Fireworks. Happy New Year. 

Hi everybody.

I’m really sorry, and I regret to inform you that Voxyboys is closing.

Thank you for the readership, being either some loyal fan, or someone totally random searching for “xiaxue” on Google.

The reason for this is because there are some things I need to say out loud, yet keep to myself.

Keep in contact: =\

Friendster : http://profiles.friendster.com/voxy
LOL!!!!

Add me even if I don’t add you back :\

Oh, and before I forget, Happy New Year.

Have a great 2008!

Lxve and kixxes!!!
x0×0
Voxy/boys

(Just because the blog is closing, doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop blogging. Psshaw. Part 2….)

OMG.

7 PM Saturday wake up, never sleep.

Then 7 AM go to Bursary collect $800, and I sat at the edge and there was this girl who was playing with her loose baby tooth.

Then rushed to work. Late. 10.30 AM. Saw LeeCheng and Lewis, they are so like happy and stuff.

AND. I went to town impromptu with Standley Roseanne and Ferooze to eat dinner at JustAcia it was so nice and I taught them that condoms have a correct side to them.

Then I went to sleep in public?

Huh so embarrassing.

How I’m being invited to a countdown so I have to go do my stuff.

Sometimes I just like to take pictures of myself without any clothes on.

Sometimes I take pictures topless.

I got no shame?

Let’s look at some design elements.

I make the head center. Shiok.

No one, no one, no one   …. ~~~ it’s this song that is by Alicia Keys. Thanks for the Alicia Keys.

And I was thinking..

Let’s put these pictures on Friendster.

I can make friends this way.

Or maybe put these pictures in Facebook.

I haven’t touched that for so long.

What Friendster has, that Facebook doesn’t, is the stalker factor. Woot.

Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling
Do you feel my heart beating
Do you understand
Do you feel the pain
Or am I only dreaming… is this burning, an…

Hahahahaha. I love Eternal Flame. Especially Atomic Kitten’s version.

YOU MAKE ME SO HOT
MAKE ME WANNA DROP
YOU’RE SO RIDICULOUS
I CAN BARELY STOP

I CAN HARDLY BREATHE
YOU MAKE ME WANNA SCREAM
YOU’RE SO FABULOUSSS

You’re so good to me, baby. Baby.

I am in an insaniquarium.

Do you know how I spent my Christmas?

Well, I invited all of the gay boys I knew and we all had the most massive, most orgasmic .. orgy of our lives. There was so much cum in my living room, I can still smell it from my bedroom.

MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Actually no lah. *coy tone*

Nothing of that sort happened. But oh how I wish it did.

Eh. *innocent* Pretend I didn’t say THAT. I really am *innocent* in every possible, single, *innocent* way. And look at what word I’ve used. Single. Lol. Not that I mind.

But I spent my Christmas working in the day, and alone at night. Staying at home. A stark contrast to last year. It’s just so difficult when you compare… how extremely happy and lovely I had been, and 365 days later, it’s like…

An atomic bomb. A once happy place with butterflies and big blue mushrooms and rainbows and rabbits…

Now  — bomb –

…and there are shacks and the clouds are grey and there’s thunder and there’s no trace of life anywhere.

It sounds a bit exaggerated, but hey, that’s what analogies are for, what.

All is fine.

—–

Sometimes, when things go up till it reaches where Sir Edmund Hillary has gone before… plant the flag. Touch the skies. Take pictures of this achievement.

And maybe Father Time, that bitch, just huffs and puffs… Sir Edmund Hillary tumbles down hundreds of thousands of feet from the summit, bouncing off the icy terrain like a ragdoll (CHOY!) and when it’s over, he promises to stay firmly on the ground from now on. From the summit to sea-level.

Oh. His pride. He achieved something and yet…

And what motivation does Sir Edmund Hillary have, to try once more? It scares him that Father Time would pop by gingerly and God-knows-for-what-reason, blow him down again….

At least he still has his pictures.

Who else feels as emotionally lost as I do. Maybe it’s the boredom that’s just creeping up on my very neck, maybe it’s the guilt that I burden now, since I’ve done suspicious wrongs in the past.

