Monday, December 26, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Twins
Hey, am I the only person who thinks that Eva Longoria looks like a spunkier version of Joan Collins?
Should I be thinking about things like this?
I think work is getting to me.
Should I be thinking about things like this?
I think work is getting to me.
Friday, December 09, 2005
The Importance of Making Yourself Clear
When you say something like, "I want to fuck Jessica Alba in a silver lamé jumpsuit!" do you mean to say that:
a) You want to fuck Jessica Alba whilst wearing a silver lamé jumpsuit (now that's is kinda gay, frankly)
b) You want to undress Jessica Alba after seeing her in a silver lamé jumpsuit, and then fuck her
c) You want to fuck Jessica Alba while she's wearing a silver lamé jumpsuit (not impossible, but a bit tricky, I'd imagine)
It's all about grammatical precision. That's what separates the articulate from the eloquent.
In any event, 'remember Scarlett Johansson in that white tracksuit in The Island?
Way hotter.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Closing Time
We just closed December.
It was hell. In a way, I've just closed December, too. And two thousand five.
It's done.
It's over.
What a fucking crazy year.
What an endless parade.
What a ride.
I'm done. I've had enough. I want to start the New Year tomorrow.
It's mad.
I've been blogging for a year.
I've been living, seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking, breathing it all in.
I've gone from college senior to junior writer.
I've gone from lost to found.
It's been wonderful. It's gone from bad to worse to up and down, and fucking sideways.
Cheers, everyone.
Keep it massive.
It was hell. In a way, I've just closed December, too. And two thousand five.
It's done.
It's over.
What a fucking crazy year.
What an endless parade.
What a ride.
I'm done. I've had enough. I want to start the New Year tomorrow.
It's mad.
I've been blogging for a year.
I've been living, seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking, breathing it all in.
I've gone from college senior to junior writer.
I've gone from lost to found.
It's been wonderful. It's gone from bad to worse to up and down, and fucking sideways.
Cheers, everyone.
Keep it massive.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Future Perfect
If I had studied a little harder before my O Levels, I could've aced a few more subjects.
If that had happened, I might've realized my then aspirations of attending the London School of Economics, and might've even graduated with a degree in Political Science, or perhaps even, International Relations.
And if that might have happened, I might've graduated much earlier, and would've started my first job when I was twenty-three (or twenty-four, give or take some sex, drugs and rock 'n'roll).
If so, I would be living a different life, different in its entirety from the one that I am living now.
Different friends, different tastes, different music, different clothes, different everything.
And then she says: "But I like how you've turned out."
That's an encouraging thought.
It makes some things that I've gone through feel a whole lot more worth the while.
If that had happened, I might've realized my then aspirations of attending the London School of Economics, and might've even graduated with a degree in Political Science, or perhaps even, International Relations.
And if that might have happened, I might've graduated much earlier, and would've started my first job when I was twenty-three (or twenty-four, give or take some sex, drugs and rock 'n'roll).
If so, I would be living a different life, different in its entirety from the one that I am living now.
Different friends, different tastes, different music, different clothes, different everything.
And then she says: "But I like how you've turned out."
That's an encouraging thought.
It makes some things that I've gone through feel a whole lot more worth the while.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
The Big Easy
It's a little early in the day for this, but I have a New Year's Resolution that I'm going to start practising from today onwards.
It's called "Chill The Fuck Out, Suffian."
Yup, I think I do need to chill out abit. I overreacted at something yesterday, and it caused me and someone else a bit of grief. Needless to say, misunderstandings can always be avoided, if you just take a second to try and see things as they really are.
So, I'm gonna chill.
About everything.
Heck, I've slowed down a hell of lot since I brushed past the Mid-Twenties mark, but hey, maybe it's not enough.
I want it over-easy, sunny side up.
It's called "Chill The Fuck Out, Suffian."
