City of the libertines

where i belong

Tender is the night

"Don't ever let the dark discovers thee"
What is it that holds my soul?

The more that I follow you, the more I get lost ...

well, I lost my soul in paradise

no.33 pottinger street

we don't have 112a teesdale steet
nor any trace of a skinny bearcat
all we have are songs and laughter
frenchdog maker
with glasses of mimosa
if we are lucky
a vague view of arcady, sometimes

before i may have some distraction, let me send this quite early greetings to shamblesb.

恨鐵不成鋼

so i have nothing to say. shouldn't feel any surprise.

prediction

once again i was fascinated by the prediction in facebook, this time, tarot.
Devil in Tarot: lack of control, pleasure and abandon, temptation and addiction, haha.

I say it's devotion.

i'm fucking lost and never fucking found

Hope I know how to use the fucking words so clever.

[edit] i don't know if it's my fault or not, the site keeps to be down after i made it hyperlink here, so i copy it down, sort of reducing the burden of the original site.

the fucking cops are fucking keen

to fucking keep it fucking clean

the fucking chief's a fucking swine

who fucking draws a fucking line

at fucking fun and fucking games

the fucking kids he fucking blames

are nowhere to be fucking found

anywhere in chicken town

the fucking scene is fucking sad

the fucking news is fucking bad

the fucking weed is fucking turf

the fucking speed is fucking surf

the fucking folks are fucking daft

don't make me fucking laugh

it fucking hurts to look around

everywhere in chicken town

the fucking train is fucking late

you fucking wait you fucking wait

you're fucking lost and fucking found

stuck in fucking chicken town

the fucking view is fucking vile

for fucking miles and fucking miles

the fucking babies fucking cry

the fucking flowers fucking die

the fucking food is fucking muck

the fucking drains are fucking fucked

the colour scheme is fucking brown

everywhere in chicken town

the fucking pubs are fucking dull

the fucking clubs are fucking full

of fucking girls and fucking guys

with fucking murder in their eyes

a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed

waiting for a fucking cab

you fucking stay at fucking home

the fucking neighbors fucking moan

keep the fucking racket down

this is fucking chicken town

the fucking train is fucking late

you fucking wait you fucking wait

you're fucking lost and fucking found

stuck in fucking chicken town

the fucking pies are fucking old

the fucking chips are fucking cold

the fucking beer is fucking flat

the fucking flats have fucking rats

the fucking clocks are fucking wrong

the fucking days are fucking long

it fucking gets you fucking down

evidently chicken town

The Road That Taken

It's so accurate that it becomes creepy. The Astrology in Facebook.

I don't know if it is a matter of interpretation (cos' everything we accept as fact, our knowledge, our memory, the person you met, the book you read, movie you watched ... everything, is nothing but your interpretation, decoding and feeling [yes, feeling again, i don't want to abuse this word, but it is the very word]). So i think it is accurate, or maybe it is just me who transfer my meaning to the words.

If there is no road you feel stuck. If there are too many, you also feel stuck. I think no one understand Frost's The Road Not Taken better than me at this moment. Of course I took the road more travelled by while he took the opposite, but still, that has also made all the difference.

suppose my name

I don't know if there is anyone abnormal enough to search his/her own name in google. I know my ex-boss did cos' he was once so excited to declare that he found his name on internet and I rightly pointed out how megalomaniac and abnormal for him to do so. While my accusation is still echoing, I also did such non-sense thing in office now. My reason was (i.e. pretext) it seems indiscreet to go to my blog directly so it's better to go there throught other search engines. The search result is horrid. It's like a summary of my online activities, no matter how remote or irrelevant (like the twitter or yahoo blog that I've registered but never use, and some idioitic comments i've ever made), or how embarrassing like the useless ramblings that overwhelmed this place. I always keep this blog secret to family and collegues (for the whole embarrassing content) but my effort will be in vain if they know my login name. Another discovery is if I have a fan in north america. Yes I know my name is common, the shambles are popular, but to combine the two? ok, what co-incident. what a small world.

skin dry and ugly, how i feel.

