Yesterday I googled “best colourist for Asian hair near me” and was presented with Yelp’s top suggestions. I called the place that seemed most relevant that could do what I wanted that could see me at once and suddenly I was surrounded by a bunch of Asians. From the stylists to the clients, everybody was Asian. They all seemed startled to see me, I was startled to see them, it was a mutual startling. My stylist as predicted didn’t hide the fact that she was strongly scandalized, perhaps even outraged, by the previous state of my hair, admittedly it was a shocking affair. That’s what I get for thinking I can do everything myself. Seems there’s a limit to my skills set. But look at my beautiful hair now! My hairdresser’s an actual genius. Team Asia straight crushing. If you saw the before picture you would more deeply appreciate the magic achieved. I am over the moon.
Favourite animal family → wat.ki
There’s a wonderful couple who are longtime supporters and big fans of Dylan that conceived a child during an ill.Gates set at Priceless Festival so they named their baby daughter Gates. Fast forward a few years and now Gates is a gorgeous young lady maybe five years old, walking and talking, with skills, capabilities, interests, thoughts and feelings all her own. Every year at Priceless, Gates’ father gifts Dylan a bottle of fine Scotch, and this year young Gates was allowed to stay up far past her bedtime. Her father brought Gates to the dancefloor so she could enjoy her first ill.Gates show. Gates’ dad held her joyously aloft as Dylan dedicated the set to her, everyone cheered and clapped, the whole thing was touching and delightful. Clad in heavy ear protection young Gates danced to Dylan’s set smiling shyly and holding her father’s hand. Later we all went to the family trailer to visit Gates and her mother and draw pictures. Gates asked us to draw on both sides of the pages and she made charming appreciative comments. Then completely unprompted and involuntary, Gates in the pure luminous tones of a little girl said, “ill.Gates you’re my favourite dj in the whole world.” Before any of us could finish marveling at the sweetness of the moment, Wayne the resident shit disturber of our group said, “Clearly you’ve never heard of Bassnectar.”
I thought quitting smoking, drinking and doing drugs would be hard but actually it hasn’t been hard at all. We’ve been staying home holed up hiding and working though not going out to clubs and shows in order to avoid temptation and the possibility of relapsing. We’re not going to go out until we’re strong enough to do it without breaking down. So far so good and actually I’ve never looked or felt better, in fact I think I look and feel better than I did when I was twenty. I always knew smoking was bad and drugs were bad, I didn’t know that actually alcohol’s the worst of all. Take it from me, if you want to look and feel your best and notice an immediate and amazing improvement, quit drinking. I almost can’t even believe it. Looking and feeling so great more than makes up for not being able to drink. Now I just gotta see if I can go out, dance, have energy and be fantastic company without drugs or drinking. One day at a time right you guys. Straight edge is awesome, just gotta figure out how to do it without being preachy or dull. What makes being bad enjoyable is danger and risk, the challenge is to somehow make being good fun.
HOW TO BE WONDERFUL IN 12 EASY STEPS
1. Make sure that you look and smell good. Make sure there’s nothing stuck between your teeth, that there’s no gunk in the corners of your eyes, that your hands are washed, that your nose is clean, and that both your body and your breath smell fresh. These basic details of personal hygiene and self-presentation are important and when there’s something wrong in any of these areas, no one might tell you, they might silently be various levels of turned off or grossed out, and you might never learn why or be made aware. It’s your job to take care.
2. Learn new things and hone skills. Practice daily. Become an expert in what you care about in all the areas you like.
3. Develop your own style, in how you dress, how you act, in the art you create and in how you express yourself. Style is who you are and style counts.
4. Volunteer some of your time doing something that matters to you. Donate some of what you have to groups you want to support.
5. Men don’t be assholes and ladies by all means be a bitch. Just don’t overdo it because there is such a thing as being too much of a bitch.
6. If someone needs your help and you can help them, help them.
7. Stop wasting time and stop making excuses. Do good work, do good things, and do it now.
8. Learn what you can forgive, what you must accept and what you have to change. Learn to say I’m sorry and learn to say I love you.
