Monday, October 31, 2005
The Apt
So. Here's where R and I vegetate on our less exciting weekends doing mundane, domesticated things like hang out the laundry and argue over how many pairs of socks it is possible to lose after every wash.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Crap People
I’m seldom surprised when I think about why Singaporean culture is only kinda interesting for magazines like Wallpaper and the Newspapers like the Guardian when they are talking about us in context as to how weird this whole place is. When I read articles about the country in foreign papers, I can’t help but get the feeling that they think the country as this strange place with a basically rather closed-in system, culture wise (hence the terminology oft used- nanny state) but with a capitalist economy. I’ve got no problems with the Capitalist bit, but the truth is many people here are still very out of touch with the rest of the world.
Of course there are the terribly bourgeoisie cash, car, credit, condo *gasp, country club (my god, the ultimate marker for pseudo posh-ness) families that do leave the country and go on European tours, that can afford expensive books, that can send their children to study in some ang moh country or other – they know about the world; I’m sure the people that have actually studied in England back in the 70s view the country differently. But most families don’t have adults that did live elsewhere outside Singapore and Malaysia, and I know people that have only ever gone as far as Thailand even in their 30s, and that’s fine, only they’re there on a shopping spree, and you don’t learn about how different a place is from a holiday like that. And even when they fly all the bloody way to Europe, they’re only concerned with looking at a few stone buildings and some rather bleak landscapes.
I enjoy looking at stone buildings and bleak landscapes, but that’s because they have an inspired charm about them for me, literary, artistically, etc. Whenever I’ve gone out of the country, the experiences I’ve gained the most out of weren’t even in the fine print in any guide book out there (unless it’s Avoiding Prison and other Noble Vacation Goals by Wendy Dale, where she encourages you to fall in love with a Columbian, schtup him on conjugal visits and return to LA with a Cuban acrobat)
There are a whole lot of people out there that work in the most boring 9-5 jobs, don’t have interest outside crap drama serials, only ever bother to read the Straits Times, barely interact with people that have a radically different background in life from them; throw in the fact that most of the ads are mostly uninteresting and have no cultural significance whatsoever, and that the mainstream media is still terribly censored and Just Crap… It is quite the closed-in autocracy, don’t you think.
People are free to read what they will over the internet, 1984 isn’t banned any longer, and if you watch the French channel very late at night, you might see some naked tits on screen, but the thing is, not very many people actually make full use of these liberties. People surf crap online and try to solicit sex from underage girls, they spend hours fussing over the blogs of other people’s lives like it’s really worth fussing about, and they will read Waiting for Godot and imagine it really is a play that has no meaning because it is about nothing, and nothing gets done. When really, it’s actually a play about their lives.
***
I’m completely blasting off today aren’t I. PMS aside, I seriously wish I could kick some of the arses of the people in school. Yeah I know, I’m not the best, and I don’t exactly turn up for all my lessons, but when it comes down to it, I’m damn sincere about doing most of the projects. But there are some that aren’t, and it would be none of my business if the entire lot of them were put into the same class and left alone to rot in their passion for idleness, but its so tedious so be held back because of them. And its so painful to waste time watching presentations of work that mean nothing; which is fine, but aren’t interesting in any sort of vague way to boot.
One of the girls said she’d stay back to complete all her work today before the break next week, and someone asked her how that was possible (I don’t think I could finish it within a week, and I’ve not had enough time for Richard or the mood for sex these days because I’m so hell bent on completing stuff, its unhealthy).
So I said something rather snide that went along the lines of, ‘If you crapped it out of your arse, of course its possible’ And she laughed and replied something that kinda meant, ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. It’s just homework afterall’. And the worse thing is, these people are so nice and so bloody Singaporean, you can’t actually say to their faces, ‘ You suck. Your work is crap, you’re completely lazy, you’ve got no imagination and you’ve got no soul. And you behave like its cool to not put in any effort.
Look, of course not everyone was raised in the sort of environment Sofia Coppola was raised in, and not everyone has the good luck to be born into the Sigmund Freud family tree, but at least put in some effort.
Its not fair, and I don’t think there’s any point in complaining, but sometimes I get the impression that people just think I’ve got innate talent, and that I don’t have to try very hard to produce good work. And that’s absolute rubbish because really, there’s nothing easy about art. I’m impossibly conscientious when it comes to doing something I really want to do, and it is insulting to have my effort shrugged aside.
Anyway, I’ve become a total geek now, but the big, huge break is coming up! And really, I’ve never enjoyed school so much. I mean, I get to print naked girls with the school’s computer (for my projects of course) and I get to do just about whatever I want under very little restrictions, and the only Academic subject (literature) I’m taking is actually quite open ended, and you don’t actually have to study it ‘their’ way like they make you in the A levels. And you know, I really like the lecturers because most of them aren’t academics anyway, and I’m fucked off with having my ability undermined because I find it terribly boring to memorize Cliff Notes and make 1000 preparatory studies of how to apply paint to a picture (it’s kind of necessary for A level art).
xoxox
Of course there are the terribly bourgeoisie cash, car, credit, condo *gasp, country club (my god, the ultimate marker for pseudo posh-ness) families that do leave the country and go on European tours, that can afford expensive books, that can send their children to study in some ang moh country or other – they know about the world; I’m sure the people that have actually studied in England back in the 70s view the country differently. But most families don’t have adults that did live elsewhere outside Singapore and Malaysia, and I know people that have only ever gone as far as Thailand even in their 30s, and that’s fine, only they’re there on a shopping spree, and you don’t learn about how different a place is from a holiday like that. And even when they fly all the bloody way to Europe, they’re only concerned with looking at a few stone buildings and some rather bleak landscapes.
I enjoy looking at stone buildings and bleak landscapes, but that’s because they have an inspired charm about them for me, literary, artistically, etc. Whenever I’ve gone out of the country, the experiences I’ve gained the most out of weren’t even in the fine print in any guide book out there (unless it’s Avoiding Prison and other Noble Vacation Goals by Wendy Dale, where she encourages you to fall in love with a Columbian, schtup him on conjugal visits and return to LA with a Cuban acrobat)
There are a whole lot of people out there that work in the most boring 9-5 jobs, don’t have interest outside crap drama serials, only ever bother to read the Straits Times, barely interact with people that have a radically different background in life from them; throw in the fact that most of the ads are mostly uninteresting and have no cultural significance whatsoever, and that the mainstream media is still terribly censored and Just Crap… It is quite the closed-in autocracy, don’t you think.
People are free to read what they will over the internet, 1984 isn’t banned any longer, and if you watch the French channel very late at night, you might see some naked tits on screen, but the thing is, not very many people actually make full use of these liberties. People surf crap online and try to solicit sex from underage girls, they spend hours fussing over the blogs of other people’s lives like it’s really worth fussing about, and they will read Waiting for Godot and imagine it really is a play that has no meaning because it is about nothing, and nothing gets done. When really, it’s actually a play about their lives.
***
I’m completely blasting off today aren’t I. PMS aside, I seriously wish I could kick some of the arses of the people in school. Yeah I know, I’m not the best, and I don’t exactly turn up for all my lessons, but when it comes down to it, I’m damn sincere about doing most of the projects. But there are some that aren’t, and it would be none of my business if the entire lot of them were put into the same class and left alone to rot in their passion for idleness, but its so tedious so be held back because of them. And its so painful to waste time watching presentations of work that mean nothing; which is fine, but aren’t interesting in any sort of vague way to boot.
One of the girls said she’d stay back to complete all her work today before the break next week, and someone asked her how that was possible (I don’t think I could finish it within a week, and I’ve not had enough time for Richard or the mood for sex these days because I’m so hell bent on completing stuff, its unhealthy).
