Strange

I saw this facebook status update: Kiss the baby sky.

Apparently it's a song but seeing that particular phrase puts this strange little ditty in my head:

Kiss the baby sky
Let your worries fly
Kiss and say goodbye
Kiss and never try

I don't know why but I feel like I have to share it but it's my blog, so, suck it.

Too Much

I think I'm one of the very few in the world that has been described as valuing friendship too much.

In a bad way

And I agree with that description

I'm rather obsessed with friendship

Addicted

I think I should stop now

Cold turkey?

If Life Ever Gives You Lemons

Sell 'em and buy drugs for babies.

Johan Ariff bin Juhari hopes his current depression bout ends soon.

That's what she said.

Caution: Wall of Ranting Text Ahead

I don't know whether it's the coming solar eclipse or just the misalignment of Jupiter and Mars tonight but I'm just depressed. At 1.30am in the morning. With an 8 am appointment with some old friends. The latest post of my current favorite blogger also shows that she's depressed. So, maybe it's the celestial factor affecting us thus.

I have issues. Like ISSUES. Maybe I think I'm too important and the world revolves around me but I feel guilty about things I know I shouldn't.

And I bloody well can't express it to no one. Not even on this blog. ESPECIALLY not on this blog. Some of my closer friends, friends who I'd trust my life to without the shadow of a doubt read this blog. But I can't tell any of them. They know too much about me and the people around me that it'd affect the way they think about these people. I can't take that guilt too.

The only person I feel like I could talk to is a new good friend. I'm rather distrustful and some of my older friends, who I've known for up to 20 or more years, have not earned my trust yet, though they've proven to be true friends. I just have trust issues. But this person, who I've known for maybe a bit more than a couple of months, I trust very much, maybe even completely, that it scares me. It truly, really, creepily scares me.

This person is practically 100% detached from my personal life, my friends, my family, though the person fancies otherwise. The person is practically a stranger that I trust. What better person to pour your heart to, eh?

The last time I felt so trusting about someone so fast, though not THIS fast, I, for my part, destroyed that relationship through by being clingy. I'm not too self-centered to say that there's no other factors. Both sides, I think, are equally to blame and my mistake was being to clingy. Not a day goes by with me not regretting being clingy but at the same time, I think I regret more not getting out of that before I started to get real clingy. This is one of those 'Regrets I have a few, but then again too few to mention.' Franky, baby, I feel you, man.

That went to shit.

And I fear I'd do the same mistake with this trusted stranger.

Maybe my friends and family are right. I need a girlfriend. Not to love, not to adore, not to celebrate, God, no. As I've said countless times, it's not my mating season yet. No, I need a girlfriend to bitch about everything. Eh Ver Ree Thing.

Words hurt

It doesn't matter if you know the person for five minutes or five decades, the simple fact is that words hurt.



Words hurt.

Their blows are harder than the greatest hammers, sharper than the keenest swords, more penetrating than the stealthiest stilettos.

Tact is apparently deader than Nietzsche's God.

Modifications

I don't know why but I feel my chest swelling up with emotions. What kind of emotions? I can't even tell you what for I myself don't know. I just know that it's my muse pushing to get free.

O Calliope! Immortalize thy words!
O Melpomene! Pour forth thy tears!

I have quotes lying around that I don't quite agree with and I feel that I have to change them. I respect your intellectual rights but I just feel like pasting Paris Hilton's face on the Mona Lisa right now. I feel like carving a big why-so-serious grin on Michaelangelo's David. I feel like adding a "...NOT!" at the end of Sonnet 18's original manuscript!

Quote 1:
Love = Lust LOST!
Respect = Revenge REDEMPTION!
Family = Fraud FOREVER!

Quote 2:
Relationship endured because of 3 key ingredients:

• Great sex LOVE!
• Shared DIFFERING! interest
• Mutual UNQUESTIONING! respect
  

Quote 3:
Nigga! AFRICAN AMERICAN!

Quote 4:
Love's a bitch BLESSING! YOU'RE THE BITCH!

Quote 5:
My life as the middle child... TELL ME ABOUT IT!

Quote 6:
Sometimes even music can't substitude [sic] for tears. BUT EVEN IN SOBS YOU FIND RHYTHM!

Bad Movie Reviews

I'm dead bored so, I'm gonna write short reviews for bad movies now.

17 again

If there's a movie more blatantly try to milk its cash cow, please show it to me.

Rather than doing it subtly, the movie producers were probably saying, "Fuck it, nobody with an IQ higher than 3 is gonna watch this movie. Put more Efron. And while you're at it, put a half-naked Efron with his hippie armpit hair as the opening shot. A sweaty half-naked Efron with his hippie armpit hair."

The only reason I watched it was that I thought Chandler Bing was going to be involved more. With a storyline you can see miles away, jokes you predicted 2 seconds into the movie [except for Ned's antics], dialogues you could probably recite without even watching the movie, the Powers that be decided they HAVE to throw in the older generation's misconception that being wigger is cool.

Seriously, they were marketing this solely to brain-dead teenage bimbos. The world must be 57% populated by them, since that's the percentage at Rotten Tomatoes.

This is my first Efron movie. This is my last Efron movie. Undoubtedly, he's pretty and his body make me look at my tummy in self-loathing but with acting like that, who needs a shotgun against one's temple?

Comolot

Lutlut countered my Starcrossed with Comolot. Starcrossed is a beautiful movie with themes of true love, social pressure and a message that I can't decipher till now. Comolot is about gay malays.

The storyline, if you can call it that, is your fiancee caught you showering with another guy. You explain it to her, you get married the next day and then your boyfriend crash your wedding and whisk you off. That's it.