Facebook is so addictive that I almost desert my blog. Time to update but actually there is not much to be updated. Still participating that 9-6 rat-race everyday (and probably it will last for the rest of life, how unlucky/lucky). I told myself to stay here for 1 year for the sake of my resume (but maybe i can't get through the probation, who knows? for my total lack of communication and obviously low morale, then i may stay longer in the winterland, how lucky/unlucky). Got an interview last evening, the boss seemed to be pleased with me (yes, i always have that 30-minute good first impression, one of my ex-boss said how i had cheated him, haha), smoked and talked about babyshambles, she's the unusual boss but the job (and herself) seem a bit demanding, OT is a certainty, the office is located in tung chung ... humm, for i still enjoy a drink now and then after work, so i better turn it down today. Work seems to be an origin of anxiety, i wonder if i could tolerate a few years, save a bit and then go quitting and enjoying life for a while. I know it's just a whimsical thought for my earning is pathetically minimal and my spending is if not huge but still considerable. Maybe i should control myself and write down my daily expenses like Gatsby (i mean the great gatsby, not the hair products) in his younger days. Talk about book, my sister strongly recommended the secret diary of adrian mole to me, thinking that i would enjoy any book about freakish teenage boy. No no, not at all. I felt like i was reading bridget jones diary. It was obviously written by a woman. Not cycnical and freakish enough. vernon god little is miles better, not to say catcher in the rye (for holden caulfield already lives inside my brain). turn to read the (not quite) secret diary of peter doherty. actually I could not understand his handwriting so maybe it is still a secret diary. He was frank about his affairs with girls, but of course i looked for the trace about carlos. I have the feeling that they started just as friends but later with some kind of magic/chemistry their relationship was "crystallised" (yes, i felt it between the lines) He never talked about it openly like that with francesca, just some broken phrases, like a whispering, almost a slip of the tongue. "Control? None of it your mother's a drunken old you're the one I worship and adore..." "I put the sick pig to bed ...your love has made misery distant... hypocrit-you are, critic & a hypocrit sucking on your finger plastic bags under your eyes" (ok he may just refer to someone else, but i like to think it as barat). And i was glad to find out an interview once published on the internet but i forgot to print it or save it. It was now in the diary. That is one of my favourites and peter must also feel the same (great minds think alike!) he was compared to keats (or yeats?) and wilde but peter opted for verlaine - "when indistinct meets the precise". I myself love verlaine very much (nothing to do with peter's choice). As a poet verlaine is even better than rimbaud (of course the outlook was totally the other way round). sadly the diary does not include the last part of the interview which was the most interesting, talked about noughts and crosses, the writer ane peter both agreed that was an imitation of life, so meaningless, and the writer felt a bit dejected but peter said something like, this is a game you cannot win, but at the same time you cannot lose. oh isn't he wise! i have typed non-stop, what happened? i must be on the verge of collapse. the title was also what i found in peter's diary, and this is also what i feel now, great minds think alike this time? oh no.

grey sky is like the memory fade

God knows why i like grey sky with drizzling.

This is today's weather.

farewell to my good 7 years

So this is the end. I already start to miss the book (i mean the whole series) and the characters. Seven years seem to be a long period, I was in UK, alive and kicking, when the Philosopher's Stone was first published. Seven years after there is Deathly Hallows and i feel like deathly hollow. harry and hermione are brilliant from the day one, but what i like best is ron and neville, i always love those clumsy children (me so clumsy also), they always live in the shadow of failure, poor things, oh but they finally prove to be very brave and courageous (prove yourself ... why?). And Snape, oh why? why makes yourself so difficult? the saddest man in the book, you win my heart at last. The last series is perfect if it omits the last chapter, middle-age and banal, no, harry potter and co. do not allow to be so ordinary.


"of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Yes, i know. It is real, because I believe in feeling.

Hysterical and useless

I told myself many times not to listen to the radiohead, or at least not in the public, for each time i can't control my emotion, the sheer chill through the headphones down my spine, blast in your face, no escape. There were moments my tears running down uncontrollably in the underground (people might think how this girl just broke up with her love, no, she was just listening to the radiohead). Today I have a strong urge to pick up planet paradiso again, taking the risk for not feeling normal for the whole day. Alienated and spaced-out. The state I am in.

We say things are multi-faceted, but sometimes it's just binary for me. Whenever i feel alienated and solitude, i feel my whole soul. Most of the time socialising means to kill a part of my soul. of course it means differently if i was with the persons i like. That is why whenever i travelled alone, i feel so myself. I don't know why i got this strange concept of socialising = conformity = exterminate the soul. Maybe i am just anti-social. (the next serial killer)

I can't read anything for the whole morning. all mandarin speakers around me always speak so loud. I am dumb and deaf here and can only communicate in cantonese and english, i wonder if i will stay here for long, or I still linger, for the crime of money ...

yes, i need money, sometimes the soul is cheap, i was told though still in probation, i have several annual leaves before year end, so i need money ...

the likely lads

"He seemed a charming boy to me, whatever he became later. Naturally, I introduced him to _____, the boys took to each other at once, both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire."

oh, why did i see anything under the shadow of the likely lads?
hey, come on, it's dumbledore and grindelwald, haha. (i am so slow to everything, still reading harry potter and the deathly hollows)

when i get low i get high

that is why i was kept sedated (oh great!)

can i have any entertainment?