Yup, I think I do need to chill out abit. I overreacted at something yesterday, and it caused me and someone else a bit of grief. Needless to say, misunderstandings can always be avoided, if you just take a second to try and see things as they really are.
So, I'm gonna chill.
About everything.
Heck, I've slowed down a hell of lot since I brushed past the Mid-Twenties mark, but hey, maybe it's not enough.
I want it over-easy, sunny side up.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Highway Hell
To aspiring Works Ministers and national infrastructure planners alike, if you ever intend to build a highway that runs the length of Malaysia, say, from the northern state of Perlis to the southern tip of Johor, could you please consider making it at least, yes, in the very least FOUR FUCKING LANES ON EACH SIDE.
Yes?
FOUR FUCKING LANES ON EACH SIDE.
It took me 7 hours yesterday to travel from my dear grannie's in Taiping back to KL.
SEVEN FUCKING HOURS.
That's more than enough time to fly to Perth.
The story goes that when the authorities were running feasibility studies and projection models for the North-South highway, back in the Eighties, they based it on the Federal Highway.
THE FEDERAL FUCKING HIGHWAY.
Back in the Eighties, they must have thought that people would have probably had hover cars or could teleport back to their kampung by 2005.
THAT MUST BE WHY THEY BASED THEIR RESEARCH ON THE FEDERAL HIGHWAY.
What's more, the '80s recession and a lengthy court battle between the Opposition and United Engineers, the builders, held the project back for about two years after it was initially set to be built, therefore contributing to a rise in the cost of the project and forcing the authorities to skimp on the original plan.
Whatever that was.
Brilliant.
But I'm going to stop bitching now, because it was worth enduring the jam just to see the smile on my grannie's face when we arrived, and being there with her throughout the festivities. Oh and the food was brilliant, too.
Selamat Hari Raya.
Yes?
FOUR FUCKING LANES ON EACH SIDE.
It took me 7 hours yesterday to travel from my dear grannie's in Taiping back to KL.
SEVEN FUCKING HOURS.
That's more than enough time to fly to Perth.
The story goes that when the authorities were running feasibility studies and projection models for the North-South highway, back in the Eighties, they based it on the Federal Highway.
THE FEDERAL FUCKING HIGHWAY.
Back in the Eighties, they must have thought that people would have probably had hover cars or could teleport back to their kampung by 2005.
THAT MUST BE WHY THEY BASED THEIR RESEARCH ON THE FEDERAL HIGHWAY.
What's more, the '80s recession and a lengthy court battle between the Opposition and United Engineers, the builders, held the project back for about two years after it was initially set to be built, therefore contributing to a rise in the cost of the project and forcing the authorities to skimp on the original plan.
Whatever that was.
Brilliant.
But I'm going to stop bitching now, because it was worth enduring the jam just to see the smile on my grannie's face when we arrived, and being there with her throughout the festivities. Oh and the food was brilliant, too.
Selamat Hari Raya.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Fallout
Being a fan of literature (read: bookworm/geek), I get flashes, from time to time, of all the things that I've read. Sometimes whole passages, sentences, phrases and if I'm lucky, some dialogue from a Stephen King novel.
It's an amazing feeling, almost like having epiphanies. Fond ones.
Lately, I've been seeing pages from Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park, in particular, the illustrations on the title pages of each chapter. The fractals, coalescing, a freaky wire-mesh of conflict and disorientation.
And yet, some how, whole.
Why the fractals? Why now?
I'm not sure if I'm analyzing too much, but this is bothering me.
It's not unlike sighting an iceberg off the starboard bow, knowing fully that there is Something Big resting gently beneath the surface.
Oh, I don't know.
---------------------
There I was, a few hours later, sat on a wooden bench at the Ampang Speedy Car Wash, waiting for my Satria to get all nice and shiny when I suddenly realized that it was Roni Size booming from the speakers.
"Holy Two-Step, Batman, it's Roni Size!"
You'd expect them to listen to something more like Mawi, but bless them, the lads have discovered Jungle.
