I think this game will work.
I now no longer play games with high polygon count and the best anti-aliasing.
I play Chinese chess and Chuzzle and Mystery Case Files.
I am creating a card game. That all can play online.
Something like Yu-Gi-Oh.
If I can find a backer, it will be good.
Fuck good. It will be fucking great.
You can even make money if you are good.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
Always, always remember to pay the piper.
Always give the devil his due.
The world is a cycle, my friend, and what goes around...
I pay and will pay for my evils. And so will all of you.
I am the piper. Suffer the little children.
Always give the devil his due.
The world is a cycle, my friend, and what goes around...
I pay and will pay for my evils. And so will all of you.
I am the piper. Suffer the little children.
Best Villain 2009?
After Triple H became a face, Randy Orton and Edge are my two favourite villains. Heels. Heels, man. Thank God WWE put them in first-rate work/programmes with the top faces.
Here's Orton's entrance theme and Titantron shit. He has a super-arrogant face anyone can easily hate. In fact, I've always thought of him as a rapist or something at first. That leer is perfect for a heel.
I love the song.
Of course, no one can beat Carlito(in the hate department):
Intermission: Tripping the Light Fantastic
Come, and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastick toe.
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
- L'Allegro by Milton
Somebody asked me to think about something. An innocent enough request. For other people.
With me, most of what I do is think. Until I cannot sleep. Ideas and possibilities and things and data and dates and people jump about in my head.
I run simulations inside my mind.
Will it be like this? Like that? How can that work? Who will use it? How can it be abused? Will it hold up?
I cannot sleep.
My mind is too active. And I chugged the last of the cough syrup a week ago. All I have, somewhere, are my anti-nausea pills which can cause drowsiness.
I have several ideas. Creating worlds.
I hope, that when all is said and done - not a second before, not a tick after - that it would be of some great use. For everyone. For all mankind.
Prayer
O God, thank you for stupid people.
I look so good because of stupid people.
I am eternally grateful that I am not stupid.
You made me many things, but you did not make me stupid.
Amen.
Et gratia tua illis succurente.
I look so good because of stupid people.
I am eternally grateful that I am not stupid.
You made me many things, but you did not make me stupid.
Amen.
Et gratia tua illis succurente.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Percubaan
ALANG BERJAWAB, TEPUK BERBALAS,
KAWAN YANG AKRAB, SENANG DIGALAS;
DARAH SILUMAN, BAKAL DICURAH,
BELAKANG ANDUMAN, DARAH KU PERAH.
KAWAN YANG AKRAB, SENANG DIGALAS;
DARAH SILUMAN, BAKAL DICURAH,
BELAKANG ANDUMAN, DARAH KU PERAH.
Sejenak Bersama Sasterawan Negara: Tepi!
"Tepi, tepi! Aku nak buat kerja! AKu kena hantar malam ni jugak! Dah nak siap dah, cuma nak betulkan sikit-sikit je lagi." Kata aku sambil pergi masuk bilik dan tidur kejap.
The Logics of Cheating
I am privy to a society of whorists and sexplorers who, in turn, share with me stories from hookers.
Apparently, a lot of Malaysian men cheat on their spouses with prostitutes. Dalliances that remain unnoticed...for a few weeks.
Some, cling desperately to their religion and one whore told of the story of a man who cheats on his wife by fucking her, but has one sure way of escaping any moral or religious dilemma.
See, every time the man wants to fuck the girl, he wears a blindfold. Cause if he can't see her, then he can't be considered cheating.
Bada-bing!
To each his own, but the logic seems flawed. I mean...wut?
I have always maintained that there are only two ways to anything. Complete or nothing at all. Meaning, either you follow ALL the tenets of a religion or you don't. Period.
Some, though, think that it's okay if you get C-. Which is none of my business.
But. Going back to the guy who wears a blindfold while fucking other girls so as not to consider himself a cheat.
Wut?
Apparently, a lot of Malaysian men cheat on their spouses with prostitutes. Dalliances that remain unnoticed...for a few weeks.
Some, cling desperately to their religion and one whore told of the story of a man who cheats on his wife by fucking her, but has one sure way of escaping any moral or religious dilemma.
See, every time the man wants to fuck the girl, he wears a blindfold. Cause if he can't see her, then he can't be considered cheating.
Bada-bing!
To each his own, but the logic seems flawed. I mean...wut?
I have always maintained that there are only two ways to anything. Complete or nothing at all. Meaning, either you follow ALL the tenets of a religion or you don't. Period.
Some, though, think that it's okay if you get C-. Which is none of my business.
But. Going back to the guy who wears a blindfold while fucking other girls so as not to consider himself a cheat.
Wut?
I Am Sylar
I just woke up, sat down to have breakfast (at noon) and was immediately struck by the realisation that everyone wants to be sneaky these days.
They mask their agendas and motives with something else. Like PIS-M who in the rural areas preach a very different thing than they do in urban areas. Same goes with BN, DAP, PKR and all other parties.
Recently, some people even started asking me for dirt on one of my former friends. There are reasons why some people's friendships are destroyed, but I have always believed that was personal. Nothing to do with the professional world.
So I declined to divulge any secrets.
Me? I have decided years ago, that if everyone wants to be sneaky, I'll be sneaky in a truthful manner. I would only use the truth, since everyone expects everyone else to lie like they do, and would not recognise the truth for what it is.
However, that got me in a quandry, as lies meet truths, and my brain almost short-circuited from all the double-meanings and layerings and infinite images when you put a mirror in front of a mirror and that kind of bullshit.
I need a constant and very few exist nowadays. One of them, is Thailand.
They mask their agendas and motives with something else. Like PIS-M who in the rural areas preach a very different thing than they do in urban areas. Same goes with BN, DAP, PKR and all other parties.
Recently, some people even started asking me for dirt on one of my former friends. There are reasons why some people's friendships are destroyed, but I have always believed that was personal. Nothing to do with the professional world.
So I declined to divulge any secrets.
Me? I have decided years ago, that if everyone wants to be sneaky, I'll be sneaky in a truthful manner. I would only use the truth, since everyone expects everyone else to lie like they do, and would not recognise the truth for what it is.
However, that got me in a quandry, as lies meet truths, and my brain almost short-circuited from all the double-meanings and layerings and infinite images when you put a mirror in front of a mirror and that kind of bullshit.
I need a constant and very few exist nowadays. One of them, is Thailand.
REST!
Phew! I am done with the intial stuff. Tomorrow, I'll do a sweep of the entire script. A lot of the changes I made are small. I think people will hardly notice it. But to alter something in say, scene 8, and then to find ALL instances in which the script needs to be changed was choking my brains.
You change it, and then you make all necessary changes, and then you think of something better, so you redo the process. In the middle of that, you think of something else to do and you stop and re-do the process all over again.
A total of 24 points to be altered. Plus a few of mine.
And this is ONE script. I got a few more.
Good thing is, it's all within my estimated time. I will be sending this version tomorrow. Well, today actually.
And then, start work on another one. From scratch. Which is fater than altering anything on existing stuff.
I passed one of the scripts to my collaborators and she should finish it within the week.
There is a TV series I am writing and the meeting is on Thursday. I need to finish all the scripts for this company by then.
Then, there are two personal projects. Which will be tackled during the weekend.
Meanwhile, big wheels keep on turning. Something's bound to happen in the next few weeks, or perhaps days. Good? Bad? I dunno.
I need to: keep my mouth shut, eyes on screen, fingers on keyboard and my mind on my work.
No use worrying about shit I can't control.
And I keep getting fan mail. I'm such a fucking celebrity.
You change it, and then you make all necessary changes, and then you think of something better, so you redo the process. In the middle of that, you think of something else to do and you stop and re-do the process all over again.
A total of 24 points to be altered. Plus a few of mine.
And this is ONE script. I got a few more.
Good thing is, it's all within my estimated time. I will be sending this version tomorrow. Well, today actually.
And then, start work on another one. From scratch. Which is fater than altering anything on existing stuff.
I passed one of the scripts to my collaborators and she should finish it within the week.
There is a TV series I am writing and the meeting is on Thursday. I need to finish all the scripts for this company by then.
Then, there are two personal projects. Which will be tackled during the weekend.
Meanwhile, big wheels keep on turning. Something's bound to happen in the next few weeks, or perhaps days. Good? Bad? I dunno.
I need to: keep my mouth shut, eyes on screen, fingers on keyboard and my mind on my work.
No use worrying about shit I can't control.
And I keep getting fan mail. I'm such a fucking celebrity.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Ethos, Pathos, Aramine 5
I'm trying to make a scene work. If this was a fresh scene, then it could have been done in five minutes. But if I change it, then it would involve changing six or seven other scenes, probably. So, I'm kinda lost in the whole thing. Need to take myself out of it.
If I do it right, it might come out something like this:
I was thinking and smoking and farting my ass off when suddenly, a baker showed up and challenged me to a baking duel.
I accepted and we soon got to baking. He used a brick oven and came up with: ROTI SUNGAI LEMBING!
The legendary, lost bread that died with its baker.
Kuroyonagi took the bread and ate it. At first, nothing happened. And then, he started digging a mine shaft.
Kuroyonagi: Not just ANY mine shaft! This is the DEEPEST TIN MINE SHAFT IN THE WORLD! The brick oven really did bring the taste out!
It was a great reaction, but I was not scared.
I used STUFF I FOUND IN THE FRIDGE and made...GARBAGE BREAD!
Kuroyonagi ate it and immediately had diarrhea and gas and announced me as the wiener.
I WIN!
Now, to finish my script.
If I do it right, it might come out something like this:
I was thinking and smoking and farting my ass off when suddenly, a baker showed up and challenged me to a baking duel.
I accepted and we soon got to baking. He used a brick oven and came up with: ROTI SUNGAI LEMBING!
The legendary, lost bread that died with its baker.
Kuroyonagi took the bread and ate it. At first, nothing happened. And then, he started digging a mine shaft.
Kuroyonagi: Not just ANY mine shaft! This is the DEEPEST TIN MINE SHAFT IN THE WORLD! The brick oven really did bring the taste out!
It was a great reaction, but I was not scared.
I used STUFF I FOUND IN THE FRIDGE and made...GARBAGE BREAD!
Kuroyonagi ate it and immediately had diarrhea and gas and announced me as the wiener.
I WIN!
Now, to finish my script.
Information Super High
None of you has the capacity to understand.
I believe in only one thing, in whatever guise it presents itself. The truth.
The 10-year-old inside me wishes to unleash it upon the world. No pretenses. No charades. No facades. No guile. No lies.
But having had some experience with humans, with people, I understand that this world is made up of images and perception as much as cold hard facts. Perhaps more so.
In order for me to survive, for the sake of humanity - and my fate is tied with the fate of humanity - I need to be able to discern what kind of information goes where. To whom.
And I hate that.
So I am making a full announcement. A full revelation of The TRUTH!
I have gas.
Mild diarrhea.
Been shitting since afternoon. I believe it is simply because of all the food I have been eating. Too much, too fast.
So I took a couple of charcoal tablets. Maybe some Eno, if I can go down to the sundry shop later.
But YES!
I HAVE GAS!
I believe in only one thing, in whatever guise it presents itself. The truth.
The 10-year-old inside me wishes to unleash it upon the world. No pretenses. No charades. No facades. No guile. No lies.
But having had some experience with humans, with people, I understand that this world is made up of images and perception as much as cold hard facts. Perhaps more so.
In order for me to survive, for the sake of humanity - and my fate is tied with the fate of humanity - I need to be able to discern what kind of information goes where. To whom.
And I hate that.
So I am making a full announcement. A full revelation of The TRUTH!
I have gas.
Mild diarrhea.
Been shitting since afternoon. I believe it is simply because of all the food I have been eating. Too much, too fast.
So I took a couple of charcoal tablets. Maybe some Eno, if I can go down to the sundry shop later.
But YES!
I HAVE GAS!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Making Time
In order to make time, I need to spend some time.
I have a few deadlines for some projects. So I met up with a writer I am working with and passed her the load to one of my movie projects.
I can make more time this way. I just need to spend some time to fill her in on stuff that needs changing.
I have a few deadlines for some projects. So I met up with a writer I am working with and passed her the load to one of my movie projects.
I can make more time this way. I just need to spend some time to fill her in on stuff that needs changing.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
What do Indonesians Have Against Portable Hard Drives?
An event so tragic happened that I could only infer the astounding hypotheses that:
a. My mind is so cluttered these days.
b. Indonesians hate portable hard drives.
c. There is an evil conspiracy against me.
Yes. I have failed to locate my portable hard drive.
This happened once, weeks ago, when the Indonesian maid I hired on an hourly basis threw away my portable hard drive along with the trash.
I looked for it high and low, only realising that since I never throw anything away, it must have been the maid.
So I called her up and got an earful of half-understood self-defense arguments which 20 minutes later culminated in an admission that the woman had thrown my portable hard drive.
This was followed by a frantic rummaging of garbage bags which fortunately ended in fruition as I held aloft my portable hard drive, and said, "BY THE POWER OF MAXTOR!"
Needless to say, I never used her services ever again. EVER.
This time around, it happened again. I was away on a conference when I discovered that my portable hard drive was not in my bag.
Thinking I had left the damned thing at home, the first thing I did when I opened the door to my apartment was to fling my arms wide open, so that my portable hard drive can rush up to me and lick my face.
It wasn't so.
Perplexed, and now more than a bit worried, I tore my apartment from limb to limb, in search of my portable hard drive.
I called up the current Indonesian maid I am hiring to clean the place, and got another earful of denials. I wasn't even accusing the broad. Or the previous one. I was just trying to find information in order to get my portable hard drive back.
My porn, my porn. My kingdom for my porn.
And Californication.
And House.
And Heroes.
And Fringe.
And Lost.
And porn.
And movies.
And around 10,000 songs.
O, portable hard drive, portable hard drive, wherefore art thou, portable hard drive?
I had almost come to the conclusion that Indonesians HATE portable hard drives.
Indonesian: Everyone thinks they're such sweet little things...Holding information and series like Fringe ...
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Indonesian: But there's a poison I'd like to administer, you think they're cuddly, but I think they're sinister.
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Indonesian: You'll pay for this, portable hard drive! RWARRRRR!!! RWAARRRR!!! Muahahahaha!
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Then I remembered that I may have left it at the Press Club office. A quick check with the club manager revealed that this could probably be so.
He may be in possession of a God Machine. I aim to retrieve it tomorrow.
Now I feel silly for thinking that Indonesians have a deathly hatred for portable hard drives.
Oh well. That hounding for the thing seems a waste.
I do have loads to do. And as always, before I do a terribly huge amount of writing, I am going to sleep for a couple of hours. I will be dreaming of swords and crowds and ships and ghosts and maids and fuel-pump attendants.
To Stephen: keep it secret, keep it safe.
a. My mind is so cluttered these days.
b. Indonesians hate portable hard drives.
c. There is an evil conspiracy against me.
Yes. I have failed to locate my portable hard drive.
This happened once, weeks ago, when the Indonesian maid I hired on an hourly basis threw away my portable hard drive along with the trash.
I looked for it high and low, only realising that since I never throw anything away, it must have been the maid.
So I called her up and got an earful of half-understood self-defense arguments which 20 minutes later culminated in an admission that the woman had thrown my portable hard drive.
This was followed by a frantic rummaging of garbage bags which fortunately ended in fruition as I held aloft my portable hard drive, and said, "BY THE POWER OF MAXTOR!"
Needless to say, I never used her services ever again. EVER.
This time around, it happened again. I was away on a conference when I discovered that my portable hard drive was not in my bag.
