Thursday, August 25, 2005

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Disposable Teen

This is so strange, but I must have found someone just like me in one of the girls in my class. She's pretty, sexy, a complete sucker for Neil Gaiman, knows what's bullshit art and what isn't, produces good work, works out and has a soft spot for moon-cakes. She mentioned modeling for art classes, but I told her Suicide Girls (and modeling in that general direction) is much more fun, easier, and better paying. I don't do that kinda thing so much for money anymore, but when a good project arises, I can hardly say no, can I? And now I'm really looking forward to have Lynn and Luna join the club. I'll be fun and we could get up to stuff; go on wacky holidays for group shoots and things in fancy Balinese villas.

One of the profs really got be completely worked up sometime ago. I'd missed one class because I was in Sydney, and there was a lot of fuss kicked up about it. I told her I genuinely wanted to develop myself technically in the course, but at the same time, I couldn't forfeit other experiences that would greater contribute to my general artistic development. And I am sure the trip to Sydney gave me a lot more in terms of that then the class I miss possibly could. Anyway, instead of agreeing (who wouldn't, you have to admit, I do make sense in this case) I was deemed as 'confused' and 'at conflict'. Confused and at conflict with myself? Me? You got to be kidding. I sure as hell know what I want, and what I want is to have fun and to learn something really solid along the way. I love drawing classes, there's no bullshit in drawing class. You see the model, you draw, and you do it for six bloody hours; it's really tiring, but I can see myself improving by the hour when I do it.

Everything else apart from technical ability is up to the individual. Creative development is not limited to the classroom, and it's not as if I'm skipping class because I'm lazy. I'm skipping class because it takes a-lot to stimulate me and whenever I can find something better, hell of course I'm going for it. No one can accuse me of being lazy, that's for sure. It's completely ridiculous. None of the other people have a problem with it. I produce work as good as I can given the constraints (I do have other projects on the side that actually have immediate commercial value there is no way I can forgo them for homework. But so far I've been able to handle my time relatively well and cram as many things as I possibly can in a week).

You know, sometimes you just kinda want to tell the person that everything about the course is great and generally not a waste of time. But it's the same old problem in situations where you have to take other people in consideration. And we all can't be doing anything we like in school, and we're all at a different level of development and awareness; But for heaven's sake, it's an art course. If you think there's a set way to develop as an artist, you're not in the right frame of mind to be in charge of the development of the next generation of creatives. There are tons of successful creative people that were never formally trained, and tons of formally trained ones that never amounted to anything. It's all up to the individual, and all a college needs to do is to provide good technical coaching and equipment, a suitable environment, and act as a place to bring together people that will inspire one another. But we must be allowed to discover things for ourselves and make our own decisions.

After all, the reason why Singapore isn't as vibrant as it should be is because there's still too much central planning going on. I don't really care if someone else central plans the places of buildings and shops and things that haven't got much to do with me and do no affect me directly, but I do care if someone starts suggesting that my life needs to be planned for me, because they think I'm confused and at conflict with myself.

Who in the right mind could presume artistic development needs to be planned? There's be no evolution then. Oh yeah.


You say you want a revolution, the ape was a great big hit. You say you want a revolution, I say that you're full of shit. -Marilyn Manson


Sunday, August 21, 2005

It's Just Not Fair, Is It.

This must be the first time I’m moping about people generally being unfair to me, but that’s the truth, people… MEN in particular, have just not been very fair to me at all. There have been a few nice ones, but those tend not to be romantic interests, which is ironic. But I suppose in those cases, they don’t expect anything from me, and I don’t expect anything from them, so it’s hardly possible the argument that who’s being more fair to whom would come up now, would it.

The biggest problem with men is their need to posses a woman. It’s complete bullshit, but it exist even within the best of them, and it’s a pity. In my life, there have ever only been two kinds of men, 1) the kind of men that believe they can never possess me, never bother, and never do. Guys like Élan and Mr. Big and maybe even Martine. I cannot be trusted to be faithful, and I’m not girlfriend material, but hmm… I’m actually kinda fun to know because I’ve got cute girlfriends, I’m kinda always available (because I’ve got no moral hang-ups, and if your not exclusive to me, what does it matter?) and I’m actually a worthwhile person to talk to so you don’t feel like your sleeping with some dumb chick that just doesn’t no any better. And maybe it’s good for your ego; how the fuck should I know.

Richard is the other sort of guy I meet occasionally. Richard, Chris, Ethan, the Ex from what now seems like a century ago. Men that actually love me and can’t stand the idea of me sleeping around but don’t believe I never can. But of course that’s bullshit. Do they presume that I’m so shallow as to take sex with someone I don’t care for over how they feel? Besides, a dick inside you is just like any other dick. Maybe with the exception of people like Neil Gaiman and Ethan Hawke and other artists I have always wanted to fuck just to see if they were anything like you’d expected them to be. But that really is beside the point, and isn’t much of a big deal since they probably wouldn’t want to fuck me anyway, and I wouldn’t if it would make someone I love greatly unhappy.

Oh come on, of course I know I’ve been used to service the vanities of many, many men. And it’s alright, because I’m happy enough with myself not to give a fuck whether they want me as a girlfriend or not. Most of the ones in the former category aren’t worth more of my time anyway. They were fun, and they’re all nice blokes, but that’s all there is to the relationships I’ve had with them. I’ve never been monogamous with them because I didn’t think it would have made a difference to them if I was or wasn’t. And they didn’t satisfy me emotionally, and there’s only so good the sex can get with someone you don’t click with.

