Two Suns In A Sunset
Monday, June 15, 2009
It was 42 degrees even in the shade. It was the height of the last remnant days of school for the year, like summer, when every being below the age of 19 vows to never grow up and live as if for forever. They have said their amens and downed their poison.

It wasn’t because he ran out of words, but rather his lips were getting flaky and dry that he kissed her. No inch of skin left untouched by his undirected clusters of lust. He drank out of her like a man out in the desert. But as irony has it, he was in fact a man out in the desert and the lovely lady about to spread open her legs is that fountain of water only a stone’s throw away that he could never reach with his pathetic crawl and outstretched hand as if grasping for a bosom. What lovely metaphors he said to himself as he compared the lady out of the dark alleys of his mind to a water fountain. Quite fitting indeed as he crawled out of the violent ripples of his bed after 10 minutes worth of love making with this faceless female fatale born entirely out of fiction, pornography and Zara Chamberlain.

Zara Chamberlain, third daughter to Geoffrey Chamberlain of Kelabit and Canadian descent, second highest ranking taxpayer in the neighbourhood. An affinity for everything Pink Floyd and the only identified keeper of the biggest collection of rare vinyl of any kind in close proximity. None bootlegged. His neighbours have a subtle liking for his routine of lulling Procol Harum through the night but none knew the songs, just that this man has a keen ear for fine music. Zara’s auditory sphere on the other hand glorifies the second coming of rock music of the mid 70’s citing Blondie and Joy Division as great influence. She channels her inner Karen O in the comforts of her pseudo bohemian private quarters donning nothing but this vintage biker leather jacket and sea foam green boy shorts all the while never breaking character. Like many of her generation of bards and poets of punk, she does not want to be tied down by the clutches of formal education but paradoxically looks up to tattooed guitar wielding men with merits from the Ivy League. Call her a walking contradiction; call her anything you want because she does not care. She has the air of an elitist singer-songwriter but none found it boastful. She in fact is a contradiction in and of herself. He wants her so bad.

Today, Maurice is having it bad on the stairway as he struggles with his descending steps towards breakfast, Redbull and crackers, a picture of health. The night before, he tanked himself in with antioxidants and cheap cooking wine. They’re not catalysts to get wasted, but for self gratifying spiritual discovery. His words. He has been left alone in the house with both his parents away on separate working trips across the pond. With the current state of the house, he is not impressed with himself. He has gained 5 kilograms in a matter of 3 days and has not been doing the dishes. He has managed his way down and tip toed his way through a landmine district of unfinished kuaci packets and Pringles from all of yesterday’s movie marathons to the kitchen. In unfixed dimensions he sees a shift in the paradigms of the houses’ working mechanics. Violent non -existent knocks on adjacent doors, lifting chairs only when seated on and busybody peering sunflowers from larger than usual flower vases all made for an Alice in Wonderland brand of feeling, or a Michael Gondry film – The Science of Sleep, most likely. She does not know he exists.

Never was easy the path to love’s troughs. Nor is it easy to find a way out of the gutter, especially when the gutter is 4 feet deep which Maurice fell into back in the 4th form. The evening was soft and light on sunshine. It rained earlier in the day leaving big, small, and tiny puddles of mirroring water for street smart narcissists. He would leap on them like an ancient sea monster crushing a great city. He is the end to this primordial soup of a city. He would hark back ever so often to this memory of wet days and wetter school shoes. Blame it on the hormones.

"this is the furthest i've come to finishing a "book"." - chester

Friday, May 29, 2009

synecdoche, new york. loved every minute of it.

sad but not depressing, awkwardly comforting.

"The specifics don't matter. The feelings do."

awful metaphors
Monday, May 25, 2009

My exams are over, rolled over, moreover, and rolled over.

That’s a mini Haiku FYI.

I got my leather jacket. It’s awesome, foresome, lonesome, rum som som. picture after the jump.

That’s a poem.

I write disjointed nonsensical sentences. Call me talented.