Thinking I had left the damned thing at home, the first thing I did when I opened the door to my apartment was to fling my arms wide open, so that my portable hard drive can rush up to me and lick my face.
It wasn't so.
Perplexed, and now more than a bit worried, I tore my apartment from limb to limb, in search of my portable hard drive.
I called up the current Indonesian maid I am hiring to clean the place, and got another earful of denials. I wasn't even accusing the broad. Or the previous one. I was just trying to find information in order to get my portable hard drive back.
My porn, my porn. My kingdom for my porn.
And Californication.
And House.
And Heroes.
And Fringe.
And Lost.
And porn.
And movies.
And around 10,000 songs.
O, portable hard drive, portable hard drive, wherefore art thou, portable hard drive?
I had almost come to the conclusion that Indonesians HATE portable hard drives.
Indonesian: Everyone thinks they're such sweet little things...Holding information and series like Fringe ...
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Indonesian: But there's a poison I'd like to administer, you think they're cuddly, but I think they're sinister.
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Indonesian: You'll pay for this, portable hard drive! RWARRRRR!!! RWAARRRR!!! Muahahahaha!
Portable Hard Drive: ...
Then I remembered that I may have left it at the Press Club office. A quick check with the club manager revealed that this could probably be so.
He may be in possession of a God Machine. I aim to retrieve it tomorrow.
Now I feel silly for thinking that Indonesians have a deathly hatred for portable hard drives.
Oh well. That hounding for the thing seems a waste.
I do have loads to do. And as always, before I do a terribly huge amount of writing, I am going to sleep for a couple of hours. I will be dreaming of swords and crowds and ships and ghosts and maids and fuel-pump attendants.
To Stephen: keep it secret, keep it safe.
Highlander: The Ravishing
I got off the highlands a few hours ago.
I immediately went to my regular massage parlour to get a proper massage at normal prices.
Now, refrehsed and famished, I am waiting for food.
Later tonight, I'll be writing again. Lots to finish before Wednesday.
I immediately went to my regular massage parlour to get a proper massage at normal prices.
Now, refrehsed and famished, I am waiting for food.
Later tonight, I'll be writing again. Lots to finish before Wednesday.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Hous Been Farteen?
I have, for the past 12 hours, farting like crazy. I believe that my farts can fill an entire room. Which is why I just got back into my hotel room after leaving it for half an hour.
I believe it was a bad shrimp I ate while on my way here. But, my stomach being the tough survivor of many culinary adventures, merely bloated with gas like a corpse rather than fail to function entirely and twisting my abdomen in knots of pain.
I had hoped to write in my room, but may only be able to do so after my intestines are free of gas.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have scripts to write and a lot of methane to release.
I believe it was a bad shrimp I ate while on my way here. But, my stomach being the tough survivor of many culinary adventures, merely bloated with gas like a corpse rather than fail to function entirely and twisting my abdomen in knots of pain.
I had hoped to write in my room, but may only be able to do so after my intestines are free of gas.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have scripts to write and a lot of methane to release.
What?
You know what I really like to do?
Jesus and Buddha resurrected as a girl.
With satan as a private eye, protecting her.
From mob bosses.
In Shinichiro 'Cowboy Bebop' Watanabe's animated black and white noir post-punk style in Animatrix's Detective story.
That's the story I would really love to do.
But it's offensive and probably wouldn't sell that well.
And I don't think I can find backers for that.
There are lots of stories I'd like to do.
But we don't always get what we want.
We always get something else. And sometimes, it's better than what we wanted.
That's the way it is.
Jesus and Buddha resurrected as a girl.
With satan as a private eye, protecting her.
From mob bosses.
In Shinichiro 'Cowboy Bebop' Watanabe's animated black and white noir post-punk style in Animatrix's Detective story.
That's the story I would really love to do.
But it's offensive and probably wouldn't sell that well.
And I don't think I can find backers for that.
There are lots of stories I'd like to do.
But we don't always get what we want.
We always get something else. And sometimes, it's better than what we wanted.
That's the way it is.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Hero With a Thousand Faces
The Quest
In which our hero goes on a journey and go through trials and tribulations and become stronger as a result.
I bought nine pack of cigarettes. A new can of deodorant, a toothbrush, an empty notebook, and three new pens.
Will I find the Golden Fleece? Will I be able to simply walk into Mordor?
Can I slay Grendel? What about Angelina Jolie?
Then, there is the Bull of Heaven. Will Enkidu help me slay the beast?
And not forgetting the Beast of London. With aid from the Marquis de Carabas.
Can I exchange one eye for Huginn and Muninn - thought and memory, who draws blood from the shoulder of Odin?
Can I rescue Freyja and steal her feathered cloak?
En taro Adun, Executor!
In which our hero goes on a journey and go through trials and tribulations and become stronger as a result.
I bought nine pack of cigarettes. A new can of deodorant, a toothbrush, an empty notebook, and three new pens.
Will I find the Golden Fleece? Will I be able to simply walk into Mordor?
Can I slay Grendel? What about Angelina Jolie?
Then, there is the Bull of Heaven. Will Enkidu help me slay the beast?
And not forgetting the Beast of London. With aid from the Marquis de Carabas.
Can I exchange one eye for Huginn and Muninn - thought and memory, who draws blood from the shoulder of Odin?
Can I rescue Freyja and steal her feathered cloak?
En taro Adun, Executor!
Highlander
I am packing for schort trip to tha highlandsch.
Scho, do not call me, do not come to schee me. I am buzy. And so schexy.
Schuck my dick.
And no, Mr Boobhead, I exschepect you to DIE!
Scho, do not call me, do not come to schee me. I am buzy. And so schexy.
Schuck my dick.
And no, Mr Boobhead, I exschepect you to DIE!
Companion to Owls, Brother to Dragons
I am a brother to dragons,
And a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me,
And my bones are burned with heat.
Job Chapter 30, verses 29-30.
Watchmen - 'A Brother to Dragons', page 28
And a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me,
And my bones are burned with heat.
Job Chapter 30, verses 29-30.
Watchmen - 'A Brother to Dragons', page 28
The times, they are a-changing.
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Get Thee Behind Me, Satan!
I woke up with my face feeling really cold.
I had dreamed that I met Satan. He looks like actor Zami Ismail, has a house in the middle of Pantai Dalam and wore old, traditional Malay clothing.
He was receiving visitors. I was one of them, flanked, of all things, by BN and PR politicians.
Apparently, Satan was offering his 'bomoh' services to politicians, and charge them RM400 for each 'task'. As it is in dreams, I have sudden knowledge of this fact, without any reason.
No one could meet Satan's gaze, so I tried to stare into his eyes. It was bloodshot, but not necessarily with red pupils. This seemed to offend Satan and he motioned for two of his helpers - really ugly women - to remove me from his house.
I tried to punch the women, but my swing and my hands felt sluggish, and I was suddenly aware I was in an oil painting that has yet to dry.
This freaked me out more than anything and I tried to run. My feet felt 'ephemereal' and I began to lose them in the painting as the paint dried, as my real self watched the whole thing frozen as a painting on an easel.
This is not the first time I dreamed of meeting Satan.
My father dreamed of meeting the Prophet Muhammad. I dreamed of meeting Satan.
I guess it had much to do with all the HP Lovecraft tales I have been reading. Ctulhu ftahgn!
I had dreamed that I met Satan. He looks like actor Zami Ismail, has a house in the middle of Pantai Dalam and wore old, traditional Malay clothing.
He was receiving visitors. I was one of them, flanked, of all things, by BN and PR politicians.
Apparently, Satan was offering his 'bomoh' services to politicians, and charge them RM400 for each 'task'. As it is in dreams, I have sudden knowledge of this fact, without any reason.
No one could meet Satan's gaze, so I tried to stare into his eyes. It was bloodshot, but not necessarily with red pupils. This seemed to offend Satan and he motioned for two of his helpers - really ugly women - to remove me from his house.
I tried to punch the women, but my swing and my hands felt sluggish, and I was suddenly aware I was in an oil painting that has yet to dry.
This freaked me out more than anything and I tried to run. My feet felt 'ephemereal' and I began to lose them in the painting as the paint dried, as my real self watched the whole thing frozen as a painting on an easel.
This is not the first time I dreamed of meeting Satan.
My father dreamed of meeting the Prophet Muhammad. I dreamed of meeting Satan.
I guess it had much to do with all the HP Lovecraft tales I have been reading. Ctulhu ftahgn!
Featuring My Features
Why? Cause it puts me everywhere. Everywhere! And I want to be everywhere.
Man, it's too hot and I need to get some sleep before I go off for a three-day conference tomorrow. Yes, I will not be in KL or Ipoh for three days.
Am guzzling some cough syrup and getting some much needed rest.
Cheers!
And play nice while I'm away.
Man, it's too hot and I need to get some sleep before I go off for a three-day conference tomorrow. Yes, I will not be in KL or Ipoh for three days.
Am guzzling some cough syrup and getting some much needed rest.
Cheers!
And play nice while I'm away.
Tales from the Drunk Side: When Evil Had Its Day
Muahahahahaha!
I woke up today and immediately sat in front of my computer. Was preparing for a weekly Wednesday meeting when a request came for a certain contact detail.
So I passed it along and continued with my shit, until I felt the need to take a shit. As the Indonesian maid whom I pay by the hour, and comes every week, cleans my apartment.
I saw an interesting post on a certain blog, so responded.
More computering and Blackberrying later, and I was on my way to my next meeting.
Called a friend and she flagged a distress signal. Something needed doing. It's the pimp signal, let's go!
But I went for my meeting first. It was a good one.
After that was concluded, I went to help her. Got some numbers through obscure and roundabout means. Thanks to all who participated!
And then got a call from Cheepork.
Again: It's the pimp signal, let's go!
Then went home, late at night, with a request from one of my associates to do a late-night emergency translating bit.
Reached home, did the translation, then saw that my comment earlier today was met with derision and some degree of contempt from some "morally-superior" (notice the quotation marks. Quotation marks to indicate sarcasm) people.
HAPPYNESS!
So I responded, tapping into my righteous ego.
What joy!
Muahahahaha!
And now, I need to get some shut-eye. There are some work left, but I will do it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day. Fiddle-dee-dee!
I woke up today and immediately sat in front of my computer. Was preparing for a weekly Wednesday meeting when a request came for a certain contact detail.
So I passed it along and continued with my shit, until I felt the need to take a shit. As the Indonesian maid whom I pay by the hour, and comes every week, cleans my apartment.
I saw an interesting post on a certain blog, so responded.
More computering and Blackberrying later, and I was on my way to my next meeting.
Called a friend and she flagged a distress signal. Something needed doing. It's the pimp signal, let's go!
But I went for my meeting first. It was a good one.
After that was concluded, I went to help her. Got some numbers through obscure and roundabout means. Thanks to all who participated!
And then got a call from Cheepork.
Again: It's the pimp signal, let's go!
Then went home, late at night, with a request from one of my associates to do a late-night emergency translating bit.
Reached home, did the translation, then saw that my comment earlier today was met with derision and some degree of contempt from some "morally-superior" (notice the quotation marks. Quotation marks to indicate sarcasm) people.
HAPPYNESS!
So I responded, tapping into my righteous ego.
What joy!
Muahahahaha!
And now, I need to get some shut-eye. There are some work left, but I will do it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day. Fiddle-dee-dee!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Foot Massage
Am at the Press Club, helping a friend organise an event.
So, while she's on the phone, I go scavenging.
As a man, I have a natural instinct to forage for food and other things.
Lo and behold! A foot massager!
I turned on the switch and put the soles of my feet on the quivering thing.
Yes, it vibrates. Which takes me back...Nevermind.
Ahhh...foot massager.
So, while she's on the phone, I go scavenging.
As a man, I have a natural instinct to forage for food and other things.
Lo and behold! A foot massager!
I turned on the switch and put the soles of my feet on the quivering thing.
Yes, it vibrates. Which takes me back...Nevermind.
Ahhh...foot massager.
Illusion is the Ultimate Weapon
Mobile Armoured Strike Kommand.
Illusion is the Ultimate Weapon.
Matt Trakker: Computer, find me the best specialists for the job.
Computer: Amir Hafizi...psycho-history specialist, journalist paranoid...vehicle code-name, Slut-Whore.
Notice that for many people on Youtube, including Jeerawan, has the contrast and brightness turned way up?
This is to hide blemishes. Everyone has blemishes, and there are only a few with flawless complexion. And even then, this would only last for a few years.
After that, they get old. And wrinkly. And then they die.
If all else fails, there's always Photoshop:
Illusion is the Ultimate Weapon.
Matt Trakker: Computer, find me the best specialists for the job.
Computer: Amir Hafizi...psycho-history specialist, journalist paranoid...vehicle code-name, Slut-Whore.
Notice that for many people on Youtube, including Jeerawan, has the contrast and brightness turned way up?
This is to hide blemishes. Everyone has blemishes, and there are only a few with flawless complexion. And even then, this would only last for a few years.
After that, they get old. And wrinkly. And then they die.
If all else fails, there's always Photoshop:
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The Further Adventures of Boron (World's Most Boring Man): - Ta Pocketa-Pocketa
Finally managed to email whatever I needed to email to whomever I needed to email it to, two hours ago.
The day started in a rush as I woke up at around noon.
Having decided to go a bit later today to the weekly gathering of bloggers called Mee Rebus Tuesday at Tok Mommy's house, I loafed around in the shower.
I have developed a liking for the stronger taste of mee rebus, with lots of chilli, dried shallots and three to four slices of lime.
Though, the mee rebus in Kuantan, in our home, is quite different. My family's mee rebus is actually mee sup.
My father loves mee rebus because, I believe, he had watched the P Ramlee movie Enam Jahanam, where the protagonist asked for mee rebus from the proprietor of the eatery and managed to have his order - plates upon plates of mee rebus - in sequence, drowned in soy sauce, salt, pepper, shot at and shot at again by a pistol-wielding Malay admiral.
After that, he got his revenge on six unruly characters who (presumably) raped and killed his wife, before going back to the Malay admiral's home and finding out that the gun-toting admiral was in fact his long-lost brother-in-law and that his wife had a twin and that he was in love with the twin as well.
Phew.
The mee rebus is indeed a special dish, yes?
So anyway, our version of the mee rebus, or mee sup, has a clear broth, and sometimes flavoured by cow spine.
Yes, yes, I realize that I have been talking about eating cow's lungs, liver and other internal organs a lot, lately.
I do not eat cow's intestines because I know when you cut open the cow's intestines, you can see thousands of small worms, which the Kelantanese call 'rawit', which is short for 'cacing kerawit', I guess.
You treat it - it being cows' intestines - with an alkaline solution, which will get the rawit to curl up into tiny little balls. Disgusting, isn't it?
I do not eat the eyes, udders (which is an ancient Roman delicacy, as well as lark's tongue and whatever else), nose or whatever else. And yes, I do eat the meat.
But cow lung, boiled first and dipped in tumeric and salt before being fried, is one of my favourite dishes. There was a shop in Pantai Dalam - gone after the bulldozers had their way - which prepared this dish with a twist. They used a kind of batter that makes the cow lungs so much crispier.
So, yes, cow's spine or tail, to make it a rich broth, with the noodles and fish cakes and shrimp. And eggs. Glorious, heavenly eggs.
If you add some tomato ketchup to the clear soup, it makes for an interesting taste combination.
This mee rebus has some form of curry in it. Southern style mee rebus. It is quite nice and I shamelessly finished the last dish with a gusto of fried shallots and four slices of lime.
Afterwards, I spoke with the people about the virtues of cartoon pronography.
