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.

Youth sure was fun

Listening to the Velvet’s “Loaded” tonight while I draw I am reminded of all the drugs; all the incapacitating drugs that used to accompany long nights of work, until a night of drugs started meaning drawing would be impossible. Boy, youth sure was fun.

A conscious death

I’ve had a cold over the last few days. It has completely broken me. It’s like life is suddenly stolen from you, and all your petty habits and pleasures are no longer possible. It’s a hateful experience, having a runny nose. You question your very existence. You’re stripped of all your talents, all your strength. Imagine – you cannot fuck, cannot drink; there is no hope for cultivation or fun. All that’s left is a broken you, and all your broken dreams. No outlet, you can’t even lie to yourself. It’s like everything stops and all you have is your past. It’s like a conscious death.

Anti-climax

Yesterday, in my quest to find out how virile I am, I gave a blood and semen sample. The doctor told me my semen needed to be at the lab within 2 hours after "unloading", so he gave me only 30 minutes to run home, bust a nut, and get the sample back to him. It was weird, but worth it for the uniqueness of the experience. On the hurried way home everything was in my favour - the traffic lights turned right when I approached them, the elevator came right when I called it. I hadn't touched myself impurely for a while (over 1 day) so I'd have a good, big load to give him. After I'd done the deed I rushed back and proudly passed my urine and semen to the nurse, who huridly stuffed it under the counter and said I could go. What an anti-climax. I was hoping for a cup of tea and a biscuit at least. Note to anyone who is going to do this - remember the arm they took all that blood from is going to be a little sensitive.

Live

“Mixed media piece – pastel, acrylic, ink and whiskey on torn paper”. This is the result of finally acquiring the one Velvet Underground album I’ve never heard – “Live at Max’s Kansas City”. I’m incensed. Veritably alive.

Closer to god

After another night of "Songs for Drella" I'm starting to understand what it must be like to be a religious fundamentalist. I listen over and over, each time I practice drawing, and each time I learn something more. Each time I become one step closer to Andy Warhol. Each time I become closer to eternity.

A Lifelong Romance

Spring is in the air and a young man's thoughts turn to slamming. This is me something like 15 years ago. I don't remember who I was then, or who I wanted to be. Hundreds of self-portraits later and not a lot has changed. Apart from the general disappointment in the human race and the diminishing blind insistence that existence is consequential, the overall lust remains, and the fundamental pleasures still lure me into a perpetual momentum; constantly lunging at beauty like a tethered, frenzied dog. Mindless, desperate longing.

Coming to a Head

Hi G, The world is coming to a head; I am drunk on Jim Beam and full of dogmatic passion, ready to kill for my cause. As soon as I define it I’m going out and starting the slaughter.

I was speaking to Kiriko about loss and suffocating inability, and since then I’ve loved her without restraint. If only I could take the pain of the world and strangle it into nothingness with my bare hands. If only the cause could submit to the effect.

Constant Nagging

Hey G. If I only had the balls to remove my balls, I’d be free from all this nonsense and be able to get down to business. I do, sometimes, also worry, though, that by removing the incessant distraction I’ll also remove the drive that provokes me to do anything of consequence. Man, I hate being half animal, half god. Dogs and deities have no idea how good they have it. I masturbated this morning to get rid of that constant nagging. By this evening I was back at it again.

Admire

A while ago I met a brain-damaged man selling tickets to a duck race. His contorted, half-shaven, spittle-crusted face seemed twisted from agony. He walked like he had to drag half his body but spoke with clarity. He told me that the doctors had said it would be impossible for him to walk again after his accident, but after 14 months he had learned to walk. He said “What can I do? I have children, I have a family, I have to stand up.” I’d never met anyone with brain damage before, and he was amazing.

Yesterday a young girl approached me with a donation box as student pests often do. As I waved her aside she looked up and smiled and I saw the same twisted, contorted face that belies brain damage. When I returned along the same street I searched her out and found her facing the street, pretending to read her phone. She was so out of place, in a society that prefers to keep its disabled tidily behind closed doors. She had guts to stand out there trying to make money. I gave her money and she gave a big smile and said thank you in English. She was pretty, despite her tortured muscles, and I felt something like admiration. Exactly admiration.

Gross Bravado

Another day, another night full of whiskey and “Songs For Drella”. I’ve decided to ‘publish’ my drawings. Partly as an impetus to do well and partly to feed my relentless self-absorption. Looking back over my existence I have very few memories. I remember the more extreme violence, passion, every single death and every single bike crash, the overdose and the occasional dream. Apart from these landmarks the only other thing I remember is drawing and painting. When I lie, grasping for my last breath, one of countless animals slipping from gross bravado to non-existence, I will remember these moments and cling desperately, pointlessly, to them.

Get on the Good Foot

My good wife, Kiriko, has introduced me to a phenomenon rarely understood or practiced in the Western world - the Japanese art of being able to take off your shoes without untying them. For years I've watched in envy Japanese people coming home and effortlessly slipping off their shoes at the doorway then, in a simple dance, getting them back on when they leave. What you need to do is not pull the laces too tight, and tie the knot a little loose. I have a freedom I've never experienced before. At airport security a couple of days ago I had my shoes off and in the tray in seconds, and I no longer fall sleep in my shoes - so easy is it to take them on and off. Brilliant. What will they think of next?