Monday, July 31

'79 and home forever...

Ray...what keeps you here, even time ceased to exist.

The winding track took us to the centre of the city. It was Sunday; the commuters filled every available seat in the coach, almost twenty hundred from all walks of life, ready to scavenge the big city. It was almost noon when we reached the Grand Central. Stepping outside, Ray looked at the distant horizon, at the edge of Earth where the galaxy seems to be flowing like a river suspended in space and in the middle, the North Star shining, sparkling like a twin of our own Sol, so far away. So immense is this world, even shared a million times, it will still be big and mysterious.

The misty edges of the city almost shroud the great ocean, Eternity. This world we discovered long ago, a few hundred years back, is many times bigger than our real home, our real earth. On this new Earth, we don't have nearby stars to sustain us, we are just one of the hundred planets in complex orbit of this system a few hundred light years from earth. The only star in the system, the sun of this new fountain of life is a hundred light years away. We landed here in stars ships, shipped out of earth because the corrupt men swept and fed of oil and would not want to share the dirt. We boarded these giant liners, where the last of the greatest scientists slaved to give us hope and not to die in vain for the greed of evil men. The year we left, to be exact, the week we left, the Middle East was decimated by a fusion bomb. The force so destructive, that even the millions of souls of dead children that linger there were exorcised and the land turned into glass and dust before the rest of the world could wake up. And now it was half a millennia since we landed here, this new home, and rebuild a future. The future of humanity, deep in space.

The weekend turns the city into a giant circus. A marketplace where every soul north of Earth gathers to spend the days away and meet people. Ray was there for the travelling book fair. The only place in the future, nearly a millennia since Gutenberg, aeons since humans drew prophetic cave paintings, where paper backs could be found. Ray inherited a rare affection towards printed materials; books, posters anything and piles upon piles of the stuff decorate his apartment each anticipating a nice cosy home in a cupboard one day. Walking slowly, his foraging eyes counting the stars on the sidewalk towards the Gigamall, he could see in front of him. Still a few hundreds meters away, the mall completely blocks the sky. This has been his weekend ritual for the past couple years, ever since he moved to this city to study and work.

Blazing through the stinging sulphur fog, the children ran, sneaking past a few broken fences, into a concrete structure at the far end of the street. Explosions and gun fire continue to compose elaborate tunes into the night sky, night time until daylight. When the sun finally rises, its rays crept, bleeding into the corners of the city. From the sky, the helicopters, the medic and peacekeepers could only see bodies, littered, covering every open space. And in their eyes, the grass grew covering their graves in minutes and seconds...

Ray is still single. He had this momentous imagination or let’s say, the desire in him to find love unexpectedly, and make it look like he planned everything. Ray is a miserable old lad, his friends married, time passing by. The future was imagined by a thousand science fiction grandmasters, yesterday, a future where we will forgo our differences and live together for hope and love. Each star on the sidewalk is dedicated for the real survivors, the souls who fought and defended the space liners when they started the journey. And like the visions of the grandmasters, the Earth was building on their souls and their hope. Imagining a future such as this, he remembered must have been the greatest challenged of his ancestors. So we fought for everything, fought with weapons, then books and finally science. But we could not stop earth decaying, and finally we left. Ray was imagining his unfinished story, his wandering mind now jumping decades seeing himself as a grandmaster. In the far distant city, in a room with open windows, his manuscripts scattered around the room, blown by the sea breeze.

The city is enveloped in a cold mist, and the mercury drizzle creating illusions of the neon signs along the street stretching towards the mall. He stepped into the mall, and walked a few steps before stopping completely. A mob swarmed him, and in seconds cleared and his shirt actually fluttered to the wind they left a few more seconds behind. He could see thousands of people in front of him, in every store, in every island and every escalator lining like fine platinum chains around the centre court of the fifty story mall. Destiny, struggling to get people crammed into small places, for not knowing what to save the larger spaces for. But humans thrive in small spaces. His mind now in philosophical rage, his depression mixed with liberation and something of everything. He walked on to the fair, searching for the vague signs, for a small hall where eventually he would find a few hundred bookies...bookphiles like him swarming pots of honey, reminiscent of a trading floor. But for now, he had to find the place first, and all along the way, colours and jewellery and children greeted him in a strange ghostly feeling.

Karma, as a friend once said, complete with an epic progressive rock ensemble in the background, is the will of the universe to kill and end lives effectively in the easiest known way. For there is and will always be more life to be born, lived and suffered from, and endless cycle. And when everyone had a different thought, and everyone prayed to a different God, there is not enough karma to cleanse every soul. And so we fought for centuries and maimed every single life, nearly wiped ourselves out of this gifted rock. But sanity prevailed much later in the 21st century, and like the wind that was all so natural to this world, so was humanity, which lived through much pain and suffering and still survived. And we lived, and we fought again and everything conspired against us again. And we left. Forever.

He always dreams of endless night, endless evenings where the sun will always set and when it will always rain. Well actually, one part of it is true. The whole north hemisphere of the planet is centuries into a thousand year rain. Caused by the weird orbit, the distance from the central star itself and the gravitational web of nearby stars that pushes and pulls this planet, the cycle of rain and drought is caught in its own aimless web. A poets dreamland, and somewhere no one could have build a city, but they did. Being away from the homeland, far away from his ancestors, and like the millions of which he is one, the new world opened opportunities in a myriad of ways. New science, new arts, new ecology, the new world had everything to sustain humanity. Ray tried to blank this moments of epic thought that he always seem to have, the air conditioning freezing even the strands of cotton sticking out of his crumpled t-shirt. Occasionally we would stop to peek into the central opening, after a few escalator hikes and the shrinking size of the bottom dwellers will rush him into another scenario of existence.

Almost all the store had softscreens and ambient music of every sort 'created' by humans from centuries before to the ones of tomorrow playing tunes that induces the mind into some sort of drug laced atmosphere. The trade discoveries of the late 25th century, the ‘acoustic drug’ are a special tune incorporated into the normal composition that actually alters the brain waves into the construct of a stoned drugged person. A mild stimulation that actually is not, this music will sway the minds to try to influence them to purchase a PlayStation embed or another Ipod-Cornea and the new age hippies will stay fed forever. The discreet hall found, on the 40th floor, at the end of the home depot store, a full square mile of furniture salvaged from earth. Antiques are the biggest trade anywhere on the seven planets inhibited by humans, and even Ray owns an oak wood bookshelf and a grand father clock. The neo-Asian owner slipped in a few more incense stick pills into the odo-generators that transformed the whole area into a 21st century Siam. The strong frangipani laced with jasmine and a thousand other tropical smells brought more memories into him that he could ever have conjured on a rainy night. And more ghostly images. He increased his pace and walked into the fair.

All around him are books, of all shapes and sizes, and most importantly made of paper. A rare commodity over at the North, the incessant rain never lets natural forest to grow and in a funny twist, ending eco-warriors campaigns for felling trees. And the synthetic papers face enormous taxes brought by the electronics industry who pushed the palm e-books onto every hand that can imagine a 21st century Nancy Drew and feel amazed that we actually read paper books in the past. The ads on TV will almost always feature an old man holding a paper back and rotting into the day’s bygone and a palm e-book brand reader remaining youthful forever. The utopia of the 25th century couldn't sway the minds of ad drugged society. And communities of book traders like this have a cult following among time jumpers like Ray and a few wanderers who actually follow them across the system. One day Ray hopes to wander the planets, going book hunting. A few minutes into the fair, and he spotted a familiar face, a holographic 3D image of Stephen Baxter. Probably the greatest hard SF writer of the 21st century, many of his visions came true, his GUT liners were the very space ships the colonists used to travel across the local galaxy to this system, softscreens and his extreme physics postulations. Ray had all his 500 plus books, and are now hunting for the illusive collector’s editions, the rare first print signed editions and the ones embedded with personal message oled-screens, a mid 21st century craze.

A few hours of tilted head, and neck pain, scanning shelves after shelves for the one title that he doesn't have and everything else that might complete his ultimate science fiction library, he decided to leave. Almost everyone in the fair, the few dozen of them, mostly females tilted their necks in unison, and a few sat there like zombies reading bad movie adaptations scripts. Book clubs, fairs and traders are mostly females. Everywhere he went, every fair he participated are made up by females, who contrary to the politics of the old Earth, actually stays home and doesn't go to office. Not strange at all since, most of the greatest present day scientists are women who envisioned discoveries from the laptops and home Quantum computers. The males went on the hunting trips, gathering almost every imaginable useless stuff on the market and returning home to an almost robotic existence. Even the future, where the concepts of old Earth religion and race died, the soul is still lonely.

