And “Oh My God” Is All We Can Say Saturday, Nov 7 2009 

We are so ignorant. I’m so angry. There’s so much shit happening in the world. And we all let it happen.

I’m reeling in shock from what I’ve just read about what’s happening in West Africa. Well, yes, I love current affairs and TIME magazine and all that wordy crap. And yes I’m a dork. But moving on.

You may think “Yeah, yeah, they have no food, no water, they are skinny, they can’t read and there’s AIDS. Can you tell me something that I don’t already know?”

But this more than that. It’s not just sad or heart-wrenching. It’s scary.

Everyone’s involved in this. And the scary thing is that we don’t know it.

This seems pretty ridiculous and heavy. It shouldn’t be on the average person blog. But I can’t help it. I’m so disturbed. I’m going to write an entry here soon about this. You have been warned.

Picture 1

Time Of Your Life. Wednesday, Oct 28 2009 

As you can tell from my mundane ramblings, there is nothing spectacular about being Jennyspeaks. I’ve not had any unwanted pregnancies, wardrobe malfunctions, nipple piercings or anything that is remotely “cool” in the dictionary of Teenage-dom. And in teenage terms I’m probably best defined as “uncool”.

But maybe next year on the 14th of January, I might be an ounce less uncool than I was before. Just maybe.

That’s because the rock band that I’ve been obsessing over ever since I started producing oestrogen is finally coming to Singapore. And locked up in my drawer lies the golden (free standing) ticket to their concert. Which had me digging into my retirement account.

Green Day

Green Day Live in Singapore.

14th January 2010.

Singapore Indoor Stadium.

*falls to the ground in reverence*

Welcome to Jennyspeaks, the World’s Most Superficial Blog Tuesday, Aug 18 2009 

All this while I believed that Jennyspeaks was a blog that was a little different from the others.

After all, the lack of visuals and the abundance of punishing sentences (such as this one) surely made this bit of cyberspace slightly deeper than the waters of a toilet bowl.

However, a chance peek at the Search Engine Terms at my Blog Stats page shattered my belief.

Apparently, this blog is a fan site for Billie Joe Armstrong, Kurt Cobain and John Frusciante. It is also a comprehensive site for dumb quotes, wise quotes (haha the irony), insults for fat people, hate insults and sayings that make people feel stupid.

And also it tells you about Women Shitting Toilet and Heroin Toilet Seat (yup, this one caught me off-guard).

So this is what two years of long, verbose posts have resulted in: a blog that is a lot more shallow than toilet bowl waters.

And you know what? I really don’t mind. :)

Search Engine Terms

These are terms people used to find your blog.

Today

Search Views
carmen muesli bars

2

dumb quotes 2008

5

john frusciante

2

billie joe depression

3

insults for fat people

2

sayings that make people feel stupid

4

john frusciante short hair

3

fat people insults

4

women shitting toilet

2

billie joe armstrong held at gunpoint

3

kurt cobain art

1

Yesterday

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kurt cobains face in black and white

4

dumb quotes 2008

5

insults for fat people

1

john frusciante

4

facebook funny insults

3

jennyspaeks.wordpress.com

2

kurt cobain greatest hits

1

heroin toilet seat

1

random wise quote

2

hate insults

5

billie joe armstrong winona ryder

5

quotes that make people feel dumb

7

winona and billie joe armstrong

1

The Post-Constipation Post Wednesday, Feb 11 2009 

It’s really uncanny how much constipation has loomed large over my life. Both literally and metaphorically. I’ve had struggles with my rectum ever since I was born, and yet constipation has become more than just a health woe for me. Constipation (not of the literal kind) has now become a word in my dictionary of emotions. It means to have a pent-up of feelings, a sense of quiet despair and discomfort, when too much crap has been building up inside of you and you can’t seem to let it out. I “feel” constipated whenever I feel lousy, bloated with feelings but I can’t help but keep it all inside simply cos I’m too lazy busy to release them.

Thus I’ve called this the “Post-Constipation” post, cos it’s like this huge release for me, as I’ve not blogged in a while. So bear with me as I dislodge all the hardened contents of my mental bowels, in this long, crappy post.

