Tuesday, June 30, 2009


Mooooving Day! Ooh!

Moooving Day! Yay!

Super Duper Yummy!

And so it begins. I am moving to Bangsar. Damansara Heights is not really my style.
I'm a hip-hop motherfucker, not a Rock Star. Definitely not Punk or Punk'd enough like AKAB to live in Bangsar South.

We iz the shiznit, yo!

As a writer cum producer cum director (both kinds) cum motherfucker, I need a place that suits my style. So this morning, I paid my deposit and am now waiting for the movers to come and take it all away. Am definitely not doing any work today, though I did go for a meeting at 12 noon on the other side of town.

I have lived a nomadic lifestyle for far too long. In the past 11 years, I have stayed at 12 or 13 different places.

Starting with a small room at one of UM's residential colleges to a 900sqft apartment in Pantai Hillpark (with 9 other guys) to a few other Hillpark apartments to squatting at Cheepork's apartment at Bukit Angkasa, back to Hillpark and then off to Cheras and later Bukit Jalil.

Moved to Damansara Heights as a temporary measure and finally, off to Bangsar. Have always made Bangsar an area I can thrive in. I'm like Jack Hawksmoor, the God of the Cities, for Bangsar. Though my demeanour is more like 'The Doctor' Jeroen something-something.

And so am waiting...and waiting. They will come soon and I need to pack all the loose ends. My dishes, mugs, clothes that are lying on the floor, et cetera.

All my books are packed and ready to go. I'm not doing a Prospero.

Not giving up my books, man. No fucking way. People come and go. They grow old, they die. They betray you and chew you and spit you out the floor.

But my books, my comics, have remained with me, faithfully, forever. At least, they'll survive long after I've gone. The acidity of the pages ensuring they will not last for more than 50 years, about the time when newspapers would all probably be obsolete as print. Electronic paper is coming, which may be redundant with all handphones having access to the Internet.

As soon as I can have my PC set up at my new place, with access to the Internet, I'll be fine.

I've got four movies to do still, and quite a few TV series.

ALways been a gambler. We'll see where that leads me.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Tales from the Drunk Side: The Projects

I come from the projects.

My father did a project with my mother. And here I am.

I live on projects. I do projects. I also strive to get projects to create the world's first superhuman.

You would not believe how tired I am, after all my projects. I feel like sleeping for the rest of the decade.

But I won't. Cause I have projects to do.

Writers' Delight

Just finished work. At 4.34am.

So you wanna be a writing superstar? Big house, five cars?


Writers are liars, my dear. And as Anak Si Hamid puts it - writing is not a talent - it's a lot of hard work.


The people of my generation, when they first took to the Net way back in the mid to late 90s, when we all had personal websites, and no blogs (I made mine using an early version of Dreamweaver and notepad. Called it Marks in the Sand, hosted on a Geocities account. It had a Java applet that simulates the surface of water when you run your cursor over it, and used tempus and Morpheus fonts), most of them, it seemed, wanted so desperately to be understood.

Most were (and still are) gay. A lot more wanted to be told that they could write. To be appreciated and perhaps, discovered.

Well, when you learned to write in primary school, you can write. And no one is going to appreciate you. No one. Except yourself.

In those early days, I went online in search of material and also to get my stuff peer reviewed.

There was a website called Helium Peer-review and I used to post my short stories there. It was a site to get feedback on your writings, and to read articles by published authors.

I also joined several writers' forums.

They were good resources for beginners. I learned about the agent system. And about publishing houses and what they do with crank or slush piles(they let it slush for decades).

I received advice from some editors. One of them was a Jewish woman living in Israel. Her name was Elise Teitelbaum, the editor for a right-wing American website.

I had written an unfinished short story about the Jewish people in Auschwitz, in the gas chambers which I turned into radiation chambers. And using Schrodinger's cat theory on calculating half-life and the excellent potential of a life form in dual states of life and death at the same time, wanted to do a classic sci-fi piece.

She thought the story was remarkable simply for the fact that I, a Muslim(more or less), wrote it.

I was just tickled by the fact that a Jewish person had read it. And was not offended (by that time, I had gotten myself kicked out of local forums for antagonising a lot of people, especially PIS people).

So anyway, I wasn't looking to be discovered. Well, yes, but not like a Cinderella fantasy like most of the people writing online at the time.

I was more interested in the processes. The hows. I couldn't give a fuck as to 'who', which to me was unfair and bullshit.

I learned of Project Guttenberg and LiteraryClassics.com and the Elf Sternberg Mind Control Story Archive(porn lit, called erotica). And I read a lot of that.

In high school, I used to write 15 short stories a year. Most of them never published. In college, all throughout, I only wrote three. I did a lot of outlines for animated series, though. And comics, of course.

I have been carrying those around for 10 years now. Recently, I saw an opportunity present itself and offered the stories up to some artists. Two are going into the character design stage. I do not know whether they will actually deliver, but it is fun to share my stories - tales that I have kept for so long.

I believe that until I can make at least one of them work, I won't be able to finish any other story.

I want to be published internationally. The comics. My stories, with my name on it. I have done almost everything I could as a writer in Malaysia. I wrote articles, books, TV scripts, animation scripts and full feature film scripts. I even wrote a few ads, as a favour.

These stories, I believe, won't be able to find a home in Malaysia. It could be offensive to a lot of people here. And the comics industry in Malaysia is not as robust as elsewhere.

There might be money, or there might not be. I don't care. It is a childhood dream and I aim to fulfill it.

The stories are simple. Hey, I was 19.

One is a noir private detective shit that actually talks about something else.

Another is an attempt to combine all South-East Asian mythologies into one story.

The third is a sci-fi fantasy with environmental issues and human greed blablabla. You know?

Hey, I was 19. If anyone asks, that's my standard reply.

Me: hey, I was 19 when I wrote those, man. What did I know?

Actually, quite a bit. I've been reading. A lot. I used the Internet as a source of information and instead of researching parse trees online, I was soaking up information on comics and comics writers.

Decided to become a journalist cause Neil Gaiman failed to publish his stories, too, and became a journalist for eight years before he wrote Black Orchid. Time is running out for me, man.

If fortune favours the bold (me), I will be posting perhaps the first issue online. And then scour around for a publisher to take it. Hopefully Karen Berger from DC's Vertigo imprint.

Oh well. It always has been a long shot. We'll see what happens.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Misfits of Science: Eye of Thundera

My mother just called from Kuantan.

In the middle of my father's oat dinner, his right eyelid, the nerves of which were affected by the stroke, opened voluntarily, after five weeks.

Amidst an excited report from my mother, my heart did a skip.

Score for science! AND God.

While my siblings and I researched frantically on the net on how stroke patients recover, and arranging a low-cholesterol, low sodium, low sugar diet, my mother was praying dilligently to God for my father's health.

Seems that our double-pronged approach worked.


Fuck off stupidity! Move over ignorance!

We are the misfits of science! Science! TESLA!


My intention is only to get him to walk unaided again. Maybe drive his tractor.

And start a spice mine of Kessel. I mean, start a spice field.


The Gulf

So after taking care of my father's medical needs a few days ago, we went to Teluk Cempedak.

The last time I was there, on the beach, was 21 years ago. I was 8 years old.

My mother had brought food. Nasi lemak.

We went in the morning as my father was - and still is - an early riser.

We stayed in the car because the beach was too hot.

And I had a paper plate of nasi lemak, in the back seat of an Opel Kadett.

From then on, I never considered Kuantan as a beach town.

It was always rows and rows of old buildings and a dirty, dusty bus station to me.

There were two KFCs, in the 90s, on top of one resided tran-sexuals who would often patrol the sidewalk in front of the fast-food restaurant in search of customers.

The trannies have an annual beauty pageant, and they would usually go home drunk, fighting with each other.

As one of my siblings witnessed on some nights. She stayed above a mamak restaurant nearby.

This time, though, I was impressed with Teluk Cempedak's off-white sands.

It was clean, well-maintained by the workers there.

A far cry from the hot, unwelcoming beach in my youth.

There is practically nothing there, just the way I like my beaches.

Just some people and lifeguards.

You always need lifeguards on Kuantan beaches.

The waves can be quite turbulent and unforgiving. Just several weeks ago, five people drowned - one of them, a young kid - was pulled by the currents in front of me.

He had not strayed far, but the Cherating waters was in the middle of the monsoon season, and the waves can be killers.

Still, I had not thought much of Kuantan, over the years.

I was too busy trying to get away from the damned place.

My family is there, and they taught half the town.

If I hung out there long enough, my movements would all be reported back to base.

That is not something I want, and that is why I hardly ever go back to my hometown.

I do not want to be known. I am a last child, which means I have no issues with attention. I had too much already.

My thing, was freedom. And in Kuantan, I never felt free.

I had aspirations to leave the country. And never return.

It wasn't until a year ago, I think, when I had several opportunities to migrate, that I made my decision.

I was to go to Switzerland or Germany. That WAS my big plan.

Further along in the interviews, I felt something amiss.

Something wasn't right.

I cannot allow idiots to run free here.

That would be like leaving a drowning man helpless, without at least calling for help. Or organise a swim party.

And yes, a lot of Malaysians are drowning in a sea of stupid. Stupid actions and stupid people as well as stupidity itself.

And I believe that if it is not taken care of, then the waves could destroy the world.

Well, not as dramatic, but every little bit helps, said the old woman who pissed in the sea.

And so I let the wind from Teluk Cempedak engulf me. And make a vow, to make things work here.

I'm staying to fight. For myself. Not for other people. Not for the backstabbers or the idiots or ingrates or the wannabe manipulators.

I am staying, for me. Little ol' homicidal me.

Plus, there's always Thailand.


Scenes of the Father: Farming

Was having a smoke with my father, when he started to talk about animals.

Father: I hate those stupid buffaloes in Africa. They should get together, organise themselves, and start killing lions.

Me: But that's the natural order. Lions kill buffaloes.

Father: It shouldn't be. The buffaloes are bigger, and have horns. They should bathe their horns in lions' blood!

Me: This sounds like Animal Farm.