At nine in the morning. On Deepaavali.
Happy Holidays.
It's an amazing feeling, almost like having epiphanies. Fond ones.
Lately, I've been seeing pages from Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park, in particular, the illustrations on the title pages of each chapter. The fractals, coalescing, a freaky wire-mesh of conflict and disorientation.
And yet, some how, whole.
Why the fractals? Why now?
I'm not sure if I'm analyzing too much, but this is bothering me.
It's not unlike sighting an iceberg off the starboard bow, knowing fully that there is Something Big resting gently beneath the surface.
Oh, I don't know.
---------------------
There I was, a few hours later, sat on a wooden bench at the Ampang Speedy Car Wash, waiting for my Satria to get all nice and shiny when I suddenly realized that it was Roni Size booming from the speakers.
"Holy Two-Step, Batman, it's Roni Size!"
You'd expect them to listen to something more like Mawi, but bless them, the lads have discovered Jungle.
At nine in the morning. On Deepaavali.
Happy Holidays.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Concord Dawn Returnz
Yes, Concord Dawn is back in Singapore to murder the dancefloor yet again. If you can afford only one drum n bass holiday this year, this is it.
Concord fucking Dawn. Boh!
Big up to the SG Massive for yet another corker! Have fun, guys.
Concord fucking Dawn. Boh!
Big up to the SG Massive for yet another corker! Have fun, guys.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Eyesore
"To the left, Ali, to the left!"
"No, no, my left, Ali, MY LEFT!"
If those crazy motherfuckers from Al-Qaeda ever want some easy target practice for their pilots, could they please take out the two unfinished condos that stick out like Gi-Normous sore thumbs at the end of Jalan Dato Sulaiman, in Taman Tun?
Please?
It seems that the contractors had left the site in a bit of a hurry, as they'd left even the cranes behind, to adorn the top of the ghastly twin spires like spines of twisted metal.
"I bet if we had a secret dnb rave there, no one would know," said Led, pointing out a commercial use for the ruins.
"Yeah, and imagine if we robbed a bank, we could stash all the money there and the cops would never find it!" I added, rather excitedly.
"Some construction workers must've died there, probably in a freak accident, " blurted out Essam.
"I want to get up there and see if the cranes still work," said Led, and unanimously, we agreed.
"No, no, my left, Ali, MY LEFT!"
If those crazy motherfuckers from Al-Qaeda ever want some easy target practice for their pilots, could they please take out the two unfinished condos that stick out like Gi-Normous sore thumbs at the end of Jalan Dato Sulaiman, in Taman Tun?
Please?
It seems that the contractors had left the site in a bit of a hurry, as they'd left even the cranes behind, to adorn the top of the ghastly twin spires like spines of twisted metal.
"I bet if we had a secret dnb rave there, no one would know," said Led, pointing out a commercial use for the ruins.
"Yeah, and imagine if we robbed a bank, we could stash all the money there and the cops would never find it!" I added, rather excitedly.
"Some construction workers must've died there, probably in a freak accident, " blurted out Essam.
"I want to get up there and see if the cranes still work," said Led, and unanimously, we agreed.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Choices
I just thought I'd post this, since it would be un-gentlemanly if I did otherwise, but I had this really interesting idea for a post, something really deep and provocative, not about tiger penises or how I hate Toyota Camrys or anything like that, but something on a subject that would, undoubtedly, elicit much feedback from readers, and perhaps even contribute to being a spark for lively conversation.
(Now wasn't that the longest fucking sentence you ever read?)
However, after thinking about it, I decided that it would make an interesting article, so I'm not going to post it here, but hopefully turn it into a story that will appear within the pages of some men's magazine, instead.
That way, I can actually make some money outta this! Instead of merely rambling to you guys.
It's fun being a published writer, isn't it?
(Now wasn't that the longest fucking sentence you ever read?)
