How long haven't I been writing something...

I am sorry folks.

I have been working hard these days. I know it sounds so surreal, but yes, I have been working hard. It's probably because those are theatre papers- then again I need to see a performance before next Thursday so that I can write the two last essays for my Stage Management class. Anyway. Talking about essays are boring.

Eh, just that I spend so much time and my brain cells writing the essay for my acting class, something about my experience in class about the present and the imaginary. Boy I don't even know what I was talking about. Tomorrow I will have to do a improvisation/performance thingy in my acting class- that will be 20% of my final grade. I'd better think a little bit about what the piece I am working on mean to me later tonight. Ah well.

I don't really have much to say as I really want to finish as much work as possible before the sun sets... I know I sound very scary, I know. Sorry.

EDIT: Derek becomes even scarier: by quarter past midnight, he has accomplished: writing a 1000+ word essay (which actually was quite a torture to write such dry stuff) from scratch, which is a technical review of a spectacular dance show (by a group called Kidd Pivot, and the choreographer's Crystal Pite, a very, very talented artist and she seems to be a nice person during the talk-back session also) he watched last night and pretty much finishing a 2500 word acting class essay on class experiences about the present and the imaginary by adding 1000+ useful words to the essay. And he should not forget about drinking a cup of coffee which he was brought from dinner and has been forgotten and left cold for a few hours during working.

All these results in one more show to watch (probably Waiting for Godot), a tiny bit of the Stage Management final project, a bit of revision on both of the essays (basically just reading them through and be proud of the outcome), and two more essays to write, one being a review of Waiting for Godot and the other being comparing the technical elements of Waiting for Godot and Lost Action (the dance show).

Meine neue Pfeife

Got my new pipe today, a deep brown one came instead of the white one I saw. But after breaking into the new pipe, I realized a brown one will be even better- the wood the pipe's made of is pretty porous, therefore the smoke will slowly colour the pipe into a deeper brown, close to black anyway. A white one would look pretty disgusting as time goes by, but a brown one will just look even better!

I've got nothing else too interesting to say actually... after the weird rant last night I did not manage to sleep, so I was watching movies instead. Lola rennt. Lovely movie it is.

Yet another weekend has come already, which means another week closer to the end of semester, when all the work pops up. Hopefully I will get my final mythology essay done this weekend, and on Monday n Tuesday I will be off to see two performances and finish my 3 papers for my Stage Management class, and then finish my paper for my Acting class ASAP.

See? Nothing too interesting- I recommend you read the last two posts instead if you want something a bit more fun to read.

Later, folks.

How I wish,

how I wish you were here.

You whom I have gone through so much with, where art thou at this very darkest hour of the night? The blue sky is falling apart, a crimson wound can be seen and I am trembling while drowning in a purple sea of thoughts, and where art thou? The infinite support, the feeling of blood rushing out of my heart, the chill down my spine when our fingertips join, where art thou? The carefree, spontaneous and playful one, where art thou? When have you slid away so slowly and smoothly from my head, like a handful of sand slips through between my fingers? Have you left me standing alone in this colourless suffocating storm of reality? Has it scared you away? I thought we have sworn, sworn to stand strong together and hang on to each other no matter how strong the storm is going to be. Or was that me, have I locked myself out of our blue, misty paradise without even noticing, was I the one who left you alone? O sweet fairies and fiery spirits, guide me to the one whom I have deserted mistakenly. Show me the way to the very asylum I have created for myself, show me the way to myself!

I have always enjoyed uncertainty and the surprise outcomes it brings to issues. Except two things. Except the two very most important things in my life. Everything can go wrong, everything can go off track, everything can go miles away from plan, but not those two. One has come to a tragic outcome as it should never have been, there was still a glimmer of hope for uncertainty to mend the hole it has punched on the wall, but another untimely blow seems to have sealed the fate, and caused the happening of something which should never, ever happen. The other is yet to be known, but soon the flow of time will wash away the toxic mist that I could not wave away. A is really for accident. After the first heart-tearing accident which was indeed partly my own mischief, there really is no more space for uncertainty nor wrong steps, not even half an inch, not anymore. There is no way for a person to live when both sides of his brain is damaged to a state that it is never going to heal, no matter by himself, by accident or by the trickster goddess of fate.

With half a brain I have been trying to hang on, trying not to hit the ground. But as I fat myself with exhaustion caused by lenghty periods of time chasing my yet faster flying dream and repelling the yet stronger trample of reality, feathers on one wing start falling off, muscles on the other is suffering from a unbearable burn of the inferno within while trying to fight gravity. There were times that the dead half showed signs of life from time to time, with believe and hope as the only fuel, trying to escape from the grasp of Hades. But hell, the fuel seems to be running out and husband of Persephone is still running fast. There is no way one could survive with a brain completely dead. May I meet the most skillful pair of healing hands and there will be nothing that can be done.

The most spontaneous of all, the trickster goddess, the one goddess whom I have truly loved, if you have already started on the remaining half of the poor thought-machine your spontaneous practical joke, I dare you to speed up the painful process and burn away my last glimmer of hope like fire consumes gun powder. Why does someone who has always been faithful to your beliefs and acts deserve such an unfair punishment? But if the second wicked act of yours is still only a thought and is yet to be performed, even as an insignificant mortal I command you to demolish the evil plan, for by the time I rise upon the clouds, with all my wrath ye shall be shredded into a thousand pieces, your locks will become my helmet, your guts will be my feast and your skin will make my new armour.

Ye be warned.

----------------------------------------------------------------
Alright, it is indeed a rant about how much I am worring about losing the one last thing that I can still have a chance to hold on to. I don't want to fuck up my audition to the theatre program in SFU. Simple as that.

If

Pink Floyd is just the perfect music for when the sun is asleep. Listening to Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother album and there's a song I love so much. If.

I woke up late today. Late as in half past twelve. Well what do you expect? I slept at 7am. Everything is satisfying after a night of extra productivity. Tomorrow I expect to finish my Stage Management final project during class time. It is going to be such a great relief once I'm done with that. Then I can concentrate on the 5 essays I have to write before April. Yes. Roughly 10 days left, I know.

A click of my lighter at 8:45 pm signified the end of my month-long smoke-free break. It also signified the beginning of a new phase in this semester: the milk-all-my-working-incentive-and-creativity-which-has-been-forgotten-in-the-past-two-months period. Yes, very honestly I was overwhelmed by a big change in my life in the past couple of months and I cannot say I have overcome it completely. But as things start to get better and as I have got more used to what actually is going on, I begin to pull myself together. One sad thing is within a month's time I will have to adapt to another phase: summer. That I guess will be very different from the last summer when I first started this blog. It would be interesting to look back at both summers the next time I come back to SFU, hopefully as a theatre major, and hopefully with a couple of people I really want to see living on the same campus.

