Mary Jane's Ex is dead.

The band has split up, and there are a multitude of reasons for this happening, none of which I feel like discussing here, or explaining. If you want to know, fill out the contact form.

Needless to say, it was a shock to the system when the dust finally settled after the initial hoo-ha. I guess it means I am now on the lookout for a new main band. If anyone is on the lookout for an articulate, intelligent vocalist/frontman, with performing experience on TV and onstage, and an intimate knowledge of Incubus, Muse, 30 Seconds to Mars and The Academy Is, as well as a flair for songwriting and showmanship, drop me a line.

My life has taken a few more unexpected turns lately. Not all good, not all bad. I guess it balances out, in a cosmically perverse way. I am not one to judge the events of recent times too quickly, so perhaps I shall let my hindsight colour my perceptions when the time is right.

In other random and irrelevant news, Heroes Season 1 is coming to an end soon. The story arc has matured and grown alot better than I had expected, with no 'typical' plot twists or gimmicks. The twists and turns themselves are not of the "I've seen this before" variety, but ones that make you go "What the fuck what fuck what the fuck??"

For those not in the know about the show (and if you're not a fanboy/fangirl, you probably wouldn't know about it at all), during the tailend of Season 2, which will start airing this September on NBC in the United States, there will be a spinoff called Heroes: Origins, which will showcase 6 new characters. There will be an internet poll, and the most popular new character will join the permanent cast for Season 3.

And speaking of TV shows, there will definitely be a second season of that lovable new sitcom, 30 Rock, which stars Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin. Easily one of my favourite shows from TV (= Technically speaking, I don't really watch these shows on TV anymore, since I am a fan of that (to laymen) unfathomable technology called BitTorrent, which incidentally, has had one of its major supporters, ThePirateBay.org (of Sweden) outlawed and shutdown. *sigh* The misunderstood nature of P2P networking.

I guess the mention of the otuside world makes a nice change of pace for this blog. (=

Unexpected, aye?

And there I was, looking through the remnants of my past.

There are many names in my past.

Faces.

Memories.

Hands.

Bodies.

And somehow or other, even though I have continually vowed to not let anything and everything hang on to me and get to me, each name evokes a painful reaction. A complicated and ridiculously overpowered one, that defies any rational explanation.

I would usually do what I can to share my experiences with what few readers I have. I try to be as explicit as possible without being too specific.

Not merely to confuse or be purposely vague. Those that know me have suggested these reasons to me as to why I have made a conscious decision to not mention names, or highlight places where things happen. To not actually put my life out on show.

And how does this tie in with the past?

Because I do not mention the names for the reason of protection. For their sake? Yes, I suppose. I do not want these people to have anything to do with the taint that I have had to deal with in regards to my own life. They do not deserve to be tarred with the same ill-advised misunderstood brush of stupidity that I am constantly afflicted with from malfunctioning delinquents and grudge bearers.

I also need to protect myself.

Because it is somehow better to recall these memories and re-live these dreams and nightmares as an outsider to it all. To lessen, and somehow diminish, that sharp stabbing pain of regret. That dull ache and harrowing chasm of loss.

A pain so acute, that it is almost physical in its manifestation.

And that same pain, and emoness (if you will), has spilled forth across this page on more than one occasion. And was even more prominent in an older blog that I once had. *shrugs*

I guess there are plenty out there who hate me for what I have done. Heck, I don't know what I'm doing myself, half the time. Perhaps if I can't name names, then perhaps pseudonames will do. Go read their blogs. Go read how I have treated them like crap and made them pay for my own stupidity and incompetence. Of how I can't even stay stable for longer than 2 months in anything I do, because I just don't want to get hurt. What do I end up doing? Hurting them first. Yeah, wonderful tactic, I know.

But here are two of the most recent ones.

Bodicea

Violet The Witch

Maybe my name is in there. Maybe it isn't. But these are people I have hurt, and hurt out of my own jackass nature.

I guess moments like these are dangerous, considering the harm that you could do to yourself by being completely honest about all the bullshit you've spouted and all the shit you've created. Especially when you realise that it's not just you that is affected, but those around you as well. The awareness of how little I realise my responsibilities to others is dawning on me, slowly, bit by bit, one notch at a time.

And it is perhaps only recently, that I have done enough growing up to fully understand how remarkably twisted and decidedly ridiculous my actions have been. How sadistic I have been. How crazily evil I have been. It has gotten to the point that I do not know words awful or dreadful enough to fully describe myself.

