Thursday, December 08, 2005

TV Whore

For the people not living in this weird claustrophobic SEAsian village, the local TV end of Media Crap Co. (which is NOT quite like the paper I write for, because although they are both owned by the same company, different people run the things. Which is about as close to a Free Press outside the internet we're as likely to come to for the next few months. Although nothing is fucking for sure anymore because the BBC was allowed to lambast the much to be desired Human Rights record we have at the moment concerning our Domestic help)

Anyway, the TV end have decided to make a talk show program where they get morally degenerate characters like myself to talk about stuff and then make us all sound and look truly like the devil's chambermaids. (You know, the little girls that clean out his royal pots. My God, what a fantasy, the little bucket girl getting fucked by the lord of evil.)

I must get this straight. That TV thing was a bomb, but I went anyway because it was just something I would do. Because I don’t give a fuck about how I look on TV (I feel pai seh of course lah! But all I have to do to not feel that is to not watch the show right. As long as people don’t recognize me on the streets, what the fuck do I care). It’s just like how I’d suck the cock of Sir Stamford Raffles the week before National Day and take of my pants in front of Buckingham Palace. It doesn’t matter, for God’s sake. It’s mad, to allow yourself to look like a whore on TV, but it’s so against everything this society is about I had to do it.

I’m sick with people telling me what’s the right move with this or that. If I listened to that nonsense, I wouldn’t have as much fun. If you haven’t already noticed, I don’t give a shit about the opinions of the general public. If they know why I’m doing what I do (and the reason is simple –I’m doing it because sex is just a thing we have to do as human beings, there’s no escaping it and there’s no need to be elitist about the fact that you’re having sex, or about the fact that you aren’t).

Just move on already. So I have sex with my boyfriend, and before that I had sex with about a dozen people, that’s normal. If you think we’re any better than animals, you can forget it. When it comes down to our biological behaviour, we’re no more bereft of self-control, and we are no more amenable or beatific. What differentiates us is our ability to create beyond any need for the satisfaction of biological instincts. The sooner we get over things that we can’t change, the sooner we can get to the things that bring true joy to the human spirit. If Michelangelo worried all damn day about how being gay wasn’t morally desirable, he wouldn’t have painted the Sistine Chapel in the dynamic glory (not to mention the sometime smug amusement) we now experience it with.

To the people that watched the show and thought the people that came up with the idea are a bunch of idiots, the sort that are no different from those that enjoy sodomy with little boys while basking in the manufactured holiness of the state/institution, amen to you.

As someone put it in an email to me, who are we kidding, do our men only lick postage stamps (and our girls only enjoy sex after they are wed? I don’t recall anyone telling me our genitals took on a different state of mind after a certificate is signed).

To the people that think I look like a whore, you should know that deep inside that’s what you are anyway. What kinda human being doesn’t like to fuck? Get over it already.(not including the people that have emailed me out of good intentions. I don't agree with your views on public opinion, but I know you mean no insult. And I actually knew I would look like a whore when I did the thing anyway)


Wednesday, December 07, 2005

The Great Big Shite World

How strange it all is.

I woke up with a relatively grumpy disposition, slightly hungry, constipated, tired, and pissed off that I didn’t quite understand the Batch Automate function in Photoshop (I do now) and had wasted just about the whole of yesterday choosing and compressing photos from the new SG set individually. I felt bad for whining about why he couldn’t make my life easier and shoot with on a lower resolution. It doesn’t matter of course, but I think the next time I will come up with a proper storyboard, and we will shoot more precisely. Randomness is good, but too much of it doesn’t really help you improve. You’ll end up depending on chance, over what you can actually do.

His business partner told him that there was no future in nude photography, and I can’t stop disagreeing to myself whenever anything at all that can remind me of it flashes in my face. I need to get a little more involved with Suicidegirls, I think I really should. There’s so much going on there I don’t know what the hell I’m missing out on, and that’s bad. Apparently since the start of this year, the comic artist/publisher (or is it both) that gave us the Extra-ordinary league of gentlemen has been working on the first few issues of an SG comic that sounds vague reminiscent of Tank Girl. You know. The ultra anti-feminist heroine; Sexy, strong, and as feminine as they come, that kinda bullshit. Sounds promising.

Yesterday, the ex-ed paramour of one of my girlfriends texted me and asked me how I was doing. To provide a very brief history, he was one of those people that entered our lives in a time when we were both completely blue to fucking around town, and screwed my girlfriend over by doing a Paris Hilton back in the day before the Simple Life, with the bulk of her public exposure shot on a DV camera. It was quite nasty, I must say, but that was then, and it is not in my place to guess whether things have changed, or is he still as immature as he used to be.

Funny I’d be saying something like that, because he used to teach me in school. I don’t know what to say really. We exchanged a few weird text messages, where I basically attempted to extricate some gossip from him because all I was interested in was his predisposition to deceitful behaviour. It’s not nice I know, and I don’t mean it, but I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven him for doing what he did to her. Or for behaving the way he does.