If I was a clown, I will paint my nose red. But in fact my nose is as red as Rudolph's. So I painted it blue instead so that I can smell the sea. And if I had a pair of wings, I would never need to stand. But sadly I do not even own a pair of mechanical ones. I will use a rope instead so I never have to reach the ground. Please, please don't let me hit the ground. If I melted and mingled, I would suffocate and drown in the sea of reality. But luckily and proudly I did not, so happily in my blue cocoon I live and never will I even try to get out. If you want to pat the blue kitty, don't go to the patting zoo for there will be none. Hum my favourite tune at the gates, and it might show you its face. If I was a child I would play all day, silly games, aimlessly. But I am not one anymore no matter how I wish I was. I go away from school and learn to become one, so that the parents won't yell 'fuck off, pedophile!' If I was coulrophobic I would look into the mirror every morning, until one day I am not scared of myself anymore. If my eyes go blind, I will buy a camera and plug it into my brain. If empty bottles and cans are sad my desk is a tragedy. But if they have different personality and dreams, my room is a wonderland. If there is ever a day that the blue cocoon is open for public I'm insane. If my heart stops beating please leave it in peace. If I die with my eyes open please let them be. Living does not mean seeing, nor dying means not seeing anymore. If you ever bother to bid me farewell, pour on my prison with firewater. Light a match, burn down the prison and dance around it. If raindrops were pink and sticky, what would clouds be like? If I am crazy then who is not? If my head is stuck in a pot of amber-coloured glue, will I still be able to wear a hat? If pens have feelings, they will just be living in a dilemma all their lives. To mindlessly burn their lives away under the control of strange, sweaty claws or to stay alive and have no reason to live, that is the question. If mother earth was still alive, we would all be standing in a line, waiting to be spanked on our naughty bums. If monkey laughs the madcap laughs and the madcap walks the monkey steps, can anybody tell who is who anymore? If you think you are a residence of a blue cocoon you must be insanely silly, for even the silver armoured lord of magical elks could only turn the knob but still the door was stuck. If I could open the door I would let the lord in, but it is locked from the inside and I have lost the key, and my desperate cries have scared everyone away. If I was money I would have killed myself. If I was a rope I would never let go. If I was the clothes I would hide in humans. If no one grows up anymore, toys will never cry again. If one child dies whenever a person grows up, we really need to stop taking pills or using condoms. If I was time I would stop and watch the sun set. If I was a piece of potassium I would go play in the rain, for I would shine, and shine until I become one with what gives me joy. If I had my left hand on the right arm, would it still be my left hand or would it be my right? If I walk on my hands, are they still my hands or are they then my legs? If I was a washing machine, I could dance with so many clothes. If all days are equally jolly good days, it just essentially mean they are equally shitty bad days. If I was invisible, I would do something that nobody wants to know. If I was my dream I would never die. If I was a blacksmith I would be honest and forge black and call myself smith.

And if you thought I was crazy, I would laugh at you with craze.

In sweet and loving memory of the glorious days that will never come.

Productivity

I am productive at the most strange hours. From 1am to 6am that is. I basically did not really sleep well last night because I made myself eat too much earlier when I was drinking. So I ended up sitting in front of the computer and waited until I got crystal clearly sober. And I did. After a few hours of work I actually managed to nearly finish up my mythology essay and my stage management final project is also very, very close to complete. It is just strange. When I woke up this morning (eh, afternoon) I looked at the work I have done last night (this morning) and just couldn't believe my eyes. Ah well, at least it is not like I woke up and saw vomit or someone I don't know next to my face. So the quest to finishing my first year gracefully is closer to the end. Just that I have a couple more papers to write. But still. Great start of the week. Great big step towards the end of the quest. Soon, soon I'll be able to throw the ring down there.

I should actually put in citations and those annoying details in my mythology essay now. Or maybe I can actually start to write the other mythology essay that is due next week. Guess I'm in a weird working mood. Talk about from being so unmotivated to so damn motivated within a week. Little d., looking at you through this, you are just still a damn kid.

Well I'm not complaining. More interesting things coming up later, if any.

There's more to life than this.

Having ~10 shots of vodka after finishing 75% of my mythology essay which is due on Tuesdasy. Eating two slices of over-priced Pizza for dinner, then listening to some weird student society people talking stupid politics at dinner, then going back to the kantine to get the notorious Lamb stew which I find delicious (and still finishing it) while gulping down coffee, hoping that I'll be sober soon enough so that I can start working on my Stage Management final project.

Someone told me that I should eat more and gain some weight since... probably as early as September 2004. I can proudly say that I have been eating a lot, and I should have grained some weight, due to the excessice eating and the quitting of smoking. (Although I'll smoke again soon... the stress, the horror.)

EDIT: now when the coffee tastes like merely warm water and the lamb stew tastes like heaven, I realized I typed 'kantine' subconsciously... sigh. Sorry kids. Probably you won't see me again there.

EDIT II: After a few hours of trying to sleep away the awkward feeling of eating too much, I woke up and finished off the now ice-chilled coffee I somehow forgot. And I don't feel any hangover or headache or nausea or whatever. Instead I feel rather fine, as in pretty awake and not tired at all. There's that strange feeling in my legs though. Feels like I've been walking for miles and miles before/during sleep. Maybe I really did, but I just don't hope so 'cause I have no memories of that.

On a second thought, I hope I did not scare/embarass my floormates in the dining hall. I'd better ask if I have done something weird... HAaa. Monkey, oh monkey. Why, oh why?

Well I'm getting stressed, have mercy on me.

Don't feel like sleeping (again)

I don't know what it is. Maybe it is the lack of nicotine intake for a month+, maybe it is the substitution with caffine, large dosage of, daily, maybe I am too excited for cutting my black boots shorter and making the edge a bit irregular, or maybe I just don't feel like sleeping. I am happy with the outcome of the boots- they don't look that much different anyway.

Not in too much of a good mood suddenly. In a sense I know I'm supposed to be stressed, but I just ain't. I am a bit angry with myself, first because I am so unmotivated and lazy, second because I am just not stressed at all.

Whatever. Half past four in the morning. Probably I should put myself to sleep in my own way. I guess it's just because last week was relatively good. There are good times, and there are bad times, right?

Hell although I said and still insist that I can survive alone (and highly likely happily also), I still get loneliness-attacks. Too bad that no one around in SFU can save me from the seizures.

Farewell for now.

Haa

I did not get the job offer for summer.
I am kind of happy actually- then I can watch World Cup with my dad and friends in Hong Kong.

On a side note I found fish n chips successfully today. It was good. Got some Guinness also and because I haven't touched alcohol for a week, I have been having 4 Guinnesses since I came back.

Eh, a girl whom I don't know came up to me and tell me she really likes my style at the bus station on campus. I will try to figure out who she is next week.

Anyway. I will still write about the stalker thing later on.

Got bored of those fancy letter things.

So the old lady in the train...

Artificial bell chime. The train door was going to close in a second. Björk was singing into my ears. 'And if you complain once more, you'll meet the army of me, army of me...'

Let's rewind a little bit more. 'Now don't get too wet, ciao!' The woman said. I just had my audition for the summer job, and I was walking slowing in the rain back to the train station. I was letting little drops of rain hitting my hair my coat my jeans my glasses. I saw mothers pushing baby-cars pacing across the road, men in suit holding Starbucks papercups dashing from one roof to another, young people running pass me. But I was walking slow. I love getting soaked in rain- makes me feel nice and look miserable and crazy at the same time.