So I said something rather snide that went along the lines of, ‘If you crapped it out of your arse, of course its possible’ And she laughed and replied something that kinda meant, ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. It’s just homework afterall’. And the worse thing is, these people are so nice and so bloody Singaporean, you can’t actually say to their faces, ‘ You suck. Your work is crap, you’re completely lazy, you’ve got no imagination and you’ve got no soul. And you behave like its cool to not put in any effort.
Look, of course not everyone was raised in the sort of environment Sofia Coppola was raised in, and not everyone has the good luck to be born into the Sigmund Freud family tree, but at least put in some effort.
Its not fair, and I don’t think there’s any point in complaining, but sometimes I get the impression that people just think I’ve got innate talent, and that I don’t have to try very hard to produce good work. And that’s absolute rubbish because really, there’s nothing easy about art. I’m impossibly conscientious when it comes to doing something I really want to do, and it is insulting to have my effort shrugged aside.
Anyway, I’ve become a total geek now, but the big, huge break is coming up! And really, I’ve never enjoyed school so much. I mean, I get to print naked girls with the school’s computer (for my projects of course) and I get to do just about whatever I want under very little restrictions, and the only Academic subject (literature) I’m taking is actually quite open ended, and you don’t actually have to study it ‘their’ way like they make you in the A levels. And you know, I really like the lecturers because most of them aren’t academics anyway, and I’m fucked off with having my ability undermined because I find it terribly boring to memorize Cliff Notes and make 1000 preparatory studies of how to apply paint to a picture (it’s kind of necessary for A level art).
xoxox
Monday, October 24, 2005
Fried Brains and Grilled Trouser Snake
Amazing. Robbie Williams has this pop promo where his dick is manifested in the form of a snake, and it escapes from the back of his arse and attempts to penetrate fantastically tattooed cheerleaders. That aside, I really am going to go quite mad.
I’ve finally managed to finish phrase 1 of this scrap book I’m making. Its filled with some of the most amazing nonsense I’ve come across since… three months ago, and I’ll be leaving it at the Book Café (it’s at the end of Mohammed Sultan Road, opposite the Gallery Hotel, I’ll put in more details after I’ve actually finished it) along with some markers for people to fill it up. It should be quite an interesting experiment, maybe it’ll take off and other people will start making their own.
Richard and I went out to do something quite mad yesterday, and I’m still not calmed down from the madness. By the end of it, my nerves were totally frayed, and as much as I would like to Not Give A Shit, sometimes you can’t help but be affected by people looking on at you. Especially if you’re dressed in a school blouse and skirt and posing as a pre-teen delinquent cutting up her uniform on the beach. No one bothered us for quite a long time, until the sun was about to set and this couple possibly from the more Hilly-Billy bits of the UK marched up to us with their two children (2 and 4 respectively, I can safely assume) and said, ‘Do you know the implications of what you are doing?. And Richard told them to fuck off, because it was getting late and it was high time their kids went to bed anyway.
Then they went, ‘Oh, we know the guy that runs the bar over there’
Uh. So. The beach isn’t his, and we all have a right to mind our own business. Besides, your kids are too young to understand nuts, people take everything too seriously, and as much as we would like to believe what we did would have vast implications on society and social morality, the truth is, its not going to happen. It’s our way of amusing ourselves on a Sunday evening, along with getting photos done for entertainment’s sake.
We got down to the bar after that on an invite from some stranger we didn’t know who was a photographer from Paris and looking to locate in New York (God knows what kind of photographs he makes, but there aren’t many photographers that really interest me. And sometimes I wonder if some of them just drop names like ‘Paris’ and ‘London’ and ‘LA’ just for the heck of it. I don’t know, I don’t suppose it matters.
Of course when we finally got tired of dancing about and watching two blokes clearly high on some nonsense –at least we think they were, they might equally well Just Be Mad- we couldn’t get out of Island Hell. I had to call Tori to take a cab down to rescue our asses, and it was so god-awfully dark and lonely and boring waiting for the cab that we decided to fuck behind the cars. We only got as far as getting Alice licked before a couple of blokes came by. I was too drunk to feel embarrassed.
Tori turned up with two of her soon to be senior high girl-friends (dykes, for certain) and we made it to our place. And I don’t recall much, but I was kinda drunk, suffering from the munchies, and getting Tori to look at some cool books I had just bought, while wandering around the apartment in my knickers and stuffing my face with toast.
It was quite an evening. By A didn’t attempt to snog me this time round, and I swear, I had quite enough of being a pervert for the day (pretending to be a silly patient going for a medical check-up in the morning –I don’t recall many episodes of having sex with R that didn’t partly involve some bits of role-playing, it is really ridiculous when you’re not having sex, but I can’t help it-) delinquent, exhibitionist school girl in the evening, satiating my need for public schtupping. An under aged lesbian orgy really wasn’t the way I needed to end the day. So.
My GOD. My brains are fried. So much to do.
Henry’s just called me :D And he’s going to email me the next set of questions for my ask Izzy page in FHM. And I KNOW the pictures aren’t fantastic, but I’m working on that. It’s that Grey photographer guy, he should know better then to send those black and white photos... Anyway, do email me some questions you need to get answered. Its for FHM, so make it short, rude and crass.
xoxox
I’ve finally managed to finish phrase 1 of this scrap book I’m making. Its filled with some of the most amazing nonsense I’ve come across since… three months ago, and I’ll be leaving it at the Book Café (it’s at the end of Mohammed Sultan Road, opposite the Gallery Hotel, I’ll put in more details after I’ve actually finished it) along with some markers for people to fill it up. It should be quite an interesting experiment, maybe it’ll take off and other people will start making their own.
Richard and I went out to do something quite mad yesterday, and I’m still not calmed down from the madness. By the end of it, my nerves were totally frayed, and as much as I would like to Not Give A Shit, sometimes you can’t help but be affected by people looking on at you. Especially if you’re dressed in a school blouse and skirt and posing as a pre-teen delinquent cutting up her uniform on the beach. No one bothered us for quite a long time, until the sun was about to set and this couple possibly from the more Hilly-Billy bits of the UK marched up to us with their two children (2 and 4 respectively, I can safely assume) and said, ‘Do you know the implications of what you are doing?. And Richard told them to fuck off, because it was getting late and it was high time their kids went to bed anyway.
Then they went, ‘Oh, we know the guy that runs the bar over there’
Uh. So. The beach isn’t his, and we all have a right to mind our own business. Besides, your kids are too young to understand nuts, people take everything too seriously, and as much as we would like to believe what we did would have vast implications on society and social morality, the truth is, its not going to happen. It’s our way of amusing ourselves on a Sunday evening, along with getting photos done for entertainment’s sake.
We got down to the bar after that on an invite from some stranger we didn’t know who was a photographer from Paris and looking to locate in New York (God knows what kind of photographs he makes, but there aren’t many photographers that really interest me. And sometimes I wonder if some of them just drop names like ‘Paris’ and ‘London’ and ‘LA’ just for the heck of it. I don’t know, I don’t suppose it matters.
Of course when we finally got tired of dancing about and watching two blokes clearly high on some nonsense –at least we think they were, they might equally well Just Be Mad- we couldn’t get out of Island Hell. I had to call Tori to take a cab down to rescue our asses, and it was so god-awfully dark and lonely and boring waiting for the cab that we decided to fuck behind the cars. We only got as far as getting Alice licked before a couple of blokes came by. I was too drunk to feel embarrassed.
Tori turned up with two of her soon to be senior high girl-friends (dykes, for certain) and we made it to our place. And I don’t recall much, but I was kinda drunk, suffering from the munchies, and getting Tori to look at some cool books I had just bought, while wandering around the apartment in my knickers and stuffing my face with toast.
It was quite an evening. By A didn’t attempt to snog me this time round, and I swear, I had quite enough of being a pervert for the day (pretending to be a silly patient going for a medical check-up in the morning –I don’t recall many episodes of having sex with R that didn’t partly involve some bits of role-playing, it is really ridiculous when you’re not having sex, but I can’t help it-) delinquent, exhibitionist school girl in the evening, satiating my need for public schtupping. An under aged lesbian orgy really wasn’t the way I needed to end the day. So.