F: Oh, I bought that book. When I started English school.

Me: Really? Why did you buy it? Was it part of the curriculum? It was part of mine, in Secondary school.

F: Nope. I bought it, because I thought it would be easy to read. You know, animals. Farm.

Me: It isn't that simple. It is about Leon Trotsky and Stalin and Russia.

F: I thought it was going to be like the Old McDonald song. You know? Old McDonald had a pig, blablablablabla?

Me: Well, there were pigs. Like in Babe. They talk. A lot.

F: Things were a lot simpler back then, you know? Coffee was one cent per glass. The richest guy around these parts was Phua Ah Heng. He started working at 20 cents a day. He would save four cents a day and send it back to China. Then he became extraordinarily rich.

Me: How?

F: He's Chinese.

Me: Okay.

F: We, Malays, have nothing else other than this land. This country. And don't you forget it.

Me: But...you're Chinese.

F: Yeah, but according to the Constitution, I am Malay.

Me: More Malay than I am.

F: What was that?

Me: Nothing. Nothing. Say, I was thinking that since most of these poor folk in our kampung have nothing else save for their land, maybe we should get them to plant stuff. I'll find the markets for them.

F: The easiest is papaya. Just plant them near their drains. And it bears fruits for years and years. And lemongrass. Also near drains. We live near a swamp, so those things could work.

Me: Hey, that could work!

F: No. It won't.

Me: Why?

F: Because these people are lazy. You see what they do? They go out at dawn to tap rubber. Then they go back home at 12 noon. Then? They start their motorcycles and just go around the village.

Me: Okay, I get it. They're stupid. So it's up to the smart ones to think for them.

F: You think they will thank you for it?

Me: Am not doing it for the thanks.

F: They will hate you for it. A fellow Malay, who can see things they cannot? Who can do things they cannot? They will kill you, you know?

Me: They'll have to catch me first.

F: Forget helping other people. Help yourself. Get a car. Get a proper property. And get a shotgun. Protect yourself.

Me: Okay. I'll get those things. THEN, I'll do something for these poor people. They're so poor, it's annoying me. It's extremely ANNOYING.

Racism. Again.

Read it here.

Apparently, Sin Chew Jit Poh and Utusan Malaysia are trading introductory blows against each other.

Testing the waters, I believe.

This is why, instead of a box of condoms, I bought a machete.


Look, we don't need this shit. The world is still recovering from a global economic crisis. If Obama and friends can't get the world economy back on track, we might be facing a world war.

And here we are, trading racist barbs against each other. Why can't we just fuck each other in the ass, in the privacy of our bedrooms, and be done with it?

Interracial fucking is STILL the key. When you fuck someone from another race, I believe, perhaps erroneously, it is impossible for you to hate that race completely.

I do not hate Thais, Kiwis, Aussies, Chinese, Malays, Javanese, Estonians, Vietnamese, etc.

And I do think we should all stop hating, and start fucking.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Spice Garden

One of the better exercises for old people would be to maintain a spice garden.

Basil, chives, rosemary, etc.

Upon mooting the idea, my father immediately suggested that we make 10-feet rows on the land and plant them.

Effectively turning the spice garden into a spice field.

He would drive his tractor and spray the plants with chemicals.

Effectively ruining the plans for an all-natural, healthful diet.

So, I said no. We should start with a small, hydroponic project. Or just use the hydroponic containers and fill them with soil.

We will supply the plants.

If my father's green thumb manifests again, he could start supplying the supermarkets with our own Bukit Kuin spices.

The villagers can raise free-range chicken. Farm-fresh eggs.

Hence, the spice project could very well be the answer to:

1. My father's food and exercise concerns, preventing him from doing heavy duty stuff.

2. Start an industry for the poor.

After testing soil conditions, humidity and temperature, we might see a spice industry in Malaysia, for the poor with land.

Spice Wars

Chicken only goes well with thyme and rosemary.

My experiments with basil and oregano were not successful in yielding tasty dishes. The tastes conflicted with each other and the tumeric just caused the Spice Wars.
Noticing small improvements in my father's movements.

He is either more comfortable with his imbalance, or the medication is working, or simply he is recovering.

Fourth, or perhaps fifth stroke, as revealed by the MRI.

Still smoking two to three packs a day. Still stubborn as hell. Wants to drive his tractor around.

He is more receptive to new food. Having oats more regularly, which could have a significant impact on his cholesterol levels. We will see, when tests are conducted in two months' time.

Am having a chat with him right now about the Theory of Evolution.

While I believe in evolution, I believe that evolution can be sped up somewhat by individual effort.

I believe that everyone has a say in how things will unfold. Everyone is a snowflake in an avalanche.

And if I had it my way, Malaysia will be the prostitution central of the world.

Friday, June 26, 2009

The Malay Male Family Values: Blood of the Ancients

My father can walk, but not so well. He can talk, but not so good.

He can eat on his own, put on his own clothes, and he can walk with the help of a walker.

A few weeks ago, when I heard he had another stroke, I seriously thought he was going to die.

I thought this was going to be the last birthday he was going to have. If he's lucky, a last raya later this year.

I am not a family man. In fact, I hate the pretentiousness of most families.

I hate it when parents use their children as insurance policies.

I hate the way some Malays put family above everything else. Not as a philosophy or a belief, but so others would look up to them.

I hate the falseness. The facade. The farce.

When it comes to my own parents, it is not about me.

I made a decision long ago (three years) to be there for them, not for me 'not regretting' later in life, and not for most other Malays to be fooled and think I hold to the same values they do.

I don't. I don't think getting married and having children - breeding - as my ultimate purpose in life.

I no longer hold it against them, but I still think it is frivolous and unnecessary. Just that I try not to judge those who do not agree with my views.

I do my best for my ailing father, because I want to. As simple as that.

Not for other people's approval. The fuck can I do with approval? Can I eat approval? Can I wipe my ass with approval?

Not because I want to pretend that my family is excellent or even normal. Well, we are normal in the sense that we are just as dysfunctional as any other family. 85 per cent of families are dysfunctional, said a survey quoted on TV.

My family does not value sweet, fake gestures of affection. We are practical people, and fierce individualists. We handle things, each in our own way.

Our ancestors were pirates and spiritual teachers. We came from Pattani, Celebis, Makasar, Guangzhou.

We are descended from the noble Bugis pirates, Pattani preachers and Cantonese landowners.

We will kill all of you.

Executioner's Song

There were jams in Kuantan.

No, not fruit preserves. Traffic congestion.

It delayed our arrival at home.

The dinner deadline was looming.

So we rushed into the kitchen with ingredients.

My sibling did the Fusilli with chicken and mushroom, without the mushroom. We couldn't find good button mushrooms, so we did the gravy without the missing ingredient.

I was in charge of the chicken.

My father is a very picky eater, so I planned to combine eastern and western spices together.

I first rubbed the chicken breasts - skin and fat removed - with lemon juice. Made sure every part was exposed.

Then, added a bit of tumeric - I was not sure about this cause I had bad experiences with tumeric before.

Thyme, basil (picked fresh from the plant) salt, pepper, olive oil and chilli powder.

Put everything in aluminum foil and baked it at 220 degrees Celsius for 40 - 60 minutes.

For the sauce, I made salsa.

Three ripe tomatoes, red chilli pepper, yellow chilli pepper, half an onion, thyme and basil are all blended together in lemon juice.

It would have been better if they were chunky, but the blender we had was primitive.

Then, after adding some apple cider vinegar, I chilled the concoction in the fridge.

The result was not bad, but the tumeric ruined the chicken, in my opinion.

Will never mix tumeric with other spices again.

In the end, I made healthful dishes for my father and hope to have lowered his cholesterol and blood sugar levels.

The Menu

Just had my nap.

Am going out to get some ingredients. Cooking dinner tonight.

The menu?

For entree, mushroom spaghetti.

Main course is grilled chicken with salsa.

And for dessert, tasteless crackers that smell like chicken feed and cardboard, with diabetic jam.

The nap showed me how tired I was.

However, as the midfield dynamo, I will not relent.


Try to find Tandoori chicken in Kuantan, at 11am.

They only start at 12 or 1.

The doctor's visit was okay. Next appointment is a month from now.

Oh, and Michael Jackson is dead.

My father is still alive.

My father WINS!


At the hospital. Waiting for the very capable Dr Ooi.

He wants to see how my father has been since two weeks ago.

Hopefully, some blood and urine tests will show improvement.

Face Duster

My parents - Wolverine and Scarlet Witch - have always complained about cleaning the fans.

As in, the fan blades.

It was a major source of drama.

So we got them microfibre flexible dusters.

Something that can clean the blades easily.

Breakfast conversations turn to how I can't seem to have a poker face.

Apparently, even at my normal rest state, my face seems to either be angry or smirking with condescencion.

So my face, as I hold a flexible microfibre duster is this morning's source of comedy.

What can I do? My face has always been like that. Oh well.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Old Man Logan

After four known strokes, and having damaged his sense of balance as well as eyesight, my father is adamant at driving his tractor to plow the land.

Stubborn old man.

There is nothing I can do or say to dissuade him. So the next order of business is to ensure that the path of the tractor is not obstructed with, say, a house. Our house.

So, his body has not yet fully recovered. Balance problems and eyesight problems.

And yet, he remains the stubborn man I have known for three decades.

Stubborn, resolute and extremely righteous.

Oh well. I guess anyone who has ever been in my situation would understand.

How old people change their demeanour as they age even further.

Am taking him for a follow-up tomorrow and we shall see his levels and other things.

He's telling stories of Communists and drunk Indians. And how the Malays fought the Japanese during the Second World War.

I am listening, wondering if some day I can make a film based on his colourful tales.

I will lie down soon. Need all the rest I can get. For tomorrow is another day.

Noir in the Afternoon

So I ran some last errands at Bangsar, then went to PJ.

Take a walk down the streets of Section 14, and you wish Section 9* would come and get your ass. Get the Major** to tie you up and beat you senseless.

