Eyes. Axe. And Something Else

Oh my. An early night tonight. 1.40am is an early night.

I've been working like crazy in July, till I fell sick and momentarily lost part of my vision.

Losing part of my sight was scary. I was writing till 6am, until I could feel the muscles straining on my lens. I understand enough of human anatomy to know that the muscles that attach to the lens in my eyes are just tiny little things, and also of my family history with diabetes.

I woke up with eyes that felt tired from the inside. I was freaked out for a day, and then I decided to calm down and relax. Whatever it was that affected my sight, also relented and just relaxed its terror grip.

It could have been a number of factors, but I will get my rest soon.

July was kicking ass month. I closed several different things, and tomorrow, I hope to close a few more things. It's crazy, man.

However, despite the strenuous amount of work and all the other things, I believe I did good. I am satisfied that I have done all I could. More meant puking blood. Literally.

In these months after I have left my old job, I decided to make my own way. Doors were opened, and new as well as old faces make their appearance.

I am a vagabond. A barbarian. And one day, I shall wear my crown upon a troubled brow.



By this axe, I rule, bitches!

Man Utd Relegated

I am happy to report that Manchester United has been relegated from the Premier League... on this CM game I'm playing.

Meanwhile, the striker I'm using, Michael Dunwell, won the World Footballer of the Year Award, as well as European Striker of the Year, and other minor awards. The FIFA World Player of the Year Award, though, goes to some other player in La Liga.

I am happy to play for two hours after weeks of not playing this thing.

Why I Should Be Appointed as Elector Comissioner of Whatever

You should put me as Election Comission head. I won't use indelible ink. I will use arsenic and a shotgun to the face.

Whosoever votes will be given arsenic and then shot in the face. Then we cross the name.

That way, when there are ghost voters, they are REALLY ghost voters. Phantom voters. Whatever.



CAPTION: Phantom Voter

HOLOCAUST! HOLO-KOS! HOLO-KOS!

What?

I am watching the Bersih Aftermath coverage at http://www.mobtv.my/, organised and conducted by Sinar Harian.

It's cool. But please, when asking questions, we don't care who you are.

I have been in forums where the introduction alone took 20 minutes.

"I was born in Pasir Mas, I was raised in Bahau. I fell in love with a girl and then we had 5 children. Two boys, three girls. I worked as a pimp for 34 years..."

Blah blah blah.

Who gives a shit, bitch? Who gives a FLYING FUCK who you are? Just ask questions already!

I hope everyone dies of a nuclear holocaust! Yeah!

Evil

Whenever bad things happen to other people, especially my enemies or people who have shown bad intentions towards myself, I strive very hard not to derive a sense of pleasure from it.

Not because I am so fucking noble. Or that I am a good person. I am quite difficult to be with and also a very unpleasant man.

No, I do this, because I do not believe as some do - that bad things happen to bad people.

If that is the case, then the people of Sudan, Darfour, Bosnia, Norway and Rwanda - as well as several other places - were the most evil people on earth. Then, everyone who dies in a horrible accident, or those who succumb to horrific diseases, all were evil in their lives. All those who became billionaires or died peacefully in their sleep are all fucking angels then, eh? Donald Trump's shit must sing hossanas.

No, I do not believe that the world is fair. I do not believe that people who get raped, deserve to get raped, which is the inevitable conclusion if we follow this logic that the world is fair. Or that we experience pain because we are evil people. Stupid, maybe, but not evil.

A lot of us like to laugh at the misfortune of others. This explains slapstick. It also explains the sadistic pleasure some derive from seeing others in pain. Only when others are unhappy, can they be happy.

I find this practice to be vile. Oh, I have my own demons as well, but this should not be one of them. The spiteful, snivelling little coward kind of evil. The one that waits and then claps gleefully when someone falls down a hole.

No, my friends. My evil, is a lawful evil, whenever I slip from being a chaotic neutral.

That is all. I am off to bed.

Aborted Fetus

If any of you were wondering what I was doing when I said I have a lot of work to do - and most of you are family and friends who just shake their heads in disdain - here is a sample.

This is more or less the first act of a movie that seems will never be done. The story is about a man who will be sad for five minutes if he is happy for five minutes. He believes himself to be the center of the universe, so he makes sure that he does not become happy, lest the whole world descends into unhappiness. One day, he falls in love. Hijinks ensue, while the man tries to prevent the world from descending into nuclear war, by making himself sad again.

It is perhaps too high concept - no less than two people have told me as such. No one - well, maybe one or two - would want to see this movie. Hence, it would be a 500K loss to anyone who would want to fund it.

So, I thought, since many people expressed to me an interest in writing scripts, but has never done so, maybe I can just share the story here.

This is of course NOT the finished script. This is what I call a treatment breakdown, where I just take the treatment and try to initially break it down into scenes. I have yet to polish them, and the dialogue process is a long way away.

Here's how I write scripts:

1. Synopsis
2. Treatment
3. Treatment Breakdown
4. Hijinks Ensue
5. Full Breakdown
6. Dialogue
5. Polishing (rewrite)
6. Polishing
7. Polishing
8. Polishing
9. Polishing
10. Polishing
11. Polishing
12. Polishing
13. Polishing
14. Polishing
15. Polishing
16. Polishing
17. Polishing

And if I'm lucky, a movie gets made.

I have read several books on scriptwriting, and each writer have their own way of doing it. Mine is like an assembly line kind of thing.

There are better writers, and better scripts available at IMSDB.com. I am sharing this simply because I enjoyed writing it several weeks ago and I believe it might be at least 50 years before I can do this story, as it has been rejected by almost every major production house in Malaysia.

The copyright is mine, though I must admit, I stole some of the structure and scenes from Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Amelie, which remains one of my favourite films of all time. Jeunet directed Amelie and wrote the scenes, while Guillaume Laurant wrote the dialogue for it. I wrote this one all on my own.

The second and third acts are all here, in my PC. A similar skeleton, without yet the meat, sinews, phlegm, cartilage and skin.

So, if you're into that sort of thing, please enjoy this, whatever it is. It is peppered with mistakes and I apologise profusely for whatever flaws here, as they are all mine.



Title: Working Title

Scene 1 EXT The Universe – DAY/NIGHT

Shot of the known universe. We super zoom in until we see earth, and then zoom in to KL.


Scene 2 EXT City Day

The many things happening – the little dramas - around KL. A cab driver returns home, with some roti canai which he will eat later in the day, after it has soaked a lot of curry. Two nasi lemak sellers eye each other warily, not five feet away from each other. A woman cries as she gets an SMS from her boyfriend who has decided to leave her (her period is late for a week).

Zoom to an office building.


Scene 3 INT Office Day

Narrator introduces us to Baki. Baki is happy working in the office, as an accountant. Well, not really happy, because being happy is something he wishes to avoid – explained by NARRATOR.

Scene 4 EXT Open air restaurant - Night

Same shot as in Scene 3, with focus on Baki.

Baki is at an office function, but it is clear that he is not comfortable to be there. Narrator supports this.

Scene 5 INT Karaoke - Night

Same shot as Scene 3 and 4, with more or less the same people but while everyone gets loose, Baki remains tight-fisted. Narrator explains a bit of Baki’s behaviour.

Scene 6 INT Office – Day

Continuation of Scene 3. Narrator explains that Baki is most at home at work. He has a very satisfied look as he balances spreadsheets. His boss puts a hand on his shoulder, complimenting him for a job well-done.

Zoom out a bit and zoom on the boss’ face. Though he is mouthing words to Baki, his eyes are locked with another, higher boss (man in suit) and his brows are furrowed (narrator explains that his bosses value him but are worried about his social skills).

His colleagues – equally dorky-looking, laughs as Baki opens his desk drawer and ignites a small burst of flour. Narrator explains that his colleagues – themselves dorks - plays pranks on him because he is so serious and never smiles.

Narrator says this was not always so.

Scene 7 INT Baki’s Childhood Home – Day

Narrator: Baki grew up with a normal childhood.

Birthday scene with an 8-year-old Baki wearing a cone hat and blowing on candles. His father, mother and some kids are there.

Focus on the father. The narrator relates about the father.

Scene 8 The Gym – Day

It is the small local gym where Baki’s father worked.

The narrator says that Baki’s father Kamil worked as a gym instructor.

He liked to balance the scales.

Scene 9 INT Baki’s Childhood Home – Day

Back to the birthday party.

Focus on Baki’s mother. The narrator starts relating about Baki’s mother.


Scene 10 INT Museum – Day

Baki’s mother worked at a museum.

Scene shows Baki’s mother arranging paintings on the wall so they all look symmetrical and balanced.

Scene 11 INT Baki’s Childhood Home – Day

Baki gets a cat for his birthday. Baki is deliriously happy.

The man in a suit appears here, out of place. Baki sees him, but no one else seems to notice him. The man waves and smiles at Baki.

Narrator says that on that day, he was deliriously happy for 5 minutes.

Scene 12 EXT Outside Baki’s childhood home – Day

Narrator: But the cat ran out and met its unfortunate end just outside the house.

A lorry passes by. Eight-year-old Baki cries and cries.

The man in the suit looks satisfied.

Narrator: This is the start of a terrifying pattern for Baki.

Scene 13 EXT Outside Baki’s home, a schoolbus – Day

Baki is boarding the schoolbus. A pretty little girl inside the bus is smiling at him.

Narrator: When he was in standard six, Baki was in love.

Scene 14 INT Schoolbus – Day

Baki and the pretty girl are seated close to each other.

Narrator: The close proximity between them makes Baki’s heart flutter.

The man in the suit is seated on the bus, amidst other schoolkids. Baki sees him, but quickly ignores the man as the other kids don’t see him.

Narrator: This was the most exciting bus ride Baki has ever had in his life. He ignores the man in the suit.

Scene 15 Ext School – Day

Baki jumps off the bus and hears his pants tear up. All the other kids laughed at him. His pants tore up at the butt-seams, revealing his underwear. The girl was also laughing at him.

Baki was horrified.

The bell rang.

Narrator: This was also the worst day of Baki’s school life.

