Wednesday, December 31, 2008

2008: The Year in Revue

2008 has been a very educational year. I learned a lot.

About myself. People. About production.

I dare say that I came out with more realisations and lessons than I did when I started a year ago. And it did not seem like a year. It was like a full decade.

I notice that helping people is NOT a good thing. Especially if it came at the expense of myself.

People tend to take advantage of you, and for the sake of their own egos, they will sacrifice you to an ego-God or a talking snake or whatever. Or worse, to some of their stupid, retarded friends.

No point in trying to help, or even to talk to those people. Or even to waste time thinking about them. They're fuckers and they should all die.

They can all FUCK OFF AND DIE.

When I was down, where were they? I remember I was admitted into the hospital three times in my life. And all that time, I was alone.

No complaints, though. When I die, I WANT to be alone. I want to be alone right now. That's why I didn't go out and shit. Plus, my bloody cough.

I have decided that 2009 will be all about me and how great I am. As in, what's in it for me? I should learn from the prostitutes. Money first. And unlike the hookers, I'm only going to do things that give ME pleasure. I will not think about other people anymore. I will not put people first.

This is the death of Tetsuwan Atom. The twilight of the superheroes.

It's ME first. And if you can't catch up, well, sucks to be you.

Pop Goes the Weasel

Slipping in and out of consciousness for the whole day.

I got Bena-Expectorant. With anti-histamine. The name suggests that it will stop me from coughing, knock me out, and then get the phlegm out while I sleep. So when I wake up, I will be coughing up dried phlegm. Which is what I've been doing. Despite the mucosolvan tablets.

Am also on antibiotics and painkillers.

Question: can painkillers reduce swelling?

Cause my painkiller is labelled as swelling medication.

I am unable to move anywhere for long periods of time. And alcohol is a no-no, especially because of the antibiotics, on top of it being illegal for Muslims. Unless it's tapai. For whatever reason.

Despite some coughing fits, I do feel better. And I believe that another bottle or two of the bena-expectorant, I'll be good as new.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna overdose myself again on cough medication and painkillers.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

God Hates Us All

I wanted to write something fresh.

Something I've never written before. But all I have on my plate right now are rewrites. I hate rewrites.

It's like when a prostitute has to go back to the guy she just fucked and redo anal or something.

It's part of the job.

And to top it all off, I'm coughing up blood. I can't concentrate. My meds are making me drowsy.

So I SMSed the producer of this film I'm writing and I said I am going to send him the reworked script by the New Year instead of tonight. And that I might be hospitalised tomorrow.

Then I laid down, tried to sleep, and I decided I didn't want to sleep.

So I got up, started smoking again, and I'm writing. Re-writing.

Some self-important motherfuckers who want you to think that writing is such a magical job would equate the oh-so-precious 'process' as some sort of labour. Not labour as in working. Labour, as in, giving birth and shit.

And the Femi-Nazis say that no man can ever know the pain of giving birth. Meanwhile, doctors told me that passing a kidney stone is more or less the same shit.

And surprise, I passed a kidney stone or two in my day. So fuck you.

This rewrite, though, feels like passing a kidney stone through my dick the size of a baby. With all the coughing up blood shit.

I wanna write, I gotta smoke. I smoke, I start coughing. I cough, I can't write.

And I can't sleep.

I have half a mind and call up a hooker or something. That'll stop me from coughing.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Violence Jack

Suddenly, I am filled with rage. And cough syrup.

Fuck you.

Fuck all of you.

I am going to kill your children.

I am going to hold you hostage and cut off your tongue and your fingers.

I am going to burn you. Scald you. I am going to brand you like the cow you are.

I am going to insert rusty needles beneath your fingernails.

I am going to feed you crude oil.

I am going to get you to inhale gas, and then force you to suck fire.

I will drive a hot metal spike through your vagina/penis.

And I will ram a red-hot poker up your ass.

I will capture all your loved ones. And I am going to torture them, one by one, in front of you.

I'll treat them like animals. I'll get animals to rape them.

I'll let some of their body parts to rot. And then I'll cut them off and cook it, and serve it to a starving you.

I'll kill them all in front of you. I'll get you to kill them.

I'll crucify them for your sins.

And now, sleep.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Flu Fighter

You know the difference between a real writer and a poser?

According to Brian Michael Bendis - the greatest dialogue writer of ALL TIME (fuck you, Tarantino) - while the loser talks about writing, the real writer writes. And kicks his ass.

Well, I like to do both.

The movie script is finished. Ha! But I will need to give it another round of polish by tonight. I have also rounded up 26 synopses for 26 episodes of a series. Will go for breakdown later.

But first, I need to get some air.

Been stuck here, in my apartment, for three days, fighting the flu. I'm a Flu Fighter, yo!

Got some friends downstairs waiting for me.

So see you, after I finish the script once and for all, write the three letters, do two more proposals, and wrap up the synopses.

I am the greatest.

Intermission: Optimus Optimal

I need more rest.

The flu is gone. My nose dried up. But the coughing is still there. I give myself till tonight. After that, I need to work. I have to write. I want to write. Starting 10pm.

Before I write, I've been reading. Carefully. It will save a lot of time on the writing part, if you actually read first.

Writing is not like talking. You plan it all out first. Then you fill it in. Whatever happens in-between is a myriad of possibilities. A confluence of ideas, and a convergence of viewpoints.

Tonight, in sickness or in health, I will be writing. One movie script to be finished. Another project to be managed. Two, possibly three letters. And a few proposals.

I've done it all before, and I'm going to do it again.

This time, no power in the universe can stop me(Optimus Prime, The Return of Optimus Prime, part 4 of 5).

Influenza Libertine

The Witch, who is a bitch, once told me this:

"I also used to think that sheer bone-headedness would win the day."

I used to think that working hard would be the key to success. Alas, the days of my father and his values are over.

It is not the simplistic adage of 'working smart' or 'kissing ass' that would emerge triumphant, either. Though people who did the latter are usually safer. And I am never safe.

Logic as well as the rational would most often lose out to the irrational and the fantastic.

O, what fools these mortals be.

I am sweating buckets now. Meaning the flu is almost past my system. Though I still have the cough.

Long periods of doing nothing has also thrown my situation into sharp focus. Freedom and independence are the most important things in the world. And I will choose that path.

I am a man of science, not a man of faith. But I do have belief. In myself.

And I will give birth to the 21st Century. As Jack the Ripper did for the 20th Century.

So send me your weak, your lame and whatever the fuck. Let the games begin.

Delirium Notatum

Perhaps the biggest crime that mankind has perpetrated would be to leave the most important decisions in the world up to talking snakes and dead men.

I mean, seriously. Talking snakes? Do you really believe in that?

How about reading entrails? Or divination from bones?

People make fun of Scientology, but is it any different than what any of you believe in?

I still find the best wisdom from the lips of a Thai hooker, which shares some resonance with Goethe. Or was it Nietszche(I hope I got the z in the right place).

"We are here," said the prostitute, "To make the most of our lives. To live and act, and make decisions, to the best of our abilities. The rest, is up to God."

Of course, she didn't say it as such. It came in broken English, and smatterings of Thai - what little I could understand. But it made more sense than any TV evangelist, speaking in tongues. And asking for money.

And the German philosopher said (I THINK he was German),

God's in His heaven. All's right with the world.

Saturday, December 27, 2008


I'm sweating.

Means the fever is breaking. And I'm smoking again.

Am working on several projects at one go, though I am too weak to sit down and do any actual writing. For now. Am hoping after this final cigarette and a few hours of sleep, I can get back to being The Flash!

Meanwhile, I am watching Religulous - a film by Bill Maher that debunks religion. Pretty cool. I'll share more when I finish it. But for now, sleep.


Hey, yo!

My company is going into the production business, full steam. As in, TV serials, films, commercials, web drama and whatever else.

We have connections to studios, cameras, lighting and audio equipment. We have producers, directors, production managers, production assistants, writers, researchers, creative consultants, actors, actresses, singers, hosts, etc.

I also have with me right now a script bank. Of sorts. We have ideas in several stages of gestation. Just add money.

So if you have a few hundred thou to burn, you know who to call.

E-mail me at We take 40% deposit, at least.

Oh, and uhh...if any of you have channels or networks that need running, our guys are the best content and creative guys on the planet. We kick everyone's asses.

Everyone else is stupid. We are the best.

Jefty is Fucked

One of the best short stories I've ever read from a writer who wrote it while down with the flu (or quite possibly, just claiming that he had the flu) was Jefty is Five.

I can't remember who wrote it, and is too delirious to google.

I remember reading it in an anthology of the best stories from the science fiction and fantasy magazine.

It was about how one of the narrator's friends, Jefty, who was always five years old.

Everything around him stayed in that era as well. There were radio shows he would get, and they were all updated versions of such classics as The Shadow and lots of other shit.

I don't feel like writing, when I am sick.

I'll get angry. At everyone. And I'd like to smoke.

I'd dig up old grievances and air it. I'll show you exactly where and when you went wrong. And how I was right. How I was always right.

And you fuckers are the ones who're delusional and stupid. And manipulated via your own egos. While I remain right.

Oh well. Who the fuck cares anymore?

I am just going to get through this flu.

As always, where the hell were you?

Fuck off and die.


Second day of the flu. And bronchitis.

In the morning, after almost 20 hours of sleep, I coughed up brown phlegm. That's red blood cells, pus and accumulated mucus. My throat or my lungs must be inflamed.

Hopefully, the fever will break. Soon. But, going through this highlights the reality of things. When things are going down, there's only one person you can count on - yourself.

Fuck everyone else. They always want something from you. Use you or manipulate you. Fuck all of them.

They're stupid. And there's nothing I can do for them. They won't listen to me, fucking assholes. So they will die in their stupidity.

As for me, I just need to let go. I got my own life, and my own sickness to tend to.

I need to boost up my immune system. First, food. Then, medication. And sunlight. The skin produces natural vitamins when exposed to sunlight.

Rhinoviruses gets washed down with more water I drink, and dies in ultra-violet light.

Vitamin C gets rid of 60% of flu symptoms. Zinc helps in the absorption of Vitamin C. And I would need lots and lots of warm water. And painkillers. Medication that knocks me out prevents me from smoking. Gives a chance to the lungs to repair itself.

I would need three boxes of tissues. Need to get as much mucus out as I can.

And for now, sleep.

Posting of the Beast

This is post number 666. The article of the beast.

Fittingly, I am battling bronchitis AND the flu. Emptied an entire bottle of Benadryl today. I was slipping in and out of consciousness all day long. Only had three sticks of cigarettes in the past 24 hours. My average was three packs.

Took Clarinase, and some painkillers.

