They weren't meant for anyone but me

Lovers rise and fall and fall and rise again 

... and me just fall and fall and fall in love with this album, obviously I will blindly praise and love everything they do, so long as they are back together.  The sea was always rough, albion route was never a peaceful one.  While they are on board, i avariciously consume what they offer.   Have they lost their magic?  For me, the magic is always there.  I don't actually want to review or analyse this album cos' love needs no reason ("It means nothing at all, just for now we have all the time.") First time I heard Milkman's Horse, I was on the train (my usual music session), I was just "are you talking about me?" I need to hold back my tears and not to embarrass myself in the crowed compartment. For all those years running with the boys, the faces I met (and some go missing ...), the insanity committed, the bliss bestowed, sometimes poignant, sometimes elated,  and always, always the vision of that far beyond horizon, Arcadia? Shangri-la?  The Graceland and the Wasteland. These are indeed the impossible dreams they come for me. I, who caught the spell many years ago, still have nowhere on my way, still need to live in my mind and live in that dream.

Confession d'un enfant fou

So where is the dreamy-eyed boy who sang the stories of sail and arcady?  "Bang bang I'm gone" but I still need your love.  Having told that the music of this album would not be written by Peter, I initially did not have high expectation for it but clearly I was wrong, the music of Mick and Drew sounds surprisingly good, authentically babyshambles.  The opening Fireman is already a punk anthem and I know this album cannot be wrong.  If there is a thing called "comfort food", well, this sound is surely my "comfort music".  The new pair works and you have found your new pair son, though I always though of the old person.   I twisted the meaning of your words to find the trace of the old pair, sorry, authors are always dead.

When asked to choose between this and that, I'll take the former every time.  I am talking about myself.  That's what I do.  Habit.  Addiction.  And "each man had his freedom and it was (not) ours to say, how to behave, oh who's to say".  Am I finding excuse for or being partial to the author? (of course I am) No, no, I only know it's about what doesn't kill you makes you stronger (or simply makes you .... stranger like the joker said?!)  And I only know it would be great if I could find a big big joint and flow in the reggae dr. no.

It's worrying that you have mentioned that your were tied.  It's me who am always tied.  It's me who have already fallen from grace.  But you are my shambolic libertine, I will not allow you to surf the sorrow, drop your tears to the sea and sell your soul to destiny.

 Enough of my idiotic sound and fury, signifying nothing.  You warn that you will break the heart in two.  But I still cling to your sound, your ramblings, because the seeds are sown.  Sure, that is the sequel to the prequel.

where I can meet the past pay it off and keep it sweet

Isn't it just like the feeling 10 years ago?  The free impromptu gig, the crazy search for the news, the small venue, the singing crowd, the aftershow chase and meet-and-greet, like the storm sweeping through my small humdrum town, leaving bits of magical arcadian glitters.  Yes, I am under that spell again, like what I was 10 years ago.  I know it may wear out by my monotonous existence again, but at least in this moment I cherish and savour this delectable bliss.

It was a surprising news that Carl Barat, Gary Powell , Anthony Rossomando and Callum Ryan would come to my town for the grand opening of the flagship shop of Burberry on 1 November 2012.  The ecstatic news was then turned to a wave of whine from all ship members of Albion in my hometown as it was a private show only (from high to low).  But then we found out that the boys indeed listened to our words and our prayers were answered, they gave us a free gig (from low to high), though from the moment of saying farewell to the boys that my sadness began to breed (all the highs and the lows and the to's and the fro's, they left me dizzy).

The show was flawless, maybe Carl's stage charisma was much stronger in small venues so he was very delicious (?!) throughout the night.  Too many unforgettable moments, I could hardly take any pictures, not to say any videos cos' I wanted to savour every moment completely without disturbance. What a Waster marked the perfect finale (an ending fitting for the start).   Bang Bang and my heart was also feeling bang bang oh it's end.  Hearing the songs from the good ship albion, I thought, life was still good.




 The burberry shop grand open @ Pacific Place 01.11.2012- the unprivileged class watching tv outside

Carl Barat, Gary Powell , Anthony Rossomando and Callum Ryan @ Beating Heart Studio, 8/F Cheung Fat Building, Hill Road, Hong Kong on 02.11.2012

The Magical Night (hope the fellow ship members don't mind I disclose you)

ranked 412/1000

when i came home today the doorman handed me the cylinder parcel and I wondered what I haven't made any ebay order recently but yeah i really forgot I've so-called pledged it.