The man in the suit has a satisfied look on his face again.

Scene 16 INT – Hostel – Day

Baki’s parents are sending him of to the hostel. Baki gets in a boarding school.

His parents appear to be very proud of their son. Baki is basking in their love.

The man in the suit is also there.

As soon as his parents leave, big seniors come and start to bully Baki.

The man in the suit has a satisfied look on his face again.

Scene 17 – Office – Day (Same as Scene 6)

Narrator: All throughout his life, Baki has experienced momentary periods of happiness which always turns into states of sadness, embarrassment and heartbreak. Because of that, he does not dare to feel happiness.

Scene 18 Restaurant with a Karaoke stage - Night

It is another office function. Everyone is having fun. Baki’s kind boss is singing and then invites Baki to sing. After some refusal, Baki relents.

He starts singing – slowly at first – and then gets into full party mode, as a dam breaks inside him. Baki turns the whole place festive.

The man in the suit appears as Baki finishes his song. Baki looks worried.

There are cries as his kindly boss suffers a heart attack and dies.

Scene 19 Graveyard – Day

Everyone in scene 18 is here, except for the fact that they are attending a very somber service. It is the funeral for Baki’s kindly boss.

The man in the suit appears and has a satisfied look on his face again. Baki looks at him and then walks away, head down.

Narrator: Baki blames himself for his boss’ death, and in fact believes that most bad things – deaths, accidents, negativity – all stems from his own happiness. Therefore Baki remains as a man who does not dare to be happy.

– opening montage showing Baki’s very drab and somber daily routines accompanied by a piano piece similar to The Incredible Hulk’s ‘The Lonely Man’ ending theme –

Scene 20 MONTAGE of different places in Sunway Lagoon Theme Park – Day

Narrator: But one day, Baki falls in love.

Fast cut scenes of Baki having so much fun at Sunway Lagoon. His girlfriend’s face is not shown.

Scene 21 INT Baki’s Apartment – Day

Narrator: And then he wakes up.

Baki wakes up. Beside his bed, are pictures of him having fun the week before. He smiles and then jumps with a start as the man in a suit comes in and watches him.

Baki goes to the toilet and is followed by the man in the suit. He brushes his teeth and the man is there.

He goes to the kitchen and the man is having coffee.

Baki is scared. Really scared.

Annoying Questions

I spent the day today, not encountering a single annoying question. Which, to me, deserves some sort of celebration.

I once asked very annoying questions, I am sure. And perhaps I still do. But thank God the questions are not aimed at me. I'm selfish like that.

Perhaps the most annoying question I ever asked, was, and because we just remembered her passing, to Yasmin Ahmad.

After being asked by some people, my curiosity was piqued and I simply asked her, "Yasmin, were you a man?"

She paused, then answered me and told me, "Amir, if anyone ever asks you this question, ask them to do as you did."

"What did I do?"

"Look me in the eye and ask me that."

I was just bumbling through life. It wasn't balls that got me to do it, but a sheer disassociation with humanity. But, nevermind.

Tonight, I open this bottle and drink in her memory. Alone, in my apartment, as my friendship with her - as with many others - were private and personal.

Indeed, more people asked me the 'Yasmin question', and some, even asked about other people. Very personal questions. So much so, that I have established a routine for it.

"Is he gay?" They would ask me.

I usually would allow a pause.

And then, "I don't know. I never slept with him."

They would usually laugh, nervously, and ask me, "So, you're gay?"

I used to be angry at this. I mean, first of all, what fucking business is it of yours - unless I am hiring you for sexual favours and you need to know what to shout out as I fuck you in the ass - to know my sexuality and secondly, no I am not gay.

In my sister's words, "You're too dirty to be gay!" Which, I told her, is also a stereotype. I have met gay people who are dirtier than I am. In all sense of the word.

However, explaining to these people that I am not gay can be seen as a defensive act, to cover my homosexuality. So far, I have yet to find a suitable answer, but for homophobic guys, I would say, "Ada jugak sikit-sikit." Just to fuck around with their minds.

I do have some unmanly traits. For one, I don't beat up women or cheat them of money. It is very unmanly not to do that. Women function as cows, and it is our right to fuck them over - literally and figuratively.

Secondly, I like musicals. I don't love it. I can't name the tracks in Torch Song Trilogy, but I do know the words to Phantom of the Opera, Sweeney Todd, South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut, Cannibals the Musical and Baseketball which is basically a movie with songs in it.

I am sure I am not the only heterosexual who can sometimes find it difficult to say that no, we're not gay, we're not metrosexual - and are in fact retrosexual - but we believe in sexual freedom.

Because of this, I believe it is time for me to set up a kind of loose organisation for straight people to promote sexual freedom and acceptance. This organisation should support such efforts done by organisations such as Seksualiti Merdeka by opening it up wider for straight people to promote a conducive environment for everyone to be whatever they are.

Sexual equality should not be a burden only for the repressed minority. It is always counter-productive to disinclude the majority.

Since I believe that the majority of the people are straight, I also aim to capitalise on their financial muscle and strength in numbers to embezzle funds and finally make me a millionaire.

I think I'll call it: Remaining Men Together or STRET - if I can find something to stand for the acronym. We'll ogle at chicks' breasts and masturbate to cartoon porn or some shit. Maybe organise a trip to Thailand to 'reinforce our heterosexuality'. And perhaps be the first of many sexual freedom organisations to get Government funding.

"Towards making Amir a millionaire and promoting sexual freedom everywhere."

Sakit Impala

Gua sakit Impala. Saki-baki demam gua. Tapi malam ni dah okay kot? Gua nak kejar deadline malam ni. Esok pagi gua nak hantar, lepas tu ambik pulak kertas jawapan student gua.

Minggu ni nampak cam penuh nak mampus.

Impala gua sakit. Dia terloncat-loncat kat situ ha.


CAPTION: Sakit Impala

Lu tengok, apa jadi kalau gua sakit, cam minggu lepas? Sapa mau buat kerja gua? Kalau gua tak kerja, gua tak dapat duit. Takdak duit, gua mati worrrrr.

Gua mau rehat kejap, gua punya impala.

The Further Adventures of Boron (World's Most Boring Man)

A few weeks ago, a woman tried to manipulate me.

She wanted information about certain industries in Malaysia, and I was just happy to oblige.

She then tried to dig in further by slamming my facts, as if they are worthless.

"The Internet in the States is making almost US$400 billion a year."

"That's it? That's all?"

I did not expect a shocked look on her face. When I convey facts, the audience is not to be astonished - that is not what I aim for. In fact, I do not aim for anything, including the toilet, and I had no expectations.

I mean, I don't have US$400 billion. Neither does she, or anyone in the world. But saying that is similar to saying, "I bought a tampon at Pasaraya KK just now. The change was US$400 billion. As I exited the shop, I wiped my ass with the money and threw it all on the floor. It was just US$400 billion."

Do you know how much time it takes to wipe US$400 billion on your ass?

Let's say they are all 100 dollar bills. And it takes one second to wipe one 100-dollar bill on your ass. That's four billion seconds, 66666666.67 minutes, 1111111.11 hours, 46296.3 days, 1543.21 months or 128.6 years.

Illogical. Nonsensical. Oh, but that was just the analogy.

I convey facts as facts. Hearsay as hearsay. Conjecture, I don't even bother.

However, this woman immediately seemed to me as if someone who was trained and conditioned by being around egotistical people - and having turned into one herself - to try and manipulate others by playing on their egos.

Me? I'm trained to be judgmental. I just don't advertise it because my judgments are key to my success.

So I just smiled and looked at her boobs. I never shared another shred of information with her ever again.

Loki Lyesmith

I take a break from working to bring you this unimportant message.

I get lots of bullshit thrown at me every day. So that was why, when they revealed 'news' about Rosmah's ring which some claimed, vehemently, to be US$24 million (a billion kajillion ringgits), I generally just shut up and watched the circus go by.

When they claimed that 100,000 people came down for Bersih, I just shut up and washed my dick, ensuring the cleanliness of my genitalia.

Mohd Sabu claimed he was ran over by a police jeep. Then Amy Winehouse died. And slightly before that, lots of people died in Norway due to a shooting.

The identity of the shooter was unverified, but some Western media salivated at the prospect at another Muslim - most probably an Arab - going crazy and started killing people.

Then, it was revealed, that:

1. It was NOT Rosmah's ring.
2. It was NOT 100,000 people
3. There is a video recording of Mohd Sabu getting 'run over' by the police. And to be fair, I do not know whether it is Mat Sabu in the video, or like Anwar, it was an impostor who had the same look and DNA as Mat Sabu. He certainly tried to run the police over. With a bike. Religion 1: Evolution 0.
4. I couldn't even be bothered to read whether Amy Winehouse died of cancer, drug overdose, murder or whatever. I am not a fan, but I believe Amy Winehouse is loved by a lot of people.
5. The Norway shooter was (supposedly) white. I have no info on whether he is a Muslim, what his astrological sign is, his favourite food or whether he believes Captain Kirk or Picard is better.

In our eagerness to disbelieve the Government - and I do believe that we should never trust politicians of any race, creed or gender - some of us may have decided to trade one liar for another.

And who do we fill in for the Government politicians? Other politicians. Oh, great, asshole. Just great.

"Hey, man, I'm gonna stop doing meth, man."

"Great. Good for you."

"Yeah, man, I'm on crack now."

"..."

Some people refused to watch TV, cause it's a 'tool for propaganda'. And then they go to opposition websites and channels. What the fuck are mouthpieces of politicians for? What are they? Tools for propaganda.

Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

Why do you discriminate? If the mainstream media is a tool for propaganda, biased for the Government, and you don't like tools of propaganda, then you should also not tune into the alternative media sites which are also tools of propaganda.

Hate Utusan for their 'one-sided reporting'? What about Harakah?

I am very suspicious of people who tell me not to watch things, unless it's a horror movie.

I believe we should not tune off at all. I believe we should all tune in. To EVERY source. People who say, 'don't watch this' or 'don't watch that' are trying to keep you stupid. Because the stupider you are, the easier they'll take your money and buy oh, I dunno, a US$30 billion helicopter made out of gold or some shit.