Hunger sending migraine signals into his synapses and his hand strap flashing his body sugar diagnose, he walked on to hunt for food now. His heavy backpack bulging almost bursting its Velcro but it feels sweetly weightless knowing that he filled them with his love. Walking past the myriads of food stores, franchises, McDonalds and Dominos, the almost extinct KFC having no presence here being partly responsible for the old Earth fat revolution that nearly wiped out the industry, the bakeries and salad joints and health food dungeons, he scanned for a remote stop where he can read in peace and...another hand strap flash and food crept in to complete the sentence. He tapped on the Bvlgari titanium embosses and the hand strap went silent. Reaching the end of the half a mile long chain of food stores he eyed the Burger King and whipped up his lunch. Manned by no one, the fast food stores are mainly made up of softscreens where the meals are ordered or food booths where anyone can 'build' a lunch set. Piling chicken slices and tomatoes onto the giga-sandwich loaf, Ray tapped his hand strap and swiped it past the waitress softscreen. Finding the farthest table away from the walkway he munched into the sandwich, the mustard and ketchup dripping onto the table. Moments after the hand strap flashed again displaying the calorie content of the now mangled sandwich. Carefully wiping his fingers after the feast, he popped a few LDL pills to make the cholesterol disappear and his blood rhythms returned normal. He sunk into his favourite pick, and sucked endlessly onto the chocolate shake, which never seemed to finish, and at the bottom of the mug was a liquid generator, pumping the sweet concoction every time the level dropped below half.

His mind now lost in space, battling aliens in grand battles across the universe, he almost did not realize the crystal eyes starring at him. His flashing hand strap startled him and in the moment his eyes locked into the most amazing blue eyes he ever seen. It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts, and with one eye dropping a look, like a sniper eyeing his prey, and trying not to laugh or do anything silly, he tapped a few commands into this hand strap. A name flashed, Shakti. He rigged his hand strap to scan for unencrypted identi-chips. Shakti was for all the powers of the seven planets, reading a book too and it was a Brin, another 21st century grand master. Ray quickly cleared his table, the rubbish, the war torn plate where his giga-sandwich once defended proudly and finally wiped his lips. Another hour went past and she got up, and it took a mighty big blast from his inner will to actually muster the courage to get up and follow her. And he knew no love will materialize by stalking. So he walked towards the Grand Central to catch his maglev back home. And there she was waiting at the same platform. And in moments the Route 79 came and Ray slowly boarded the train, still eyeing her and she turned and smiled at him. And then the maglev sped along their magnetized track leaving behind the great mist city. And her eyes remained etched in his memories for days to come.

[-] ...who else will dramatize his weekend adventures into a science fiction story, who else! And the block quotes contain short essays of my protest to the Zionists atrocity in the Middle East.

Saturday, July 29

Gardens Of Midnight Rain

I miss the old times.
I really do miss the old times, from the bottom of my heart, from my every cell, my very existence, I long for those days.
Deep inside the soul, from the ends of earth, to the gardens of midnight rain, there were those days, we played and napped, on the terraces of hills green, and in night, silver waves flowing through the heart with such energy, that conveys through my mind such feelings, that we were in heaven.
Do you remember those days?
Close your eyes, blind your senses, shut out the winds of evil, flowing violently around us, and imagine those days, where hills and mountains flowing lush with green jungles, with rainbow birds and imaginary heroes on horses and bright angels whose eyes sparkle a fantasy who stood in front of us and told us fairy tales of earth.
There were times, when the river ran cold sensations, to even the blind men who stopped seeking a path into the caves where truth and sanity existed for the ones who managed to live not in sin but of a free will to dream of a day of future love.
Do you remember those days?
In the gardens of midnight rain, we huddled like children after a night of adventure into lands of kings and queens, away from the adults, whose ideals of a day might turn us into future monsters, and still we hugged close and share a destiny that we will be forever in a bond, forever.
I miss those days, of sweet memories of childhood love when you left me and I left you, together as we followed a fate, into the future. And as the time turned its divine arms and it weaved a tapestry of every history, we came back together and kissed.
Do you remember those days?

Wednesday, July 26

Tea with Gp (1)

(updated) The first ever episode of Tea with Gp is airing right now!
(Maybe I should spend some time talking to the all those talk shows, make some around naked or something...)

Hey hey guys and gals! Welcome to Tea with Gp! The fastest growing quiz sensation on the blog world!. We have a beautiful audience today, look at them...Amazing creatures from every corner of earth. Lets go straight to the questions shall we....and yes do have some tea!

[ Scribz ] Hey, so just a word or anything tht is not a question! Mi I have to think - "attitude"

[ Gp ] Hi Scribz...Welcome to the show! You look nice in dat dress! Scribz gave me the idea for this series of course! Hemmm this one is abit personal, my mom used to say I have this attitude problem last time you see. There was once we were on a bus and an old man sat beside me. When he handed some coins to the conductor, some of the coins fell down and I did not help him...I just sat there starring at him. Guess I was dumb back then...but it did change my view of life after a nice scolding that is...I still get sad sometimes thinking back of all the times I had this attitude inside me of not helping people when they need it.

[ Cinderella ] K mine..."Wake me up my blood to run.."

[ Gp ] Hey! Wazzup wazzup we have the Cinderella of the blog world...who is actually an architect. Question! Heyyy! No tough ones....okay lemme give this a try (pardon my ignorance). There was this time when I decided to go cycling at night. I know of this hill that overlooks a lake near my place. So I just cycled there in the dead of the night and found a nice spot to hang out myself, the stars were twinkling and the moon was reflecting on the lake...all was nice and calm when...Suddenly...something happened that "woke me up inside...and I bid my blood to run" (...okay that sounds dead funny now...). There was this few guys who came up to me on bikes and started accusing me of stealing the bike...I actually got up took the bike and ran away...cycled away that is and they gave chase on motorbikes until the end of the road when I managed to slip on to the main road and made it safe back home! Got shocked silly for a month and actually fell sick.

[ Velu ] Heres my bit...DREAD ;)

[ Gp ] Velu, me buddy, the kaleidescope of movie stars come to mind! nice tux! Dread...Judge the first time I watched Stallone in a science fiction movie and he was great. Noh...actually, the thing I Dread the most in life are people who make that 'Go f*ck yourself, I have an attitude problem and don't give a damn bout you' noise or sound. You know the remarks they make when you were saying something serious and they say 'aaahhh' or 'bahhhhhh' or something like that. That freaking annoyes me to the point that my defense mechanisms actually will make me hate them everytime I see them or remember them...

[ WhiteForest ] said...Ghosts!

[ Gp ] Okay that was easy...hey you look good by the way...have some tea! Okay, there was a time in my life that I don't know what a ghost was, people keep telling me 'pei' which means Ghost in Tamil. But I was oblivious to that and all being a kid and they don't let me go of alone anywhere... So one day, while on a trip to the relatives somewhere far away, we passed this area beside the road and there was this house in the middle of the filed. There surrounding of the house were blocked with walls and stuff. My uncle told us that the house is haunted by Snake ghosts and they cant do anything to it. People were trying to demolish the house and all, but the ghost will haunt them, disable machinery and stuff. And the rest was Gp history...I slept with the lights on for the next 10 years till I was in upper secondary. I have more ghost stories actually...but we will wait for the coming shows...

[ Keshi ] said... great idea : here's mine: Daffodils.

[ Gp ] Do you know most of the people out there pronounce this flower as Daffo-doils almost all the time. The interesting thing about this, there was a time for more than a few years I never knew what a daffodil was after reading about it. During me baby self...when I was small I loved to read all this Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew stories. I encounter many weird names, and Daffodils was one of them. I was under the impression Daffodils were one of the character in the stories, and kept on telling my friends about it whenever we talked about it (the very little of them who read Hardy Boys). Of course no one told me what a Daffodil was until one day one my uncle was telling us during our evening gardening expeditions (another day another story bout this) that Daffodils would look beautiful in the garden. I blurted out asking him if he likes reading Hardy Boys too! Much to my embarrassment and many legendary repeats of the day I famously stumped myself followed the rest of the younger years. Oh those again, I think I need to plant some daffdoils soon...

[ Nachi ] said...awesome show!! here's my quib: "Caught redhanded"

[ Gp ] Heyya Nachi, wazzup buddy! (we go back a long way...on a beach with salma hayek and some vodka...) Ok, this is fast going into the no return alley of embarasment...hemmm Caught redhanded...lemme have a sip of tea first...! Ok, there was once we had a party at my uncles house, its kind of a get-together for the family. And someone made me really angry and I sulked and did'nt want to talk to anyone and told them I wont touch the food. After the usual rounds of talking and all, when everyone started to make their way to the eating room, there I was, stuffing my face with the 'fried prawns!'. Yeh, that was like a thousand people watching A circus lion eating lolipops instead of meat kinda feeling...I felt so small and shrinking fast...They did forgive me, I was a kid, but still sometimes when there is prawn on the menu during gatherings, I will be the last to eat! .... If you excuse me for a while now, I need to regather my ego...we go for a commercial! hahahah...

[ Nayan ] said...My turn: Overweight :PPP

[ Gp ] Heyya Nayan! Oh man, ladies and gentleman...we have the salsa king here! The salsa king from Cyprus! :P What! Overweight...dunno anything bout it!!!...okay...Overweight...I once weighed about 60 kg, then something freaky happened and I started eating alot when I was in secondary school and bloated to about 80 kg...and another freaky thing happened when I accidentaly fell in love with a girl that I've never talked to, and lost amazingly 20 kg in 6 months. And everyone at home thought I was studying hard for exams (the big one) and was so worried that I lost weight. But then I busted up for the exams, and still managed to end in university doing Physics which made me eat so much and now after 7 years I weigh a whopping 85+ kg. And the doctor told me last week I'm overweight and my cholestrol level is twice what it should be. dang...Nayan! U made me hungry!