My GOD. My brains are fried. So much to do.
Henry’s just called me :D And he’s going to email me the next set of questions for my ask Izzy page in FHM. And I KNOW the pictures aren’t fantastic, but I’m working on that. It’s that Grey photographer guy, he should know better then to send those black and white photos... Anyway, do email me some questions you need to get answered. Its for FHM, so make it short, rude and crass.
xoxox
Friday, October 21, 2005
On Animals and Escorts
I’ve been meaning to blog for some time, but the opportunity to do so continuously eludes me. It started off with my Mac’s music folder getting locked up and my printer refusing to work properly. Nothing builds up frustration quicker then a stubborn Mac (when a Mac doesn’t work like it should, its even more frustrating then a PC, with those machines, you get the feeling like you have more ways with which to solve a technical problem; but everyone’s telling me its just a matter of building up a rapport with my Apple.) I got drunk to calm myself down, and while I was at it, Richard asked me if I wanted a reformat, and I told him why not.
Of course I have a half written essay about the 19th Century French epistemological novel that took me a free afternoon, and I come home the next day realizing that its all gone. Along with my animations. Quite a bit of a horror trip, but I can re-did them anyway, and now I’m quite exhausted.
I’m quite getting to the projects at school actually, and the course is starting to look more and more interesting. We went to the zoo yesterday to draw the animals, and my Tigers are actually quite good, despite the fact that they don’t stop moving.
It was weird actually going back to the zoo, after not being in there for years. I’m bigger now, and the entire place feels a great deal smaller then it used to be, and its a lot more chic too. The Singapore zoo really is a strange amalgamation of the natural and the artificial; nay, it’s nature within the moulds of the artificial. The funny thing is, despite it feeling contrived, the sensation I get out of being so close to so many creatures that, despite being subjected to human whimsies, still retain the core of their individualities- the sensation is amazing.
***
It isn’t something you experience everyday, especially for someone that has never been keen on looking after pets of any sort. I’ve taken care of puppies and kittens of course (all girls must do at some point in their lives) but that’s very different from looking on at a Tiger and Tigress nuzzle each other, or Baboons wrestling in the sand, or Flamingos dancing. I was completely awed by how different species had vastly different temperaments and how their societies functioned completely unlike one another. The different levels of self-awareness they had, and the way they chose to amuse themselves, it was all completely different.
The world felt different there, the entire structure of the zoo might be contrived, but the animals, despite being subdued by captivity, were not. And I realized that people that exist within a world that is rarely connected with Nature, in a city that is only tuned to human life and our capitalistic, political desires, cannot really know God, and can have no right whatsoever to criticize the paganism of the people that live within nature. It is a completely different plane, an entirely different dimension and unless you’re in it, you’ll never be able to see that what they believe in has as much credit as what we do. And the truth is, Monotheism has only become more popular the farther we move away from nature. When our only interaction with the society outside ours is through the critical, academic/scientific eye of Discovery Channel, or National Geographic with its fantastic photographs that attempt to give us a sense that we are not altogether out of touch with our roots (whilst attempting to sell Shell to us as a Green company); we simply can’t attempt to understand those cultures without understanding life without the Television, without the Frozen food, with animals that cannot be controlled. So on.
***
Richard invited me to dinner at some fancy pants place, an old friend down on a stop-over suggested meeting up, and he asked R to ask me if I could find him a date (as in the * ahem * whole package; he gave me an unreasonable figure, and I told him that he must be completely crazy. High class escorting doesn’t work unless you can really dole out the dough, and I really don’t know any hookers, only girls interested in seriously improving their lot in life, already from relatively wealthy families). The date bit I could have managed though, but the girl I suggested, he didn’t quite fancy and was vaguely scathing about it. Which I thought wasn’t very nice; she would after all, have to put up with two hours of our company and it wouldn’t make any sense for her to turn up at a restaurant she didn’t necessarily want to go to, sit though a couple of hours of bullshit, and have to pick up her own tab. I’d rather skip the whole affair and share a bottle of wine with Richard and her on the couch while watching vaguely pornographic Spanish films.
***
Anyway, I'd like to present Chef Fat Bastard and his chain of super bad-ass fast food restaurants.
And Druggy Drina, who's opened a little place in her basement selling Shrooms in snack packs and slender lines of pure coke, among other lovingly home-made cocotions.
The characters images are original anc copyright miss.izzyc
xoxox
Of course I have a half written essay about the 19th Century French epistemological novel that took me a free afternoon, and I come home the next day realizing that its all gone. Along with my animations. Quite a bit of a horror trip, but I can re-did them anyway, and now I’m quite exhausted.
I’m quite getting to the projects at school actually, and the course is starting to look more and more interesting. We went to the zoo yesterday to draw the animals, and my Tigers are actually quite good, despite the fact that they don’t stop moving.
It was weird actually going back to the zoo, after not being in there for years. I’m bigger now, and the entire place feels a great deal smaller then it used to be, and its a lot more chic too. The Singapore zoo really is a strange amalgamation of the natural and the artificial; nay, it’s nature within the moulds of the artificial. The funny thing is, despite it feeling contrived, the sensation I get out of being so close to so many creatures that, despite being subjected to human whimsies, still retain the core of their individualities- the sensation is amazing.
***
It isn’t something you experience everyday, especially for someone that has never been keen on looking after pets of any sort. I’ve taken care of puppies and kittens of course (all girls must do at some point in their lives) but that’s very different from looking on at a Tiger and Tigress nuzzle each other, or Baboons wrestling in the sand, or Flamingos dancing. I was completely awed by how different species had vastly different temperaments and how their societies functioned completely unlike one another. The different levels of self-awareness they had, and the way they chose to amuse themselves, it was all completely different.
The world felt different there, the entire structure of the zoo might be contrived, but the animals, despite being subdued by captivity, were not. And I realized that people that exist within a world that is rarely connected with Nature, in a city that is only tuned to human life and our capitalistic, political desires, cannot really know God, and can have no right whatsoever to criticize the paganism of the people that live within nature. It is a completely different plane, an entirely different dimension and unless you’re in it, you’ll never be able to see that what they believe in has as much credit as what we do. And the truth is, Monotheism has only become more popular the farther we move away from nature. When our only interaction with the society outside ours is through the critical, academic/scientific eye of Discovery Channel, or National Geographic with its fantastic photographs that attempt to give us a sense that we are not altogether out of touch with our roots (whilst attempting to sell Shell to us as a Green company); we simply can’t attempt to understand those cultures without understanding life without the Television, without the Frozen food, with animals that cannot be controlled. So on.
***
Richard invited me to dinner at some fancy pants place, an old friend down on a stop-over suggested meeting up, and he asked R to ask me if I could find him a date (as in the * ahem * whole package; he gave me an unreasonable figure, and I told him that he must be completely crazy. High class escorting doesn’t work unless you can really dole out the dough, and I really don’t know any hookers, only girls interested in seriously improving their lot in life, already from relatively wealthy families). The date bit I could have managed though, but the girl I suggested, he didn’t quite fancy and was vaguely scathing about it. Which I thought wasn’t very nice; she would after all, have to put up with two hours of our company and it wouldn’t make any sense for her to turn up at a restaurant she didn’t necessarily want to go to, sit though a couple of hours of bullshit, and have to pick up her own tab. I’d rather skip the whole affair and share a bottle of wine with Richard and her on the couch while watching vaguely pornographic Spanish films.
***
Anyway, I'd like to present Chef Fat Bastard and his chain of super bad-ass fast food restaurants.
And Druggy Drina, who's opened a little place in her basement selling Shrooms in snack packs and slender lines of pure coke, among other lovingly home-made cocotions.