Politicians deserve our scrutiny. No rest for the wicked.

We should listen to all news sources, and then make our decision. Shutting our eyes will not make things go away. Not even in the most quantum-physics way.

"But Amir, TV will brainwash us. Nyeeeee."

Goddamn pussy!

I have been watching TV all my life. They did try to brainwash me. I even caught subliminal messages in movies. I endured RTM's nationalist songs.

"Sayang IT, Buta IT, Kelent IT..."

But my brain is as filthy as ever.

The Truth is, no one has mental powers we don't. No one is smarter. There is no magic. We can all decide for ourselves. The moment we elect people to make decisions for us, is the moment we stopped living and started being dumbasses.

We should listen. Listen carefully. Hold the judgments for a while. And then, when all of you realise that politicians are bullshit, we should go out there and kill rich people.

Fuck rich people.

Memories of Things to Come

Before I really start working, I just want to write this: I am not excited with current technology.

All the iPads, MaxiPads, Tabs, Playbooks, Slates or whatever. I hate them because my fingers are too clumsy to use the bloody things. I prefer the full-QWERTY keyboard and as long as Blackberry continues to manufacture new models with the keyborads, I will continue supporting them.

Unfortunately, this seems like a losing battle. In South Korea, the Government is executing a plan to replace all physical text books with a digital format that can be accessed via a tablet machine.

In the old days, Malaysians - who were mostly not Malaysians at the time - went to school and brought along green slates. The tech was simple. You write stuff on it with a piece of chalk, and when you need to write more, you spit on the board and erase it - good as new but smelling of partially-digested food.

If the school of the future are to revert to using pads, tabs and slates, then I say mankind has wasted over 30 years of recent computer advances.

What we need, everywhere, are not touchscreens. We need a fully motion-sensor hologram system. And the technology, is already here.

Failing visible holograms projected onto our polluted air, we need to develop either optic implants or glasses through which we see the world as a full computer-interactive environment.

Imagine looking at a friend and seeing his status pop up on his face/head. Imagine writing an email and actually 'pushing' it to your boss.

These are all not new concepts. I saw all of these in Ghost in the Shell as well as countless other sci-fi stories. And then Iron Man made it popular to the rest of the world.

I have seen documentaries where they are developing the glasses. And those were old documentaries.

That way, after the researchers spend tens of billions, I can get a hologram keyboard that floats in the air. I'll buy a piece of cardboard to anchor my presses.

Or, I could just use a keyboard. And all you fuckers can use the bloody green slate.

The Adventures of Boron (World's Most Boring Man): Divine Second Wind (Double Fart)

So today, I woke up and checked my baju Melayu. I got one that still fits. Hahaha. It was dry-cleaned and shit. I had a function to go to tonight and they said black tie or national dress/outfit/costume. Since I left my coconut bra back home, I decided to forego the dried lalang skirt and go in baju Melayu.

Then I had lunch with my sister and then I remembered - or rather was reminded that there was a Fixi event at 5.30pm. And that today was also Reading At Seksan's.

Goddamnit.

So I went home, took a 15-minute, flu-med-induced (my flu medication has pseudo-ephedrine which is a major component in making crystal meth - the white in the red, white and blue trinity - but actually just puts me to sleep with no hallucination or paranoia) nap. That was stupid, putting a whole chunk of text in parentheses. And ending the sentence with 'nap'. Ah, fuck it.

With the 'ah, fuck it' attitude, I put on my baju Melayu and went to Silverfish for the Fixi event.

Again, Amir Muhammad made me feel guilty for not yet continuing the book I owe him. Still stuck at Chapter 4. Actually, that's a lie. I chose not to feel guilty about anything and be a bastard a long time ago. Guilt is for the rich, and I am far from rich.

Goddamn motherfucking rich bastards with 3 billion (USD? RM?) boat. I hope you go sailing on that yacht and the bloody thing sinks and you get zapped by jellyfish. And since I am poorer than you, you have to let it slide, mr whoever who owns it. I heard it's Robert Kuok, but I don't trust any news unless it is tweeted or retweeted by Neil Gaiman.

Yes, our Lord and Savior. In Gaiman we trust. Blah blah blah.

So there I was, in baju Melayu, at the Fixi thing. All the while very much aware that since I do not have the proper footwear, I chose to don flip-flops.

So, blablabla, I got a ride from the author of Kasino to KDU.

The food was okay, but I like the show. There's so much earnest energy in these kids, which I have not experienced in a while. Most performers nowadays are jaded and cynical. Or paranoid. At least, that's the energy I experience from them. The kids had youthful vigour and exuberance on their side, making it a very entertaining show. For stage shows, sometimes energy is everything. Remember Rockstar? Energy, man, energy.

It was like a very sophisticated college performance. Back in UM, everything sucked as I walked around with a miasma of bullshit emo shit around me. I remember that back then, I just wanted to pick fights, and I wasn't even fighting properly. That takes time, and at the point where you do know what to do, fighting is something better left for kids, man.

Winning and losing are two of the same things, said one wise rich guy who is not an asshole. So why bother? There are better, more effective ways to achieve your goals rather than fight open battles. And it doesn't have to include being insidious or anything.

Oh well. Had a good, entertaining day. Now, I just need to complete this script and send it by tomorrow.

Cheers!

I'm sure I'll write again when I wake up to piss or something later tonight.

Flu Fighter: The Ego Has Landed!

Still here? So am I.

I was first introduced to the Internet in 1994, when one of my seniors with a minor gambling addiction showed me the world's first few popular, commercial porn sites. In the middle of the night or rather early morning.

We broke into the computer room to play Gemfire, Uncharted Horizons, Gorilla, Karateka and other assorted exciting games. A few of us were surfing the 'Net.

I remember he showed me a pixelated early jpg picture of an '80s beauty, with frazzled hair, greasy make up and pink nipples on the screen of one of two computers that had colour monitors. The others had green or grey monochrome screens, on which we typed Logo or BASIC - programming languages that are good to us for next to nothing but draw circles and calculate simple math.

The senior then proceeded to print the naked woman using a 'revolutionary' new technology - the bubble-jet printer.

Or I think it was. Because the woman was in colour, so he had to use an inkjet. The dot-matrix was too loud anyway, and would have alerted the guards.

Two years later, my father bought a PC. It had a Pentium-S CPU, running at an overclocked Pentium processor, maxing it at 133MHz. It had 16MB EDO RAM. And it came with it, a 14.4kbps modem. Dial-up.

I have used my brother's 486 before and my primary school and secondary school's 386, so I was astounded with the speed of this new machine. Surfing the Internet, though, was a Herculean task.

Downloading porn, from those days, was like being in Dante's hell, except you're in Dante's hell, with dial-up.

In order for me to get a 13 second clip, I had to wait four hours, all the time praying that the connection would hold. I prayed to the Abrahamic God, the Gods of the Internet, the Gods of the Bloody 14.4kbps Modem, and whatever deity within earshot, to hold the line.

When I was in college, I chose Computer Science and had access to the computer labs. One of my seniors - a different one - showed me how he as illegally using the resources of some of the computers' CPU to help some scientists at SETI to calculate some complex algorithms. Though I must admit, he might have helped some producers animate 3D porn, for all we knew.

The communities that existed at the time are actually very much the same as today, with more crude tools. The people who lived on the Internet at the time, were sharing news stories.

At least, the Westerners were. Malaysians were just there to fight. And fuck. That is all Malaysians ever do on the Internet. It is our tradition.

But mostly, people shared news. Information. There was alt.news.org, chatrooms, forums, and then, when I got really bored, Project Guttenberg and LiteraryClassics.com.

And if I must admit, MelayuBoleh and the Elf Sternberg Erotic Mind Control Story Archive. Both popular and niche porn sites, respectively. Oh, and Free-thought.com, where I first saw a porn parody of Doraemon, Dragonball and Neon Genesis Evangelion.

What do we do today? With our Internet? We share news stories on social media platforms. We download and watch porn.

And Malaysians still fight - and fuck - online. Tradition!

Most Malaysian 'h4xx0rz' back then were not really hackers. They merely downloaded scripts and tools from some Scandinavian site and used it to attack people. Sure, going into chatrooms, I also armed myself with shit my brother downloaded, to protect the family PC, you see. There are or perhaps were ports on your PC that are/were unguarded.

I was not interested in proving who knows more about computers and programming, because my penis is strong and bulbous, needing no surrogate. My attention, was cast on the interaction between people online and the communities that dwell there.

Things grow. Or at least they used to. It would take five years for a forum to be of a sizeable group, and even then, there had to be constant participation from its members. And online, it's all about tapping into the id and the ego. Animalistic and raw.

Ah, I am adequately bored, and I hope you are as well. Cheers!

Flu Fighter: Buddha KICK!

My sleep patterns have been erratic, since I started taking my flu meds. Sleep for two hours, wake up. Sleep for 8 hours, wake up.

It's 5.32am, and my mind is still fresh. Now let's see if I can bore myself to death. I mean, to sleep. La petit morte and all that bullshit. Or is it LE? Goddamn Frenchies!

My flu is very much under control. My nose has stopped running since last night and is now rather walking. I still get the occassional sneeze here and there, but I believe the meds - antibiotics and a nameless yellow pill, along with my assorted arsenal of medication I have stahsed around the house - have been very effective.

I have been taking 4L of water a day, which is twice the human necessity. I know this because I measure my water intake. Eight 500mL bottles of water every day, or two and a half 1.5L bottles of water a day.

I also ingested around 4L of orange juice during this period and upped my vegetable intake. There were also some vitamin C I have lying around.

If all go according to plan, I'll be up and running tomorrow. There's an event and a deadline on Saturday night.

Last night, I was approached by another possible job opportunity. However, since I have already committed myself for the remainder of the year and perhaps beyond, I can only perform advisory roles for these things.

Once I get better, I can do even more stuff. I aim to clear as many things as possible in the month of July, leaving August - Ramadan - free to finally write my novel for Fixi. If I play it right, and manage my time properly, I can do it.

