I have had a very full day. Very full. So I come back home and sit naked, staring at the screen with my mouth hanging open.
My mind is a blank.
It's like fucking. After you come, everything is white static. Your ears ring. And your mind is a big white empty hall.
I like this sensation.
I am finally free, after more than 16 hours of constant chatter. This is good. This is balance. Peace.
And now, sleep.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Second Movie: Magika
Bear with me. I can't bring myself to write about my own movie in the newspaper I work at. So this blog would have to do.
Well, the trailer's out on Youtube. I wrote the script, with Edry KRU.
I must say, judging from the trailer, Edry's a great director. As the main creative thrust behind the movie, he nurtured my script until it is now a full feature movie.
I hope the re-imaginings of local folklore is apparent. Had fun doing this. Maybe one day, they let me re-write Pak Pandir in a movie the way I see him - as Pandita, a genius wayy ahead of his time.
I can't wait to see how he interprets my messing about with local Malaysian folklore. We wrote tons of mythical characters in. A few, I see, are added in later. Some of the original was cut out, I think, as there would be too many people in the movie if they had stayed.
Some lesser known legends and myths such as Kuda Hijau, Petir and Guruh may find their home in another movie I am planning. Maybe I'll finish writing it this year.
I am excited, watching the trailer. MySpy was my first real movie. This sophomore effort, was even more of a blast. I've always loved local legends and folktales. Always wanted to get my hands on rewriting them and reimagining them in a way I thought would work. I mean, my nephews know Spider-Man, The Lord of the Rings, but they never heard of Pak Pandir, Lebai Malang, Pak Kadok, Badang, Bawang Putih, Bawang Merah, Naga Tasik Chini. They have never heard old people like my father tell stories about how Tarzan lived in the ear of a white elephant and cooked Maggi Ayam, on a fire fuelled by elephant ear wax.
I got the chance of a lifetime with Magika.
Oh well. The movie opens very soon, I think. Which is, like, now? Or maybe next month.
I, Marcel Marceau
Before I started writing articles and stories in multiple media, I wanted to be a short fiction writer.
One senior journalist - one of the Three Legendary Journalists (Sanjou) - said to me, "Isn't writing stories more fear-inducing than writing articles?"
She was trying, I think, to keep me focused on writing articles. Journalists who stay on as journalists, are hard to come by.
Well, writing fiction actually affords more freedom. You can create anything, make people do anything. That's why, my first work in fiction, was porn. I wrote porn. Had to get the God complex out somehow.
Freedom, always comes at a price. Writing fiction, creating your own world, means that you would have to start everything from scratch. You have to reinvent the wheel, the spokes, the spindle, etc.
Just to show off: Like building a staircase. You need to construct the balustrade, the bannisters, the steps, bit by bit, to get to where you are in your head.
Now, as for the design of fiction - and we're not talking about overall structutre, which is boring, but the fundamental building blocks - we writers use a little something called style.
All great writers have a style. A flavour. The really, really great ones - and there are many - can even use an attractive, distinctive style while writing something as boring as an annual report.
I didn't have a style. I still don't. All my styles are copied from something or someone.
When I was younger, like 13, the style I was trying to imitate was Jack McKinney, who wrote the Robotech books. McKinney is actually a pseudonym - an amalgam of two writers who wrote the Robotech novel adaptations.
McKinney's style was to bridge the sometimes over-the-top designs and happenings in the Robotech cartoons. His was explanatory. He reasons things out with the reader. Why this happened, why that happened. When describing a fight scene, he/they treated it like a story in itself - with dips and curves and a climax and resolution.
Then I moved on to Stephen King, who is even more explanatory. King sets up a scene in his books, right, and it takes ages to get anywhere. He puts history in everything. The monitor was cracked on the left side cause while moving from one house to another one summer in 1998, the protagonist hit the love of his life, who wore leg braces or some shit.
The table had a crack because one night, after fighting with his wife, the protagonist had make-up sex with her and decided to lose weight.
Everything has a history. Everything matters. It's exhausting. And for a while, it was fun.
I began to notice that with children's books, such as ones written by Enid Blyton and JK Rowling, there is a lot of focus on food. Because food was something important back then, when taste-buds were unsullied with other things like clitoris and dick. And sometimes, balls.
Blyton also used a well-known style for children's books - how the kids were right, IF ONLY the good adults would listen to them, and not the mean Mr whatever. It appeals to the righteous side of kids.
David Eddings and Stephanie Meyer have something in common. They deal with all-powerful characters who are in favour of the protagonist. And women, usually hold the reins while the men have all the power.
This is women's power fantasy. They want to be taken care of, by super, God-like beings with no weaknesses. Only THEY can hold sway over the mighty vampire or knight or whatever the fuck.
Writers of women's fiction, or people who want to fuck women better keep this in mind. While writing independent women may attract some readers, or some pussy, the real money is when the female characters are dependent, or weak, but controls the all-powerful men.
Anyway, styles.
The greatest writer ever, the God of Writers, is Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman does not have a style. He copies other people's styles, and makes it better. He copied Arthur Conan Doyle and HP Lovecraft's style and came up with A Study in Emerald - my favourite Sherlock Holmes AND/OR Ctulhu story EVER.
He copied Baywatch to re-write Beowulf and came up with Bay Wolf. He copied Harlan Ellison, Michael Moorcock, Roger Zelazny, Alan Moore etc. You name it, he's done impersonations of them all. Even Rudyard Kipling.
While some themes are distinctly Gaiman-esque, his writing style has always been copying other writers, and he details this with glee, in his forewords.
"I want to write a John Aubrey story." or "I wrote this, as an R.A. Lafferty story."
He is the ultimate copy-ninja. An art forger whose paintings sell for more than the original.
For years, decades now - Ohhh, I'm getting old - I tried to emulate this. I wanted to be a copy-ninja (not a copy-writer, though that does pay better). Not intentionally at first, but later more deliberate.
I had success with King, though nothing I write could ever sell as many books as he did. With King, it's about stamina.
A few others, sure. But Gaiman? The bastard. Never could capture his essence. He goes left, right, like wisps of smoke and then BAM! a hammer. IN YO FACE!
I write articles based on the styles of writers for magazines in the '50s and '60s. My father has a collection of Reader's Digest from 1956-1983. RD was supposed to be a collection of the world's best articles from various magazines. Life. Time. Newsweek, and numerous others.
Right now, it sucks because... I don't know why. But I much prefer those articles than the ones they have today.
I mean, sure, some of the articles had the word 'negro' in it, and they mistakenly called steamboat as 'chrysanthemum pot', but they were a pleasure to read.
There is a quality to those articles you can't find anymore. It's gone. A lost art, in an ever-expanding discipline.
It's like everyone's on YouTube, and you want to do vaudeville or Mr Punch.
Anyway, I need to go back to those books. It is the one thing I asked from my father. I want those books.
Oh well. Maybe the next Chinese New Year.
One senior journalist - one of the Three Legendary Journalists (Sanjou) - said to me, "Isn't writing stories more fear-inducing than writing articles?"
She was trying, I think, to keep me focused on writing articles. Journalists who stay on as journalists, are hard to come by.
Well, writing fiction actually affords more freedom. You can create anything, make people do anything. That's why, my first work in fiction, was porn. I wrote porn. Had to get the God complex out somehow.
Freedom, always comes at a price. Writing fiction, creating your own world, means that you would have to start everything from scratch. You have to reinvent the wheel, the spokes, the spindle, etc.
Just to show off: Like building a staircase. You need to construct the balustrade, the bannisters, the steps, bit by bit, to get to where you are in your head.
Now, as for the design of fiction - and we're not talking about overall structutre, which is boring, but the fundamental building blocks - we writers use a little something called style.