Richard generally presumes that I’m not a monogamous person because I keep on saying monogamy doesn’t matter to me. Well, what the hell do you expect from a girl that grew up in an environment full of bullshit where the average male character in any from of entertainment communication is always shown as a cheat.

Throw in the fact that I’m Chinese and Anti-feminist and the kind of girl that absolutely believes a good wife should always fuck her husband regularly because that’s the way it should be (I’ve let Ethan fuck me zillions of times when I didn’t want to just because I was very fond of him and weighed my displeasure at being fucked to the pleasure he’d gain by being able to fuck me and thought it worthwhile and something that wouldn’t hurt me to do)

By anti-feminist, I’m subscribing to what O says in the finale of The Story of O. That she measured her power by how much she could tolerate the whipping and the abuse of her lover. And that’s what being a real woman is, to me. It’s not about being in control of your surroundings or your men, it’s about being in control of yourself.

Anyway, put all that together, it was a matter of either tolerating a cheating boyfriend or accepting the fact that most men are just not monogamous and not taking it to heart. I chose the latter at an incredibly young age, and my stand hasn’t changed. It must have occurred when I was still in primary school and I was incredibly naive about sex and I figured I’d rather be a whore then never have sex all my life.

If men are not going to be faithful, then I’d rather love them for what they are as opposed to forcing them into trying to be something they’ll never be and feeling miserable about it when they fail.

Sexual monogamy doesn’t matter a great deal to me. I would have a problem with a different girl a week, maybe even a different girl a month, because to me that’s pointless and it’s a psychological problem with the man. Before R, I was sleeping with maybe two or three different people a month, but I had real relationships with them and the only reason why I was still say… sleeping with Chris over the weekend in another country and then fucking Élan back in Singapore was because Chris just wasn’t sexually attractive to me and there was something vaguely depressing about it all. And Élan was the perfect antithesis to that situation.

What I absolutely demand from anyone I date and have fallen in love with is my standing on an emotional level. Fine if there are other girls, but when you sleep with them or when your out with them, you’ll always know you’ll have a better time with me. That’s what I want, and that’s what I think is more important. It’s not that I’m begrudging you your female companionship; but from a romantic standpoint, I’ll just have to be better. Otherwise I wouldn’t waste my time on you. If I’m feeding their vanities, they might as well feed mine too.

And that’s what matters to me. And that was why I was so hung up on Martine for a long time, because I believed he believed he would be happier with me, and I knew I would be happier with him than anyone else I had met, up to that point, So. Of course now I see why he was really right all along and that there was no way we could really click. I would have had to change too much.

But that monogamy doesn’t matter to me doesn’t mean that I know it doesn’t matter to other people. I don’t see the big deal about it, but it is undeniable that other people get hurt when their partners fuck someone else. The problem exist and I cannot pretend otherwise. I can’t help the other poor girls who’s boyfriends are fucking behind their back, but I can help myself.

Richard keeps on presuming that it’s part of my nature to sleep around and that I mustn’t stop sleeping around because it’s just not me, and that would mean I was changing for him and that should be the way things should be. You should be yourself.

Of course I should be myself, and the way I am is that sleeping around isn’t a big deal to me. If he didn’t want me to sleep with another man, then I wouldn’t. I don’t think he gets it, but to me, my time with him is worth it’s value in the gratification I get in return. I wouldn’t bother to sleep with someone else because it’ll hurt him and it just wouldn’t be worth my time,

So, sex with someone else would not only hurt someone I love, but it would also be a waste of my time, and an unnecessary expenditure of my emotions, and perhaps a chance at catching a nasty disease. And the sex isn’t even going to be guaranteed as good. Now, if that were the case, why would I sleep with someone else?

I think he often forgets that I’m female and unlike men, women really don’t have a natural biological urge to spread their seeds.

Of course I’d be irritated if he didn’t let me fool around with my girlfriends. I mean, I can make concessions and I can understand why most men wouldn’t like their women fucking other men. But I definitely cannot understand men that don’t like their girls making out with other women. I mean, sex at the end of the day is a huge part of what I am, and maybe that’s why I’m not straight.

I could very well be a one man woman and a one woman, woman. (Not that it matters, I’ve never had a jealous girlfriend) I’m bi-sexual. That’s my sexual preference. And just like how you can’t tell homosexuals to desire someone of the opposite sex, or heterosexuals to desire someone of the same sex, you can’t tell people like me to only like one person from one gender.


Friday, August 19, 2005

Institutionalized Art

How odd.

So I skipped one day of class in college last Friday because I was in Sydney and the lecturerer gave me shit about it. My rational was basically, hey look, I had to choose between a crazy experience in Sydney and one of your classes, which I didn't think I would have missed out much on in terms of personal or techincal development. Besides, it's a fucking ditzy art program. It's foundation year, and the way I see it, foundation year should be about personal development. And I did cough up a totally wearable, completely cool leather outfit. Talk about Visual communication. I'm sure as hell I got my point across *grin* The arse crack viewer certainly did it, no doubt.

I quite enjoy the course really. Drawing class is fantastic and I find myself getting better by the hour. The film prof. is completely wonky, really sexy, very affectionate, loves Fedrico Fenilli and finds Tony and Jasper completely hiliarious. And she is so gorgeous.