[ Empty-Mind ] said...Nice idea :-) "Emotions"

[ Gp ] Heyya emptymind girl! nice saree you're wearing. Emotions...emotions brings alot of emotions to me...hemmm...I think I'm a very emotional sometimes that pushes me to the brink of tears...and I do cry. (yes yes ladies...Im a softie...urghhh). There was this time when I was a kid, I dreamed that someone I love was the single most sad, hurting moment in my life. Everytime I think of it, it still brings tears to me. I think I just cant face death or loosing something or someone. This one extreme of emotions always paralyzes me.

~ Thank you so much for participating in this first episode of Tea with Gp. I had ernomous fun, remembering my past...amazingly rich past that is...I always thought I had a boring life but I think it just needs a little remembering. Have fun everyone, thanx for coming and have a nice day and week ahead! Love you all, and remember....
'All work and no tea make your life miserable!'

[-] Thanx for the great response guys. Feel free to steal the Tea with Gp tag from the top of the post for you blogs, or better still! why dont you create your own tea series, its a great way to get to know your friends!.
[+] This is the first episode. Do wait for the next episode soon and keep those words coming!!! Any word or sentence...please do read the first post here for the details!

Tuesday, July 25

Tea with GP

Okay, ideas, ideas! Stuck in the office still, not getting paid overtime or anything, so this thing came up...thanx to Scribzs comment of my previous post. Now my dear fans, bow down to your...okay sorry....excited....My dear friends, this will be the premier of the much awaited

[[ Tea with Gp ]]

(for reasons obvious, I cant do Coffee with Gp...and I'm known to force people to go out for tea an hour before work finishes). In this 'fastest growing quiz sensation on the blog world' to quote Dave Letterman, my fans, yes U! will drop a single word or a sentence or whatever in the comments section (but NOT a question). I will take that word or sentence or whatever and write down something that relates to my life and my endeavors in the cyber world or just whatever comes to mind. That's as original as I can come up with, do tell me if anyone have done this before. So what are you waiting for, probe this ghost particle further!

Monday, July 24


It's 8.30 pm, I'm still at work, its Monday, and Lucas send me a 64 Questions email tag. Screw the world. (and the post title doesnt mean a sheet!)
( A better post is at the bottom of this post)

Here's how I answered...

1. What time did you get up this morning?
7.30 am, I go to work late (everyday)

2. Diamonds or pearls?
Diamonds coz pearl reminds me of food.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Superman Returns with Malay and Chinese subtitles

4. What's your favourite TV show?
Raagamaligai (tamil music show on Jaya TV)

5. What did you have for breakfast?
Milo + Some wholemeal bread

6. What is your middle name?

7. What is your favourite cuisine?
Rice + Vegetable Curry + Fried dried fish

8. What foods do you dislike?
Snakes and the whole gang of wild animals.

9. Your favourite potato chip?

10. What is your favourite CD at the moment?
James Blunt (yeh yeh commercialism...)

12. Favourite sandwich?
Tuna sandwich dat i make me self.

13. What characteristics do you despise?
Those buggers who make f*cking annoying noise

14. Favourite item of clothing?
My blue Mustang T-Shirt

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

16. What colour is your bathroom?
Blue floor tiles, white wall tiles + yellow green moulds growin on it

17. Favourite brand of clothing?
Currently Mustang

18. Where would you want to retire to?

19. Favourite time of day?

20. Where were you born?
Sungai Petani, End of the Earth

21. Favourite sport to watch?

22. Who do you least expect to send this back?

23. Person you expect to send it back first?
Lucas that donk from Luton

24. What laundry detergent do you use?

25. Coke or Pepsi?
Coke (Vanilla)

26. Are you a morning person or night owl?
Night baby!

27. What size shoe do you wear?
8 1/2 (Malaysian size ?!)

29. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone?
I'm having a freakin migraine every morning at 3 am

31. Favourite candy bar?

32. What is your most vivid childhood memory?
The day I tried to kill a kitten...

33. What are the different jobs you have had?
A supermarket cashier, a restaurant help (2 days), a failure analysis engineer, a reasearch assitant, an editor

34. What's your favourite book?
Any from Stephen Baxter

35. Nicknames?
Siva, Gp... ( me not going to tell!)

36. Piercing?
Uh? I once tried to kill a kitten...oh I told you that...

37. Eye colour?
Black, but I tell somepeople its brown

38. Ever been to Africa?
No...but I look like I came from there (pun pun pun intended)

39. Ever been toilet papering?
Saw it in South Park, kind cool actually, Im going to try Luke's house one day...

40. Love someone so much it made you cry?
Yeh, when the first season of X-files ended...uh...someone?!

41. Been in a car accident?
Bike accident, car hit me, etc etc

42. Croutons or bacon bits?
I dont eat pigs!

43. Best day of the week?
Thank F*ck its Friday (TFIF).

44. Favourite restaurant?
None, wanna torch them all I have been so far...

45. Favourite flower?
All of em

46. Favourite ice cream?
Raisin+ ice cream (forgot the name)

47. Disney or Warner Brothers?
Warner Bro's...Disney's for pimps and gays

48. Favourite fast food restaurant?
McD gave me high cholestroll.

50. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
Twice In Malaysia coz I did'nt want to bribe those asshole officers.

51.Before this one, from whom did you get your last email?
My Client from Lyon, France

52. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Borders or Amazon

53. What do you do most often when you're bored?
Go to work.

54. Bedtime?
Around midnight

55. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire?
Some girl i wish I had as a friend, but I dont.

56. Last person you went out to dinner with?

58. What are you listening to right now?
Still not getting any...Simple Plan :D

59. What is your favourite colour?
Maroon when I see any gal, blue when I feel happy, and green when I feel like dying. Black when im high..

60. Lake, ocean or river?

61. How many tattoos do you have?
Pain pain pain...infection...none

62. Which came first, chicken or the egg?
chicks of course dont lay where the heck this Q came from...oh chicken...damn me Im at high...

63. Your goal for 2006?
Make enough money so that I dont turn into a beggar in 2007.

64. Who sent this to you and what is something you didn't know about them?
Lucas...the fact that he turned into a shag monster.

~ The End ~

Sunday, July 23

A Particle Nevertheless

(Velu tagged me...and I hate doing tags, but I love my buddies, so here goes.)

Somehow, everyone will have a definition of mothers, amma, the greatest beings, the gentle soul who was born solely to protect us and understand us. A particle journeys from the center of the universe, from the progenial palace where all life emerges, from where God exists in mercurial times, floating in a miasma of naked truths and innocent lies that build this staggering universe to exist as a showpiece, an observation piece for creatures hiding in every corner. What is this concept of amma, or mother or any caregiver that actually builds us to what we are today? They are the creators, but they are also burdened. The never ending cycle of dissapointments, never being able to understand this cruel life, where money matters more than love, and love itself lost during the childhood. Didn't they all crave that the children be a child forever, in a typical season of love and joy that when the wake up tomorrow they'll be facing the same child and show the same love. Mother, what does this word strike deep in the hearts of posers like me who doesn't know the day tomorrow but love to speculate what another person thinks. I don't believe in never ending love, but I know what sacrifice is, but mother's don't know both. They are born as the God themselves to guide us, show us they can cry like everyone else, like how we can sing and dance in drunken exhilaration of any joy, but they know deep inside they own it all. Amma, for what she does, or what she cooks, the nutrition of life, how we forge ahead to find everything in this world is just lies upon lies build on a bed of frequent disappointments, and finally we agreed that the world is wrong but when we return she is not there.

A particle, being me, and us, we traveled so far, we think we know it, but we never know what's inside this female, what do they think this second of us or the next son or the next daughter. We are tiny sparks of light and life, but we know where to stop don't we. But she doesn't know light nor any energy greater than the satisfaction of being a mother. But was it all lost is vain seeing that she cant understand what this creation of hers is doing day in and day out, struggling in the rain to be the next successfully person he sees. In return, he never taking the time to understand the deepest connection existing between him and her, but he speculates of a trade century where love is sold and bought is a pain that would never go. But she understands that he cant be the successful person, because he struggles, and he knew she understood in some ways that he is week, but does she have the will and the power to idlest guide him now that he is big. So that's why they dream of horror but wake up to see that he steps into the house the next day all smiling because he came back to the proverbial home. And she smiles too.

So you ask, how long life will take this concept of love, this so artificial offering where we cant show what we really mean, but then its not life's fault of leaving you in this predicament. So now you must come to understand that its not everyone who loves the mother, like a warm summer day, like rain in the sun, like fog than envelopes the hills at nights where mothers, daughters and sons laughs to yesteryear wisdom, not disguising their feelings because they are free. But they are not the ultimate end to this tale, because they are just a few of the particles which set free of any bonding to the material junk that we thread everyday. I stopped to think what she lost, what she never saw or experience. There were days she wanted to see the world, but I am incapable of showing her, because I failed her in her wills. For all her sacrifice I did not see any ending, or any beginning in that matter because I was born much later than the day she started seeing the essence behind her, behind life, behind everything. I don't know if I would ever be able to understand her sacrifice, I would cry if you want me too, but that day I want to be far away, my life is taking me in directions I don't know, and she cant be there to help me anymore that the giant steps she took to bring me up. The ideals of life is that we are separated at birth because not everyone can be together forever. The ideals of life nevertheless can be changed, but can we?

