Wednesday, January 30, 2013


I do not typically enjoy such forms of writing
(in fact, I am embarrassed by this)
I want.


Tuesday, January 29, 2013

"We only have each other, remember?"

"If you die, I will climb into your coffin unnoticed and be buried with you. It will be like Buried Alive. Except it's real." 
"That is so creepy." 
"Just living up to my name till the end."


Okay la but say serious one.
I really want to die.
If someone came to kill me now I would raise my right hand slowly and lift my index finger in a gentle 'hang on a sec' motion, blink once, nod slightly, grab a pen and scribble a note saying, "I am sorry everybody for being so fucked up and fucking up / over constantly. As a farewell gift, please help yourselves to my corpse. They say the buttocks are the best." then lie down and say, "make it quick. But please make it hurt. I want to be reminded of why I'd like this to end. Nothing could hurt more than feeling." 

Everyday I prepare for war with the best condemnation karma could have summoned.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Being mean and shit when my period is coming.

"You're hot and cold crazy horse shit."
"Then fuck off, darling."

Despite that,
I am now the unwilling owner of charcoal pills and a bottle of Gaviscon.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Curious straight girl

It was hard to be offended when she asked with those bigass marble fishball eyes and a genuine interest in our esoteric circle.

It was also hard to stop myself from saying,
"let me show you."

Which, I mean. Is 100% legit.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Goodbye life support.


3 minutes sketch of extreme fatigue in the office.


Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Dutch vs. German

It's amazing how asian a person immediately looks when they are colored yellow.

Lullabies (Adventure Club remix) - Yuna


 I wanted to! go awaaaay withu!

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Breakup season

Would not exist if everyone would just practice the following steps:
- be nice
- dont take your partner for granted
- talk shit out and settle it
- put in effort
- do drugs. If all else fails.

It is not that difficult seriously. Or maybe it is. I dont know. Im not an expert but good god I just wish everyone was happy and less sad and everyone's partners would treat them like gold and vice versa. Imagine if everyone acted that way, imagine the significant depletion of sadness that would create.


life is full of decisions.
i know that i will get pissed fucking drunk if i go out tonight with the people i am going out with.
but if not i will be at home soaking in my misery of being sad and imperfect and then i will want to swallow a whole bunch of pills and end up in hospital a-fucking-gain but i am supposed to be way past that. except i am not. also randomly i watched silver lining notebook and it is now my favourite show. of all time. the entire damn movie was 100% relate-able i kid you not. so okay shit.


Friday, January 11, 2013


Being 25.

Is it slightly egoistical and / or attention seeking if I am actually starting to enjoy revealing my age to people just because they react this way as seen last night:

Or is this considered normal for old people aged 25 years and above?
If not, then hey. At least I'm honest, yeah?

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Conversation with Kits

Cucumber : I am a sad cucumber.
Broccoli : I am a sad broccoli.

Cucumber : Omg old photo of us. 
Remember when we took it at the market?
You were having such an awesome hair day.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Office conversations.

So I really suck at drawing but this conversation made me laugh while I did 4 hours worth of overtime last night. Is it creepy that I sketched my colleague? If so, does it help that the bag portrayed above is a complete figment of my imagination? No bag could be that ugly.


Hong Kong awaits in a week. Can't wait to sketch and take a shit ton of photographs and make foreign friends at the back alley of Kowloon smoking rollies amidst a pile of pummeled bodies who would hopefully offer us obscure substances for extravagant prices. Speaking of which, I need to learn how to say, 'don't touch her I know kungfu' in Cantonese. Which is a lie. But just in case, you never know.

Friday, January 4, 2013

I come bearing pictures.

we went to Legoland (and a Mangrove) over the weekend.

With Philip, the inanimate chameleon and his flexible tongue.

Had the best spaceships in the history of the 3 bowls of spaceships I have had in my life so far. For RM4.


And I'm not really sure what the standard protocol is for posting pictures of other human beings so that's all folks.

The sun was very focused on Legoland during our visit. It was also very focused on the mangrove where we witnessed a mangled eel with eyes that looked unreal and tried sashimi (basically picking an unfortunate prawn and ripping off its head + shell with quick succession) that supposedly tasted sweet but all I could gather was its chewy texture. There was this 6? year old girl that kept looking / glaring at cj2 from the corner of her eyes and another on the coach back that cj2 winked at as she is a pedophile. I hope they grow up to be gay and when people ask why, they'd say it started when they saw a cute dyke while in Malaysia to / from Legoland / Hello Kitty Land and in that way, she would have left her mark in the world.

The end.


Also, this year I am 25 - the year I've set to die since I turned 21.

To fulfil your stalkerish desires,


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