Did you manipulate yourself into it?

I know I do. I think I am..

Is it a mystery why we fall in love? It is a mystery how it happens. It is a mystery when it comes. It is a mystery why some love grows and it is a mystery why some love fails. You can analyze this mystery and look for reasons and causes, but you will never do anymore that take the life out of the experience. Just as life itself is more than the sum of the bones and muscles and electrical impulses in the body, love is more than the sum of the interests and attractions and commonalities that two people share. And just as life itself is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways.

When they fall out of love, or the person they love feels the spirit of love leaving, they try desperately to reclaim the love that is lost rather than accepting the gift for what it was, then moving on. They want answers where there are no answers. They want to know what is wrong in them that makes the other person no longer love them, or try to get their love to change, thinking that if some small things were different, love would bloom again. They blame their circumstances and say that if they go far away and start a new life, their love will grow. They try anything to give meaning to what has happened. But there is no meaning beyond the love itself, and until they accept its own mysterious ways, they live in a sea of misery.

All our hearts feel the same.

Back to reality

I went back to the BBQ Wednesday to consecrate a second day of gluttony, reaching the luscious, green park by a combination of subway, foot, and nostril.

I stayed for a few sets of not altogether amateurish live music by blues and jazz teams haphazardly culled from the roadcrew, and following two pulled-pork sandwiches, six ribs, three coleslaws, a pile of brisket, a cup of baked beans, four varieties of sausages.

I must have been there awhile, my jaw was exhausted, and I had stopped chewing my food. I was leaning against the incapacitated fountain at the center, situated between the stage and the beer tent, finishing one last bite, feeling dizzy, squinting westward. But I was focused on the large bubble that had formed in my stomach, gastrogenesis. It was growing, expanding, pressing chewed meat against the sides of my stomach. It was sharp, like the great british barbeque butcher, having finished dissecting hundreds of pigs and cattle, was now starting on me from the inside.

Hurts..


Stupid stupid stupid,

That is how i feel now. My aching now is almost certainly a fraction of what my general outlook will be tomorrow.

5 hours in casualty and 6 stitches in my face and I am sitting at home seeping blood at a gentle ebb.

I am hoping that if any positive is to come of this, aside from the distinguished black eye that makes me look like some sunday league south east london wide boy, would be an even more distinguished bruise in a v shape nestling its way into my eye socket.

Anybody who gives a damn send me love, sympathy and care parcels full of chocolate and cheap novels. Blood sweat and tears and all that, I would be less wound up about the situation if I had played for more than five minutes of the game!

Hockey - a sport for men.

Now the nerves have been jangled

According to wikipedia, the very first webcam was pointed at a coffee pot at Cambridge University. Since this monumental moment in history, the webcam has been pointed at different things; panda births, naked folk, volcanoes, and traffic. I'll get one soon.It was possibly a wiser man that intimated that we, the people of earth, are as one on the bouncing ball of life, merely contented to be along for the ride. There are very few common goals in this world. In this instance the goal is not to be on the bottom when it bounces.This seems rather too sardonic a jaunt for this early on in the day and this late on in the week, but I can't feel my face and embarking on some quasi intellectual battle is an attempt to keep me firmly tethered to the ball.It has been a fun week. I bust my leg playing football but was heartened that on the same day I got a gig. I need the money for the time being. ATLEAST, worked with professionals so it was all worthwhile. Plenty of travelling. Sickness is in the post, I swear.

And as much as Europe is now a small and terrified creature with many and varied defensive mechanisms; upon ones back clawing at anything that moves within spitting distance being the most obvious. Yesterday I begin to notice the small things I do to feel comfortable;


When holding hands with someone I am inclined to place my thumb on top of theirs (i panic if I am not in control of my hand), walking down the street I touch every bollard and run my finger along railings to produce a satisfying and calming rhythm. Since the age of six I have been unable to stand on three grates on the pavement and refuse to walk under sign posts. I sleep with my back to the wall and sit with my face to the window in fear of people coming to get me. If I don't get my way I don't sleep. For Christ’s sake I am twenty and my personal weirdness increases ten fold year on year. By the age of thirty I will be the guy with a cardboard belt, a straw lined flannel shirt (for insulation) and a tin foil head piece to stop them from reading my thoughts. By forty having lost all contact with those people who stood by me in my plastic shoes phase I will be forced to work in IT. Terror. Terror. Terror.

Who lit the fuse on your tampon?

Upon the goading of my peers I have been prompted to publish more ramblings. It has been a hellish couple of months and I am quite sorry of neglected the past-time of ranting about my concerns for the tattered globe we dwell on.

O.K. now a distinct sensation of being doomed has set in. I am happily ignoring the calls from my school and family, although knowing that such folly will be my undoing in the coming weeks.

This though is not my immediate sense of trepidation. Nor is the fact I just went for a shower and my water proof radio (christmas 2003) was playing a documentary about Robert Johnson. Just tuning in, I was rewarded with a full and very emblematic description of him dying of a poisoning, barking like a dog. Supposedly the hounds of hell coming to collect the soul he owed the devil. No even this was not that disconcerting!

