Friday, April 18, 2008

Assorted bag: Bucket, scribbles and half-tones, Cemetry Gates, and moar Yoko Ono.

1. I'm fortunate enough not to get bombarded by fuckwit YM messages, but I found someone in the inner drudgeries along the Information Highway (read: Rules 1 and 2) who can fill the need of inane conversations. Meet Bucket, and this was our conversation a few minutes ago:

Mai: How many fingers do you see, bucket
Bucket: Me bucket is bucket in my head up and stretch his arms out
ward, she felt his fingers slide under the influence of drugs.
Mai: Influence of drugs does affect the number of fingers that you see
Bucket: All the same, sex and passion is hate. Hate and love do you learn that i need to talk?
Mai: Yes, I know that you need to talk. Also, you need to learn how to count
Bucket: Me is not in need of a circle to its members and does not count.

Meets the required RDA of randomness and asshattery. Judging by our convo, it's also apparent that he can contribute to the required daily allowance of emo, albeit in small amounts. Bucket is made of pure win, only scuttling towards the opposite direction.

2. I was cleaning out my desktop when I found something that brought a smile to my face: Ema Skye drawn in Wind Waker / Phantom Hourglass style:

I really want to have the license to say "Hey, I drew that," but I wasn't the one who came up with the fantastic line art. All I did was apply half-assed half-tone filters, but I think that the colors fit the simplistic sketch, really. But the real reason why this little image puts a smile on my face is that its my first fan-art collaboration with someone, so I'm a bit proud of it, even if all I did was use the goddamn magic wand and the polygonal lasso tools > apply half-tone filter > ??? > PROFIT.

Me. Art. It's been a long while since I dabbled with drawing, my real frustration. I tried, but recently my right hand cramps up whenever I try to draw. I'm not sure if this is a result of me being getting used to the keyboard too much (I lost my feathery handwriting, too), or if this is something psychosomatic.

It's such a shame. I like colors. I like crayons and color pencils; sometimes I find myself wandering to the crayons/watercolor section whenever I'm in bookstore, even if I don't draw anymore these days. Old habits die hard, I suppose, even if you abandoned them several years ago.

But I'll try again, someday. :3

3. I've reverted to my habit of leaving my Winamp on while sleeping. This reminds me of the days when my cousin and I nursed our hurts in my room, reading Murakami novels under the pink light of my lampshade, with The Smiths playing in the background (Laurie, I hope you're okay, boozing your brains out with someone who's going to be your bedfellow for the rest of your life. And you still have my Hello Kitty hankie >:[).

So like old times, I let my Smiths tunes play in the background while I was trying to sleep last night. There was this certain tune that I really didn't connect with before, but has now become my favorite tune du jour. Check out this excerpt, taken from the lyrics:
You say : "'Ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"
And you claim these words as your own
But I've read well, and I've heard them said
A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)

If you must write prose/poems
The words you use should be your own
Don't plagiarise or take "on loan"
'Cause there's always someone, somewhere
With a big nose, who knows
And who trips you up and laughs
When you fall

You say : "'Ere long done do does did"
Words which could only be your own
And then produce the text
From whence was ripped
(Some dizzy whore, 1804)

The Smiths, Cemetry Gates
To this day, I'm still thankful for friends who recommend artists and songs to me. Experience has taught me that recommendations from my friends almost always never go wrong. So...I know you're not reading my blog, Rich, but I still thank you for pointing me towards The Smiths years ago. And the Weekend Memoirs rocked too, even if the lyrics didn't make much sense at all.

4. So here's the obligatory Emo That Shouldn't Be post. And no, I didn't save the best for last. Nor is this post emo, but since the person concerned is, let's just say that this particular post is emo by osmosis.

You - as in my friend, 'you'. Not me, not the reader, certainly not my beloved partner, but YOU, that guy who gets trampled on by your love interests and probably gets sexual satisfaction from it...yes, you - probably don't read my blog, so I guess writing this here is okay, and I'll just wish that you wise up even before you get to bump into my blogspace.

Passive-aggressive ways rock.

Anyway, it was good, you know. It was us and our small group of friends, and we were peachy cool. Then you met a Yoko Ono - a person who's an individual equivalent of all failed rallies that never achieve anything but annoy people - and you let the person quite easily into your (and by extension, ours) life, and now our circle of friends broke up.

My beloved, a John Lennon fag in his own right, told me in his usual succinct way about how much he hated the person's namesake for breaking up his favorite band, and branded Yoko Ono as...yes, Yoko Ono, in his utter rage.

You, who turned into an Emo Who Shouldn't're actually the last person that I'd suspect of turning towards cut cut stab stab tiem. What was once your penchant for spouting out fail-hard attempts at humor and general positive outlook in life now turned into "Woe is me, woe is me" eulogies. It's a bit sick. You deserve better.

But you know what's the saddest thing? You actually seem kind of like it. Well, wherever you are, I hope--no, WE hope--that you're happy. But its your life, and we don't have the right to rrraaaaaage.

This particular post is just my way of telling you - again, despite the fact that you don't read my blog - that we miss you, we miss our old circle.