"My name is Amir."
"Hi, Amir!"
"And I'm a superhero."
"I don't... dress up at night, in leather tights. Not anymore. I - The Malay Male made me, but tonight, The Malay Male's rock-a-bye baby!"
Oh, man. It's going to be a looooong night.
Monday, August 2, 2010
A for Anarchy: Lies
Some politicians deserve respect. Most are useless fuckers.
It is a great lie that we should not mess with politicians or really, really rich people.
We made them, so we can unmake them. Politicians should be kissing our collective hairy asses.
What are rich people, if we don't buy their products? We gave them the money, so we can take it back.
Just a few well-placed rumours at the stock market, and you can halve some billionaire's value overnight. A concerted, concentrated effort, and they will go bankrupt. I am not scared of rich people. Neither should you.
Politicians, meanwhile, are nothing without our votes. Our support. Without us carrying them on our fucking shoulders, they would fall. Crumble. They would be nothing.
And yet, they lead us? They are beyond answering our questions?
Suck my dick.
With my evil integrated into my being, I can be Spider Jerusalem. When I get free, you're all fucked.
It is a great lie that we should not mess with politicians or really, really rich people.
We made them, so we can unmake them. Politicians should be kissing our collective hairy asses.
What are rich people, if we don't buy their products? We gave them the money, so we can take it back.
Just a few well-placed rumours at the stock market, and you can halve some billionaire's value overnight. A concerted, concentrated effort, and they will go bankrupt. I am not scared of rich people. Neither should you.
Politicians, meanwhile, are nothing without our votes. Our support. Without us carrying them on our fucking shoulders, they would fall. Crumble. They would be nothing.
And yet, they lead us? They are beyond answering our questions?
Suck my dick.
With my evil integrated into my being, I can be Spider Jerusalem. When I get free, you're all fucked.
A for Anarchy
The revolution is dead. Long live the revolution.
Sometimes, I believe I am the last of the anarchists. The last person to believe that it is possible to wrestle control of the media from those who pay for it, to the people who have no vested interest other than establishing their own justice and deciding for themselves how to govern their lives.
Information control is very powerful. It can galvanise people. Polarise people. Stir action or kill the roots of revolution.
My agenda - if I had any - is to get people off their apathetic asses and participate in deciding how to live their lives.
A lot of people say, "education", which is a cheap, lazy cop-out. A lot of people say, "election", which sucks cause of the limited participation opportunities.
Nope. The only way to live our lives is to have all the controls over it. To have the power and opportunity to change our environment as we see fit.
Make politicians obsolete by taking away their roles and responsibilities.
Any idiot should be given the opportunity to state his or her case. Media systems that are accessible to all. And allow the people to decide what news is important to them. What to trust, who to fight for, who to kill.
Will it be a better world? No. It will just be the same old world. But it is the only world I want to live in.
The revolution is dead. Long live the revolution.
Sometimes, I believe I am the last of the anarchists. The last person to believe that it is possible to wrestle control of the media from those who pay for it, to the people who have no vested interest other than establishing their own justice and deciding for themselves how to govern their lives.
Information control is very powerful. It can galvanise people. Polarise people. Stir action or kill the roots of revolution.
My agenda - if I had any - is to get people off their apathetic asses and participate in deciding how to live their lives.
A lot of people say, "education", which is a cheap, lazy cop-out. A lot of people say, "election", which sucks cause of the limited participation opportunities.
Nope. The only way to live our lives is to have all the controls over it. To have the power and opportunity to change our environment as we see fit.
Make politicians obsolete by taking away their roles and responsibilities.
Any idiot should be given the opportunity to state his or her case. Media systems that are accessible to all. And allow the people to decide what news is important to them. What to trust, who to fight for, who to kill.
Will it be a better world? No. It will just be the same old world. But it is the only world I want to live in.
The revolution is dead. Long live the revolution.
That Last Inch
Valerie's letter:
This is a letter, written by a fictional character to another fictional character in the V for Vendetta comic books.
