Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.
- P. J. O'Rourke
April 30, 2011
Here when I say "I never want to be without you,"
somewhere else I am saying
"I never want to be without you again." And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet
in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
- Bob Hicok, Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem.
somewhere else I am saying
"I never want to be without you again." And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet
in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
- Bob Hicok, Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem.
Minimum Wage.
I once worked as a shop assistant in a bookstore couple of years ago between the long interval of finishing the horrendous era of SPM and getting my fat ass into my in-the-middle-of-nowhere college. It was just an ordinary bookshop near my neighborhood, not the kind of extravaganza super-big widely known bookstore eg: Kinokuniya, MPH. Twas the time when one was busy looking for a part-time job either solely to kill time or to gorge some supplementary money, hence I managed to find myself two- one as an add math tutor for I really was good in math (ahem), and one as the aforesaid.
So working in a normal, unknown, small bookstore really put an ample burden on my shoulders merely because I had to do, well, most of the available jobs or else my boss would just shove a dustpan up my anal hole till I could freaking taste it in my mouth. You name it; from book binding to photocopying to name cards making to checking the inventory to buying the boss some fucking beers and cigarettes to sweeping the floor and mopping them (the she-boss taught me the right way to mop anyways) to cleaning the toilet first thing in the morning to taking all those tikam machines inside the store to locking the doors. To top it all, I had to labor my life with all the works from 10am to 10pm, with a two-hour rest in between and on many of my unfortunate crazy hectic days, I had to stand all the freaking time 'cause there were just strings of works needed to be done and the customers kept on coming restlessly, not being able to steal time even for me to let out a big fat sigh. Like a swarm of flies besieging a foul-smelled cow dung - this would be the very best way to depict my less blessed days.
If truth be told, I somewhat had experienced the sour-bitter taste of working arena, and I had to do it for only RM450 per month. Do the math and you would find out that I did all those nasty jobs for only RM2.34 per hour. Cheap, no? Too fucking cheap. But yeah I tried looking for a job at PizzaHut, KFC and even 7-11, but the wage they offered for hour-basis circled around that trivial amount, more or less.
Hence, the broaching of the subject on the importance of imposing minimum wage in our country.
In comparison between UK and Malaysia (even though this argument may not be valid as UK is depicted as one of developed countries meanwhile Malaysia is a developing one plus the Labour Union is stronger in UK), if I were to take a part-time job here the minimum wage would be around GBP6 or more, per hour.
The examples given would be:
UK: GBP6/hour x 5hours x 20days (for a month with weekend off) = GBP600
Malaysia: roughly put RM3.50/hour x 5hours x 20days = RM350
But that's not all as purchasing power parity plays a role in our life too. Here in UK, you can buy a month supply of groceries for approximately GBP70, or less. Unfortunately in Malaysia, a trolley filled with the same supply of groceries would sum up near RM300, more or less, I believe.
UK: GBP600 - GBP70 = GBP530
Malaysia: RM350 - RM300 = RM50
Now, can you fathom the reason why setting a minimum wage would be important to the labors?
For more video, click here.
P/S: These all are only my humble opinions for I do only have a minimal, insufficient knowledge in economy.
April 29, 2011
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
keep shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.
- Mary Oliver, The Journey.
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
keep shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.
- Mary Oliver, The Journey.
Define Pretty.
This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging. "Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?", I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer;
No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you will never be 'merely' pretty.
Remember Sarah Kay when she delivered "B" and "Hiroshima"? "Pretty" by Katie Makkai verily on the same par as her, giving me goosebumps and chilled my nape every single fucking time I watched this -yeah, can't simply get this one out of my head. Indeed, this life really is a self-mutilating circus where we believe we are worthy and wanted only when we own a marketable facade.
Fuck, I am enamored with spoken word poetry. Kick me ass invariably!
April 28, 2011
Human Rights Violation.
In Seoul, ex-US President Carter says it's a human rights violation for US, South Korea to withhold food aid to North Korea.
- Reuters
Some people were already eating grass, leaves, and tree bark :'(
(read more)
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you again.
