Because They Deserve It.

When I was a teenager (Since I'm twenty now, I am entitled to refer to teenagers as wimpy little fuckwads), I used to read a fuckload of comics. Not just any comics but local ones. My Mother would go batshit insane when I bought any of it at first, saying it's a waste of good money but meh, eventually she ignored it. Oh man, there's a massive amount of talent in Malaysia and I still remember that one of the awesome moments when I was in Berlin was going into the biggest book store there and finding a shelf reserved for Ben. Fucking pride, man.

Anyway, I thought that everybody in Malaysia knew who the fuck our local artists are but of course, I'm proven wrong. Ah well, here's a list of the local comics that helped me lose the ability to differentiate reality from fiction.

1. Puppeteer.

Verge: The Art of Puppeteer.

This, so far, has to be my favourite illustrator in the history of the fucking multiverse. His works are always twisted, accentuated by the dark, harsh colours and backgrounds. Fucking hell man, I rarely take interest in sci-fi (Think aliens.) but when it comes to Puppeteer, count me in man.

One of his work, what was it... Evolusi Identiti (Identity Evolution) and fuck it blew me goddamn mind away. See, while Tolkien and Rushdie introduced me to fiction, this guy here brought colour and fucking epicness to it. Goddamn, man, go buy his shit already.

Other works: Velocity, Verge: The Art of Puppeteer, Evolusi Identiti, The Plague, Forgotten.


2. Benny Wong @ Ben.

He's the one on the right. Just saying.

Well this guy is responsible of me being sappy. At times.

His artwork is pretty awesome to be honest, even when compared to the prominent Japanese Mangaka(s). It might not be the most original thing out there but the storyline of his works are fuck awesome. From a writer's (If I am to be considered one, that is) perspective, I don't think that the speciality of it is in the main plot itself. It's cliché, to be honest but he cleverly overcame that with a sort of smooth transition in between the chapters, a few twists here and there etc. Also, hell man, his characters are fucking hot.

Right, anyway...

Most of it is romance, except for Fatal Chaos but still it was awesome only lacking the usual depressing twist. If I really have to pick, I say that The Fishes is one of his best, mainly because it had weird mindfuck moments but mostly because-

I kid.

But seriously, this is how most of his characters look like:

I have to say though, his dialogues are corny as fuck in Malay. Like... Beyond corny really, there's no way people actually talk as such in real life. Ah well.

More of his work: Naive, Innocent, Le Gardenie.

Webcomic: Battle of Destiny (This title makes me itch on the inside.)

3. Lu Wun Khang @ Zint.

FUCK YEAH!

Biography here: Zint. It's in Malay, so yeah.

What separates this man from the rest is... I dunno man, it's probably the fact that we could relate to it, especially during the glory days i.e. High School. His works most of the time are about crazy kids doing crazy shit that end up in crazy situations and live to tell the fucking crazy tales. His characters are juvenile delinquents most of the time, not going to school, fighting and fuck it, most of the shit that some of us went through. Reading it back in the days was inspirational to say the least. Then he goes ahead and actually put that part that most kids don't understand: The presence of consequences to one's actions. And he tells us to fucking man up, be an alpha and face that shit. Things kids today would never understand.

Even his more serious piece i.e. Eli has that uh... Zinty(?) fell to it, where the main character is still a goofball but is still dead serious when it comes to his work. I guess that's educational. The background of his work is always constant: urban with a lot of extreme sports involved. In 2 Dudes, it focuses almost exclusively on parkour and by God that shit is awesome.

Other works: Under 18 Series, MFEO, Cheap Shot, K.O. King, 2 Dudes Series and a fuckload more.

4. Sau Lim @ Slaium.

I think that this dude is one of the earliest illustrators back then and his work focuses on one thing and one thing only: Fucking humour. I shit you not, I still find myself bludgeoned with a giggling fit when I think of his work but of course, one might say that I am easily amused. Ah well.

Hihihihihihihi. That's how giggles sound, yes?

His work is simple, clean and there's rarely anything fancy to it. He puts so much humour in everything but never goes overboard to the point that you'd be sensitised to it. Fucking hell man.

Then he goes on and creates Monggo! and Drak and it just blows your balls away. For a guy whose past history of work includes the funniest shit on the peninsular, it's quite the feat. It's like when Puppeteer became apart of Cockroach Boy.

Other works: Utopia High Series, Lawak Cambest.

5. Keith.

Hmmm... I'm not really sure what to say here apart from what I've said about humour and shit above. Still, Wasabi is fuck funny and Lawak Kampus... Lawak Kampus wields the sacred undying fucking awesome flame of comedy. Especially since it's a fucking 4-panel comic strip.

I'm out of ideas. Fuck it, appreciate these fucks.

Yeesh.

Lately - Or should I say since the day I was born - I have been having dreams which traverse the realm of peculiar into the realm of what the fuckuppery. For the past few days especially, it has been quite the adventure and by adventure, it means my mind is raped by a thousand gnomes.

1. The one with the charts.

So I was in a class for some reason and there was this guy who was trying to teach me some stuff. As the lesson progressed, he realised how I must have not given a shit about what he was talking about and he told me that okay, let's learn something better.

Yes, by charts, I meant charts.

He then took out a huge piece of paper with every single race in existence and their corresponding cheapskateness. The top ten? Dominated by Indians. If it was a film, I would have laughed. The problem was that this guy was explaining it to me in such an insanely serious manner, going through every single detail present. Then for some reason, I heard a housemate of mine say 'I gave you a blanket of pure bamboo'.

My face when I discovered there is such a thing as pure bamboo.

2. The one where I had three daughters.

I dislike kids in general. They whine, puke, throw tantrums and are general idiots. They also do not know how to walk, which sucks considering my plans for an army of darkness will be severely flawed. However, I have to clear something up here. In the even that said kid is my direct flesh and blood, I will literally smother the soon to be fucker with so much love and joy that it'd have a chance to die from it. Hypocritical, I know but what are you really going to do about it.

So, I went camping apparently. Or should I say 'We'. I remembered a stream and fucking wilderness, the whole shenanigans. Then while I was preparing lunch - Single Dad? Fuck yeah! - there were these three girls. Eldest looked seven or something and the other two was five and three I think. Anyway, the eldest approached me and asked if it was okay to go explore the wilderness. My first thought was 'Yeah, sure' but then thoughts of violent deaths and the fact that we were faraway from civilisation made me realise that fuck no, I'm not going to let that happen. Then this happened.

