just not worth it, and you’ll be too sick from agonizing over the moral and physical implications of your deed to enjoy the money you’ve been paid. And then what if you have to go to the doctor’s?

(I'd post a link, but the STI has to be so bloody anal about registering I can't be bothered. It's not that interesting, but I was having brunch and there was no one to talk to.)

In my opinion, sex for money is something you have to seriously think over, and definitely not something you do because you need the money, and certainly not with someone you do not know. I thought about it long and hard for several months before I actually did it, and it wasn’t too bad. The two men that have paid me for sex have become rather good friends (not with each other la, with me), and while I wouldn’t sleep with them if they stopped giving me gifts and things, it’s no longer a stipulated transaction. My time is worth a lot to me, and they have to make me an offer I can’t refuse, that’s all. It’s the case with how everything else in the world functions, isn’t it. Men are not going to waste time on a stupid and ugly girl, and girls are not going to waste time on a repulsive incompetent. I’m sorry if you think you’re stupid, ugly, repulsive and incompetent. No insults intended, but that’s really just the way people behave. We’re all looking out for out best interest.

In fact, before you do anything that you know will have serious implications (you’ll know it. When your heart starts palpitating) it’s probably something you better not do unless you’ve already thought about it for a long time, and you’re damn sure about the decision. I had sex because I wanted to loose a big liability, and I had sex for money because it was something I wanted to do. You know, just so I can call bullshit on what most people say about sex for money, and I must say, I can. It’s no different then dating someone rich, you’re just a little more financially comfortable.

Allright, I’ll stop ranting and leave off with this article from Prospect. It’ll really rile you up. I mean, the most fertile land a girl can reap is the one between her legs? Give me a break. I’ll have to email it to Video (remember the guy that called himself a SEA brothel connoisseur).

Learning the Thai Sex Trade


Sunday, April 24, 2005

Never Hurt Anyone.

Sorry for the down time on the blog, and the fact that the pictures are still not showing up. What a pain in the ass. I can hardly believe it’s been over a full year since I started blogging (the web-space subscription lasts a year), and now all my pictures are lost. But no matter, it’s high time I revamped this thing and did more fun things with it. Especially the guide around Singapore, and some more self-important advice on how to pick people up for your own purposes.

One of the reasons why the blog shat up was because I sent M an entry that was meant for someone else, so I got freaked. Then I decided that I really couldn’t care very much about him anymore, and if he told me to fuck off, so be it. I feel suckered, and when that happens the cause of that shitty feeling is never really someone you’d like to meet for awhile anyway because they remind you how stupid you can be sometimes. The other reason’s because someone has been shitting and minding my life instead of theirs and has called up my parents to tell them to was in Hong Kong. Well, fuck you who ever you are. Probably some self-important dignitary from one of the schools that grade moral aptitude that I had the ill luck of being forced to attend. I hope you lead a boring life.

Anyway, HK was fun.

The night before my flight, I hung out at one of my favourite drinking places (just across the street from where Greg lives, where I’ve been hiding for a good part of last week) and picked up a couple of guys and a girl. We took it back to one of their places, and I decided that we should all have fun.

We were making out, the two boys and I (the other girl as so drunk she fell asleep on the stairway) and I was thinking all the while (since the day before) what an idiot I’d been with Martine, and decided that I really needed a good whipping. I swear I wasn’t vaguely drunk.

I was being grabbed and rubbed and shoved upon, and my dress had been thrown off me, and there were lips on my lips and lips on my lips (you know what I mean). I pulled away and looked at the both of them and realized that I really wanted to see them naked. The both of them. I stood about two feet away, legs slightly apart, hands on my hips, and demanded that they took off their pants. They did, and I removed the belt off one of them and returned it to him.

‘Whip me’

And I turned around so that my ass faced him, and I held on to the other boy. And I got whipped. It was mad, and it really hurt. After some point, I have no idea how it got to that stage, but I was lifted up and straddled between the both of them and being given a muff job, while being whipped.

It ended about there though, because I got tired and bored (threesomes are like that, especially if you’re not planning on any sex) there’s just not enough intimacy to make it last.


I boarded the plane half dead the next day and spent 3 very normal days in HK. Chris was very nice, as usual, and very crazy about me. We’d started planning my trips to the US and South America in June, and the one to Paris in May. We were hanging out last night at a bar and I felt all these people looking at me, and didn’t want to sit too close to him (people judge, duh, and sometimes I cannot help but feel it). Of course he was hurt, and I apologized to him about it after dinner. Oh I Hate having to care about what other people think. Isn’t that awful? I couldn’t believe I did that. I mattered so much to him, and I was bothering about what people in the bar behind us thought about me.

Sometimes I get really freaked at the way he perceives me, and over the way he just is. He’d do nearly anything I want, and he said he’d send me a ticket down to any place in the world I wanted to meet him at. I most certainly cannot understand it; but he’s one of the most incredibly tolerant, uncomplicated guy I’ve had the luck of meeting. He likes me and he’d do anything to make it work, period. And by anything, well… it’s pretty much anything, within good reason, and he knows I’ve got that.

His flight was much earlier then mine today, and I got stuck in the HK air-port for awhile, when I realized I couldn’t bring up my 7 pm flight to 11 am. Which was terrible, because it meant I’d be trapped there for oh, 6 hours before I was even supposed to do anything. I thought I was resigned to reading a good portion of Da Vinci Code (oh yeah, so sue me. I’m so into theology and I haven’t read that? I replaced it with the Name of the Rose, which I am still convinced is better, but I shall finish DVC before making any final judgments).

I surfed the internet for awhile, and there was this annoying boy who could barely speak English trying to chat me up while I was reading my email. He kept on trying to chat me up and sat around the terminal trying to do so until a pilot (not too dashing I’m afraid. His collar was all withered) came by and sat on the seat beside him (I was on the other one) and I thought, hey what have I got to lose by chatting him up and asking him if there was absolutely anything he could do for me. Like get me passes into a lounge or something.

He couldn’t, or didn’t offer to anyway, but asked if I’d like to go back to his boat. So I did, and after awhile on his boat, he invited me to a little football party for pies, chocolate cake and more bloody marys. Chris and Greg were awfully worried (I texted the both of them for advice as to what to do when stuck in an airport miles away from a city I didn't really know well enough to enjoy on my own), but when they finally did call, I was half-drunk and there were about 15 other people in the background cheering and stuffing their faces with meat pies. I'm pretty good at making sure I'm occupied huh.

It never hurt me to chat anyone up really. I was glad I couldn’t get on that earlier flight, I had a blast and got to know a few cool people, and made a new friend. I did leave a lovely new jacket in his boat though, but he said he'd FedEx it to me.