- Ellen Bass, The Thing Is.
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you again.
- Ellen Bass, The Thing Is.
Trump vs Obama.
You have a real opportunity to talk about American exceptionalism and what made us exceptional. You have a real opportunity to talk about taxes and spending. Instead, you're gonna waste time on birth certificate? I understand. I personally think he's a citizen. I think he was born here. I don't think he was a Manchurian Candidate from birth. But, if you want to, great. You're out of your mind if you think that is a winning argument for the next election.
- Glenn Beck, Birthers 'Stop With The Damn Birth Certificate!'
Heh what a funny world we're living in, indeed. The people up there just shooting some meaningless bombs towards each other in a hope someone would eventually get killed. Alas, it is done not in a meritorious fashion hence you, big boy, just smeared your face with your own poop. Really Trump? Slashing Obama with that birth certificate and his education background issues would somehow manage to instill your people with doubt on their leader's credibility - the one they have willingly and proudly chosen, and somewhat would be able to prosper your image? Nay, I don't think so mate. I'm afraid that you, big boy, reminds me of what is happening in my own country. The Anwar's sex tape issue really irate me cause it is just some despicable method used by a base slanderer to knock down his opponent real easy, even in a sense, it means things could possibly be seen nothing but as his own idiocy, with of course, a pea-sized brain that worth not even for a single penny.
P/S: But can we all deny that he is one money-machine bad ass?
April 27, 2011
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in the white tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfall of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story ---
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.
- Mary Oliver, Dogfish.
kept flickering in the white tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfall of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story ---
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.
- Mary Oliver, Dogfish.
1Malaysia Email.
Those signing up for the controversional 1Malaysia email service will have to buy a USB biometric device sold by Tricubes Bhd or go to any National Registration Department (NRD) office to get their account activated , the company said today.
Khairun Zainal said earlier that those who wish to send emails to myemail.my accounts will have to pay a maximum of 50 sen an email, adding that Tricubes aims to sign up 5.4 million users by year-end.
(read more)
The rakyat savagely rebuke this idea since it has been announced couple of days ago, and as one of the far far away rakyat, I must admit that I too, strongly am opposing this notion. The collective verbal abuse by the avid rakyat however is not something trivial, let alone dismissible and mobilization of this strong opposition by the rakyat by far has shown us 50 000 people on Facebook robustly disagreed with the proposal within shortest period of time and for every single written piece administering this issue is brutally condemned. Even herettofore, this action; the rakyat being critically vocal by saying 'No, thanks' to one of the ETP (Economic Transformation Programme) policies is incessant and elevating. The chastisement is not unfounded for there are few vital contents that serve as the cause of the rakyat's reasoning.
For in order to activate our accounts, there are two ways of doing as such and one, as clearly being said by the CEO of Tricubes Bhd, Khairun Zainal Mokhtar, is by purchasing USB sold by the company itself or by the mean of going to any of NRD office (as aforementioned above). As to send a government-related email to any myemail accounts, Tricubes imposed a maximum of 50 cents fee, yet for normal mail, free of charge. For God's sake, as I am one of the skeptics myself, I must honestly let the cat out of the bag in a blatant way, yet restrained, and this would not serve merely as a prattle.
Convenience, to a consumer is essential. I used the term 'consumer' here because we are the potential buyers of this product. Why is that so? Because first, we are not been obliged to sign up for one; that is to say we would only get one if only we are willing to get it and hence, becoming a subject to that 50 cents fee for every email sent to myemail account. The shortcomings of this notion are apparent enough for us to see. Who, in their right minds, would ever want to go through the hassle of just activating the account, where we, on the other hand have another choice that serve best as our alternative route - Gmail/ Yahoo/ Hotmail bric-a-brac is free of charge, without no USB cable consumption to activate it, nor we do have to move our asses around NRD office to do as such: 100% convenience, 0% fee charged upon the users.