Me: No, we'll all take a walk once we finish lunch.
Girl: But Dad - Or something like that - we'll be careful.
Me: No, there's a lot of things that might happen to you guys, so wait. Finish lunch, then we'll go.
Girl: Why would you want to go with us?
Me: Cause there's a lot that you could learn. I know a bit of stuff about the wilderness.
Girl: But I think it would be better if we went without you.
Me: Really? Why is that?
Girl: Because you were the one who said that adventure is important!
Me: Of course it is, but it's not worth getting hurt.
Girl: But Dad, the characters in the stories you told us - Lay of Leithian comes to mind - didn't have Dads following them.
Me: Well, those are stories after all. They're meant to have happy endings. And they're very different people from us.
Girl: So you're saying the stories were lies?
Me: They're not lies, the important part of the story is the moral of it. Like going through hardship no matter the difficulties that lie ahead.
Girl: But that's what we want. If we went and got hurt, it would be worthwhile.
Me: But...
Girl: And if we went by ourselves, the amount of things we could learn will be so much more intense. We won't be sheltered, and we won't have anybody to act as the safety net.
Me: ... STOP TWISTING MY WORDS!

Then I woke up. Took a knife. Cut my balls off. Problem averted.

No, of course I did not. I remembered waking up and laughing because fucking hell man, those were awesome kids.

3. POW camp and the sweet insanity that ensues.

I went to a POW camp. Got a room. Did not have the urge to rebel. Sat around doing nothing. Never see any guards around. Next few days, room mate arrives. Female.

*Censored*

To be fair, the dream was a tad bit too short. No, it was pretty long but most of it was in the censored part. What I mean to say is that it was about to be a melodramatic dream thing but meh, most of the time I was preoccupied with a certain other activity. Morpheus must have given the fuck up.

4. The one that nearly became a nightmare.

This one was pretty long.

So my parents decided to go to India apparently and took me along. What they failed to notify me is that we'll be going with a fuckload - And by a fuckload I mean a fuckload - of Malaccans. Which later I would recognise as the fuckers who came back with us to Egypt after the revolution.

Anyway, somehow, we ended up on a train. We must have been in India already because sweet mother of strawberry poptarts that train was packed. Somehow or rather, I felt the need to check my luggage and this guy told me that the luggage room - We had a luggage room - needed to be emptied. So I went to the luggage room and took out my luggage but I left my toiletry bag in just in case.

I'd like to say that I'm making this up but... This was the luggage room.

Now it got pretty weird. So the train stops, everyone got down and then it did not continue on its journey. It became our train, as in our personal fucking transport. A fucking train. After getting over that face, we went to our designated accommodation. Then one night my Mom woke me up with this worried look and asked me if I've taken my stuff out of the luggage room. I told her I did but then I thought of the fucking toiletry bag that I left. So I went to the room and there was hundreds of people outside. Then I saw this guy that I recognised, a mate from primary school and he was slumped on the pavement - Yes, the train is gone - so I asked him what the fuck is going on. He was rambling about how it wasn't supposed to go on this way, that he knew what he was doing and it was an accident. Sure, I was mildly amused but there was something about him that pretty much induced the fear into me heart.

So I pushed through the crowd to the front and I saw a deceased granduncle telling people that it's quite bad. He said:

'Okay, so the situation now is that a few of our young ones have idiotically dabbled in arts that they do not know about. Yes, I meant the dark arts and these fuckers have now summoned a demon.So yeah, they did ask everyone to remove any of their belongings but we found, well not us, the demon found a toiletry bag.'

At this point I was pretty much shitting my pants and hoping some other fuck left their own toiletry bag but of course, there can be no other. Then, this.

'So I talked to the demon and she told me that the owner is hers. And... She's going to give a complimentary full body massage.'

I think my brain just imploded from the hilarity.

Eargasm of the day: Suddenly; fairy tales.

Classes Are Perfectly Suitable For Dreaming.

There's something about classes that never changes for - I'm taking a wild educated guess here - eternity and that is the fact that everybody will find that it's the perfect environment to sleep in. I shit you not, especially when it comes to fucking Radiology. They expect us to last 6 hours. I regretfully say that nay, I am but a mortal and 4 hours is just about the maximum amount of attention I can spare a subject.

Not relevant, but awesome. Fucking Huskies.

Also, dreams can get real fucked up in class. Or am I the only one experiencing it? I dreamt that I was a fucker whose main method of transport is running on car rooftops and my mission in life is to troll the fuck out of everybody. Without leaving the roof. Then it got weird; I saw this dude who was the old version of the real life me and he was all cranky and shit. He got out of his car - My car? - and there was this surveillance camera that drove him batshit insane. He started to like tear at the camera with - I'm also assuming this - cyborg claws and then my mind decided that all of this was too much bullshit for me to handle. So I woke up, saw Radiology fapping in front of me and I finally came to terms that I do not want to live on this planet any more.

If I have a house one day, I'm going to model my room to a lecture hall. Then I'm going to hire an insomniac that gives enthusiastic lectures about Radiology and I'll have awesome dreams. On second thought, I'll just marry an insomniac Radiologist. Who's hot and have customisable body parts.

Eargasm of the day:

Sleepless Nights 56 - Retirement.

What.

Well then. I now officially withdraw myself from photography indefinitely.

Why.

Well, I guess it is simply because I am not putting as much of an effort in it as I did before. I used to photograph things as a passion and lately, it's becoming somewhat of a chore. I used to be happy when I do it, now it stresses me out, there's not enough props, there's no readily available model, equipments are fucking shit, things like that. I still have so much love in it, don't get me wrong.

I just believe that you should do things that makes you happiest and even then it is still not enough. You must be happy and content in which at the end of it, you can justly say that 'Yeah, it cannot get better than this'. In the state that I am right now, there is no way I can do it. I refuse to do it as a chore, as something mundane, something job-related. It might just be the thing that destroys my love for it.

Where I went wrong.

I'm a hard person to impress, harder still to be content. I also take criticism way too harshly at times, it's the ego, I believe. So I guess I pushed myself too far into the crowd, too eager and with way too much expectation. I firmly believed in my talents, and well as always, I fell from grace.

This place... Is destructive and while it might be a bad excuse for one to seek the incentive, I believe it has a role. I think that I might continue this when I'm on more stable ground, perhaps when I'm back in Malaysia.

What Now?

Now... Now I lie in bed with suicidal intentions. It's a painful thing to let go, I assure you. In all seriousness though, I do have a few items to accompany me.

First of all, I'm not going to call it quits completely. I will still take photos on trips and occasions but not in a serious sense any more. I'm no longer going to ponder upon techniques and visualise images after images, not going to try and construct a reflector from scratch, nothing which will make me go the extra mile any more. So yeah.

I guess I came to a point where I have to choose between being a writer and being a photographer. For a long time now, I've juggled between the two and have never really concentrated on any. All this with Lady Medicine still ramming it up my arse six days a week and it all goes to shit. So when I started my new novella, I found that I could no longer do it and I had to choose. Since writing is much, much more life preserving, I went with it. I need to concentrate on something for a change and with writing, I can at least not worry about equipment and such. I have my mind and my laptop, and it is enough.