Like yesterday a thought came, like the day before a thought came and it continued, so the next relationship will create another mother to mimic the life of amma, but how do we be sure? Is the time right for the changes to reflect something new in all sense, or can we still blind time to the changes that we don't want to happen? And yesterday she told me I will be like your mother, but that made me stay awake all night thinking of the sacrifices of my mother, to make a conclusion she can never be that simply because she was not there when the mothers were born long ago in the nebula's where only age and time played music rather than metallic objects. You don't see a dream in the eyes of the ones you love now, the new ones, because the original dream existed in the eyes of the creator your mother. Well these sepia dreams, called so because they are lovely to imagine holds the truth that the pain of separation is bigger that the pain of discovery. So you would never really understand her, but be sure that you will miss her. So it brought me back to a few years back, when I fought and never understood why she must say know. But she was thinking of me all along, only about me and my future. But I was thinking of everyone else. So we fought, and I cried, while she never did. I never knew or would never know what strength she saw in me, but that day she never cried. But she probably did when I left.

Like today, and the days to come, this far flung mind will not stop to look back. But she does it for you because she thinks you will come back. Not everyone, not even when they die, they don't come back because the nature of the human heart, when it was created was devoid of morality of feelings. There was no unending love, it was meant for us to learn and to teach, like mothers who are great teachers. There were Sundays when you would sit with her and she would talk about everything that doesn't make sense the first time, and you wake up the next day smiling thinking she just told of he jealousy of the others in her life of her. She slaved for you not looking at them because you were the only one, but then there were others who made something bigger than you of this world, who maybe went the next step, and she came back to you to encourage. And yet still, for all eternity, you cant say it to her, you can utter that few words that shows you and still her child, her creation, for this dark hole inside your heart that bars you emotions. Life slowly seeping away for her, in her misty eyes, she sees her children dancing with their new loves, and she doesn't utter a word of sin, because she knew that her original calling was to let you go. That much you never knew, to the day, in evening when they carried her away you will stand there having lost everything, and now you will cry for the days you wish you lived back.

Love knows no end.

Thursday, July 20

My Enlarging Butt, Job Zombie and The World

( depending on your imagination, state of mind and social consciousness- please treat this post as just another post among the millions made every day)

Ever since I started working, there was this 'fear of appearance' that kept me awake at nights. Initially it was the fear of meeting people, then the fear of attending meetings, and then the fear of not wearing a tie (because I don't know to tie one), the fear of going for lunch with colleagues...for the obvious reasons of spilling the food. So it all comes down to the fear of appearance, or the fear of mingling...or whatever name we give it. But apart from all that, something worst struck me.

There is this office related evolutionary cycle that is commonly know as enlarging butt. First detected when chair was invented a few thousand years ago, the enlarging butt is a common syndrome of desk attached employees. They are literally screwed to the desk from 8 to 5 probably trying to save a dying company. Hence, a few months after joining this company, I noticed the tragedy unfolding infront of my own mirror. I am slowly morphing into a Job Zombie complete with monitor eyes a.k.a square eyes, 'Einstein Hair' from the monitor static and an 'Office Butt' (TM, R, C). So my innocent thoughts wandered to other related things like enlarging boobs a.k.a 'Office attire Boobs' (TM, R, C) out of being stared at continuously, 'Duck Mouth' because of incestant gossiping, 'Horse Head' specifically effecting suck-ups who nod their head all the time to their bosses crap...etc.

Working, for a bachelor means instant increase of bank balances at the end of every month. After going through the natural distribution of wealth to all family members, grandma, land lord, personal mechanic, half baked doctors, pet store, we are left with this godly sum of money waiting to be injected into the country's economic cycle. The sudden increase in buying power also inflates the...emmm...Inflation(?!) because the businesses know that every year there will be an increase of new employees waiting to buy beer, fag and condom every weekend. So every year they will inevitably increase the prices. That's Economics 101 for you. So I have this much money with me and the weekend approaches. Dum dam dum dam dum dam (big big drums anticipating the next scene, suspense all around).

So the weekend approaches, and I wake up with a huge migraine staying up the whole night before downloading porn and eating half cooked pasta. So back to the weekend, after sleeping another half a day, I discovered the weekend is well, a quarter gone and I still haven't done anything a bachelor guy with money would do. Then it dawned upon me, this temporary amnesia lifts, working bachelors have no life what so ever. At this juncture, don't mix up the bachelor in this post with your average NY bachelor. This is the third world country bachelor we're talking about. This bachelor is a die hard wannabe of the NY bachelor who goes clubbing on the weekends, and goes to salsa classes on weekdays. So by the next weekend he can arrange a nice 'get together' with the Salsa girls... Snap!

Working, finally taught me the reality of life. I am a bona fide Job Zombie. Working doesn't teach you to go ahead in life, get a girl or buy a car, work actually sucks every drop of soul out of you and feeds it to the Office Alcatraz pigeons. Working, by its exact definition is a 'slow, rotting process which a live body undergoes from the age of 23 onwards'. By the time the body hits 55, it will be rotten to the core, unable to recollect the wonders of the world and will be stuck in one tour after another of grand children, beautiful beaches blurred by rotten eyes and an imagination gone dry. Work, from 8 to 5 everyday promises pain and suffering because it also means that nearly 90% of us have finally gotten rid of our dreams of becoming astronauts, pro-basketball players, etc and wear black pants and white shirts in a never ending cosmic cycle. Job Zombie...Job Zombie...lalalalallala (to the tunes of Bee Jees).

With money, and somehow 'saving for the future' not registering in mind, will let us experiment with newer things and places. Like the one weekend I decided to get rid of a few hundred bucks of heavy bills adding weight to my wallet and enlarging my already enlarged butt. We bought expensive water called 'liquor' and never actually finished it. So, call it a working hazard, or work hangover, money actually disappears as fast as it comes to us. Not to curb my enthusiasm with money and still aware that I am a job zombie, I decided to hit the 'concept' restaurant circuits. It took me a few trips to realize that the food is actually crap, and I only go there for the decor. Most if not all the time the waitresses are very happy to see me because I took this 'tipping' culture as a social status.

Eating out in special places also lets me see new people. And also meet all those Job Zombie's 2.0 who actually managed to get a girl friend. They should not be mistaken for Job Zombie XP's who have trophy chicks as girlfriends. Those girls who looks exactly like mannequins and from one look you swear they appeared in an ad somewhere. In between all of them, there is me, Job Zombie Mac, all add hype, all blown up with a big butt. (self depreciation, a slow sad violin adagio). After careful observation, I decided that the girl I want to get must know how to use chopstick, because chopstick, ladies, will actually make you look ultra snazzy! Ultra cool chicks using chopstick! They look super sophisticated and efficient. And when people look at them its like all those happy couple ads you see on TV. The guy totally in control, the girl the tool user showing the superior wiser person in the relationship. A win win situation. I noticed a lot of Indian girls using chopstick nowadays, so it wont be hard for me when I get upgraded to Job Zombie 2.0.

And now the world, in the middle of the month all hell breaks loose. There's only a hundred bucks left in your account, and you call home with that sad tone asking a loan. Now don't deny yourself by saying no, nearly all guys do this. Girls I observed a much more in control, but I presume they do ask in secret. Money, is the source of all joy and evil. But at moments I feel this small sprout of happiness growing in me knowing that I don't smoke, do sex (!!!) or do coke to loose massive amounts of money for nothing. The other facet of this wishes that I can appreciate all the things I buy, read all the books I collect and try to do something better with my life. So if there is time when you hit earth, reality, the third rock from the sun, it will definitly be when you're short on money. Then you would realize there is much more to money than a 10 dollar coffee or locking arms with wonder bra girl out of a cinema. Life is, like a, plate of hot Idli. It tastes good with chicken curry but it's best eaten with plain old sambar chutney.

Hence, for all things good, do Job Zombie's get back their dream and become humans again? Now that's the million dollar question. Okay now, have to do my butt'cersice...I don't know whether girls will dig guys with big butts alike guys who digg big boobs.

( it takes a special art/ moment to use vulgarity, however little it is, in blog posts. Just make sure it doesn't turn into Porn, or have ulterior motives. Just use the face value if its a fun post, and give ample depth if it's something important. If not, don't use it at all!)

[-] Read that the blog ban in India will be lifted soon. Hope to see you guys back to active blogging!