There is a lot of work to be done, but before I commence, I need to take care of myself and get better.

My aim is to write 20 hours of content in the month of January. Maybe more. In order to do that, I need to get over the flu. Fast.

Meanwhile, some child-rapists from my old school are trying to attract attention to themselves. Again.

Oh well. Maybe they never saw the movie Sleepers. Which is exactly what I am going to do right now. I am going to go to sleep.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

In Sickness and in Health

Am at the Hilton. Feeling oh-so-pretentious.

I don't belong here. I'm a barbarian. A swamp rat.

And I'm coming down with bronchitis and the flu. Coughing up blood into their expensive foot-long paper napkins. Accumulating a pile of soggy catering napkins to my left.

I asked for the softer serviettes. My nose is red enough as it is, that I fear some deluded evangelists or Mormons might strap me to a sleigh or something.

I asked for tea. Hot, and by the pot. My sinus is blocked and to pay for the buffet would be a waste.

Throat burning. Eyes watery. And I got my feet up.

Wearing rubber sandals. And shorts.

Hmmm. My feet - the skin is molting. Peeling, actually. Molting would suggest that I'm a dragon or something.

Ahh...the tea's arrived. Earl Grey. I press the hot cup to my throat.

Feels like I need to take my lungs out and hang them to dry for a while.

Only smoked one measly cigarette in the past hour. To keep from coughing my lungs out.

Need to get me some bernadryl...soon.

Herr-Man (Now with More Homosexuality!)

And I thought He-Man couldn't get any gayer.

Okay, Ilsa, I'll play along! Now shove that sword where it belongs. Shove it!

Ilsa: Princess of Power.

Magic and Mystery

Merry Christmas, bitches!

Whispered Secrets of a Shattered Age

Legend of Prince Valiant, yo!

I used to love this show, particularly for that opening theme.

It was one of the best Tuesday or Thursday cartoons ever.

The cartoons I liked when I was growing up in the 80s, and all the good shows, they always seemd to follow some sort of mystical categorization, according to days.

Monday shows almost always sucked. They began the week, for me, and it had always been crappy. I can't remember anything except for some really bad Hanna-Barbera shit.

Tuesday shows, I've always liked. There was Tosho Daimos, on RTM 2, at 7.30pm. Tuesday shows and Thursday shows always seemed like exotic shit.

Thursdays, there were Masked Rider Black, Space Cop Gaban, Moero Attack, Batman, Get Smart.

It was always edgy shit. Tosho Daimos questioned the sanity of waging war. And planted the seeds of interracial fucking in my head. The lead fell in love with one of the aliens, who had wings - Erika - who of course lost her memory and the ability to get her wings out.

And if you can fall for the enemy, you can't really hate the enemy.

Masked Rider Black, meanwhile, is the darkest, most serious Masked Rider of them all, without resorting to gay bishounen shit like the new ones.

Wednesdays were weird. Space Cop Gaban originally aired on Wednesdays, on TV2. At 4.30pm. Or something. Then, there was Jem and the Holograms - one of the few 80s cartoons that actually had a continuous, serious storyline.

Galtar and the Golden Lance was also on Wednesday at one time.

Comic Strips, which featured Karate Kat and Tigersharks.

Fridays, there were the classics. Macross and later, Mospeada. Transformers competing directly with Challenge of the Gobots. MASK, at one time, was also on Friday. Silverhawks - another Thundercats knock-off.

Dungeons and Dragons was the cartoon at 7.30pm. I was not really a Miss Comet fan - a Japanese serial about a girl from space.

Saturdays were the ultimate cartoon day.

Robotech, man. Robotech. The one thing that made me get up before 9.30am, every Saturday, every week, for three years.

It was on at TV3. Over at TV2, there was Transformers - the Japanese series. Headmaster, V for Victory and that other thing. With Fortress Maximus.

Thundercats was also aired on Saturdays, I think. So was Robotix, at that weird 1pm timeslot.

ANd that cult favourite - Visionaries. I dig the verses they had to recite in order to activate their power staves. Best one, to me, was the Power of Knowledge.

A whim, a thought, and more is sought.
Awake my mind, thy will be wrotught!


But it always sucked how the questions that stupid asshole Arzon asked always seemed to be stupid things.

Why didn't he just ask, "How do I defeat the bad guys in this episode?"

Or, "How do I kill them once and for all?"

Or, "What is the best possible solution for me, and how do I do it?"

But noooo. That fucker had to go and ask stupid shit like, "Who is that man?"

What the fuck, man?

And the staff with the Power of Wisdom is sooo stupid. It's like Knowledge, but the fucking apparition had to deliver knowledge in fucking riddles. Riddles, I tell you!

Whispered secrets of a shatterd age, blablabla renew this sage!

"Umm, how do we get out of this shit? And the water's rising fast!"

"Oh, well, ummm...let me can I be obscure in this? Ah, yes. One arrow, break. Many arrows, don't break. But what do arrows have in common with people? I wonder..."

"Gee. Thanks. Dick."

Sunday sucked.


Waiting for Santi Claus. To kill him.

Went through a roller-coaster of shit this year. And hate, anger, euphoria, have been my fuel.

Right now, I got nothing. I am enjoying the fact that both my brain and the cavity which used to house my blood-pumper is empty. Totally empty.

I do not feel anything. I am thinking of nothing. You have no idea how much of a relief this is.

Like that time in Thailand. When my ears were ringing. I saw white static. For, like, five minutes.

Nothing really matters. No one matters. And that's as good as it gets.

Eve of Destruction

C'mon, Santi Claus. C'mon.

I baked some machete cookies for you and Imma ram it down your throat, you B&E pervert.

Imma stay up all night, if it weren't for this sore throat and slightly high temperature, which I'm hoping is not the start of a bronchitis flu.

Last night, my uncle's ghost came to see me, but I killed him again and ate him up. He told me tonight, there would be three ghosts or something.

Well, I got my machete, a stove and a frying pan. And condiments. Tomorrow's Christmas lunch seems taken care of.

Oh yeah.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good handjob!

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Christmas Wood

Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree...


Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree...


Christmas, to me, has always been a crappy thing to celebrate.

Why? Cause it's only one day off. Fuck!

Give la, two or three days.

And if Santa Claus ever came to my house, with the intention of dropping a lump of coal in my many socks, I'd rob him.

With my machete.

And then I'd slit his throat.

And take the naughty and nice list. And read about who did what this year.

And chuckle.

Maybe jack-off.

Then I'd go and get the reindeers, and make reindeer stew.

Onwards! Prancer! Hooker! Whore! Cunt! Cock-sucker! Teaser! Stripper!

Knights of the Magical Light

Remember their poems.

Arrows break, swords rebel!
May nothing pierce this mortal shell!

A whim, a thought
And more is sought!
Awake my mind, thy will be wrought!

Sheathe these feet with the driving gale,
Make swift these legs, o'er land I sail!

Whispered secrets of a shattered age, I summon you - renew this sage!

By nature's hand, by craft, by art.
What once was one, now fly apart!

Tetuan Alam Semesta


Aku Adam, Putera Eternia. Dan pembela rahsia Istana Tengkorak Kelabu.

Dan ini Cringer, kawanku yang tidak mengenal erti takut.

Aku terdedah kuasa sihir yang hebat pada hari aku mengangkat pedangku dan berkata, "Demi kuasa Tengkorak Kelabu!"

"Akuuuuu adaaaa kuaaasaaaaa!!!"

Cringer menjadi Kucing Perang, dan aku menjadi Dia-Lelaki: lelaki paling berkuasa di alam semesta!

Tiga yang lain berkongsi rahsia ini.

Rakan kami, si Ahli Sihir Perempuan (yang hot nak mampus).


Dan Orko.

Bersama-sama, kami melawan kuasa jahat Rangkor!


Sunday, December 21, 2008

The Rimau


Terjemahan tak bertempat sajak The Tyger

Rimau, Rimau, membakar tekak
Dalam pub tempat melalak
Siapa sanggup bertaruh jari,
Dan memberikan kau kolonoskopi?

Gelombang Ombak Lautan Dalam
Lurah Engkau Aku Faham
Sayap apa dekat situ?
Mujur engkau tak ada bulu

Bau apa dan bunyi apa?
Boleh berada di dalam puki?
Dan bila aku masukkan kepala
Apa yang keluar, kencing ke tahi?

Apakejadah, What the fuck?
Engkau mencarut dalam otak
Engkau taknak pergi Starbucks?
Atau nak minum air dalam kotak?

Bila bintang mencampak lembing
Dan menyiram kayangan dengan air kencing
Ko senyum tak, bergigi sumbing?
Atau kau kentut, keluar bendasing

Rimau, Rimau, membakar tekak
Dalam pub tempat melalak
Siapa sanggup bertaruh jari,
Dan memberikan kau kolonoskopi?

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Noir Saturday

I woke up to a jackhammer which turned out to be just blood rushing to my brain. Every heartbeat is a pounding on the top of my head. The sun is sending me waves of pain. Hypersensitivity? No. Not yet. Just my eyes.

I tried to remember what happened last night. Only bits and pieces. I was talking to some people. Ayu wanted to be mentioned here. Quoted for something she said. I can't remember what she said.

There were bottles. Glasses clinking. Music and smoke.

Cash. Cold, hard cash.

Some 30 minutes after I woke up, I started becoming somebody else.

To create good characters, and sometimes, to write any story at all, you have to imagine yourself as the character. Put in that situation, what would you do? What would you think? What would you say? How would you react?

You get to see it from their eyes. Maybe see a little of their childhood. Momemnts from their past that would resonate with their present, or future.

Next, you have to see the character from the other characters' perspective. Then, you have to see the big picture. On the screen. How audiences would see it.

In The Prestige, it is illustrated how performance is a little death. A small death. You cut away a bit of yourself and you put it on stage. End of the show, that piece dies.

Writers, we die before the show starts. Our stage is a bulb, a cathode ray tube. Or a slab of liquid crystals. Or dead trees with mineral oil on it.

Everyone is a hero. To themselves. The little stories they tell themselves. And to everyone else, they're villains. A subject to beat, to suppress, to humiliate and destroy. So their egos can live.

My head is pounding. I grab a couple of liver-wasting Panadol tablets. And I mix it with some painkillers. Two types. Wash it down with water. Always water. Don't mix with coffee, or even tea.

Aspirin would thin the blood. Not advisable for me, who has a family history of hypertension. A more diluted blood can travel faster. If it travels fast enough, I could rupture blood vessels. It would be okay if it's just capillaries in the nose, or even the eyes. But a burst vessel in the brain, and that's what we call a stroke.

There is a vein on the heart called a widowmaker. It supplies blood from the heart, to the heart itself. A fragile link. A lot of heart attacks occur because of this vein.