However, after thinking about it, I decided that it would make an interesting article, so I'm not going to post it here, but hopefully turn it into a story that will appear within the pages of some men's magazine, instead.
That way, I can actually make some money outta this! Instead of merely rambling to you guys.
It's fun being a published writer, isn't it?
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Stupid Human Tricks
"Tiger parts won't improve your sex life," said the headlines.
No shit, Sherlock!
Seriously, do people actually think eating Tiger Dick Soup is going to help them satisfy their women?
Fools.
No shit, Sherlock!
Seriously, do people actually think eating Tiger Dick Soup is going to help them satisfy their women?
Fools.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Deductive Reasoning
Premise #1
Toyota Camrys are shit
Premise #2
Big cars encourage bad driving
Conclusion:
Toyota Camrys are shit
There you have it. Beyond doubt, Toyota Camrys are shit.
---------------
With the help of Chip, I've finally figured out who actor Rosyam Nor looks like on this huge Julie's billboard that I pass by every day, on the way home from work.
He looks Ming from Flash Gordon, sans the naff moustache and skullcap.
Fucking hilarious.
Toyota Camrys are shit
Premise #2
Big cars encourage bad driving
Conclusion:
Toyota Camrys are shit
There you have it. Beyond doubt, Toyota Camrys are shit.
---------------
With the help of Chip, I've finally figured out who actor Rosyam Nor looks like on this huge Julie's billboard that I pass by every day, on the way home from work.
He looks Ming from Flash Gordon, sans the naff moustache and skullcap.
Fucking hilarious.
Monday, October 10, 2005
The Funniest Days of My Life - Part 2
Nuclear Threat
October 1998: I was eighteen, and off on my Raleigh expedition to Borneo. I'd packed my 80-litre Low Alpine, Comrade Lenin, to the brim with enough outdoor gear to mount a solo expedition to the North Pole and back, and I was all psyched up because I'd be away from home for the next 3 months.
The world awaited...
Lenard, Christine and the rest had cleared the baggage check at KLIA, and I was the last one in line, right behind Alan, who was a little anxious that he had to part with his parang, which he'd only be able to see when we landed at Labuan International Airport.
I reached the X-ray machine and plonked my monstrous backpack on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector, my head full of worst-case scenarios, what with the ridiculous amount of kit that I had crammed into my green behemoth: Army-issue Jungle boots, a fully-stocked medical field kit, piles of clothes, climbing gear, rolls of film, wet weather gear, an Army-issue fold-away spade, mess tins and sachets of Milo, the works.
I could've lived amongst the Orang Asli and still have had a few 'presents' left to give away for Christmas.
As I cleared the metal detector, Security stopped me and quietly asked me to step over to the X-ray monitor and tell them just what the hell that long strip wedged in the middle of my backpack was.
"Apa tu, adik?" asked the grumpy fat lady sat behind the black and white monitor.
"Itu battery, Kak," I answered, rather confidently. I had bought a long strip of AA batteries at Carrefour, for my Maglite.
"Ye ke? Itu macam parang, saya rasa. Bukan parang ke tu, 'dik?" inquired Grumpy again, not entirely convinced.
"Bukan, Kak. Itu battery. Banyak battery," I answered again, a little nervous.
"Tapi kenapa dia panjang macam tu? Battery bukan macam tu. Saya ingat awak bawak parang tu, ye ke?" said the lady, more of a statement than a question, this time.
"Tak, Kak. Itu battery. Saya tak ade parang," I said, my patience wearing thin. I began to feel like a twat for making the guys wait for me.
"Awak baik cakap sekarang, itu parang, bukan?" Her Grumpiness retorted. Security raised an eyebrow, hand on revolver.
And so it went, back and forth as we tried to convince each other that we were seeing something that wasn't there. I sneered to myself; this woman was getting all hot and bothered by my budget battery pack.
Frustrated and teary-eyed, I decided to change my angle.
