6:45 a.m. - just came home, read the dirt.

7:15 a.m. - slept.

9:00 a.m. - picked up a call.

9:45 a.m. - went back to sleep.

12:00 p.m. - picked up another call.

12:45 p.m. - practiced alternate picking.

2:00 p.m. - picked up yet another call.

2:30 p.m. - went back to sleep.

9:00 p.m. - time to wake up, went and buy food.

9:45 p.m. - online.

Crazy train.

I was not stoked enough when i lay those punches, i swear if i was, they all would be lethal enough and i could have end up knocking that fella out cold. i did it all i can to persevere all the provocations, until that bastard said something like, "i kicked you, fight back if you dare", and so i whacked the shit out of that fella, he was still considered lucky to not have bumped into me a few years back, if he did he would end up getting hospitalized. in fact after all hes just a yellow haired punk who thinks hes cool, and i treated him as a friend. and it ended up in a brotherly hug and a handshake, a smoke after that. i feel ive changed, the older i grow, the more i bother about my mortality, its true, mick mars said this. i was no longer that stoked lil kid who throw full force punches. as i fought yesterday night, i thought about how i should not hit it too hard, so that id not end up being in jail if hes dead, or how i should hit it not too soft so that id still win the fight, all those factors doesnt even hit my mind if it was just only a few years back, crap?

i feel im being carried away by a crazy train, i was too playful, so when the train arrived at the station, and started taking off again, i jumped and grab hold of the rail handle and got carried away, it started moving real fast that im starting to worry about maybe itll carry me to the end of the world, and itll be a real excruciating if i jump off it right at the moment.


I wanna learn those, yeah, those. =P

To do list.

1. call rita regarding the work schedule.

2. download if i die tomorrow, shout at the devil by mötley crüe.

3. go see gapnap to take lessons.

4. call jeremy.

5. learn parkour, ha ha ha, wtf

no title.

i saw an old heck down the avenue, he seems to be alone playing a beat up piece of shit guitar, nobody noticed him, i wonder whether that would be what im doing 50 years down the road if i failed life.

to those who think i dont write the way as i used to be, just stay away, i dont even bother even if you read, its more diary oriented nowdays, and its my blog and i do what i like o' here.

The opening of Beijing Olympics.

"The story here presented will be told by more than one pen, as the story of an offense against the law is told by more than one witness." -Wilkie Collins 1860 "The Woman In White"

when i was 5, i did not know then what was right and what was wrong, and i lived under the family constitution, everything that i did was in consent of my parents.

when i was 10, i broke free of that and wrote my own rules, still without knowing what was right and what was wrong, but i had fun.

when i was 15, being wild and naive, started to sort out between black n white, mom said i was turning mellow.

when i was 18, i was told that each and everyone has different perception towards certain criteria, and there's a grey are between black n white, which many still dont understand. when they watch a movie, they think that the bad guy is always bad and deserve to rot in hell.

and now i think that, the world is like a huge puzzle, and we're only to see a few tiny pieces of them, of course they are the truths, but an incomplete one, why would people judge and tell me of my doings? they might be holding a more beautiful piece among the thousand but all is required to assemble the whole picture.

i walked passed the steamboat shop and thought of having a dinner there and watch olympics channeled by that big flat projector, but im alone, it'll look just f*cking weird to take up the whole table by myself, they will either laugh or pity me, f*ck!

Life on planet rock.

im listening to avenged sevenfold, the band which inherited the crossover element of iron maiden, mötley crüe and guns n' roses.

back to autobiographies, this time im having with me mötley crüe - the dirt. they say its one of the best but im yet to find out.

i love that blood rush, that when you throw all your stakes into the pot, all in for one shot, and a nice bluff have your balance amount doubled up, it currently stands at $57'950.

Texas Hold'em Poker, the game about life.

it all started with mere one grand of chips, a two dollar table, soon the chips went up to five grands and i moved myself to a twenty five - fifty, and the chips shot up to around thirteen k in no time, and i was so sleepy by that time i lost all of em, i thought ive got a two-pair of Q and 4, and ive raised the bet to an all in five k plus during the showdown only have i realized it was actually a 9 and 4 and lost the high stake, happened a few times like that and there gone all the chips, fuck.

Texas Hold'em Poker!

im hooked to it, just.

the grand oepning of V2 cafe.

i just woke up from after more than 10 hours of dota spree, we're undefeated, but so what?

im feeling unease, what should i do now? where should i go? its a mild sunday evening..


morning is such a wonderful time, as my eye glimpse through the downward sloping street outside the cafe, all under a slow radiant sky, the body is so worn out, not on the inside, im so restless.

why cant the fckin insomnia just fckin go away? i want to sleep, please, im turnin into a fiend...

currently listening to: foreigner - i want to know what love is.

V2 cafe II.

im into reading autobiographies, those in my past list were, slash, tommy lee, eric clapton, anthony kiedis, led zeppelin, and the latest being nikki sixx. i flipped through the last pages of the heroin diaries in the train during the afternoon.

they tend to ask why would i read such books, yeah, such... to me theyre the best ever self helps. their tales are almost the same, torrid tales, lurid lifestyle, outrageous antics, sordid beahaviours, and of course, the alcohols and drugs use, and more often than not, the tragic deaths, of course those who survived death itself lived on to tell a story of triumph and glory, yes, its such books, that tells you life is a journey, not a destination, its particularly a long ride to nowhere, and we don't always get what we want, we get what we're supposed to have instead.

a book of sometimes over four hundred pages of gibberish craps, endless routines about touring, shooting up, getting drunk and passing out, thats very rock n' roll, yeah, but whats more important were that few last pages, which tells you afterall youre the one responsible for pulling things over and give it a one more try.

yes, such books, only such books, that tells you the true tales about life, that tells you life itself is a journey to nowhere, that tells you it takes more than a few bumps and downfalls for us to improve and be just a lil better.

and im back into economic shits, now on tim harford's the logic of life.

V2 cafe.

ok finally got the gears down at the new place, and it took me a vast amount of effort, bought an extra bus ticket just to have them sit beside me, and some pig brought durian up the bus, wtf. and i really dont know why fucking marshall(marshall?) have to make a twenty five watts amp so fkin heavy, and the worst thing to have happened when i reached kl was, the fkin lrt broke down and i was late for an interview.

12:00pm: reached hr and waited for he interviewer to show up which i dont know who, not long then after a man came, he talked and acted as if he's the ceo of maxis, the interview was being done with his leg up the table, but too bad your lil antics are not enough to scare off this big kid ol here.

1:30am: im not grossed, but this fckin retard is watching porn beside me in the cafe, and you know when u fkin do that youll attract attention and people will look at you from the back, and when they look to the right they will see im typing this and cursing you to hell.

lets have a lil bit of guitar talk, only if you understand them, if not ull be all confused...

ok i would say the most beautiful axes mankind has ever come across are the gibson les paul and the fender strat, rose wood fretboard on the lp is just nice and for a strat i prefer it to be a maple neck. for one with locking tremolo arm, ill give the vote to the bc rich mockingbird, or the warlock, i dislike ibanez, and i hate them, and kids nowdays love them so much and when they pull the whammy bar it sounds like shit, never to forget on the lower end models they use only licensed floyd rose.

note: sam just showed me to most close to original ever les paul copy, made by esp japan.