I remember this side of town. It was the first part of town I saw when I came to KL in 1998 to register at a UM residential college and was told by Guy Behind the Desk that that day was 'chicken rice day' at the dining hall and he is to go and eat something he did not pay for and that I was keeping him from those fantastic plates of haram chicken rice.

He told me I couldn't move in unless I brought three passport-sized photos and photocopies of all my documents. I spied a copier behind him, and he immediately said it was broken. He wouldn't even let me set down my luggage much less get the keys in advance.

All because of free chicken rice at the dining hall.

So, I went to Section 14 and got it all done in half an hour and went back just in time to bug the guy as he was on his second plate of chicken rice.

I was walking down old, familiar roads, with the addition of fallen rubble from the latest Section 14 tragedy, when God bodyslammed four massage parlours down my path.

Tried as I might, I couldn't resist and popped into one with the most Thai women inside.

"Massage sir?"

Two hours for RM80.

During the massage, the lady started pointing to her bulging biceps and muscular back.

"I massage, hap many mussels."

"Okay. Good. Then you'd be strong."

"No, not st-tong. Just hap."

Two hours later, I exited and, as a mark of remembrance, went and had a chicken rice dish for lunch at KFC.

Made many phone calls, putting the final pieces in place. I am off to Kuantan today and will only be back Saturday. I am pushing some of my associates to the fore. to take over my duties from me, and today was a trial for one of them.

Passed with flying colours. He asked for all the right information and was quick to act when stumbling upon anything he did not understand or was unclear with. And he was 15 minutes AHEAD of schedule.

Nowadays, for my projects, I only work with people I can rely on. Other people, no matter how good they claim to be, if they don't deliver, then fuck off and die. I got my own shit to handle and though I can give information when needed, I can't be forcing everything down everyone's throats. And damn me to hell if I'm going to take responsibility for other people's fuck-ups.

On my way back, I had an invigorating fight with a ninja and a masterless Samurai. Took a cab, and now on my way to Kuantan - the heart of darkness.

* GiTS*** - Ed

** Major Motoko Kusanagi from GiTS - Ed

*** Ghost in the Shell, manga and anime, Masamune Shirow

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Layman Cometh

Trouble never hangs around!

When they hear this mighty sound!

Here I come to save the daaaay!

He's Mighty Mouse and he's flaming gaaaaay!

The Gainax Bounce

So I am having lunch at Nirwana Maju - my favourite banana leaf place - when a series of good looking women paraded past.

All of them, it seems, have done away with wireframe bras and are wearing either minimal support undergarments or no bras at all.


Cause all of them have the Gainax bounce.

Boing boing!

Oh my Science!

There's a young guy in front of me now and he has a mullet. A fucking mullet!

And his friend is wearing low-ride jeans with Celvin Klain [sic] underwear.

Let's find some boobs.

I turn to the girl on my right.

Me: Do you have boobies?

Girl: What?

Me: Boobs. Tits. Breasts. Funbags. Dirtypillows. Mammaries. Sacks of adipose tissue which converts blood into milk. Tetek. Kopek. Nen nen. Oppai. Buah dada. Do you have them?

Girl: Wow. You got some balls.

Me: No one can resist my Schweaty Balls.



Oh no! A flat-chester grandmother just walked past. I lost my appeTIT for masturbation.

Soldier of the Wheel

And I can hear the sound, of the windmill goin' roooouuun'...

Having lunch. The world is shut down for a while. Will be restarted soon.

Round and round it goes...

At the windmill, I see giants, kidnapping hos.

Nama Baru Aku

Bosan la nama lama.

Sekarang, aku nak semua orang panggil aku Tony Tony Chopper. Ya. Tony Tony Chopper.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Aku, Zaiton Sameon

Manalah korang tau susah penat aku?

Pagi tadi, aku bangun dan dah terpacul, cuba menghidupkan cerita yang bagi aku dah mati. Kena repair, tampal, balut, pastu papah dia berjalan. Kalau production lain, dia mungkin henjut je.

"Audience malaysia ni bodoh." Kata mereka.

"Buat benda bodoh pun, diorang tengok." kata mereka.

"Aku tak bodoh pun?" Aku cakap, sambil melancap.

"Tengok ni, ko nak pandai? Aku quote Aristotle: Pompuan duk ghumah je lah! Oops. Tak pandai sangat. Okeh. Socrates: Orang pandai patut bunuh diri. ALamak! Bodohnya! Okay, pemfalsampah kegemaran aku - Plato: Kuda wujud sebagai kuda idea dalam kepala hotak kita. Ehh?"

Oklah oklah.

Memandangkan ramai orang fikir orang Malaysia ni bodoh, aku cari orang yang kerjanya bukan atas dasar perbincangan sama ada audience Malaysia ni bodoh atau tidak. Tetapi karya itu sendiri - pandai atau tidak?

Orang bodoh? Pergi mampus! Orang pandai? Pun pergi mampus! Kepandaian manusia tidak relevan dalam karya yang jujur. Sekurang-kurangnya jujur kepada diri sendiri. Kalau kau bodoh, buatlah karya bodoh. Kalau kau pandai, buatlah karya pandai.

Lepas bergelumang dengan krisis existensial yang memang sial dalam karya, aku bergegas ke rumah yang menyediakan makan percuma. Makan mi rebus Johor.

Dua pinggan aku sapu, lepas tu aku ke unit apartmen yang aku ingin sewa, kat Bangsar. Takde perabot, sebab aku dah ada perabot sikit.

Kena pasang pemanas air dengan booster, dan juga satu unit pendingin hawa.

Lepas tu aku tolong jual rumah.

Lepas tu aku makan, pastu balik.

Pastu aku tulis email. Punyalah penat, lepas aku hantar baru aku sedar yang aku tersalah bubuh tajuk. Hantar la balik email pembetulan. Kalau aku dah penat dan berserabut kepala hotak, mulalah buat silap sana sini.

Kawasan aku kerja pun dah carca-marba. Aku cuma akan kemas masa aku nak pindah nanti. Antara mengatur susur galur perniagaan aku supaya boleh dikawal secara jauh dalam masa seminggu dua nanti, sambil mencari rumah baru dan juga kesibukan aku menyiapkan kerja aku yang bertimbun, dan mengejar bayaran, aku sememangnya kekurangan masa.

Rehat pun aku sukat dalam masa jam-jam saja.

Dan sekarang, sebelum aku membuat apa-apa kesalahan lagi, aku harus tidur untuk dua jam sebelum bangun pukul 12 tengah malam untuk meneruskan perjuangan aku menulis skrip.

Minggu depan, aku akan jadi ahli SWAM. Kot.

Seribu Pedang Pulang Ke Asal


Aku akan pindah balik ke Bangsar.

Dulu, aku duduk dekat dengan Bangsar. Pantai Dalam yang sekarang digelar Bangsar South.

Aku pergi tengok rumah tadi, dan aku ok je. Kena tambah air con dengan water heater yang ada pam.

Aku jugak mungkin akan kembali menulis untuk publication.

Aku jugak akan kembali ke Kuantan minggu ni pasal nak bawak bapak aku jumpa doktor.

Bapak aku memang macam Wolverine.

Apa aje dia kena, dia recover balik. Macam ada healing factor.

Old Man Logan habis.

Aku buat apa termampu untuk tolong dia recover.

Yang lain memang dia kena buat sendiri la. Kalau aku dah buat plan makanan sihat, dia taknak ikut, aku takleh buat apa-apa.

Degil tahap maksimum. Tak. Degil tahap kesempurnaan.

Aku pakai 999,999hp pun tak kalah.

Nak buat macamana?

Bapak aku memang keras hati. Keras kepala. Syaitan pun tak sanggup.

Aku suka fikir yang aku ada kedegilan yang sama. Cuma mungkin kebelakangan ni aku dah belajar lepaskan je bebenda yang tak perlu.

Aku tak perlukan drama. Aku tak perlukan emosi. Aku tak perlukan beban orang lain yang diorang nak aku galas.

Kerja aku, kerja aku. Tanggungjawab aku, tanggungjawab aku.

Pergi mampuslah hal orang lain.

Ada bulu jubur aku kisah?

Aku buat apa yang perlu. Apa dalam skop jagaan aku.

Yang lain? Pedulittaik aku?

Orang yang menyebabkan aku buntu dan runsing tanpa sebab munasabah boleh pergi mampus.

Orang yang tolong aku masa aku susah, aku takkan lupa.

Yang hanya nak jadi kawan aku masa aku senang, masa aku berkuasa, boleh jilat jubur taik aku. Dan aku akan ada cirit-birit.

Aku cuma akan buat benda yang menggembirakan aku.

Consequences be damned.

Mabuk-mabuk Kepayang: Kesedihan Tidak Terperi; Kegeraman Terbuku di Hati

Aku ingat taknak tidur malam ni. Nak berjaga, tulis skrip sampai ke pagi.

Dah nak siap dah, tapi secara tiba-tiba aku rasa lain macam la cerita ni.

Memang sejak aku mula, aku rasa macam keras sikit. Dan walaupun kalau aku siapkan dan hantar macam tu je, aku boleh dapat duit lagi banyak, aku tak boleh. Pasal struktur dia dah salah.

Perwatakan dia jadi cam hancur, pasal dia punya aturan dah macam tak kena.

Kalau aku pentingkan duit, aku siapkan aje. Sikit je lagi pun. Bukannya banyak. Kepantasan aku menulis memang lagenda habis. Keyboard baru setiap dua bulan, beb. Aku hebat gila.

Tapi tak boleh la. Aku kena start balik. Cari dia punya asal-usul. Mana boleh hantar skrip cam cibai je. Nanti, kalau cerita cam sial, kang filem nya lagilah pukimak.

Rasa angkuh aku terhadap karya aku dan kehebatan aku menghalang aku daripada menghantar sesuatu yang macam puki hanjing.

Jadi, aku tulis e-mail bagi penjelasan kenapa skrip ni tak boleh siap pagi ni (sebenarnya, dah agak siap, tapi aku takkan tunjuk kat sesapa pasal tak best), dan apa yang aku hendak tukar. Juga aku sertakan deadline baru untuk aku.

