Sunday, July 31, 2005

Decisions and Deals

This is great. I’ve finally gotten my mom’s laptop to function properly, after months of her not letting me access the administrator account because it had a couple of pointless word documents in it she hadn’t touched for a few months herself either; and had plain forgotten about them anyway. Until I get my metric card and a significant discount on the Powerbook I really, desperately want, this ASUS thing will have to suffice. It’s pretty good actually, if I discount the fact that it’s so bloody slow. My Desktop is built like a truck with 900 horse-power (useless information gleaned of the occasional truck obsessed Russian). The good thing about this bitch’s that she accepts the high-speed USB hub my Desktop for some reason had a problem with, which is great. Because now I can Skype with web-cam, mike and headphones while simultaneously waiting for pornographic comics to scan themselves in my ratty old flat-bed (once rather trés chic. Really. Oh and as I watch DVDs by guys like John Waters where Divine gets to eat a turd.

I made a deal with Richard yesterday. I’d come back from seeing this other guy I’d been seeing nearly just about for as long as I can remember (I’ve never mentioned him previously) and he was unhappy. Of course you’d think I’m nuts to presume he wouldn’t be, but he’d known about this relationship even before the first night we’d slept together, and we’d talk about it, and I’d talk about Him, and Richard really seemed alright with the whole deal to me. The way I see it, he’s not in direct competition. And since I have absolutely no problems with him sleeping with someone else, as long as I know the girl and like her, he’s honest about his dealings with her, and at the end of the day, he’s into me as a person more than he is into her, what do I give a fuck. I’ve spent most of the last two years dating guys that I didn’t expect to be exclusive. Man, if all girls just go through relationships knowing that exclusivity from a guy is a luxury, and it’s nice to have it but alright if you don’t, there’s be a lot more happier people out there. Possession, now that’s a devil. I mean, I never had a problem knowing Ethan slept with a bunch of other girls while we were separated; in fact, I found it quite irritating that he would not tell me more about the girl he’d started shagging not long after he’d left SEA. I never had a problem with Martine having a girlfriend he was really putting in a great deal of his time, money and emotional sanity into and fucking me about (alright, I fucked myself up too, but it really does take two hands to clap). I could go on. There was no one single relationship I had been in that was completely exclusive. The important thing to me is of course honesty, and that’s why Chris and I couldn’t work out and why phone conversations with Ethan are tedious. There was this whole part of my life that I was hiding, because they didn’t want to hear about it, and most of the interesting shit that happen to me that are actually fun to talk about is weird things like what I did last night.

Which is normally quite entertaining because I do stuff dress up in several meters of rope with my hands tied snugly behind my back and a hang-man’s noose around my neck, being led around as Richard’s pet. (We did stop at a petrol station along the way to pick up some juice with a friend, and Richard had started spanking me in the mart) Or how I go so wasted and bored with the strippers at the party that didn’t strip past their underwear I had to take of my pants and run around in Jockey thongs for awhile before some people got pissed. I thought someone told me something weird like, ‘My boyfriend doesn’t like it’ so I better put on my panties kinda bullcrap.

Nah, the inability for sexual monogamy’s no big fucking deal to me. I mean, it can hardly be a big deal to someone who lists mega-fucking at a rock concert as on of her ultimate fantasies, given such things like STDs didn’t exist. What would really break my heart I suppose would be lying to me about something, of deceiving me about something that matters. Nothing is more terrible in a relationship then miscommunication. I think the big issue with most people when they find out that their partner has been cheating on them is mostly due to insecurity; ‘What’s wrong with me that he has to sleep with someone else?’ That’s the real problem.

On my part, I’d just find it kinda amusing if my boyfriend slept with one of my friends. And if the girl gets a spanking good time (as I am sure she would) I’d even be happy for her. I’ve tried to get Élan to sleep with some of my girlfriends previously just because I thought he was cool, a lot of fun, and generally all round nice guy. So I know for a fact it doesn’t matter to me. It’s not like I’m trying to convince myself I should be alright with it because that’s the way women in this day and age of sexual liberation should behave.

Anyway, I’ve never felt the need to be monogamous, and it would have been terribly unfair to demand it when you aren’t into the whole deal yourself. Practice what you preach la, and if you can’t practice, don’t preach. That’s why I find so many people here full of shit when they say I’m a pervert like it was a really bad thing, because they’ve all had perverse fantasies before. Especially if they play ultra violent computer games. I mean, how natural is it to spend several hours a day trying to shoot off your mates on a computer screen and getting pleasure out of that? Nearly as natural as it is to fantasize fucking all your friends in the mosh pit with Marilyn Manson screaming ‘I am the God of Fuck’ on stage, that’s for sure. I’m not the bigot, you are.

But! This relationship with Richard is definitely worth some compromises, so I promised him I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else unless and until he was genuinely comfortable with the situation, as long as he went to church with me on Sundays.

Last night was completely weird, and I’m not talking about arriving in a party with your hands bound behind your back. I mean, that sort of shit happens all the time, and it’s just kinda outrageous and fun, but doesn’t mean anything much, really.

He came home just after I did asking how my day was, and I told him about the afternoon, and it seemed alright for awhile until he got really quiet and clammed up from me. Which just kinda made me feel shitty, and I was wondering what the hell did I do wrong, or did he have something not too nice to tell me like he’d developed a long dormant case of herpes or something and that chances are, I would probably have it too; perhaps I gave it to him. That kinda bullshit. I had been absolutely convinced that another sexual relationship on the side wouldn’t bother him. I mean, sex has been for the last couple of years for me mostly just an extension of a friendship, and it really does bring most relationships to a whole different level, and you get to understand people in a way you otherwise wouldn’t. But most people shouldn’t try and use that as an excuse to sleep around I suppose, because most people already have problems understanding the simple things about people that they have to stick to mundane topics like hand phones. I often wonder about the sort of half-assed relationship really dumb couples have. You know the sort of partnering between a girl whose ultimate dream is to own something that is both simultaneously shiny and fluffy at the same time and a guy that doesn’t do anything really but say… watch soccer on TV and data entry during the day to buy the latest Salsa mix from Kraft to have with the chips and the TV. I mean, man, even my sister can love her friends more interestingly. But maybe that’s the problem with society today; maybe we place too many intellectual demands from something that wasn’t really meant to be intellectual in the first place. Ignorant couples can love very well I suppose, if ignorance is bliss.

He said something like, ‘You know, maybe you shouldn’t come around as often…’ And my heart totally sank. It as only momentarily, but I really have very little tolerance for bullshit like that anymore. I’m sick of guys always trying to look out for themselves and push me out of their lives because they’re afraid of falling in love. Richard’s been the only one to give me a real chance in a long time, and I’m not going to blow it and I hope he doesn’t either. I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about how I eventually dumped my ex, but what happened was that I just got completely sick of him dumping me and getting me back because he presumed our relationship was going to get no where. If you want to look at things like that, you might as well fucking kill yourself now, because your whole life really isn’t going to go anywhere. You’ll die eventually. Life is for living, the day wasn’t given to you so that you could plan for tomorrow. It was given so you could live now. And you live it so well you want another day where you can experience the same sort of brilliance, so you put some time and thought aside to plan a little.

The guy whose bedroom I got locked in, Hugo, because his way of dealing with relationships completely rings of Nin’s long suffering husband, particularly in Henry and June said to me the morning after the fuck up with Chris that it was better to love and have lost, then to never love at all. I’d heard if before of course, but it’s such an old-fashioned, sentimental cliché no one these days ever really pays much attention to it anymore. Especially not pseudo literati types like me, I suppose. But he’d said it to me and it’s never really left my conscious since.

Even when I’m really drunk, I’m mostly not driven by lust when I do sleep with someone. There’s always been something about the people I’ve slept with that I could really relate to, and it was never pointless. I suppose I was just looking for someone out there whom I could really click with on every possible level, and I think I’ve found him in Richard. He felt a little guilty after telling me not to come round so much anymore because he kinda presumed that it was more natural for me not to be monogamous then it was. I personally think he’s right. I don’t believe we were biologically hardwired for monogamy, and some day I would probably like to sleep with someone else, but he’d have to be comfortable with it first. Because honestly, his happiness means more to me than a fresh lay. And I think it’s terribly sad when people don’t do things for someone that they care about just because they want to sleep around. Of course there comes in the dichotomy of me shaping my value system after my parents, because I certainly love them. But you know, I look into myself and I know that I’m happier with Richard being comfortable with my sexual habits then I will be if I didn’t give up the bits that he wasn’t. It was bothering me the entire night, and I thought, you know what, fuck that. I’ll just go to church, and something will come up. Something will come up and it will be so clear as an answer to my dilemma that I will know it.

And the pastor did say one tiny little line that most people probably didn’t take particular note of. But it hit me, and I knew it. There are some things that are worth giving up, even at a present cost, for better rewards in the future. And it’s not like it’s very difficult to give up sleeping with other people. I just didn’t previously because I didn’t see the need to. I’m normally not sold to the give up the present for the future kinda bull shit, but this really is not about giving up the present anyway.