9. Share all you have and all that you are with someone deserving.
10. Don’t harm anyone, not even yourself.
11. Let go of hate. Love deeply.
12. Smile often, laugh a lot.
Dylan emerged from music making saying, “That’s it, I don’t think I can produce anymore.” “Great,” I said, “let’s stick this pickle up your bum.” “I don’t know about that,” said Dylan nervously. “Do it,” I said. “Life is for the living. What are you waiting for. Try something new.” “I should clean up that bassline and fix those drums,” said Dylan and he hurried back into the studio.
Photography by Laura Izumikawa
Apologies to anyone who might’ve been triggered by my recently calling all men retards. Fag is another word that can get me in trouble, especially since many of my closest friends are queer, a lot of the best people in the world are homosexual, and some of my straight single male friends might as well be, so much so that I often tease them for it. Like the reason they can’t get girlfriends is because they’re obviously gay. One sensitive straight male friend once stood tragic before me and said, “Nunich, it really hurts my feelings and makes me feel sad, when you say I’m gay and call me a homo in front of my friends.” “You know why it hurts your feelings and makes you feel sad?” I asked. “Because you’re a fucking fag,” I said. “That’s why.”
“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any largescale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”
“So,” I asked, “how was the flight.” “I dreamed I was a tiny African child who just pooped his pants,” said Dylan. “Please explain,” said I. “I was this little black boy riding bumpily along in the back of a rebel van and I pooped my pants. Then I woke up and realized the plane was landing and I guess the change in air pressure activated my anus so my body began to fart longer and louder than it has ever farted. I was in a kind of sleep paralysis too where I was trying to put a stop to the situation once I became aware of it but I had no active ability or bodily control. All I could do was slowly shake my head with a look of total horror upon my face as I was waking. Earlier I ate this huge vegan burrito stuffed with spices and beans, hence I guess the thrust and fullness of the action from my anus. I was seated next to this angry fat woman who previously fought me for one of my middle seat armrests. She wasn’t versed in the Jim Jefferies school of airplane etiquette (wherein window gets an armrest and a wall, middle gets two armrests, isle gets an armrest and a leg) so a part of me hoped the others on the plane would think this endless farting horror was her. Meanwhile all I could do was slowly shake my head. When I realized my wild eyes and head shaking only incriminated me more, I forced my head still and tried to just look neutral. The looks on peoples’ faces were like are you kidding me right now and holy Jesus Christ shit and what the goddamn actual fuck and this just can’t be happening. All I could do was sit there. Helplessly farting. Loud and long and endless. I could even feel my bum cheeks flapping, such was the continuous energy and pressure of the fart. It was the longest loudest fart of my life. I worried that I might really have shit my pants. And the whole time I just kept on farting.” “Hm,” I said. “I feel joy for not having been there.” “Yeah,” said Dylan. “It was one of those times when I was really glad you weren’t.”
It would be so cool if like chameleons we could change what we looked like, if we could change our races. I’d be all, “Honey, could you be black tonight?” Sometimes I think I should be a serial killer, because historically speaking, Asian women just don’t have the most interesting rap sheet. If I could be the best driver and the most successful serial killer, then I’d really be set. Up the Asian girl ante. As a group we’re a bit too goddamn demure. Bunch of goody two-shoes.
The human body is the most profound work of art and potentially our most sacred temple. Physically it is flesh and bones but metaphysically it is constructed of love and light. Our bodies should hold no shame or stigma. We are all beautiful when we regard each other with compassion and see each other with eyes of love.
Sometimes I wander around the house chanting old advertising jingles that have permanently damaged my brain. I’ll suddenly appear before Dylan and in an aggressive singsong remark, “Shopper’s drug mart! Everything you want in a drug store.” Dylan will gaze at me stonily and pretend nothing audible just happened. Later I’ll make another sudden appearance before Dylan and announce, “Fabricland! FABRICLAND.” Again Dylan will maintain an impassivity that is impressively total. When he can’t manage it, I’ll detect within him a mental effort to count his blessings. Sometimes it’s plain he’s come up short. In unrelated but equally compelling news, my sense of direction is shockingly poor. That’s why I call myself a Disoriental.