It's quite odd, but falling in love with one guy has kinda ended up in me noticing other girls a great deal more. And all of a sudden, there are all these amazing women around me that I just can't wait to have fun with. If they would have it.

There's this girl in my class, Luna, who's got the sexiest tattoo on the small of her back and Neil Gaiman's signature beside it, and anyone that dares do such a crazy thing is certainly worthy of my desire.

Richard has invited me to London next weekend, and his dad's kinda paid for it, so I'm going. Isn't that great *grin* I've got half a mind to invite Luna along and cover part of her fare for her.


Thursday, August 18, 2005

Tony and Jasper

It's new, so give us a chance. We'll do a strip as often as we possibly can... Don't you think we're brilliant? *grin*

My apologies for not blogging more regularly these days. I have been actually, it's just that it's all on my PC laptop, and the connection I have seems to work only with Macs.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Living Fast

I’m sure we’re all terribly familiar with the idea of living fast and dying young. That phrase always conjures up images of a Jon Duan character riding the fastest motorbike on Earth heading straight for an oil tanker, and all this while on E, or something or other of the like. It’s never occurred to me until now that living fast could just as well mean pushing your body to undergo as many tripped out experiences from freezing in the cold to fucking all night… among other things.

I’m a little ill at the moment, but its because I’ve not enough rest, and did spend about a total of 4 hours wandering about cold this whole weekend. But it was all worth it, and I don’t think many other people would really have enjoyed it the way Richard and I did, but any trip endeavored by two people that never saw anything as necessarily bad would have turned out good anyway.

A great deal of things went wrong, but somehow thy all ended up being kinda right, up to the point where I got the return flight time wrong and turned up 3 hours after our plane had taken off because we had been wandering around King’s Cross, revisiting the café he’d been to years ago during a bleaker moment in time. Quantas is good, they only make you pay AU$50 if you miss your flight. Fly Quantas if you’re a muddle head.

At the end of the trip, while cruising from the airport and wondering why 100 km/h felt so slow, I realized that the entire weekend was one big, amazing experience filled with the strangest people and the strangest things.

First off, there was Cay. Crazy Cay, although I don’t think there’s really much about him that was crazy. Although the weekend wouldn’t have been as fun without him; that’s a definite. I wish there was some way we could have thanked him properly, but there simply wasn’t enough time, and I was too sick by Sunday to really get up to much.

If Dee had arrived, it would have been weirder, but for some reason, she ended up being a no show. She normally has good excuses, but I don’t think there can be an excuse that would have been good enough for this one, unless something really tragic happened (which I hope hasn’t). Richard and I had booked a really fancy suite with the entire view of the Sydney harbor, bridge and opera house in full view, with an extra bedroom and bathroom, and I had told Cay that she would be coming (because I called her the day before, and she said she’d be there.) And I had told her that no matter what, we would be at the suite Friday night by 10pm. I’ve never let her down once, and I can never recall a time when I’d said I’d do something and I didn’t, so there was no reason to have not shown up, even if I had been unreachable due to some telecommunication fault. Which I severely doubt.

It’s her loss I suppose, Richard and I had the most leather trippy, most romantic time ever. The only thing I don’t feel so good about was Cay actually putting more effort then I thought imaginable for the party because he expected more. And there should have been, but Dee simply didn’t show up… and I was never comfortable in a three-way MMF situation. And I suppose I would have picked up Aya and Johnathan (respectively a Yaoi cartoonist and a Chem. major I’d met at the Rubberball) only by that time I was too tired, cold and sick to feel like I wanted to have violent sex with lots of rope and whips and such and such.

We’d landed Friday night exhausted after 8 hours in Coach during which time we’d drawn a mad comic about a gay couple, joined the mile-high club as un-discreetly as we could, and read a little from C.S Lewis, Alexander Dumas and the Air-plane safety sheet. We had a half-assed walk around the city trying to find Darling Harbor, which took us about an hour, but since we we’re not particular about what we were finally going to do or where we were finally going to get anyway, it didn’t really bother anyone. We eventually found it, and he took me to a little café he’d been to, years back, during another era (when I was still in high school scheming to secure a date with my math teacher). He had been depressed and drunk out of his fucking head then, and was telling me about how weird it was to come back to a place with a different person, feeling different things. And how the same place just wasn’t quite the same as it had been.

I suppose that was what we kinda both felt throughout the weekend. Your environment doesn’t affect you as much as you think it does. It’s really how to perceive your environment that matters eventually.

Cay called us up and invited us to a party at about just before midnight. We took a cab down to his place and could scarcely believe it when it pulled up in front of a refurbished 1920’s chapel filled with weird electronic sounds and a bunch of political anarchist stoned out and high on everything that was worthwhile to be passionate for. You know, like lesbian love and the freedom to render obscure the current world order and weed, and everything you had been made to think was bad for you, but actually wasn’t. The things that were actually good because they made you feel passionate about life and gave you tangible reasons for your soul to live for and your body to desire. And because they were just fun and didn’t really have a particularly strong end-point in mind, which is really what all life is about.

Where you told the destination to fuck off.