Not the dreadful, stupid movie, but the comics.
If I had any doubts in being a journalist, a writer or doing anything creative or being whatever I am, this letter sealed the deal.
I can hardly relate, actually. I am not a lesbian, though I have been with lesbians before.
But the idea of integrity and life and the willingness to slit wrists intertwined together is something I could live for. Something I could die for.
This is why I have always made it a point to tell the truth. No matter how stupid that may be.
Yeah, I make fun of idealists, because I have always found them wanting. Lacking. They are not who they say they are. Duplicity and deceit.
I am like Holden Caulfield, who sees everyone as fakes. And yet I do not want to kill John Lennon.
I'm a dreamer, so that makes me an idealist. I believe in that last inch. No matter how stupid that makes me. It is not something anyone can take away. And within that inch, I am free.
I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.
I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a woman. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I'm writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.
I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson's class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the pickled rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't.
In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.
But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.
London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition. And I wanted more than that.
Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in "The Salt Flats." It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine's Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.
In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her. I didn't blame her.
But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .
They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my tongue anymore. I can't speak.
The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon. It's strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.
An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.
Valerie
X
from V for Vendetta
Written by Alan Moore.
Art by David Lloyd.
This is a letter, written by a fictional character to another fictional character in the V for Vendetta comic books.
Not the dreadful, stupid movie, but the comics.
If I had any doubts in being a journalist, a writer or doing anything creative or being whatever I am, this letter sealed the deal.
I can hardly relate, actually. I am not a lesbian, though I have been with lesbians before.
But the idea of integrity and life and the willingness to slit wrists intertwined together is something I could live for. Something I could die for.
This is why I have always made it a point to tell the truth. No matter how stupid that may be.
Yeah, I make fun of idealists, because I have always found them wanting. Lacking. They are not who they say they are. Duplicity and deceit.
I am like Holden Caulfield, who sees everyone as fakes. And yet I do not want to kill John Lennon.
I'm a dreamer, so that makes me an idealist. I believe in that last inch. No matter how stupid that makes me. It is not something anyone can take away. And within that inch, I am free.
Release the Kraken!
There is a monster within all of us.
Mine has many names. Lucifer. Azazel. The Beast of Judgment. Fenris, the Wolf Beneath the Tree. Briadach, who sees the seed and the rot. Baal the Lord of Destruction. Galactus the Devourer of Worlds.
For too long, I have denied them presence. So much so, that they have grown bigger and more powerful.
Well, it is time to accept them as part of me. Already, I am free of all guilt. The guilt that haunts superheroes or people with superhero complexes.
I see from the eyes of Briadach, and observe beginnings and ends. I am Fenris, who waits patiently underneath Yggdrasil for the end of the world. And if Ragnarok is post-poned, Fenris will initiate armageddon all on his own.
I am Lucifer's will, and Azazel's determination. I am Baal's fury and Galactus' hunger.
See if you can stand in the coming hurricane. See if anything can weather Onslaught.
Mine has many names. Lucifer. Azazel. The Beast of Judgment. Fenris, the Wolf Beneath the Tree. Briadach, who sees the seed and the rot. Baal the Lord of Destruction. Galactus the Devourer of Worlds.
For too long, I have denied them presence. So much so, that they have grown bigger and more powerful.
Well, it is time to accept them as part of me. Already, I am free of all guilt. The guilt that haunts superheroes or people with superhero complexes.
I see from the eyes of Briadach, and observe beginnings and ends. I am Fenris, who waits patiently underneath Yggdrasil for the end of the world. And if Ragnarok is post-poned, Fenris will initiate armageddon all on his own.
I am Lucifer's will, and Azazel's determination. I am Baal's fury and Galactus' hunger.
See if you can stand in the coming hurricane. See if anything can weather Onslaught.
With Great Powers, Come Great Opportunities!
Merging with all my selves, especially the evil sides, I no longer have any guilt.