Wednesday, July 19

Sands Of Time

~Sands of Time~

what map shall I draw ,
what rivers and valleys shall I carve,
out of these sands in lustre,
or do I collect the metals and,
I shall devise a mechanical,
beast that will build monuments,
where we will walk like zombies,
in return of blessings never to come,
out of our collected vices and voices,
the land shall prosper deep into,
future times where we will struggle,
to curb our own freedom,
for justice and sanity among us,
have long gone in petrified moments,
we documented as history,

braving cold winds,
during starless nights,
we gathered in will,
and build monuments to,
the gods of day and night,
starving our people,
and raping the land we lived,
long before we called,
the scriptures to give us,
names of prophets to guide us,
long are those times,
where we lost our morality,
blind to the prevailing sense,
or the natural world,

majestic monuments,
build with sand and metal,
rose around us in time split,
moments suddenly overwhelming,
our senses that when we opened,
our eyes we saw shades of,
grey and black all around us,
masterly crafted during impossible,
days of thunder and sun,
lay evidence of our greed,
and lust for all things organic,
that we want to touch,
and live with,
as something a part of us

Somebody once said,
the sands of time,
flowing no which way,
shall someday stop,
and never reveal its secrets,
such as the human spirit,
someday will stop,
overwhelmed by the universe,
the grand design,
but never by some power,
trading the vagaries of,
war, religion, race and blood,
the human spirit,
is the sands of time


[-] Specially dedicated to all Indian bloggers and all bloggers whom their freedom of blogging are supressed.

And A Star Is Born

A racing stream,
At the edge of earth,
Almost mercury in colour,
As it flows over jagged rocks,
Reminiscent of our memories,
That never ceases, actually

Cream breezes brushing past,
Under the yellow light,
Sitting near a corner pillar,
Dressed in maroon silk,
Wowen with gold threads,
My sister warm and beautiful

Passages of time in memory,
Over legendary edges of rivers,
Bones and skin petrified,
ideas in revenge of ages,
As we looked at the setting sun,
Slowing down for love

Scents of jasmine,
Frozen still around us,
When in time you asked,
Many questions that I answered,
And when you fell asleep,
The setting sun already a star


[-] Forever in wanting, for not having a sister. Forever will I be in waiting, even when I know she wont come. Many of my present memories dominate a timescape where I have a sister, something I feel deeply lost about, something empty inside me because I never had a sister. I think having a sister completes our lives.
[-] I did not actually go away did could I, this is the only place I can tell the world what I see and live. Still haven't managed to get rid of the migraine.
[+] For your midweek listening pleasure, the ever magnificent Rob Costlow; listen in lo-fi if you have trouble streaming. Music from the second composition; Woods of Chaos, [Woods of Chaos and Not Alone], are extremely mesmerizing, you can go on listening forever.

Tuesday, July 18

Ghosts In the Mist

Hey guys...hope everyone is well and happy. There are many things happening around the world and around me. Though I dont have a solution of the things happening around the world, I can only say that among the very few things that keeps us humans is our sheer presence. Our Number. The rest doesn't matter. If there wasn't this many of us, then we would have disappeared into the mist a long time ago. Hence, with increasing number, some of us humans yearn for more dirt and power. Both of which are abundant, but can never satisfy man. So we see the political world slowly eating away into our soul and we continually feel spaced out. Don't try to get to the root of the problem, because if you ask me, the root points to Israel. First and last. Everything political that happens here in this world are centered around Israel. We can't offend them, we can't talk about them, we have to babysit them and then we let them kill innocent child and woman. The hell with them fighting extremist and terrorists, why must they bomb innocent people. With all their might and intelligence and superweapons, they still have to level half of the population to kill that one terrorist. Because once they bring out their weapons, the terrorists will strike terror in other countries, and the cycle continues.

Everyone is well aware of what happened in the WW2, all those innocent lives killed just to satisfy the blood thirst of a tyrant, but then the world signed a life long agreement to suck up to Israel. Learn history if you want to know the mistakes that we made, we are not to be trashed around just because Israel needs to be groomed. And to think that the one country that supposed to be a model of democracy actually condoning the zionis tyrants who are progressively doing ethnic cleansing. All I want to say is that you can continue to kill whatever evil that might exist out there, but stop killing the children whose innocence betrays the state of the world today. Stop killing the man on the street, stop killing the pregnant woman, stop killing everyone. No race or religion promises a heaven that we can see or feel. All lies will lead to the truth, and the truth is we all will die one day, just don't make it happen because of one country's right to exists or one religions scriptures or one economy's struggle to own everything.

~ I have not been well for the past week. I think I need to take some time off, to reflect and figure out what went missing in my life. My migraine is eating into my brain and my spirit, there are days that I just want to give up. Life is so unfair somedays. I cant even start to explain the pain, surely other fellow sufferers would agree with me, that it feels like the end of the world. So be nice and be happy. There might be hell facing the world right now, but the human spirit is wise enough to prevail. We are all survivors. Bye for now, will be back in the future.

Monday, July 17

Requiem For Vanity

in the fringes of society,
from old ages to modern days,
we discovered silent mutiny,
that we followed as ways

rather in discontinuity,
we found broken religion,
in men’s naked disunity,
we found days of tradition

(dissection of the truth)
throughout this jungles of metal,
and glass and wood in books,
we found writings of a testimonial,
of devils, demigods and crook

some ray of light,
came shining through clouds
from a distant night,
like bloods on shrouds

(end days)
searching the ways of right,
or wrong in the castle of night,
soon came in flight,
with wings such angles insight

I saw mighty God,
in agony and tears,
and I saw me,
I am the God

(end times)
do you think for all elements,
I would stop and smell their nature,
you made me think of the elements,
as nature was made of it infinite

all elements,
in their earliest moments,
in their darkest hours, are born,
with their vanity, unbound

[-] Wrote this to describe the state of the world today.

[+] Monday Music! Listen to Asteria's mesmerizing voice as part of the medieval vocal ensemble.

Ghost Tags:

Saturday, July 15

Trouble In Paradise

( you you damn care of anything)

A week went past, some ugly memories, some time ago, I lost my sense of humor.

Give me Liberty or Give me Death.

Tuesday, July 11

Romancing The Road

I remembered when I was about 9 years old. I was walking down this road that seemed to go on forever into the woods. I stopped at every tree along the way and looked up to the sky. Sometimes the trees were very close together that the sky was totally covered and this rays of light came in columns to the forest floor covered with blankets of brown leaves. I wish I knew then it was light or something natural. Those rays actually scared me, everytime I looked up into the sky or deep into the woods I see this curtains and rods of glass glowing like some tall ghosts standing still to capture its helpless victim.

This road took me deep into the mysterious hills and mountains over the ages. The road was pebbled and some parts of it was still its its original laterite red. There were some ponds and a small stream crossing the road. I could see short sticks or metal rods stuck into the river and a small rope, probably a nylon rope tied around it. Once, tired I stopped and got into the rived and pulled the rope. Out came a huge, to my miniature understanding and eyes, bamboo basket shaped like an old Japanese bomb. Eager to know more I pulled all of them out, one by one and finally the last one came out to reveal a shiny fluttering something in it. My heart stopped and I fell into the river and ran out shouting. A dark hand caught me and lifted me to the dry banking and uttered some words. I still remember those round eyes, red at the edges probably because the man cried or he was tired. I thought he was the devil capturing me and I would never return home. But I wriggled free from him and ran away, ran as fast as I could.

So I went home that day all wet and mother scolded me. Dad obviously was feeling humorous of the whole situation and shared a joke with my neighbor's. I smirked at them and ran in. The I returned to the lonely road again the next weekend when school was off and I had no one to play with except my brother. I went further and further, and I passed the nightmarish river where the devil lives. I could see a few villagers sitting on the banks and starring attentively into the river where one man was standing collecting something out of the bamboo traps. It was fish! And much to my delight, the bomb was actually fish traps. That was something they did not teach in school at that time, or I was busy admiring the huge mountain just outside the school. Tiny understanding and eyes remember. So I waved to them and they waved back and I walked on. Oh I get all this attention you see because I was the headmaster's son and all. I ran slowly for a while, sweat trickled down my arms and back. The mighty sun, beaming everything, throwing at me when I saw mirages on the road far ahead. Those things stayed in my mind far into the future, those days I went chasing it thinking the road was flooded. I walked longer and longer and there was no time to tell except that the day was still bright and I could still see the houses at the other end. I was safe, but maybe I wont go back home anymore if something goes bad and the villagers would mount a search party for me soon into the night. That was from a movie, something on TV2 if I haven't forgotten that was this people who went searching for missing campers.

After what seemed to be miles or maybe days without coming to an end I did not look back. The occasional bird still flew with its huge yellow tail and then a few others small with yellow beaks this time. I noticed the further I walked into this forest or woods because it was full of tree, the animals got stranger and stranger. I saw something like a monkey but with huge white circles around its eyes, but then it made this amazing great sound that I froze there momentarily. Something spiraled above the air from the jungle, followed by a thousand more I reckon, thousands of birds and other animals. Then the leaves, one by one, then by the dozens starts to float down the trees around it. This small monkey, with its white circled spectacles made such a mess, that I still hear its resounding shout to me some nights. So I turned and walked on figuring that I walked this far and surely they'll be looking for me now that I wont be allowed to get this far again anymore anyhow.