Because these things - all of it - are under my control. Some things are not. Wishing for things to be different - for example wishing that these mineral water bottles and discarded tissue papers around my house would turn to gold would not actually turn them to gold.

In the past few months, I have made peace with PTPTN and also my credit cards. I have one credit card left to pay, and after that I am not going to use any credit cards.

Also, I aim to move on from writing proposals, letters and plans to actually writing more things. Teaching has been a good experience, if only because I get to have a good look at writing with an academic view. However, the students also taught me a lot of things as well.

Reminded me that whole universes can be self-contained, and that what matters to a group of people, means jack shit to others.

I mean, seriously. It is nice to know - to realise - that with each new people you meet, your life is enriched simply because you tend to see a great deal more.

A lot of people - especially those abused women who always seem to find their way to talk to me - can sometimes get lost in a very incestuous group of perspectives.

You go to different places, meet and talk to different people, and you get to see more things or the same things, but different viewpoints.

Am I making any sense? Who cares? I'm not paid for this shit.

All I can say is that sometimes, in the past few months, I felt the walls closing in. At some point, it seemed as if a lot of doors were closed, a lot of paths blocked.

Then, at other points, it seems as if there were too many paths. Life is, if I am allowed to wank, indeed a wheel.

Buddha KICK!

Flu Fighter: The Bourdon Supremacy

So this guy William Bourdon was detained and deported.

All I can say is, RUN, BOURDON! RUNNNN!!!

Malaysia is not safe. Go back to Mars or some shit.

You think the Martian Revolution was bad, wait till you see Bersih 3.0. Lifeless bodies piled up on the streets. The rivers of garbage turn into rivers of blood. A lost mother, crying for her child "My chillldd!!" when BAM! somebody just blew her brains out.

"My... chiil..."

BAM!

There, they got her.

"Mm..."

BAM! BAM! BABABABABABABABABAAM!

That oughta do it-

"Mh-"

Goddamnit.

"Tango Whisky Alpha, requesting nuclear payload."

"Acknowledge. Laser targeting requested."

"Laser targeting locked on."

"Mmyyy... child!"

KABLOOEYY!!!

Take that, stupid dumbass who took their child to a riot. Motherfucker!

So anyway, I don't give a shit about Michael Bourdon. I also don't give a shit about Gary Dourdan. Who's Gary Dourdan? I don't give a shit.



What I do want to know is, How did he get deported from Malaysia, and how can I also get deported to France or whatever?

Was it yelling, "Hey I know about the Scorpene deal, bitch! I bring you down, Najib!"

Or was it yelling, "If you deport me, you'll make Najib look bad! Hey you Najib's political enemies! I'm herrrrrrrre! Internal politics for the win!"

Ah, fuck this shit. I'm watching Gary Dourdan.

Dead or Alive

I slip in and out of consciousness, due to the flu meds. Being tethered to the world via Twitter, I see surreal glimpses of reality. Which, if I'm not half-groggy from these meds or if I'm half the writer I should be, would have been the topic of this entry. Like some psychedelic stream-of-counsciousness bullshit.

But, no.

I want to talk about time.

To me, time is the most important factor/resource. In the sense that I do not have time for any bullshit but my own.

When I'm sick, no one's going to take care of business for me. No one's going to do my work. The clock keeps on ticking. Tick tock, tick tock.

Umar Al-Khattab once tried to get some food to some poor ass families, and when his servant tried to take the bloody sack from his old back, he shouted, "Bitch, you gonna carry my sins in hell? Huh?" After which, I am sure the servant went and killed herself due to such aggressive questioning.

And yes, I did read all of the tales of Islam's greatest heroes. I studied the religion for 11 years, same as all of you. Well, most of you Malaysians anyway.

And after using these past few years to pay for the debts I accumulated in my '20s, I need to start saving up for my retirement and death.

Only thing I've learned all these short years, is that, you carry your own sack of whatever. And if you can, you hold the door open for others carrying sacks.

I've seen and heard lots of bullshit. There's bullshit all around you. Bullshit is part of the scenery. You should get used to it and not be bothered by the smell. Otherwise, you're just wasting your time.

It's time for me to put up the pimp signal. We ride tonight. We ride hard.

Be Careful What You Ask For

I don't believe in magic. I don't believe in astrology, tarot cards, all religious magic bullshit, blablabla.

I mean, come on, man.

You recite certain verses, and then rainbows would shoot out of your ass? What the fuck?

My mother believes that if you repeat certain verses from the Koran, you get some super-powers or some shit. I would confront her sometimes with verses from the Bible. In Latin. Just for laughs.

Yeah, I can be a jackass. This is not The Matrix. If anyone speaks like The Oracle all the time, someone would bludgeon that person to death.

But there's one thing, though. I believe that you will get whatever you ask for. A lot of work needs to be done, but eventually you'll get what you ask for. The only problem is, what is it are you asking for?

Now that, you have to get real with yourself.

Flu Fighter

I woke up to take my meds.

I got some stuff I need to do, but I was too weak. So to bed it was, and to bed I will go.

I was dreaming of myself, and I was in a book. I was a character in a book, and another me was reading myself and imagining to be the me in the book.

All the while, I was watching this me who was reading a book.

If I was 10 years younger, I would be amused by all this existential bullshit. Nowadays, when I have these kinds of dreams, I just get pissed off.

So I woke up angry. Opened a bottle of orange juice and started chugging. Take that, rhinovirus!

I read about rhinoviruses - the flu virus - in a Reader's Digest article written in the '50s. It is still true. Mankind has yet to find a cure for the flu, and nobody knows why flu viruses just stop after a week or so. If flu viruses were to continue multiplying, they'd just kill everyone.

I wish I could create a strain that would kill rich people. The virus would check your financial record and if you're worth more than RM2 million, BAM! You die.

Rich people believe they should be given a lot of leeway to take more of our money. We should kill them all, just out of spite.

I hope your horses kick you in the balls. I hope your Picasso falls on your mother, killing her.

I hope when the nuclear holocaust finally hits Malaysia, rich people would finally melt in their own ecto-plasmic goo.

Think about it.

Who owns the world? Rich people. Who calls the shots (to be fired)? Rich people. Who devised a devious credit scheme from which there is no escape for poor people? The rich.

Who stands to benefit from the suffering of others? Rich people. Who benefits, when I get sick? Rich people.

All the evil in the world are caused by rich people. We should scalp them. And eat their brains.

Padah Tumbuh Hilang Mencuri

Aku tengah demam, jadi aku emo sikit.

Aku nak cakap yang aku tak percayakan ahli politik. Kalau kau ahli politik, tak kira la BN ke, PR ke, Zaid Ibrahim ke, NGO ke, 'liberal' palsu Malaysia ke, apalancau ke, kalau kau bergiat aktif dalam politik, aku lebih percayakan bulu bontot aku daripada aku percayakan kau.

Aku lebih percayakan setan, Syaitan, Iblis, Azazel, mahupun Lucifer, daripada aku percayakan ko.

Sejak Pak Lah melayarkan kisah Ashabul Kahfinya beberapa tahun lepas, kerajaan yang ada sekarang tampak lebih goyah.

AKu tak peduli pun. Aku bukan penyokong kerajaan, dan bukan penyokong Barisan Nasional. Pergilah mampus, ye?

namun, satu perkara yang aku LAGI MENYAMPAH daripada BN, adalah Pembangkang.

Daripada dulu lagi, Pembangkang ni, pada aku, sama macam ahli politik Kerajaan - semua tak boleh percaya, semua kaki kelentong. Dengan satu perbezaan.

Ahli politik Kerajaan sudah merasa kuasa selama lebih 50 tahun. Ahli politik Pembangkang belum merasa apa-apa kecuali kejayaan yang terhad.

Aku dapat rasakan rasa lapar mereka. Lapar, bukan untuk menolong rakyat, atau hendak menegakkan kebenaran, mahupun lapar nak makan nasi, tetapi lapar untuk kapur semua benda yang bernilai dan berharga daripada Malaysia.

Aku dapat rasakan yang mereka amat dengki dengan tuduhan mereka sendiri kepada ahli politik Kerajaan. Kenapa? Sebab kalau mereka sendiri di tempat ahli politik Kerajaan, mereka akan buat sebijik, malah mungkin lebih teruk lagi. Sebab tu mereka asyik mengeluarkan tuduhan demi tuduhan, tak kira sama ada berasas kalau tidak. Bagi aku, apa yang kita cakap pasal orang, memberikan imej kita pasal diri sendiri.

Ini semua aku rasa sahaja. AKu bukannya pengkaji politik mahupun ekonomi. Aku cuma menyatakan pandangan aku.

Ya, ahli politik Kerajaan ramai jugak yang kantoi. Mungkin lebih ramai yang belum kantoi. Aku cuma tak percaya LANGSUNG yang ahli politik Pembangkang mampu menjrnihkan keadaan Malaysia. Lagi nak kelepet ada lah.

Begitulah pendapat aku yang tengah demam ni.

Ingat - jangan percaya sesiapa pun. Diorang semua penipu.

Jung and Dangerous

I just woke up from a dream where I was hunted by predators in the sea, and saw my red shirt in the closet.

I haven't been wearing my red shirt recently, since I noticed that some people would react as if they are threatened by me, if I wear red stuff. I wore a red t-shirt today because even though it is of that color, it has sequins on it, effectively dampening the fear and intimidation factor and would probably place me as a homoexual, though why people find homosexuals as non-threatening is beyond me and should be considered another form of bias.

Anyway, I mentioned this fact, absent-mindedly, to a friend as I explained how I navigate through dealing with complicated red-tape, and I got 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' from the audience.

I simply forgot that mind-control is somewhat of a fixation to the people of this country, or perhaps even people in general. So much so, that the simple fact of choosing the colour to wear for different occasions and functions has become somewhat of an 'oooh'-worthy thing.

It is not mind-control. It is simple logic. Like where to place your gaze when talking to people. Asians, avert the eyes. White people, stare into their retinas. Personal space - Arabs, try to be as close as possible, White people, give them a wide berth. Asians? Kill them all. Including me.