Now I could only see water drops in front of my eyes, but I couldn't hear the raindrops tapping my leather coat anymore. '?' I raised my hand and took away my glasses. Empty train tracks. Even if I couldn't see their eyes clearly I knew people were looking at me. A long haired Chinese wearing a long leather coat, with a pair of large headphones over his ears, plus soaking wet, dripping water. How often do you see one of those? I understand them. If I see a glass bottle mating with a milk carton I would stare also. Now it makes me wonder what would their offspring be. Glass milk bottles? Cartons of liquor?

The heater in the train was burning my calves and drying my jeans at the same time. I remember it was raining yesterday. I don't remember seeing any milk cartons mating with glass bottles, though. I remember I had an audition yesterday. I don't remember I drank 5 cups of coffee yesterday but I really did. I remember the old lady in the train, though.

An extra drum beat was suddenly added to my music and I knew that the train doors were closed again. The temporary peace was about to fade into the restless melody of the train rolling over the tracks mindlessly. Whhhhhhhhhoooooophheeeeeeeeew. I got caught up in the sight of oil trucks lining up, waiting helplessly in the rain for nothing. Suddenly a black shadow moved on my left. The man who was supposed to be sitting next to me disappeared. I turned my head a bit further to the left and I saw him moved to the row behind me. 'Hey what the...' I thought. Did I smell funny? Don't think so. Soon I lost interest in thinking about why he left and I turned back. And something caught my eyes.

An old lady with a walking stick was trying so hard to reach for the empty seat which was literally a metre away from her. The seat that belonged to the man sitting next to me. I suddenly realized why the black coat left me. I did not stink. Then again it would not make any sense for me to give up my seat because, well, the men saw the lady before I did and he left. And hell if I saw that lady I would have given her my seat. It felt a little bit awkward at first honestly. I felt a little bit bad for not realizing the old lady, and when I saw her I wanted to help her to get to the seat but I did not know what to do.

Those pair of eyes which have seen the wars, seen friends and relatives pass away were staring at the empty seat for a good while. Half a minute or so. It was long enough in such a situation, believe me. Then half way between the station she got on and the next station, the walking stick and the two legs took slow and little steps. One, two... and a half, three... one and, two, three and a... one. Finally she made it. I was so relieved. I would feel really bad if I let her stumble and fall right in front of me. When she sat down our eyes met and I smiled slightly (I know I must have looked scary for her)- and I did not get any reply. She just aknowledge that she saw my smile without any facial expression or body language with a short stare, and then turned and looked away. Not long after that she abruptly stood up. So agile and fast that it just felt surreal for me. The metal leg took the first step, then the flesh and blood ones took the second and third and it goes on... she stumbled away from me. This time I really think I smell funny. Or maybe she thought I looked really weird or something.

The train suddenly stopped. Was it some kind of signs? Different kinds of people staying away from me, or ignoring my expressions. And now time has suddenly stopped. Were they coming to get me now? Was it the end?

Then I saw the lady slowly walked out of the train. It was her stop. That was why she spent so long thinking if it was worth the trouble to walk to the empty seat and rest for 30 seconds, and then spend as much energy to walk out of the train. Looked through the window and I saw her standing in front of the staircase. Her eyes set still in the middle of the air, looking at something which was non existant in my eyes. Not even in my eyes. Imagine that. How can I not see something? I wonder who she was. What she was looking at and such.

Sorry that I'm winding the post up in such a hurry- I'm rather tired and in a weird mood after my acting class. Had a bad trip you could say. The exercise did not work for me at all.

Next time I'll talk about my theory about how the population is divided in two, one part being those being stalked, the other being the ones stalking.

olly good day today. At least today more than one thing happened that made me feel good. Before that, something that I would never forget happened last night.

If one has a test on Wednesday, it's reasonable to study seriously on Tuesday night. According to this I am not a reasonable person- I did not really study for my German test last night. Well I skimmed through the book quickly, and I heard her calling my name. She knocked on my door and I let her in. I have been waiting for this moment since late January or early February. I ended up spending so much time with her on the bed on the table on the chair on the floor that it was too late when I realized maybe I should study a little bit for the test. Then sweet her whispered into my ears, 'darling, you have a couple of hours tomorrow morning. Come on, don't leave me yet.'

Finally it happened. I have been thinking and trying for so long, so long and I just didn't know how. Oh, how ridiculous is that? The whold incident was ridiculous enough, and posting such an intimate experience of my mind is even more ridiculous! During a night which I was not even caring about her and she came to my room, all by herself. Just like that. Her hand on my heart, my hair covering her breasts, my arms holding her tight, her lips on my ears. We ripped up the photographs of the people whom we loved whom we were used by on the bed on the table on the chair on the floor. Every single movement of ours occured in such a raw harmony. Raw because it was the first time the spark lit between us, harmony because every single action, even the slightest movement of our fingers, connects so well.

Everything at first fell apart, so wild, raw and powerful that we were completely broken down, our bodies our minds were scattered all over the bed the table the chair the floor. And then smoothly and slowly the pieces started spinning and moving, soon all the pieces reached such an equilibrium that everything started to condense. Finally we joined and became one. Perhaps someone paid her or dared her to do it. Then again I don't care. I had her and I would never forget how it is to be one with her. I ended up falling asleep holding her in my arms, warm and sweet and she knew I would never let go of her.

I am talking about I finally discovered a way to do Ophelia's monologue in 'the Hamletmachine'. Don't be stupid.

Time for plain reporting. So the German test went better than I expected honestly. Now when I think of it I sound like such an ass. I never really study too well for the tests, and I alwayas truly and honestly think that I will screw it up in one way or another. Then I always end up with better result than I expected. Eh, whatever.

So it was the audition day today. As a direction-impaired person, I used the tiny bit of artistic talent I have and drew out a rough map this morning, hoping I won't get lost when I was looking for 'Water Street'. I mean, I am supposed to know where the place it, as it looked pretty clear on the map. But the weirdest thing happened. The exit of the train station must have moved or I must have gone into some weird portal- I went out of an exit that I thought I knew where it would lead me to, and I didn't recognize a single thing. I looked back and made sure I was at the right station. Check. I looked around and made sure I am in the year 2006. Well, I didn't see too many tophats and I see a fair amount of Asians. Check. Then I started wandering around... and after around half an hour or pointless wandering, by pure luck I found the exit which I was supposed to be at. Feeling a bit confused, I took out the rough map and looked. Fine. I found Water Street. I realized I have been there before- had a coffee somewhere there before I took the bus to the airport in Winter 05/06. So what street number? I looked at the map again and... ugh, I forgot to write the street number. Luckily I remembered it was on the 4th floor and it's 'right above a café'... and there weren't too many such places on that little street.

