| |
 |
|
|
profile
|
|
|
philmstosee photogallery past people places production
|
portraits |
|
NYE Mardi Gras
Your Pride Is Here.
Party on New Year's eve with us - Dykes on bikes, drapes and drags. Dj Danny in the house!
Date: 31 December 2005
leave your inhibitions, discriminations and stereotypes at the door. they're not welcome!
Doggies are welcome.
Ps: Doorbitch is very pretty. Trust Me. (:
*SMS me, danny, 9112 5060 for more information. *cab fare $14.50*
*ponders on the significance of goodwill toward men (or women, in this case)*
*takes out two 10 dollar bills*
"here. keep the change."
*awkward silence and a growing gasp*
"have a wonderful new year!"
*smiles*
*leave*
-------
tomorrow i'll be doing my very first planned shopping spree of this year. for noah's NYE pride party/minimardi gras. its when you get excited a week in advance about what to wear and hows it going to be like that you know the party's gonna be a blast. that'll make up for the sad night i spent alone wishing i went for ferry corsten's set. ugh. FERRY CORSTEN!!!!! got home and couldnt sleep a wink until the sun broke (and a blardy bright sun at it too) and then out of nowhere, i woke up with a start. i had a wet dream and it scared me.
prior to the portion of the dream i am about to reenact, i had another somewhat related portion that i cant totally remember, but it went along the lines of
theres a plague. a plague of the visual representation of the black death. a flood of black water that at a particular time will come and every living thing in its path will die. we escaped it by luck, again, and we fled to see another day."
next thing i knew, i was at some sea ferry port in some island that looked like something off thailand. queueing up to get tickets off the island. i was in a small processing room, with 2 queues, one on the far left with a booth and a very incapable old man in it who handles the first portion of the process--the handing out of personal documentations. Theres a second queue on the right with a fierce looking old man who handles the filling out of the documentations and i suppose the handing out of the passes and visas. the whole place was coated in a hue of dirty yellow and with each passing minute, the crowd gets bigger.
i started getting impatient because it took the old man behind the booth close to 10 minutes to find the documentations for each person, while in that 10 minutes, another 10 people joins the queue. there was impatience in the air and it was mounting rapidly. all the while, i was thinking the black plague was going to get us all at this rate. i had to get off the island before it struck. then as if by affirmation, a tsunami warning order crackles on the intercom system. not black plague, its a tusnami.(wheee, or whew?). herd mentality and within 2 seconds, the ladies all had their panties twisted in untwist-backable knots. the men got loud and rowdy. it became stampede-ish. the old man behind the booth found it very hard to keep up and i knew that if i waited, the queue will be my deathbed. i went all the way to the front and i told the old man right in his face that he couldn't keep up with the crowd, and that he needed help.
i was with 3 other friends and all i could think of was they had to get their documents first. this fat, cratered indian man bulged up to the front and demanded i helped him out since i was now a helper, and i said yes. but within, i couldn't give two shits. i jumped over the booth and got down to looking for the documents. they were all numbered like 21-17 and 52-87 and things like that, 2 of my friends were numbered 52-XX and as i stumbled on boxes and boxes of docs labeled from 12 to 176 (just to give a number) and each folder containing 100s of biodata. and after a very long search i found it. 52. flipped each page in a panicked hurry, but knowing i couldnt afford to carelessly miss their names on the documents. flipping through slowly, with them helpless on the other side of the counter. well, i found it. i found their paper work and i passed it to them, even though there were many other people begging me to pass their documentations to them.
i could see their families in their eyes. i could feel their distress and knowing that they stand helpless and that i could make that difference, it was a horrible feeling. especially coupled with my own distress. but some things come first.
they moved on to fill in their forms in another growing queue as i panicked and looked for mine. 27 or 17 or something like that. i couldnt find it for the life of me. then, some guard came in and said something to the extent of
"too late. the first waves in! we're all too late!"
and it felt horrible that the only thing thats stopping me from taking the boat and staying alive is some crappy piece of document lost in boxes and boxes of other, useless paperwork!!!
i found it. and i grabbed the whole folder labelled '27-XX' or '17-XX' and i jumped over the counter to join my other 2 friends; threw it on the ground, wide open, and frantically searched through the never ending pages upon pages of names of people that were on deaths waiting list. i flipped and flipped and never found anything and it got so bad until i had to ask one my friends to sift through half the remaining pages and by some godsent luck, he found it. i grabbed it, my heart jumped a beat. went over to the guard counter in the other queue, and behind the counter was this blasted, very tanned and old indonesian-lookalike guard that seem like he had nothing else to live for and as such wanted to take other people along with him to his death.
"fill up the form."
i grabbed a pen and i started to write when i realised the front of the pen was missing except the spring and the ink tube, so it bobbled up and down and it was really hard to write with. i told the guard the pen was useless and requested another pen.
"you spoilt my pen. i loaned you my pen and you spoilt it!".
and he took forever to say that while giving me the hardest, most motherly nag face ive ever seen while the only thing on my mind at that moment was 'get me through the goddamn gates with my friends and get me the fuck out of here you dimwit deadend sorry excuse for a human being!'
at which, the guard at the entrance came in with grave news.
"first wave hit! 2nd wave incoming! god bless you all. theres no escape now. theres no escape now....."
and that was ringing through my head as i started filling in the form with a new pen. in my hurry, i signed in the row marked 'name' and wrote my name in the row marked 'sign'.