I've been a jerk.

I have been selfish. Arrogant. Off-hand. Disrespectful. Self-serving. Have I used anyone? I think I have. But I just don't, or just don't want to, remember it all. I've been quite the mess.

Three months away from home, full of partying, smoking, and god knows what else I was doing, and here I am. And my heart is still away from home. It is certainly not here, with me, in my hometown.

And we go back to reminiscences of the past. And the pain of the memories the past brings.

Names. Faces. Hands. Bodies.

I was hopeless before, and I plead forgiveness for all my sins.

But at least now, I've got hope.

I just found this video of us on the internet (YouTube, naturally)



And well, it's not one of our better covers, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

If you're all wondering, we're doing a cover of Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight. As you can probably see from the video, there are only three of the original members performing - Myself, the bassist, and the lead guitarist. We had our friends stand in on second guitar and drums.

The gig was held at a a local shopping mall in Kuching called Tun Jugah mall, and was our first (and so far only) performance since Blast Off ended. Speaking of blast off, here are the only pictures I have of our one and only TV performance to date. Hopefully, if we do make it as a band, there will be more.



Us on stage, and yours truly in light blue at the front. :D



Being judged. From left to right, Drummer, Vocalist, Guitarist, Bassist, Guitarist.



Mary Jane's Ex @ Blast Off Season 3. (= Good times.

And so I sat there, listening to you smile.

Watching how your words flitted through the air, as you spoke of the one that was always there. Of how you feel the same way, yet cannot make the final step. Of how you wish it were all as simple as you want to make it out to be.

I wonder though, what goes on behind those animated eyes and beneath that unkempt mop of hair. Beyond the frameless glasses and the love for the exaggerated and overstated. There is more to you than what you have shown me, more than just the expressionism of your unuttered words.

I want to know more. One day I know, you'll let me in.

It was good to jam with the boys again after such a long break away from our own brand of music. Mary Jane's Ex still lives. Hehe.

Two new original tracks were what we worked on today. One a slow-burner that slowly builds up to a very uplifting and grand crescendo of sound, the other a hard-rocking tune thats edgy and full of attitude. I love them both, as much as I love our first proper original track together, 'Kill Mary Abuse Jane'. And its at times like these I remember how much I love the music we make, and the chemistry we all have.

It is no coincidence that this jamming session has to do with the return of our original drummer from Dubai. I am genuinely glad that he's back, because it seemed to get everyone's mojo back, and everyone was ready to shift into gear for that criticial element that makes good music just sound awesome, and great.

I tried my best to come up with a good vocal track for both songs, and was reasonably pleased with the results that my yelling, screaming and humming managed to conjure up. I do, however, feel as though there is still something in my vocal work that is lacking, that stops it from truly becomming international or world class. I am aware of my limits and how best to work around them, and I am also aware of what I am truly capable of.

It is not easy to be a vocalist. Singer? No, thats not what you call the frontman of a band. Singers have composers to write stuff, and then they'll do a song based on how the composer envisioned it, with a garnishing of their own talent to make it their 'own.' When you are faced with having to find lyrics and melodies whilst trying to understand the flow of guitars and drums and basslines put together, the task gets difficult, to say the least.

But the challenge, needless to say, is why I willingly stress myself over the requirement to find that extra bit of polish, that will turn a tune, into a song. Maybe more.

Blast Off ended months ago. I haven't gotten on a stage since then. I haven't done a live show, and I haven't written as much new music as I would have liked. And it's something that irks me in a way.

I miss performing, more so than I thought I would.

The crowds, the rush of getting out on stage, hearing the music and vocals pouring out of the speakers and feeling part of something bigger and special. It's not something that you can replicate anywhere else. As any fellow musician or performer would tell you, there is something magical and immensely subtle about doing a live show for an appreciative crowd.

Perhaps the idea of subtlety is somewhat alien when applied to a group larger than 10 people (although our first ever live show did have, well, around 10 people watching. Unsurprisingly, they were actually groupies for the band that was on after us. That was a weird day). But there just is. A slow, barely perceptible undercurrent of mood and feeling that translates itself through the studying gazes of an expectant and generally tough-to-please bunch of jaded music listeners.

