the man who don't give a fuck

i am 22. I've fallen in love only once.
all those beautiful boys, kings and queens and crimial queers. i fell in love with one. it was so euphoric, eventful, and hard to ignore. the more I push it aside, the deeper it dug. i could consider myself lucky if this ever happens again.



Jonathan took this picture of me knackered in bed. people say your lips gets thicker with you sleep. I've always been extremely conscious about my lips. For whatever reason.

this entry was originally titled 'a reflection on the self', and I was just thinking of putting some beautiful pictures of fashionable boys, but the new title was exactly the answer i wanted. or i wished i could be.

started working as an architectural assistant for this big firm in London, HAMILTONS ARCHITECTS, obviously I'm a cast away because of my lack of 'professional knowledge', i.e. the size of the disabled toilets, the planning regulations for plantations, building frontage recess standards, etc. So I decided to shut my brain, and allow the hours to rush me by, as long as I'm paid and can use the money to do what I want. fair enough. I wonder, after all these years of sleepless nights and all these highs and lows, are good-sized toilets all I deserve?

I have a deficiency. I cannot connect with other people, they find me awkward, cold and indifferent. I think i could be a real passionate about things that matters, i'm very naive and straight forward, and I have a lot of bad jokes in my pocket. it just didn't work out.

the clouds are drifting swiftly in the sky, dragging the rain from zone to zone, through the ocean, right to your house. It knocks at your window, carrys the message from me, the boy too shy to speak up, playing with the rim of his glass. do you know, his longing floods the amazons? it was on the news.

if i sincerely ask myself, this is one of the reasons why I am here in London. I thought I've found out everything about home. I've found out most things that interested me about Hong Kong. How ignorant and arrogant I was.

if i sincerely ask myself, I'm just like everyone, I lust for beauty, I take the easy way out, I have cavity. it doesn't deny me as this shell of a good boy minding his own business. But I am faking if I dare imagine myself under limelight every split second. they look through me just as eager as I want them to look at me. The more you kick in, the harder the reaction attacks. fair enough.

remember, speaking english doesn't mean you are selling your soul to the devil, your origin and home, where you dropped your anchor. the effort.


music review: Strengir Hrynja_ TRAJECT


it's polished granite, drizzles on thin ice, deep caves of Scotish highlands, mist over Hudsons. Dark and divine electronics from Icelander Gisli Thor Gudmundsson, aka traject. he draws a back holes, and you decisively give yourself in in the deepest of night. Within, all colours in silhuettes, you saw orchids growing out of snow, but you feel warm, embraced. It's not industrial clashes that leaves you vulnerable, but tickles that clings to your skin and embraces you, surround you with distance and space that talks, resonate, and flows. Buy it.