Zufar Ismail Zeid

Sleepless Nights 62 - One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor.

2012-02-09T05:39:00.001+02:00

Well, apparently, one can be as passive as possible and make it into Mordor. With the ring.

OSCE is now fucking over with, thank the Lords of Kobol. I was pretty shit scared about the whole Anaesthesia-Jars-X-Ray-Operative shenanigan to the point that hearing people discuss about it while waiting for my turn to be examined got insanely annoying. So I did the next best thing. I went ahead and fucking went into the exam.

It was okay I think, mainly because I got an awesome doctor for the pathological specimen part. He fucking blasted me with a fuckload of questions though which I could answer, surprisingly. That is, until this part.

Dr.: Okay, now I'd like to ask you a question that you probably don't know the answer to.
Me: Right. Okay. Damn.
Dr.: So, cervical lympadenopathy. Causes?
Me: Lymphoma, Tuberculous lymphadenitis and secondary metastases.
Dr.: Good, now, metastases. Where do they come from in this case?
Me: Thyroid malignancies.
Dr.: Yes! Now, what cancer?
Me: *DING DING BRAIN CELLS ARE EXHAUSTED!* Uh... Follicular?
Dr.: DAMN! Dommage!
Me: What?
Dr.: Do you speak French?
Me: No.
Dr.: Right. Dommage means that just when you think you have it, it slips. Too bad.
Me: That... Sucks.
Dr.: Okay, you can go. Not bad, not bad at all, just like yesterday.

My face when I heard those words.

Still, I guess Anaesthesia was a little bitchy. Went inside nervous as fuck since it's the first one, and the doctor asked a simple fucking question i.e. What is propofol. My brain went dead for a while. All's not lost though, I still could answer her a bit. A bit. Fuck anaesthesia.

Then the X-Rays came and I was pretty confident about it. But the doctor in charge began to lecture me about the importance of male superiority in the community and I just felt like a cunt listening to him. I wanted to say something to contradict his views but meh, it was exams after all, so I shut up like a little bitch and looked at him like... Like...

It went okay I guess. Egypt being Egypt; it was fucking chaotic too. Imagine 250 students cramped in a hallway, all nervous and edgy. It's a wonder that a fight didn't break out. That would've been fun.

Now I have to study for the finals, lo and behold, a million more fucking pages. Gah.

Sleepless Nights 61 - The (Un)Breakable Resolve.

2012-02-04T06:07:00.001+02:00

It's funny how things tend to fuck up when you decide to do something productive. Of course by funny, I mean heart wrenching hatred that gobbles up your internal organs and sets your chest on fire.

Close enough.

When you want to study, for example, countless shit will inevitably happen. Your brain turns to mush, your bed gains an unseemly comfortability, your laundry starts to seem like it's the by product of a million chemical reactions, there will be blackouts, you suddenly lose all the important notes, your eyes have lead weights attached to them, you run out of cigarettes, Audrey Hepburn starts talking dirty to you, your friends suddenly have a million and a half problems and only you can solve them, your laptop decides that it's that time of the month and wants to have virgins sacrificed to it, your ass feels as if a demon trapped for a thousand years needs to get out.............................

And all that shit. Everything suddenly has a red flag above its head and your books seem like ~~blood stained tampons~~ ~~cum-stained panties~~ Satan ate too much chillies and had an accident on top of them. Every single fucking time.

Will you give up then? Like a Beta basement-dweller that suddenly realises that anime characters aren't real? Or will you alpha the fuck up and grab Lady Medicine from behind and penetrate her till your shit stained dick tear through her throat?! The choice is fucking yours you diddling faggot!

Apparently, this is a diddling faggot. By CinderellaPop on DeviantArt.

Here's what I'm gonna do, you fucking cum-guzzling screamer. I'm gonna post songs motherfucker! Songs! Songs! Songs!

No song unheard motherfucker! We're gonna pump this post so full of fucking resolve that Courage Wolf would get a bleeding orgasm just at the sight of this.

Experience the warmth before you grow old you cunt. The only way you're going to ever achieve that is by getting your diseased ass up and working for it.

Kickstart, rev it up, make the fucking earth shake and tremble at the sight of thine resolve. Smash them bastards to tiny little glass pieces, eat the fucking shards and shit out a perfect sculpture.

This song... Has the instant ability to grant +100 courage, +25 dexterity and +infinite awesomeness.

... 73 slides of CT scans... I... I shall not falter... Aea Earendil, Elanion Ancalima!