"you wrote it wrongly. write it again!"
i couldnt for the life of me remember how exactly i felt, but it felt like a bladder full of pee and being unable to release it, somewhat. however, for some unknown reason, this dream always had its last minute saves and i thought there wasnt any reason for that to change. it'll be a close call, i thought, but i'll make it to the boat, and i'll be safe.
filled up the form and offically submitted it, got my green light and ran all the way to the jetty where my friends were patiently waiting for me. and i ran and ran across the very narrow rickety wooden jetty with a little roof attached precariously on many little wooden sticks. it was a beautiful phuketish scenery with turquoise waters and idealic beaches and seagulls, faroff mountains made of trees and off to my left it was the sea, and on the sea was the biggest wall of water rushing right towards us.
it was just sick. i was thinking, ok we can outrun that. the boats still not in sight but by some chance we'll probably have time to reach the boat, grab a seat, strap on, wait for the engine to start, wait for it to slowly reverse and gear into out getaway home even if the seas blocked off by a horrific wall of water rushing towards us faster than car on a highway. its ok it'll be fine! what a thrill!!! i ran and i ran, and that wall loomed in ever closer, ever bigger, ever louder. and i ran. and the wall wiped out the skies. and i ran, and it got deafening. i havent yet seen the boat and and then i slowed down. it hadnt yet hit, but what hit me right there and then was this very dreadful feeling of knowing I AM FUCKED.
i called on to one of my friends, and i cant remember his face nor his name. he looked at me and his eyes were heat-drainingly lucid. i suppose mine was too, with a wall of water right on our asses, our imminence were spelt all too clearly on our foreheads. i held his hand, no wait, i twisted my arms around his arms in a makeshift deadlock but then suddenly i realised with that force about to hit us, we'll probably both break our arms, so i just hugged him, tight, and he hugged me too. and it was a horribly beautiful moment. and i noticed other people just stopped and stared too, but the one that hit me as the saddest was a mother with a litter of little children, all awestruck at the incoming mutant wave. all about to be deadstruck by the incoming mutant wave...
the following portion of the dream kinda fades to boredom so, yeah
and then as if magically, this almost giant tree appeared right by the jetty and the whole scene changed to a busstop somewhere in singapore, submerged partially in phuketish waters. like a scene transition that got called off halfway it was top half busstop with the trees and tree trunks, and the orange/beige busstop roof and clear blue skies, and below were turquoise waters and to my left, a wall of water rushing in ever too close.
and then it hit. i grabbed the busstop stand as did the family, and we held on and somehow, it seemed easier. water levels were rapidly rising and we all had out faces inches from the roof of the busstop. i knew that if we stayed in that busstoop, we'd all be blue bloated bodies by the morrow, and i guided my friend along without words to the tree. it had huge viney growths along its trunk and it was one hell of a thick and long tree. we each grabbed the veins of the tree and climbed up, the water levels hot on our heels and we just climbed and climbed. i looked down and i saw the last of the air bubbles escaping from its busstoproof containment. thats the last of that family, i thought. the veins of the tree was sporadic, and ran in circles spiralling upwards; me and F had to twist and turn and jump up to grab the veins while a very steady flood of water chased after us.
and then it stopped, kinda. the flood subsided, and we climbed down. next thing i knew, i was below my flat looking up to my house wondering what extent of damage it had incurred. i looked at the first floor flats, windows ajar and balconies abused; i didn't want to think what it was like inside. next thing i knew, i entered my house. and it was dryer than a 60year old ahmah who hadnt had any in 60 years. except my mom's room, which had magically grown 3 stories, the top being where the bed is, a flight of steps down to a sorta mezzanine level, and the ground floor where a computer is, all the floors weren't completely connected to the window wall, and a single 3 levelled window with dark blue curtains lay abused, 2 of which were wide open. the curtains were soaked, and the computer was soaked as well.
not that that is important. the dream just swayed from there until i woke up.
i just find it extremely, i mean, EXTREMELY wierd that the 2 people i spent most of the entire dream with had its faces erased to a pixellated blur and their names off my tongue the moment i wake up. like... a secret... ambled back to my room. continued watching The Hours. Windows were opened and a cool drizzle fogged around outside. room began to stink of smoke. paper smoke. irritated. walked to balcony and peered out--fucktard burning money directly below my flat. pseudoroidsrage. marched to kitchen. filled big pail full of water. marched back to room with pail in tow. took aim. poured.
God said "No More Fire, No More Smoke! Not on a Rainy Day, I Spoke!"
smirked. fan turned on full blast. continued to watch The Hours. I've lost the festive mood ever since i realised Santa was nothing more than a sad sod in a red suit just earning the days living (the suit isnt even his and his beergut is just foam) The mass produced plastic trees with accompanying plastic decorations, plastic stars, plastic lights, plastic gifts, plastic smiles and plastic goodwill. Its always been a plastic festival just to satisfy the nacissistic ego of each men to think they are overbound with Generosity and Goodwill.