It is odd. A gut feeling, though more likely something in the air; I'm not in Malaysia, so it isn't cancer. It might be some resonance to seeing 300 (ish, i'm no journalist) people being hauled off a soontobefireball aircraft, a weirdly heartening sight. In future I will pay more attention to plastic backed panic cards!Or fly less!

The damndest and possibly the most predictable thing just happened. I was catching a train at London bridge out towards Deptford. Too tired to even consider keeping my eyes in focus, on an evening I use journeys like this in the working week to read as much as possible. I take a seat on a sweltering southbound connex train. Lo and behold I am joined by a man and a woman and there pet dog.

The couple were elderly but far further gone in senility than there age would demand. The woman, yellow haired and wrapped in pink over coat making the small concession of rolling her sleeves up a little on what must have been the coldest day of the year, spent the ten minutes we shared balancing her personal financial affairs with startling feats mental acrobatics. The man balding with glasses in a pair of four stripe jogging bottoms and equally enshrouded in overcoats, this time with badge after badge of holiday locations in the British Isles, such sunny climbs as: Wales, Lowestoft, Suffolk, Harwich, Whitby and Llandudno.

The man chattered incessantly without being of any particular use to the yellow haired accountant, after a while recognising he wasn't being listened to, thought it better to feed the dog, Roy, coca cola from his finger. As I got up to leave the woman started to get panicky and begun to remonstrate with Roy. "Sit down! We have paid for the seat!". This was all a bit much for me and I have not been able to read since.

This has been an all round negative transmission, but fear not, I think I just need some chocolate! And some hitchcock!

Poots

Parties and Bloodline.

Jump, Jump

This is as underground as it gets. Speakeasies rock.

Armenian Bloodline

My Music




This is a standard Squire Strat in bright purple. One of my favourite guitars. It's one of the ones from back when Squire made decent instruments out of actual wood...

I wanted a Squire specifically after reading Steve Vai had tested a load of Strats to use to record Tender Surrender (or something) and picked the Squire as it had the best vintage tone. Oh, and it has the big headstock like Jimi Hendrix used to have LOL!


ESP G-CL-60
Fitted with Maverick high output pickups, 24 fret neck and floyd rose trem. Oh, and industrial paint job ;)

Used for playing heavy Nine Inch Nails-esque stuff


This is my main guitar at the moment. It's an Ibanez RG470 from the late 1990's. Has a DiMarzio Evolution in the bridge pickup.

Left : 93 Fender Telecaster (Well worn!)
Right : 72 Fender Telecaster Custom Re-issue

The 72 is a great guitar but it really is very heavy. Heavier even than the ESP Les Paul!
The 93 was a good guitar until I beat the living daylights out of it..

I LOVE the matte black paint job and Hot Rod "13" logo. Fantastic guitar for the money, so good I thought about buying another for when this one dies...


Getting ready and getting older. I'm no longer asexual with straight tendencies. I now fuck concepts with staggering frequency. i actually grew up in KL, so despite the fact that i may appear cultured and worldly, i am steeped in a time-honored tradition of culturelessness and superficiality, haha. I may be an asshole. I may not. Like Einstein said, everything is relative. Ah, relativity. A delightful concept. Perhaps I could write a song about it? On second thought, perhaps that is an utterly disgusting idea. I doubt Einstein was meant to be symphonized, or even beat-box-ized for that matter, though it does provoke a relatively amusing image to come to mind.

Leave it t music, family and friends to make me happy ;)

Winter

I'm still in Malaysia but it feels like winter here. Cold and Harsh. Not waking up to the sun this morning left me feeling pretty bleek,and since I dont own a diary,I decided to post this blog... I woke up to the sound of the cat crunching on biscuits, which left me tossing and turning in bed mangled. In the half dead state that I was in, I went online. Thinking about the chat we just had opened a floodgate of bad thoughts which left me in a state of hectic emoness,I felt almost almost non-human.Not a great way to start a Monday morn (please note:It was not due to the hangover).

I lay there with these bad thoughts creeping into my head which were totally uninvited. They all stemmed from something in my past which I really want to forget. I hate the fact that I have a nasty habit of obsessing over these sort of things. These "gatecrashers" or bad memories arrive sooner or later and no matter how much I try to ignore them, I still force myself into trying to find some resolution to their existence.Its exhausting beating myself down with questions I dont have the answers to.

So there I was in bed getting all worked up over things which I hadnt thought of in a very long time. The more I focused them,the more tired I became,but at the same time no matter how hard I tried, I couldnt force myself to roll over into ignorance and get some shut eye.

One usually finds their bed as their comfort zone- warm,snuggly and intimate. But not on this particular morning. The bags under my eyes tell me that living in denial doesnt make these bad thoughts dissapear, or any less menicing and tragic. Theres no cure, no medication that you can take to make them dissapear. Bad thoughts can make life pretty uncomfortable, even my own bed, and they still cause me to wake up on the wrong side of it.