More of a Mirror

More of a mirror
Black as the sea,
In the night of Marina,
Holding the feet,
Of bagels and rehearsals,
Back to the frame,
I hold out the keys,
To ask you your name.

More of a mirror,
Less of a reflection,
Because you're not who I want to be.

Gilded in singers,
Gilded in fragile thoughts,
Of a breadwinner,
Leaving it all to merlions and facts,
So sad,
So sad,
That we made it bad.

More of a mirror,
Economically proven,
When we were bored in time,
And time was bored with us,
And the sentence,
Seemed like a zombie's vow,
To be alive and well,
When you come back I will,
Say.

More of a mirror,
You were the sun,
Green-eyed one,
Of spectacles,
And cellulite,
Hotel lobbies at night,
Watching people fight,
Over drinks,
They wore in pride.

More of a mirror.

White, empty, nothingness.

More of a mirror of a sign.

More of a mirror,
You make me so mad,
What about the guns you leave,
On the vacant bed,
What of the sightless fiend,
Oh,
Oh, why do you sound so mean?

More of a mirror,
You broke my heart,
You made me forget about,
Alleys incandescent's part,
When it came to the last one,
The last food to eat,
The last confounded teacher,
On hopeless needs.

Oh more of a mirror,
More of a silence,
More of a car.

Less of a kind one,
Less than the ones who,
Who couldn't get far.

I love you,
When there's nothing better to do,
Isn't that the world,
Was made for this evening.

The verdant looks,
You gave was for fists to shook,
And time was not well,
That time I was not well,
But the smile in the sea,
Was as black as the trees.

Isn't it great,
When tides contemplate,
Over jackets made of cotton,
And blue.

I might not see colours,
But I can sure feel you.

Oh, more of a mirror,
I think I do.

Mary Ante Meridien

In such a destitute form of being, I woke up in the sunlight of noon.
Dah jadi satu perkara biasa, kan? Nak buat apa.

With such reminiscence of unpleasant facts, the end year is currently the thing everyone looks to for consolation.

And like a machismo, sex-hungry soulmate it disappoints.

I'm not sure what I look to nowadays, for an emotional refuge that is.

I remembered feeling suppressed.

And I remembered the catharsis that came with it's dissipation.

As the holidays bunk over in existence, a cliche of getting inebriated at night and having a blast but regretting it the next day, I soon feel like my life is on a day-to-day basis.

Even plans that were made for the future, only seemed like a self-satisfactory attempt of fulfilling an otherwise incoherent passerby called Present.

It's great how things, when you don't plan them, just to seem fall apart.

And you feel like it had everything to do with you.

4 years ago, I never would've thought that there would be any thing coming back to life, nudging me, reminding me, that will all of these memories packed in the closet..

When you're on a turn-point, it's all going to fall apart.

Meeting long lost affinities.

Flicking through albums of places.

Places my feet has never reminded me yet, that I've ever stepped on the godforsaken ground.

Forgetting is a blessing.

Because when you remember, it feels like a new house bought on mortgage.

It's never actually yours.

There are times when the inside of my head just seem to melt in the form of sweat.
Baik di tandas, mahupun di litar lumba lari.

Creativity outputs has just oscillated between random punk outbursts or golden baritone ode to lackadaisical endeavors.

I used to think that I've had random depressions below sea level because I was uninspired.

But now that I'm actually in the vicinity of whims, I'm still feeling deprived.

Which is good.

Because now I feel like a drunk Karen O on a drug called Epiphany

Yes that had to be this blog's first ever graphic imagery.

"For a fucked son, you suck"

Who else on earth can get away with lyrics like that, but her?

You see, I'm turning 17. And it's pretty obvious when you put it in perspective.

I've lost all of the feeling that comes with nonchalance.
i.e. the lack of feeling

Every second I pretend not to care becomes a second that I wish I did.

As the new weaves it's web around me,
And the old becomes spiders of greed.

Now back to business.

Who On Earth Chose THIS:

(No not you Jon Foreman, the song you're covering)

AS THE SONG OF THE BLESSED NOUGHTIES MAN.

As the comment of an honest music lover goes
"THIS IS THE BEST SOUND OF THE 2000's? The 2000's suck"

Actually I'm not one to get frustrated about this, NME has always had a sense of humor.

I mean, despite the awful choice for the Best Track of the Decade.
They certainly pulled it off with their Album of the Decade list.

(Jules has a certain sense of humor really)

And you can't have a better of sense of judgment than Nik Aziz choosing Raihan as the album of the century.
(Allah yang satu, Raihan album nombor satu, apa-apa jelah. Janji bukan 1 Malaysia sudah)
(Ohhhh yeah. Men In Black)
Masyaallah.

