I get by with a little help from my friends, I get high with a little help... from my friends, I'm gunna try...

    I'm sitting here in a hotel suite with a fancy desk lamp and a big 'ol official desk looking onto the Petronas Towers thinking, shouldn't I be commanding some line of people? Or making some powerful decision right now? Well, although I am working (still...albeit from a hotel instead of my desk with the not-so-comfy chair), I'm not making any big decisions or doing anything earth-shattering, just more layouts for yet another CF of a project.  The only big choice I will be making is whether or not I'm going to the gym in a few minutes. Penang was ill. Work makes me wanna smack a bitch, for lack of a better word (Q if you are reading this, that is your slang of the day).

Anyways, here is an excerpt from my hand-written sketch/journal. I've been writing a lot lately, for no particular reason...Sarah Kay gave me some inspiration I suppose...

I could write about Penang.
The colonial buildings and high rises
The mansions and street stalls.

I could write about the butterflies,
animal heads, spice gardens, batik silks
The little chendol stall crowded with people slurping up its offerings in the rain

I could tell you about the trip to the little palau.
about my wandering thoughts of just disappearing from the world I know
I could tell you about the deep conversations
About my violent concoction of impulse and honesty.

I can explain, I can explain
how these elements combined to rip across an ocean
to stop another's pulse.

I can tell you how to take the dog out of the fight
but can you really change the stripes of the tigress?

I could write about the food
About how I dragged my parents out for street food on the first night
how the cab driver and I convinced them to try durian
at a roadside stall
(you should have seen my mother's face)

I can tell you about how good it felt to fall asleep
to the sound of the ocean
or how my shower had jets that came out of the walls
about how good my body felt after taking a bath
or how I scribbled down my whims in a smoke-filled bar
made of tropical hardwoods
worn, dented, and laden with stories

I could jump on my soap box
speak about Bersih
describe my pride for a nation standing up for itself

However, today isn't the day
it isn't the day to be atop the soap box:
the people have spoken

Today is still yesterday across the ocean
my dirty laundry hasn't had enough time
to dry

Sometimes silence can be golden
Sometimes pictures speak 1,000 words

-M

    I'm sitting here in a hotel suite with a fancy desk lamp and a big 'ol official desk looking onto the Petronas Towers thinking, shouldn't I be commanding some line of people? Or making some powerful decision right now? Well, although I am working (still...albeit from a hotel instead of my desk with the not-so-comfy chair), I'm not making any big decisions or doing anything earth-shattering, just more layouts for yet another CF of a project.  The only big choice I will be making is whether or not I'm going to the gym in a few minutes. Penang was ill. Work makes me wanna smack a bitch, for lack of a better word (Q if you are reading this, that is your slang of the day).

Anyways, here is an excerpt from my hand-written sketch/journal. I've been writing a lot lately, for no particular reason...Sarah Kay gave me some inspiration I suppose...

I could write about Penang.
The colonial buildings and high rises
The mansions and street stalls.

I could write about the butterflies,
animal heads, spice gardens, batik silks
The little chendol stall crowded with people slurping up its offerings in the rain

I could tell you about the trip to the little palau.
about my wandering thoughts of just disappearing from the world I know
I could tell you about the deep conversations
About my violent concoction of impulse and honesty.

I can explain, I can explain
how these elements combined to rip across an ocean
to stop another's pulse.

I can tell you how to take the dog out of the fight
but can you really change the stripes of the tigress?

I could write about the food
About how I dragged my parents out for street food on the first night
how the cab driver and I convinced them to try durian
at a roadside stall
(you should have seen my mother's face)

I can tell you about how good it felt to fall asleep
to the sound of the ocean
or how my shower had jets that came out of the walls
about how good my body felt after taking a bath
or how I scribbled down my whims in a smoke-filled bar
made of tropical hardwoods
worn, dented, and laden with stories

I could jump on my soap box
speak about Bersih
describe my pride for a nation standing up for itself

However, today isn't the day
it isn't the day to be atop the soap box:
the people have spoken

Today is still yesterday across the ocean
my dirty laundry hasn't had enough time
to dry