Its a season that originated in the west and it should just stay there. Bring in the fake snow, bring in the fake reindeers, bring in the fake sleigh and fake rituals of climbing down chimneys.. like how many people in singapore actually have chimneys anyway? Bring in the fake smiles upon receiving gifts as you think of ways to exchange or sell whatever it is you just gotten. Bring in the sales and entice people to spend their money on meaningless endeavors. That's Christmas for me. have a Bloody Christmas. because its nothing more than just a requiem for a dream we celebrate.
But don't let the children know. let them think its something magical and somewhere out there swishing around in a golden sleigh is the very epitome of Generosity and Goodwill called Santa Claus. let them think that if they're bad, they wont be receiving gifts from santa this year. let them think theres magic in the air. let them be disillusioned, as i once was. because to think that such beauty exists in the world once is better than never ever believing it. because to feel the magic of angelic voices and the magic of real smiles and happiness belongs only to the innocent, and baby, you're only innocent until you realise santa is nothing more than a sad sod in a red suit just earning the days living (the suit isnt even his and his beergut is just foam). let them smile in sadness in their aging years because to smile in sadness is tenfold better than to not smile at all.
who are we to unleash the dark secret behind Santa's lovably jolly laughter? its not our right--its the unfortunate heritage of humanity. Have a merry Christmas.
Update:
then today at mac's for supper; i sat down and the large drink of coke magically wobbled off the tray spilling, thank god, off on the floor like eisenstein's blood over the map in strike, after bouncing off my left thigh. if it'd spilt, i'd be walking around with peach tea on my left and coke on my right.
least it gets it cleaner... slob mentality!!! hooozzaahh! i need a maid. any volunteers? :) i want to be brought and coaxed along a TRIP. a trip with no red lights, no troubles, NO HURT. i want to be BROUGHT OUT OF REALITY to float along the fretlines of music; to almost TOUCH THE STARS with imaginary wings; to just experience a TOTAL KARTHARSIS of weighty anchors; to live a moment so EMOTIONALLY CHARGED it can make you cry; to FEEL THE ENERGYy a-mounting and to be INFUSED with it; to let go and go WILD; to SHOUT the skies hoarse; to FEEL the wind blow during a chillout moment with your arms outstretched; to feel cold, CLEANSING rain fall on your face and soak into your clothes; to touch the rain that sparkle like rainbow firecrackers on lasers; to feel ESTATIC.
armin van buuren did that and i am now a fan. 9/10. still can't beat tiesto's 10/10 ;)
i suppose i live for moments such as this. i'm always waiting for my next high, my next trip, something to take me away from the dreary life we lead where doing nothing can lead to senseless boredom and the only way to take that away is to occupy yourself with tiresome and straining work. these highs are like coffee breaks and the occasional carviar on the crackers. these highs like music, like laughter, like, to a certain extent, alcohol, like, unfortunately, love. and unlike alcohol and love, music don't take you high then leave you falling. it just leaves you up there with a gradual, calming featherlike fall.
morale is, don't love. just listen. :) SENSELESSNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MUSIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ZOUKOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! so right across us in the seedy hawker center a small stall blares the tunes of some funky, 70s chinese music accompanied with nothing less than a throng of groggy old people in various stages of sobriety, posture and undress. peanut shells liberally strewn across the then-white acrylic tables as well as trampled grassblades of heineken bottles, mostly emptied, lay about in corners, distorting straight angles and tinting their siliconic visions a hue of leaf green, silently abandoned. accompanied by shrilly voices of jest and goodwill, deep voices of ideas and memories, wrinkles of old age and sparkling eyes of happiness and...to a certain extent, youth.
i told lims and yanie that one day when we reach that stage, we'd have little midnight parties with funky oldies playing on obsolete media players like those people. we'll be old and groggy, and in various stages of sobriety, posture and undress. we'd liberally strew peanut shells across then-then-white acrylic tables and will leave trampled grassblades of heineken bottles, mostly emtied, no less, in corners. we'll give voices to the shrills of jest and goodwill and voices to the depths of ideas and memories. we'd be wrinked with old age but our eyes will always sparkle happiness and...to a certain extent, youthfulness.
and our kids will be the legacy of the idea that they'll never, ever be fuddy duddy like their parents. that they'll never be old and groggy and in various stages of sobriety, posture and undress. that they'll never strew peanut shells liberally across then-then-then-white acrylic tables... you get the picture. it only takes a moment of clarity and maturity to realise that is where you'll be headed, one day, like it or not, regardless of class.
i just got a call from my grandmother looking for me. she speaks a very cheena mandarin and as it is with my horrid mandarin, i found it extremely uncomfortable to hold a conversation with her. not only that, i've never had a proper conversation with her to begin with; only skimming the surface with the likes of 'er..hello... zhai zian', 'ni hao mah?', 'wo ma bu zhai', 'wo ba ye bu zhai'. today she giggled when i told her i just got back from school and that i've eaten dinner. she told me to eat properly and to take care of myself since my parents weren't around. she mentioned a dinner on the 12th of december at my aunt allister's place (i had to ask her 4 times just to get all the information right) and if i weren't too busy, i should go down to socialise.
she never spoke to me that way before and she never ever expressed those feelings and emotions to me before. i felt as if for a moment i understood her and for a moment i knew where she was coming from and she knew where i was coming from too. i felt like i've finally in my life connected with a grandparent. and when she told me to take care and said her byes, i was left thinking for a minute. barely believing the conversation i had. not a bad thing i suppose. that's one more relative to cry for when she leaves. that's one more relative to remind me i'm 23 now, not 18. to remind me of my mortality and my imminent destination. to remind me that one day, i'll be groggy and in various stages of sobriety, posture and undress with age on my skin but with eyes that will sparkle happiness and...to a certain extent, youthfulness. BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME! BE HONEST WITH ME!