So, for some reason, before I get back to my sea-dreams - which hopefully would not include any sea-men. Ugh. - I think I'll just write some drivel.

Anyway, when I neared graduation, disillusioned with the world and dealing with my own personal demons (everyone under the age of 25 has 'personal demons' as opposed to the very 'public demons' we fight as we get older), I began to start a quest of finding answers to some questions.

This led me through a whirlwind of discovery, discussions and lots and lots of other stupid things.

I began studying psychology, philosophy and religion. Not so much 'study', really. I mean, I did get some psychology text-books and joined in experiments online, but this was no serious thing.

For my own purposes, I began classifying personality traits on my own. In my youth, labels comforted me somewhat.

So, this is what I had:

1. The Animals

Not anima or animus, but animals. Humans who are animals are all pain-worshippers. They complain a lot, mostly about how WRONGED they were. How they dedicated their lives to something, and that something turned around and fucked them in the ass.

Nothing goes right for animals. They are walking around with an ever-present miasma of doom around them.

They are prone to paranoia and demotivational bullshit. Their currency, is pain. Whoever is experiencing more pain, wins.

It is interesting to note that even though some things constantly give these animals pain, they would keep on doing the same thing, addicted to getting the pain.

Perpetual victims fall into this category. Some abused partners fall into this category.

Just remember: animals feed on pain.

2. The Competitor

The competitor must win, must be number one, must be bettER, strongER, fastER, smartER than everyone else.

They have a constant need to be right, even sometimes going to extremes such as fixing 'matches'.

They need to win, and would sometimes compete with animals.

For example, I once said, off-hand, "Oh, my father suffered four-five strokes."

And one competitor said, "Oh! I can't count how many times MY father got strokes!"

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she was trying to compete in the event of 'Whose father had the most strokes'. Which shocked me to no end.

Competitors must win. So even if you do win in say, swimming or running, or farting, they would then try and start another competition. Say, whose guess is correct when it comes to which car will park next to your car or which nostril hair will fall off next.

Competitors believe everyone competes, like them, and they are annoying as hell.

Competitors have a burning desire for approval.

3. The Survivor

Survivors are concerned with, of course, survival, and also this: 'being smart about it'.

In my book, 'being smart about it' is okay, unless it translates to lying, backstabbing, cheating, swindling, short-changing, victimising, stealing and being an irredeemable jackass. Which, unfortunately, it usually is.

4. The Soulless Bastards

Soulless bastards are purely incorrigible. They are so obtuse, they don't even realise what they are doing is wrong, or is even considered wrong by other people.

They have no moral compass whatsoever and would do anything for any number of selfish reasons, regardless of other people or considerations.

Racists are here.

5. The Idiots

Most people are here.

6. The Pigeon-Holers

This is for people like me.

We constantly pursue a means to better observe the Universe and classify it, so as to make a sort of empirical equation of the whole thing, which is impossible.

Everyone jumps from one classification to the other. In classcial Jungian philosophy, people jump from one archetype to another in rapid sucession, even in the same sentence or line of thought.

It is impossible to divide humanity in little groups and sub-groups, because in the end, everyone are idiots at some point or another.

Including me, as I should not have spent my time writing this, while nursing a flu, and with an early morning tomorrow.

I leave you with this thought - a person is ultimately unknowable. You can spend over 50 years with a person and never know him/her fully. Labels are useful for marketing people and idiots, racists and soulless bastards. And pigeon-holers.

And with that, good night.

Melodrama

One of the wanking questions writers get asked, usually by other writers, is "Why do you write?"

Then, comes a number of answers. All wanking.

"I write, because I am compelled to write." Said Neil Gaiman, at one point or another, to an interviewer who believes that abstract questions with no real definite answers are cool and whatever.

"I write for money," said the pained cynic, who can sometimes be me.

"I write, so that other people can see how cool and smart I am," go the unsaid momentarily truthful quip from some people who have never really written.

I sit now with a bunch of documents open before me, trying vaguely to remember why I write. If I had wanted serious money, I believe another vocation such as a pimp or a programmer would have been more lucrative.

I was a good coder once, you know. My system was sent to Portugal, for a convention. But I never went to present my paper.

"I don't want to be a programmer," I told my lecturer. "I want to write. And get rich writing."

Ah, to be young and foolish again.

Most people don't even recognise or realise what it takes. What writing takes. It is not your life's blood or your immortal soul. You do not die every night as you write, as performers die every night on stage. That's all bullshit, man.

I've always held this notion, that writers are never and will never be appreciated. Most of them don't and never will.

Who weeps for the writer who thought of the assignments in the workbook? Who spares a thought for the man or woman who wrote the tale of 'Si Belanga' in the BM Standard Six textbook?

Ah, pathos.

Self pity.

Emo.

I'll tell you how I saw Computer Science, though.

Programming, to me, was and is a means to speak to machines. In my youth, I was infuriated by humans, as humans don't work like machines. I can't push humans to dedicate hours of their lives to render a 3D object like I did my old computer. Humans are untrustworthy and constantly afraid. Always blaming others, scared of being blamed.

So I thought I would speak to machines instead.

I was very good at it, I remember. It used to be that I could learn a new computer language in a matter of weeks. It's all the same, really. Write this, write that. fetch this, fetch that. Do this while this is true. here's what you do in case of this or this or this.

Take your instructions from this file. Hide the elegant code by translating them into primitive html. Or simply hide everything in a labyrinth of nested functions. Create, store, delete.

Using these simple commands, you can construct almost anything. You can communicate anything to a computer.

When I moved to writing, which was, I must admit, something I was compelled to do, I saw the whole thing as programming, but for humans.

Remember this? That? Feel this. Think about that. Imagine that.

All things, in the end, are data. Information. And all we can hope to do, is communicate with that data.

Tell this to any asshole, though, and they'd just say that writing is like taking a shit. You just sit down and your butthole ejects shit. No thought. No emotion. No communication. Perhaps a bit of grandstanding and posturing.

And then they ask me, why their works are shallow. It was not something others tell them, but something they feel themselves, deep in their souls.

I don't have an answer. I do not presume that my works are NOT themselves shallow.

I write on, because I am compelled to.

A Tale of Sound and Fury

I'm waiting for an email, so I guess I'll do some alarmist talk and pull stuff out of my ass.

When the economic downturn hit America recently, sales of big screen TVs, cable TV subscription, broadband Internet as well as movie ticket sales soared through the roof. Some restaurants closed down and so did some businesses. We see in the movie Up in the Air, that there are perhaps consultants being hired to fire people.

How did I get this? I pulled it out of my ass. I'm quoting no sources, so read at your own risk and don't believe me.

This shows that people in the States were not going out, as going out meant spending money. TV and movies - still the cheapest forms of entertainment - were selling like hotcakes. I mean, Green Hornet sold like crazy. Really? Green Hornet?

Oh, man. I am too tired to write the rest of this shit.

In short, we're all fucked. So we should start killing people. Okay, back to work!

Winter is Coming

I woke up to piss, and wound up reading Fareed Zakaria's wonderfully-written article on Brazil's economy.

I've been reading Fareed Zakaria more and more these days, for a better perspective on things. He's a great writer, and writes great articles. I can't say much about a lot of writers these days.

But fuck that. Fareed Zakaria's and others' writings have kept me up at night, these days. And I'm not an economist, a stupid evil racist politician, a businessman or even a finance journalist.

I do entertainment. You know, fluff. Stuff that don't matter.

What I have seen, is worrying. I believe that the more people watch movies, the worse the economy is going to do. Movies are the entertainment for the masses, who are mostly poor.

The pretentious rich fucks go ride horses or thousand-dollar prostitutes. They go and drink expensive booze. Buy expensive cars. Fuck in their expensive cars. Masturbate to their state-of-the-art whatever, at whatever club.

They have no business going down to our levels and catch a movie, or for Francis Yeoh to walk around in BSC, with no entourage to listen to his spiel about God and morality and how his shit sings hosannas.

And how is the movie industry? Good ol' for-the-masses movie industry? KL Gangster scored over RM12 million recently, but that was not an isolated success story. For the past few years, a few movies have made RM7 million plus and several others made more than RM8 million.

Good for the industry, but a bad indicator for the economy, I believe. When people seek to entertain themselves - perhaps cheaply, then maybe they are going for escapism. To escape from what? The stock market? Reality?

I also read two other pieces by Fareed Zakaria recently. One, concerning the dangers of the US defaulting on its debts. Yes, the great and powerful US, is grappling with its future. They face perhaps the same fate as Japan, where house loans take GENERATIONS to settle.

That's like, I buy a house in Kuantan, and my great-grandchildren - if I have any - will pay the final mortgage payment after he/she has retired.

If the stupid, evil, racist Republicans refuse to play ball with Obama, then the US will have to default. If they do, interest for the US on some of their complicated (to me) loans will rise by 1 to 2 percent. This will cost them tens of billions of dollars a year.

If the great and powerful US economy collapes, then we have effectively lost our foundation of the world economy. It would be time for everyone to stop playing football, because we can't pretend the ball does not have a hole in it anymore. And the American kid who owns the ball need to - I dunno - sell his sister to the Chinese dude to fuck. In order to agree on another ball. The Japanese dude is next in line.

Or, the kids could just all fight for it.

Ah, fuck these analogies. I don't know, man. I'm no fucking economist. Not a business journalist to translate what bullshit is spewing forth from rich people nowadays.

All I know is that in their greed, rich people got us into this problem, and if anything happens, they should pay for it. In blood.

If our economy topples, we should be going to these rich people who have allowed greed to consume them and raped our money, and we should scalp them. I mean, LITERALLY, take a sharp object, and peel their head's skin from their skull.

It is all these bloody fucking rich people's faults and we should demand their blood, if anything happens. We should not be so foolish as to fight amongst ourselves, but direct our anger to the bloody rich who have bled us dry all these centuries.

No mercy. No regrets. No bullshit. Just kill them all.

I'm no economics guy, and all I can really say is, I feel it in my bones. Winter is coming.

Dapur Bujang: Nasi Beriyani Periuk Nasi Eletrik Tiga Langkah!