The characters images are original anc copyright miss.izzyc
xoxox
Monday, October 17, 2005
School-girl woes
My life would be perfect, if only my Powerbook will stop preventing anyone or anything from accessing the ‘Music’ folder. But no matter. I have wireless broadband now, and my life feels much more complete. Scary, but true. A great deal of consumer services are really not necessary, but wireless broadband isn’t one of them.
Richard and I have decided to make a commitment to doing at least one set of photographs a week, and see where that takes us. Consistency, dedication, some talent and imagination and lots and lots of pornography is bound to take anyone anywhere. We were supposed to go down to Sentosa yesterday evening to do some weird school-girl sun-bathing nude at the beach shots, but it was raining too badly to do it. We went ahead and got the uniform anyway.
It started at Far East Plaza, which really is a hell-hole, especially when all the clothing there isn’t generally to your liking and it is next to impossible to find the shit you want, exactly like how you want it. One of R’s friends had gotten an ultra pink schoolgirl outfit for the last party they threw where you could take a number and get your bottom spanked by a cutesy Jap schoolgirl, and she told him there was a place at Far East Plaza you could get it. It was a very special shop in the basement.
It didn’t occur to me which one it was of course, although it was staring in my face until Richard pointed it out to me. It was this ultra pink, girly hell that was obviously paedophile haven, but girls probably wouldn’t notice it for what it really was. At least what it really was to a certain breed of men well past the age they can say they dated barely legal girls because they had the maturity of a sixteen year old (some boys maintain that state up till they hit menopause).
But before that, we’d gotten so frustrated at not being able to find IT that he’d accosted a woman that looked like she had a brood of teenage kids of her own that had whined her into taking them shopping in the faux-pas urban-hip imitation of a bit of Hirajuku. He occasionally does things that infringe onto other people’s decency that crack the hell out of me; he quite nearly walked into her, looked down and asked her if she knew where we could purchase a school uniform.
She looked at him (us) like, ‘What the Fuck you pervert’ and I went ‘Oh my God of course she wouldn’t know, you’ve gone completely bonkers’. And of course he started on about how he was sure it was located in the Basement, if only we could just find it. I told him the nice lady wouldn’t know, and the woman continued looking at us like we were a couple of perverts, and eventually it was clear she had no idea what the fuck we were talking about and would rather like to tell us we were going to hell (it was a Sunday, yesterday) and we all went away.
We eventually decided on a real uniform however and went to a real uniform store and purchased a crap blouse and a navy blue pleated skirt. It’s a bit too long and over the knees however and we’ll have to trim it, but it will do. The people selling us the stuff must have known we were a couple of weirdos.
It was raining all day though, so we stayed at home instead and took some pictures on the dining table with some thick, rough rope. I’ll post a couple of them when they dry up enough to scan, they are horribly pornographic however, and nothing too ‘artistic’* about them in the least.
However I must say, the truth about nude photography is this*: All that crap about how the light falls on a naked body and accentuates the human form is bullshit. That’s as art as third-grade grammar exercises are to writing, is as art as stickmen to life-drawing, as art as Palm-a-sutra to sex. How light falls is a technical thing, its who you shoot and how you shoot it to bring out something about the subject, something you want to say that matters. Richard got quite zealous at one point and started going on about how it really was about the way the model interacted with the photographer and the surroundings and her state of undress and the circumstance it was all taken in. People don’t paint to discover the properties of paint, just as people would be stupid to think photography is about discovering the properties of light in relation to the nude form. Silliness.
Anyway, we’ve opened a can of worms now, and we are definitely going to the beach to shoot some pervert schoolgirl stuff. We went down a couple of days back, and I thought it was funny how our dating gradient must look. So we kinda started out with Sydney and Darling Harbour, then Brick Lane in London, Mongkok in Hong Kong, and now its Sentosa. My, my.
Island Life, all I can say, is hell. Sentosa is this huge commercial thing that is attempting to sell you an artificial beach experience; its like a mall for fake beach life. Everything is crapper than in Thailand, and in Thailand, you don’t have to pay to sit on the beach and a real Mango shake is 20 Baht. To top it off, on the way back, we discover that someone had taken R’s T-Shirt –for what purposes, I do not wish to know- and there was no way we were going to get a cab out of the hell a couple of hours before mid-night.
So. We took the bus all the way to Harbour Front and he walked through the shopping mall in board shorts and only board shorts and flip-flops, and it and quite nerve-wrecking. Although I must say I wasn’t very much embarrassed about it. Its kinda funny how much life is easier to live when you convince yourself the opinions of other people you do not particularly care for are worth shit, and that anyone worth giving a shit for wouldn’t think what you think doesn’t matter, actually matters.
xoxox
Richard and I have decided to make a commitment to doing at least one set of photographs a week, and see where that takes us. Consistency, dedication, some talent and imagination and lots and lots of pornography is bound to take anyone anywhere. We were supposed to go down to Sentosa yesterday evening to do some weird school-girl sun-bathing nude at the beach shots, but it was raining too badly to do it. We went ahead and got the uniform anyway.
It started at Far East Plaza, which really is a hell-hole, especially when all the clothing there isn’t generally to your liking and it is next to impossible to find the shit you want, exactly like how you want it. One of R’s friends had gotten an ultra pink schoolgirl outfit for the last party they threw where you could take a number and get your bottom spanked by a cutesy Jap schoolgirl, and she told him there was a place at Far East Plaza you could get it. It was a very special shop in the basement.
It didn’t occur to me which one it was of course, although it was staring in my face until Richard pointed it out to me. It was this ultra pink, girly hell that was obviously paedophile haven, but girls probably wouldn’t notice it for what it really was. At least what it really was to a certain breed of men well past the age they can say they dated barely legal girls because they had the maturity of a sixteen year old (some boys maintain that state up till they hit menopause).
But before that, we’d gotten so frustrated at not being able to find IT that he’d accosted a woman that looked like she had a brood of teenage kids of her own that had whined her into taking them shopping in the faux-pas urban-hip imitation of a bit of Hirajuku. He occasionally does things that infringe onto other people’s decency that crack the hell out of me; he quite nearly walked into her, looked down and asked her if she knew where we could purchase a school uniform.
She looked at him (us) like, ‘What the Fuck you pervert’ and I went ‘Oh my God of course she wouldn’t know, you’ve gone completely bonkers’. And of course he started on about how he was sure it was located in the Basement, if only we could just find it. I told him the nice lady wouldn’t know, and the woman continued looking at us like we were a couple of perverts, and eventually it was clear she had no idea what the fuck we were talking about and would rather like to tell us we were going to hell (it was a Sunday, yesterday) and we all went away.
We eventually decided on a real uniform however and went to a real uniform store and purchased a crap blouse and a navy blue pleated skirt. It’s a bit too long and over the knees however and we’ll have to trim it, but it will do. The people selling us the stuff must have known we were a couple of weirdos.
It was raining all day though, so we stayed at home instead and took some pictures on the dining table with some thick, rough rope. I’ll post a couple of them when they dry up enough to scan, they are horribly pornographic however, and nothing too ‘artistic’* about them in the least.
However I must say, the truth about nude photography is this*: All that crap about how the light falls on a naked body and accentuates the human form is bullshit. That’s as art as third-grade grammar exercises are to writing, is as art as stickmen to life-drawing, as art as Palm-a-sutra to sex. How light falls is a technical thing, its who you shoot and how you shoot it to bring out something about the subject, something you want to say that matters. Richard got quite zealous at one point and started going on about how it really was about the way the model interacted with the photographer and the surroundings and her state of undress and the circumstance it was all taken in. People don’t paint to discover the properties of paint, just as people would be stupid to think photography is about discovering the properties of light in relation to the nude form. Silliness.
Anyway, we’ve opened a can of worms now, and we are definitely going to the beach to shoot some pervert schoolgirl stuff. We went down a couple of days back, and I thought it was funny how our dating gradient must look. So we kinda started out with Sydney and Darling Harbour, then Brick Lane in London, Mongkok in Hong Kong, and now its Sentosa. My, my.