What do I deserve? I toss and turn around in my bed. My usual insomnia. But why! I can’t help but think, then somewhere between the deep thoughts of my personal haven… I am emotionally lost.

I am disconnected within myself.
How do I find a reason to believe in me, what I don’t believe in myself.
How do I torture what I need not, to get faith in my own status.
———–
How do I not flourish within my gardens of which
Apples, they grow not. Instead, the jade vines creep, but
How. I do not reason.

My garden is dying a death even though it’s dead.
Where my compost that is joy, cannot fertilise what I need to grow my flowers upon.

My seeds. They are plenty. But small. But hopeless.
How do I plant them in my sweet little garden. How do I grow them, as I grow myself….
The sunlight that it needs. Nature apologize. There is no Sun in this wilderness spooky forest.
Water the seeds, it needs hydration! But the water springs no leaks from my eyes.
The liquid burns from the pus of pimples that grows due to the dirt!
The dirt is not compost. The dirt is not fertiliser.
The dirt is the sins, the guilt that I surpress, the sadness I repent.

A spade, a shovel, a rake, a pot. Secateurs, a pair of magical secateurs.
I want to farm myself a beautiful garden. I want these dead trees to bloom lushness and joy.
I want to see apple trees. Acorns on oaks. Weeping willows.
Can someone let the Sun through!
No. I am another of me. I am black. I am wicked. I block myself. I block you. I block me. No light.

No light.
Everyday wake up to see… darkness.
No light.

Maybe someday the Sun will shine, if I have an axe to chop these trees that have surrounded
The fragility of my feelings
But if I were to chop them down
I were to chop myself with them
Bloodshed only I could see, as it burns happily to darker skies

My seeds. Where do I place them now.
Grow they will not.
Who would want my seeds! They are vile! Wicked! Black!

You spawn hatred, disgust and malevolence with these seeds of mine.
These seeds which I hold dear in my hands.
In another’s, they take over with black black intent.

The clouds. Crimson. From the tears that transpire.
The ground. Crimson. From the blood that flows.
The heart. Crimson, gold. But not any longer.

On your knees. On your knees.

Beg for mercy, you piece of filth. Deserve you, this world does not.

Even the compost is purer than you. You are an object of contempt.

Leave this garden.

Leave.

But it’s mine.

Leave, I say.

Who is making me leave?

Me….

Me?

Or is it me?

Hello to all, it’s a wonderful Christmas Eve. The Christmas of 2007! Oh shit, and 2008 is just next week. And more importantly, the student internship thing. Oh. Panic panic.

Happy birthday to all the people whose birthdays are in December, by the way. Hugs and kisses.

I’m in an unusually festive mood right now. I’m scared. I hate feeling festive. I’m way too old to enjoy any special occasion any more.

I’m alone at home now.

Blogging. Trying to.

Hmm.

Merry Christmas to me. I’ll just turn on the switch to my imaginary Christmas tree in the living room and enjoy a bowl of Christmas soup by myself beside my imaginary Christmas fireplace where (imaginary, no duh) Santa will come down from.

I guess I’ve become a lot stronger as a person.

But I know you don’t want to hear all this bullshit. It’s always the same, isn’t it?

The “Continue reading this entry” was so redundant.

It’s 12 months. I don’t want to remember the exact date, but I know when it started, it also ended. Happy for you I hope.

I still do.

How can I not. I thought you were special. Regardless of what others thought. It’s a huge shame. But I just need to learn how to…

It’s really hard for me.

I keep telling myself. I’m over it. I’m sooooo over it. But secretly I am not. Secretly, inside, I am yearning for what I adored so much… I guess everyone has to get through this phase, but at the rate I’m going, it seems that I’m stuck. Or worse, moving backwards.

It’s hard to read my December ‘06 archives. I dare not read it, because I know every single word… that fucking haunts me every single second I’m living and breathing.

I’m sorry it turned out the way it did.

I’m more sorry that, till this day, I still don’t have a rat’s clue about… What I Did Wrong.