Lagipun, bukannya dia nak shoot minggu depan. AKu masih ada masa untuk membetulkan keadaan.

Masa-masa macam nilah, walaupun aku rasa bodoh dari segi kewangan (hantar je lah. Pedulittaik kalau tak best? Janji duit.), tapi aku rasa macam mamat dalam Hamlet 2 masa dia cakap, "Artistic integrity...ahhh!"

Integriti habis. Sebelum kemunculan aku, mana ada sesapa yang ada integriti? Aku yang cipta integriti. Gila babi best la aku ni. AKulah manusia paling best dalam dunia.

(Ada la mamat bodoh yang fikir aku serius masa tulis benda kat atas. Pukimak mak bapak ko lah.)

Tapi aku kena tulis cerita ni lagi sekali.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Cajun Pawaaarrr!

So here I am, at a pub, drinking yet another pint of Genius juice.

The club is empty, save for a few regulars.

I sip my drink.

Earlier, I realised, too late, that I wore my shirt like Zami Ismail the entire day.

Oh well.

That's the way wind blows.

I have things set for the week. Deadlines again to meet.

I will be responsible for the people working with me. And to my work.

I'll be off to Kuantan again. To handle my father's doctor's appointment.

That would be Thursday. Have meetings on Wednesday. Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines.


Strange story. Karma, maybe?

But I've been paying for my father's medical expenses, right?

So I was in Kuantan, and the NSTP Koop people called up.

Apparently, they have been getting money from me every month for the past few years.

The accumulated amount is close to how much I spent on the medical expenses.

Money comes down from the sky.

I am the power of good and the way of the magic.

There's the procedure he has to go through and hundreds every month for the medication.

But I'll find money. I always find money.

Finding money is not like finding God or some shit like that.

But I've worked hard all these years. There are payments somewhere.

To pay the hospitals, PTPTN and the hookers.

Money is abundant. Money comes down from the sky.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Drop My Water Face Only

Some people ask me why I didn't go to Indonesia for my...trips.

Truth be told, I am intrigued. But...I am quite embarrassed.

Nirmala Bonat. Manohara.

And the way some people treat Indonesians here makes me embarrassed.

I mean, just like Mohd Mohd Taib, they're HUMAN BEINGS!

Sure, some rogues go and rob and kill Malaysians. But that's no reason to treat all of them like animals.

And most importantly, drop my water face only.


For God's sake, don't iron anyone's nipples off, okay?

Pay them their wages. Lest one day you have to be a maid at a rich Indonesian's house.

I know these are isolated cases. But they can be blown to major media shit things.

And again, drop my water face only.

The Outdoor Adventures of the Famous Boron - the World's Most Boring Man!

I am outside at the moment. Just completed a meeting, where I compressed a usual 2 hour endeavour into just 20 minutes.

I have always believed that meetings should be short, succint and to the point.

Just yes, no, all right, how much and done!

But that's just me. Other people might work best under different circumstances.

In 80s Japan, for instance, the ancient bosses would prefer to spend hours contemplating before making any overt offers and decisions.

In 80s US, some companies hold 5 minute meetings.

At an old company I worked, we have meetings once a year, at a mid-range restaurant.

It's not treated like a meeting, but more as a 'thing where friends and family get together and kill each other'.

Anyway, I called my potential housemate and said that I may be living, sans housemate, in Bangsar.

But the housemate is welcome to come over and use my apartment as a halfway house.

Can even stay there, if the housemate's stuff stays somewhere else.

Am at an old apartment, waiting for the landlady to give me my deposit.

I varnished the parquet and installed a hand bidet. And paid 500 dollars worth of bills. She better give me my deposit back. Which is why I am also getting my machete back only today. The machete is under the sink.

If I get pissed off, all I can say is - "it was done in self defense!"

After this, I need to go to Bangsar and deposit my cheque.

And then back home, to finish a script and start on my other project.

This project has me working with two other people, but it feels like I'm doing everything on my own.

Which means, what?, MOAR money for meh?

Naahhh. I will be missing soon, so they will have to pick up the slack.

It's a give and take, I guess. I know I can rely on them.

Wednesday, I am expecting some cheques. They have been due for some time, and I hope everything is okay.

Also, I got an interesting SMS which I can only respond to when I get to a place with Internet connection.

I have also revived my comics projects. Hopefully, I can pitch to Image and enter DC's comics competition by the end of the year. Maybe even publish it in Singapore.

So, lots of things on my mind and my plate. But I believe that if I keep on doing 20 minute meetings, I can probably make sure everything runs like clockwork, even with added responsibility.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

For Rodek

Who could be gay.

For Cheepork and Tapai

...who are currently in Bangkok.

Remember that if you go for minors, your ass belongs to Interpol.

The Layman Cometh: Been There, Done That

I'll be the first to admit that I don't know jack shit about politics. Especially Malaysian politics.

I don't know much, but I know entertainment. And Malaysian politics has lost its entertainment value.

And yet, as the world's leading political analyst, I must say that I sense the farce is reaching a plateau.

Like a Paris Hilton upskirt photo, Malaysian politics no longer pack that much of a punch, when it comes to drawing attention from crowds.

As it always is, after a time.

Look at the the freedom afforded by the Internet. When Malaysians first took to it for their political needs, some time towards the end of the last century, some people couldn't pry themselves away from it for more than a few hours. There are always something to be done, something to read and other shit to do. Babychedet pictures to super-impose, people to say fuck to.

And then, it was passe. It was boring. It was yesterday's news. Kertas belacan already.

I no longer swear as much, because when you do too much of that, or if too many people do it, it ceases to be cool, and becomes cliched.

Remember when 'unplugged' versions of classic songs, like Eagles' entire repertoire was the order of the day? And when rockers came out with full orchestral accompaniment?

It was there one day, and the next day, it's out.

Fads, man. Fads.

The same rules apply, perhaps in the layman view of politics.

It used to be exciting to try and kill Pak Lah's tenure as a PM. Having arguably achieved that, or helped in its demise, online writers have not much else to do.

There is no big target to unify everyone. So some decided to fight with their peers. Ho-hum. Where have I seen this before?

The Internet itself is not a fad. The Internet has fads. And politics is fast-becoming a huge meme.

Consider what's on offer today.

RPK, after vowing to die in police custody, practically killed his own credibility by staying alive.

Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim might also pull an RPK and run away with his tail between his legs. July 1st is fast approaching and Anwar might kill his political career if he decides to tuck tail and run.

The smart thing to do would be to prop himself as a victim. get jailed for a few years, and let PR use his imprisonment as a rallying call for voters.

As a firebrand, he can't afford to allow sentiments to die down under an incoming avalanche of apathy. Firebrands, as a rule, can only strike when things are hot. If things simmer to a slow cook or even to tepid temperatures, his edge is gone.

There was a rumoured fight between Dr M and Najib. That would have been the final nail in the coffin of BN as a ruling party. Dr M's loyalists, the Degeneration M, will take his lead and mock Najib's administration to death.

But the fight never happened.

Even the racists are tired. Haven't heard anything overtly racist for the past few months, though it must be said I was busy with other shit.

PIS' muktamar was uneventful. The worst thing you could do to a politician is to tell them no one gives a fuck. And nothing much has been said about their AGM. WHo won, anyway? Husam? Nash? Sabu? Does anyone give a fuck?

Even the divas of politics - the drama queens - are silent. Where is KJ? Karpal Singh? Gobind? LGE? LKS? LKY? Is it merely the eye of the storm as the players catch their breaths for an ultimate onslaught? Or have they run out of ideas already?

BN politicians are not saying much, which is their smartest move yet. Going by history, BN politicians seem to be born with both feet rammed fown their throats. Most are not the most intelligent of speakers, and I suspect someone up there gave orders to shut the fuck up. There's also the threat of the six-month KPI challenge.

One wrong sentence, and the vultures will have a reason to call for their ousting.

And what of the Perak issue? What the fuck happened? Who won? If Nizar won, then where's the statewide elections?

Malaysian politics is now like day-old soda. It's boring, lifeless, got no gas, lost its pizzaaz.

Oh well. Good riddance to bad garbage. Fuck off and die.

Saturday, June 20, 2009


First PC I ever used was a 386. I don't know the specs, cause I only used it to play Karateka. I was 10, which is by today's standards quite late to get into the thing. My nephew played Counterstrike when he was six years old, and I've seen web design competitions for 12 year olds with the entries lightyears ahead of today's so-called experts.

First PC in my home was my brother's, a 486 machine complete with a dot matrix printer. I played an A-10 'Warthog' Tank Killer simulation on that machine.

In 1996, my father decided to jump on the computer bandwagon. So he bought a Pentium-S CPU machine (133 MHz processor) with 16MB EDO RAM, a 2GB harddisk and a 14.4 kbps modem.

And so, I was online since 1996. Though I did look for porn on the school computer in 1994.

Anyway, that Pentium-S machine, got me porn, man. And even though it would take three hours to download a 30 second RealPlayer clip, I went and made sure I got the shit. At 14.4kbps, the most it could do was download pictures, but I managed. Porn, finds a way.

In 1999, I asked for funds to buy my own computer. My brother helped out and I got a Pentium III 833MHz CPU with 20GB harddisk and I can't remember the RAM.

No Internet, man. Just a computer.

I used that machine for four years. Even installed Lightwave 3D on it and made some 3D movies.

Eventually, I cannibalised my friend's PC and upgraded my computer to a Pentium 4 machine with a flatscreen monitor. Even had to buy a new power supply cause the PS433 motherboard needed more juice.

Right now, I upgraded my PC to have 4GB of RAM and is now using a dual-core processor.

I am thinking of getting a new machine, later this year. Maybe after Raya.

I mean, my speakers are eight years old. Need a new one. Am also thinking of going quad-core, and seeing how much RAM I can slot into a new motherboard. Probably 1TB hard drive.

Using a PC has been good to me cause I only upgrade as and when I need it. If I had used a Mac, I would have to suck cock just to buy a stupid fucking keyboard.

