Gesamtkunstwerk

i awoke on bright friday to a tension in the air. the air of impulse. i got up to mail some bills, buy sketchbooks, grabbed two sushi, some breadtop, and the last glimpses of light female clothing. in the wake of fall, dotted by gold-flecked skeletal trees, elizabeth street stretched into the morning, under the skies of a warm day. a beautiful day. (damn i like that phrase)

and came home to - laundry. which meant a timed process, which meant watching the clock, and That meant a lot considering these days, my scorn for time is becoming sinful. so instead of laaaaazzing and wacthing the world pass like everyday, i had an hour and a half on my hands on which i could not fall asleep in.

i started noticing stuff in my ah, indoor backyard. i think the word Might be 'scullery', but i'm not sure... a warm coloured, rough-tiled, kitcheny looking semi-space with toilet and basin attached, and what looks like a good place for a laundry machine. and Stuff. including four pieces of bug in the beginnings of fossil.

first out were the boxes of clothes. then the wire trays, two waterguns, a pc monitor (wtf?), and an airbrush kit and a rice cooker. a pail of trash - looks like someone's started here before. junk like a halfmade cage for the dog. newspapers. all these i stacked in the storeroom and garage, neat. bang stackstackstack / bang stack stack / slot - stackstack / stack slot slot.

when i first met my vacuumm cleaner a year ago, i knew i held a potential weapon in the steel tubing. and that day, i got my affirmation in an iron clip over my toes as it fell out of place, ouch. i get a kick out of sweeping the oblong sucker all over, hearing thingies clatter up the tube (yea... my room. hehe.) there were staples which stupidly didn't suck up. we needed a staple gun to build this frame for kevin's multimedia project, on which we'd wrap a blue cloth, see. i've a fucking blue screen in my room.

i run upstairs across slivers of waning afternoon sunshine and regret - time for the laundry. i transfered it to the dryer, and picked up the mop. i would slog over two hours with that thing in my... kitchenette, with about five/six rounds over. heh, literally squeaky clean!

opening the doors under the toilet basin yields a cute surprise - twenty-seven bottles, depleted of carlton draught and hoarded here by i wonder which sucker, in three neat rows like a bloody molotov arsenal. they looked neat, so why not leave them there? i don't need the space anyway.

and then, in short, underdried sheets which i ran through again, forgotten keys, missed train, late dinner with wl and mich and yenli? and an hour of hunger. friday was a long day. oh the weekend was bliss, with intervals for great expectations and a something-new-batman. but friday, was rare. friday was a long day.

and this, a long post... bleh i'm sleepy.

typography with mundane myriad, and a wedge of red to rip it up.

education's end. it may appear like a dead end, initially, but as the respected jeff hayes said, it's a springboard into your proper lifetime of education. deep, is jeff.

which is good for eluding the point. it is still a dead end. my 3 (+1) years in melbourne is to be an abrupt stop-and-bounce, over which i topple into empty air and fate. the future is a sapphire block and i a free-fall speck, but i meet it with my tiny violence, breaking its face, rippling the waters and lives and verily, changing to the ends its entirety.

u make your own way. i - will backpack europe.

original vague idea: leaving when i grad and bum euro right-left for a serious 5 years, to land in england on my 26th bday. but let's be sound. so after a random chewing the fat with pragmatic mom, which brought be back to sound ground, i was reconvinced to start working first... maybe 3 years - money, experience, more importantly... people! people who know people who know people who'll, whatever.

then it's ciao! and i will start the euro conquest on a skateboard, hopefully with some skills, zipping down a twilight romanian alley, traling the headlight of my red bandanna. or red hunting hat, with the bill turned back. damn! it'll be the carefree, nomadic, working flexi out of my honest hands way, and it'll be the north-middle route, going sweden norway britain france - the pantheons of advertising. then an en route holiday in amsterdam, pantheon of er, nature! and stopover in germany for a stint and ludicrous kickbacks with free gift. i'm allowed to dream hey!

then i'll come back to hang around and maybe work 3 years, then another 3 years off (southerly east-west, greece hungary austria switz italy, then on to spain for bro's latina wedding) - this time on a bmw skateboard - and another 3 years back... and that's the good 12 years of my youth. then i'll start the simple job of becoming a teacher. seriously, i've wanted to be one once in a while, to share with kids what my good teachers shared with me. it's a noble job, really is. and my star student will bring about world peace.

and as my protege, be president of neo-asia, engine-republic of the planet, and ambassador to mars.

which is when i've imperial treasury and backpack africa and space!

i sat at a great divide.

hunched at my laptop, my flip-open window to the world, and in a window within those other windows, like a magritte painting, i googled forever for a nonexist tabs page (my laptop auto-ended itself last night, gave me the shits.) so i was sitting there, beside the great divide of my empty stomach, and the thought came naturally.

should i email for a pizza?