is that too hard to ask of? i can take honest heartbreak. i can't take a dishonest heartbreak.
song playing: new radicals - someday we'll know I just got home and i noticed the sky had this one big grey cloudmess just hovering above my area. It's raining now, and pretty heavily at it too. Just like everyother thing in my life. it's raining inspiration now, inspiration borne of tragedy. Maybe that explains the bible left open on my table right at Psalms 23, the bible which i vaguely remember opening to 5am in the morning, intoxicated with vodka and sake. So, i figure its high time i wrote down my christmas wishlist:
All i want for Christmas is Someone to hug.
God help me, i'm just a crumbling mess of inspiration. But as usual, you never hear my cries. No, everything won't be alright. Not now. Unless Santa delivers. the last sentence just blew it.
oh just tease me won't you.
i'm so psychic i can't believe i fell for this.
today, i didn't want to get up because the moment of waking was amazingly blissful.
today is a day like none other,
random picture of the day - ruixin in the uttermost ridiculous posture in the Blue Room. but i guess that's what aural expeditions do to people. i still love you. :)
r kelly - happy people
alan parson project - eye in the sky taken and twisted from Milan Kundera's The Book of Laughter and Forgetting (1996).
-----------------
i can love a song and i can play it on endless loops and just get high on it, i can know the lyrics down to each syllable and imitate each vocal fluctuation(?) but i still don't know the song. i love it but i don't feel it. i sing it but the words reflect off a semigrey surface. i understand it, but i don't really understand it. it's like living the song on a superficial level; i see you there with your valleys and your lakes, but i don't see the roots thats hold the vegetation together, i don't see the organisms that populate the waters. i don't see.
but when you've lived it; dived below, the surface and see that new world down there; when you've lived it, the song lives in you. feel the linger, feel the sway. there shouldn't be a sentence you don't understand, and it all makes perfect sense. perfect sense, not anything less.
and i want to live it. i want to know my songs, and love them all the more. i want to understand the human psyche and the tumultous relationship we have with life. i want to understand because if i do not, i will not have lived.
-------------------
perhaps my biggest obstacle is being unable to be systematic and organized. being unable to pen thoughts down in a coherent manner that flows like the nile to a fitting ending into the sea. but if jerome would allow me the pleasure of blogging this bit, i'd be estatic.
there comes very sudden points in life you start thinking. like an invisible catalyst that randomly strikes us the atoms in this very atomic world. today, it got me and rome, and this sudden surge of information and questions and almost-divination is just threatening to explode from the core of my being so explosive so revealing, so... alive. uncovering the layers and layers of mysteries and unanswered questions that lie dormant and held behoof for other worldly endeavors and superficial hassles. but what are worldly endeavors and persuits of material wealth if you abandoned your soul, when it meant you fade away, just remnants of nothing to keep your soul alive? that dead soul?
do life's slavewhip that submits all but the dreamers hold such sway? such, might i say, lifethreatening appeal? i'd like to be a dreamer then, for dream of wants and fancies that might never be but always with that possibility to be far outweights the forced oblivion of dreams that might sting to the touch, like bugbitten, turn twiceshy. i could never.
we can't exist like that, no, we can't just exist. (i will not go into a whole debate on nietzche's will to power) we can't just 'be' for being alone had its genes wiped out. it's a state of being that kills. i would like to think that the sweet taste of the apple to feed my hungry self would justify biting into but a possibility of a disgusting worm--who with the next clean bite and spits later would linger no more then the burn of horseradish. but i have to eat for in this lifetime i will never satiate my hunger. enjoy the joyride; immerse myself in the pleasures of my partner and the whiff of his afterscent, but feel the burn of hatred and apathy and a broken heart that is but a possibility, and nothing more than just that. look to the future and take all lifes roses and its thorns in stride.
or watch it from afar if you never want to feel it. to experience it and go through life's sickest slushpits. but never tasting the sweet apple. going through life asking questions of longing and regret and be hurtfully wanting of stagnancy and constant voyages to past days long gone and died.
if this be the case, i want to dream--to wake up from a dream that lingers on like an exciting afterscent; never knowing what it is, or why it is; something so magical, like stardust--experiencing it like a caught swordfish and making it all mine. and then i'll smile.
because i have the will to make this dream come true. You.