But as for my parents, the reason why I’ve never shaped my value system after theirs is mostly because I know it would have done me no good as a person. I’m very much different from them, and what worked for them couldn’t have worked for me. Decisions should come easily and naturally. If you have to think too long about something, then it’s really better if you just don’t do it, because you’re not entirely sure from the start, that’s why you had to think so bloody long about it. That is, given you already know your stuff.

I’m bored with this monologue with myself really, and school starts tomorrow. I can scarcely believe it. Lunch today was absolutely hilarious, and R was drawing cocks on the Tim Sum menu (you know how those places have disposable menu/table mat things made out of paper that’s plain on the other side). My dad didn’t like it and told him off. Which was kinda funny, because if I think about it, he’s not that much younger then they are. And he’s probably drawing cocks around people much older then my mom and dad, so it probably didn’t occur to him that he shouldn’t. But hey, my parents are cool with him, and anyway, by dad has something against Botticelli’s Venus.


Saturday, July 30, 2005

Try Not To Presume

It's been completely crazy the last couple of days. It's like, what can possibly happen in a couple of days, but a-lot can, (and as it should,) a great deal did. I met Lynn, the girl of this Honkie guy I used to like (the exception to my general indifference to the Asian male aesthetic). She'd called me up a month earlier asking if I could set her up with my photographer, and I'd sort of delayed it until we had a really good opportunity to do something together.

An acquaintance that presumed he knew me more then he did offered this villa he was house sitting, and I couldn't pass up on the private pool. It's no fun shooting in a house that big all by yourself, so I called Lynn up. The least of what's so great about her is that she's dependable, punctual, and no-nonsense. Too many models are all wishy-washy ('huh... too kinky leh' me: 'But you're the one that wanted to do it in the first place!') And it's especially irritating when you've already gotten the whole deal together, from the make-up to the studio to the photographer to yourself.

The best of what's so great about Lynn's that she's completely comfortable with herself, and that's something you don't get on every corner of the street. She's comfortable with herself, and a completely exhibitionist. Someone I've been looking for ever since Dee left. The other person I already know is my sister, but Tori's too young. Although she did throw a bad-ass underaged lesbian let's get high party last night. I think. All her parties are kinda gay anyway, courtesy of coming from an anti-male institution.

Lynn and myself spent most of yesterday prancing around the villa in a semi-dressed state, and the guy that loaned it to us presumed that I should be so kind as to want to give him a hand-job. I told him it didn't bother me if he'd like to jerk off in front of me and come into the sink. I didn't have a problem with that, it wasn't my sink; as long as he didn't touch me, I frankly didn't give a shit. In fact, it could have been amusing to watch someone come. It's normally amusing for me anyway, whoever the person is.

I told Richard about it, and he pointed out that the people who read my blog could very well transfer a false sense of friendship onto me as a person. Which is completely bullshit, because I'm not very much like the person on my blog as I am in real life.

Here, I sound more mentally unstable, completely promiscuous, and occasionally a little rude. I'm actually very mentally stable, not as promiscuous as you'd presume -I'm extremely selective, it's taken awhile to develop a sort of fuck-off I'm not sexually attracted to you attitude, but i've managed- and I'm mostly not rude. I really do try my best to empathize with people who I find difficult to tolerate. It's never 'they're obnoxious' or 'they're presumptuous' or whatever. It's always, 'maybe they're not having it so good in the female department at the moment' or 'they're just insecure' or whatever.

Anyway, the guy who loaned us the villa generally presumed that since Lynn and I seemed so comfortable with being in a constant state of nudity, and that we liked making out with each other in front of the camera and whatever; he presumed that something like a hand job couldn't be too much to ask. I mean, after all, we were kinda sexually emancipated, so it shouldn't be a problem. That, along with all the stuff I've written in this blog. The crazy sexual exploits, fucking in underground car parks, getting Alice licked at ever red light, whatever. Funny thing with him and some of the people like him I've met is that they never factor in the fact that perhaps I just wasn't attracted. And like I told Lynn, it was no use to come up with any other excuse. They'd be arguing about why it was alright to give someone else a hand job even though you've a boyfriend, or even though he was dating your best friend, or whatever. You just have to say you're not attracted, period.


Richard and I have decided to slowly liberate this country from it's sickening conservatism by showing people that having fun was easy, and they should do what they want when they want. As long as it's not really actively harassing anyone else.

We figured that if we kept on having sex in as many public places as possible, without getting caught, we'd eventually get there. And more people should have sex in public places. I'm not talking about bathrooms and hidden bar back-streets. I'm talking by the Singapore river at 10 at night, for a long time, taking mental notes of the way people reacted (generally, they stare for a long time, give me a look that said, 'poor girl, the guy's not even bothering to take her home. She must be so drunk' and then walk past really quickly like they didn't see anything when they get really close to us). Or bridges right out by the main road with the bar-tender looking on. Be nice and give him a big wave after that for being such a willing participant...!

I cannot believe it, but we did it. Quarter to midnight, and were right outside the al-fresco area of a bar doing the dirty. There was this whole bunch of bushes that kinda obscured us of course, and no more then 4 people must have seen, despite it being very public (believe me when I say it was just by the main road. And it was a big sort of main road). It was just too incredible. Now if more people started thinking it was alright, then maybe we'd reach a stage of liberalization faster then we thought we could, and man, sex is always such an integral part of any country's culture; the more liberalized, the more vibrant. Think Sydney, San Francisco, London, bla, bla.

Time to spend the morning with Richard. It's just lovely to wake up with someone you're still in disbelief knowing that you love.

Does that make sense?


Thursday, July 28, 2005

We're Basically the Same

I’ve finally come back to my parent’s place from Richard’s, and you won’t believe what was waiting for me. Ethan had sent me a Swarovski necklace from Zurich. Isn’t that just too sweet! I don’t receive very many gifts, so when I do get them, they’re always such a surprise they mean a great deal. My parents are very Chinese lah, you know, they do the whole Ang Pow (red packet with money inside) thing instead. And it’s lovely when you’re broke, but nothing can make for the occasional surprise. But that’s the paradox isn’t it. If I keep getting presents, then they wouldn’t be a surprise any longer, and the part I enjoy most out of present getting is the non-expectancy of the deed.

So I come back in the middle of the day, all hot and bothered and slightly pissed because everything was just happening to me all at once (photo-shoots, meetings, fucking matriculation, apartment rentals); I was free-er at the beginning of the week, why the hell does everything happen just before the weekend. Anyway, there was this package from Zurich, and I though, ‘damn that’s weird, I didn’t buy anything online lately…’ (Stuff from Amazon normally goes through the Swiss post for some reason) And I open it and it’s the nicely wrapped box with silk ribbons and all, and I almost can’t bear to read the card. Because Ethan has just been too fucking sweet and wonderful and nice and long suffering (well, not that liking another girl in another country is that much of a torture, and I’m too stable to cause anyone emotional problems anyway, unless they already have it from the very start). I’m very touched, that’s all I can say. I’ve been very lucky I suppose, I mean, he did after all come down to Asia to backpack with me. It was mostly his idea, but Singapore’s the place he’d like to move to after he’s finished his masters because I’m in it. And also because it’s kinda cool and happening and not as polluted as Shanghai. (Of course it’s cool and happening if you know where to look.)

I had a little talk with some people over coffee yesterday, and one of the girls basically looked at me a little condescendingly and said it like I must be a completely weirdo and slut to consider every romantic, sexual conquest as an experience that has made me the person I am today. I thought that was really weird, because when I went back, and Richard and I were shooting bullshit about the lass glamorous bits of the medical profession (like constipation) and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stand, I thought what a pity it would have been if I didn’t have all those experiences, and didn’t become the person that I am today.

Is virginity/ celibacy all that worth it? I think not. Sex with all those people I had slept with before doesn’t make me enjoy sex less with the people I really like. When you do it out of pure physical desire and emotion, out of an unadulterated want for the other person, sex stays pure. It’s when you start doing it to make yourself feel better, or specifically so you can get something materially tangible out of it that it starts to get bad. It’s just like how reading trashy chick-lit doesn’t stop be from enjoying something like The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I enjoy them both of course, but knowing the clear difference in quality doesn’t become an impossibility because my mind has been numbed by the other bits of trash that I’ve read and secretly enjoyed.

Oh the other hand, if you’ve never slept with at least a few people in your life, and you eventually marry someone out of insecurity (because you’ve never really experienced being wanted by anyone else), then you’ll just lead a half-assed romantic life for the rest of your life. Somehow it’s alright, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you. But I don’t think that’s true when it comes to romance. It’s biologically hardwired in people to require that their special other WANTS them. And at what level of want is necessary in order to stay sane in the relationship. And it’s a pity some people never have that.