Ramai orang cakap, nasi beriani ni susah nak buat. Pergi mampus! Nasi beriyani senang nak buat, susah nak halusi.

Di sini aku nyatakan cara-cara memasak nasi beriani dengan hanya tiga langkah. Menggunakan periuk nasi eletrik!

Bahan-bahan

1. Beras dua cawan. Bagus pakai basmathi. Kalau takde, hentam sajalah labu.

2. Mentega satu sudu. Nak pakai minyak sapi pun takpe, tapi aku tak suka minyak sapi. Ko bayangkan, lembu (sapi) tu, kena ikat lepas tu layur kat api, kutip minyak dia kat bawah. Macam babi!

3. Satu pek perencah nasi beriyani - macam-macam jenama ada. Maggi ada, serta beberapa 'yang lain'. Sambar je mana-mana.

4. Tomato satu biji, dihiris dadu. Dihiris dadu, wa cakap lu!

5. Kangkong (morning glory). Surprise!

6. Susu Penuh Krim


Langkah-langkah:

1. Basuh beras, ukur banyak mana kadar susu nak letak. Kadar beras:susu haruslah 1:2.1.

2. Tumis mentega dalam periuk nasi elektrik. Masukkan perencah nasi beriyani. Tumis sampai naik bau. Masukkan tomato. Masukkan beras dan susu. Masukkan kangkong. Kacau sikit. Tutup periuk.

3. Tunggu sampai masak. Hidang.

Perlu diingat, kalau tak masak lagi, lepas periuk menjentat, tekan je lagi sampai masak. Aku biasa bukak tudung halfway, periksa kalau-kalau perlukan apa-apa benda nak tambah. Kalau rajin, aku tambah ayam yang dah digoreng dulu. Masak stail bukhara.

hasilnya adalah nasi beriyani yang amat memberahikan. Dari sebuah periuk nasi elektrik.

Dapur Bujang: Ayam Masak Syaitan

Mak aku adalah tukang masak ortodoks.

Mak: Awas kung fu aku!

Aku: Wah! Bubur Nasi Teochew! Masakan Sayur Szechuan! Ayam Gulai Bugis! Paru Goreng Padang! Roti Kembung Klasik Kuantan! Puding Raja Pantai Timur!

Mak: Hmph!

Oleh sebab mak aku adalah jagoan yang digelar 'Eastern Heretic', aku bertekad untuk mempelajari seni masakan Underground Cooking Society yang mengamalkan ilmu masakan songsang.

Kesemua masakan ini ciptaan aku sendiri, melainkan dinyatakan sebaliknya. Hari ini, aku hendak perturunkan hikmat masakan Ayam Masak Syaitan. Apasal syaitan? Saja. Sekadar hiasan. Takde syaitan pun dalam masakan ni, dan ayam tu tak masak syaitan pun, tapi aku rasa syaitan pun akan terpancut kalau makan hidangan ini.

Ayuh!

Bahan-bahan:

1. Bawang merah (shallots) X 3
2. Bawang putih (garlic) X 6
3. Bawang Besar (onion) X 1 - dicincang rapi
4. Cili boh/giling (secukup rasa)
5. Belacan (50 gm) - boleh diganti dengan stok ayam, stok ikan bilis atau pes udang yang sememangnya belacan jugak. Lebih kurang la.
6. Kicap tiram
7. Daun kari X 10 helai/1 batang
8. Garam secukup rasa
9. Ayam mentah 1 kg
10. Secawan air
11. Minyak tiga sudu
12. Serai sebatang, dititik (optional)

Cara Memasak:

1. Panaskan minyak. Tumis bawang putih, merah dan besar, dalam aturan ini. Selepas naik bau (aromatic, kata omputih), masukkn cili boh dalam 5 sudu besar. Masukkan garam. Kacau. Masukkan kicap tiram, garam dan belacan. Rasa, cukup msin ke tidak. Lepas dah sebati (mesera, kata mak aku), masukkan air.

2. Lepas berbuih air, tapi tak menggelegak, masukkan ayam, serai dan daun kari. Kacau sampai masak. Perlu sentiasa kacau.

3. Hidang.

Semua resepi aku, langkah-langkahnya sikit sahaja. Bersusah-payah ketika memasak hanya untuk tukang masak kelas amatur. Hmph!

Jadi, begitulah hidangan Ayam Masak Syaitan aku. Mak aku kadang-kadang tak letak air, tapi santan, pasal dia ortodoks. Aku songsang. Jadi aku bantai letak air je. Lu apahal mat?

Dapur Bujang: Chicken Curry in Four Steps

Ingredients:
A few:
shallots
garlic
lemongrass stalk
onions
Curry leaves

Some:
chilli powder
curry powder
oil

full cream milk 1L

Chicken 1KG-2KG

Instructions:

1. Heat oil. Throw in chopped garlic, shallots, onions, chilli powder, curry powder, in that order. Wait till it becomes aromatic (30 seconds - 1.5 minute)

2. Pour 1L of full cream milk. Add water if you are also including potatoes. Wait till it is bubbling, but not to a boil

3. Throw in the chicken and lemongrass stalks. Preferrably wings attached to drummets. Stir constantly to avoid creating granules in the curry. Can ad potatoes if you want to, but these things absorb water, so water control is vital. Add water if too dry.

4. Serve.

Food of the Gods

Woke up to piss and I'm suddenly hungry. Can't eat now, so I'll just gulp down 500ml of water and write about the best food I've ever had.

Years ago, pretty boy actor/writer/banker Redza Minhat asked me, "What's the best food in KL?"

And I said to him, "There is no such thing. Everyone has their own preference."

"Yes, but what's the best?"

There is none, of course. If you like meat, I would suggest the Brazillian barbecue at Changkat Bukit Bintang. Around 10 variations of beef, including grilled beef stuffed with vegetables.

And who can say for sure that they know the best nasi lemak place? My fabourite is now extinct. It used to be that every 4pm, a small stall would open up at Pantai Dalam, selling steamed nasi lemak with properly-cooked fried lungs. Heavenly! But it's gone.

The best nasi kandar joint was, to me, Zam Nasi Kandar, which subscribed to the large meal philosophy and had a killer mutton curry - and I don't eat mutton. Gone as well, banished from its Pantai Dalam home.

The best fried rice was, to me, Mutton Curry Fried Rice by Tony and Fredo from the Gayodanto clan. Using double cooked mutton in a curry as paste, I do believe it is the best fried rice I have ever encountered. It was at the National Press Club, and now it is gone. Catch Tony one of these days and get that for catering.

Best Thai food? Well, that's in Thailand, but a reasonably delicious place is Basil at Bangsar Village. Try the Tom Yam, green curry chicken and kangkong belacan.

Best Fried Kuay Teow? Surprisingly, Boston concept restaurant's Tenderloin and Flat Noodles. No, not Little Penang Cafe, not wherever, just Boston. The meat is tender and the chopped chilli red and fiery like molten steel.

Best French restaurant? Cafe Cafe, in my opinion. Authentic French cuisine with frog's legs and escargot.

Best curry? Surprisingly, Esquire Kitchen. Try it with flower buns. Soft and heavenly buns dipped into savoury - a bit powdery - delicious curry.

Best banana leaf rice? Well, I do like Sri Nirwana Maju, but the extremely dreadful service makes me want to take it down a few notches. Currently, I am looking for a restaurant to replace Nirwana Maju.

Best Beriyani? Not JM Bariani House. I find the Malaynised version a bit too heavy and sweet. I hate eating sweet things when they're supposed to be savoury, thus eliminating most of Kelantanese cuisine. I prefer Mahbub's lighter version, or even its Beriyani Bukhara. Syed has good beriyani, but a bit expensive.

My favourite beriyani has to be Anjappar, with its strong spice taste and yet light rice.

Siput Sedut champion goes to Restoran Puteri. Fuck the rest of the roadside stalls selling balitong in oyster sauce. Restoran Puteri is the best when it comes to Siput Sedut in KL.

Tomorrow, I am going to go and have a cheesesteak for lunch. G'nite!

The Plight of the Malay Man

For years, I ran away from the label of a 'Malay man'. It is indeed a name which carries many negative connotations.

For one, a Malay man is generally regarded as stupid about everything, managing only to stumble forward in life due to Government assistance and free money. Ironically, that Government is also set up by, among others, Malay men who might not be so incompetent after all.

I have heard - from friends mostly - about such ludicrous claims as Malays getting discounts at toll booths.

The second offensive stereotyping is that Malay men cheat and beat their partners. While I do know of SOME men who beat their partners and SOME of these are Malay men, it is not entirely true that this is race, or even gender specific.

Of course, ALL Malay men get maried, marking their union with spiralling 50-year debts because they need to make sure the parents can boast to their neighbours about something. Perhaps it is this debt that has kept Malays poor. This marriage debt that saps the finances and the soul from the Malays, hence turning them into wife-beaters and drug users. I believe that while marriage is fine for those who want it, there should be a stop to weddings. Malay weddings cost anywhere between RM20,000 - RM2 million with little chance of recouping that money.

I used to be bothered by all this shit. Nowadays, when people ask me, "How can you still not starve after almost five months of not having a job?"

I answer with this, "Oh, every week a guy from UMNO comes knocking on my door and gives me some Malay cash. Usually it's RM10,000 or something."

Hell, man, you think I can afford this Unifi connection simply by working hard till I literally cough out blood? I'm a Malay man. Incompetent and dumb. What skills do I have, other than supporting UMNO?

Man of Beef

I started writing professionally with a minor food review publication. It was such a small enterprise that it was run by one man and I was paid only with the food I eat during the review sessions.

Didn't get a single cent. Just food. Glorious, glorious food.

I learned about the different cuts of meat as I had them all. Why tenderloin is the best. You can find it in filet mignon dishes, where the eye is rather small (the cut looks like a long tube of meat) and the meat is most tender.

If you go to certain restaurants in Malaysia, they have the 'strip steak' such as Chili's NY Strip Steak, which is a cut from the short loin. My father, who bought most of his meat frozen from India at the Kuantan wet market, prizes the 'toploin' cut which is probably the top sirloin, according to British terminology.