Oh yeah. Veins take the blood to the heart. Arteries take the blood from the heart. As such, arteries are stronger, to handle the pressure. Blood vessels are one way, because of the tricuspid valve in the right ventricle, and the stronger bicuspid valve in the left ventricle.

Separates the ventricles with the other two chambers - whatsname - articles? Antricles? (Atrium - Ed)

Apologies for any factual errors. I don't do any research on wikipedia for this website. Cause it's free. And since I do not have any responsibilities, I will bombard you with stuff that may or may not be true:

The aorta - the biggest and strongest artery - is so big that if cholesterol plaques were to start accumulating, it could be decades before you get a coronary. Veins such as the widowmaker are thinner and if the LDL accumulates enough, you die.

Bypass surgery is a common treatment. You only wear a pacemaker if you have erratic heart rhythm. Causes? Possibly heart infarction. Maybe nerve damage.

Why the hell am I thinking about heart diseases? Oh. The IJN issue.

Tea, in some cases, have more caffeine than coffee. My thing was chrysanthemum tea. A couple of bottles, and I won't have to sleep.

There's even water, just normal water, infused with caffeine. So you can get your caffeine fix without staining your teeth.

What the hell did I do last night? No blood. No murder. No naked woman. No sex. Don't feel guilty, so must not have done anything wrong.

There was a discussion on eating pussy. Somewhere. And TV. I got a number. Should I call?

In an hour, I'm going to see a play. Must be...cohesive? No. Coherent. Have to pull myself together. I do the bulk of my writing after ten at night. That's when I don't just have to be other people, but create worlds for them to play in.

Treatment? CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. I got the box set. Gotta go.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Tales from the Drunk Side: Happy Birthday, Rocky

Am at Press Club. Celebrating Rocky's birthday tomorrow.

If I say any more, people might say I am trying to suck up to the man.

What with rumours flying around nowadays.

Ah, fuck it.

Who cares what other people say. People are stupid.

Rocky is an editor I respect.

Regardless of what other people might say or think.

When I was down and out for the count, he helped, in his small ways. And in big ways.

His calm management methodology is something I wish to emulate, when I am experienced enough.

He is one of the three people whose advice I still seek.

Part of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

So, happy birthday, man.

May the light shine forever.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Fuck You, Bitch!

You know what? I am so cool.

I am so cool, my fart just now solved global warming.

I am so cool, the nitrogen in the air around my ass just turned liquid.

I am in awe of myself. I look up to me.

Good job, me. Hey, me. You're such a good-lookin' motherfucker, me.

Mabuk-Mabuk Kepayang: Jejak Kelana

Pintu dibuka, lubang digali.

Hati tak luka, pantat berduri.

Kau memang nak kena maki.

Asah puki dengan cili.

Pantat mak kau tak pernah basuh.

Selak kain, sekampung merusuh.

Jangan harap aku nak jadi buruh.

Pantat tak basuh nak suruh aku tutuh.

Pukimak mak bapak kau

Bulu burit macam akar

Kalau hati, hitam berbalau

Apatah lagi pantat belukar.

Kalau Anwar Ibrahim Menulis Blognya Sendiri

Saya akan LAWAN balik!

Assalamualaikum dan selamat malam kepada bapak-bapak dan paman-paman serta pomen-pomen sekalian.


Melayu, Cina, India, Iban! Kadazan!

Penan! Negrito! Kenyah! Kelabit! Kayan! Bidayuh! Peranakan! Jawa! Bugis! Batak! Omputih sesat! Perasan mat salleh! Cina pisang! Melayu kelapa! India Hindraf!

Saya, akan LAWAN BALIK!


Kais Fansuri

Tadi, aku gilap kasut.

Aku bayar untuk kasut aku nampak lebih best.

Kat Puchong. Sambil tunggu member pergi bank. Sambil orang lain pergi sembahyang Jumaat.

Gilap kasut, tiga ringgit.

Aku tanya brader tu, berapa pelanggan dia dapat sehari?

"Tiga," jawabnya.

Kesian pulak aku. Pasal aku orang yang mulia. Kacak. Sasa. Berketrampilan. Konek kuat, jubur harum.

Aku tanya dia, ganti tapak berapa?

"45 ringgit, pak."

Pukimak, mahalnya!

"Tampal? Tampal. Berapa?"

"20 ringgit, pak."

Aku pun mula rasa kasihan kat diri aku sendiri.

Patutnya, aku ni jutawan. Dan mamat ni dapat lebih dari 3 pelanggan sehari.

Fuh, mulia sungguh aku. Aku kagum dan kaget dengan kemapanan iltizam aku.


Siapa aku nak jadi kali ni?

Nak tulis macam Saniboey? Dengan pendirian tegasnya? Walaupun aku takde pendirian. Dan aku boleh dijual beli, hanya dengan USD400 juta. Atau macam Namron? Alunan nostalgia meruntun hati. Tapi aku takda hati. Tanyalah Jaka Denial.

Atau seperti John, dengan Denver si koneknya.

Atau AKAB yang menghilang, email aku pun tak jawab.

Gaya bahasa yang tersendiri. Yang boleh aku ciplak.

Muka siapa aku nak pakai malam ini? Suara siapa aku dengar dalam kepala?

Kalau pakai suara aku?

Pantat pukimak mak bapak kau! Anak anjing rogol mak kau! Bapak anjing jilat puki kau!

Gentel biji kelentit! Gentel biji kelentit!


Beritahu aku. Siapa kau nak aku jadi malam ni?

Thamby - the Musical

Tak dapat tidur. Pasal aku di Bangsar.

Aku duduk di meja kosong. Tengah tunggu orang. Tiba-tiba, ada si Thamby duduk di depan aku.

Dan semestinya, orang yang aku tunggu bukanlah si Thamby ini.

Dia sedang mendengar dan menyertai sekali-sekala perbualan di meja sebelah.

Kehadirannya mengganggu fikiran aku.

Dia memakai baju kuning air. Meminum air kuning yang aku fikir boleh jadi air oren, atau air jagung.

Sesekali, dia memandang ke arah aku.

Aku rasa macam nak tulis lagu berdasarkan si Thamby ni.

Thamb-thamby-thanathan, taram-pam-pam pam-pam.

Amacam? Best tak, Thamby?

Cahaya Mengejutkan Serangga Tidur Tapa

Dalam filem Tora! Tora! Tora!, kalau tak silap aku, Jeneral atau Laksamana Jepun ada berkata, selepas menyerang Pearl Harbour pada akhir filem:

"Kita telah mengejutkan harimau yang tidur."

Semestinya, oleh sebab ini filem Hollywood, dan Hollywood terletak di Amerika, harimau yang dimaksudkan ialah Amerika sendiri.

Walhal, sebenarnya, kemungkinan besar Laksamana Jepun tersebut tengah mabuk sake sebab meraikan kemenangan Jepun membunuh ramai orang Amerika.

Punya lah panjang intro. Aku pun tak tau apa aku nak tulis tadi, pada asalnya.

Takpalah, aku nak pergi tidur tapa sekejap.

Jangan kejutkan aku, tau?

Pseudo-Intelektual: Tarian Orlando

Ada perempuan nampak macam lelaki.

Ada lelaki nampak macam perempuan.

Ada yang nampak baik, tetapi sebenarnya Syaitan.

Ada yang nampak Syaitan, dan memang selalu akan mengaku Tuhan.

Tak perasankah, cermin besar yang aku bawakan?

Aku menari, dari satu orang ke satu orang

Untuk setengah, mukaku girang.

Untuk yang lain, aku mengerang

Akulah Syaitan

Akulah pelacur jalanan

Akulah apa yang kau katakan

Tarian ini, sudah lama aku bawa

Dari Kuantan, di tepi paya

Sampai ke KL - sebuah kotaraya

Semua orang sama sahaja

Pukimak, anjing dan berpura-pura

Mereka sesat dalam dunia mereka

Mendabik dada, kononnya ke syurga

Kononnya hebat-hebat belaka

Kau tahu kan, apa akan ku kata?

Selamat Hidup, dan jumpa di Neraka!


Rumah yang baru dibersihkan.

Lantai yang baru dimop. Asbak yang baru dilap.

Pinggan mangkuk yang bersih berkilat.

Tandas yang kering dan kesat lantainya. Sinki yang tiada kesan kotoran.

Cadar yang baru dipasang. Selimut berlipat kemas.

Bantal yang gebu. Dan tilam getah.


Dan kau tanya aku kenapa aku tidur awal malam ni?

Sang Nila Utama

Dulu, aku ingat Singapura tempat orang jual tuala.

Pasal mak aku sibuk pergi Singapura, pada suatu masa dahulu. Dan dia beli tuala.

Aku juga fikir, semasa aku muda-muda dulu, yang Singapura ialah tempat jual emas dan barang kemas.

Jadi, dalam kepala hotak aku, aku dapat bayangkan Singapura sebagai sebuah pekan kolonial, beca roda dua berisi mat salleh ditarik oleh orang tua memakai tudung saji di kepala, melalui jalan-jalan yang dipenuhi dengan orang yang mengamalkan sistem pertukaran barangan. Emas untuk tuala. Pakai tahil, dengan penimbang kayu.

Aku cuma pergi ke Singapura, pertama kali ke luar negara, pada tahun 2003. Ke, 2004.

Aku tengok, orang Singapura baik-baik perangainya. Semua drebar teksi dia pergi aje ke mana aku nak. Tak macam pemandu teksi Malaysia. Kita pulak kena pergi mana dia nak. Pastu bayar pulak tu. Orang Singapura, takdelah macam setan sangat. Diorang mandi. Tak macam yang aku baca dalam suratkhabar.

Imej yang aku ada masa tu ialah orang Singapura pencuri air. Beli air satu sen, jual balik 60 sen. Lebih kurang la. Dan aku fikir, dengan pengetahuan mentah aku, betapa bodohnya orang Malaysia yang pergi beli air sendiri dengan harga bodoh macam tu.

Aku sebenarnya tak faham hubungan Malaysia-Singapura. Aku mengaku. Aku tahu sejarahnya, serba sedikit. Tapi aku masih tak faham.

Macam pasangan yang dah bercerai. Pastu gaduh.

Singapura beli roket yang hanya boleh serang Johor. Keluar suratkhabar. Angkuhnya kenyataan yang dikeluarkan.

Taknak pulak Malaysia beli roket yang boleh sampai Singapura?

Dulu, masa aku suka bolasepak tempatan, zaman semi-pro, aku akan tengok hampir semua perlawanan antara Singapura dan negeri lain. Pasal aku nak tengok Singapura kalah. Aku pun tak tau apasal aku memang berprasangka terhadap Singapura.