Fragile with care

I made this when i heard that he was in jail again. Not a happy theme. Actually, I don't think he is the one who likes to say goodbye, he just comes and goes, like a libertine. Now, he's free, yeah! And I should make a new one with the title "we'll meet again".

how my favourite person P thought about my favourite person R and his fandom

"Camus, Saw, Conquered

About your Manics article (NME, April 19). Mr Wells knows the Manics are middlebrow and they probably always have been. Kafka, Camus and Proust might sit snugly on shelves in assorted adolescent bedrooms around England, but if their owners were led to them by the inside of a CD cover, the true motivation stretches as far as the need to drop an esoteric title into a conversation in the common room.
The Marxists, Situationists, pseudo-bisexual-BAD POETS avec eyeliner, pseudo-leopardskin BAD POETS sans eyeliner, and the rest of the Cult Of Nothing should accept, for the last time, that with Richey went all feeble hopes of purity and guitars and profound graffiti.
Don't hold it against the lads - they want to do it. They are comfy. And they know that there is more chance of social equality through conformity that through locking yourself in a hotel bathroom and shitting in your purse. Besides which, the middlebrow ethos is far more revolutionary than the self-conscious political seriousness school of thought.
Peter Doherty, Somewhere Rather Lonely, 10 May 1997
P.S. That's the final word on the Manics. Forever. So all fanzines must stop. Let it be known."




I quoted that, it doesn't mean I agree to everything from my favourite person P. Yes, I finally found a disagreement with P. I put it down just as a record.

wise up and take care, the one who's so clever, but not very wise

hope he hasn't got any trouble again, on the eve of his birthday.

It's always the song that I want to dedicate to the birthday boy.







(sorry for the awful fangirl fantasy, but some part of the lyrics does aptly describe my thought.)

not a book of revelation

Oh he can write! It's definitely an interesting read, though there are too many vocabularies (my poor english) and pseudonyms. It's funny to read between lines and found the unintentional (but actually very obvious) explanation about the life with peter. He wanted to point out that they only lived under the same roof, but not the same room. He did not share the grand brass bed. The co-bank account was only for work purpose. So what we've read before is false or we are all just too imaginative.




Not relevant to his book, but I just found it's so beautiful and I want to put it on my blog. History.



nicked from someone else's blog, can't even remember where so i can't give credit, sorry.

oh the book turns gloomy, actually there's nothing new, salute to the writer.

this city's hard

this city's fair?

Copy

Got that magic copy of nme but what grabbed my eyes was the gig review about Suede. A pen is of course mightier than a sword. They probably have the power to build you up and knock you down, and then build you up again?

"Suede will never lead beery sinalongs at Glastonbury. They'll never have hubristic documentaries made about their reformation. This certainly isn't for the money. It's more personal than that because, for Suede, we're all part of the gang too... Suede were and are for misfits and lovers, obsessives and fuckers. Suede were and are romantic, preposterous, glamorous, decadent, political, arrogant, and brash; everything a band should be, and so, so few are: just trash, you and me; the lovers on the street."

I wish I could be that articulate.

About the beloved likely lads, I was wrong to anticipate the interview would be as emotional as that of the Tap n' Tin reunion. Love still flowed between gaze and smile, but in a much controlled way. They are more mature now, no more outburst of uncontrolled passion, not everything must be shown in front of the cameras.

I like that peter liked the second dirty pretty album album cos' it's really an underrated good album and he did listen to the songs of his ex, i mean his ex-bandmate (or present/future bandmate?)

I don't like that carlos felt so avoidance and dismay when mentioning Anthony Rossomando, though it was surely embarrassing or even sour to mention stan in front of peter. When asked about the view of babyshambles, peter replied "I don't know about adam."

there is no fairness in all kind of relationship.

have a nice one

Oh pardon me sir, it's the furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
Beat up shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is you always gotta wait


waiting to see the angel/little devil again.

being towards death

26th October 2009, the formal death of my own personal website. Its creation was a pure impulse after seeing the gigs of The Libertines in 2003 for the first time in my life. it's a tsunami, i mean, head over heels, in-your-face, no escape. Strange band, strange trip, strange people, but no danger. Felt like something changed, or part of my soul just left in london for good. With a strong urge to record the feeling (cos' i'm in love with the feeling), i learnt the simple html and made a simple website, to put down my own soliloquy (i.e. fangirl's rambling). I never have the heart to carry on anything constantly so the site was soon deserted, but it marks the history.


