this is the horseshit end of the rainbow, my friend

i'm siiiiick.

this may be swine flu because people keep repeating over and over that it's more common than the common flu like it's a magic tagline and you won't catch the swine flu if you repeat it over and over like a kid saying

TWIST!TwistTwistTwistTwi-hey that's not fair i said TWIST!

you need to know before you continue reading that i self-medicated and did not use a measuring spoon but swigged from the bottle and i cannot even have a hookah to myself because i get the giggles and wanna-pukes. now you know and may continue reading.

someone once said that if a black man became the president of USA, pigs would fly. sure enough, 100 days later, swine fluuuuu.

i think i think i think maybe perhaps oh so surely swinging in and out of normal like this for 6 months is NOT NORMAL. not even my normal you have to admit my normal is prettttty fluid.

NORM.
MAL.

i am obssessed with these things nownownow:

1. going on a holiday. (somedays i is thinking, go alone, go faraway, go couch-surfing! other days imma thinking a kosekitohon is dumb reason not to be able to set stinky feet off this island and whhhhhy can't i go for cheap massages in batam. other days, 'hmm does going to sentosa count?' deep thoughts, DEEEEEP.)
2. getting my shit together
3. i would like to wear colourful clothes again but noooo my clothes must befit my moooooooood.
4. but i would like to keep making colourful clothings. when did i stop?
5. writing, just whacking away at the keyboard, chicken-scratchings in my notebook.
6. toodoolists. SO-MUCH-ANAL-RETENTIVE-FUN! SO EXCITING! so much to do... but SO MUCH FINALLY GETS DONE! (see point no. 2 above.)
7. i would like to have one of my scumbag friends back again so that i can stop pretending i'm not a scumbag and we can go on sick adventures together that can only be told in hushed tones or in between screeching laughters.
8. i would like to put up a wordpress so that i may begin to password protect my baser stuff and when that happens you will be privy to even grosser details of my life like pinching a loaf & forgetting to fl- ohmygod gross no, let's not do that.

i have mood-swung since the begining of this post. my dear chuppachubs, the rainbow ends on top of your chinnychinchin, obviously you are the pot of gold.

i am maaaaaad. maaaaaaad.
no i am s.t.a.u.n.c.h.

yesterday yesterday or maybe it was the day before that freelancer copywriter said she does voiceovers on the side and i asked her about it and now-is-freelancer art director joked that she shouldn't be selling me any new career ideas because i might flip flop again but hello morons, i don't care about a career fools it's all about having many entertaining ways to live happily.

your 9 to 6
/7
/8
/9
/or up to 12am in the morning

is not my happiness because if you looked at it from the god's eye view,

it's moronic judgement calls
/poor leadership
/expectation not managed
/over-promising
/lousy communications

usually by the Up Theres, always, always, always that creates those situations where the poor sods at the end of the corporate rainbow will crunch through the witching hours with a cold mug of tea.

idiota.

i don't ever want to be part of that daisy chain of doom.

copy-writing is one dream only. i have a toodoolist (<3) longer than your arm and other dreams are on it.

nice speech, miho. now let's see something happen.

eyeballs are rolling in their graves

that was a rather unclever moment.

sci-fi = <3 + C3PO

i read asimov's forward the foundation again.

you know what strikes me? he's fiercely intelligent, but so bare in his writing. clear and simple, first and always. hardly any grandiore; and we're talking ga-lax-ies and rebuilding the entire universe by calculating the future's history (read that again, friend, take your time to sort it out.) i don't know when else it's more justified to go big with words.

but he doesn't! that's the beauty of it. there's precious little in the way of personality stamped into his writing - you could conversely say that his writing style is the lack of personality. in fact, it feels like his books are made mostly of mind-blowingly, fascinatingly complex thesises written in story form for laymen like you and me to grasp. A Big Idea, made into idiot-proof bites to make idiots feel extremely clever.

doesn't that sound a lot like how a copy-writer should write? cut out the self-indulgent personal house style, edit brutally for brevity, make clarity the priority, no punz and no sneaky insider lolz. in a layman's nutshell, as anti-fanfiction-like as possible?

goosebump advice.

“
It’s not about working hard. It’s about feeling sick and waiting for the idea and not knowing what to do but making sure you have the skills so that when you do get the idea, you can do it without relying on other people.

”

-Alber Elbaz

better than mine!

yawnzepuah

i swear whatever business i own in future will be called poetic justice.
only think how self-righteous an ah long san company would sound like that.
awesome.

too pretty.

first day of my life
- Bright Eyes

horny boy lunches.

found this thing i doodled last month, while cleaning my work table today.

+++

there was a collective office eye-roll today.
i'm going to miss these guys fiercely, not only because i'm so delighted we suddenly shared a pet peevette.

bikers.

or other some such unwashed heroes waiting to happen.

BANKSY ON ADVERTISING

People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it.

They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you. You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity. Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head. You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs

The Escapist - KA POW!!

you should read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Micheal Chabon, it's vulgar, geeky and epic! It also happens to be Pulitzer-winning & was on the New York Times Best-Sellers List, if you're into that sort of bling.

it strings you along as these artists muddle around trying to figure out the art of comic books, tumbles you into the rabbit hole with its dirty rags-to-riches business schemes, described here almost like an unpoliced fountain of liquid gold! then micheal tugs in citizen kane and salvador dali as a splash of debonoir inspiration and shoots the breeze on obsessive escapism while making rollies from crushed cigarette butts.

fighting war with art, the struggle between religion against sexuality, art giveths; art takeths away, dip-sticking the shadowy depths of brotherhood, the initial censorship battle... oh my god, is it natural to fit all that and more into one novel and make it seem as casual as flicking the ashes off a cigarette?

what fascinates me still (i'm writing from memory, it's been months since i read it) is how escapism is examined... well, graciously, and from odd angles.

superheroes here are like neighbourhood gods, as if the comic artists under the cloud of WWII just needed to see someone up there doing something about it and drew that. and these neighbourhood gods are man-made, & therefore flawed, & therefore disappoint. just like religion. there's an implication that religion is also a form of escapism.

yet!

they become gods of their creations, this kavalier & clay, and the creation reflects their lives. they fall in love; a mysterious female superhero appears. they are anti-fascist; their hero, The Escapist, whips Nazis into submission in every issue. one experiments with his sexuality; sidekicks appear.

you end up convinced that this is the true history of comics, never mind that neither the Escapist, Kavalier nor Clay existed. You mourn a little -how can something so real... not be real? you're left with a posy of flowers in hand and no grave to go pay pilgrim to.

READ IT!