I came to a bend in the road, a small bend that let to a small hut of somekind. I did not enter the bend for it was the dark woods and then there were bushes all around where my grandma used to say giant snakes lived. In front of this hut was this metal rod of, the spear normally present in front of Hindu temples. It must be a small temple that they had everywhere last time. I went to one a few months ago, and they slayed a goat there. It was a feast, I ate mutton that day but I couldn't figure till today how that headless goat actually ran around the temple a few times. Headless but still inspiring because of its dripping read blood and me standing far away behind Dad's protective motorcycle. But the people just ate after that, and I recollected seing a lime stuck on top of the spear. I threw some stones and went near and saw there was this yellowing lime on the spear and peeking inside I saw the idols.

Nothing enticing there and I continued this walk deeper, by now sweating and breathing heavily. I was not much of a trekker and it was not a scouts expedition so there was no water or anything. The previous year they took us into the jungle for scouts trekking we saw a giant wild boar with daggers in its mouth waiting to slay anyone who came that way. After ages I presume, ages and aching knees I reached the end of the road. It was a huge wooden house and behind it were more structures. Giant factories with metal beams everywhere rusting to the color of blood. The yellow paint of tractors, the old ones with round lights were streaked with rust blood. I walked nearer and sat under a shade of one of the houses. The jungle was not really huge now, there was a huge clearing around the area and still it looked menacing. There were thick bushes everywhere and at any moment some naked person with body paints and spears and sticks will jump out and capture me.

My mind floated away, my body still tired and my eyes lazily admiring the silent mystery monuments around me. About a century ago, this place was a bustling pioneering settlement. There were about a hundred families who came from everywhere the British colonized. They were promised a rich land where they can settle and the future was bright and beckoning. These families worked in this huge wood mills and tapped rubber and lived a peaceful life under the hills. My fingers ran over a metal rivet holding tight protecting forever in its destiny the machine of its masters. The rivets each bigger than my fingers, ran all around everywhere from the machines to the walls of the metal boiler buildings. All rusted, their rust blood leaving abstract marks on the walls. A gliding bird, yellow and black brought my attention to that one fateful day years back. This settlement grew prosperous over the years, the managers were rich and they were actually colonizing much of the land surrounding the place. The town itself at the entry point of the island was a bustling with traders. This was a stopover port for traders manning the routes to Thailand and India and elsewhere. So there were a mixture of many people, natives of many language.

One night, some legendary day some month and some year that no one can remember, a gang of pirates came on silent sampan's which are I learned wooden boats frequently used at that time. They reached the head villagers house and demanded some money and threatened to take ransom of his wife and children. Then they raided the rich Chinese 'Taw Key's house. He was the owner of the mill and saw factory and had a lot of possessions. He defended his family, took out his shot gun and managed to kill a few of the pirates. He killed the leader who slashed his wife and children. He shouted from the window of his house on the small hill to the villagers. Many of whom had by now ran out into the huge field around them and was panicking. There was no electricity back then and the dark night was quickly coming bright by bonfires and fiery eyes.

In the morning, under the cloudless sky the silent breeze carried the songs of hungry birds. That's what someone told me, my friend that I never got to see after those years. So that morning, the traders from the town came to the village which was hidden deep in the island, the jungle and mountains. From quite far they smelled this burning scent of some animal. They guessed it must be the boar hunters or some villagers in the rubber plantation. When they reached the settlement they found bodies everywhere, some burned some with slash wounds and blood teaming with flies. That was a strange history, odd for a British settlement of that time. The story resonates still in my head, just like the long walk down the gray alley. The decimated village remained strong and deviant for years to come. Many more pirates came and philandered the villages along the coasts, islands and inland where the rivers from the sea would flow satisfying the violent cycle of prey and hunter. Such was the nature that provided with violent images of daggers and lightning and devils in my childhood. I sat there, my eyes wide, darkness approaching from thousands of miles away into my tiny eyes.

I got up and walked along the road, not turning back. Scared because of this superstition my grandma taught me, that said you must never turn back to see something or someplace when you leave it. It must have been my grandma or some friend from faraway times that I forgot. And when I reached the road, the dried sweat made my shirt stick to my body and the wind blew chilling and slowly erasing the fading memories. In a while, from inside the woods, from a small road came this motorbike and offered me a ride back home. Those familiar eyes, which I still remember took me home and he never told anything to my waiting mother. Of course I lied I was playing in the stream nearby which was an offence itself. So I was not grounded I remembered like some TV kid, but was given a few beatings with the sharp cane and I still slept that night with eyes wide open to the mystery stories of my childhood.

[+] This is a true story, least I have never verified the pirate attacks, but they said it was true, those who told me the story. It was from long ago, a place where I visited a few weeks back, the island of Langkawi.

World Cup My Foot; Okay...It aint over yet!

The restroom is up in smokes (i hope they all get cancer and die!!!), I'm having a bad hangover over Satay and Beer yesterday and the bugger whose supposed to handle my thesis is not picking up the phone. So, we come back to the football story.

Hence, and for all it's worth, the World Cup is a friendship game. Just like the Olympics, where we get to see both Korea's walk together under one flag, and Malaysian TV blank out Israel's march past, any international game is a show piece of international peace and friendship. But under the skin, everyone are just flinging the same sh*t around. So Zizou, the greatest footballer of the new age, head butted the Italian racist ass and got the marching order. Yes, after years and days of me blabbering of racism in sports, yesterday the media reported that Italian defender Materazzi called Zidane a 'dirty terrorist'. If I was there I would have done more than a head but. Zidane is one of the most calm players around, rarely to get a caution, and yet we see him red carded because some Italian ass fired racial slurs against him. I hope FIFA would do something to ratify this, or hell I'm not going to stop my anti-racism campaign against Italy!

Lets stand against racism for once and for all! (and hate those Italians...!) I say, lets ban Pizza and spaghetti! Come on...Whose with me?!

[+] Soccernet Dirty Terrorist news
[+] Reuters
[+] The NY Observer (Humor me!)

Monday, July 10

World Cup My Foot, The End

Thank God! The world cup is over. Now I can get back to my breakfast of cookies and coke without someone crying, shouting, laughing in front of me because of soccer.

With all due respect, and fair sportsmanship, I congratulate Italy for winning the world cup version 2.0 , 2006. (they made a new cup this time around because Brazil gets to keep the one it won in 2002 for winning if 5 times...). Hey, by the way, did you know the cup is made of 5.5 kg of Gold! And Italy is one of the countries in the WW2 Axis of evil who helped Hitler exterminate 10+ million people but the world forgave them and let them win the world cup after the world forgave Germany and let them host the world cup which they could not win because they let Italy beat them in the semi's because those buggers were complacent in the dying minutes. And penalties are not the way to settle a game! Lets have a free for all. Whoever has the highest number of players remaining, wins it!

And by some freak turbulence in the cosmos, I actually managed to get up to watch the cup...thanx to that nightmare I had last night. So this would be my 5th world cup final ever, and I hate the world cup. I probably have more caps than Zidane! Talking of Zidane, what in the ghosts name got into him. Probably, the Italian guy called him baldy or chicken or something for him to be peeved enough to head bud that guy. So no golden ball for him, no legendary hero retirement party for foot!!! Im going to stick with club football after this.

Recapping a forgettable World Cup 2006, probably the only thing that's good was those extremely good looking girls in extremely skimpy outfits and sexy sexy body paintings in the stadium and elsewhere. Btw, if anyone has emails or websites with them pictures, please don't hesitate to buzz me. Stupid of me for supporting England, coz those buggers deserves not to be in a world cup anymore! While the overpaid primadonas ( the another word? coz I've been using this alot) play the sexy game, their 'wives' a.k.a girl friends booze up in the pubs. And Rooney the pig screwed up their last chance of making it big, big time. And those penalties...urgh dont get me started.

Brazil, the self professed sambar kings, fudged up big time, while in the process making so many bookies rich and so many more useless low life dumb buggers who are willing to put their hard earned money into gambling...loose their money and soul. Brazil, the enigma, the nightmare, the special ones, the lame ducks. Nike actually spent a bomb trying to create an add campaign centered on them, and guess what happens. Did you know, they actually reduced or completely stopped the Joga Bonita campaign after Brazil's exit. And the wild one, the best player in the world, Ronaldinho turned into a limp turkey. So we hear again talks of conspiracy and match fixing...after what happened in 1998...and Zidane going out before the penalty shoot out yesterday is a coincidence isnt it...hemmm...something to think about.

In a world where everything is money, how could we not stop and say that this world cup is rigged like its predecessors. How could France reach this far with their boring game? Why did Brazil keep Ronaldinho cemented in the midfield position when he should have been let to roam free, why England let defenders take penalties when there are many other choices, why did the England FA left out so many good players to experiment with young, untested players, why France has a chicken as its mascot...

I wanted Spain to loose out early because of their racist coach. At the same time, Spain proofed to be the unluckiest team ever, with the quality they had but never to win the cup. Italy, which has the same ultra-racist fans who sport Nazi and fascists signs during league games should never be let to play because of their match fixing scandal in trial. The biggest sports tournament in the world in the most controversial and yet we all watch it.

Africa had a fair outing this time around, but I wish to see them win the cup the next time or someday. They have so much talent and quality, if only we had a fair FIFA who are not determined to see the biggest team to win the tourney because of money. If only, Asia and Africa is given its fair share of the footballing world. If only.