All great writers have a style. A flavour. The really, really great ones - and there are many - can even use an attractive, distinctive style while writing something as boring as an annual report.
I didn't have a style. I still don't. All my styles are copied from something or someone.
When I was younger, like 13, the style I was trying to imitate was Jack McKinney, who wrote the Robotech books. McKinney is actually a pseudonym - an amalgam of two writers who wrote the Robotech novel adaptations.
McKinney's style was to bridge the sometimes over-the-top designs and happenings in the Robotech cartoons. His was explanatory. He reasons things out with the reader. Why this happened, why that happened. When describing a fight scene, he/they treated it like a story in itself - with dips and curves and a climax and resolution.
Then I moved on to Stephen King, who is even more explanatory. King sets up a scene in his books, right, and it takes ages to get anywhere. He puts history in everything. The monitor was cracked on the left side cause while moving from one house to another one summer in 1998, the protagonist hit the love of his life, who wore leg braces or some shit.
The table had a crack because one night, after fighting with his wife, the protagonist had make-up sex with her and decided to lose weight.
Everything has a history. Everything matters. It's exhausting. And for a while, it was fun.
I began to notice that with children's books, such as ones written by Enid Blyton and JK Rowling, there is a lot of focus on food. Because food was something important back then, when taste-buds were unsullied with other things like clitoris and dick. And sometimes, balls.
Blyton also used a well-known style for children's books - how the kids were right, IF ONLY the good adults would listen to them, and not the mean Mr whatever. It appeals to the righteous side of kids.
David Eddings and Stephanie Meyer have something in common. They deal with all-powerful characters who are in favour of the protagonist. And women, usually hold the reins while the men have all the power.
This is women's power fantasy. They want to be taken care of, by super, God-like beings with no weaknesses. Only THEY can hold sway over the mighty vampire or knight or whatever the fuck.
Writers of women's fiction, or people who want to fuck women better keep this in mind. While writing independent women may attract some readers, or some pussy, the real money is when the female characters are dependent, or weak, but controls the all-powerful men.
Anyway, styles.
The greatest writer ever, the God of Writers, is Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman does not have a style. He copies other people's styles, and makes it better. He copied Arthur Conan Doyle and HP Lovecraft's style and came up with A Study in Emerald - my favourite Sherlock Holmes AND/OR Ctulhu story EVER.
He copied Baywatch to re-write Beowulf and came up with Bay Wolf. He copied Harlan Ellison, Michael Moorcock, Roger Zelazny, Alan Moore etc. You name it, he's done impersonations of them all. Even Rudyard Kipling.
While some themes are distinctly Gaiman-esque, his writing style has always been copying other writers, and he details this with glee, in his forewords.
"I want to write a John Aubrey story." or "I wrote this, as an R.A. Lafferty story."
He is the ultimate copy-ninja. An art forger whose paintings sell for more than the original.
For years, decades now - Ohhh, I'm getting old - I tried to emulate this. I wanted to be a copy-ninja (not a copy-writer, though that does pay better). Not intentionally at first, but later more deliberate.
I had success with King, though nothing I write could ever sell as many books as he did. With King, it's about stamina.
A few others, sure. But Gaiman? The bastard. Never could capture his essence. He goes left, right, like wisps of smoke and then BAM! a hammer. IN YO FACE!
I write articles based on the styles of writers for magazines in the '50s and '60s. My father has a collection of Reader's Digest from 1956-1983. RD was supposed to be a collection of the world's best articles from various magazines. Life. Time. Newsweek, and numerous others.
Right now, it sucks because... I don't know why. But I much prefer those articles than the ones they have today.
I mean, sure, some of the articles had the word 'negro' in it, and they mistakenly called steamboat as 'chrysanthemum pot', but they were a pleasure to read.
There is a quality to those articles you can't find anymore. It's gone. A lost art, in an ever-expanding discipline.
It's like everyone's on YouTube, and you want to do vaudeville or Mr Punch.
Anyway, I need to go back to those books. It is the one thing I asked from my father. I want those books.
Oh well. Maybe the next Chinese New Year.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Ad and Some Other Shit
I wished she had played the Brandenburg Concerto... on a harphischord... harpshishchord... harpshishkebab or whatever.
Time to sleep.
The Run Run Show: How to Write Movies in Malaysia
Since word got out that I wrote a movie (seven movies, actually), some people have been asking me for advice or a door into the Malaysian filmmaking business. Business, heh, if you can call it that.
Well, it's very simple.
Malaysia is always short on good, reliable scriptwriters. Why? Many reasons. Good, or possibly great scriptwriters die out from starvation.
There is a lot of shit out there. People not getting paid(kajillions! In the kajillions! Unpaid scripts can amount to the GDP of a small country), creative differences, diva attitudes (that means YOU!), laziness, or getting a job with the Government or semi-Government outfits.
Those who survive do a lot more than just write scripts. Some, play politics. Others, sell burgers. Some act, direct, produce or whatever.
A friend just messaged me about writing scripts. So I thought I might as well reveal the secrets of writing scripts here, in the sense of how to get your scripts turned into movies without getting cheated. This rough guide won't tell you how to write good scripts, just some tips on the harsh lessons in the business.
1. Always ask for an advance
Never write a single word until you get at least 30 per cent of the promised fee. How much? I don't know. Movie scripts get paid from RM6,000 to RM100,000, depending on status, quality, hardship and politics.
If you think the amount is pittance and not worth your time, don't write. You'll regret it later cause even though writing scripts is not as hard as a newbie would think, it is not as simple, either.
Some producers just waste your time. Fuck 'em. Go for the ones who pay. The ones who don't, well, RUN! RUN!
2. Never finish a script and hand it over until you get at least 50 per cent of the payment.
Out of 10 scripts, only three will be made. So if your contract stipulates first payment only after the movie has hit the cinemas, forget it. Run! Run! You got off lucky.
I got lucky. I wrote seven scripts. Three have been shot. Perhaps the other three will be done as well. They're in limbo. The other one is still in development hell.
3. Starting out
So you want to write a movie script. Never done it before? Never went through some fancy scriptwriting class? Never fear.
There is a site called imsdb.com. The Internet Movie Script Database. They collect movie scripts. You can find Amelie there, as well as Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, A Beautiful Mind, etc. A Beautiful Mind won the Academy Award. That's the kind of script you need to strive for.
Follow their format. Don't argue.
4. Tools for fools
The best software to write a movie script on is Final Draft. It's intuitive and cuts writing time by half. Half! Buy it. It's a good investment.
If you're poor as hell, as I was, you can use some freeware. Open source, baby! There is a software called Celtx that does the same thing as Final Draft, and more. It even has a Gantt chart feature as well as costing spreadsheets for any film need.
Wait! It also has different formats for film, theatre, audio-visual, audio-play, storyboarding and comic books!
Wow! I love Celtx! If you get a bonus from your movie, donate to Celtx.
However, Celtx can be a bit tedious to use. Cause it's free. It will only cut your writing time by 30 per cent at most.
Also, get this, you need a keyboard. HP has the best keyboards. When I was writing scripts mainly for a living, I go through one every month. As a journalist, for reference, I go through one every two months. That's how much writing you need to do.
Also, you need to start smoking. Writing scripts means a lot of staying up at night and you need the nicotine, tar as well as the 2000 other chemicals.
5. The prequel
Before you start writing anything, though, go for pre-production meetings. Find out EXACTLY what the producers and perhaps directors want.
If they say, "I just want a good script." RUN! RUN! Quit now while you have the chance! Indecisive people will make your life a nightmare.