Tuesday, April 19, 2005


I'm surrounded by fuckwits that don't give a shit about me doing nice things for them. I try to make dinner for my mom, and she doesn't wait. What the fucking #$%^ and she complains I never do anything nice. Well, hello?? You can't even do this one nice thing for me by waiting for me to finish cooking dinner?

When was the last time you did anything really nice anyway? Sure you care, so? Sure I can depend on you if I shit up in life, but I don't care for that. The fact is, you're not doing anything now! And it's not even as if it's an active task.

I'm going to HK tomorrow to meet Chris. At least there's someone out there that wants my company enough to fly me over and take time out from work. In the meanwhile, I'm getting the fuck out of the house and going to hide in G's apt again.

Everything is a shit up.

Walk By:

<>Stepped out of my obsessions,
Onto a plane filled with people.
Whom for one another, made no concessions.

<>And the both of us, so I saw,
Stood upon it, with many more.

<>Welcome back to the bump and grinde,
And to the coldness and non-existence,
Of sacrifice, it's an ideal you'll not find.

<>And the both of us, so I saw,
Are now passer-s by, nothing more.

<>With a muddled mind and an empty heart,
Realize there's no solace to be found,
From people who give not but all want a part.

<>And the both of us, so I saw,
Were just like these, and nothing more.

I Know You Love Me

<>Because I was hurt the other day,
And you were pained to see me,
Silent and sad and cloudy and gray

<>So you asked, yet I could not say,
What had made my edges fray,
For you my dear, my feelings kept bay.

<>I saw you sigh, it made me cry,
But I'd not have known otherwise,
About your love, there was nothing dry.

<>And so I say, oh I shall try,
knowing full well I do not lie,
It's fine but please oh, do not pry.


Sunday, April 17, 2005


I don’t know what to do.

Last night, I met a college infatuation, had a couple of drinks, straddled him in the cab and strapped ourselves together with the belt. I told the cab to turn back though and stayed alone at Greg’s. It would just have been too troublesome to have go home the next day from his place.

I don’t know what to do with M anymore. Nothing has ever been so complicated or embarrassing before, and I really don’t like being in the relationship anymore. I will absolutely not accept people making presumptions about me, and he has made one too many. And made me feel like I was selfish, when I really am not. He thinks I am and that I’m emotionally blackmailing him (at least I think he thinks that I am), and that I’m self-absorbed and spoilt. At least that was what he made me feel like when I bumped into him at the café yesterday after spending the whole morning working a resolve never to see him again until he’d asked for it first. (Even the best laid plans go to waste).

You won’t believe what a loser I was. I bumped into him, he said hi, and the first thing I said was, ‘hey, why don’t we go back to your place’. Well, seemed like a good idea to me, he lived about a 10 minute walk away anyway, and it would have been a better option the coffee joint. In the opinion of my Alice, of course. (Yes, my pussy has a name).

So he went on about himself and all his problems, which seemed rather big, and I felt like mine were absolutely trivial (which is true, because he is my only problem. Do not even try to figure out the irony in that one). I asked him what he would like to have happened if he could have everything better, and he told me he’d not talk to me about it until it was discussed with Liz first.

‘You seemed like you have a lot of problems, surely you can talk to me about the rest.’ But of course I knew the big problem was Her.

So I got the impression that everyone was trying to take something from him without returning anything, and that was the thing that irritated and upset-ed him the most. So I thought I’d be nice and make him breakfast the next morning when he got up; 9 sounded like a sensible time. He called me up when I suggested that in an sms, and basically said I was crazy, 9 was too early, and what was wrong with me.

‘Huh? I just felt like doing something nice for you.’

‘I really don’t have the time. Bla... bla… etc…etc.’

Essentially, I don’t have time for you tomorrow morning, I’ve got to go to the office to complete some work, and you cannot force me to make time for you. Also: You are not allright, what do you want from me, because I cannot give you anything, are you sure you’re happy, I don’t think you are. And why are you sms-ing me about making breakfast for me on the Sabbath when you’re having a drink with your friends. Then, Goodbye. Click, followed by a dead tone.

Me to myself, ‘What the hell was all that about! He could have just said he didn’t have the time. Jesus.’

So you’re complaining you have no friends, and that everyone wants to take something from you, and when someone wants to try and do something nice, you think she’s crazy? It’s your fault you make time for the people that only demand from you.

Oh, and also, ‘you’re leaving the country soon, so what’s the point.’

Oh my god. I thought I got out of that state when I stopped dating conservative local boys who thought about marriage and a HDB flat at 24 and then cheating for several years after that with other girls in Hotel 81.

This is crazy! I mean, of course I’m trying my best to understand him, and give him space, and he is under a tremendous amount of pressure (that it is mostly his fault non-withstanding) but it is so irritating to have my kindness indicted. So it’s my fault that I’m trying to be nice? You could have refused politely.

That other woman is crazy too. I’m like, get a fucking life and snap out of it already. He’s given you all this money, so for heaven’s sake, try to stand on your own god-damned feet. If he wants to help you, that’s great, but stop blackmailing him. If you really cared, you wouldn’t, bitch. And I do care, and I’m not doing any good for him at this moment, because nothing I do is taken positively anymore, so I’m going to leave him alone, and so there.

Okay, so she’s gone through tremendous hurt and doesn’t have a blessed life as I do. I can understand that, but trying to make someone do something he doesn’t isn’t going to make you any happier. He’s helped you thus far, can’t you help yourself. It’s not like marrying him would solve all your problems. You’re only suffering the hurt because you’re too weak to help yourself.

God I really… Ugh! I hate to see him like that. He shouldn’t be like that. All the beauty in what we had’s all ruined now. When I told him I only wanted him if he wanted me; he got it wrong when he said I couldn’t demand his affection. I call a spade a spade, and that is what it is. I wasn’t demanding his affection. I loved him because he desired me. And now that he doesn’t, I don’t. Period. I want to be there for him, because he’s done something for me emotionally, among other things, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do now. And in fact, doing anything would just make things worse.

Oh everyone is crazed. I’m going to HK on Wednesday to meet Chris. Thank god for people who know what the hell they are doing and who have got their shit together.

It’s either he married her or he didn’t. With her, it’s that way, and it’s her own stupid weakness that she can’t appreciate the now. God damnit.

You know, whatever. I don’t give a shit anymore. I don’t tolerate stupidity and half-assed-ness, and sure the sex was some of the most amazing I ever had, but what does that matter if you make me feel embarrassed about my own fucking emotions. Like I didn’t matter. Sure, I have no problems except for you, how trivial. It’s like there was something so damned noble about being insecure and being hurt and being unable to cope with it all. I’ve got my shit together, and she doesn’t, that’s all there is to it. Maybe misery is an essential criteria in order to be his lover.

