Diva Lambert vs Kris
Adam's version of No Boundaries wayyyyyyyy better than Kris'.
Yea I am talking about the studio version.
Hmm.
Yea I am talking about the studio version.
Hmm.
Posts
American Idol 2009
The Show
The show was a pure so-so. Diva Lambert did not deliver his best, his voice was shaky, confident level was too high, performace was over the top, the 'trench coat' was so cheap, the last song written by Kara was great but it turned shit when Adam sang it.
The only plus was when he sang "A Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke. Brilliant and heart warming.
Kris, dubbed as the underdog in this competition wow-ed me from the start til the end. The first song was great, I love it, the second song was genius. So laid back and easy and I totally love it too. Like the antidote for the first song, his voice melted in my heart. And what I believe that the song Kara had written was for dead wife whoring Danny Gokey, was came true when Kris too, delivered the song like a pile of dung in someone's throat.
The Result
Kris won. The first girl who got eliminated sang worst than a cat strangled by a ladybag, and the precious expressions emerged from Simon's, Kara's and the rest of the judges were PRICELESS. Eat that.
As what I expected before, Kris will win, and he did that. I am proud of him, such a sweet man of course.
I don't know what will happen to him later. But he will survive.
The show was a pure so-so. Diva Lambert did not deliver his best, his voice was shaky, confident level was too high, performace was over the top, the 'trench coat' was so cheap, the last song written by Kara was great but it turned shit when Adam sang it.
The only plus was when he sang "A Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke. Brilliant and heart warming.
Kris, dubbed as the underdog in this competition wow-ed me from the start til the end. The first song was great, I love it, the second song was genius. So laid back and easy and I totally love it too. Like the antidote for the first song, his voice melted in my heart. And what I believe that the song Kara had written was for dead wife whoring Danny Gokey, was came true when Kris too, delivered the song like a pile of dung in someone's throat.
The Result
Kris won. The first girl who got eliminated sang worst than a cat strangled by a ladybag, and the precious expressions emerged from Simon's, Kara's and the rest of the judges were PRICELESS. Eat that.
As what I expected before, Kris will win, and he did that. I am proud of him, such a sweet man of course.
I don't know what will happen to him later. But he will survive.
Decaf
"If there's anything that I need to hate, is you""OK. I am so so sorry. You want coffee?"
"Iced. Macchiato. Extra caramel"
.
.
.
."Your tall Caramel Macchiato. Iced
"You still mad at me?"
"Depends. The coffee. And you"
"This coffee is made of Love. Full of love. You should love this"
"Thanks. Here, take this kiss"
"Love you, sweetypie"
Monday
Being in the proximity of someone you love, close enough to smell his after shave cologne, let alone to touch him, is like a dose of Xanax to heal the worries that come uninvited.
Seeing him walking in the hallway, the smile that worth a year's sunshine, the eyes that glimmer a string of untold words, the lips that utters magic.
24 hours never seem enough for all these beauties.
Let me drown, and I need him to save me. I am smitten, and he brings serenity.
Seeing him walking in the hallway, the smile that worth a year's sunshine, the eyes that glimmer a string of untold words, the lips that utters magic.
24 hours never seem enough for all these beauties.
Let me drown, and I need him to save me. I am smitten, and he brings serenity.
Chicken Soup For The Lunch
Weekend - Saturday and Sunday - as what normal working people will presume, are days where heaven materializes in front of their eyes. As you may presume, or you, or maybe you. The lot who work from 8 to 5, driving home alongside impatient exhausted city patrons, roving on the roads jampacked with imported cars, honking to each other. Like they have lost the essence that holds their sanity intact.
In the other hand, as much as I envy those people who work 'normally', I feel blessed that I do not have to go through such insanity - every single day - for the rest of my life (an exception if I quit and I start craving for 8 to 5 job). I work in one of the biggest conglomerates in the world, with multibillion capital in hands, and people losing their jobs in months to come.