If you ask me for the truth, I'll say that I actually can handle all of them and reach a certain point of excellence. However I must say that I am far too much of a lazy candy-ass to make it work. It has been extremely frustrating; the rejection, the lack of subjects, the fucking equipment and most of all: The vision. I have millions of things which might look awesome but I do not have the means to make it happen. That is insanely depressing.

Now, I'm just going to focus on writing. It's been a while since I've had this sort of vigour and I believe that it would be very ungrateful of me to let it go to waste.

TL;DR: No more photography.

No Complaints Here / Welcoming Milady Winter.

Hmm... Am I the only one who's seeing pornographic photos on my Facebook feed? Or has this been going on for quite awhile now...

My face when.

What the fuck 'Loli Love' stop making me feel fucking awkward while I surf Facebook.

You see what I did there? I gave you a name.

*

Well our Lady Winter makes her entrance quite splendidly, I must say. After all, who in their right minds could rightfully complain about three days of endless blissful rain? No, I'm serious, I'm not being sarcastic there. Rain is fucking awesome.

It's funny really how people could die when the water supply is cut or something and then when it rains, they run for their lives as if it's sulphuric acid falling from the sky. I don't quite know what it is I love about the rain to be honest, but it just makes a day perfect. Cleansing. Yeah, maybe that's it, it just cleanses the fucked up world we live in. Also, streets are empty. Fuck yeah, rain.

Goddamit, this!

If I have a kid, I'd fucking force him to go play in the rain and act like a total retard. Sure, he might get pneumonia but meh, nothing like a life threatening disease to remind him of good times, eh.

Ah fuck, I miss home so much.

Sleepless Nights 55 - The Human Race.

I had a talk with me friend past two days or so and we came to a point where we talk about society in general. I don't think it's big fucking news that I have a deep seeded hatred towards society and its everyday ethics but then she said that the human race, us, we're all essentially good and kind. It is under circumstances like money and greed and shite that makes us bad.

I told her I've never heard of worse bullshit.

The way I see it, the human race is pretty much divided into three equal categories. The good, the evil and the ones who dabble in a bit of both. There's no other classifications when it comes to it, race and religion does fuck all when viewed from afar.

The reason why I have come to hate society today is that it forces us to create a mask of superficiality in which we are told that it's for the best. We're told that we should hide who we are, wear clothes that everybody else wears, speak like everybody else, do what everybody else does and then in an ingenious plot, they labelled this act as politeness. Acceptance. Tolerance. Failure to do this makes you a bad person, failure to do this gives everybody else the green light to patronise you, to insult you and to look at you as a subhuman species. How does this relate to the division of the human race? Simple. It blurs the line.

You tell a good person and an evil person to act the way you tell them to, with guidelines and rules. Then you further impose this on the basis that failure to do as told will eventually result in their apprehension and troubles with the law. So now you have everybody acting the same way, wearing the same clothes, loving the same things and it's all spiffy. Then you get involved with a person, close the door from which society could no longer keep an eye on you and get surprised at the fact that this person that was the same with everybody else just a few minutes ago, is now a fucking demon.

I love watching the news because of that. The newscaster tells the story of a man who massacred his wife and children and suddenly everybody acts so surprised and they say 'What a crazy world we live in nowadays'. They fail to realise that tomorrow they're going to work or study with the same people that might be thinking of bombing their local fast food restaurant.

I remember when I was a kid, I wanted to become an archaeologist. As in a real one that goes around looking for fossils and shit. Then when I told everybody, they told me that there are no more archaeologists in the world any more because all the world's mysteries have been solved. I as a kid believed in that wholeheartedly and most probably a bit too easily. Then I grew up, not having an aspiration in life. My point is that it's all about stability nowadays. Parents, especially, go batshit insane when their kids say they want to do something that's not professional i.e. Medicine, Law, Architecture, shit like that. It's sane yes, but then again, there's some sort of tragedy there, maybe something that will never be appreciated. Maybe one day the kids of today would look at a life of hardship and wonder what that'd be like. Before getting into Medicine I went to some education fair or something to see the choices in arts. So I met this guy, and we talked at length and he seemed happy I wanted to do arts. Then he asked me for my SPM results, to which I replied and he looked at me as if I was a three year old retard. He said that with my results, I should go into some Science based course instead of Arts. He went on rambling etcetera and I realised that what the fuck happened to what I want, eh?

Hypocrisy. That's the biggest problem nowadays. No one is spared from it and at the same time, everybody hates it.

*

The romance novella is surprisingly coming along pretty well. I've nearly finished the first part of what I hope to be a trilogy, so yeah, I guess that's a good thing.

Over My Dead Brain.

'Ah, nobody reads what I write anyway.'

'So you took it down?'

'Yeah, I mean what's the use of writing in a blog when nobody reads it? A waste of time innit?'

'But that's three years of your memoirs gone. You don't appreciate it?'

'It's just words to me man, quit fucking around.'

Just words.

I've realised that there's a sharp decline in the amount of people who blogs nowadays, or people who write for that matter. Compared to when I first came here, everybody seemed to have a blog and everybody was whoring it. Read it, they'd say, read the fuck out of it the way you'd read the fuck out of Zooey Deschanel's tits. So I did, and in the event that they did write something I'd appreciate, I continued reading. If they don't, then I'll ignore whatever the fuck that was written. I actually thought it was a good thing. People have found out that writing is a wonderful thing to do.

Then, these people who constantly shove the fact that they have a blog in my face said something like 'It's just words'. Just words. Let me tell you something about writing. About these meagre words that you could brush off. Without it, you are nothing. Without it, the human civilisation would have been demolished as soon as it started. Without it, there could be no education. Without these words, wisdom would never be propagated.

I wrote this blog when I first realised that I was going to have to spend six years in a strange land - Which I know now as the void in which hope implodes - and I thought, hey, why not document my stay. Hence, it has become a memory storage mechanism. When I get fucked bad, I actually go through the archives and read what I wrote in the past and it comforts me. I could see how I've grown, I could see the progress that I made. I saw how I no longer dwell on the minor fuckupperies. It's like I've read a book about how I've matured. Written by me. And read by me. Holy shit, that's a bit twisted is it not?

Trippy.

I'm pretty sure that normality does not apply to me - And some say sanity, but pfft, what do those people know, eh? - but writing is... Sacred, I cannot think of another way to describe it. It heals, it mesmerises, it pretty much does everything. You're feeling depressed? Write, you gain much insight from it. You're feeling a tad bit bouncy and joyous? Write, you immortalise the moment. You're feeling angry and wrathful? Write, you can get the satisfaction of murdering whatever that's pissing you off in cold blood. That's the reason why I treasure my books so much - Obsessive was the word they used. Was. - and I have a damn good reason for it. So when you say it's 'Just words' I take the phrase as a personal insult. It's blasphemy of the highest degree even.