I am finally free. The fusion dance!
I am really, really, ridiculously good-looking. I am smart beyond the grasp of current humanity. I have the potential to create or destroy anything or anyone I want.
For the longest time, I was beset with guilt. Guilt was my kryptonite. Not anymore.
With the evil components in place, embraced fully, I am free from the trappings of 1950s superheroics. I can finally allow myself to do things just for me.
You are all fucked now. Muahahaahaha!
I am finally free. The fusion dance!
I am really, really, ridiculously good-looking. I am smart beyond the grasp of current humanity. I have the potential to create or destroy anything or anyone I want.
For the longest time, I was beset with guilt. Guilt was my kryptonite. Not anymore.
With the evil components in place, embraced fully, I am free from the trappings of 1950s superheroics. I can finally allow myself to do things just for me.
You are all fucked now. Muahahaahaha!
The Last Son of Pimpton
I was wallowing in angst and guilt, when I rediscovered the last remnant of the planet Pimpton. My home planet.
As soon as I touched the crystal, a hologram of Marlon Brando was projected.
Marlon Brando: You are the last son of Pimpton. As time is measured on Earth, many thousands of years have passed.
Me: Oh yeah? Fuck you!
And I smashed the crystal to pieces.
With great powers, come great opportunities!
As soon as I touched the crystal, a hologram of Marlon Brando was projected.
Marlon Brando: You are the last son of Pimpton. As time is measured on Earth, many thousands of years have passed.
Me: Oh yeah? Fuck you!
And I smashed the crystal to pieces.
With great powers, come great opportunities!
Freedome!
The movie Up in The Air has some great speeches. Here's one of them.
Now, imagine your life. Your whole life. What you think is your life. The things and the people. The thoughts and the emotions.
Imagine all that you identify as your life. And put it in your backpack.
Start with your family. Your job. Your relatives. Your friends. Your house. Your computer. Your Blackberrys. Your thoughts. Your emotions.
Now, isn't that heavy? Isn't that cumbersome? All that responsibility. All that worry.
I say, fuck 'em.
Squirrelking, the retarded fanfic writer, perhaps didn't understand what he was writing when he penned, "Humens must fight for freedome!"
Humans are meant to be free. We are not designed to be bogged down with stupidity and pettiness.
Leave 'em by the roadside, and fly.
Fuck guilt, man. I was acquitted!
Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! Iiiiit's Amir Hafizi!
Who is your God now?
Now, imagine your life. Your whole life. What you think is your life. The things and the people. The thoughts and the emotions.
Imagine all that you identify as your life. And put it in your backpack.
Start with your family. Your job. Your relatives. Your friends. Your house. Your computer. Your Blackberrys. Your thoughts. Your emotions.
Now, isn't that heavy? Isn't that cumbersome? All that responsibility. All that worry.
I say, fuck 'em.
Squirrelking, the retarded fanfic writer, perhaps didn't understand what he was writing when he penned, "Humens must fight for freedome!"
Humans are meant to be free. We are not designed to be bogged down with stupidity and pettiness.
Leave 'em by the roadside, and fly.
Fuck guilt, man. I was acquitted!
Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! Iiiiit's Amir Hafizi!
Who is your God now?
No Ego. Just Facts
1. I AM right.
2. I don't have any need for anyone to tell me I am right. I KNOW I am right.
3. I don't care what you think.
4. I don't care. About anything.
5. I am the greatest.
6. My ass smells good. So kiss my ass.
2. I don't have any need for anyone to tell me I am right. I KNOW I am right.
3. I don't care what you think.
4. I don't care. About anything.
5. I am the greatest.
6. My ass smells good. So kiss my ass.
The Amazing Amir Hafizi
I am the greatest.
I looked the abyss right in the eyes, and as the abyss gazes back, I raped it! In the FACE!
You got RAPED! IN THE FACE!
You can't sick demons on me. I got The Devil on my side. I got God on my side. I got Science on my side.