Love and be loved otherwise what’s the point because if you ain’t got love you haven’t got a thing
Dylan and I don’t ever really publicly display our affection so sometimes people don’t even know that we are together. Out at clubs, Dylan spends much of his time socializing, mingling, schmoozing, and chatting to fans, often he leaves me to my own devices. He knows that I can take care of myself and handle business, so he’s not exactly spending all of his time keeping an eagle’s eye guarding and protecting me. Usually shit runs fine but every once in a while I get bothered or harassed by any number of boring clueless desperate annoying persistent aggressive guys.
One time, me and my girls were all dancing and having fun. Suddenly some dude barges into our dance circle and starts drastically imposing himself. Some guys seem to think that if a girl isn’t handcuffed and chained to a man, she isn’t spoken for, and is thus fair game. These guys never seem to consider that the girl in question might not at all be stoked or interested, regardless of her current relationship status.
Anyway so this guy drunkenly and aggressively dances into each of us girls. He dances at each of us in turn, lewdly, suggestively, and unpleasantly. My girlfriends moved quickly from casual amusement to being distressed and upset. We gave each other disrupted and annoyed looks and glared at the guy. The guy kept thrusting into each of us under the apparent assumption that we couldn’t get enough. My girls and I were displeased. Dylan meanwhile was chewing his face off high on ecstasy and dancing like no man alive could be happier or more carefree. “Dylan,” I said to him in an undertone, “That guy is bothering us. Do something.”
It took me ages to get through to Dylan, so complete was his joie de vivre. Finally, I used my foot is being put down now voice, and Dylan snapped to. I explained the situation all over again in the gravest tones. Processing badness and untoward behaviour is hard to do when you’re Dylan, especially when you’re Dylan and you’re high on E.
Finally the husband understood. He puffed up his chest, widened his eyes, and smartly tapped the shoulder of some guy that had nothing at all to do with anything. Shoulder tapped random guy turned toward Dylan. All of us girls stood in a semi-circle watching. Dylan slow motion pointed at each of our vaginas with exaggerated emphasis. After each vagina had been accounted for, Dylan made a flourishing “NO” symbol by balling his hands into fists and crossing his forearms firmly forming a giant X. He accompanied this strong “NO” gesture with a slow single head shake that covered a wide distance from left to right and left again. Innocent random guy gazed at Dylan. His dude what the fuck face was truly great. Then wrongly accused innocent guy walked away.
“Fucking Jesus Christ, Dylan. WRONG GUY,” was what my facial expression tried to say. Dylan meanwhile reentered at once into his state of ecstatic joie de vivre, and returned to dancing, confident in a job well done, like no man living had ever done a job better, and like all life and he himself could hardly be more charming, perfect, pleasing and fun. The confidence of a happy husband. Fuck.
There is a darkness inside each of us, that part of ourselves that is irreparably damaged by the hardness of life. We are what we are because of this darkness, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use darkness as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to behave unconscionably. But darkness is simply a part of the whole, neither good nor evil, unless you make it so.
The smallest decisions can have the biggest consequences. Every moment is an opportunity. Every second contains the possibility to change your life because every choice is a new beginning. It’s never too late. This is your chance to fix everything.
If people don’t love you for who you are, you should ignore them, or tell them to go fuck themselves. You should never change for somebody else, you should only change because you want to change, because you know you need to change, because you want to be better, and you know you can be better, never because someone’s trying to live your life for you or control you. You should be your biggest threat to yourself, and you must also be your biggest supporter. You are your own worst enemy, and you also gotta be your own best friend. Once you master that shit, everything else is icing. And we all know that icing is great, but icing is worthless without the cake.