Anatomy of a Party

700 drunkards. Smashed wine glasses and earwax.

It took me the whole night to clean up, again. This is not just dejavu, but a full swing, full circle of life. Coming back to one. Apparently these guys have used us for the past 4 years. Hopefully next year will be at a better location.

And this time, I will make sure there is some form of barricade between the dancing queens and my console. Now everything is drenched with beer and champagne. A tad messier than last year's.

This time I actually had fun. Full in the groove of things. Had every ounce of attention and grabbed every minute of it. But then again with a massive selection, how else can you go wrong? It did feel good to be in control though.

My only goal is to get more referrals to boost the business. And may they come swiftly without haste.

what am I waiting for?

I get real angry. Even as I sat by the tele wondering when the dream will become tangible.

Then it occurred to me how insane all this is. The image of driving this whole thing - this whole dream - by the horns and charging ahead, as suggested by Tim, started to make sense. What am I waiting for?

I want change, so I will change. Even heads, associates and communities. Few get there, but the head now has to be stronger than this soft heart. I'm clenching my teeth and making the go.

Gary Glitter

I remember watching the movie in cinema studies class. Much of the imagery were very old school seventies. Mod and all.

Apparently Ziggy Stardust was also the implied true stories that Velvet underground got round to telling. So how did it pop in my head? Conversations with a close friend inferred some laughable stories and concluding remarks. But not just remarks, mind you. Quite possibly calculated truths. Hard to believe. Honest scales that measure up.

My car was filled with such sticky issues it was almost revolting. To the point that reminded me why I hated them to begin with. Whoever created them ought to be fined, jailed and given a tattoo on the forehead. Had to open the format over the sink and I swear they were all over the leftovers, floating in the shimmering sunlight. Imagine my unpleasant shock upon the descension. What was I thinking?

Yet it was nice. Nice gesture. But that's all. For ammunition is not me to give for troubles might await at the doorstep. So I washed in the lightness of the new apartment of my new partner. Falling over the sofa over Napoleon Dynamite was a great way to end the night. Though boozing was on my mind the whole time.

So why am I living in this passing moment and waste away at the TV?

Thirty

A milestone collected in my jar of precious minerals, here I stand on this rock rising above these ferocious waters. This day I turn. This day I wake up to finalize some details, tie my shoe laces twice, forget the sports bottle and eat my vitamins with my special k breakfast. This day, the same day of usuals. Pissy clients, insecure dogs, the usual losers with a knife wound.

I was asked what I wanted for this day. I had not thought about it, but towards the end of the evening, while mucking around with the new iMac G5, it occured to me that the bluetooth mouse in my hand would be a nice vain addition. But I hate the fact that there's no scroll wheel. Apparently, there are alternatives out there. Do I want to be a blind purist? After all, in my G3 wallstreet days, I had the choice between an apple pro optical mouse or a microsoft 5-button optical mouse with scroll wheel. I chose to commit IT adultery and rendezvous-ed with the 5 button monster. To date, it is still trusty, except sometimes it goes into a fit and starts to go mad on the scroll wheel. So now is time to fix the pointer. Some pictures would help.


the original from apple...


an alternative with scroll wheel, still quite loyal in design... macmice BT


the alternative with works!

If you ask me, I prefer the macmice BT.

---


The celebration started some weeks ago in chinatown when some of my mates - peers who grew up with me, threw a small dinner reunion for the two boys going on thirty. Sunny and me have been great friends since we were geeky new born agains. We both received shirts - mine for winter and his for the everlong summer. We had a laugh, till some conspiracy theory overtook the conversations. The potential was just tipping in the scales.

How does it feel? This constant first run of a question stares point blank at me and i don't really have an answer. It's like when you turn the golden 21st century egg, how did you feel? If it was elation and absolute freedom, this was a form of liberation with a heavy burden. Dreams of retirement draws close and achieving goals becoming not just a wishful poem.

Someone quietly laughed at the coveted award goal. I will prove wrong those who chose to believe mediocrity. Even if anger drives me, I'd rather quench on that fuel than lie on my bed feeding the statistics that these books seemingly failed to revive.

So what's it like? You have absolutely no fuken idea.

I had the strangest dream

Last night, while I was recovering from a bout of psychological disturbance, I fell into a deep 15 minute sleep drifting into a familiar part of Australia that looked like Canberra.

I was between rows of shophouses and one end of it was facing the sea. On the grass slope dividing the two rows of shops, I noticed my old art lecturer throwing paper aeroplanes into the air only for it to come plummeting down to the ground. Frsutrated, she grabbed more folded planes from her bag and kept going. I waved to her, picked up one of the fallen orgami and showed her what she did wrong - unfolding the wings that should be in place so the plane could fly properly and no plummet. Just as I did, I saw many war like planes descending upon our air space, reaching a dangerous height that could deafen anyone at ground level with the engine noise. Except of course this was a dream and I could not hear anything.

