Potty

For those Harry Potter fans out there, here is Melbourne's version of the whomping willow.



Happy Harry Potter book release day.

Chill

Shades of grey outside. I am forced to withdraw myself under the comfort of my doona, cranking the thermostat to 40 and pulling the blinds down to keep the heat inside. The floorboards are nasty. I reckon the landlord did not put carpet in on purpose so that we’ll suffer. I have a hunch that landlords and real estate agents are cunts who will lie to you and rob you of every cent in return for a shabby accommodation that is so poorly insulated that you could keep red meat on the floor and it won’t go stale.

4pm. This is the time I've been waking up for the past month, often because I was up till sunrise the day before. My sleep cycle is fucked. I've forgotten what breakfast and lunch is, and my dinner is like tea.

I have chosen to go down the path of the unemployed, perhaps even oblivious to the rapidly decreasing figures in my bank account. Whatever amounts of sunlight I have are swallowed away from me as I take my time getting out from under this doona. I feel comfortable and safe in this spot, in my most favourite place in the world, my bed.

Friends? Who are they? I've not seen a friend in days. They're all busy running about pursuing their capitalist lifestyle and living on their parent's sweat and blood. That's the thing see, I don't know any real people. Everyone's just living off someone else, parasites they call ‘em. Even I, snobby as I seem, live off my scholarship, allowing me to indulge in sloth.

Video games. Reminds me of my horny horny teen days. I'm surprised my stubby old fingers can still work its magic. I've played Super Mario all over again and finished it thrice, and when I grew bored of it I gave myself more abandonware to fiddle with. My father was really clever when he got me this laptop; it's so shitty that I can't even run Warcraft on it. It crashes on me.

Ice cream and chocolate during non-exam periods? Unheard of. My body must still be in stressed mode. Coca is the No.1 chemical substance known to man that helps you to stay slim. Don't trust your mother, she doesn't know as much as I do. But I'm rapidly gaining weight even with the increased chocolate intake. Could it be the fatty chips and Indomie I’m having for meals?

Gym is distant and cold. Even in trekkies and a hoodie I feel the chill up my legs. Going to the gym in winter is so not cool. People wear more layers in winter, generally less showy of their nice hot legs which is a pity really. No excuses for not going to the gym. I just haven't been going.

Coffee is unappealing in winter. Something about the caffeine just doesn't do it for me. You'd think I'll be sipping away at hot drinks but no, it's chilled juice and Coke bottoms up. I'm a very weird and difficult to predict.

Caterpillars are back... in winter? The little buggers don't seem to hibernate. I've lost the crown of two shrubs so far in the past week, and when it stops raining I'm going to give the little buggers some pesticide. Well something's gotta die, innit. It’s either the shrubs or the bugs.

Boyfriend is working hard. He's been tied up in the office a lot (and no I don’t mean literally), and even though I see less and less of the daylight I still feel his absence. I'm all alone in the house for most of the day. Well, almost; just me and the puss cat, but he prefers to go to sleep for 15 hours a day while I can only manage 8. So that silence is there, a change from having noisy guests around, I guess, but I feel it's starting to bug me.

University is five days away. Soon the books will start piling on my desk and paper will start filling the folders. I'll have less time to myself and the boyfriend, less time for my friends, for my bed and for my MSN. Which is good, really, because I've been having a nice long holiday doing absolutely bollocks so a little bit of challenge and work shouldn't hurt.

I said SHOULDN'T.

Then again, I do miss the exams, because even in the midst of torture and frustration there was an end in mind, whereas at present my bored existence seems almost perpetual.

Inhibition

Blogs are public displays of the things that don't necessarily have to manifest themselves in your outward appearance. You want the world to know what you have to say even though it's some crappy post about the fish you ate for dinner or the skirt you bought at Myer. By making your life digital, you overcome the inhibition to remain within your own mind space and exert control over the freedom of expression that has since become guaranteed in our constitution.

And though it may be that blogs serve as avenues of self expression, the blogger also realises that his target audience cannot necessarily be monitored leaving a whole realm of possibilities for retribution.