"Itu sebenarnya bomb nuclear, Kak. Bukan parang!" I suddenly yelled, adamant to end the rather pointless bickering.
"Apa? Apa awak cakap tadi?"
The lady motioned to the guards and they closed in on me, each grabbing a shoulder and steering me towards the detention room.
"Bomb Nuclear! Bukan parang! Faham!" I shouted. Then I closed my eyes and sort of wished I was dead.
The next half-hour flies by like a series of flashbacks, like at the end of Fight Club, only it's happening to me there and then.
I get shoved into the detention room, complete with a two-way mirror, and they force me to tip all of the contents out of Comrade Lenin. I get body searched twice, by two different guards, while they looked at my clothes and my underwear and decided whether or not I had a tactical nuclear weapon shoved up my ass.
I had to convince them that I was just kidding. I tried to do this as I went through all of my equipment; they wanted to see that my camera's flash worked, that it wasn't a micro bomb, they liked my Maglite, how powerful the beam was and how sturdy it felt in their grasp. I even emptied a random Milo sachet and scoffed it down to appease them.
Jabbering excitedly, they picked through my things with all of the grace of coccained chimps at a yard sale.
I was on the verge of crying.
Suddenly, they were happy. One of the guards pulled me aside and asked me not to ever try and kid about nuclear bombs again. I told him yes, I won't joke about this sort of thing ever again. And I'll not buy anymore budget battery packs shaped like machettes, sorry.
I then boarded the plane, and for the rest of the flight got ribbed for being such an idiot. Lenard smacked me round the head and told me that it nearly costed us our flight. Then he winked and told me that he could've done a lot worse himself.
Airport security. Such cunts.
No sense of humour whatsoever. =)
October 1998: I was eighteen, and off on my Raleigh expedition to Borneo. I'd packed my 80-litre Low Alpine, Comrade Lenin, to the brim with enough outdoor gear to mount a solo expedition to the North Pole and back, and I was all psyched up because I'd be away from home for the next 3 months.
The world awaited...
Lenard, Christine and the rest had cleared the baggage check at KLIA, and I was the last one in line, right behind Alan, who was a little anxious that he had to part with his parang, which he'd only be able to see when we landed at Labuan International Airport.
I reached the X-ray machine and plonked my monstrous backpack on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector, my head full of worst-case scenarios, what with the ridiculous amount of kit that I had crammed into my green behemoth: Army-issue Jungle boots, a fully-stocked medical field kit, piles of clothes, climbing gear, rolls of film, wet weather gear, an Army-issue fold-away spade, mess tins and sachets of Milo, the works.
I could've lived amongst the Orang Asli and still have had a few 'presents' left to give away for Christmas.
As I cleared the metal detector, Security stopped me and quietly asked me to step over to the X-ray monitor and tell them just what the hell that long strip wedged in the middle of my backpack was.
"Apa tu, adik?" asked the grumpy fat lady sat behind the black and white monitor.
"Itu battery, Kak," I answered, rather confidently. I had bought a long strip of AA batteries at Carrefour, for my Maglite.
"Ye ke? Itu macam parang, saya rasa. Bukan parang ke tu, 'dik?" inquired Grumpy again, not entirely convinced.
"Bukan, Kak. Itu battery. Banyak battery," I answered again, a little nervous.
"Tapi kenapa dia panjang macam tu? Battery bukan macam tu. Saya ingat awak bawak parang tu, ye ke?" said the lady, more of a statement than a question, this time.
"Tak, Kak. Itu battery. Saya tak ade parang," I said, my patience wearing thin. I began to feel like a twat for making the guys wait for me.
"Awak baik cakap sekarang, itu parang, bukan?" Her Grumpiness retorted. Security raised an eyebrow, hand on revolver.
And so it went, back and forth as we tried to convince each other that we were seeing something that wasn't there. I sneered to myself; this woman was getting all hot and bothered by my budget battery pack.
Frustrated and teary-eyed, I decided to change my angle.