Anyways, so go figure? The Strokes? A band named after a pre-act of foreplay?

No surprise really, without the Strokes, a lot of bands nowadays won't even exist. When the musical world was desolate with zeitgeist. Enough only to make a few preteen girls and prepubescent boys go excited.

When post-grunge and Linkin Park was the only (sad) thing Mr. Rock had.
(See? Desolate)
And then frizzy-haired men play with their garage toys just subconsciously wishing the world would change.

These toys become musical instruments.

And the frizzy haired men become geniuses.


The man as the O became the originator of the Noughties revivalism of ______ generations.

In fact, Julian Casablancas did it much better than Johnny Rotten or Ramones when it came to establishing punk.

The drumline of Hard To Explain became the launchpad for other garage residents to go "It's OUR TIME TO BE HATED"

Lines such as "Don't stop me now if I'm going too fast" and "My feelings are more important than yours" speak for the streets.

And that's appropriate, cause the streets is where revolutions are instigated.
(I'm pregnant!)
Not from teenage prepubescents who think boobs are awesome.
(WHAT IN CARNATIONS THIS THING IS A FREAKING MIRROR)
Country music lovers.
(Mmmm...Britney Spears here we come)
Or even fans of dancing slurry mongoloids.


You can see how much music has changed. Mo-top, suited up, John Paul George and Ringo replaced by denim-cladded, electricifying-bland dos of Valensi, Fab, Jules, Nikolai and Albert Hammond Jr.

'The Strokes didn't invade America though, they invaded the world.

Proof?
The jangly rhythmic influenza of Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr spreads all the way to OUR MOTHERLAND MAN.

And to add to that, what is up with that drawl? Reminds you of Jules outright "I-can-sing-in-whatever-drowsy-tone-I-Jim-Morrison-*yawn*" vocals huh?
Here's a comparison if u're interested.


And as they say "The End Has No End", so we'll just wait for whatever the creative infinities will think up of in the next ten years.

My three initials is NME, and yours is KBS or MTV

Either way, let's all get along before the world pays it's credit to Emmerich.
I'm actually proud that I watched 2012.

The epic symbolism despite the overindulgence of special effects.

It's the same reason why people watch Transformers
The fact that somehow in someway, everything is relevant to Megan Fox.

[Picture of Fox not available due to the lack of blandness and anti-climactic pictures of her]
[God was just bragging]
[Stupid Christian fad line]

And thus the forever-seeming days of dusty lodges has actually ended.

The same old rugby field scenery I grew to love.

The wide expanse of nothingness everyone seems to ignore,
Thus they never look above.

Alam Shah was a fucking riot.

And just as I came to realise that I have only one year left of studying there.

It became truth, to know that going there seemed like an actualisation of all of my artistic dreams.

Of desperate, harsh and loud hoi polloi beneath star-lit fields of ever gray.

Too bad I don't take pictures.

Anyways, apologies for being such a musical journalist today.

To compensate here's a rainy storm poetry of bland ecstasy.

As the wind turn wins,
Into London lonely hearts,
Oh the warmth in the ice,
Swept me into your arms,
Was it love,
Or fear of the cold,
That led us through the night,
For every mist,
Your beauty trump my pride.

And my hat told my dart,
Let love go,
And my pond told my band,
This time no,
This time no.

We'll be washed and married one day,
My God,
And the tide we were given,
Will be left for the birds,
The flesh that lived and loved,
Will be eaten by sand,
So let the memories,
Be good for those who stain.

And my pen told my card,
Let love go,
And my card told my pen,
This I know,
Yes my hand told my heart,
This time no.

And the shame that left me off,
For the world that I once love,
Was the same that send me into your house,
Holding pastel, holding guns,
When you are lost,
And I am gone,
And no hope,
No hope will ever come.

But if your strife,
Strikes out your sleep,
Remember swings,
In soulful leaves,
You'll be happy,
And wholesome again,
When the city sinks,
Inside the sand.

And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my hand,
This I know,
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my head,
This time no,
This time no.

And Mary had a dream about sails again,
Of copper trees and copper friends,
And the evil laugh they come too soon,
For Mary comes before noon.

The World Engulfs

In the colorful bushes of Aunt Em's garden there were pixies of many arrays.

Striped to the crevices of their bones,
Whom children claim to own as much as themselves.

In the skies of Eden and the scarred deformities of a jet stream wind,
There was Boy, and then there was Girl.

Moving as it was, in an Oscillation of Perception.
Where one views the other a madman, whilst the other takes the person beside him a friend,
Of innocent intentions.