You and me Medicine, you and me... Also, best fucking movie, best fucking soundtrack, best fucking fucking. It's hard to understand, to be honest I'm not even sure I got the whole story right after about twenty times watching it. Still, they don't make films like this any more. Sigh. Good times...

Yes, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder but if you don't think she's cute as a little fucking puppy.... Your eyes know not what beauty is.

Fuck you CT scans. Fuck you cholangiography. Fuck you radiology.

Finally. Done. Fuck you Radiology.

Combo Breaker.

2012-02-03T01:04:00.000+02:00

I slept for 19 hours today. Today? How does one even categorise most-of-today-and-half-of-yesterday?

I should be studying. I want to study. But now in a fucking freak fucking fuck fucking fuck situation, my laptop decided that it wants to be in silent mode. So I can't listen to music any more. So now I can't fucking study. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I looked at the photos that I was tagged in before and it's awkward. It's like looking at the progress of a recluse throughout the years. How did I manage to smile that much and how did I manage to have that much people around me? It's a fucking question that I can't seem to get out of my head now.

I want to study. Fuck fuck fuck.

I found a game, those weird simulation shit that basement-dwellers seem to value more than their lives. I downloaded it and the main reason I actually considered playing it was that a little bird told me that there was quite a lot of fap-worthy content in it. So, okay, yeah, why the fuck not. Look at the title: Disability Girls. Okay, weird, still. Played the game. Go into depression. Not only can I not fap to whatever fappable contents there is, the storyline (Which, from a writer's point of view, is fucking brilliant) actually lunges and stabs one in the fucking gonads. And heart.

I guess it's the fact that there's so many broken characters in it. There's always some sort of fucking luggage, some sort of 'Fuck you, leave me alone and don't motherfucking prod into my fucking life' kind of shit that litters the game. It feels... Familiar, in a way. Should be made into a film, really. It's twisted, yes. Here you are, trying to get into the pants of women with no arms, or no legs or no sight or no hearing or half burnt bodies but behind that seemingly fucking straightforward appeal(?) there lies a sphere of manly fucking tears. God damn. God damn. God damn. Lilly; forever entombed in memory.

Yes, for what it's worth, I actually do feel like a pervert. Then I think about how I don't care about what you think. Then I further elaborate the point by knowing that you can't do anything about it. So I happily ~~unzip my pants and bathe the world in alpha juice~~ go on with my life. Seriously though, if it is to be considered; what's wrong with a disability. I don't exactly see the point in feeling ashamed when being around disabled people. They know they're disabled, you know it, so what's the point in trying to sugar coat your words.

Let's take an example. You meet a blind person. Fall in love for some weird reason (Fetish? Fetish.). Then when you go out to a new place, you feel awkward cause here you are, going 'Look at that! Look at that! Look at that!' when she can't fucking see. Then you apologise and live your whole life wishing that you're blind too.

You candy-assgot. That's what I don't get; that awkwardness. If it's a new thing and she can't see, fucking describe that shit to her. In detail. Like to the most extreme detail that even an autistic would miss. Don't be fucking sorry. She doesn't feel sorry, so why should you?

I am obviously looking way too deep into this fucking game.

Fuck that deaf cunt.

People are weird. I don't think I know how to communicate with them any more. There was this dude from Germany who came to visit my housemates and I couldn't talk to him. He introduced himself and I shook his hand and that was it. My friend had to intervene and say 'Oh, yeah, and that's Zufar.' I actually wished he had went on and said I was a freak of nature, that would've solved my problem. There's no more charm in strangers. Well, there is, but once they start to speak to you, the image is shattered.

That said, maybe I should work in a mental institution. Since everybody, is insane, I'm pretty fucking sure that there's bound to be something interesting that would happen everyday. Food for thought, I guess. I don't even fucking know what to do after school any more. Everybody is saying 'Do it for the passion!' or 'Do it for the money!' but that shit doesn't make sense to me either way. What about doing it just because you're doing it? For no reason? That's acceptable? Why must there be a reason when one wants to do something?

The novel is coming along well, I guess. I've got some things laid out for the plot progression. It sucks though, Getaran Jiwa is the easiest of the trilogy and I have no idea how to arrange the mountains of shit into a storyline for the next parts.

You know I'm thinking of something to write when I start posting fucking memes.

Yeah, I'm out of fucking ideas...

Eargams of the day: Because my laptop is being such a bitch.