Every once in a while, even the most brilliant of writers become lazy unbothered  so busy that they fail to come up with anything. I am no exception. For the past few weeks I was lazy unbothered quite caught up with my new money-making hobby: work. Since it had been some time since both my muscle and brain cells had been decently utilised, my first work week was, simply put, hell. For once in my life, I felt completely stupid as I fumbled about awkwardly, struggling to remember recipes (I worked in a cafe) and cooking up a disaster in the kitchen. I spent my nights after work studiously revising things like How many minutes I should deep-fry onion rings and How many scoops of vanilla powder went into making different smoothies. Hell, I even my usual dreams were replaced with work-related nightmares (such as when I burned the roast chicken).

Many interesting things happened at work, and I was itching to get it all down in my typical cynical fashion, but sheer lethargy bogged me down. when I was not working, all I wanted to do was to switch off my brain and rot with Ellen DeGeneres. I was utterly numbed. As a result I truly became lazy and unbothered to blog.

And then divine intervention came. In the form of a book.

I was floundering through the library one day after a particularly nasty day at work (TWO  elderly customers complained that they couldn’t chew my Roasted Chicken. Get some dentures, ya hags!) when I picked up a random autobiography in the Music section. It had a nice picture of U2 in the front together with a not-so-nice picture of some man, presumably the author Neil McCormick. It was called I Was Bono’s Doppelganger. The blurb promised lots of racy scandal (“Bad sex, weird drugs, bizarre haircuts” it read) and since it promised some relation to everybody’s favourite rock-superhero Bono, I borrowed it. Eagerly, I attacked the novel, hoping to unwind with page after page of brainless, rock-star misadventures.

Instead what I read caught me by surprise. The book was essentially about McCormick’s quest for rock stardom, together with his schoolmate at Mount Temple Comprehensive, Paul Hewson (that’s Bono to you and me). Both Hewson and McCormick were in bands and harboured dreams of making it big, but only Hewson’s band succeeded eventually. While McCormick tried and tried relentlessly for more than twenty years to be heard, his former schoolmate soared higher and higher into the stratosphere of rock stardom. Thus unravels this sorry saga of a truly talented musician who lives in Bono’s shadow.

Sure, there are plenty of “sex, drugs and not-so-rocking rock&roll” bites for tabloid junkies like me to chew on, but underneath it all, I saw myself in McCormick. A strangely distorted reflection, at least. Previously, I too wanted a slice of such a lifestyle. I started out somewhat like McCormick, playing in amateur bands when I was 14, even when I could barely grasp the neck of the bass guitar. You may not believe this, but actually I was bitten by the Bug. The Bug to be famous. As a child of the TV generation (I had been watching MTV together with Sesame Street), it seemed to me the pinnacle of success, the achievement of my life if only I could appear inside that metal box. Being on TV seemed like the ultimate goal.

In the early days of my confused adolescence I was convinced that it was my destiny playing in stadium in front of a screaming audience. I worked hard at learning the guitar. I threw myself in the whole punk culture (listening to nothing else other that the screaming squalls of Sid Vicious and other punk gods) and was so sure that life was about rock&roll.

Unlike McCormick, who took twenty years of wrong turnings to finally get himself together, I was fortunate enough to be slapped on the face and shaken hard, pulling myself out of that silly dream. I realised that making music was about passion and expression, not making money and rolling around in Cadillacs. Today, I’m a very different person. I’m no longer a punk, or a whatever; I don’t subscribe to any particular music genre. I’m ready to embrace anything that moves me within.

I Was Bono’s Doppelganger is an airy, extremely funny and strangely poignant tale. As Bono remarked, McCormick has an ability to make “extremely heavy things feel weightless”. As if a reminder from above, a book I had picked to enjoy a temporary diversion into racy trash, instead had eye-opening passages on God. Bono has great faith in his maker, while McCormick is a committed, cynical atheist. The conversations between the two on God’s existence are extremely entertaining, but strike a chord with readers as well. The final, bittersweet twist emerges at the end when McCormick, ever the devout atheist, writes a very beautiful song about God. the song came to him in a dream, and proved to be elusive piece that finally clinches him a record deal, at the not-so-rock&roll age of 40.

So here we are, people. For those who have managed to stay with me till this far, you’ve officially ploughed through 1072 words!

Just to let you know, McCormick’s defining song, entitled I Found God, is neither preachy nor proselytsing. It’s extremely simple and yet carries alot of depth. some think of it as an atheist anthem. some view it as an affirmation. I tend to think it’s the latter. Here, read the lyrics and decide for yourself.