Eh it's getting boring. So basically what happened afterwards was I found the place, had the audition and the women seemed to be really impressed. They at first had a monologue that she wanted me to cold read after my monologue, but they were basically saying my piece was so physical and impressive that the cold read just seemed inappropriate and such, and they went on telling me the details of the job and such. Seems pretty hopeful. Then again I don't know if I should really take the job even if I get the offer. Anyway. Afterwards I went back by train and well again, there might be one thing that I wanna talk about later on. But this post is getting too long... I'll see. Remind me if you guys want to hear/read about it. It's about an old lady on the train.

Shine on. My days are still jolly good.

oday was strange. I was supposed to have classes from half past eight in the morning to five thirty in the evening. But I half delibrately skipped my first and my last class was cancelleed.

EDIT: on a second thought, don't read unless you want to waste the next 5 minutes of your life. I will come up with something better tomorrow. By the way I watched 'the Exorcism of Emily Rose' just to run away from my German revision. Remember the girl I talked about on the street? At some point in the movie Emily Rose reminds me of her face... don't ask why. Probably any bruised female face will remind me of that girl's.

So I woke up at 8:20, thinking I'd rather sleep for two more hours, saving some energy for my 3-hour-acting class at the end of the day, than going to my mythology lecture. Don't know if I would make it in time anyway. Then fate was having a little fun with me, when I finally made it to the last class of my day, the acting class which I was actually looking forward to, there was a note saying the class was cancelled. Good that I met a girl who is in both my mythology and acting class on the way back. I told her the acting class was cancelled, and she told me the mythology lecture was boring like empty bottles. Well well.

So tomorrow I am having a German test and then an audition for my summer job thing. I honestly did not have too much time to prepare for my monologue before, nor had I special inspirations about how to do it. Then when I was talking to myself, asking why I haven't really studied for the test and wondering how the hell am I going to do a good monologue tomorrow, I found Ophelia. I am doing Ophelia's monologue from Heiner Müller's 'die Hamletmaschine' in case I haven't repeated it enough. Inspirations are interesting little things. I wish I could let you guys see the thing I came up with. I know I still cannot shake off my usual style but I think what I came up with was pretty gorgeous. At least now I kind of know how to approach the piece and I'm using this audition as a test, so that I'll do even better in the audition for majoring in theatre here in SFU. Eh maybe I should actually study a little bit more German. Or well, I have two hours tomorrow morning planned for that. I'll be fine I guess.

So I will tell you about how it went, and also my little quest for finding that out of nowhere audition place. Probably I should walk around a bit also, depending on when I finish the audition.

Anyway sorry for the boring shit I keep coming up with these days.

o I said I will write about something that happened during the little adventure I had. (I am officially obsessed with making those fancy extra large letters... it will probably be like that every post from now on.)

It was a Sunday afternoon. The time was around half past five I believe. It was not that dark afterall- spring is coming soon. As I was walking down the Drive, a weird feeling was surrounding me. In case you don't remember, I talked about the Drive a couple of weeks ago- read it if you wanna. It feels so, old and ruined. As soon as I started walking along the drive, I saw a girl appear like a ghost, without a sound, without footsteps, in front of a sketchy Chinese restaurant. I didn't notice her until I heard her either sniffing the air or sobbing when I walked pass her. I abruptly turned and noticed she got a bruises on her face. She was wearing a hooded pullover and cotton pants. She was hunching her back, standing alone in the shadow. I did not pay too much attention to her as I simply did not care too much. So I went on walking and this time I hear her following me- they are re-making the sidewalk so there was sand and stuff everywhere.

Actually from the moment I noticed her existance I knew she was going to follow me for a little bit. I just knew it and don't ask why. You know, if you were a gazelle, you always knew if you were the target or not when the lions are chasing your pack. A little chill went down my spine actually. From that little glance I had on her earlier before, she had her hands in her pocket and she does look like she's addicted to something real bad. The street was pretty empty and for a second I thought I was going to be mugged. Although I just knew there's no way I will lose even if she had a knife or something- it was just a strange feeling. Partly excitment, partly fear. Then I heard the footsteps sped up double- I was literally ready for the mugging to happen. But then she just pretty much asked if I have a couple of quarters to spare or something like that. Her speech was so blurred that I did not really get what she said. I, very honestly did not have any coins on me, and I don't think I will give her 10 bucks just like that. So (being a bit disappointed that no mugging happened) I said 'sorry I don't' and went on walking. Then the girl went on walking, or rather stumbling until she caught up with a girl walking in front of me, and pretty much mumbled the same thing and got ignored.

At that point I was actually about to call that girl and ask what happened. Honestly, even though she's a thief, whore, robber, junkie, no one has the right to leave such bruises on her face. Even if that would be a guy, I'd still say the same thing. Suddenly I heard a bang. Yes, a fucking bang. And I turned my face to where the bang originated- and I saw something fell down. At that point I thought 'what a joyful and eventful Sunday...' and I realized he who fell down was just a green postbox standing in front of the post office. I was a bit relieved actually- don't think I would want to see someone getting shot just 10 metres away from me. So beside the fallen postbox thing there stood two other kinds of postboxes. And there was a man leaning on them, apparently he has either ran into the boxes or he kicked it delibrately. Before I could figure that out, I heard him swearing incoherently. He was apparently either drunk or high. So I decided it's best not to disturb the poor man. When the man walked away, the girl I saw earlier has disappeared already.

Then as I walked pass closed stores and empty cafés, I saw a homeless guy sitting on the floor. For some reasons I looked into his eyes, and he didn't look sad or miserable at all. Instead he showed me his palms, raised his brows a bit with a slight smile as if he was saying 'man, buy me a coffee if you don't mind'. But really, I did not have any coins and I don't think giving him 10 bucks is very appropriate. So I replied with a smile, showing my palms- saying that I have nothing either. Hell, if I were still smoking I would have given him a cigarette or something.

I actually keep wondering how that girl is doing from time to time. I don't even remember how exactly she looks like. I just think no matter what she did, she doesn't deserve the bruises at all. Well it's a different case if she genuinely hurt herself- I do feel a little bit bad for her actually. I do feel a bit bad for losing focus and losing track of her while I had the impulse to help her. Maybe she was abused? Maybe she was drugged and forced to be a prostitute? Maybe she was trying to escape and asked for coins for a bus ride (although it's the most common 'pick-up' line for begging money...)? Maybe that man who kicked the postboxes was the one who caught her and locked her up? Maybe that's why she suddenly disappeared/ran away? Maybe I was her last hope and I ruined it? Just because I did not have coins by chance, because I suck at focusing, because I did not care enough at the beginning? I could very well have stopped and asked her in detail what exactly happened to her. But I didn't. And when I finally had the impulse to care, that girl wasn't there anymore. Hope she is just a junkie who doesn't deserve that much of my care instead of some ill-fated girl who was drugged, locked up and abused. I might go around and have a look on Wednesday after my audition for the summer job and have a look though. I actually don't even know if I will remember. I will see.

I am thinking too much I guess. But that has actually been bugging me quite a bit.

n roughly a month's time I will be done with my first year in SFU. A month. By tomorrow I would have quit smoking for a month. Think the last time I smoked was on the 14th last month. Then again once my pipe comes I'll start again. I know, I know it's strange.

