Archive for October, 2006


Why do everything i write seems contrived and fake?

Why am i so indifferent to the escalating pressures around me?

I slept through most of the weekend, drifting in and out of a restless sleep punctuated by vivid and intense dreams. I dimly remember the details of Freud’s pscyhoanalysis theory, and i try to note and remember my dreams for a hint of what might i be repressing. The results have left me in angst; that could not be the answer, no no it can’t! The weirdest thing is, i regularly make freudian slips in my dreams – funny, then; for parapraxia to appear in the strangest of places; dreams are the realm of our subconscious, says Freud, and if what he says is true, parapraxia are also manifestations of our subconscious, then where does that leave me? the subconscious of the subconscious? also, contradictory to the real world where i watch my every word and guard every nuance of my body.

There are a million daily, common, normal topics i would like to write about, things i have done, places i been to, movies i watched, books i read, gripes and grouses of local color; but my unconscious repressions are causing a major writer’s block; i can’t write anything i am satisfied enough to click the publish button. There are plenty of drafts saved on the system over the few months this site has been alive – i never complete them. Either i finish writing in one sitting, or i never finish at all. This is quite a startling discovery; for whatever i think of and plan about writing, it advertently never happens; in front of the screen and on the keyboard, my fingers move on their own volition, crafting sentences heretofore unthought of, but seemingly relevant in their own sense to whatever i thought of writing, like they are doing now. Anything i plan beforehand ends up as a draft, doomed to forever languish at a deep remote corner of cyberspace, never to see the light of the day.

Maybe this is what Breton meant, maybe this is Surrealism. That’s an interesting thought; a possible, plausible explanation. I certainly am not reasoning beforehand what i am writing currently. In fact, it explains a whole fucking lot about myself. So? i’m a surrealist? Is it even meant to be compartmented and delineated so whimsically? Or not? Maybe i am just sticking in whatever that has a ring of truth to avoid sounding like a nutcase in a straitjacket. Liberation of the mind, such an honorable cause.

Sounds from the television drift into my consciousness, occupying my coherent thought; It is a song, a song by Barbara Streisand; that evokes many memories of the recent past. No, not many; only a single memory, One which hurts. Many things do this- a song or a lyric, a word in a book, a scene in a movie; bringing the memory hidden deep inside to the forefront of my mind; fresh as it happened yesterday, fresh as it is happening today. What Freud says is true: we never really forget, so be careful of your actions.


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A short update – the hours don’t tally! no matter how i count and count, and count and count, the hours don’t add up – there is just not enough time to do everything. One can naturally assume that i’ll be stressed the fuck out of my mind, and busy as a fucking hyperactive bee on ecstacy, but ask me and i’ll enlighten you on the all the things that i did today that is NOT work-related, which incidentally fills up the whole day. This is procrastination at it’s best, you guys just lose to me flat out. Learn from the best! 

Shit, i’m really worried now. HOpe the world doesn’t crash about my knees over the next 3, final, LAST, weeks. Excuse me while i do a little more procrastinating before going to bed.

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Today was such a beautiful day. It was a sunny, clear day with no trace of the haze in the bright blue sky, with little fluffy clouds and a soft breeze.

What a shame i had to spend the whole day in the studio.

That as may be, stormclouds gathered in the afternoon and turned the whole skyscape into dark and threatening. The floodgates opened, and everywhere was drenched with rain water.

How fickle some things are.

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I’ve been bitten by the festive bug. I refuse to put in more then 3/4 hours of work each day. Considering at this point in the semester i should be putting in like 20 hours of work a day, i’m horribly lagging behind.

I stay at home the whole bloody day, keeping thoughts of lemang and rendang out of my head, but rather then making good use of the time i invariably spend it watching football/Stephen Chow reruns or stalking google news. Near midnight, about 10-ish, i’ll come out of my vegetative state and decide i better “spend the whole night drawing” or i’ll have shoved another day down the drain. Notwithstanding all my noble intentions, come 3am, just as i start to get into the mood, Ivan is likely to call me, as at this hour i’m probably the only one around to satisfy his gastronomic requirements. We’ll end up languishing at some mamak for an hour, because with my lofty ideals to “work the whole night away” i’ll need shots of caffeine and a snack, no? Only, by the time i get back part of the “whole night” is already gone, and instead of giving me energy the carbs consumed just make me sleepy and i’ll doze on the couch for a couple of hours before waking up with a headache. I’ll go up and try to “start in earnest”, but less then a minute i’m reunited with my bed and the next thing i know, its noon and i go oh shiiiiiittttttt.

I need the studio!!! Damn the festive break and them not agreeing to open it for me. zzz

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Shumacher has retired! i didnt watch, but on all accounts it was a thrilling race.

Today i brought a guy from Johor to the Menara HP in Jalan Gelanggang. Sitting in his car, the epitome of safe and careful driving, i feel that us KL drivers have alot to answer for :p Then again, last i was in JB, the Johor bengs don’t seem so safe either.

Anyway, while we’re on that topic, last night i flipped through the papers and got throughly disgusted at the stuff i read about rempits or, as the article says, Mat Konvoy. As a similiar hot-blooded youth who doesn’t exactly keep to the speed limit, i understand perfectly the need for and the addiction to speed. Though i don’t advocate it at all, I understand speeding across the highways doing stunts to impress the ladies and your peers in your two wheels because you cannot afford four. You guys want to race in the wee hours of the morning because there’s no other cars, that’s fine. Kind of. Well ok not really fine too, to be politically correct.

