I want you to go home tonight, and touch yourself.

I feel compelled. I had great expectations for the film Black Swan, as any devoted fan of Tchaikovsky should. The cast felt right, Natalie Portman proved to be the appropriate choice. For fuck sakes, they even had Winona Ryder. So what the hell went wrong?


Aaron Aronofsky is a fucking pervert.
Natalie Portman finally starred in a watchable film, the story had great potential to become a cult classic thriller, the acting was even spot on...but the story just failed due to so much unnecessary fillers. A third of the film was completely pointless. The sex scene, the drug scene, the hospital scene, the utter failure to explain the internal conflict that was probably caused by a possibly psycho mother. It was all very unclear.
There was little consistency, and almost no character development. I can forgive the choreography, it was intelligently shot. The visuals were beautiful, and the timing was very well played out. It just didn't feel satisfying, it didn't live up to the hype of being a truly disturbing psychological thriller. As the story progressed, the outcomes become more predictable. It left all of the wrong elements to the imagination.
I must admit though, I was completely mesmerized by the weeping paintings. Very arousing.
Black Swan tried too hard to be an artistic film, when it should have focused on telling a story.
This is why I don't like Aronofsky, he transforms great ideas of Human desperation, into mediocre adaptations. There is always devoid in his work.
Oh, will there ever be a female counterpart to Patrick Bateman?!

Lanvin < H&M

In less than four days, H&M will unveil it's collaboration with Lanvin..mainly with designer Alber Elbaz. This is undoubtedly exciting news for the retail world, and many of my friends will be at the opening of this event.
The good thing that comes out of this will be that if successful (who are we kidding?), this initiative will introduce a dash of glamour to--well, I'm not sure where.
As I do find the merchandise rather pleasing, I can't help shake the feeling that what is being offered are suspiciously, a little too club-ready. I'm wondering if this will determine a future trend where evening dresses will compromise some of it's glamour for youthfulness.

What I find most troubling is the fact that it literally takes an effort of such magnitude in order to generate mass appeal, and get people excited about fashion again.
The merchandise being offered isn't anything innovative, or ground breaking--or even fresh. It's been around for years, but now it finally gets the attention of the masses because it's being offered by a low-end retailer.
Must distinguishable items shed the pounds of eccentricity, and surrender it's exclusivity in order to become accepted by a society of low-self esteemed consumers?
I have yearned for decades (okay 1&1/2) for Women to start dressing boldly, but not because magazines and trend says it's okay. That's pointless, and boring. There is no boldness in trend.
At times like these, I'm glad I can rely on people like Thierry Mugler.

Fashion is courage. Unfortunately, it is also a business.

David Guetta of Here

I am storming through all of David Guetta's music, in attempt to desensitize my contempt for it. In ten months time I will will have to hire a disc jockey to play his music, at my event. Might as well start early. I'll probably become addicted to it by the end of the month.

Glorious social politics.

Guilt

Few days ago, I made a visit to the local mall. Before entering the premises, I was greeted by one of two Air Cadets standing by the entrance, soliciting for donations. As Cadets do. She was tiny, probably no more than thirteen years of age, hermit glasses and an overall nerd look.
"Hi, would you like to make an donation towards the Air Cadets of Canada?" She asked.
"No........sorray." I responded coldly.
"Have a nice day." She replied.

You see, I've been bred to despise any kind of cadets, having been a member of Canada's preeminent Military academy. Cadets were considered to be the biggest disgrace in uniform to us. The absolute cut throat politics, and backstabbing that occurs in that institution is beyond a high-calibre old dog like me can bare. I hated the cadets, and I continue to hate their products which so inevitably seep into the branches of the Military.
But I feel guilt, for I was so unforgiving to that little girl. She was Chinese after-all, and the image I've portrayed as an adult was undeniably....rude. It was inherent that I'd be a prick to what was once my opposition, but to her I am of an age in her eyes--hardly capable of ever imagining could ever reach. It's like the misbehaving dog immediately knowing that it made a mistake, after biting the master's hand. Although, nowhere near that context.
I wonder what went through that little girl's head. What she thinks of me. Whether she forget by the end of the day, or my unbecoming attitude would rest with her for the next decade to come. You never know with kids as to what makes an impression on them.
I'm still trying to figure out who I have, or am becoming.

What it means to have substance

I was momentarily sidetracked from my focus by my feelings. Very amazing that someone is able to conjure any within me at all, but now I am recovered, and much more clear minded.
My standards must be impregnable, not by the greatest influences of the past, not by the most important people of my life, not by the most heartfelt of sentiments.

Love is for the weak.

