remembered something...

Was going to add this to the previous post, but since there are already comments there, I thought, why bother.

Men's Health magazine has this article that states that when you suffer a defeat, or undergo negative stress, your testosterone level drops. Along with that, sex drive. This afternoon, my testosterone levels (and the accompanying sex drive) took a serious hit. Now, it's basically negative. Ergh.

Why do I take this so hard? Well, actually I don't. It's probably the dissatisfaction of having wasted my time, and gotten excited over something that I SHOULD have known would not be in my favour in the first place. I hate false hope. I was given too much of that when I was a kid.

Yes, I know I'm spoilt. Maybe I should place myself into total denial of all pleasures. That SHOULD place interesting perspective on things.

In seventeen, August 2005 issue (yes, yes, some guys read it too, okay?), Malaysian edition, there was this story about this guy who comitted suicide. They also included a few things to note about a person that indicates potential suicide. What about signs that YOU might be feeling despondent enough to kill yourself? Sometimes, you just have no idea what you're gonna do, and suddenly you just do it. I'm getting worried.

Either that, or I'm just fickle.

Haven't eaten. Don't feel like eating. Wait, this feels exactly like I did in January. Excellent. See how I'll fix stuff up.

I may not be writing. Much confidence has been lost. Doesn't make any sense, but, ergh. I'm taking things too seriously, but for some reason, obstinate logic no longer works. Fuck.

ONE consolation, I suppose, was all the cool sexy stories they had in Men's Health. I think I'm gonna subscribe, lolz.

Meh.

ergh...

First off, congrats to a Miss Liew Suet Li for getting a consolation place in the MPH Search for Young Writers 2005. How was the press conference? Ha, got interview leh...

Second, I think I'm pretty annoyed. I missed a day's worth of Geometry for nothing. Well, I got a cert that I don't need, and some sandwiches and canned coffee. Oh, also I have a box of banana milk. Wonderfulness.

Incase you're wondering, no. I did not win. Anything. Meh.

There are no words to describe my mood now. Wait, there are. But I cannot really state it. I'm no good with words apparently.

I want all or nothing.

Seems that I'll continue sharing this machine. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuckety fuck.

Tis strange that this should affect me at all. I think it's the fact I still gotta share.

I hate sharing.

Meh.

schizophrenia...

Thoughts pervade my mind. As always. And always, both sides of the argument scream to be heard at the same time. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't a concious schizophrenic. It's quite complicated having to choose one of my many personalities to put on each time. But I suppose it is useful in a way. I ALMOST always have an appropriate response.

Right now, it's the thoughtful, almost docile, contemplator. Really wondering if I'm self delusional, or am I really like this. Then, the self righteous, incorrigible zealot inside will say to hell with them, I'm correct because I cannot be wrong. The revolutionary will agree with the zealot, because people should defy things solely because they can.

My parents don't take me seriously. Well, at least not when they should. They take all my jokes at face value and accuse me of being stuckup, arrogant, ignorant, and a whole plethora of stuff. Not that I'd blame them. The face I put on is one I decided on keeping at home after too long of having to put up with plenty of shit at home, and not retaliating against it. The nonchalant, I-couldn't-give-a-fuck-about-anything, it's-only-about-me face is the only one appropriate thing to do, because the few times I HAD behaved as a 'good son' would was met with a horrendous disappointment, and I don't take well to disappointments. So, I kinda gave up on that.

Do I hope to change anyone by behaving like this? I'm actually kinda counting on them NOT changing. It makes things simpler, that's for sure.

I hate being told I'm wrong, even if I am. So, I will refuse to listen, even if I should. And I learn things the hard way, which is technically the only way to learn things. More lessons were lost formally than they were learnt.

Potato salad is good.

I think it's time to take over the world. But in close introspection, it's actually not worth my while. This place is filled with fucked up people more suited as sausage grind than high-consumption individuals. The planet is rotting and smelly, and there are holes all over the place where they shouldn't be, and no holes where there should. I don't even like half the things on the surface, and all the real fun stuff is found under. Administration according to 'rules' is too tedious, and people whine all the time, but offer no amusement value. The few things worth saving, are just really not worth the investment.

Live to amuse me. That's the only thing you vermin are suited to do anyway.

I'm getting pissed with Creative. What the hell is so fucking complicated about making an mp3 player that doesn't fucking get fucked up screwed every fucking time I try to use it for longer than 3 months!?!?! Well, actually, this is really the first thing I've bought from them, but still! I want max value for many dollars, and this isn't exactly top notch.