So I have a month left. During this month I will be incredibly busy I suppose. Two mythology essays (although only 500 words each), three reviews on technical elements of 2 professional performances, one final project for my Stage Management class (which would be making various lists- light cue, sound cue, character, props..., then the prompt book- making the actual cues and blockings on the script, and finally call the damn show), and I probably should get something done for my acting class (the Hamletmachine monologue), after that I will have to sit for a Mythology final exam (which consists of multiple choices about some weird details and stuff and short essay questions), and my first year will finish with the most important thing in my year and so far in my life. The audition. I guess I have talked about me being a bit worried about screwing it up and hence not able to study theatre here- so I'm not really gonna talk about it and imagine stupid scenerios. Ha.

I really dislike people expecting me to do things, like behaving like a semi-grown-up or ace-ing all the exams and tests and such. I do what I feel like, and if I want you to tell me what to do, I will ask. Sometimes I ask more, sometimes less. But just don't expect me to do what you want me to do all the time. I realized something funny last night when I was hanging out in the common room of my floor. I was out earlier and I was wearing the usual jeans, pink pullover, my blood red boots plus the skirt I made myself. When I came back I suddenly wanted to watch TV (I ended up watching animal programs and cartoons. Didn't watch anything else), and so I went straight into the common room and sat there for a while (I ended up hanging out in there for 2 or 3 hours I think). After the story about Chimps ended, one floormate came in and joined me for cartoons. It was either the Bugs Bunny & Tweety Show or the Flinstones. We were watching TV, talking, sharing Oreos that I bought (I suddenly wanted something sweet last night. don't ask)- and when she noticed my skirt she stared at it for half a second. You know that kind of stare? Not a hostile or impolite one, just like when you see something that is not supposed to be there, and you know it's rude to stare at it but you just had to have a short stare before anyone notices.

Like when you see a man walking with his dick dangling out of his pants. Yes, like that. You know you aren't supposed to stare, you know it's not supposed to be there, but you just had to look at it for half a second to make sure you are not hallucinating. Nah, I have nothing againt that floormate. She's cool and interesting to talk to- at least I finally understand how credit cards work (and they are not THAT scary) thanks to her. BUT- I still believe those people in banks are just hired to confuse and booby-trap me...

Anyway I just find it so funny. Because I got the same 'am I hallucinating?' stare from another floormate who came in. She was talking to us and stuff, at the beginning she did not notice my skirt thing at all. But then when she was trying to tell me something, and saw the skirt accidentally and I was so sure that she stopped for at least a quarter of a second, looking at the skirt with a slight touch of surprise and confusin on her face- and she went on talking of course.

I don't really get it. I am not pissed off or something. I am not even complaining. I just find it funny that they find it strange enough to react to it but never really tell me about it. Apparently they weren't really sure if it was really a skirt I s'ppose. I saw someone with a print T-shirt saying 'I am here, so don't talk about me as if I'm not. It's rude. If you have a question, just ask.' or something like that- I want to own one of those.

Actually I don't really have anything too interesting to say in this post. The journey of me going out prior to the common room thing does have a couple of things that I want to talk about. I might add it in later on- this post is getting really long and pointless. I honestly just started to write because of the letter 'i' I made-

Floating in space.

It's Saturday.

Saturdays have always been my super slacking off days. By that I mean the whole day would be spent either daydreaming, reading non-academic stuff (still reading Stanislavsky at the moment- been slacking off even on that too much lately), watching movies (it could be the same movie repeated for a few times, e.g. Trainspotting, Lovers of the Arctic Circle, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Donnie Darko, Finding Neverland, et cetera), playing stupid computer games, etc. Of course today is no Artaud-damn exception.

Actually I started the day by watching kids playing in the leftover, half melted snow in a plastic slide/wanna-be sledge thing for an hour or so, while eating a half burnt canteen omlette. It's just so amazing to see them having so much fun on that 10 metre slope covered with wanna-be snow. Sometimes they slide, sometimes they try to walk down without falling. Then two of them started to build something using a bucket- you know, like how you use a bucket to build sand castles. The sweetheart filled it with snow, took it beside her friend and she turned the bucket upside down.

The feeling of expecting something, expecting the clever method works, expecting a perfect little hill of snow.

With so much excitment and expectation, the little girl lifted the bucket quickly just like how she opened her Christmas gifts 2 months ago- there was nothing on the ground. The snow was stuck in the bucket, packed too tight. I could see the excitment and happiness fade on the two girls' faces. I felt it myself. I know how such things feel. Trying too hard, planning too well, eh? Kids are stubborn as I said. So with a mix of disappointment and still some expectation, the girl tapped the bucket exactly like how we tap bottoms of ketchup bottles. The girl is not a baby but you can still see the 'baby movements' when she tapped the bucket- gentle but yet the movements are a little bit un-coordinated.

Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, ta-

Five and a half taps. What can five and a half taps do? Wake a person from sleep? Make someone open the door from the inside? Or from the outside? Plays five notes and then ends with an extra staccato on the piano? Tickles sometime? You would never imagine five and a half taps could ruin all the fun about playing in snow, would you? The snow in the bucket just fell down like, almost like how I would visualize a diarrhoea. Sblurghep. Everything just fell out. The last bit of hope was gone. My heart sank with the two girls'. To avoid starting a Saturday in a weird mood, mourning something which has nothing to do with me, I took a sip of orange juice, shifted my focus from the snow to the trees nearby and started going on adventures in the blue cocoon.

The details of the adventures are not important for I can go on for as long as I wish. But when I'm finally back from the blue cocoon, I again realized kids are really stubborn.

The two girls have built something with the bucket already.

After that I got a cup of coffee and walked back to where I am now. Been sipping coffee and visiting the blue cocoon again till now. Nothing too interesting in there for y'all. You guys won't know how it's like even if I tell you about it anyway. Or well, I just don't know how to. :)



P.S. No... no and no. I look at little boys and girls because I want to be them, NOT because I find them hot.

P.P.S. I don't know what the title has to do with the content of this post.

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So you have listened long enough to make it to the hidden track of the album. I have a question. Isn't it just boring to read such nonsense? Don't answer it out loud. Actually, do if you wanna. I would like to hear you say 'no, it's not boring'. Haaa.

Anyway as usual, this hidden track will be no different from hidden tracks on other albums (they are usually: technical mistakes that the producer forgot to cut out, rough recordings, raw sound samples, or random boring things).

My practice chanter and the practice goose will come on around the 30th of March. Paying on the internet is incredibly slow especially when you don't have a Artaud-damn credit card. Well hope I can at least make some sounds and play simple tunes before going to Vittu's.

My long, white ash-wood made pipe will come some time between late next (coming) week or early the week after. Then it will be time to contemplate the real meaning of 'temporarily quitting'. When should I start again? I should actually insert a picture of how my pipe looks like... there you go:



I believe clicking on it makes it bigger. It says it's like 16-inches long. I am gonna have so much fun learning how to aim the long stem + mouthpiece smoothly at my mouth... And just in case you haven't figured out, the kind of U-shaped thing is just the rack for holding the pipe. I am not stupid enough to get a pipe WITH the rack attached on it yet-

Anyway I'm done with this hidden track crap.
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Shine on darlings.
Days have been jolly good.
It's the snow.
I knew it.

