april 2004

i am so attached to joni mitchell now i do not even need to hit play. it is on automated loop in my head. i hear her singing, so i hum her words.

i think it unfortunate that a lot of my best writings were worn from my states of dejection. does this mean that if i am happy, i cannot write? if van gogh had been happy and well-adjusted he might've quite a different use for the brush and paint. like for brick walls in even shades. and he'd be doing it in old jumpers, with a cap. whistling bon jovi.

i am wiling away the hours now on idle hands and even more idle thoughts. i cannot seem to find it in me right now to write of my love, because (and i find, to my own horror) i have adapted. to this environment, to this schedule, to this frame of things. or maybe it's just not saturday yet. because when it is, i might start expecting. and expecting girlfriends (not that kind) have superlative potential to evolve into disappointed girlfriends. which of course then turns tricky.

whenever i depress i hate myself. because in it, i become ugly. then everything and everyone else becomes ugly because they are reflections of me. of my anger, my loss. i would wish it away of course. the pain is blinding. there are days when all i could do is cling to my bed. but it is on my bed that i lose control. i forget that sometimes. my cigarettes are my only sanity. they anchor me, dull the trembling that displaces my heart.

and then there is here. i am not lost right now. not dejected. not despondent. i am not empty.

ayah's in a foul mood. and when he is, he picks on me. it's easy to. there are only about 5734 things wrong with my administration in this house - my room, my CD rack, my bed, my books, my clothes, my sleep schedules, my mugs etc et al. and it hadn't helped that when i came on and said hey, you logged off. now, i am paranoid.

wot's up with this morning? did my father receive revelations of the corruptions of my soul? how his daughter's flesh is putrid with all the banes of religion? eh fuck lah.

nin requested for the full lyrics to A Case of You, and i have indulged her. and since it is still on my loop right now (the way it manages to reconvene with me once every few months) i thought i might like to share it. just hit play. enjoy.

how I am starting to measure my days with rations of coins never adding up to 2 dollars, packets of fags and the amount of distilled spirits I have, have not or will, consume. How I'm starting to divide my days into hours and minutes and seconds before I finally see you, before I go home.
When I wake up later for work, I hope I find my control before I find my coffee. Because if that doesn't happen before the caffeine already hits and my eyes actually open long enough for me to see the empty styrofoam cup infont of me and come into terms with the obscenity of routinelife, the day will again merely dissolve into divisions on the face of the clock, every minute passing, a point proven -
that my life, this entire while, has been utterly, frighteningly, meaningless.
That all along, I was just taking part in a long, unmoving queue - that I've always been and will always be the one waiting.
One big, unending wait.
- trent, 28th april

do you know joni mitchell's case of you? in it she tells of her lover and how much he intoxicates her.

i could drink a case of you, darling
but i would still be on my feet
oh i would still be on my feet

apparently not that much. would you have a different interpretation? i have mulled over her words for the past two years but it only hit me in this entry. writing can be such clarity.

it was ayah's birthday yesterday. which i have completely forgotten to mention until now. i don't suppose public birthday wishes on online journals you keep milleniums away from anyone remotely family anyway quite makes up for your lack of fortitude for filial piety... does it? no. i didn't think it did.

we ate at a wholesome, MUIS-endorsed balinese restaurant, where mama displays her traverse into schoolgirl by musing over everything. in cheer that is only hers amongst our pack. so that in order to entertain her we all end up discoursing the benefits of buffet vs ala carte, and whether patrons should be allowed to pack their food home. lol. my mama.

when the desserts came mama and i pushed ours to ayah and picked on his instead. because ours were profuse with santan. pure, coagulated, condensed santan. mine must have been the most fattening chendol within a 20-klik radius. so much for being the birthday boy.

on our way to the esplanade, mama mentioned my childhood in passing again. the second time in two weeks. last week, watching cute baby animal childhoods on channel 10 prompted mama to start on mine.

well ma i woke up and found out i was alone at home. wot did you expect me to do? i mean, i was 5 sia. you never told me where you'd be.
yes but how you can remember to call the police also i don't know. you were 5 mind you and you dialed 999. i terperanjat you know, come home from pasar see big singh policeman outside my door.
serve you right ar! leave me alone some more!