Island Life, all I can say, is hell. Sentosa is this huge commercial thing that is attempting to sell you an artificial beach experience; its like a mall for fake beach life. Everything is crapper than in Thailand, and in Thailand, you don’t have to pay to sit on the beach and a real Mango shake is 20 Baht. To top it off, on the way back, we discover that someone had taken R’s T-Shirt –for what purposes, I do not wish to know- and there was no way we were going to get a cab out of the hell a couple of hours before mid-night.
So. We took the bus all the way to Harbour Front and he walked through the shopping mall in board shorts and only board shorts and flip-flops, and it and quite nerve-wrecking. Although I must say I wasn’t very much embarrassed about it. Its kinda funny how much life is easier to live when you convince yourself the opinions of other people you do not particularly care for are worth shit, and that anyone worth giving a shit for wouldn’t think what you think doesn’t matter, actually matters.
xoxox
Friday, October 14, 2005
Cirque
I spent most of yesterday slightly hung-over after a catch-up with Mr. Big the night before. We watched a flamenco act and I felt myself wishing I knew how to dance to the music. I thought it was lovely how some places in the world still danced for entertainment, without the necessity for classes and clubs and such. Where they danced on the street when they wanted. And I thought it was a pity most first world countries don’t do that, not any longer anyway, unless it was some sort of designated festival of sorts.
Mr. Big’s still the same as ever. He’s as nice, and I find myself constantly feeling marginally guilty for erroneously concluding about his character most times. We never had good romantic compatibility from the start, I should have realized it sooner, but of course I was terribly silly and fresh out of an All Girl’s school then. So.
He’s slightly surprised at just how much I’ve changed, especially after I told him I don’t believe in Christianity any longer. Certainly Christ is my path to God, but it’s just not the same as him being savior of the world. I’ve never understood why it was so impossible to persuade atheists (or agnostics) of the fact that there really was one messiah to save the world, until I slipped into that state.
He’d brought along this funny book by some religious zealot and showed me a couple of passages from the no-sex-before-marriage chapter (which I thought was funny because *laughs* we’re all helping ourselves to just that, and to lots of it with a sizable number of people) I tried to come up with reasonable arguments, but it was just impossible when you’re not existing in that frame of mind.
Anyway, he’s invited me to this theological discussion this Monday. Richard and I will probably go for the heck of it, its in one of my favorite cafes; at least it will be in a pleasant environment.
Funnily enough, an ex-girlfriend of his called him a male slut, which I personally thought was quite unfair. He isn’t even as wild as some girls I know, and men just always have it harder. At any rate, he really does make an effort with getting to know girls –something I didn’t realize until lately, you see, I’m just too easy. I can’t be arsed to go out and talk cock before I find out I’m disappointed with the real thing-
I invited Richard to the Circus last night, it’s just one of those romantic things you, and it was lovely. More fantastical than any musical, play, opera… Cirque Du Soleil has revolutionized not just the circus, but the stage.
Well, it’s time for me to be a good girl. I’m back to class then.
xoxox
Mr. Big’s still the same as ever. He’s as nice, and I find myself constantly feeling marginally guilty for erroneously concluding about his character most times. We never had good romantic compatibility from the start, I should have realized it sooner, but of course I was terribly silly and fresh out of an All Girl’s school then. So.
He’s slightly surprised at just how much I’ve changed, especially after I told him I don’t believe in Christianity any longer. Certainly Christ is my path to God, but it’s just not the same as him being savior of the world. I’ve never understood why it was so impossible to persuade atheists (or agnostics) of the fact that there really was one messiah to save the world, until I slipped into that state.
He’d brought along this funny book by some religious zealot and showed me a couple of passages from the no-sex-before-marriage chapter (which I thought was funny because *laughs* we’re all helping ourselves to just that, and to lots of it with a sizable number of people) I tried to come up with reasonable arguments, but it was just impossible when you’re not existing in that frame of mind.
Anyway, he’s invited me to this theological discussion this Monday. Richard and I will probably go for the heck of it, its in one of my favorite cafes; at least it will be in a pleasant environment.
Funnily enough, an ex-girlfriend of his called him a male slut, which I personally thought was quite unfair. He isn’t even as wild as some girls I know, and men just always have it harder. At any rate, he really does make an effort with getting to know girls –something I didn’t realize until lately, you see, I’m just too easy. I can’t be arsed to go out and talk cock before I find out I’m disappointed with the real thing-
I invited Richard to the Circus last night, it’s just one of those romantic things you, and it was lovely. More fantastical than any musical, play, opera… Cirque Du Soleil has revolutionized not just the circus, but the stage.
Well, it’s time for me to be a good girl. I’m back to class then.
xoxox
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Bubble-wrap man
We’ve got this weird art project for 3D class the next few weeks where I’m to make a mask of some sort of emotional value. Of course I’m obsessed with bondage and auto erotic asphyxiation and submission… among other things. And I don’t think I’m the only one. Anyway, people kept on harping on the usage of cling wrap and I started bursting out in laughter in the middle of the class because of the Glad Wrap Man.
Of course you know who Mr. Glad-wrap is. If you’ve ever wanted to lick a hooker out at some point in time in your life but worried over catching the Clap on your face or something, you’re sure to have come across someone suggesting the usage of Glad-wrap as a sort of Dental Dam over the internet. Only the Mr. Glad-wrap Richard is vaguely acquainted with actually took it quite seriously, and on a wild day, you’d notice a roll of Glad-wrap sticking out the side of his business suit.
We bumped into a couple I was acquainted with (and he worked with) last night while hanging out at the bistro and like most of the people we’re acquainted with, they can’t help but talk about dirty things all of the time (we’re all perverts, that much is clear). And Mr. Glad-wrap was brought up again. But of course we all admire his dedication to pleasing women; and perhaps he should advance his technique and attempt the whole procedure with bubble wrap instead.
I had quite an exhaustive, unproductive weekend and was wondering why, but I think I spent too much time fucking about (in all sense of the word) and thinking about God and how ridiculous religion really is. I never gave it all very much thought, but it suddenly occurred to me that Jesus Christ really is just a man that has been extolled beyond comprehension or reason for the sake of bringing people together into a regulated society.
Richard has this huge Art History tome with lots of stuff in it about religious art (particularly the Christian sort, because it is a book written by people that grew up in a Christian West –like it or not, Christianity was/is the religion of the West about a millennia back) and it suddenly occurred to me that the Christianity back then was scarcely anything like the Christianity I believed I knew. And the truth is, there are agnostics that have beliefs more like mine than some Christians do. And it all comes down to a NAME, eventually, and it’s started to seem ridiculous to me that a name should be more important than an ideal.
And I’ve been obsessing over what my dad’s said about Christian societies being more blessed then secular ones; that’s completely ridiculous of course. It may seem like that NOW, but if you look at the sort of art that was present during the Grecian empire, the ability, time, facility and the state of Peace an empire has to be in before such art can be produced, you can’t say that Babylon wasn’t blessed at some point in history, that the Persian empire was crap.
I feel like shouting at all the people that tell me places like the USA are blessed. Sure they’re better off then a place like Iraq, but for all their religious conservatism, they’ve been in a constant state of war since time immemorial from Gangs of New York to Hiroshima to Vietnam to the Cold War to Iraq. Their economy is in debt and they’re being financed by the East and the people of their cities live in fear and demand that they be allowed to carry guns…
I know I’m generalizing, but I know of a few secular European states that are far better of.
I’m sick and tired of people thinking their religion is right and no other one will do. For heaven’s sake, its just a name.
Anyway.