Khairun Zainal told the media that as our 'post office', they would deliver us what we want, nay, having to digitalize all of our bills/notices/whatnots, justify the 50 cents fee. In addition, for more secure system, more would be charged. Pretty much a good (however dubious) way to attain optimum profit for these money suckers, I dare say. Surcharge here and there, and all left for us are only tiny bowls we held on our hands to go around the city begging mercy from others, and fit enough 'I haven't eat for three days, please help me' cardboards dangling around our necks. The dross of the world, superfluous, we all would become henceforward.
Another factor that has aroused this poignant rebuttal from the rakyat is why Tricubes? Tricubes, as a matter of fact, is a loss-making company, nearing of being delisted by Bursa, yet is trusted dearly by our Government, whom act as a facilitator for this another economy-booster mega-project. Credibility and reliability, I believe, are indispensable virtues that must be probed thoroughly before a project is sanctioned. The government declared that out of a long list proposals by many companies, Tricubes managed to fit all of the qualifications required, hence the result of Tricubes getting the concession. Furthermore, Najib's brother being one of the biggest shareholders in Tricubes Bhd unavoidably stirred things up dramatically causing the flak to be more base, more severe, and more of a question of, would this be another of government's decoy to down the rakyat's money? The ever-ballooning of their (the government and its crony) own pockets rather than intensifying their interest on rakyat's welfare, would serve as the very core reason of the existence of this unceasing susurration that is rampant among the society.
Taken from here;
... the value of Internet as a crucial propaganda tool for guiding correct public opinion, "unifying thinking" and countering "hegemony of Western media." As long as our country's Internet is linked to the global Internet, there will be channels and means for all all sorts of harmful foreign information to appear on our domestic Internet. As long as our Internet is open to the public, there will be channels and means for netizens to express all sorts of speech on the Internet.
Just tiny bits of the bigger fraction on how Internet can incite an indelible detrimental to the government and as we all are wont to, when once the government realizes it is goaded to a dangerous, risky pitch black state, they countermeasure by incriminating someone else for their stead. A very debase way indeed, alas, frequently practiced.
However, I could not possibly ruled out any pros that are borne with this new policy. If there are some handful savvy reasons for the government to gorge us with, keenly educating us that this measure is taken for a benevolent cause, and securing all of the obscurities, the rakyat would be able to discern this with utmost propriety rather than just being some moronic ignoramus. As a friend of mine told me that why not we agree with this policy since PEMANDU had obviously put a cost-and-benefit analysis in motion before it is accepted by the government and it is proven to be a profitable investment for a long term: bluntly put I believe she is trying to say trust PEMANDU's judgement, yet I must say this-
As nary human being can digress from erroneous judgement, corruption is everywhere like a disease, and it is undeniably, highly agreeable very contemptuous. Religion and one's conscience are not subjects that could be leisurely compromised for a trade of abundant wealth. The government must always remember this (I dearly hope in so);
The rakyat savagely rebuke this idea since it has been announced couple of days ago, and as one of the far far away rakyat, I must admit that I too, strongly am opposing this notion. The collective verbal abuse by the avid rakyat however is not something trivial, let alone dismissible and mobilization of this strong opposition by the rakyat by far has shown us 50 000 people on Facebook robustly disagreed with the proposal within shortest period of time and for every single written piece administering this issue is brutally condemned. Even herettofore, this action; the rakyat being critically vocal by saying 'No, thanks' to one of the ETP (Economic Transformation Programme) policies is incessant and elevating. The chastisement is not unfounded for there are few vital contents that serve as the cause of the rakyat's reasoning.
For in order to activate our accounts, there are two ways of doing as such and one, as clearly being said by the CEO of Tricubes Bhd, Khairun Zainal Mokhtar, is by purchasing USB sold by the company itself or by the mean of going to any of NRD office (as aforementioned above). As to send a government-related email to any myemail accounts, Tricubes imposed a maximum of 50 cents fee, yet for normal mail, free of charge. For God's sake, as I am one of the skeptics myself, I must honestly let the cat out of the bag in a blatant way, yet restrained, and this would not serve merely as a prattle.