You can't stop your mother from clicking on link in an ad she saw online that redirected her to a website with a blog link to a blog roll which links her to Technorati showing a URL to a blog which talks about this other blog that's fantastic to read and all... oh wait a minute that's YOUR blog... And all hell breaks lose because someone who shouldn't be reading your blog is in fact, drooling all over the keyboard hungry for you to divulge more information that will give them enough evidence to come after you and persecute you to oblivion. Every human being will have an urge to get back at you if you've said something against their belief, and blogs serve as hives of information to the unwary cyber trawler.

So many bloggers, especially celebrity bloggers are very careful what they post online. You don't necessarily want to comment on the national policies of a country that you live in if you're not very fond of the ISA knocking on your door and taking you away to a dark dark place.

What about any reference to "terror" and "extremism"? Unless you really like Villawood, then if your front page has a portrait of The-Man, Encik Bin Laden and a slogan which contains among others, words such as "jihad", "Muslim" or "al-Qaeda". Above all, you don't want to discuss marital/ couple issues even if you feel the strongest urge to do so, especially if you know that the likely audience for your blog include your partner's friends and family.

People will get talking, in front of your face and behind your back, when you say something controversial on your blog. And bitches move into full attack mode when they grab hold of information that will give them fuel to feed their insatiable bitching needs.

Malaysian ministers went to great lengths to make sure that Malaysians knew that "anyone who posts issues that fire racial dissent will not be protected by the Government... instead persecuted to the full extent of the law". Censorship and propaganda are effective ways a corrupt government resorts to so that they can do evil things without everyone knowing that they're actually being the Big Bad Wolf. Am I typing this at risk of the ISA? Who knows.

In being available to the public eye, a certain level of privacy ensnares the writer and he/she is sometimes forced to back down from speaking their mind about a certain issue even if it keeps them awake at night at the expense of precious beauty sleep.

Which is understandable, we can only divulge a certain part of our lives and thoughts to the wider audience leaving out large chunks which can get us into serious trouble. We store away our true thoughts from prying eyes even when the ISA is not involved. When I read people's blogs everything seems to be coated in a layer of icing, redirecting the reader’s attention from a real issue to something more acceptable or positive.

They’d rather talk about the surrounding circumstances than the issue itself. This is truly disappointing because then what good are blogs? On one hand there are legal criteria to be met and on the other our own conjured fairytale of how a problem should be viewed (often omitting the core of the problem in whole).

Why can’t everyone just say, ‘look, here’s the issue’?

Why is everyone so afraid?

TV-Spot - Bonds

The music is really suitable for the ad, and the people in the ad are not Hollywood-style characters, with little makeup if any, further adding to he beauty and simplicity of this ad. No fancy computer graphics, no elaborate themes or setups, just plain footage of a guy and a girl and a set of hoodies.

And the kiss. Romantic.

BONDS is a popular Australian brand. Enjoy.

Kapcai

Back in my highschool days having a motorcycle was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Grades, friends, company, gay relationships, all were secondary to having a motorcycle in my garage.

Petrol prices were never a concern in 2002-2003, back then probably US$20 a barrel and government subsidies meant that we got petrol at RM1.21 per litre. Bargain, because I could run on four litres a week and still have excess before my next top up. Well at least the motorcycle I had wasn’t a fuel guzzler. Suzuki 4-stroke 110cc kapcai motorcycle, complete with basket and helmet case. I’d look really lala riding one of those in my green and white school uniform; people often mistook me for the gangsters which hung out at Kayu Ara buzzing their 2-stroke engines at 3am and breaking windscreens with their helmets.

I was rather tame on the motorcycle but it still gave me two accidents in three years. The first was really the car’s fault, but the second was mine. Nowadays looking at the scars I have on my limbs I can almost feel the vibration of my kapcai as it impacted the car... feel the hardness of the tarmac as I got flung across it... the impact of the road on my helmet as it smashed against it...

It still lingers, that feeling of utter helplessness and fear as you’re traveling at 80kmph in a less glamourous way than Superman ever would dare.

In both cases, my kapcai never sustained any damage other than a few extra scratches, whilst I had to be hospitalised. Bugger of a bike.