And the other thing I realized was that it’s just a hell lot easier to defend being a virgin then to structure personal introspection into rational thought in order to get why you aren’t a virgin and am glad you are not (note, not proud, glad.) one to conventional Singaporean society. Either choice is not bad or good, it’s what you want at the end of the day that really matters. Choosing freely to preserve your virginity in this day and age takes as much confidence, courage and independence as choosing to sleep with who you want to when you wish. Both require independence from the opinions of the people that do not matter, and the confidence to live life how you really believe it should be led.

It’s the people that struggle to remain virgins, or sleep around to assuage their insecurities that make people on either end of the spectrum look at the other people on the other end with disdain and contempt. Pity, because the truth is, we’re both the same inside; we’re both choosing to live life how we believe it should be led.

Anyway, I have to go for Teh-tarik now man.


Wednesday, July 27, 2005


I don't have much to say anymore, it's impossible to place my feelings anywhere. Peehaps I've felt like this before, but I certainly don't remember when I was last there. And what surprises me is that he likes me, loves me and tells me so. But I already know and I'm already there, naturally; it's so easy to say I love you.

It's kinda strange. It really has been. I mean, who was to know. And no one can say from here where we're to go. But I'm not freaking, though it's terribly unnerving. I don't think I'll change for him, he doesn't want me to either, but it's uncomfortable sometimes because there are some things about me that will always remind him that I'm the way I am. And I'm a good girlfriend in many, many ways I suppose (I like to fuck and suck and talk about the societal value of pornography... and sometimes I do the dishes) but I can be a not so nice girlfriend because Alice is a seperate identity and she will do what she wants to get what she wants.

And what happens when the rule of thumb is treating that special other how you'd like to be treated, and him sleeping with another girl you like is no problem (please bring her home) but you sleeping with someone else is. It's not fair, is it. I suppose I wouldn't. So many other men suck in bed anyway, I wonder why I even should.


Tuesday, July 26, 2005

How Auspicious

Of all the strange things that can happen to you while staying over at your boyfriend's place, waking up to find his living room completely flooded is not one of them. It's even more odd then the time I got locked in H's bedroom when the lock sprang into it's holder and refused to retract back into the door. We've been trying to figure out where all the water's come from, because he's not even living on the ground floor. It is a relief thought that for some reason or another, we'd decided to pack up the place a couple of days ago and stuck all the expensive art books on raised surfaces.

I've been sick these days. It's possibly a combination of a lack of sleep and too many things to do with not enough time to do them. My voice is completely gone, and I was absolutely miserbale last night. But Richard's been very sweet to me. But then again, feeding me a sleeping pill isn't a greatd eal of effort I suppose, but sick people just need to be left alone.

The girlfriend and I had dinner yesterday, and I was telling her how great things were going on between me and R and she said something like, 'well, come back and report to me in three months'.

Personally, that sort of thing has never bothered me. I mean, what's the point of trying to look at something so far flung as where the relationship will be a few months from now. What about now then? You've got to be kidding if you're willing to sacrifice your happiness now for some unsolidified future. Anything can happen, and it makes you lose your drive to persue the daily pleasures in life. And it makes you take advantage of people, I think.

This is what's going to happen, it doesn't matter what I do, it will happen. So of course you take advantage of people like that. That's why we're always taking people like our parents for granted *guilty look*. Complaceny, darling.

Everyone should have something everyday to look forward to I think. Living can be a drag as it is. All the bullshit we've to deal with everyday, and annoying people that are so full of themselves you wish you could hit them on the head with a shore, we need every little bit of something we like to make it easier.

I thought about the things I look forward to everyday, especially these days, and they're all very simple and constant and easy to achieve. Like having the time to tell a story, or the time to draw weird shit in my notebook, or have long brunches in the cafe while reading whatever books I want to. People need something to look forward to, don't they. I can't imagine if they didn't. I suppose that's why they fall in depression. Perhaps the people most prone to depression are the very highly strung individuals that always expect to achieve too much and do too much and lose sight of the little accomplishments and the little adventures that are to be had daily.

Yesterday something rather odd happened to me. I'd taken my little sis out to lunch, and we were eating at this al-fresco place filled with people in boring work clothes talking about silly things like the best place to have tim-sum at the cheapest price. We talkined about how we needed to do somethinc completely crazed someday to freak them out, and right there, Tori pulled my hair, pushed my head back and kissed me. We burst out laughing after that of course, but the only other time I had felt like that was when I'd kissed my first girl. It's a weird feeling that, doing something that goes beyond normal platanic 'friendshsp' behaviour.

I'm not feeling very well today. I'll go and lie down I suppose and read Neil Gaiman's Mirror Mask. I'm sure it'll be better then Harry Potter.


Monday, July 25, 2005


Unbelievable. 3 weeks, and Richard was persuaded to church with me. And my parents. Of course he didn’t go for the spiritual… indemnification. I don’t know why he did go, perhaps a combination of nothing better to do at home (unless you count cleaning up the apartment as something better to do) because I wanted him to go, and because it was just one of those weird things out of the ordinary that he didn’t normally do.

My parents liked him I suppose, but then again, it’s not like they haven’t met him before, which is really kinda weird because that happened years ago. And he’s really kinda decent and chilled out and doesn’t mind piling up in the back of the car with three other people. It just occurred to me that one of the things I like best about him is that he isn’t long winded. You’ll be surprised at how many people keep on going on over the same things.

After long last, I finally met Greg again. He’s brought back three loves of Vogel’s from NZ (bless his soul! I’d been fussing for a long time after I’d left over how I could acquire that stuff somehow. There’s no toast like Vogel’s, I swear.) and heading off for Paris tonight. We talked about Shelly for a little bit, she’s out of town gallivanting with some super money boyfriend and thinking about planes makes me sigh that school is going to start soon. I’ve got to go for Orientation this afternoon, and I can scarcely believe it. School is going to start next week.

I can barely stand it. 8 months of near utter bliss. Of doing what I want, flying to where-ever I wish, living slightly extravagantly and definitely madly. I’m looking forward to the Rubber Ball, and other relevant mad parties.

Greg told me I was lovely, but not to get a big head about it. And you know, I realized that getting a big head over the person that you are and what you’re able to do is really one of the lamest things. Because you owe a large percentage of that to the people around you that have made you the person you are.

I’m was a little sick, still am. But set up R’s meeting at his place anyway. Because I didn’t want to be left out, but certainly couldn’t leave the apartment. The Girlfriend came along. In a way I’m glad she did, although I need to ask her about it. It’s none of my business, but that boyfriend of hers doesn’t seem to be doing her any good. I don’t suppose there’s anything wrong with him, but if she’s feeling sad that often within their relationship, maybe it’s time to move on. I tried to get her to have some fun (completely encouraged R to go for it *grin*) But nothing happened of course (or should it be, rather disappointingly?) One of their friends came by, and he kept on winking at me through out the whole night. Which completely annoyed me, because I mean for god’s sake. I’m your friend’s girl and I’ve got previous sort of friendship with you, and can’t you tell I find you kinda… annoying. I suppose I felt that way because he was just so darn pessimistic about every darn thing. But it’s no fault of his I suppose, the lot in life he’s dealt himself doesn’t particularly do much for his hopes, I’m sure.

It was a sort of pointless gathering thing with too much booze, but no one drinking enough, but kinda fun still, with R telling me after wards that he was jealous as hell when someone else touched me. It’s flattering, and I feel uncomfortable with someone else touching me, but I’m not going to worry about that yet. It’s crazy, but I’ve been gallivanting around so long the concept of exclusivity hasn’t completely sunk in yet. But I’m sure he’s got no plans to change me.

I kept on thinking about the concept of selling out, and fame for the sake of fame, and I might be wrong, but the people that eventually end up being successful are the ones that don’t sell out. The people that do things because they love doing them and because they believe in a higher purpose other than commercial gain, or attention for attention’s sake. And even if they don’t eventually get anything out of it, why should it matter, because they’d have a lot of fun doing what they did anyway. So it’s a no lose situation. I’ll just do what I feel like and what I feel is right, and I’m sure things will work out peachy.

I could go on forever, but it’s time to run off to a photo-shoot.


Saturday, July 23, 2005

I Don't Care.

I should be fustrated.

Looking for a place is turning out to be much more of a hell then I thought it would be. There are all these bloody things to consider, and when you're not making several thousand dollars a month and require things like space and location, it becomes as hard as hell.

And then you factor in things like, how are you going to manage your time between school, your new boyfriend (and for once I really do think things can work out, and it's up to me to try and make sure they do. Because it would be a pity if they don't) and the fact that there's just no bloody space for anything in your parents house. I mean, having to stack up all your art things just before you go to bed is simply not the most convenient things to do. Oh and that anyway, they live miles away from the school. Who's ridiculous idea was it anyway to stick an art school all the way in West. I can undestand it if it were on a hill, at least that's kinda romantic. But in a shitty industrail area? What the hell.

I'm sick of depending on other people for money, and I wouldn't stay in a nice place if I had to. I just don't want to worry about stupid thing like finances. I'd rather not have a great deal of money and do what I want, and use what I have on countless mad projects. Like going to fetish parties and making crazy porn art and writing about my sex life.