Sleepless Nights 60 - Kashmir; Again.

2012-01-31T08:39:00.001+02:00

I want to go to Kashmir. I have no idea why, it must be the fact that these fucking books are giving me a serious case of wanderlust, it's not enjoyable any more. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I've finally finished Shalimar the Clown, took exactly a month. Disappointing of course, considering I finished half the book in the past 3-4 hours. Procrastination is being my new fucking mistress now.

Before I forget, I'd like to thank the people who actually rate my post-disguised rants. It brings me much joy, whoever it is, I thank you and urge you do more. I don't think people know how I appreciate this blog being read (And read. And commented. And loved. And used as material to get the love juices flowing down to the sides of the thighs. Call me.), it gives me something to do. I realise I don't thank people enough. It's the ego probably, the incessant psychological foundation in which I believe that I'm extremely independent. This could of course be a rue to actually lure more readers in hopes that they fall for the tough-guy-blooming-heart routine, which come to think of it is highly probable given the fact that I cannot arrest my need to be constantly manipulative. I digress. Where the fuck was I?

And I.... I.... Fuck, where was I...

That's Prachi Desai. One of the hottest fucking creatures to roam the earth nowadays.

I now have a portrait of Audrey Hepburn up in my room. The extent of her beauty is such that it falls into the category of sin, no woman should be that fucking beautiful. It's extra-ordinary. It eats one up, making one reluctant to move from one's bed, where one could get the full view of her smile as soon as one wakes up and restricts one from going to class. Honestly - And this is meant for both genders - could you actually have the fucking heart to break away from a smile and go to class when the smile looks like this:

No you can't, you cunt. How could you even consider that fucking thought. No you can't. Doing so would be going against the rules of motherfucking nature.

I believe I'm stuck in that void where women's beauty are accentuated in the event where they don something traditional. It does not matter what kind of garment it is; it could be a kebaya, salwar kameez, cheong sam, kimono, whatever, point is that if they do, I'm a sucker for it. Bonus points - No - A hundred million fucking stars for them if they actually act as polite as they look. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Give me a goddamn gun already. Cultured. Yeah, that's how they should come.

Suddenly, a wave of depression as one realises that they are no longer made as they were used to.

Ah well.

My mind is so fucking boggled nowadays with the thought of what to study for the oncoming surgery exams. No, I'm not that much of a retard so as to not have a clue at all, I'm just confused considering there's also a fucking oral exam. This unnerves me. Quite a lot.

Someone asked me about my take on adoption before. I shrugged it off, probably because I don't actually care much about the topic or it must've been the inquirer was not someone I was fond of. No matter, the subject has piqued my interest now.

I guess the simplest way to say it would be that a person would have to walk over my cold dead corpse before he or she could manage to convince me to adopt a kid. Call me shallow, call me an insane cunt, whatever. I have an abnormal hatred towards kids in general, and by general, I mean those who are not connected to me by the bond blood. I cannot, under any circumstances, take in a child who shares nothing with me and call him son/daughter. I find the thought two inches short of being revolting. How am I supposed to take this... Being whose history I know nothing of and teach him or her things that has been passed down to me from my very own ancestors? Perish the thought. Out of the question. Sure, call me an insensible husk of a human being but when it comes down to certain issues, I honestly do not believe in any compromise.

What the fuck is with this ramblings...

Eargasm of the day: The greatest song to have ever been created.

Sleepless Nights 59 - Farewell Blues

2012-01-26T06:14:00.000+02:00

No, no, don't consider this blog deserted. I'm having a tough break at the moment and my brain is too clogged up to spew up some ideas to write and ponder upon. Or it could be that all my creativity has been sapped by the fucking novel and I'm now left dry and limp and... Well, you get the point.

I think I'm having a fucking mental breakdown over all these shit. Surgery, Internal Medicine, the Novel, myself in general, lack of productivity, all of them are fucking coming at me with fucking swords. Paranoia is on its way, or hell, it's already here innit. There's just too much to fucking do in a lifetime. Too fucking much.

Okay... Chuck Wilson is going on the list of people to avoid and possibly murder while out on a stroll.

A few days ago while I was in class, the teacher started to go ahead and tell us about different surgeries and all that shit I knew nothing of. It's like a fucking slacking alarm bell, ringing just exclusively for me. Other people are nodding and asking shit while I'm wide eyed at the back wondering what the fuck is the goddamn contents of the spermatic cord. My fucking Anatomy was flushed down with all the other theory years shit the day I got the news that I passed my exam. Fucking hell man, surgery is fucking nuts.