~

Public transport in KL is never something you’d wish you had to resort to on a daily basis. Neither is driving a car either; snarls are more common than teh tarik stalls.

But the motorcycle gives you freedom to zap through traffic, to travel into narrow lanes where cars can only dream of accessing, climbing mountain tracks that are really meant for pedestrians (I only did it once I swear!) and above all, FREE PARKING. That is, if you don’t mind the rain and smog.

So many memories. Late night Roti canai with myself and my kapcai because I had no friends to hang out with at 4am. Carrying my belongings when I was forced to shift house, yet again. Shopping at the night market and carrying durians in the basket. Traffic fines for parking on a pedestrian pathway. A hot girl (my classmate) sitting on the back of the motorcycle with her miniskirt and crossed legs as we rode our way to a night club. Rolling down a hill with the clutch released and eyes closed, hoping that no car would suddenly pop out from a junction and hit me.

So many memories.

It gave me strength to move on, and above all, I felt as though I had it all under control. I was a rather lonely kid back then, and I still am. The only things that kept me company were my kapcai and the humming sound of its engine as I rode around the city, locked away in my own world with the helmet on my head and my mind in a nutshell.

I remember the days I used to play music on my walkman (yes, I couldn’t afford anything better) as I did a ride up the hills at night... just myself and my kapcai under the eerie yellow sodium lights and the cold chilly air from the forest, just running the same song again and again without ever getting sick of it.

Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here"

Flesh

Like, this is really bugging me. So what's with us MEN. I mean is there something in our heads that tell us 'Oh hello give me the one with the flesh please'?

Man flesh.

It's this whole thing about seduction and who can bare more without baring it all. A tea towel to hide your crotch? Sure, we'll pay you half a million to run that ad. More common nowadays are 'naturist' shots where the well greased body is set amongst lush greenery or some everyday object like a lawnmower or your neighbour's letter box.

It has become so normal now that you can't escape from it. Gay publications are plastered with ever increasing amounts of flesh, be it hairy or smooth, white or black, brown or green, they come in all forms. Even advertisements you see along Chapel St., if they're specifically targeting gay men then you can sure as hell bet that there will be some man flesh on it.

Take for example the million and one party banners that have 'the perfect body' smack right in the centre of the poster. I mean seriously, not everyone goes to a party just because its poster has on it a man with a hairy chest and pointy nipples.

Saunas are another classic example. Beautiful bodies, perfect bronzed tans, winning Colgate smiles planted all over their advertisements. When you step into a sauna, you find anything but that, usually fat old men with falling teeth/ dentures who don’t take the time to mow their chest hair so it clumps up like lawn grass. The words ‘misleading and deceptive conduct’ are too mild to be used here.

Try opening AXNational or DNA. Pages and pages of nude or semi nude men from the front to the back, your eyes can’t help but look at their bodies and check out their have and have-nots. It’s like soft porn, these magazines. Informative at some point, yes, but do they really have to include so much skin together with the article 'Top 10 Resorts' or 'Breakfast Recipes'??? Take Men’s Health for example. Their goal must be to get people exercising and lusting after a perfect body that they will never have.

GQ has very little flesh in it in comparison, and much more text that’s mostly crap and not worth reading. So as you get closer and closer to straight men’s magazines, you get less and less man flesh. Smell a correlation?

Printers probably stock up huge amounts of red and yellow ink just so that they can cope with the volume of flesh printed.

The people in these magazines/ posters are usually well built or slim built with nice curves and well manicured hair (both on the head and in other places). Seduction is the key; poses play an equally important role in grabbing the unwary gay man's attention, using the (usually) brown colour of man flesh and the careful positioning of lights to accentuate his butt crack. Talk about propaganda! No wonder so many gay men have insecurity issues re their bodies (me included).

If you want your blog to do well in cyberspace but have zero writing skills, paste a lot of nude pics on it and no it doesn’t have to be amateur pics, any porno star will do. The word will spread like bushfire in the blogosphere and the hounds will come running. Voila. One million hits in five months you say? Done.

So are we gay men really flesh hungry, or is the world feeding our appetite with more than we can digest?

Ski

Photos from last year.