I took a walk around Chinatown yesterday and bumped into this cool looking dude who used to teach at LaSalle. I didn't bump into him per se. I tresspassed into his friend's property (as looking for lodging, remember), he asked me if he could help me, and I chatted him up. I tired toe xchange email addresses with him after, and he told me he didn't have an email address. Neither did he have a computer, or a cell-phone. he didn't care for being contactable, and he got to people when thought he could be useful to them and made money like that.

That sort of contentment would be great, but it's just not possible for me I suppose. I need brunches at fancy cafes and cab-rides when I want to cab ride. Books and CDs at a whim, and the occassional dress. Which I swear is the only retail vice I succumb too. I cannot help myself when it come to pretty dresses.


This morning I got woken up at 5 a.m. because he wanted a fuck. I was so bloody tired, but kinda turned on as well.

'Wake up slut. I need a fuck and there's nothing you can do about it.'

And I curl up into a ball and say oh nonono please don't I'm so tired, please let me rest.

But of course there's nothing I can do about it.

And I kinda get a perverse thrill out of being treated like a slap rag doll in bed.


Friday, July 22, 2005


It's funny how I didn't realize how alone I was, until now that I'm not so alone anymore.

It's like there was a space that needed to be filled, but I didn't know it existed until someone came in to prove it did.

And before that, the home always felt a little too big; there were too many echoes, but I didn't know how to stop them. Places that needed cleaning, I could breathe the musk, but couldn't fix them.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The Paid Pussy

We definitely need to stop having sex for the next 36 hours. I absolutely think we must. It’s very good, and I realized my speed with the running has improved up to 12km/h. It must be something your body releases during schtomphing (I like that word. I just learnt it, and it’s a lot less harsh and more fun sounding then something like ‘fucking’), but I think Alice seriously needs a break.

He’s coming down to Sydney with me! I cannot believe it. A holiday together, not bad for a relationship that’s somewhere short of a fortnight. He wants to go because it’s a bloody great photo-op, and I was desperate for a photographer. Isn’t it funny how things work out? We’re going to get our costumes made this weekend. I went to Spotlight to figure out what sort of materials we can use, and realized that people normally do not use latex to make their clothing. The DIY store would actually be a more sensible option. You know, where I can purchase industrial standard latex.

Speaking about things working out, the deal with my photographer is getting better and better. Sometimes I honestly think the less planning your life has, the better. Of course I have a sort-of plan. I know what I like to do, and I will keep on doing that. But I’m not going to believe there are specific channels for which I can develop my art. I don’t think there’s a point, people were never meant to live on much planning anyway. We all have a destination that we should preferably reach eventually, but I think just like how the children of Israel wondered about in the desert and were fed manna on a daily basis (and told not to save any for the next day), there’s no need to really plan for your life. I am spiritual, and I believe God will look after everything. So far, he certainly has. I mean, what other kid who’s just about to move out 1) doesn’t have to worry about paying rent 2) given the opportunity to turn her pad into a money generating machine 3) will be working with professional artists 4) and rooming with the hottest lesbian lit-erotic writer in Singapore.

Now Taz. Ah dear Taz. I met her at the train station, and the moment I saw her today, for some reason, my breath was taken away. And I swear, my loins were on fire. She was so bloody hot thinking about her drives me crazy. She is definitely gay, and that’s a thing seriously lesbian girls have going for them I think. They actively raise desire in other women, especially marginally bi-sexual girls like yours truly. She’s completely woman I swear, I’m not into dykes unless they’re white, tall, skinny and blonde, in which case I might as well just stick with R. I definitely want to stay and work with Taz and I will definitely encourage her to bring back her women. Hey, if you’re going to room with someone, might as well room with someone that’ll inspire you and that you can work with.

I am just about to head of to another ‘blog party’. God-knows what it is, but it sounds cool. This one is a collaboration between Love Airways and the sex blog scene in Singapore I think. You know what, that actually sounds kinda cool. Sex blog scene. A little geeky, but hey, it’s kinda uniquely… Singapore.

I will be in some discussion forum next week. Apparently there will be 4 people on it, the other two are young men in their 20s I think. One of whom has AIDS and the other that has slept with a prostitute. I said something like, so the FD and me are the only normal people? Thinking about it now, I realize that’s actually completely stupid.

Jesus, I mean, people sleep with whores all the time. I’ve had a hooker fuck my dildo (with a condom of course. And I most certainly washed it after. With Dettol some more okay, so no worries.) It wasn’t something I should have done, and I think the whole affair was really kinda depressing. I don’t regret the memories of course, but sleeping with someone you have to pay, or getting paid for sex is altogether a very depressing, very fucked up thing.

Now, having money given to you because the man you sleep with likes you and wants to help you out is another thing. The difference is in the fact that your pussy isn’t the bulk of what he’s paying for. When you have sex, it’s because you want to do something nice for him, and you enjoy it at the same time. Feeling like you have to fuck a guy because he’s giving you cash is one of the best ways to really fuck you up. It developed a terrible attitude towards sex in me anyway, and now that I think about it, mentally I hated sex with a number of the people I fucked. Physically, it still felt alright, but when they wanted to have sex, I’d normally go in my head, ‘not again. Why doesn’t he come already!’.

Richard mentioned lightly that he’d entertained the thought of paying me to sleep with him some nights ago while we cuddled up after more unnecessary schtomphing, and I’d raised one eyebrow like I normally do what I hear some naughty incredulous bullshit.

‘I won’t pay you now of course.’ He said, quite seriously.

‘I wouldn’t let you pay me, for heaven’s sake. That’s so fucked up.’

And it’s terribly fucked up because paying for pussy (as opposed to paying for the time of a particular woman, because that’s always been a done thing. Only sometimes it comes in the form of dinners and movies and tickets to the ballet) really doesn’t do the girls that do it any good.


Wednesday, July 20, 2005


I’m going to go nuts. There’s just so much to do I don’t know how some people do it. That is, I don’t know how some people either accomplish everything they want to in their lives while still preserving their sanity and working out an hour a day and having sex for a large part of the night. Or, how some people just choose to ignore everything they have to do and do nothing. Doesn’t it bug you?

I met Kevin to test out some new lights he bought yesterday, and we got my maid to watch. I wasn’t doing anything really, just poncing around with my iPod and fooling about with my March fairy rag doll. I’ll post something up in a moment. She thought it was vaguely funny.

Shelly (this girl I’d met through Greg, whom I was romantic with for a short period of time, whom she was vaguely interested in for a short period of time in another era well before I turned legal) invited me to a party last night. We had a decent amount of forgettable wine, and flirted with each other. Flirting with girls is so different, I swear. You kinda always know guys aren’t going to slap you if you start grabbing their ass, but you never know with girls. I can’t imagine being a guy and not being able to squeeze the ass of just about any member of the opposite sex.

This friend of hers popped up from behind her seat at some point in time, looking like Joker without the makeup and talking about erotic poems and lesbian love. He talked in a completely psychotic voice, and there was no doubt that he was a pervert. Which also made him pretty damn interesting. I told him if he’d cough up an erotic poem on the spot, Shelly and I would do whatever that was in it. I wish I could remember it, it was pretty good for something off the top of his head. Kissing Shelly was just amazing. It’s just that I don’t kiss all that many girls, and it’s much harder to get a girl to like me. Her date for the night was looking with the queerest expression on his face, looking at the both of us.

Last night, Richard looked through one of the many little journals I carry around to record every worthy idea I have and I realized how filled with naked women the entire book was. There were all these little sketches of female stick figures making out with each other frame by frame, and a short description of what they were up to below each scene. I told him no one ever made me so aware of the fact that I was really quite the pervert.

I’ve not gotten bored of the sex yet, but Alice was protesting all night because she was getting bored and irritated with being overworked. So we’re leaving her alone for a while now. When we were chilling out this morning, I told him how strange I felt with him. Like, I was actually excited to be beside him, for no reason at all. And the thing is, it doesn’t feel like an infatuation, I’ve dated so many people, I should know how an infatuation would feel like. You see, the thing about him that makes him different from other guys that have really liked me is that he doesn’t seem to demand anything emotionally, at all. He probably does, but I think maybe because I like him so much I’m giving him more then he would have settled for anyway.

He’s had a difficult time and his stories always move me and I want to give and give and give. And that was kinda what I wanted to do with Martine, only he couldn’t do the one thing I wanted him to do. And that was just to fucking take and make me happy by making me feel like I was doing something nice. But of course you can’t force people to love you. And there’s love like a burden, from the people you don’t want love from, and affection and care and all things nice from people you do want.