The top sirloin steak yields the American chateaubriand and is more tender than the bottom loin.

I have eaten T-bone steaks, sirloin steaks, top sirloin steaks, ribeye, filet mignon of course, and even brisket stew. I have had cottage pies with chunks of tenderloin thrown into the singed mash, covered in brown gravy. Wondrous! Brilliant!

Of course, the way Malays cook meat, it doesn't make much of a difference what cut it is. While Western cuisine uses meat tenderisers and a form of protease found in papaya (papain), the Malays use the leaves of the jackfruit tree when boiling the meat.

There was a nasi lemak stall in Kondo Rakyat which uses fresh local meat and through a process of tenderising, comes up with meat dishes that literally dissolves in your mouth. Fantastic!

My father, though, also developed a taste for brisket as the properly-tenderised cut can be taken apart with a light prodding of the fork or spoon. He relishes the individual tiny sinews that can be torn off from the brisket.

Over my brief period doing food reviews, I have acquired a taste for chicken liver pâté and foie gras which is goose or duck liver. I have also always loved offal - which is how the Brits categorise things like lungs. Lungs, when cooked properly, is the most delicious part of a cow.

You need to boil it in water with tumeric, then cut them and deep fry it after it is covered in tumeric powder and salt. Crunchy, with just a bit of the taste of the cows' breath. Eating this dish is the most heavenly sensation aside from orgasm.

The Padang people of Indonesia have this down pat, and my mother learned how to do it through an inherited recipe.

There is also a way to cook beef liver that makes it hard but crumbles to dust when chewed. I have only had it once in my life, and have not the material, equipment nor the time to find out how it is done.

These days, though, I focus on Asian dishes as I have grown fonder of local cuisine. Much more so than a period when I really REALLY loved Chinese cuisine.

Pottering About

SPOILERS AHEAD CONCERNING HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PART 2.


So I watched Harry Potter last night with my sister.

We got the back seats, which in my opinion are the best seats.

The movie was fine. It is the truest adaptation to any Potter novel I have seen, and the cuts they made from the source material were wise and necessary. I couldn't really find any fault with it. However, not being a major fan of the series, I am biased and would only give it a B.

Potter does not disappoint, though, in no way at all. I mean, I was not expecting a Jean-Pierre Jeunet movie.

What was disappointing - and very irritating, though - were people who were watching the movie.

Since the film started, there was endless chatter from the idiots to my right and the ones in front of me.

Some of their stupid friends have never read Harry Potter, and their even stupider friends who have were mouthing off on who each character was and
WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO EACH, effectively spoiling the movie for those who have not watched it.

"Oh, Fred, or George will die after this."

There were also idiots who kept on mouthing off what was happening on screen.

Example: Harry Potter and friends would be riding a dragon.

"Oooh, he's riding a dragon!"

They want to make sure that their friends and others within earshot, were experiencing what they were experiencing. Though I must tell you, unless their friends were blind or they just took a busload of blind and deaf people to the cinemas, this was highly unnecessary, rude and insidious.

I come from a barbarian clan in the east - my ancestors preferring to set up their domiciles in swamps and around huge holes in the ground. We have a code - "Never talk during shows."

Whenever people talk in the cinema, an urge to rally the barbarian horde and knock their skulls in with an axe would surge forward.

I believe that people who talk during movies are the most arrogant people on earth. They by far are more arrogant than Malaysian fake 'liberals' and politicians. I hate them more than I do politicians. In fact, I hate them with the intensity of a thousand suns.

You see, when you talk during a movie, it is merely you saying, "I demand your attention. I will force my words down your throat. I will talk and bother you and invade your personal space because I and my thoughts, which I have vocalised, are more important and greater than your whatever. And you are so stupid, blind and deaf that you will not be able to discern what is going on in the movie without me telling you so."

I believe it is a most selfish thing to do. Something done out of unconsciousness and not having any consideration for other people.

Throughout the movie, I shushed some of them. It worked for a few, but others had really thick skulls and an IQ of monkeys.

So, failing to silence them, I started speaking in parseltounge behind their seats.

"Monkeeeeyyyyyssssssssss. You sssssssstupidddd fuckiiiiiinnnngggg monkeyyssssssssssssssssssss."

One guy turned around and eyed me. I held his gaze and threw a maniacal smile.

"Monkeyyyyyssssssss..."

It worked, for a while, and I enjoyed the battle scenes in peace. The peace continued until a fat Ron Weasley showed up and the guy started explaining to his girlfriend how the filmmakers did that trick.

Yes, most dumbass boyfriends would start explaining to their girlfriends about how Hollywood filmmakers do their special effects.

Here's the Truth: They don't. They never worked at a Hollywood special effects studio, so they do not know.

What happened was that the male primate was threatened by how some things were, are and forever will be beyond him. He feels insecure about his stupidity, so he feels the need - the burning desire - to have someone believe that he is not fooled by this Hollywood magic and trickery, that his small brain - the size of a walnut - is able to comprehend all this.

I hate you. I hate you with the intensity of a thousand suns. I hate you so much that when you die, I hope an earthquake buries your remains under the earth's crust and apply on pressure as well as heat that are so great, millions of years later, mankind's future descendants will dig up your remains as diamonds.

A Game of Crones

I have been watching Game of Thrones - an HBO mini series adapted from George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire.

A lot of people commended on its tale of politics and intrigue. I believe that politics is for the very young and the very old. As neither a young man nor an old one, I am neither idealistic enough nor wise enough to enter the fray.

I remember in my younger days, I planned an animated TV series about Melaka in the medieval times filled with political intrigue. It was based mostly on Raja Wira - a translated HK comic nobody remembers.

The breakdown has been sitting in my computer for over 12 years. I have shopped it around but no one is interested. So far. Maybe when I am 50 or 70, I will get to make something of it.

Oh well. I have enough stories to keep me occupied from now till then. Cheers!

Thank You, Technopriests!

I am finally back online after someone stole my Unifi port last Friday, from the box thingies. I spent almost a week bickering with Unifi customer service after they sent technopriests to Seri Kembangan instead of my house, due to a faulty report.

I used whatever contacts I can and thankfully, there were cool people in TM and I spoke to some technopriests and arranged for them to come to my house. Took me a few days, though, and I missed a lot of shit.

First of all, fuck Bersih. Heard the pitch, arguments, weighed it and... fuck Bersih.

Fuck all of that.

Then, there was the matter of Rosmah Mansor's impossibly expensive ring. Other people already did a Google search before being outraged, so no worries, right?

Here's a link to the world's most expensive jewelry. I don't see her ring there.

It is not impossible, though. Rosmah may have bought the world's most expensive piece of jewelry at US$24 million. ANd sent it via FedEx. AND have it scanned by a person holding a non-existent post.

Oh well. I really don't care. People will believe what they want to believe. They want to read opinions and thoughts that are in line with theirs.

I don't give a fuck.

During the Bersih 2.0 thing, I got queries from people to the tune of, "Which side are you on?" "Who do you support?" "Who do you trust/believe in?"

I have maintained only one stand over the years, and I am not changing any time soon - I am on my side. I do not trust anyone - Government, Opposition, NGO, NGI, centrists.

I do not believe that any one of them is fighting for my benefit, for my good. I'm always looking out for how they can capitalise on shit and take my money.

In fact, there is no racism in Malaysia. I believe UMNO doesn't fight for Malays, but for themselves. I believe that PKR does not fight for freedom or justice, but money and power. DAP doesn't give a shit about you whether you are a Malay, Chinese, Indian or whatever. I believe that if sucking a rabid dog's cock could get them votes, and hence power, then money, they would do it.

They would make up any story and believe in anything. Just for cold hard cash.

If you hate them, ask yourself this: how different are you from them?

We all sacrifice something to get money - freedom, time, presence, knowledge, whatever. We are all not beneath it. Not even the most idealist of us are immortal.

I teach some kids at a college. I feel guilty, most of the time, because I have watched Dangerous Minds, Mr Holland's Opus, Goodbye Mr Chips, and I can safely say that I am no Michelle Pfeiffer.

I could not impart what I believe to be the most important lesson of all - trust no one. Don't let it get to you, and don't despair, because you are the only person you yourself can trust. You are the only person you can control 100%.

Everyone else, to be fair, have their own shit.

So with that, and one of the biggest dramas this year concluded, I'm going to take a nap for a while.

The Matrix: Resolution?

For years, I was haunted by the PTPTN issue.

After getting terrible service in 2005 concerning my PTPTN loan, I decided to not pay for a while.

In 2008, I made the grave mistake of contacting PTPTN to check on the balance of my debt. They refused my offer to pay and I was threatened with a lawsuit and bankruptcy over the phone. Pissed off, I decided to ignore them until I got a summons to the court.

In court, I was not allowed to speak and I immediately lost any interest to deal with a system where people who never paid a single cent could still roam around free while my passport - I, who offered payment - was blocked.

Today, I decided to put everything behind me and go to PTPTN and see what kind of arrangement I can make to settle my debts.

I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by such professional and empathic staff. Everything was made easy and if things go according to plan, by next week, the process to get me off the blacklist will start, after I pay a reasonable amount to them.

I suggest that all PTPTN loan defaulters and the people on the blacklist to take advantage of this period of grace and set up a payment scheme with PTPTN right now. Who knows who they will put there next time.

Cheers!

The Real Bersih Supporters

Bersih was a non-issue. So a bunch of liberal-wannabes want to masturbate and sing songs together while they march, wearing yellow t-shirts. Big fucking deal. Who gives a shit?

Bersih 2.0, though, was made much, much bigger than it was because of the response from the Government and law enforcement agencies.

The overly dramatic response, akin to a drama-addict neglected wife who have not had a fight for 40 years with her husband, or a hen-pecked husband who decided to divorce his wife after 20 years, was overkill.

Arrests, bans, statements condemning Bersih 2.0, zealous media coverage all made Bersih 2.0 bigger and more significant than it is. Whatever you fight, becomes bigger than it is.