I want to know why.

Why are some people so deceitful? Why must they cheat, why sleep around, is it SO hard to know what you want and NOT waste the lives of other people.

The more I think about it, the more I know what faithfulness matters so much to all of us, even me. Oh I will admit I enjoy the occasional ménage a trios, and I haven’t had one for ages (no matter anyway, because the only girl I’d like to have it with has left the country for greener pastures –literally) but when someone sleeps around your back and you find out, it’s not so much the act that matters but the absolute lack of consideration for the other person, who now feels lied to.

Actually, fuck it. What do I know. How do I know how people feel after they have been together for years and years. But if my parents are an example, you don’t get bored with each other if you’ve got the right person. You just don’t.


Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Fame and Foolishness

What is the benchmark for success? What is the point of fame. Oh my God I know I’ve got terribly lofty ideals, but I can’t help it. Of course success should be measured by how much you change the lives of the people around you, for the better. Fame should be for the purpose of improving the existence of your fellow human beings. I can’t bear to think of the talents wasted into the pointless pursuit of things that do not matter anyway.

At a party a couple of nights ago, Richard and I got wind that an acquaintance of his had finally gotten a television program on ESPN. According to R, a friend of his (also in
The similar business of fame) was visibly shaken when he heard about it. But what was the point though? The television industry is even shittier than the publishing industry. As far as I know it, there are generally more good books on display than bad ones, in TV, the number of crap shows far supersedes the ones worth watching.

It’s a hell industry, if you think about it. At the top of the chain you have consumers that don’t know any better, below them are the companies that want to sell them things, below that are the ad agencies. After the ad agencies are the TV people that decide what shows and which personalities are profitable and which ones are not. Below that are the TV companies and the TV personalities. And worshiping the personalities are the consumers that don’t know any better.

My god.

Of course it isn’t as bad as that, and not all of us (consumers) are idiots, and shows made for consumers that aren’t idiots are better of course. And then it’s not so bad.

The problem with most people that want fame is that they all have humongous egos and don’t want to listen to other people around them. There is no shortage of bum-licking of course, but it is damn well possible to flatter someone while making it absolutely obvious to that someone she’s an idiot and that all your ideas are better. There’s an explicit difference between bum-licking and being receptive to the ideas of other people, and knowing exactly what it is they want.

Ah, I’ve had enough. Television has ruined too many good people, and I’m glad my little sister doesn’t quite give a fuck. These people must all be disillusioned. The only people they are impressing are the other disillusioned.

That aside, Richard and I finally did my next set for Suicidegirls! It’s fantastic. He lighted it up like a movie set, and it’s got me dressed like girl in 1920s Singapore fooling around in Mr. Trousers’s bedroom. Mr. Trousers is a pervert dummy he got made at some mannequin store, with a pair of hands that can hold a number of items from rope to cameras to industrial vibrators. He’s quite a useful thing to have.

The power supply in our apartment could scarcely handle the pressure we were putting on it, and the mega lights kept on going off ever so often until he found another way to connect them. It must have been quite odd for the people out on the street at 2 in the morning. We’d clawed on this really powerful light outside the window so it looked like the morning sun farther up in the northern hemisphere, and one outside the bathroom window.

Quite something really. I’ll remember to tell you when it gets up.


Monday, December 05, 2005

The Awareness Rodeo of Life

I feel depressed. It is raining so very hard, Lynn is no longer in the country, I want to get out too. I feel sick of living here. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m so tired. I’m happy with my new life, but there’s too much past I’m so embarrassed with I will have to leave soon.

I have started writing my novel, and if there’s one thing I realize, I dislike the people I entered relationships with when I knew less about myself then the ones I did after I knew exactly what sort of person I was going to get involved with. And where it was all going. There is no reason for me to despise the first boy I ever dated more than the men that have (clearly) taken advantage of me. I didn’t mind of course, I learnt a great deal about human stupidity and how to avoid its pitfalls, but at the end of it all, we are our own greatest enemy. Our lot in life cannot be blamed on anyone else but ourselves, and no on affects us more than we do, ourselves.

The more sure of myself I became, the less I was likely to believe in stupid things that had no worth in believing in, in the first place. That was what I hate so much about my first relationship when I think back on it. It had to happen, but it was the more trying experience in the last few years. More trying than using my body and having it used, more trying than believing in relationships which wouldn’t work eventually.

Oh yes, nothing is more embarrassing than realizing that something you believed in wasn’t worth believing in the first place.

Actually… not quite. Realizing that something you believed in would have ruined a good life if you carried on believing in it is even crapper.

Not realizing it would be the worst of the lot.

I love Richard so much I don't know what more I can take to fill myself up. The more of him he gives and I take, the more it will never be enough. With the right person you don't get bored, with the right person, you can only want more. More and more and of no one else.

How so very strange.


ps: (The other website at is crapping up for the time being. So. Sorry about that.)

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Miss Izzy

Hullo there!

It's time for me to move. So.