I do not really care about that. I have my own freedom on my own working time, not rigid with the needs of industry. And it has been quite a while now, since I tasted 'Sunday'.
And it is Sunday today. And I am cooking chicken soup for lunch. Food for soul too. As what that super famous book has to tell.
Chicken Soup, Bandung Selasih, a bowl of hot steaming rice and sambal belacan.
Now I know why people love not to work on weekends.
In the other hand, as much as I envy those people who work 'normally', I feel blessed that I do not have to go through such insanity - every single day - for the rest of my life (an exception if I quit and I start craving for 8 to 5 job). I work in one of the biggest conglomerates in the world, with multibillion capital in hands, and people losing their jobs in months to come.
I do not really care about that. I have my own freedom on my own working time, not rigid with the needs of industry. And it has been quite a while now, since I tasted 'Sunday'.
And it is Sunday today. And I am cooking chicken soup for lunch. Food for soul too. As what that super famous book has to tell.
Chicken Soup, Bandung Selasih, a bowl of hot steaming rice and sambal belacan.
Now I know why people love not to work on weekends.
I Hate Gokey
I mean it. Thank you America. I have restored my faith in you.
Kris will sell records more than Diva Archuleta do. And Diva Lambert will sink, like a ship in the middle of narcissistic bitches and fags.
Not that I hate him. Just the extra ordinary constant shrieking that he delivers every week. We need someone like Kris. Who has the look, and the charm. The modesty that can melt every girl's heart. Of course minus the not-so-good vocal performance. But whatever it is, every gay and girl scream for him.
So good luck Kris. And you Diva Lambert.
I expect super shiny red cherry lipstick and a hint of blusher. And errrr.. a dress from Prada.
Kris will sell records more than Diva Archuleta do. And Diva Lambert will sink, like a ship in the middle of narcissistic bitches and fags.
Not that I hate him. Just the extra ordinary constant shrieking that he delivers every week. We need someone like Kris. Who has the look, and the charm. The modesty that can melt every girl's heart. Of course minus the not-so-good vocal performance. But whatever it is, every gay and girl scream for him.
So good luck Kris. And you Diva Lambert.
I expect super shiny red cherry lipstick and a hint of blusher. And errrr.. a dress from Prada.
Skater Boi
Back in the 80's where people knew nothing about a board with wheels underneath it, most of the times spent gossiping and throwing banters at one another. Big beehives on the head, huge diameter opening at the end of corduroy pants, mustache thick enough to allure girls in mommy jeans, eye shadows dark enough to scare grim reaper with a pile of shit on its crown.
Then it was 90's. I still remember. Boys and girls with multicolor bands on their heads and boards carefully gripped in their hands, cargo pants with lines of butt crack emerged out of low-waist CK underwear. People in their hippiest mood. Rowing on boards and exhibiting talents of parents reckoned as "Bad Westernization".
The skater boi once did a lot of these things.
And now today, the boy wears a cargo pants again. Faded. And torn. Holes in the pocket. And the boy still loves it.
Like a parade of clowns with weird clothings, stripes and a red bubble nose.
And the colors that evoke memories of 80's, where people still adapting.
Then it was 90's. I still remember. Boys and girls with multicolor bands on their heads and boards carefully gripped in their hands, cargo pants with lines of butt crack emerged out of low-waist CK underwear. People in their hippiest mood. Rowing on boards and exhibiting talents of parents reckoned as "Bad Westernization".
The skater boi once did a lot of these things.
And now today, the boy wears a cargo pants again. Faded. And torn. Holes in the pocket. And the boy still loves it.
Like a parade of clowns with weird clothings, stripes and a red bubble nose.
And the colors that evoke memories of 80's, where people still adapting.
Once Upon A Time In Shiga
“Told you he’d go nuts”
“I know he’ll go nuts but not this kind of nuts nuts”
I’d go nuts if you acting this nuts nuts.