Aku rasa, tak perlu semua ni.

Walau sebenci mana pun aku dengan jiran aku dekat kampung, pasal bawak mulut dan pinjam barang tak bagi balik, aku masih mengucapkan takziah pada keluarganya masa dia mati. Tu yang buat jahat secara terus kepada aku dan keluarga aku tu.

Dan aku takkan berpura-pura yang aku tahu secara menyeluruh semua yang berlaku antara Singapura dan Malaysia. Cuma, yang aku percaya, aku tak perlu nak membenci atau membawa rasa syak wasangka aku terhadap negara itu dan penduduknya.

Cuma, maafkan aku kalau aku tidak mahu membeli air aku sendiri pada kadar yang teruk sebegitu. Kau boleh ambil sebanyak mana air yang kau perlukan. Sebagai manusia, selagi belum menjadi binatang, aku fikir semua punyai hak untuk mendapat air minum yang cukup. Kalau tak minum, nanti dapat batu karang. Sakit tu.

Tapi, aku mungkin akan beli tuala. Kalau ada.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Pseudo-Intelektual: Harimau, Hantu Kutu dan Naga Merah

Dalam beberapa ketika, aku akan mula menulis untuk TV Melayu. Ya. TV Malaysia. Yang sering dituduh bodoh, lagi membodohkan.

Sebelum aku menulis, aku sedang membaca puisi William Blake. Pasal apa? Pasal aku pseudo-intelektual. Ahli fikir palsu.

Akan aku masukkan sajak dan lukisan Blake ke dalam TV Melayu. Memang tak kena. memang tak sesuai. Hasilnya nanti bakal seperti raksasa Frankenstein.

Kegilaan Blake yang meracau dan kekontangan TV Melayu yang kacau. Akulah Dali. Akulah Naga Merah, Hantu Kutu, dan akulah Harimau.

Aku Nak Berak dan Rahman Shaari

Aku masih ada sedikit cirit birit, walaupun taik aku yang terakhir tadi ada kekenyalan pisang lenyek dah, dan bukannya bubur nasi.

Jadi aku bangun dari katil hisap rokok. Aku baca blog Saniboey - Aku Bimbo. Ada lah pulak gambar cikgu lama aku - Rahman Shaari.

Tahun 2001 (kot?), Universiti Malaya. Aku ingat nak ambik kursus ko-kurikulum. Aku mementingkan kursus yang tak payah pakai duit.

Teringin nak belajar biola, tapi kena beli biola. RM100 lebih tu beb. Aku masa tu, hidup makan roti canai je. Nak main golf, tapi kena beli kayu golf. Nak buat batik (pasal ramai awek) tapi kena beli kain dengan canting/djanting.

Pukimak betul. Semua pakai duit. Bapak aku dah pencen masa tu. Pencen dia RM555 je. Takkan aku nak suruh orang tua tu bukak buku 555 pasal aku nak korek burit perempuan atas motor? Aku ni, berprinsip dan mulia orangnya. Kah kah kah.

Aku terjumpa la satu kursus ko-kurikulum ni - Kemahiran Seni Orator. Modal air liur je. Jalan!

Pensyarahnya? Rahman Shaari.

Aku pergi ke kuliah pertamanya. Punyalah ramai bebudak perasan politician (yakni yang dah lapan tahun kat UM, tapi tak lepas-lepas lagi) masuk Kemahiran Seni Orator. Semua Parti Islam Se-Malaysia (PIS-M).

Aku: Wah, ramai jugak masuk menatang ni ye?

PIS-M Lanjut Usia: Mestilah. Kitorang nak tunggu Pak Lah datang.

Aku: Apasal?

PLU: Pasal aku nak tanya soalan yang dia takleh nak jawab.

Aku: Soalan matematik ke? Kalkulus? Salasilah keluarga pemerintah Jerman?

PLU: Ala. Tanya soalan sampai dia tak boleh nak jawab la.

Aku: Kalau kau tanya soalan, buat apa nak bagi dia takleh jawab? Tanyalah soalan yang dia boleh jawab.

PLU: Ko ni, memang tak paham politik la. Kau join sebab apa?

Aku: Pasal pakai modal air liur je. Murah dan jimat.

Lepas tu, diorang semua pandang aku macam orang UMNO. Diorang tak tau, kad keahlian UMNO aku ada je dalam wallet. Bapak aku yang daftarkan. Duit UMNO je yang aku takde. Kad ada la.

Apa pun, aku ikutlah kelas Cikgu Rahman Shaari ni.

Suara dia memang best. Garau macam rimau.

Sayangnya, aku cuma ikut dua setengah kelas je. Sebab lepas tu, cuti bulan puasa. Lepas tu, bila aku pergi balik kelas, tempat dah bertukar. Memandangkan aku dengan orang-orang PIS-M tak pernah nak bertukar-tukar nombor telefon (pasal aku takut diorang call aku malam-malam, tanya soalan yang aku takleh jawab), maka aku pun gagal menghadiri semua kelas Rahman Shaari. Maka aku pun lingkup ko-kurikulum.

Aku rasa, kat UM, aku antara beberapa intan terpilih yang fail ko-kurikulum.

Fast-Forward ke semester akhir aku. Aku masih kena lulus ko-kurikulum. Kalau tak, aku tak grad.

Aku cari lagi Rahman Shaari. Dia ajar Asas Deklamasi Puisi. Aku join. Takdelah pulak orang PIS-M. Lagilah aku suka.

Rahman Shaari mengajar penghayatan semasa mendeklamasikan puisi.

'Kata' atau cara biasa yang kita lihat di TV, oleh orang amatur dan selebriti biasa, serta di pertandingan deklamasi puisi peringkat sekolah biasanya jauh tersasar dari erm...sasaran? Mata kerbau? Aprikot? Jauh dari sasaran? Tak tepat la kiranya.

Pasal ada banyak emosi, banyak mood, maka ada banyak cara. Ada puisi marah. Ada puisi takut. Ada puisi lucah. Ada puisi selamba. Ada puisi kosong. Puisi hampa.

Maka deklamasinya pun mengikut apa yang sesuai.

Cikgu Rahman ada baca puisi pasal neraka. Gila best. Ketar suara orang nak masuk neraka, dikunjungi oleh watak syaitan.

Dia ajar pasal bentuk puisi lama, puisi klasik. Gurindam. Seloka. Apa bezanya. Dia cerita pasal kehebatan pemuisi di Indonesia, dan cara persembahan mereka.

Yang aku ingat, dia ada cerita pasal bagaimana, di awal persembahan, semasa penonton baru melabuhkan punggung, ada berlaku kekacauan. Ada orang dituduh pencuri. Maka dipanggil ke atas pentas dan dibicarakan di situ juga - sebagai salah satu elemen persembahan.

Gila lah.

Lepas tu, ada dia bawak dua tiga orang pergi baca puisi kat RTM. Dapatlah RM400 kot? Sudah tentu, aku tak ikut. Pasal aku bukan pemuisi. Aku pemerhati. Pergi Rumah Pena pun ada. Tengok pemuisi lepak atas kerusi. Cari ilham, katanya.

Akhir semester, kitorang buat show. Tiga orang baca puisi, lepas tu semua yang lain - yang tak terer sangat - pergi nyanyi gurindam.

Aku ingat lagi tak?

Bertaahun tahun
Ku bawa namamu Maya
Dari desa ke desa
Ku bawa, ia
bak luka, baru, di keningku


Yang lain aku tak ingat.

Show ni masuk Malam Ko-Kurikulum UM yang dibuat setiap tahun.

Ada la mamat-mamat dan minah-minah yang belajar violin, tapi hancur. Kreeek kroook. Nyeeettt, nyooootttt. Hapakejadahnya violin camtu?

Yang perasan musician, semestinya akan pergi ambik kelas gitar. Pun hancur. Konon Spanish plucking la. Flamenco habis. Aku gosok gitar pakai bontot aku pun lagi best la bunyinya. Aku pluck pakai konek je.

Pameran batik? Nampak macam mosaic yang aku buat masa aku darjah satu je.

Hasilnya? Kitorang menang. Tempat pertama tu. Merasa la aku makan coklat free. Not bad. Modal air liur, dapat makan coklat. Dan aku backup singer je. Tak payah beli gitar. Tak payah beli biola.

Semestinya, kitorang raikan kemenangan tak bertempat tu dengan Cikgu Rahman Shaari. Dia pun nampak terkejut.

Mesti dia fikir, "Losers macam ni, yang pinjam buku aku tak kasi balik (hehehe), pun boleh menang ka?"

Tapi yang aku ingat bukanlah pasal makan coklat sangat. Tapi pasal suara garau yang terketar-ketar, baca sajak pasal neraka, dan membuat suara halus syaitan.

Pasal tu, sampai sekarang, kalau aku tulis sajak, aku suka tulis pasal syaitan. Kena dengan jiwa aku.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008


My, oh my.

Oh well.

That's all I'm going to say. And all I can do, to stifle a chuckle.

There is a God, apparently.

Dog Day Afternoon

Went to the clinic.

Got my meds. I can work with these. With some leftover painkillers from last time.

Pretty soon, I'll be to high to write.

Or maybe high enough.

I did what I could. Imparted my 28-year-old wisdom. My knowledge. That's as far as I can go.

You have to walk the mile yourself. You have to want to walk it.

Others will try to influence you. Maybe because of jealousy or fear of success. Maybe because of genuine concern.

It's your call. Your life, your responsibility.

I can't and won't live your life for you. I got my own shit I need to handle. I need to take care of myself.

So good luck. Good night. Don't let the bugs bite.

As Captain Planet would say, "The power is YOURS!"

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Pistol Grip Pump: The High Cost of Cursing

Recently, some people at Rocky's blog made copious use of the word motherfucker, thus lessening its impact and shock value.

As a person who relies on most humour and annoyance in shock factor, I am appalled by the death of 'motherfucker'.

It used to be that I could just write 'fuck' and whole offices would laugh. As if they have just re-discovered a word their teachers told them never to use decades, probably centuries ago.

People are no longer amused by 'fuck' and adding the prefix 'mother-' and suffix '-er' no longer has the same sting as it did in 1998.

Ten years later, I am compelled to find more curse words in a futile attempt to stay relevant and shocking.

I am considering these curse-candidates:

1. Buttfucking sonofabitch

- not related to the country's foremost buttfucking sonofabitch.

- pronounced as: BUTT-fah-KING SON-of-a-BEETCH!

2. Pantat pukimak mak bapak kau

- a curse that will include both parents, and possibly grandparents as well.

- A nudge in elevating the use of Bahasa Malaysia

3. Mak kau beromen dengan anjing. Bapak kau beromen dengan babi. Dapatlah kau - BANJINGAN!

- Ummh. Too long. Will never catch on.