I interrogated the token Canadian dude there about Canadian politics.
One question remains unanswered. What is it with Canadians and beavers? I don't get it.
After that, I accepted a ride to Bangsar Village, from which I took a cab and went home, just in time for Oprah.
I did not watch Oprah, though, as I had work to do, and I did it.
I thank whatever power is in play for cancelling not one, not two, but THREE of my meetings today. Otherwise, I might still be trying to get home, perhaps five hours from now.
I really do need to get a car.
First order of business, though, is to move to my new place. That will happen soon. A few weeks.
I am also now waiting for some information some people have promised me. They have yet to deliver and it looks like I can't be part of a production crew as I will have to organise my schedule based on what I have in front of me right now. Pity. I so wanted to go back to the East Coast. And sample other types of mee rebus.
The day started in a rush as I woke up at around noon.
Having decided to go a bit later today to the weekly gathering of bloggers called Mee Rebus Tuesday at Tok Mommy's house, I loafed around in the shower.
I have developed a liking for the stronger taste of mee rebus, with lots of chilli, dried shallots and three to four slices of lime.
Though, the mee rebus in Kuantan, in our home, is quite different. My family's mee rebus is actually mee sup.
My father loves mee rebus because, I believe, he had watched the P Ramlee movie Enam Jahanam, where the protagonist asked for mee rebus from the proprietor of the eatery and managed to have his order - plates upon plates of mee rebus - in sequence, drowned in soy sauce, salt, pepper, shot at and shot at again by a pistol-wielding Malay admiral.
After that, he got his revenge on six unruly characters who (presumably) raped and killed his wife, before going back to the Malay admiral's home and finding out that the gun-toting admiral was in fact his long-lost brother-in-law and that his wife had a twin and that he was in love with the twin as well.
Phew.
The mee rebus is indeed a special dish, yes?
So anyway, our version of the mee rebus, or mee sup, has a clear broth, and sometimes flavoured by cow spine.
Yes, yes, I realize that I have been talking about eating cow's lungs, liver and other internal organs a lot, lately.
I do not eat cow's intestines because I know when you cut open the cow's intestines, you can see thousands of small worms, which the Kelantanese call 'rawit', which is short for 'cacing kerawit', I guess.
You treat it - it being cows' intestines - with an alkaline solution, which will get the rawit to curl up into tiny little balls. Disgusting, isn't it?
I do not eat the eyes, udders (which is an ancient Roman delicacy, as well as lark's tongue and whatever else), nose or whatever else. And yes, I do eat the meat.
But cow lung, boiled first and dipped in tumeric and salt before being fried, is one of my favourite dishes. There was a shop in Pantai Dalam - gone after the bulldozers had their way - which prepared this dish with a twist. They used a kind of batter that makes the cow lungs so much crispier.
So, yes, cow's spine or tail, to make it a rich broth, with the noodles and fish cakes and shrimp. And eggs. Glorious, heavenly eggs.
If you add some tomato ketchup to the clear soup, it makes for an interesting taste combination.
This mee rebus has some form of curry in it. Southern style mee rebus. It is quite nice and I shamelessly finished the last dish with a gusto of fried shallots and four slices of lime.
Afterwards, I spoke with the people about the virtues of cartoon pronography.
I interrogated the token Canadian dude there about Canadian politics.
One question remains unanswered. What is it with Canadians and beavers? I don't get it.
After that, I accepted a ride to Bangsar Village, from which I took a cab and went home, just in time for Oprah.
I did not watch Oprah, though, as I had work to do, and I did it.
I thank whatever power is in play for cancelling not one, not two, but THREE of my meetings today. Otherwise, I might still be trying to get home, perhaps five hours from now.
I really do need to get a car.
First order of business, though, is to move to my new place. That will happen soon. A few weeks.
I am also now waiting for some information some people have promised me. They have yet to deliver and it looks like I can't be part of a production crew as I will have to organise my schedule based on what I have in front of me right now. Pity. I so wanted to go back to the East Coast. And sample other types of mee rebus.
Insomniac
Oh God, I started reading introductions. I really should be sleeping.
Oh well.
Whilst reading, it occured to me that most, if not all of you, will never understand my jokes.
The Malaysian grasp of the concept of humor is underdeveloped.
A friend once mentioned, and I do agree to his observation, that Malaysians are the most cynical people ever. EVAR!
And he said it with a sense of pride.
I find it kind of, well, sad.
As a cynic, I can say that being cynical has its virtues, but you don't want to do it all the time. It's like having rice ALL the time. It's so boring. You don't want to have rice all the - ah, yes. Sorry.
I know of a few people who were alive when man first walked on the moon. One of my lecturer's parents.
He had gone home with the news, proudly, as he was one of the few who had the chance to go to college.
His parents received the news with utter disbelief.
"If their 'rocket ship' were to fly past the clouds, they would meet God!" they objected, in disbelief.
I find that the danger in not easily believing things is to easily believe in anything.
I know of proud atheists who fell prey to the African money scam, and other cons. Hell, I even know of double degree holders who support PR.
Cynicism is one thing. Most of the time, they just don't get it.
They don't get sarcasm. This is a big thing.
Example:
Idiot: Why did you help her?
Me: I helped her for the sole purpose of putting my penis in her vagina.
Idiot: God, you're SICK! She's like, 70 years old, you FUCK!
Mmm.
And then, exposure.
People are exposed to different things.
The stuff I have been exposed to, they don't get. I mean, I could hardly find any of my contemporaries who have watched as much TV as I did in the 80s.
No many see South Park and Futurama as sources of wisdom.
And then, there's this thing about personal experience. Imagine if we are in the same room, and Jessica Alba comes in and starts to strip.
Each person would have a different experience.
Girl #1: Oh my God! Did you see what kind of underwear she was wearing? It's [Insert Brand here]! Hey, I wear it too! So I must look as good as Jessica Alba!
Girl #2: She is doing a disservice to women all over! We fought all those years so that ugly hos also have the right not to have perfect tits and ass to be shoved down our throats! To remind us that we're ugly hos! Who don't shave!
Me: Can you pass me the petroleum jelly?
Bada-bing!
So no, man. My humor is just too sophisticated for mere stupid, soulless motherfuckers.
Ahhhh. Man. I need to get to sleep. Maybe the new Maria Ozawa porn will help alleviate my insomnia.
Oh well.
Whilst reading, it occured to me that most, if not all of you, will never understand my jokes.
The Malaysian grasp of the concept of humor is underdeveloped.
A friend once mentioned, and I do agree to his observation, that Malaysians are the most cynical people ever. EVAR!
And he said it with a sense of pride.
I find it kind of, well, sad.
As a cynic, I can say that being cynical has its virtues, but you don't want to do it all the time. It's like having rice ALL the time. It's so boring. You don't want to have rice all the - ah, yes. Sorry.
I know of a few people who were alive when man first walked on the moon. One of my lecturer's parents.
He had gone home with the news, proudly, as he was one of the few who had the chance to go to college.
His parents received the news with utter disbelief.
"If their 'rocket ship' were to fly past the clouds, they would meet God!" they objected, in disbelief.
I find that the danger in not easily believing things is to easily believe in anything.
I know of proud atheists who fell prey to the African money scam, and other cons. Hell, I even know of double degree holders who support PR.
Cynicism is one thing. Most of the time, they just don't get it.
They don't get sarcasm. This is a big thing.
Example:
Idiot: Why did you help her?
Me: I helped her for the sole purpose of putting my penis in her vagina.
Idiot: God, you're SICK! She's like, 70 years old, you FUCK!
Mmm.
And then, exposure.
People are exposed to different things.
The stuff I have been exposed to, they don't get. I mean, I could hardly find any of my contemporaries who have watched as much TV as I did in the 80s.
No many see South Park and Futurama as sources of wisdom.
And then, there's this thing about personal experience. Imagine if we are in the same room, and Jessica Alba comes in and starts to strip.
Each person would have a different experience.
Girl #1: Oh my God! Did you see what kind of underwear she was wearing? It's [Insert Brand here]! Hey, I wear it too! So I must look as good as Jessica Alba!
Girl #2: She is doing a disservice to women all over! We fought all those years so that ugly hos also have the right not to have perfect tits and ass to be shoved down our throats! To remind us that we're ugly hos! Who don't shave!
Me: Can you pass me the petroleum jelly?
Bada-bing!
So no, man. My humor is just too sophisticated for mere stupid, soulless motherfuckers.
Ahhhh. Man. I need to get to sleep. Maybe the new Maria Ozawa porn will help alleviate my insomnia.
Non-Musical Interlude
I have been trying to make a technical manual sound interesting. Yes. I am doing some copywriting.
It's just a bit, but my mind is turning to mush now. I dare say I can only finish it tomorrow.
So many things to do.
Anyway, in unrelated developments, Rocky's blog has hit the 10 million visitor mark. An amazing achievement.
I remember, several years ago, I tried to sell him the idea of having an online gaming platform tie-in with The Malay Mail.
His response?
"I am interested in these things called blogs."
And then he asked me about it, as he had heard complaints filed, that I have one - a blog. And that I was swearing in it and promoting counter-culture.
I downplayed the significance of blogs, saying that it is merely a passing fad. Parroting what the Luddites told me, as they do not understand it and think they will do badly if they write online. Maybe they are right.
I had my agenda. I certainly did not want more people to do it.
Nothing to see here, Rocky. Move along, now.
Oh well.
His anniversary/landmark post was met with some degree of derision from Perasan Rakyat supporters, who would accuse anyone who don't agree with EVERYTHING PR does as being BN lapdogs.
I don't agree with everything Perasan Rakyat does. They suck just as much as the previous administration, maybe more, and yet claim to be superior. Morally. Mentally.
It's all a big con, I tell you.
New pictures of a certain sleeping politician have been bandied about on the Internet.
If before, I was disappointed, right now I am downright disgusted.
First of all, there is no porn in these pictures. No porn at all.
Secondly, armpit hair. Shudders.
Unflattering photos, I must say.
And it has no bearing whatsoever in say, hillside developments or the fact that Bangsar South (nee Pantai Dalam) has over 30 10-storey buildings under construction. And that some areas near Pantai Panorama is already showing signs of erosion. Or so sources say.
Haven't been to 'Bangsar South' in a while.
More of my friends are leaving the country. For good.
Funny. Several years ago, I got a number of people together and expounded on the virtues of migrating. I told them that this country is done for, and that we should all leave before the shit hits the fan.
Flash-forward, and I am the only one left. Two went to Australia. Four is in or will be in Canada, a few got UN jobs I directed them to, and are now in Switzerland and Germany. Some are in the UK. I know four more who are working towards migrating to the US.
My circle is decimated, and I do believe that before 2012 rolls along, I might be the only one left bitching about the country and its people.
Ah, well. What was it that Roman soldier said, in The Kindly Ones? Omnia mutantor, nihil inherit. Everything changes. Nothing is truly lost.
Which brings me to reading Neil Gaiman's website and his article about ideas. I find this one particularly interesting:
You can find it here.
I often find myself meeting people with The Big Ideas. And then they try to get me to do their stories, thinking the hard part is done. And that they did it. It would have been better if they pay me for the troubles, but no.
Oh well.
For the record, unless you're paying me to commission something, I am not going to turn your ideas into anything. Not because I am an arrogant bastard, and I may be, but like the armpit hair, it has no bearing in this.
It is because I have more than enough ideas that I would like to work on - ideas that would take more than a dozen lifetimes to develop.
And believe me, developing it is not as easy as it seems.
Tomorrow will be a full day. Engagements in the morning, afternoon and evening. And then I have to go home and finish this copywriting bit.
It is raining outside. Lightly. Great ambience to read a book, but I shouldn't. I should get some sleep and wake up fresh tomorrow morning.
It's just a bit, but my mind is turning to mush now. I dare say I can only finish it tomorrow.
So many things to do.
Anyway, in unrelated developments, Rocky's blog has hit the 10 million visitor mark. An amazing achievement.
I remember, several years ago, I tried to sell him the idea of having an online gaming platform tie-in with The Malay Mail.
His response?
"I am interested in these things called blogs."
And then he asked me about it, as he had heard complaints filed, that I have one - a blog. And that I was swearing in it and promoting counter-culture.
I downplayed the significance of blogs, saying that it is merely a passing fad. Parroting what the Luddites told me, as they do not understand it and think they will do badly if they write online. Maybe they are right.
I had my agenda. I certainly did not want more people to do it.
Nothing to see here, Rocky. Move along, now.
Oh well.
His anniversary/landmark post was met with some degree of derision from Perasan Rakyat supporters, who would accuse anyone who don't agree with EVERYTHING PR does as being BN lapdogs.
I don't agree with everything Perasan Rakyat does. They suck just as much as the previous administration, maybe more, and yet claim to be superior. Morally. Mentally.
It's all a big con, I tell you.
New pictures of a certain sleeping politician have been bandied about on the Internet.
If before, I was disappointed, right now I am downright disgusted.
First of all, there is no porn in these pictures. No porn at all.
Secondly, armpit hair. Shudders.
Unflattering photos, I must say.
And it has no bearing whatsoever in say, hillside developments or the fact that Bangsar South (nee Pantai Dalam) has over 30 10-storey buildings under construction. And that some areas near Pantai Panorama is already showing signs of erosion. Or so sources say.
Haven't been to 'Bangsar South' in a while.
More of my friends are leaving the country. For good.
Funny. Several years ago, I got a number of people together and expounded on the virtues of migrating. I told them that this country is done for, and that we should all leave before the shit hits the fan.
Flash-forward, and I am the only one left. Two went to Australia. Four is in or will be in Canada, a few got UN jobs I directed them to, and are now in Switzerland and Germany. Some are in the UK. I know four more who are working towards migrating to the US.
My circle is decimated, and I do believe that before 2012 rolls along, I might be the only one left bitching about the country and its people.
Ah, well. What was it that Roman soldier said, in The Kindly Ones? Omnia mutantor, nihil inherit. Everything changes. Nothing is truly lost.
Which brings me to reading Neil Gaiman's website and his article about ideas. I find this one particularly interesting:
Every published writer has had it - the people who come up to you and tell you that they've Got An Idea. And boy, is it a Doozy. It's such a Doozy that they want to Cut You In On It. The proposal is always the same - they'll tell you the Idea (the hard bit), you write it down and turn it into a novel (the easy bit), the two of you can split the money fifty-fifty.
I'm reasonably gracious with these people. I tell them, truly, that I have far too many ideas for things as it is, and far too little time. And I wish them the best of luck.
The Ideas aren't the hard bit. They're a small component of the whole. Creating believable people who do more or less what you tell them to is much harder. And hardest by far is the process of simply sitting down and putting one word after another to construct whatever it is you're trying to build: making it interesting, making it new.
You can find it here.
I often find myself meeting people with The Big Ideas. And then they try to get me to do their stories, thinking the hard part is done. And that they did it. It would have been better if they pay me for the troubles, but no.
Oh well.
For the record, unless you're paying me to commission something, I am not going to turn your ideas into anything. Not because I am an arrogant bastard, and I may be, but like the armpit hair, it has no bearing in this.
It is because I have more than enough ideas that I would like to work on - ideas that would take more than a dozen lifetimes to develop.
And believe me, developing it is not as easy as it seems.
Tomorrow will be a full day. Engagements in the morning, afternoon and evening. And then I have to go home and finish this copywriting bit.
It is raining outside. Lightly. Great ambience to read a book, but I shouldn't. I should get some sleep and wake up fresh tomorrow morning.
Pass Me the Horse The Over
I wonder. If I were to start speaking English with an English accent, will that get me more money?