Oh fuck it. I can’t blame him. He never did me any harm; made me sad and mad, but never damaged me, so what the hell ever.


Saturday, April 16, 2005

We're all Kinda Stupid

Everything is going wrong today. EVERYTHING!

I just want to hide in Greg's apartment and stay there and work. If I bump into M, I have everything I want to say worked out. But I'll only have the capacity for three points I wish I could make.

Firstly, that everyone has real feelings. Whether or not they need him, and he is very rude to think they are crazy. And very rude to not apologizefor doing so and aknowledge their exsistence. Does he suppose the little child who's ice-cream has fallen off the cone doesn't really feel sad?

Secondly. I'm too sensible for all of this, and he is too old. And maybe, one day time will start turning back, and he'll be young again, and feel as if there's not much of life left to live, and you can do anything. And that the most lasting sort of pleasure you can ever get is in making other people happy. Because that image, that idea of them being happy will stay in your memory forever, but you being happy will only last so long. And you'll remember it when your sad, and feel even more sorry for yourself. But for now, he's the one that's desperate. Desperate to put his life together, to find things to make it work, because he thinks he's unhappy with it. But of course he isn't People live unhappy lives because they actually like they way they are living. And the both of us don't have the time. I just wish he'd understand that he cannot go on trying to please some people, and help them, by comprimising on himself. Because unless it's mutual, it's not going to be fair for anyone, and no one will be happy.

And finally, I cannot go on feeling bad about Chris. I cannot bear to have him feel like he's second place all the time when the only person in his life that can matter at the moment is me. It's not fair, and I've not been stupid, because I really thought M made me very happy, and I made him happy, and since Chris wasn't around all that much... But I'll be stupid to carry on like that. I hate it when all my friends look at me like I'm an idiot to adore M so much, and it's even more terrible when they feel sad for you because you can't seem to get out of it. And while I was happy, of course it didn't matter. And now that I'm not, and their feelings are justified, I can't.

Ugh. I need to wake up, my eyes are all foggy. I want a bran muffin, black coffee and a room that's made like a cafe.


I Woke Up

And a few things occurred to me. Firstly, there existed a flying pussy that tasted like sour plum candy when I kissed it, and Greg agreed. Secondly, if I spend enough time with any guy I knew right out from the UK, I inevitably end up using ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ more then I normally would. And (thirdly) I think it’s absolutely acceptable to use it on everyone else.

So being the idiot that I am, I used it on Martine. Who generally doesn’t take obscenity very well, or me getting drunk and flashing my panties around or very much bad behaviour that most teenagers should be allowed.

And this was when the fourth thing occurred to me. I don’t need this. It’s not his fault, it’s never anyone’s fault when things don’t work out, unless one individual is maniac depressive and adores melancholy 24 hours a day. But I don’t need this. Somewhere along the line, things became pointless. I don’t love him anymore for who he is, or the time we get to spend with each other. I’m not in love anymore, I’m crazed, period. The more he tells me to shove off, the more it becomes and end in itself, and that wasn’t why I so greatly adored him in the first.

I love him because he’s kind (tries to be to me, and definitely is to Liz) and because he’s honest. But I can’t sit around trying to understand his feelings all the time without him trying to understand mine. Has he ever tried? I’m sure he has, but we all have our own shitty problems, and his are bigger then mine, and I know it. Only, I’m really not expecting very much at all. All I ask is that he meets me for a few hours, make love to me, offer me tea and talk about life for awhile. Once a week. That’s all!

I feel such a great pressure because I know there aren’t a lot of people like him. I’ve slept, dated and loved a significant number of people, and there really aren’t many end up having really good chemistry with. Have you ever read a love story that wasn’t problematic? I’m not even twenty, of course I’m supposed to have problematic love relationships; problematic relationships are, as much as we wish they didn’t’ exist, are fun.

I’m tired, and I’m hurt, but we all have to move on and just wait for good things to come our way, and not let them go when they do.

If there’s one thing I have to thank him for, it’s making me feel again. Really, really feel for someone. Just because the person is who he is. Not because I need him, not because I’ve made him responsible for anything that went on in my life… And right now, if I want him, it’ll be for all the wrong reasons, and I don’t wish to ruin what he had done for me.

And at the end of the day, at least he’s inspired me to make some very good art.


Friday, April 15, 2005

I Don’t Want to Blame You, But.

Don’t go away, Please stay.
I wouldn’t know what to do, What to cling on to,
Should you leave, my imagination shall have naught to cleave.

Maybe I’m all wrong, perhaps this has gone on too long,
Time wasted, for my curiosity to be sated,
In order to find out, that delusion’s not what love’s about.

But in my head the incessant chatter, ‘What should it matter’,
I’ll never know it’s rights, in spite of the silent fights,
I’ve had in illustration, of the tears I want to shed through frustration.

Your presence has been draped, Over me, my sensibilities have been raped,
An eternal week in melancholy, but it is not my folly,
To want this, oh please, oh please.

I can fool my mind, play tricks that it’ll never find,
Until my senses dissolve, into a hushed, hashed resolve,
That for all of now, you are to whom my wanting has set its vow.


Thursday, April 14, 2005


I really hate it when I send and email pouring out all my feelings and don’t get a reply for the whole entire day. I’m sure all of you are getting shit tired of me being all sappy, but what can I do? I wish I’d more sense. But I really think he’s so perfect for me. You can be subjective about how you feel, but not about things like, damn I really like sleeping with him, I really like cuddling him; I mean, how you feel physically is undeniable. And I like many people, and they’re all very fond of me, but there just isn’t that sort of physical chemistry. I’d better make a note of it and ask him if he feels the same way.

But regardless of being rained-checked on, I still had a fabulous time last night. And I experienced one of the most amazing things that‘s come my way, and it’ll be something I’ll remember for a long time.

Three of us were at his place. (Let’s called the guy Greg, and the girl Shell, they’re not too shabby for names) and I’d popped in a new Jazz CD and the song ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ came on. Shell got up and started dancing (she moves to bring the house down and all the dicks up) and Greg picked her by her waist. I was on the couch watching them, and I though, isn’t that amazing. Like how two people who really aren’t particularly involved in each other lives can, just for that moment, feel so damn good being together.

It’s as if at that moment, nothing else mattered. They were together, and they were having fun. And that moment expressed what I felt more then anything else I’d ever experienced. Exactly. It is different when you’re the one going through the bliss, and when you’re watching on. It’s like having someone write down how you feel, and you reading it and going, ‘that really hits the nail!’. Only this was better. I saw it all, and it was… well, I’ll not forget it.

