It’s hard to make a stand, but sometimes, a stand is all you need. I’m tired and sick and bitter of being some doormat. To make up the numbers you see. We don’t’ care if you’re not here. You don’t really exist, Mr cellophane. They don’t realize I’m perfectly capable of dominating a conversation, of saying loads and loads, but I’m just bloody tired and pissed at life, and really I don’t want to dominate anything. I want to give you people, you lousy peons, some breathing space. It’s a crazy world but that’s life. And after I do that everyone thinks I have no opinions. No mind of one’s own, he just wants to reflect anything and everything. What rubbish. Aren’t I the individualistic one, and not you? And if so I could go on being unique where you have to waddle in the mud of your clique, your society, your whatever. I’m just giving you a chance. But people don’t see that. They see that after you’ve given them a chance and just agree with everything they just tramp on you. You become afraid to talk to them. What kind of life is that leading? I’m just caught in the middle.
I’m not having any of that. I’m going back to my definition that one should only care about the people that one wants to care about, and who care for them. It’s not about image or being in a clique or anything. It’s bonds that keep people together. And if the bonds don’t want to be there, what can we do about them? I’m not going to create them, am I?

And everyone takes you for granted. You walk along, and when someone wants to talk to them, they do so, and when noone wants to talk to them, they decide that there’s still someone called shawn poon whom they can talk to, and they do so. It’s like I’m just some being that happens to be a comforter in loneliness, isn’t it. Yes, when no one wants to stand up for you and you’re all alone I’m there, and when you’ve got your fun and your social circle all again bye bye goodbye sayonara see you in a few years time when I feel like I need some comfort again from my sad little exploits. Kind of like the prodigal son.

Gee. I hate being the subordinate one. I want to be the star again. That’s MY RIGHTFUL PLACE. And that’s where I’m going to get it. Hate all this rubbish. It’s great to be considerate and all that, but don’t people take you for granted? It’s only the truly humble and nice people that bother to say hie to you. Other people don’t bother.
Society creates all these illusions that once you’ve reached a level in society you can ignore the rest of the individuals around you since they’re ‘lower’ than you. Oh they can just p*** off. I have no time for them. No time whatsoever. What is happiness anyway? All of them just want an identity.

The problem is all of that. And don’t we write songs to vent our frustrations and our messages? No wonder all my songs have been so frustrated at what I consider to be the failings of life. Because they are, and if I can make people see how they are stuck in that matrix and that sooner or later it would be good if they could see the light, then I would gladly do so. It might take me ten songs. Ages. But why not?

I was escapist for a very very long time. Trying to put aside the negatives in one’s mind and only concentrating on what is beautiful and good. The gorgeous strains of music, and so on. On happiness and Spiritual things and all that. Maybe that is wonderful after all. I don’t belong to this world. This world is not my home, I’m just a passing through. And maybe that’s what we must do. But I do hope I have some influence to change the world in some way that is beautiful, to make an impact, like Michael Moore did in Bowling for Columbine, to have some form of message to show to the world, that really all you need is love.
You know what, all we need is love. But who realizes that till its too late? What are we fighting for? Is it worth fighting for?