four eight

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
and they sound good both stripped down
and smooched with electronic beats
which is shockingly amazing cause most can only pick one of the above these days.




Los Campesinos!
with an exclamation mark

four seven

cause money is not everything.

but it is something.

and something is everything.

thats the way it goes.

two steps left/

one step right.

dance. dance. dance.

just like mj did.

a victim of our social system.

or whats it its called now.

gossip girl.

cause

sticks and stone can break my bones
but words will never hurt me
and when i'am dead and in my grave
you will hear the words you call me.

hee-hee//



beat that.

four six

i just want to draw
circles in the sky.
thats all.

four five

crystal castles.
yes it came from he-man the guy with the huge ass sword and pussy tiger.

if pac man had ears.
this would be his sex music.

four four

when all roads lead to death
whats the point of living.

dont u wish one day
the sun will stop beaming.

if there was a god
wont he hit reset
why is he still waiting.

four three

click then read. please. it will make the point so much more apparent.

did u manage to catch the review. fridays paper sneaking in the corners.
rachael yamagata.wow.
she could have just wrote she came. she left.
whens the souls not there its just blatantly obvious.
it was as if i was reading the script from some long drawn played out court case.

what she actually wrote on her stupid writers pad with a pink felt pen with feathers sticking out and glitter peppered in the ink. if you can even count that review as journalism.

so what she wrote with her pink pen.
-she enter from stage left
-songs in the order she sang
-stone and doodle on paper
-check her texts
-remember that there is no fucking reception in the concert hall
-played pac man till the concert was over

went home
-complained to her family about her job
-wiki out facts for the review.

amazed of the trash that the straits times actually print out.
but arnt i spot on.

four two

peanut butter. peanut butter.
where have you gone.
one whole jar
two days tops.
for into my mouth
lick and ate.
what comes out
is fats of late.

oh hair. oh hair.
why do u mock me
at the rate u are falling
dy/dx
y= total amt of hair
x= hair fall
left all will be a baldy.

flies insects and all things that bug me
metaphorically. literally.
why do impale me
with your words or with the ticks
is it not enough you took my blood

my minds now all in blitz
placed in a food processor
and pulsed three times.

what comes out
is all thats left
ashes. dust.
laid to rest.


tune for the kindergarten worthy post.



watch the whole damm thing. its only six mins. what can u do then.
more porn. just stream both.

four one

rachael yamagata played yesterday.
i should have dump all my books and went.
sadly i stayed home and studied what was suppose to be my future.
hope she comes back.




its duet sans ray lamontagne but still just as good.

four zero

what do you see.

thirty nine

what if you rolled over.
and given the choice.
to never wake up.
would you choose
the beat of your heart.
or to finally meet your mark.
inst life just one big grand fuck.


on a utterly unrelated scale. the yeasayer.



raw bliss.

thirty eight

one. he looks like a bobble head character with a clown nose. feel free to glance above.
two. he finds running fun a necessity. a drug that he has not been able to take forever.
three. he is proclaiming runners withdrawal due to his busted knee.
four. he rather be left alone to play than with the other kids.
five. he feels largely awkward without his his music player.
six. he will never understand or ever will be in love. just have intercourse goddammit.
seven. he then again has never had intercourse. or felt all the trash talk about sugar spice and everything nice.
eight. he does not believe in marriage and everything it represents.
nine. he believes in crystals chakras magic reiki and all that sortastuff.
ten. he hates loud obnoxious humans although there are times he was exactly that.

plus

one. he believes his death will be cause by getting run over. the only question is when.
two. he always will be in his own world when his headphones are on.
three. he always need more clothes. to distract passers by from his face.
four. he feels out of character doing this. the sole reason being to stall studying for his exams.
five. he wants to grow up to be jamie oilver bon iver and an amish guy.
six. he researches on food probably way too much but he still does it.
seven. he wants a new oven. and a camera. and so many others it will be a whole other post.
eight. he wishes he a creative genius. and a zillion times smarter. working on the former.
nine. hes the kid that skips orientation cause he rather work.
ten. he aspires one day to farm his own crops herbs and daily staples.

plus

one. he hates anyone touching him. pats on the back included.
two. hes this old now but still acts like hes ten. please refer to picture above.

ps. thats not his shirt its his fathers.

thirty seven

words immaterial
no explanation desired
for a love like this.

my solitary premature valentines days post.

thirty six

support our starving local artist.
not the ones they fly off to taiwan.
so they continue doing on that sweet spot.

thirty five

photo from here.


i felt compelled to write about chinese new year. days of gluttony forced conversation red packets. reuniting. like an unspoken pact set each year the schedule set deeply entrenched written erstwhile i was born.
an occasion that can never be replaced by other holidays. never lackluster. nothing holds even close to this celebration.

the gatherings.
the fights.
the food.

crumbly buttery soft flakes whipped into auspicious shapes topped off with sweeten fruits.
hand rolled heavenly shards of crispy crunchy heated batter of a secret concoction of egg batter to paper thin manufactured uniformity.
slivers of toasted almonds sprinkled onto a simple base lighter than a meringue snapshot eating sweeten pillows of white airy clouds topped off with toasted crunchy bits finished by drizzling melted molasses.
the lost battle of trans fats.
braised duck soup stewed for days on ends to archive textures that are soft falling off the bone goodness. the flavors of the stock through every single spoon filled wonder.
homemade pounded chilli spiked secret ingredients made with a pestle and mortar instantly transporting you back to the era when firecrackers were still legal and you trying in vain to scare that hated cousin.
curries spiked in coconut milk not generic evaporated milk. filled with the aromas of bashed up shallots onions galanga curry leaves a shaving of candlenut amazing.
the hot pot broth that exponentially gets more scrumptious as the night goes on. bubbling with seafood just waiting to get caught by ones mini scoop-net piping hot into ones mouth.

happy chinese new year.

to you too obama.

thirty four

the airborne toxic event

after a long hiatus my obeisance to the sloth and all his close relatives i appear again like the maggots left in weeks old meat.

first question. whats up with the darn ominous apocalyptic band name. go read up more maybe one can figure it out. white noise.
like a snow ball put together by calvin and hobbes on a white blanketed mountain they are gaining more momentum. factoring in pitchfork stunning review of a reassuring one.six its as prodigious to me failing my a levels. bad press is better than none i guess. you scrutinize the many brazilian shown by paris hilton.
in parts their self titled album sound faultless with its rock based literary lyrics arrangements perfection.
but put together they still seem lost. finding what makes them unique. their own identity. but think this should be the path paving the roads with black bricks. to

somewhere around midnight.

but still they make rockin music. just take the tunes like they were done by darn adroit schizophrenic mature kids making the best sounds alive.

thirty three

if only things stayed that way
peter pan had a point
nothing good came from growing up.

thirty two

if paradise exist what would it be
indulgence euphoria
unmitigated simplicity
could have been the aura from the single first step
or just plainly the sustenance received
plans will be made to revive this dormant withheld scene of consciousness
for now it lays contented knowing that such a place actually survives
exists.

thirty one

back from my long hiatus filled with hunting santa
following specks of crumbled spiked breadcrumbs
to lands never set foot before
back into an chapter befitting a holga perfect picture
but all was shattered in eleven hours

little flecks of snow
how i wish it would know
to stay where it were be
frozen frozen like i know.

posts about the past will be made
just visualize watching back to the future.