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.