4. Shit-eating rectal-wart

- too...medical.

5. Horse-fucker

- Mmm. Short. Concise. Easily applied. But has less zing to it.

6. Barbra Streisand

- Mmm. Has potential.

7. Denial-whore cock-sucker!

- Nah. Trying too hard.


The art of cursing is like a cigar. It goes with the meal, the issue, at hand. And sadly, nothing as ubiquituous as 'motherfucker' will ever be seen again.

Oh, why, God? Whyyyy?

52 Pickup

During lunch break today, I went and picked up my new Identity Card. MyKad.

I made the first one around three years ago. I did not pick it up till I checked a few weeks ago, when they told me it has been destroyed. Because some people started worshipping it. So I paid the fees and made a new one.

It's pretty unimpressive. A few weeks ago, I tried to do something funny with the picture with my trademark serial rapist smile, but the woman simply asked me to retake the picture.

I tried a three-quarter pose, but was immediately told to sit up straight and stare directly at the camera.

No fun at all.

So I am now part of the 12 million Malaysians who already did their MyKads. A total of almost 15 million still do not have it. 3 million from that haven't collected it, and some 43% are too young. 6% have been classified as either handicapped or too old. They won't be having their pictures taken anytime soon.

Of the 12 million, a total 100,000 will lose their cards every year. This year, 103,429 people made reports that their cards went missing.

Actually, all those figures I just mentioned are make-believe. Fake. I do no research at all for my writing here (cause it's free), but that's how it would look if I did have the actual numbers and stats.

The Advantages of Making Me a Millionaire

Look, as long as I'm not rich, I'm going to annoy you with miscellaneous crap and shit.

I will be a mirror to you and your darkest bullshit. I will show you your hypocrisies, flaunt them, and make caricatures of them. I will be the physical embodiment of your being.

I will do and say things that you do not like.

Why? Because without lots and lots of money, I have nothing to amuse myself with, other than showing you how stupid you are.

For some, you will have this irrepressible urge to put me down. To hate me. Because you do not have a life, and deep down inside, you WANT to be me. You want to be SEEN or regarded as better than me.

With millions at my disposal, I will shift my attention away from what makes me laugh - you - and focus entirely on myself. And how great I am. And Phuket. And being a superhero.

Just remember: as long as I am insignificant, I am invincible. With nothing to lose. Make me a millionaire, and I would have something to lose - my millions.

In other words, for a person without weaknesses - ME - you create one. Money.

As a millionaire, I would have to play by the rules. The same stupid rules you claim to follow. Because those rules would be advantageous to a millionaire, who don't have to follow them anyway. Right now, with no millions, fuck the rules. Fuck you.

And don't worry. Even if I am a millionaire, I have set safeguards to ensure that I would never be a politician. I would never make it in a field where I would need to appease most people, if not everybody, with my charming personality. I would never rise in power and take over the country, or even portions of it. I have no such aspirations.

I just want to be rich and financially free. Which will take at least RM2 million. Then, I'll go back to Kuantan. And live by the sea. Out of your hair.

So give me RM2 million, at least. If you give me USD400 million, I can take my whole family and leave the fucking country.

So choose - make me a millionaire, or suffer the consequences.
Aku ingat aku dah jadi Jawa. Pasal minum Jaka Denial.

Takpun Scottish, pasal lepak dengan the Duke of the Glen.

Tapi makan nasi lemak ni, jadi Melayu la pulak.

Nyanyi pun, lagu Wings. Gua rock kapak la malam ni.

Dah jadi Melayu ni, rasa nak bersajak la pulak.

Pukimak mak bapak kau
Pantat mak kau bau hau
Kau takyah nak berpura meracau
Nanti dengan bapak- bapak kau aku halau

Apa mimpi nak hisap konek aku
Bila masa bontot aku berlapik baldu

Aku akan tengok orang mata berkebil
Tangan ketar, tak habis menggentel
Dalam seluar memang nak terkucil
Kena lanyak dunia yang tiba-tiba adil.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Siri Bercakap Dengan Husna: Hisap Konek

Aku lepak dengan Husna dan lakinya, Faizul.

Aku: Bilala aku nak jadi kaya, Husna? Kalau aku kaya, ramainya nak hisap konek aku.

Husna: Kalau dah kaya nanti, ramailah yang mengaku kawan kau.

Aku: Yep. Tapi masa tu aku dah lari balik Kuantan dah. Tak duduk KL dah. Tunggu mati je.





A cry for justice.

Take a bow.

The End.

Tales from the Drunk Side: The Balance

I am enjoying a rare moment of happiness and bliss, now.

You could say that I am at a high.

I believe that some sort of balance has been achieved. The karmic wheel turned and settled.

What goes around, comes around.

We all have to pay the piper sometime.

Will you get a present, wrapped in a bow? Or would it be a charred lump of coal?

This calls for a toast:

To absent friends, old Gods and the season of mists. And may each and every one of us pay the devil his due.



I once read an article, or was it a short story more than 20 years ago, that started with a small girl weighing herself on her house scales.

"Look how much I'm worth!" She exclaimed, in her innocence. In the story. Or the article.

The text then shifted and expanded about self-worth and how we value ourselves. Good read, even though I don't really remember what it said.

Decades later, I saw another girl, in Bangkok, driven near tears because her 'client' was trying very hard to bargain her 'value'.

He basically wanted a 500 baht discount. To her, I could guess that it meant her being was 500 baht cheaper.

The asshole punter obviously did not know the way of the place.

He should have simply said no, he did not have the money. And go away. Thus, he would be the one with the shame, and not putting the girl through one of the most humiliating experiences ever - to negotiate for one's worth with a heartless stranger.

Nowadays, I see people do that all the time.

And how much is it we are worth? Are we even worth it?

No one can answer these. No one can put a price on us, except for ourselves.

No one can value us other than ourselves.

And yet, sometimes, some people put too cheap a price. Some, sell dearly. Too much, for nothing.

I know my value. My worth. It's USD400 million.

Not a totally impossible number. Not entirely small, either.

For USD400 million, I'll do anything. But not everything. There are still some things in the world that mere money - or sex - can't buy.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

The End of the Rainbow

Look, I want to be rich. I want to be a multi-millionaire, if not a billionaire.

Some think I'm just being greedy. They judge me without even knowing what I intend to do with the money. Some may think I'm like them, wanting the money for reasons similar to what they want to use it for. Who cares? Fuck you.

I am not afraid of failing to be a millionaire. What I am most afraid of is losing the drive to be rich.

I mean, sure, in the past five years, I have come up with ideas that at the first stage alone would have made RM250 million. I saw maybe 50K. In five years.

But that did not stop me from coming with more and more ideas. I have been in the game long enough to not put all my hopes up in any one thing. There is a lot of luck - good and bad - out there, and there are lots of con-men as well.

I will still go on and try new avenues and new people as long as:

1. It is NOT an MLM thing.

2. It does not intefere with my work.

3. I don't have to spend a single cent (okay, maybe I spent RM50 on one endeavour, but that was for food and drinks).

4. It is legit. And won't victimize anyone.

Because, the way I see it, there are only three possible outcomes:

1. I succeed and be a millionaire. And then I die.

2. I fail and be 'normal'. And then I die.

3. I don't try at all. And then I die.

The only thing to watch out for is to not get myself emotionally involved. Multi-million dollar schemes are like women. Fuck 'em, thoroughly, and then leave 'em.

If you get emotionally involved, that's it. You're dead.

So I will continue with any chance I get. I will chase that rainbow, cause it's a much better option, a much better drug than chasing the dragon.

Mother! Father! Family!

For the first time ever, I initiated a family soiree with members of my extended family - the Klang Valley branch.

I have always been rather apprehensive of the family concept, but am keeping an open mind.

Though it was said that an open mind is the surest way of having things float away.

I will never start a family of my own. It is not on my to-do list. In fact, it is on my not-to-do list.

I will weather the homosexual allegations, and turn a deaf ear to the holier-than-thous who exclaim and ejaculate every time they mention the virtues of breeding.

Sometimes, I would make sure that my shouts drown theirs. That, furnished by Phuket, I am wayyy holier.

I gave up on that this year. Because I realise that the more idiots in the world, the better I look.

I am not gay, but I am vain.

And though I do not like the family institution, I have learned to appreciate MY family.

Where were you when the strength of man failed? They were with me. Warts and all.

So, am waiting for my ride. And by the next hour, I will be dining with my family.
So we talked about creating worlds.

Gods that walk among men.

I get my power fix simply by writing stories. Creating worlds. I have no need for position or status, which I have often viewed as frivolous and impermanent. Fake and pretentious.

I am a dream-powered writing machine. I have no heart, and my persona is whatever is needed for the project.

I am the creator of universes. The devourer of worlds.

The alpha and the omega. Epsilon and theta.

Tango Whisky Alpha Tango.

I am so cool.

High School Municipal

Clever title, innit?

Now to find something to go with it.

Maybe something about how I destroyed my political career years ago, so I would not be tempted to become something I hate.

Or maybe the drawbacks on living a life of being clever. The message in Fight Club and Smart People.

All these ideas.

I wonder who is my muse?

More Time-Wasting

Feral! That was the word!

I was looking for a word to describe Bukit Bintang and I almost had it.

I am waiting for a friend. Enjoying my coffee, with my feet up on the chair in front of me.

Not ten feet away, a rather tall guy is talking to a very small girl. Not a young girl. A small woman.

I suspect that her time is being paid for, and that the guy is either a pimp or someone lonely enough to pay for conversation. And possibly something more later on. Who knows? They might come from the same island in the Philippines, or they could be married, or blood-related.

Though how he stares at her breasts and exposed legs tell me that it is otherwise.

There are lots of white people here today. Looking touristy, but of the weary kind. As if they've been here for a few months and have gone to all the good places.

One guy to my 8 o'clock seems particularly lost. Cringing with that bored, pained look as he ogles an African woman in dreadlocks who just stepped out of a taxi.

There are Malay men, smoking on the streets. Walking, their shades on, even though it is cloudy as hell. Just stopped raining.

They are ogling at the small woman. And three chicks straight in front of me, whom I am trying not to stare at.

Hold up. I just got an SMS. Maybe my friend is here already.

Wasting Time

For some reason, Bukit Bintang has always - to me - represented sex. Cheap and dirty. As well as a center for homo and transsexual activity.

And drugs.

It's somewhat like an annex of Bangkok. But it is not Bangkok.

Just the feeling that underneath its touristy shit, there is an almost animalistic pulse - a ferocity - that is made up of vaginas, vulvas, dicks, balls and the smell of sweat and smoke.