eh you ar! on the first day of kindergarten you asked the teacher "teacher when are we going to start learning?"
i did wot?!
yes. budak lain kat situ tengah melalak kau tanya cikgu bila nak start belajar. belom masok mass comm mulut dah gelitis.
i don't remember saying that!!
your teacher told me.

your life's always most magic when you stand at half a metre, head to toe. and it's funny how my mother remembers. because it will only ever be narrated maybe twice in my lifetime. i've forgotten the most of it, but my mother's memory of my days at half a metre, will remain as sharp as a fox. she is my mother. and i am her child.

i chanced upon paul surfing through trey and her space, and i fell for his biting wit. so i begged to link him. his is the latest initiate. by the way, i can't seem to be scrolling my shoutbox. is it stuck along its own pipe? can anyone else scroll? pah.

i went to bed and got back up because i remembered there was something that needed attending to. i am the establishment of the master procrastinator, because up till then i had been online for 7 hours, but i simply had to have left said pressing matter (committed to my glorious fields of memory, or lack thereof) to its absolute tethered ends. so that its exigence is forced to announce itself. after i turn in.

so i trudge back out. after the deed is done, i dropped by the mess that is my sent folder (yes i keep the emails i send), and started cursorily checking all my baby, then transferring them to... my... baby folder. well wot else did you think i'd name it? pfft.

which reminded me of that other folder, under that other yahoo handle (oh the thrill of multiple accounts) that is home to gems of another period.

and then there is one more. massive in its bulk. containing the copious flows of idealistic love. prose that spilt over keyboard, then flung delirious into the convenience that is technology. there would've prolly been close to two hundred of them collectively. carelessly strung first with arrogant enamoury... then later, after the pain that is loss... with silent, despaired abandonment.

it is lost in all its entirety now. i spoke to it in my catharsis, because only it would listen to me. it paved my journey into my numbness (which back then, translated to almost painlessness... as opposed to painful). and then, as it grew weary, i deleted the mass of it to move on.

i would've moved on with or without it, of course. so that now i regret my dramatic march of action (aku kan drama mama). i threw away the only tangible pictures of the products of my first love.

postscript: i've only realised that my entries were sporadically shifting shades. they're back to their pure whites now. there is something dasdardly evil ~~with~~ about the dimensions of a laptop screen. *eyes lappy suspiciously*

wot do you call a handsome, well built, intelligent guy who knows everything about women?
i dunno. gay?
a rumour.

babes, that was the best i've heard in ages =D and since jamal found his "alright dad now go home" a little more delightful, might i suggest you re-evaluate (and remodel while you're at it) your yardstick with regards to your "contention of wits"? ekhekehehke...

nisa lavishes upon us, stills of the all-impassioned yorke. and she does so with such relish. so in tribute to the comely air of radiohead and all they carelessly inject, i'm putting up some of my old favourites.

Your Suicide.. by Konstantine
Your Name/Username
Favorite Number?
Favorite Color?
Gender?
How will you commit suicide?	You will drown yourself
How many tries will it take?	40
When will you commit suicide?	October 17, 2044
What will your suicide note say?	The munchkins made me do it!

Created with the ORIGINAL MemeGen!

If I were a month I would be :: december
If I were a day of the week I would be :: friday
If I were a time I would be :: 0100 hours
If I were a planet I would be :: pluto
If I were a sea animal I would be :: a dolphin
If I were a direction I would be :: east
If I were a piece of furniture I would be :: my bed
If I were a historical figure I would be :: james dean
If I were a liquid I would be :: a drop of fresh ocean
If I were a stone, I would be :: a pebble off a cliff
If I were a tree, I would be :: the tallest one there is
If I were a bird, I would be :: a swallow
If I were a tool, I would be :: a screwdriver
If I were a flower/plant I would be :: a spider lily
If I were a kind of weather I would be :: raining
If I were a mythical creature I would be :: a fairy
If I were a musical instrument I would be :: a drum
If I were an animal, I would be :: a cat
If I were a color, I would be :: deep rich blue
If I were an emotion, I would be :: melancholy
If I were a vegetable, I would be :: french bean
If I were a sound, I would be :: silence
If I were a song, I would be :: big muff's my funny valentine
If I were a book, I would be written by :: wally lamb. or john irving.
If I were a food, I would be :: soup. any soup.
If I were a place, I would be :: the woods on clear autumn days
If I were a material, I would be :: the tshirt on your back
If I were a taste, I would be :: melted. on your tongue.
If I were a word, I would be :: arrogant
If I were an object, I would be :: a glass ball
If I were a body part I would be :: hair
If I were a facial expression I would be :: thoughtful
If I were a subject in school I would be :: english
If I were a number I would be :: 8

fuck. i am alternating between a paroxysm and lurking around nin's. girl you give me strength to write.