If I were to pepper my speech with quotes from Dr Faust, will I be given more vaginas to fuck?
If I were to refer to the Great Books, and steal their lines, would that make me more intelligent? Rather than, say, quoting comics?
Gessae clue, A thenk A might hav an enkleng.
Ty-ee-ger, Ty-ee-ger, sheeynin' bright
En the foorest o' the night
Wot immort'l han or aye
c'n freme thy feerf'l semettry
Heven a lark aboot, s'all. Eef A bother, wud A git a few unnred quid? Or mair?
A doon't bloody thenk so.
See yez in anudder life, brother.
If I were to pepper my speech with quotes from Dr Faust, will I be given more vaginas to fuck?
If I were to refer to the Great Books, and steal their lines, would that make me more intelligent? Rather than, say, quoting comics?
Gessae clue, A thenk A might hav an enkleng.
Ty-ee-ger, Ty-ee-ger, sheeynin' bright
En the foorest o' the night
Wot immort'l han or aye
c'n freme thy feerf'l semettry
Heven a lark aboot, s'all. Eef A bother, wud A git a few unnred quid? Or mair?
A doon't bloody thenk so.
See yez in anudder life, brother.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Bad Thoughts
I have a meeting to prepare for, so I will be brief.
Some people are so in awe of their own bad thoughts about other people. Thinking that if they were to share said bad thoughts, the subject of their bad thoughts would wilt and die.
NEWSFLASH, MOTHERFUCKER: EVERYONE HAS BAD THOUGHTS ABOUT EVERYONE.
You're not the only one, and your bad thoughts are not special.
In actuality, everyone HATES everyone else. It's human nature. What can you do? Nothing.
I have bad thoughts about people, and it usually involves inserting my dick in their vaginas.
Bad thought! Bad thought!
Sit, UBU sit, bad thought.
People need to understand that they do not matter. They suck, and then they die.
At the point of death, do you transform into a planet-sized transforming robot? If you don't, then fuck you.
Fuck me, too, if you're hot.
Some people are so in awe of their own bad thoughts about other people. Thinking that if they were to share said bad thoughts, the subject of their bad thoughts would wilt and die.
NEWSFLASH, MOTHERFUCKER: EVERYONE HAS BAD THOUGHTS ABOUT EVERYONE.
You're not the only one, and your bad thoughts are not special.
In actuality, everyone HATES everyone else. It's human nature. What can you do? Nothing.
I have bad thoughts about people, and it usually involves inserting my dick in their vaginas.
Bad thought! Bad thought!
Sit, UBU sit, bad thought.
People need to understand that they do not matter. They suck, and then they die.
At the point of death, do you transform into a planet-sized transforming robot? If you don't, then fuck you.
Fuck me, too, if you're hot.
Strip Pole: CLOSED!
Ho-kay!
I am closing the poll, bitches.
For five days, I asked you to vote for the Thai type you would prefer. The poll received a total 142 responses in 5 days.
Here are the results:
1. The University Type
I first used this picture:
...and the University Type immediately jumped ahead to an unassailable lead from tghe first day.
I even had to put up this plea:
NOTE: PLEASE DON'T VOTE FOR UNIVERSITY TYPE. THERE ARE ALREADY TOO MUCH VOTES FOR IT. SO I AM REPLACING HER PICTURE WITH SOMEONE LESS...TALENTED AND SEE IF THAT WOULD SWAY VOTES FOR THE OTHERS. APPARENTLY, THE FIRST GIRL WAS TOO HOT. AND YES, UNIVERSITY STUDENTS IN THAILAND HAVE TO WEAR A UNIFORM - BLACK SKIRTS AND TIGHT WHITE BLOUSES.
and change the picture to this:
Oh well. This shows the power of education. The university type is the winner with 95 votes, 65% of the total received.
Find this type, doing freelance, at Ratchadaphisek Road, just off Huay Kwang MRT station.
2. The Spinner Type
Only received one vote. I guess the pedos are hiding.
Not telling you where.
3. The Coyote Type
Eight votes. 6%. Not bad.
Can be found almost anywhere in Bangkok, Pattaya and Phuket.
4. The Model Type 1
Two votes. Pathetic. Muahahaha.
I dunno where.
5. The Model Type 2
The only real contender to Uni Type. This one got 25 votes, 18% of the total.
You can find this type in massage parlours all over Bangkok.
6. The Actress Type
Even though I suspect she's a man, 11 people voted for this type, representing 8% of total votes.
I guess some trannie-lovers and gay people are here reading my blog as well.
Okay. I gotta get back to work now. This strip pole is no longer sticky.
I am closing the poll, bitches.
For five days, I asked you to vote for the Thai type you would prefer. The poll received a total 142 responses in 5 days.
Here are the results:
1. The University Type
I first used this picture:
...and the University Type immediately jumped ahead to an unassailable lead from tghe first day.
I even had to put up this plea:
NOTE: PLEASE DON'T VOTE FOR UNIVERSITY TYPE. THERE ARE ALREADY TOO MUCH VOTES FOR IT. SO I AM REPLACING HER PICTURE WITH SOMEONE LESS...TALENTED AND SEE IF THAT WOULD SWAY VOTES FOR THE OTHERS. APPARENTLY, THE FIRST GIRL WAS TOO HOT. AND YES, UNIVERSITY STUDENTS IN THAILAND HAVE TO WEAR A UNIFORM - BLACK SKIRTS AND TIGHT WHITE BLOUSES.
and change the picture to this:
Oh well. This shows the power of education. The university type is the winner with 95 votes, 65% of the total received.
Find this type, doing freelance, at Ratchadaphisek Road, just off Huay Kwang MRT station.
2. The Spinner Type
Only received one vote. I guess the pedos are hiding.
Not telling you where.
3. The Coyote Type
Eight votes. 6%. Not bad.
Can be found almost anywhere in Bangkok, Pattaya and Phuket.
4. The Model Type 1
Two votes. Pathetic. Muahahaha.
I dunno where.
5. The Model Type 2
The only real contender to Uni Type. This one got 25 votes, 18% of the total.
You can find this type in massage parlours all over Bangkok.
6. The Actress Type
Even though I suspect she's a man, 11 people voted for this type, representing 8% of total votes.
I guess some trannie-lovers and gay people are here reading my blog as well.
Okay. I gotta get back to work now. This strip pole is no longer sticky.
Give Me 20 Million Dollars
Hey, you guys!
I think God wants me to make 20 million dollars.
I just finished one script, but I can't sleep. Been lying on bed and all these titles for self-help Islamic books just flashed before my very eyes. Very eyes. The fuck does that mean?
Anyway, Syed Akbar Ali or whoever wants to do the Applied Islamics thing, consider this:
1. Diet Islam.
The simplest diet there is. Eat whatever the fuck you want. In moderation.
Success stories: Dr M. He was quoted as saying, "I eat whatever I want. In moderation."
And aside from stealing chocolate ice-cream from his granddaughter when his personal doctor was not looking, he reportedly sticks true to this.
Insert some nutrition science dudes.
2. Islamic Visualisation to Wealth and Health
The counterpart to The Secret. Same shit, different labels.
It's basically doa.
3. Lose Fat...And Sin
Repackaging the actions in the solat five times a day and also hardcore physical preparations for the Haj.
Run from Safa to Marwah seven times - calculate the distance and pose it as an exercise regime.
4. Win Arguments Without Explosives
The cool, Islamic method of chilling out even in the worst of vitriol.
When I studied Islam in school, I read a lot where God or the Prophet, peace be upon him, called for a calm demeanour, even when handling enemies.
Not many people do this nowadays and would often resort to insults and masturbating the ego.
5. Personal Islamic Conversations About Money
SOme other titles for Islamic finances, but this one is about your personal relationship with money and stuff.
In Islam, no one owns anything. God owns everything.
That gets rid of a lot of worry there. For instance, you shouldn't worry if your neighbour could afford a more expensive wife/slut-ho whore-priestess. God owns everything.
6. The Saf - Solutions for Managers
Management book. In a mosque, there are many things happening. Stuff like moving to reposition yourself in the midst of prayers to include other people, redesignating a new Imam after the original Imam has finished, even shaking hands at the end of it - all this can be spinned into management tips.
Packaged together, they pack a whallop.
It can't be as bad as Thick Face, Black Heart or whatever - the title to a business management book based on kiasu and greed. What the fuck? But yeah.
Anything and everything can be turned to self-help.
This is big money, man. Big Money, Big Money! Saya putar, Halim!
So. Do this, and give me 20 million dollars.
I think God wants me to make 20 million dollars.
I just finished one script, but I can't sleep. Been lying on bed and all these titles for self-help Islamic books just flashed before my very eyes. Very eyes. The fuck does that mean?
Anyway, Syed Akbar Ali or whoever wants to do the Applied Islamics thing, consider this:
1. Diet Islam.
The simplest diet there is. Eat whatever the fuck you want. In moderation.
Success stories: Dr M. He was quoted as saying, "I eat whatever I want. In moderation."
And aside from stealing chocolate ice-cream from his granddaughter when his personal doctor was not looking, he reportedly sticks true to this.
Insert some nutrition science dudes.
2. Islamic Visualisation to Wealth and Health
The counterpart to The Secret. Same shit, different labels.
It's basically doa.
3. Lose Fat...And Sin
Repackaging the actions in the solat five times a day and also hardcore physical preparations for the Haj.
Run from Safa to Marwah seven times - calculate the distance and pose it as an exercise regime.
4. Win Arguments Without Explosives
The cool, Islamic method of chilling out even in the worst of vitriol.
When I studied Islam in school, I read a lot where God or the Prophet, peace be upon him, called for a calm demeanour, even when handling enemies.
Not many people do this nowadays and would often resort to insults and masturbating the ego.
5. Personal Islamic Conversations About Money
SOme other titles for Islamic finances, but this one is about your personal relationship with money and stuff.
In Islam, no one owns anything. God owns everything.
That gets rid of a lot of worry there. For instance, you shouldn't worry if your neighbour could afford a more expensive wife/slut-ho whore-priestess. God owns everything.
6. The Saf - Solutions for Managers
Management book. In a mosque, there are many things happening. Stuff like moving to reposition yourself in the midst of prayers to include other people, redesignating a new Imam after the original Imam has finished, even shaking hands at the end of it - all this can be spinned into management tips.
Packaged together, they pack a whallop.
It can't be as bad as Thick Face, Black Heart or whatever - the title to a business management book based on kiasu and greed. What the fuck? But yeah.
Anything and everything can be turned to self-help.
This is big money, man. Big Money, Big Money! Saya putar, Halim!
So. Do this, and give me 20 million dollars.
Applied Islamics
Hey, I just got a multi-million dollar 'halal' idea.
See, New Age philosophy, personal training and self-help books, which is a multi-billion dollar business, draws a lot from religious philosophies, INCLUDING Islam.
I met a guy who was featured in Discovery Channel cause he can do this:
I asked him, what kind of mojo is he using?
His answer? Sufism. That's basically Islam without the rituals. Just the spiritual and philosophical side of it. I think.
There's even a preacher in the States who defines himself as somebody who preaches about money.
There's even a fucking Vatican Conservatory, which takes a scientific view on religion.
The boundaries between religion and secularism is becoming blurred.
So, I got to thinking.
If New Age and self-improvement can draw from Islam, then why can't Islam draw from this business model?
Get some philosophy going, how to view the world and stuff like that, from Islamic teachings, sufism, the Koran, Hadith, etc.
Then, package it as self-help/self-improvement, the 'halal' version. Just the practical parts, without making it about which god is the right one, or whether Jesus was this or that.
Call it - Applied Islamics or Islam Hadhari or whatever, and sell it via franchising seminars and books in the Middle east, Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei, even the US, where there are lots of Muslims.
Instead of handing good money to other people to just quote from our own religious books, we might as well get money from them, via a more deep understanding of the text and philosophy.
The upside to this would also be a wider understanding of Islam and Muslims. I mean, we're not all terrorists, and some hate wearing the jilbab and the serban or whatever. Though truth be told, I'd love an AK-47. Some of us are quite liberal in our actions anyway.
Package that with Islamic Banking seminars for businesses, and hey presto - I just created a multi-billion dollar business model for Muslims.
I win!
For the hardcore Islams, you can even start preaching your religion down people's throats to those who actually do want it down their throats. And would gladly pay money for it.
Any of you are welcome to take this idea and run with it. I am a generous motherfucker.
Just remember, when you make your millions, spare a couple of million for me, if you're so inclined.
I'm not going to do it cause:
1. I am hardly a hardcore Islam.
2. Am too lazy for this.
3. Even with regular self-help, I am going to do some things in the next decades which might seem contrary to what I have learned. This is because if I APPEAR too smart, or that nothing can faze me, people will kill me. I need to have public weaknesses so that my real weaknesses and secrets are not used against me.
So, what you need is:
1. An Islam who knows the workings of secular western world. Needs to know the boundaries between what is acceptable and what is not.
2. Reads a lot.
3. Can speak to an audience.
4. Knows the Koran inside out.
5. Is not stupid and/or arrogant. Stupid people will fail at everything they do. And arrogant retards will sabotage themselves.
6. Knows English. Cause you need to spread it to non-BM speakers.
7. A marketing guy who knows his or her shit. Most Islamic self-help have little potential out there cause their marketeers are idiots. Needs to know the religion AND selling techniques AND the self-help market. You're not just selling to Islams. But non-Islams as well.
8. Government backing. Imagine all the established networking and free publisity and already-opened doors, brosephs.
I think Syed Akbar Ali or someone with that kind of inclination and knowledge and propensity fits the bill and should do this and make hundreds of millions of dollars.
And then gimme some.
See, New Age philosophy, personal training and self-help books, which is a multi-billion dollar business, draws a lot from religious philosophies, INCLUDING Islam.
I met a guy who was featured in Discovery Channel cause he can do this:
I asked him, what kind of mojo is he using?
His answer? Sufism. That's basically Islam without the rituals. Just the spiritual and philosophical side of it. I think.
There's even a preacher in the States who defines himself as somebody who preaches about money.
There's even a fucking Vatican Conservatory, which takes a scientific view on religion.
The boundaries between religion and secularism is becoming blurred.
So, I got to thinking.
If New Age and self-improvement can draw from Islam, then why can't Islam draw from this business model?
Get some philosophy going, how to view the world and stuff like that, from Islamic teachings, sufism, the Koran, Hadith, etc.
Then, package it as self-help/self-improvement, the 'halal' version. Just the practical parts, without making it about which god is the right one, or whether Jesus was this or that.
Call it - Applied Islamics or Islam Hadhari or whatever, and sell it via franchising seminars and books in the Middle east, Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei, even the US, where there are lots of Muslims.
Instead of handing good money to other people to just quote from our own religious books, we might as well get money from them, via a more deep understanding of the text and philosophy.
The upside to this would also be a wider understanding of Islam and Muslims. I mean, we're not all terrorists, and some hate wearing the jilbab and the serban or whatever. Though truth be told, I'd love an AK-47. Some of us are quite liberal in our actions anyway.
Package that with Islamic Banking seminars for businesses, and hey presto - I just created a multi-billion dollar business model for Muslims.
I win!
For the hardcore Islams, you can even start preaching your religion down people's throats to those who actually do want it down their throats. And would gladly pay money for it.
Any of you are welcome to take this idea and run with it. I am a generous motherfucker.
Just remember, when you make your millions, spare a couple of million for me, if you're so inclined.