Killing hookers isn't doing it for me anymore

I suddenly developed the urge to kill Vanessa's roommate, Rachel.
I ran into an awkward situation with her last month, and although I gained the moral high ground, and came out as the intellectual victor...I know that I would simply feel a lot better if I was able to swing an axe onto her vagina, then at the open wound eat my way up to her stomach, tearing her flesh off with my teeth.
I am running into a great number of adversaries lately. Out of respect for the people I associate with whom associate with them, I've been heavily reluctant with my onupsmanship tactics. But sometimes I feel that even that won't be able to satisfy my emptiness inside. My anger is becoming more influential in my daily actions, and although I understand the politics of things should be better played to sustain sanity, sometimes I think I'd be much comfortable rolling in a pool of somebody's blood.

I can't play the game unless I know there is someone who poses a great risk to me, the thrill of getting caught is the only motivation for the pretense. I need a fucking challenge.
This new testosterone booster I've started taking isn't helping my problems.

Bottles I'll probably never drink.

By no means do I drink on a regular basis. In fact, the thought of alcohol doesn't even enter my mind. I do however enjoy collecting what is by all means, very difficult to acquire. I believe a bottle of wine is apart of history, and to erase history is crime. I have many treasures, here are just a few that I'm willing to show.


Always have a couple of bottles of these readily available. Woo Liang Ye. It's a fine white wine distilled from wheat. Many argue it's status surpassing that of Mao Tai, it certainly is more costly when compared in it's regular packaging. This I don't mind opening to drink, plenty of these to go around. This is a 2003.



There are many versions of the great Chinese Mao Tai, but it is so common, there is little point to show the regular packaging, whether it be exported, or those restricted to within the Motherland. This however is apart of a collection of higher echelon. Aged for at least ten years. It's very fragrance is spectacular. Although if I am able to smell it when it has never been opened before probably indicates bad news. And aging it for too long would not be a good idea.




Every household should have a bottle of wine that is of impossible value, which leaves everyone else wondering just how the hell did they manage to acquire such a treasure?
And a treasure indeed. This is a bottle of Mao Tai 2007. But it isn't just any bottle...the company, in commemoration of the PLA's (People's Liberation Army) 90th anniversary, created this exclusive design for the highest ranking members of the Force. This bottle cannot be purchased, for it is only given as a gift. Supposedly, the wine inside is the finest that company's ever made. How I managed to get my hands on one of them and get it out of the country? Well...that's my secret. I don't think I would have the heart to ever open this in my lifetime.



And of course, it wouldn't be proper if all these would be served in anything western influence.


The rest of my treasures are for the eyes, and if they're lucky, the experience of those whom I invite to my home. I think the gesture of inviting someone into one's home has lost it's meaning, with this yuppie trend of holding regular dinner parties for people of relative importance. When one is a guest in my house, they can be expected to be treat to things to which no one else can afford to serve. What those things are, should reserved to only the worthy.

I am learning just how difficult is it to help people.
They do not understand how efficient I am, and when I say I`ll take care of something, or I`ll look into it...it is done immediately after inquiring.
Giving money away is just harder in the middle class.

Capital Punishment.
That is the consequence of white collar crimes, and corruption in China. The number of people sentenced to death for such infractions just in the last five years are in the high four figures.
In the Canada & United States; zero.

Reminiscing on the Future

The Army has nothing more to offer me. I was apart of the Royal Entourage during the Queen's official visit to both Ottawa, and Toronto. There were other people with me, but none of them so well accepted like I was by the British team, because competence is a rare trait. I can't think of anything else I could aspire to, with perhaps the exception of the use the Staff College grounds for a wedding reception? hmm...

My childhood buddy is now studying in Newcastle, plans are beginning to emerge for a first visit back to Qingdao since 1999. Lots of unfinished business.
I have always benefited from my family's complex social status in China, I guess it's always been something I've attempted to duplicate in Canada. Focusing on career and school are solid factors, but it still presents a weak excuse to offer the grandparents, and aunts for being single (especially the aunts). Finding a girlfriend is hot topic anywhere in China, and at my age, it's becoming ever more difficult to dodge from the elders. I know that the set-ups by relatives, and close family friends are inevitable, and in most cases because of my family name..unavoidable.
I remember being the only kid in my parent's company that all the adults accepted. At company banquets, I was the only child welcomed, so I had my fair share of highbrow service people attend to me. I have no doubt this being a contributing factor to my snobbery. I remember well the number of times I was dropped off at my Father's friends houses to stay over for no apparent reason...that is of course, until the reason became apparent. Until this day, I think the arranged marriage contracts still somewhat stands awaiting to be entertained.
Girls in China beats girls in Canada, but I think it's all a little excessively prude. I didn't think I'd be able to use that word in a negative way.

I miss everyone. I may have been in Canada for the last fifteen years, but it's evident that my heart never left the motherland. In the end, as the eldest member of my generation, and the only carrier of my family name, my responsibilities remain there as well. It's ironic, moving to Canada was for a pursuit of a better life, yet all of my hard work is to geared toward going back. Even more so, considering I'm two foot in the most tied down industry geography oriented; Military, and Real Estate.

