yeah

here’s a few from our goddaughter’s mini birfday bash right after lin’s sista’s wedding (talk about party-hijack!). forgot the cam cause of the rush so pls endure the blur…another rotund reason to opt for iphone over blackberry.

waitinthinkinrain

if u don’t know it already, fuck it.

larr

kill your idols. larry is messiah. period.

love is

not the only fruit

the stones are down again, down down, imaginary things lifted up and dropped on mornings, evenings. dropped hard on desks at early morning sitting at  desk, wood copulating with paper. soft strong paper of straits times and today and tnp and godknowswhat, crying to be read and they will be read, no news of this, then it was always health, cardio and kidneys, transplants and malpractices and h1fuckingn1 and osteoperosis and angioplastys and rashes and tits and lasik and spiderveins and unbecoming blemishes and gall stones and tka and vitamins b and c and d and go fuck urself hypochondriac pills and band aids and clean hands and sinister bunions, and continence and vertigo, drs and specialist and naked nurses in the ot and toyota fucking lean qualtiy systems. and thats gone and its all over making way for art and arty and artyness and culture vibes and heritage hankerings and coffee machines and leaky pens and sinister sculptures and phillipines people and vietnam people and china people and thailand people and india people and singapore people and people people squeezed into a tourism ball, cross purposed and counter-parted and insane delegations, and music and peace and cigarettes  and halloween and crazy foreign media, and stiffies and homos, and mint toys and photographs and media protocols, and target audience and agencies and production houses, and quotations and mellodrama, and caricatures and scripts and 128gsm and photocalls and monochrome photos and bus tours and blog posts and brochures and 4c guides and period mags and flemish masters and monalisas and egyptian hieroglyphs and li chen and spring and rain and sycophants and sex and bad movies and chicken wraps and nanyang history and 1938 and bukit chandu and armenian church and writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing, o god, o venus, o mercury, patron of thieves, lend me a little tobacco-shop, or install me in any profession, save this damn’d profession of writing, where one needs one’s brains all the time.

bolly=kolly=jolly

2 disadvantages of havin an indian wife

1st – i eat way too much on deepavali

2nd – i watch 4hr long tamil moovies without a slice of english subtitles in sight

2 advantages of havin an indian wife

1st – i get to eat way too much on deepavali

2nd – i get to watch 4hr long tamil movies without a slice of english subtitles in sight (eerrr..so is de hero de one with de pot belly? or is he de one with de pot belly?)

Even the five grueling years she spent as a matador in Pamplona had not prepared her for a bull this sneaky.

shaking the grass

& tomorrow will b 3rd week at noo job.

review: chaotic & comfortable. neckup in work. piles & piles of em’. never ends. nice place. good place. happy. i see my sanity in tha distance. finally after 3.5 years. that fucker is not gonna slipaway this time.

nothin else. oh wait. yes 1 more…steve-o for president!

pretty good

larry’s home

http://www.hbo.com/larrydavid/

springhill=gauguin

stain sutra

walking in the door i thought gawd damn this must be some made-up goof straight to hell, shit road to hades, bound to incidents id never fathomed and answers id never found, leading on & on & on to continuous questions

ccs, when will u end the human war?

ccs, when will u be angelic?

when will u take off your clothes?

ccs, why is your meeting room full of tears?

im sick of your insane demands

ccs after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.

your machinery is too much for me.

you made me want to be a saint.

i don’t feel good don’t bother me

ccs, there must be some other way to settle this argument.

danker is thru i don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.

are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?

my mind is made up there is going to be trouble

ccs this is quite serious

ccs this is the impression i get from looking into the television set

ccs this is the impression i get from looking into the eyes of colleagues

ccs, I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness

ccs is this correct?

ccs i’m addressing you.

are you going to let our emotional life be run by the straits times?

i’m obsessed by the straits times.

i read it every week.

ccs stop pushing i know what I’m doing

ccs, we sneak smokes at stairways every chance we get and we’re not sorry.

ccs, when will you give up your obsessions?

i’m trying to come to the point

ccs, you don’t really want to go to war

i refuse to give up my obsessions

ccs, when will you feed the hungry?

ccs the orchids in your garden are falling

ccs, i’ve given you all and now i’m nothing

the outsider

tomorrow at 3peeam, at the scream of sirens i will pledge implacable allegiance to the other tribe.

‘and i feel ready to live my life again. as if this great outburst of anger had purged all my ills, killed all my hopes, i look up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and lay myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world. and finding it so much like myself, in fact so fraternal, i realize that i’d been happy, and that i was still happy. for the final consummation and for me to feel less lonely, my last wish is that there should be a crowd of spectators at my execution and that they should greet me with cries of hatred’.

thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season

hongkong july 08. still miss the darn place. sigh.

weekend weekend on the wall. make me laugh and sing and howl!

the down

most difficult day. cloud-fucked. now 1st things 1st: eliot:
i grow old, i grow old
i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

and 2nd, simon:
i ‘ave squander’d my resistance for a pocket-ful of mumbles,
such r promises all lies n’ jest
but still-a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

and now sleep, prepare for life.
the last twist of the knife.

r-cup

Candy-losophy 101: REESE’S Peanut Butter Cups are the perfect combination of creamy peanut butter in a rich milk chocolate cup that no one can resist.

So there!

kowloon sutra

so there, it’s done, 4 days shooting off on friday the 10th working till 3 and speeding half dressed to catch the 6.30 flight high strung on the take-off sippin orange juice and kicking thru with larry david landin headin on the express and next the shuttle dropping off finally at kowloon then 23 waterloo road cityview in the lobby up the elevator thru room 1988 bursting in the connected 1990 surprising the wife like a snake in the grass greeting the friends swapping travel conversation & howdoyoudo’s getting drunk on bluegirls & sapporos sleepin shagging waking up tumbling on the green bobbing sea on an hour long jetboat to macau fresh in the boiling heat counting portuguese cobbled stones watching the traces and the lost dead shadows hanging heavily from the old world of cannons & conquistadors, lunching in expensive squalor 2nd floor on rice and chunks of animal fat and duck’s blood and iced tea, thereafter in the cathedrals and fortresses it rained all over, onto the planes and flowers and rubble and ceramic saints, and into our pockets and eyeballs, and we ranwalked into many a useless shelter the scents of our tired bodies mixed like a strange relationship as we trudged toward the holy grail venetian of the city and watched the people and the people and people move into the fragrant passageways, so many we had not thought death had undone so many and so we bought a litle and lost a little, $HK5 for dish of chilli, and all the mannequins dressed in style brought tears to our immigrant eyes, and back to kowloon at the end, again to 23 waterloo road and down under covers and up from bed at sun-up we moved in the city and dodged cars and newspaper stands and neon boutiques and back to the soft carpet of the hotel and the cold bottles of beers puckered between our lips till our brains froze and numbed us ready for the night markets and the street lamps and vintage posters and tiny buddhas and copy watches and copy bags and copy belts and copy panties and copy shit, laughing on and drinking chrysanthemum milk teas and fried octopus in an oily bag and swashing down havana rum together with drunk ex-colleagues in the drunk slow-back crow-black night into tomorrow of late morning 10am packing at 11am on a fresh heine and an hour to-go before lunch and an hour before check-in, saying hard goodbyes and promises of inevitably to be broken future meet-ups, and off into the shuttle and then the express at kowloon and tsing yin and then the airport and into the clouds.