I don’t know how I feel towards him, but I know it feels right. I wish I could explain it, may be I’ll try. He likes me for the crazy person I am, loves the excitement I’ve turned his nights into, appreciates the crazy people I go out with. Wants to shag me all the time but doesn’t particularly care about his orgasms (okay, I’m probably kidding to myself here. Of course he does, all people care about their orgasms, only difference is he never tries to wear me down or ever makes me feel obliged to help him get it. And you have no idea how shitty some of the sex I’ve had in the last few months have been because the guys were all so hung up on their fucking orgasms. It’s just that… It never occurred to me that it was alright a guy didn’t get his orgasm. I have a problem saying no to the boy-friends that seem like they’d die from being bilbolized)

I’m very happy with him and I hope it stays this way for awhile yet. It’s just so difficult to find someone right. When I talk to him about his previous loves and things, I always wonder why they weren’t particularly into him, sexually. Because it’s not often I have sex that’ll bring me down to tears and I have that with him (when Alice is not exhausted and numbed from our brutality). And we’ve come to the conclusion (at least I have anyway) that people have this aura about them that makes different people compatible with each other in different ways. And it’s easy to find someone that matches your criteria for all sorts of stupid things, like income bracket, good-looks, funny factor bla, bla and bla. But it’s not easy to find someone you can completely click with in that I could hang around you all day with my face in your crotch kinda click. There’s absolutely no reason for it, I swear.


As for the recent stupid scandal involving Xia Xue’s recent post (for those of you that keep up with her blog), all I have to say is this. With no insult to her, because she’s emailed me a couple of times and has come off smart, nice and un-antagonistic when away from the public… observations of her blog.

However, this is what I think of her post (mind you, not her) on that whole thing at the Blog con.

Firstly, it’s terribly ironic because that post itself is undeniably vulgar; It’s certainly more vulgar then my breasts. Secondly, I didn’t do it to get more attention, I did it because I was fucking bored. If you have to know what I did, I pulled off my top in a PRIVATE function room with no more then 10 ADULTS all of whom have already seen my breasts. It was FUNNY, and they laughed, and it probably was something for them to remember the otherwise terribly uneventful after con party by.

However, I don’t have any problems with XX’s vulgarity. It unhinges me because I can’t stand eroticism and sensuality being reduced to the crude forms she occasionally describes it in. But it’s just like Terry Richardson. It’s crude, but it’s human too, and it’s all part of our existence. It’s time we stopped trying to deny how we really look like when we have sex, or when we’re fucking mad or really tickled to the bone. Pure human emotions are all kinda vulgar. Look at all the glam models in the magazines. They look gorgeous, but they look DEAD.

Putting naked girls into hauntingly beautiful photographs is one kinda art a great deal of people can stomach, and even appreciate and fall in love with. And it’s not that it’s not real. But it will ever only be one facet of that girl. That same girl wouldn’t be as beautiful at the crux of an orgasm, but that’s real too isn’t it. And art should cover everything. It’s sickening when girls demand to have the lights turned off before sex because they feel like they’ll never look as sensual as the stuff you see in Playboy, or whatever.

You see, that’s real life imitating art.

Art should be about life.

You know the idiots that are always complaining about people painting and taking photographs and making films about people having sex and then publishing them as using ‘art’ as nothing more then an excuse for their perversions?

And that stupid Ravi Zacharias that can’t stop going on about how life is now starting to imitate art and we are generally leading more vulgar lives through our vulgar imaginations. People have always been innately vulgar. It’s a good thing that we have self-control and consideration also innately in us. But vulgarity is a part of all of us, and there’s nothing wrong with it as long as you’re not hurting anyone with it. Come on, don’t tell me it isn’t a turn on to say ‘You’re such a slut, your bad little girl is so wet you slut, you licentious cunt’ etc. etc. It turns me on anyway. But hell, it is different if I say that to my girlfriend in bed, and to her when we’re having an argument in the middle of the street.


Look at yourself the next time you have an orgasm, by yourself or with your boyfriend or a stack of porn movies or in a field of sheep; whatever. You probably don’t look one bit as pretty as the ‘art’, you pervert.



Tuesday, July 19, 2005

REAL Studio Apartment.

I found out today that Kevin has been looking around for a place to start up his studio. So no we’re looking for something in the range of $1200. Around the Dover, Queenstown, Buona Vista MRTs. Preferably barely furnished. Condominiums or really cool, edgy apartments. You know, crap sort of places with cement floors and rough walls. We’re going to look at shop-houses in Chinatown too.

I have decided I wouldn’t bother staying with anyone un-creative and anally retentive. If I’m going to live with someone, might as well be someone inspiring.

The idea of turning the apartment into a photographic studio is really making me come. I mean, not only do I get to make it look as cool as it needs to be, I also get to make money to pay part of the rent by renting it out. But that’s not the best part. The best part is, I honestly think Kev is one of THE best art photographers in Singapore, and it would be beyond privilege to watch him go about it.

Things just kinda work out, you know.

Anyway, Richard told me something like he might just be getting some funk vehicle with tons of boot-space because he’d been thinking about it all along, and the fact that I might get too busy really soon to spend time traveling about to schtomph him daily might just be the catalyst to get him to get one.

Oddly enough, the first place I checked out was only a block away from his place. But it’s just WAY too inconvenient for me.

It’s been a wild day, and I just made my second painting sale, and I’m very happy :D

The article in Digital Life was cool. Yep, nothing like self-promotion on the web!

Oh and the blow up with Kenny Sia and Xia Xue. I really haven’t got anything much to say.

Look, I was bored, everyone in that PRIVATE room (Sg blogarati only what) was definitely of legal age and most certainly had seen several pairs of tits in their life. What the hell la.

If I’m living my life wrong, then why am I so happy?


Monday, July 18, 2005

The Failure of Pleasure

The last few days have felt like one really long night. I’m really please we click as well as we do, what can possibly be more fun than sex, drugs, violence, death and religion. Richard wants to make art about all those things, and there’s nothing more I would love doing. I’ve no idea what we’d do. But it would be something so completely outrageous (not because it will REALLY be outrageous, but rather because it’s going to be born out of a conservative country) but spot on true that people will have to sit up and notice.

I don’t know what he wants to do. But I’d like to make up something about lesbian schools girls. It sounds kinda boring actually, but it can be rather funny if I didn’t lie and told it like it was (for me) and is (for Tori). We’ll see. I’ve already written a short story about it and sent it in for some contest sometime back, but it’s validated by the National Arts Council, so I seriously doubt they’d think it warrants the several thousand dollars in cash prize. Although I think it’ll definitely be more interesting then any story without the 5 necessary ingredients for an entertaining read. T

You see, that’s the problem with art in Singapore. It’s just too bloody bland. Art is about being human, and the most entertaining movies/news/novels inevitably have all those things in them. In Singapore, everything’s whittled down to a meager few un-provocative, kid-safe bullshit. Come on, kids can handle all of that. I thought about being tortured all the time by religious sentinel when I was a child (most times, they threw me into an oven and baked me alive. That was the most horrendous torture method I could think of then. My imagination has gotten more sophisticated now.)

I’d been wondering why Ethan and I have the most mundane, boring shit ass conversations over the phone, and it hit me while I was talking to him on Skype and stoning in front of my computer. We never talk about sex. I talk to him about religion, but he’s not really into it, so I’ve already heard nearly all of his arguments, and death is only fun to talk about with someone that’s actually beside you. Because it’s more bizarre to say things like, ‘if we were to die together, how would we do it.’ When you can still hear the person breathing, and touch his skin and fuck his dick. A voice on the telephone just isn’t real enough to make the thought as exciting.

If I were to die with anyone together, I’d throw ourselves into a lake from a cliff, with rocks tied to our ankles. You see, it’s different when you’re dying with someone and when you’re dying alone. Dying alone is probably going to be really boring, and possibly kinda painful, with nothing to take your mind of it. Dying together is quite tragically romantic, and it gives a whole new meaning to, ‘till death do us part’. Because you’ll really have maximized your living time with that person. Of course this is all from a very fictionalized point of view from someone that has no inclination towards suicide. But it would make a cool film, nonetheless.

Richard told him I made him think of Shirley Manson (the Garbage Lead) and I thought that was kinda cool. I added it to my list of what other people have thought I made them think about. The other two most memorable were Natalie Portman’s more dysfunctional roles (i.e. when she’s not Padmé) and Europe back in the early 90’s. It was strange, being told that.

It’s so strange, spending all this time with him. It feels so normal it’s great. The past few months have been all about flying cross continent and having Chris pick me up at an airport, or traveling around SEA with Ethan, or meeting Élan at pubs where we wouldn’t really talk about anything but get really wasted and have a lot of weird sex. R and I have a lot of weird sex I suppose. Considering the number of times I’ve had sex with him, proportionally, it’s quite a-lot. And I plan to have more than a-lot.

He actually picks me up, does basically whatever I want to do (mostly drink, eat chocolate and schroomp). And told me a couple of nights ago that when I moved (because now I’m staying in a sort of very convenient location for me to meet him) he’d promised he’d come and get me.

