My Milkshakes

La-la, la-la, laa

Huckabees

Hannah Choi!

goodbye!

See? I live by the comics. COMIC-LIFE!
I'm off to L.A. and San Francisco.

'Til then, fellow readers.

laaast night

Last night Hannah came over to the flat. It was a fairly quite night: a bottle of wine each and Chinese takeout for dinner. It was a night of Radiohead and chocolate and kent cigarettes and drinking on the floor of my room. Just like Huia... good times.

Would you believe that you can fit half a bottle of wine in one of these comically large glasses?

comedy gold

I am back in Auckland.

Goddam right you know what that means: isolation, sadness, mindless self-destruction and more comics.

My brother bought me a new camera, but alas the selfish bastards at Sony in their ploy to monopolise the world of electronics (that's right! you thought Apple? YOU THOUGHT WRONG) made their own special memory card that you need a special Sony reader for. I don't own one of these Sony card readers therefore I can't upload the comedy gold which is currently on my camera. Don't blame me, blame fucking Sony.

I'm not sure how much comi-quality I can guarantee though. Hannah told me yesterday that I wasn't miserable enough to write comics. Bitch gon' be proven wrong. I will have nought else to do save be miserable and draw comics considering I spent at least 150 dollars on booze and cigarettes last night.

Fuck you Hannah.

Instead of a comic, I give you the hilarious photo above. How much juxtaposition can there be in one photo? A Lot!

Sitting in the shade, surrounded by wine, quietly gritting my teeth as I eat my bleeding rare steak. It's the good life. Those two kids don't even know.

I'm sorry for deserting everyone in Christchurch. I felt bad about leaving the day after "The Great Earthquake".

haopuy halloeeen

akig me not sleep for so log.
tio is like 6 in the morning. i \can hear the birds and i feel terrors
I t leffel terrors.
'I'mm sorry


hARRY HALLOEEN EVERYONE
hannah is

soon-tang

Dress Code.

Click to zoom and take heed.

Blue Monday

Note to self:

• Don't drink on Sundays.
• Don't Stay over.
• Cut down on the fags: it shouldn't hurt to breathe.
• Drinking three times a week IS excessive.
• Being in a constant state of the vomit-fears is no way to spend a day.
  

HANDS MAKE

A blog about all of the clothing I've made, the jewellery, the pigs teeth necklaces, the prints I've done, the paintings, the sculptures, and the photographs I've taken. The children of my two hands.

Lonely Martini fridays

some say: "will you marry me?" "I do."

cast in sterling silver.

time goes by

garlic and parsley

I'm still waiting for my goddam bowl back.
porridge is not the same from an impractically long jar.

Porridge in itself is not that nice, in texture, in appearance, in taste; you have to disguise its unpleasantness with honey or turpentine or something. It only exists for people like me: gulping it down as fast as possible whilst taking care not to burn the inside of my mouth thinking "it'llkeepmealive.it'llkeepmealive.it'llkeepme..."

eating it from a jar is just adding insult to injury.

The CURE

a typical night in the cell.

nice jacket hannah.

a good day

these two things make a good evening in.

as does Edgar Allan Poe.

Bitch took the bowl.

This is actually more dismal than amusing. People take cutlery and weird things from the kitchen, EVEN THOUGH you have little wire baskets that clearly suggests: "THIS STUFF BELONGS TO SOMEONE; DON'T TAKE IT OR THEY WILL HAVE TO HAVE THEIR SOUP FROM A FUCKING PICKLE JAR!!!".