It’s time to get back into shape and do some more modeling I suppose. We’ve got about 100 feet of thick. Nautical rope, an isolated stretch of beach and FHM to print the shit. (At least I hope they will… there must be some way to circumvent decency in local mags).
xoxox
Of course you know who Mr. Glad-wrap is. If you’ve ever wanted to lick a hooker out at some point in time in your life but worried over catching the Clap on your face or something, you’re sure to have come across someone suggesting the usage of Glad-wrap as a sort of Dental Dam over the internet. Only the Mr. Glad-wrap Richard is vaguely acquainted with actually took it quite seriously, and on a wild day, you’d notice a roll of Glad-wrap sticking out the side of his business suit.
We bumped into a couple I was acquainted with (and he worked with) last night while hanging out at the bistro and like most of the people we’re acquainted with, they can’t help but talk about dirty things all of the time (we’re all perverts, that much is clear). And Mr. Glad-wrap was brought up again. But of course we all admire his dedication to pleasing women; and perhaps he should advance his technique and attempt the whole procedure with bubble wrap instead.
I had quite an exhaustive, unproductive weekend and was wondering why, but I think I spent too much time fucking about (in all sense of the word) and thinking about God and how ridiculous religion really is. I never gave it all very much thought, but it suddenly occurred to me that Jesus Christ really is just a man that has been extolled beyond comprehension or reason for the sake of bringing people together into a regulated society.
Richard has this huge Art History tome with lots of stuff in it about religious art (particularly the Christian sort, because it is a book written by people that grew up in a Christian West –like it or not, Christianity was/is the religion of the West about a millennia back) and it suddenly occurred to me that the Christianity back then was scarcely anything like the Christianity I believed I knew. And the truth is, there are agnostics that have beliefs more like mine than some Christians do. And it all comes down to a NAME, eventually, and it’s started to seem ridiculous to me that a name should be more important than an ideal.
And I’ve been obsessing over what my dad’s said about Christian societies being more blessed then secular ones; that’s completely ridiculous of course. It may seem like that NOW, but if you look at the sort of art that was present during the Grecian empire, the ability, time, facility and the state of Peace an empire has to be in before such art can be produced, you can’t say that Babylon wasn’t blessed at some point in history, that the Persian empire was crap.
I feel like shouting at all the people that tell me places like the USA are blessed. Sure they’re better off then a place like Iraq, but for all their religious conservatism, they’ve been in a constant state of war since time immemorial from Gangs of New York to Hiroshima to Vietnam to the Cold War to Iraq. Their economy is in debt and they’re being financed by the East and the people of their cities live in fear and demand that they be allowed to carry guns…
I know I’m generalizing, but I know of a few secular European states that are far better of.
I’m sick and tired of people thinking their religion is right and no other one will do. For heaven’s sake, its just a name.
Anyway.
It’s time to get back into shape and do some more modeling I suppose. We’ve got about 100 feet of thick. Nautical rope, an isolated stretch of beach and FHM to print the shit. (At least I hope they will… there must be some way to circumvent decency in local mags).
xoxox
Friday, October 07, 2005
Colors: Freedom of Speech
"...And who is helping in this powerful and intricate clampdown on Internet freedom? Western companies desperate to do business with China: Firewalls and filtering systems have been provided by the American Cisco Systems, while Chinese Internet users wanting to start blogs on a site hosted by US company Microsoft are told that “democracy,” “human rights” and “Tiananmen” are examples of “prohibited language,” and advised to find an alternative."
On a more irrelevant note, I scanned in some bank-notes for some artwork awhile back, and when I tried to get photoshop to open the image, it refused. Honestly. How do these things know.
xoxox
On a more irrelevant note, I scanned in some bank-notes for some artwork awhile back, and when I tried to get photoshop to open the image, it refused. Honestly. How do these things know.
xoxox
On the O
Orgasms are problematic things. They’re nice to have, but they really cause a great deal of unwanted problems. You know, things like, if I use the industrial vibrator I’ll reach it in a few minutes but I’ll involuntarily damage my clit. Or if I get her to help me jerk off that’s better than jerking off alone, only I’ll be too worried about her getting bored, so… it wouldn’t really work.
Wouldn’t it be nice to stop when you’re tired.
Male orgasm annoy me. Don’t get me wrong, I get very turned on watching people come, its just that when the big O becomes an end in itself, that’s when it gets tiring and I feel used and I don’t know what to do. Chris was a particularly bad experience when it came to this kinda thing. But perhaps it was mostly my fault for trying to trick myself into liking him, although I very well knew I simply wasn’t attracted. No matter how nice he was to me or how smart or how rich.
I was exhausted and quite miserable and stressed out last night (Friday’s classes are always particularly stressful for me) and we hadn’t been fucking for a long time now, and I felt like I really wanted to, so we did. I don’t quite know what’s wrong with me; possibly the fact that its still the time of the month for me and I couldn’t take Quite so much of schtupping as I normally can. So R asked me to get him off, and I normally have no qualms about helping him with anything, only my presence while on one hand is desired is also problematic because its just kind of distracting when you’ve got someone there with you, and in the back of your head your wondering if she’s getting bored. And that usually doesn’t help things. But if I wasn’t there, then that’d would just be kinda lonely –its different when your on your own and when your girlfiend is in the next room- And that’s troublesome too.
So.
Tonight, we are going to have dinner with Dr. T and the Princess and I’m sure it will be a very pleasant dinner, despite the rather odd combination of people. So I was the Dr.’s playmate previously, and now I’m in love with someone else, and so is he with the Princess. And its all quite weird, but nothing beats the couple we know that has been swinging around the world and spending weekends in Thailand schtupping. And schtupping. And schtupping. Their social circle must be more eccentric than mine, but somehow, I’m not really jealous, yet *laughs*
xoxox
Wouldn’t it be nice to stop when you’re tired.
Male orgasm annoy me. Don’t get me wrong, I get very turned on watching people come, its just that when the big O becomes an end in itself, that’s when it gets tiring and I feel used and I don’t know what to do. Chris was a particularly bad experience when it came to this kinda thing. But perhaps it was mostly my fault for trying to trick myself into liking him, although I very well knew I simply wasn’t attracted. No matter how nice he was to me or how smart or how rich.
I was exhausted and quite miserable and stressed out last night (Friday’s classes are always particularly stressful for me) and we hadn’t been fucking for a long time now, and I felt like I really wanted to, so we did. I don’t quite know what’s wrong with me; possibly the fact that its still the time of the month for me and I couldn’t take Quite so much of schtupping as I normally can. So R asked me to get him off, and I normally have no qualms about helping him with anything, only my presence while on one hand is desired is also problematic because its just kind of distracting when you’ve got someone there with you, and in the back of your head your wondering if she’s getting bored. And that usually doesn’t help things. But if I wasn’t there, then that’d would just be kinda lonely –its different when your on your own and when your girlfiend is in the next room- And that’s troublesome too.
So.
Tonight, we are going to have dinner with Dr. T and the Princess and I’m sure it will be a very pleasant dinner, despite the rather odd combination of people. So I was the Dr.’s playmate previously, and now I’m in love with someone else, and so is he with the Princess. And its all quite weird, but nothing beats the couple we know that has been swinging around the world and spending weekends in Thailand schtupping. And schtupping. And schtupping. Their social circle must be more eccentric than mine, but somehow, I’m not really jealous, yet *laughs*
xoxox
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Keywords: Radio, Pre-teen, Sex, Porn, etc.
If you tuned in to Perfect 10 this morning, you’ll have heard my hyper-sexed voice from about 9 to 10 going on about breasts and perversion and some other tame nonsense. But that’s the good thing about radio I suppose, you never know what’s really happening in the studio. I mean, who are you kidding. All the times when radio stations have interviewed b-grade porn stars… you think that’s all they’re doing?