It’s all very funny. I’m very fond of him, and we really click, and I love the sex (it’s strange, but I normally have a serious problem reaching orgasm without a vibrator. And with him, I don’t. In short, I’m really having the best sex I’d ever had). But I don’t feel like I need to express it in any form, like how I did with Martine or Ethan or any of those other people I had thought I’d love at some point in time.

You know. I feel like we just really click. And he treats me very well. He doesn’t do much exactly, because I’m not the sort of person that requires much –I will take it when it’s offered, but I can just as well chill out to a DVD at home as I can go to some fancy pants restaurant and then to watch Swan Lake after. Richard said something really strange this morning. It was about taking a date to a restaurant. How much fun could that possibly be? You barely know the person, and she’s already making you watch her eat. (‘Might as well watch each other taking a shit while your at it’) I never quite saw it that way, but then again, I’m very passionate about good food.

I really enjoy hanging out with him.

I enjoy it so much I’m scared one day I won’t enjoy it anymore. And that will kinda suck. Because pleasures are everywhere to be found, it’s only our fault that we aren’t experiencing as much of it as we possibly can.

And It’s scary. So scary.


Roomie edit.

Thank you for all the responses!

Alright, after taking a look at the Singapore map I realized the best place for me would actually be the areas around Dhoby Ghaut MRTKilliney Road, Grange Road, River Valley- and Buona Vista MRTHolland Village- I’m honestly not interested in staying in a flat. Yah la, very wanna-be high-class, I know.

If you have something that’s a few minutes away from an MRT station that’s on the western side of the East-West line or Southern North-East, particularly by the two above mentioned train stations, please email!

The price I can afford is around $400-$500 every month. And I definitely need broadband.

I’m relatively neat (meaning I put things back within a 6 inch radius from where I took them from and do my dishes before I got to bed) and I promise to tape my mouth when I have sex past 11 p.m. And it’s alright if you want to join in and you’re female, or male and have a woman with you. (Basic swing rules hey!). And I will still be bringing along the coffee machine. And if you have a crap place, I will also be more then glad to fix it up for you at no cost.

On a more… serious note, I am looking for a room-mate, not someone to get into my pants. In case anyone gets the wrong idea. So don’t waste your time and mine.


Sunday, July 17, 2005


Okay. Help.

I'm too lazy to look for a real estate agent, I need to move out (It's WAY too inconvenient for me to make it to NTU from where I live) and I don't particularly feel like moving to Boon Lay.

Is there someone out there around the Holland Village area that can accomodate me? I'm looking towards something like $400 a month. It's not a whole lot of money and definitely below the normal rate, but I'm extremely easy to live with and I'll bring some excitement into your environment. I'll also bring along a coffee machine.

If it's one of those crap houses by Chip Bee gardens, even better. Super spacious, super crap, and perfect for painting in. (Don't worry, I like non-toxic stuff like water-colour and gouache). I'll even make it look nice for you.

Please email


Blog Conference?

Let’s see. I wake up yesterday with unnatural quantities of alcohol in my blood, cervical injury and no clothes to wear (my dress was wrecked from an entire night of naughtiness), and just as I board the train home, the ST reporter in charge of all the blog stories calls me up to tell me that there’s a blog conference going on.

I’m so out of touch really, but without meaning to. I met some Bloggers with a really weird attitudes towards the whole thing. You know the sort of. ‘I can’t believe Singapore has just hosted a Blog conference! It’s so lame, I mean, what’s the big deal about blogs?’

You know what? There’s nothing the big deal about blogs, and there’s all there is to be big about in blogs. It’s just like how there are shit films and films that are so mind-blowing-ly fantastic. Blogs are another form of entertainment, period. Blogging is the reality TV for the 21st century, and it’s even more real then real. Because most of us aren’t paid to blog. We may make some money out of it, but that’s not why we write. At least, that’s not why I do it anyway. Reality TV has started making what the producers think the audience wants, worse still what they think is the SAFETEST way to make the most money. I don’t know about other bloggers, but being the wannabe John Grey here, I tell my story like it is, so people can find something valuable for their life in it. I really do think I have a pretty damn good life, and I don’t really do much actively to make it good; It’s Sunday, so I have the prerogative to inject some of my spirituality into this post, and well, like they say. Blessings count for very much! (And to the twat who sent me that weird email that went something like, ‘Please publicly deny your faith because you’re brining shame to the rest of the people that believe in Christ’ You have no idea how horrifying that statement was. I never thought anyone my whole life would ask me to deny Christ, not in Singapore anyway. Good heavens.)

The entire conference was kinda weird in a way. I turned up way late, so I missed most of the more.. cerebral bits (i.e. the seminars), but nonetheless, I still got a pretty good impression of the whole thing. And here is what it is: The Blog Conference was largely something that bloggers went to, to pat each other on the back. But hey, get this, who the fuck doesn’t blog.

The concept, to all you who make fun and criticize it, is no different from things like the Golden Globes. Although it isn’t that much advanced or refined yet. And it would probably be stupid to try and actually give out serious awards, because that’s not what people want out of blogging. Blogging is cool because it’s authentic. Because we make our own stars in the blog-sphere, and it’s charming in a rather underground, fuck the people that run the print, TV media.

We’re broke, but fuck you, we’re better. And we’re gonna do whatever the hell we want. Because we can. For once, you don’t need money to have a voice. You don’t need the approval of someone else before you get to publish something that you think might help people out there connect and discover more about themselves and local culture.

I went to it because I thought it was so weird, and an interesting cultural thing to do on a Saturday night, and because at the end of the day. Hey, what the hell am I? I’m a blogger.

It’s a pretty big part of my life, this blog, although the social aspects of it aren’t that extensive –I barely know the other people that blog in SEA- They know me, and I was curious as to how other contempory, intelligent people (most of them were, anyway) would react to me, in real life. But at the end of the day, it was a gathering, with drinks. Essentially, a party. And it’s just fun getting to meet people you know all these little weird details about.

Like Kenny Sia for example. This was too funny. (For those of you who don’t have any idea who he is, he’s the dude that took a picture of himself in a pair of boxer shorts, in imitation of that one photo of mine that got all that media attention- Aiyah, in other words, he posted a naked photo of himself so that he can get more hits la.)

So we were in the little room on the second level of DXO, and I went, ‘Oh My God, Kenny Sia! Guess what, I’m from where you’re from’

Get this baby, he was FLOWN down to Singapore and put up in the Westin Stamford for the conference. But hey, I don’t say he doesn’t deserve it. Nobody ever never deserves anything. As long as you’re not cheating people of the best possible healthcare, given the funds you have.

‘You know what? I know exactly how you look like under those clothes!’ I say to him.

‘Yeah? So do I!’ He shouted back.

And that was what was supposed to be fun about the conference. That we knew all these weird things about the other bloggers, and here we were meeting them face to face. As children, haven’t we always wanted to meet the characters in Enid Blyton books or Marvel comics? Wouldn’t it be kinda fun to say hi to Anais Nin or Oscar Wilde or the Marquis de Sade. Of course we aren’t those people, but the general public did not hold any esteem for them until they were dead.

ST said the conference was a YAWN. My impression from the article was basically that Blogger are geeks, and we’re… just a bunch of geeks that are only able to operate with flamboyance behind our computer screens. Hell, I won’t deny it was kinda boring. I mean, firstly, none of the girls did anything outrageous –Okay, I’m a girl, and I did, but we would have gotten arrested if I had kept it on for more then the 2 minutes I did- If you really have to know (and of course you do) I pulled a Kenny Sia in the cigar-room-, and secondly, the house-pours sucked. They should have only offered alcohol straight up, because people were drinking too much tonic with no gin.

Parties are all about booze and girls. The best parties have bar-top dancers and Japanese school girl whipping parlors (take a number and wait in line, Arigato gozaimasu!)

But I had fun nonetheless. And I still feel kinda weird, having the Straits Times call me less sexy then Sandralicious. How sexy was I supposed to be anyway? Of late, I’ve been dating weird guys from the fringe of society that don’t seem to care if I turn up in a singlet and boxer shorts –it all comes off in a matter of seconds anyway-. May be I’m less sexy, but good heavens what does it matter. I’m not offended, honestly, I’m not as interested in being sexy as I am in being interesting and fun, so what the heck. I'll never be Liv Tyler, or Beyonce, or whatever, and that's that. What really sickens me is how people here are so obsessed with who’s more good-looking then who. It’s such a tiresome, shallow thing to be obsessing over with.

But whatever. I’m extremely satisfied with my life at this point.

My phone played out on me today, and I had to use my dad’s to get to Richard. And he (my dad) got a rather odd message right after lunch that went something along the lines of, ‘Tell your dad I love him. You’re juicy’. You don’t need to know who weird out my dad was.

Everyone’s been just lovely to me these days. My mom said a couple of funny things to me the other day. One, that she believed I was forever on the look out of someone better.