After proof-reading my post, I found out I really need new inspirations. (And I also really need a grammar handbook for the beginners of English)

Really don't want my blog to become merely a boring log book.
Ah well, maybe I can start writing plays on my blog.

And so...

...I hope y'all enjoyed my little snow art. Unluckily not too many people got the chance to see it because the sun quickly kicked the clouds away and melted my art. Both the little snowman and the monster died in the end- they melted. And of course the bigger snowman's corpse just, uh, say, decomposed (melted also).

Eh. I was a little bit hyper on Thursday. It was because of the snow I'm sure. I was surprisingly talkative, I didn't like it that much though. It was alright but it is just not myself. Guess people, especially the fellas in my acting class felt a little bit weird that I was talking quite a lot more than usual. Then again I was really happy. Snow. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Miss snow so much. If I ever had a daughter her name has to have some connection to snow. Or at least to winter. But no, she will not be named 'December' nor 'Fur coat'.

Think my nature of being a Chinese monkey just won't leave me, although more madness is added and some openess is taken away. I've officially become someone's favourite Chinese monkey-kinda thing in my acting class. She didn't find the word for it- but yeah, at least the body language she used gave the 'monkey' impression. Not like scratching the ass (Vittu, remember?) or something- but y'know, yeah, you get what I mean, I mean, like, uh, like I mean, I mean like you guys know, like know how I am anyway- yep. So the 'monkey' thing seems to be just obvious. My acting teacher even correctly guessed that I acted as the King of the winged monkeys (that Monkey thing in the Wizard of Oz). Am I that easy to look through? Part of me yes. Well I guess it's good to have an 'intuitive body' (according to my acting teacher) or to be someone's 'favourite' something (classmate's word, not 'something', but you get what I mean), no?

I watched 'Finding Neverland' today. I felt like I've been looking at the mirror for an hour and 45 minutes. Keeping one's inner child alive is just so difficult. The little boys/girls in your hearts can die within a second. Just like that. I saw the half fictional Sir Barrie, I saw Peter Pan and I felt like this is a movie about me in 30 years' time. Of course I probably will not be as great to create such a masterpiece like 'Peter Pan'- but you guys get what I mean. Why is my blog always about the same thing anyway? Probably because kids are stubborn.

Anyway. On a side note I transformed my backpack into a, you know, simple bag with one strap for the shoulder. Don't ask why. :)

That's what happend when I woke up too early and found snow outside...

Something's wrong, fellas...

...severe stomach ache whic is not supposed to be happening- awagelkj i faewm amewchn.. fucjikk..

EDIT: Alright. Thought it would have gone after some food. Wrong answer. Then again I took a nap for half an hour and it seems to be fine now. It was pretty likely that my brain is exaggerating things. Hopefull it is the case. Don't think I qualify for holes in the stomach yet. Anyway. 1 hour of stage management and 3 hours of acting for tomorrow. Hope it is gonna be alright. On a side note I should start to have self control. Letting myself floating in void is not really healthy. I mean, I could have spent my time doing something better, right? Eh, it's not like I really care at the moment. Give me a week or two- it's the standard 'lose and trash yourself' cycle.

EDIT2: For the me-forgetting stuff examples... I don't think I would be able to accomplish so much when I was drunk... :P And I haven't got the theatre job yet anyway :P In a sense I don't want it- I at least want to watch the World Cup on TV... don't think it will be possible if I stay in Canada-

I don't trust my brain anymore

I started to do things that I don't remember I have done. Or I thought I have done something but actually I did not. It is either the weird weather these days (sunny, snowy, then rainy, slushy, hail-y('s that even a word?)) or I am suffering from slow brain deterioration. I can't be THAT absent minded can I? Or I mean, I do try to live in the present, I do try to remember things I've done- but somehow it just doesn't work too well. Here are three examples which are more significant:

I don't know if I lost a book or returned it to the library, and I was actually planning to return that book to my stage management teacher as she was the one who borrowed the book. Then again I checked the library record and it says the book's in the library, safe and still. Eh, honestly I don't have any memory of returning the book, or even stepping in the library within the last week.

I was pretty sure that when I sent my resumé for that theatre job thing I am applying for (and got a chance to audition by the way), I included a photo of myself as required. But that woman said, apparently, there are no pictures in the envelope. Eh?

Usually I only have vodka in my fridge. But just now when I was gonna get a shot or two before dinner, I was surprised by my sight. I saw a box of those microwave meals. Japanese styled chicken rice. I have NO idea how it ended up there. The best before date was 6th March, but I s'ppose I won't die if I eat it later tonight. It's only 2 days anyway, plus it has been in the fridge all the time. Then again I don't remember myself buying that thing 2 days (or probably 3) ago...

Talk about the ability to surprise yourself, in a preatty creepy way. About creeping myself out, I maybe should try to talk about my acting class yesterday. In some part of improvisation we were told to use our imagination to picture things and interact with a partner. One hand up and eyes closed. I worked with two partners and the improvs were not especially physical or something- but I ended up soaked. Literally soaked. I started to sweat so much on my face, and I believe except sweat, there was some tears also. I don't exactly remember what I tried to imagine- it was something along the lines of trying to get rid of my own shadow, looking in the mirror and not knowing who that is, purple fog and floating in void. I was a bit scared by my own body and mind's reaction. Then I did another improv with another partner, this time watched by the rest of the class- it wasn't really anything haunting until how I/we ended it. We started kind of like my parter was abusing/taming me, then I slowly became dependent and repeatedly calling out 'master'. And somehow after some struggle, breaking away, coming back, and again breaking away and some one fighting and me asking to be hit, my partner ended up lying on the floor not responding, and I knelt (?) next to my partner, with one hand pressing my partner's head, face on the floor. Then I bent down, whispering in the ear while looking up with a psycho, victorious face, 'i am going to leave you forever this time' , then with a glimpse of sadness, I added 'master.' and silently collapse, and that's how it ended. Again I kind of scared myself. Don't know why.

Anyway maybe I should go get something to eat- shine on.

I love rainy days.

As I have always insisted in Flekke, sunny days just give me the energy to freak out. There is a word devoted to sunny skies in my chinese name already. I don't need more energy, violence and arrogance. It's rainy today. At least it has been cloudy all day- the kind of cloudy days Flekke used to have. Full of clouds all day, and everyone is waiting for the first raindrop to fall. Rainy days. I remember I played once or twice outside with my father outside in heavy rain. Or maybe it is my pure imagination. Honestly I don't remember most of my childhood. I do mean it. Not to be attention seeking or something, I don't remember most of my life before I was 13 years old probably. There are really deep things that were kind of imprinted in me though. I do clearly remember I argued with my uncle (dad's older brother) that my shoes looked better than his, and got slapped by him because he (well...) lost the argument (very uglily)- and it happened when I was around 4 or 5. And since then I have never ever seen him nor his wife nor his kids again. And as far as I know my dad has never talked to him since then. Of course later I have learnt that it is also because of my uncle slapped my grandma (dad's mom) over some stupid argument- Actually I don't know much about my dad's family because my dad has disconnected himself from it mostly. Then the next thing I remember is a toy which can transform itself from a rock to a dragon which my grandma (dad's mom) gave me, and my grandma's food. I also remember watching my grandma occasionally having snakes' gall bladder with a shot of chinese alcohol. That's basically it for my childhood. I don't know what I'm trying to say. Guess having a couple of shots of vodka at 5pm on a depressing day is not too appropriate... scheiße.

