Wednesday, December 30, 2009

We Apologize for any Technical Difficulties.

They were experiencing some technical problems at the theater. The audience To Be but now Are Not, were not amused and demanded refunds and vouchers. There was a lot of shoving and elbowing, and people were speaking in really angry voices. I spoke in an angry voice, I didn’t know why I did it, because I wasn’t angry. I just wanted my money back and a voucher. But maybe I thought I had to sound angry, to get what I wanted, so I did. Actually it is unnecessary. One can smile and demand one’s rights in this town, this I know. (yeah right)

“What a disappointment” I told my partner. “Technical difficulties… Pah! It’s like being about to fuck your girlfriend and then saying ‘Sorry luv, I’m just experiencing some technical difficulties at the moment, now, hold on’ turning around, grabbing your limp dick and trying to coax it to life with durex Tingling Sensation lubricant but realizing you forgot to wash your hands properly after you helped chop up the ingredients for Tom Yum soup.”

We went to another cinema and got tickets for a later show. He asked the girl at the counter if she was absolutely sure there would not be any technical difficulties. “If they do have it” I said, “you’re going to have to take your pants off this time and start making a point that you are also experiencing technical problems with your dick at this moment and start swinging it around.”

Thankfully, there were no technical problems.

It reminded me of the time the ex took off his pants on MAS in the 40 min before departure (actually it was Heathrow so it is likely this waiting time was significantly longer). He wanted to make a point about what lousy cunts they were, not turning on the air-conditioning before take-off because they were being cheap arse.

“Please put your pants back on sir.” Said the stewardess, trying not to laugh. “It’s hot. It’s unhealthy for the certain anatomical details that males are fortunately or unfortunately endowed with. You miss, do not have such a problem. It is easy for you to say.”

He finally did put his pants back on, when they fired up the air-conditioner. Surprisingly, other passengers found it most amusing.

I did visit him on Sunday. It was quite nice to see the old dog again. We talked about a couple of things we never did talk about since we broke up because most of the time our drinking sessions were filled with stories of new found depravity, like the Celing Penis and other adventures. I won’t say I was the best girlfriend ever, but he did realize there were a lot of things he gave me a hard time for that he shouldn’t have. At least I didn’t compel him to start wearing latex gloves everytime he cooked, or to use chopsticks to hold his cigs when he wanted a fag. And I never demanded or will ever demand that any man I date should be something straight out of Sex and the City because life would be quite boring them. I think even if I were to meet such a man, the story would turn out different anyway. If I have fantasies, it’s tuned more towards Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, not cocktails and multi-speed vibrators in New York. I mean, that’s nice, but just a bit ordinary to be a fantasy. Fantasies should ideally be dangerous.

He told me that there was a certain kind of girl called a checklist girl. A checklist girl is a type of girl that has a list in her head for what she would like a man to be, and reads Twilight… without barfing. I know many of those girls. It’s not that awesome men that are intelligent, good-looking, rich and have a big dick and know how to use it do not exist. They do, and in significant quantities. Like Pokemon, you’ve gotta catch ‘em all. But everyone has some stupid shit that makes them not 100% perfect. If you know how to accept it and deal with it, you can have a lot of fun because the road of the beaten track is the fun bit when you’re driving.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Shake of the glitter and climb out of th epyre of broken glass and religious monuments.

Merry fucking Christmas. I hope y’all had a good time. because I know I did. There was not a moment of sobriety to be had from Thursday till Monday morning, and it was just the way I liked it.

My Christmas prep was absolutely haphazard. But whatever, all I had to do was get some books for Tom and a couple of other nerdy friends after my own heart. I was talking with a friend about vibrators and presents for his girl, and I told him that he absolutely had to get her one because sex without a vibrator is like coffee without caffeine. Or like mash potatoes without celeriac. Mince pies without brandy butter. Apple pie without ice-cream. A g-spot without fingers. Etc.

Tom kicked off the lunch at around 1. I missed the popping of the first champagne, which is a pity. Apparently the cork flew out, knocked the red lantern above the dining table off it’s hook, causing it to fall quite spectacularly on Mark W’s head(while he was accusing people of being racist…he’s Welsh… apparently this fact is important) before launching itself onto an empty champagne glass in front of him and breaking it. This made his fairly pissed off and did nothing for his headache, and he accused C (who popped all the champagne that afternoon. 15 bottles of Piper and M & C) of flashing her left nork at some point while she was hogging one of the bottles.

C: I did not flash it.
M: Yes you did. I saw it.
C: There’s a tattoo there, what is it?
M: A nipple.