Lesbians everywhere. Some kind of Lesbian night thing. But the upside is, I got some NewUrbanMale vouchers (first 500 attendees la, walao eh___) but I just now stupidly went to roll it. Who wants rolled NUM vouchers? 20% off undergear leh.

Some looked like boys, some looked like gay boys.

Some boys looked like butches.

But the gay boys can’t be gay.

Because the guys could be straight. OMG THIS WORLD IS SO CORRUPTED.

And there was this transsexual, a gay-boy-dancer-turned-woman-diva. Lipsyncing to “Listen” by Beyonce. Diva. Much. Oh God it’s so hard to describe in words.

You’ll never guess who else I saw at Zouk…

Naziehah, Hazwani… yes. Yes. Yes. I saw them. Lol. Are they lesbians or what. Also saw Jo and Eunice. Hmm. Well. It’s an eye-opener la. But the occasion was promoting herstory.ws and I was there, staring at how nice the interior of Zouk was. Eleven claps.

At 12 ++ AM it was dancing time. Everyone was quite shy-shy at first, but as things went on, people started going crazy.

I forgot to mention there was this (femme) contestant who poured water down her breasts. And the audience loved her. Walao eh. Machiam Paris Hilton never do before. [There's this contestant thingy la, but I'm to BHB to explain.]

I cannot dance laarrr.

I’m too Para. And no one dance Para in clubs right, that’s like so, like, totally lame. Para is just a casual daytime activity. Clubbing, is a casual NIGHTtime activity. Must dance like vampire lor, hor, hor? The only song that I could dance Para, was sadly, Tokyo Drift.

WA.

LAO.

EH.

BITCH BITCH BITCH.

Anyway.

Some bungs have such deep voices. Some femmes are so pretty and dare-I-say, straight-acting. You would never know if there was a lesbian femme in an MRT with you. Like seriously. So pretty so sweet. Why they don’t like boys?! I simply don’t get it!!!!

The lesbian world is so different from the gay world, my jaw is still dropping now. Ok, not THAT different, but hohohohohohohhoho I’m exposed to such.. things. At my sweet tender age of 18 leh.

I saw a girl kiss a girl in the dark, it was so damn romantic. Damn erotic!!

Who knew that Singapore would have so many damn lesbians!!~!!

Girls kept touching me.

NO! DON’T THINK DIRTY YET!

It’s just a physical way of saying “Excuse me” because you know club very crowded, right? Just some slight gentle push over the direction they want you to scoot to.

And me? I stared at people. Some girls with huge boobs. Dancing around like sluts. Humping each other. No penis la, nice try.

I took a few sips of dunno-what-the-fuck-alcoholic-drink it was but hey, I was still sober and I didn’t get a hangover at all. In the morning I was as fresh as a daisy. (Really.)

I was really uncomfortable with the company I was with. 3 lesbians. And 2 of them happen to be femmes and their hips were touching mine while we were dancing and it made me feel super duper awkward, can? Damn la.

I sooooo want to go clubbing again, but not to any lesbian function, TYVM. Before anybody go pour water down their body again. Aiyah. Traumatise la. The audience’s cheers were so damn fucking ra-ra ~~~ -.-

OMG I SWEAR I HAVE THE MOST BORINGEST BLOG EVER.

I think I forgot how to blog.

Maybe I go back to basics and join all the fish in the sea by typing:

“Today I went to work it was very crowded but afterwards i had nothing to do so I taught a colleague some Good English and now she knows lots of words that’s really nice, polite, and gives me chills.”

Or maybe

“After work I went to para and there was this boy who was waving his arms about he looked really really funny and really had no sense of style nor rhythm which is super ironic in a sense because he choose “FREESTYLE” so fuck, the game’s not free, and neither is the style. arm waver look so gay.”

But also, this morning, my mother went for an interview with Motorola.

She’s getting a job. I’m so happy.

After I told her about me planning to quit, she’s trying to find a job to support this low income family, in which I am part of. I feel a bit selfish for working for myself and eating all these damn expensive, yet delicious food all over Singapore. Lol. I sound like some kind of Makansutra King, but I assure you, I don’t pop by coffee shops and talk to ah peks. Yes. Well.