You can write a screenplay, for fun, or to be put in a slush-pile. My advice? Don't. If you have a movie you've always wanted to do, write a two to 10 page treatment or synopsis, and pitch that to people instead of a script. Saves you time, energy and heartbreak. Took James Cameron 15 years to do Avatar, and for the first 10 years, it only existed as a 10-page 'scriptment'.
Anyway, if people buy your ideas and want to do a movie, they really don't. They all want to have some input in. Even the accounts people want to have a say in it. If you can't handle that, quit and be an investment banker or a financial speculator. Pays better.
6. The drama
Sometimes, producers and/or directors will want you to do things you REALLY don't want to do to the story.
Know - REALISE - that at the end of the day, directors and producers have the final say in things. Best you could hope for is a compromise. If you can afford it, diva-storm off the meetings. Or produce your own movie. If you can't, find a way to make it work.
Film is a team effort. One guy fucks up, and the whole movie is fucked up. Never be the fuck up guy. Allow others to be idiots. Scriptwriters must never be the idiots.
7. Rewrites
So you finished your script. It will be rewritten. Why? Because by this time, the director might have full control. His vision might be different than the producer's.
If the rewrites come and you struggle back and forth from one guy wanting the main character gay and the other one stamping his foot on making the lead a lesbian, wait out and see who wins the war.
Follow the winner. Because if there are creative disagreements between different people(hopefully not you), and it affects the script, you need to know which direction to take before you start rewriting them.
State your case clearly.
In my experience, the really professional creative people will sort things out within a week. If you're working with unprofessional people, RUN!! RUN! In fact, you should have run weeks ago.
8. Valhalla
After the script has been approved, it is now in the hands of the director. You no longer have any say in it. It's like sending your daughter off to marry a Viking. If the Viking fucks your daughter in the ass, you don't have a say. If your daughter gets a chateau in France, you don't have a stake in it.
Move on and write the next script. Hopefully, a better one.
Well, it's very simple.
Malaysia is always short on good, reliable scriptwriters. Why? Many reasons. Good, or possibly great scriptwriters die out from starvation.
There is a lot of shit out there. People not getting paid(kajillions! In the kajillions! Unpaid scripts can amount to the GDP of a small country), creative differences, diva attitudes (that means YOU!), laziness, or getting a job with the Government or semi-Government outfits.
Those who survive do a lot more than just write scripts. Some, play politics. Others, sell burgers. Some act, direct, produce or whatever.
A friend just messaged me about writing scripts. So I thought I might as well reveal the secrets of writing scripts here, in the sense of how to get your scripts turned into movies without getting cheated. This rough guide won't tell you how to write good scripts, just some tips on the harsh lessons in the business.
1. Always ask for an advance
Never write a single word until you get at least 30 per cent of the promised fee. How much? I don't know. Movie scripts get paid from RM6,000 to RM100,000, depending on status, quality, hardship and politics.
If you think the amount is pittance and not worth your time, don't write. You'll regret it later cause even though writing scripts is not as hard as a newbie would think, it is not as simple, either.
Some producers just waste your time. Fuck 'em. Go for the ones who pay. The ones who don't, well, RUN! RUN!
2. Never finish a script and hand it over until you get at least 50 per cent of the payment.
Out of 10 scripts, only three will be made. So if your contract stipulates first payment only after the movie has hit the cinemas, forget it. Run! Run! You got off lucky.
I got lucky. I wrote seven scripts. Three have been shot. Perhaps the other three will be done as well. They're in limbo. The other one is still in development hell.
3. Starting out
So you want to write a movie script. Never done it before? Never went through some fancy scriptwriting class? Never fear.
There is a site called imsdb.com. The Internet Movie Script Database. They collect movie scripts. You can find Amelie there, as well as Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, A Beautiful Mind, etc. A Beautiful Mind won the Academy Award. That's the kind of script you need to strive for.
Follow their format. Don't argue.
4. Tools for fools
The best software to write a movie script on is Final Draft. It's intuitive and cuts writing time by half. Half! Buy it. It's a good investment.
If you're poor as hell, as I was, you can use some freeware. Open source, baby! There is a software called Celtx that does the same thing as Final Draft, and more. It even has a Gantt chart feature as well as costing spreadsheets for any film need.
Wait! It also has different formats for film, theatre, audio-visual, audio-play, storyboarding and comic books!
Wow! I love Celtx! If you get a bonus from your movie, donate to Celtx.
However, Celtx can be a bit tedious to use. Cause it's free. It will only cut your writing time by 30 per cent at most.
Also, get this, you need a keyboard. HP has the best keyboards. When I was writing scripts mainly for a living, I go through one every month. As a journalist, for reference, I go through one every two months. That's how much writing you need to do.
Also, you need to start smoking. Writing scripts means a lot of staying up at night and you need the nicotine, tar as well as the 2000 other chemicals.
5. The prequel
Before you start writing anything, though, go for pre-production meetings. Find out EXACTLY what the producers and perhaps directors want.
If they say, "I just want a good script." RUN! RUN! Quit now while you have the chance! Indecisive people will make your life a nightmare.
You can write a screenplay, for fun, or to be put in a slush-pile. My advice? Don't. If you have a movie you've always wanted to do, write a two to 10 page treatment or synopsis, and pitch that to people instead of a script. Saves you time, energy and heartbreak. Took James Cameron 15 years to do Avatar, and for the first 10 years, it only existed as a 10-page 'scriptment'.
Anyway, if people buy your ideas and want to do a movie, they really don't. They all want to have some input in. Even the accounts people want to have a say in it. If you can't handle that, quit and be an investment banker or a financial speculator. Pays better.
6. The drama
Sometimes, producers and/or directors will want you to do things you REALLY don't want to do to the story.
Know - REALISE - that at the end of the day, directors and producers have the final say in things. Best you could hope for is a compromise. If you can afford it, diva-storm off the meetings. Or produce your own movie. If you can't, find a way to make it work.
Film is a team effort. One guy fucks up, and the whole movie is fucked up. Never be the fuck up guy. Allow others to be idiots. Scriptwriters must never be the idiots.
7. Rewrites
So you finished your script. It will be rewritten. Why? Because by this time, the director might have full control. His vision might be different than the producer's.
If the rewrites come and you struggle back and forth from one guy wanting the main character gay and the other one stamping his foot on making the lead a lesbian, wait out and see who wins the war.
Follow the winner. Because if there are creative disagreements between different people(hopefully not you), and it affects the script, you need to know which direction to take before you start rewriting them.
State your case clearly.
In my experience, the really professional creative people will sort things out within a week. If you're working with unprofessional people, RUN!! RUN! In fact, you should have run weeks ago.
8. Valhalla
After the script has been approved, it is now in the hands of the director. You no longer have any say in it. It's like sending your daughter off to marry a Viking. If the Viking fucks your daughter in the ass, you don't have a say. If your daughter gets a chateau in France, you don't have a stake in it.
Move on and write the next script. Hopefully, a better one.
I. P. Man
A good friend of mine just had one of his songs allegedly stolen by some international artistes. I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this.
Well, actually, I will rest soon. I need some sleep.
Framkly, I have had enough. Creative people in this country are treated like shit. Since I'm the most creative motherfucker ever, that goes double for me.
Years ago, in my dying days as a reporter, I was approached by some actors, wanting to do a guild of sorts. A professional union like in other countries.
They were really gung ho about it, because the rights of creative people were being trampled on.
As the greatest journalist ever, I did what any greatest journalist ever would do. I stood by and waited for them to do something. I cannot interfere. I was Uatu, the Watcher. I can't delve in the matters of mortals, or the Celestials would come and kick my ass. They never did do anything.
Fast forward a few years later, I heard some dudes who wanted the guild are now fishing. I mean, literally. Fishing.
They got no work. Cause people thought of them as trouble-makers. Jimmy Hoffa wannabes.