That night we ended up in the suite with me talking till the sun rose up about the most outrageous things and some of my most obscure fantasies, which were all too fucked up for me to have told anyone else previously under more sober circumstances. Things I had been too embarrassed to talk about because they seemed too weird (like breast bondage, which to my delight I saw on the film they had been playing in the Punishment Room at the Rubber Ball the night after) And as the sun rose and I felt my voice crack; and Richard still couldn’t go to bed because he desired me very, very much but couldn’t fuck me. And how weird that must have been.

We wandered around Darling Harbor feeling like we were walking though a Disney movie with the sun as bright as it was glinting off the water; with people all around that never noticed us streaming by looking for cafes where they could stuff their faces with sweets. We had some eggs, felt a little better, and went back to sleep away the discomfort, and by the time we woke up, it was an hour before Cay offered to pick us up.

I had been fussing over whether the both of us should wear out normal things and then change when we reached the club, or to just wear out outfits straight out. We settled for the latter, which was of course a very bad idea because getting there was easy, but coming back simply wasn’t. Definitely not when you’re dressed up as a 1920’s Roissy whore (from the story of O) in a tail coat that didn’t cover the fact that your dress was made out of leather and so short it couldn’t ever hide the garters. Or a pastor with a cod-piece and half your ass showing. And believe me that wasn’t even too weird.

We waited around the lobby for a bit and had been starting to wonder where Cay was when a white stretch limo pulled up in front of the hotel and I thought to myself, ‘where is he, no way… that couldn’t be it’. But it certainly sure as hell was. I’d never been in a limo before and it was a strange experience, and it could have fucking been loads better if there were more people to enjoy it. Or if Dee had just shown up like she said she would :(

The Rubber Ball surprisingly wasn’t as crazy as I thought it would be, but part of the reason I suppose was because I wasn’t drunk enough, didn’t feel like getting drunk, and I hadn’t particularly felt like getting myself high on anything else other then physical pain. But there was a lack of medical tables and cages and poles on which people could get tied up on, and I didn’t feel like getting spanked by the guys that were whipping the girls in the punishment room (because I didn’t know them, and I really don’t get off on being inflicted pain by people I didn’t know).

Up to a certain level I guess I was afraid of getting whipped, because that was some serious shit (the kind of stuff you see in Crime Watch where masochistic Singaporean prison wardens cane convicts until they bleed). And I’ve been whipped with belts and gotten Alice hurt quite unpleasantly because she’s not well-hidden enough in my crotch before… so it didn’t seem like a good idea. I do have my limits I guess.

I got bored and tired eventually, because it was all very well watching old gay couples come dressed as Irish men in kilts and leather gear, and hot Chinese girls in latex cheongsams looking like a cross between Kabuki and the Ring, but no one was doing anything much. I supposed I expected weirder shit like cages from ceilings and girls on medical tables getting shiny metal tools poked into their pussies and chicks being suspended from ropes getting their backs licked. But now that I think about it, all that shit sounds a little out of control. And maybe if you’re only getting off on pain (and maybe a little something else) that could work out, because people would still be sober and under control. But if you’ve taken a mixture of E and coke and half a bottle of tequila… maybe not. I don’t know. BDSM is actually a great kick done sober with good heavy metal music. So. Anyway. There’s some of this shit going on in Singapore of course, but I’ve never gotten the nerve to attend them because like I said, I just wouldn’t get off on people I don’t know hurting me. That’s scary, not a turn on.

We left not too late but had such a horrendous time getting a cab it was almost unbelievable. The whole getting a cab out of the party was more amusing and nerve wrecking then the event itself. For us anyway.

So now Richard is dressed in this ridiculous leather Pastor outfit with his ass hanging out and a badly connected cod-piece and I’m in a tiny dress that can’t particularly keep me warm, and it is 3 a.m. and about 10 degrees outside. And it’s not Singapore where you can call a cab and it appears in minutes. So R spends about 5 minutes running about on the main road stopping traffic, getting several middle fingers pointed out at him and having people say the nastiest things imaginable until we decide to hitch a car that was coming out of the complex the party was held in, figuring that well… who else could it be but another perve couple from the bar at this time of the night. The car did slow down and the guy driving look quite curious seemed like he’d take pity on us, but the woman started screaming ‘drive on, drive on!’ when she saw the way we’d been dressed.

We eventually managed to stop a guy in a cab who was looking for the Manning Bar. Apparently he’d come down from San Francisco for the weekend on business and thought it would have been a fun do to attend.

Man we were so lucky.

I’m off to sleep away the weekend’s excess and then get down to priming some photos to post!


Friday, August 12, 2005

Venus Nursery

22" by 30"
Gouache on Canvas
For Sale

I finished it a few days ago. It took quite awhile, not a color palatte I'm used to. White based images are more difficult to paint too in my opinion, there's just something about white that takes away the strength of the colors in any picture so you've to find other ways around it.


Thursday, August 11, 2005

The Sex of Art

Schtupping hell.

My GOD. Can you believe that? Today has published my article! I mean, that's amazing because man. I mean, I don't think anyone's ever said Porn really is allright on a national newspaper and that art is art and porn is porn and sex in art doesn't mean it's porn, no matter how dirty it gets.

And Schtuppingis such a great word isn't it. You can't say fucking, and 'making love' is too soft and 'having sex' too scientific.. so Schtupping it is then.

Ah fuck that. I can't believe it.

This is uber cool.


Time to go check out leather dress at costumers!


Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Mind Your Own.