I can't even seem to read a book properly lately. I've been at Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown since the 31st of December. Can you even fathom that? Reading a book for almost a fucking month? It's bollocks.

Possibly his best after Midnight's Children. Goddamn this book is awesome.

Thing is, it's not like it's a boring book or anything. It's fucking awesome. There's so much romanticisation of beauty in the book to the point that it's fucking absurd. Still I take a fucking month to read it. Goddamit all.

I'm not ready to grow up. I'm content with the fact that I still like to do things that I have been doing ever since I was a kid. It's not like growing up is a bad thing or anything but I've seen so many people losing the essence of their being when they decided to be fucking mature and all that jizz. I need to keep a part of me insane and carefree to even fucking function in society.

Then it's the fucking novel. You know what, when I first wrote it, I had the idea of writing our story. It will be epically magical, a realm of fact nesting on a bed of fiction and only few would truly know what they're reading. I want to let them know how great it was but holy fucking shit, now I'm finding it so hard to tell. It's like being exposed, being robbed, being fucking torn. This was our story, and here I am showing them what it was like. Being fucking naked, more like.

But it's okay. Things will work out. As the fucking optimists love to shove down our throats.

Eargasm of the day. The only thing that actually fucking relates to the fucking title.

Sleepless Nights 58 - Notion of Romance.

2012-01-15T04:59:00.001+02:00

It's fucking amazing how facebook could manage to annoy me so nowadays. Fucking pictures with quotes decorated with glimmering shit and what's said does not even make sense. Then you have retards going 'TRIPLE LIKE' or 'THAT'S SO TRUE OMGWTFBBQ' and all sorts of other bullshit. I am, of course being rather light on them because for some reason, none of them could spell any more. I digress though, I'm here to talk about other things.

OMGWTFBBQTRIPLELIKE

I don't mind the quotes really, some of them are pretty well thought out. Most are cliché of course but so is your Mom.

Wait, no, really. I can't stomach that.

The truth of the matter is that all these fucking quotes are made up by cunts that got their hearts broken along the way and decide to publish their newfound faggotry for the whole wide world to see. "Oh, I will marry the other woman even when I'm already married to the epic love of my life. Why? Because my Mom wants me too and I'm awesome and I can fucking sacrifice her feelings and shit just for the giggles."

That's from Ombak Rindu. A film so fucking Beta it should be reincarnated as a man and be crucified.

I had am argument with some acquaintances previously about this very thing, and they were all about 'That man is a strong one, since he can let go and make everyone happy.' What. What? How does that make any fucking sense?

If I were to have to choose between my Mother's choice of woman or the love of my life, then the answer would be simple. I'd leave my paramour, say no to my Mom and fucking live my life as a celibate monk. That's what I told them. So they countered with the fact that now, not only have you messed things up for yourself, you've destroyed another person's life.

Look. One of our magnificent human character is the ability to forget and actually move on. It would take a while, no shit, but at a point it'd happen. We humans also have the ability to receive and give so much love that it's fucking impossible to not find another person. So, I'm not destroying another person's life, I am merely depriving her of the love and care that under suitable circumstances would have been given freely. Sooner or later, she'd find someone else, have fun etc. I honestly believe that this is fucking better than me actually getting married to another woman while she watches from the sidelines. Two-timing is still two-fucking-timing and my God that spineless cunt of a bastard child should be murdered in cold blood. The injustice of it. And you have people applauding him. Women; please. Have some pride. (Ready for feminine shitstorm mode activated!)

Fauziah Ashari must be shot.

Problem is... It's so easy, you know. Giving up on true love just cause of a major bump in the system.

I actually do believe in the notion of a true romance. Sacrificing everything for that one other, it really does seem fucking noble to me. I believe that while it's hard, it'll be worth it and most of all, I believe one must not falter when it gets unbelievably fucking hard. Most of the time, it does not work but when it does, it's magic. The concept of soulmates is not as far-fetched as people would like to think, why is it so hard to trust in the fact that some people are crafted to fit each other like a ball and socket?

When it comes to expressing it, I honestly don't see the point in putting pretty words together and making one's significant other blush in awe. Saying things like 'I can't go to fucking sleep because I keep on thinking of you' is a fucking lie for fuck's sake, or else we'd have humanity fighting for survival of the species.