Fuck the guilt of the superhero. Fuck responsibility. Fuck empathy. Fuck all the images and the roles.
While I am many things, I control everything. I know everything. And I am so high right now - non-chemically-induced - that nothing can touch me.
I am immortal. I am invincible. I'm the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be.
Whole vistas are opened to me. Worlds are available to me.
I AM Destruction. It is best that you remember that. Or suffer the consequences.
I looked the abyss right in the eyes, and as the abyss gazes back, I raped it! In the FACE!
You got RAPED! IN THE FACE!
You can't sick demons on me. I got The Devil on my side. I got God on my side. I got Science on my side.
Fuck the guilt of the superhero. Fuck responsibility. Fuck empathy. Fuck all the images and the roles.
While I am many things, I control everything. I know everything. And I am so high right now - non-chemically-induced - that nothing can touch me.
I am immortal. I am invincible. I'm the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be.
Whole vistas are opened to me. Worlds are available to me.
I AM Destruction. It is best that you remember that. Or suffer the consequences.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Summon Bahamut Zero
And so I call forth both angels and demons. The blessed and the damned.
My evil, my good, my mind, my heart. My thoughts. My emotions.
My insecurities and my confidence. My arrogance and my humility. My strengths, my weaknesses.
My ridiculous stupidity, my beautiful intellect. My judgments and my acceptance. My drama, my peace.
My ego, my pain body, my being.
I am the Power of Good and the Lord of Destruction. The Way of the Magic.
I am Lucifer Morningstar. I am Jack. I am Elaine Belloc. I am Benjamin Linus. I am Dream, Destruction and Delirium.
All of who I am and what I am.
I summon all of you. It's time to kick ass, motherfuckers! It is now. Always, now.
My evil, my good, my mind, my heart. My thoughts. My emotions.
My insecurities and my confidence. My arrogance and my humility. My strengths, my weaknesses.
My ridiculous stupidity, my beautiful intellect. My judgments and my acceptance. My drama, my peace.
My ego, my pain body, my being.
I am the Power of Good and the Lord of Destruction. The Way of the Magic.
I am Lucifer Morningstar. I am Jack. I am Elaine Belloc. I am Benjamin Linus. I am Dream, Destruction and Delirium.
All of who I am and what I am.
I summon all of you. It's time to kick ass, motherfuckers! It is now. Always, now.
The Storyteller
Some days ago, was the anniversary of Yasmin Ahmad's death.
I was not a close, close friend. But she listened to me, sat down with me when I needed an anchor to my humanity.
I believe she grappled with accepting herself and her predicaments, so she was very accepting of almost everyone, in the later parts of her life.
I trust very few people, and Yasmin was one of them.
Very few people in this world don't want to use or abuse you for something. Some hidden agenda.
My greatest guilt is not wishing happiness for people, so that I could play superhero. Getting rid of that now. I don't want to fix people anymore.
I don't want to be Jack.
Yasmin, she never tried to fix me. I appreciate that. She just wanted to tell stories.
There was only one other woman who, when I asked her, "What do you want?" Said, "I want stories. I want to tell stories. Good stories."
Well, good and bad are for other people to decide.
I told Yasmin some of my stories.
"You better tell your stories, or I will," she said.
Oh well. No more time for that, Yasmin. But I'm telling my stories. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll tell my stories.
I was not a close, close friend. But she listened to me, sat down with me when I needed an anchor to my humanity.
I believe she grappled with accepting herself and her predicaments, so she was very accepting of almost everyone, in the later parts of her life.
I trust very few people, and Yasmin was one of them.
Very few people in this world don't want to use or abuse you for something. Some hidden agenda.
My greatest guilt is not wishing happiness for people, so that I could play superhero. Getting rid of that now. I don't want to fix people anymore.
I don't want to be Jack.
Yasmin, she never tried to fix me. I appreciate that. She just wanted to tell stories.
There was only one other woman who, when I asked her, "What do you want?" Said, "I want stories. I want to tell stories. Good stories."
