OMG!

This site is so loaded with information I am oozing from the sides... You have to be a mac user and studio musician/audio person to appreciate the overkill...

Thanks to mac_bart!

Flake

Seems to me the crowded room was more distant than it really was. The moving picture on the wall became the dashboard of our toy car displays. Some days I just feel like an alien, out of touch and sync with the reality - their reality, whoever they are.

Have to be careful. Have to tread softly and gently. There are ears on walls, tapping into our privacy. But isn't it ironic this exhibition of personal visions and thoughts? Ah, that's where we succeed in painting codes on the canvas where only the originator has full access to. This is such a game of deception.

Eyes heavy, enough of this.

Grace

I can only be thankful at this stage. There's been a pattern with these intensities. So much crowd within a tiny space that makes it hard to believe and comprehend. So much goes through the needle head and come out different on the other side. The shock I am still recovering from, taking small steps, one at a time, overlooking the edge.

Makes me remember when I first started putting myself out there - for the adventure to live on the edge of life. I am reminded of the picture in my journal - the edge of life. Postcard from the edge of hope - the title of that vision I had in my mind now rings so real in this post-mortem of events culminating one after the other like neat waves carving out tidy dunes on the sand.

This is living in the answer to my prayers. My desire to be a person of faith. This faith journey is still a journey of faith. I have taken many with me and many have crossed with me difficult dark times. There will be more to come. But with each failure, each fall comes a stronger perspective and a deeper inner strength to believe even though it seems man failed. My fall was necessary - even falling from grace - God, I'm beginning to understand, is big enough to allow for that. Which is why He allowed Eve to be tempted in the first place, knowing fully that she will give in. So many years later, the fall of man is still replayed like wipers on the windscreen. The magnitude is something that evades me.

So it is, that I may regress for a while. To meet some folks, bring my love and catch up with those whose faces are beginning to fade from my consciousness. To walk among the familiar, to bring a breath of freshness into the room of loud overworked machines. To retreat from the darkening skies and lie among the sunkissed flowers. Who knows what that will do? I can only follow the leading slight of hand and trust like the faith I was told I had.

This city is getting more beautiful each passing moment...

Clarity

Last night was one of the most painful nights. The night where thoughts of suicide and anger at God was at their critical mass. You know it's something when you have no voice to scream, pray or even cry. Just a quiet simmer within with visions of violent outbursts. God, are you still the good Dad everyone gives you credit for?

Shawn held me as he prayed with me. Tears just rolled uncontrollably as Shawn cried out to God on my behalf - cries that I could not hear myself praying, screams within that just go muted because it is so damn painful.

As he prayed, I had a sort of vision in my head of Abraham - like I am about to sacrifice the only son God gave to me. The pain of a father's sacrifice was just too much. And I cried hard. So hard that I was still trembling when I went to bed, tired out by the emotions that let loose.

Today is a new day. A new day of action. A new day of seeking. A new direction in what seems distant a foreign to me. Problems to solve and systems to work around.

As I woke this morning, I had a strong sense of gratitude. One year ago, I was such a hermit, no one knew who I was even though there was church and community. I was unplugged and unpowered. As the first rays of sunlight peeked into my still small room, my heart was calmed knowing that God has been good - nudging me to a community that believes in crying with you, dying with you, living with you, holding every aspect of your dreams and hopes with you. I know the trust and love I am experiencing here is not plastic. It's real people who have walked the real hard pathways who are choosing to walk alongside and give.

Community. I thank God for community.

The Distant Boat

There is a fight going on free to air right now. Fight for my existence. My existence in either.

The metaphors on screen are just too uncanny. Too similar to what's going on inside. The drone of the black hawk, the cresecndo of the orchestra, the fear of the men on the ground and the lives of innocent wasted at the energy of the few.

My time is not up. My life is just beginning. The light at the end of the tunnel seems to fade out of sight and my eyes are still peeled believing the flicker is just a moment of weakness.

The darting bullets are the ammunition of legislation. Sometimes I wonder why we need to ask for permission to exist. Democracy is not that far away from Monarchy it seems.

Inside, there is a world full of hatred, full of darkness, full of blood stained cities. Inside the man lies a strong stride that pushes away the evil, pushes away the unending force, refusing the acknowledgement of an easy solution that reeks of compliance. What does it mean to comply anyway? I just want every fucker out there to get off my back and let me get on with my life.

30 years of missing every good class act boat is quite enough. Quite, quite enough. There's suicidal notes everywhere and it's depressing. What in the world is going on? I'm not meant to die young.

Nonstaligic

Been off carbs for almost a week now. Almost. well, except that unforseen circumstance of brekkie with the big boss and starving at crema. It was still kept to the minimum. Ketosis has kicked in and so far the ketone measures are still turning purple upon contact. My goal to be at balance with my being. Those months of binging and irresponsibility made things worse - lethargy, bad hair, bad breath, yellowing enamel... ok, yellowed enamel, cracked lips, bulging torso, unbreathable pants and the list don't stop. The human condition seems to be a constant disintegration and decay. The fact that nothing we eat, even mostly mum's cooking, depending on your culture, may not even be the best option. I've learnt that we are basically poisoning ourselves - thus the degeneration we're getting day in day out.