But what’s more awesome is I can’t believe how many people actually believed that Megan Fox owned a penis before. Hey look above you, it’s Tranformers 2. You just fell into an advertising scam to hype up the release. Bunch of liars! (In denial and is still looking for evidence Megan is in fact a female by birth)...it’s like that saying “When pigs fly”. But then again my blog is called “Hate to say i told you so.”

You know those things you say that eventually come full circle and bites you in the ass?i reallllyyyy hate it when that happens, because it makes me look like an idiot. Not that it has happened lately I’m merely explaining my blog title. Which i never got to, but never did have to but felt like anyway. i spelt “prove” instead of “proof” in my other post. I would like to say it was intentional but id sound like a math teacher in denial after being pointed out that he wrote the wrong answer and in his defence say “i was just testing you.” Here let me say it, “i was just testing you.”=/

So now for something more sentimental.

I am home.

Back to astro, sleeping in, opening the fridge to packets upon packets of green tea, 3rd Mile Siang Siang, Saturday mass, my bed, privacy, fresh clean(er) air, Azza burger, Star Cineplex, car rides, St.Joseph, Jadepot, jogging, The Spring, kolo mee, sio bee, teh c peng special, char kueh , Hui Sing, ironed clothes, bahasa Sarawak, less traffic jams, BBQ specialist, Limited Edition, rocking out on my air guitar in the afternoon, coming home early in the morning hating to open that gate, Padungan, pointless emo driving sessions, guitar.

Yours eventually,


p.s me in my first ever leather jacket

you appeared in my dreams 2 nights in a row. it's been a looong time since. tonight, we'll see about tonight.

Friday, May 15, 2009
you've checked in to see what significance i have left for "that" day. a declaration, a mark, a sign, anything.

you left with a "wtf a leather jacket?". =/

i didn't do it didn't i? please don't be dissappointed. i would have loved to but i didn't. you hinted on it before dismissing yourself but i didn't do it. it was purely on my own accord.sure there exists the need to shorten the distance, but i'm not sure about the terbulance getting there.i am not tearing down any walls or fixing any holes by doing it. any other person would see it as a golden opportunity, butttt i think my actions are justifiable. here's a less bitter "have the time of your life." =)

there is a light that never goes out.

it was 11.58 pm my time. would you like me to quote the song Que Sera Sera? heh...

Wednesday, May 13, 2009
i need a leather jacket.now.

it'll last me a lifetime and its a classic.just like the little black dress...annnnddd instant rock n roll credibility.

i don't care if we live in a country that spits sunshine out it's ass all year long. its high time to elevate my hipster status. =/ but you know leather can be prettyyy expensive.

le sigh.


prove that Malaysian girls can bring the rock.

A cover of "Tick" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The singer's a fox. Def channeling her inner Karen O. Sexy.

recorded during open mic night at Cloth & Clef located along Changkat Bukit Bintang.

It is here
Sunday, May 10, 2009

tell me you're as excited as i am.

apa jak lah
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I thought a title in Bahasa Sarawak is only appropriate.

everyone's going back.a BIG sad face period.

3 weeks and i'm home free. bahhh it's not THAT long. all i have to do is work my ass off for my first term finals and before i know it it's already the 23rd.=/

you like ABBA?yeah i like them too.

the funny thing is i heard this cover of their song " The Winner Takes It All" by At Vance all while i was sprawled all over the backseat of Dean's car half asleep.i recall it was blistering hot. i fell in love inevitably.=) good times.=)

excuse the unicorns. it gives that dreamy effect tho.=/

i don't think i ever want to grow up. MJ you ruined Peter Pan for me.BOO..i still rock out to Billy Jean tho don't get me wrong and Thriller is an old time fav. I'm thinking of a Disney movie marathon..Enchanted may or may not be included and you can forget about Lion King 2.5 or Pocahontas 2 because she just went from island girl to straight out Bitch lol.who's up for it?