I found God
In the first place that I looked
I found God
In the crannies and the nooks
I found God
Underneath a stone
I found God
Didnt even have to leave my home
I found God
I found God

I found the Buddha
Sitting cross legged by the door
I found Jesus
Nailed and bleeding on the floor
I found the Prophet
Up to his neck in sand
I found God
Wherever I found man
I found God
In a hundred different places
With a thousand different voices
And a million different faces
I found God
I found God

I found God
Down the smoking barrel of a gun
I found God
In bones bleached white beneath the sun
I found God
Amongst the killers and the rapists
I found God
Between the proddies and the papists
I found God
In temples turned to rubble
I found God
On the pulpit stirring up more trouble
I found God
On both sides of the war
With the bigots and the fascists
Kicking down my door
I found God
I found God

And I said My God, my God
What have You done?
Why is this life so hard
For everyone?

And God said

I found you
Before it all began
I found you
When the universe went bang
I found you
In the cooling of the stars
I watched worlds collide
I wondered how we got this far?
I found you
Crawling from the sea
I found you
Hanging with the monkeys in the trees
I found you
Before you found me
I found you
And I set you free
Free to stand on your own feet
Free to watch the sunrise
Free to be what you can be
Free to be what you despise
Free to glory in the truth
Free to swallow your own lies
Cause I’m coursing through your bloodstream
I’m staring through your eyes
I found you
I found you.

Now I Know Why Kurt Cobain Shot Himself Thursday, Jan 8 2009 

Kurt Cobain, frontman of Nirvana

Kurt Cobain, frontman of Nirvana

I recently received a belated Christmas gift (thanks, Fred) and it was Nirvana’s Greatest Hits collection. I have always had a special fondness for Nirvana and their music, simply because their music was so raw and honest. Not your typical screamo-emo fare you get on radio today, by juvenile bands attempting to sound tortured, but stripped-down bitterness that soars above the music and into your soul.

I listened to the tracks late at night, alone in bed, beginning with “You Know You’re Right,” where Kurt hisses the word “pain” in one long, murderous breath, coupled with Krist Novoselic’s thumping bass and Dave Grohl’s angry drums. Over 15 tracks, Kurt chronicles the various setbacks in his life: a broken home (as vividly depicted in “Sliver”), a tumultous love life (in “About a Girl”), and the cloying mix of sarcasm and delusion that was Kurt’s inner soul (a bittersweet, unplugged “All Apologies”).

The standout track, for me, was “The Man Who Sold The World.” it was a cover of David Bowie’s song, but only a man like Kurt could connect with the despair and loneliness of the song with his searing vocals. He was nearing the crossroads, the climax of frustration and quiet defeat, where neither making music, shooting dope, Courtney Love, or pretty much anything on Earth could fill the hole.

And on April 8, 1994, Kurt created another hole for himself. This time, it was on his head. Kurt was found dead with a shotgun in his hand. Suicide.

It never fails to amaze me, how these rich rock stars with everything they can possibly think of having,still end up depressed and unsatisfied. While common folk get by with less than 10% of what rock stars earn. I can rattle off a list of tortured souls: John Frusciante(RHCP), Ian Curtis(Joy Division), Elvis, Sid Vicious (Sex Pistols), Michael Hutchence (INXS)…

For a while I was baffled by their reason to commit suicide. Then when i was slipping into my agnostic-depressive phase, i accepted their suicides as something brave, something peaceful and even beautiful, for life seemed so painful. But after getting back on my feet because of God, suddenly I saw it all so clearly.

Because their rock wasn’t the real Rock.

they looked to music as the ultimate salvation. they fed their hatred with more poison and channelled it towards their songwriting. they waited in vain for something, someone, to save them. at the end of the day, reclining in a posh Hilton hotel suite with an assortment of booze, drugs and women at their disposal, they saw only emptiness. it was all nothing. but they couldn’t find out was missing, and they took the easy way out.

For a while i thought rock music held it all too. I was wrong. for i was looking for the wrong rock. I failed to see God and his open arms, a father waiting for the prodigal child’s return. For it is written: “The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” (Psalm 18:2).