So, again, we part from this circus, a trillian dollar circus where we are the definite loosers with our cell phone bills, cable bills and electricity bills. Sick leaves, unpaid leaves and emergency leaves forever leaving their marks in our work records. Broken dreams, broken friendships, broken chairs and tables. And yet, in four years time, in South Africa, we will gather again to witness the greatest show on earth because we love football, but the game itself is nothing to love, and certainly not the players who play them.

Auf Wiedersehen Deutschland.

Au revoir Zizou.

Thursday, July 6

Lovesongs in Timescapes

The vanity of humans spread legendary stories across the millennia across space and time. Then it ended tragically with half the planet left devastated by war. From the ashes of death we rebuild a civilization. We imagined beautiful lovesongs to spread the message of peace to the known universe. Clad in virgin brain, we walked the deserts of alien planets teaching our unique ability of writing lovesongs. The songs of fate, and destiny was sung by millions of preachers who discarded their imaginary religions to ride the interstellar cruisers to the far edges of the galaxies.

Sirius was born in the cold plains of Siberia. She learned of life among the barren ice desserts where refugees sheltered after the nuclear war. She learned that humans has finally made peace with each other. In her tiny eyes, moments after she was born the star Sirius sparkled magically reflected from the cloudless sky. Her father, a 21st century star gazer named her Sirius. She grew up to be a prominent songstress. She traveled to all the know systems to meet new life and help rebuild trust among them. In the short years of our existence, we managed to reach out to the universe and claimed our rights as a higher intelligence. There were none other.

We traveled along the arcs of light that spreads across the systems like ripples in a pond. It warps space and creates a passage to the stars in seconds and minutes. Music embraces us with waves too, slowly drifting across space, it serves as the universal language. From the first contact until the first interstellar alliance, music was used to communicate among the beings. Then slowly evolved lovesongs. Lovesongs are notes that touches the inner heart and in minute moments transforms the physical workings of the brain. Lovesongs are hidden particles that come into existence only when the special songstress sings the notes. We became master manipulators of the sounds.

A prominent sound scientist once described these lovesongs. When the diva sings her notes, the first few notes will alter the space around her. Slowly it will create waves, akin to gravity waves that spread in circular orbits, invisible but carrying immense force. Then the chorus notes will embrace the listeners, capturing their soul and synapse. Their brain waves will be altered, their neurons morphed into the songs itself. The soul will float away, drifting to a place where the lover will be waiting. In their eyes, the majestic nebulas and stars will be visible, guiding their emotions to the waiting embrace of their loved ones. All along, the songstress will be in her own realm, having manipulated the intrinsic geometry of space and time, she weaves the songs, one after another fully transporting the listeners to other dimensions.

In her heart, Sirius yearns for someone. She wants her own love and embrace. The galactic musicians and singers loose out something more than anyone else. Their sacrifice their emotions, they let go of their natural senses to love. Their brains are altered by the scientists so that they don't feel attached to any one person. They are Goddesses in their own realm, not showing compassion. They are slaves of music itself, their lives are likes fires that never stops burning. Even when their eyes looks at the godly skies, their hearts are closed. Many of them try to cry, but they cant even show their emotions. Through this slaved existence, their chained hearts, they create masterpieces each and everytime. All their songs tell stories of great sacrifices, of great men and women whom lived to venture the universe and teach other civilizations of peace.

In the years and ages, many diva's escaped their painful destiny. They exiled to faraway moons and planets and lived their solitude lives trying to feel life. Many alliances with alien species brought enlightenment to their hearts. Sirius lives in the moons around the star Sirius. She returned to where she belonged. Here she can be with her father, his hologram which guides her to new realms. She learned more lovesongs and spread unheard messaged around the planets and space mesas of Sirius. Many secret recitations where held, many sages of evolving civilizations came to listen to her stories. Lovesongs carried them to their desires and taught them of the future. The prophecies of lovesongs were written in atoms and waves to be carried to the next generation. The powerful forces of these creations does not permit this messages to be written. Thus, like our own evolution, the deepest codes of our origin was never to be read or seen. It's just present around us.

Sirius became a legend in the systems at the edge of the galaxy. The interstellar alliance never reached to the 'dark ages'. The dark ages are systems of planets that exists without stars, suns to provide them energy. The edge planets because gathering place for wanderers who escaped from their own pain and fear. Everywhere Sirius went, she was regarded as a Goddess. Children revered her as their guardian angel. With her powerful expressions, her slowly melting soul, she managed to capture other souls. Breaking boundaries, she reached into others and became one with them. He imparted messages doesn't sway groups or generations, but single souls. She created legions of creative minds. Pioneers who flew away from the edge, to new galaxies. She lives on in the memories of the pioneers, who finally managed to construct images of her. She left special notes in her songs that reappeared as tiny pixels in their memories. After years of building new worlds, creating landscapes among the timescapes, the lovesongs of Sirius appeared in their minds. They saw her face. The build temples for her and placed her images in diamonds and crystals.

Many millions of years since she left earth, she was made a real Goddess. Her religion of lovesongs was carried by distant preachers. They are discovering new life everywhere they went. Even in remote galaxies they detected faint waves of the Lovesongs of earth. Magical elements and fairies exist in systems where known physics ceases to exists. This fairies in the form of giant atoms, dances and vibrates to the notes of the Lovesongs. Sirius is still alive, living in the forests of creation in a starless galaxy. She left her legacy to vibrate with the souls of the human preachers. Nearly every alien civilization found in the millions of years to come have marks of Sirius among them. Sirius was alive wherever they went.

In the nights where emerald fog surrounds the forest of creation, Sirius will walk to the trees and streams. She will touch and breathe the pure world she created the day before. Her body is long gone, what exists now is her soul, each atoms and strings of her body vibrates in millions of quantum seconds to give her an appearance. She lives as a God, truly from the imaginary descriptions of ancient earth religion. She would never die.

~ Music as the codes of existence is not a new idea. Scientists have long postulated that in the core of sub-atomic particles are strings that vibrate. These strings are made of pure energy that dances to the tunes of some invisible diva. The big bang itself marked the start of the earliest songs. Soon, slowly in the first Planck seconds, the earliest notes vibrated the strings to expand faster than any know element. The moments after the big band seeded the lives of today. In a nutshell, in the core of this idea lies the concept that life itself are inevitable, we are just gathering and using existing elements to 'manufacture' future lives. Our actions, our role as the observer will determine the outcome of this age and also the evolution of future ages.

[+] Another 2-second idea that actually turned out to be good. I'm impressed myself. (the last para is a mixture of speculative ideas and real physics theories)

Wednesday, July 5

Rest in Peace, Sylvia

Like a million daggers, piercing each and every cell, the visions of a million stars burning bright, collapsing atoms and dreams. I imagined starving children in the desserts of Sudan while digging into my gourmet meals, imagined blown up pseudo martyrs in the streets of uncultured lands and rotting corpses while enjoying my evening drink. In quantum seconds, vivid imagery of stories danced merrily in the columns of sun on the forest floors, trampling on memories of yesterdays.

I woke up today, dressed up and walked out of the apartment. I stood under the sun, praying in silence to the sun God, so that everyone will have a good day. I turned back, and in the minutes to come the sadistic part of my brains and memories wished something else. I cursed to the driver who drove close to me, I wished the idiots who throw rubbish out of the window that they die. My memories are rigged with diabolic sadomasochistic inventions on how to torture the souls of devils. The living devils of this world who don’t dream enough to be human.

Foreign winds circulating the globe bring shorts of joyous plantation songs where planters celebrated a bountiful year. The company bought the produce and sold it a hundred times more in the markets of growing Asia major. Asia minor by the way is populated by middle class and lower class rubbish who dreamed too much to be sane. Europe is a relic filled with dominant minds who had their ideas cocooned in layers of pearl, too expensive to buy, easy to be lost. Far Europe is beautiful and full of socialism and crap that scares the ghost of Marx. The American ghetto is full of monsters that you thought only lived under the bed. They have so much, and they whine so much. The American ivory lives an average life fighting politics to save the rest of the world. The dumps of America have the natural riches that can rival any other planet yet to be discovered, but they sold they trees to make chopsticks and toothpicks. A family of lemurs moved to the Singapore zoo only to be woken up during the Night safari. China is no mystery but the rest of us are just stupid.

Sylvia asked me, what is there in dreams. What causes this puny soul to sprout sensual vines rooting firmly on a yellow brick road that doesn’t exist? So I answered while holding her hand that dreams tells us that we are real and the rest is not. The Creation silently observes, probably amused of the whole event. We had sex that night. And that was in my dreams actually, because Sylvia left to defend the world against evil. Yet again, as I stood alone that day under the perpetual tree that occurs in my world, I asked myself why do we have this escapist dreams.

The ghost of my past came haunting my veins, slowly sucking every ounce of my blood because of the sins I have done. And I wish I had really done something to deserve all this. Istanbul hosted the last carnival of the 20th century because some historian who wrote a best-selling book managed to convince a hundred million people that Buddha was alive and living there. So they managed to get there, all hundred million of them, the biggest possible number of people that can be transported by land, sea and air transport in one week. Every nook and crook of the city was covered with humans chanting, dancing and being merry. And asteroid struck them at 3.45 am, destroying all of Europe. Yet again humans were blind of incoming threat. The next day, another 10,000 children died in Darfur. Just like the day before, but there were 168 more children this time. So that makes 10,168 children who died on a Thursday in the month of January on the first day of the new millennium.