The front page:



the innocence and the perverse the demon and the angel the blessed the damned the cripple and the freak:



"drifting about in ice shambles, but all the warm people...":



I intended to write something about my favourite verse regularly, as sort of daily sport, but i just couldn't keep the promise:



Or maybe some random thoughts, comments, complaints, whatever... my beloved morrissey, take care! My review of his You Are The Quarry, of course (as usual) a page of praise:



Actually, Yahoo! has killed my web much earlier than the official deadline. With some unknown reason i couldn't view my uploaded photos since a long time ago, i love those pages but they were murdered without cause and notice:





As the owner of the site only has this mortal coil, the site itself of course will also be perished someday. It's just an illusion that we think the things online will stay 'til the end of time.

With years go by i feel my rationality gradually returns, or sadly i was submitted to reality once again. Has my love for the very band died a little? I don't know. I hope not. I don't want to see them reunion. I want to see them reunion.

Every poet is a fool

err, what can i say? Best wishes for someone, whether that AWOL was because of health problem or not.

"but then, he's very charming, and very, very sweet"

so i gave him two kissy kissy.




Must have item for every fan.

ambivalent

of course i really like to have this chair, but also feel much distaste for the overt commercialisation of this person, not his fault, our fault.



anyone will really sit on it? to imagine that he's around you? no, i won't (because i can't eat, drink or fart(!) on this chair)

so tell me, where does all the money go

this evening, let us say in my place

"Both are convinced
that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together.
Beautiful is such a certainty,
but uncertainty is more beautiful."


waiting for my roses, suffering from the depression of knowing that i actually cannot make any pilgrimage this year, anticipating the coming overwhelming worship of the gracelands, the fanatic is frenetic. almost breathless. though www.myspace.com/gracewastelands can surely ease a bit of pain.


"時機尚未成熟
成為他們命運的準備
緣分將他們推近，驅離
憋住笑聲
阻擋他們的去路
然後閃到一邊"


we love lovers, back to the square one. or it's the ending fitting for the start. like those pictures of m.c.escher. i feel dizzy. i need szymborska.


"Every beginning
is but a continuation,
and the book of events
is never more than half open."

i love those perfect lies for love to bind

"I wouldn't want for you to come to any harm,
and tell me, if the darkness comes
I will sing you a song and
I will love you forever
or at least till the morning comes"





It's so sweet that I can feel a sour aftertaste

It's so sweet that I can weep for its beauty and delicacy

If you go on with this sweetest chant

I will really fall backwards to fall into your arms

All farewells should be sudden

1 Oct 2008, a bank holiday, I was tidying up my messy bookshelves and drawers as usual (my routine on every holiday without any accomplishment), I decovered an old notebook which I used in london, within which there's some doodling, hand-drawn maps (couldn't afford to buy a proper A-Z London map), addresses, websites, unknown passwords, phone numbers. While i was musing about this pile of nostalgic yellowed and bug-bitten paper, i saw a monstrous black bug , i lost my head, killed it, was nervous if there were more inside, struggled if to throw it away or keep it whatsoever. sadly the decision was to throw it away, but I was feeling some part of me was being thrown away also. i cling to history and memory. a bad omen.

and evening came i read that news about the split of dirty pretty things. Yes, i want to write some sort of memorial but first, i was too shell-shocked to collect any thought, and then, I mean now, i become too calm to write anything. once you accept the fact, you lost the tragic feeling.

carlos barat is always regarded as the second best when being compared to peter doherty. I always try to be equal, as I think both gentlemen are equally important to the whole legend of that albion-arcadia stuff. The cruel fact is, dirty pretty things sells less than babyshambles. Fate. Blame it on the black star. Or personality decides the fate. Insecure and self-doubt, i could sense his uneasiness whenever he's on stage and this disoriented feeling proved to be interactive and reflective. maybe it explains why the gigs of dirty pretty things was never as exciting as babyshambles'.

having said that, i never doubt the craftsmanship of his songs writing. Personally, i love their latest album Romance At Short Notice more than their debut Waterloo To Anywhere. The frustration and anger in Waterloo To Anywhere is a bit too much and even my ears can taste the sour. Romance At Short Notice is on the other hand more playful, it fits so well for the noble aburdity of its members. I always like their propensity for foolery. Acutually one of those classic libertines moments are their silly mimics and farce. The tortured poets take their miserable existence by the sheer light-heartedness... aye, i start talking gibberish again. Pop and catchy songs with a few sincere moments, Romance At Short Notice is definite one of my favourite albums this year. Its commercial disaster is something I can never fathom.

so long, dirty pretty things, thanks for three years of good music. i wish all of you have a bright future cos' you definitely deserve to have one.




what? i said your concerts were less exciting as babyshambles? no no, i actually love the indie boys stripped shows.

you know you wanna run away

... but i don't expect you to run away so fast

all the best.