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

Little gems in the hustle bustle life

“The traffic is crazy. People are aggressive.” said by a Saigonese.


But according to a warm-hearted and also adventurous woman who lived in Vietnam for a while and traveled quite places, the country was gorgeous and beautiful. The memories were magical enough for her to collect those little treasures into calendars which would be a nice gift for your friends and family on Christmas and New Year.
This calendar is my first collaboration ever between me and a friend who is based in Sydney. A set of calendar includes 14 sheets, 1 piece wood and a lot of love and care from the makers : )  It would cost $15 AUD exclude the shipping fee.
Please support the living artist.
cover_outdoorsjune_studiodecember_outdoorsmap_outdoorsmarch_studionovember_ooien hwang 2oien hwangoutdoors 2outdoors

Wavy memoirs: adventure indie games

  1. Lieve Oma

Hi all,

I’m totally not a gamer and I just discovered https://itch.io/ by accident while I skimmed through a beautiful model on Sketchfab called Lieve Oma.

 

I read the description and was curious about the 3D game the model author mentioned so I googled “Lieve Oma” and I found it! This was an ah-hah moment to me, I realized I discovered a magical door to the great world of the independent indie entertainment world, itch.io

I think it would be fair enough to consider the game with Adventure genre like Lieve Oma as visual memoir or interactive art installation. You can reconstruct your dream again and let the player walk in it. It is amazing!

You can download the game here, it’s available for Window, MacOS, and Linux. Don’t forget to name your price to support the artist.

 

oma 1oma 2oma 3oma 4

 2. Sacramento

Vaporwave scene combines with loop visual makes the unique of Sacramento. The opening theme is inside a train and you expect to depart somewhere dreamy and out of this world in the gameplay.

sacra 2Sacra 3

Then, you appear at a station in a faraway Purple land.

Sacra 4Sacra 5

 

sacramento 1.jpg

 

3. Oases

Well, the game dev’s grandpa died in the war, but the flight seemed stunning… in OASES

o 1o 2o 3o 4

How to have sex with a lot of girls

My ex-boyfriend went through 2 serious relationships and he even had a kid somewhere at the age of 21. The last time I asked him before his stay in Bangkok how many girls you fucked, he gave me an exact number right away, “42”. He seemed very proud about that, calculated the trophy in the spare time and even wrote a list of them.
His Latin blood made his love passion naturally but I would say his secret of success with women was really obvious. He just literally asked every woman he met if she would sleep with him. Or even better, he moved the forward step and played around between physical touch and comfort zone. I guess he got slapped a lot, but he also got laid a lot too.
That’s basically killer advice about life.
Since I was a kid, I have strongly believed: “If you do not ask, the answer is always no.” and I put that in my email signature to present myself not by any certain title or degree.
We all struggling asking for help and things. We are terrified to get denied. Who likes it? Rejection is not easy. Also, to many guys I know, it’s the signal of weakness. No argument, no judgment here but how to make things work.
Let say you want to have a good idea, the best way is to have 100 ideas. Same thing with the good photo, good brief, good artwork, good client and yes good date and girlfriend : )
It also applies to highly productive and creative humans. Even someday things get slow and they barely draw or make any decent works, they still maintain the producing habit every day. Haruki Murakami still stares at his table, pen, and papers every night even he doesn’t write any single line once in a while.
Sharpen your tools and train your spirit to create.

Nomad

I lived in 3 countries last year and kept moving around Vietnam for travel this year. I thought hard when took any physical things, I didn’t want to possess and carry much stuff. For a while, I just commuted back and forth with a backpack.
My life had been nourished by experiences and culture appreciation. It’s overwhelming sometimes since the travel burned out my mental strength. I didn’t have many friends left. I felt lost in my own hometown. I didn’t have a statable job (still haha). During that hard time, drawing and writing saved my life. Moreover, I’m truly happy with all the care and support from my love : ) 나를 사랑 해줘서 고마워

Then I believe I can keep living this nomad for a while.

Here, there are some free spirit humans that hopefully can give you some inspiration. Besides the tender theme music and the pretty easy storyteller style, they are good references.

I have dreamed of you so much/ J’ai tant rêvé de toi

“I Have Dreamed Of You So Much” from Emma Vakarelova on Vimeo.

J’ai tant rêvé de toi par Robert Desnos

J’ai tant rêvé de toi que tu perds ta réalité.

Est-il encore temps d’atteindre ce corps vivant et de baiser sur cette bouche la naissance de la voix qui m’est chère ?

J’ai tant rêvé de toi que mes bras habitués, en étreignant ton ombre, à se croiser sur ma poitrine ne se plieraient pas au contour de ton corps, peut-être.

Et que, devant l’apparence réelle de ce qui me hante et me gouverne depuis des jours et des années, je deviendrais une ombre sans doute.

O balances sentimentales.

J’ai tant rêvé de toi qu’il n’est plus temps sans doute que je m’éveille. Je dors debout, le corps exposé à toutes les apparences de la vie et de l’amour et toi, la seule qui compte aujourd’hui pour moi, je pourrais moins toucher ton front et tes lèvres que les premières lèvres et le premier front venus.

J’ai tant rêvé de toi, tant marché, parlé, couché avec ton fantôme qu’il ne me reste plus peut-être, et pourtant, qu’à être fantôme parmi les fantômes et plus ombre cent fois que l’ombre qui se promène et se promènera allégrement sur le cadran solaire de ta vie.

 

I’ve dreamed of you so much that you are losing your reality.
Is there still time to touch this living body
And to plant on this mouth the birth
Of the voice that I hold dear?
I’ve dreamed of you so much that my arms accustomed
In embracing your shadow to crossing over my chest would not reach
Around your body, perhaps.
And that, before the real semblance of what has haunted
And governed me for days and years,
I would become a shadow, doubtless.
Oh sentimental hesitations.
I’ve dreamed of you so much that there is
Doubtless not time for me to wake up now.
I sleep standing up, my body exposed
To all semblance of life
And love and you, the only one
Who matters to me now,
I would be less able to touch your forehead
And your lips than the first lips
And first forehead to come my way.
I’ve dreamed of you so much, walked, spoken,
Slept with your ghost so much
That all that remains for me to do perhaps,
And yet, is to be a ghost
Among the ghosts and a hundred times
More shadow than the shadow which strolls
And will stroll blithely
On the sundial of your life.

Translated by Juan Esguerra