This is art (i call it, don't argue). i'm too bored so let paint a bit. This is rather mark rothko and jackson pollock (yes, i say it, don't argue).

makes no difference

so the decision was mine, this time i can't blame anybody or anything, it was myself who wanted to play the game that everybody else is playing, they talk about money, they boast they have plenty, why can't i? i sold my soul for the sake of what? ok i've been loitering for too long, time to please mother, try to walk like normal, and everybody else is busy, documents pending to be read, while my head is still up in the cloud...

to speak is to lie
to live is to collaborate

or

to speak is to collaborate
to live is to lie

makes no difference

consistency or self-parody?

Again, we weave the same web still, twist the same rope again and again.

We will all fall apart, someday

I was totally drowned in the nostalgic bliss of mr anderson last week that i seldom pay attention to anything else. It was until today i found out that Black Wire was disbanded (on 16 Aug 2007). Shame. I won't say they could have reached the star if they carry on. No. For their jeans were too tight and their gigs were too riotous. Too sexy to fit in the game of this industry. I have nothing to say but feel so gutted. I always thought I could see their chaotic live one day. Blame 48 Crash. Blame Si. Blame myself (for always thought for the future and not grasped the chance when it appeared) It's really meaningless to blame anybody now. I could only wish them the best of luck.

The Love Song of Brett Anderson

Brett Anderson @ Hong Kong Convention & Exhibition Center 14.08.07

"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit."

do you know what i mean? do you feel what i feel? the ambivalence inside.

I don't know if Jarvis Cocker will still sing the songs of his old band in his own concert, dance the same dance and strike the same pose. Brett Anderson would/will. Performing his "snake dance" during Everything Will Flow, clapping and jumping during Beautiful Ones, swinging his mic like a lasso, time and space have been mixed up if this is the year of 1995, 1999 or 2007. No. I shouldn't have such confusion. I know it too well that this is 2007, with brett unusually wrinkled.

"I grow old ... I grow old
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled"

This is for brett, and to be fair, for us too. we are at least 10 years older from the days when we were so young and listened to so young. Anthemic songs, nostalgic us, we and brett pretended that nothing has changed. Screamed and shouted for every suede's songs. It pained me to see the uncontrollable smile and the glow in his eyes whenever the crowd went crazy for any suede song. It reminds me of the Leeds Festival in 2005 which The Tears was the headliner next to Babyshambles (felt so chuffed), not surprisingly, half the tent had gone away after Babyshambles (felt so gutted). I can't help thinking if brett can only get such love and frenzy in Hong Kong only. Of course I was also the one who sang along and screamed a lot, not that i felt so nostalgic to have my solid gold karaoke, "ah - whatever makes you happy", i was pleased to do whatever made brett happy.

"Music & Lyrics" - it's a bit harsh to think of the movie, though you can't help it.

"Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.'”

No, that is not what I meant to associate the comedy with my beloved Mr Anderson. "That is not it, at all". I believe brett was also not meant to only drown in the past glory. Albeit the market and the critics both (unfairly) gave a cold shoulder to brett's solo album, to me it is very poignant and beautiful. Obviously those suede songs were crowd-pleasing but what I looking for was his new songs. The night was opened by the intro of More We Possess The Less We Own Of Ourselves (but sadly he didn't sing it), then followed by To The Winter. After the triumphant and anthemic By The Sea, the atmosphere suddenly turned beautifully bleak. That is my most favourite track, Colour of the Night. Yes, Brett has come back tell you all, his music is still brilliant. It is not Brett who does not move on. It is us the ones who drown only in the past glory of suede, in love only with the pretty fresh-faced brett, now close the ears and hearts, and refuse to accept the withered flower.


"but nobody saw any beauty in me"

note 1: i don't know why but people including me like to compare jarvis with brett, maybe they are both so english, so slim and tall, so 90's, but sadly only jarvis can survive.

note 2: i have recorded some tracks of the concert and intended to place them on You Tube, but not aware that most of the time i sang along with the songs, really ridiculous and horrible, i destroyed the whole beauty, so i decide to keep the clips to myself.