Overall, that's why I'm appalled when people could just disregard whatever it is that they wrote and could simply push it aside without any prior thought. When you could do that to something that's so personal, so goddamned intimate, pushing everything else away would be quite the easy task wouldn't it. But of course, I doubt that any of you even put half the effort when you write about meeting some hot broad from across the street and fabricate the fact that you took her home and introduced her to 'The Beast of the Heavens' that your zipper could never seem to leash. Yeah, who am I kidding, I'm the obsessed one here, aren't I.

Why yes, now that you've mentioned it, every time I  have to pee, I need to restrain myself maximally. Oh you know, just in case the Beast runs wild and causes the apocalypse. More tea?

It's fucked up because some of you - No, really, I'm not just trying to make a point here - have the talent to write amazing shit that impresses me, and I don't think I need to explain how not easily impressed I am. Sure, I'm not exactly certified to judge but then I know how hard it is to write, I know how frustrating it is when the words just don't flow and I know what a bitch it is to proofread your own story. Then I see people who have unlimited imagination, amazing story-line generation capabilities and PERFECT GRAMMAR - I hate tenses - and they disregard their fucking talents. I know, I'm not supposed to force anybody into something they chose not to do but Jesus fuckstick on a trampoline...

... Jesus fuckstick on a trampoline according to Google. The future is safe.

Sigh. Fuck it, who am I trying to convince anyway.

*

Euginio Merino's Stairway to Heaven (1975)

This... Has apparently angered a lot of people only recently, which is funny considering that the sculpture thirty-six years old. Never mind, always something new to find out and declare holy war upon.

The argument:

Depa lani bukan main lagi nak bagi semua orang tengok kita (Muslim) ni macam anjing. Boleh dipijak, boleh buat puki. Tengok tu, siapa paling atas? Yahudi laknatullah! Sebarkanlah gambar ni kawan-kawan semua, orang-orang beriman semua. Kita kena prihatin.

"Nowadays they're trying their best to fuck around with us, trying to show the world that we're dogs. They're trying to seed the though that we can be kicked around, we can be oppressed. Look at it, who's at the very top? The Jews! Spread this."

My Point of View:

I think this is the only time that calls for the use of the forbidden word. I shall do so.

LOLWUT?

Please. Everybody just calm the motherfuck down. Okay? We shall do this in a civilised manner. If I'm still a candidate for lynching, then at least let me get me Plasma-Buster 9000 ready.

1) You see what you want to see.

I agree, the first time I saw this, the only thing in my mind was this: What the hell is that... I don't deny it, the little bit of religious feud is sparked in me, just like what I feel when somebody says 'Keling' or 'Bau kari'. What differentiates me and the others is that I actually had the sense to do a little bit of research and well, it shed some light.

It shows a Muslim, Christian and Jew in the respective states of prayer. The holy books are also inverted in which the Jew is holding the Qur'an, the Christian holding the Torah and the Muslim having a Bible beside his head. What does this mean? Honestly man, I see religious harmony.

'What about the fucking hierarchy?!'

Well, say we try to invert it. The Muslim at the very top, the Jew in the middle and the Christian at the bottom. Gravity will then politely proceed to fuck everything up. What I am trying to point out is that sure, you allow yourselves to see that this sculpture is offensive and provocative and hence you immaturely act as imbeciles. Why the obsession with symbols and hidden meanings?

2) Allowing yourselves to be provoked.

You say that you're trying to set a great example as Muslims/Christians/Jews. You say that you want to change the mindset that people should not view Muslims as terrorists, Christians as blind fools and Jews as power hungry maniacs. You have great things in your minds, I approve of it but then you go ahead and destroy all expectation of that by being outraged by a sculpture. By something materialistic. Forgive me if I'm being too goddamned blunt here but you're making it much, much worse. Say I am a man who is hellbent on making you look bad in the eyes of the world. I believe that victory is mine.

3) Tolerance and forgiveness.

I don't have to search for a few verses in the Qur'an to make my point. There's a lot, yes, but my knowledge is limited. Instead, I am going to convey what my mother has always taught me: If a person has malice directed to you, and you suffer greatly because of it, don't do the same to him. You will not justify yourself, neither will you gain any respect for doing it. I admit, I myself have never put those words to heart at all times but you have to fucking agree with me here, the woman makes a lot of sense.

Are you not the one who preach non-stop about virtue? Are you not the one who tries his very best at practising what you believe? So then please tell me, why are you going batshit insane that you seem to have forgotten everything that you believed in? Is religion a valid excuse for you to conveniently leave the very heart of virtue behind and kill? Would God approve? Would He, when you die, tell you that 'No, it is okay that you killed presumably a few hundred innocent people. You did it for me, after all.'

Excuse my so called insolence but the God I believe in is not that shallow. The God I believe in does not see the martyrdom in bombing buildings filled with women and children. The God I believe in is omniscient, the God I believe in is merciful, the God I believe in is filled with so much love. This I say; I believe that if I die not waging a holy war in His name, he would find it easier to forgive me rather than if I had killed a million people.

For fuck's sake people, it's a fucking sculpture. A fucking sculpture. Look at your fucking selves.

Sleepless Nights 54 - Alpha Penguin.

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Sleepless Nights 53 - Nostalgia Night.

Lately for some reason, there's been quite a lot of things that has been reminding me of the past. From the talk with Kat about well, her, to fucking cartoons and shit.

1. The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy.



This. Oh sweet mother of diabetic ketoacidosis, this.

To be fair, it's kind of a general reference. We had so much better cartoons, I swear to God it made me grow up a much better person. We didn't have shit like Kim Possible, or fucking Totally Spies or My Little Fuck-Pony. We had this (It was Grim & Evil before), and Invader Zim and Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Dragonball and Transformers and Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers (Note that this is the only Power Rangers worth watching). We even had (Or was it my imagination) this cartoon about horses hellbent on killing each other. I shit you not, I forgot the title for the life of me but one scene will forever be seared in my head. There's this black horse an obviously he was the villain. So he was defeated, and then by the riverside, he uttered (Roared? Can horses roar?) these words: "VENGEANCE IS MINE!"

It took me five years to be able to make a straight face again.

That's the shit we had. Wildly unregulated, insanely fun and not safe at all. We had fucking fictional characters making us believe that we could break the emissary of death into bits without any effort when we're mere infants. Then we're confused when the characters that seem to hate each others' guts, go out of their way to save em. We're taught that family is fucking important and then when we grow up, we have those values nurtured in us. Yeah, it's buried underneath all the violence etcetera but still it's there.

I remembered seeing this kid when I went back to Malaysia last year and the parents... The parents had the look of defeat on their face. They bought him everything he wanted, even when he's an obese little fucking gremlin. Throwing tantrums and shit. It bugged me. What the fuck has been going on with parents nowadays?