PCs have lots of USB ports. Mine has six, or eight. Two in front, and more at the back. I have an AGP slot for graphics, and this motherboard also has the backwards compatible PCI slots, meaning I can still use my old sound cards and network cards.

It is also quite robust.

Pissed off at Norton Antivirus, I used this computer without any virus protection for three years. I scanned it a couple of years ago and voila - 10,000 viruses detected.

A dead end Mac user would have panicked, screamed, and jumped off a building. It's all right now, and have gone through scans from three different anti virus softwares.

The next step would be a quad core machine, with maximum RAM. 1 or 2 TB hard drive. A DVD drive, state of the art graphics and sound cards - cause I want to start doing movies on my PC.

And I want to switch to a Linux system.

Been trying out Open Office and Celtx on my laptop and it works well. No frills, but it delivers. Also installed this machine with Ubuntu, which to me seems more stable and simpler to use.

Also need two monitors, firewire support and hopefully it can transform into a robot.

New speakers, man. I have been using Cambridge Soundworks for eight years because I prefer the sound quality to the fancy schmancy Altec Lansing which breaks down after three weeks.

My PC has always been like the Millenium Falcon. It's ugly, patched up, but it's great for people who know what to do with it.

In a few months, I'll have a new computer for video editing and I'll show you how much better it can be without resorting to Apple's overpriced, gimmicky gay bullshit.

I'll never use a Mac unless it's free.

Man-Woman Interface: Fuck Like a Woman

If Samantha, from Sex and the City, can suggest that women fuck like men (a suggestion I thoroughly support and endorse), then we, men, should all fuck like women.

This is all to ensure gender equality, really.

First off, no man should ever make the extra effort. Just let the woman do all the work. We should all just lie down and spread our legs like starfishes. Like Patrick!

CAPTION: Patrick

And secondly, most important of all, never let ourselves be fucked by women, unless they pay.

Consider this, there are hos, and then there are non-hos. The only difference is non-hos cost more money than regular hos.

With hos, you can get away with RM6 even! But with non-hos, sometimes it takes several dates at posh places before she even goes to third base!

Trickery! Trickery! Trickery!

We, the men, should also do the same.

Pick and choose - screen - the women.

Random Dude: Hey, Amir. This girl wants to go out with you.

Me: What? Is she hot?

RD: Yes! Look at these pix, man. She's a slut!

Me: Tramps...mmm...and the boobs have just the right consistency.

RD: I trust it should be succulent.

Me: Succulent...

RD: So? How?

Me: Na-ah, man. Nowadays, I fuck like a woman. Meaning: financial evaluation time!

RD: Oh no!

Me: So, how much is her annual earnings, before interest, taxes, depreciations and amortizations?

RD: Erhhh...she makes RM4K a month...

Me: Mmmm...multiply by 12, subtract taxes, cost of living...how much debts?

RD: She shops a lot. Four credit cards.

Me: Science-damn credit cards! I hate credit cards! Okay, I need statements for the past six months.

RD: Roger dat.

When you have all the information, you will get to extrapolate how much savings she has left. The current rule of thumb for non-hos is to take whatever that's left from a man's income, X and spend X^2+2X+C (with C being cost for condoms) of his money.

We should do the same and ensure egender equality in everything we do.


For some reason, I have been spending some hours reading up about the history of personal computing. Apple and Microsoft. NeXT and IBM. Mosaic. Netscape. Myst.

John Sculley. Steve Wozniak. Steve Jobs. Bill Gates. Paul Allen.

It is not really a history of technology, but really what some fortunate few did, in facing the rushing tides of change.

Would any one of us learn from the past, and commands his or her own future?

Stay present. Work.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Mammaries of Things to Cum

Tomorrow, some of my friends are going to Bangkok.

I was supposed to join them, but I am staying here.

It's okay. Bangkok will not go anywhere.

More importantly, I need to take care of my own shit.

I am seeing a landlady or an agent tonight. For an apartment in Bangsar.

I also have stuff to do over the weekend. Deadlines to fulfill.

And next week, there's an all important meeting.

And I was promised some cheques on Wednesday.

That should be enough, for a while. For myself and some people working with me on numerous projects.

Tonight, a Friday night, I will be working my ass off.

And next week, I will go see my father in Kuantan and take him for his next doctor's appointment.

Hopefully, everything will be okay.

Furthermore, something is brewing. I hope I can get the first draft.

Something wicked this way comes. Wicked!

Dialog Paling Macho Dalam Komik Hong Kong

1. "Cayalah!" - Penjejak Neraka dalam Pendekar Laut.

2. "Kau boleh serang aku tiga kali. Kalau aku BERPELUH, aku akan lepaskan kau." - Dewa Durjana, dalam Dewata Raya, ketika melawan Dewi Biru.

3. "Aku, Tony Loy, hebat! HEBAT! HEBAT!" - Sang Elektron, dalam Pendekar Laut semasa berlawan dengan semua orang dalam dunia.

4. "Hei budak muda!" - tiga perogol gay kepada Xinan dalam Pendekar Laut, sebelum merogolnya selama sebulan.
So I am having a very late lunch at a cafe in Bangsar.

A friend called, wanting only to join me if there is WiFi connection here.

Me: Do you have wifi?

Waiter: huh?

Me: Do you have Internet?

W: Inglis...no...

Me: Ok. Kat sini ada WiFi?


Me: ada Internet kat sini?

W: Bak-bak-bak-bakaaaak!

Me: English tak paham. BM tak reti. Apasal ko kerja waiter? Untuk orang bisu?

And so I began an interprative dance sequence, to illustrate my query.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Doing a Petrelli

Same drink, same glass for an hour.

Am enjoying myself.

They come in pints?

And when I get back, work.
I slept at 6.30am, help finish a series of musicals.

Woke up at 10am. Went to my old apartment and did some repairs.

The handyman did most of the work. Well, he's actually a contractor, not a handyman. He did it as a favour.

And three hours later, off to the dentist.

I now have a stunning white smile. Easy, breezy, beautiful, Grovel Girl.

Have a meeting Friday night, and then a viewing. I might be moving to Bangsar. Cause I'm so fucking cool.

In fact, I am so cool, I spit in the face, of people who don't want to be cool.

Carlito! Carlito! Carlito!

Have a deadline tonight, tomorrow night, and all whatever nights.

Late last night and the night before,
Titty-knockers, titty-knockers came knocking at my door.

Want to go out
Don't know if I can
Cause I'm so afraid if those titties belong to a man.

Tomorrow, I need to go to TNB.

Then, off to a viewing.

But that is tomorrow.

Right now, exactly right now, I got no worries.

Just keeping my energy up, man.


Some people expressed disbelief that I would cancel Bangkok to stay here and make myself available for family.

They probably don't get how I could prioritize my family above sex and above them.

Well, one of the main reasons I frequent Thailand in the first place is to train myself never to be controlled by sex. To show to myself that sex is only worth RM50, and if you're desperate, RM6, albeit with a granny in Lorong Hj Taib.

And the whole point of my adult life, if there is a point to it, is to ensure I don't fall into the high school trap of gaining popularity points using subterfuge and fake stuff.

As demonstrated recently, I can't even lie or pretend properly to save my life, or get money. I can lie, but it would be unconvincing.

That is why I focus on being the real deal. It might take longer, but I will not rely on hype. I get uneasy and awkward with hype. I have full faith and confidence in what I have done so far, what I am doing and what I will do next.

Finding that I couldn't publish books for millions of dollars worth of advance money, I took the Gaiman route. I became a journalist.

Then, I did movies. Then TV. Most will be out later this year. I wrote a book - two actually. An adaptation novel and another one. A couple of coffee-table books here and there.

I am uneasy in crowds, especially amongst politicians. Cause I suck at it. The only politics I know how is to do good work, and to work hard.

I will also not do other people's work for them, for I see how the best managers I know do not allow responsibilities to switch hands. Otherwise, you get the same people doing all the things. The 80-20 rule. 20% of the people doing 80% of the work.

And I sure as hell will not take the blame. Been there. Done that. Made me cough and vomit blood. Literally and figuratively. I want to take care of a few people, so I cannot allow myself to die just yet.

The decision I made to drop everything and manage my father's health as best I could was a decision I have no regrets in taking.

I owe my parents something. They are not the best in the world, but I am satisfied that they did their duties to the best of their abilities and their knowledge. Best effort.

They could have done better, but that was what they know and that was how they know to do it.

They were never rich. They did not have proper insurance coverage. They could not answer many of my questions as I was growing up. They were not the best role models for everything.

But some things, I will take with me.

My father is the pillar of his community. He opened the village he is living in now. He helped the poor, though he later regretted the choice. He was methodical and intellectual. He dabbled in politics not to push himself higher in the UMNO food chain, but to ensure the riff raffs are kept at bay. And that PIS would never win.

While Kuantan fell, Paya Besar remained BN. Thanks largely to old people like him. The real grassroots, whom BN politicos and wannabes have taken advantage of over the decades.

He would make sure there was always food on the table. Sometimes, not so much, but there was always enough to survive.

And while going to Bangkok would have been fun, I can't allow making myself absent in what could be his hour of greatest need.

Cause in the end, the only one thing he truly has is his family. No money, most of his friends died, no politicians, just his family. Us.

When I die, I will make sure as best I can that it would be from a morphine overdose. At 40. Sandwiched between two Thai girls.

And knowing my inability to lie, this could very well be the truth.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Metal Gear Solid Script

First day back in KL.

Went for a meeting in the morning, after sleeping for 12 hours.

Am now having coffee while waiting for the next one.

Blackberry battery is running out, so I better make this quick.

Am trying to establish a standard for scripts which I will call Metal Gear Solid Script.

I think all scripts should be developed using Final Draft or the free Celtx.

Failing that, Open Office. Am writing most of my stuff using Open Office.

Final Draft or Celtx only for final formatting or if the director has access to the software or the plugin/codec.

With various people using various styles and formats for different things, we should have an industry standard.

Oh well. Fuck it. Whatever works.

Mmm... Would there be time for a massage?


I better get more coffee. MOAR!

I just got another call for writing newsletters and a coffee table book.

