Instead of catching up,
i'll just type on and try to work my way to writing the way i dream to write like.

We hatess them... but no, sidney good sidney... sidney do what masster sayss...

For me, bang, my hell has only just started. I shall cease my army rants and talk abt other stuff. btw i'm in Charlie wing of OCS, a week and two days old into this ten month long course of agony, a description i only remember to tell myself not to call it that after i do because it brings me down the more i hear it in my head. I'm looking for the blinding bright side damn it!

My maiden performance with Last Transmission at substation, two saturdays back. 2nd time to share the stage with Plain Sunset and Fishtank, the common benchmark bands i know so far even though their image is becoming more anti-positive in more than a few senses. My maiden performance, and Last Transmission wants to break up. They have an old Eightball problem, and I'm the new addition Jason Ng. It's a Lord-of-the-Rings-long story.

I miss Eightball. I miss being with Kristal and Nelson and Jason, even the Lionel of back then and Nick the ever sport. Our long recording sessions, gigging and bitching about the organisers. Jamming, catching a tune, jamming it again, it's spontaneous birth through improvisations and whims, lyrics making it's presence in our minds and our voices, our songs. Our love, for each other, the entity we chose to create, our sense of belonging. The places we'd go to, boons, aljunied, nelson's, krissy's, kopitiams... Our lives spilling into our music, becoming who we dream to be in the reverie of the songs. Our sketches together, drawing, ideas concepts states of mind seeking to burst forth through sound and language and pictures. Sigh.

I miss the zining days with Winson. Adventurous, Winson's ever zeal to not be deterred by anything, pursueing any ideal was never too far from reach to him. I admired that, envied that, strove to be like that. Our trips to gather articles, interviews, photos, meeting new people, talking to people we didn't know and turning them into people we did. Drawing, designing, throwing ideas around, fighting about the best way to convey a visual concept. Birthing an entity that was Underneath, under our collective consciousness, the dreams and deeds we dream to be, making it come to be. It was so fulfilling. I've lost so many things we've put so much love and care into acquiring for Underneath2, from harddrive crashes to artpieces misplaced and photos wiped away by viruses. Sigh.

I miss the shooting days with Jason and Kentie and Lup and the rest of the crew, collegues, friends. To tell stories, we made them, stories that told who we wanted to be, parts of ourselves, stories to give the insight and inspiration we got from stories that gave us such insight and inspiration, stories that embodied the things we admired and needed to emulate to become a better version of ourselves, and actualizing it in a film. Working together, doing everything within our means to bring sequences from the mind to paper to be acted out and shot and produced into a coherent visual aural experience. And the friendship that came from being through all that together, as a team, a crew, a group that had no obligation but chose to help each other simply because. Sigh.

I miss Bang, from the Princes of the Universe, to walking from MS to zouk and back. The conversations of immense and wise reflection, mostly on his part. His ironic combination of foolishness and wisdom, and impeccable communication with words, gestures, intentful silences. At least it wasn't that long i had the pleasure of his presence.

I will miss Tara. when she is gone. I'll miss her ever intrigueing approach to life and many small things. Her finding cheap thrills in tiny things give me immense thrill, i am amused and interested and intrigued and captivated. She has a strength of character i long to possess, as a result she's become the strength of my character. Seemingly infinite patience, care for others, energy, love for life. I'll miss her when she's gone, i wouldn't know what to do. I get afraid when i think about it.


I miss my life, or the one i used to have before the Army took it all away from me. I miss drawing, for nothing but ink flows from my pen now. I miss playing music, for nothing flows from my bass but notes now. I miss the heady high of feeling creative now for nothing flows from my mind but thoughts now. Empty ink, empty notes, empty thoughts. I want my life back, or else i would die, if i'm not dying already or dead.




I realize i keep talking about this, this death of me. This death of who i was and who i was trying to become. For quite a few posts on this blog it's been centered around this. I should reflect on this. Kristal said something to me that inspired me while i was ranting to her about my malady. She said to take these very feelings and translate them into art. Visual or Aural or lingual, if i could do this i'd be alive. My translator's broken right now, i'm trying to fix it, jogging it here and there by writing and doodling... i've yet to feel like the master of my digits i felt i used to be, but i must, i must revert back to who i've changed from. I must.