The turkey was awesome, the mash had loads of celeriac, the stuffing had everything that was called for in it, and…uh… the brussel sprouts were buttered. Then it was time to exchange presents and I went under the tree and got something that felt like a DVD. “Gee… I wonder what are the chances of this being a porn movie I’ve been in?” It was the Hangover. Whatever, I changed it for a box of Macaroons, which then got exchanged for a pair of M and S striped nighties, which are just cute but unfortunately came with L sized men underpants which just won’t go away now. The idea was that if I somehow managed to get all my clothes off again as I did last Christmas, I would have spare pants lying around so someone could put me back into clothes without problems.

B called me to wish me a Merry Christmas, which was really nice.

Me: How’s the woman situation? You know I always want to know this about you.
B: It’s good man. I have a lover in Vienna now. A Chinese girl.
Me: Haha yeah I know you like them.
B: Also one in Budapest. It’s just good.
Me: Sounds awesome. I didn’t think you could have only just one anyway…

He’s a dog but I love him. Although I still sometimes feel pissed that he told Ash I wasn’t his girlfriend when I was there this summer and she was hanging out with us. But I probably have a more liberal definition of what it means to be someone’s girl/boy. Anyway it’s just really nice to know I’m kind of special to him in some way. Friends are harder to find and make then lovers, and a relationship that is both is even harder to come by. The best thing you can find is a kindred spirit….

On Boxing day I went to catch Infected Mushroom with Joris. Elizabeth was supposed to be there, but she sent me a text later saying “Thank Goodness you didn’t come, some rock trance band was playing and too many people”. I went huh? Damn girl… I spazzed out, foamed at the mouth and had a religious experience. How can you not love Isreali hard house. Man! It was awesomeness.

J and I stumbled out drunk after the club closed and I bumped into LR who introduced herself to J and explained how we both knew each other (basically, “We slept with the same guy”). We were both completely off our tits on the music and soaking in our own sweat and wandering around the area talking shit and laughing and shouting at random things and cabs that wouldn’t pick us up. We did this for a bit… then we passed a little chapel with the nativity in cheap plastic in front of it. The gates were open and I thought… “Oh no… do we dare…?”

“Let’s go in.” I suggested. J said okay so we went past the gates and poked around in the manger with the plastic mannequins of the holy family, wise men, sheep and other assorted hobos.

We then went on into the chapel. The doors were not locked. There were a few benches and a small alter on a podium, and a cross that filled up the entire wall behind it.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck in a church.” I said.

“Yeah?” He looked at me with the kind of look that said I’m up for that and serious about it.

I laughed with just a llllittle bit of nervousness… “Should we?” I asked.

Me: Oh no… this is sooo bad…
Him: Why is it bad? Be rational. You don’t believe in God.
Me: No you’re right. Anyway religion is evil.
Him: That has nothing to do with it.
Me: Do you want to?
Him: Why not.
Me: Oh man. Nah, no… Oh… I don’t know. Oh

It was kind of weird. I don’t know why I was hesitating. Probably because we were trespassing… Because I don’t normally have an issue with fucking in public places. We ended up going back out to get a beer. He asked me if I wanted to go back, and I said yes, and so we went. He put me on the alter and we fucked. It was ridiculously good. I was also very drunk and could not come properly, and seriously the thought “shit, God is punishing me for this… I will never be able to have an orgasm ever again…” actually crossed my mind. But soon left (and was soon disproved anyway). It was really exhilarating just to do something so so naughty. It’s just one of those damn things I’ve always wanted to do… possibly to get back at all the painful, deluded moments I had when I was growing up Christian and in fear of so many imaginary things.

The light in the chapel was lovely. Really dark, with some shafts of silver through the roof… I was really thrilled, and at first I was anxious about getting caught, but after awhile a switch turned itself off, and I just got into it.

Boo yeah.

I will carry on in another post….

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Meddling Chicks

How come come chicks who have no clue as how to handle their own love lives attempt to interfere with everyone else's. Tsk. Mine is running very well, thank you very much. A little left of center perhaps, but just the way I like it.

I met M last night after dinner with my mom and sis (oh lord, it's been awhile since I saw my family. Guilt, guilt, guilt). I was seriously pissed before that because I was feeling kind of ill and I just didn't the situation going anywhere or being any fun anymore. But ugh. I don't know what's it with him, but he said hi as I walked past him at the bar and I just went in my head, "Oh lord." I introduced him to MJ as my "pet" and okay, he's not really my pet, that's just a bit ridiculous, but he's got that way of looking and behaving towards me that just makes me feel like it's not an unreasonable description. Besides I can't stay mad at someone I'm meeting, otherwise it'll just be negative utility for everybody's time, and we don't want that, do we.

The thing I was hugely pissed off at was that he actually cared what his girl-friends thought of me. I mean, who gives a shit? They'll complain when their with you, but when they're not, they ain't thinking about it. The one who's gotta live with the shit is you and the other person involved. They have their own lives to deal with, and the more they interfere in other people's biz, the bigger the problems in their own lives. So you know, fuck it.