I'm not going to do it cause:
1. I am hardly a hardcore Islam.
2. Am too lazy for this.
3. Even with regular self-help, I am going to do some things in the next decades which might seem contrary to what I have learned. This is because if I APPEAR too smart, or that nothing can faze me, people will kill me. I need to have public weaknesses so that my real weaknesses and secrets are not used against me.
So, what you need is:
1. An Islam who knows the workings of secular western world. Needs to know the boundaries between what is acceptable and what is not.
2. Reads a lot.
3. Can speak to an audience.
4. Knows the Koran inside out.
5. Is not stupid and/or arrogant. Stupid people will fail at everything they do. And arrogant retards will sabotage themselves.
6. Knows English. Cause you need to spread it to non-BM speakers.
7. A marketing guy who knows his or her shit. Most Islamic self-help have little potential out there cause their marketeers are idiots. Needs to know the religion AND selling techniques AND the self-help market. You're not just selling to Islams. But non-Islams as well.
8. Government backing. Imagine all the established networking and free publisity and already-opened doors, brosephs.
I think Syed Akbar Ali or someone with that kind of inclination and knowledge and propensity fits the bill and should do this and make hundreds of millions of dollars.
And then gimme some.
Rahsia Dunia Baru
Mungkin ramai, terutamanya perempuan, yang terdengar tentang buku-buku pop-psikologi 'new age' seperti The Secret dan A New Earth karya Eckhart Tolle (dan dipromo oleh Oprah Winfrey bermati-matian). Mungkin tidak ramai yang berpeluang membaca buku-buku tersebut, atas pelbagai sebab.
Mari sini. Biar aku bagi edisi mampatnya.
The Secret menyatakan berkenaan rahsia kejayaan yang ajaib nak mampus. Katanya, apa sahaja yang kita fikirkan akan menjadi nyata.
Ya, aku setuju, tapi bukan secara magik, ya. Seperti ilmu hitam, magik tidak wujud sebenarnya.
Apa yang terjadi adalah apabila kita asyik menumpukan pemikiran dan perasaan pada sesuatu, maka akan lebih senang untuk mencari jalan menyebabkan benda itu terjadi atau menghadirkan diri.
Contoh:
Dulu, aku tak pernah perasan farmasi. Lepas kerja di farmasi, aku mula perasan banyak gila farmasi.
Contoh yang lebih praktikal:
Aku rindukan Thailand. Aku duk berfikir pasal Thailand selama beberapa bulan.
Member aku, yang juga rindukan Thailand, menelefon aku dan mengatur percutian ke Thailand.
Aku pun secara 'magik' berada di Thailand. Lepas bayar tiket, hotel, dan sewa teksi.
Itulah kehebatan The Secret. 'Magik', kan?
A New Earth pula.
A New Earth bercakap pasal dua perkara penting: ego dan fokus.
Nak dipendekkan cerita, ego kita mencengkam hidup kita semua. Kebanyakan orang ingin menjadi lebih bagus, lebih betul, lebih bermoral dan lebih segala-galanya agar rasa kerdil diri ego kita dapat dipuaskan.
Ego kita bukanlah diri kita yang sebenar, tetapi cuma personaliti tempelan dengan identitinya sendiri.
Demi ego kita, kita sanggup menjahanamkan orang lain agar ego sendiri rasa best.
Satu cara untuk mengatasi ego ialah dengan menjauhkan definisi diri kita yang sebenar dengan ego kita.
Apabila ada orang yang cuba membuatkan kita rasa cam puki, sebenarnya, ego orang itu sendiri yang cuba mengerdilkan ego kita agar kita rasa seperti mangsa, supaya ego mereka dapat rasa cambest, walaupun sebenarnya sama je pukimaknya.
A New Earth menyarankan agar kita tidak lari daripada apa yang kita rasa, tidak menafikan perasaan dan pengalaman semasa, dan pada masa yang sama, tidak membenarkan ego dan perasaan yang dialami oleh ego tadi untuk membuatkan kita bertindak seperti berukera dari planet Zargus.
Ego hanya boleh hidup pada masa lampau dan masa hadapan. Ego tidak boleh hidup pada masa sekarang. Jadi, fokus pada masa sekarang adalah maha penting.
Tiga konsep penting dalam A New Earth:
1. Is That So?
2. Maybe?
3. This, too shall pass.
Nak terjemah:
1. Kembang cipap aku mendengarnya...
2. Pedulittaik aku?
3. Semua orang boleh pergi mampus lah.
Apabila diserang atau ada orang yang cuba membuatkan kita berasa tak best, cuma cakap macam ni:
KEMBAAAANG CIPAP AKU MENDENGARNYA.
Maksudnya? Satu, cipap memang dah kembang. Dua, 'okay, aku faham apa yang kau katakan, apakah kesan kenyataan kau ini pada cipap aku yang sudah kembang? Ada?'
Ataupun, gunakan 'pedulittaik aku?'
Apapun krisis atau drama yang berlaku, adakah situasi itu akan mengubah pergerakan cakerawala? Adakah kandungan isi hati si polan binti si pukimak akan menyebabkan kutub utara dan kutub selatan beralih arah dan menyebabkan kematian segala macam jenis hidupan dan membuatkan bumi tidak dapat didiami sampai 50 juta tahun?
Ya? Tidak?
Kalau tidak, pedulittaik aku?
Kalau ada 100 juta orang yang bencikan kau, fikir kaulah manusia paling hina di alam semesta, maka adakah puki kau akan bernanah?
Jika ya, sila jumpa doktor.
Jika tidak, pedulittaik aku?
Dan semua orang boleh pergi mampuslah: apa-apa jua keadaan kita sekarang, keadaan atau situasi itu tidak kekal. Orang pun tidak kekal. Bumi ini pun tidak kekal.
Semasa matahari menjadi gergasi putih dan menelan bumi, atau kalau manusia membina Dyson Sphere, adakah rasa sedih, marah atau tidak puas hati yang kau rasakan beribu-ribu billion tahun sebelum itu, selama sepuluh saat, akan mengubah apa-apa?
Kalau tidak, maka kau dan semua orang lain boleh pergi mampuslah.
Tiada yang kekal dalam dunia ini. Termasuk filem Esok Tetap Kekal, lakonan Pierce Brosnan dan Michelle Yeoh.
Falsafah New Age sebenarnya banyak mencedok daripada agama-agama lama seperti Buddhism, Hindu dan juga Islam. Hati-hati, ya. Aku cuma berminat dengan bahagian sekularnya sahaja.
Pasal aku percaya yang kita hidup sebaik yang boleh. Semampu yang kita dapat capai. Yang lain, Tuhan tentukan.
Benda-benda dan orang yang tidak penting? Pergi mampuslah semua. Hisaplah jubur taik aku beramai-ramai.
Mari sini. Biar aku bagi edisi mampatnya.
The Secret menyatakan berkenaan rahsia kejayaan yang ajaib nak mampus. Katanya, apa sahaja yang kita fikirkan akan menjadi nyata.
Ya, aku setuju, tapi bukan secara magik, ya. Seperti ilmu hitam, magik tidak wujud sebenarnya.
Apa yang terjadi adalah apabila kita asyik menumpukan pemikiran dan perasaan pada sesuatu, maka akan lebih senang untuk mencari jalan menyebabkan benda itu terjadi atau menghadirkan diri.
Contoh:
Dulu, aku tak pernah perasan farmasi. Lepas kerja di farmasi, aku mula perasan banyak gila farmasi.
Contoh yang lebih praktikal:
Aku rindukan Thailand. Aku duk berfikir pasal Thailand selama beberapa bulan.
Member aku, yang juga rindukan Thailand, menelefon aku dan mengatur percutian ke Thailand.
Aku pun secara 'magik' berada di Thailand. Lepas bayar tiket, hotel, dan sewa teksi.
Itulah kehebatan The Secret. 'Magik', kan?
A New Earth pula.
A New Earth bercakap pasal dua perkara penting: ego dan fokus.
Nak dipendekkan cerita, ego kita mencengkam hidup kita semua. Kebanyakan orang ingin menjadi lebih bagus, lebih betul, lebih bermoral dan lebih segala-galanya agar rasa kerdil diri ego kita dapat dipuaskan.
Ego kita bukanlah diri kita yang sebenar, tetapi cuma personaliti tempelan dengan identitinya sendiri.
Demi ego kita, kita sanggup menjahanamkan orang lain agar ego sendiri rasa best.
Satu cara untuk mengatasi ego ialah dengan menjauhkan definisi diri kita yang sebenar dengan ego kita.
Apabila ada orang yang cuba membuatkan kita rasa cam puki, sebenarnya, ego orang itu sendiri yang cuba mengerdilkan ego kita agar kita rasa seperti mangsa, supaya ego mereka dapat rasa cambest, walaupun sebenarnya sama je pukimaknya.
A New Earth menyarankan agar kita tidak lari daripada apa yang kita rasa, tidak menafikan perasaan dan pengalaman semasa, dan pada masa yang sama, tidak membenarkan ego dan perasaan yang dialami oleh ego tadi untuk membuatkan kita bertindak seperti berukera dari planet Zargus.
Ego hanya boleh hidup pada masa lampau dan masa hadapan. Ego tidak boleh hidup pada masa sekarang. Jadi, fokus pada masa sekarang adalah maha penting.
Tiga konsep penting dalam A New Earth:
1. Is That So?
2. Maybe?
3. This, too shall pass.
Nak terjemah:
1. Kembang cipap aku mendengarnya...
2. Pedulittaik aku?
3. Semua orang boleh pergi mampus lah.
Apabila diserang atau ada orang yang cuba membuatkan kita berasa tak best, cuma cakap macam ni:
KEMBAAAANG CIPAP AKU MENDENGARNYA.
Maksudnya? Satu, cipap memang dah kembang. Dua, 'okay, aku faham apa yang kau katakan, apakah kesan kenyataan kau ini pada cipap aku yang sudah kembang? Ada?'
Ataupun, gunakan 'pedulittaik aku?'
Apapun krisis atau drama yang berlaku, adakah situasi itu akan mengubah pergerakan cakerawala? Adakah kandungan isi hati si polan binti si pukimak akan menyebabkan kutub utara dan kutub selatan beralih arah dan menyebabkan kematian segala macam jenis hidupan dan membuatkan bumi tidak dapat didiami sampai 50 juta tahun?
Ya? Tidak?
Kalau tidak, pedulittaik aku?
Kalau ada 100 juta orang yang bencikan kau, fikir kaulah manusia paling hina di alam semesta, maka adakah puki kau akan bernanah?
Jika ya, sila jumpa doktor.
Jika tidak, pedulittaik aku?
Dan semua orang boleh pergi mampuslah: apa-apa jua keadaan kita sekarang, keadaan atau situasi itu tidak kekal. Orang pun tidak kekal. Bumi ini pun tidak kekal.
Semasa matahari menjadi gergasi putih dan menelan bumi, atau kalau manusia membina Dyson Sphere, adakah rasa sedih, marah atau tidak puas hati yang kau rasakan beribu-ribu billion tahun sebelum itu, selama sepuluh saat, akan mengubah apa-apa?
Kalau tidak, maka kau dan semua orang lain boleh pergi mampuslah.
Tiada yang kekal dalam dunia ini. Termasuk filem Esok Tetap Kekal, lakonan Pierce Brosnan dan Michelle Yeoh.
Falsafah New Age sebenarnya banyak mencedok daripada agama-agama lama seperti Buddhism, Hindu dan juga Islam. Hati-hati, ya. Aku cuma berminat dengan bahagian sekularnya sahaja.
Pasal aku percaya yang kita hidup sebaik yang boleh. Semampu yang kita dapat capai. Yang lain, Tuhan tentukan.
Benda-benda dan orang yang tidak penting? Pergi mampuslah semua. Hisaplah jubur taik aku beramai-ramai.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I am Not Fucking Lance Armstrong
Met some people today who made it a point to compete with me.
Areas of competition:
1. Who is making more money.
2. Who has suffered more.
3. Who is right.
I told them off, and may have lost a friend or two. Oh well. FUCK OFF AND DIE.
So from now on, any motherfucker who wants to talk to me, I am laying some simple rules.
1. I AM NOT FUCKING LANCE ARMSTRONG.
Take this statement as you will. I am not the hyper-competitive Lance Armstrong and do not wish to race you to the finish. And I am not having sex with Lance Armstrong, so if you have the hots for a survivor of testicular cancer, go the fuck right ahead.
2. I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU.
Yes. Surprising as it may sounds, I do not really give a fuck about the mundane minutia/minutiae/whateverthefuck that has a chokehold over your life.
I reserve my attention to people I care about, and girls I want to fuck.
And unlike you, people actually care about the little things in MY life. Maybe because their lives are so uninteresting and boring, they live their fantasies through mine. Because I am the coolest motherfucker who ever fucked your mother.
3. I AM MY WORST ENEMY. NOT YOU.
Don't pretend as if you're my nemesis. I am my own nemesis.
I alone destroyed my life and my reputation many, many years ago. Hell, I killed myself when I was 17. At least, I tried. Yet, I failed, and am still doing shit. Muahahahaha. What a loser.
There is no pain, no suffering, no humiliation that anyone can inflict on me that is worse than what I have done or going to do to myself.
4. UNLESS IT'S A COMPARISON ON WHO IS BANGING THE HOTTER HO, COMPLETE WITH PICTURES AND/OR VIDEOS, WHICH CAN BE VIEWED ON A PORTABLE DEVICE, I AM NOT INTERESTED.
Yes. I have no interest in competing with anyone. I would much rather jack off to porn than try to prove I am better than a shit-chucking ape like any of you.
So yeah.
FUCK OFF AND DIE.
Areas of competition:
1. Who is making more money.
2. Who has suffered more.
3. Who is right.
I told them off, and may have lost a friend or two. Oh well. FUCK OFF AND DIE.
So from now on, any motherfucker who wants to talk to me, I am laying some simple rules.
1. I AM NOT FUCKING LANCE ARMSTRONG.
Take this statement as you will. I am not the hyper-competitive Lance Armstrong and do not wish to race you to the finish. And I am not having sex with Lance Armstrong, so if you have the hots for a survivor of testicular cancer, go the fuck right ahead.
2. I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU.
Yes. Surprising as it may sounds, I do not really give a fuck about the mundane minutia/minutiae/whateverthefuck that has a chokehold over your life.
I reserve my attention to people I care about, and girls I want to fuck.
And unlike you, people actually care about the little things in MY life. Maybe because their lives are so uninteresting and boring, they live their fantasies through mine. Because I am the coolest motherfucker who ever fucked your mother.
3. I AM MY WORST ENEMY. NOT YOU.
Don't pretend as if you're my nemesis. I am my own nemesis.
I alone destroyed my life and my reputation many, many years ago. Hell, I killed myself when I was 17. At least, I tried. Yet, I failed, and am still doing shit. Muahahahaha. What a loser.
There is no pain, no suffering, no humiliation that anyone can inflict on me that is worse than what I have done or going to do to myself.
4. UNLESS IT'S A COMPARISON ON WHO IS BANGING THE HOTTER HO, COMPLETE WITH PICTURES AND/OR VIDEOS, WHICH CAN BE VIEWED ON A PORTABLE DEVICE, I AM NOT INTERESTED.
Yes. I have no interest in competing with anyone. I would much rather jack off to porn than try to prove I am better than a shit-chucking ape like any of you.
So yeah.
FUCK OFF AND DIE.
Pseudo-Intellectualism: Self Vs Ego
Ego: Write it! Write about the pain-worshippers!
Self: No!
Ego: Why?
Self: Cause if I do, then I would just be being righteous.
Ego: But being right is everything. EVERYTHING!
Self: No. I don't want to live my life consumed about being right.
Ego: But being right feels good.