Grumble.
One small gadget with buttons and fancy colors flashes with subtle light from the screen. Hidden not so deep inside his Maison Martin Margiela carry-all.
He does not realize this. The light. Too weak to steal his attention that is lost deep somewhere in the back alley in one restaurant at Shiga, with flames in a huge pan – stir frying the half cooked pork waiting to be served on a plate with a mountain of sprouts and a small cup of Sake.
The vibration does, somehow.
You have 143 unread messages
A few giant wheels are carrying the huge airplane body gracefully (Granny Jamilah: Flying metals! One day it will drop right on our roof!) ; speed reduces at corners, just like many ants carrying a huge chunk of leftover bread on a table, to be brought back to safety. To be fed to their family. The Queen. The Ultimate Female.
Like the woman he saw at Kintetsu, behind the counter, with a thick make up uncovering her palpable line of mid-fifty, her tattered smile, her modesty of an unexplainable – smiley face all doctored because he was the customer; or because she was nihonjin in the first place? Just like the Queen/Ultimate Female.
Rie Miyazaki tops the list of the messages. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Delete all messages?
Yes
Unsatisfied.
Restaurant with chopped pork in a pan comes again into his head. This time with faint images of morning train ride passed Izumifuchu of many small houses in between many swamps of paddy field, a few hundred meters walk to JR Line to Kansai Airport at Osaka Station, breezy not-so-chilly air on his way to Biwako on Nakamura’s bicycle, a plate of sashimi with multicolor ebi, maguro, hamachi, toro. Weaved with ponzu and wasabi at Nanabunoicchi.
Delete contact?
Yes
No
Yes
No
Yes
Yes
Deliberation of an indecisive mind. Like on a brink of a junction. Left or right. On the thought of “What if the road not taken?”
Trembling.
Contact deleted
He ate pork. With sprouts. He asked her to marry him. She told him to go to hell. He asked her why she did not want to embrace Islam? She said he ate pork. With sprout.
Muslims do not eat pork. Or drink sake.
I’ll repent
Go repent first then come back to me.
He is repenting.
Not because of Rie or Kandice. But because he is Malay Muslim who used to eat pork.
I am repenting.
“I know he’ll go nuts but not this kind of nuts nuts”
I’d go nuts if you acting this nuts nuts.
Grumble.
One small gadget with buttons and fancy colors flashes with subtle light from the screen. Hidden not so deep inside his Maison Martin Margiela carry-all.
He does not realize this. The light. Too weak to steal his attention that is lost deep somewhere in the back alley in one restaurant at Shiga, with flames in a huge pan – stir frying the half cooked pork waiting to be served on a plate with a mountain of sprouts and a small cup of Sake.
The vibration does, somehow.
You have 143 unread messages
A few giant wheels are carrying the huge airplane body gracefully (Granny Jamilah: Flying metals! One day it will drop right on our roof!) ; speed reduces at corners, just like many ants carrying a huge chunk of leftover bread on a table, to be brought back to safety. To be fed to their family. The Queen. The Ultimate Female.
Like the woman he saw at Kintetsu, behind the counter, with a thick make up uncovering her palpable line of mid-fifty, her tattered smile, her modesty of an unexplainable – smiley face all doctored because he was the customer; or because she was nihonjin in the first place? Just like the Queen/Ultimate Female.
Rie Miyazaki tops the list of the messages. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Delete all messages?
Yes
Unsatisfied.
Restaurant with chopped pork in a pan comes again into his head. This time with faint images of morning train ride passed Izumifuchu of many small houses in between many swamps of paddy field, a few hundred meters walk to JR Line to Kansai Airport at Osaka Station, breezy not-so-chilly air on his way to Biwako on Nakamura’s bicycle, a plate of sashimi with multicolor ebi, maguro, hamachi, toro. Weaved with ponzu and wasabi at Nanabunoicchi.
Delete contact?