Whatever, it is what it is. Seeing my Lawyer today, then going to Dufflet. Get this over with.

No Conspiracy

The very thing that makes me strong will eventually deliver me to my peril.
I think the image is very specific, however received by others. In my society you only get one chance, I can have months to prepare, and no one prepares more thoroughly than I, but it all comes down to the moment, and there is no second chances.
Society is unforgiving, and there is no such thing as a loyal socialite, everyone is looking out for their own.

People who can't handle the politics hide behind the euphuism.
Keeping it "Real"
Fucking pathetic unoriginal bastards. These people will never achieve any sort of distinction.
Keeping your dick inside your pants has become a lost art, semen has become the highest traded commodity.

You laugh at me because I'm different.
I laugh at you because you are all the same.

Huey Lewis and the News

"No Allen." I move slowly around the chair until I'm facing him, standing directly in his line of vision, and he's so drunk he can't even focus on the ax, he doesn't even notice I've raised it above my head. Or when I change my mind and lower it to my waist, almost holding it as if it's a baseball bat and I'm about to swing at an oncoming ball, which happens to be Allen's head.
Owen pauses, then says, "Anyway, I used to hate Iggy Pop but now that he's so commercial I like him a lot better than--"
The ax hits him midsentence, straight in the face, it's thick blade chopping sideways into his mouth, shutting him up. Paul's eyes look up at me, then involuntarily roll back into his head, then back at me, and suddenly his hands are trying to grab at the handle, but the shock of the blow has sapped his strength. There's no blood at first, no sound either except for the newspapers under Paul's kicking feet, rustling, tearing. Blood starts to slowly pour out the sides of his mouth shortly after the first chop, and when I pull the ax out--almost yanking Allen out of the chair by his head--and strike him again in the face, splitting it open, his arms flailing at nothing, blood sprays out in twin brownish geysers, staining my raincoat. This is accompanied by a horrible momentary hissing noise actually coming from the wounds in Paul's skull, places where bone and flesh no longer connect, and this is followed bu a rude farting noise caused by a section of his brain, which due to pressure forces itself out, pink and glistening, through the wounds in his face. He falls to the floor in agony, his face just gray and bloody, except for one of his eyes, which is blinking uncontrollably; his mouth is twisted red-pink jumble of teeth and meat and jawbone, his tongue hangs out of an open gash on the side of his cheek, connected by only what looks like a thick purple string. I scream at him once: "Fucking stupid bastard. Fucking bastard." I stand there waiting, starring up at the crack above the Onica that the superintendent hasn't fixed yet. it takes Paul five minutes to finally die. Another thirty to stop bleeding. The Patty Winter's Show this morning was on the improving the glow of your skin using Asian tea.

The Imposition

Naval blue Armani evening suit. Jet blue Louis Vuitton silk neck tie. Plain Bean Pole pocket square. Grain Prada dress shoes. White Donald Trump dress shirt-french cuffed. Tom Ford socks. Patek Philippe Gondolo wristwatch, and the pair of Mexx cuff-links Eleanor gave me as an early twenty-third birthday gift.
All alone, that was me in the lobby of the Fairmont Royal York--waiting that is, for Edwin Chang, a Man whom I've never met. He was my chaperone for this gala, without him I would be left to myself, and I needed him in order to bypass the doorman standing outside the ballroom. A old Woman walks by with her immaculately groomed french poodle, both bitches wore the same arrogant face. She was followed by a young girl wearing a brown summer dress, freckles spreading across her face, concentrating at the nose.
A tall Chinese man approached me from a distance, he grew taller as he neared, until he could grow no more, stopping just at approximately six-foot-two.
"Edwin Chang, good to meet you Raymond"
"Pleasure"
"Sorry about the tardiness, I had to--"
"Don't worry about it"
We ascended to the second floor, and Edwin lead me through the double doors. I think we were the last to arrive judging from the number of people in attendance. The hall was set in a very peculiar manner, I never seen anything like it, possibly to encourage conversation.
"Hello, Raymond Wang...pleasure to meet you" I said that to just about half of the people in the room. None of which I remembered. Rich, old Man with their spa endured wives. I didn't recognize the wine that was served, I think it was Italian.
Edwin spent the first twenty minutes pointing out the notable people in attendance, explaining in detail about their enterprise. I didn't recognize anyone, page six blokes supposedly. Edwin eventually dissolved within the American crowd, I retreated to the bar, half drinking, half bored.