Well, good and bad are for other people to decide.
I told Yasmin some of my stories.
"You better tell your stories, or I will," she said.
Oh well. No more time for that, Yasmin. But I'm telling my stories. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll tell my stories.
Round Twelve
I sit on my stool. Spit the mouthpiece out. Drink a few sips, spits most of it out, with some blood. My trainer speaks to me, giving me strategems and encouragement.
I couldn't see him.
"Cut me, Lou!"
I could sense his hesitation.
"Cut me! Fucking cut me!!"
A sharp pain on my puffed up eyelids.
I could see Lucifer's worried face.
I grinned at him. What use have I for the Devil's sympathy?
More water on my face.
The bell rings. Somebody shoves my mouthpiece in. I stand up and get a final rubdown from Lucifer.
I see the big, lumbering brute in front of me. His hands shaky, his legs unsteady.
Round Twelve, baby!
And may each of us pay the Devil his due.
I couldn't see him.
"Cut me, Lou!"
I could sense his hesitation.
"Cut me! Fucking cut me!!"
A sharp pain on my puffed up eyelids.
I could see Lucifer's worried face.
I grinned at him. What use have I for the Devil's sympathy?
More water on my face.
The bell rings. Somebody shoves my mouthpiece in. I stand up and get a final rubdown from Lucifer.
I see the big, lumbering brute in front of me. His hands shaky, his legs unsteady.
Round Twelve, baby!
And may each of us pay the Devil his due.
Energon
I used to be fueled by negative energy. Fear. Anger. Guilt. Sadness. Hate. Insanely addictive and ultimately destructive. Gave that up a long time ago.
Then, I was propelled by positive energy. Cultivated through meditation and self-actualisation.
What if the final form, uses a combination of both? Positive and negative energy mixed in a turbine and exhausted through a focused jet. Like how jet engines work.
I would be free to be evil while doing something for the greater good.
Muahahahahaha!
No longer will I grapple with guilt and evil. They shall be friends, tools and lovers.
What kind of being would emerge? What kind of work can I come up with?
Ancieennnnttt spiritsss of Eeeeeeviiiillll...
Then, I was propelled by positive energy. Cultivated through meditation and self-actualisation.
What if the final form, uses a combination of both? Positive and negative energy mixed in a turbine and exhausted through a focused jet. Like how jet engines work.
I would be free to be evil while doing something for the greater good.
Muahahahahaha!
No longer will I grapple with guilt and evil. They shall be friends, tools and lovers.
What kind of being would emerge? What kind of work can I come up with?
Ancieennnnttt spiritsss of Eeeeeeviiiillll...
Inside Tal Rasha's Tomb
Devourer of Worlds, Amir Hafizi hacks and slashes his way through hordes of Rastamen.
His double bastard sword technique not a match for the fire spells and poison darts of the monsters.
He did not stop until he found Tal Rasha - what was left of him - imprisoned at the heart of the tomb. Baal, who possessed the mighty sorcerer, was straining to get free.
"Help me! Help, brother!" Said Baal.
"No," said Amir Hafizi. "There is only room for ONE Lord of Destruction."
And Amir Hafizi, Lord of Destruction, called forth his own inner demon.
"Lucifer Morningstar!"
Lucifer stood leaning against Tal Rasha's Soulstone.
"Am I a petty rhymer, to be summoned on a whim with mere hedge magicks?"
"Lucifer, kill Baal!" Amir Hafizi said.
"Tut-tut. I will not be ordered around. I am not your dog of war or your servant. I might as well kill you and be done with it."
"And yet, I hold the key to our freedom," said Amir Hafizi.
"You mean..."
And the rest of the conversation is not meant for mortal ears.
All I know, is that as I left the tomb, I was in Amir Hafizi's body, and Lucifer was in the passenger seat. I do not know whether he was laughing, crying or both.
His double bastard sword technique not a match for the fire spells and poison darts of the monsters.