Self: No. Being right only leaves more space, a void that needs to be filled with more feelings of righteousness. When am I ever going to finish my work or achieve anything, or more importantly, enjoy anything, if I am on a constant crusade to be better than everyone?
Ego: Well, are you doing your work now?
Self: Good point. Goodbye. You won't be getting any sustenance tonight.
Ego: Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Self: No!
Ego: Why?
Self: Cause if I do, then I would just be being righteous.
Ego: But being right is everything. EVERYTHING!
Self: No. I don't want to live my life consumed about being right.
Ego: But being right feels good.
Self: No. Being right only leaves more space, a void that needs to be filled with more feelings of righteousness. When am I ever going to finish my work or achieve anything, or more importantly, enjoy anything, if I am on a constant crusade to be better than everyone?
Ego: Well, are you doing your work now?
Self: Good point. Goodbye. You won't be getting any sustenance tonight.
Ego: Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Tales from the Drowsy Side: Bla bla bla
Beeenadryl - whoa!
Beeenadryl - yeah!
Super duper yummy!
Man. I need to hit the gym. And I'm starting again in May. Lots of shit happening in May.
Oh well.
Call me Orwell or call me Orson Welles. I am the greatest. Bla bla bla.
I miss Thailand. I love Thailand. Won't you give my bonnie lives over the ocean. My bonnie lives over the sea.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning.
Danny boy, o Danby boy!
Who is that jumping up the sky? R-E-Y, Mysterio, here we go! Suck my dick up. And lick my ass up cause I'm ready tp gp. I mean, ready to go.
Drunken Typing is off. OFF!
Oyh my Gutten Tag. I am boxing with a drawer.
I am laughing at jokes no one else will ever understand.
Eldritch jokes. Eldritch means strange. Peculiar. Bloody odd.
The gibbous moon hung low on the eldritch and battrachian inhabitants of squameous Dolloch.
Gibbous means the moon was half full and those wot lived in Dolloch were bloody peculiar frogs.
Batracghia\\n means 'look like frogs'.
Neil Gaiman, yo!
H Bloody P Bloody Love Bloody Craft.
He can't bloody write.
At the Mountains of Madness
Colours Out of Space
The ZCall of the Ctulhu
The fuck should I be scared of a fucking squid, eh?
tHAT IS NOT DEAD WHERE ETERNAL LIE. aND WITH STRANGE AEONS, EVEN DEATH MAY DIE.
Abi Al Hazred. The Necromonicon.
Strange Ian. Fucking Strange Ian.
CFreeestyle yo!
Fucking freestyle!
Am swaying from left to right and right to left. Am fucking fucked.
Am knackered. Bloody hell.
Knockers and knickers.
Knick knack paddy whack, give the frog a loan.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Beeenadryl - yeah!
Super duper yummy!
Man. I need to hit the gym. And I'm starting again in May. Lots of shit happening in May.
Oh well.
Call me Orwell or call me Orson Welles. I am the greatest. Bla bla bla.
I miss Thailand. I love Thailand. Won't you give my bonnie lives over the ocean. My bonnie lives over the sea.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning.
Danny boy, o Danby boy!
Who is that jumping up the sky? R-E-Y, Mysterio, here we go! Suck my dick up. And lick my ass up cause I'm ready tp gp. I mean, ready to go.
Drunken Typing is off. OFF!
Oyh my Gutten Tag. I am boxing with a drawer.
I am laughing at jokes no one else will ever understand.
Eldritch jokes. Eldritch means strange. Peculiar. Bloody odd.
The gibbous moon hung low on the eldritch and battrachian inhabitants of squameous Dolloch.
Gibbous means the moon was half full and those wot lived in Dolloch were bloody peculiar frogs.
Batracghia\\n means 'look like frogs'.
Neil Gaiman, yo!
H Bloody P Bloody Love Bloody Craft.
He can't bloody write.
At the Mountains of Madness
Colours Out of Space
The ZCall of the Ctulhu
The fuck should I be scared of a fucking squid, eh?
tHAT IS NOT DEAD WHERE ETERNAL LIE. aND WITH STRANGE AEONS, EVEN DEATH MAY DIE.
Abi Al Hazred. The Necromonicon.
Strange Ian. Fucking Strange Ian.
CFreeestyle yo!
Fucking freestyle!
Am swaying from left to right and right to left. Am fucking fucked.
Am knackered. Bloody hell.
Knockers and knickers.
Knick knack paddy whack, give the frog a loan.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Tales from the Drunk Side: Moving Pictures
If I have a creative mission in life.
If I have something that I would do and then just fucking kill myself because I can't give a fuck about this fuck-upped fake society motherfucker.
You don't know what the fuck he went through.
A Chinese kid living in a Malay world. Bla bla bla. You know.
A teacher and the pillar of his society.
Bla bla bla. You know?
What was important back then is not a concern anymore.
Coming from a time when people wore tree bark during WWII, having a belly full of rice and travelling in a car is fucking fantastic already.
It's a movie to do before I die.
There are grants available, but I don't want to do my father's story so it could be owned by other people.
I figured that there are other people with their father's own stories.
Tonight, I heard a fantastic story about someone's grandfather and his people.
It's worth a movie.
Something to teach you about what it means to be Malaysian.
Oh well. We will see.
If I have something that I would do and then just fucking kill myself because I can't give a fuck about this fuck-upped fake society motherfucker.
You don't know what the fuck he went through.
A Chinese kid living in a Malay world. Bla bla bla. You know.
A teacher and the pillar of his society.
Bla bla bla. You know?
What was important back then is not a concern anymore.
Coming from a time when people wore tree bark during WWII, having a belly full of rice and travelling in a car is fucking fantastic already.
It's a movie to do before I die.
There are grants available, but I don't want to do my father's story so it could be owned by other people.
I figured that there are other people with their father's own stories.
Tonight, I heard a fantastic story about someone's grandfather and his people.
It's worth a movie.
Something to teach you about what it means to be Malaysian.
Oh well. We will see.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Minutemen
You know what? It's not fair.
A lot of people have painted bloggers with the same brush.
I believe they are as varied as the colours of the rainbow. In a non-homosexual manner. Though there are gay bloggers.
Some are actually experts in their field.
For example, ME: I am an expert in many things. Like Hentai.
I view these people like the costumed adventurers in Watchmen.
Donning Spandex and leather and tights to fight crime.
Are they necessary? Maybe. Maybe not.
But the biggest and most necessary failing for onlne writers is to not realise the inspiration they are.
I received a lot of fan-mail recently - especially from young kids.
They all want to go to Thailand and befriend hookers.
I am such an inspiration.
One good thing from this is all the communication and networking it has established.
I prefer to do it this way than meet people face to face anyway.
I'm a writer, not a people-pleaser. Not anymore.
The Luddites who swipe these people aside as a passing fad better brace themselves.
Because the Internet will survive past them all.
A lot of people have painted bloggers with the same brush.
I believe they are as varied as the colours of the rainbow. In a non-homosexual manner. Though there are gay bloggers.
Some are actually experts in their field.
For example, ME: I am an expert in many things. Like Hentai.
I view these people like the costumed adventurers in Watchmen.
Donning Spandex and leather and tights to fight crime.
Are they necessary? Maybe. Maybe not.
But the biggest and most necessary failing for onlne writers is to not realise the inspiration they are.
I received a lot of fan-mail recently - especially from young kids.
They all want to go to Thailand and befriend hookers.
I am such an inspiration.
One good thing from this is all the communication and networking it has established.
I prefer to do it this way than meet people face to face anyway.
I'm a writer, not a people-pleaser. Not anymore.
The Luddites who swipe these people aside as a passing fad better brace themselves.
Because the Internet will survive past them all.
Useless Things
Waiting again. Am bored.
So am listing down random facts.
Killer whales are not whales. They are dolphins.
There is no lead in lead pencil, but graphite.
San Diego is Latin for Whale's Vagina.
John Logie Baird invented the Television. However, this claim has been disputed over the years by other inventors.
The cellphone was invented by a Motorola employee after watching a Star Trek episode (The Original Series).
Star Trek also inspired MRIs and a host of other things.
Part of the Industrial Revolution was the invention of the Spinning Jenny by Henry Hargreaves.
George Stephenson invented something. I believe it was the locomotive.
George Harrison studied sittar-playing.
The Rolling Stones got their name from a line in a Muddy Waters song.
James Watt invented the steam engine. I think.
HN Ridley pioneered the 'herring bone' technique of extracting rubber.
I have lost track of the biggest dinosaur. Brontosaurus? Ultrasaurus? Whatever.
Blue flame in fireworks is caused by cobalt.
I don't eat Dory fish because in the movie Finding Nemo, I found out that Dorys are fucking blue! I don't eat blue things. Reverse Billy Bob Thornton!
That last remark is because Billy Bob Thornton once would only eat things coloured orange.
A Clockwork Orange was supposed to be A Clockwork Orang. And the 'orang' taken from Bahasa Malaysia, meaning person, of course.
Some old keris were made using metal found in meteorites.
Tomatoes are a type of fruit - a cherry, in fact - because it has seeds in it. Using this logic, cucumbers, eggplants(brinjals) are also fruits.
Eating unleavened bread is a Hebrew tradition to commemorate leaving Egypt under Moses.
The leavening process in breadmaking refers to the step taken to allow the dough to rise due to the microbes in the yeast, and letting the air out.
Yeast are usually sensitive to salt, but steps have been taken to develop yeast from sea-water that is salt-resistant.
Caucasians have more saliva, causing a lot of the food in their native countries to be made a bit dry for Asian tastes.
African Americans have a higher tolerance for salt because their ancestors were the ones who survived long voyages at sea, in the ship's hold, sometimes partially submerged with sea water.
Which one is a lie?
So am listing down random facts.
Killer whales are not whales. They are dolphins.
There is no lead in lead pencil, but graphite.
San Diego is Latin for Whale's Vagina.
John Logie Baird invented the Television. However, this claim has been disputed over the years by other inventors.
The cellphone was invented by a Motorola employee after watching a Star Trek episode (The Original Series).
Star Trek also inspired MRIs and a host of other things.
Part of the Industrial Revolution was the invention of the Spinning Jenny by Henry Hargreaves.
George Stephenson invented something. I believe it was the locomotive.
George Harrison studied sittar-playing.
The Rolling Stones got their name from a line in a Muddy Waters song.
James Watt invented the steam engine. I think.
HN Ridley pioneered the 'herring bone' technique of extracting rubber.
I have lost track of the biggest dinosaur. Brontosaurus? Ultrasaurus? Whatever.
Blue flame in fireworks is caused by cobalt.
I don't eat Dory fish because in the movie Finding Nemo, I found out that Dorys are fucking blue! I don't eat blue things. Reverse Billy Bob Thornton!
That last remark is because Billy Bob Thornton once would only eat things coloured orange.
A Clockwork Orange was supposed to be A Clockwork Orang. And the 'orang' taken from Bahasa Malaysia, meaning person, of course.
Some old keris were made using metal found in meteorites.
Tomatoes are a type of fruit - a cherry, in fact - because it has seeds in it. Using this logic, cucumbers, eggplants(brinjals) are also fruits.
Eating unleavened bread is a Hebrew tradition to commemorate leaving Egypt under Moses.
The leavening process in breadmaking refers to the step taken to allow the dough to rise due to the microbes in the yeast, and letting the air out.
Yeast are usually sensitive to salt, but steps have been taken to develop yeast from sea-water that is salt-resistant.
Caucasians have more saliva, causing a lot of the food in their native countries to be made a bit dry for Asian tastes.
African Americans have a higher tolerance for salt because their ancestors were the ones who survived long voyages at sea, in the ship's hold, sometimes partially submerged with sea water.
Which one is a lie?
Hidupku Bagai Muzikal 90-an
Hidupku bagai muzikal 90-an.
Masa aku berjalan tadi pun, aku hampir jatuh longkang.
Awas!
Perangkap!
Awas!
Perampas!
Awas!
Awaas-pakcik aku yang kerja kat JPM - whoah!
Meeting! Meeting!
Aku buat meeting kat tempat makan je. Boleh hisap rokok. Boleh makan nasi goreng.
Hey nasi goreng!
Hey pantat botak!
Sungguh sedap!
Sungguh nyaman!
Rasalah nasi goRENG Adabi!
Kerja! Kerja!
Aih. Lepas ni, benda lain la pulak.
Semua orang ingat senang je. Tak tau susah senang aku.
Susah senang diriku. Tiada tempat mengadu. Seperti burung kepatahan saaayap!
Di burit kecil, ku menaruh haraaapan.
Zaiton Sameon, yo!
Bilalah boleh balik kampung?
Sunny came home, to her favourite room.
Sunny came home, with a list of names.
Sunny came home, with a mission.
She says days gone by blablabla cibai!
Shawn Colvin, kan?
Hidupku bagai muzikal 90-an.
Masa aku berjalan tadi pun, aku hampir jatuh longkang.
Awas!
Perangkap!
Awas!
Perampas!
Awas!
Awaas-pakcik aku yang kerja kat JPM - whoah!
Meeting! Meeting!
Aku buat meeting kat tempat makan je. Boleh hisap rokok. Boleh makan nasi goreng.
Hey nasi goreng!
Hey pantat botak!
Sungguh sedap!
Sungguh nyaman!
Rasalah nasi goRENG Adabi!
Kerja! Kerja!
Aih. Lepas ni, benda lain la pulak.
Semua orang ingat senang je. Tak tau susah senang aku.
Susah senang diriku. Tiada tempat mengadu. Seperti burung kepatahan saaayap!
Di burit kecil, ku menaruh haraaapan.
Zaiton Sameon, yo!
Bilalah boleh balik kampung?
Sunny came home, to her favourite room.
Sunny came home, with a list of names.
Sunny came home, with a mission.
She says days gone by blablabla cibai!
Shawn Colvin, kan?
Hidupku bagai muzikal 90-an.
Raped! In the face!
Some people were so amused with my line, "I have so much anger in me I feel like I've been RAPED! IN the face!"
It is actually from the best movie of 2008. Fuck off, Slumdog! Exploitative schlock!
THIS is the shit, yo:
It is actually from the best movie of 2008. Fuck off, Slumdog! Exploitative schlock!
THIS is the shit, yo:
Mindblock: How to Deal with Mingers
NOTE: MY MIND IS BLOCKED. SO FUCK YOU.
From Carl Jung to Neil Young (who the fuck is Neil Young?), humans have sought to explain the differences between the sexes.
I find this thing by Video Jug to be an apt collection of fast tips on what a man wants in a relationship:
How to be the Perfect Girlfriend
An excerpt from the video:
"A man needs space to be with his friends, with whom he will do manly things like grunting, fighting and measuring things."
But how does one deal with women?
Especially if your girlfriend, is a minger (n. ugly bitch).
Firstly, there is the most underrated beauty aid in the modern world - the cattle prod.
If your woman is ugly, a simple direct application of the cattle prod - from hereon referred to as the 'beauty stick' - will alleaviate her symptoms.
Ugly Woman
+
'Beauty Stick'
=
Thai University Student
Secondly, always use a safe word. Mine's the sixth sick Sheik's sixth sheep's sick.
Enjoy yourself.
From Carl Jung to Neil Young (who the fuck is Neil Young?), humans have sought to explain the differences between the sexes.
I find this thing by Video Jug to be an apt collection of fast tips on what a man wants in a relationship:
How to be the Perfect Girlfriend
An excerpt from the video:
"A man needs space to be with his friends, with whom he will do manly things like grunting, fighting and measuring things."
But how does one deal with women?