A Woman in a blue dress catches my eye, her hair was long and perfect, her posture was flawless, and her face was....Isabelle's. My heart falls into my stomach, blood is either rushing into my face or out of it, I felt myself blushing and turning white at the same time. I am ignoring the barkeep at this moment, forgetting to tip him while I grabbed my drink without turning my body. Petrified, I walk over. She sees me, and my element of surprise plan goes to shit. She smiles, stands up and awaits my approach. A perfectly poised Woman, alone?
"Isabelle!" That was all I remember saying to her successfully, everything else was apparently worth forgetting.
After what seemed like the longest minute of my life, she introduced to a Man who interrupted us. His name was Blake--her date, of course. Fuck me.

It is now an hour later, and this girl slung from my arm was named Sydney...Sydney Farms? I couldn't pay attention to her, although she was very well spoken. I secretly suspect her tits to be fake, but it was hard to tell. My eyes were locked on Isabelle, she didn't look back at me.
Something about the her cousin working at the same firm as Edwin, something else about my shoes. I am trying to think of a way for Sydney to accidentally divulge to me the authenticity of her tits, but I don't think that was going to happen, she didn't sound like the other brunettes in this gala. I'm surprised she hasn't grown tired of me, I barely spoke a word. I didn't know what I was drinking, Sydney ordered it for me, and it was disgusting. But expensive.
I watched very closely where Blake placed his hands during the dancing portion of the evening, I fought every urge to bite my nails. I rested my lips by Sydney's ears, and she held me ever closer when I exhaled deeply against her velvet skin. I was teasing.


At the end of the night, I was standing outside the doors with Sydney and Edwin, and Edwin's hardbodied friend, whose name I don't remember.
Isabelle exited a moment later, and Blake ushered a black Cadillac. Isabelle smiled at me before getting into the vehicle, I gave a very forced smiled in return, and watched them drive away. Our taxi came, Edwin and I went our separate ways with our (now) dates. Sydney suggested that I come over to the hotel she was staying, I only agreed because she told me she was staying at the Park Hyatt. I checked my pocket for my cigar cutter, and flashed Sydney a wide smile before lighting my cigarette.
Sydney was fidgeting with my cuff-links, I brushed her hands away from it, not taking my mind off of Blake, and where he was taking Isabelle. I can feel my face screw.
"What are you thinking?" Sydney asked me.
"Just, creating problems for myself I guess"
"You are very interesting Raymond"
You won't think I am very interesting in about an hour you fucking slut.

I don't know

I sat in front of the dining table, before me sat the bowl soup I just spent the last hour or so making. I grip the spoon, fill it and brought it toward my mouth. As soon as it hits my mouth, I lose all feeling of hunger. I let it sit in my mouth for a few seconds before chewing, and finally swallowing. I know I like this soup. I had it many time before, and this time it had all of my favorite ingredients. I am supposed to like it, instead I taste nothing. Nothing but its temperature. I look down at the bowl, watching the steam rise from the bowl, and evaporating into nothingness. I put down the spoon, and walk away from the table.
"I can't do this", I thought to myself.
My head sinks into my palms, emptiness fulfills me.
I pick up the phone and call Aaron.

Half an hour later I'm sitting in my car with Aaron, parked outside of Johnny's Hamburgers with a Gigantic burger, a box of fries, and a box of onion rings. The radio is on, we listen to some bullshit song by somebody called "Adam Lambert", before switching to Classical 96.3FM. I should of brought my Young Jeezy CD that I purchased yesterday at Fairview Mall.
I don't know what happened, I feel very emotional.
The restaurant had a mirror mounted on the wall, and I was reminded what a big boy I am when comparing to everyone else. I looked like some juice monkey who just came from the gym looking to load up on protein and carbs.
I thanked Aaron for coming out from Richmond Hill, and after a few minutes of chatting, he left. I came back into the restaurant to order some Fish & Chips.
"Hungry huh?" The guy behind the counter said. I scuffed at him, but said nothing.

An Unfamiliar Place

I am fueled by emotions. The most powerful of those emotions are anger, jealousy, and spite. Although I was taught to be a master of my emotions, they still influence strongly over the decisions I make. The decisions are all well thought out, and consciously made regardless of whether it demands haste, or are given the luxury of time. The point is, I feel a certain way, and it affects my actions.
At least this was the way up until now.

Lately, I have been introduced to some situations, and made privy to certain information which would have once caused me to boil up inside, and most likely erupt in a total fit. However, this was not the case. Instead, I was unable to conjure any genuine feelings. I know that I dislike it, I know I am supposed to be disappointed, but I feel nothing.
This seems to only apply to the things I would have once been driven to hysteria over, the things that I would have cared most. Instead of feeling overly angry, or unreasonably jealous....nothing.
Could this be maturity? Maybe I am at a stage of my life that I am beginning to adopt an adult like view towards the undesirable. But that doesn't make sense, because it should mean that only my decision making process is changed, not my emotional receptors. I feel that I already have an adult perspective on most matters, and I don't believe that maturity means being numb.
Perhaps it's nothing else, something much worse.
Emotions put me in the position where I am able to make conscious decisions, this is what I am good at. But if I feel nothing, I am unable to determine whether the decisions made are completely competent, or sane.
I can control my emotions. Controlling emptiness, I might not be able to do that.