"I can see that he says what he means"

It was an age of development,
A time of pretty pretend,
A time of small hands building big ideas,
Of playing Doctor in the sandbox of yesteryears.

And then when it all goes into the fire furnace,
And the Oscillation of Perception still plays it's game of life.

Girl looks up at the night sky and thinks that the cobwebs would care to cover the smile she was giving,
To no one.

No one but the stars,
No one but the scrapped knee of a morning dew sky.
Of falling off bicycles,
And, and, and hoping to climb back up trees that were once subjects of chide.
Now enemies of pride.

"Biting just tongues"

And then the Trees Of Fall, there was.
A red, yellow, brown holocaust.
For when the roots were never sick,
For then the greens will grow,
To replace it.
To replace it.

"When a leaf falls from a cherry, who knows, someone might just care about it"

War poetry carved on doorways grown old.

"When All I Wanna See Is The End Of This"

The intoxicating puerility of carelessness sends his regards.

Rough Flowers

Walking on water,
Singing in signs,
I'm leaving you whether,
You like it or find,
It hard to believe,
I don't want to conceive.

This time it's serious,
This time it's gone to dogs,
It blooms like Caribbean suns in the dark,
Waking to the sounds of bombs,
Living in a plastic concscious.

For why I crave for resistance,
I don't know,
Like a road in decisions,
Like the road I am leaving.

To be craving, for virtual loops,
Of fun.

Woah, why do you feel so contemplative,
It's such a disregard to our catechist mentality,
Or rough flowers growing in deserts, winter, blights of volcanoes,
And we'll stand and you know why.

Wei, Why You Don't Eat Pig La? (Welcome)

Hi, my name is Robert Gustavez.

And I'm an ex-drug addict.

My life used to be in ruins, I was always at a lost.

I was in the hood, ese. Where they shoot people for no reason.

I skipped school, I disappointed my gramps.

I've never been a prefect.

So when I was 16 I turned to nicotine.

But then everyone was doing it.

Everyone hated me.

So I stopped doing it.

But then I founded something better.

I founded the heebee-jeebees.

But that's not the point.

The point is, I was miserable.

But then one day when I was doing time in the block, some nigga went up to me and talked about politics.

"JESUS WILL SAVE YOUR SOUL"

"Man you must be kidding me, ain't no one gonna get me into parole"

"SON, YOU ARE LOST IN THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, COME JOIN THE FAITH OF THE MAN THAT SACRIFICED FOR YOUR SINS"

I was reluctant at first, but then I went to sleep and dreamed.

That I saw the Father.

And that's when I thought, Holy Father, I am a believer.

And I stopped taking drugs.

*
This program was brought to you by, Apple Inc. We're better than PC because we organize charities.

Hello, this is me speaking.

Yes, I opened up my blog for everyone to see.

You know, usually the orthodoxy of it is that people would usually publicize their previously restricted blog because they start to write about decent and perceivable things.

Well, if you've been a reader of my old blogs before, you should know that I don't..associate myself...with...orthodoxy.

Or any other church for that matter.

You see for these past few days, I've been going through "born-again-Christian" moments at odd occassions.

Sometimes when I eat, most of the time when I lie on my bed.

And even when I'm paying attention in class.

To all Christians really, I have no intention in offending you guys. I don't know even know any Orthodox, just Catholics, Protestants, Reluctants, and Subservients.

I just want, for once, the internet to be a place where people actually discuss their problems with the world.

Because really, the internet has now become a place of distractions. A haven where you can go to escape from questions you'd normally ask yourself if you were bored.

Like you'd be watching the news, becoming the audience of millions of death and famine. And then suddenly you'd forget all about it when your doorbell rings, and the pizza man comes to deliver your extra-large.

Or when you log on to facebook.

Join the "I Hate School" Club now.

So why do people fight wars? Do you believe everything they tell you on TV?

Do you know what they're fighting for out there in Israel?

Do you know why the Somalians are so angry?

Do you know why people even started the anti-ISA riots in the first place?

Do you give a shit about Malay rights?

Nope, you just feed off the debris they give you. Music, fashion, palatables, social networking sites.
And expect to get away with life just like that.

Don't you think someone is going to take advantage of you, and do whatever they want behind the parliamentary desks?

C'mon man, be an actual citizen. And not someone who asks for subsidies.

I can guarantee you, this blog is going to be bloody.

But whatever I write, the good things are from God, and the bad things are from me.

Oh, and if you were wondering, yes there's a CBox.

You are free to ask any questions, criticize me anyway you like, and we can all be brothers in the MACC prison.

I'd love to have your number too.

Wei Why You Don't Eat Pig La?

Wei Why You Don't Eat Pig La?