I don’t know when did perfect strangers decide that other people were their responsibility, but somewhere along the lines, everyone eventually does. But you know what? No one is in a position to give advise to any one else in terms of how they should run their lives, especially not if their lives are of inferior quality. Of course, then again, who am I to judge whether their lives are of inferior quality to mine; I don’t know, but I dare say mine’s as good as it gets.

Because you see darling, life is not so much what happens to you and where you live and all that other external bullshit so much as it is what you feel and how you perceive the world around you. And the way I see it, my perception of the world is good enough for me. It is outrageous really, people telling you that your life should feel shit, and if it isn’t it will start feeling like shit just because I wasn’t living the way they were taught to live.

Maybe they’re just jealous you know. I can’t for my life imagine why a perfect stranger would care about my happiness in the future.

I wrote a little script today about how people that weren’t tainted by the opinions of other people handled their relationships with the people that were immediately around them. How would it be like if we didn’t have stupid things like television or self-help books to tell us how we should live life. How would it be like if we loved and developed relationships upon nothing else but how we simply felt towards the people that were immediately in our lives, and upon how they felt and responded towards in turn. What if we didn’t have religion (which is also an external third party) telling us what to do, or statistics, or any of that bullshit.

What makes anyone think they have the knowledge to run someone’s else’s life? That’s just absurd. I mean, there are certain things about people that would do them good to lose, but as I make the acquaintances of people I generally wouldn’t give a shit for after I’ve met them and perhaps been offered a drink by them, I realize that the thing I wish with most people whose company I find tedious is for them o lose their know-it-all pseudo jaded attitude.

‘Oh I’m 24, I know so much about life, and I’m in the working world now and you’re not, and life is just fucking hard girl.’

Yeah right. Sure life is difficult, but I don’t have a problem with it being difficult, I have a problem with life boring me. And for heaven’s sake, you aren’t even thirty, I hope you’re looking forward to a life of misery.

Anyway, I’ve finally managed to contact Dee, and she’ll be meeting us at the place Richard and I have booked in Sydney, and it’ll be just great. My outfit’s just about finished, I’ve got the shoes ready and the garter belts, and now if they’d just send us the media accreditation, we’d be ready to rock.

School has been mostly unchallenging, which is good, because that leaves me with more time to do things I want to do that I can hopefully make money with. Which leads me to a realization, that I never do anything without thinking about it in terms of how it would sell. Now I don’t mean how it PAY, I mean how much people would like it enough to dedicate some time to appreciate what I’m doing. I simply don’t see the point in producing anything that doesn’t entertain anyone else but yourself. Because that’s just too easy.

Richard and I have finally managed to find a print lab to develop all the negatives with me a Lynn eating each other out and getting to all sorts of other pseudo lesbian bullshit. I saw the transparencies, and they’re looking good. We’d tried this other uber commercialized bullshit place but the aunties there were only comfortable with developing single nudes. No lesbian action please, it will remind us of all the fun sex we could have had as kids, but didn’t.

R just told me it would be difficult to keep a sexually unfaithful relationship together. At least it would be difficult for most people. Perhaps. But then humans aren’t naturally made to be faithful, are we. But then again, sometimes dishonest relationships last better then completely honest but unfaithful ones.

I like Sin City because it tells us we are all neither good nor evil, but human. What works for one particular individual would not work for someone else, and our values are being compromised all the time, and sometimes they are naturally validated, sometimes we attempt to rationalize them. But at the end of the day you know what? You’re still going to have to live this life and go through all its difficult bullshit so you might as well stop trying to make things more difficult them they already are by imposing on the natural state of your feelings with all these rules.

And then you die.

So what’s the big fucking deal already? What makes you think this time on earth even matters? You believe in eternal life? Well, the last I checked, eternity is about the past, present and the future. This is the present. You are already living the eternal life, and it’s not really quite like hell, but it’s not like heaven either.


Monday, August 08, 2005


School has been intensely boring. We’re mostly doing things like drawing dots and crosses and sketching hands a feet and writing cheesy melodramatic eastern European-esque porn scripts. I’ve made this weird drawing with a girl and her 1970’s Jetson’s fuck machine. It’s really quite bizarre.

Chris called me today after quite some time. I haven’t been replying his emails because I haven’t been checking my inboxes all that often these days, which is good because I’m less of a slave to my computer, bad, because you get people worried wondering that the hell’s up with you. He’s doing alright lately, dating this other girl called Candice back in the states who’s some kinda lawyer and really very smart, but not particularly fun to hang out with. But from what I hear, she’s really hot and really into him, and it’s a pity he doesn’t feel the same, but such is life. He’s a rather funny character, having given me a breakdown of his relationship with her into a few lines, while also simultaneously managing to compare that relationship with ours. He likes her 30-70 (him-her) but ups it to 40-60 after she went through a ‘significant amount of effort’ in trying to get him. I think it’s ridiculous of course, trying to measure love by percentages. What if my feelings for Richard are bigger then the pie can express; and then what? Not a fair comparison. He said our relationship was 92-8. Perhaps… you see, I never liked him romantically, it was just impossible.

He’s coming down to Asia again in a couple of days, and I thought about meeting him over the weekend somewhere near after Sydney. Bangkok or something, but of course Richard must be comfortable with it, and Chris must know I’m in love with someone else now. I think it’s better this way actually because I never really fancied him in bed, although I will admit there’s nothing lacking about him in that department. Aside from the fact that he makes me work too hard sometimes and I don’t really want to sleep with him in the first place. Which isn’t altogether an unpleasant experience for me, but you know how it is when you just rather not.