Status Quo

I finally got the chance to use Christian Bale's "Seriously, we're fucking done, professionally!" Bloody exhilarating to say to someone. Inhale, exhale.

I got flowers, first time in my life. Two bouquets of pink tulips which supposedly took Tia half a day, and four flower shops to find. My favorite flowers wasn't in season, but the simple gesture was overwhelming. Just the other day I was thinking to myself, because who I am, nobody would ever think to give me flowers, or Tiffany's. After receiving the flowers, I remembered that I did get a gift from Tiffany's a few years back. Fantasy fulfilled I guess.

Panorama, there hasn't been once that I have not been met with a dickhead Maitre'D. I swear, the next time I'm there, I'm just going to steal the menu, since it contains all the mixes for their drinks.

Anyway.
Social politics, does nobody take the time to study this anymore?
Am I living in a society so obsessed with promoting generic equilibrium?
Why the fuck is everyone I meet such a Goddamn liberal?
Has everyone forgotten their place? Or is this the curse of the middle-class?
An acquaintance asked me the most absurd question the other day.
"You want a classy wife?" Un-understandingly.
"You don't?" Condescendingly.
His question forced me to realize how disgustingly tolerant our society has become. It's absolutely filthy. This conjures unspeakable disgust within me. How can anyone ask me that question? One's partner is a representation of himself, how can anyone possibly be indifferent to the upbringing of their representative?
Down to earth, fun loving, spiritual woman who speaks her mind....this is my nightmare.
I am terrified.

Void

Status Quo, that is why pornography is such a lucrative industry. It caters to two types of people; the desperate, and the indifferent.
Those who would do anything for sex, and those who wouldn't care if they would have to give it up completely. They both find such kitsch form of entertainment equally entertaining, although its the obsession of the avant garde that intrigues me.
Pornography reminds Men where Women once belonged, and it gives us subtle comfort seeing it that way, even in reality this is no longer fact. Men, such proud creatures were never meant to live in a society of tolerance, equality, and acceptance. It has no substance of any kind, it is antipathetic, but invaluable to those who subscribe to it not to be aroused, but to stay empty inside.
Porn grips us of our fantasies, of how we secretly wish to treat other people, but are too coward to admit it. It promotes bigotry, hatred, it scratches the itch that we carry inside of us that won't go away. It is pure evil, and that evil satisfies the need for balance from the masquerade we attend everyday. It is created for the enjoyment of Men, desensitizing us from empathy towards Women, breeding the potential murderer in us.
What is the great crime to kill her, when we see not the wrong in tormenting her to fulfill our desires? What real difference does it make whether she is alive or dead when we find it okay to piss on her as we please?

I can't name a single mass murderer who wasn't addict to pornography. And to be honest, I don't want to.

Keep the class, in middle class

Turn your cell phone OFF during dinner.

Don't slouch when talking to your company, keep eye contact.

Do not keep your company waiting because you're taking photos with your girls in the posh washroom!

Make reservations, do not show up at a restaurant expecting a seat. Learn to plan things, do not put your company through the burden of searching for another restaurant on foot. She might be wearing uncomfortable heels, or he might be injured.

Wear the appropriate attire, know the difference between a evening suit/jacket, and a day/working jacket. Vice-versa on the dress. Take the time to learn about clothing etiquette, understand your clothes. Don't have your company thinking you made no effort, and they are just someone you needed to book a table at a restaurant in your after-work clothes.

Men get the fucking bill.
Ladies if you owe the guy, make an excuse to go to the washroom and get the bill without his knowledge. Most Men's ego will not allow for a woman to get the bill. Don't be cheap.

Don't talk about your ex, never fucking mention your ex. Date or casual dinner, fucking annoying.

If one party doesn't smoke, don't go for a bloody smoke during dinner!

Don't ask the waiter of his sexual orientation just because you're curious, especially if the waiter went to school with your company. Poor bloke.

Compromise. Don't order the wine you want, order the wine that is good for both you and your company. Some girls can't take the richness of Bordeaux, you're aim is not to get drunk.
Girls, don't act cute or obnoxious just because you want to get your way. Nobody wants to drink with a bitch.

If your friend is treating you to dinner and it's not over someone enormously special, don't order the fucking lobster & caviar.

Don't offer to taste the wine if you don't know what the bloody hell you're tasting for.

Don't mess with the people who handle your food, just because you want boogers and sneezing in your food, doesn't mean your company does.

DON'T TAKE FUCKING PHOTOGRAPHS OF YOUR FOOD! WTF IS WHAT THIS RIDICULOUS OBSESSION?! Do you work for the restaurant? Restaurants critics don't do it, why the bloody fuck would you?!?!?!