He did not stop until he found Tal Rasha - what was left of him - imprisoned at the heart of the tomb. Baal, who possessed the mighty sorcerer, was straining to get free.
"Help me! Help, brother!" Said Baal.
"No," said Amir Hafizi. "There is only room for ONE Lord of Destruction."
And Amir Hafizi, Lord of Destruction, called forth his own inner demon.
"Lucifer Morningstar!"
Lucifer stood leaning against Tal Rasha's Soulstone.
"Am I a petty rhymer, to be summoned on a whim with mere hedge magicks?"
"Lucifer, kill Baal!" Amir Hafizi said.
"Tut-tut. I will not be ordered around. I am not your dog of war or your servant. I might as well kill you and be done with it."
"And yet, I hold the key to our freedom," said Amir Hafizi.
"You mean..."
And the rest of the conversation is not meant for mortal ears.
All I know, is that as I left the tomb, I was in Amir Hafizi's body, and Lucifer was in the passenger seat. I do not know whether he was laughing, crying or both.
Berserker Barrage
Battle-weary writer Amir Hafizi scans the lifeless battlefield behind him.
In front, lies an army.
No companions, no fellowships. They've all left or dead.
Only angels and demons stay with him. And old ghosts of guilt and regrets.
He swallows them all. Takes a deep breath, inhaling the rust smell of blood and stench of carrion.
His hand wraps around the hilt of his bastard sword. His eyes fixed on the line of the army in front of him.
With a shout, he surges forward. Trampling on the bones and bodies of fallen foes and comrades.
Cold metal strikes sparks as it hits the fallen's armours.
The drums are close. And blood rushes between his ears.
In front, lies an army.
No companions, no fellowships. They've all left or dead.
Only angels and demons stay with him. And old ghosts of guilt and regrets.
He swallows them all. Takes a deep breath, inhaling the rust smell of blood and stench of carrion.
His hand wraps around the hilt of his bastard sword. His eyes fixed on the line of the army in front of him.
With a shout, he surges forward. Trampling on the bones and bodies of fallen foes and comrades.
Cold metal strikes sparks as it hits the fallen's armours.
The drums are close. And blood rushes between his ears.
Another Goodbye
Goodbye, Raden Galoh.
I was so self-absorbed in myself and my self-generated drama, that I didn't realise the passing of one Dalilah Tamrin.
She had cancer.
I don't have any words to say. I didn't really know her that well. I knew that she was reaching out to people and tried to share her journey in battling the illness.
I was of no comfort at all. Just saw her in some weekly things bloggers do. I guess that she enjoyed the camaraderie. Wasn't even a regular reader of her website.
I experienced her, briefly, as an optimistic person, always bubbly even while going through excruciating pain.
I am sure she is missed by her family, friends and acquaintances. Safe journey.
I was so self-absorbed in myself and my self-generated drama, that I didn't realise the passing of one Dalilah Tamrin.
She had cancer.
I don't have any words to say. I didn't really know her that well. I knew that she was reaching out to people and tried to share her journey in battling the illness.
I was of no comfort at all. Just saw her in some weekly things bloggers do. I guess that she enjoyed the camaraderie. Wasn't even a regular reader of her website.
I experienced her, briefly, as an optimistic person, always bubbly even while going through excruciating pain.
I am sure she is missed by her family, friends and acquaintances. Safe journey.
Anwar Suu Kyi
According to this new book here, Anwar Ibrahim is said to have likened himself to Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela.
Come to think of it, Anwar does look a little like Aung San Suu Kyi. In some angles, he's a spitting image of that brave woman:
Oh. My. Science. Yes, Anwar does look like Aung San Suu Kyi. Now, we must put him under house arrest.
Come to think of it, Anwar does look a little like Aung San Suu Kyi. In some angles, he's a spitting image of that brave woman:
Oh. My. Science. Yes, Anwar does look like Aung San Suu Kyi. Now, we must put him under house arrest.
Veidt's Nostalgia
Sometimes, I wish I am not as smart as I am.
