World Changing Albums That Didn't Get Cut (Another Fantasy Bites The Dust)

The only album cover I ever designed in my short life.
Album would have been awesome if we did the demo properly.
Serious.

(Weeps quietly in a corner somewhere)

I'm sure there's still opportunity for groupie following, rock superstardom for over 30's.

(Weeps harder in a more quiet corner somewhere else).

(Cue Queen's bass line from Another One Bites the Dust)

Breakfast Table

When you said goodbye to me the other day at

The breakfast table with a pink note stuck on the mat
Your pretty writing says some ugly things that's been on your mind
You found somebody and you want a little bit of time

You say you're sorry it didn't work out the way
We talked and planned about it just the other day
We stayed on for a little while because you didn't know
What or when or how or why, but you just had to go

Chorus:
How did it grip you like it was everywhere
And then just disappear like it was never there
I burned twice as bright for you but you never shine
Now I stand here breathing waiting for my line

When you said goodbye to me the other day at
The breakfast table all your things should have been packed
Your blissful kisses and your warmth still linger in the air
Wish I could have lied and said I didn't really care

How did it grip you like it was everywhere
And then just disappear like it was never there
I burned twice as bright for you but you never shine
Now I stand here breathing waiting for my line

Samui Sunset

April 2004
Koh Samui, Thailand

From the Ground Up

May 2006
Hua Hin, Thailand

Little Canyons

May 2006
Hua Hin, Thailand

The Question

May 2006
Hua Hin, Thailand

this is how shit happens (in malaysia...and almost everywhere else!).

In the Beginning was The Plan.

And then came the Assumptions.

And the Assumptions were without form.

And The Plan was completely without substance.

And the darkness was upon the face of the workers. “It is a crock of shit and it stinketh.”

And the workers went unto the Supervisors and sayeth, “It is a pail of dung and none may abide the odor thereof.”

And the Supervisors went unto their Managers and sayeth unto them, “It is a container of excrement and it is very strong. Such that none may abide it.”

And the Managers went unto the Directors and sayeth, “It is a vessel of fertilizer, and none may abide it.”

And the Directors went unto the Vice Presidents. And sayeth unto them, “It promotes growth, and is very powerful.”

And the Vice Presidents went unto the President. And sayeth unto him, “This new Plan will actively promote the growth And efficiency of this Company
And these areas in particular.”

And the President looked upon the Plan. And he saw that it was good, and the Plan became Policy.

And this is how Shit Happens!

- from another website.

Silencing the Scream

The Scream. By Edvard Munch. I fell at first sight. Without any comprehension. Like a meteor from the sky - inevitable, angrily fighting against its descent, explosive. And yet still having a best friend who spoke to you, understood you, resonated with you.

I like where the subject is placed, right in the centre and closest to the viewer. But it's not because he wants to be there, he has no choice in the matter, the artist has framed him for us. My first impression of it was dark. It still feels predominantly so. The work spoke to me of acute loneliness, no, something more - an alienation so severe that it warped the reality around him and deformed him into something unrecognizable, inhuman almost.

The two figures near the top left corner represent the only community closest to him. But even they are too far away, barely discernible at first glance. You cannot even tell whether they are running with concern towards him, or perhaps they are walking or cycling idly by enjoying the view of the seaside, or just maybe they are just standing passively on a ship deck at a distance safe to watch him. Whatever the case maybe, one thing is for sure - they are too late. The entire canvas of his reality has already been twisted and warped perhaps beyond return.

But what is that brown, perhaps wooden, pole or stick that runs along the right side of the picture? At first I thought it was just that until I looked at what appeared to be an angry orange almost fuming sky, and an ocean that looked in turmoil but was calm above because there are ships sailing on it. Look at how the orange sky seems to almost crash into 'wooden stick' (let's just use that for now). See how, in contrast, the sinister deep blue ocean seems resigned that it would never breach the wooden stick and has settled into peaceful co-existence with it. That wooden stick is the edge of his reality. That he stands so close to it, indicates very clearly that he's on the edge of losing it - his grip on reality, his sanity perhaps.

But is there hope? Perhaps. But even so, it's a very slim one. Perhaps, if those people there manage to reach him, and not just physically but emotionally or spiritually, they just may save him. This is represented I think firstly by what I alluded to earlier -he stands close to the edge, but he hasn't breached it yet. Then look closer at the raging sky, beyond it there is blue sky and puffy white clouds. The promise of normality, visible in the distance, hints of hope. And there are still identifiable semblances of human life - the two people behind, the ships, the clearly identifiable sky and ocean, the wooden walkway. There is still something recognizably human in him and that necessarily means, he is someone worth saving.

And finally we turn to the subject himself. There is not much to look at. He's deformed and deteriorating into something alien. As an aside, for those acquainted with UFO (Unidentified Flying Object) literature would know that some of those people that claim to have been abducted by UFOs have sketched aliens whose likeness bears a strikingly resemblance to the subject. It is hard to tell whether he is shocked, surprised or blind. Is he yelling a warning? or perhaps, shouting his surprise? or maybe, and this is what I felt, he was screaming his lungs and soul out of frustration, out of helplessness, out of the sheer unbearable desperation of his loneliness, like a vast flat unending desert that stretched out under a cloudless and starless night. And that for me is the ultimate tragedy of The Scream. Nobody can hear him. Nobody can help him. Even as the internal chaos of his mind is spilling into his perception of reality, interfering with it, warping it, and recolouring it even as it distorted it. And that is also our relation to the picture - without sound. Nobody would ever be able to hear it - even Munch himself.

So this work for me is a metaphor about some of our deepest tragedies. They will be inevitable, intensely unbearable, and just maybe, somebody may be able to help us, but no, they will not reach us in time; but mostly, all the suffering will be done alone, with only the company of our own screams because in the cases of the most profound tragedies, all most people can do with us is sympathise, sometimes they can understand, and rarely, very rarely, someone can empathise enough to help us calm those inner screams of ours. And finally, silence the scream.