I see Bukit Bintang like a dog, or a wolf, its fur bristling and teeth bared. There is danger beneath its skin. There lurks something almost Lovecraftian in its bowels, somewhere.

I wonder how it started. How DID Bukit Bintang come to be?

Who named it as such? Was it always like this? What changed?

And I wonder why there have been no travelogues or documentaries that would shed light on this part of KL?

Robots, Empires and Coffee

I've always wondered why big oil companies don't invest heavily on alternative fuels.

I mean, yeah, it would ruin their current business a bit, but in the long run - which is about a hundred or two hundred years - their companies will remain the main energy producers for generations to come.

I suspect that it's because current top executives have a shelf-life of only a few years.

Some might run the companies for 10-15 years, tops.

Perhaps the longest-serving guy would be the security guard. Security guards don't make executive decisions.

So, performing for only a very short while, these people might only be concerned with themselves, and their KPIs. Screw the company and its future. Screw the world.

I am not blaming them. They are just scared humans, acting in a very human way.

That is why I am suggesting that we switch to using robots instead.

Robots will HAVE to think of the future, and not get blinded by mere short-term considerations.

Cause they are immortal due to their positronic brains. Because of their 'uran spark'. Because of their 'majin power'. Their S2 engines, their Minovsky Drives, their protoculture cells.

Robots will find a better way for the earth to survive, on alternative fuels.

And robots would not have put fucking whipped cream on my fucking toffee nut latte, like that chick just did.

And if a robot did, and I complained, the robot would have initiated its self-destruct system rather than stand there like the stupid bitch, scratching the back of her head and wishing I would take the problem away.

Fucking whipped cream. Fucking stupid bitches.

Let the robots rule the earth!

What If...Gabriel Grey was Fixing Another Brand of Watch?

Greetings, True Believers! And welcome! To the world of Heroes.

We all know the psychopath super-serial-killer Sylar got his name from the fictional(?) brand of watch he was fixing.

But what if...just what if he was fixing another brand that day?

Horn-Rimmed Glasses: Stop it, Gabriel.



Horn-Rimmed Glasses: Stop it, Gabriel.

Gabriel Grey: Gabriel? MY NAME IS PATEK-PHILIP!


Horn-Rimmed Glasses: Stop it, Gabriel.

Gabriel Grey: Gabriel? MY NAME IS AUDEMARS PIQUET!

On a bad day:

Horn-Rimmed Glasses: Stop it, Gabriel.

Gabriel Grey: Gabriel? MY NAME IS SWATCH!

Or, on a really bad day:

Horn-Rimmed Glasses: Stop it, Gabriel.

Gabriel Grey: Gabriel? MY NAME IS CASIO!

Best (and Worst) Movies of 2008

So I had long discussion with Cheepox and Doraemon (Zaki) about this year's movies.

Cheepox is of the opinion that the best movie of 2008 was Batman: The Dark Knight. Due largely to Heath Ledger's performance. Whom he said is the BEST JOKER EVER.

I disagree.

On all counts.

The BEST JOKER EVER would be Mark Hammil. He did the voices in the animated series. He has the mouth, and he looks like a crazy serial killer.

Mark my words. Mark Hammil, Luke Skywalker, is the GREATEST JOKER EVER.

This year has been crappy, in terms of movies. Last year, there were Juno and 300 - up there in my all-time top 10 list. And Sweeney Todd - the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

This year saw many duds.

Seth Roegen's Zack and Miri, as well as Pineapple Express was boring. How many screwball, loser comedies does one need? I mean, it's okay once in a while, but Ben Stiller ruined everything a few years back.

Be Kind, Rewind - had high expectations for this one. Cause it has Jack Black in it. And a potential parody for all the movies I liked as a child. But...nope. Became too community building at the end.

Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay? Too much Harold and Kumar. Go to White Castle was a novelty and should have stayed a novelty. Hope they don't do a trilogy.

Don't Mess with the Zohan had some 10 minutes of comedy in there. But that's it.

The Happening was boring. Oooh. Killer trees. Who cares? Shyamalan's best moment, to me, was the first 40 minutes of The Village. I don't even like Sixth Sense.

Love Guru? Boooring. Prefer another Austin Powers movie.

Hancock, Wanted and Jumper sucked. Big time. If you want to deconstruct the superhero genre, Alan Moore's Watchmen already did that, in comic form, waayyyyy back in the 80s. And waaayyyy better than any of these duds. Hellboy sucked as well.

If you don't already know, even the current, vigilante Batman took its lead from Rorscharch, Moore's anti-hero superhero in Watchmen.

Watchmen redefined the comics world. Turned it on its head. Launched the Modern Age of comics. Which is why I am biting my nails to see how they will screw up the movie version next year. Like how the Wachowski Sisters screwed up V for Vendetta.

Talking about superheroes, Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk were only good to set up the Avengers movie in the next five years, probably after a Captain America movie.

Vantage Point had an interesting premise, but sucked. Cloverfield sucked. Indiana Jones, meanwhile, is the suckiest movie of the year. Harrison Ford is old. Hooray. Shia Labeouf? Decent actor, but mis-cast, in my opinion. And a waste of Cate Blanchett.

Meet the Spartans is one of the lamest parodies ever. Even some YouTube kids got it better than that.

Spiderwick Chronicles? Nope. The Hottie and the Nottie? Are you kidding me? Paris Hilton is a fantastic actress. I still have a copy of One Night in Paris somewhere. But that was her magnum opus. One hit wonder.

Mamma Mia! relied too much on the songs. And too much estrogen. If you want to develop boobs, simply watch Mamma Mia! hey, I'm not saying that's a bad thing! But not for me.

10,000 BC? Was English even invented yet? Fuck English, those people look like models! Waxing? BC? Somehow, that just doesn't gel.

Smart People sucked, the only good bits when Ellen Paige changed her outfits. Forbidden Kingdom was boring. It's like Karate Kid, without Pat Morita. The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor is good only if you go to the DVD shop and want to just watch a movie while taking a dump.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall? Ugh. Made of Honour was purely and simply male prostitution.

Death Race sucked. Jason Statham should just surgically implant himself in an American muscle car for the remainder of his career. Maybe he can be in the next Transformers movie.

Saw V is the lamest of all Saw movies.

21, even with Kevin Spacey, was...not. Leatherheads was okay. But only okay. Though Clooney is making his mark as a real good film guy.

War, Inc, had some good 20 minutes in there, somewhere. But it teetered on the edge, on the fence, without being either a full parody or a serious commentary. But it's always nice to watch John and Joan Cusack. I've always liked the two.

The Other Boleyn Girl was okay. That other movie with Natalie Portman in it - My Blueberry Nights, directed by Wong Kar Wai, co-starring Jude Law and Norah Jones in the lead roles, was also kind of good.

Young People Fucking was not bad. At least, the stories in it were changed regularly enough not to allow it to get too boring.

And WALL-E, awkwardly, is a major contender for best movie for 2008. At least in my book.

That I-Pod robot was hot. If they could strap a battery-operated vagina to it, I'd fuck that robot. The ONLY 2008 movie I saw more than once.

I still have to catch up on a lot of movies this year. There's The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2 - a long-awaited sequel. Still haven't watched Tropic Thunder - ANOTHER screwball comedy with Ben Stiller. Wooo. I'm creaming my pants. And there's Quantum of Solace.

Next year is Watchmen. Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleasedon'tscrewitup. Ahhhh, they'll screw it up. Sin City 2, maybe? Star Trek? With Zachary Quinto (Sylar) as Spock. Hehehehe. Live long and prosper. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

And a bunch of other movies. A LOT. Which makes 2008 a very bad movie year, sandwiched between 2007's Juno-300 and the upcoming shiznit next year.

Oh well.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Intelligentsia! Intelligentsia!

Tajuk: Intelligentsia! Intelligentsia!

Objektif: Sesaja.

Radas: Satu skrin putih, pemetik api Zippo (original), laser projector(pinjam), tiga mangkuk tandas, tiga pelakon, Woody Harrelson.

Hadas: Besar.

Bahan-bahan: Slide Powerpoint atau video yang tidak relevant. Atau mungkin video yang gila babi artsy-fartsy nak mampus.


1. Tiga orang pelakon duduk dalam pose 'The Thinker' atas mangkuk tandas. Sebuah skrin putih diletakkan di tengah-tengah. Slaid powerpoint dipampang atas skrin tadi.

2. Muzik dimainkan. Hentam ajelah lagu apa-apa. Powerpoint presentation atau video pendek masih berjalan dalam gelung, atas skrin.

3. Muzik padam, Pelakon 1 bangun dari mangkuk tandas. Dia akan berkata-kata dan ayatnya kemudian disambung oleh Pelakon 2. Pelakon 2 berkata-kata dan disambung pula oleh Pelakon 3. Kerana penonton semuanya bodoh, maka setiap rujukan akan dijelaskan. Sepanjang Trialogue ini, ketiga-tiga pelakon akan melakukan aksi melancap dengan tangan mereka. Begitulah seadanya.

Pelakon 1: Only after disaster can you be resurrected. Only after you have lost everything are you free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.

Pelakon 2: Fight Club, yo!

Pelakon 3: My soul is an island! My car is a Ford.

Pelakon 1: She's All That, yo!

Pelakon 2: Pussy is like Visa - accepted everywhere!

Pelakon 3: Chris Rock, yo!

Pelakon 1: Engkaulah pelacur jalanan, namun akulah syaitan.

Pelakon 2: Amir Hafizi, yo!

Pelakon 3: Setiap yang baru akan bertukar menjadi buruk.

Pelakon 1: Pak Samad, yo! Atau A Samad Said. Erm...yo!

Pelakon 2: 'The Devil made me do it.' I have never made any of them do anything!

Pelakon 3: Lucifer, yo! From The Sandman Comics! By Neil Gaiman - Chaos be Upon Him!

Pelakon 1: Ezekiel 25:17 - the path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish, and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, in the spirit of charity and good will, sheperds the weak from the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper, and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name as the Lord! When I lay my vengeance upon thee!

Pelakon 2: Pulp Fiction, yo!

Pelakon 3: Austin 3:16 says I just whooped your ass!

Pelakon 1: Stone Cold Steve Austin, yo!

Pelakon 2: A pig that thinks he's a dog!

Pelakon 3: Babe, yo!

Pelakon 1: She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree...

Pelakon 2: Sin City, yo!

Pelakon 3: Give them NOTHING! And take from them, EVVVVVERYTHING!

Pelakon 1: 300, yo!

Pelakon 2: I ROCK, and ROLL, all day long, SWEET SUZY!

Pelakon 3: Kung Pow: Enter the Fist, yo!

Pelakon 1: That's a lot of NUTS! You want FRIES with that?!