Student Internship is coming, and seriously my mind is a blank slate of confusion. I don’t know where to start, how to do about doing it. The companies, they really want someone as screw-able as me? (I don’t mean that in an anal sense.) But I don’t have confidence in my “design” skills, I’m just too lazy and easily distracted. You know why? Because I’ve always been lazy and easily distracted since the day I was born.

I grew up mousey and shy and gaygay. I have no idea how “dancing” came about, but it just did. Mother caught me dancing sometimes. Oh how embarrassing. She and me always catch each other doing things like singing and dancing. [She doesn't dance though, I can't imagine my mom dancing with her huge ... ] OMG MY MOTHER HAS HUGE. But that’s not the point. And don’t even try to finish my already finished sentence, I rather like my words to dangle off and spun into a blank slate of confusion.

I heck care about blog views anymore. If people want to read the dead rotting log that is Voxyboys, then feel free. The log is almost as dead as a guinea pig, and rotting like the compost in my brain. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but I need to find myself fast. If I’m too slow, like the snail that I saw on my way back home near the Yishun Swimming Complex, then I would be screamed upon by young childs.

Because I’d probably grow up to be homeless, unemployed, poor, divorced (ok, let’s say I went into marriage around 4 times) with one rebel child who pierces his everything (!!!) and goes to Sembawang Music Center outlets to steal Metallica CDs. Because he hasn’t heard of Limewire. Because he doesn’t have a laptop. Because he doesn’t have a proper education.

I’d probably have all my teeth dropped out and be wearing those cute little thingamajiggies — dentures. My uncles wear them (but not direct blood, thank God) so I wonder, if I reach middle age, would I be as unfortunate as to befall poor dental hygiene and be forced - thanks to my high vanity and image consciousness - to look good ….?

The future scares me.

I’m thinking way too much, and you’re probably going to discourage me from doing so, but the future is the only place in my sad little life that I look forward too. Because I’m living such a damn good life now. God knows what might happen to me. I am scared for the future that it might become bleak and psychopath-ish and I wind up being somebody’s callboy. Whatever a callboy is supposed to be.

I am a mournful peasant. I haven’t touched Adobe Illustrator ever since Prepress. Prepress. How many weeks! Can you possibly count! I doubt I remember how to vector myself anymore.

Sorry about the obsession over myself. I think I have such a high ego that everything in my world revolved around me and how gooooood I smell. Today I smelled really bad. Because I danced like mad today.

I have got to stop spending money on that overpriced arcade machine known as Para Para. Fuck I’m already damn veteran and can cheat the arrows like no one’s business. So what’s keeping me? What’s preventing me from wanting what I want most! But, what DO I want most? I only want what I can’t have, I only need what I don’t want, and that’s quoted from a damned t.A.T.u song no one has heard of besides myself, because I am such a huge fan of trashy Europop. And yes, I love the Numa Numa song (Dragostea Din Tei) till this very day. I memorised the weird Roman-ish language and I can sing it from heart.

I hated the period of time when the song got popular all of a sudden thanks to “Chicken Little,” using that song to promotise (L-M-A-O promotise!) … ok fine, I mean promote, the movie. Then there’s this annoying Chinese cartoon singer “bu pa bu pa” whatever the hell she’s mumbling about cockroaches and whatnot and the likes…. hah. I hate the insipidness of music: people listen and throw it away like disposable income that comes in the form of notes, treble clefs, beats and pauses; ta-titi-ta and whatever you wish to describe it.

And I’m deliberately making this post very long so you people can really dive into the pool of my mind. But be careful of the sharks! Bring your snorkels, some masking tape, and a boyfriend, and we’ll have some fun in my wet dreams eh.

I don’t have wet dreams at all because I masturbate regularly.

And I don’t get why I can’t be so damn OPEN with sexuality.