There is just something rewarding about getting people worked up and away from their own lethargy. Of connecting to them even though there is no obvious physical link. Of giving everyone the same blood rush you're feeling. Communicating in a universal medium that everyone can understand, no matter how obscure the words or how technical the beat.

I love my music, and I love how there is truth within it, no matter how heavily disguised the message can seem to be. One day, perhaps, I will be able to indulge in my passion for performing once again.

And I miss being able to weave my words in a fashion that is a hell lot better than what I have managed tonight.

And to think that I didn't think we'd actually hang out till late. That phone incident was hilarious though. (=

More stoires about elephants and bananas? You betcha. XD

History has a rather sadistic tendency to repeat itself. The notion that each day, is a new day, and should be experienced as such, seems rather stretched in the face of repeated and familiar adversity. Of course, is it not the curse of humanity to replicate mistakes and their consequences?

Deja Vu, I believe, is the expression for it. A feeling that you've been through all of this before.

My moment of Deja Vu came this morning. And in all fairness, I should have seen it coming. But I made that mistake again. I decided to wilfully close off any potential negativity. I wanted to sincerely believe in the positive. Almost to the exclusion of everything else. Would the cost be as dear as it was before, as it might be now? I would not proclaim to know, unless I have gained the ability of Divination (Professor Trelawney, eat your heart out).

I would be the first to champion the ideal that not all reality is rooted in negativity and gloom. Indeed, it is a misconception that many are willing to believe, based on the black/white saying that 'Truth Hurts'. It has formed the basis of many a scream-o band and has spawned a semi-goth sub-culture that can be tenuously labeled as 'emo'. Without indulging too much in psycho-analytical commentaries on the state of society's emotional maturiy, needless to say, it's a bit overblown.

You can't fucking physically die from a broken heart, and advertising the act of slitting your wrists is something I cannot possibly accept as ever being 'cool' or 'trendy'. But then again, I am a dinosaur when it comes to certain psychological concepts that have somehow embedded themselves in the mainstream of said sub-culture, if such a thing actually exists.

Then again, my crime, is of an opposite and diamtertically opposed nature to that of the emo kid. Let's call it, the Sunshine syndrome. How so? By believing there is always good to be found, no matter where you look. That everything has a positive spin to it. That there is always hope to be had and dreams to be made from anything. And everything.

I am guilty, of over-positiveness. In light of the various misdemeanours of the emos and semi-goths, I suppose my transgressions do not seem much. I merely liv eon in eternal hope, no matter how disappointed I am by how things turn out. Yes, there is pain, and there is lots of it. And I soldier on as best as I can.

But there is always a breaking point. That's a very human thing. And I do not know how many times I have breached my breaking point.

It's ironic for me to think so, considering that I indeed became a 'closet emo' preceding these past few months (No wrist slitting or boy-kissing, mind), and have been guilty of over-indulging my negative emotions. I suppose it happens. But in turning out from this phase of negativity, have I over-compensated? Have I, in fact, been infected/cursed/blessed with SunShine Syndrome?

I wouldn't know. And I don't expect anyone to tell me.

Deja Vu. But I will live on in hope.

It was late.

Very late.

I stubbed out the cigarette on the pavement, letting out a sigh of the last few wisps of smoke. The night seemed to be turning into a waste of time. It was ticking towards 4, and I hadn't done much at all.

"What are we doing here again...?" The question went unanswered. Nobody else seemed particularly keen on answering either. I heard a long sigh being let out.

An MPV had pulled up, apparently. I walked past, back to our own car, not really interesed in knowing who was in it. I reached for another cigarette in the car, wondering how many I could smoke in one go if I was bored enough to do so. It seemed rather bleak.

And then I saw her.

White dress. A smile. Cute eyes. And something... more. I do not know what possessed me to make a move when still very sober and rational, yet there I was, trotting way over to the car, speaking to the mysteriously beautiful creature in the front seat. I was perplexed.

"Hello..."

"Hi.." (=

And it was all very short, almost formal. The normal pleasantries. Small talk. And I was happily transfixed by the adorable smile, willingly making a slight fool out of myself for the enjoyment of a stranger. How quaint. Almost... old-fashioned. I enjoyed every second of it.

Almost as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. I had even forgotten to get her phone number. But it was alright. At least we shared a moment together. Life, after all, is a series of moments.

And of all the brief moments I've ever had, I'm glad, that I shared one with you.

I actually had somethin more substantial to say, but fuck it.

Happy New Year everyone. ;)