Pelakon 2: Kung Pow: Enter the Fist, yo!

Pelakon 3: Wiuwiuwiuwiuwiuwiue...WERKH!

Pelakon 1: Kung Pow...AGAIN?

Pelakon 2: I do not give a flying fuck.

Pelakon 3: Amir Hafizi, yo!

Pelakon 1: And now, I shall show you my Woody!

Woody Harrelson enters stage left, waves, and exits stage right.

Pelakon 2: This play is so...meta!! Lookitme, breaking the fourth wall, ho!

Pelakon 3: And we're all gay! We're so fucking high art!

Pelakon 1: Oh man, hand me a tissue cause I just came.

The End.

Round the Block

A lot of people tell me they want to write.

They want to write movies. Books. Plays. TV shows. Articles.

And three, sometimes five years later, when asked, they say that they want to...but.... A thousand different buts.

I will not pretend to know or understand what their problems are. I just know what my problems are, when I can't seem to finish a creative project.

In my case, it was usually the fear.

A writer stands alone (Resurrecting the Champ). In a ring - a public arena of perception. Approval-seekers and people-pleasers - which most writers are - always want to make good impressions. In the case of a creative work, I believe we worry, too much, on how people will judge the work, and by extension, ourselves.

The dialogues inside the head:

"Oh, I know this part is corny, but if you would only take the time to know ME, personally, I'm really quite uncorny."

"The next part, or the next one will be better than this one. So please don't hate me. Please like me."

Blah blah blah.

A constant need or desire to be loved. But. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel(The Sandman Comics).

The more imaginative ones, they live inside their heads. They rarely come out and play. Some fall for anti-depressants or forms of self-medication - legal or otherwise. Self-absorbed, they are always in danger of justifying to themselves.

"Oh, if only I finished this or that, they would see how good I am."

"I'll never write as good as whoeverthefuck, but if I did finish this, they'll see that I can be as good as whoeverthefuck."

I am not implying that these are YOUR dialogues. No. These, my friends, were mine.

The fear.

Some call it Writer's Block. The self-serving, self-justifying obstacle that prevents things from getting written.

I would like to say that I spit on the shoes of writer's block. That I laugh at blank sheets of paper, and crap on the face of no ideas.


These things, they stay with me. Every day. Every time I write something - anything. They never really go away.

I often indulge myself for five minutes. Feeling sorry for myself, and wallowing in self pity.

Oh, the pathos! Oh, the drama!

And then I do it.

I've made so many mistakes and ruined so many impressions - first, second or third - that I find myself not giving a shit anymore.

You can suck my dick if you don't like my shit (Under the Influence, Eminem). I have discovered, long ago, and fully realized, just recently, that no one gives a flying fuck.

People care about themselves. They do not care about you. The mistakes - spelling, grammar, factual - the might stay with them for a split second. And then they go back to thinking about themselves.

The more perverse and those who have a need to feel they are better than other people, will hold on to it for moments longer. Maybe a week or twenty years, at the most. But you will continue living. And they will also, unfortunately, continue to live as well.

No one cares about you. Or your stupid work. They only care about themselves. Boo fucking hoo. Big fucking deal.

And if you can't live with that, I suggest arsenic.

The only remedy, I discovered - again, for my situation, not yours - is tit-for-tat.

They don't care about you. So you don't care about them.

In your darkest hour, were they ever there for you? Where were they? When you were down and out for the count, whose hands lifted you up from the doldrums? Not THEM. It was yourself. Every bit of it you (The Teachings of Abraham, Esther Hicks).

No man is an island, my car is a Ford (She's All That).

So what I do these days, is, I write for myself. I do everything for myself.

I am aware of the audience. I am familiar with the rules. I know the freedoms and the limitations. The boundaries. But I do things, for me.

Most of the time.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Intelligentsia! Intelligentsia!

Just now, I went out drinking with Cheepork - the Earl of Cunt - and an old, old friend. Zaki. Haven't seen her in years.

So naturally, we talked about gay rape in boys' boarding schools, sex, anal sex, relaxation techniques and lube for anal sex, and wanking.

At that, several other friends showed up. Theatre people. Among them was Rodek, who asked me to write a play for an upcoming January reading at KLPAC.

No play I will write will ever be accepted at KLPAC. So I told him about a play I wrote around a year and a half ago. Revived here for your reading pleasure:


- a 10-minute multimedia play

Stage set with a white screen in the middle. A laser projector shows irrelevant images on the white screen.

An actor enters from Stage Left.

He stands by the white screen. For five minutes. Saying nothing. Just making handjob motions.

And then he whips out a lighter and sets the screen on fire. For five minutes.

Actor exits Stage Right.

The End.

There. There's your RM20 right there.

The critics will rave!

A wake up call. For who? No one knows. For what? No one cares.

- NaSTy pullout from the New Straits Times.

...a minimalist masterpiece from the master of masturbation.

- Malay Mail

Outrageous! Truly. Truly. Truly outrageous!

- The Star

What the fuck is this shit?

- The Rocket

Hanya Tuhan yang tahu.

- Harakah

...a Dali-esque, Albee-esque, Kafka-esque, Murakami-ish, Rushdie-influenced, Shepard-like, Mukherjee-reminiscent, Naipul-esque, Picasso potpourri, with Bohemian-Baroque-like sensibilities.

- The Sun

Ah, hell. Since this is going to be rejected anyway, I might as well make it easier for them to reject it with normal excuses. I am, after all, a people-pleaser.

So, full play by tomorrow night. With more characters. And more dialogue.

For now, sleep.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Who the Fuck Cares?

Someone asked me to comment on vernacular schools.

I was like, "Who the fuck cares?"

Dong Jiao Zhong is trying to create a ruckus and as long as we pay attention to them, the bigger this stupid mess gets.

Before this, it was the Yoga issue. And before that, Teresa Kok.

Is this what this country's primary source of entertainment (read: politics) have come to - Dongs? Koks? Jeff Ooi's Little Bird?

In that case, let me suggest one of my own - Schlong.

Let's all fight about Schlong. Those who are pro-Schlong on one side, those anti-Schlong on the other. Start the straw-men arguments, and go ad hominem all the way.

And then fight! Fight like you mean it!

As if your lives would be better if Schlong wins. Or loses.

Who the fuck cares?

Freedom and Independence

The most important thing in the world.

Freedom and Independence.

Cause Freedom has Bruce Willis. And Independence has Ben Affleck.

If they fail to drill a hole in that asteroid and plant a nuclear bomb, and detonate the bomb, we are fucked, as a species.

The asteroid is known as a world-killer.

And there's only so much Billy Bob Thornton can do.

Thursday, December 11, 2008


I am sitting here, wallowing in self-pity.

Wallow! Wallow! Ohhhhhh! Wallow!

Oh, Danny boyyy! O, Danny boyyy!

Okay, okay. Enough of that shit.

Now, for some self-loving.

When I was down and out. For the count. I was there for me.

I backed myself up. I was my rock. Gibraltar and shit.

Everything I do, I do it for me.

I am my greatest hero.

I am everything I am, because I loved me.

Celine Dion, yo!

Where the fuck were you? I was here. Right here with me.

I am the light of my life.

I wish that I could be turned to rock now, so that I could be with myself forever.

I am the greatest. I am so cool.

If I could, I would give myself a blowjob everyday.

But I already came today. So maybe another day.

The Juggernaut Romper Stomper

I was walking alone when God bodyslammed a bitch in front of me.

"Oy!" I said. "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

And I rammed her to the side. And started stomping on her face.

"I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

So I continued my walk.

And then Stephen Francis jumped in front of me, asking for money.

"Don't you know who I am, Stephen Francis? I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

So I paid him the fees for the Freemason society and stomped his face.

"I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

And then Ted Turner, painted as Captain Planet, jumped out of the shadows.

"Captain Planet!" Said Turner.

"Don't you know who I am? I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

And I stomped his head.

"I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

Ah, man. This old meme is really useful.

The Dong Song

Dong Jiao Zong - whom I thought was a person - is organising a protest of a sort to keep vernacular schools in.

I am truly not bothered at all by this new development in Malaysian politics.

I was just intrigued. By possible headlines.

Truly Outrageous

I heard and read somewhere that they're doing a GI Joe movie. An A-Team movie. And Transformers 2. And get this - ANOTHER He-Man movie. Greyskull or some shit.

When are they going to do a Jem and the Holograms movie? I wanna fuck Kimber. Or Jazz.

Jazz is one of the Misfits. She can't read, so it's like fucking a fucktard, only she's hot. I THINK her name was Jazz. Who the fuck cares?

And Kimber, man. I'd like to stuff my penis in her vagina. She's got like, issues, and I want her to empty her aggression on my dick.

But you know who I'd really, really like to fuck? Synergy. Yeah, I got the hots for Synergy. She can be anything and anyone. It's like fucking Mystique. Only - 80s.

It can be like that Beyonce-Jennifer Hudson movie. You know, the one about the California Raisins? Whatsaname? Beloved? No, that's Oprah. Glitter? Gigli? Showgirls?

Ugh. Bad movies. Baaad, baaad movies.

How about a Boston Legal movie, since the series ended recently?

Or LA Law. Or as some people call it - LaLaw. I kid you not. La-Law.

But yeah. A Jem and the Holograms movie. Hey! Let's make it a porno!

The Hollow-grams

"So, are you disappointed in me?" She asked.

I chewed the shrimp in the fried rice.

"I would have been, if I expected something from you."

I adopted one of those long, thoughtful looks. Pensive. Cause I'm cool and shit.

"But. Wisdom? You are not wise. At least, not as wise as Thai hookers. Sexiness? You are not as good as the Thai girls. Or even some Thai men. Authenticity? Bah. We both know how fake and pretentious you are. Independence? Manipulating people to do what you want is not independence. And relying on the perception of others? Maturity? You are not mature. And that is coming from me - the guy who refused to grow up since he was 10."

I took a sip.

"No," I said. "I am not disappointed."

Her fingers shook. It went instinctively to her star earring.

"Will you stop judging me? It's none of your business. pervert!"

Her voice wavered. On the brink.

I shrugged.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I'm wrong. Now, fuck off and die, Jem."

She went of crying into the night.


A hot erm...maroon-head? Sidled up to me.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Kimber - Jerica's sister."

"Are we fucking?"

Eye of the Storm

I am on leave for a week.

There are things happening in my periphery, and yet my attention is on the drink in front of me.

I massage the side of the glass. I tap on it, and the dark liquid inside sploshes and vibrates.

I listen to the drone of conversations, not making out the words.

Bursts of laughter and the clicking of billiard balls. The slam of the door. Who is it who came? Out of the rain?

