just to reply an e-mail. i am not deceased, have not been deported and most certainly have not departed from blogland. things have been hectic and life has been running haywire.

scathing retrospective will make an appearance sometime soon. or not.

much love.

i've been rather annoyed with myself. i've come to the conclusion that i've become a sad, attention-craving cunt.

i'd always stuck by the mantra of "worrying is not gonna make money appear in your wallet, arguing is not going to disentegrate your lawsuit, ginseng supplements are not going to make you healthy and vigorous, looking into the horizon is not going to make the bus come any faster, asking nicely is not going to get you laid..."

so i like to stay away from confrontations. i like to not start conversations unless there's something in it for me. the only time i'm up for small-talk is when i'm trying to weasel my way out of a problem.

but of the late, it seems like i've been giving too much of a shit. so much so that i'm contradicting my aforementioned values - do your shit, get your job done, get the fuck off and go home and sleep.

i was designing a flyer for CL's project and i was quite pleased with myself - i came up with designs for an invitation card, a cube shaped souvenir and booklet-like thank you card. normally, i'd be happy to just give people what they want for the sake of being able to end it all sooner, rather than later - but we ended up having a heated argument about the size, material used, choice of font and all that shite - all i could think to myself was "why the fuck do i bother?"

it really was very uncharacteristic. and i'm not too pleased with myself.

i don't need any fucking aggravation. i don't need any pity or any justification. i don't appreciate obligated attention and false pretense.

i realise that i tend to forget what it's like to be myself. sometimes i'm fred savage - sad pre-pubescant cunt with ugly hair and same set of t-shirts. always feeling sorry for himself for having to hang around with paul and having not laid winnie. sometimes i'm tyler durden - reckless, masochistic and loving it. sometimes i'm robbie williams - all glamour and balls, but without any actual credibility to show for.

in a desperate attempt to salvage my individuality, i've been writing notes on my arms and wrists to remind me that i should frown much, kick stray cats and generally not be nice.

i wrote the word "anus" on my right wrist.

my left wrist says "knob".

that should do it.

stereotyping looks to be the most useful invention of 90's. along with political correctness and typecasting. don't you just love it when you're packaged into a brand or plotted as another statistic?

seriously, these days it's hard not to be part of some sub-cultured neophyte association or academy of social prostitution. ironically, i just discovered that i'm part of the 13% who totally abhor the concept of statistisical stereotyping. this discovery made in the latest issue of popular science. my, my...

i hate flipping through the papers only to find that precious american taxpayer's dollars are going into research to determine that smoking IS indeed bad for health (and the point is?), alongside more and more precarious bullshit like the effects of leaving your window open on a sunday, subliminal messages hidden in black hip-hop music purporting to a rise in sexual related shenanigans amongst blacks hanging around on beaches. classic scientific breakthroughs of the like - swine coitus, post latino invasion, cause-effects of americanism, sugar highs.

i've been on a holiday of sorts. i haven't left my house for nearly over a week already and according to the grapevine, i'd either been deported or abducted (which is more or less the same thing). but the sad fact is i've rather hermit-ly cooped myself up at home with nothing but infinite supplies of chocolatey foodstuff, old movies and the astro remote firmly glued to my palm. it's much like locking yourself up in a hotel room with that "do not disturb" thingy hanging on the knob (the door).

but give television a moment to mess with madness and all you get is a splitting headache and a trove of american cliches. alongside american humor, american anthems for american youths facing american problems, american football aka "soccer", revolutionary american leadership and good old american movies with american endings.

i'd steered clear of television for a few months prior to this sudden binge. suddenly, i have to compensate by catching up on the latest politically correct terms and typecasts. ooh, look - i just realised that i'm not really a boring person. i would, however fit seamlessly in the cast of ally mcbeal as yet another sad motherfucker with the personality of a carrot. more of that shit after a few messages from our sponsors...

it's degrading and depressing watching beautiful people with flawless skin and silky smooth hair prancing about saying that they're not good-looking enough, smart enough or successful enough to be loved by ally, who for that matter, is none of those things.

i don't know where all my fucking money goes. i had dim sum for breakfast, mcdonald's for lunch, watched a movie, bought a few dvd's and had ice cream for dessert, bought a few shirts.

my, i've slipped into james dean mode.

i've been rather reckless the past few weeks. i haven't been prudent with my monetary management and i most certainly have not abided by the 8-hours of sleep rule of thumb.

i'd say i'm enjoying myself a wee too much. so much so that i'm absolutely drained. too tired to lift the one-finger salute. too tired to utter "fuck". my hair's falling off and i'm breaking out. i've lost weight with all of the junk i've been eating and because of all the lost hours of sleep. i've got those robin (from batman) eyering thingy's.

in an act of futility, i made an impulsive decision to shave my head bald - just because i woke up in a bad mood one day and was angry with my hair. it didn't dawn upon me that all i really needed was a haircut. and a comb.

oddly enough, i haven't been antagonising myself with my current state of affairs. surprisingly, i haven't had much self-aggravation, i haven't been whining about how shit everything has gotten, i haven't been moaning about the many things i could be moaning about.

things have never been this shittified - i've probably never felt this ugly, never been this broke, i've never been this worn-out - but glory, glory hallelujah - i think that i'd raised the white flag long ago. i've relentented and the only thing to do is to do nothing about it. peeling that fucking scab off is like some uncontrollable fetish, but when you peel it and it keeps bleeding - it's just gonna keep making more and more little scabs.

i suppose i'm just gonna let the fucking thing rot until it drops off by itself. in the meantime, in gonna enjoy myself, tail wagging between legs and all...

don't you just hate the way he always succeeds in reducing a person into a wreck of emotional discomfort and mental unease everytime you sit through one of his movies?

if you don't, then i do.

kubrick movies are at best brilliant, ground breaking and thought-provoking. but the other fucking side of the road leaves a chalk-man impression of having been knocked down by a moped driven by a sadistic nun hellbent on taking venting the frustration of having been fingered by the vicar. all this and more, by stanley "headfucker" kubrick.

nausea. depression. gloom. doom. everything is wrong and the only thing that's right is expecting a graphic, perverse ending that spits and fucks on social ethics and standards.

of course, i'm also quite an idiot for having sat through a mini-kubrick movie bonanza of sorts. all in all a weekend full of terminally weird movies :

* clockwork orange (self-explanatory)
* eyes wide shut (terminal headfuck)
* a.i. (subtly disturbing, redeemed by a swanky jude law)
* the road to perdition (tom hanks does it again)
* saving private ryan (not a movie to watch at the dinner table)
* bruce almighty
* basic (brill)
* alex and emma
* the life of david gale (another disturbing piece of headfuck)

i don't do extreme sports like rollerblading in your undies or cycling without ball guards - but i compensate the death defying stunts by watching terminally freaky movies that induce a severe headfuck. the kind that you get when you see kathy bates in the buff.

i was in 1-utama the other day and i leapt for joy when i stumbled across the catch-22 movie starring art garfunkel. it was a 1970's adaptation that i'd heard of but could never seem to find. sadly, i didn't have dosh with me but i will (i must) get it. soon. before the shop closes down. shit like that always happens to a shop whenever you find something worth buying.

also on my wish list are ewan mcgregor's "shallow grave", the godfather trilogy, more bridgette bardot (or laetitia casta) movies and "this is spinal tap".

i'd also throw in "the goonies" and "pulp fiction" into the bag.

how trite.

p.s. shan't be around much for the next to weeks. send my love to mandy.