Anyway it was fun. Listening to Perfect 10 from the station itself was a nice way to be introduced back into an element of my pre-adolescent days when I still thought Jean Danker was a real celebrity and that she had the most fantastic job in the world. It’s not a crap job I suppose, talking crap on the radio –its always the case isn’t it, most of the work that actually has meaning for the progress of any society is normally crap for most of the people doing it.- Justin’s recorded a couple of liners of me saying meaningless things in a fuck-me-Now voice, so hopefully they’ll use them and I get to hear them subsequently.
This blog has been a good thing indeed, and opportunities are opportunities, however you get them, and since we live in a apathetic world where nothing really is immoral or moral (you got to be kidding yourself if you think absolutes exist –because there is only one absolute for one particular situation at one particular time, and even that ‘absolute’ changes with every minute-) who cares how you do things as long as you’ve got compassion in your demeanor. There are no more dangerous people in the world than the ones that think they are absolutely right and leave room for nothing else.
But then again, everything in this world amounts up to nothing more than peanuts.
So.
Mr. Big text-ed me asking if Lynn and I were Free for Fun. Did he mean free and for fun, or free for a bit of fun. Could have been both, I never knew he was quite the word smith. I never thought about it, but R mentioned how I was being too harsh on the guys I used to see and that maybe they didn’t presume I was easy (although if I wasn’t attached, I really am. There’s no reason to deny it and nothing to be ashamed of, its no more worse than being called a prude, although the euphemistic term for easy would be liberal and up-right as opposed to prudish).
I suppose I was always constantly semi-attached and never had a problem seeing other people, until I got tired of sleeping around at about the time I went crazy over Martine and Chris requested for me to be faithful. Monogamy isn’t a natural state for anyone not in love I suppose, because their bodies would be in constant search for the One That Is the One. So I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else aside from M at that point, but I was sleeping with Chris, and he’d asked me to be faithful.
It took 2 people to reign me in, and about several years of being fed ‘sleeping around is bad for you’ and a year of realizing that too much sleeping around really wasn’t particularly good for you because it was a fantastic waste of time –if you think about the effort needed, going clubbing, picking up something you wasn’t really interested in, not being able to have a decent conversation before any bodily fluids are exchanged, and the hours wasted at the DSC clinic for regular check-ups because you’re never really sure-
I was always semi-attached, and it was never a problem to spend some time in the hot tub with B and maybe a girlfriend. But aside from the fact that I think it’ll be terribly unfair to Richard if I did spend time I could and rather would be spending with him with someone else, I’d just find it incredibly boring to do all that over again. It’s already been done, and I would do with R and Lynn because they are people I feel immensely comfortable with and it’ll be just like having drinks, only without any clothes on and in a whirlpool; I just don’t feel like doing it with anyone else. There’ll just be too much sexual pressure with someone I’m wouldn’t feel sexual towards, in return.
I suppose I sound mildly sexless at the moment –although I hope the people that tuned in this morning would disagree. I take quite a bit of pride in sounding like a protégé of Joan Chen in the Last Emperor- but it really can’t be helped. I’ve schtuped myself to injury; and the truth is, sex is very good for you, and even in excess, it doesn’t make you feel as shitty as binging on twenty thousand Snicker bars, but it can be minutely harmful in excess.
xoxox
Anyway it was fun. Listening to Perfect 10 from the station itself was a nice way to be introduced back into an element of my pre-adolescent days when I still thought Jean Danker was a real celebrity and that she had the most fantastic job in the world. It’s not a crap job I suppose, talking crap on the radio –its always the case isn’t it, most of the work that actually has meaning for the progress of any society is normally crap for most of the people doing it.- Justin’s recorded a couple of liners of me saying meaningless things in a fuck-me-Now voice, so hopefully they’ll use them and I get to hear them subsequently.
This blog has been a good thing indeed, and opportunities are opportunities, however you get them, and since we live in a apathetic world where nothing really is immoral or moral (you got to be kidding yourself if you think absolutes exist –because there is only one absolute for one particular situation at one particular time, and even that ‘absolute’ changes with every minute-) who cares how you do things as long as you’ve got compassion in your demeanor. There are no more dangerous people in the world than the ones that think they are absolutely right and leave room for nothing else.
But then again, everything in this world amounts up to nothing more than peanuts.
So.
Mr. Big text-ed me asking if Lynn and I were Free for Fun. Did he mean free and for fun, or free for a bit of fun. Could have been both, I never knew he was quite the word smith. I never thought about it, but R mentioned how I was being too harsh on the guys I used to see and that maybe they didn’t presume I was easy (although if I wasn’t attached, I really am. There’s no reason to deny it and nothing to be ashamed of, its no more worse than being called a prude, although the euphemistic term for easy would be liberal and up-right as opposed to prudish).
I suppose I was always constantly semi-attached and never had a problem seeing other people, until I got tired of sleeping around at about the time I went crazy over Martine and Chris requested for me to be faithful. Monogamy isn’t a natural state for anyone not in love I suppose, because their bodies would be in constant search for the One That Is the One. So I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else aside from M at that point, but I was sleeping with Chris, and he’d asked me to be faithful.
It took 2 people to reign me in, and about several years of being fed ‘sleeping around is bad for you’ and a year of realizing that too much sleeping around really wasn’t particularly good for you because it was a fantastic waste of time –if you think about the effort needed, going clubbing, picking up something you wasn’t really interested in, not being able to have a decent conversation before any bodily fluids are exchanged, and the hours wasted at the DSC clinic for regular check-ups because you’re never really sure-
I was always semi-attached, and it was never a problem to spend some time in the hot tub with B and maybe a girlfriend. But aside from the fact that I think it’ll be terribly unfair to Richard if I did spend time I could and rather would be spending with him with someone else, I’d just find it incredibly boring to do all that over again. It’s already been done, and I would do with R and Lynn because they are people I feel immensely comfortable with and it’ll be just like having drinks, only without any clothes on and in a whirlpool; I just don’t feel like doing it with anyone else. There’ll just be too much sexual pressure with someone I’m wouldn’t feel sexual towards, in return.
I suppose I sound mildly sexless at the moment –although I hope the people that tuned in this morning would disagree. I take quite a bit of pride in sounding like a protégé of Joan Chen in the Last Emperor- but it really can’t be helped. I’ve schtuped myself to injury; and the truth is, sex is very good for you, and even in excess, it doesn’t make you feel as shitty as binging on twenty thousand Snicker bars, but it can be minutely harmful in excess.
xoxox
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
All That is Sacred
The apartment flooded again last night, but I slept through most of it while Richard pail-ed out most of the stuff after waking up suddenly with the feeling that there was something going very, very wrong. My life has started filling up with weird domestic responsibilities that have never occurred to me with my parents. Its funny having a maid around because things just Get Done. The floors are always clean, there’s always fresh milk in the fridge, and the place never gets messy and the insects are all the time kept at bay. Oh well, not that I really mind not having a maid, you’re just a neater, cleaner person because of the lack of one.
Things have changed tremendously in the last few months I suppose. It’s been 12 weeks I think, since I decided I’d had enough of screwing around and fucking about. CU has shut down in a way; having bar-top nights at Cheeky Monkey’s simply isn’t the same Firstly CM is a Banghra (sp?) club, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but CU as I remember it was to The Front Page what Top Shop is to FCUK I suppose.
Shelly called us up a couple of days ago, rather, she called Richard up, telling him her aspirations to produce a porn video, untimely enough the night after we’d attempted to watch one –which only served all the boners in the world. Porn’s generally shitty, and I’m really only interested in the super-perverse things. Mostly involving cold medical tables, spatulas and rope. It is a conundrum I suppose. On one hand, you just want videos that’ll turn you on in an instant, and on the other, crap porn is just… kinda crap. All of it. From the sweet girl-next-door video to the super fuck Jenna Jameson sort, you know what to expect, it’s cheese-o-rama, and it makes you feel ridiculous.
