WARNING: christine not here yet. i might as well congratulate you, baby; you have been chosen to be my first victim for today.

i am here among mortals although this time,i am not waiting for some prince to come and rescue me while i sing lines of that sweetie-cutesy song that made disney's bank account fat.but hey yes,id like to be a part of some world -- the certainty of whose world or what world is not clear, will never be so. i am quite sober now... that's the thing with relating to mortals: you develop the same manners of thinking, you talk over beer and chicharong bulaklak,you curse the wind for blowing towards your direction because the joint,the joint!is only a few centimeters from extinction,and then you talk again while staring at the moon,waiting for some goddamn moment of illumination that the conversation would somehow create some semblance of meaning to you.

my mind is like john coltrane's higways -- my mind is a black newly asphalted road with a stretch of yellow line in the middle. every now and then, car headlights would appear and tires skid fast,a head-on collision afterwards... to give you a more vivid not to mention morbid picture of how christine's mind looks like: imagine the aftermath of a collision between a dumptruck and a camper. the truck driver is a drunk, wife-beater who abuses his thirteen year old daughter whenever his wife spends the night at 7-11. meanwhile,the wrecked camper carried a family going to a vacation -- dad's a neurosurgeon, mom's a closet-lesbian; and young lily keeps a razor in her jeans pocket, she's planning to do IT now, finally (dad & mom look happy) because her breasts are too small... now after the car crash,police mobile cars are everywhere... and the sound -- listen to the officer's report: "casualties-4,total wreckage,no need for paramedics,over." sound of static on the hand-held radio...

got the picture?