Anyway alcohol does take away one's bad mood and troubles though.

Especially when you thought everything is under control and suddenly everything has disappeared and you don't know what you are doing- I feel like I'm just hanging on for the sake of hanging on, without a reason, without knowing what I am actually doing at the moment.

Guess hiding in my head helps. At least it should help me sort out what or who the fuck I am.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

'What is,' he thinks, 'the speed of time?' The young man is sitting under a huge Maple tree. Phoebus is having his day off and Zeus's the sub for the day. Sitting next to a napping Elk, Kered is deep in his thoughts while staring at the falling raindrops...

'It is so strange. When you are counting the days it goes so slowly, and when you gave up counting for a reason or another, time just starts dashing pass you.' The voice in his head goes on talking. The scarier thing is, the young man is turning 20 in roughly half a year's time. An Elk wakes up and slowly turns his head to the young man, staring at him with lazy, blank eyes, trying to figure out if it should start to run for its life. 'What the hell, even if I talk to humans they are not gonna understand my words anyway,' so the young man starts talking to the Elk, 'have you ever thought about that? We are like some kind of weird filters for time. When it is flowing towards us, it seems so, you know, smooth, or even sticky- like melted chocolate. Slow and steady. And then for some mysterious reasons once time hits us and goes through us, strange things happen to it.' Strangely enough, the Elk is still looking at the boy as if it is genuinely intrigued. The Elk made a confused sound. 'Yes, strange things. Like, it suddenly becomes some sort of light, quick material. Probably a stream of wild clouds, or water, or gas. You can't catch it, and when you look back at it, it's trying its very damn best to run away from you, as fast and as far as possible... oh.'

The rain stopped. The Elk walks towards the young man and nudges the young man gently, gesturing that he should go on its back. 'You wanna take me out for a ride? Sure thing!'

And there they go.
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Bad attepmt. Anyway hope you guys get what I mean.
It feels so soon but I have indeed left Hong Kong again for half a year already, and I will finish my first year at SFU in roughly a month and a half's time. At first I thought this semester is gonna be a real damn long one, but apparently I was wrong. And winter has slowly become history also, it is nearly two months old already- and it just feels like it all happened yesterday. Strange. I am turning 20 next Sepetmber for the love of Aphrodite! I'm starting my 2nd decade of my life, and it is just, scary. I don't remember a lot about what I thought or did when I was a kid, but I do clearly remember one thoughgt I had: I will never turn 20 because it takes too long. But now I am! Something that I am not ready to take. Time works in a mysterious way. I do believe time does not flow evenly. It's us who invented the concept of measuring time anyway. We might be wrong. Maybe I should try to prove the uneven speed of time.
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As I haven't written anything too meaningful for quite a long time- I will go on bullshitting a bit I guess. It's not like I have a lot to do these days. There are things that I could be doing but I don't have to. Maybe I can talk a bit about alcohol. Or I'd rather not- I mean, nah, forget about it.
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This is usually not my type of music. But it is used in Trainspotting (ah come on, THE movie that I can watch 5 times in a day!)- and I just happen to fall in love with the song. It is like Mad World the second or somethihng. The song was played during the Renton OD sequence. Remember he sinks into the floormat, and down and down and down, then Mother Superior calls a cab and sends him to A&E?

Perfect day

Just a perfect day,
Drink Sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow...
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Nothing too meaningful in the end.

I found out

from my best friend from Hong Kong that,
it is either my drunk self or my drunk self.
So it was apparently by myself but I just don't remember it.

Anyway.

the lovers of the arctic circle. Go buy, download, rent, borrow or whatever that movie.

Wish I was like otto. Where is my Ana? <-EDIT: think I need more explaination on that since when I wrote this post I was not exactly sober. Otto and Ana are half-siblings in love. They by chance are brought together and have lived together since 8 years old or something. I don't exactly remember. And of course obviously they fall in love and stuff- yeah, I'll let you guys find out the rest. But yes. It's just like meeting people in Flekke, then falling apart and go to different places, and then passing by each other for 1000 times without knowing it... and finally decide to make a coincident on purpose- at least in the end, after all the stuff Otto and Ana are together again, kind of.

Or like Clem and Joel. It's sad that they erase each other again and again and again and again, but at least they get together again every time.

'kay. Done with trying to explain my words when I'm not exactly awake. Gotta read some mythology.

2 things.

1.) As you all might have noticed, it's just either my drunk self talk to myself in the post before the last, or I was drunk, or even I might need to see a shrink. Anyway I see how powerful my mind could be.

2.) Fung- thanks for pointing it out as I honestly have no memory of writing that post.

Anyway- more vodka.

Ich bin Ophelia.

The one the river didn't take. The woman dangling from the rope. The woman with slit arteries. The woman with the overdose SNOW ON HER LIPS. The woman with the head in the gas oven. Yesterday I stopped killing myself. I am alone with my breast my thighs my womb. I crush the instruments of my captivity the chair the table the bed. I demolish the battlefield that was my home. I tear the doors open to le tin the wind and the scream of the world. I smash the window. With my bleeding hands I rip up the photographs of the men whom I loved whom I was used by on the bed on the table on the chair on the floor. I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothes into the fire. I dig the clock that was my heard frmo out of my breast. I go out onto the streetes, dressed in blood.
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Funny that I started with a monologue that I am working on in my acting class. It's from 'Die Hamletmaschine' von Heiner Müller, if anyone is interested. Read Ol'Will's Hamlet and then read Müller's. Anyway. All I have in my mind these days are just simply bagpipes and to be Ophelia. My acting teacher said I have grasped the humiliation Ophelia has gone through. I mean, honey, of-fucking-course. But he said what I need is the feeling of successfully trying to kill myself, for more than once, and the feeling of deciding to stop killing myself. Anyone who can give me ideas about how I can get the feeling of killing myself, feel free to do so. I have thought about it for numerous of times but I never actually had the guts to do it. I admit I am a pussy. I have NOT seen it all, to that whoever wrote on my blog. Except that s/he is pretty accurate honestly. I will figure out who you are in the end. Creepy but scarily accurate. Mom if it's you... eh, phone me. If not- I don't know.

Talking about not seeing all, I guess I am still waiting for the day that I will be doing well in theatre. That is I guess. Maybe kids. Maybe not. I sort of lost faith in it (although it is very, very highly possibly likely that I'll immediately fall as deep as Lucifer (for the six hundred and something'th time) if one of my ex-gfs, ex-secret lovers, or even close friends come up to me and tell me that s/he has been loving me for long). I don't know.