Is it a big deal if I’m so OPEN about it? Is it a PROBLEM? Is it a sin? A crime? I’m not committing adultery over here, people. When I say I masturbate regularly… what makes you think that Limjian, Ferooze or Xvan don’t! If they don’t masturbate, they’ll get wet dreams (I’m creating a very strong mental picture for you, aren’t I?) and I, for one, hate the stickiness in the morning. I want to wake up fresh and semenfree. Which is usually the case. My pituitary gland (or whatever dumb gland that controls the part around the rectum) is pretty solid. Steady pom pee pee.

I wonder how many times I masturbated in my life so far.

I never bothered to keep track.

But theoretically, let’s just say 365 days a year. I jerk every 2.5 days… that makes 146 jack offs per year.

I started at 14 years old, and now I’m 18 (give or take a month or so) … that’s 5 years… 146 x 5 = 730 times!

730 times of masturbation I’ve done so far! Theoretically of course. I mentioned theoretically, right? Could be much more. And if you want to count solo masturbation, you minus a (discreet amount) and woohoo!

But no one REALLY bothers to count how many times they jerk off. Because they’ll get lost in the activity. The moaning. The groaning. The huffing. The puffing. I would know. You would know. We both would know. Because we’ve done it before. All of us. And if you haven’t done so, you are obviously lying to yourself.

I can’t lie to myself. I’m a guilt-filled man. If I litter, I’d feel tremendous amount of guilt, and I stuff the litter into my pockets, bag or somewhere on me.

I remember in Secondary 1, I was chewing gum, but I was afraid I would get caught by that Felix the Cat guy, (SO DISGUSTING I THINK HE’S A GAY IN RETROSPECT!) so I put the gum beneath my shorts. Omg regret of the week! The gum hardened and it took like AGES AND AGES to get the sticky Malaysian-smuggled gumgum from my grey secondary school shorts.

I think I look cute in uniform.

So does Aaron.

Wow Aaron is so hot. I think I’m still not over him, regardless of how much I don’t say anything. When he’s in his NCC uniform, oh my goodness. Ladies and I just want to collapse on the floor and lick the footprints that he left in the snow while he was touring with his band in the Soviet Union.

It’s funny how I can almost taste people’s future on the tongue tip of my exclusively juxtapositioned third eye/crystal ball/tea cup reading. Just because Aaron plays guitar… hah. Omg.

How he was able to give me a feeling that no other human being on Earth has given me before. It’s weird. Still is, to this day.

Hmm. I would want one last request from Aaron, if he’s reading this, but he’s probably not because as you all know by now, my blog is a dead rotting log; relevantly called Voxyboys. I request for him to invite me to his wedding. So I know that he picked a fair lady (not in the least racist way I use ‘fair’, I’m just hypermedieval, stfu) and hahahaha. I want to play with his children.

Whereas mine will pierce his [[!!everywhere!!]] and steal CDs from Sembawang Music Center. Sianz.

Hello all. It’s been a long time since I blogged because of the mood I’m in lately.

Nowadays I sleep beyond 4 AM. Shock la. And yesterday, I slept at 5 AM, just to wake up at 7 for work.

Oh speaking of work.

There were 3 power failures today. And customers would go, “Oooohhhhh….” like some kind of disappointed mob choir. And I hate that the lack of Vitamin A in my body would cause me to go night-blind. Hate it so much. Not to mention today, I put on the contact lens in my left eye inverted, so it felt weird, though it posed no harm. Just some discomfort was all.

And I’ve also heard from external sources that Charmain is wearing…

A gold ribbon around her neck.

Like, what?

So daring!

GOLD RIBBON?

Wah! Wanna compete, har? Hahahahaha. I only wore red and black. Nothing as grand as gold. Someone apparently went ribbon shopping.

I thought it was only sweet little innocent virgin boy sluts like me who wear ribbons around our necks to show our slender necks to those vampire chasers. Mmhmm. And if a girl wears a ribbon, it’s OK.

I’m slowly getting familiar-y with all the “new birds” at work, if that’s what a manager tells me.

Hahaha. I am so at a loss of words to speak.

Oh yeah. That day I went to Heeren and Standley and I saw Darren. We always see Darren at Heeren. Because it rhymes!! OMG I have nothing to blog about.

My life is sucked by a MMORPG.