"Itu sebenarnya bomb nuclear, Kak. Bukan parang!" I suddenly yelled, adamant to end the rather pointless bickering.
"Apa? Apa awak cakap tadi?"
The lady motioned to the guards and they closed in on me, each grabbing a shoulder and steering me towards the detention room.
"Bomb Nuclear! Bukan parang! Faham!" I shouted. Then I closed my eyes and sort of wished I was dead.
The next half-hour flies by like a series of flashbacks, like at the end of Fight Club, only it's happening to me there and then.
I get shoved into the detention room, complete with a two-way mirror, and they force me to tip all of the contents out of Comrade Lenin. I get body searched twice, by two different guards, while they looked at my clothes and my underwear and decided whether or not I had a tactical nuclear weapon shoved up my ass.
I had to convince them that I was just kidding. I tried to do this as I went through all of my equipment; they wanted to see that my camera's flash worked, that it wasn't a micro bomb, they liked my Maglite, how powerful the beam was and how sturdy it felt in their grasp. I even emptied a random Milo sachet and scoffed it down to appease them.
Jabbering excitedly, they picked through my things with all of the grace of coccained chimps at a yard sale.
I was on the verge of crying.
Suddenly, they were happy. One of the guards pulled me aside and asked me not to ever try and kid about nuclear bombs again. I told him yes, I won't joke about this sort of thing ever again. And I'll not buy anymore budget battery packs shaped like machettes, sorry.
I then boarded the plane, and for the rest of the flight got ribbed for being such an idiot. Lenard smacked me round the head and told me that it nearly costed us our flight. Then he winked and told me that he could've done a lot worse himself.
Airport security. Such cunts.
No sense of humour whatsoever. =)
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Dreaming
I want to write the Great Malaysian Novel.
It's not going to be about silk factories or harmony, but it's going to sell, somehow.
Then I'm going to buy me a big boat and fucking sail around the world.
It's not going to be about silk factories or harmony, but it's going to sell, somehow.
Then I'm going to buy me a big boat and fucking sail around the world.
Applause
At the behest of Ayu, and in the name of good sport, I give you my first ever internet survey*:
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
*Disclaimer: Whoever takes the piss after reading this is a fat cunt and I will pretend to forget your birthday, too.
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
Pian, Kamo, "Fucker!"
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
Sgt. Pepper, Rainbow Six, Comrade K
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
My eyes, my broad shoulders, my industrial-strength liver!
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
I could be taller, I could be less hairy, I could have a six-pack (again)
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
Super geeks, uptight corporate motherfuckers and ladyboys
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
Coffee, humour and er, sunlight
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
Damn it, why just three? Goldie, Marcus Intalex, Klute
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
Boxers, shorts, tee
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS:
Klute - Saviour, Calibre & High Contrast - Mr Majestic, Logistics - Together
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
Unconditional love, trust and a girl who can openly tolerate me, but let's me know when she can't
2 TRUTHS 1 LIE (in no particular order - happy weeding that lie out):
I love working for Mediacorporation Publishing (M), I am dyslexic and I know CPR
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
Ass, tits, pretty face
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
Reading, gaming & taking the piss out of everything. No, wait, the last one is my job
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
LJ. While I'm at it, let's also have me win the lottery and an Aston Martin from the Dubai lucky draw, too
THREE CAREERS YOU’RE CONSIDERING/YOU’VE CONSIDERED:
Copywriting, music production and when I was 17 I wanted to be an oceanographer so that I could swim with sharks
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
Greece, Maldives (Kani) & Bora Bora
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
I want to skate a proper half-pipe, surf a 30-foot wave and have a dogfight against Russell Peters in a pair of Spitfires ("Someone gonna get a-hurt reaaalll baaad")
THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
Limited attention span, inability to ask for directions when lost, prone to recklessness
THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
A girl? As in pseudo-feminine traits? Well, I take ages in the shower, I get weepy during sad movies and I want to have kids one day
THREE FEMALE CELEB CRUSHES:
Scarlett Johansson, DJ Heavygrinder & Emma Griffiths
THREE PEOPLE THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW:
Keith, naz & my sister
*Disclaimer: Whoever takes the piss after reading this is a fat cunt and I will pretend to forget your birthday, too.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Eulogy
"Abang Suffian, why are they going to give Pakcik Mat a bath? Can't he take a bath himself? I can!"