I also was a freelance scriptwriter, and perhaps still am. I tried to start a screenwriters' guild.
A few things stood in my way.
1. Writers are not aggressive.
They're meek and mild and polite. Especially in Malaysia. They are mostly willing to settle for scraps and abuse from anyone. Some of us get paid, poorly, if at all. SOme, are just used and abused.
Fuck creative independence. Fuck creative rights. Fuck getting paid on time.
The apathy was the one that killed it. That, and my own apathy.
2. Rules
Laws and regulations in Malaysia are a bit anti-union. I found out from some people, don't know if this is true, but MSC-status companies can't deal with unions.
Fuck MSC. Fuck all of you motherfuckers.
The existing associations are set-up by people who should not set them up. Producers should not set-up and be union leaders of screen actors and writers and lighting men and whatever else.
As much as your boss, or whoever in management can't be union leaders of your workforce. You can't have that. It's called conflict of interest.
Okay, so I tried and failed. Boo fucking hoo. I still have hopes of establishing a scripting house, as a start. Be a charter and piggy-back on any association that would have us.
Now, I'm in the Press. Again. If you have grouses with your unions or lack thereof, especially concerning the creative industry, come to me.
Let me tell you a bit about reality. The two most powerful Gods in this world are not the Christian Allah or Eloheim. It's money and Makcik Bedah Mulut Jubur.
Basically, money and people's perception.
People who have money, or organisations that have money, do not want you to take their money or your money. Especially your money.
And there's a lot of money in the creative industry. We're talking billions. A piece of that pie - a secured piece - is not too much to ask.
So you need to become bigger and take what's yours.
They can be bigger than you and bigger than me, but they can't be bigger than you AND me. Can you dig it?
Dy-no-mite! Dy-no-mite!
Ehhh... nothing will come out of this. But who gives a shit?
I failed before. I didn't die. I'm still here, motherfucker. Still saying, 'fuck the free world'!
Well, actually, I will rest soon. I need some sleep.
Framkly, I have had enough. Creative people in this country are treated like shit. Since I'm the most creative motherfucker ever, that goes double for me.
Years ago, in my dying days as a reporter, I was approached by some actors, wanting to do a guild of sorts. A professional union like in other countries.
They were really gung ho about it, because the rights of creative people were being trampled on.
As the greatest journalist ever, I did what any greatest journalist ever would do. I stood by and waited for them to do something. I cannot interfere. I was Uatu, the Watcher. I can't delve in the matters of mortals, or the Celestials would come and kick my ass. They never did do anything.
Fast forward a few years later, I heard some dudes who wanted the guild are now fishing. I mean, literally. Fishing.
They got no work. Cause people thought of them as trouble-makers. Jimmy Hoffa wannabes.
I also was a freelance scriptwriter, and perhaps still am. I tried to start a screenwriters' guild.
A few things stood in my way.
1. Writers are not aggressive.
They're meek and mild and polite. Especially in Malaysia. They are mostly willing to settle for scraps and abuse from anyone. Some of us get paid, poorly, if at all. SOme, are just used and abused.
Fuck creative independence. Fuck creative rights. Fuck getting paid on time.
The apathy was the one that killed it. That, and my own apathy.
2. Rules
Laws and regulations in Malaysia are a bit anti-union. I found out from some people, don't know if this is true, but MSC-status companies can't deal with unions.
Fuck MSC. Fuck all of you motherfuckers.
The existing associations are set-up by people who should not set them up. Producers should not set-up and be union leaders of screen actors and writers and lighting men and whatever else.
As much as your boss, or whoever in management can't be union leaders of your workforce. You can't have that. It's called conflict of interest.
Okay, so I tried and failed. Boo fucking hoo. I still have hopes of establishing a scripting house, as a start. Be a charter and piggy-back on any association that would have us.
Now, I'm in the Press. Again. If you have grouses with your unions or lack thereof, especially concerning the creative industry, come to me.
Let me tell you a bit about reality. The two most powerful Gods in this world are not the Christian Allah or Eloheim. It's money and Makcik Bedah Mulut Jubur.
Basically, money and people's perception.
People who have money, or organisations that have money, do not want you to take their money or your money. Especially your money.
And there's a lot of money in the creative industry. We're talking billions. A piece of that pie - a secured piece - is not too much to ask.
So you need to become bigger and take what's yours.
They can be bigger than you and bigger than me, but they can't be bigger than you AND me. Can you dig it?
Dy-no-mite! Dy-no-mite!
Ehhh... nothing will come out of this. But who gives a shit?
I failed before. I didn't die. I'm still here, motherfucker. Still saying, 'fuck the free world'!
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Truth: 2009
Well. That was it. 2009. That's all she wrote. Goodbye.
I remember, Dec 31 2008. I was coughing up blood. Alone. In a 1440sqft apartment in Bukit Jalil. Four rooms.
I was smoking four packs a day by that time and was due for my next bout of bronchitis.
It was the last day of my previous job. I was co-heading a creative department in Astro. Was responsible for over 3500 hours of content a year.
I knew my contract was up, ending on Dec 31. I spent the last months I was there making sure that other people in my outfit could either stay on working there in whatever capacity, that they kept their jobs. The rest whose contracts were up as well, I tried very hard to get them jobs elsewhere.
I wasn't being noble or kind. It was the decent thing to do. The human thing to do. My loyalty was with my people. I need to be able to sleep at night. And if it meant being stupid or starving to death, then so be it. I have had many bad experiences with people who like to be 'smart about things'.
On Jan 1, one of my bosses called me up.
I was sprawled on my bed, coughing my lungs out. Coughing out brown phlegm. A level over green.
"Hey Amir, I got some good news! Your contract is being renewed!"
Somehow, I had a feeling that life was going to take me elsewhere. So I said, that's great, hooray, and never pushed for it ever again.
I haven't lived for long, but I have learned one thing - always trust my instincts. The times when I disregarded my instincts, I landed flat on my ass.
My pimp senses were telling me that I had some other thing to do.
So I stayed home for two weeks. Just stayed there. Slept. Watched TV. Went online. Did nothing. Oh yeah, I went to Phuket - the source of all power. Got my fill for perhaps the last time. Thailand's last lesson for me was to live without Thailand.
True freedom is when you can live without anything. When you are truly independent.
I came back and called up some friends. Bless them, jobs came pouring in. I have always been lucky with this kind of thing. There are always lots and lots of jobs for writers. The tricky part is to arrange for the other things like contracts and payments, but those can be sorted out with a level head and professional demeanour.
So anyway, I wrote scripts, freelancing full time for a while. Paid the bills. And then the rumours of an offer came. There were some rumblings about my old company, The Malay Mail.
I got the offer, accepted it, and was back at my old desk. A desk I left three years before.
I honestly never believed I would be doing journalism again. I thought those days were over. But there you go, and here I am.
Six months was a time to build foundations. You can only push for greater things when you have a solid base to jump from. Truthfully, I am happy. Some things took longer than I thought - is taking longer. Others, were amazingly fast.
Six months was a beginning. We shall see what unfolds from here. I do not know what the future holds, and am sick of worrying about it.
They said last year that 2009 will be a year of beginnings, and they were right.
On other fronts, my first movie was released on Dec 3. MySpy. For a while, I was scared that it would be so bad that I would never write a movie again. After watching it, I am okay with it. Most of the jokes I wrote were in! Wow! The cast and crew and director even added some of their own, which I think is cool.
I'm gonna make more movies, that's for sure. Check out two more coming out next year. Oops. THIS year. Muahahaha.
I think 2010 is going to be a great year. I don't know why. I had a feeling that 2009 was just going to be an average year, and it was better than I expected. I feel that 2010 is going to be a good year, so it's going to be fantastic.