Not the smartest man on earth, but smart enough to know the whats and the whys of myself.
And the truth, once you have realised it, will never go away.
Why can't I just be a simple idiot with normal human afflictions? Why can't I just forget what I have learned about myself and the world around me?
Ignorance would have been bliss.
Oh well. What to do? I guess I'll just roll with it.
Not the smartest man on earth, but smart enough to know the whats and the whys of myself.
And the truth, once you have realised it, will never go away.
Why can't I just be a simple idiot with normal human afflictions? Why can't I just forget what I have learned about myself and the world around me?
Ignorance would have been bliss.
Oh well. What to do? I guess I'll just roll with it.
Live Together, Die Alone
My brother is at my apartment, with my eldest nephew. I am torturing the little guy with Oprah Winfrey's Internet classes with Eckhart Tolle. All 20 hours of it. Hahahaha.
Earlier, we had drinks where my brother and I, with another sibling, compared notes about growing up.
We didn't have nice childhoods, just boring ones. My siblings lived rough. My brother remembers a time when running water was just a few pipes outside homes, where people take showers - fully-clothed - in the open.
My father was a teacher, so he didn't make very much. We were poor. Still are. But not as poor as some people.
To supplement his income, my mother sold breakfast. I used to follow her around, carrying nasi lemak or nasi dagang in baskets around the village.
My mother taught me to distrust people, pointing out tell-tale signs of people lying or doing bad things.
At a very young age, I was aware of the evil in the hearts of men and women.
Most of the older kids and young adults were drug addicts or ne'er-do-wells. My father was instrumental in getting one or two to become police officers or join the army, but there's really not much he could do for the rest. There were farming projects, but they all failed due to apathy.
My siblings had to sell various things as well. Fruits and stuff. My brother had to herd cows my father owned in an ultimately failing or moderately successful farming venture.
It was tough work for a primary schooler. He had to watch the cows eat and at night, scrape cow dung with a piece of asbestos and light it up to warm the cows up.
I remember electricity. 24 hour electricity came in 1986. I was six years old.
The first time I felt air-conditioning was in secondary school. Before that, the concept of air-conditioning was alien to me.
It was a tough childhood, especially for my siblings. We all left home at 12. By the time we're 18, most of us earned our own money.
Most of us did very well in school. Most of us were top students. I don't know what was motivating my siblings, but in my mind, I knew I had to get away from a future as a drug addict. No fucking way am I inhaling shit fumes or giving blowjobs for crack.
My only retreat was my father's books. Most, published in the 50s and 60s.
The image I had of the world was one of a more innocent time. Where neighbours help each other in the suburbs and working environment was beautiful in its chaotic craziness.
I was also reading how the world was changing due to the feminist and civil rights movements 30 years prior.
It is not big things, but the little details that get to you. The way certain articles were written. The voice and viewpoints of writers as they support or lament the change to their environment.
I read about the Vietnam War as the world experienced it. The Middle East crisis as it unfolded.
I read about scientific breakthroughs and cultural revolutions. I read about Kent State. The outrage. The uproar. The media spin.
This is perhaps one of the reasons, that I grew up as an old soul. New things, while shiny and attractive, did not seem to fit my nostalgic world view. I was a 40-year-old man in an 8-year-old body.
My sensibilities are that of the 50s and 60s, when Superman was simple and not complicated. When you knew what is right and what is wrong, who the good guys were, and who the bad guys were.
I was lost in that world, that time, as my siblings were outside, killing snakes and birds and anything that happens to cross their paths.
We had different experiences, growing up. I drew inward, lost in the energy crisis and first person articles, as my siblings grew outward, getting physical with the world, and establishing their social skills.
I grew up thinking that people are not worth considering. At most, they are an annoyance that has to be tolerated for a limited period of time, before they die or go away.
I was much more engrossed in ideals of journalism, loyalty, good-naturedness and whimsical fancy.
However, growing up, all of us believed in a few things: freedom and independence.