I'm selfish, but that's because no one else will be selfish for me. And we have to have our daily supplements.

Err, happy birthday to Barry. Or Baz. Or whatever.

I'm thinking of painting my nails black. Except I have no nail polish. Then again, I have considered getting my nipples pierced, and a tattoo down my back. Not to mention, I ALMOST considered joining National Service. So, that's kinda unlikely.

I just noticed I have visible biceps. Woohoo!

I like this shirt. I look really, err, chesty, in it. Hooray for optical illusions. Got lotsa second glances today, it's almost freaky.

Tomorrow is judgement day. In a way. I'm getting paranoid about having to live a life of insane boredom. Maybe I should become a serial killer.

I'm not a prejudiced person. My only prejudice is against stupid people. It just so happens that most people are stupid.

I feel like doing another lemon. And turning gay. Any guy out there want to smooch me?

This is such an excercise in freakishly un-me futility. Nothing I do is ever futile, because I make it a point to be sufficiently amused (usually in retrospect, unfortunately) by every single fucking thing I do. And last night was amazingly amusing, on the spot, no less. Went out for ice cream with Vic. Two guys, sitting in an ice cream parlour is kinda weird. Well, metrosexual, maybe. I dunno. Normally, the most 'feminine' thing we'd do is go for a coffee, and at that, not very female. But two guys, in an ice cream parlour (Baskin Robbins, no less) after 10. Hmm. And gossiping! Well, okay, more like conversation about OTHER people's love lives (gossip la). Gasp.

Ergh, getting fat again.

Strange, Vic's still not attached. I'd fuck him if I was a girl. Seriously.

Zhao is still obsessive. Like, he went around looking for, nevermind. But the thing was he dragged me along. He's lucky I found it all extremely amusing. Hilarious, in fact.

Hmm, there are streaks of blood across my hand. And they look recent.

I want a thousand bucks of chocolate. Or the alternative.

Meh.

liars...

If what every other blogger has told me so far about their readership/hits/incoming links are true, I've got to be one of the most unpopular bloggers this side of a potato. Either that, or I'm just grossly misunderstood.

Yeap, I think it's grossly misunderstood. It's impossible not to like me, lolz.

Here's an interesting university application essay question: You have written a 300 word autobiography. Submit page 271.

*blank*

In all my books, page 271 is a blank page. It's spacing.

Again, it comes to haunt me. The fact that there's nothing outstanding about me except my writing skills. And even then, I'm not among the best. It may seem so right now, because I'm surrounded by mostly mediocre writers, but in this new, rather limitless, environ, I'm not. I'm horribly ill equipped to amuse, entertain, shock, dismay, upset, piss, or even raise any amount of interest from people who read my writing. And I blame it all on my lack of deeprooted suicidal depression.

Interesting to note, I'm liable to fall back into that mode really soon, for reasons I cannot fully explain, nor am I likely to.

I think I'm becoming normal. As in, I fit into a stereotype now. What it is, I don't know. But I do know that people are out there with almost exactly the same public profile. And I detest that. And somehow, I also adore that fact. I want to be popular, and at the same time, I don't. I want to be accepted, but I want to be ostracized. I want to be loved, and also to be hated. And worse of all is that I want these things all from the same people.

Right now, I'm quite obsessed with increasing the overall desirability of my person. As in, sexier, brainier, richer. Not too sure why myself. I bet it's the sadistically twisted part of me that wants this. I want to be so deliciously attractive that it's basically impossible for the majority to turn away. And then, in one cruel twist, I make myself insanely unattainable. Unavailable. Off the market. But open to browsing.

In all outright honesty, I can say I could get laid if I wanted to. Question is, do I want to? Given the choice of a thousand bucks worth of chocolate and an hour of good hot, mindblowing sex, I'd take the chocolate. It seems that the core being of me still refuses to be conventional, so much so I'd give up what basically all guys (gay, straight, holy, horny, whatever) undeniably want. All of this just to be different? Wanting to be different isn't too unique these days. Neither is following the crowd. But therein lies the paradox, and it's annoying being confused.

Sometimes, I wish this blog had better feng shui. Maybe just more readers, enough to be a minor celebrity. But that wouldn't be good, in a way. I've already lost a whole whoopass a lot of my old self trying to get that tiny bit of fame. And worse, failing miserably at it. And worst of all is the knowledge that I don't really want any of it for the sake of itself, but because other people have it. And that, blatantly, is being like everybody else.

