Goodbye Goodman.

So, I didn't really get to say goodbye to the building. The reminscing and being drunk was slighty more dominant than the fact of me being probably the worst dressed in my Nasum hoodies, some olive green shirt inside, some jeans and my half cabs. It's no surprise really, with the LaSalle elitists arounds.

I got to snap pictures with Amanda Ling, twice. Imagine me, slightly high. Going up to the pretty doll and asking her twice. I think she might have gotten pissed off or something. Die, note to self. Never go to an Electrico concert again in case I am seen and severely beaten close to death.

Most of the night was spent at the drink stall outside, with the glorious free flow. First it was Tiger, than Stella and Hoegarden then Vodka. Can you blame me for not resisting, really? It's simply in my nature to get as mindfucked as I can. I hope I didn't embarass myself or something. Haha, I can barely remember much.

Anyway, cheers to waking up in the morning and thanking god for finding all your valuables safe and sound, cheers to Amanda Ling for being once of the most gorgeous babes around, cheers to passed memories and cheers to friends.

Goodbye Goodman.

Tonight, I died a little more inside.

The rustling quietened down to just a slight scratching of surfaces and to the occasional bump of footsteps. They ran silent down to a quiet bend with corners that no one could look into. They ran separately but they came to a complete almost far too coincidental stop together.

He placed his fingers and traced the contours of her face, trembling at every second with the raging anxiety. Her eyes shut, her blood rushing and the cold air getting into her skin. His eyes join hers as he closes them, the dust from the wind like a speckle of trust thrown in the air to be sliced by arrows and forks.

"You have such sad eyes, such sad yet angry eyes. You have lips not calloused, like they've never kissed and a tongue so shy it reminds me of a child and of the way the sun rises in the morning." She whispers into his ear.

"My eyes tell a different story for every time of my life but for now I am as sad and I am angry. I am sad because I know this night will only last today and I am angry because you won't really ever stay. Your kiss is like a sting, that will haunt me for ages. That will scar me for months when you decide to leave, so sow your seeds of devotion and watch me stumble over. Tonight might be the night I'd remember for many more nights to come. Where the mornings are hard to get through but the nights are even harder, when the colours lose their warmth and the wine her taste. Some bonds are never broken and some days are lived forever but tonight a part of me dies along with that kiss."

Silent Void.

And the passing went by smoothly, onward to the beginning of being lost.
Till her fingers crept by slowly, forthward towards his squeamish cause.
Like flowers in a slow bloom, leaning forth in decaying anguish.
Like paper to a fire, scattering it's hopeful ash in regretful remorse.

Kisses towards the sea, surging towards the recede.
Fluttering full of intent, that meet the wind's heed.
Dancing further backward, pushed to it's involuntary demise;
and losing it's strength, falling, as the sea cries.

In agony, as the kisses rain down on him.
A saddened mass of water, rained upon by emotion.
A tear weathered by it's sender,
in full knowledge of his failure.

So goodbye, so goodbye.

You are not worth my time and I won't be wrong.

It's amazing, really.

On the notion of somehow being able to make a personal stand in their life and someone too fucking stupid and ignorant on not being able to have the least of moral values and some sort of personal dignity in this journey that they call their life.

Where's the honourable mention in this so called 'life'?

Of someone whom is afraid of questioning anything that is beyond their own grasp of knowledge and belief, someone who is blindly following one man down to the darkest catacombs of self pity and fear. Someone who follows a set of ideals organised by mysterious shadows of seemingly potent influence. Someone who disrespects his very own prized possession; his mind and his choices.

Believe if you must, but believe with faith. Throw this world away, leave it all behind and walk forth in the glory of "I". For you are the first of what you are to become and the last of what you have come.

O'sickening mortals, you are not at my understanding and you will never be.

Anger Is Easy.

Dear friends, if I didn't reply you on MSN today please accept my apology. I was too drugged out and trying to sweat out the fever by shutting the windows and turning off the fan.

So imagine this. I'm sweating like hell, my shirt is drenched in sweat, I'm feeling half fucked, I'm starving. Put all this together okay? Then Justin sends me this song, by some fella by the moniker of Angerfist.

It is aggressive dance or techno or whatever else you sick shitheads want to sub-genre it into. Imagine being drugged out and sweating already. Then bouncing your head up and down the little self-made pillows that the cold towel on the table provides. If being sick is not enough, try drugged out, then try having a penchant for reliving the techno days.

I'm off now. Working tomorrow.

Fever flush.

I haven't fallen ill in about maybe 7-8 months or more? I know I rarely do.

Anyway, I caught this horrendous fever. It's so bad, I cannot even fall asleep. All I feel resonating around me is the intense dry warmth from my body and the hot breath from my lungs. Self-medicated remedies failed. Two tablets of Redoxon, 1 Clarinase and 2 Panadols later, no change.

My piss was so hot I was 'jolted' out of my weary trance like state. All that I've been able to keep my mind awake with was some lucid fantasy from a couple months back.

Back to sleep again.

Pieces falling, withering and furthering my decay.

Like a delusion, a shining aeon;
I see myself before me, and He sees me from further beyond.
My fragments are falling apart, I grasp to catch all that I can;
but the moment's too short and the dust takes away my plans.

Morning glory, takes away my pride.
Defenseless and afraid; Goddess Apate takes my side.
Through a layer of plastic, I look into your eyes;
and close to smell your breathe, I can almost smell your fright.

The yellow path, illuminates the step that you are supposed to take.
The guide, towards the paven concrete.
My pieces fall, wither and further my decay.
I know it all, I know what they will say.

My feet are chosen for the stone, my arms are precarious of the fall;
but my eyes are open and I await my unheard call.

