Don’t look forward

I had trouble drawing this one because I was sometimes smiling and sometimes frowning. I was thinking about Tony Blair leaving office and announcing he was going to become a peace envoy. What a joke. What a sharp, shooting pain in my gut.

Brand new model

This is my best friend Piggy. Just like animals, just like beautiful strangers and idols, just like any object that can’t respond, I impose all the best things on Piggy and he never lets me down.
Tomorrow my brand new wife arrives. I hope I can draw her over and over. It’s intimidating though, to be yourself in front of another human being. Some pictures come out bad, that’s just part of the process, but they come together eventually. I hope she likes my pictures of her.

Brought eyes (sic)

I downloaded my first album legally tonight. It was Bright Eyes’ “Cassadaga”. “Poison Oak” made me cry while shopping for washing machines and refrigerators in Broadway in Causeway Bay just over a year ago. That was pretty interesting.
Yesterday I had to go to a big law firm to check out their conference rooms for a photo job. It was just before lunch when I left and I got into a full elevator. Once inside I saw the doors were mirrors, and I got to look at myself surrounded by perfectly preened, young executives. I looked like shit. From my hair to my outfit to my self, I looked a mess. Not a Keith Richards kind of a mess; just an ugly, avoidable-person kind of mess.
You might not know this, but I was young once. I was aware at the time that older people envied me, that I had access to the little girls and the energy, and that one day it would be gone. I decided that I would enjoy it and when it was gone, well, to hell with it. I would embrace maturity, or drop dead if it got too hard. I’m bored of this topic already, but I’m still surprised every time I look in the mirror. Does it have to be over so quickly?

Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout love

I had the idea a long while ago to freeze-frame pornographic videos and draw them. I never really developed it far, but I still like the idea. I’ve had a nagging feeling about sex and love recently – how the two are so interchangeable, but I’m sure they’re not that related. Love is just a moral concoction to allow fucking in civilized society. The reality is that a swollen cock thrusting into a juicy pussy is the best part of existence, and it’s made that way because nature insists we select and procreate. The idea that I’m being manipulated by something outside myself makes me mad, and makes me never want to fuck again. Really – I know the game: passion, that overwhelming desire, that explosive wanderlust that comes with being in the arms of beauty. Nature, you fiend. Am I just a cog in your wheel?

the Cure

This is another old picture. It is a familiar process - I fuck up the first one or two sketches; then, as my energy and inner violence grows, I need to choose to pull it together or just submit to the failure. Herein lies the beauty of creation: inarticulate insistence.
I’m listening to “Lost” by the Cure. I always imagined that this song culminates in a grand piano being tied up with a rope and lifted into the air and then being repeatedly smashed into the ground in time with the music. The big, repetitive, pulsating sound made up of all the instruments getting more and more insistent. It’s like the selfish urgency of passion; the overwhelming violence of sex. The insistence. The insistence of culmination. The point where mistakes are irrelevant. It could be murder or orgasm; it’s all the same when you’re overwhelmed.
I was thinking yesterday, as I rode the bus home, of a moment when I was waiting on someone’s balcony and I watched 2 young lovers far, far below me at the dock. It started raining and they had no shelter, but they stayed. They stayed for over an hour. All they had was a piece of wood that protected their bags from getting too wet. I waited and waited. All they did was hug, and wander around, and hug again. I thought it was sweet but it was dull. Why didn’t they do something? Why didn’t they fuck? Why didn’t they fight? Why didn’t one of them slit the other’s throat? Why did it just drag out and disperse into the endless sea of nothingness? Inaction can only lead to disintegration.

Gee but it’s good to be home

As much as I dig my wife and have the greatest time staying with my in-laws, it sure is nice to come home. I thought I’d give the night to rum and Dynasty Warriors, oh how I’ve missed my warrior friends, but I spent the night working and listening to music, and treated myself with drawing at the end. Japan for 2.5 weeks sure was fun. Getting back to work sure is fun. Life is both hunky and dory. I love it here. I can’t wait to go back. What a complex pattern of happiness existence is.

Me!

Thanks to Yoichi for making this paper chain all around the living room. Today is my birthday and everyone is encouraged to admire and adore me!

Let's go

So long Kong Kong, hello Japan. The next 2 and a half weeks will be in Osaka, Kyoto and Yonnago preparing my wedding. I’m tireder than a motherfucker and ready and raring to go.