(Will post pictures as soon as my bandwidth's stops being over-taxed, for whatever reason.)

If everything is transient, and your whole life is nothing but an ephemeral jolt in the existence of the Bigger Scheme of Things (whatever it is, because you can hardly claim to say you’re damn sure your existence was all that the universe was waiting on; so there must be a bigger scheme of things), then what does it matter? Every serendipitous escapade is sent my way for a reason, and it’ll be a terrible waste for me to deny myself any of it.

I wrote the funniest, most raw email to Martine yesterday, and just re-read it. I thought it was quite good, although he said I rambled at points. Of course I can’t think coherently when I’m thinking about him, what did he expect? I just wish Liz would Go Away.

Oh, and by the way, Ethan didn’t say anything negative on purpose. It was a language problem. I’m really not physically attracted to him in any way, but hey what the hell, if he’s free in the summer, Florence will be on the list for a fortnight run away from reality.

I told you. Jesus. There is no such thing as people going away for good.


I am happy.


Thick Headed

Ethan called me thick-headed. He went, ‘actually I miss talking to you, and I miss your thick-headedness’. This better be because his English sucks, and not because he really thinks I am. Because he can go to hell if he meant it. I wasn’t the dumb-ass who decided there was going to be a trail through the mountains in a fucking under-developed island in SEA, and I was definitely not being a dumb-ass dumping him. He doesn’t know anything. And hey, emotions can be fucked around with, why you like someone can change; in my case, it’s by the hour. Like for example, I can be feeling really shit up about Martine dumping me that day for something else, but I’ll go meet my girlfriends and get shit-faced, and he wouldn’t matter all that much then. But the thing is, when ‘m in his presence, I’m just dying to become completely part of him, and you can’t fuck around with that. Your head may play mind-fuck with itself, but the good old olfactory sensory equipment and the humidity gauge in between my legs don’t lie. You just know it. Anyway, he breathes with his mouth. My god, I can’t stand that.

Ah yes, M dumped me today. We were supposed to meet for coffee, and I’d made plans for it, but he shat on me (not literally, thank god) and said he’d problems. Which of course pissed me off, because I was already half-way there, and I’d asked him earlier if he’d really want to meet me. That guy is a mess. He says he is all the time, and I finally believe it. I mean, for Christ-sakes, if you’re half-assed about meeting me, if other things would matter more then meeting me, then don’t say you really want to see me when I ask you if you’d like to do it another day. It wasn’t even as if I was putting him in a tight spot.

But screw that. I ended up having a lovely night, filled with another lovely lady, and a very compassionate man who’s at least got his shit together, and if not, well hell, I tied them all up with several meters of rope.

Christ, I’ve got so much fucking things to do, and I’ve got a life to live. And the truth is, I don’t mind making time for Martine, I love to do that, it’s just that I wish he’d … put himself together. You can’t be living for people all the time. And it’s annoying when you say you’d like to see someone, when you’re not absolutely damn sure your going to do it. And even if you’re not damn sure, just do it because you said you would! That’s what I would do anyway. Even if I were dead beat, I’d do something if I knew it meant a lot to that individual, just because I promised. I may not be in a completely good mood, but if he’d let me just be myself, I’ll be suitably well-tempered. But don’t say you will just because you think it’ll make me feel better. Just. Don’t.

I’m only tolerating all this because well, he can’t see that, but I’m not going to be around forever, and he’s not going to be around for me forever. And it’s not all peachy, but it’s part of what makes it so raw and real, and I like that. I’m not any worse of for it, I really am not. Fine, if you don’t want to meet me, there are other incredible people that don’t mind playing second fiddle (and I wish I didn’t have to make them do that) But I think he’s worse off for not making more of me.


What does it matter.


Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Not Fair

I’m supposed to be IT. I don’t want people, they want me. I’ve no need for them, no one should be making my heart race, no one should be able to give me that popcorn roasting in my tummy sort of feeling, no one (god-fucking forbid!) should be able to make me feel *gasp* desperate.

But he Does. I don’t know why or how, but he just does. The weird thing’s that I’m able to tell him that, and it doesn’t change anything. I don’t suppose he likes me any less knowing that I’m just dying to know he wants me. I told him I was desperate; that’s the way I feel, and I don’t see why anyone should dare make fun of it. And I’m glad he doesn’t.

I’m glad I have him. I don’t think most other men could make sense of it. I know most of all the other ex-booties go, ‘desperate’ with nasty sarcasm when a girl wants them too badly. If Martine were like that, I don’t think I’d even want to give a dime about him.

I’m glad he isn’t, and I’m glad there’s someone who makes me feel like I’m 14, because that’s how everyone should feel when they’re in love. And isn’t that just the most amazing, psychedelic feeling in the whole wide world. All other men can make me feel anything from hey-dude-lets-grab-a-few-beers-how-are-the-latest-conquests to euphoric blissfulness (I-cannot-believe-I’m making-love-to-you-again).

Martine’s something else. Being with him alone, naked, lying on top of him feels like this should be it. This is all there is to everything. Something completely out of reality, like nothing else could possibly matter. And if he’d just want to take everything of me - which I’m more then willing to give; which also means he’d be completely responsible, and that’s sadly the reality of things, because it’s something he cannot imagine doing to a girl my age. If that, then that’ll be all the reality I need.

It’s really quite a bit of nonsense, I know. We’ve completely agreeable personalities in bed and in the quiet moments outside the necessity of reality. But I have no damn idea how he is around people, because in the half a year I’ve just about known him, we’ve only made it outside the bedroom about half a dozen times. And all on exclusive dates.

No matter. I'm thinking of begging him to take a fortnight off in June to go to Europe. Suicidegirls's scheduled something in a lovely piece of countryside and I'd really like to go. If not, then I'd just resort to Chris. If still not, I'll just use my own money (if I have enough) and see if I can persuade the G-Spot to go. I miss the bloke.

Ah well. I’m just glad he desires me. I asked him to tell me so and he did. Now I can work in peace.



Artwork for Event Odyssey.

Content page

All artwork is copyrighted. Please do not use without permission or accreditation. You are duly reminded, because I know sometimes, I forget :)

And I'll fix the spelling another day.


Monday, April 11, 2005

Here's a Lesson

When you’re living in such a small world like Singapore, where there are many places to eat, but not many super-nice, casual ones in convenient locations, chances that you meet a New Year's Eve one night stand is just about very possible. Even if you've only ever had one New yera's Eve one night stand, and your aprtner in crime doesn't even live in the city permanantly.