Will assemble another team soon.

Also contacted a handyman to do some repairs at my old place. Am doing that before getting my deposit from the landlady.

And then, viewing a few apartments over the weekend.

Am moving out of Damansara Heights. It's not posh enough for me.

Am also looking for funds for:

1. My father's treatments and medication

2. A car

3. PTPTN bloodsuckers

4. My own place.

By this time next year, I aim to have enough money to pay for all of these.

Get rich or die trying, bitch.

First thing's first, though. The meeting, and the meeting after that.

And then, work. Work work work.


Machine man!

May God have mercy on man and machine.

Lay Pak Kopitiam

I am waiting for a meeting at Lay Pak Kopitiam.

Food is so-so, but I like the cool ambience, even at the smoking section.

Cool as in, temperature cool.

Though if they want to make it REALLY cool, they should hire a Chinese guy and dress him up as Darth Maul.


Cause it's Lay Pak!

Bada bing!


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

In the Gutter

Damn, man. Maricar Reyes can sure fuck.

That's how you fuck a man, bitch! Use the hips! Use the hips like your vagina wants to suck all his cum.

Ooh yeah.

It feels like being raped, I could hazard a guess. The good type of rape.

Not the buttfucking rape type at full-residential schools. You people sure you want to get in?

Awh, man. Maricar Reyes' hip movements where she slams her cunt to the guy's dick is awesome.

Now, Eli Wong, THAT'S how you become a porn star. Don't worry about the pix. No one would mistake it for porn.

And if they do, they might delete their blogs.

Maricar Reyes' pussy is hungry for some dick.

Would you like to order a full plate of DICK?

Can I help you?

Can I help you to some DICK?

Man, from now on, THAT'S how we roll. That's how we fuck, ok?

Then maybe your husband won't beat your monkey ass to submission.

Kuantan Aftermath

Am back in KL. Too tired to die (Mira Sorvino and Takeshi Kaneshiro). Am gonna go pass out in a few minutes.

Did what I could. Some things are beyond my control. Some things are. So I am going to focus only on things I can control. If other people fuck up, it has nothing to do with me. I can't do everything for everyone.

Hey, man, what the fuck you expect me to do?

Immediately, as I got back, I felt the urge to pick fights with politilocos. But that all can wait till tomorrow.

I am going back to Kuantan next week. Already cancelled a trip to Bangkok I've been planning for weeks. It's about the time I need to make myself available, just in case shit happens.

My father's next appointment is next week. Two months from now, he will undergo a procedure to stave off some damage to his eyes due to diabetes and old age.

If he is to make any kind of recovery, I need to be on top of my game. Which means thinking several moves ahead.

I know the terrain. I know the people. I understand the personalities involved. The resources. And what needs to be done.

This past week has stretched me beyond where I've gone before. I only panicked as I approached the breaking point. As I went past it and beyond, a crazy calm dominated me.

I understand the risks, the possibilities. I got all the information I would ever need. Only thing left to do is to go for it. Go through it.

If for the next two months, his condition does not improve, we are facing some very grim possibilities.

One thing, though. You motherfuckers better get your act straight. I got nothing real left to lose. Nothing to threaten me with.

Mess with the best, die like the rest.


Am sitting down with my father.

"Amir, if you want to ensure the Opposition members never come near you, hoist the flag like I do, in front of your house."

"What? I'm sorry?"

"If you put the Malaysian flag up, PAS members will not come near."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. I just put up the flag, and they never dared to come near."

So, True Believers and Constant Readers! This is the weakness of PIS people - the Malaysian flag.

It's like garlic to a vampire.

House of Pain

Pack it up, pack it in; let me begin.

For people born before World War 2, I guess having an abundance of food is a big thing.

As most of the world moves towards eating less - except for some places which still suffer from starvation and gluttony - the people born before the post-war baby boom still cling on to wartime mentalities.

Which is, whatever.

Another thing is this culture of suffering and pain.

Some believe that pain, torture and suffering as a badge of honour. And so they live their lives in pain and suffer in order to stay relevant.

Okay. None of my fucking business.

I just don't buy it.

In other words, fuck you, man.

I do not believe that you need to suffer or be in pain to be reminded that you are alive.

I do not think pain is a validation for existence.

I do not believe in sacrificing yourself to save the world.

Been there. Done that. No fucking way, man.

I did what I could, in the short time available to me. Nothing more I can do.

Let's see what happens next.

No Country for Old Men

I went back to Kuantan last Tuesday with the intention of spending only a couple of days while I see how my father is doing.

That short visit grew to a full week.

We saw five doctors, including an ophthalmologist, a member of the board of directors for KMC, a kind-hearted family friend whose deeds we could never repay, a compassionate A&E doctor, and a total and complete idiot.

The hair on my ass could have been a better doctor than that guy. I wish him all the symptoms and illnesses my family members have ever had and will ever have. And may he be treated by an equally inept doctor. And may all his family members suffer the same fate. And may you burn in hell. I'll find you in hell, and do my own brand of torture.

And if I ever find your brother, father, mother or whatever family members, say goodbye to them and tuck them in, for I will be their nightmare for decades. I am sick enough to follow through, and if I do it right, none of you will know what hit you.

Anyway, I did what I could. My father's medication and diet has been sorted out. His appointments have also been confirmed.

There is nothing more for me to do. I could quit everything and go back to Kuantan to take care of him, but that would make me an invalid as well.

I have to take care of myself before I can take care of people. I got loads of stuff to complete.

Even though I managed to finish a script while I'm here, and vetted through many projects, there is still an insane amount of work to be done.

My primary concern, though, is my father's attitude towards treatment. His belief is that the best medicine is MORE WORK.

Just today, he went against everyone just so he could cut down a few trees.

A 68-year-old man. After multiple strokes. And a history of diabetes and heart disease. Cutting down a few small trees. He can't even walk right, but he's doing his lumberjack bit.

Reaction to new diet has been mixed.

Threw away all palm oil and reheated oil, which are full of low-density lipoproteins (LDL). Reolaced them with corn oil, and the family is testing out sunflower and canola oil.

Bought these cooking oils before, but they have always reverted back to palm oil for that full greasy, heart-attack-inducing taste.

Also bought olive oil, but is not suitable for Malaysian cooking.

My father is one of those people who found something he likes and stayed with it for say, 50 years? And expect to die with them.

He likes his clothes in a certain way - pleat-less pants, perfectly fitted shirts, starched - and his food salty, oily and greasy. Well, not so, but in comparison to what I think he should be eating, they look like arsenic pills.

Cholesterol levels should be reduced by half a point, and LDL by more. Blood sugar level is beyond 10, which is when the eyes would start getting affected.

Need to keep it below 10, preferably 4 or something.

Durian and Malaysian kuihs are a no no. Durian is almost all carbohydrates and sugar. Kuih loyang is basically fried sugar.

He has had trouble sleeping, and I deduced that it could have something to do with him drinking nine cups of coffee a day.

We got decaf and only for daytime. He hates the herbal teas I bought him, so an alternative should be found soon.

Almonds - baked - have been a great hit, and tonight's healthful bihun sup was well-received.

All his food now has to be grilled, baked, boiled or stir-fried. Pan-fried for mackerel or stuff like that. Capatti and tandoori are okay.

If you know my family, please do not bring any food when visiting.

Foods rich in sugar will leave him blind. High-cholesterol shit will get him into another stroke and possibly kill him.

If he dies because one of you idiots think it would be cool to see him eat durians or Oreos, I will find your parents, or your children, and kill them. I will fill a syringe with smoke and inject that into their bodies. Or I will take insulin and fill your heart with that.

I also heard rumours of a landfill with a cache of cyanide, so if you bring fatty, sweet foods to my house, I will bring a barrel of cyanide to your parents' stupid homes and force that down their throats. And up their asses.

The diagnosis has not been all that dire, though. All his multiple strokes, as seen on the MRI images, have all been partial. And he has recovered from three of them.

Tackling this latest, though, has been a challenge.

Dinner will all be oats and normal dishes. I tried out grilled chicken and stir-fried stuff. Seems to work. Vegetable soups and spinach seems to be a hit.

I am currently trying to figure out ways to translate Malaysian dishes like asam pedas and curry into cholesterol, sodium-free versions that taste great.

Think it will be months before I find recipes that could work.

I mean, it's easy for me and normal people. Replace coconut milk with skim milk or even soy milk, or just low-fat milk. But it has to pass the taste test.

It's not doing away with all dishes and all ingredients altogether. Maybe a mixture might work. It's having it in moderation, as best as possible.

The best rice is either brown rice or something Kuantanese people call 'beras Keling'. It's double-boiled rice - the healthiest choice as far as rice goes. But the smell and the taste leaves a lot to be desired.

The best bread is gluten-free multigrain bread, which is nearly impossible to obtain in Kuantan. I might have to go and bake it myself.

Mmm. I have to check on the availability of gluten-free oat flour. Or maybe I can just make the flour as well, using a grain pulveriser.

See how reading comics can be beneficial to you?

The jam we are taking is the diabetic gourmet jam type. It has no sugar, which is good, but tastes like fruit broth. It's a 'hot-type' jam where the human tongue may only be able to detect any sweet taste if it has been heated.

Kind of like, if you drink Coke when it's warm and it's nauseatingly sweet? Cold foods taste less sweet not because of the sugar content, but because of how taste-buds perceive sweetness based on temperature.

An alternative is sugar-free fruit preserves. It is not as good as diabetic jams, but at least it's better than shoving sugar into your eyeballs.

My father now takes eight types of medication for various illnesses. It amounts to 11 pills.

Four are mainstays, the other four being new additions. I can share with you some supplements the doctor suggested. One is ginkgo, another is a B complex recipe of B1, B6 and B12 - neurobion.

There is another medicine/supplement - nootrophil - for improving cognitive and memory functions, which, after reading up on studies and research on it, seems like a miracle drug.

It is used to treat recovering stroke patients, Alzheimer's sufferers and people born with Down Syndrome. I am thinking of taking the medication myself, cause it's a psycho-active drug that also treats dementia and I am pretty demented.