The simplest way of saying it is this. Tell a lady that you don't think about her twenty-four hours. If she cannot appreciate the utter truth and simplicity in this matter-of-fact sentence, then dump her ass. If she does however inquire further, then tell her the truth. Tell her that even when that is so, the moments that you spend with her is so fucking intoxicating that nothing worldly or otherworldly could ever make its presence heard. Tell her that yeah, you do actually think of other women but when she's there, not even Zooey Deschanel could distract you. If she does seem sane and accept these notions, fucking wife her.

I've met and known some people that are insanely epic when it comes to the matters of the heart; my parents and grandparents are in that group too. When you see the connection in these people that's when you feel so utterly inadequate for even thinking that you know what a real romance even looks like.

Fucking sappy post innit?

Eargasm of the day:

“Don’t leave me,” he said, rolling over onto his back and panting for joy. “Don’t you leave me now, or I’ll never forgive you, and I’ll have my
revenge, I’ll kill you and if you have any children by another man I’ll kill the children also.”

“What a romantic you are,” she replied carelessly. “You say the sweetest things.”

-Noman and Boonyi; Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie.

Things That Actually Piss Me Off.

2012-01-04T01:56:00.000+02:00

Immensely. I shit you not on this and I swear it on the soul of a star and the body of the moon with mortals as my witness and the earth; my judge. (That actually sounds pretty fucking awesome. Oh, me.)

Anyway, since I haven't been updating as much as I should (Should? What is this should?), I've come up with a list of the ultimate acts of fuckberries that tend to poke at the demonic being sleeping in me. Think Azathoth. Wait, I forgot. You don't know who Azathoth is, do you. Oh, you.

1. Slow walkers.

Why: Because they are a pest on the street and should be swiftly exterminated.

I'm not talking about people who take leisurely walks. I do that, everybody does that, what I truly fucking mean is how some people tend to walk in groups and since their embryological development must have been arrested at just about the time things like manners and consideration began to form, the fact eludes them. Hog the street by fucking walking alongside each either like the great wall of motherfucking fuckness and ignore the environment.

This is what I feel like doing every single fucking time. Also, guy on far right looks like an elephant.

That's not the worst of it, the ultimate uh, G-spot of anger stimulation is when you pass them and they give you a look as if you're the biggest fucking candy-ass in existence. At that point, it seems as if you're the one that's actually in the fucking wrong, not these fucks that hog the goddamn pavement like it's their goddamn fucking gift to mankind. And when that happens, my wrath escalates to a whole new fucking level.

Fucking cunts deserve to be flayed and thrown into an acid bath.

2. Indecisive Speech.

Again, no, I'm not talking about how you tend to think about shit before you actually do it. I'm talking about people who... Fuck, let's take an example.

A: *Playing video games or raping a 75 year old mastectomy patient*
B: Dude, what the fuck man, you should *Insert carefully planned instructions here* and then you'll get there.
A: Right, okay.
B: Oh, but you know, that's what I think, if you don't want to do it then it's okay.

Look, I generally absofuckinglutely abhor people who tend to tell me what to do when there's so many other ways to do it. Like when you can go left, he/she berates you about the benefits of going right instead. So while I already am offended and pissed, he/she suddenly acts all saint-like and gives a little bastard laugh with the words: Oh, but you know, just from my perspective. Well fuck your perspective you fucking cum-guzzler, do you honestly think that I actually need your guidance doing something which one needs no special skills to master? It's like telling a guy how to hold his fucking cock while he takes a piss.

In contrast, I'd appreciate it a fuckload more if you'd shout at me like, at least then I'll have the excuse to elbow you in the goddamn mouth.

3. Bad Table Manners.

This one is fucking simple, yet so many people fuck it up. I don't particularly blame the participant to be honest, it's their upbringing innit? Still, it pisses me the fuck off, more so then anything else. If you still don't get what I mean, here's a scenario. You're doing something which more or less needs little or no concentration at all. Then comes a person who sits beside you. Said person has some sort of foodstuff and yeah, you admit, you feel quite hungry at the time too. Then he starts to eat, and then this:

When I'm angry, I start to fucking do a form of destructive ballet. Also, holy shit, the curves on that lady.

Why? I understand your obvious confusion reader(s?) but allow me to explain. The moment said associate starts eating, the noise that starts to be emitted from his/her mouth is not only fucking nauseating but also fucking infuriating. I can think of at least ten more verbs but let me just stop myself. It's amazing to discover how the human mouth could make such squelchy fucking noises but most of the time, my meagre admiration is swiftly and brutally murdered by the overwhelming wrath.