Especially if your girlfriend, is a minger (n. ugly bitch).
Firstly, there is the most underrated beauty aid in the modern world - the cattle prod.
If your woman is ugly, a simple direct application of the cattle prod - from hereon referred to as the 'beauty stick' - will alleaviate her symptoms.
Ugly Woman
+
'Beauty Stick'
=
Thai University Student
Secondly, always use a safe word. Mine's the sixth sick Sheik's sixth sheep's sick.
Enjoy yourself.
Mindblock
I just got back from a bit of research. My head is swimming with ideas that threaten to burn my head. Singe my soul and shit like that. Shit. I can't write anything now. I am totally useless.
I've often asked myself, what is THE most important thing in life?
Freedom.
Financial freedom so that I don't have to slave over anything or beg anyone or please anyone if I want to eat.
Freedom to fuck.
Freedom to suck. Both literally and figuratively.
Freedommm, freeedom.
You got my pride. Hangin' out of my bed. You mess with my life-ah. So upon whatthefuck?
Blablabla.
Get off my back. If you want. To. Get-out-of-here-alive. Freeedom! Freeedom!
Blablabla.
You don't have to, say that you love me, if you don't mean it. You better believe. If you need me, or you just want to bleed me, better stick your dagger in someone else, let me be, set me freee.
Jimi Hendrix, yo!
Alan Moore wrote something...smaller and more precious. About a lesbian and her desire to be free, within an inch of her integrity.
This is Alan Moore:
He looks more likely to split the Red Sea and lead the Jews from Egypt (Judeo-Christian religious figures for 200, Trebek) rather than be a lesbian. But, sure, why not?
Hideaki Anno, in his masterpiece - the ORIGINAL Neon Genesis Evangelion SERIES - stipulates that in order for one to know what freedom is, one needs boundaries.
Complete freedom is dangerous and...uncomforting.
Imagine if you are floating in a white space, completely free of anything. Sure would be cool, but it would be boring after 5 minutes or so.
So you draw a line on the ground, and suddenly, you have something to walk on. It's better, but you don't know why or how.
Your world just turned two-dimensional. There are limitations now, but you are strangely comforted by it.
Wait till it gets three-dimensional.
I believe that this proves that there is a counter-freedom element. And that only when the two exists together in the right balance and mix does it work.
Complete freedom, complete anarchy, cannot be achieved. Complete control is also impossible. Can you control 100% of your breathing?
Try it.
Hold your breath.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it for 20 minutes. I can wait. Not doing any work tonight.
Not dead yet?
Awhhh! The humanity!
I believe that complete freedom can be achieved through dying. Only when we die are we absolutely free.
I wouldn't have to worry about anything or anyone.
So is it a false goal? Freedom? How can the truth set us free, when all it has ever done for me is get me into trouble?
We should all die.
Die, and be re-created by Zardos!
I've often asked myself, what is THE most important thing in life?
Freedom.
Financial freedom so that I don't have to slave over anything or beg anyone or please anyone if I want to eat.
Freedom to fuck.
Freedom to suck. Both literally and figuratively.
Freedommm, freeedom.
You got my pride. Hangin' out of my bed. You mess with my life-ah. So upon whatthefuck?
Blablabla.
Get off my back. If you want. To. Get-out-of-here-alive. Freeedom! Freeedom!
Blablabla.
You don't have to, say that you love me, if you don't mean it. You better believe. If you need me, or you just want to bleed me, better stick your dagger in someone else, let me be, set me freee.
Jimi Hendrix, yo!
Alan Moore wrote something...smaller and more precious. About a lesbian and her desire to be free, within an inch of her integrity.
This is Alan Moore:
He looks more likely to split the Red Sea and lead the Jews from Egypt (Judeo-Christian religious figures for 200, Trebek) rather than be a lesbian. But, sure, why not?
Hideaki Anno, in his masterpiece - the ORIGINAL Neon Genesis Evangelion SERIES - stipulates that in order for one to know what freedom is, one needs boundaries.
Complete freedom is dangerous and...uncomforting.
Imagine if you are floating in a white space, completely free of anything. Sure would be cool, but it would be boring after 5 minutes or so.
So you draw a line on the ground, and suddenly, you have something to walk on. It's better, but you don't know why or how.
Your world just turned two-dimensional. There are limitations now, but you are strangely comforted by it.
Wait till it gets three-dimensional.
I believe that this proves that there is a counter-freedom element. And that only when the two exists together in the right balance and mix does it work.
Complete freedom, complete anarchy, cannot be achieved. Complete control is also impossible. Can you control 100% of your breathing?
Try it.
Hold your breath.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it for 20 minutes. I can wait. Not doing any work tonight.
Not dead yet?
Awhhh! The humanity!
I believe that complete freedom can be achieved through dying. Only when we die are we absolutely free.
I wouldn't have to worry about anything or anyone.
So is it a false goal? Freedom? How can the truth set us free, when all it has ever done for me is get me into trouble?
We should all die.
Die, and be re-created by Zardos!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Intensity
Tonight, I found out I'm a robot. What can I do?
It's what I wanted. Cold calculations and metallic edge.
What to do? It's one of my aspects.
Oh well.
We live and learn.
It's what I wanted. Cold calculations and metallic edge.
What to do? It's one of my aspects.
Oh well.
We live and learn.
Embedded Journalist
I am doing my job undercover at a place where Malaysian celebrities converge.
Observing them in a natural setting.
Music and magic.
It's truly outrageous.
Observing them in a natural setting.
Music and magic.
It's truly outrageous.
Stupid Answer
Lots of people have asked me questions about certain things.
Let me just clairfy here that:
Okay?
So, quit asking ME and get it from the horse's mouth.
I don't know. Really. Seriously. I don't know.
I mean, I know a lot of things about say, porn, bread, Maria Ozawa, Natalie Portman, the Tree of Sefirot and comic books. But, I don't know. You know?
Do I look like I fucking read entrails or something?
Go fuck yourself.
Let me just clairfy here that:
I DON'T KNOW.
Okay?
I. DON'T. FUCKING. KNOW.
So, quit asking ME and get it from the horse's mouth.
I don't know. Really. Seriously. I don't know.
I mean, I know a lot of things about say, porn, bread, Maria Ozawa, Natalie Portman, the Tree of Sefirot and comic books. But, I don't know. You know?
Do I look like I fucking read entrails or something?
Go fuck yourself.
Aku Nak Pergi Mandi
Aku nak pergi mandi.
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
MINYAK BABI! MINYAK BABI! MINYAK BABI!
YEAH!
DAGING BABI! DAGING BABI! DAGING BABI!
YEAH!
Gyoza dumpling yang sebenar menggunakan minyak dan daging babi. Daging babi terhebat ialah daging babi Ainu yang hidup seperti Lembu Kobe Bryant.
Fingerbang Bang!
Bang bang!
Fingerbang bang!
Bangbangbang!
Aku nak pergi mandi.
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
GYOZA DUMPLINGS!
MINYAK BABI! MINYAK BABI! MINYAK BABI!
YEAH!
DAGING BABI! DAGING BABI! DAGING BABI!
YEAH!
Gyoza dumpling yang sebenar menggunakan minyak dan daging babi. Daging babi terhebat ialah daging babi Ainu yang hidup seperti Lembu Kobe Bryant.
Fingerbang Bang!
Bang bang!
Fingerbang bang!
Bangbangbang!
Aku nak pergi mandi.
Aku Tak Mandi Lagi
Aku tak mandi lagi.
Kalau aku kat Thailand ni, aku pergi je massage. Pastu baru mandi.
Tengah buat skrip. Ada meeting besar tak lama lagi. Aku kena siapkan semua yang boleh dan buat pembetulan mana yang patut. Ini aje membuatkan aku tak boleh tinggalkan komputer lebih dari dua jam.
Contohnya, malam semalam, aku berendam dalam bath tub dua jam, pasal tiga hari tak mandi.
Best gila. Tiga hari tak mandi, pastu mandi dua jam.
Kalau ikutkan, nak keluar pun tak boleh. Mujur aku ada laptop - eh, netbook. Dan mujur aku kacak.
Kalau aku keluar, masih boleh buat kerja.
Manalah korang tau, susah senang hidup aku. Chewah. Aku ingat nak pergi Thailand, tapi cuma lepas kekacauan reda. Masalahnya, dalam masa dua-tiga bulan dari sekarang, jadual aku mungkin penuh. Busy gila.
Dan kalau aku berjaya mengejar payment yang tertunggak, barulah aku boleh menghela nafas lega. Kerja freelance ni, memang selalu kena kejar payment. Kalau kau tak kejar, alamat tak dapat la.
Kalau dah dapat, bolehlah pergi Siam. Beli kereta ke.
Aku ingat aku nak beli 4WD. Takpun BMW lama. Tapi, semua kena tunggu payment.
Pakcik Najib takde pulak nak kasi aku USD400 juta ke, GBP1 billion ke. Member-member bukan Melayu aku tau tunggu duit je. Diorang ingat, senang jadi Melayu ni. Nganga tunggu duit free. Pukimaklah.
Ada yang ingat, jadi Melayu nanti tak payah bayar tol. Kepala puki.
1. Camana nak buat, kalau ada 2 Melayu, 2 bukan-Melayu dalam keta? Diskaun 50%? Kalau drebar Melayu? Kalau drebar Cina? Teksi camana? Teksi?
2. AKu yang takde kereta ni?
Pukimak koranglah. Macam sial.
Pergi mampus.
Yang aku tau, kerja aku berlambak lagi. Dan aku tak mandi lagi.
Kalau aku kat Thailand ni, aku pergi je massage. Pastu baru mandi.
Tengah buat skrip. Ada meeting besar tak lama lagi. Aku kena siapkan semua yang boleh dan buat pembetulan mana yang patut. Ini aje membuatkan aku tak boleh tinggalkan komputer lebih dari dua jam.
Contohnya, malam semalam, aku berendam dalam bath tub dua jam, pasal tiga hari tak mandi.
Best gila. Tiga hari tak mandi, pastu mandi dua jam.
Kalau ikutkan, nak keluar pun tak boleh. Mujur aku ada laptop - eh, netbook. Dan mujur aku kacak.
Kalau aku keluar, masih boleh buat kerja.
Manalah korang tau, susah senang hidup aku. Chewah. Aku ingat nak pergi Thailand, tapi cuma lepas kekacauan reda. Masalahnya, dalam masa dua-tiga bulan dari sekarang, jadual aku mungkin penuh. Busy gila.
Dan kalau aku berjaya mengejar payment yang tertunggak, barulah aku boleh menghela nafas lega. Kerja freelance ni, memang selalu kena kejar payment. Kalau kau tak kejar, alamat tak dapat la.
Kalau dah dapat, bolehlah pergi Siam. Beli kereta ke.
Aku ingat aku nak beli 4WD. Takpun BMW lama. Tapi, semua kena tunggu payment.
Pakcik Najib takde pulak nak kasi aku USD400 juta ke, GBP1 billion ke. Member-member bukan Melayu aku tau tunggu duit je. Diorang ingat, senang jadi Melayu ni. Nganga tunggu duit free. Pukimaklah.
Ada yang ingat, jadi Melayu nanti tak payah bayar tol. Kepala puki.
1. Camana nak buat, kalau ada 2 Melayu, 2 bukan-Melayu dalam keta? Diskaun 50%? Kalau drebar Melayu? Kalau drebar Cina? Teksi camana? Teksi?
2. AKu yang takde kereta ni?
Pukimak koranglah. Macam sial.
Pergi mampus.
Yang aku tau, kerja aku berlambak lagi. Dan aku tak mandi lagi.
De-COMPOSE!
Cheepork HATES Jeerawan. He finds her personality annoying.
In all honesty, I can't vouch for anyone's personality. I post her videos, because some girls react to it.
WOmen are jealous of each other, because they want a monopoly of dick. Whatever.
What I am more interested in is to see decay.
See, one day, Jeerawan or anyone for that matter, will grow old. We will all grow old. And then we die.
We all die. Death is the ultimate democracy. No matter how much money you have or how pretty other people seem to think you are, how smart or whatever the fuck, you will die.
Attention, beauty, money, personality, image, perception, friends - in the end, none of it matters.
In the end, everyone will decompose.
Though I hope to be shot into space, so the bacterias can't get to me, when I die.
But yeah. Youth is fleeting. And life is wasted on the living.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Dial B for Butuh
Some of my contemporaries wondered what I was doing, socialising with bloggers.
Well, if you've read Watchmen and understood the significance of the Minutemen, and figures such as Hollis Mason, Sally Jupiter, The Comedian (Edward Blake) and the rest, then you would understand my weak impersonation of Dan Dreiberg.
See, super-heroes, celebrities and bloggers who hang around each other have that peculiar element in their socialising.
It is kind of both sad and great at the same time.
It's difficult for me to explain. Have you ever watched an acclaimed performer do his or her thing in an empty venue?
People who get paid tens of thousands - if not millions - to express themselves in artistic ways, playing to empty seats and tables?
I have been privy to these occassions, as I have been in the entertainment industry for the entirety of my short career.
I find myself marvelling at some for their well-tuned craft, and feeling sad that they are doing it for no one.
Same thing with these people.
And getting out publicly with what you think, in a judgemental and immature world, with your name and face known to everyone, is akin to putting on spandex and leather and spirit gum and go fight crime or something, without a mask. Just like the customed adventurers in Watchmen. Both noble and pathetic at the same time.
Dangerous? Definitely. The way of the civillian or the coward or the victim, or perhaps the smart, is safer and infinitely more intelligent.
I mean, if you had thoughts most people don't agree with, you don't have to be held accountable for it in the real world. Be it socio-political or simple stupidity.
I believe that like Hollis Mason's Under the Hood, there is a book here somewhere.
I remember that in the past, there were personal websites. I made mine in 1999. Marks in the Sand. Telling the world about my aspirations to be a writer. Only two other people saw it, because I forced them to immediately after I finished my notepad coding.
Then I fought with a lot of people in message boards and email groups. I find that I do not belong in groups. I feel uneasy, awkward. I work best alone.
When I first started out The Malay Male, it was supposed to be a parody of everything. Especially blogs. I was not influenced by anything, except perhaps Tatsuya Ishida's Sinfest. Sinfest is drawn by an Asian who digs black culture.
SOme people have drawn parallels to Maddox's The Best page in the Universe, but I have never heard of him until a disbelieving guy mentioned it to me. I think he still believes I copied the man's style, but really Maddox's writing is not the first of its kind.
I encountered a lot of it in international boards and newsgroups in the late 90s and early 21st century. Used it myself to pick fights with people in e-mail groups and chatrooms.
I have had words even from the very beginning, against any form of organisation or 'super-group' for online writers.
That some tried to establish that did not surprise me. That some form of it survived, did.
I had always maintained the belief that trying to organise online writers is like herding cats. It can't be done, except with a truckload of special effects.
I mean, in the late 90s and early 2000s, there were efforts to capitalise on websites. Ford, or was it GM, at the time spent a quarter of their advertising budget online. That's USD1 billion.
The TV people were not happy.
And yet, even with the influx of real-world money, real-world conjecture was far from manifesting itself in the online world.
The so-called 'new media' will have a tough time IF theyw ant to displace the 'old media'.
Example: While newspapers and TV stations refrain from all-out attacks against each other, bashing one another is the cornerstone of online writing.
'Old media' was born in a more civilised world. By redcoats and people of the old world. The 'new media' was set-up by the revolutionaries. The children of the atom. I mean, the Sixties' and Seventies' flower generation. And now, by the children of the 80s, Generation X, Y and I.
Sensibilities are different.