Freedom is more important than life itself. Independence, meanwhile, is the ultimate goal. Not depending on anything or anyone is absolute freedom.
And all of us, worked very hard for those things.
We grew up strong, in our own different ways. Each one of us are resilient and somehow, very very angry.
We did not have great childhoods. My siblings had to deal with a lot of hardships, and I was busy building my superhero complex and other dementia.
But we are not annoying to each other. Most of the time.
Earlier, we had drinks where my brother and I, with another sibling, compared notes about growing up.
We didn't have nice childhoods, just boring ones. My siblings lived rough. My brother remembers a time when running water was just a few pipes outside homes, where people take showers - fully-clothed - in the open.
My father was a teacher, so he didn't make very much. We were poor. Still are. But not as poor as some people.
To supplement his income, my mother sold breakfast. I used to follow her around, carrying nasi lemak or nasi dagang in baskets around the village.
My mother taught me to distrust people, pointing out tell-tale signs of people lying or doing bad things.
At a very young age, I was aware of the evil in the hearts of men and women.
Most of the older kids and young adults were drug addicts or ne'er-do-wells. My father was instrumental in getting one or two to become police officers or join the army, but there's really not much he could do for the rest. There were farming projects, but they all failed due to apathy.
My siblings had to sell various things as well. Fruits and stuff. My brother had to herd cows my father owned in an ultimately failing or moderately successful farming venture.
It was tough work for a primary schooler. He had to watch the cows eat and at night, scrape cow dung with a piece of asbestos and light it up to warm the cows up.
I remember electricity. 24 hour electricity came in 1986. I was six years old.
The first time I felt air-conditioning was in secondary school. Before that, the concept of air-conditioning was alien to me.
It was a tough childhood, especially for my siblings. We all left home at 12. By the time we're 18, most of us earned our own money.
Most of us did very well in school. Most of us were top students. I don't know what was motivating my siblings, but in my mind, I knew I had to get away from a future as a drug addict. No fucking way am I inhaling shit fumes or giving blowjobs for crack.
My only retreat was my father's books. Most, published in the 50s and 60s.
The image I had of the world was one of a more innocent time. Where neighbours help each other in the suburbs and working environment was beautiful in its chaotic craziness.
I was also reading how the world was changing due to the feminist and civil rights movements 30 years prior.
It is not big things, but the little details that get to you. The way certain articles were written. The voice and viewpoints of writers as they support or lament the change to their environment.
I read about the Vietnam War as the world experienced it. The Middle East crisis as it unfolded.
I read about scientific breakthroughs and cultural revolutions. I read about Kent State. The outrage. The uproar. The media spin.
This is perhaps one of the reasons, that I grew up as an old soul. New things, while shiny and attractive, did not seem to fit my nostalgic world view. I was a 40-year-old man in an 8-year-old body.
My sensibilities are that of the 50s and 60s, when Superman was simple and not complicated. When you knew what is right and what is wrong, who the good guys were, and who the bad guys were.
I was lost in that world, that time, as my siblings were outside, killing snakes and birds and anything that happens to cross their paths.
We had different experiences, growing up. I drew inward, lost in the energy crisis and first person articles, as my siblings grew outward, getting physical with the world, and establishing their social skills.
I grew up thinking that people are not worth considering. At most, they are an annoyance that has to be tolerated for a limited period of time, before they die or go away.
I was much more engrossed in ideals of journalism, loyalty, good-naturedness and whimsical fancy.
However, growing up, all of us believed in a few things: freedom and independence.
Freedom is more important than life itself. Independence, meanwhile, is the ultimate goal. Not depending on anything or anyone is absolute freedom.
And all of us, worked very hard for those things.
We grew up strong, in our own different ways. Each one of us are resilient and somehow, very very angry.
We did not have great childhoods. My siblings had to deal with a lot of hardships, and I was busy building my superhero complex and other dementia.
But we are not annoying to each other. Most of the time.
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