(that You was blatently pinched from rome's blog but hey, You is You and You are all mine.) why? i can't quite understand.
eventually blown in the wind unlike a floating pollen but like victims of atomic afterblasts. each petal detaches without colour, without scent, with scars of hatred and regret. each thorn succumbing to the onslaught as it bends twicefold around like the devil's horns. each stem broken off like dreams that shall forever remain dreams, of longing that will forever be incessant.
of a rose that now lies as dull, sullen ash scattered ungracefully, scattered like a broken heart on cold asphalt.
must it always come to this? must i always conjure fleeting images blood red petals that never fade, of thorns that never bend and stems that never break? that hangs lovingly tied together with ribbons of peaches and twine of earth? as a physical memory that still exudes the beauty of what it once was, never entirely faltering, never entirely missing?
i'm lost. are you? the silly things people do once they get their hands on a digital camera lost in some office in the middle of the night with too much time on their hands.
song playing now: madonna - hung up
if you
linger by the cranberries i met a guy (lets call him Gabriel) online in a gay chat channel, and so coincidentally, he happenened to be looking for a freelancer to do a corporate video of (an organisation) alumni recruitment drive. being a film student with love of doing such things, and getting paid as well, i agreed to meet him to conceptualize and work towards a working idea.
anyway, to make a long story short, i met him, we conceptualized an idea, and then we began to talk. as he drove me home after dinner, we talked about homosexuality and how we live this life in a christian context. he had recently broken up with his boyfriend of 7 years because he refused to convert to christianity. of course, me being a backslidden, struggling and almost antipathic christian by name only, i had my many doubts that it was even remotely possible. in fact, it all seemed almost alien to me.
here's what i thought previously - i was unsure as to where i stood with God, being gay and being totally oblivious to his words. in a biblical context, i stand in hell. it was past a problem of sexual disorientation and how 'you can change if you put your mind to it! you can be straight!'. this is who i am. i am danny, and i am gay. nothing you say and do can change my sexual orientation because it's as natural as it gets. i guess i never really wanted to confuse myself so i never broached the matter much. i have never heard God speak to me even in my direst moments in prayer.
the conversation with Gabriel left me a struggling mess as to my existance and to my place in this world, my stand with God and my purpose in life. i was emotionally and spiritually wrecked. and i have never, never ever felt this way in my entire life. i had wanted to feel God's love before, to be with God and so many many times i never got an answer from him. I never got a reply. I felt as if i was talking to a wall and it was frustrating. but it had never, never ever left me feeling as uncertain and as little as i did tonight.
i woke my mom up and i told her about it (yes, she knows i'm gay) and i poured out my heart and my confusion to her and pleaded she pray for me, pleaded to God for an answer, a reassurance to make me whole again. and as she interceded for me, everything, everything just poured out of me, out of my eyes. All those years of uncertainty and fear and problems that i kept inside, kept inside so secreted and hidden within just poured out my eyes.
And God was beautiful. He reassured me that he loves me still! and he had loved me since i was born, nothing ABSOLUTELY nothing can change his love for me, isn't that wonderful??? it doesn't matter if you're gay, if you've sinned or if you've commited such henious crimes unpardonable by mortal governments, in God's eyes, you're his child and you're beautiful, and he loves you still. Such, beautiful, unconditional love!
and even more than that. God, though my mother, gave me the strength to do all i wanted to do. i had been uncertain and fearful of many other matters - unsure of my abilities to do good jobs and if i can deliver, but even though i never told my mother anything, she gave me the reassurances from God as if i had told her everything! God told me to just do it, because whatever it is, he'll be with me and i'll be successful because God had it planned so long ago! I will be the piper that walks along the street, and I will be that beacon of hope for people worldwide, i will break chains and bondages because of my simplicity and honesty, and i will be God's instrument to lead many, many more lives to him! Praise God!
i was beyond tears, immersed in amazement at her declaration and reassurances, and God really touched me tonight. I feel Loved, and I feel reassured to live a whole, fulfilling life again.
I cannot thank you enough Lord for this nothing short of divine intervention is really, really the only thing I can need now.
in addition, i am officially coming out now. to those people i haven't trusted enough to tell you i'm gay. i suppose the only reason i didn't because you might be homophobe, and i'm really not prepared to encounter an unfavourable reaction. but if God can love me for who I am, I can love you enough to bare my soul to you. If God can trust in me and my abilities even though i am not perfect, i can trust in you enough to tell you this - to you Gavin, Kiera, Sheryl, Joel, Jaime, Jiron especially. Sorry i doubted you.
and i'm bared now. It's all off my chest. God bless all of you and may his peace and mercy follow you forever and ever.
and that i did.
but then all the while within me lies an uncertainty. lies the breached line of ethics and morality. i shouldn't, i shouldn't, i shouldn't be doing this. it's ethically wrong because you're not mine to take. you've been taken and i grasped air. don't tease me please tell me. can you be mine or am i just the fool in love? don't tell me please tease me. i don't want this moment to ever end.
you make me smile and i love you for that. i've not smiled in so long. and for so long have i not felt that fluttering within that just radiates all the goodness god has to offer us. it radiates from your smile, mingwei - you radiated me. tony and karin (ex 'h' coy pc & his girlfriend), uhm... some ex recruits here and there. and of course the resident superbitch, az.
food was great - catered (no, not SFI), along with ordered pizzas and a couple of barbeques going on. pests were many and varied: mosquitoes, ants and a passing hormonally raging guy now and then. me and ash got az a really nice handphone bling with the words SUPERBITCH spelt out nicely in shining silver. he loved it, duh. anyhow, i spent most the time inside the hut cuddling quite the lifeless puppy and making random conversations with tony and ash. until me and ash decided to leave after 10pm. so silly us walked out all the way to the main line - the beach line sign specifically stated bus services ended at 7pm, and the road was closed off anyhow. so we walked down and after a while realised... that we didn't know where we were.