...am i a slave of the net!

that's the joke isn't it? email - at uni it's policy. at one letter short of police, it's an authority and excuse i bear to see shelley multiple times coz our email system has more jams than aisle 7 at safeway. (and right after semester ends, emails cease for fucks... wonder if it's working up again.) then again, a chunk of soon-two-thou emails between eight friends is a hell of another story.

anyway, i was wondering if melb pizza bar has, or should have, email deliveries, and i was wondering if melb pizza bar doesn't, whether anywhere else does becoz u see, melb pizza bar's the closest, less than a block down. i was hoping, for a more cyber-savvy neighbourhood, and more cyber-flow in this pixel of a city, and a depraved cyber-obsessed life, like the one of the hopeforsaken faggish american. more signs!

but... we're halfway there. we've joined multiply like a uniform herd, just like we did with the blog, and earlier: "dadaa", msn announces a mail from philip. he's just added me on multiply. i refuse the pleasure of irony, so i-m him and we chat for... 10 mins? where he webcammed jie sun. then my midriff sort of chokes up as for once, i still do not laugh.

wkhai . has invited you to be his brother.

better and better.

another invite! (stupid subject line wouldn't show the remainder.) first it was sms, then came the reign of help-me-remember-your-birthday's, then a broadside from - uh, i didn't even bother looking. but faithful that dear wkhai wouldn't saddle me up with shit, i humoured him. M was for Multiply.

"please go to the following address to confirm that he is your Brother: etc."

is that or is that not surreal? i love surreal, so i read it again. i once tried to emulate his style of sketching ninja turtles. how he brushed his fringe with his hands. went for t-shirts a little oversize and flipped my jeans' leg-bottoms up (mom drew the line at basketball shoes). fifteen years into the present, a website, a self-generated email, a completely virtual entity, wants me to click a link to - i just love this - confirm that he is your Brother??

we're going down in madness! all the world! watch out - signs abound.

anyway, was reading mx earlier when i realized the words were coming in through my eyes and wisping away like phatasms off the top of my head. nothing interesting! i got home and bummed around for some good stuff. belle de jour is sporadically back. leticia must be dead. googled hwee hwee tan and read all her articles (hey! u can actually dload the whole of her first book from her own website... why??), from s'pore's good-english-movement to talking cock to a coldplay review. noticed many occidental themes. am i the only one who thinks twice is once too many?

(btw, suddenly realized a very literal way to show how going west from east turns u upside down. Kuah Joo Khai and Joo Khai Kuah? and these audacious aussies took it on themselves to add a hyphen: Joo-Khai. still, not as bad as one christian - must've been vehemently so - who told me, "oh, so long it's not 'jew'." like, fuck u, bitch!)

so. i know writers pluck themes out of their own experiences, but there's only so much in that store... is it not? and to re-interpret and re-present it creatively? frankly, i'm a little tired. the past week was one of those bloody scooby-doo mine-wagons, and u just load it as it thunders past on its rickety rails - a campaign on the tue cart, a project on the wed cart, a folio on thurs (ok, that was late). churning work out at the same rate as hours pass in a day. then i came home to my desk, papers and roughs from all subjects strewn and scattered in incoherent chaos - yet, it's Already Over. u're so caught up that the moment it's over, u find that time has whizzed u by like the express train past east richmond, leaving in place this... void.

Creating seems like a huge task, when u're tired. tired of coming up with New. Different. Provoking. some days i'd rather be doing safe mindless drivel. some days i'd rather write academic essays than scintillating 50-word body copy. i'm in apathy, on the path of passive suicide. actually, this theme was briefly brought up by salinger, but never confronted and resolved. nonetheless, i wouldn't say no to a red hunting hat.

come to think of it... i was prob more creative during school when work Was safe mindless drivel. for me, being playful prob requires a balance of boring work. now i'm actually in this business... Fun for a job?

ok that has been adequately long.

waiting for my delivery... ling, karies, don't let me down...