do u reside only in my dreams
i dreamt he came to me last nite.
smiled n came closer.
put his hand on my chest n said
"what is dat hole in ur heart?"
not waiting for an answer,
he kissed me knowingly.
before he left,
he said "strength sweetie,
a lot of strength".
- nin, 17th april

sometimes it shames me when i bemoan the logistics of my love so indulgently in so public a manner. because my thoughts always run back to you nin. then they linger. it upsets me that i can hardly get enough, but baby for you to still hang on, for him to still rock you in the quiet arms of sleep... i know wot it means to pine, and to deliriously miss. so i hope peti finds his north, and comes home to it soon.

it feels odd writing from the floor. i am on my baby's lappy (and don't i wish that were the layman's literal). i'd forgotten how nice it feels to surf pop up-free.

i have finally done away with irving's son of the circus. it took me 3 months to plough past the first 100 pages, (not too keen on indian midgets and the squalid streets of india) but i feasted on the next 700. it helped wheedle away 3 of the days of my estranged WEEK.

i've had to rearrange my CD ~~clatter~~ clutter, thanks to the merciless persuasives of mothers. it was a good thing really because i rediscovered my teenhood. i am glad only half my collection embarasses. but i am reminded of how SIX of my favourite albums are lost to me.

splinters of the future
so. you had fun?
ohhhhhh yea. stone's back. *insert girl's imagined grin on boy's face*
reeeeeaaaalllly. is that good news or bad news?
good news of course.
is that good news or bad news... for me?
ekhekhhkehke...

i am glad it was as good as it was, because we both know you deserve it. have we grown predictable though, because i am already imagining all the issues that will follow. i think it unfair how powerless women are against the obsessional tides of men. i think logic should've gone to Eve, and compassion to Adam... so women can grunt away their PMS while the men blissfully advance their adulation for their toys.

i am not bitter ok, i am merely lamenting. because oh baby, wot else can i do (but lament)?

courtesy of chubs
uhm, this laptop doesn't have a cd rom drive does it.
no. you gotta use an external drive.
so... you used your own or did fen have one?
it came with the lappy.
and... where is it now?
it's with me.
wot's it doing with you?!
i didn't pack it in. there wasn't space.
*insert shriek of indignation*

conversations with your friendly SCV CS rep-tech guy
1.
may i have your address please.
*insert verbal trails of address*
oh shite. i live right next to you. i'm at 474.
really.
yea. *insert pause* so how old are you?
is this part of your service, you needing to know my age?
errr... no. erm moving along...
*snicker*

2.
hey. i think i know who you are.
yea?
yea. you're sombong.
sombong?!
yea. you have that face.
do you honestly expect me to walk around smiling all the time?
why not? so... uhm, how about dinner some time?
you're asking me out? are you hitting on me?
NOOOOO!!!

by the way, mister blades of hellboy joins darth maul in the conglomerate of fucking sexy villains. but only with his clothes on.

postscript: trev has officially morphed into treY. trevor's given up i suppose i have not seen anything new from him since his wishlist last december. i desperately need to update my band of bloggers. trey joins this village =)

i have a soft spot for the likes of indonesian pop and indie. i have kimmie to thank (yet again) for this one. it sounds familiar. and then i remembered that i heard viv hum it once, while we were all slacking on set waiting for the crew and their plethora of lights.

vivien is amazing. you can feel her quiet strength from her disposition, her self-possession. i suppose that sense, and sensibility come rather innate, as opposed to nurtured, because how else would you explain the consistence of ill logic? this makes two people now, that i know with superlative talent for sense. and i mourn for my absence from these dynamics. boo hoo.