2. Being a kid.

There's something awesome about having a kid's stature (Inb4 Paedo.) You get a lot of free shit, the only droll thing is going to school and holy fuck, did any of you realise how fucken fast we healed back then? I felt like Wolverine. There were a million things I didn't know.

I always came up with weird shit when I was a kid. I learned how to speak backwards just for the fucks of it. I could come up with a fight scene just with each hand's index and middle finger. If that didn't make sense, you're not imaginative enough. I saw towering epics in clouds. All this and suddenly I didn't know the days in Bahasa.

See, I was stupid back then. For once I actually don't mean that in a metaphorical terminology. I was literally fucken stupid. I didn't know the principles of division until I was ten, hell the only thing I excelled in was English. That was it, other than that, school was not a place I belonged in. Yet, people had expectations, mainly due to my Brother and Sisters excellence. Dark days, I guess. I was always left not knowing what the fuck was happening. In short, quite a disappointment.

Then I grew up, got a bit smarter, and then things changed. I don't know where this is leading, to be honest. Fuck it, point is, even when I was stupid, there was a sense of tranquillity around me. I didn't know, hence I could not be bothered. Yeah, I missed those days.

3. Reading. With an endless supply of coffee. No disturbances. In the rain.

This seems to be quite the depressing post. Where did all this go? Nowadays I read and there is always a fucking disturbance. Priorities. People fucking asking for stupid things that they can fucking do it by themselves. Even fucking stares. Honestly, what is the fucking anomaly in a person reading a storybook? Really, please do enlighten me so that I can get with the programme already.

4. Insane people.

There was a time when my life was filled with insanity. And I fucking loved it. Everybody is nuts one way or the other and Lady Fate saw it fit for us to gather and form an alliance of insanity. It was the best time of my life. Insanity was what bound us together and because of it, we could function so fucking well. One guy comes up with an insane idea, everybody applauds not because of the fact that it was not dangerous. It was because we didn't want to hinder that burst of enthusiasm, that stroke of genius. And we knew that if anything happens, we're there to prevent any casualties. Now I'm surrounded by superficial people who have forgotten the fact that they're alive. These people are so tightly wound that if you were to suggest something, they'd implode with the force of a thousand dying galaxies.

You fucks. You fucking fucks. Where the bloody fuck are you people...

5. Days when Dunhills costs cheaper than lunch.

6. Her.

At the risk of attracting rabid mongrels, I have to at least say this. I talked about you with Kat. At length, yes. I know, breaking the oath, bla bla bla, really woman, I don't think I give a fuck any more. It has of course, been pretty hard, with you deciding to hack my facebook or leaving potentially destructive messages around. It's hard. Still, don't stop. It's fun. Do you remember that old bookshop in Chow Kit? Those were pretty awesome days, innit? I think one of these days I'm still gonna find the notes you slipped into random books there. Nobody ever visits that place, haha. It's funny, really, nowadays, I don't think I can describe your face any more. Kat asked about you and all I could tell was what you did, not how you look and shit like that. Thanks for deleting every single one of the photos. That helped a lot. I wish you had given me a choice at least. One photo wouldn't hurt.

I saw a guy die the other day and it was exactly like what you said I'd feel. Trying my best to not be sappy, I guess you were the only one to actually, well, get me. It took a while to realise but meh, you know how being dense is. Also, holy fuck I just realised how fucked up some girls could be with giving out hints and shit. Thanks for not doing it back then, gah why can't everybody else do stuff that you did. Anyway, this is going on long enough, I believe. I have actually been thinking of you, or to be more accurate, about back then. You evil witch, whatever happened to fucking fairtrade?! Haha.

I'd post a picture if I had one but of course, you deleted them all. How convenient.

Awkward Moments on Ye Olde Facebook.

As it is, the photos and stories have attracted a number of people to my facebook. I don't particularly mind, to be honest, I kind of appreciate it. Then these people come up with weird shit to compensate for their act as fans that eventually gets me riled up.

There's this one guy that posts an immeasurable number of photos of himself, i.e. camwhorism and tags me in it. I'm sorry but yeah, I'd rather spend my days not having to look at a stranger's face every couple of hours or so. The fact remains that camwhorism is the bane to social photography sites and yes, I detest it. However, if you do choose to go ahead and indulge in such activities, what can I do but grumble in silent disapproval. The situation changes though when for some bitching reason, you want me to be apart of said act. What is the fucking motive of even doing so?

Yeah? Yeah, alright.

The rules are pretty simple, I believe. When you want to be friends with another person, the logical thing to do - I will skip on the word civilised - is to obviously introduce yourself. You know, with a fucking message or something. Tell me who you are, why you're here, what you secretly wish for, whatever. People however, have apparently missed that whole etiquette. Take being on facebook for example. People request to be your friend with names like 'Menuju Puncak Kamehameha' or 'Cahaya Asshole' and shit like that, with the hope that I will almost definitely recognise them. Then, in an utter weirded out state, I'll look at the picture to see a sliver of recognition from said person and then I see this:

Am I the only one who realises that this is the most used profile picture on facebook?

Baby pictures. Or pictures of posters. Or pictures of cartoons. What? So let's see, right now, I am supposed to share my personal information with a person who does not have a real name, no real picture of himself and is basically a ghost. You know what all that leads to?

I fear for children. Wait, no I don't.

I get the fact that you might be that insecure to not want your deformed face to litter the internet and I applaud you for caring about the internet's state of quality. But really, hiding everything just makes you a suspected sex offender. Maybe I'm not that far off either.

Then there are the ones who do everything to the dot and are still able to use some sort of witchcraft to fuck my day up. Take this for example.

*Ding* You have a facebook message.
*Opens facebook tab with minor interest*
New associate: Hi.
Me: Uh, hi.
NA: Good morning, smoking is bad.
Me: That's good to know.
NA: You must quit. You will kill yourself and the people around you.
Me: So will your mindless blabbering. You've probably given ear cancer to your mates. Rectal cancer is probably on its way now. You should be careful.

See, I don't understand that for the life of me. I get the fact that you're trying to help or whatever but the fact remains that I don't fucking know you man. It's like going up to a total stranger on a bus and telling her that she looks like an ape. It doesn't matter if she really does, but the fact of the matter remains that it's an invasion of privacy.

Problem with the whole thing is that it leaves me torn between the fact that I should just delete this cretin. But then I'll lose a reader/viewer. Hm.

*

I'm writing a goddamn romance short story at the moment. Never really wrote any before and it came to my attention that I should since it'd make good practice and such. Problem is, my God it's hard. I'm not talking about the kind that makes you feel all fluttery and all mushy inside, no that's pretty damn easy to write on.

Mushiness.

What I have in mind is a story with so much goddamn raw emotion that if you read it twice, you'd fall into an endless pit of sadness and agony. Well, no, not to that extent. A tearjerker if I dare say so myself, and a good one.