It's times like this I wish that I was still in a relationship. But in the viewing of the retrospect, I noticed that I've done nothing to deserve what I got, I did more to NOT deserve it, and it's probably hell to be attached to me.

The road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions. It must be a really good brand, considering the heavy traffic Hell must receive.

I've let other people run my life, despite saying I obey no one. Maybe it's in not listening I'm playing right into their trap. Maybe it's time to make my own traps, get caught in my own pits, fight my own battles, die my own deaths. Or maybe it's just time to let go of everything I believe in, submit to the majority, let the world lose another spark, let the flame of another candle smother, silence another word in the vast dictionary, or bury that last pet you forgot to feed. You can say it in so many ways, but the truth is painful nonetheless.

I guess that Tuesday is sort of D-Day for me. I know it normally would not affect me in any other way, but I'm not in my normal state of being. I'm on another verge of self destruction, and as with always, it grows each time. And this time, I may not survive.

And to think, I just might die a virgin. Anyone want to come change that?

Life is so bleak, it's ALMOST beautiful.

Meh.

just a thought...

I'm wondering if I've really departed from my original writing style, a.k.a. depressive musings of someone on the verge of going on a murder spree then blowing himself up with last year's fireworks.

Meh.

camwhoring...

A sad attempt at camwhoring. This is what happens when you just got back from a most 'interesting' time at a funfair. Early. If anything, it taught me something about myself, and how much value I place on certain things. Also, I learnt that funfair people always try to rip you off.

But, I suppose you knew that already.

Uh, 'enjoy'.










Ergh. Lighting sucks. Subject sucks.

I need to get a zoom lens.

Meh.

busy day...

...and so far it's only three!

Just got back from Khayel Lake Gardens. Also known as the Lake Gardens of the City Named After the Convergence Point of Two Muddy Rivers. Or something else. I can't remember.

It's quite ungodly to wake up before 8 on a holiday. I usually wake up at 8 on the dot, sometimes at 9. But the sky was blue, the air was fresh, and the Lake Gardens beckoned.


The whole point was to see deer.

But apparently, the deer decided that they were getting crowded and got a renovation.

How unfriendly. Open house is during the Raya and Deepavali season. They tutup rumah pulak.

Hmm, the deer really have green thumbs, er, hooves. Look at how tall the weeds grow. In comparison is my dad, who's taller than me.


Still water runs deep. So this one is shallow.


So we went to the Lake to sit on the boats.

What the fuck? Holiday then close ar? Hallo, holiday THEN only people free to come here weh. At least, the inhabitants of the Lake not so unfriendly lar.


I found this secondary flight feather off some aquatic poultry. Probably a duck, or a goose. Meh.

Mom added a feather to her cap.


And the kids ran off to play.



Well, not this one.


Uh oh. Eu Wen sliding through the red light area.

Of course, he's a colourful personality.


Even walking back to the car is quite an event in itself. The lazy particularly celebrate going back.

Some mourn it though.


Khayel has many places to jalan, if you know where to go. One notable place is Chee Cheong Kai. Petaling Street. Jalan Petaling. Whatever.

In this particular stretch of Khayel, you get all sorts of people, the usual cheap imitation goods peddlers, pimps, and of course, the tourists. Some are so enamoured of their surrounding that they're quite oblivious. Take this guy for example:


What a dumbphuck, lolz.

At any rate, lunch was interesting. Notable was the relatively new idea of putting curry in a bun. Curried chicken and bread has been around for some time, and it took surprisingly long for someone to decide to put two and two together.

Voila!

Nice.

There's lots more to do, of course, besides look at stupid people and eat. Like, shopping.


Saw this really interesting shirt in one of the shops off the street.


Of course, being a resident of this 'beloved' country, it always goes back to food. Notable on Petaling Street is the Sze Ngan Chye Ham Ap (Four-eyed Boy Salted Duck).

Also, the biskut Cina shops that dot the street do brisk business.

Damn, my brother serious camwhore weh.


Venus Art is on the street too. They have a really nifty supply of art stuffs. And the back of the shop is stocked with all sorts of random knickknacks. Of course, the really good stuff ain't on sale, though. Like this one:


True to Malaysian idol worship, they built this fugly building and named it after a dead politician. Meh.


Just before hitting home, we stopped to see some cars. Used car yards are interesting places.

Rolls-Royce, weh!
But I'd rather be seen in one of these:


Since she's never seen an online male flasher, this one is for Suet Li, by yours truly:























Further down la.















Meh.