ambled off to the beachside in search for fine powder sand and we talked, and i recalled how on that fateful day in vancouver beach, kevjn, myself and michelle were chilling and stargazing, while overlooking a beautiful cityscape. and then it happened. from the gazillions of tiny particles that made up the star-studded sky coalesced a shimmering dull neon green, almost transluscent satin-like cloud that almost seem to be hovering over us in a semi-real state. it was nothing short of enthralling as minds worked hard to figure out what the fuck that thing was.
and then it hit us: the aurora borealis.
the aurora?! all the way down at vancouver??! whoaaaa! and i saw it! it faded off almost as fast as it formed for in less than 5mins we were led to believe we just mass-hallucinated, walking back to the car in a semizombie state, word of that hour being 'wow!'.
and then i recalled another time somewhere in either central USA or canada, we (me, my dad, and kevjn) were driving in the dead of night in search of a b&b we could bunk in. the area we were in was extremely rural, habitation along the lines of one per mile. pine forests lined the deserted roads for miles and then somewhere along that journey we noticed something really unusual. the sky was nothing like we had ever seen before - star specked, the sky almost glowed an eerie dull white. just endless formations of stars over stars over stars, like half the galaxy was within sight. Even the milky way. EVEN THE MILKY WAY! kevjn blasted the cd we were playing (namely a song called Northern Lights by Lux) and we got up on the roof of the car that bulked under our weight as we, as singaporeans know so little about, chilled. for the good duration of the song, until a suspicious hair-raising rustling of the forests next to us prompted our quick escapade out the area. but, until today, i've never chilled as i had that day.
beautiful memories aside, we decided to head back to the huts and embarassingly ask az if he had enough room for an additional 2 stragglers.
ash: "lemme weight the pros and cons. i think i'll call a cab."
so we called a cab. got the cab number, sat down and waited. and after casual inspection of the beach line sign, to our himbotic horror, discovered that above that 7pm deadline sign we were looking at previously, it stated in small lettering
sundays to thursdays 10am - 10pm
1AM?!?! WE CALLED A CAB ALREADY! WHAT THE HOLY FUCK? it didn't quite help that the cab driver lost his way - he couldnt find the beach car park along siloso where our asses kissed floor for too long. thank god i managed to catch the last train home.
and then today, my mom came in my room and very strangely, asked me
mom "danny, i have 3 forks missing. are they in you room somewhere? can you help me to search and find it?"
like HUH? 3 forks missing and you suspect me! wah lao!
and then i went into the kitchen and this whole display of immaculately placed shining cutlary and china (ok... worn cutlary and porcelain plates) just looked back at me like kangaroo kenna spotlight. were we having a party i didn't know about? oh no. wait. my aunt and her norwegian mate, my stepsis and stepbrother along with his family (and his damned kids!) were coming over for dinner.
panic. the last time those kids came over, they almost tore me a new behind and katherine looked like a tame donkey in comparison to what they did to my room. can't be that bad now, i thought. america for 3 years shouldve tamed them somewhat. at least, i hoped.
max was better. he's now aspiring to outgrow me. heightwise. alex blew up - now he looks like rosycheeked mashmallow. now that cute little girl who sucked pacifiers in prams last i remember have grown into a beautiful almost hawaiian ingenue. and she couldnt help but take everything in my room (including my hair) and reordered it in the most disorganasized disorganisation i've ever deconstructed. that little beautiful devil. thank god i hate kids or i'd have let her throw dear slumbers into the bin and torn my wallet to bits. sis, once again, came over and pirated my pirated mp3s into her spankin' new nokia phone. along with 2 burnt CDs.
i guess a once in a year reunion is good. perhaps. meeting up again with people in your life, and knowing them, seeing how people change with each passing year. like, damien might be bunking over my place for the 6 weeks that my parents will be off to australia. that'll be pretty cool, and payback for that 1 week of hell i gave him when i stayed over his place after i ran away from home. like how my little hawaiian niece will grow up to be the dream of every straight men's, no, teenager's pants and how i'd have to protect her from those hungry wolves.
school will be starting today. and well, i'm kinda looking forward to it. i've 2 production classes this semester, that should get my blood going.
as well as a dinner date with you which i'd count the minutes for. and heres a picture of postparty at vivien's bbq pit that was very unceremoniously adjourned to ponggol park IN THE MORNING, towed along by bikes with bent wheels and skateboards on springs with iceboxes piled ontop, and a very scary looking edwina on top as it slides down slopes. and we went to the playground. theres vivien and shikin living their belated childhoods.
oh my.
anyone takers for this giant vacancy? ;) 1. A DOSBOX. this nifty little program allows a user with an advanced version of windows (2000, XP etc) to emulate a 386/486 computer for the purposes of running programs like reallllly old school games.
2. A SHITLOAD OF OLD SCHOOL GAMES. namely,
so, i got sick of old school games and started playing dota again. too much nostalgia can make one really sick. and then,
3. THANG ONLINE - i started playing online games. this game sucked.
4. CONQUER ONLINE - and this one has funny graphics that don't work well with slumbers. out.
5. KNIGHT ONLINE - this one's not bad. reminds me of world of warcraft. in fact, thinking in retrospect, i'd rather be playing world of warcraft than this free crap. keira has an active account and has been bugging me to play. but 4gig installation + updates = many fucking hours of installation = not fun so fuck it.
and then i remembered i have bit torrent. :)
6. FINAL FANTASY VII ADVENT CHILDREN - holy moley! this animation's probably the best i've seen so far. but alittle to 'motherly' for my taste haha! and i was kinda expecting to see other entities like shiva or ramuh (is it ramuh? or was that FFIII) maybe even knights of the round. bahamut was such a failure. and cloud looks wierd. theres really something with these japanese people, like all the villains are androgynes. what's up nigga?