"Na'eem, I know you can. But Pakcik Mat is dead, so we have to give him a bath instead. Then we'll wrap him in cloth and bury him"
"But that means we're not going to see him again, are we?"
"No, Na'eem, we're not"
Pakcik Mat passed away last week, at the ripe age of 64 and despite being this expressive, creative person that everyone tells me that I am, I can't bring myself to write anything witty or poetic or whatever the fuck the emotion is that you're supposed to feel when you're trying to paint the dead beautifully, because it's still too new and I still feel just too fucking sad about it.
So, nothing.
I'm not going to say anything.
Except that I hope he reaps all the good that he's sown. Bless.
"Na'eem, I know you can. But Pakcik Mat is dead, so we have to give him a bath instead. Then we'll wrap him in cloth and bury him"
"But that means we're not going to see him again, are we?"
"No, Na'eem, we're not"
Pakcik Mat passed away last week, at the ripe age of 64 and despite being this expressive, creative person that everyone tells me that I am, I can't bring myself to write anything witty or poetic or whatever the fuck the emotion is that you're supposed to feel when you're trying to paint the dead beautifully, because it's still too new and I still feel just too fucking sad about it.
So, nothing.
I'm not going to say anything.
Except that I hope he reaps all the good that he's sown. Bless.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Strike Three
I experienced an illuminating moment of self-discovery yesterday, during the course of a short telephone conversation with an old buddy, on my possible upgrade to the status of "Non Drug-Using Friend."
Without going into the details of our conversation, I'd say that I think this is definitely good news for me; since my unceremonious exit from Wonderland earlier this year, when I officially decided to stop fucking myself up on weekends, I've been feeling a little ambiguous about my association with drugs. It's been a case of trying to practice a sort tolerance for something that you will, unwittingly, loathe afterwards. Something that has done an incalculable disservice to you, and in severe cases, irreparable harm.
Imagine feeling very pleased with yourself that you've stopped the abuse, and at the same time, trying not to come across as condescending towards people who still enjoy them. Imagine trying to not worry about what the drugs are doing to them or about what the drugs have done to you.
Not fucking easy, is it?
Well, I have only two vices left; alcohol and cigarettes. (If you consider coffee as a vice, you might as well rent a buggy and ride for the nearest Amish town. Might I recommend New Holland, Pennsylvannia?)
And I'm aiming to strike out those two, as well.
Eventually.
Without going into the details of our conversation, I'd say that I think this is definitely good news for me; since my unceremonious exit from Wonderland earlier this year, when I officially decided to stop fucking myself up on weekends, I've been feeling a little ambiguous about my association with drugs. It's been a case of trying to practice a sort tolerance for something that you will, unwittingly, loathe afterwards. Something that has done an incalculable disservice to you, and in severe cases, irreparable harm.
Imagine feeling very pleased with yourself that you've stopped the abuse, and at the same time, trying not to come across as condescending towards people who still enjoy them. Imagine trying to not worry about what the drugs are doing to them or about what the drugs have done to you.
Not fucking easy, is it?
Well, I have only two vices left; alcohol and cigarettes. (If you consider coffee as a vice, you might as well rent a buggy and ride for the nearest Amish town. Might I recommend New Holland, Pennsylvannia?)
And I'm aiming to strike out those two, as well.
Eventually.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Bugz in the Attic
I don't wanna go to work today, I'd rather stay home and play video games.
But I gotta get up.
But I gotta get up.
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