We're back to just hanging and chillin and having fun... he's great in controlled doses. All men are. You can't spend all your time with one person, then there'll be nothing new to talk about and you kind of... stagnate. Okay, maybe not after a few days, but it's scary how easily you can start to melt into people and how easily they can melt in to you.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Two and a halfsome.

The Christmas season arriving always brings about strange and most entertaining nights and days out. Nic had just gotten back to Sing after a trip around the UK and wanted to meet for a chat about some film stuff on Friday night. I was just back from 2 hours at the gym and coming down Concerta (which is like Ritalin, but better) and wasn’t feeling in top shape to head out straight away, so we hung around for a couple of hours talking shit and chilling out. By the time we got to Clarke Quay at 2 a.m. there wasn’t very much left by way of entertainment … most of the expat population seemed to have left town to spend Christmas with their families and to enjoy a coked out New Years’. We went into Sluttica (always guaranteed amusement) for drinks and I ended up dancing on the electronic floor at 5 in the morning, trying to avoid drunks that looked terrible to start of with and looked even worse while drunk, desperate and dancing. The only thing I was doing was dancing. Nic however was intercepted by a Japanese girl at the bar, and refused to come and dance. Which was possibly a good thing. I wouldn’t know.

The club shut, we left, and there was some talk of where to head down to. The girl asked if we were a couple several times, and no amount of fervent denial would keep her from asking. She stayed with us though, with no intention to leave, that much was obvious. Nobody could suggest anywhere to go, and after a failed attempts to find anywhere sufficiently amusing, we headed back to my place. So we were all having a drink and talking about random things when we came to the topic of the girl’s love life. It turned out to be quite a bad idea, but I guess she wanted to talk about it, and kind of guided the conversation to that direction. I don’t know why most women don’t just go straight to the point. If they want to talk about their love lives, they should just do it.

I watched Fight Club last night, and there was this bit where Marla Singer finishes Edward Norton’s sentence after he says “When people think you’re dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just.. Marla Singer ” instead of just waiting for their turn to speak.” Conversation with friends and strangers is just personal therapy, and important part of life, and it’s a pity when people can’t speak their minds to the ones they love the most. In fact, it is almost certain that a majority of people never do that, which is why love is a word that doesn’t agree with me.

She did not tell us much, but the basic thing was that her fiancee died. Then she started crying her eyes out. To be honest I don’t know what the fuck was going on. First she was talking about one of them cheating on the other, then she said he died. Whatever, it was weird. Nic said later that he thought it might have seemed a little creepy when we were handing her tissues and saying it was alright. Perhaps, but she started it. She calmed down and then asked if she could kiss Nic. I told her it was him she wanted to kiss, not me, they could do whatever the hell they wanted, I would encourage it. Then I went to the bathroom. When I came back she was on top of him and in her underwear. So they started making out and at some point all her clothes came off and I went into my bedroom to get condoms. I stuck them in Nic’s shirt pocket and gave him a yeah-go-for-it-baby, smile-smile, wink-wink. They started doing it on the couch and the girl asked me to take off my clothes, which I did. Unfortunately at the point I wasn’t particularly interested in getting it off with Nic, and she wasn’t particularly interested in getting off with me, so I went back to my room and decided it would be a good idea to take a photo.

It looks quite artistic when severely cropped and placed under Photoshop’s cut-out filter. Like the photo that was evidence of the time I got nuts and made Drake paint random shit from my tits to my crotch, the message was “MY EDEN” in psychedelic red , orange and yellow. with arrows and circles. It was like… Tasteful…man… In a way only contemporary, post-society, post-everything type of art can possibly be.

She left at 7, and we went to the sauna. It made me feel really good. Especially after dipping into the pool. I don’t get to see early mornings that often, so it was a treat.

To be continued in another post…..

Thursday, December 03, 2009

I Tell You That I Love You Today

Your body is all angles and veins,
Face, Perfection, in Dual Tone.
Your Reason defined in discrete steps,
I feel I understand.

You ignore my subtle deviances,
And make love to me,
For the greater good.

My Precious Heart,
You shatter into little bits,
Sprinkle on a Dadaist collage,
As I make my stand on a cabaret stage.

Where liberal values devour a naked audience of voluptuous flesh,
Over-fed by the prices of prints,
That mock them and extol them.

Baby tell me that the demise of society,
Should be welcomed with the acceptance of over-abundance,
In this surreal fantasy of corn-fed violence.
That is our bedroom, our apartment,
Our phallic projectile of glass and steel and concrete,
Inserted deep into the bowels of Mother Earth,
(The adulterous bitch to bring forth life of such variety).

Let us drive across the continent of Europe,
That is so wide, mien Herr,
Which I promise you is not the case,
With the space between my legs,
My dear.

Hurtle down a highway,
Between politics and aesthetics,
Into a tunnel where at the end, there is no light,
And we fling ourselves into the singularity.