This year, I lost a dear, dear friend. Yasmin Ahmad. I spent some time with her before, because she loves to spend time with people. She would talk with any Tom, Dick or Harry. I was Dick.
I asked her before, "Why do you talk to me?"
"Because you talk to me," was her answer.
Some people said some really nasty things about her after she died. After she couldn't answer any allegation. I think after I die, people who have enough spiteful energy will say bad things as well. Hell, even when I'm alive, they say hateful things.
Fortunately, 2009 was also a year of spiritual awakening for me.
Since I was very young, I went through a phase of finding my religion, my system. I studied - informally - Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Sufism and whatever else to augment my formal education in Islam.
2009 was the year I found my religion - "Not a devout Muslim". I'm not an atheist, as some people have judged and sent me screeching emails about how I'm going to hell.
Hell? Heaven? One Thai hooker told me, in a back alley somewhere in Bangkok, "Heaven or hell, if it exists, is not our business. Our business is living the best life we can. Let God decide whether we go to heaven or hell. It is beyond our control."
My spiritual search found a milestone in the discovery of the ego. I have known for a while that I have a big ego. This year, I found the tools to accept and ultimately neutralise my ego. I feel free, unburdened and for the first time ever, not needy.
I wish to share that with everyone - without any desire to be told that I am right or to augment my belief in the ego thing - but there is no way for me to do that without getting preachy. Oh well. I guess everyone has to walk their own paths.
Just don't get in my way.
My family's going through stuff. My father is sick. He's old. Old people get sick. Young people get sick too. Oh well. I'm just glad my father is not one of the people I love who died in 2009. I'd be really pissed off with 2009 if that happened.
The doctors, by insinuation, gave him only a few weeks left to live. He shrugged off his fourth stroke like like it was a flu.
So, anyway, the haul for 2009:
1. Spiritual stuff
2. My first movie
3. Going back to The Malay Mail
4. Other stuff
Not bad. Let's see what 2010 has to offer. Maybe an award or something. Oh well.
I remember, Dec 31 2008. I was coughing up blood. Alone. In a 1440sqft apartment in Bukit Jalil. Four rooms.
I was smoking four packs a day by that time and was due for my next bout of bronchitis.
It was the last day of my previous job. I was co-heading a creative department in Astro. Was responsible for over 3500 hours of content a year.
I knew my contract was up, ending on Dec 31. I spent the last months I was there making sure that other people in my outfit could either stay on working there in whatever capacity, that they kept their jobs. The rest whose contracts were up as well, I tried very hard to get them jobs elsewhere.
I wasn't being noble or kind. It was the decent thing to do. The human thing to do. My loyalty was with my people. I need to be able to sleep at night. And if it meant being stupid or starving to death, then so be it. I have had many bad experiences with people who like to be 'smart about things'.
On Jan 1, one of my bosses called me up.
I was sprawled on my bed, coughing my lungs out. Coughing out brown phlegm. A level over green.
"Hey Amir, I got some good news! Your contract is being renewed!"
Somehow, I had a feeling that life was going to take me elsewhere. So I said, that's great, hooray, and never pushed for it ever again.
I haven't lived for long, but I have learned one thing - always trust my instincts. The times when I disregarded my instincts, I landed flat on my ass.
My pimp senses were telling me that I had some other thing to do.
So I stayed home for two weeks. Just stayed there. Slept. Watched TV. Went online. Did nothing. Oh yeah, I went to Phuket - the source of all power. Got my fill for perhaps the last time. Thailand's last lesson for me was to live without Thailand.
True freedom is when you can live without anything. When you are truly independent.
I came back and called up some friends. Bless them, jobs came pouring in. I have always been lucky with this kind of thing. There are always lots and lots of jobs for writers. The tricky part is to arrange for the other things like contracts and payments, but those can be sorted out with a level head and professional demeanour.
So anyway, I wrote scripts, freelancing full time for a while. Paid the bills. And then the rumours of an offer came. There were some rumblings about my old company, The Malay Mail.
I got the offer, accepted it, and was back at my old desk. A desk I left three years before.
I honestly never believed I would be doing journalism again. I thought those days were over. But there you go, and here I am.
Six months was a time to build foundations. You can only push for greater things when you have a solid base to jump from. Truthfully, I am happy. Some things took longer than I thought - is taking longer. Others, were amazingly fast.
Six months was a beginning. We shall see what unfolds from here. I do not know what the future holds, and am sick of worrying about it.
They said last year that 2009 will be a year of beginnings, and they were right.
On other fronts, my first movie was released on Dec 3. MySpy. For a while, I was scared that it would be so bad that I would never write a movie again. After watching it, I am okay with it. Most of the jokes I wrote were in! Wow! The cast and crew and director even added some of their own, which I think is cool.
I'm gonna make more movies, that's for sure. Check out two more coming out next year. Oops. THIS year. Muahahaha.
I think 2010 is going to be a great year. I don't know why. I had a feeling that 2009 was just going to be an average year, and it was better than I expected. I feel that 2010 is going to be a good year, so it's going to be fantastic.
This year, I lost a dear, dear friend. Yasmin Ahmad. I spent some time with her before, because she loves to spend time with people. She would talk with any Tom, Dick or Harry. I was Dick.
I asked her before, "Why do you talk to me?"
"Because you talk to me," was her answer.
Some people said some really nasty things about her after she died. After she couldn't answer any allegation. I think after I die, people who have enough spiteful energy will say bad things as well. Hell, even when I'm alive, they say hateful things.
Fortunately, 2009 was also a year of spiritual awakening for me.
Since I was very young, I went through a phase of finding my religion, my system. I studied - informally - Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Sufism and whatever else to augment my formal education in Islam.
2009 was the year I found my religion - "Not a devout Muslim". I'm not an atheist, as some people have judged and sent me screeching emails about how I'm going to hell.
Hell? Heaven? One Thai hooker told me, in a back alley somewhere in Bangkok, "Heaven or hell, if it exists, is not our business. Our business is living the best life we can. Let God decide whether we go to heaven or hell. It is beyond our control."
My spiritual search found a milestone in the discovery of the ego. I have known for a while that I have a big ego. This year, I found the tools to accept and ultimately neutralise my ego. I feel free, unburdened and for the first time ever, not needy.
I wish to share that with everyone - without any desire to be told that I am right or to augment my belief in the ego thing - but there is no way for me to do that without getting preachy. Oh well. I guess everyone has to walk their own paths.
Just don't get in my way.
My family's going through stuff. My father is sick. He's old. Old people get sick. Young people get sick too. Oh well. I'm just glad my father is not one of the people I love who died in 2009. I'd be really pissed off with 2009 if that happened.
The doctors, by insinuation, gave him only a few weeks left to live. He shrugged off his fourth stroke like like it was a flu.
So, anyway, the haul for 2009:
1. Spiritual stuff
2. My first movie
3. Going back to The Malay Mail
4. Other stuff
Not bad. Let's see what 2010 has to offer. Maybe an award or something. Oh well.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Man-Woman Interface
I discovered one thing recently. Two things, really.
Number one, I have been observing why feminist regimes seem to hate gay men.
Apparently, most women still think of themselves as hos. In the sense that they feel secure about living in a man's world when they think that they can have ultimate victory using the trump card, their last bargaining chip - the pussy.
It's like negotiating some shit and then, when things get to a stalemate, the woman, I'm sorry, the ho, puts the pussy on the table and say, "What about now?"
They believe that pussy is the most valuable thing in the world.
Which is true. I believed that bullshit. Till I'm 25.
So anyway, they are either threatened or attracted to gay men because the pussies don't work on gay men.
Throw a pussy at a gay dude and he'd be like, "What the fuck is this fishy bullshit?"