I’ve been thinking about it the whole day, the issue of fidelity on all sorts of different levels, and I realized I’ve never come to any sort of stand before. I’m used to being the second woman, the non-physically present girlfriend, the paid whore, the occasional booty call, among any number of other things, but never a real girlfriend. And it really is great, although sometimes thinking about it gets me feeling really frightened because it has been such a long time. But as according to CS Lewis, the only place outside Heaven where you can be truly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell, so better to love then not! And because I’m so self-aware now, I find it impossible I’ve found someone I like as much as R, who happens to like me back so much I can’t believe it. I mean, this kinda thing just doesn’t happen. But I would seem that sometimes it does. I like living with him, and it doesn’t bore me. There’s always such a sense of life a kid of outward-ness about the relationship that I really enjoy, and I don’t feel trapped or repressed or like I have to hide anything.

The funny thing is, I’m rather undecided as to how I would feel if R were to have to leave the country for a few days with another woman. I would miss him being around, that’s for sure, but would I really be affected badly if I knew he could sleep with her and maybe would. I don’t think so because it has happened to me before, and somehow, I’m just… not made with a jealous constitution. But then it isn’t fair is it. Because he probably is, and if I did meet Chris, I’d make sure he didn’t expect me to sleep with him (and he probably wouldn’t because he likes me much more beyond sex), but still. He told me once that I should treat other people the way I’d like to be treated. But sometimes that just doesn’t work you know. Because I’m so much more tolerant. Anyway.

I’ve often wondered about why people keep on emailing me saying I’m full of ‘literary bullshit’ just because I allude to some of the things I’ve read. I suppose they feel really threatened because I’m not talking on grounds they can completely understand because they don’t read, and feel the need to extol the fact that they don’t, because that makes them more real. Perhaps. But it also makes them more stupid, far less experienced and clearly a great deal less tolerant. It doesn’t really matter I suppose.


Sunday, August 07, 2005

She Don't Give a Shit

At this moment, Richard’s bleaching the floors of the apartment after it was agreed by our feet that indoors didn’t feel all that much different from outdoors and that is was really that filthy. I should be helping him I suppose, but I spent the afternoon shopping for books and art supplies with my parents instead. I can scarcely believe it, but both daddy and him can have a pretty good conversation… then again, I’ve never actually introduced any of the other guys I’ve dated to my parents. With the exception of Ethan, who can also maintain a conversation with my parents, but without very many interesting things to say. He’s a smart boy, and very decent, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t quite cut it for me, after you discount the mouth breathing, which is one of my pet peeves.

Richard and I get along very well, as you probably noticed since I haven’t been blogging all that much lately; the time has been spent shooting shit with him and modeling characters for a weird comic about two gay wanna-be bohemies after the people that I knew, among other things.

Two nights ago, we went to get our costumes for the rubber ball made. I discovered two shops in Geylang where you can buy all the leather and metal you want to make any sort of pervert outfit your imagination can cook up, and mine can cook up loads and loads. I’m going as this Victorian-esque girlie in a tiny leather dress with a large gaping hole where my butt’s at, laced up in satin with huge puffed velvet sleeves.

That night I invited Lynn and her girlfriend and one of Richard’s friends over for drinks and things, and a photo-shoot with his cool medium format (I didn’t know Polaroid could be this much fun). Lynn’s one of those girls that really doesn’t give a shit, and I’m very glad to have her friendship. It’s nearly impossible to find girls like that, everyone somehow or other does give a shit, and that sucks. But she doesn’t, and she does what she wants, is a complete nutcase in the best combinations possible, smart, fun and very engaging just by being a completely wacky character alone.

She’s really quite different from most other girls I know, and she doesn’t need alcohol to get into that uninhibited state of mind. And she never seems to get jealous or protective of the attention she’s getting; she doesn’t give a shit, and it works bloody well for her. Funny thing is, the less you care, the more you’ll get out of anything, and life in general. Richard seems to find it quite amusing that she’d actually come round some nights ago and took all these picture of us making love on the couch until the battery for the camera ran out. I didn’t think much of it, but then again, anything can happen and when you think that way, they usually do (so you better think positive).

Lynn’s quite an eccentric character, and she really seems to like both Richard and I a great deal, and he likes her and think she’s cool… and we’ve come up with this weird experiment where she’d live with us for a week and just take photographs of us doing stuff. Which is normally quite amusing since we do everything naked (it’s incredible, but I can’t remember the last time I went on so long without proper air-conditioning). The whole situation is a throwback and a living out of one particular fantasy I had as a child (I’m thinking around 10 years old) where I’d have sex with my boyfriend when I wanted and suck his dick when I desired and sit on his face while watching the television. Only now that I’m older, I’ve decided I didn’t like television all that much anymore.

Funny thing is, I don’t think I’d have a problem with R sleeping with Lynn (although she would have a problem with that because she’s a sweet, decent girlfriend and her little Alice is for one and one only at the moment :) ) We’ve discussed this countless of times, and I’ve settled on the fact that he’s completely in love with me and it’ll be absolutely cruel for me to cheat on him. But then of course if I did really want to sleep with someone else eventually, I’d tell him, like I’ve always told most of the other people I’ve dated. I just can’t be bothered to lie. It’s so emotionally tedious, and it defeats the concept of a relationship because the person wouldn’t know you as you really are. All that sense of mystery thing is bullshit, really. Mystery won’t do anyone any fucking good, although sometimes lies have to be told to save the other person’s feelings. But in that case, you either should have gone for someone with a stronger emotional/ psychological disposition or not have done it in the first place.