While I've always write fiction, most of what happens in the stories have happened. It makes it easier and adds that much more realism into the piece. Now I have to write everything based on imagination and imagination alone, which of course is going to be a bit tough. Ah well.

Time is being a bitch now cause of the fucking weather transition and shit. Two weeks ago, 6 p.m. would be fucking bright as fuck and nowadays it's pitch black. Meh, nothing to be surprised about, fucked up places equal fucked up weather.

Second Week of Clinicals; Death Toll: One.

Clinicals are fuck awesome to be perfectly honest but fuck man, it sucks the bloody life out of you. I'm so fucking tired everyday and it's only after two weeks...

I saw a guy die a few days ago and for some reason, it got me hyped up. I mean I thought that it would actually strike me at the core or inspire me or whatever shenanigans, but all felt was an intense excitement. It's not because I'm a heartless frigger or anything like that (Not in this case, at least) but it's simply because it's new. I've never seen a guy die before in such close proximity and that knowledge addiction just turned everything off.

You dick.

Ah well. Going into clinicals is like going into your first class in primary school. You might know a lot, teachers might praise you but there's always that point where you have a sudden realisation that you are, verily, a bumbling idiot. I shit you not, the amount of shit my brain has absorbed (Or have not absorbed) is fucking phenomenal. It's like I've been doused in chocolate and thrown into a pit full of lesbians been in an accident involving a steamroller and at the end of the day God just revives me again so that it could happen again the next day. If that makes any sense. Still a fuck awesome feeling though.

Lecturers make me feel this way, everyday. Also, am I the only one who can't stop laughing at this?

I guess I like being an idiot in a sense. It shows that there's still a fuckload more shit to learn and I haven't got the point where I feel bored at the very sight of information. Still, the thought of having to open books everyday is quite painful. Yeah, I know, lust for knowledge, innit, but still, there is an ever present limit. One of the lecturers said that on average, a doctor studies for about seven fucking hours per day. I almost shat my tongue out.

Being in clinicals is like having to choose Zooey Deschanel over uh... Coffee. Wait no, coffee wins hands down, more like having to choose her over a brand new 5D Mark II with all the lenses in the world at my disposal. Literally an impossible decision.

Tsk, tsk. Meh, I still have books, coffee and hallucinations of kinky BDSM sex to keep me company. I guess that's good enough.

Once again... Mindfucked by google.

*

Why. As in, really, why? *Frowns*
Why not? *Sips latte. Café au lait as she insists on calling it.*
Fuck you, I asked first. You're bound by an unspoken thousand year rule to answer my question.
*Not amused* Anybody ever told you how much of a dick you are? Wait, that must be a daily occurence for you.
I take that as a compliment. I will find more ways to further sharpen my dickish behaviour. Now, answer me.
Because, tomorrow, the world will end. *Stoic*
What?
Yeah, it'd be about quarter past two, and people will just start to drop dead. Then when everybody is dead, the aliens will come and reap our corpses and then they'll summon a meteor to destroy mother earth. So, just because of that. *Awkward silence*
Right.
Right-o.
*Sips own black coffee* Ever realised how nobody likes talking to you?
*Pouts* Oh yes, and I cry myself to sleep everyday because of it. Whatever will I do without the general public.
The world will end tomorrow?
*Shrugs* Doesn't really matter, does it. You asked me why we should do it, I say we must because there's a probability that everything that we know and are familiar with have a possibility of just disappearing into thin air. That's why I don't give a fuck. That's why every second is a blessing. We have no idea what is going to happen. I didn't know that I was not going to see my kid brother again two years ago. If I did, that'd be quite... Bosan la camtu, kan?
*Mindfucked* Uh, yes, you do have a point there.
Dah, let's go.
After you, woman.

Clinicals: Fuck yeah, awesomeness.

While I may be quite the dork by keeping track of days I spend being a fourth year student, I have to say that I really don't mind it.

See, all through the three years of theoretical mind-fuck festivities, I've always looked forward to the day that we'd actually get the chance to interact and actually use our fucking minds instead of relying upon books solely. So yesterday being the first day of clinicals, it was... Frankly quite fucked up. Everything was in a rush, even when we had to shift to another classroom, we had to do it with some sort of rabid fervour and to be honest, I was not used to it. In my head, I was still thinking that fuck, we're not in a fucking emergency room or anything, why the fuck do we need to rush?

Then I actually realised that while I wasn't needed for any emergency, I'm in theory, already a doctor. I'm in a hospital, I'm seeing patients and I'm trying to think of what is wrong with said person. Sure, we were only taking history and shit but the fact remains that we have already come to a point that we are meeting people with ailments with one purpose which is to cure them.

Or you know... Do what this guy does...

Quite frightening indeed.

With this enlightenment, I went to class today and it was fuck awesome. We had no textbook present, and here the lecturer was aiming a shotgun of questions at us. We needed to answer, well, I did because the egoistical maniac in me would be wounded if I did not. Refreshing, actually, it's been a while since I've actually felt that rush, the need to extract information from the brain outside of the exam hall. No books to guide you, nothing to actually help and the only thing you could rely on is the inquisitive nature of yourself.

Eight in the morning to three in the evening, non-stop. I was hit hard at first, but then today I felt productive, another thing which I have not felt in quite a while. The workaholic gene is getting to me. Also, lab coats are fuck awesome, it's like now I'm actually entitled to fucken wear the damn thing.

Quite... Close actually...

What sucks though is my apparent lack of conversational skills and also my non-existent Arabic fluency. Yeah. That's fucked up.

Also, I saw a 25 year old kid today that looked no older than 12. Fuck yeah.

Ava Adore.

Holidays are drawing in to a close and well, as usual, one finds a lot to do on his hands. I've got pictures to edit, blues to get over and done with, a fucking house to find and a fucking mindset to repair.

It's amazingly hard to actually fucking do anything nowadays, like I have fucking bricks as organs or something. I don't want to go out, I don't want to meet people fuck, everything seems so fucking hostile. Of course, I'll have to get over that soon, fucking clinicals are starting.

After this it's study, study and more fucking studying. And guess what, I think that it's for the best. I've realised that my capacity of socialising has been dumbed down, only yesterday some dude sat down beside me trying to strike up a conversation while I was eating. I looked at him and all I could think of was how his face would look if I smashed it in with a bottle of ketchup.

Don't get me wrong, really, I like to meet new people etcetera. I made quite a few friends in the UK, and fuck, if I have to rate myself on a scale of one to ten, I'd give myself a four. Which is not that bad if you really think about it. However, I like to do it at my own pace, if I feel like it, then I'll chat. If I reaaaaally like it then I'll go and watch a film or something with whoever it is. I don't appreciate people thinking that just because I crack a lot of jokes or talk about a wide range of things, I'm definitely a guy to talk to twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty five days. Also, I don't like to talk with people when all they bring up is fucking politics or religion or minor controversies.