seandainya kau ada di sini dengan ku
mungkin ku tak sendiri
bayanganmu yang selalu menemaniku
hiasi malam sepiku

ku tak akan pernah
berpaling darimu
walau kini kau jauh dariku
kan slalu ku nanti
karna ku sayang kamu

hati ini selalu memanggil namamu
dengarlah melatiku
ku berjanji hanyalah untukmu cintaku
takkan pernah ada yang lain

adakah rindu di hatimu
seperti rindu yang ku rasa?
sanggupkah ku terus terlena
tanpamu disisiku
ku kan slalu menantimu

seandainya kau ada di sini dengan ku
mungkin ku tak sendiri
bayanganmu yang selalu menemaniku
hiasi malam sepiku

ku tak akan pernah
berpaling darimu
walau kini kau jauh dariku
kan slalu ku nanti
karna ku sayang kamu

reading nin always encourages me to make myself that open book. i am inspired :-) only problem is, there hasn't really been anything remotely constructive that's fit for this public.

my money still floats in this other oblivious reality of insufficient paperwork. the art of waiting is timeless. it stretches you thin over wires of your own patience.

malay production is a laugh fest. there is no other industry as inept and deranged. and as ridiculously financed. you compromise quality for short term money-pinching gains. every malay production is a patchwork of public donations. in the end, everyone invests a little money, with absolutely no financial returns. because they arrive late, by which time you're already swimming in poverty.

and where the fuck is our spending power? food? macdonald's? pizza hut? G.O.L.D? 2nd chance, 1st lady? sofia jane? that's our spending power?

maybe suria should just give up on local productions, spare us all the bullshite of their smalltime bureaucracy and the obtuseness of its politics (because the amount of money all this revolves around makes everyone look hilarious) and just focus on malaysian and indonesian imports. put aside maybe $50k from their annual budget every year for say, 10 years, then really blow our minds away with an ace, regional arthouse flick. once a decade. eh? how about that?

so in the meantime the rest of us can pick up mandarin and move to channel 8. where the money really is.

hey is that michelle saram?
yea, i think it is. i've seen her in other channel 8 dramas too.
asal dia tak pegi suria eh?

i am left with five cents. five cents today. because i was desperate to escape the last few days, i am stuck in today. and tomorrow. and whenever. until the money that is due me comes. if it ever does.

i am living by the minute now. i wake at noon, to crawl into the hours of dusk. and then i will myself into midnight. and then i pop a pill to bring me into day.

how do u measure love?
with the size of the hole it leaves behind.
- nin, april 9th 1849 hrs

luv,
i am a BIG dose of my desperate measure,
in reflection to your apathy,
your indifference,
your coolness,
your impartiality,
your detachment,
your dispassion,

i know not the ways of this night. it is another night i must dig my nails into, to hoist myself up into day. without you. it becomes such phenomenal struggle without you.

when i am depressed and lonely,
when i get infinitely desperate,
when it is isolation and whole universes of ice,
when i fear that things have finally come to their close,
sex becomes asylum, a means to an end...
or i delude myself that sex will anesthesize me.

it worked for a while, that first time. every morning i'd make that trip. to fuck and be fucked. there were fractions of my logic that concluded that the number of fucks was inversely proportional to the density of my pain. and then i told him. because i could not keep hanging on to rollercoasters. so it ended. with such shocking resolute that my sorrow made me nauseous, kept me retching. i kept paying its price for more than a year.

so you see j how you were right about that night. about why i engineered it all. the walls must've reeked of my dejection, my desperation to make it all work. i needed our old mechanics, a return to the way we were. but they would not. i knew then they would not.

last night was not a test. i could see it in your eyes. they were fractions of your longing, and they were flashes of your anger. if i had relented, you would've killed more than two birds with one stone. so you see how i was not too drunk :)

in the end we are assemblies of society that are each our own degenerates.
in the end inductions of a dose of desperate measures.
in the end we are bottles of our own vast despondence,
hopelessly full to brim,
capped to unflinching cultures,
and despairing to immobilise
ourselves.
in the end.