Then some planes started flying across each other almost colliding, missing each by just an inch. Like all murphy's law should, a pair did collide - the propeller of plane A brushed against the bottom of plane B and some big chunk fell out of plane B. Eventually that plane came plummeting into the sea.

And by the way, for some reason, I was with Sarah and I think I was a kid holding her hand - she might have been my mum in the dream... Anyway, I was screaming my lungs out and pointing to the sky when the mid air crisis took place. Sarah? She just nochalantly looked at me like I was making a big fuss over nothing.

Just as I looked back at the now vacated sky, a giant rainbow coloured dalmatian started running towards our direction from the sea. Screaming kid I was, I dragged Sarah and started running in the opposite direction. And you know how it is with running in your dreams - slow motion. I was trying to run into the opposite building and it felt like eternity.

And I woke up - with a racing heart. Felt so real, it was freaky.

Boy

Am I a boy running away from manhood? This question-statement of sorts just popped in my head as I clicked on the link that got me here.

Sitting here in the middle of the night archiving the entire music library that I have just bought over is leaving me quite the restless. I don't know why but I think it is natural to feel quite out of sync with the way things are happening right now. Here I am surrounded by a mess newly created from stacks of CDs and a combination of personal bills, court summons and office paper work. Is this the life I imagined myself to have? I'd much rather replace all of this junk with guitars, effect racks and starbucks coffee. Ok, that last one is debatable.

I find I have been travelling between zones - which is why I have been feeling restless all this time since the start of the school year some yonks ago. Between is what I hate. Now I just feel convoluted and pukey. Like I'm about to throw up anytime. Maybe it's the fast food I have been eating on end. For some reason I think I burned out on trying to cook for therapy. Perhaps it's the cold left overs from many nights waiting for people to get home that's leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I think I'm at the stage where I want to move out on my own again. So I could shake off whatever that is clutching on my back. Staying alone can be quite good especially when you have so much dormant angst that you want to avoid hurting people with your destruction.

Well, maybe I should clean up my room to start with. Might even take the day off, but there is so much runaround to figure. Bastards.

Saz

This post is about miss wong
Who is trying to wake me in the morn
So I could to church go
And look like I am part of the fold

Actually this post is logged after I told sarah that I blogged about her. So she'll be curious enough to come read my blog. Shameless huh?

And since you're here, why not stay a while.

Well at least I bothered honoring the lie I told you...

I'm sure she's going to react. I will report her to the mata.

Vertigo

Dreams of flight
Dreams of a flying man
The Wright brothers
These eighty days
Philius Fogg
Some Chinese men
Some mad ideas
Laughable dream stealers
One man it takes
One man to make

High up here on high
Don’t even know the numbers
Thoughts of what if he weren’t
What if it was stolen
Never returned
Like the jade Buddha
Will never a wall like china
Be the vision that started us all

There is a lesson I am learning
A reminder of those stars
Those that hung like the remaining
For the ones staying another minute
To watch the remaining credits
That dream of a distant sun
To win the bet that started it all

Will I win the queen’s hand
Will I land on my sides
Will I be among friends who rally
Will I laugh along when I get near
Like the same love that laughed
Even though there was no clear evidence

This heart aches to prove
This heart seeks an almost evil intent of vengeance
So what is there really to prove?

Greatness is not a measure of height,
But a measure of faith.

And Greatness it seems is all but a decision.

So thank you lovely history makers
Thank you Hollywood for making a blunder
That slipped through the filter.

Thank you for the images that now fuel the music in me
That fuel the flight of this newly evolved bumble bee

Bumble bee me be.

Time Heals

Is it time to go? Time to take the train off the course of time, plunge into a response of nostalgia. I never did meant to appear and disappear. My intentions went up against the wall and now this defiance is setting itself up.

Time heals. Time takes away and helps you forget the rush and embarassing warps of naivety. Like the day our desert fellowship communed. Many new faces lit up and most of us were reminded of banished details. Kinship is a word beyond the DNA. Map of stars and you can see a new connection and collaboration of our rhythms.

Enough talk breeds enough balm to give. But some of us don't quite get enough. Or don't quite get it. Causing some of us to tumble stumble and fumble. Yes, what ecstacy that would bring. But why this? Why this short lived drug use? Why this sentence to death before life begins?

Letting go has so much more meaning to it. Sometimes, fuck off is the word. Now, THAT, is harsh and I apologize. No malice was intended and I do love my family and friends and relatives, well most, and respect and honor them for the lives they are leading. I am grateful to be part of their cosmos, so please don't overeact or read into my seemingly palmistry intentions.

Dance a little today.