Sylvia came back that Saturday, while I was at the sea collecting shells for my aquarium. She came towards the beach and we hugged. I told her of the tragedies that happened. She laughed and pushed me away. I returned to the shore to fill another bucket with sea water and more shell. I turned back to see her gathering some driftwood into a pile. That evening we lit up the wood and around the bonfire, Sylvia summoned the shamans of old Pangea. I brought out the aquarium and placed them under the stars. I asked the shaman leader if he could make the galaxies dance. In seconds the trillion stars converged into a giant galaxy that stretched all of eternity. It was the most peaceful image I have ever seen. All over the land, the bits of reflecting sand, water and glass, mirrored the starlight.

The Elysium fields just outside the city of ancient Roma housed a billion souls who came for salvation. At the gates of Elysium, beyond the sea of truth stood might gods summoning giants to build shelters in the forests of enlightenment. I could never figure out how my sister could make up these stories. I remembered every grand space the stories occupied in time. She made more of her 2-second ideas than me. And every evening we would walk the fields behind our house and she would tell another story of this universe. I silently thought she was an alien. Sylvia appeared for the first time when I was in my thirties and wandering the Siberian plains in search of a life. She answered my every question except of the future. The future she tells when I am asleep in my dreams. When I wake up and find her to illuminate some truth, well she says, dreams cannot be true after all.

My jagged days are in tandem with my memories of the days I stood in the trenches during rainy nights scanning for enemy spies. In the morning the war smoldered everything, while I asleep in the damp underground bunker. Every night I will come to find that Frank and Terry died the day before. Nothing of a mystery that at the end of the century, fate decided to kill all of Europe where incidentally all the war criminals, all one billion of them hid, may they rot in hell. Fate in the form of asteroid Alpha Beta Gamma 1999 slammed its belly into Istanbul, melting the land as far as anyone can see.

I woke up on a Saturday two weeks back after a horrid night. At 3 am, I saw kids on the street wooing gays and cross dressers. These fags, they live in every town, fake their emotions to say they want to be someone else. Something of a mystery, I see outside 7-11’s girls with Marlboro's and Buds flirting with biker gangs. Turning the heavy Saturday paper holding a glass of OJ on the other hand, I saw seven images of children and young girls. All raped and mangled by some beasts in the streets of the Metro in broad daylight. A parent just stood by to watch her daughter’s body conspiring against her will to some madmen with blue eyes under the yellow sun drenched in grey smog. She jumped into the traffic killing herself. I took a big chunk of turkey sandwich and washed it down with the OJ. Savouring the creamy delight, I turned to the back pages to read the world news. Again those images of rapes, murder and terrorist. Finally I flipped to the comic section and jumped into the world of Calvin. We made some snow men and bashed up Hobbes.

Sylvia passed on a chilly Thursday morning in the garden of good and evil at the suburbs of Moscow in the year 2035. Draped in mortal black, a group of children undertakers took her body into the mobile crematorium and returned a few minutes later with a gold urn. I took it to the beach at night under the starry skies and gathered some wood for a bonfire. My synapses wrote more stories of her grand life trying to show me a way out of this cycle of dreams and reality. Until today I can answer her question, I myself don’t know what dreams are. I died twenty years after her. Someone from my creative writing class found my bones a few weeks after that and buried me on the beech. Every night I come back to sit near the bonfire starring at the night sky hoping for some shaman to bring me to the ends of the universe. I still do everyday.

[+] This is what transpires out of a 2-second inspiration multiplied by hundreds of two seconds. Have fun reading it guys.

Tuesday, July 4

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow-brick road
Follow the yellow-brick, follow the yellow-brick
Follow the yellow-brick road

You're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz
You'll find he is a Whiz of a Wiz if ever a Wiz there was
If ever, oh ever, a Wiz there was the Wizard of Oz is one because
Because, because, because, because, because
Because of the wonderful things he does
You're off the see the wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz

lyrics by EH Harburg and music by Harold Arlen)

[+] Thanx to ANIMZ for reminding this last week. Dedicating this timeless song from the Wizard of Oz, to the entire project team who are underpaid, overworked, harassed and trashed for no apparent reason. We are all concubines I say, concubines of misery!

Monday, July 3

Some Superman...Some Kryptonite...Some History

(I'm not very good at movie reviews, but here goes. Went for the movie last Saturday, in the great island of Penang. Wish we had a decent cinema at my hometown.)

I would say, my verdict is that the movie is a comic book perfect story. The visualization, the introduction of Superman after his 5 years space jaunt, Lex Luthor with his witty lines... There is nothing new as I have expected, probably whoever went there to watch something extraordinary unfold would be disappointed. Judging by the Hollywood trend nowadays, this is a mere introduction for the sequels. Hopefully Singer does the rest of the franchise some justice by not being swayed into anything else. His decision to accept the project probably saved the movie from going to another 'summer bloated-box-office-forgotten-flick' dump to a cult return of the Superhero we all learned to love over the decades. And thank god Tim Burton did not get this, not another 'dark comic hero', remember Batman... Superman doesn't need a dark world, all he needs is a blue sky to fly.

Superman comes back after his soul searching finding a world lost without his guidance. But, after years of helping humanity, isn't it time for humans to discover that they have to fend for themselves, not waiting for 'a' Superman? There are many serious questions that he needed to answer to the world, to Lois Lane and the fans. He does that and more in this brilliant direction by Singer. The photography was great, the score, the effects, you really cant find much flaw in the production. The story is new, not written before in the Superman universe. Superman Returns presented a matured world where Superman is a norm and everyone learned to live with him. On why Clark Kent can still hide his identity behind a pair of glasses, well you have learn comics to understand this. Just as we accepted fantasy flicks, this is comic book world concept that doesn't need much explanation.

In my opinion, Superman portrayed God. The God that we learned to live with, the comic creators morphed into a living, talking legend who saved everyone; from the person in the street to defending the world from aliens. Almost his absence, earth changed much which can be seen from the brief portrayal of current events in the early part of the movie. And the scenes where Superman hovers above earth and listens to the suffering voices of the earth sums up the movie. In a nutshell, its about needing a guide, and as religion does it with much bloodspill, Superman lead with examples, and authority over evil. I would not go further to spoil the anticipation, but there is much more to see and love about Superman, so do watch it at a cinema near you! (And dont miss Richard Branson in the Shuttle scene...the dude is really commited to bring us into space!)
It will be unfair to compare it to the classic first Superman movie with this new age remake. It's a different world now as commercialism and global appeal has taken over movie making. Directors like Singer walks the occasional tight rope to bring productions close to our heart, but still appealing to the studio heads and mass marketing. The production itself was perfect, with the fine details given to the world of Metropolis and somewhat in synch with the rustic example of Gotham and other worlds in the DC Universe. Much have debated on the uninspiring motivation of DC in bringing its superheroes into the big screen. Having a league of legends, bigger than any mutant and much original than those of the Marvel's, DC only thusfar managed to push Superman and Batman into the grand stage. Dont have to compare that to the contemporary heroes of Marvel, all box office hits and swaying legions of young fans. DC in the other hand holds its heroes close to their universe to preserve their legend. This one aspect lacks in the principles of Marvel. One small example would be killing of Prof Xavier in X3. An unecassary marketing move, to boast the story of a less than memorable flick like X3, and others like Dare Devil and Hulk. But DC together with Marvel brought the much needed spirit or renaissance into present day cinema by releasing their heroes to a bigger stage.

Comics like Superman attained legendary status during the golden age of American Comics. Its a popular culture created to define an experimental civilization facing challenge while upholding liberty not existing in any other nation. A grand experiments like this gave birth to entertainment which encompasses movies, music and print arts like comics. Masters such as Stan Lee (Spiderman, Hulk) created legends that was portrayed by average people, appealing to the growing society because of their humble lives (comparatively, Superman was an alien and Batman was a billionaire). Superman (created by Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel) was born in deep mythology, coming from an alien planet send by his father to earth. Almost all early day comics like Superman evolved in the golden age of creativity, science fiction dominance and ultimately summarizing the American dream. Its an exciting world to explore, and the cult following of comics in countries like America, Canada and Japan ensured that this 'small' media doesnt die of.
Summarizing a life, Superman will forever remain as the King of superheroes because of his inimitable powers and aspirations. Superman Returns shows in quantum moments his true human-like emotions and rest assured that greater movies are coming in the lines of this new age adaptation. Comic books that gave birth to superheroes are cultural references that should be read by everyone, so like all good things, share this magic and lets go beyond the movies to another world where legends are born in paper from the mind of the masters to inspire us of a world that could be.

[+] Nice to be back after a short but tiring trip, the whole life is a trip, so why not follow me on this short trip now, music defines life [Touching Grace]. Listen to each and every composition, they're monumental and original.


it rains around the world sleep welcomes the dream, and  enigmatic souls awaken along the eternal shores of destiny