Gesamtkunstwerk

one day, i will walk down spiral stairs to a corner in my studio, an isolated room at the side of the already-private tower of my house. it will be cosy, chill-outable, yet able to induce full-on mad work. the room will curve like the uss enterprise and be as ergonomically-blessed. there'll be my desk, split keyboard on the swivel armchair, sleek g5 mac humming (monitor on its tripod), drawing board, curved side table enhanced with a cute imac and ibook, and ipod bracketed on the wall.

i will turn around, and see the room sweeping out into a soft nook. this expansive hollow will be left dark, and sitting in the middle, dual-spotlit with artistic cunning:



will be a shimmel pegasus piano.

cool stuff:
@ seat leather-upholstered and adjustable (wouldn't have it any other way, damnit)
@ hyrdaulic fallboard
@ car body shell; available in whatever car colour there is - 'owkoolzzdat?

technical:
@ middle pedal sostenuto
@ tri-dimensionally curved soundboard
@ tension collector

technically, with sostenuto and collector it's at a reputable standard as mine yamaha c3. never heard of 3-d curved soundboards though. trade? now the only downside is, every shimmel i have played was more or less crap, and i know that i hate petrof, but the german black mark just disappears under the pegasus' overwhelming style...

technically, [ _______ is the greatest thing i've done before turning 20 ] is partly rhetorical, therefore open to infinite possible answers - the sheer scope lies boundless and unconfined, while challenges loom unbridled.

it's a quest for the sense of achievement, and the accompanying licence to brag... well, tell with sufficient pride, that i have done this-and-that before/by/when i was 20. my inherent laziness before such a task was such that it brought about a surge of creativity - quite paradoxical. before i knew it, i was already aware of other possible statements. in other words, where i shave specifics in measures, thus stretching its generality and gravity.

i could say, for example:
- [ _______ is the greatest thing i've done by turning 20 ]

- [ _______ is the greatest thing since i turned 20 ]

or if i do want to be specific:
[ _______ is the greatest thing i've done in the 3 months short of 20 ]

different statements, with wide area for different premises. and variances in positive and negative too, depending on how u look at it, and on the topic itself. now reading back, i think... does anyone think it's a bit useless? my short boost of dormant creativity, dedicated to utter trash, which i just love. yet...

what will it be?

no internet. bill's due. that's alright... it sorts of gives me freedom to do whatever-else, read and write and draw and shit. what strikes me again and again is that what i do, is Basic. drawing and writing? everyone learnt that when we learnt to grip a pencil, now it's just (and all) the matter of how Good u do it. and freedom? nothing cryptic - just a sense of release if i'm not online, coz i just get caught up with msn and gunbound. being still a dialup loser i've not evolved from when i first got online in 1998, still on 56k, getting dc-ed, and busy signals and shit. nonetheless i'm still glad of my consistency in dwelling so, in obsolescence.

so, freedom from not being online, and retro technology. but hey. u'd rather walk into a 'cool' dark cafe with creaky rattan furniture and bohemian posters, playing Vinyl Tracks, than to that other one equipped with bauhaus chairs and shiny plungers, with a bang & olufsen system (also complete with italian branding, all that shit.) wouldn't u? c'est la vie, ironic.

now conveniently on the topic of branding. today, in a rather boring lecture by a guest speaker (hey, i think i notice that toni near-to-never lectures herself...), on that all-important-and-ominously-dominating aspect of marketing, that is, er... branding, i was too far away to read one of the pie charts, and also too far away mentally to listen to him. however i actually registered how the pie was divided - exactly in the proportions of a clock, and so while i never knew all the aspects of The Brand, i nevertheless did learn there were 12.

before i digress, it was at this decisive moment that i dreamt up my future individual, genius, enterprise. i would build a brand, with strategy, vision, essence, values, the works; without a product. throw in some cheap advertising. and when people finally start noticing that this brand, this entity they've come to know and love, is devoid of a product, and start asking, that's when i'll be a inter/national hero and reveal it.

we'll take a little detour. the world today is so twisted in its virtual dream and notions of power. what is power, what is order? what is chaos, for that matter? the innocent store attendant, shown the wrong end of a robber's gun, is afraid in the ego for his life, but is afraid in the superego of the imbalance of power. this violent extortion, backed by bullet and barrel, pitted against by his earnest diligence and consequently, meek obedience, this side of the law. it is Wrong - it disrupts the norm of things (in human perspective), challenges right & wrong (manmade notions), and basically is against the law (manmade notion too, only bigger, done up in writing, and is the base of those rights & wrongs) - which has for centuries ever been in disapproval of the violence such as this good store attendant knew. is such an abstract idea worth so much fear for?

economics. micro, macro. still all theories. and theories upon theories, breeds commerce (even more abstract). and with politics in the mix, add in game, gambling and sporting events called elections, and u finally realize how warped it is when u hear ridiculous phrases like 'health dollar'. with this visit to medicare blablabla john howard "trumps" the labour party blablabla need all the "health dollar" they can get. i said wtF? and continued to wonder on the pathetic direction of the news footage.