I noticed that gay men are impervious to pussy. For some women - especially those whose pussies have dried up or stink like a rotting carcass - this is dangerous.
Knowing full well my own vulnerabilities, I went to Thailand to study under the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.
After realising that good pussy is only worth RM50, I was well on my way to be free of hypno-pussy. Not being gay, cause I'm straight, but because when you slap the exact value of something, it's no longer magical or unobtainable.
I am no longer under the spell of the hypno-pussy.
And this, gets a lot of women feel threatened. Their equivalent of a nuclear warhead - I can walk away from, unscratched.
I mean, when you have experienced the Seven Positions of Buddha, what the fuck can the other bitches offer you?
The danger is, when women find out that you are non-pussy-penetrable, they will try various ways to discredit you.
Oh well. That's the way it goes.
I challenge any good-looking woman to offer me pussy, so that I could turn them down.
Try me.
Strip in front of me, and gyrate your hips, offering your pussy. I'll just stomp on your pussy.
And when you yell, "Why?!"
I'll just say, "Checking for bees."
Number one, I have been observing why feminist regimes seem to hate gay men.
Apparently, most women still think of themselves as hos. In the sense that they feel secure about living in a man's world when they think that they can have ultimate victory using the trump card, their last bargaining chip - the pussy.
It's like negotiating some shit and then, when things get to a stalemate, the woman, I'm sorry, the ho, puts the pussy on the table and say, "What about now?"
They believe that pussy is the most valuable thing in the world.
Which is true. I believed that bullshit. Till I'm 25.
So anyway, they are either threatened or attracted to gay men because the pussies don't work on gay men.
Throw a pussy at a gay dude and he'd be like, "What the fuck is this fishy bullshit?"
I noticed that gay men are impervious to pussy. For some women - especially those whose pussies have dried up or stink like a rotting carcass - this is dangerous.
Knowing full well my own vulnerabilities, I went to Thailand to study under the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.
After realising that good pussy is only worth RM50, I was well on my way to be free of hypno-pussy. Not being gay, cause I'm straight, but because when you slap the exact value of something, it's no longer magical or unobtainable.
I am no longer under the spell of the hypno-pussy.
And this, gets a lot of women feel threatened. Their equivalent of a nuclear warhead - I can walk away from, unscratched.
I mean, when you have experienced the Seven Positions of Buddha, what the fuck can the other bitches offer you?
The danger is, when women find out that you are non-pussy-penetrable, they will try various ways to discredit you.
Oh well. That's the way it goes.
I challenge any good-looking woman to offer me pussy, so that I could turn them down.
Try me.
Strip in front of me, and gyrate your hips, offering your pussy. I'll just stomp on your pussy.
And when you yell, "Why?!"
I'll just say, "Checking for bees."
Monday, December 28, 2009
Who is the next AF Principal?
The Malay Mail has the story here.
It is merely a possibility, not a certainty, but I hope Norman gets the job. It'll be cool!
It is merely a possibility, not a certainty, but I hope Norman gets the job. It'll be cool!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Glee: New Underwear
KUALA LUMPUR: Amir Hafizi is excited about tomorrow, because he will be wearing his new underwear.
"I always go through a pair of boxers every month, because normal clothing can't contain my august nature," said Amir Hafizi.
"So this Christmas, some Pierre Cardin boxers were on sale. I know they're not cK, but they'll do the trick. So I bought four pairs, at RM9.90 each!"
Wearing his new, RM9.90 boxers will also grant Amir superpowers such as invisibility, impregnation, X-ray vision and pussy-pathy.
The police and FRU have been alerted to this new development and has dispatched 50,000,000 additional troops into KL tomorrow.
"The whole exercise will cost RM870 trillion," said some random police spokesperson. "But it's for the safety of the public."
Roadblocks will be set up at main routes. Tomorrow, DUKE, Federal Highway, PLUS and LPT will be closed to accomodate this major television event.
"I always go through a pair of boxers every month, because normal clothing can't contain my august nature," said Amir Hafizi.
"So this Christmas, some Pierre Cardin boxers were on sale. I know they're not cK, but they'll do the trick. So I bought four pairs, at RM9.90 each!"
Wearing his new, RM9.90 boxers will also grant Amir superpowers such as invisibility, impregnation, X-ray vision and pussy-pathy.
The police and FRU have been alerted to this new development and has dispatched 50,000,000 additional troops into KL tomorrow.
"The whole exercise will cost RM870 trillion," said some random police spokesperson. "But it's for the safety of the public."
Roadblocks will be set up at main routes. Tomorrow, DUKE, Federal Highway, PLUS and LPT will be closed to accomodate this major television event.
Executioner's Song: Boxing Day Blast
I spent the whole of Boxing Day having a soiree and slipping in a barnstorming brainstorming session amidst roasted chikin and mee bandung.
Mee bandung, the original version, takes over 24 hours of preparation. It involves making beef stock from two kinds of beef cuts, squid, shrimp as well as the six-hour sambal. That's sambal you need to cook for at least six hours, on slow-cook, to get it right.
I first tasted this dish - the real one - around five years ago, and have never forgotten it. The care and effort put into it is amazing. The eating part takes only 10 minutes, after slaving for over a day. Thank God I wasn't the one cooking it.
As for the rest, I will do a proper year-end round-up soon. There will be some interesting announcements soon, so watch this space!
I've been coasting all this while, so it's time to shift into second gear. Just like fucking, you need to take it slow, establish a rhythm, and then push off from there. I mean, foreplay alone usually takes an hour, for an experienced fucker like me.
Gear 2 involves a lot more stuff. And woe, woe, woe to the denizens of Earth.
The ego has landed.
Mee bandung, the original version, takes over 24 hours of preparation. It involves making beef stock from two kinds of beef cuts, squid, shrimp as well as the six-hour sambal. That's sambal you need to cook for at least six hours, on slow-cook, to get it right.
I first tasted this dish - the real one - around five years ago, and have never forgotten it. The care and effort put into it is amazing. The eating part takes only 10 minutes, after slaving for over a day. Thank God I wasn't the one cooking it.
As for the rest, I will do a proper year-end round-up soon. There will be some interesting announcements soon, so watch this space!
I've been coasting all this while, so it's time to shift into second gear. Just like fucking, you need to take it slow, establish a rhythm, and then push off from there. I mean, foreplay alone usually takes an hour, for an experienced fucker like me.
Gear 2 involves a lot more stuff. And woe, woe, woe to the denizens of Earth.
The ego has landed.
Break-fasting News Story
Sehati Berdansa ended last night. Nana and Sein won. The big news, though was about hosts Awal and Scha, who were allegedly arrested at an illegal entertainment outlet on Christmas eve.
Here is their full side of the story.
Here is their full side of the story.
War Strumpets
And I beat on the drums of war.
One quote will suffice:
And I beheld, and heard an angel flying through the midst of Heaven, saying with a loud voice, "Woe, woe, woe, to the inhabiters of the Earth" - the Book of Revelations
One quote will suffice:
And I beheld, and heard an angel flying through the midst of Heaven, saying with a loud voice, "Woe, woe, woe, to the inhabiters of the Earth" - the Book of Revelations
Saturday, December 26, 2009
I See It
A lot of people are asking me, should they go see Avatar. No, they ask me, whether they will like it.
The answer? I don't know! I don't know whether you will like the movie or not. I'm not you! And since I didn't make it, I don't care.
Watched Avatar for the third time in 3D this week. Also just found out that Avatar will not open in Japan and China until a week or two from now.
Since Japan and China usually get stuff over there first, I am lucky to be in Malaysia this time around.
The latest show I saw was at GSC Signature, 3D in Premier Class. If possible, I will watch every week until this thing closes, and I'm buying the original DVD.