Outside, it's cold. Rain had followed me from the East Coast.

I stare at my reflection. In the big long bar mirror.

I watch the tiger on the tap.

I see the green neon sign with the red star.

I feel the cushion under my ass. And the wood beneath that. My feet are on the floor tiles.

I breathe in cold air and smoke and the smell of fried rice and black pepper chicken and fries in the back.

Soon, I will eat. And later, I will go back and sleep.

Identity Crisis

Taking shelter from the rain, I weighed the option of going to a massage parlour for a handjob, or going into Silverfishbooks.

I thought to myself that a handjob would cost me money, but pretending to be an intelligentsia is free. And I can still have a wankfest.

So here I am. Surrounded by books written by politicians and authors who make a living out of claiming to be intellectuals.

Some, I am surprised, even claim to be Malay.

Even though some are more British than the Brits.

I guess it sells books.

I shall not judge. Well, actually, I already did. But who cares? We are in Malaysia, where anyone can be whatever they want.

The identity crisis around me, though, pushes into the spotlight my own personal whateverthefuck.

To be clear, I am genetically half-Malay and half-Chinese. Constitutionally a Bumiputera. Expected to be a Muslim.

I was raised near a swamp, but live in a city. The story of many-a-Malaysian.

My ideals I got from reading comic books. American, European and Japanese. As well as some cheap Hong Kong trash.

I speak and write English slightly better than Bahasa Malaysia, though I am rediscovering that, again, slowly and yet surely.

I eat, drink and fuck whoever and whatever I want. Whenever I want.

If Malayness can be measured, some of my Chinese friends are more Malay than I am.

I am neither ashamed nor proud of my identity. Mixed or otherwise. I am just am.

Push comes to shove, I will take a parang and a spear. And kill indiscriminately. For the simple joys of killing. And the long-lost art of cannibalism.

I do not have to pretend to be anything, because there are other, better ways to make money than prostituting my identity.

Believe me, I've tried.

As a Malay, I never did get my millions of NEP money. And my non-Malay friends have always told me that all I have to do is make a few calls and the Government will send me a sack of money to my doorsteps.

I have been waiting for 28 years. The money never came.

So what use is it to be a Malay? What use is it to identify with any race or ethnicity?

Certainly not for personal gain.

The only thing I don't mind being referred to is as a citizen of this country.

Because as a Malaysian, we are allowed to be, or pretend to be, anything we want.

Richard the White

Call me Azazel.

I have this idea for an eight-issue comic book. It's basically Moby Dick in reverse.

It's also about a cast of all-star pirates. The greatest pirates during the Golden Age of piracy.

Edward Teach - Black Beard, Bartholomew Roberts - Black Bart (the most successful pirate EVER), Stede Bonnet - the Gentleman Pirate.

Calico Jack and the two most famous female pirates ever - Mary something and Ann something.

For some reason, these legendary pirate figures all were captured or killed within two to three years of each other.

They are led by a mysterious figure - Richard the White, who is chased across the seas by a ghostly Black Ship.

It would be a great comic book. In fact, I can do it in four or six issues.

Man, I am so cool.

Mount Sinai

I am preparing an ark.

The Ark of the Covenant. You can call me Noah, bitch!

A storm is coming. The floodgates will be opened.

The cities - they will wake up. The cities will rise.

The skies will split open, rendered by thunder and lightning.

The earth shall open, cracked by fire and brimstone.

Save the hos, save the world.

Call me Arthur Petrelli. Or possibly Gabriel Grey.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Death: The High Cost of Living

For the price they charged for the haircut, it would have been appropriate for me to get a blowjob as well.

In the words of Chris Rock: "When I pay that kind of money, I'm used to cummin'."

Well, actually, no. The haircut was appropriately-priced. I'm just fucking here.

As I walk through the streets of Bangsar, with my new haircut - I'm a street-walker, yo! - time slowed down and I find myself jumping in the air, grabbing telecommunications devices.

And then, some pretentious Malaysians - are there any other kind? - came up to me and asked, "Are you Pan-Asian?"

And I was like, "Fuck you, bitch!"

I. Am. A robot. A barbarian robot. I do not subscribe to such outdated ideals of Pan-Asianism.

In fact, I pan Pan-Asianism worship.

'Asia untuk orang Asia!'

'Fajar telah menyinsing! Bangunlah wahai bangsaku!'

'Cawat kote!'

Wash and Blow

I am having a haircut in Bangsar. I was hoping to find a salon which would give a blowjob with the wash and cut, but couldn't find one.

You know, a real wash and blow, if you know what I mean.

Couldn't find a decent one, that is.

So all I am left with is a sexy haircut.

Man, I am so good-looking.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Kingdom Come

There were voices and thunderings, and lightnings and an earthquake.

And there followed hail and fire mingled with blood. There fell a great star from heaven, burning as if it were a lamp and I beheld and heard an angel saying with a loud voice, "Woe, woe, WOE to the inhabiters of Earth."

- The Book of Revelations

"I do not threaten. I merely advise caution..."

- Morpheus, from The Sandman Comics

O, What Fools These Mortals Be

Water supply has been reconnected to my village.

These past few days have shown to me how stupid people can be.

And I thank God for idiots. For without idiots, I wouldn't look smart.

Thank you, dumbass, for making me look good.

Politicians' Stupidity

The title is an oxymoron. Because politicians are morons.

If I am a politician in Kuantan, now would be the time to suck up to the people. Photo op time, motherfucker!

Simply kick down the doors of Jabatan Air Negeri Pahang and start demanding results.

Then, commandeer a water truck or two - even get the fire brigade's help or something - and start distributing water to the village people.

Invite the Press and help carry buckets for an elderly or two. Most politicians in Pahang have four-wheel drives. Simply help some people to carry water to their homes. Give them a free ride or something.

Invite the Press, of course. Take pictures. Pose.

Tell the villagers, "The water shortage is because of this and that. After this and that village, I am going back to Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang to demand results."

Do some politicking, for God's sake. You guys are fucking politicians.

And get this: you don't even have to lie about it.

It's a pretty simple thing and for someone who's paid to do it anyway, you'll get extra mileage from doing this bullshit.

It is the time for you to get support.

Well, it's too late now. Politicians have even failed to do what they are paid to do - pose for pictures.

What stupid motherfucking idiots.

Next election, people will remember that you came to their areas only when you need something from them.

And you didn't give a shit, or at least pretend to give a shit, when they didn't have enough water to shit.

What stupid fucking morons.

Tiada Esok Bagimu

Masih tiada air.

Aku telefon Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang, dan mereka menyalahkan Tenaga Nasional.

Aku: Kenapa takde air lagi ni? Dah tiga hari dah.

Operator: Oh, kita punya masalah dah selesai. Sekarang, Tenaga Nasional tak bagi kita elektrik.

Aku: Apa? Takde air, Tenaga Nasional pulak salah. Ok. Ni bila pulak nak ada air ni?

Operator: Insya-allah.

Aku: Insya-allah apa?

Operator: Insya-allah hari ni.

Aku: Insya-allah kalau tak hari ni bila? Minggu depan? Dua bulan lagi?

Operator: Insya-allah esok.

Aku: Kalau takde jugak esok? Kalau takde kenyataan tanpa Insya-allah yang sebenarnya amatlah tidak bertanggungjawab?

Operator: Kena tunggu Tenaga Nasional. Pasal ini masalah mereka.

Kampang betul. Pukimak anak anjing.

Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang dengan rasminya menyalahkan Tenaga Nasional.

Putusnya bekalan air adalah kerana Tenaga Nasional? Pandainya Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang. Pandai menyalahkan orang lain.

Mana ADUN Sg Lembing - Datuk Haji Suhaimi. Mana MP Paya Besar - Datuk Manan Ismail?

Tak mahu menang ke pilihanraya depan?

Kalau aku lah, aku duduk atas kepala lori air, pakai kain pelikat, bawak baldi, bawak berus gigi.

Nak menunjukkan pemimpin berjiwa rakyat.

Lepas tu aku pergi Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang, tendang pintu.

Sesapa yang cakap insya-allah, aku lempang kat situ jugak.

Taknak bertanggungjawab.

Lepas tu sesapa yang menyalahkan Tenaga Nasional pulak, aku terajang mukanya. Pastu seterika dadanya.

Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang pukimak.

Last Supper

My last night in Kuantan.

Tomorrow, I'll be back in KL, but still on leave.

Hope the roads won't be flooded.

And wish that the water would come on again.

I have stayed here for three days without running water and one day without electricity.

My parents are okay. They went through the war and shit. So 'roughing it' is no big deal.

Even if we were to be cut off for a week, they have enough stored up to last them a while.

In fact, I think if a nuclear war was to ever break out, my parents would be the most prepared to weather the fallout.

Their lifestyle seems to have been geared up in preparation for a war.

My mother keeps a lot of food and clothing. She even has these towels she bought in Singapore during a time when Malaysians bought stuff in the island nation because they were cheaper.

My father planted a lot of trees and if the Japanese ever start riding bicycles in Kota Bharu and scaring the white people away, he could go to the land and in a few hours have a week's worth of fruits collected.

He's been planting them for the past 30 years.

He even has a well down there, somewhere, but it's swamp water.

So, I'm not worried.

But Jabatan Bekalan Air Negeri Pahang is still festered with assholes.

Who are probably still on leave. Motherfuckers.

Oh well. At least I'm still good-looking.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Magician's Gambit

I live near a swamp.

So I'm Remy LaBeau. I change solar energy into kinetic energy.

Though I prefer Hank McCoy.

I am so cool.


The closest thing we have to a factory at my village is a saw-mill.

The locals call it So-Meh.

There are five stations at the So-Meh.

The big one in the middle is called a 'tasak'.

It cuts the big logs into smaller, more manageable pieces.

The four smaller stations then cut the pieces into whatever measurements the client asked for.

Each station is led by a leader called a 'teochew'. Below him would be at least two other fellows.

Each person gets almost RM200 per week. But the teochew gets a cut from the profits.

So five stations with three to four at each, the so-meh used to give jobs to around 16 villagers or outsiders. Plus one guy to sharpen the blades.

Nowadays, though, not many people work there anymore.

The towkay's son inherited the so-meh and is now renting it to people.

There are less logs now. They used to throw out unwanted cuts.

They don't anymore, as that can be sold as fuel. Usually to make bricks.

In order to make bricks, they burn the cubed clays in ovens. And they burn the unwanted pieces to get it to the right temperature.

And today, most workers ran away to more lucrative endeavours such as lorry-driving and rubber-tapping.

Since the price of rubber has plummeted, they are doing other jobs such as joining construction crews and a myriad of other stuff.

And yet the so-meh remains standing. And sometimes, smoking.