the long distance urbanite camaraderie
_pilote's la: need rest from yesterdays shenenigans
smaLL Love: shenanigans
_pilote's la: whatever la
_pilote's la: nani
_pilote's la: neny
_pilote's la: neh neh pok ah!
smaLL Love: u den neh neh pok!
smaLL Love: ur twin like to pose show his neh neh pok
_pilote's la: who?
_pilote's la: eh
_pilote's la: *konks your head*
smaLL Love: LOL
smaLL Love: mark aye? its mark init?
smaLL Love: mark whatchamacallit
_pilote's la: duno and dont care!
_pilote's la: bleargh!
smaLL Love: LOL
_pilote's la: and his nose is bigger ok
smaLL Love: u're so cute when u're teased! harharhar!
_pilote's la: mines just nice
_pilote's la: =p
smaLL Love: it is not! his nose is perfect siak. i cant take my eyes off it
_pilote's la: *rolls eyeballs*
smaLL Love: we should organize a "get fred and mark together" campaign
smaLL Love: round up public donations, fly u to cali, surprise mark
_pilote's la: nice try at the tease
_pilote's la: im unfazed
smaLL Love: get it all recorded
_pilote's la: =p
_pilote's la: wah kau
_pilote's la: tambah2
smaLL Love: watch mark's horror at the total stranger on his doorstep and the gazillions of cameras... and the fact that he's wearing some furry pink underwear
_pilote's la: :|
smaLL Love laughing!
_pilote's la: pah.
_pilote's la: ur mad
smaLL Love: nooo... i am
smaLL Love: C.R.E.A.T.I.V.E
_pilote's la: creative yes
_pilote's la: so creative ur still stuck at home
_pilote's la: *flees the scene*
smaLL Love: eh. most of the world's biggest geniuses were depressed fucks
smaLL Love: look at van gogh. and tolkien.
_pilote's la: no no
_pilote's la: ur not on that list
_pilote's la: nowhere near
smaLL Love: i will!!
_pilote's la: drop it!
smaLL Love: once i'm dead!
smaLL Love: >(
_pilote's la: as if!
_pilote's la: nyahahah.
smaLL Love schemes for the GFAMT campaign
smaLL Love snickers evilly
_pilote's la: pfft.
_pilote's la: *pokes your nose and watches as your hair curls back to its former glory*
smaLL Love: LOL
smaLL Love: idiot

you know there are periods of one's life when
just the thought of being alone is really
devastating
however
being alone does not necessarily mean
being lonely
better alone building a new and meaningful life
than
lonely living with someone with whom there is no trust
no understanding no communication no love
just
devastating

Your True Nature by llScorpiusll
Username
The quality that most appeals to you:	Creativity
In a survival situation, you:	Play dead
Your hidden talent is:	Pragmatism
Your gift is:	Genius
In groups, you:	Feel uncomfortable
Your best quality is:	Your protectiveness
Your weakness is:	Your jealous nature

Created with quill18's MemeGen 3.0!

love, i loved it. because i know you loved the big ride (same way i know that was really the biggest reason. hah!), even though we could hardly walk after. i like amelie. she's been good to you, so far of course. and very polite with me, thank you. i caught glimpses of us on some family windows. we looked good if i do say so myself. it's really too bad about the orite. there were some shots on the road i would've loved to chase.

perhaps to me it was only "ten times bigger than east coast", because i guess it would take just a bit more than samui to take my breath away. speaking beach-ily of course. but thank you for the journey. it is always the journey. the destination is bonus. you though, love... you are gift wrapped. did you know that?

and thank you again for the ends of this night. i was being a princess. i know these days it's become a painfully oft occurence. i appreciate your patience. i know how much you have had to exercise it of late. i'm trying. i promise to keep trying.

i caught wot's eating gilbert grape again, on cable. it must've been more than five times now. and no, it was not leo d.c. (even though it remains his best performance), nor johnny depp. it was juliette lewis. she epitomized all my ideals of woman - casual. open. kind. travelled. quiet. and comfortable. with all that she is. and so peachy in a sunhat.

postscript:
i've added a project list. for focus. right now though it's looking more like a shopping list. *pouts and interjects minahly* hmmmS...

i've finally got something goin on with my space at myspace (yes, nisa ho ho!). except now i'm fully disoriented with the way my custom pages have disappeared, so that for the moment i am remorsefully stuck in dull frames while everyone else looks superstar and psychedelic :-(

i can hold it off no longer - george and the precious diamonds of his prose. i think this one is openly gay.