Ask before taking food off of your company's plate, some people very much dislike sharing food in particular.

If you dig your teeth into all of your company's starters, pay your share.

Don't order anything that will render yourself incapable of participating in the activities you have planed with your company afterward. Be adventurous, don't be stupid. There are less obvious ways to ditch someone.

If you don't feel like eating, order a drink. Never leave your company eating alone, very very rude.

Offer the seat with the better view to your company.

Finally, pull the seat out for the lady if you're a guy.

Infucktuation

There is no more pretentious and odious trait than the state of being "down to earth". I don't really understand the use of that term, but the people who bare such a personality sickens me to my deepest inners. I feel as if they were insulting me with their kindness, as if I needed them to make me feel liked. There are better ways to be polite, this characteristic is ingenuous, and horribly novice in the manner of social politics.

I'm not impressed.
Humans are not stocks, their value depreciate as they are traded from one to another and so on, even if their popularity rises.
Fucking frustrating emotions.
I should just shut out the world for a week, and watch the entire Meteor Garden series again.


I had the reigning Beach Honey champion in my car the other day.
Every year one of Shanghai's premier nightclubs (Bar Rouge, [Club BonBon]) holds their renowned Beach Honey beauty contest, I've been following it since 2007. (The owner also owns half of they city's nightclubs, he went to university with my father, my father told me he is a complete dickhead). I used to be love with those girls, just for the novelty I guess. But I didn't pay any attention to it in 2009 because I was too head over heels for supermodel chick. Well, I mean it's no big deal really...but I had no idea the woman who sat in the back of my car was the current Beach Honey.
I guess that's...kind of cool.

Testing my faith

It's pathetic how I allow the decisions of other people make for themselves impact me so greatly inside.
Love truly blinds people.

The first movie to make me cry

I lie to people about the Lion King being the only movie to ever make me cry to have them believe I harbor empathy like any other Human being. My masquerade of normality has the traits that of a serial killer, desperate to be caught by someone of equal intellect. I give hints, but nobody ever picks up on it. Or maybe they do, and I'm just too stupid to realize. Unlikely.
I watched a movie today called Tsunami, it's a Korean natural disaster flick with it's typical romantic comedic input. I had high expectation for the film, and I was very happy that my expectation were met, everything from special effects to the acting. I did not expect that this film would become the first film to cause me to lose my composure, and weep tears of empathy. I watched numerous Korean films, and although many have had me stifling emotions forcing themselves to the surface, none of them succeeded in breaking my cold gaze. Tsunami left my head tilt sideways with my mouth hung ajar as the plot progressed. Never have so many feelings be conjured by a cinematic masterpiece, not even the Pianist. The movie made me laugh, teased my romance receptors, had me lusting over its sexy actresses, awed me with the cast's brilliant performances, a true experience watching it--even if it was just from my laptop. It kept hitting me with tragedies, but you can't weaken a Man by appealing to his inclination. So after successfully stifling the countless heartaches, I finally failed to do so during the final scene with the little girl and her father. It was momentary, but passionate tears. I don't know why that scene made me cry, and not the other ones which were more relevant to my case. I must admit, if the cast were ugly, I might have not given it the same reaction. The Koreans really know how to make people mourn for pretty faces.
I doubt I'd be so generous with my compassion to another movie for a very, very long time. This one was something special.

Also I finally got around to watching Mr. Brooks. Every fine slasher film would leave me lusting, wishing to be the antagonist, the last film to do this was American Psycho. That was ten years ago, and although this movie wasn't good enough to rival the cult classic, it certainly made me wish I possessed disorders Mr. Brooks suffered from. Not often do I get the satisfaction of enjoying watching people kill people in a artistic manner, this film satisfied.
Something about successful businessmen in clean suits butchering others with precision, and style.
...sexy.

At First Sight

When I see a grown man with a small dog, I think of two things.
1. How often is he getting laid because of his dog.
2. There is nothing he can have over me, his beloved bitch consequently make him one.
I'm a Bluenose Pitbull kind of guy, maybe a Doberman when I am somewhat more distinguished, or a Great Dane. A Greyhound at the very worst.
Shit is just sad.

I need to find a new living space, with thick curtains to create my artificial night during daytime. My urge for blood pushes my hunger from darkness to daylight. I almost couldn't control myself today at York. Some bikini party at Vanier College, I saw her--skin velvet like the finest silk, I could almost see my own reflection against her glowing complexion. She stood apart from the crowd, whoring her beauty whilst everyone admired her from the corner of their eyes. I stared at her hard, almost burning a hole in her. And while every Men fantasized about the sex she offers, I only saw myself digging my teeth into her flesh, while her warm, thick blood ran down into my mouth. For a moment she never felt so alive, and then slowly she loses that feeling to me. She was absolutely beautiful, and I wanted to kill her. I don't bare to see such magnificence age another day, for the days are not worthy of such paragon of perfection. Yes...I will have her, she dies tonight.