Convenience, to a consumer is essential. I used the term 'consumer' here because we are the potential buyers of this product. Why is that so? Because first, we are not been obliged to sign up for one; that is to say we would only get one if only we are willing to get it and hence, becoming a subject to that 50 cents fee for every email sent to myemail account. The shortcomings of this notion are apparent enough for us to see. Who, in their right minds, would ever want to go through the hassle of just activating the account, where we, on the other hand have another choice that serve best as our alternative route - Gmail/ Yahoo/ Hotmail bric-a-brac is free of charge, without no USB cable consumption to activate it, nor we do have to move our asses around NRD office to do as such: 100% convenience, 0% fee charged upon the users.
Khairun Zainal told the media that as our 'post office', they would deliver us what we want, nay, having to digitalize all of our bills/notices/whatnots, justify the 50 cents fee. In addition, for more secure system, more would be charged. Pretty much a good (however dubious) way to attain optimum profit for these money suckers, I dare say. Surcharge here and there, and all left for us are only tiny bowls we held on our hands to go around the city begging mercy from others, and fit enough 'I haven't eat for three days, please help me' cardboards dangling around our necks. The dross of the world, superfluous, we all would become henceforward.
Another factor that has aroused this poignant rebuttal from the rakyat is why Tricubes? Tricubes, as a matter of fact, is a loss-making company, nearing of being delisted by Bursa, yet is trusted dearly by our Government, whom act as a facilitator for this another economy-booster mega-project. Credibility and reliability, I believe, are indispensable virtues that must be probed thoroughly before a project is sanctioned. The government declared that out of a long list proposals by many companies, Tricubes managed to fit all of the qualifications required, hence the result of Tricubes getting the concession. Furthermore, Najib's brother being one of the biggest shareholders in Tricubes Bhd unavoidably stirred things up dramatically causing the flak to be more base, more severe, and more of a question of, would this be another of government's decoy to down the rakyat's money? The ever-ballooning of their (the government and its crony) own pockets rather than intensifying their interest on rakyat's welfare, would serve as the very core reason of the existence of this unceasing susurration that is rampant among the society.
Taken from here;
... the value of Internet as a crucial propaganda tool for guiding correct public opinion, "unifying thinking" and countering "hegemony of Western media." As long as our country's Internet is linked to the global Internet, there will be channels and means for all all sorts of harmful foreign information to appear on our domestic Internet. As long as our Internet is open to the public, there will be channels and means for netizens to express all sorts of speech on the Internet.
Just tiny bits of the bigger fraction on how Internet can incite an indelible detrimental to the government and as we all are wont to, when once the government realizes it is goaded to a dangerous, risky pitch black state, they countermeasure by incriminating someone else for their stead. A very debase way indeed, alas, frequently practiced.
However, I could not possibly ruled out any pros that are borne with this new policy. If there are some handful savvy reasons for the government to gorge us with, keenly educating us that this measure is taken for a benevolent cause, and securing all of the obscurities, the rakyat would be able to discern this with utmost propriety rather than just being some moronic ignoramus. As a friend of mine told me that why not we agree with this policy since PEMANDU had obviously put a cost-and-benefit analysis in motion before it is accepted by the government and it is proven to be a profitable investment for a long term: bluntly put I believe she is trying to say trust PEMANDU's judgement, yet I must say this-
As nary human being can digress from erroneous judgement, corruption is everywhere like a disease, and it is undeniably, highly agreeable very contemptuous. Religion and one's conscience are not subjects that could be leisurely compromised for a trade of abundant wealth. The government must always remember this (I dearly hope in so);
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
- Abraham Lincoln
April 26, 2011
April 20, 2011
Mahathirism.