I cropped my hair really short yesterday.

"Lovely girl, you're the murder in my world, dressings coffins for the souls I've left to die." Ava Adore; The Smashing Pumpkins.

Being 20.

I turned 20 a few days ago. It was... awkward. No, it wasn't as if I suddenly found myself burdened by a new found responsibility or some shit, no nothing like that.

I turned 20 and I realised that I haven't moved on at all. I'm still in the same state of non-achievement that I was say two or three years ago. This pains me.

I'v gotten nowhere, it seems. Everybody else who share my passions have at least gone and done something which has gotten them some sort of recognition in the respective circles. Photography wise, Sukh is in OneXposure which quite frankly, is one hell of a feat considering the limitations of equipment etcetera. Writing wise, well, look at Ani, 'Neener' is plainly fucking amazing. It's fun to read, smooth, ridden with twists and laced with humour. In all honesty, read it, it'll blow your mind. That's saying a lot from a person who under normal circumstances, detests fan-fiction.

Myself? Thousands of photos, hundreds of poems and prose. In my laptop gathering dust. I haven't gone ahead, haven't actually been recognised, haven't reached the point where I could pride myself in what I do. Don't get me started on Medicine, I've come to a point where I'm doing it because I've done it for three years. It's interesting and fun even, but sigh. It's just messed up.

Sure, some of you (If there actually is an entity labelled you reading this.) will go ahead and say 'For fuck's sake mate, you're fucking twenty.To which I reply: So what? Can I not aspire at this age? What is the fucking sense in waiting till I'm fucking forty to only start feeling like shit? Fuck, as far as I'm concerned, twenty is already a ripe age to get out there and show people what you're made of.

Just spiffy, you know. Turning twenty could drive a sane man suicidal. Or not. So much for being special, eh woman, where's the fucking masterpiece now?

Somehow, at this point I could actually see myself doing Medicine for the rest of my life.

Sleepless Nights 52 - Blueberry Fire / An Unhealthy Obsession With Balconies.

There was once a few years ago (Five? Six?) that a friend of mine tore his muscle. I, of course, didn't know for sure, but meh, it seemed like it. So as we were teasing (Teasing? Laughing at his pain, yes.) him, the head discipline came into the class and he was enraged at us because we were making so much fucking noise. Then he saw my mate and he asked what the fuck is wrong with him.So I told him, it's probably a fucking muscle tear or something. What he replied still makes me fucking laugh.

"There you have it boys and girls. Doctor Zufar!" Class erupts in laughter.

It went bad between us after that, being a delinquent as such. I never did hate him though, he always kept a level head; unlike most others (Who had their vehicles nicely customised after SPM) and I respected him greatly. I haven't seen him since I left school.

Putting aside the fact that he might kick the fucking bucket or something, I intend to go home, meet him and tell him that he was the only fucker that ever got it right. He understood shit, knew how people like us act and he didn't flip the fuck out whenever we did shit. I remembered once when me and a mate was called up to his office because some bastard child ratted us out on smoking, which if I may add, is a blatant accusation. I was not smoking at the time he saw me, and I will forever hold him in low-esteem for what he did. Anyway.

So we were called up, and he began to lay these insane charges upon us. Me, who was not guilty, denied while this moron friend of mine, said these:

Mr. Lim: You smoke in the toilets! Don't lie, I know what you've been doing. Tell me the truth.

Meself: Nope, not me. I was merely washing my hands while he walked in. Call the kid, he can testify that he did not see me holding, smoking or putting out a cigarette at that time when he walked in.

Mate: Yes. I smoke.

Meself: *Stare with a weird facial expression which was a mix of abhorrence, utter shock and suppressed laughter*

Mr. Lim: You do? *Stare with amusement*

Mate: Er... Yeah, I do. *Hastily added* But only at school! *Drowns in stupidity*

Mr. Lim: Well. Here's how it's going to be. You, *Points at me* go back to class, I didn't get anything out of you so you won't get anything. You, *Points at mate* I'm calling your parents to notify them of your future suspension. Okay, go.

I swear, he grinned at the time when he told me I could go away scot-free. Like... Fair play, you know. You didn't admit and I don't know the truth, hence you're innocent in this circumstance. Fucking fuck. Yeah, he was awesome.

*

The world needs to reschedule its global clock or something. People should sleep during the day, goddamit, and wake up in the evening to go to work or school. Days are fucking hot and shit and people are fucking moody and everything is so fucking... Bleh. Make shit start at I don't know, 2 pm? It'll be so fucking awesome. People finish work at around 11, they go back home and relax till 1am, then go out to have some fucking fun or something, fuck that'd be awesome. Sigh. Fucking day...

*

I'm training the cat we currently have in the premise to be as naturally hateful as possible to the human hand. I've already achieved the point where it would react viciously to the hand when it "Attacks", but not yet pass the stage where it would willingly attack the hand when it's passive... A few more days maybe.

Why? Payback. Pure motherfucking payback. It sheds its fur like it's fucking snowing, is lazy as fuck and has a tendency to sit on my backpack like a fucking king. Also, it's a contortionist. I cannot forgive a contortionist cat. I will try my very hardest to ensure that it shall not know human love due to its fucking bitch violent attitude and hence, deprive him of his source of pleasure. I have no beef against cats in general, mind you, only those that gives me a messed up olfactory system and fucking pulicosis.

Motherfucking this: Puli-fucking-cosis

Damn this itch.

*

Facebook has a new layout and while I tend to not care about these changes, I am quite irritated that everybody goes on and on about how much they hate it et cetera. If you hate it, leave. Stop bitching about facebook while you are ON facebook you god damned ingrate. Anyway.

There's the thing where they suggest shit to you and while I'm indifferent to it, I saw something that catches my eye just now. There's this girl.

Her name: Chinta. I fuck not with your jolly brain, her name is Chinta. Holy mother of electricity. Am I the only one who is amused to no end about this. That's probably the awesomest fucking name you could give to a person and it truly is a shame that I could not.

Her friends: 82. Here I have to take time to respect that. 82 friends... On facebook. How exactly is that even possible... Maybe she has a secret account somewhere... Or maybe she cares not for these pesky cretins called acquaintances and disposes of them... Maybe she's awesomely cold hearted. Maybe she's superbly depressed and has no self confidence. Maybe she's shy. Maybe she's a ninja. I must learn more. Damn ye, Chinta.

*

Can we just pretend it didn't happen? I mean... We didn't do much did we? Can we just like take it as a weirdly satisfying dream and just move on already? Sigh, of course we couldn't. Sigh, I've never been good at this.

*

Time.

This and That and This.

I had a really fucked up dream yesterday (Yesterday? Two days ago? I can't tell any more.). It's one of those dreams where you dream in a dream, basically, in your dream, you're sleeping and you're dreaming. I have no idea if that made sense.