Love it, love it, love it!
Is it the best movie ever made? No. But it kicks ass.
There are some detractors, for sure. For various reasons. Some people just didn't like it. They didn't like the 3D, the CGI or the storyline. Some just hate James Cameron. I am indifferent to the guy, but hats off anyway.
Which is fine. I mean, the only important opinion for me, is my own. And I love it.
In the cinema, there was this couple, sitting across the aisle. They were watching, and the man-bitch had to explain every single scene to his cow. The woman is a cow because she needs to be herded.
I hate people talking in cinemas as a principle, and this has nothing to do with Avatar. I will get pissed off even if it's say, Sembilu 2 or Ninja.
I had half a mind to go creep behind them and whisper, "I see you."
Next time, I'm bringing a knife. If you talk in the cinema while I'm watching anything other than trailers, I will go to where you sit and slit your throat.
Anyway, all this attention and love for Avatar will give rise to an opposite reaction. Hate.
There will be SOME people who will proclaim loudly how they hate the movie not because they hate the movie, but because they want to be cool. Want to be different. Wannabes!
Since when is watching movies a fashion statement? Ah, yes, nevermind. That's very pathetic, though.
Well, fortunately, Avatar has not developed a cult like Twilight. End of the day, it's a movie. Nothing more, nothing less. And I love it. I'm going to watch it over and over again. I hope Cameron does a trilogy. I hope it makes a billion dollars.
Just like, if they show the original Kami (with Sudirman) again, I'm gonna watch it quite a few times.
If you ask me, all I can say is that I love it, and will continue to go and see it. You may not like it, for whatever reason. Just don't yell at my face. I know you're not cool. So fuck off.
The answer? I don't know! I don't know whether you will like the movie or not. I'm not you! And since I didn't make it, I don't care.
Watched Avatar for the third time in 3D this week. Also just found out that Avatar will not open in Japan and China until a week or two from now.
Since Japan and China usually get stuff over there first, I am lucky to be in Malaysia this time around.
The latest show I saw was at GSC Signature, 3D in Premier Class. If possible, I will watch every week until this thing closes, and I'm buying the original DVD.
Love it, love it, love it!
Is it the best movie ever made? No. But it kicks ass.
There are some detractors, for sure. For various reasons. Some people just didn't like it. They didn't like the 3D, the CGI or the storyline. Some just hate James Cameron. I am indifferent to the guy, but hats off anyway.
Which is fine. I mean, the only important opinion for me, is my own. And I love it.
In the cinema, there was this couple, sitting across the aisle. They were watching, and the man-bitch had to explain every single scene to his cow. The woman is a cow because she needs to be herded.
I hate people talking in cinemas as a principle, and this has nothing to do with Avatar. I will get pissed off even if it's say, Sembilu 2 or Ninja.
I had half a mind to go creep behind them and whisper, "I see you."
Next time, I'm bringing a knife. If you talk in the cinema while I'm watching anything other than trailers, I will go to where you sit and slit your throat.
Anyway, all this attention and love for Avatar will give rise to an opposite reaction. Hate.
There will be SOME people who will proclaim loudly how they hate the movie not because they hate the movie, but because they want to be cool. Want to be different. Wannabes!
Since when is watching movies a fashion statement? Ah, yes, nevermind. That's very pathetic, though.
Well, fortunately, Avatar has not developed a cult like Twilight. End of the day, it's a movie. Nothing more, nothing less. And I love it. I'm going to watch it over and over again. I hope Cameron does a trilogy. I hope it makes a billion dollars.
Just like, if they show the original Kami (with Sudirman) again, I'm gonna watch it quite a few times.
If you ask me, all I can say is that I love it, and will continue to go and see it. You may not like it, for whatever reason. Just don't yell at my face. I know you're not cool. So fuck off.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Talkback
Some time ago, I was out there, right? Minding my own business when a friend called me up and said, "You know what they're saying about you?"
Me: Me? What?
Friend: They're saying, "Look at Amir. He's unhappy because of his faith."
I was like, what the fuck?
Me: What the fuck?
Friend: Yeah, yeah!
Me: What is my faith, then?
Friend: They're saying you're an atheist.
Oh well.
Man, I'm not an atheist. Atheists don't believe in God. I do. My religion is, for the record, 'Not a devout Muslim'.
But first of all, what business is it for you to talk about my personal beliefs? You wanna try and talk back about Islam, go ahead. Just cause you say anything, doesn't make it true. You wanna talk about atheism, go ahead. I do. I just don't get personal with it, which is my own personal justification.
Years and years ago, I got a similar call. Another friend.
Friend2: You know what they're saying about you?
Me: Huh? Me?
F2: They're saying, "Look at where Amir is now! He's miserable, broke and lonely."
Me: What?
I was pissed off for a full five minutes. Because my ego wanted to tell them how if I'm miserable and lonely, I go to Thailand. That's why I'm broke all the time.
Haven't been to Thailand in a while, cause I need some money. My parents are sick, and I have debts I need to attend to. Thailand can wait. And one of the things I learned, trained myself for, in Thailand, is how to be independent of desire which makes you miserable and lonely.
The gospel of the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.
Anyway, apparently, a few years ago, I was used as an example of a failure. Oh, what fools these mortals be.
I believe that if you have a good head screwed on your shoulders, you can do many things. The world is a big place. There are lots of people. Just because you don't like something or someone, does not make everything about that some one or some thing bad.
The ego likes to tell you that your opinion matters. It does, but not in the way that you might think.
Number one, you are not God. Be, and so be it. No. You're just man.
Number two, everyone's got an opinion.
And here's the great secret number three: people might have opinions that differ from yours. Shock! Horror!
Additional point: opinions are neither right nor wrong.
I used to want to fight these idiots. Put me in a ring, and I'll fucking shooting star press your ass.
But no. That's just a waste of time. These fuckers eventually die.
These days, I just jack off to porn. That's more productive.
Me: Me? What?
Friend: They're saying, "Look at Amir. He's unhappy because of his faith."
I was like, what the fuck?
Me: What the fuck?
Friend: Yeah, yeah!
Me: What is my faith, then?
Friend: They're saying you're an atheist.
Oh well.
Man, I'm not an atheist. Atheists don't believe in God. I do. My religion is, for the record, 'Not a devout Muslim'.
But first of all, what business is it for you to talk about my personal beliefs? You wanna try and talk back about Islam, go ahead. Just cause you say anything, doesn't make it true. You wanna talk about atheism, go ahead. I do. I just don't get personal with it, which is my own personal justification.
Years and years ago, I got a similar call. Another friend.
Friend2: You know what they're saying about you?
Me: Huh? Me?
F2: They're saying, "Look at where Amir is now! He's miserable, broke and lonely."
Me: What?
I was pissed off for a full five minutes. Because my ego wanted to tell them how if I'm miserable and lonely, I go to Thailand. That's why I'm broke all the time.
Haven't been to Thailand in a while, cause I need some money. My parents are sick, and I have debts I need to attend to. Thailand can wait. And one of the things I learned, trained myself for, in Thailand, is how to be independent of desire which makes you miserable and lonely.
The gospel of the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.
Anyway, apparently, a few years ago, I was used as an example of a failure. Oh, what fools these mortals be.
I believe that if you have a good head screwed on your shoulders, you can do many things. The world is a big place. There are lots of people. Just because you don't like something or someone, does not make everything about that some one or some thing bad.
The ego likes to tell you that your opinion matters. It does, but not in the way that you might think.
Number one, you are not God. Be, and so be it. No. You're just man.
Number two, everyone's got an opinion.
And here's the great secret number three: people might have opinions that differ from yours. Shock! Horror!
Additional point: opinions are neither right nor wrong.