I was having a late lunch at my favourite place, and all of a sudden this guy walks in with a girl and I was like, ‘oh my god’ in my head. He’s was as cute as I remembered, only not as sexy. (Had on the same shirt he’d worn on the morning he sent me off- which was possibly the problem, because it covered the things i thought was most sexy about him. His pierced nipple and the tattoo on the arm). He was trying his very best to ignore me. And since it’s not easy to ignore a girl right after a workout in a bright orange bikini top in a café (everyone else at least glanced my way once to acknowledge that I existed. Doesn’t matter if it was approval or otherwise, the fact was, I was present to them), and he didn’t, I had a feeling he remembered me and was trying his best to pretend he didn’t.

Weird shit.

How many times have I already said this was a friggin small world?


Talk Cock Lah

I watched Spanglish a couple of days ago with Chris, and it got me wondering over what exactly being yourself was all about. A few days before, a very good friend of mine was riling me for my accent, and how it’s just nonsense. I’ll be god-damned frank, my accent’s is nonsense. Although one would then have to decided who the hell’s to judge what’s nonsense and what ain’t. Most people I know very well don’t seem to have a problem with it. I know on me, it sounds completely natural, Martine or Chris or one of the others would have told me it was weird if it really was.

In fact, I’ve been told to keep the pseudo American accent on a screen test for a local program because it added ‘a rather Singaporean, SAP school educated’ spin on my character. The only thing not particularly politically correct is the fact that I’m not SAP school educated.

‘What are you talking like?’ She’d asked. ‘It’s like you can decide between a British and an American accent and decided to fix up the two.’

I wanted to ask her what should it matter, but instead I said something like, ‘I know. I’m trying to stop myself from talking like so and such, it bothers me, but I can’t help it.’

Truth is, the only reason why it should bother me is when it bothers someone else. I like speaking the way I do, and it’s an effort to speak otherwise, I don’t see the point in trying to make me feel bad about myself. People should be allowed to speak however they wish; although I will admit that sometimes when it starts to sound ridiculous, a little notification could be in order.

At any rate, I was speaking weird that day because she’d gotten me incensed and my guards were all drawn up. And she’d criticize me for the way I was speaking earlier, which only made me more aware of it, and aware of the fact that I had to fix it for her. And being conscious of things you’re normally not mindful of is usually a very bothersome thing, and completely unnatural. I’d speak Sing-slang if I knew it made the person I’m talking to uncomfortable, but otherwise, it’s just more natural for me to allow myself to talk however I wish. And I really don’t like the way I sound when I’m speaking Singlish. Period. It’s not a question of wanting to subvert my identity as a Singaporean but rather, one of tastes.

Chris started telling me about the time he’d hired a maitre’d for one of his fancier places (he used to run a F&B outfit), and in a month, the guy was talking like he was from southern Italy, among other things. I told him I really hated it when other people censure the way other people speak. For the love of god, just let them speak however they wish. As long as it doesn’t sound like ‘trying too hard’ I don’t have a problem. If they are comfortable with it, then let them be. Besides, wasn’t he sort of right out from the deep south, so where was the Quaker accent?

People here (and also in general) are just consumed with stupidity when it comes to the way other people wish to talk like. So it’s allright to have an accent if you’ve studied overseas for a few years, but not allright if you’ve changed the way you speak because you’ve just gotten used to the way your boyfriend speaks, and he’s ‘not from around here’. No, of course it’s different. In the former, you’ve assimilated into another culture, which is good. In the latter, you’re just a pretentious banana. (What’s even more of a bigger bullshit is that they sometimes allow a paragraph or to that expounds this nonsense in the national news-paper. But then again, The Straits Times is pretty much filled with useless news without an opinion. And no one gonna wanna read news that reads like the office minutes.)

Fuck you. You’re all friggin bananas. Look at the way you dress, the food you eat, the music and movies you buy. How much of that is out from the occident and how much from Asia? Oh, a lot of it is produced in Asia, certainly; which just proves my point. We like producing occidental things, and then purchasing them.

It has occurred to me that ‘Asian’ is a novelty for the world of generica lately. They’re sticking a little bit of Asian into many things western these days. But it’s different. Asian is a twist, a spin, a little bit of novelty into their cultures. The occident is a reality for us. Even local entrepreneurs make everything look straight out west. The less something looks like it’s Singapore made, and the more it looks like it’s manufactured conceptualized in Milan and in Macau, the better for business it’ll be.

There are more Asians in the world then there are white people, but to me, being Chinese still feels like I’m part of an underground band. There’s more of us, but the Occidental state of mind is over-whelming, nearly all consuming. And we’re (at least, I’m) mostly unaware of it.

I’ll try to be more coherent when I’ve the time, but for the moment, I’ve got my own life to lead and the day to tackle. And I hope I’ll encounter no one trying to change me. I’ll talk how I wish, behave how I want to, and no one can tell me why it should be wrong.


Saturday, April 09, 2005


If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last couple of days, here’s the answer, I’ve been minding my life. The Princess has started up a business that I’m sure will work out very well, I’m helping her do publicity material, and she’s been telling me about stuff I could do for the wine company she works for.

So I told Chris about it. And apparently, he minds one of the wineries in Northern California (couple of bottles of wine in my fridge I don’t care for explaining to my parents where I got them from) and asked me if I’d like a shot at getting it distributed over here. The moment he mentioned ‘paperwork’ my eyes glazed over and I told him he’s just better meet P and tell her all about it.

We had a really great late week retreat, with loads of laughs, alcohol and great cuddling (the sex is good, bar the fact that it’s a little too much, as expected. But at least with him, I don’t have a problem saying ‘No. I’m too bloody sore, please don’t’ Because maybe if I did that with Ethan, I wouldn’t have felt like he was some kinda sex-fiend) The only thing that bothers me about him, very occasionally, is his age. He’s just old, and that bothers me, sometimes. Looking at him bothers me. Sometimes. But when I clear my head of all the stupidity that surrounds the attraction of youth, it’s not in any way cause for dissatisfaction.

He’s been trying to work out a schedule with me where I’d get to go down to HK to hang out next weekend, after that a week in Paris (maybe a little longer. He said I could follow him around to a few other European cities if I was a good girl and finished all my work by the end of the month… which would also mean my parents would allow me to get out of the country since they wouldn’t have a cause for keeping me here if everything that needs to be done is done). And then maybe a road trip on the West Coast US in June and a shot nip down to NY. All that’s kinda fun (and I definitely don’t think he’s shitting me, because he’s got no reason to; and anyway, he did get me that ticket to San Francisco). I’m really more psyched over doing a summer term in July though, film probably. He said he’d only sponsor it if he would be in the States for most of the time during that time (which I think is fair and makes sense. He’s not a charity or a personality based scholarship after-all). He has a cool loft a couple of blocks away from the other school I was interested in. This is too wacky.