Sunday approaches, the harrowing disposition nears. I need to thin my face.

Nostalgia

I received some photos of me during the January of 2009, and in the photos I saw a beautiful man wearing his arrogant expression, clearly standing out from the crowd with that beautiful face.
Then I went to the mirror, and wanted to puke at the reflection. The chiseled cheek bones, immaculate eyebrows, masculine jawline, plumb lips, and that porcelain skin. I could hardly believe that face belonged to the same body.
My injuries has rendered me to an inactive lifestyle, and taken away my superior physical abilities which made me dominant. So I just sat there admiring the photos, twenty minutes, maybe an hour. Definitely longer than the photo of that bleeding dead girl that I found to be unusually sexy.

Today I must have spent 3 hours in my room stretching, doing push ups, sit ups, struggling pathetically to finish every last repetition. I used to be able to pump off 75 perfect push ups in one breath..now I can just make thirty at a time. I'm afraid of going out for a jog, my knees may fail me again and it could be another month in the chair. My Back still hurts. I bought a pack of Belmonts last week and smoked about six so far, I don't know how my cardiovascular has held up, or if its held up at all. I went from successfully completing the second toughest course the Canadian Military can dish out, to someone who is afraid to be seen in public because of his puffy face.

This Saturday is Julie and Jocelyn's birthday, and I don't have anything to match a fatbody. So I will be spending 4 hours today in the push up position. I've done it before, and it thins my face out to the point where it would raise no suspicion. And obviously strictly protein only meals. Good thing my body can deflate like a balloon, unhealthy..but convenient.
The journey of regaining my perfect body, and most importantly my beautiful face begins today. I know I will have reached my goal when people start to mistake me for a Korean popstar again.

I might even consider fucking Beijing girl to expedite this whole process....dunno...teasing her is way too much fun.

Elitism

WHEN THE HELL DID THE PASSING MARK IN CHINA BECOME 50%??

Okay, so apparently the passing grade for tests and projects in Chinese schools is 50%...same standard as it is set here in Canada, and perhaps the rest of the world?
This is news to me. I've always been under the impression that a mark below 95/100 was an epic fail. Anything below 98% was a shameful act of incompetence, and 95% below meant I had to redo my test/project/homework. I even remember once I was instructed to remain standing in front of the class along with everyone else who got below 95% on a test, and commence crying with our heads hung low. I can't cry on command..I'm not Gong Li!
I went to a privileged school, but what the hell?!
So this means, I was repeatedly beaten for a mark that most of my friends would have been praised for? SON OF A BITCH! Those were some goddamn hard beatings! The number of times I was made to redo my workload in grade two...the amount of playtime I missed out on. I should be proud, well I am proud..but can't help feel a little outraged!
I was happy when I got both 100% on Literacy and Math in the first grade, but I thought my only accomplishment was doing what I was told. So I was surprised when I got a Super-Nintendo and Sega Genesis out of it, now it makes more sense.


I wonder if I'd be alive today if I gotten a 50% on anything back then.....

