8:28 p.m. - 2001-07-03
morningside speed (revised)
ok...this is the revised edition of the morningsidespeed essay after someone told me to sort of edit it cos the original version was quite dripping off without any sense...he told me to rewrite some parts and so on...keeping the piece to within 500 words...and this is how the revised version came out.please take a look and compare it to the original version and see if you got any comments.
plus-plus,if you want me to re-write any of the ~older~ essays,feel free to write to me.
of cos,this is no garantee.
morningside speed
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morningside speed was the zine me and spurs did while we were 17 and bored and desperately needed help and some girls.
it was born of the weird dada movement and the heck-care punk era.
we were sad and wandered the streets of orchard every weekend,just walking around with less than ten dollars in our pockets and talking and talking and looking at pretty girls....there were no starbucks or what cafes then.we went far east plaza but the real punk girls and boys scare us because of their heavily pierced ears and colorful hair and baggy alien workshop jeans and 77th street accessories and so we escaped to the substation but the arty farty types made us scratch our hair and pick at our noses consciously.we don't belong.
morningside speed--this word came while i was reading trainspotting which spurs had lent me and it describes some high you get when you mix sex and cocaine.
that was the high i was searching for in life.
transcending life.
cool.
ha-ha"fake laugh"
i faked laughed a lot back then.i wonder if i still do so now.
anyway spurs might be angry at me for putting his name here because he thinks i was such a loser then and i guess it won't be good to associate with me.spurs has since gone on to a better life of pubbing and dancing with girls in the weekends.we still communicate on the phone though.
i remember the days of morningside speed...inspired by force vomit and their album with the spacemen over malaysia song...me cutting out pictures from the newspapers and other magazines and then pasting them onto A4 sized paper and then writing down my stories and other stupid poems and doodling and then getting spurs to contribute some funny stuff which he always churn out easily cos he's very witty and then going to some photostating shop to get the auntie to help us photostat our zine. it would come out crisp and we would use staplers to staple the pages together.
i always thought of the audience for the zine as some poor guy sitting in his bedroom on a saturday afternoon with no friends to go out with and feeling lonely just listening to the stupid radio playing stupid r and b songs about stupid people and their stupid voices that warble just plain showing off and faking lotsa fake emotion and then frustratedly throwing his pillow at the ceiling and screaming at life for being boring ,some poor kid,some lonely guy hanging out with his pots and plants.
then there was me in the bedroom cutting away,all the stupid pictures and words.how absurd.
the zine was done for me.ha-ha.
the first few issues of the zine were depressing stuff where i put down depressing feelings (i remember me sitting on the bus depressed without a word and spurs beside me staring out the window,the brooding silence freezing everything we did.) and then it took a turn for the worst when i tried to write childish dumb retarded stuff so as to cheer my innocence up as i lost all innocence growing up and then it became maudlin because i just kept producing and producing issue and issue of the zine and had to canvass my friends to buy them.i considered the zine a work of art actually and i sold them at a price of fifty lousy singapore cents so as to recoup photostating costs but even my classmates would think for a while before buying them.to put it more like some bearded bohemian artist like dostoevsky that black devil old friend of mine:"i feel insulted! am i a car salesman? bow down! philistines! this is a piece of something some poor fuck has created while pasting pictures and serial killer alphabets all joined together. a masterpiece! "
well...so what i would do is i wouldn't charge them if they bought the zine willingly...i would give them the zine!(if my memory is wrong and some of you out there,old friends of that youthful era,had been charged fifty cents by me because i thought your fake excited enthusiasm for reading and awaiting my zine had not been 'real' enough,well,i hope you won't take it too hard...cos what's fifty lousy cents? come on,grow up. i grew up.)
so what happened on the way to hell?
the zine born and died....spurs asked me if maybe we should fire up that old spoon of sugar again...resurrect jesus and inc...yeah...i'll do it the next time i get inspired by some local piece of work that's black and white and pasted with serial killer alphabets and pictures ripped out from the naueseatingly glossy magazines like eight days of bodom.
what this place lacks is a serial killer with nice cut-up sentences he leaves in the minds of readers he molested.
ha-ha.
all these nonsence.just cracks me up.
cracks me up.bitterly.
that poor guy in his bedroom.
the end.
499 words.(i wouldn't bother to count them if i were you.)
okay byebye.