I used to want to fight these idiots. Put me in a ring, and I'll fucking shooting star press your ass.
But no. That's just a waste of time. These fuckers eventually die.
These days, I just jack off to porn. That's more productive.
Thank You, Jesus!
I like Christmas. It's one of those celebrations when I don't have to do anything.
I mean, I'm half-Chinese, right? So aside from Hari Raya Aidilfitri, where I would be part of a dysfunctional team (my family) to host and serve and feed over 400 people, there's also Chinese New Year.
Chinese New Years mean visiting four houses - uncles and aunts. My grandfather passed away more than 10 years ago, I think.
So Rayas and Chinese New Years, I'll be fucking busy. With my family. My family are pain-worshippers, to a degree.
If you're not doing at least two things at the same time, you're a useless bastard. Every Raya, I used to be stirring something in the wok, cleaning the floor (which will get greasy anyway) as well as start up fires on two other portable charcoal stoves.
That's why we all left home at 12. All my siblings left at 12 years old. Made sure we got good enough results to be accepted somewhere.
Every Chinese New Year, I'd be missing out on great TV, so that we could go and visit relatives. I missed Transformers The Movie (the cartoon version) for three years straight. As well as Robotech II: The Sentinels twice.
And I couldn't eat everything anyway, back then. Nothing fried, nothing too heavy, just oranges and subnflower seeds or some shit.
Nowadays, I just laugh as I munch on some dubiously halal treats.
Christmas, well it's different. I don't have to go back home. I don't have to receive visitors. I don't have to do shit.
In fact, I just drank half a bottle of benadryl. I'm gonna go to sleep soon. Glorious, glorious holiday.
Thank you, Jesus!
I mean, I'm half-Chinese, right? So aside from Hari Raya Aidilfitri, where I would be part of a dysfunctional team (my family) to host and serve and feed over 400 people, there's also Chinese New Year.
Chinese New Years mean visiting four houses - uncles and aunts. My grandfather passed away more than 10 years ago, I think.
So Rayas and Chinese New Years, I'll be fucking busy. With my family. My family are pain-worshippers, to a degree.
If you're not doing at least two things at the same time, you're a useless bastard. Every Raya, I used to be stirring something in the wok, cleaning the floor (which will get greasy anyway) as well as start up fires on two other portable charcoal stoves.
That's why we all left home at 12. All my siblings left at 12 years old. Made sure we got good enough results to be accepted somewhere.
Every Chinese New Year, I'd be missing out on great TV, so that we could go and visit relatives. I missed Transformers The Movie (the cartoon version) for three years straight. As well as Robotech II: The Sentinels twice.
And I couldn't eat everything anyway, back then. Nothing fried, nothing too heavy, just oranges and subnflower seeds or some shit.
Nowadays, I just laugh as I munch on some dubiously halal treats.
Christmas, well it's different. I don't have to go back home. I don't have to receive visitors. I don't have to do shit.
In fact, I just drank half a bottle of benadryl. I'm gonna go to sleep soon. Glorious, glorious holiday.
Thank you, Jesus!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Intermission: Satori
So I end this short working week by going to bed at 5am. Usually, I sleep at 4am. Tonight, after coming home at 1am, I decided to just relax and do nothing.
I have a feeling of accomplishment today, which is good. Because tomorrow, there is a new aspect of the job I need to find out. Am looking forward to that.
Am also looking forward to Christmas. On Christmas day, I have a barbecue to attend. One of my friends is doing one. And on Boxing Day, I am going to another friend's place.
I don't know what's going to happen beyond that. I realise the futility of planning, so am not doing that.
I like to be empty for tomorrow. Listen and find out more information.
I have a feeling of accomplishment today, which is good. Because tomorrow, there is a new aspect of the job I need to find out. Am looking forward to that.
Am also looking forward to Christmas. On Christmas day, I have a barbecue to attend. One of my friends is doing one. And on Boxing Day, I am going to another friend's place.
I don't know what's going to happen beyond that. I realise the futility of planning, so am not doing that.
I like to be empty for tomorrow. Listen and find out more information.
LKS: Lu Kena Saman?
Korang dengar cerita?
Barry Wain tulis buku, Malaysian Maverick (Orang Malaysia yang Tak Ikut Peraturan) tuduh Dr M bazirkan RM100 billion masa jadi PM.
Lim Kit Siang terlompat-lompat dalam blog dia. Mintak PM kita, Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak buat suruhanjaya nak siasat benda ni. Buat nampak, bagi aku, macamlah betul.
Dr M jawab. Dia cakap, buat le suruhanjaya. Siasat la. Siasat bagi perabih. Tapi jangan kasi orang Malaysia je, nanti dia cakap ngelat (tipu). Dia suruh ambiklah orang Transparency International (Persatuan Keterbukaan Antarabangsa) masuk sekali. Pastu, bergantung pada hasil siasatan, dia mungkin nak saman Lim Kit Siang, Malaysiakini dengan Barry Wain. Habih semua sekali nak saman.
Lim Kit Siang dengar je saman, terus menggelabah. Enam posting kat akaun Twitter dia pasal hal ni. Pergilah Google sendiri, tengok.
Masa orang DAP duk riuh nak saman orang, takde la sangat dia bising camni.
Dak, kot ye pun nak tuduh Dr M, siasat le dulu. Dia public figure. Tokoh yang dikenali umum. Bukan jiran ko, kalau nak ngumpat. Bukan member ko nak minum teh tarik.
Aku tak tau hasil siasatan suruhanjaya tu, pasal tak start lagi. Aku tak tau Dr M betul atau salah. Kot ye memang betul, tepat sampai ke angka perpuluhan, dia bazirkan RM100 billion? Mungkin tak.
Tapi seronok la, tengok orang tua gaduh. Kita yang muda ni, diam je la, nengok kat tepi.
Kalau dengan Astro, aku nak tengok wrestling, aku bayar duit pasal nak tengok Wrestlemania, yang ni free je.
Barry Wain tulis buku, Malaysian Maverick (Orang Malaysia yang Tak Ikut Peraturan) tuduh Dr M bazirkan RM100 billion masa jadi PM.
Lim Kit Siang terlompat-lompat dalam blog dia. Mintak PM kita, Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak buat suruhanjaya nak siasat benda ni. Buat nampak, bagi aku, macamlah betul.
Dr M jawab. Dia cakap, buat le suruhanjaya. Siasat la. Siasat bagi perabih. Tapi jangan kasi orang Malaysia je, nanti dia cakap ngelat (tipu). Dia suruh ambiklah orang Transparency International (Persatuan Keterbukaan Antarabangsa) masuk sekali. Pastu, bergantung pada hasil siasatan, dia mungkin nak saman Lim Kit Siang, Malaysiakini dengan Barry Wain. Habih semua sekali nak saman.
Lim Kit Siang dengar je saman, terus menggelabah. Enam posting kat akaun Twitter dia pasal hal ni. Pergilah Google sendiri, tengok.
Masa orang DAP duk riuh nak saman orang, takde la sangat dia bising camni.
Dak, kot ye pun nak tuduh Dr M, siasat le dulu. Dia public figure. Tokoh yang dikenali umum. Bukan jiran ko, kalau nak ngumpat. Bukan member ko nak minum teh tarik.
Aku tak tau hasil siasatan suruhanjaya tu, pasal tak start lagi. Aku tak tau Dr M betul atau salah. Kot ye memang betul, tepat sampai ke angka perpuluhan, dia bazirkan RM100 billion? Mungkin tak.
Tapi seronok la, tengok orang tua gaduh. Kita yang muda ni, diam je la, nengok kat tepi.
Kalau dengan Astro, aku nak tengok wrestling, aku bayar duit pasal nak tengok Wrestlemania, yang ni free je.
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