Yes
No
Yes
No
Yes
Yes
Deliberation of an indecisive mind. Like on a brink of a junction. Left or right. On the thought of “What if the road not taken?”
Trembling.
Contact deleted
He ate pork. With sprouts. He asked her to marry him. She told him to go to hell. He asked her why she did not want to embrace Islam? She said he ate pork. With sprout.
Muslims do not eat pork. Or drink sake.
I’ll repent
Go repent first then come back to me.
He is repenting.
Not because of Rie or Kandice. But because he is Malay Muslim who used to eat pork.
I am repenting.
Menunggu Kapal Terbang Terhempas
Waktu senja, kalau menunggu kapal terbang terhempas, sama seperti cerita Lost di TV Amerika. Cerita yang kompleks.
Dan menanti penghabisan cerita selalunya sangat sukar.
I Love You, Mama
Here, in the middle of nowhere, I remembered you.
On that jetty. Waiting for the boat.
Our hands glued together.
And you whispered the word of Love.
On that jetty. Waiting for the boat.
Our hands glued together.
And you whispered the word of Love.
A Flash Of Smile
The sky darkens, the wind blows hard, the trees sway right and left.
And in a flash, the sky turns to a color of serenity, not too bright, not too gloomy. One color that illuminates a feeling at ease. The wind speed comes almost to a halt, but it does not stop, just a feel of an air breeze, the feeling you will have when you lay your back on a bench just underneath one coconut tree, with a monkey hidden somewhere in the middle of many coconuts, with wind that has the power to put you into a colorful sleep. That kind of breeze.
I miss him. The way he used to flash his smiles in the midst of uncertain emotion, I miss his stare that used to steer me away from my rationale, I miss the way he walked pass by me, and turned his head around, and I turned mine too, just to experience a few seconds of mutual affection that was hardly describable by words.
I guess he gets tired with all these pointless games. A sort of many games he and I could not win. A silent battle that sacrifices both parties, not to let any of us win.
These games with no names, tickle me somehow. What with emo songs and super melodramatic idiot I turned to be when he was not around, and a series of constant staring that led to, not lesser than an annoying look he portrayed.
Over time, I learn that this should not be the essence of how my social life should be. But, how hard I try to ditch, it is beyond my (super)human capabilities to deny, that I miss Him badly.
To you. You know who you are
And in a flash, the sky turns to a color of serenity, not too bright, not too gloomy. One color that illuminates a feeling at ease. The wind speed comes almost to a halt, but it does not stop, just a feel of an air breeze, the feeling you will have when you lay your back on a bench just underneath one coconut tree, with a monkey hidden somewhere in the middle of many coconuts, with wind that has the power to put you into a colorful sleep. That kind of breeze.
I miss him. The way he used to flash his smiles in the midst of uncertain emotion, I miss his stare that used to steer me away from my rationale, I miss the way he walked pass by me, and turned his head around, and I turned mine too, just to experience a few seconds of mutual affection that was hardly describable by words.
I guess he gets tired with all these pointless games. A sort of many games he and I could not win. A silent battle that sacrifices both parties, not to let any of us win.
These games with no names, tickle me somehow. What with emo songs and super melodramatic idiot I turned to be when he was not around, and a series of constant staring that led to, not lesser than an annoying look he portrayed.
Over time, I learn that this should not be the essence of how my social life should be. But, how hard I try to ditch, it is beyond my (super)human capabilities to deny, that I miss Him badly.
To you. You know who you are
Paving Ways To The Hell
Most people do not realize this. They are paving the way to the hell, walking on a tarmac of many sins, and avoiding potholes of good deeds.
They talk like they have everything in the world.
And they will crumble at the end, without realizing the world is no longer eternal, losing its ground bit by bit.
Or swallowed hard by the wrath of God.
They talk like they have everything in the world.
And they will crumble at the end, without realizing the world is no longer eternal, losing its ground bit by bit.
Or swallowed hard by the wrath of God.