I believe that the people who truly want Bersih 2.0 is the Government. They are the ones giving it hundreds of millions worth of promotion. Now, even those who don't give a fuck about hippie-wannabe bullshit-artists know of Bersih 2.0.

Why?

I refuse to believe that these people, who have ruled over us for over 50 years, and have taken most of the money, are stupid.

I believe that we are now focused on this stupid shit Bersih 2.0 because they do not want anyone asking questions about the economy or about corruption or whatever the fuck.

As long as they stroke the opposition's ego and delusions of relevance and importance concerning Bersih 2.0, real issues are being shat on.

So remember, the more time we waste on Bersih 2.0, which is a GIANT waste of time, energy, money and whatever the fuck, I believe that someone, somewhere is laughing all the way to the bank.

Fuck Bersih 2.0. Hippie-wannabe motherfuckers can go suck my bulbous dick. Go take drugs, you sons of bitches! You're being fooled. Again. Psyche!

Let There Be Light

Before I continue my writintg, I just need to write just one thing that irritates me.

Sometimes, some people in this country talk about discrimination of religion and race without even stopping to think.

Recently, I read an alleged tweet by 5Xmom that said something like, "I think all Christians shud march for all the persecution they had done to us and our Lord."

Sounds like Jesus Christ was crucified by Malaysians. UMNO politicians made Jesus wear a crown of thorns, nailed his limbs to a wooden cross, and stabbed his belly with the Spear of Longinus.

This is the same kind of bullshit when some of my friends told me, "10,000 Indians are killed every day by the police."

Well, first of all, have you seen 10,000 Indians? Oh yeah, Hindraf. 10,000 Indians killed a day is like, 300,000 corpses a month. That's 3.6 million Indians a year. If this was true, in two years, Batu Caves would hold Thaipusam for tourists only.

The amount of paperwork involved would drown Bukit Aman. And we would have 36 million grieving Indians, after those two years. Malaysia only has 28 million people.

I'm not saying the Government is good. Hell, though I have no proof, I believe there are lots of hanky-panky going on. PKFZ, the sale of Pantai Medical which involved Fomema, whatever Khir Toyo did, those who profited during Pak Lah's brief but very impactful reign, Anwar Ibrahim's shenanigans when he was Finance Minister - all this shit warrants some sort of investigation or whatever the fuck.

There is so much shit that is probably going on, that why some people would want to go religious and racist on things is beyond me. Especially if the claims are far-fetched and fantastic. Not fantastic as in Fantastic Four, but fantastic as in bullshit. I don't get it.

So they tried (and failed) to ban Bibles in BM. BIG FUCKING DEAL. There are more distressing problems. Collectively, we have less jobs, with lower salaries, buying ever-increasing prices.

And some idiot politicians are telling us to 'change our lifestyle'? Fuck that shit, man. You lose your fancy million-dollar cars and then tell us to drive less. You go on a fucking diet, eating only stall food, and then you tell us to dump Delicious and Chilis and stop eating McDs.

I hate this economy of pain in politics. Whoever is experiencing more imaginary pain, gets more value. Fuck you. No one is in more pain than the poor. You think the real poor gives a shit about space gods or Arabic fashion?

Look, the real line in this country is neither religious nor racist. The line is between the rich and the poor. The rich became rich either through winning the lottery or they took money from poor people. That's it.

If you want to think about pain, think about all those people who make less than 1,000 and have to make do with shit jobs.

Food prices are going to spiral upwards. Oil is going to be more expensive. Jobs are going to be more scarce. These are real issues. Don't give me bullshit. Let's all think, TOGETHER, on how to take money from the rich, and give it to the poor.

Not you, not your auntie, not Datuk Seri S Samy Vellu's sister-in-law, but to the poor.

Fuck all you bullshit ideologies and shit. Fuck you. I don't care what you learned in Oxford, Harvard, Oxfam, Brown, King's COllege, Cambridge or wherever you sent your children to with money you stole from poor Malaysians. I am not impressed with your cars which you bought with blood money.

It is time that the poor rise up against the rich, and take what is ours to begin with.

Amir Hafizi: State of Affairs

Haven't been blogging for a while. I had a lot of stuff to do. Was working on three movies all at once, which is not the most number of movies anyone has worked on at the same time.

I just met a friend who is working on 8-12 movies this year alone.

I was also planning this next half of the year. I got some projects which I thought was dead and buried, when suddenly the call came and it's on like Donkey Kong.

Was offered some stuff, and we'll see how that pans out.

My book is on hiatus, but if I can navigate this very demanding month of July, I'll be writing it in August.

Been teaching at KDU and it has been a blast.

I also got a girlfriend. Strange. I always thought that I'd hook up with Scarlett Johansson or Natalie Portman or something.

And I NEVER believed I'd hook up with a Malay chick. Malay chicks are usually drama-magnet manipulators and I have always stayed away from them. Most of the time. But yeah, man. You never can tell.

We've been together for about three months, so it is far too soon to say anything yet.

I have also cleaned up my cloud of friends. Kept those who stood by me no matter what, eliminated those who don't even know the meaning of betrayal. Yeah, you're retarded, I get it. Now fuck off and die.

I am also thinking of the next major steps in my career. There are stuff I enjoy doing, and then there are things I no longer want to do. After Raya, all will be clear, I believe.

I have taken to Tiger Balm and Minyak Cap Kapak, as my workload gets thicker and thicker. I just need to presevere for the next few months and hopefully, by the end of the year, I could finally clear up some if not all of my debts.

In fact, I need to continue my writing now.

In short, it has been an extremely busy period, but I am over the bump now. I believe that the worst has come to pass.

See you after the jump.

Bersih: Big Fucking Deal

When Bersih 1.0 started, I stayed home and slept.

There was a guy who told us - the Press Club Irregulars - to not worry about the police, because the army is on standby to help the protesters out. Also, the Agong was for Bersih and stuff.

ANd that it was apolitical, that it would NOT be hijacked by asshole politicians to forward THEIR agenda.

I heard from people who actually marched, that the exact opposite happened. That no, the army was safely sleeping or marching in their camps, and at the last moment, asshole opposition politicians turned Bersih into a political rally.

So for Bersih 2.0, I was not excited at all. In fact, I hoped it would go away like a bad rash.

I do believe in freedom of speech, and I believe that people should be allowed to march and demand for clean elections. The last one was so dirty, the opposition won five states.

What I do not like are liars and people who would lie to get their shit on. And also those who would go about talking about rights as if they're the only ones with rights.

I mean, any rally will cause traffic congestion and impede on economic activities like buying a Big Mac or a Starbucks beverage and 'supporting Israel', or going for a massage with a handjob at the end.

Instead of KL, I agree with some quarters who are suggesting that any rally or march be done at Putrajaya. I mean, fuck KL. KL is congested, stupid and in my opinion, has been raped so many times for the benefit of the few.

Take it to Putrajaya and go to the PM's house or some shit. You can make a statement there. Then, send an asshole politician on a motorcycle to the palace and hand over a memorandum or some shit. Putrajaya has wide open roads and it's quite hard to jam it with cars.

If you REALLY want to do it in KL, I would very much like to go if the objective is to destroy as many expensive cars as we can.

Fuck abstract ideologies. Let's set a goal of 1,000 expensive cars destroyed every time we do a rally. That way, more will buy inexpensive Proton cars and help the NAP. That's National Automotive Policy, bitches.

Oh well. July 9 may still see Bersih. I dunno. I think it's dumb. Just airing your emotions or sentiments, you don't have to do rallies - just start a blog or something. You want to make a real difference, you have to start burning cars. And then shops. Then, homes. Then, we will REALLY see a difference.

Fuck Me

In Dune, Frank Herbert wrote that fear (which to me accounts for 90% of pain) is the mind-killer.

I am scared of many things. Like, for example, slime mold. Slime mold is basically the next step in evolution. Slime molds are like the monster in The Thing, except they move in slow motion and haven't learned how to infect people yet, but it's just a matter of time.

I am also afraid of the ocean. There are so many things we don't know about the ocean, and more things in it that we have no idea about.

Wracked with stress, pressure and fear, I puked a few days ago and developed severe migraines.

Today, I sat down and sifted through stuff that are the source of my distress. Actually, I am the source of everything, but you get the idea.

I am working towards eradicating my debts, and that has been taking all of my time. I see no rest period until Raya, which is dangerous. I need to take just a few days of rest, soon.

I am no good to anyone if I fall sick.

Other than that, there's people, and people can go fuck off and die. Some of them don't even understand the concept of betrayal or evil. They have the conscience of a starfish. And probably fuck like that too.

What I do, is I cut all the stupid shit in my life and just surge forward. The world keeps on turning, and everything reaches towards a balance. I sincerely believe that if you keep on doing good stuff, good things will happen to you.

Dwelling on fear is dumb. I just shrug sometimes. What can you do? Fighting anything makes it bigger, so I just go with it.

And I assure myself that the things giving me headaches are things I should be grateful for. I am not having headaches for the wrong reasons. In fact, I would rather have these headaches than having another type - headaches for nothing.

Personal Space: The Forbidden Frontier

Not many people understand the concept of personal space. Not surprising, but annoying all the same.

I was thoroughly surprised when an uneducated, seemingly uncouth man who works around my apartment complex today immediately apologised after he asked me whether I have found a job or not. I was touched that he understood the meaning of privacy.

Most people don't. Especially Malays. They simply ask how much you're making and try to pigeon-hole you into neat little shelves in their tiny little minds.

Another thing that gets to me is if people go through othr people's phones. To me, a phone is like exposed underwear. You don't go and check the label of your mother's bra, right? So, when it comes to phones, NO TOUCHY. No reading the phone from afar, either.

I was tweeting my girlfriend the other day (I'm not gay, yay!) and this asshole just kept trying to read my tweets. I keep my tweets public, yes, but I hate it when people try to read what I'm writing on my phone.

Look, I don't go around sniffing your mother's vagina, so I would appreciate it if you keep your nose out of my affairs.

It's really no big deal, but it is still annoying. I don't give a shit about your life, so please stay away from mine.