Now, this is the biggest bullshit anyone can believe in. There is never ‘someone better’. Richard would have been terrible for me the first time we met, I was too stupid then. But now it’s just Great. Things feel like they are going a little too fast, but it’s just always like that the first time you meet someone and the chemistry’s gone bang in your face, and you’re having fantastic sex (I feel like a drug addict actually). But I don’t think it really matters. Going too fast doesn’t really spoil anything, unless you mean going too fast and starting to say things like, ‘darling, let’s get a HDB flat together.’

I never believe there’s someone better, and the reason why I’ve been so fickle all my dating life is because I haven’t met anyone I feel the desire to stay faithful to. I know something like that has got to be a commitment, but it’s a commitment that has got to come naturally. There was always something wrong with everyone I’ve dated previously. For starters, I haven’t dated all that many people, and a bulk of them seem to be either 1) married 2)attached to some other woman financially or 3) Not living in Singapore. 4) Bad sex. All of them have been interesting characters, I would hardly have wasted time on them otherwise, but interesting isn’t enough. There needs to be chemistry, and after dating around a bit, I can tell when there’s chemistry and when there isn’t.

We were cuddling on the couch this morning, and he was smelling of cigarettes and I was smelling of sweat and sex and I thought how it’s been a pretty long time since someone that’s clearly admittedly crazy about me has my affection in it’s purest. It’s scary, but it’s almost like I stepped out of the steam-bath and realized what I was doing with Chris was completely fucked up and faked up. I like him as a person, and he is good in bed, but I never really wanted to sleep with him. But he was so nice, and could take me around the world, and playing myself along and convincing myself I really liked him wasn’t all that a difficult thing to do.

But still, it was fake.

That’s just one stupid example. But we all learn.

I know, it’s only been 5 days, 60 hours in total, but I really feel comfortable with him. It’s quite incredible that I can say anything I want to say around him. Something weird last night triggered me to ask him if I could live with him, because I’m going to have to move out in a couple of weeks and I need a place along the East-West MRT line. He said no of course, because it doing something like that after 5 days would kill the relationship. And it’s looking to be a very good one. Although I’m not hoping beyond next Sunday, but something in me actually wants to make it work. I’ve wanted to make things work before, but like I said, there’s telling yourself you should, because it’s good for you. And then there’s wanting to make it work from something that just comes out of you. And it’s a lovely feeling. And it’s only been 5 days, so of course I am clearly mad.

I told you man, I feel like a drug addict. Sex, Alcohol and too much excitement in the last week has probably got me off my rocker. And just before last weekend and before stripping in the park, I was thinking, man my life is going to get boring. Apparently not, and thank god. I think I’m a pretty naff excitement generator. People are just more fun when they’re around me, and it’s not because I’m the goddess of excitement. I think people mostly do not like being inhibited, but they are, because everyone else around them is more prim and proper then they are, and just like poverty and celibacy, prissy-ness is actually one of our society’s virtue. But when they see someone else behaving like a crack-pot, they think they can too, because they can’t possibly look more of the nut case then I can. And I don’t have any complaints whatsoever, because I like seeing people go crazy.

The other thing was the question of the existence of absolutes. Someone emailed me, Isn’t the phrase, ‘there are no absolutes’ and absolute in itself?

Here’s my theory. Absolutes definitely exist, but there is no absolute situation. In any situation, there are ways you can take to solve the problem and ways that will aggravate it. How you get out of a problem is an absolute action. And there are clearly some absolutes that exist. For example, behaving antagonistically towards someone else that’s already pissing you off will only make the other person want to fuck you up more. Is there an absolute way to solve the problem? Certainly not, there are tons of ways. But there certainly must be a best way. But depending on whether the person is your mother or boss of employee, it’s going to be different, but still, there is one particular way that is the best for that particular person.

I can’t be bothered to go on a moral discourse, because that question was raised pertaining to one of the post of Christianity. If you’re really interested, think about it, and you’ll get it.



Saturday, July 16, 2005

Public Behaviour

I am absolutely convinced I know what men want in women.

They want a-lot of things, but I know there's one thing all of them would definitely like to have. And if you're a girl and you don't believe he wants that, it's a pity for the both of you. You'll have boring sex in boring places all your boring lives.

Men want a little hell angel.
And being one is sure as hell fun.

I remember having a conversation with the Girlfriend about threesomes, while Ethan was there, and the both of us (E and myself) agreed that all guys like kinky sex. She didn't think so though. And since I'm not the one that dated her boyfriend, I couldn't disagree with her. Maybe he was really all that straight-laced. Threesomes aren't a bit deal, they're not all that fantastic, and there's really nothing about them that should make anyone go out of the way for a ménage a trios. But it's not something anyone should discount from their lives either, because done play-it-by-ear, it can be a whole lot of fun. Not to mention a very good experience, and some great bonding time with your best friends. Or whoever it is you end up being in bed with. I will definitely not recommend having threesomes with people you don't already like a great deal. You'll realize there's nothing more tedious.

Richard and I got completely bonkers last night, and it was his fault as much as it was mine. Now most people like going wild, there’s nothing better then the feeling of liberation, but some of them are just too conscious of other people watching and judging to do so.

When I got up this morning, I had just about forgotten all the weird shit that’d happened last night. But it was good he reminded me, because most of it’s actually pretty funny. Mostly because I woke up with the person I got fucked with, and he turned out to be someone I really, really like. It would have been different if he’d turned out to be some boring loser that was only kinda fun when we were both drunk, or some idiot that really just didn’t care and wanted nothing more than a shag. All the both of us could have wanted last night was lots of great sex (what else would you want when you’ve downed half a bottle of Absolut in under and hour), but somehow, it’s different when you know the other person actually really wants you as a person. It’s the difference between sex and desire.

Now if I had woken up this morning beside some loser, with my dress creamed up with a mixture of the following: Chocolate Sauce, Absolut, Piss, Vomit and Cum, my panties completely soaked up with got-knows-what nonsense that kept the floor of the car constantly wet. That last night the both of us just had some pretty public sex in a car park corridor after which he drove me all around the area just behind Oxley Road just so I could… purge my tummy on a particularly pristine piece of real estate. You know, fuck the rich people kinda stunt. Although I didn’t really have all that much puke and didn’t vandalize anyone’s private property. (Better say that, later I get charged for a crime that isn’t mine). Sounds like something straight out of Gorges Bataille, doesn’t it.

If it hadn’t been him. Remembering all that, while still feeling a little off the rocker would have sucked major-ly. But it was Richard. And it was all actually very funny. Especially getting your pussy licked at a red-light. It’s one of those feminist ultimatums I think. The whole suck my dick while I’m driving down a highway as I wait to end both my life and yours is so out-dated.

Be good and stop the fucking car before you have oral sex, for heaven’s sake. And start with the girl first. Women like that.

You know, Ladies first.


Friday, July 15, 2005

Drip Garden

Alright baby!

Finished 2 days past deadline, but who cares.

32" by 40"
Gouache on Canvas

Someone already has first call, but if he finds it inappropriate for his home, it goes for $500 if you're interested. Email me at


Well Laid

I am definitely not well rested, but certainly very well laid. Which is fine by me. Very fine. And very healthy.

Richard must be the only person I’ve slept with in the last 2 years that would make sense going out with. Mostly because I like him a great deal (yeah it’s only been 2 days, but you’ve no idea how fantastic it’s been). It’s kinda strange, but this really is something that could make sense. I’m not going to bother to think about what’s going to happen one month from now, and I don’t think that really matters. But it’s actually the healthiest relationship I’ve had this year. That the sex is so mind-blowing aside, I like him a great deal, and he likes me back. Which I would suppose is always a good thing.

I was contemplating between finishing my painting and dropping by his place last night, although I was sure I would have been too sore for anything more than a cuddle. Texted him, but he didn’t reply, and I didn’t want to call –It’s always weird at first, everyone’s trying to behave as cool as possible. It’s almost like a pre-requisite, and in some ways I guess this sort of behaviour has its merits-) He eventually did though, and I’d pretty much finished what I needed to do with the painting (It’s called Drip Garden loosely based on a composition I wrote when I was 15, about a park where drug addicts went to for an overdose and then euphoric death).

I asked him what he would normally be doing if cute, barely legal girls weren’t coming round for a shag.

‘Masturbate to porn and then to bed.’

‘Oh lovely. Then it’s not like I’m distracting you from saving orphans in Cambodia or writing the next Man-Booker.’

He told me he’d been sitting on the couch earlier with a massive errection thinking about fucking and contemplating calling me over. But he’d decided against it, for reasons I suppose like wanting to play it cool. Like I said, there are virtues in that, but sometimes, somethings are worth compromising for.

At one point in time I agreed with him that he was a pervert. And he hit me back and said I wasn’t any better. It’s the first time someone actually actively called me a pervert, and after a few seconds of thought, I couldn’t disagree. My death fantasy is after all to get my mouth blown off while riding my kidnapper. Or giving a blowjob to a trucker driving a Shell oil tanker down the autobahn in the wrong direction, in perfect collision course with another such similar vehicle.

Christ. He’s so edgy I love it.