Retail Therapy

Today I was in the Pottery Barn looking at cutlery and some eco-friendly plush pillows for Evelyn, she's been going on about how the the things in her house needs replacing to make it more "green". I didn't understand the concept because all she was doing is putting more stuff in her home and contributing to the landfill.
I was browsing in the fine china section when I noticed the cashier girl eying me hard from behind the counter, I tried to play it cool, but when I raised my head to check back at her, I noticed that she hasn't taken her glance off of me. She looked Middle-Eastern, maybe Lebanese, maybe Iranian, with long black hair, and very little makeup. She was wearing a lime Prada cashmere cardigan over a white H&M spread collar shirt, charcoal grey pencil skirt with dark stockings and probably four inch pumps all from bebe. I looked down and looked back again pretending not to notice, but her eyes were locked on me. I'm wearing a custom navy blue YSL sports jacket with a burgundy tie also from YSL, plain collared shirt, cream khakis and brown alligator shoes all from Canali, I'm also wearing my non-prescription Oliver People's glasses.
I grab at something random, a plate of some kind and approach her desk.
"Do you have these in a set?" I ask her.
"If it's not in the display then we might not, but I can always check." She says. "Just give me a second to check the back for you, maybe we do have similar ones in stock." She proceeds into a nearby door and into the stocking area. I follow her and we both disappear from the front of the store. I make sure the door is closed behind us and adjust my tie, fastening it to my collar. There was a mirror by a shelf, and I quickly give myself the once-over.
She turns around, unsurprised to see me. Smiling. I walk up to her and gently guide her backwards to the sorting table with my crotch to hers, she begin to unbutton my pants, I do the same to her shirt. I stick my hands down her pussy and start to rub her clit, we begin kissing.
Two minutes later I'm fucking her with her half laying on the stocking table and the other half elevated by my cock, I stare at her expressionless while she moans something in a foreign language. This turns me on momentarily. Her eyes are closed and I quickly capitalize on this opportunity and grab at the tape. I wrap it around her mouth, she thinks I'm doing something kinky and goes along with it. Still moaning with pleasure and eyes closed, I carefully grab the stapler gun and staple her fingernails to the table while holding her hands down. She opens her eyes with the look confusion, then the pain registers and she starts kicking at me. I quickly staple all of her fingers down I punch her until she is unconscious.
When she wakes up five minutes later she find herself tied to the table and her vagina sliced open with the box cutter and filled with broken glass, and then stapled shut again. I've sealed the door off, but so far nobody tried to come in. The Pottery Barn has always been one of those stores that's well staffed, which is one of the reasons I like the place, as I am always able to get someone's attention when needing assistance.
She is crying but unable to make any significant sounds because I stuck a dozen thumbtacks to her throat, and she is foaming blood around the neck. I stood in front of her naked, and she looked back at me in sheer terror while I jerked off. I wanted to savor the moment and enjoy myself, but I was in a shopping mall so I had make the best use of my time. I grab the box cutter and sliced her left nipple off, she twitches, but not to her own accord. I chew on her right breast, eventually biting the other nipple off and she spasms uncontrollably. So I lay the hot iron I've plugged in five minutes ago and lay it on her stomach for not co-operating. The smell of burning flesh hits me and I make a face, she tries to scream harder but all it causes is more foaming around the neck, she did however managed to make a ghastly incomprehensible noise.
If only she didn't eye fuck me, if only she'd checked to see that I was following her into the stock room she would have suffered the fate anyway. Because I would have found her, that's just the way things were. I would have eventually found her, and this would have happened anyway.
The iron burns away her skin and starts to cook her fat, causing the tissue blister, releasing a green fluid. I check my Gold Oyster Perpetual Rolex Navigator, and realize I've been at this for over twenty minutes, and it was time for me to go before the only other staff becomes suspicious. I grab the box cutter again and position it over her right eye. Then I slowly click it against her eyeball and start to press down, with each click of the box cutter the blade digs deeper into her socket, and closer to the brain. On the fourth click her eyeballs bursts, and this transparent fluid splashes all over my lips. On the sixth click I get an erection, which causes difficulty in my attempt to put my clothes back at the same time. The bitch shakes violently, then weakly, it takes twenty-two clicks, and two minutes for her to finally die.
I check myself in the mirror and adjust my tie, making sure there is no blood on my suit. Her blood did get on my tie but it's barely noticeable. I take both her nipples and place it in my breast pocket before heading out the backdoor. I found a random door which lead out the parking lot, I walk around the mall twice and notice a small crowd beginning to form at the entrance of Pottery Barn from outside the West entrance. Satisfied with the scene, I head down to the train station.I didn't actually get to finish my shopping.
The Patty Winter's show today was about home abortion kits.

About time I did one of these

My search for a stumping ground continues after my pre-NYE experience at One Eleven, Yorkville. The place is exceptionally compact, and the food is as mediocre as the yuppie crowd. All three of my scallops was not cleaned properly, the duck confit it was served on top of was too salty, and the horse radish was not enough of a pleasing element to the thirty dollar dish. I was able to negotiate for our party of ten to be seated in the only bottle service area with no intention of ordering more than one bottle of wine. Again I saved the day. The maître d' was very well-groomed and attentive, but mainly it was because the little hardbody waitress kept intentionally push her perfect pair of tits in my face when taking my order that had me tipping the whore more generously than usual. The most memorable things about the place were it's extravagant bottle service chairs, and the chic washroom. The clientele appeared to be somewhat timid to approach one another, and the cocktails that resembled the taste of Chinese herbal medicine was ridiculously overpriced. Their only selection of the four red wines were all from Italy, and there is absolutely no privacy for anyone whose trying to snort coke. I don't do cocaine, but this is something I look for in all nightclubs.
Despite the aforementioned, this joint had some sick music. A lot of 80's tunes that I was actually able to dance to. I jumped from my seat in sheer excitement, grabbing my friend and heading straight to the dance-floor when the DJ played Obsession by Animotion, the popular 80's hit made infamous by being featured as the theme song for Fashion Television, hosted by the beautiful Jeanne Beker. Unfortunately my friend didn't share my enthusiasm because her musical preferences was perhaps too contemporary to modern rubbish.
Ultimately, not a place I am likely to revisit. Too bad, the staff were all very professional, and courteous. Unlike the smug fucks at Panorama, I guess the altitude really fills their heads with too much cuntrogen.
One Eleven, Yorkville, a one nightstand...definitely remember to pull out.