Nary of our subsequent prime ministers can beat the utmost profound respect I highly held for this old, wise man here. His wicked unsurpassed intelligence in governing our - now half-disintegrated - country for decades and all of the pompous victorious achievements gained under his wing, served as strings of indispensable proofs that he is one hell of a man - the major contributor for our country, the one and only that had managed to capture my attention. For his genuine and ever-lasting dedication in serving our nation, I am truly, completely, raptly smitten. And true enough, indeed, that behind every great man, there is a great woman - but for Mahathir's case alas (ehem), that wife of his, very mischievous and that makes her very loveable upon beholding the elevated zest within her - another proof wherein age means only of naught, severely misinterpret and labelled by the half-witted society, yet rapidly accepted by us, the oafs.
April 19, 2011
No Tears.
I've bathed in sunshine
but cherished the fading light
and I heard my heartbeat falter
on a winters night
April 18, 2011
Painting.
"I have never forgotten that stories are recollected not only through images, but through words as well." Ulug Bey responded that his own miniaturists knew those words and stories, but still couldn't order the pictures. "Because," said the old miniaturist. "they think quite well when it comes to painting, which is their skill or their art, but they don't comprehend that the old masters made these pictures out of the memories of Allah Himself." Ulug Bey asked how a child could know such things. "The child doesn't know," said the old miniaturist. "But I, an elderly and blind miniaturist, know that Allah created this worldly realm the way an intelligent seven-year-old boy would want to see it; what's more, Allah created this earthly realm so that, above all, it might be seen. Afterward, He provided us with words so we might share and discuss with one another what we've seen. We mistakenly assume that these stories arose out of words and that illustrations were painted in service of these stories. Quite the contrary, painting is the act of seeking out Allah's memories and seeing the world as He sees the world."
- Orhan Pamuk, My Name Is Red.
April 17, 2011
Ulquiorra Fever.
Have I lived in anime/manga-land, he'd be the perfect other half; one that's not a subject to err - very, very perfect creature.
:D
I always feel like I'm struggling to become someone else. Like I'm trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it's part of growing up, yet it's also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself- as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I'm still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I guess that lack itself is as close as I'll come to define myself. For your sake, I'd like to become a new person. It may not be easy, but if I give it my best shot, perhaps I can manage to change. The truth is, though, if put in the same situation again, I might very well do the same thing all over. I might very well hurt you all over again. I can't promise anything. That's what I meant when I said I had no right. I just don't have the confidence that win over that force in me.
- Haruki Murakami
April 16, 2011
Fukushima and Chernobyl.
Ukrainian students try on gas masks as part of a safety drill in a school in Rudniya, just outside the Chernobyl contamination zone.
The latest news this week on the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant has been the rise in the severity level from five to seven - the same level as Chernobyl in 1986.
(read more)
Then came panic, and panic changed to dull shock. When the market fell, the factories, mines, and steelworks closed and then no one could buy anything, not even food. People walked around looking as if they'd been slugged. The papers told of ruined men jumping from buildings. When they landed on the pavement, they were really ruined. The uncle of one of my friends was a very rich millionaire. From seven millions he dropped to two millions in a few weeks, but two millions cash. He complained that he didn't know how he was going to eat, cut himself down to one egg for breakfast. His cheeks grew gaunt and his eyes feverish. Finally he shot himself. He figured he would starve to death on two millions. That's how values are.
- John Steinbeck, A Primer on the 30's.
The Smell of Books.
A full-time novel reader, he called me with that kind of name yesterday, because he saw right after I finished gobbling through Kennedy's, I immediately picked up one of Pamuk's - I've asked him to borrow it from his uni library - and scrambling to my feet full-speed to begin a new, fresh journey. The sound of it pleased me though, because I know that if everything is possible in this world, that'd be one of the possibilities I'll hold dearly, and instead of doing engineering which unfailingly presenting me with sore headaches and dry mouth, this - being a full time novel reader, or any kind of books reader, except ones with full, excruciatingly painful brainy facts (cough) - is something I'll be boisterously, exuberantly enjoy. I discover this interest by myself, not because it's instilled by my parents or likewise, and that makes it much more strangely beautiful; showing you my very wide and keen triumphant smile, as if my winning a rare gold medal and my name is murmured by every single living lips. Bluntly put, books are my second lovers, my second best friends, my babies.