Anyway, whatever. We’ll see how it goes. He asked me about Martine, because I told him as a matter of fact, I did sleep with someone after I left him in SF, but that I totally trusted him. I was in a little fix, and I asked him why the question. ‘Curiosity’, he said. It made me think if I was really that in Martine. And the truth is, I am. Only, until he can let me into his life –the way Chris is; and the things he’s doing for me is just too amazing and nothing I could have ever expected- and until he can, I can’t just give up everything in the meanwhile and sit around waiting for him.

You know, the thing is, you don’t have to choose between true love and financial support. You can have both. My idea of genuine love and care comes mostly from a person’s capacity to want to care of me and his ability to do so. To me, there is nothing romantic about being broke and in love, and I don’t see the point of loving someone broke, when someone capable can love me more.

And the massage thing really works as a good gauge of whether an individual really loves you or not. Ask for a back-rub when in genuine discomfort and see if they do it. And not just do it, but do a good job of it. There’s no such shit thing as being unable to give a good back-rub, it’s just pure laziness if they don’t. Giving massages is an exhausting activity, it’s and effort, and that’s the secret to a good massage. And anyone that says I Love You without being able to offer that sort of effort is lying. Giving a massage is possibly one of the most self-less things, there’s not much individual satisfaction to be gotten out of it, aside from the fact that you feel pleasure that the one you like is within delight. It’s kinda like giving a oral sex, only more effort. (Massages are only good when they are at least 40 minutes long).

I digress.

A photographer called while I was out with Chris and introduced me to someone he said was a ‘really good friend’ who’d like to meet me. To ‘hang out, and if you’d like to take it further…’

‘Uh, no. Really, thanks, but seriously no thanks. I don’t do that kinda thing. Did it for a while, with two people, both of which are decent, one of which I really like and don’t want to lose. The STD headache it causes me is not worth it, and I just don’t want to sleep with anyone new. I’m happy where I am.’

I told Chris the whole truth about the sex for money thing.

‘It was something I wanted to do, and I thought why the hell not. I’d just take a shot with you.’

He laughed and said he was actually glad I did, although it did cost him a few hours of sleep thinking about it all.

I’m actually very much happier no that money’s not so blatantly involved. Let’s just say it’s progressed beyond the X amount of dollars phrase to ‘hey money makes me happy, so just give me some okay. I want to go shopping and take my girlfriends out.’ (But just for the record, I’m not a shop-a-holic. In fact, I hate shopping for anything aside from books, cds and art material. The only time clothing and accessories are involved are when I’m completely sick of wearing the same thing, and my handbag isn’t big enough to carry novels of a certain size -you now clearly know I don’t read too many Penguin Classics. Those are too handy sized-). There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little dressing up, certainly, I just think it’s a complete waste of time shopping for them, because clothing, unlike literature or music, does not inspire me. If it inspires you, kudos to that. But it’s just not for me.

So anyway, the sex has gotten better when you don’t feel like you’re being paid for, and when that happens, I don’t feel embarrassed about asking for things if I want them, because I know he gives them, because he knows that doing so makes me happy, and he’d like that very much.

I dreamt about the G-spot a couple of nights ago. I miss him a little I suppose. Kinda wished he were around sometimes to hang out, I don’t actually have any male friends that are as uh… avant-garde, who aren’t trying to get into my pants. He was walking around in this T-shirt he had a habit of wearing when he went out with me, and a Jockey-strap (you know. One of those pouches you wear to the gym that holds the balls without covering the butt). He was watering plants in my house and my dad came home, saw all of that and turned completely red.

My mother has appendicitis.

That’s kinda all the interesting news for now.


*Warning! Evil email rant.*

Oh, and by the way for the stupid fuckwits who are pissed with the Vatican Rag post, fuck off and die. Firstly, I was in no way making fun of the pope or the Catholic religion. I believe in Christ, and I don’t give a whack about denomination. I just believe that that pope would have liked people to be chilled out about his death. He was a great man and stayed alive despite being so darned sick simply because it was what he believed in. Many people would disagree, and I can definitely understand why that he wouldn’t have necessarily been happy with Tom Lehrer (I forgot to credit him, my bad. I genuinely thought I did, so please forgive) for coming up with it. But he just like all great people, he kinda always struck me as the type of character that would want his funeral to be a little less somber and more of a hey God, thank you for my life, farewell party. After all, he’s in a better place isn’t he? I just thought it was funny, I thought some people may enjoy, and everyone has to make fun of themselves once in awhile. And I don’t have a problem jesting with my faith. It’s not going to cost me my soul, if you really do believe that God is steadfast!

If you're going to plagiarize something, do so honestly and state
straight up that you're stealing it from somewhere. It's not so much
the honesty issue (I suspect that you're immune to such arguments
anyway): it's the fact that when you're found out, you look like a
goddamned moron. Particularly when stealing from someone as popular
and well-known as Tom Lehrer.

What's particularly flabbergasting is that you weren't content with
presenting the song as though it was something of your own, but
included Lehrer's introductory material as a paragraph in your article
with nothing to differentiate it from the rest, with nothing to
indicate that you didn't write it the same way you wrote the paragraphs
just above.

I would ask if you think putting that up was a stupid idea in
retrospect, but again I suspect the answer would be no. If true, that
says a lot.

I had to post that. Mostly because I’m sick and tired of being nice to people who send rude emails. Why get a complete stranger riled up for no reason, unless they antagonized you in the first place. Maybe you find me forgetting to credit Tom Lehrer a horrible crime against yourself; but I must say, Lehrer would find it rather upsetting to know he had fans of such posterior nature. And in the way, if Lehrer were all that popular as you say he is , then it would only have been logical that there was no need for me to credit him. It’s like having to credit Shakespeare every time someone uses one of his idioms.

I’m completely comfortable with the way I am, and I don’t care if you think I’m witty or smart, or particularly creative. I don’t know any of you, and none of you are going to give a shit about me if I needed help. I cannot possibly see why I’d even bother to try.

If that bloke has even bothered to read some of the recent posts where I’ve quoted phrases, he’d know that I normally do give credit where credit is due, even for the shortest lines. Bloody hell, I’m completely against downloading songs and music for free if I really believe the artist deserves payment for being so damn talented. And you’re accusing me of being so darned cheap-skate to want to credit a song (as goddamned good as it is) to myself?

Does no one believe in giving anyone the benefit of doubt these days? It would make all your lives better. And you'll be less of a moron. In any given situation.


Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Again, again!

I love you

What did you say?

I love you.

Goddamn I can't seem to do any art properly today. My posters all fucked up. Trying a new medium always gives me a headache.

Chris, by the fucking way, is coming down tonight to meet me. Isn't that lovely, I've not told him I'd meet him at the air-port, but I suppose that would be the nice thing to do.