7. BEWITCHED - Doesn't do justice to the series.
so. that's about it. zouk opening later today. should i go? or should i ghoul? good lord. this entry's so superficial. "wah but mike's face scary ah. later he push you, you fly dunno go where. go KL ah." - shikin, on mike's outburst the day before.
having filled a Newater bottle with a blend of orange cordial and water, "want some newater? oh wait. this batch didn't pass inspection. i'm sorry." - me
"how peggy are you?" "peggy peg?" - everybody's talking about peggy goh.
"peggy, can you pass me the pegs?" - again, everybody, on peggy's pegs. . . . . . . . . . . . YAY FOR EXTENDED ERP HOURS!.........
slumbers slumbers
so i look like a bleeding local now. my mom says i look like a red indian. i say no fuck i dont. and then i look into the mirror and then i say what the fuck. aiyah! same! same! but different!. give me a couple days to stop peeling then i'll see the world again. aiyah! who cares!
food was good. people was good. company was great. weather was beautiful. sea was gorgeous. riding motorbikes illegally was p r i c e l e s s. actually no it isn't. 150bhat for a whole day rental of the bike. that's about $6 bucks. no helmet? ok loh. no basic theory? ok loh. no how to ride bike? ok loh. no how to brake? ok loh. haha i loved it.
it was really nice how everyone in my family was simultaneously out of the house at that moment in time; me being in thailand, parents up in the camerons and kevjn down under in melbourne. prior to that, the monotony of existance in relation to interfamily ties was almost unbearable. like, hi bye yes no maybe so fuck off leave me alone. like the beauty of life just deteriorated like a weathered rock. cracked and iced, and cracked, and iced and then it just breaks. wheres the life in that? wheres the love in that? wheres the worth of it? take a breather. go for a trip.
and then just cry, and sing it out loud the words that you just burst to say. because once again the brass has been oiled and the tables dusted. once again the haze has been lifted and from the remotest atoms surrounding you shouts the beauty of life and its worth living and loving. :)
same, SAME! but different!
song playing now: beach boys - i get around song playing now: coldplay - fix you i digress. and i guess i'm always the sucker for emotional... intermissions. knowing you can churn out brilliance on the ivory piano keys. knowing the mist that settles in the morning is food for millions. knowing, just knowing.
and wishing. that maybe i can be more than i am, maybe i should find my other half, and maybe i can be god. a god. in not the ethereal sense but kinda like in a gump way.
and then the sun starts shining and fuck. it's time to go school do recording. ka ni na!
this is the only song i ever wrote. it's dull but sense it with your eyes and your nose and your skin...
dusky sunday afternoon
grasscutters hum on
i did mention once that people come and they go, but i forget to mention that everyone of them leave prints on you like you were a graffiti wall, and these inks don't erase easily. for them, they've painted my walls an indistinguishable hue of too many emotions and too long reels of expressions im practically a museum exhibition hall.
much love, people. even if i don't really show it.
song playing now: simon & garfunkle - scarborough fair
i guess old lady luck sitting up in the banyan tree smoking her stale pipe just exhaled a puff. the tendrils of her insidious smoke cajoled me and i lay on the knifeboard like a volunteer forced to pose for the knife thrower; will i be skewered or will i be glorified? and this time, i got skewered.
and so it ends here, the 2nd-in-line in life; caught in depthless shadows and swaying words of researchers. i will never do well. will i? will i climb that banyan tree and demand my piece? to claw a hole in the tunnel of life and for a moment stop and say this is my life and i shall make it, in my infinite determination, however i wish? to scoff in the faces of the almost physical entity that claims itself luck but yet just another nonfactor that cannot be altered, cannot be deceived yet alters, and deceives? timberlake says, cry me a river. sharon ismail insists i have angst, and i insist otherwise. perhaps, perhaps and i exhale as promist filters glaze my retinas as the bus rumbled on slowly along avenue 4, the lurk of encroaching haze like the built pressure of an unstable pistol and the sun hides behind the veil, like the cried victim to an impending massacre. the massacre that steals not the body, but the mind. steal, stole. stolen. away into safe, warm abodes and hide me there proclaiming that i will not be her servant, that vile woman who sits astride the banyan tree like the very devil herself. no, i will not. kiss my ass, bitch.
in a while, crocodile
need a breather, old kingfisher
and despite my recent haitus and then some, the unwillingness to pen the mind's eye, her words chopped me up and i felt this compellation to write this entry. despite what little of the 5 hours i have until a certain McSwain's 'test to beat all tests', the involuntary fluttering of the eyelids with semiglaze setting in and a pronounced weakness everywhere.