from this salman rushdie book, right (i'm nuts about this book) there's this indian character piloo doodhwala, fictional i suppose, who cheated the government of $4 bil+ over 15 years, getting support for his mutton-farming industries, only catch being the goats were ghoats, or goasts. non-existent. fictional as it sounded this was in the '60s. this fantastic scam just but proved that intangible goods were just the next thing. enter insurance!

then came the age of the net and all things virtual, and to get users to be able to access sensis.com, sensis has to buy that domain name off someone else. otherwise, boring, regional sensis.com.au, but that's beside the point, which is - money off a string of letters! and in mx, it appears if u're the sad lonely modern single, u can buy wallpaper with people, a voodoo romeo which says "it's not your fault, it's mine" - and beauty of beauties sold on ebay, a month-long friendship, with 2 mails electronic and 2 shorthand, smses and 'a shoulder to cry on'.

that has been adequately long.

back to my instant celebrity. what Would my magic product be?

Chaos.

Lies. Discord.

oh, now, u say. but u're just pretending and i know it, becoz this is the next next bigger thing than the next big thing, becoz i'm not losing your interest and u're just feigning, and let's get on now, really. people go back to brands who know what they want. who relate and empathize and prove that through their advertising. since i'd have already done that, they'll love me so much they'll buy whatever i sell! and in vein with my futuristic and bleak brand values, since mankind Is irrevocably destined to kill himself - click.

"self-destruct". they hear it everyday, they know it in their guts, they'll see it all around. but I, i will be their champion, i will be their little voices personified, and i will amplify and shout it back at them tenfold, "self-destruct!" and they'll love the painful truth, love me for telling it so bold, and want it, want it so bad, they'll come back for more and more and etc. till i slam my steel gates in their faces and they continue begging and snivelling, worshipping me through the bars of my fucking front door. it's like how u know of cancer and that smoke stinks, but still u light up - Addiction!

Addiction. that's one too. another, howbout Irony?

really, selling the good people nouns, like a cheapskate sesame street spinoff. huh right.

nah, it's just the irony in Irony, which doubles and enhances the irony upon itself, from within itself, and that is just damn ironic. i love ironic. personally, and also becoz to end, i was actually juggling whether to start this actually or just write it as a fictional story (the latter being safer too), when the lecturer concluded with a suggestion: why not write your brand strategy as a book? wow!

everything's been done, isn't it? up yours, motherfucker!

"i've some cheapo cereal, but i'm outta milk. there's some sour milk that i'm god knows saving for what, - ohshitishouldn'thavetolduthat - and the cereal's got apple and cinnamon in it, and i don't think u'd... well, the alternative? good ol' turkey sandwich. or there's salami if u want. simple fare it is, but..."

but, he'd already settled down at the long communal table gleefully. fishing out a slice from the loaf of bread, he slapped a generous lining of butter on it, following up with two thin slices of turkey. folded in half, it was a quick bite to finish in the time he made another one, to continue the fine feast of that sweet cold turkey on that soft, creamy butter...

heck, anything tastes good when u're hungry, simple fare or not. i know the feeling. i watched him from my corner, blended and cloaked. it was a skill i'd learnt, inspired from a book (fine, i Have read a bit. i'm half a hypocrite, but this author is salman rushdie) and just standing in your mind u will yourself to be invisible, and hey presto! and all that shit. then i decided not to.

having some time off, i took up the six-strings, sat on the table with one foot on the bench, and settled its crook on my thigh:


"twas in some narrow alleys, at night if u please,
three storeys above, the walls look high
the streetlamp is double, one in a puddle
the puddle is broken, i stand where i lie

behold, lo! the hooded, cloaked hero
he laughs out loud, in mirth, pure fun
fleet of foot (where does his faith he put?)
he runs, and continues to run

seven i find, as i glance up behind
seems lucky for them; he passes by
i dare to hope, as down i scope
they come into range, and i let fly

the laggers were two, idiots, boo!
i sniped them somewhere between
the weak leader, he tends to the fodder
but by another, i am seen!

he opens fire, i taste plaster
within my mouth, from its walls
two breaths, i ready, i shoot, steady
he spits a red fountain, and falls

i kill three, and four did flee,
i throttled in wake in no mirth, no fun
the hero does not hide, none matched his stride
i fetch his gear, i'm the one

he stops to run, and i ready the gun
he turns and confronts the four
at the bank at the corner, down the side ladder
i climb, and stoop to the floor

he's calm and cool, and is graceful
the moment hangs as they circle in
the moment lingers, i flex my fingers
he turns and falls; it's a fantastic scene

he turns circle, like it's a spectacle
he falls and stoops easily
as my gun clattered over, ever sure,
he grabs it, simultaneously

and drops and shoots, four times to boot!
they drop like puppets against he
we seem so smooth they appear uncouth,
how it's suddenly over, beats me.

but there's more to come, fee fi fo fum,
to the rocks, we hop over the bridge
people and horses appear, to death premature
as the hero, his gun did hitch

it bellowed, and what that followed
was a revelation upon the senses
strewn the street was unholy cooked meat
from a trash bin, within an eight-foot radius."


he seemed to like it, good song for breakfast. if u're wondering 7-ish pm should be for dinner, u're probably right, but i know this guy. as much as i knew what songs to accompany turkey sandwiches.