Hang The Blessed DJ

So people do what they feel like doing, what they have to do, and it seems like they will do it. There is not always a reason for everything that we do, but it seems like we always want to find out why all the time, regardless if we are the one doing it or if someone else does it. I have learn not to ask why, either way. I have only come to know this and to actually apply it in the past year or so. It may not necessarily be the best policy to adopt, but it sure makes life a lot more simpler and more in equilibrium.

There is no reason why I am still hanging around, I am surprised at my own patience even. But of course, people do what they do and wherever their inspirations lie at the moment. It's not doom and gloom at the moment really, there is still a glimmer of hope and optimism in it just yet. It could be better, I don't deny, but then again, doesn't that apply to everything in life?

People with major issues and hang-ups and mental episodes should not be let out at all, to inflict agony to others and inevitably dragging someone down with them. This is no doubt a fair notion to have, but maybe it's a little too judgmental and harsh? I am learning to ease up a little on this notion, to be a little more patient and understanding. How many hours have I spent wondering what I am getting myself into? Is it worth my while investing in this relationship? To sum it all up, the burning question is, is it healthy for me?

The self-protective side of me would badly want to walk away at this very instance, but the more sentimental part of me would think that it's all not so bad and that I should not be too quick and extreme in making a decision.

After all, haven't I always been searching for the one person who admires Salinger and appreciates Wong Kar Wai films? A person who is even more into books and movies than me and to challenge my knowledge and intelligence and creativity in every way? A person whom I can talk to till we go blue in the face, and a person whom I want to share my time and hopes and fears with?

I have found the person, in a way, and we have spent many amazing hours and days together, months even. But of course, the bad always supersedes the good and it goes one full circle and back to the good (if we are lucky) and then a few more moments of the bad again. Isn't that the typical course two people have to run when they are together?

So yes, at this stage, I shall not analyse too much. I try my best not to at least. We do come from two very different worlds indeed. An artist and a scientist, a hippie versus a yuppie wannabe, basic practicality as opposed to an impeccable packaging. Sometimes, most times, I do wonder how the hell we ended up crossing path and even sharing a part of the way. It is a scary yet somewhat amazing thought. I am excited and fascinated by it, but at the same time intimidated and feeling vulnerable over it.

And so the story goes on, and I should not say too much to jinx it at this stage.

Silent Army Movement

So it's been almost two months, and it' s been a very different, needless to say eventful, period of time. I wouldn't trade them in for anything. I won't be going into details just yet, plenty of opportunities for elaboration later. I have been given three comics over the weekend, three pieces of works done by a friend. Admittedly, I can't say I understood all of the obscurity and hidden messages intended. After all, they were all based on personal experiences and inner thoughts. However, they appealed to me greatly because the emotions and the stories are just so raw and honest. So raw and honest that it hurts even, not unlike reading a Salinger book (and incidentally, the artist is a huge Salinger admirer too). And yes, this is the first time I have ever known an artist, not some wannabe or a self-proclaimed one, but a bona fide one whom I truly respect, be it for the writings or the drawings to the paintings. I wish I could put all the drawings here, but knowing that it would be impossible, I have decided to print the prologue here verbatim, which I have read a few time over. It hurts more each time I read it, funny and bittersweet at the same time, and for this I would compare it to the style of Roald Dahl. Salinger and Dahl both cited, what more can I ask for? And yes, maybe I am in awe too.

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Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up this comic, this 6th in line from the House of Urgh. Thanks to the suggestion of my esteemed friend Mr Adam Ford, I have adopted a new phrase: Pokin fun at...Soon after hearing this I realised that most of my life is spent Pokin fun at everything and anything that crosses my path, from old people to my own reflection from wheelchairs to friends. I feel it a necessity in my journey to mock much of what is reality. It seems to make boredom, poordom and frustration slightly easier to deal with. But at what cost? Will I one day become consumed in my own misty cynicism, so much so that I end up screaming and yelling at people wearing cheesecloth? I soon realised then that the only thing truly holding me back from this madness is my li'l ol' scribblings. However, if I need my art so much then why have I been so half-hearted? I don't hate what I have produced in the past, but I need to respect my work for it to respect me and for you to respect the final product. Nobody will get anywhere by farting about with mindless doodles and rushed work.

In saying this, I now present you with this issue. It is set eleven years ago when I was in Year 8 at high school in the Blue Mountains. It takes place over a couple of days and represents to me a serious turning point of realisations in my young mind. This story is the one I'd been trying to tell ever since I started this whole comic book thing as I believe it heads towards explaining who I am and why I am doing all this today. I know it's quite a self indulgent thing to do as my life is by no means any more remarkable than anyone else's. However, as with most autobiographical work, it is simply my mind trying to answer questions that need not and usually cannot be answered. Namely, what's the bloody point in the end?

So in conclusion, there ain't much 'Fun Pokin' in this issue. It's a little sombre and mellow and I wank around most of the time with my head down, looking angry and/or pathetic. You must remember I was a teenager. At the time this story took place a person at school I can't remember the name of called me "small, but nice". I think this comic is something similar, despite the fact it'a too damn a cute bloody way of describing anything.

K.M.

NB: This comic should be viewed as a symbol of honesty, not 100% truth. If I was to tell the complete thruth (i.e spread it over two years, recall old dialogue and names correctly, etc) I would surely send you into a coma. Artisitc license is usually what makes the art interesting, yes?