One wish, just this one wish: Let me keep my babies for as long as I'm breathing.
:)
One wish, just this one wish: Let me keep my babies for as long as I'm breathing.
:)
April 15, 2011
Metamorphosis.
Prefer a quieter place, I do know. Not the kind that blaze off the loud roar from a highly dense crowd and makes my head goes sore and numb and deaf all nights and days and the feelings just elongated for weeks, months, ever-ending. I used to fancy being there, but never now. Maybe because the sick feeling that runs through my veins every time when I hear the high pitch cacophony forming words I barely understand because I choose not to, I choose to cuff my ears from hearing any of those, I choose to deactivate my brain from comprehending any words that managed to trot across the cracks of my cupped ears.
I prefer to be alone now. I strictly choose whom for me to be with now, really. Sounds strange, very alien, yet this happened for a reason. Well, as the saying goes, everything happens for a reason. Really it is only for certain particular times, whereas sometimes this just merely bullshits spilled by those who failed to understand. Think they really understand, except that you know they'd only understand only when the same shit happens to them, which means if some say 'be in ones shoes' would simply be, nevertheless, a bullshit too.
Such people, full of pretences, layers of it, as if by emphasizing that what we feel is the same with what they have once felt, would connects them and us, and makes us the same, fusing us into some indistinctive figure. Bloody the same. When all we want is just to be different, dissimilar, distinctive. And they'd face you, dare to face you up front, and tap your shoulders, and tell you to be you, because this is not you, and they know who you really are, who you truly are. Just snigger, just bloody snigger when you hear this crap out of them. I'd do that for real. Because you know the one fact is, they never really care about you before, what else if now. Just pouring all those perfectly rehearsed lies because they want to be known as those who care, those who are real buddies, those with significant, important rules in this society. Those that you'd rely on 'cause you think because of them, you continue on living. You owe them in a way.
And when you be who you truly, really are - according to them - you that they've known for quite handful of time, you that they're comfortable to be with, you that bring no fear to them, you that they want you to be - they'll let you loose, let you wander about, alone, without them, because they all have other things to do, their things, not yours. You'd gasp 'cause this is the time when every single fucking shit that you've thrown away, coming back in a forceful gist, one after another, neatly constricting your breath, straining your neck, shrinking your lungs, makes you wither away in that fucking bloody seconds - because you realise all those muttered by the twerps are helluva lies. This is not who you want to be. They just think they know you well; but can you proclaim that you really know somebody very well without having them telling you their stories, their darkest secret, without needing them to open up, spreading their archives filled with dark dots, each represents something meaningful, solemn and dismay yet it somehow plays vital role in that journey - journey that is embarked without hesitance, a journey that shapes them into what are they now - can you say you know them entirely fucking well? No.
Unless if you make their bits, as yours. You swallow every pains, delights, sorrows, joys, as if you down your owns. You see them eye to eye, not just literally, but figuratively. Open your heart, and welcome them in, really welcome them in. And if they're hiding from you, from this world, from the universe, crawling in some shady area, weak, not able to face everything else, so you come, close in to them, and offer them a cuppa coffee. The kind of warm they almost forget after so long living in the darkness, not comfy at all. But the warm you bring, shows your honest concern. Because they know you are there when no one does. Because they know, you fucking care, when no one does. Because they know, even when they wander out there, alone, without no home to go back to, they know you are watching them, watching after them, taking care, feeling the urging desire that goes wilder and wilder till you drop everything that you are doing at that moment, you drop every single thing you have to do, you need to do, you must do, and come running to them with that kind of warm they almost forget.
That is when you are connected, as one. Other than that, fuck you. Do not be there only in the prime times, 'cause that'd make you a fucking bastard who knows how to fucking steal a perfect moment that'd make you shine as a perfect friend.
I prefer to be alone now. I strictly choose whom for me to be with now, really. Sounds strange, very alien, yet this happened for a reason. Well, as the saying goes, everything happens for a reason. Really it is only for certain particular times, whereas sometimes this just merely bullshits spilled by those who failed to understand. Think they really understand, except that you know they'd only understand only when the same shit happens to them, which means if some say 'be in ones shoes' would simply be, nevertheless, a bullshit too.