However, what i cannot undertand are the recent acts of menance these guys are causing. Doing superman stunts and wheelies because you want to show off is fine. Ganging up and intentionally going on the wrong freaking lane of the road is NOT fine. Speeding at 4am because you want to avoid traffic is fine. Speeding at 4am, disturbing the residents, and freaking smashing all the windshields of the cars in that area is NOT fine. Having a personal death wish is fine. Running over 3-year old pedestrians are NOT fine. Last i checked, not many 3-year olds had death wishes. So what the fuck was going on in your mind at that time? The little dude was just trying to cross the bloody road and you had to go and knock him down. How’d you feel if your 3-year old son was knocked down?


You guys wanna race, then race. Acts of menance and vandalism is not freaking racing. If you were serious about racing on two wheels, maybe you should consider saving up for a real bike instead of those puny nothings you’re racing. Of course if you could afford something faster i bet you’d spend the cash on a shitty Kancil and all the stupid beng-ish modifications which are otherwise useless to the performance of your car.

Happy Deeparaya to all Malaysians, and try not to kill so much of your countrymen this year around.

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I don’t know if certain people are reading, but i don’t care. Readership of this blog has dropped dramatically, which surprisingly is just fine to me cos now i feel liberated and can say whatever i damn well please compared to previously when i had no idea where all the hits were coming from. For now, at least, prying eyes are reduced if not gone.

The entropy of the universe tends towards the maximum. On certain days i can’t help but to totally agree. Apparently this thermodynamics law explains perfectly the fucked up way in which nature govern our random lives. Murphy’s Law, Finagle’s Law, O’Toole, Sod, whatfreakingever –

I once saw a movie – 50 first dates – where Adam Sandler had to chat up Drew Barrymore every day in a different way cos she had short-term memory loss. The first time this happened, Sandler used the exact technique as the previous day – as i thought he would- but it generated a completely different response from the day before.

How apt – no matter your intentions are noble or malicious; no matter your wishes are honorable or devious – things never happen the way you wish them to – Rumourmongers, backbiters and backstabbers, cooks that spoil the broth by adding unwanted ingredients- circle and prowl like vultures feasting on death- waiting for a chance to strike. Lady luck is the ficklest of all women; blowing hot and cold, in your face this moment and gone the next.

Now i remember, i remember why things happened the way they did. Time and the human mind are wonderful healers; they filter the harsh and the negative; the sting of sharp words, the cut of aortic wounds, the acrid pungency of curses and criticisms. THey filter the memories of the darkness and shivering cold. Time passes; and you think you are okay, you feel that you’re ok – you feel on top of the world, energy and happiness brimming, frothing on the top of the pot – the family stops worrying, your friends comment on the change – your color improves; things can’t go wrong.

Then of course; seemingly foolish, like a bad student that doesn’t learn; you stick our your hand again, to be bitten and scratched again by the teeth and claws of Life. Life bites you for you are foolish to allow thus; and twice bitten you shy from Life, but how do you run away from the very essence of your existence?

And so, through the hastily constructed shelter of the mind – built from tense, fragile extensions; Life beckons, Life encourages; like a slit up a cheongsam, Life seduces you; and you feel the wall cracking, the structure failing even as you hurriedly try to reinfor-

And so you return to the vicious cycle.

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Mad people from Pahang

The rain of the past few days, particularly the giant storm two days back that impeded my progress as i tried to make my way to Ampang to try supposedly cheap Korean BBQ but ended up paying hella alot for a few pieces of meat and cheap korean liquor with an unintelligible name and tasted like cheap vodka after which we went to play mahjong and watch Power Rangers the movie at Kenny’s underground crib which had every cliche and corny line ever invented and is likely where Boris get his lame one-liners from, has cleared the haze to a level where one can actually relax outdoors, so that was what me, Wei Hong and Ivan did.

 So there we were, sipping our Tom Yam soups in an eatery adjacent of a highway. If you paused and took a careful breath, you could smell the tangy acrid smell of the exhaust smoke ever present in the air. At this rate, we’d probably be inhaling pollutants equivalent to 20 sticks of cigarettes daily in no time. If you think i’m exaggerating, go do some research. We were a pretty funny sight, three idiots all with slightly hung over blur looks on our faces from last night.

Last night was Ivan’s sister’s wedding banquet. It was a grand, ritzy affair held in the overly gaudy and pompus baroquesque ballroom of Sunway Hotel. There was like 142 tables and 201747102347120 people.

The food was expectedly average, except for the “double-boiled black chicken broth with shark’s fin” which was very nice but the drinking and partying… gawd, the alcohol. Typical of chinese wedding banquets, there was an endless free-flow supply of it – beer, red and white wines, assorted whiskeys, assorted cognacs, and more alcoholics you could shake a stick at.

After the dinner all of us sans Joanne and Eunice joined Ivan and some of his relatives and friends in redbox  to sing till dawn. Soon, it became apparent where Ivan gets his wild genes from – nobody in his family is normal. Copius amounts of beer and Chivas went down our throats, and alot of us (including me) ended up shirtless, wtf. and other assorted antics. The perpetrator was an indian who spoke chinese with a heavy accent and said “niama” every other sentence. We left at about 6 and Ivan offered us rooms in Pyramid Tower, but me and Wei Hong declined and went back. My last recollection of the night was staggering across from redbox to the hotel carpark swaying at every step; once i sat down in the car i didn’t remember anything until i woke up this afternoon.

In case you are wondering about the post title, Ivan is from Temerloh, which makes him my old neighbour.

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