This is an old drawing. It was the first time I allowed myself to use colour. I always thought I had to study, study, study. Then finally I had the confidence to open up. I’ll never forget it.

Today was cruel

Today was cruel. It’s the day before I leave for Osaka, to join my wife and new family where I’m supposed to be all bright-eyed and funny. I expect a couple of last minute emergencies whenever I go away, and the customary last-minute photo shoot that always comes up, but for the last 24 hours I’ve been dealing with my clients’ fuck-ups. Just a bunch of “sorry” and “it’s urgent”. No extra cash, just desperate people who really need something. After a day of this I abandoned them all. Not to sleep; not to go on the town and get wild, but to get on with work from more reliable clients. I’m mad and now I’m fucked because everything’s late. So, now I have this opportunity, I’d like to say fuck everyone. Especially fuck George Bush. Fuck Dick Cheney. Fuck Tony Blair. Fuck the military junta in Burma. Fuck the pope. Fuck the whole fucking world and their fucking complete inability to make nothing but vague intellectual progress over the last century. Fuck you all you corrupt, selfish, irresponsible rats’ asses who can’t see beyond a pencil’s width into the future of your asinine actions. Titties, titties, titties.

Relish

This morning I found myself walking across the piazza of the Grand Millennium Plaza after the gym, Green Tea Frappuccino in my hand, wearing my new, white trousers from Armani Exchange and a dark blue polo shirt hurriedly on the way to my design studio to catch up with work. I was everything I was brought up to hate. I blame Bob Dylan (or, more specifically, my childish interpretation of Dylan) for teaching me to despise anyone in a suit, anyone with money. It’s a defeatist attitude that allows people to dwell in dead-end jobs, in ill-fitting clothes, eating mass-market food from discount stores, with the defense that they are somehow anti-establishment. I was so hungry, I drank my Frappuccino with relish, hoping no one would notice me, till I caught the eye of a passing businessman while I was licking my lips, and I saw on his face “that looks tasty”. That scum, that over-paid, corrupted, corporate whore. I liked him. I wanted to be his friend.

Song for Kiriko

Call me a sucker, but my good wife Kiriko recently asked me to write a poem for her. As I've been indulging in over-romantic flights of fancy inspired by Shane MacGowan recently it was only natural I superimposed myself onto his genius and rode it from there.

Song for Kiriko
(after Shane MacGowan)

I’ve been loving you a long time,
From Hampton Bays to Silvermine,
From weekends dancing, oceans roaring,
Knocked down and stripped in the sunshine.

The train came slowly, from the city,
We climbed the rooftop, for some fun,
Those days could never be repeated,
Those days can never be undone.

Across the platform, you were silent,
Across the platform, I was dumb,
Across the years I always waited,
Across the years you were the one.

Then giving up, in dreamless sleeping,
Then waking up, in dreamless days,
Then passing through, I chanced to see you,
Then passing through, I chanced to stay.

One drunken night before the ocean,
We hid together in that room,
Till nothing left but naked moonlight,
Till nothing left, I stole moon.

Forget your sorrow, take my hands, babe,
Forget the past, it’s gone and died.
Put your arms, around my waist, babe,
And hold me close, and be my bride.

Don't trust anyone over 30

I gave a job interview today. I had on my best Alan Sugar but I don’t think the kid had seen that show so he just talked naturally. He had a bit of an edge and seemed to be certain about what he said. I liked it. I took a good, long look at myself before drawing tonight. I realized I don’t look anything like Johnny Depp. I realized my great new haircut doesn’t actually change anything. I looked tired, old and drunk. I realized I can’t keep living in a fantasy imagining every little girl wants me just by passing me on the street. I realized I need to start cultivating a more eccentric character to compensate for my diminishing natural appeal. I realized I need to start looking for cool wigs and start wearing make-up again. I realized I can never be real again. I must become an icon.

The final solution

I was at the hairdresser’s today contemplating how I could achieve global domination. I think it will be easy enough to become king of the world; pretty much all the leaders suck and nobody really likes them. There is the problem of all the religious groups though. I thought of setting up a new religion that is better, but these people are so delirious with their own gods it’s going to be such a lot of work to wean them away. Then I realized, all I need to do is discover a new planet that supports life. Then, I will tell them all that their god comes from this planet. Then, presumably, they will all rush over there and within a few months they’ll all kill each other. Sound a little harsh? Well, don’t blame me that they’re all a bunch of fucking idiots. I’m just trying to help.