Such people, full of pretences, layers of it, as if by emphasizing that what we feel is the same with what they have once felt, would connects them and us, and makes us the same, fusing us into some indistinctive figure. Bloody the same. When all we want is just to be different, dissimilar, distinctive. And they'd face you, dare to face you up front, and tap your shoulders, and tell you to be you, because this is not you, and they know who you really are, who you truly are. Just snigger, just bloody snigger when you hear this crap out of them. I'd do that for real. Because you know the one fact is, they never really care about you before, what else if now. Just pouring all those perfectly rehearsed lies because they want to be known as those who care, those who are real buddies, those with significant, important rules in this society. Those that you'd rely on 'cause you think because of them, you continue on living. You owe them in a way.
And when you be who you truly, really are - according to them - you that they've known for quite handful of time, you that they're comfortable to be with, you that bring no fear to them, you that they want you to be - they'll let you loose, let you wander about, alone, without them, because they all have other things to do, their things, not yours. You'd gasp 'cause this is the time when every single fucking shit that you've thrown away, coming back in a forceful gist, one after another, neatly constricting your breath, straining your neck, shrinking your lungs, makes you wither away in that fucking bloody seconds - because you realise all those muttered by the twerps are helluva lies. This is not who you want to be. They just think they know you well; but can you proclaim that you really know somebody very well without having them telling you their stories, their darkest secret, without needing them to open up, spreading their archives filled with dark dots, each represents something meaningful, solemn and dismay yet it somehow plays vital role in that journey - journey that is embarked without hesitance, a journey that shapes them into what are they now - can you say you know them entirely fucking well? No.
Unless if you make their bits, as yours. You swallow every pains, delights, sorrows, joys, as if you down your owns. You see them eye to eye, not just literally, but figuratively. Open your heart, and welcome them in, really welcome them in. And if they're hiding from you, from this world, from the universe, crawling in some shady area, weak, not able to face everything else, so you come, close in to them, and offer them a cuppa coffee. The kind of warm they almost forget after so long living in the darkness, not comfy at all. But the warm you bring, shows your honest concern. Because they know you are there when no one does. Because they know, you fucking care, when no one does. Because they know, even when they wander out there, alone, without no home to go back to, they know you are watching them, watching after them, taking care, feeling the urging desire that goes wilder and wilder till you drop everything that you are doing at that moment, you drop every single thing you have to do, you need to do, you must do, and come running to them with that kind of warm they almost forget.
That is when you are connected, as one. Other than that, fuck you. Do not be there only in the prime times, 'cause that'd make you a fucking bastard who knows how to fucking steal a perfect moment that'd make you shine as a perfect friend.
Spoken Word Poetry.
This world is made out of sugar, it can crumbles so easily. But don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
Receiving standing ovation form the crowd, this is indeed a powerful, sublime performance by Sarah Kay, an American poet, well-known for her spoken word poetry, alongside as the founder of Project V.O.I.C.E (Vocal Outreach Into Creative Expression). Stressing that self-expression is important and by the mean of spoken word poetry, ones can explore and better understand this life, cultures, societies, or some significant others and outreach the world, making known that their views matter as highly as the others.
"B" and "Hiroshima" are definitely, very inspirational.
April 14, 2011
I'm All At Once.
When I look at my place and its secrets colors, I feel like bursting into tears. Like that sky, It's rain and sun and both, noon and midnight. You know, I think of the lips I've kissed, and of the wretched child I was, and of the madness of life and the ambition that sometimes carries me away. I'm all those things at once. I'm sure there are times when you wouldn't even recognize me. Extreme in misery, excessive in happiness - I can't say it.
- Albert Camus
April 13, 2011
Misanthropist.
Not that I tend to be one, but I just did. Mucking in won't be the much desirable swoop I'll make myself do, not any more. No longer the prime interest where once, I held very close to my delicate heart. Only to realise that all deeds bring nothing but the feeling of betrayal.