The acting can only be described as a typical malay movie acting. Shocked faces weren't shocked. Sad faces were angry. Hell, chasing your fiancee is more of a stroll.

Dialogues? The Jigsaw Killer rigging electric drills to slowly approach my ears is like a Wagnerian piece compared to that.

The direction is surprisingly great. I mean, assuming the director is a retard who has been dropped too many times on his retarded head as a retarded child, that is. The jerkiness of the scene shifts and the fact that the 'true love' is a recollection of you showering together should give you the same assumption.

Message: Malay girls are so stupid they'll still marry you even if they find you unpassionately caressing another guy lathered in soap.

You can find Comolot on Youtube but then again, you can also sodomize your 3-day old kitten. I wanted to write your 3-year-old brother but that's too sick.

Saint P, a travelblogue

I thought I knew Russians.

I thought I knew Russia.

I now know I was wrong.

I didn't know Saint P, man.

Saint P was the place that made me realize that I've been in the redneck country of Russia for the better part of 5 years. Saint P-gians were the ones who made me realize that Russians CAN be pleasant. Saint P is where I left my heart.

I'm usually very cool and aloof when it comes to traveling. I don't gawk. I don't stare. I show as little shock and awe as possible. I try to blend in as much as possible.



In Saint P, I was in full tourist mode. I mean really, it's cranked up till 11. Hell, on the way to the Metro station where my guides were waiting for me, I took pictures from the bus! And the conductor was so nice, I doubted she was Russian!

Day 1:

My love affair with Saint P began with her enticing main avenue, Nevskii Prospekt. She whispered a little secret into my lustful ears for every step I took. Every statue I saw cemented the subtle obsession that builds up slowly but surely. And there was no shortage of that. Everywhere I turned, I saw a beauty of the builders' toil, of the sculptors' loving hands, of the ghosts set in stones. I can only imagine what sort of spirits walked here. Here, on this very road, Pushkin wandered, giving the finishing touch to a love poem. There, I saw Lomonosov bumping into others, apologizing mindlessly as he worked on his latest theory. And through it all, the royal processions of Peter and Catherine marched and proclaimed the greatness of the monarchs.

We walked and talked and laughed and drank in each other, Saint P and I on that day, only such as new lovers could. The perfect day was ended with the witnessing of a ballet, Swan Lake. Ah, such an experience can't be described neither through words nor through paintings. One has to go through it oneself to truly appreciate it.



Day 2:

The second day of our program began with the tour of the Kuntskamera. It is here that the Great Peter the First collected medical oddities and cultural trinkets from around the world. Honestly, it was pretty disappointing. The culture displayed were nothing new to a person who has spent some moments on the Discovery and National Geographic channels. The medical oddities, on the other hand, would have a great effect on someone who never had the opportunity to browse through the classrooms and museums of Volgograd State Medical University's Anatomy, Histology and Pathological Anatomy departments.

Then, we ascended the ancient winding steps of Isaakaevskii Cathedral. From up there, we could see the whole of Saint P, naked before our very eyes. We saw her blemishes, her scars unveiled. We saw her beauty, her brilliance unhindered. To say the view was breathtaking is to be insulting to the memory of that day. I remember that the climb was exerting but, at the same time, worth every gasping breath.

Not enough with that, our geographically blind planner decided to wrestle my very last breath with the Hermitage, the winter palace of the tsars. It wasn't much of a battle, honestly. Being true to the concept of a palace, there are ballrooms and a throne room and sitting rooms that shouts majesty into one's eyes but these weren't the major attraction to me. No. The Hermitage is also home to thousands of paintings and sculptures. My seeing orbs feasted on Michaelangelo and da Vinci and Rubens and Raphael; molested every inch of the Rape of Europa, the Crucifixion of St John, the Adoration of the Baby Jesus; ogled at every dimension of L'amour et Psyche, the Three Graces and Bachus and the Satyr. Four hours we were there. We covered so much less than a quarter.



Day 3:

We went to only one place on this day. The summer palace. Petergof. When I walked in the main gate, my jaw literally dropped. I was in awe. The fountains and the palace itself and the chapel with the golden domes were awesome in the truest sense of the word. My guides laughed at me. We haven't even began uncovering the beauty of Peterdvorets. There must have been at least 20 different fountains with 20 different themes on that royal retreat. The majestic Samson fountain, the quirky Sun, the Adam and Eve... all of these and more litter the palace's park. In the middle of it all, there's a canal leading to the sea.



Day 4:

Day 4 was rather uneventful. We woke up late. Very late. We went to the souvenir market, doing some very touristy shopping. Later that day, we went to Peter and Paul's Fort, a barricade never used in battle but rather was used as a political prison, instead. On this island-fort the remains of the royal families were laid to rest, including the last royal family of Tsar Nikolai the Second. It is in this very fort also that Peter, the same Great Peter, tortured his son to death, reportedly for criticizing the father's europeanization of Russia and the subsequent rape of its culture.

And thus ended my Great Saint P Fling. As I've told many, I left my heart there, hoping for the opportunity to return and see if I could reclaim it some day.



I would like to use this opportunity to commend and extend my gratitude to my graceful hosts. Never have I seen in Russia four friends more comfortable and natural. And to make matters worse, they were all talented in the arts. I envy them. I couldn't find one person that share the same interests, who is comfortable around me in 500 Malaysians in Volgograd. The four found three each in a group of 12 Malaysian students. Tell me, isn't my envy just?

Disclaimer:Most of the pics here are courtesy of Vitamin050

St P iz da shiznit

I'm in St Petersburg now, woohoo! The awesomeness that is this place is mindfucking me to no foreseeable end. I'll post a travelblog [yes, lico, a travelblog] when I get back. But for now, enjoy this dancing bear.