About the thing that someone has been written in my blog. As N. told me when I was less than 50% sober, I checked some kinda stat. tracker. Result possible= Hong Kong or North America. Anyways. No, I don't know who you are. I know it is not vittu as she would just tell me either on phone or face-to-face. And I don't know anyone else except the two who has been raising the monkey that would know me so well. Or well, maybe I should look at it in a funnier way. It is sort of spicing up my life anyway. Maybe keeping it like a duet would be fun, until the day I am sure of the identity of s/he who is 'intruding' my blog and be so familiar with me. I don't even know if 'you' will come back to me and go on telling me about myself. I guess I am just a lost little boy needing someone to grab my hand in the dark.

Went to see some kind of black box theatre show thing. It was funny and it triggered some thoughts of mine. But it's just not my kind of thing. The creativity and the acting skill and the devoted minds turns me on. But the more I see, the sure-er('s that even a word?) I am about what I don't want to do. I am always happy to see funny shows- whether it be black-comedy or cheap comedy or simple funny stuff. I do truly value their values (fuck, wtf?), but I know I am not capable of making funny things, and inside the theatre or on the stage, I am not a hippy. Not at all. You might find me hugging trees or thinking about world peace and one love (despite my general dark and weird clothing, and my hatred towards happy music) in life, but you will never ever find me writing anything for the theatre which is not as traumatizing as seeing me masturbating to the photograph of flying crows which are being multilated by strange pink-feathered humans wiht wings.

Nah. Forget about what I said just now. I am bullshitting.

Whoever wrote the last post, eh... I'm in a way scared that you know me so well but I'm also kind of delighted that... say, there is someone so devoted to me. I do appreciate the monologue and yes, it does help. I just am not able to rememebr long speeches without metaphors or stuff like that- anyway. You shine on too. I better start thinking of the people I know since I was young. Then again... young.

Physically young or mentally young or...

You're right.

Guess we just have to fight harder and harder against the reality as we grow older and older. Let's play cowboys and Indians.

From the monkey to the madcap

As a person who claims to know d. pretty well, I have something to tell him but I want to do it in a way that he will be able to have a solid reference of what I want to say to him- that boy just has problems remembering long speeches of the others- he just either cannot concentrate and drifts off into his own world.

Now, d., imagine this is a little monologue that I am doing on stage- that might help you not to drift off.

I realized how different d. is these days. I think something along the lines of 'you should behave more like a 19 year old' is going to haunt him forever. I don't remember when exactly he has heard about it. He is not sure either. Maybe something else is still bugging him. That strange boy. I guess I know what he is thinking. Like, you know, sometimes you know it is never possible but you still secretly wish for that would happen, like the Phantom secretly wishes for Christine. And you all know what happens in the end. Hope he is not going to end up as bad as the Phantom.

I mean, d. is still spontaneous and moody sometimes, but something has changed slightly somehow. I cannot tell exactly what, but I just know he is fucking different. There is something creepy about that. You know, like when you have not seen a person for a couple of months, and when you see that person again, you can vaguely see the old features and characters remained but there is essentially some huge differences in the person which you just can't tell. d. is not exactly the Chinese monkey with long hair anymore- to me he's really more like the madcap Chinese with long hair, as he more often refer himself as, now. One might think they are alike- and yes, I am not denying they can be pretty much the same thing. But come on for the love of Aphrodite (sure she has a lot), trust me for once single time if you never did. This is one strange moment that I realize a tiny bit more about that boy. He still doesn't hang out in crowds, doesn't like city life, and enjoy being alone or only with a very small company among which he feels completely comfortable with.

Then what the fuck is different, you may ask. I have been thinking of a word or two, or even a sentence, if I could squeeze out any, to describe how he has changed. And suddenly a very scary sentence formed in my head. Guess which one it is. The one that he would never let me describe him with. Yes. 'He is growing up', although I am sure involuntarily. Somehow something fucked up and everything just seem different. Fine. Thinking of getting a rather well-paid job in Canada during summer instead of going 'home' to meet people and maybe get a alright-paid job. Thinking of selling his synth to have some spare money. Stopping smoking because he says he is using too much money on it (and also just quitting for the fun of it...). Trying not to drink because vodka is expensive in Canada. He even actually tries to study a bit harder, at least for the subjects he does care about, in order to increase his chance to get a scholarship or bursary when he is back next September. Only shop for neccessary items (it's not like he likes shopping anyway). I bet he would say something like, 'See the common theme in all these shit? CAN YOU SEE IT? It's the track right in the middle of the dark side.'

Por boy.

From the monkey to the madcap. It is like evolving and deteriorating at the same time. A new born monkey is curious and joyful, hopping, jumping and swinging around. It just thinks of playing and extracting the greatest fun from its life. As time goes by, challenges from older monkeys, unfortunate incidences, et cetera slowly affects the stubborn monkey boy. It kind of starts to try to cope with the reality, but on the other hand it is super-ultra-overwhelmed that, the reality is the monkey itself has not been living in the reality since the first day of its life. Maybe there are occasions that it accidentally puts half a tail in it, but never knowingly doing so. And the overflow of pressure and information and confusion squeezes the already small monkey brain even smaller. Soon the monkey got so crazy that it bites off its tail and becomes a madcap who retains certain characters of the poor monkey boy. Even more mad than the monkey will the madcap be at occasions 'cause it kind of learnt how to cope with, fight with and trick the reality, but also ridiculously tamed when compared to the little monkey he once was. I bet the madcap is looking for a pump to inflate his brain again so he can at least be a monkey for four days before the ballonbrain leaks and becomes small like his again. You know how much it hurts the madcap's eyes when he sees other monkeys and knowing that they will probably go through the same phase as he is now, being half monkey and half nothing? You know how much the madcap wants to knock his teeth off whenever something reminds him that he bit his own tail off? DO YOU? d. I do how bad it feels, I really know how bad it feels. I have been there and I have done the same thing. d., I suppose we just have to fight harder and harder as we get older and older. The tail is going to grow back. It is going to.

'How is it going to grow back then?' d., you will ask me that immediately if we are sitting face to face, right? I would say, d., the way not to be eaten by the machine is not to run away from it. Instead we should destroy it, don't you think so? But think. Destroying the machine takes skill too. If a police goes to some kind of the headquarter of a mafia and says he wants to arrest the leader, will he be able to get out alive? Of course not, my dear. Everyone knows he is a police. How about being an undercover and when everyone thinks you are one of them, you tear your mask off and call for back up and arrest the whole mafia? Same thing, boy. There might still be intact parts inside if you hit the machine with a club on the outside. But if you pretend to be a part of it, and after a while start messing up the inside- it deals a lot more damage. Or it is like, a 3mm cut on your skin is usually not fatal. But an equally deep cut on your heart might mess up your heart a little bit and that is deadly enough. I know you always prefer using more tangible examples to have things explained- hope you know what I mean. Bear with it for a while and try not to lose yourself. Don't surrender to the pain, keep the would of your cut-tail open and your time will come and the tail will grow back. It will. Look at me.

Remember when you were young, you were the one who kept me hanging on during bad times and you rarely needed my help -maybe now it's time for us to change our positions for once.

Hang on and shine on, d..

You know who I am.