Almonds are good to lower LDL. Olive oil also for the same reason, but if you heat up olive oil for too long, it dissipates and might ignite. Stupid Greeks. Why can't you make an oil that's easier to use?

This might seem obsessive to some, but it's not. Obsessive would be when I start taking out a huge calculator and little scales and weigh EXACTLY how much calories, cholesterol and sugar goes into my father's body and extrapolate the body mass versus cholesterol and blood sugar levels. And construct charts and graphs.

Despite all these problems, the doctors have expressed surprise that my father is not in worse condition. In fact, it seems that they are confident he will make some form of recovery. Hopefully a major one.

I'd be happy if he could walk without using a walker and have improved cognitive and memory functions. For a person who was almost 100% pure intellect and 0 emotion, going through this stage might be a tad scary and frustrating.

He is still insisting on working, cause as with Boxer in Animal Farm, his cure is only to work harder. Stubborn old man.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Locke and Load

John Locke was in the X-Files movie!

Holy shit!

Amir Hafizi Dapat Lima Juta US Dolar Hujung Tahun Ini

Aku tengah tulis cerita hantu ni.

Aku tulis pasal angin, angin datang. Aku tulis pasal tingkap berbunyi, tingkap pulak berbunyi.

Jadi, aku nak tulis pasal aku dapat lima juta dollar US dan tengok kalau aku dapat ke tidak.

Tadi, aku penat pasal pasang no-slip rubber tiles kat bathroom bapak aku. Aku silap kira.

Luas bilik air tu, 43 sqft. Tolak kolah bentuk suku bulatan, 5 sq ft. Tolak paip sinki dengan tandas, 2 sqft lagi.

Kalau asalnya, 43, tolak 7, dah 36sqft, kan?

Aku pergilah beli no-slip tiles ni. Bukan apa. Bapak aku dah tak balance sangat. Aku takut dia tergelincir. Bukan dia aje. Aku ni pun pernah tergelincir dalam bilik air tu.

Tiles dia, oops, sorry, jubin dia dah sejak 1991, beb. Dah 18 tahun dah. Mana tak licin?

Kat Giant, ada jual 6 keping jubin, 1sqft setiap satu, dalam satu paket. Aku beli la 6 paket. RM15.99 satu. Ngam-ngam 36sqft.

Balik rumah, nak pasang, lampu bilik air la pulak rosak. Aku pergi ambik tangga, salah ambik tangga besar la pulak.

Aku ambik la tangga yang betul saiznya. Tukar lampu.

Dah ada lampu, aku start buat benda tu. Salah pasang la, salah gunting la, last-last, ada la dalam beberapa kaki persegi terlompong. Itu pun semua yang memang kena potong la kalau nak penuhkan.

Pantat betul lah. Esok kena beli lagi dua paket. Kalau aku tau, aku beli je ekstra.

Oklah. Aku nak habiskan skrip filem cerita hantu ni. Seperti biasa, tiada siapa yang dapat menandingi kehebatan aku menulis cerita. Kalaulah ada lima orang yang best macam aku ni. Mesti aku takleh cari makan.

Aku kasi bunga aje pun, dah ramai jeles. Belum buah lagi beb. Belum aku kasi magnum opus aku lagi. Aku menang Academy Award kang, keluar parang asah parang la, orang yang jeles dengan aku.

Nak buat macamana? Aku memang best. Dilahirkan best. Aku tak pernah jeles kat orang. Gelakkan orang banyak la. Pasal diorang tak best. Ego je lebih. Suka dengar cakap sendiri. Tak paham apa aku cakap, aku nak buat cemana?

Akulah makhluk paling sempurna ciptaan Tuhan.

Oklah. Aku nak sambung buat cerita hantu. Kalau aku tambah scene bogel, ok tak?

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Mentera Paya Besar

Ini adalah mentera untuk dibaca ketika merawat orang sakit:

Bijik kelentit!

Pukimak ngka!

Burit nenek ngka kena sabut kelapa!

Pantat anjing!

Jeepers Creepers

I am currently writing a horror story, in the middle of the night. In Bukit Kuin. Which is like, slasher central.

My God, man. This place is the perfect setting for a horror movie. I dare anyone to walk on the lonely roads without getting the heebie-jeebies, the willies and the creeps all at once.

Shit, man. Everyone's asleep, and the only noise is from my keyboard and the spinning fan.

Okay. It's time to call it a night. I am sure I can finish this tomorrow.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Supper Attendant

Oats. For supper/dinner.

Well, it did not go without a hitch.

But it was all right, I guess.

I cooked chicken with some tumeric, a bit of salt, pepper and olive oil.

Kangkong, blanched in hot water. A clear vegetable soup.

The soup provided most of the taste. No extra salt, no aji-no-moto.

In a few weeks, I hope to see my father's cholesterol levels down.

This was not easy. Convincing a 68 year old man to deviate from his high cholesterol, high sodium, high sugar diet was extremely difficult.

I guess when you get older, priorities change. You don't give a fuck anymore.

My father is talking a lot about death, so I change the subject to Anwar Ibrahim.

He hates Anwar. Never trusted the guy, and I guess, never will.

He thinks I'm pro-opposition. I do not make any attempts to correct that.

As long as he eats healthfully and takes his medicine, and keep his cholesterol and blood sugar levels low, I'm fine.

I am not in a competition to be anything, as some people appear to be.

A Death in the Family

As I am writing this, a neighbour is digging a hole near our fence.

Our cat, sometimes called Kucing or Cing - the latest in a series of perhaps 10 cats over the years to bear that name - was found dead and decayed just now, caught in a fishing net, just beside spare tractor tyres.

The fire ants have got to him, putting time of death at around perhaps two to three days.

Fly larvae - perhaps third generation - and state of decomposition seems to corroborate this.

The cat was not seen for the past two days, though my father believes he saw it last, fighting with a neighbour's cat.

Cing never had any wants, except for trying to be a housecat. It tried at any opportunity to get in and sleep on the laundry.

For the sake of the kids, my parents never allowed this, condemning the cat to forever roam the lawn and the entire village.

For the past year, a skin disease had almost crippled Cing. He lost most of his fur and his whiskers dropped.

He had not been a terribly big cat. Even though food was given in abundance, he rarely ate more than half. Preferring instead to woo the female cats next door.

The gold-digging female cats only wanted to steal Cing's food, but rarely, if ever, allowed Cing to fuck them.

Cing should have gone to Thailand, where the Siamese kittens are more transparent and honest in their tactics.

Cing had not lived a happy, pampered life.

He endured an adequate existence.

And his death was probably a welcome respite.

Goodbye, Kucing.
I need to take care of a few things here, in Kuantan, as well as finish some work.

I'll be going back to KL next week to navigate my way around a few things.

After that, I need to get away for a while.

I'm taking a break from everything and everyone. Just for a few days, after I finish my stuff.

None of you will be able to contact me for a few days end of next week.

I just need some down time. Some alone time.

I'll be back before the end of the month. My father's next appointment with the doctor at KMC is on June 26th.

He will be monitoring certain things.

The eye specialist we are seeing in a couple of days will also be looking for follow-ups, I suppose.

Man, I need to get away from it all. Just cut communications for a while. And just glide.

Earl of Greystoke: Mother! Father! Family!

Sometimes, I feel like getting on a chariot and lashing the horses' flanks to shreds while I go around the front lawn yelling "Mother! Father! Family!"

To idiots, that was a scene from the movie Greystoke, which retold the legend of Tarzan as a long lost heir of the Earl of Greystoke.

I used to be able to shirk any and all responsibilities pertaining this family.

As the youngest, I only had to watch what I do.

Right now, I have to think for a lot more people. And then a few steps ahead, anticipating moves and countermoves.

I wanted to escape all this by leaving the country a few years ago, but in the end I decided to stay.

I'm so fucking noble. And great. Let's all focus on me now, cause I can't take focusing on illnesses anymore.

I'd like to say, 'I take care of my family.' But as Chris Rock said, "You're supposed to, you stupid idiot!"

Those are some of the things a 'nigger' would say, said Chris Rock.

"I like black people, but I hate niggers. I wish they would let me join the Ku Klux Klan!"

A few ground rules, ya?

During a crisis, the focus is always the goal at hand. The patient comes first. Not the patient's approval or being popular or how much you've suffered or how much you've done or paid.

The patient comes first.

The drama, the politicking, the victim stories can all come later, if you wish.

If you are useful in a particular scene or situation, be there. Be present completely.

If you are at the moment useless or have nothing to do with the solution, get the fuck out. Now!

But in the end, everyone plays a role. Just so long as it's NOT all about you.

Thankfully, my family is small and easier to manage.

One family I saw brought along eight siblings and their brrod of children, each.

I guess it works for some people. Just thank God it wasn't me.

If I see that many people come and visit me at the hospital, I'd kill myself.

Last few times I was warded, only one person came anyway, so I will not have that problem.

And different people would focus on different things to deal with the pain.

I try and find useful things to do, like finding out EXACTLY how an MRI works. Others cook - for people born during the Second World War and the Malaysian Emergency, having an abundance of food is a big thing. Some use humor, and others go into reality warps.

My father is okay, I guess. In the past, he was told he had a limited time to live. Almost 30 years later, he confounded physicians by staying alive and smoking four packs of cigarettes a day.

I do not think he will die easily.

"I have too much work to do." He told me.

Still, in his condition, he wants to drive the tractor and plow the land so he could grow vegetables and fruits.

Low Cholesterol Strategy

First, reduce all oils in cooking.

Take out the fat in everything.

Replace milk with soy milk.

For cooking oil, take out palm and other types. Use only olive oil or corn oil.

Sunflower oil is okay, but is usually mixed with canola.

Problem is if the boiling temperatures of canola and sunflower oil are different.

Olive oil is the best. However, you can't heat it for long. So stir-fry only.

Psyllium husk can reduce cholesterol.

Calcium is also a good element in reducing cholesterol.

A major strategy is to replace rice with oats.

Oat reduces cholesterol and blood pressure.

The challenge is to make it less boring.