Anyway, I woke up from the dream to find my jaw hurting, no, more like a mega suction force acting on the buccal cavity itself, like being kissed by a god damned vacuum cleaner powered by nuclear fission. Of course, I woke the fuck up, and then... How do I put this in terms one could understand... All my teeth tore off their respective sockets and fell into my cupped palms, all bloodied among specks of white.

While this in itself is not quite horrific, I have to point out that my mind works in quite a weird way when it comes to pain perception. See, I can imagine pain.

Apparently, that's what google understands by the term 'Imagine pain'.

For example, if I imagine being cut on the finger, I could literally feel the pain on said finger. Of course, it pales in comparison to what I would actually feel if I had been cut physically, but the point still stands. So, with this in mind, I actually felt every single one of my tooth being ripped out. That was what made it insanely fucked up.

So with my teeth in my palms, I walked out - From a room exactly like the one I was sleeping in, hence the increase in panic - and then I saw a girl, which I vaguely remember - And fancy, if I may say so myself - and she was in the same condition of horror because it had happened to her as well. So there we were, both of us grimacing from the pain and horror, teeth in our hands, blood flowing from our mouth. For some reason, it had quite a funny side to it, so both of us laughed - A quite horrific laugh, you know, with all the gums exposed and the blood and the fucking lack of teeth - and we exchanged teeth. She was beautiful. By that time, I was pretty sure it was a fucking dream so the sense of general fucked-upness had left me entirely.

Then I woke up, teeth still intact. And went back to sleep.

*

I have a sudden urge nowadays to murder people who have a feeling of general discontent towards old people. Sure, I too occasionally get the feeling of utter boredom when they tell a story that you've heard a million times before but I don't see that small problem being a reason to hate them. Look at what, say, an eighty year old person has gone through. He has lost his wife, most of his friends, his family, occasionally his child. He has lost the vigour of youth, his bones ache, he can't even walk up a hill without feeling out of breath. He has tasted most of life's pleasures, and now is bored, or he has not tasted it as much as he wants it but conditions do not permit him to go ahead.

Honestly, am I the only one who could sympathise with that sort of condition? Where you want to do something but you just cannot because the physical limitations has completely overpowered you. It's like having the chance of fucking the only person ever that you urgently need to fuck but you can't because there's a metal door that you cannot under any circumstances break through. You know she's on the other side of the door, naked, wet and doused in fucking honey and chocolate and - Good heavens! - she's calling out to you in that sexy voice of hers.

Do you get the point there?

ONLY YOU CAN POP THE CHOCOLATE CHERRY! ONLY YOU!

*

I actually believe right now that we are the only people who understands chaos in it's purest form. I mean yeah, you'd argue that those in Palestine or those in Somalia are the ones who truly understands it but I respectfully disagree. War is not the pure form of chaos, it's a temporary spike which will in time - Depends on how long one is willing to wait - subside.

The purest form of chaos is quite simply, the state of utter disorganisation. It's the point where nobody is willing to take the initiative to repair the damage, where everybody decides that they are content with the everyday fuckupperry of their lives' condition. And that's Egypt for you.

I thought of finding a picture to accompany my statement. I failed. Here's colours instead.

*

I miss the UK. No, come to think of it, I miss the whole travelling part, I don't think it really matters where I go. Now it's back to the fucking routine life of getting up late, having a meal a day and sleeping late.

*

I realise how much I fucking hate cats nowadays. Sure, it's nice to photograph it, it's nice to tease the fuck out of it, but having a cat generally is a fucking bane. Their fur... It's everywhere, and I shit you not on the everywhere part. It's got on my fucking camera strap which, I believe, if left any longer, would resemble a goddamned fur scarf. It gets into my nose, it gets into my eyes, it gets fucking everywhere. And with cats, here comes fleas, motherfucking fleas which coincidentally, I'm fucking allergic to and now my goddamned body is ridden with these fucking welts that itches like fuck if I don't scratch it and hurts if I do.

The harbinger of motherfucking evil itch.

Sleepless Nights 51 - Love Story, Killed.

I had a fuck good long bath just now, like for a god damned hour. There's something positively inspirational about hot water, it just fucking makes my day. At the time where I was bathing, I was chewing gum and at the same time, smoking. It brought back a lot of memories.

Google fails me yet again, henceforth, have a cat.

It's quite a fucking feat; what your mind does. It suppresses these things that you actually believe did not affect you and then 'Bam' you're doing something utterly unrelated - Like taking a bath - and it comes back to you. And while it still does not affect you, you tend to wonder why the fuck is it back.

'It's like blowing a bubble; same concept, only that this time, you make the bubble in your mouth.'
'That doesn't really make sense.'
'Of course it does. Why'd you want to be like everybody else when you can be something far more superior.'
'Different, maybe. I don't think superior fits.'
'Whatever, just try it.' *Hands two pieces of mint gum*
'You do realise I have no fucking idea how to do this?'
'Just chew on it first, for a start. Till you get the bubble-blowing-consistency.'
'Remind me again why I'm humouring you?'
'Because you're infatuated with me, and I, you. Well, maybe not infatuated, but,' *Hums* 'Fits. Yeah. We fit.'
*Laughs* 'Yeah, alright. Consistency achieved. What now?'
*Loud popping noise. People stare.* 'Now you do that.'
'What? What the fuck did you do? Holy fuck.' *Utterly amused*
*Cocky smile* 'See why I'm more awesome that you? Just do the exact reverse as you would blowing a bubble.'
*Tries. Accidentally projected gum out of mouth and onto table instead.*
*She laughs hysterically. Hands over more gum* 'Again. We're not leaving till you get to do it.'
*Whines.*
*Ruffles hair.* 'You have to place the gum in front of your teeth. In between your lips and teeth, you get me?'
*Tries. Nods, can't talk.*
'Okay, now you suck on it.'
*Does as told. Nothing happens.* 'I think I'm too good-mannered for something like this. This... Seems obscene.'
*Narrows eyes.* 'Stop making excuses, you cretin. Try it again.'
*Grimaces at the coldness. Tries again. A pathetic pop is achieved.*
*Exclaims.* 'See! That's a start. Now just do it over and over again until you can...' *Another loud popping sound. More stares.*
*Laughs, in a state of joy.* 'Holy fuck! I did it! Holy fuck muffin!'
*Joins in laughter. Orders coffee, extra strong for him.*

***

Also, here I must force this down your throats. Saishuuheiki Kanojo (SaiKano) is the most fuck awesome tear fucking jerker of a manga out there. It's awesomeness is utterly overwhelming, mainly due to how fucking shitty and simple the drawings are. Fuck me on a jack hammer kind of awesome.

Fuck. This is the problem with Egypt. When your fucking life is this dull, the motherfucking memories tend to gain some sort of fucking sentience and its sole aim: Gunning you the fuck down.