It’s all swell when you’re well

Dreaming I was preparing an exhibition honoring Herman Brood. I was being emotionally tortured. In defiance I offered a knife to use against me, and in greater defiance it was ignored and the torture compounded. When I woke up my throat was killing me and I knew I was sick again. Then I fell asleep and dreamed of hamsters, just like the last time I was sick. A man had neglected his hamster – it was in a poor state, all malnourished and half bald. I helped orchestrate the campaign to save the hamster. Later, I walked past the man’s shop. His hamster sat on the sidewalk in front of his shop. The front of the shop was all glass, and the hamster looked tiny. I saw the man inside, completely broken with his head in his hands, awaiting his fate. I petted the hamster, which had completely recovered. The hamster stared stupidly in front of itself, completely unable to comprehend its current state, or even its previous state. It sure looked cute though.
Later Baby mentioned Laika. I always thought Laika survived, but it turns out her spaceship wasn’t even designed to be able to make it back into orbit. Later Laika was honored with all sorts of statues, postage stamps etc, which somehow makes me feel even more sorry for Laika. I bet all she wanted was some food, a place to run around, and a good fuck.
Well, in a nutshell: I’m sick, we’re all going to die, and existence is futile.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Chinese New Year

Four days till the start of Chinese New Year. This is the best time of year in Hong Kong, the only time when a real festive spirit hits the nation. As a relative outsider, I like to join in with full gusto. The jaded little me tries to point out this is just a social phenomenon cultivated over the years to provide a welcome annual distraction to the populace. Just like me and my life – I try to pack every type of activity and reward into every single day – work, games, snacks, alcohol, orgasms, drawing, music, gym etc. Each and every day is full of little landmarks that keep me happy in some way or another. When I miss one it just means I get to have it even bigger tomorrow. I have to say, I like existence, it’s quite fun. Is this the path to enlightenment? Everything’s good, but it just doesn’t feel like I imagined nirvana would.

----------

This is me in Kangol cap, scarf and fake fur jacket from South Korea, for the Pony. I haven't drawn myself in weeks - months? It is strange to revert, after drawing other things all this time - the synchronicity becomes derailed momentarily, and things that were separate encounter each other. I like it.

In between days

I have a theory that children have more life in them because they still have a memory of not existing. I like very old people, to whom death is a certainty. They have humour, and a sense of life to them. At 36, all I seem to be aware of is myself.

Suicide Deluxe

Hi G,
Days and nights here are cool too at the moment. We are clinging to the remnants of comfort before the oppressive heat envelopes our world, just like a dying man indulges in his happy memories, even though they are, in reality, scant and scarce between his endless torment and disappointment.
So, off he dies and I stamp over his fresh grave as I’m still young enough to summon the violence that drives this senseless machine forward, driven by seemingly endless, expendable me’s.
In the morning I’m inspired as Hitler, poised to recreate the world in my perfect mould. By afternoon I’m overrun with urgent, masturbatory promises. By night I’m relieved but awakening again, frantically trying to intoxicate myself to suffocate the passion; asphyxiate the raging, desperate soul-screaming. The older I get, the better I get at destroying myself.