"well baby, just know that you have friends who you can talk to anyday (namely ME) and know that there are people out there who loves you just as you are, and wouldn't want you to change. not the slighest bit. well, maybe the hairstyle... ok fine. said a gazillionth time and lost it flavour tricefold since a billion years ago, but just be yourself. you can't not possibly not be. but he is your dad after all so just take things in stride and not think about it so much, at least not until this semester is good and done with. i'll catch up with ADs if you do. yes and i mean it!"
randomics. a certain tan kok zheng, damien of primary 1D Anglo-Chinese Primary School (Coleman Street) back in yesteryear sometime, he who lives at cornwall and hold big birthday parties, he who coloured my adolescence with his eccentricities and quirks, he who thinks hes the lady's man when hes just uh, not, but we give way anyhow, has a BLOG! http://www.xanga.com/onsomeothershite go check it out. will update in blog links as soon as semester is over.
song playing now: Class 95fm @ 0320am 'I hate myself.'-T.
and how it've collectively seeped into the psyche of them just like a phenomenon gone awry.
Friends. Lovers. Crushes. Infatuations. All these are all history now. All that is left.. is like after a war. Backstabbing, controlling land, mergers of power.-A.
as i sit on the sidewalk, watching. i want to cry. i want to laugh. i want to hug you and tell you it's all going to be fine because it really will.
Steel cuts, shears snip.
but it passes. as the march of time relentlessly swing hard the pendulum of the person to the other end.
thanks man thanks.somehow im just confirmed that my intuition is right.i am in the wrong too.really-i din fucking slap u.if u wanna fucking fuck me up,come straight to me,we'll trash it out.rest assured i will.dun fucking go bitching about me.-P.
who am i to decide?
watever i've seen i'm heartbroken. my heart is breaking. it's a stab in my heart. a very very painful stab tho i never know how a stab feels like.-R.
who am i to cry for the world in a world that cries for no man?
the last time gavin came back the telephone just got invented. so finally that partialfilipino ne'er'thoutaneartoeargrin jolly old giant misbought a flight back and is back amongst those-who-he-once-mooned, as per his namesake. de luna. more aptly de lunatic. the world is once again an louis armstrong world of wonder and beauty. so he called and i once again, afterforsolong, lost my way past sixth avenue into the mishmash of pretty streets to a memorious coronation road west with old colonial houses with green fences fixed by wild teenage boys. time, it seem, had forgotten that house, down to almost rusty workout equipment and minigolf matt in almost the photograph laced in thick layers of untouched dust. so there we sat in the porch, in exactly the manner nearly a halfdozen years ago that nearly killed our livers and sanity; with gavin, keira and sheryl, an icebucket and too much talk. how funny is it that the world is now an unwitting audience to the dramatics of the now apparently consequencial, the once thought simplicity of the removing of a blog link could be such an utter fucking pain in the bamboozled nincompoop?! and i was thrown into a dark corner of street where-the-tongue-has-no-words as i quite embarassingly shuffle the shit into the dirt with the hind of my feet while whistling the foxes homes. no. seriously. huh?
dave matthews band - crash into me "throat cancer."
that little scene replayed in the bamboozled cranium of mine as i took a shower, very debilitatingly pondering on its significance. the abject horror of that little irony is that i wasn't the slightest bit perturbed by it; not even a distantly vague slowing of the heartbeat. i think this highway of self destruction just lost its exits as i sit in the fair lady, brakes clogged up by an indifferent self and the speedo hitting swifts of 5000km/h.
and that's second on my agenda. first is to finish up my one thousand word assignment that ive so gleefully neglected in place of, shall i say, fletching. if you get what i mean.
song playing now: beatles - cry baby cry went to jumbo seafood. and i experienced a weird ass dejavu that got me grinning from ear to ear in the bus en route. there was this long stretch of road divided by a huge ass stretch of grass and this resort place at the opposite end, in almost the exact same manner which i remember post-ex longstrike bus ride back to camp in taiwan. except i was clad in fatigues soiled with mud and damp with rainwater, with an equally dirty rifle between my legs with a stinking helmet resting on the barrel, a fieldback and skeletal battle order taking up 2/3s of my buttrest, dripping with mud and rainwater in my socks, going squishsquish whenever i take a step and falling fast asleep with camouflage paint on my face in a bleedingly cold bus interior. this time, i was just grinning like a kid with kandy.
parents are decided to sell our 5room to suppliment kevjn's honours education. don't know what to think. i never thought i'd hear the day. and now that i've heard it, i can't visualise it because i've not planned on ever visualising it. sigh. what a climax.
on a better note, ive booked flights to phuket and bangkok for this september at a ridiculously cheap rate. thats 2 days at phuket, 2 days at bangkok, 3 flights inbetween and with accomodation, it comes up to about $350. :) that's something to look forward to with jaime and joel.
song playing now: war - why can't we be friends before this feeling of nausea hits a climax and i puke all over the keyboard, i want to bash up some people to a fucking bloody pulp and then soup and then into the ground.
holy shit i must be getting pms.
song playing now: offspring - the kids arn't alright and im too tired to talk anymore.
such is my dilemma i don't even think it's vaguely funny. it's not even within the bounds of normality. or maybe it's just because the threshold that lets normal really is in the eye of the beholder, and me, let's just say i don't have any band pass on. should i be tolorant of they who have? should i even bother?
i should know. to be looked wierd upon is as chorous as yawning. but i hold no grudges, no i really don't. live and let live. forget and forgive. but the reconsiliation portion of this equation is never without a strategically placed whopee cushion. until you can look past that, maybe then can i truly claim to have been past the threshold and back.
in egression, i apologise for i ca |