Grim.
When it finds you out: your bad news, your bad luck, your bad life, there's maybe a second before the pain starts when you realise all that hiding had no point. However skilled you are at tucking what you care about away, however low you lie, however trained and fine you make yourself, it doesn't matter - you are a small, soft thing and the world is full of fire and hardness and if you are scared, alert, distracted, bored with your job, the bullet hits you all the same. It doesn't mind.
The Hiroshima Spirit.
This history of ours has given us the ability to overcome challenges. Because if we don't, we won't survive. This is the spirit of Hiroshima people. The Hiroshima spirit is never to give up, to pursue excellence. To maintain a "can do" attitude.
April 11, 2011
April 4, 2011
Happy UK Coffee Week!
I'll verily add an extra of 5p for my next coffee at Costa. Oh such a bliss! Having the chance of doing some little light charity and all donations will go directly to Project Waterfall, meaning more clean water to the African countries. Yay!
:D
April 3, 2011
Spring.
A good roast of sun, it slows you, lets you relax - and out here if there's anything wrong, you can see it coming with bags of time to do what's next. This is the place and the weather for peace, the cultivation of a friendly mind.
- A. L. Kennedy, Day.
Rants.
That kind of contemptuous feeling inclined me close enough to the edge of abhorrence, yet it is restrained by somehow a retained, conscious feeling of not going beyond that invisible barred field. 'Cause it is just too exhausting of having the need to exert all of the summoned strength, both mentally and physically for countless of the very same agitated thought, to a point of all these do not seem to matter anymore and I wish to cremate them to dust and let it be blown by wisps of April forceful wind.
Despite of all that had happened, the historical lamented brooding days, even though had passed, but it is actually not quite. As I backtracked the dark period that now has gone to its slumber time, for a brief moment that particular sense was what I had been dreading for, but then the termination of the briefness within one fast blink perplexed my thought even further than to be having to understand the very essence of this restless journey. The vertical accumulation of desires, hopes and expectations is growing in a hasty manner, very amass to a point where they could no longer be numerable.
This just unbearable sometimes, giving me jolts at nights, the fear of needing to shove them off my plate yet at the same time I am still grappling them tight, frustratingly reluctant to let them go, albeit the very known fact as such of malign emotions are not perishable and hence the undesired but most preferable final sanction has to be made in the quickest of time. But I do not have the knack, and that is just it.
The familiar, known faces are no longer one. Merely just salt and pepper, grained images of my minuscule fragments of the past memories. Endearingly grand, yet the emptiness of it gives me bland excitement. The ash in my mouth. The cataracts of the scenery. The inflammation of the extremities. The growling of the little red thorned devils inside my heart.
Despite of all that had happened, the historical lamented brooding days, even though had passed, but it is actually not quite. As I backtracked the dark period that now has gone to its slumber time, for a brief moment that particular sense was what I had been dreading for, but then the termination of the briefness within one fast blink perplexed my thought even further than to be having to understand the very essence of this restless journey. The vertical accumulation of desires, hopes and expectations is growing in a hasty manner, very amass to a point where they could no longer be numerable.
This just unbearable sometimes, giving me jolts at nights, the fear of needing to shove them off my plate yet at the same time I am still grappling them tight, frustratingly reluctant to let them go, albeit the very known fact as such of malign emotions are not perishable and hence the undesired but most preferable final sanction has to be made in the quickest of time. But I do not have the knack, and that is just it.
The familiar, known faces are no longer one. Merely just salt and pepper, grained images of my minuscule fragments of the past memories. Endearingly grand, yet the emptiness of it gives me bland excitement. The ash in my mouth. The cataracts of the scenery. The inflammation of the extremities. The growling of the little red thorned devils inside my heart.
Hello.
A heartening feeling that is embraced by its pompous warmth, its zealousness. The familiar, unforgettable ambiance, however in a much better sense. Hello, April. Treat me with some reverence, and I'll be as zestful as the blooming flowers. I promise you.
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