The Internet cultures and subcultures were founded on stupidity and rebellion. Try and tell a civilisation, a culture, wehre being stupid is a value, to smarten up and be serious.
Their response? Why so serious?
And then an avalanche of child pornography.
The online community is as close to pure id as possible. As people who are mild-mannered turn into bullies as soon as they get behind the wheels, so does the transformation happen when people get behind the keyboard.
The Internet, in my view, is a celebration of the stupid. People put so much into being smart in real life, this is perhaps the last bastion of stupidity humans will ever have.
This is the 'equal and opposite reaction', the antibody to society.
And yet, I am intrigued and interested in some people maintaining their real world standards in a crazy and delirious online reality.
Some, fared very well. Neil Gaiman keeps a sensible online journal, without finding the need to regress into a shit-chucking ape on a regular basis (I do). SOme online writers even preach about morals - MORALS, HA!
I shall continue to document their efforts, as I believe that it is no passing fad - as some Luddites posed. This is just another rung in the ladder of the evolution of communication. Granted, it would be mostly stupid communication, but it is communication nonetheless.
Like I said, there could be a book at the end of all this.
Bit Players: The Rise and Fall of the Malaysian Socio-Political Bloggers
or
Suck My Dick: A History of t3h Malaysian Interwebs
or
Key Strokes: The Death of the Internet
or
MalBlogs: How Idiots Destroyed the World
or
Vainglorious, Verbose and Vagina
For now, I shall be content with getting free food and the occasional ride.
Well, if you've read Watchmen and understood the significance of the Minutemen, and figures such as Hollis Mason, Sally Jupiter, The Comedian (Edward Blake) and the rest, then you would understand my weak impersonation of Dan Dreiberg.
See, super-heroes, celebrities and bloggers who hang around each other have that peculiar element in their socialising.
It is kind of both sad and great at the same time.
It's difficult for me to explain. Have you ever watched an acclaimed performer do his or her thing in an empty venue?
People who get paid tens of thousands - if not millions - to express themselves in artistic ways, playing to empty seats and tables?
I have been privy to these occassions, as I have been in the entertainment industry for the entirety of my short career.
I find myself marvelling at some for their well-tuned craft, and feeling sad that they are doing it for no one.
Same thing with these people.
And getting out publicly with what you think, in a judgemental and immature world, with your name and face known to everyone, is akin to putting on spandex and leather and spirit gum and go fight crime or something, without a mask. Just like the customed adventurers in Watchmen. Both noble and pathetic at the same time.
Dangerous? Definitely. The way of the civillian or the coward or the victim, or perhaps the smart, is safer and infinitely more intelligent.
I mean, if you had thoughts most people don't agree with, you don't have to be held accountable for it in the real world. Be it socio-political or simple stupidity.
I believe that like Hollis Mason's Under the Hood, there is a book here somewhere.
I remember that in the past, there were personal websites. I made mine in 1999. Marks in the Sand. Telling the world about my aspirations to be a writer. Only two other people saw it, because I forced them to immediately after I finished my notepad coding.
Then I fought with a lot of people in message boards and email groups. I find that I do not belong in groups. I feel uneasy, awkward. I work best alone.
When I first started out The Malay Male, it was supposed to be a parody of everything. Especially blogs. I was not influenced by anything, except perhaps Tatsuya Ishida's Sinfest. Sinfest is drawn by an Asian who digs black culture.
SOme people have drawn parallels to Maddox's The Best page in the Universe, but I have never heard of him until a disbelieving guy mentioned it to me. I think he still believes I copied the man's style, but really Maddox's writing is not the first of its kind.
I encountered a lot of it in international boards and newsgroups in the late 90s and early 21st century. Used it myself to pick fights with people in e-mail groups and chatrooms.
I have had words even from the very beginning, against any form of organisation or 'super-group' for online writers.
That some tried to establish that did not surprise me. That some form of it survived, did.
I had always maintained the belief that trying to organise online writers is like herding cats. It can't be done, except with a truckload of special effects.
I mean, in the late 90s and early 2000s, there were efforts to capitalise on websites. Ford, or was it GM, at the time spent a quarter of their advertising budget online. That's USD1 billion.
The TV people were not happy.
And yet, even with the influx of real-world money, real-world conjecture was far from manifesting itself in the online world.
The so-called 'new media' will have a tough time IF theyw ant to displace the 'old media'.
Example: While newspapers and TV stations refrain from all-out attacks against each other, bashing one another is the cornerstone of online writing.
'Old media' was born in a more civilised world. By redcoats and people of the old world. The 'new media' was set-up by the revolutionaries. The children of the atom. I mean, the Sixties' and Seventies' flower generation. And now, by the children of the 80s, Generation X, Y and I.
Sensibilities are different.
The Internet cultures and subcultures were founded on stupidity and rebellion. Try and tell a civilisation, a culture, wehre being stupid is a value, to smarten up and be serious.
Their response? Why so serious?
And then an avalanche of child pornography.
The online community is as close to pure id as possible. As people who are mild-mannered turn into bullies as soon as they get behind the wheels, so does the transformation happen when people get behind the keyboard.
The Internet, in my view, is a celebration of the stupid. People put so much into being smart in real life, this is perhaps the last bastion of stupidity humans will ever have.
This is the 'equal and opposite reaction', the antibody to society.
And yet, I am intrigued and interested in some people maintaining their real world standards in a crazy and delirious online reality.
Some, fared very well. Neil Gaiman keeps a sensible online journal, without finding the need to regress into a shit-chucking ape on a regular basis (I do). SOme online writers even preach about morals - MORALS, HA!
I shall continue to document their efforts, as I believe that it is no passing fad - as some Luddites posed. This is just another rung in the ladder of the evolution of communication. Granted, it would be mostly stupid communication, but it is communication nonetheless.
Like I said, there could be a book at the end of all this.
Bit Players: The Rise and Fall of the Malaysian Socio-Political Bloggers
or
Suck My Dick: A History of t3h Malaysian Interwebs
or
Key Strokes: The Death of the Internet
or
MalBlogs: How Idiots Destroyed the World
or
Vainglorious, Verbose and Vagina
For now, I shall be content with getting free food and the occasional ride.
Zardoz! and Fingerbang!
And I'm busy, so I couldn't find a real video, but here's the song (you can watch whole episodes at the South Park website):
Leave it to Boron: The Most Boring Man in the Universe
Boron's Journal, April 15 2009.
Morning. Woke up. Did some writing. Remembered unconfirmed tasks and meetings. Re-confirmed them by placing call. Call says next week. Post-poned again.
Hungry. Went out. Sri Petaling. Had some rice, curried beef, fried lungs, snails, spinach. Saw some old office people.
On way back, saw some more office people. Can't be sure - glad to see me, or glad to think I'm some hobo wanting a handout. Haven't bathed in three days.
Got home. Wrote more. Somebody called. Dinner meet sometime this week.
Somebody e-mailed. Doubts over certain things. Laid it to rest. Piled on more work on self.
Watched some series. Observed camera angles. Will be useful when direct own movie.
Read about local politics. They never learn.
Read about the attention-seeking, prostitutes-in-denial. The vainglorious. The promoters.
Tried warning them. No one listened. Said was stupid. Who is stupid now?
To quote Rorscharch: The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"...
...and I'll look down and whisper "No."
People have boxes in head. Shelves. Labelled. When talking, eyes light up when something I say go into box. Into shelf.
They feel safe when see or hear something they recognise. World not like that. World not recognisable. World can't be labelled. Or shelved. Or put in box. Put in box when world die. Like dead cat. Maybe soon.
Nuggets good. Too much aji-no-moto. Owner unconcerned about cancer? Will pay him visit later.
TV. Nothing good. Cough syrup? Wake up later? More work.
Morning. Woke up. Did some writing. Remembered unconfirmed tasks and meetings. Re-confirmed them by placing call. Call says next week. Post-poned again.
Hungry. Went out. Sri Petaling. Had some rice, curried beef, fried lungs, snails, spinach. Saw some old office people.
On way back, saw some more office people. Can't be sure - glad to see me, or glad to think I'm some hobo wanting a handout. Haven't bathed in three days.
Got home. Wrote more. Somebody called. Dinner meet sometime this week.
Somebody e-mailed. Doubts over certain things. Laid it to rest. Piled on more work on self.
Watched some series. Observed camera angles. Will be useful when direct own movie.
Read about local politics. They never learn.
Read about the attention-seeking, prostitutes-in-denial. The vainglorious. The promoters.
Tried warning them. No one listened. Said was stupid. Who is stupid now?
To quote Rorscharch: The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"...
...and I'll look down and whisper "No."
People have boxes in head. Shelves. Labelled. When talking, eyes light up when something I say go into box. Into shelf.
They feel safe when see or hear something they recognise. World not like that. World not recognisable. World can't be labelled. Or shelved. Or put in box. Put in box when world die. Like dead cat. Maybe soon.
Nuggets good. Too much aji-no-moto. Owner unconcerned about cancer? Will pay him visit later.
TV. Nothing good. Cough syrup? Wake up later? More work.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Racism: Two-Face
Recently, someone asked me a question.
"Which side are you on?"
My answer?
"My side."
"Yeah, but deep down inside, what are you? Malay or Chinese?"
This is due to the fact that I am half-Malay and half-Chinese.
"Well, deep down inside...really deep down inside, I am a millionaire."
This, I imagine, has pissed off a lot of people over the years.
I have managed to offend both the Malays and the Chinese constantly by not completely supporting their agendas.
See, the smart thing would probably be to convince the Malays that I am on their side, and the Chinese that I am for them and their fight. Unfortunately, I have done the complete opposite. Quite a few of my Chinese friends now believe I am a Malay-supremacist and some Malays believe I am a Chinese turncoat.
The truth is, I find both arguments from the extreme sides of the two-races to be wanting, and racist.
From my perspective, Malays have political power, but commands mere pittance of the country's economy despite being what, 55-65% of the population.
Despite having political power, the same issues with most Malays still prevail over the past 50 years. In my kampung, there are still people who knock on people's doors every morning to ask for left-overs because they don't have money to feed their starving children.
It is easy to dismiss them as lazy bastards who would never be able to afford a daily Starbucks beverage because they only make RM200 a month. IF they are paid.
The rich Malays - and there are rich Malays staying in 25 million ringgit homes - and the politically-powerful Malays who fight every day for more power, have done little for these people over the years. Not that they have not done anything, but it has not been enough. And yet expect these poor folk to support them in their endeavors. Was it any surprise that these very Malays decided to vote for whoever BUT the past Government in the last elections?
From their perspective, would it put food on the table? And we are not even talking about roasted chikins or seven-star groupers, Australian crabs or tenderloin steaks. They're just looking for probably the lowest grade rice - beras hancur - and some day-old fish. With pucuk paku or some shit like that.
Meanwhile, the Chinese completely dominate the economy, but have always wanted more power. More power will result in more money for the Chinese, I guess. Though what else can they get, when they have all of it already. What, you want slaves or something?
The poor Chinese - and I do believe there are poor Chinese, though I have never met one myself. At least, not as poor as the poor Malays - I believe have been kept poor by a number of the rich Chinese. Why? So that they will feel discontent and fight for the rich Chinese in keeping their economic stranglehold and pursuit of more political power.
I see racism as a desperate attempt by the rich on both sides to ensure status quo and maintain their positions in society.
I believe that the main issue is this: each side has something the other wants, and neither wants to share. From another angle, the rich has money they want to keep from the poor and they will do anything in their power to keep it.
I am a pessimist, and a very young person, so I believe - in my inexperience and lack of judgment, perspective and foresight - that this can only, finally, result in one thing - death.
Murder, rape, violence, destruction, despair and death. But, who is going to die? The poor people with not much to lose.
The rich will continue to hoard their treasures and their powers to keep themselves from dying in the ensuing riots.
Oh well. I know nothing, and am not politically savvy enough to become clairvoyant in what is to happen to this country. Hell, I am so clumsy politically, that I have yet to master the simple trick of convincing people I am on their side. I always end up making people feel uneasy, though I can't afford to do this. If I am a millionaire, who the fuck cares? But I am not. And therein lies my problem.
I will only focus on my own struggles to stay afloat. I have my scripts I need to do and hand in by Monday. I just woke up from a cough-syrup induced sleep, and will do more to settle my brain before I start earning my beras hancur and my Starbucks beverage. Among other things.
"Which side are you on?"
My answer?
"My side."
"Yeah, but deep down inside, what are you? Malay or Chinese?"
This is due to the fact that I am half-Malay and half-Chinese.
"Well, deep down inside...really deep down inside, I am a millionaire."
This, I imagine, has pissed off a lot of people over the years.
I have managed to offend both the Malays and the Chinese constantly by not completely supporting their agendas.
See, the smart thing would probably be to convince the Malays that I am on their side, and the Chinese that I am for them and their fight. Unfortunately, I have done the complete opposite. Quite a few of my Chinese friends now believe I am a Malay-supremacist and some Malays believe I am a Chinese turncoat.
The truth is, I find both arguments from the extreme sides of the two-races to be wanting, and racist.
From my perspective, Malays have political power, but commands mere pittance of the country's economy despite being what, 55-65% of the population.
Despite having political power, the same issues with most Malays still prevail over the past 50 years. In my kampung, there are still people who knock on people's doors every morning to ask for left-overs because they don't have money to feed their starving children.
It is easy to dismiss them as lazy bastards who would never be able to afford a daily Starbucks beverage because they only make RM200 a month. IF they are paid.
The rich Malays - and there are rich Malays staying in 25 million ringgit homes - and the politically-powerful Malays who fight every day for more power, have done little for these people over the years. Not that they have not done anything, but it has not been enough. And yet expect these poor folk to support them in their endeavors. Was it any surprise that these very Malays decided to vote for whoever BUT the past Government in the last elections?
From their perspective, would it put food on the table? And we are not even talking about roasted chikins or seven-star groupers, Australian crabs or tenderloin steaks. They're just looking for probably the lowest grade rice - beras hancur - and some day-old fish. With pucuk paku or some shit like that.
Meanwhile, the Chinese completely dominate the economy, but have always wanted more power. More power will result in more money for the Chinese, I guess. Though what else can they get, when they have all of it already. What, you want slaves or something?
The poor Chinese - and I do believe there are poor Chinese, though I have never met one myself. At least, not as poor as the poor Malays - I believe have been kept poor by a number of the rich Chinese. Why? So that they will feel discontent and fight for the rich Chinese in keeping their economic stranglehold and pursuit of more political power.
I see racism as a desperate attempt by the rich on both sides to ensure status quo and maintain their positions in society.
I believe that the main issue is this: each side has something the other wants, and neither wants to share. From another angle, the rich has money they want to keep from the poor and they will do anything in their power to keep it.
I am a pessimist, and a very young person, so I believe - in my inexperience and lack of judgment, perspective and foresight - that this can only, finally, result in one thing - death.
Murder, rape, violence, destruction, despair and death. But, who is going to die? The poor people with not much to lose.
The rich will continue to hoard their treasures and their powers to keep themselves from dying in the ensuing riots.
Oh well. I know nothing, and am not politically savvy enough to become clairvoyant in what is to happen to this country. Hell, I am so clumsy politically, that I have yet to master the simple trick of convincing people I am on their side. I always end up making people feel uneasy, though I can't afford to do this. If I am a millionaire, who the fuck cares? But I am not. And therein lies my problem.
I will only focus on my own struggles to stay afloat. I have my scripts I need to do and hand in by Monday. I just woke up from a cough-syrup induced sleep, and will do more to settle my brain before I start earning my beras hancur and my Starbucks beverage. Among other things.
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