Some really odd thing happened to the both of us at dinner sometime back. We had gone out with a few of our friends and there was this boy I used to hang out with occasionally. There was nothing really between us. I was fond of him I guess, and he’s a really decent person the majority of the time, until it comes to women and territory. I mean women AND territory, not just one separate of the other but both together, simultaneously, being something that just bugs him.

Anyway, we were having this weird conversation about how there are all these well-dressed old men down at Borders picking up bookish girls when he said something that implied R used to do that. Which I thought was rather unnecessary, although it didn’t matter because I didn’t believe a word of what he said. And there was no way in hell Richard would have bothered to keep the fact from me, or deny it, because he’s told me worse things he’s done and he’s got no problem telling me really melodramatic stories about really pathetic times in his life, and I don’t have a problem with any of that. I mean, who hasn’t fucked a hooker before, even I’ve done that, and I’ve done it for money too (although it was a lot more discerning and ‘soft’ then the way the girls down at Orchard Towers do it) anyway, so fucking what.

Then later on, he tried to hit at me with how a few months ago he’d met me and Ethan at the café. Basically implying that I was one of those free ranging kinda girls and definitely not good for a long term relationship. And I know where he’s coming from, because I never gave any one the impression I could be good if I wanted to. No one knows it I suppose, and I don’t know it for sure myself, but it’s perfectly possible because for the last few months I’ve only ever ‘free-ranged’ because a) I wasn’t satisfied with the person –and it’s a glaring difference between what I had with them and what I have with R, because I haven’t even had one single maybe in the future it will be like this oh-so-peachy-pretty and b) I was doing it just so I could have fun. Which is fine when there’s nothing else that’s more fulfilling relationship-wise. Well, we’ll see where it goes.

I had been filling out this comment card at a café and put in the address for R’s place. He noticed and actually felt quietly happy about it, and that made me feel really nice because no one else has ever been really glad to have me stay over. You know la, expats in Singapore all want to screw around, don’t want their girlfriend living with them. It’s kinda like, if that’s what the guys I used to date wanted, then that was fine with me. They didn’t particularly want me, and I didn’t particularly want them either, so that was that.

But more then anything, I think it was because I was simply just not completely comfortable with them. There was always something that made it impossible for me to want to move in or for them to decide to let me do so. So maybe when he says ‘no’ to you moving it, there may be a good reason for it, and it’d do you well to take note.

Anyway, Sundays are Durian days, and I’m off to stuff my face with some now. They’re really great with plain yoghurt actually.


Thursday, August 04, 2005


I've been unreasonably tired these days. They generally start of with an unreasonably long commute to school (which wouldn't be all that unreasonable if I didn't continously lose my way on campus), some whacking around with paper and pencil in class -I don't think I ever found school so fufilling. At least I get to bring back something everyday. I'd go back, attempt to finish a painting that's been sitting in the living room for nearly 2 weeks now or write some bullshit that I try to push to print publications, or any number of other vaguely productive activities, then make out with R for awhile before we both agree that the human body would require a variety of excercise (i.e. aside from schtomphing) and I'd make for the gym.

It is quite strange how I work out differently in a gym and when I'm doing it in my own time outdoors. I find myself more concentious with doing muscle training when there are machines that look straight out of a Sci-Fi torture chamber from the 1960s. The Princess can't believe I've joined a club full of gay men, not when there was another newer one down he street that catered more specifically to a female cliente. It didn't appeal to me though. Women in gym settings are catty, period. It's always who's body is hotter, and I'm sure I'd feel depressed because some of those ladies mean serious business, and I'm just one of those I-workout-because-it's-therapeutic kinda girls.

It has occured to me that the common intepretation of 'someone you can live with' is completely depressing, because that's not what its supposed to me. When I say live, I really mean LIVE. I don't mean tolerate, I don't mean do the dishes, I don't mean just going to church on Sundays (although I like that, as I'm sure my parents do). I mean really feel alive. Feel like everyday is just so cool, and that there's always something to do. Someone you can do all sorts of crazy shit with, the crazier the better. Like they say, nothing makes us feel more alive the thrill.

I know I'm not writing very much these days, but there has simply been no time. There are so many stories to tell, but so much to learn at the same time, and I've taken the latter for the moment.


Wednesday, August 03, 2005


How. Odd.

I've started calling the home I used to live in until a couple of weeks ago 'my parent's place' and I've started to refer to Richard's apartment as home. Like I'd be sending messages saying, 'I'll be home at 6'. I've gotten a one year membership at the gym near his place (the liberal manner in which I use 'near' is arguable, apaprently) and have tried doing the laundry. I managed to get everything hung up on the line which is really a little too high up for me to get at easily, but not without sacrificing one sock and a clip. But apparently it's also alright to just lie stuff about the place on clean surfaces, as long as they dry, no one really cares. Which is kinda weird, because growing up Asian, we'd all these anally retentive rules as to how things should get done and when we should have dinner; which is also part of the reason why we're not having as much public sex as possible because we're taught to do it only in our bedrooms.

