Pain killer

Heal the brokenness.
Just read. Eat. Sleep.
Meet my favorite people.
Cut off all the cunts and dickheads.
Bury all the false friends.
Kick back my temper.
Repeat my pig cycle.
When I dip into reading again. Warm up with Haruki Murakami’s book then dive deeper into well of loneliness.
Nothing to prove. Nothing to lose.
Just dance with myself in the rain of silent words.
Men without women.
Men without women.
Men without women.
Roaring this pain out loud.
Fresh wound. Grumpy wound.
Twisted in the core.
Where is my outlet?
Please police karma, where the heck you’ve been?
Burn, burn, burn all my anger!
Raise up my voice, fight for my right.
Can you hear it?
Napalm bomb in a ghost shell.
Rotten. Reborn.
Just how aboriginal people burn trees in Uluru every year.
The fire. The volcano. The destruction for the start of something new.

Faith in strangers

We’ve read a lot of violent bloody crime on news and daily conversation. Who likes it? They scare us to death. Naturally, we have an invisible bubble surrounding against strangers that we carry every day to fight against the chaotic urban life, and defend for our safety.
I haven’t read or watched any news since 2014 besides the artwork and my tech geeks. It’s my strategy to feel secured and relaxed. Naive or too arrogant? You’re both right but I learnt that from Mass media 101 at college that the more you read about crime, the more you believe in crime and, obviously, the more you see crime. Plus, there were heaps of ways the media could manipulate our thoughts that I almost forgot right after the semester ended : ) Thus, I’ve upskilled my survival skills instead. What doesn’t kill you, make you stronger. You’d rather believe.
In fact, I’ve met the most amazing people in this world during my travel. I decide to write all those wonderful stories happened in my travel so far. 5 years. Around the world. To be continued.
On top of my mind, let’s talk about people I met on the flights back and forth Saigon and Melbourne in my recent trips.
  1. The lovely grandma
I still have a bar of chocolate in my backpack. Dark mountain bar of Switzerland. The husband of that lovely grandma gave to me, he barely spoke any English, he just shook his head when I returned the dessert, I answered sincerely, “Thank you”. I was on the Scoot flight from Melbourne to Singapore. My 2nd time in fewer than 30 days. The old sweet couple took a flight home to visit the husband’s mom at the hospital. The aisle and the silence drift them apart. She was in the business class for giving a lecture to a wealthy middle-aged woman with her Bible storybook in propaganda style. It was nice of her to invite me there as a company, unfortunately, I was too stressed to shut off my chatterbox and found myself not a good match with those gorgeous ladies. But they prayed for me. Both of them and me myself for a good blessing to home.
Before that, we – the grandma, me and a nice Indonesia guy sitting next to each other had a great conversation about our lives. We raised it up since the nice guy offered me and the woman some food from his meal. I accepted it without any hesitation, I could eat a horse that morning, all I had so far was just anti-depression pills and worries. The grandma laughed out loud, she enjoyed my cheerful and responsive reaction. She told us, “that was the first time of my life I saw people were this generous and friendly”. Then, she shared with us about her anger, rage at Singapore education and how it was her childhood nightmare. How many teenagers killed themselves and how the government tried to hide it. It was a long sharing in a strong form of expression. How people locked themselves in public, no talk, no care, just racist fight. I had that sound recording on my phone. Such an honest downside opinion of the cleanest country in the world. The guy talked very briefly about himself, just listened and responded appropriately. I shared my mental break down at work and that was the reason I came home. I cried silently, face on my arms, between 2 passengers. The grandma asked me, “Ok. Grandma’ll treat you this time. Here is the menu. Choose whatever you like, ok lah? But no alcohol lah.”. “Ok lah grandma”, I answered. Ironically, the bacon egg n cheese was just like the customer service on that Scoot flight, tasted like shit!
Next chapter maybe
2. The sweet Lisbon flight attendant, “I don’t want to fly anymore”
3. Jess in Jump Inn – a wild walk to the teleport
4. A math teacher landlord and a Ph.D. flatmate aka Uber rider

The loner n the nomad

The loner iwh

dau

 

Anh em bảo bọc ta
Lấy đất làm miếng đệm
Biến trời thành tấm chăn
Thiên hạ bao la nơi đâu cũng là nhà. ——
Da brothers cover my back
I have the Ground make my bed
I turn the Sky into my blanket
In this gigantic world, home is all over the places.

great man 3great man 4great man world

Parrtjima – A lighting festival in the desert

As a visual artist who is into installation and interactive, I came all the way long from Melbourne and took a couple days off to see the Parrtjima festival in Alices Springs.

Painting projection – This installation is such a success since it draws a lot of attention and interaction (from kids). A good reference for both motion and interactive design

The signature performance ‘The language of country” Ankhentype Aere-kenhe of kinship from the aboriginal culture in the outback during Parrtjima Lighting Festival 2019. Two kilometers of the MacDonnell Ranges would be the vivid canvas for a series of significant lighting effects.