Destruction of the fittest

Hi G, Snakes are scary, I think they’re designed that way. I have fake snakeskin boots, they look great. This is the trade-in we have made, don’t fight it. While the Native-Americans are at one with the environment, they are also wallowing in their defeat and humiliation, rounded like animals into futureless compounds, getting drunker and drunker, weaker and weaker. While we, the triumphant, manipulate nature to our whims, getting drunker and drunker, and more and more violent, more powerful.

Plan A

After I posted the last blog your hero and mine, Andrew Collins, posted a great blog entry about how the media is exploiting this case for nothing other than their own benefit. I still stick to my entry, except now I also see how much of a bandwagon this is, especially the point about how millionaires have been bullied into donating money rather than the surface impression that the whole community is pulling together for a united cause. All the same, let’s naively push our mortal bodies forward. I still hope one day I will write a manifesto that will teach the whole world to be nothing but a good time for everyone. If I ever really do give up and realize humans are inherently pointless, directionless monsters then plan B is to enslave the world for my raucous pleasure.

Everybody look

No need for me to try to say something clever here. This is a horrible, horrible story. It's a shame one abducted child is getting so much coverage when so many others are never heard of, but while the ball's rolling I like to think that people all around the world can familiarise themselves with her face and someone, somewhere, might see her. At least she has a slim chance. Then maybe we can start shouting at our leaders and encourage them to channel some of their money away from wars and towards breaking criminal networks down.

I can be a winner

I watched "the Apprentice UK" for the first time yesterday so I could see what your hero and mine, Andrew Collins, is rattling on about. All day I've been in imaginary conversations with Sir Alan Sugar. I've been weighing my words carefully, rewriting the arguments of the contestants like I generally would in day-to-day life when I pretend to be in different situations; it's a brilliant platform.

This is one of hundreds of the "Barber Shop" pictures, of the shop I used to have to pay my rent to when I lived in the gutters of Sai Ying Pun with those cool Indian kids and odd Filipinos.

Virtually true love

Anyone who knows me will tell you there’s nothing I like better than a night of rum and Cokes and playing “Dynasty Warriors” or “Samurai Warriors”. Tonight I passed the 60 hour mark on “Samurai Warriors” and unlocked the character of Nene after completing all the levels of the story of her husband Toyotomi Hideyoshi. This is significant because Nene has the (2nd) best ass in the virtual world. Traditionally, Zhen Ji from “Dynasty Warriors” has always been the best; superseded, of course, by the character of Kiriko (based on my wife who, coincidentally, also has the best ass in the non-virtual world). Nene surpasses Zhen Ji though, in that she somehow doesn’t seem to wear any underwear. My plan is to repeat the games of Toyotomi Hideyoshi (as he has the power of finding extra gold) and then use the money he makes to spend on Nene, who I intend to make the most powerful character thanks to all the gold I make from her husband. Art imitates life, just like in “Dynasty Warriors 4 Empires” I need to find Kiriko, defeat her, be able to afford to hire her, and then train her to be a great warrior. It’s just like real life, but without all the bullshit.

Getting Dick

I was thinking about US Vice President Dick Cheney today and what a dick he is, so I looked up some facts about him to prove my point, but I’m bored of it already. It really doesn’t take a lot of research. Secretary of Defense under Bush I, then became CEO of Halliburton, then became Vice President under Bush II, then started war which made Halliburton tens of billions of dollars. Sound fishy? Sure, but not just to me, to everyone. And who got mad about it? Nobody really. I imagine somewhere right now, some very, very rich person is laughing till they pee themselves.

First dance

Technically I was married last February in Las Vegas, but I have the main wedding event coming in October with all the friends, family and fireworks. While my wife focuses on dresses and flowers I am mainly concerned with the first dance. Gene Vincent's "You Belong to Me"? Buddy Holly's "True Love Ways"? Even the Pogues "Misty Morning, Albert Bridge" seems to work. I feel, though, over all this, it should be the Ramones "Baby I Love You". Can you imagine? That beat with those strings coming in, and we step up and join together and dance slower than the beat, oblivious, yet absorbed.