So on a personal level, I made up my mind to stick to the guns. Not so much a vanity decision ... ok, yes, there's an element of it there, everyone's got it somehow... rather, it's really a mindset I am adopting. To balance the wheel I was constructing some months ago when I looked metaphorically at my life in general. Doesn't mean every single day will be good. But if I don't even apple a measure of discipline, how much little good can even get out there.

Anyway, just finished editing Alison Wedding's first set at Bennett's Lane. 56 minutes so far, with only 6 songs - that's what jazz takes - long form improvisation that fill long spaces of fillers. Long drum fills, solos. Overdraft guitar riffs, enduring bass transitions and there you go - a 15 minute version of the original. The first time I heard such a long draft was when Counting Crows did an 11 minute version of Round Here. So I guess jazz is not the only genre capable of inducing more than the average listener paid for.

I sound like I am almost bitching. Correct me here, but I think a few years ago, I wore an emblem that killed jazz before contact. Now, I am drawn like a fly to the light and defend it's cause and art. Somehow the core of the form is creeping into the lines I work along. Jazz has a way of clearing out the audio clutter in our heads. Writers do come to a road block every now and then consisting of over chewed over used formulas that wouldn't let go of it's stranglehold till you decide to give up altogether. Like frozen food, we're served daily portions of frozen processed packaged synthetic tunes assulating the conscious and the unconscious.

So days like these, I turn to the elite form of jazz, classical, even country. Yes, it's more elite than you give it credit for. In today's hum and madness, simple is good, streamline is essential.

In fact, my DJ company is streamlining. Something I've been looking forward to. In fact, I think it's time for a raise.

Powerbook is good.

As is

Sold the iBook. At a good price. At a very very good price.

Sold the iPod mini. At a good price too. 198% profit, how about it! The mini was free anyway.

Got the Powerbook 15 inch 1.5Ghz 80Gb 1Gb RAM Super Drive. Aluminium never felt this good. Like the whole thing is aluminium. Except of course the LCD. Wide screen is such a welcome. 15 inch is good.

1gig RAM does make a difference. A lot of difference. Was running several real instrument tracks, 2 midi software synths and not a single slur. The cursor moved so very smoothly with no error message. You gotta love the machine.

Spent a day laying 3 different guitar tracks, fiddled around with a few other bits and now I have my backing track arranged and ready for vocals to rock! Woohoo!

Now awaiting motu 828 to arrive from repair to see if it works out well. Yum.

I'm impressed with me already...

Electrico

I’m freaking out even as I add this entry.

I’m sitting here in TwentyOneNine BarCafe in South Melbourne having a chill over mint tea. Browsing through a copy of Inpress Mag (street pop culture/gig guide mag) and the phrase, “From Singapore” jumped at me.

Electrico, formerly known as Electric Company, are touring the east coast of Australia.

My hair stood.

Kept the phone going for a good twenty minutes, calling everyone I knew whom I think knew Electrico. You can tell, I’m mildly excited.

Apparently, they have been signed to Universal Music some time ago. And therefore this tour, not surprisingly.

I’ve never been this proud to be from Singapore. Feel like cutting the ad out and sewing it onto me shirt right now.

Shows start this Friday, 17 September 04 at the Espy. Those of you in Australia, get out there and support this really really great band.

Miss Wong

The only number I could pull out of my analog memory bank was her number.

I had locked myself out of the office, along with phone and car keys. Thus cutting me off from all forms of communication and travel. Digging in, I found four dollars worth of coins. Which was enough to find out that my address book on .mac wasn't properly updated. Key numbers were missing. So much for technology.

4 minutes later, I found myself slamming the dead dial tone off swan street. I was angry and hungry.

Flustered, I walked into a fish and chip shop to get myself some dim sims and change for a second phone call.

Ah, yes, iBook and spare car keys from home! I had Miss Wong drive home in her fiance's sportivo to pick up the said items. So I could access my ex-boss's number from the iBook cos she still had the office keys. So I could use spare keys to drive to the next suburb to have her rescue me.

That was 2 hours of pacing up an down the street, sore feet and all, in the cold, looking like a static stand up.

As I gave the situation some thought, one was apparent. That seriously, the only number lodged in my head had to be the number of the one friend and sister I have stuck through the years with.

Perhaps that's why I have been selected to form part of her bridal party - her bridesmate. Read the spelling, I ain't wearing no dress!

This day has drama enough for a long time.

Obsession

There's really something about Apple in it's design that captivates and draws you. I have been staying up till 2am, installing Panther on my new G4 iBook for the third time. Have been mucking around with file transfers from the old pismo and it seems that I have to re-install every other software from scratch. More fun ahead.

As the software restore runs to load iLife and Apple Works 6, I am blogging away on my pismo for possibly the last time. For tomorrow or the day after, this sturdy black machine will leave for Sydney into the hands of a certain mac lover. Sigh...

Love the smell of the new iBook.