Stuck In Here.

It's been awhile since any of you have heard much of me. Yes, the little coma hiatus was necessary. But anyway, since our last of correspondence. I found a job! I've been working at the Automobile Association for awhile now. Holiday thing, nothing much. 7 dollars an hour, 9-6 Mondays to Fridays. Half days on saturdays and I'm about to return to that schedule after a long two week holiday.

You know how when your life becomes so organised? Like an IPod, like a timetable. You know how expectant you are of everything? To me it sorta feels like, when everything becomes so transparent and almost near predicted. Where is the fun in life? Where are the fuck ups that make everyday just so interesting, where are the conincidentals and the accidents that make you smile on the bus home?

Back to what I always say, being expectant leaves you half hanging in tragedy. I don't know. You guys agree? Friendster or Myspace PM me or email me at artistrik@hotmail.com

I really want to figure this out. Slow and easy without jumping to any stress fed conclusions.

Have a great week ahead friends.

Your favourite smart talking, nose in the air asshole.

Oh and your favourite asshole is looking for acting talents! For my little baby masterpiece.

Waking to be alive.

It was one of those mornings again, when you wake up a complete mess. Your head still spins from the budget wine and beer the night before. No recollection whatsoever, your wallet turns up empty and you wonder why. You recall buying beer but you don't remember drinking it or anything after. You remember waking up to follow your friend back home to change and you sleep in the park while waiting for him to come back down.

Embarassment is a question less answered if not asked at all. Your head clears a little on the way home but maybe it's the sun thats keeping your eyes focused. Your head back and flop your uncontrolled body down unto your bed without even showering, your slip in and out of nausea induced sleep. You close your eyes to pretend that you are falling asleep but you really are awake and simply unable to fall asleep.

You get up to have a long drink of water. You light a cigarette and somehow the taste doesn't define, you feel the early morning nicotine kick come in and you wish you didn't smoke. You look at the pack and you wonder when you actually smoke them. You sit in the big chair facing the television, all that's on are talkshow hosts that simply have nothing else better to do. They embarass yourself to the point of tingling pity in your veins, you feel their shame almost as though you were right beside them.

Everything is dull, everything is guilt and everything is regret. You wish you just stayed home the night before and you feel like you're right again.You wish everything would go away, you wish the guilt would find someone else to stay with.

You wish it would all go away but you're stuck in this terror tunnel. Just another minute, just another second, just another hangover but it will all end soon. It has to, it must and it will all end, eventually.

Seemingly so, without cause or deceit.

It'd been a while, since I stopped writing altogether as a whole. No blog entries, no scripts, no stories, no poetry, no song lyrics. A complete hiatus without any reason, any excuse or any form of separatist ideology. I still wish to keep this blog private, like an unknown luxury. So friends and others who have found this address, I urge you to keep this form of internet liason as silent and as unheard of as you would have it be your own little dream and secret flare.

So, I got accepted into Putnam's Film School. The letter came, a day before I left for Tokyo. Almost like a blessing of sorts for my trip to Japan, thrilled and burning to the tip with curiosity and the thirst of a new enviroment. I'd been looking forward to running away to another country for some sort of escape or retreat of sorts but in no way had Tokyo been in my plans. I actually planned a solitary escape to Thailand's beaches or perhaps to the far reaches of Jakarta. Somewhere that I wouldn't be understood, somewhere insatiable in soaking up the pleasures of being unknown, unheard of and never seen before. As a anomaly of sorts yet welcomed with the utmost of cultural respect and the ehtnicity of the land's origin. I wasn't looking for a prescribed holiday in visiting a country to taste it's ethnic wares or to see it's panoramic mountains.

I was simply looking into being placed or picked up by a mouse cursor from my little Singapore and then flung randomly towards another Asian island of no english or tourist guides whatsoever. I wanted to truly be helpless and stranded, for I believe it is only then that you will truly find the most beautiful and courageous of people.

Tokyo was beautiful, slightly sad contributing to the fact of their lost culture. Being Westernised is one thing but searching so hard to be Westernised is another. Out on the streets you could see, groups of teenagers trying to look as American as they could, so hard. Sporting outrageously dark tans from tanning salons, Ipods, wearing Tshirts with english sentences that made no sense whatsoever. It was pretty sad, to see them subjected to the influence of a change so rapid and so ashamed of their traditional roots that a industry this drastic could earn on the biggest rake in's every year.

The women were traitionally beautiful but they seemed to have the ugliest of dental problems everywhere. Nonetheless, the charm of the Japanese girl's shyness still serves. What I found really interesting as well was the refusal of tourist money of any sort in the prostitution houses. There would be no extra charge or any discount for tourists or 'gaijin' as they call it, there would simply be no service of any sort at all. Respectable I must say, for a country that calls themselves the 'Land Of Gods'.

The shopping Nippombamshi must have been it's best for me. Nearly 4km of shopping districts straight down one long stretch of one entrance and one exit(depending on your choice of return, mine being the Shinnimaechi Subway line). The food? Simply spectacular, for serveral days I found myself simply delighted with the thought of having a beef bowl rice with an uncooked egg poured on the top and left to cook with the steaming rice. There are certain outlets that have seats and others that leave you standing as your slurp down hot noddles and rice.

You know the song Unforgetable? I dedicate that to the food and service of Tokyo and Osaka.

So with the topic of explaining more about Japan out of my mind, I only have a couple of issues left inside. August 13th, commencement of semester 1 in the Putnam School Of Film. When my paycheque is coming in and when will the band startoff again.

Questions, that have no answers bear more harm than a thieving murderer armed with a knife.