Apparently the neighbours have been throwing him dirty looks, most probably due to the freak Marilyn Manson night when I had switched into this completely fucked up bondage mode and made him whip me with a chuncky leather belt. I've still got bruises from that incident, and I find myself feeling very satisfied when I sit down in class and it kinda hurts. It like I have a little secret, and no one else does.

I was talking to him about my future after going shopping for groceries (it was really just an excuse to take a long walk) and it basically went along the lines of, 'I'll just see what happens'. I realized what a fatalistic sentiment that line had there, but I kinda knew that at the same time, I wasn't wrong in wanting to live my life with that as an underlying philosophy. I think as long as your challenged all the time, something will happen, and mostly they will be good things.

I had been talking to my dad a few days ago, and he told me not to sleep with Richard when I told him I would be moving out. It didn't make sense to me of course, because... why shouldn't I sleep with him? Anyway, there was some very firm statements about me not knowing a great of things and that I'd regret it later. Well, I don't think anyone that hasn't exactly been through the same thing can say it like that. I know loads of people that were wild when they were younger who are now very happily married and expecting grand-kids.

Sex has definitely been so over-analyzed until we think there's got to be all these fucking reasongs why we do it, and what it is. For heaven's sake. Sex is just like food, it just is. Sometimes you have it with someone you really love in a completely romantic situation, sometimes your just fucking because you want to fuck. Like how you eat just because you feel like helping yourself to it. As long as no one gets hurt, why should any of it matter. I got this really weird email telling me that I was such a hypocite and that how could I believe in Christ while 'helping' myself to my own body. For heaven's sake, it's mine isn't it. Sure it's the temple of God and I shouldn't abuse it, but we all abuse it whether we know it or not. Sleeping too late, being generally unhappy. I think that's even worse then really good sex.

But since when was really good sex not a good thing.


Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Bleed my Heart

I’ve pumped myself so full of coffee it’s impossible for me now to go to bed, but I did try, only to find myself drifting off into silly thoughts like, it’s actually really great to feel like you belong to someone. It is bizarre how things like that work out, either you’re completely miserable feeling like you belong only to that one person, or you feel like your heart could bleed for them and you feel like it’s a really incredible feeling.
Sleeping around because I was horny was never really my thing. I’ve always called up the same person when I really needed a lay anyway, the whole picking someone up at a party just for sex just felt incredibly lame to me. The thing that turned me on about people weren’t after all the fact that they were particularly good-looking or rich or influential or whatever. Everyone I’ve chosen to sleep with (with one or two exceptions back when I was still silly and marginally more insecure) have always been people I thought had something about them I’d like to find out. And that was why I slept with them. I’m not saying that I really understand where I stand on this sleeping around issue at the moment. I don’t care much for monogamy, and I certainly don’t think about being monogamous. That’s not to say I can’t ever be, but I certainly do not believe in thinking about it and trying too hard.

I’ve been insatiable lately. It is kinda crazy, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed sex with’ anyone as much as I do now with him. You’d think I’d start to reach a point where I’d go, ‘right, now that’s too much, I’m bored.’ The thing is, not only am I not bored, I’m wanting to get to him all the time. It’s crazy, but there are all these moments throughout the day where I watch him doing certain things and think, my god he’s sexy, I wanna jump him right fucking now.

It’s very funny actually when he tells me that having me live with him is completely unpredictable because weird shit’s always happening. And it never really has occurred to me that the way we’re behaving isn’t how people normally behave. I’ve never done most of it before, and I’ve certainly 'never gotten drunk on half a bottle of Vodka while head-banging to Marilyn Manson on DVD (dressed up as a dystopian pervert priest) while tying someone up in meters upon meters of rope. But it’s just never occurred to me that it’s really not something people do not normally do. I just can’t understand it, I mean, why not?

But that’s just the way I am I guess. I believe in Heaven (Certainly a great deal more inspiring then a lot of other things that are more real, like SUntec City for instance) and a whole lot of other stuff, just because, why not. There’s as many reasons as to why it can exist as to why it might not. And just because something doesn’t exist tangibly doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Some children believe in fairies, and that we know they don’t really exist (because we’ve never seen actually seen one) doesn’t make them less real to the child.

I’m dead tired. We slept well past midnight last night, at 4 after much fucking and listening to him tell me stories that either made me laugh with incredulity or my heart bleed. Then I had to wake up terribly late for my first tutorial, but it was alright since I could sketch faster (and better) then the other people in the class. It was frustrating though, to see the other students trying too hard. I like art to be pure and instinctive, and looking at art that’s meant to show off something, or to tell a story that’s so contrived because the artist thinks it’s what people would want to see just makes me cringe. I’ve met people who couldn’t draw for nuts, and had no colour sense whatsoever that could produce pieces that were far more engaging then people who’d been in LaSalle for years. All because they were simply more instinctive.

I’m going to try and get in some shut eye now. Lynn might be coming over later for a bottle of wine and some photo-taking with a rather dangerous looking medium format camera.


Here's something I wrote completely out of my gut.

Nontheless it's not what's best,
The silent, sullen lemon-aid,
Her slippy, slutty pussy's laid,
Her tits are treats that must be paid.

For now and then, until the end,
They cost, the frost to bear away,
So she could spread, her mind be read,
Oh it's not with ease that she be pleased.