Love is subjective, and since I’m not looking for everlasting devotion (and frankly don’t care much for it if it comes from a good-for-nothing who cannot provide for me) I’ll take whatever is tangible. I can’t judge love, but I sure as hell can judge good sex and an exquisite quality of life. And they all enhance whatever romantic feeling and passionate sentiment .

It’s all very well to say I’m shallow, but come on, would you love someone that had nothing just out of love. I’m not a bleeding saint with my heart on a cross. I wouldn’t love anyone broke, ugly and/or stupid. Look at Vogue’s most desirable men on Planet Earth or something, how many of them are broke? They are all rich, gorgeous and… allright, some are stupid but they’re not stupid enough to be broke, and that’s what matters.

Geez, do you think I’m that shallow? Money, money, money. I decided to give up on the relationship with Ethan because he couldn’t give me enough of what I wanted. You’re wrong and right all at once. I wasn’t interested in his money from the start, that he wasn’t penniless helped, but that wasn’t it. I thought he’d spent mostly his money while we were traveling. He treated me very nicely, certainly, but somehow I had the feeling it was mostly his parent’s, and of course I expected to spend some of my money as well, while traveling, but I did so on the belief that we were both on par financially. My parents didn’t give me anything, and they don’t. Hell will freeze over the day my dad gives me a sub-card. That’s beside the point though. What I’m trying to say is that, part of the ‘reason’s’ because I thought he was something (giving) and he turned out to be less of that.

That is of course me nit-picking. There are so many other things that just made/makes it impossible for me to carry on. I’m sure part of it was my fault for not opening my mouth to tell him so, but it simply isn’t what I do. You can’t change people, they are natural the way they are and that’s the way I think they should be allowed to be. He’ll be perfect for someone else. And I couldn’t say no to him because it would have made me feel guilty. Almost as if he’d whisper after I’d refuse something; affection, intimate advances, whatever he’d whisper, ‘but don’t you love me enough to do this?’ And I really did. And besides, even if I said no and refused his advances, he’d torment me all night. It was impossible, ok.

There’s no justification for these kinda things. I can’t justify it, completely objectively, and therefore no one can completely objectively criticize. It’s just that at this point in time, it was pointless to carry on. It wasn’t fair for him, and it wouldn’t have been fair to the way I wanted to lead my life either. What is wrong with wanting a relationship in which everything would be provided for, and then some. It’s not as romantic as two young lovers honey-mooning in a bunch of third world countries because they were too poor to do so in fancier places, certainly, but either situation has it’s charms. And at my age, why should I hold myself down if I don’t wish to? It’s not as romantic for you to read, but it’s much more comfortable for me to live.

I want someone that can understand, that can control his dick and not fucking try to stick it into me every time we’re alone, and someone with whom I don’t need to worry my bank account over. Someone who can help me live a bit of the life I’ve always wanted. Who the hell cares about romantic love if it doesn’t come with certain comforts, when you can have both.

Fuck justification, validation, explanation, blabberation blah blah blah. At this point in time in my life, with everything as mad-capped as it is, I can only have enough time for so many people, myself included. And if I was no longer enthusiastic about something, why should I even bother and waste my time or his? I can’t be bothered to act anymore.


Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Okay... So There.

I broke up with Ethan. It was quick, and relatively painless. But of course losing someone you like will always hurt a-bit, and I’ve never actually lost anyone before (no body ever bothers to let go). I suppose, though, when things are an effort to maintain, people have to make decisions. I couldn’t have wanted him to interfere in my life any longer, it was starting to feel difficult. He made me feel guilty about things I was doing, things that I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty about (and the only reason I did was because old conventional ideas you grow up with never leave you; like some kinda morality chain).

Of course nothing ever really is ‘final’, I may call him up a few months down the road, what does it matter? For now at least, we don’t have to be bothered about each other, and it’s one less thing on my list of things I need to do. Of course I didn’t mind doing it when I was doing it, I pretty much enjoy everything I do. But sometimes I’d really rather just be alone, like I didn’t matter and no one else did.

God, I don’t know what I’m talking about and I don’t really care. It’s over so big deal. We all get over shit in awhile.

In the meantime I’ll be fixing my portfolio and thinking about hanging in Paris with Chris. And then maybe NY in June.

Oh there’s ALWAYS someone else when people break-up. Or many some-one else’s. And perhaps I am calculating, but in the scheme of things, Ethan just couldn’t do much for me. My life has to progress, and I can do it like how just about everyone else in this damn country does it, which is to say day after day following a set standard (my classmates are all enrolling in the local universities at this point), or I can attempt to ensure it’s in constant motion. New experiences daily, new people, new places. And to do that, I need the people to do it with. People who can afford to do so for me, and most of all, people that are here.

But all of that is inconsequential I suppose. Ethan and I didn’t have superb chemistry, and he scared me sometimes. And he didn’t feel like he sacrificed enough for me, not that I did much for him either, but I believe I was more-so. And once again, of course even that is inconsequential. What should have really mattered was that I be willing to give up an unlimited amount of things for him, just out of the fact that I loved him. Which is impossible of course. What could he give me in return?

He has a great life in Europe. He’s got rich parents, a car, and a bachelor’s degree without a debt. And his father’s credit card with an impossible limit. His parents can purchase his experiences for him, mine wouldn’t. Not that they couldn’t, they wouldn’t. And in a way I’m glad. It’s made me into the person that I am, and it’s given me a chance to introduce people like Chris into my life, which I do not regret in any way and am in fact rather glad for.


Monday, April 04, 2005

Women Can Never Tell... Perhaps!

If a guy's a bastard when they’re in love.


I’ve gotten so many comments with regard to my relationship with Martine, and most of them go along the lines of ‘you deserve better’. But the thing is, better is not always better. It’s the way I’m being treated that makes me feel good about it all. And the truth is, I do write to make myself sound something of a Cordelia-like… sometimes. I’m not lying of course, I’m just not telling everything, mostly because I simply cannot write everything due to time constraints, the nature of writing and the fact that I have to keep somethings secret.

Then again, I maybe I really am blind.

But I honestly think not. He thinks about me often, I’m sure. For whatever strange reason, he’s purchased tickets to a couple of concerts and given all of them to me because he knows I’d enjoy going. He’d go with me if Liz wasn’t around… I think. I find it all rather romantic in a secret love affair sort of way, and a little sad too that I’ve attended a total of 4 concerts on my own, under his sponsored suggestion.