Adding more liquid to oat makes it a watery gruel.

That gruel can be eaten with other dishes, just like porridge.

Also, almonds and other healthful nuts.

Am looking at blueberries and hydrangeas for their anti-oxidant qualities. And weighing in the berries' sugar.

Decimate the sodium!

Less salt for everything.

The Art of Phwoar!

Controlling an old man's diet is, I believe, more difficult and tricky than handling an entire department of victims.

The politics involved is astounding. I would have to use all the social, chemical, medical and culinary skills I have learned in the past 30 years or so of my life to ensure that no feathers are ruffled and that things go off without a hitch.

Here's the situation.

Primary Goal: reduce cholesterol, LDL and blood sugar levels by half a point within weeks.

Secondary goal: not offend the 'client' until he would boycott the meals.

Location: kitchen controlled by one female warlord.

Additional obstacle: righteous princess of power bent on winning hearts and minds with cholesterol bribery.

Weapons at hand: a diet of oats, HDL-rich corn and olive oil. A generous knowledge of food and cuisine styles from different parts of the world.

Scientific knowledge and skills.

Lots and lots of TV.

Enemy: the desire to eat fatty, sweet foods as encoded into the human genome. Human DNA for taste has not caught up with the multiple revolutions in the food industry. Humans generally prefer fatty, sweet food because it would help in hunting mammoths and ensure 'survival'. Like, thousands of years ago.

The sensitivity of old people.

Power struggle by warlords and warrior princesses.

Allies: one trained chemical engineer. One street-smart electronics expert.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Cobra Commander

Aw, man.

I am handling this family crisis when it appears that some of the automation work I have set up has to have manual input.

Which means, while being a male nurse like Peter Petrelli, I also have to work like Noah Bennet and be as charismatic (in the series) as Nathan.

If someone doesn't suck my dick by the end of the month, I want my money back.


It's 8.45am. We will be on our way to KMC soon to get the full report from the MRI scan.

Also need to find out about my father's medication, what we can do, what to look out for, etc.

EKG results earlier showed the same problems as in 1980, when doctors said he had only months or at most a few years to live.

He's been alive for almost 30 years since then.

Oh well. Hope everything will be fine.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Kuantan Medical

If you are seriously ill and you are in Kuantan, go to Kuantan Medical Center (right beside Berjaya Megamall) and find Dr Ooi.

He's the consulting physician as well as a member of the board of directors.

He's one of the best I've ever seen.

Calm, collected, professional, attentive, non-judgemental and seriously smart.

Over a period of two days, we had gone to see four doctors.

One was a compassionate family friend. One was a terrible, arrogant idiot who doesn't fucking know what he's doing. Another who was patient enough to answer my TV-based questions and my demands for an MRI instead of a CT Scan. And then there was Dr Ooi.

The staff at Kuantan Medical Center were also very attentive, friendly and compassionate. I was genuinely impressed.

From the A&E nurses who treated our case with personal care, to the feisty attendants at the day care, even the receptionists who helped with the wheelchair and the payment clerks who made it all very easy.

Need to do something nice for them. I don't have much. Yet. But I'll make sure they get something.

You know, sometimes, when people are facing a crisis, the least you could do is to be human.

And these people surpassed that.

Teachers, nurses and the police. Three jobs that need to be respected and nurtured.

If I ever get seriously sick, send me to these people, and make sure I get a lot of morphine.

Common Kuantan Ailments

Liver, when scanned, showed scratch marks.

Patient doubles over, as if something riding on him.

Cure? With-doctor!

Seeing double?

Evil spirits!

Cure? Witch-doctor!

I'd like to have a fight with a witch doctor.

First, he would 'jampi' a glass of water, without spitting on it or adding anything dirty. Just spiritual stuff.

Then I would drink it.

As for me, I'd prepare a solution with 90% arsenic, and have him drink it.

Whoever dies first, loses.

Fucking conmen.

I was once treated for redung (sinusitis) by a witch-doctor.

At the end of the 'treatment', I asked if I could finally eat belacan and chicken and seafood without suffering from itchy fits?

She said, "No! Forever more, you can only eat steamed or boiled fish."

I fucking hate fish, so I said to God, "Fuck this shit, brah! I'll eat whatever I want. You can give me resdung if you want, but fuck if I'm going to eat boiled fish for the rest of my life."

I never had a resdung attack ever after that.

Proving it's all in the mind.


Man! What a day!

What a day! What a day!

After going through the best that Kuantan medical facilities could offer, some people are here to suggest to my father that he go see a witch-doctor.

A fucking witch-doctor.

Otherwise known as a conman.

What the fuck, man?

How can witch-doctors, with their small imps contend with me - Lucifer?

I'm the Bapak Setan. Iblis. How the fuck can small imps compare against me?

I do not believe in worshipping small gods. Sorry, I know you mean well, or maybe not.

But...no. No fucking way.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Executioner's Song

For the first time in a long while, I stared at the white screen and could not write a single word.

For weeks, maybe months, I've been writing whatever, whenever.

And I just can't.

All those Hollywood actors who have nothing save from pretending to be something got it right.

You'd think you know yourself. Your ego, your image, your real self. Blablabla.

But you only understand some huge part, when your back is against the wall.

Oh well.


Imagine that your mind and control over your body have been everything that defines you as a person, your whole life.

And then imagine when one day you start losing your control and also your mind.

The independence. The freedom.

I can only guess that it can be damn scary.

I do not think I would be as brave.

Oh well. That's how things go. That's how the wind blows.

In the end, we all have to face Terminus - the God of Boundaries.

Kuantan Medical

The left side of the brain handles input from the environment.

While the right brain controls interpretation of said inputs.

The right side makes sense of the cornucopia of data that comes through.

It is one that figures out the world. Finds meaning in everything.

What happens when one side malfunctions?

We humans are organic machines.

One day, we will all grow old, and the pistons in our limbs and the cogs in our minds get rusty.

They start to fail.

One day, we can't even remember our address and can't find our way home.

Those of us who cling to beauty will lose the smooth skin and healthy head of hair.

Those who worship wealth will discover that it does not bring true happiness.

Those who revel in fake relationships with people will one day find him or herself alone.

Some time in the future, we would hope for death before suffering the indignity of trying to make it in time to the toilet.

May God have mercy on man and machine.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


Okay, I'm off to Kuantan for a couple of days. Be back later this week.


Focus. Focus on only good things. Only on people who make me happy or feel good. The rest can all fuck off and die.

I got no time for idiots. Spiteful people. Superstitious motherfuckers.

I hate superstitious motherfuckers. People who think that if something bad happens to you, it's God's punishment.

Like I know some people who, if one in their family gets born disabled, they never talk about them and pretend they never existed. Why? TAKUT MALU.

Oh, man. That just makes me so...nevermind.

Like, say, if a guy gets involved in an accident or his car gets stolen. What does that mean? Nothing! It just means that shit happens.

If my father were to get sick or pass on. What does that mean? It means that people get old. And people die.

It does not represent divine retribution for my sins. What, if I were as good as an angel, then everyone in my family would live forever? And start having sword duels and chop each other's heads off?

There can be only one?!

Things happen. Good things. Bad things. Stupid things.

People live. They breed, and then they die. Like a virus.




Woke up at 9am to a glorious, glorious day.

The sun was shining. The birds were singing and there was a gentle breeze wafting through the window.

And so I went back to sleep.

Woke up again at around 10am. Called for meetings today, at 4pm. Then went back to sleep.

And now I just woke up. Had my breakfast and is prepared for the day's shenanigans.

Got a call from the family. My father is not doing well in Kuantan. I can't go back as I am stuck here with tons of work to do.

I am considering dropping everything and going back to Kuantan. My father likes to eat salted fish, and I am one of the few things standing between him and the sodium-rich dish.

He's had three strokes already. A fourth one, a big one, fueled by his diet of salted fish, could kill him.

However, he is a stubborn old man. I've never met a more hardheaded person in my life. Righteous like hell, man.

His freedom to do anything he wants, whenever, wherever, is more important to him than anything else. Even if his body would not allow him to do so.

If I can finish everything by this week, I'm going back next week. Rolling up my sleeves and see if I can finish everything a couple of weeks ahead of schedule.

Six Degrees of Desperation

Up till this year, I had nothing to do with Al Pacino.

If you were to do a graph for those stupid six degrees of separation bullshit, Al and I would be furthest from each other.

Today, this year, right now, I am just one guy away from Pacino, De Niro, Coppola and whoever the fuck.

I know a guy who used to work with them.

What does this mean? Nothing, actually. I'm not going to hop on a plane and go to LA and try to convince people they should cast me as Gambit cause I grew up near a swamp.

I'm a terrible, terrible actor. I can't hardly convince anyone on anything. Usually, they convince themselves about things and I just observe and try not to judge.

I am writing this, to keep me from writing stuff from work. If I start, I'll sleep at 6.30am again. And I can't afford that, cause I have a meeting tomorrow.

I also need the rest anyway. Just came back from a meeting at 10.30pm. Ended at 2am. Oh well. That's the way it goes. That's the way the wind blows.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Foundations and Empire

I have laid the foundations.

As the world's leading psycho-historian, I am confident that things will work out.

The geeks shall inherit the earth.


So I finished a mountain of work today...only to discover before passing out, that I couldn't find my wallet.

I searched high and low, and even dove into the garbage bags. To no avail.

So I went into the courtyard, sank to my knees, raised my hands to the heavens and cried, "WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?"

Well, actually, I'd have loved to. But experience in misplacing things taught me that:

1. It will turn up at the last place I would be looking for it, so I should look for it there first.

2. All missing things will reveal themselves after you have calmed down and slept it off.

And so I slept. And dreamed uneasy dreams where my wallet was drowning. And I couldn't save it. Because I was trapped in a wet oil painting. DAMN YOU LEONARDO!

So I woke up, went down to my computer, sat on the chair, swiveled it and reached, almost naturally, under a seat cushion. And there it was. My wallet.

To celebrate, I have ordered pizza. If you aren in the Damansara Heights vicinity, come and join the homecoming party. I got loads of food.