That’s why I like really perverse videos of Japanese girls getting it on with steel instruments. That sort of video doesn’t attempt to emulate the contrite fantasies that go on in most of our minds. It isn’t the same getting off on the schoolgirl-professor thing and watching two people act it out on screen. (besides, the girls never look convincing enough anyway). It’s the sort of fantasy that is possible, but is a little too real to life and you know how these people really are, in reality, and I find myself constantly thinking how much unlike a professor and student the actors on screen are behaving. And it makes me feel like an idiot. So.
I just want to see girls having fun with their pussies. And girl-on girl porn is mostly impossible to get off to because you know most of it is fake. Most of the ecstasy is feigned.
In other words, unless you put in the effort into a good set (god knows, scaffolding, industrial vibrators, made-in-Germany steel instruments; and even then) all porn will be the same, and no one’s porn is going to be better than anyone else’s, and you can’t make ‘art’ porn –which is what Shelly thought of doing- because there’s no such thing as art porn. The Secretary is as close to it as it can get, and it’s arousing, but it doesn’t get you off.
Of course, as an alternative, our neighbors can just look into our apartment any time of the day and see live fucking *laughs*
The weirdest thing happened some time ago when Richard pulled me out into the common corridor blind-folded and fucked me against the railing outside our neighbour’s place. Our neighbours are 3 very messy Indian foreign students that look really shady and a guy that I think must be partly Mongolian… also very shady looking (i.e. perverts). Anyway, one of them comes out while we’re minding our own fucking business *ahem* and Richard gets back into the apartment nearly forgetting to pull be back in before shutting the door. And I’m blindfolded of course, so I’d be in a bit of a shit I suppose. But he remembered. Thankfully.
A couple of days later, the both of us and the dude’s waiting to cross the street, and he can’t stop humping his hips to whatever that was on his walk-man (yeah, for real man. In an igeneration… a walkman (isn’t the whole i campaign annoying anyone else. Every product has an ii in front of it these days).
Anyway, nothing beats introducing your neighbours to your private life. Sometimes, they’d like it more than a cup of free sugar.
xoxox
Things have changed tremendously in the last few months I suppose. It’s been 12 weeks I think, since I decided I’d had enough of screwing around and fucking about. CU has shut down in a way; having bar-top nights at Cheeky Monkey’s simply isn’t the same Firstly CM is a Banghra (sp?) club, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but CU as I remember it was to The Front Page what Top Shop is to FCUK I suppose.
Shelly called us up a couple of days ago, rather, she called Richard up, telling him her aspirations to produce a porn video, untimely enough the night after we’d attempted to watch one –which only served all the boners in the world. Porn’s generally shitty, and I’m really only interested in the super-perverse things. Mostly involving cold medical tables, spatulas and rope. It is a conundrum I suppose. On one hand, you just want videos that’ll turn you on in an instant, and on the other, crap porn is just… kinda crap. All of it. From the sweet girl-next-door video to the super fuck Jenna Jameson sort, you know what to expect, it’s cheese-o-rama, and it makes you feel ridiculous.
That’s why I like really perverse videos of Japanese girls getting it on with steel instruments. That sort of video doesn’t attempt to emulate the contrite fantasies that go on in most of our minds. It isn’t the same getting off on the schoolgirl-professor thing and watching two people act it out on screen. (besides, the girls never look convincing enough anyway). It’s the sort of fantasy that is possible, but is a little too real to life and you know how these people really are, in reality, and I find myself constantly thinking how much unlike a professor and student the actors on screen are behaving. And it makes me feel like an idiot. So.
I just want to see girls having fun with their pussies. And girl-on girl porn is mostly impossible to get off to because you know most of it is fake. Most of the ecstasy is feigned.
In other words, unless you put in the effort into a good set (god knows, scaffolding, industrial vibrators, made-in-Germany steel instruments; and even then) all porn will be the same, and no one’s porn is going to be better than anyone else’s, and you can’t make ‘art’ porn –which is what Shelly thought of doing- because there’s no such thing as art porn. The Secretary is as close to it as it can get, and it’s arousing, but it doesn’t get you off.
Of course, as an alternative, our neighbors can just look into our apartment any time of the day and see live fucking *laughs*
The weirdest thing happened some time ago when Richard pulled me out into the common corridor blind-folded and fucked me against the railing outside our neighbour’s place. Our neighbours are 3 very messy Indian foreign students that look really shady and a guy that I think must be partly Mongolian… also very shady looking (i.e. perverts). Anyway, one of them comes out while we’re minding our own fucking business *ahem* and Richard gets back into the apartment nearly forgetting to pull be back in before shutting the door. And I’m blindfolded of course, so I’d be in a bit of a shit I suppose. But he remembered. Thankfully.
A couple of days later, the both of us and the dude’s waiting to cross the street, and he can’t stop humping his hips to whatever that was on his walk-man (yeah, for real man. In an igeneration… a walkman (isn’t the whole i campaign annoying anyone else. Every product has an ii in front of it these days).
Anyway, nothing beats introducing your neighbours to your private life. Sometimes, they’d like it more than a cup of free sugar.
xoxox
Sunday, October 02, 2005
I've Gone Away
Funny... but I don't care much for other people any more. There seem to be a few people that matter to me, and that's all that kinda matters. I had a long crap blog about how pathetic I thought it was for the guys I used to see to attempt to still try and shag me.
No I haven't changed. I'm not less fun for myself, I still enjoy my own company a great deal, it's just that it's a lot less fun for them when they realize that its tiring screwing around. Most girls aren't fools, even the really insecure ones. Sooner or later, someone better will come along, someone that will actually be worth their time, and they wouldn't think twice about forgetting what you once meant to them. And it's just too bad. Isn't it.
Orgies, BDSM parties, sitting around eating very happy pizzas, that's all kinda fun and I'll do it when I feel like it but its quite pathetic to ask for an invite to these things, isn't it, and its silly to think that they'd be fun anyway if you don't already know the people intimately.
I've just realized the things that matter and the things that don't. Most times, most things don't matter. There's nothing more important than amusement and keeping yourself happy, and giving up something good now for the sake of the future proves you're not free, you're still locked in by time.
The people that presume they live the hedonistic life by fucking about aren't actually living the hedonistic life. They're really thinking about being locked down to one person, so they do their best not to. Although they might be happier and less pathetic if they actually appreciated the things in front of them; the women that come their way.
It doesn't make sense to me. I'm with someone now, and it's too late for everyone else, and it wasn't as if they weren't given a chance, but it's not like it would have worked out anyway. I couldn't stand most of them. But it just seems ridiculous to me that its only after I'm not available that they start making an effort at trying to ask me out. It's quite pathetic.
*shrugs*
xoxox
No I haven't changed. I'm not less fun for myself, I still enjoy my own company a great deal, it's just that it's a lot less fun for them when they realize that its tiring screwing around. Most girls aren't fools, even the really insecure ones. Sooner or later, someone better will come along, someone that will actually be worth their time, and they wouldn't think twice about forgetting what you once meant to them. And it's just too bad. Isn't it.
Orgies, BDSM parties, sitting around eating very happy pizzas, that's all kinda fun and I'll do it when I feel like it but its quite pathetic to ask for an invite to these things, isn't it, and its silly to think that they'd be fun anyway if you don't already know the people intimately.
I've just realized the things that matter and the things that don't. Most times, most things don't matter. There's nothing more important than amusement and keeping yourself happy, and giving up something good now for the sake of the future proves you're not free, you're still locked in by time.
The people that presume they live the hedonistic life by fucking about aren't actually living the hedonistic life. They're really thinking about being locked down to one person, so they do their best not to. Although they might be happier and less pathetic if they actually appreciated the things in front of them; the women that come their way.
It doesn't make sense to me. I'm with someone now, and it's too late for everyone else, and it wasn't as if they weren't given a chance, but it's not like it would have worked out anyway. I couldn't stand most of them. But it just seems ridiculous to me that its only after I'm not available that they start making an effort at trying to ask me out. It's quite pathetic.
*shrugs*
xoxox