Maybe Kurt could have found peace at last if he read this:

“Come to me, all of you who are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke and put it on you, and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in Spirit, and you will find rest. For the yoke I will give you is easy, and the load I will put on you is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

His life was meaningless, because at the centre of it all, he chose to put worldly things like music at the top. He forgot that living for the world wasn’t enough; he forgot live for himself, for his soul. And once again, maybe he could have identified with:

“Then, brothers, let us leave the flesh (i.e worldly wants) and no longer live according to it. If not, we will die. Rather, walking in the Spirit, let us put to death the body’s deeds do we may live.” (Romans 8:13)

Now, if only someone could’ve shared these with him.

If you’re also going through hard times and you think, “Hey, If God’s do good, why is all this shit happening to me?” ,well, fret not. I was once like you too. But always remember: Life is fleeting. It doesn’t last forever. The world is not a place where you put your faith and belief in, because I can guarantee you you’re gonna be disappointed. people change, friends cheat, and as Murphy says: “If anything can go wrong, it will.”

However, there’s one person you can put your faith in, and that’s God. He doesn’t fade away like some rock tune. Live your life in the quiet confidence that He will work things out in the end, somehow, even in ways we don’t understand. Stop trying to understand stuff for a while; you’ll realise life is alot easier if you stop analysing, rationalising and arguing. Be still and trust Him in simple, childlike belief.

And then life gets alot simpler. And peaceful.

Rest in peace, dear Kurt Cobain.

Putting the Junk back in the Trunk. Tuesday, Dec 9 2008 

Looking back at my initial posts such as this one, that one, and even the one about my previous battle with bulimia, i’m really thankful that i started my blog. firstly, it has let me talk about stuff i’ll never be able to tell someone face-to-face. in addition, it has helped me show a different side of myself to people who know me. on the surface, i may seem like a shiny happy individual leading my shiny happy life. but no, everyone has their fair share of ups and downs. i don’t want to fool people; i want them to know who i really am inside. and i’d like to thank everyone who didn’t shirk away from me even after knowing my imperfections and morbid-ness, but instead still accepted me and treated me normally. :)

i spent my weekend at church camp, which always helps me shake off my ghosts. i entered camp with a sense of dreading. i wanted to just give it all up, this whole “church” shit, and just go back to the meandering lifestyle i had. i didn’t know my role and purpose in church. hell, i didn’t know what “purpose” meant. i was just living for the moment. the wheels of my existence got caught in fine sand, and i was just spinning around energetically, making lots of noise and splattering brown slush all over.

suddenly, on the 6th of december, towards midnight, i knew. i realised. it was time to put the junk back in the trunk. it was time to give up the fake, to throw out the hate, to give and not to take. at one point i questioned myself: why me? why was i the child of the broken family, the one with the pain, the immense hate inside? why did i yearn for the fake glossy lifestyle that was not meant for me? and why couldn’t i let go of it all? instead i held it all inside, brooding, cynical.

that night, i let go of it all. yes, i had been bulimic, possibly bipolar, depressive, neurotic, morbid, (or ‘emo’ as you may call it), hateful, angry, restless. but these experiences were totally worth it. i had been through alot of shit, that was true, and i’ve had my fair share of sleepless nights on wet pillows. but it was all meant to mould me, to shape me, to build me up. it was like emotional and mental exercise, testing me, pushing me to the limits, stretching the muscle of my courage. and i pulled through. i’m proud to say that, despite all the shit i faced, i’ve never once contemplated suicide, never imagined cutting my wrist, nor other similar stuff. i always thought of it as yet another experience. during the camp, someone came up to me and said, “You know, you’re a brave girl.” i never thought of myself as brave, but on hindsight, i probably am.

but there was one more step to go, and that was letting go of the bitterness as a result of all the “experiences” and “adventures” of my wee life insofar. on the 6th if december, i made a choice to do just that. i’ve deleted the phone numbers of people in my foggy past, i’m kissing my depression good-bye. i’m throwing my dad, my past, my pain and all the junk, back into the trunk. i’m still searching for stuff to throw away.

it’s not gonna be easy. i might just find myself digging the trunk one day, taking back all the garbage that i once threw out. but i know that when that day comes, i’ll be a different person. no longer stuck in fine sand, but charging at full speed, cos God’s my engine now, and His Word is my fuel.

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