I was all mixed up when you came to me,
too broke to fix
Said 'daddy get you gone, I'm missing my baby'
still missing my baby

I was stitched up by the hands of fate
Said how you gonna make it on your own,
if luck is a lady?
Well maybe luck is a lady

I was going down for the third time
My heart was broken I was not open
to your suggestions
I had so many questions,
that you just kissed away

Tell me, I guess that cupid was in disguise
the day you walked in and changed my life
I think it's amazing,
the way that love can set you free

So now I walk in the midday sun
I never thought that my saviour would come
I think it's amazing
I think it's amazing

You tried to save me from myself
Said 'Darling kiss as many as you want!
My love's still available
And I know you're insatiable

We're like victims of the same disease
Look at your Big Bad Daddy, and your mom...
And your mom... was always acting crazy

I was going down for the third time
My heart was broken,
I thought that loving you was out of the question
Then I saw my reflection,
saying please don't let this go

Tell me, I guess that cupid was in disguise
the day you walked in and changed my life
I think it's amazing,
the way that love can set you free

So now I walk in the midday sun
I never thought that my saviour would come
I think it's amazing
I think you're amazing
Celebrate the love of the one you're with

these are scary. because they are true. which explains why there are only three of mine for display. scare yourselves here.

INFP - "Questor". High capacity for caring. Emotional face to the world. High sense of honor derived from internal values. 4.4% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

i am finally done with suzannah dunn's venus flaring. it was a slow plough. why do i feel like the english ones are almost over-bearing and vainly self-absorbed? i don't really need to know the details of the cracked plaster wall housing all 274 species of british arachnid that stands reposed to antagonist number 2's bestfriend's cousin's teacher's neighbour. geezuz.

i liked the way it ended though. because it is fact that friendships die. friendships are forged and broken everyday. but wot was with the pillow thing? that was so drama lor. kennot lor, kennot make it wan.

oh i loved morrison's twist! very good leh. suspen me like that. i like surprises.

our common cat tiger (or tigress really, because there is a ferocity in her that could only ever come from being emphatically female) always comes bounding to me when i'm home in the early hours of morning. like now. it seems like however much i shower there is another skin of that unmistakable un-odor she used to rub off on me. it's been months since she last rubbed herself on my legs (or sometimes trouser pants) but her mark is indelible.

she knows the hands that feed her. she gained her lithe and that gorgeous fixed form (that always reminds me of the steel of cheetahs) from all that whiskers and friskies pre-mix we keep pushing her. she's only always confusing me with the second floor - the other family she so evidently owns.

when she first arrived i hated her guts. we were leased to another cat - a messy mix of hues, which prompted mama to call her comot, predictably. i loved her. whenever she saw me, it was an automaton to repose on her lazy back and display that soft white belly. and then she'd looked up and ask "and you're waiting for...?" she was gentile, and affectionate.

but when tigress made her debut comot became edgy and stressed. it was like workplace competition only obviously very much unhinged. it was all literally claws and (very dirty) fangs. comot, having been fashioned from our sheltered environment, managed the best she can - usually by standing (or more accurately crouching) her ground, hurling conglomerations of hisses... and pissing herself silly.

it was continous for close to a year prolly. and i exercised my favouritism to exhaustion. i'd kick at tigress, pull her tail, propel a multifarious of verbal abuse (which i don't think she would've cared for even if she'd understood), but she kept coming and coming. she knew where the food was and she wasn't giving it up, least of all for a pissing, dirty kitty.

then one day, i came home from the ends of a gig and realised comot's absence. mama informed me she's prolly been taken away. this was the height of the cat culling i should think.

and so tigress emerged survivor (and has remained so, as she likes to remind her fellow furry hobos). not from the perils of her own natural wiles... but from us. the terrified giants.

i was sad about comot's loss. i really wished she had had in her an ounce of the tigress and her mafioso flair. but comot was comot.

and tigress grew on me. perhaps because in as much as i'd hate to admit it, she's defined an edge, epitomised a power most of us can only miserably hope for (and some of us actually imagine to possess). she was fashioned not by the skewed ideals of the west, not the abstracts of coffee talk, and certainly not gloria steinem, but by nature (really quite by chance) into that enduring, potent brute.

she's not only remained survivor of the litter but she's come to claim dominion. and isn't that exactly the persisting female obsession?

Conscious self	Overall self