Sometimes silence can be golden
Sometimes pictures speak 1,000 words

-M

    I'm sitting here in a hotel suite with a fancy desk lamp and a big 'ol official desk looking onto the Petronas Towers thinking, shouldn't I be commanding some line of people? Or making some powerful decision right now? Well, although I am working (still...albeit from a hotel instead of my desk with the not-so-comfy chair), I'm not making any big decisions or doing anything earth-shattering, just more layouts for yet another CF of a project.  The only big choice I will be making is whether or not I'm going to the gym in a few minutes. Penang was ill. Work makes me wanna smack a bitch, for lack of a better word (Q if you are reading this, that is your slang of the day).

Anyways, here is an excerpt from my hand-written sketch/journal. I've been writing a lot lately, for no particular reason...Sarah Kay gave me some inspiration I suppose...

I could write about Penang.
The colonial buildings and high rises
The mansions and street stalls.

I could write about the butterflies,
animal heads, spice gardens, batik silks
The little chendol stall crowded with people slurping up its offerings in the rain

I could tell you about the trip to the little palau.
about my wandering thoughts of just disappearing from the world I know
I could tell you about the deep conversations
About my violent concoction of impulse and honesty.

I can explain, I can explain
how these elements combined to rip across an ocean
to stop another's pulse.

I can tell you how to take the dog out of the fight
but can you really change the stripes of the tigress?

I could write about the food
About how I dragged my parents out for street food on the first night
how the cab driver and I convinced them to try durian
at a roadside stall
(you should have seen my mother's face)

I can tell you about how good it felt to fall asleep
to the sound of the ocean
or how my shower had jets that came out of the walls
about how good my body felt after taking a bath
or how I scribbled down my whims in a smoke-filled bar
made of tropical hardwoods
worn, dented, and laden with stories

I could jump on my soap box
speak about Bersih
describe my pride for a nation standing up for itself

However, today isn't the day
it isn't the day to be atop the soap box:
the people have spoken

Today is still yesterday across the ocean
my dirty laundry hasn't had enough time
to dry

Sometimes silence can be golden
Sometimes pictures speak 1,000 words

-M

    I'm sitting here in a hotel suite with a fancy desk lamp and a big 'ol official desk looking onto the Petronas Towers thinking, shouldn't I be commanding some line of people? Or making some powerful decision right now? Well, although I am working (still...albeit from a hotel instead of my desk with the not-so-comfy chair), I'm not making any big decisions or doing anything earth-shattering, just more layouts for yet another CF of a project.  The only big choice I will be making is whether or not I'm going to the gym in a few minutes. Penang was ill. Work makes me wanna smack a bitch, for lack of a better word (Q if you are reading this, that is your slang of the day).

Anyways, here is an excerpt from my hand-written sketch/journal. I've been writing a lot lately, for no particular reason...Sarah Kay gave me some inspiration I suppose...

I could write about Penang.
The colonial buildings and high rises
The mansions and street stalls.

I could write about the butterflies,
animal heads, spice gardens, batik silks
The little chendol stall crowded with people slurping up its offerings in the rain

I could tell you about the trip to the little palau.
about my wandering thoughts of just disappearing from the world I know
I could tell you about the deep conversations
About my violent concoction of impulse and honesty.

I can explain, I can explain
how these elements combined to rip across an ocean
to stop another's pulse.

I can tell you how to take the dog out of the fight
but can you really change the stripes of the tigress?

I could write about the food
About how I dragged my parents out for street food on the first night
how the cab driver and I convinced them to try durian
at a roadside stall
(you should have seen my mother's face)

I can tell you about how good it felt to fall asleep
to the sound of the ocean
or how my shower had jets that came out of the walls
about how good my body felt after taking a bath
or how I scribbled down my whims in a smoke-filled bar
made of tropical hardwoods
worn, dented, and laden with stories

I could jump on my soap box
speak about Bersih
describe my pride for a nation standing up for itself

However, today isn't the day
it isn't the day to be atop the soap box:
the people have spoken

Today is still yesterday across the ocean
my dirty laundry hasn't had enough time
to dry

Sometimes silence can be golden
Sometimes pictures speak 1,000 words

-M