I’m not insane-crazy about him like I was over Martine, but that was completely unhealthy for me anyway, and it did take me awhile to realize the fact. There’s absolutely no need to rationalize how another individual feels.

I mean, how the fuck do you rationalize, I enjoy hanging out with you, you’re a great shag, and when you’re into me, you make me feel damn good about myself.

I don’t expect much in my men. As long as they’re interesting, stimulate me in every possible way, and viscerally attractive. Oh, and they shouldn’t be broke.

Oh, and that I should know I’m someone they can be crazy for.


Thursday, July 14, 2005

Trippy Vibe.

Life is always strange, isn’t it. Mine used to be dead boring, and dry and worst of all, without signposts. I haven’t exactly figured out where I’m going, but sometimes I feel as if I’m climbing the steps at Hogwarts Castle, the ones that constantly change paths, but yet at every junction, (which ever junction I’m presented with, it doesn’t matter) I know exactly where to turn.

Some girls out there think I’ve really got it figured out, and I appreciate your faith in my ability to provide good advice for your life. But you know what? I don’t really have any ‘good advice’. I’ll never be able to write (or bother to write) some bullshit email that sounded like I ripped it out from one of the books from the Chicken Soup series. There’s really only one answer to all your problems and it’s this: Live your life the way you want to.

That really solves everything. And the biggest problem that prevents a whole lot of people from doing that, and being happy people, is their lack of self-confidence. You wish, but you don’t believe you can, and therefore you never will, period.

After a bit of thought, I have realized what men want in women and what women want (and I’ve never watched the movie, so whatever I say here has got nothing to do with it.) The boys are crazy over girls that can hold their own, and all the girls want is their independence. Remember the story of St Gawain and Dame Ragnell. It’s ironic, because all the women I know that don’t need men have all the boys they could ever want, and they are all crazy over them. I’m talking about completely crazy, the sort of I’ll wait on you, If I could marry you I would kinda crazy. And some of these guys are not the kind of guys that would normally do something like that. And then there are the women that really seem to need it, and they never have it.

Ironic isn’t it.

Women that are already happy with themselves get happier, and women that aren’t, stay whatever way they are, until they realize they need to make themselves happy. They need to be happy with themselves, first and foremost. That is all.


I have no problem with removing my clothes. Me and every other person living in a tropical country like Singapore. But last night was really kinda weird. Nude modeling is one of those strange businesses where all of the girls try to keep some semblance of professional integrity by swearing to God they’d never sleep with their photographers. Inevitably, most of them do. And so did I, after nearly 2 years of keeping up with that ‘moral code’. But like they say, the lack of sex is most often due to the lack of opportunity. I had no lack of opportunity, I was simply never attracted to any of the previous photographers.

I was telling Richard yesterday (something like the Cock Monsieur is just too stupid to use on a frequent basis; let’s not even talk about using it in more… maudlin situations. Something like, ‘The Cock Monsieur tells me that I have the most incredible pussy’ may sound good in a Disc World novel, but it is certainly not the direction I am aiming for.) I told him that nude photography was the best hobby to take up if you wanted to get laid. I may be wrong, but I think there exist 2 types of women in the industry. Girls who are really confident, who know they have nothing to be ashamed off, and do it for the sake of creating good pictures (while making good money and alleviating boredom on days when they don’t have enough brain power to do more satisfying things –like writing or reading, whatever) or girls that are frustrated.

Doesn’t have to be sexually- just frustration in general. Stripping and modeling, for me, has some very powerful emotions attached to it, and just like blogging, it’s a hobby art that helps you release a lot of unwanted emotions by allowing you to vent it out creatively. It’s the raw theatrics of it I enjoy the most. It’s just like how some people like to sing Karaoke, although they really can’t sing. I’m not the world’s most fantabulistic actress (few years in theatre and the sporadic foray into indy films aside) but in photographs, you don’t really have to be a great actress, you just have to like being theatrical.

Whatever it is, confident girls lay you because and if they want to. They don’t need to rely on any silly code of moral behaviour to tell them what will make them feel good and what won’t (what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s a wise choice, and what isn’t) they know it, and a lot of people are depriving themselves of a great deal of good sex, just because they believe their pleasure needs to be approved first. Frustrated girls also lay you, because they’re frustrated. Either way, your chances of getting laid if you take up nude photography increases. So it’s generally a good thing. Everyone’s happy at the end of the day. And so far, in all honesty, I’ve not met a single photographer that has treated any girl badly. It’s got something to do with the fact that all artists, wannabe or otherwise) are possibly very sensitive at heart.

Before the whole thing started, I asked him if he’d like me to start with my clothes on. It was really odd, because for some reason, I didn’t feel as comfortable as I normally would taking my clothes off. In ordinary circumstances, it would just be about getting the job done. Taking off my clothes is taking off my clothes. Last night, it was different. I took them off like I normally do before a photo shoot, but there were all these vibes in the room that made things quite unlike what I expected. When I removed my panties, I felt like I was going to trip.

Then he said something weird to me. Technically, it shouldn’t have been. Loads of photographers have said it to many other girls. Kevin would probably go something like, ‘Wah lau, I see so many already la. See until nothing le, unless they do something la.’ (Something as in spreading and going, ‘come and get my fresh cunt’).

“I have seen naked women before.’ He told me.

Of course he’s seen naked women before, who hasn’t. But it’s just different seeing someone you want, naked. It’s the difference between asking your parents to buy you something you want and opening a surprise gift from someone you like. And it was odd he said it, because obviously he felt something too, then. There was absolutely no need to have said it, I wasn’t shy about removing my clothes. I think more then anything, I was just uncertain about what sort of reaction it would illicit.

I’ve always been attracted to him in a certain sort of way, I really like the dead-pan humour and self-admitted pervert visage, but there was something in the way he did things around me occasionally (and it was mostly very occasionally, because up till last night, we’d never been together alone, much less, in complete privacy) that completely felt different from how he normally seemed to be. (And of course it’s clear he wasn’t all about being a pervert and dry jokes about humanoid back doors. Because people that are all that and only that come across immediately as jerks. He could possibly be a jerk to some other people –the fact that he tries to avoid people that he doesn’t already know he’ll like proves that he could be, only it’s the sensible thing not to waste time on such-) There were occasions when he’d throw me a look, or do something like showing me stuff on the LCD screen of his camera. There was once when I sat beside him on the couch and I got that same weird vibe. The sort of vibe you get when you feel that someone’s attracted to you, only you don’t know for sure.

You know, all that bullshit about taking your clothes off in front of just about anyone cheapening the process for yourself and your future partner is just that. Bullshit. Eating Cadbury chocolate all your life doesn’t cheapen the sacredness of biting into a box of fresh Royce bon-bons. Cadbury is good, but Royce is ultra, ultra good. Better then only ever having eaten the former all your life!

The same goes for sex, so there.

It’s amazing what sleeping with someone does to you, but I find that I feel this all the damn time after I sleep with someone. (Remember that I only sleep with people I can stand) It’s funny, but I feel like I want to live with them right after. And the funny thing is, I probably would if I could, and I probably would be happy, because I’m just not fussy. As long as the person doesn’t do anything irritating like snore off tempo or breathe in my face when we’re cuddling. The only time that happened I had to hit him on the head with a bedroom slipper several times throughout the night. (I remember that one. It was unmemorable up to the point I remembered it as the sole most unmemorable encounter. I wouldn’t even use ‘sexual’ encounter).

Richard is really, incredibly… Just Great. I spent most of last night on my back, and I am sure in two days time, I’ll have problems pissing. But it wasn’t just that. He was so sweet, and I can scarcely believe he’d wanted me all this while. He was nervous at first. You know how it is, when you’ve wanted to sleep with someone for awhile now, and then you can… and then you can’t. Women don’t have to worry about it, nothing Astroglide can’t help. I suppose men have Viagra, but it’s not the same, and never equally as consistent as lube would be, for women.
For the most part, I was in too much of a hyper-eroticized state to care. The couple of hours previously spent whoring from his camera –and of course flirting with the person behind it, because that’s all part of the act, but most times, I’m not aware of it. But when you are, it can really turn you on-.

There were a couple of thoughts that wafted through my mind after he’d dropped me off at the Café so I could get my caffeine fix and a morning read. I felt myself wondering if I should have held back, because I find myself really liking him now, and realizing I enjoyed the tension that existed when he was still wondering if I’d reciprocate the way he wanted me. But then you know what, what’s done is done, and how long could it have lasted anyway. Maybe if I didn’t sleep with him last night, then I wouldn’t be feeling the way I do now, and nothing would have ever come out of it. And maybe nothing will anyway, but then at least I had some of the best fucking sex I’d ever had and it was just so lovely talking and cuddling and being told over and over again that you’re absolutely gorgeous. Because I can still hardly believe it when people say that I am (you know what they say, women will never be fully satisfied with themselves. And while I am, at the moment anyway, this world has fed me with too much shit like how much I need to look like Liv Tyler before I can be considered beautiful).

But how silly of me, of course beautiful is natural. Means natural.