There was also this rather odd thing that happened a couple of weeks back where he had to have me leave at dinner time because Liz would be calling for a long while to talk about why do you not want to marry me. I was hungry and asked him to pay for my dinner. I don’t know why I did that, it wasn’t that I was not capable of paying for my own food, I just felt like letting him pay for it. He asked me what I’d like to have and gave me the money, then proceeded to sound rather guilty for not having taken me out to dinner for such a long time and said we’d do the whole dinner/dancing thing someday soon.

After I did that, I realized I’d never have a problem asking him for things. I asked him to take me back to Europe just before summer ended, if I was still in the country, and he basically agreed –if he was going down, why not.

The other thing that makes him not a bastard (although looking at the way he treats me as a lover, he should be, or so many people think; but not me) is how he treats other people. He doesn’t do me injustice because he’s selfish, I don’t think. The problem that exists lies with Liz, and he can’t bear to hurt her. She knows about me of course, not exactly, but she’d asked him about it several times, and I have still yet to find out whether he denied it or made up a story.

Somehow, It’s allright if I’m being done wrong if the intention is not borne out of self-centeredness. He’s to choose between hurting her or upsetting me. I’ve got a life outside him, and I am most certainly not dependant in any way, he’d never break up with her for me, I know it, but he’ll do it because it’s got to be done sooner or later. Lengthening it would just make life harder for everyone when it’s over.

Someone I’ve been seeing for the past week since SF (we’ve not slept together, I’ve simply been bumming around in his apartment, and he’s already given me the key under the strongest suspicion that I’m not a psychopath) asked me if I’d like this thing with M to work long term. May-be it will, may-be it won’t. First off, all my being is bent on leaving the country, he may or may not move to where I’ll be in the next couple of years, who’s to know? And secondly, I love being around with him, I love this relationship I have with him, but I’m not going to be bothered to try and make things work. Or try to hard. As long as he wants it, I’ll put a great deal of effort and feeling into it. The moment he doesn’t, then I won’t, because that defeats the purpose of what it’s supposed to be in the first place. It’s not about making it work, it’s about wanting it to carry on working.

I’m crazy about him. I’ve not felt so comfortable with any individual, and there is no one that can want to fuck me the instant I’m over and never make me feel like an object. I can’t explain how he does it, he’s urgent about making love to me, yet not. He’d want to, but will always spare sometime before to make tea, or to have a decent conversation, or to read the summary of whatever that is the book of the day in my bag. He knows I have a life outside him, and doesn’t mind hearing about it. And he’d still accept me for what I am and desire me, and I find that amazing. I suppose he knows I’m crazier about him more then I can be crazy about anyone else, and it’s easy to listen to all the stories and think, ah but she’s mine still. Kinda thing. I know I feel like that about him (there are more clockwork wound women after his blood apart from Liz).

And you know what, all those things matter, but their all arguable. I’m nuts about him, course I’m blind. But he’s the first person I’d slept with as a real person, as a complete individual, since the whole promiscuity thing started sometime back late 2 years ago. I say anything I want to around him, send him the silliest drawings, scribble stuff on the sides of his notebooks (the ones I know that will be in the office when Liz comes by). I don’t expect anything from him, not a lifestyle, not a risqué love affair, nothing. I don’t need him, and maybe because of that, I do. If he left, I’d write a few sad emails and send him a few paintings, but I wouldn’t be hysterical about it.

Then again, I’m nearly never hysterical about anything.


Sunday, April 03, 2005

The Vatican Rag

Okay. So someone that reads this blog (pronounced with distaste) has decided to interfere into my life and mind someone else’s business but her own. Well hello, I don’t appreciate it, and neither does anyone else.

People are weird, period. Look, this is just a blog, it’s a little bit of my life. I cannot update it in real time, and things in my life change on something like an hourly basis. I tell pretty much the truth with how I feel and such, but I cannot tell everything exactly the way they are, and I because every entry requires a direction and some sort of extremism to make it engaging, it is stupid to make assumptions about me or anything that happens to me.

I cannot stand people who email me and try to psycho-analyze based on what I’ve written, and I cannot be bothered to reply stupid emails like so. Most of them are stupid anyway. Maybe I get one rational one out of a hundred; lovely. If I needed to be told I was unstable, I’d go to a shrink.

Like so many contemporary philosophers he especially enjoyed giving helpful advice to people who were happier than he was.

Anyway, I’ve written E something like a dear John letter. Frankly speaking, I don’t care much telling people things they would rather not hear, it’s difficult for me and embarrassing for everyone.

What had happened was that a friend of E’s who also reads me text him and asked him if everything was okay after she read that rather nasty post I put up. Very nice. What in the world made her think I’d even told him anything at all, or if I was so sure he was really everything I said. Sure I think he’s elitist, and hell yeah I felt pretty much molested for about slightly over a month, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t make concessions for me simply because he really likes me. And that he says somethings I’d hate to hear, because he thinks it’s good that I should know. Of course I get irritated when he tells me things I already know (and not to sound conceited, but I know what’s better for myself then he does, and him telling me annoys me- but that doesn’t mean I don’t already know he does t for ‘my own good’).

And in more retarded pointlessness, the Secondary School I attended has turned into the institution of Those Strongly Supporting the Anti-Fornication Doctrine. Their pretty much attempting to exclude all of the opposite sex into any school event; at the same time taking a stab at preventing physical contact between the girls. Letting the kids embrace each other will turn them into lesbians! Oh no, we must keep our prissy reputation as a very obedient institution of God. Oh Lord.

Let’s all just do the Vatican Rag. (So hence my little tribute to the Pope)... ripped out from Tom Lehrer's album; just as all text in orange. My dearest apologies if you're colour blind, just trust me that I give credit where credit is due)

Another big news story of year concerned the ecumenical council in Rome, known as Vatican II. Among the things they did in an attempt to make the church more commercial was to introduce the vernacular into portions of the mass, to replace Latin, and to widen somewhat the range of music permissible in the liturgy, but I feel that if they really want to sell the product, in this secular age, what they ought to do is to redo some of the liturgical music in popular song forms. I have a modest example here. It's called The Vatican Rag.

First you get down on your knees,
Fiddle with your rosaries,
Bow your head with great respect,
And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

Do whatever steps you want, if
You have cleared them with the Pontiff.
Everybody say his own
Kyrie eleison,
Doin' the Vatican Rag.

Get in line in that processional,
Step into that small confessional,
There, the guy who's got religion'll
Tell you if your sin's original.
If it is, try playin' it safer,
Drink the wine and chew the wafer,
Two, four, six, eight,
Time to transubstantiate!

So get down upon your knees,
Fiddle with your rosaries,
Bow your head with great respect,
And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

Make a cross on your abdomen,
When in Rome do like a Roman,
Ave Maria,
Gee it's good to see ya,
Gettin' ecstatic an'
Sorta dramatic an'
Doin' the Vatican Rag!