The thing is, okay, I get it, you're used to eating with your mouth open and have mastered the art of SBUM (Sonic Booms Upon Mastication) but is it really that fucking hard to close your goddamned mouth when you eat in public? Yes, I actually am being fucking anal here and this is one of the times when I think that I'm allowed to be a fucking cunt.

4. Runny Noses.

This is the pattern. Easy maladies that can be overcome with a bit of cheap materials but people don't do it cause fuck what everybody else experiences, I could care less.

I actually know what it feels like to have a runny nose that fucking leaks every half a day or so. Been there, nothing special about it. Yeah, okay, drugs make you drowsy, fine. What about tissues then? There'll be too much of them lying around? Okay that seems legit, after all, who wants shit like that. What about handkerchiefs then? You're allergic to them? Yeah, now I'm allergic to your fucking presence.

No, you refuse all of these fucking solutions, turning instead to snorting that shit back up your nose and making a fucking racket. Every three fucking seconds. I don't know man, to me it seems like a pretty simple thing to combat. Blow your nose. That simple, really.

5. Parasites That Make a Mockery Out of The Art.

Ah yes. This. Well then.

I don't think I need to explain about the parasitic nature of yours truly. What I want to outline is the fact that some people try to be parasites and end up making a fucking fool out of themselves.

This came up as a search result. Oh sir Google, you know me all too well.

As much as it seems unrealistic for a fellow parasite to follow a set of rules, it's true. It's mostly logic of course.

i. Always have a backup plan. You know, just in case what you want for free becomes unattainable without some sort of compensation from your pockets.
ii. If you're leeching off friends, never aim the same place twice in a week. That saves you the fucking misery of passive-aggressiveness. Also, seriously man, are you that daft?
iii. Never ever reveal your intent e.g. 'Oh man, you should give me some free food.' or 'I'm going to your house for dinner and then I'm going to leave without any feeling of shame'.
iv. Never fucking leech off your permanent contacts.

The final one has always been my favourite. People whom you know will be there for a long fucking time, you don't fuck around with them. For me it's family. You don't fucking parasitise upon family. Or be picky with them. Of course, I'd like to say that everybody should follow the guidelines but I guess some people are not really built for it.

Nowadays you have these buggers that go around proudly exposing the fact that they're parasites with utter disregard of any fucking decency. Fucking cunts. Rot in the tenth circle of hell.

6. Hygiene.

If you have known me, or at least known my good friend Common Sense, you'd know that when it comes to hygiene, I'm not the champion of it. I am, however extremely particular about a few items.

You wish you could get up in the morning and fucking look like this while taking a bath.

My rule is simple. Rooms can be as dirty as you want them to be, hey, go fucking nuts decorating your walls with faeces, I don't care. What I do care however is the condition of the toilet and the fucking kitchen.

Really, is it that fucking hard to clean up the dishes or fucking keep the WC in a soothing condition? Fucking dirty dishes, hair in the sink-hole, are they really that hard to dispose off? It pisses me the fuck off, holy fuck it's a fucking plate for God's sake, fucking wash it already.

7. Whiny Little Fucks.

You've got problems. Yeah, I get that. You need to talk it out and vent, yeah I kinda get that too. What I don't get is the fact that you must, YOU MUST continuously repeat the fact that your fucking life sucks mega-proton-metsu-hadouken-balls to me. I am actually boasting here and the truth is that I'm a pretty good listener but going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on...

About it does not make me any fucking wiser about the matter at hand. Yes, I have an impeccable understanding of the situation now but no, I do not know what to do even if you tell the same fucking thing a million fucking times. I get pissed off and when I get pissed off I isolate myself and when I isolate myself, you no longer have a ~~fuck-buddy~~ place to rant and when you no longer have a place to rant, you call me a selfish cunt.

... Apparently... A band...

Two things which piss me off about it. One; you find the need to actually tell people about your problems and fucking drag them into the chasm that you yourself haven't climbed out of. This is forgiveable actually, no matter how much a cunt it makes you seem like. Two; the fact that you have not even tried to fucking resolve the problem on your own, in fact, you do absolutely nothing about it, non-whatsoever. You don't even try to help yourself and your first fucking impulse was to seek out the nearest fuck and tell said fuck all about it.

Fucking cunts, the lot of yous.

Eargasm of the day: Fuck, I keep forgetting this fucking segment in.

Sleepless Nights 57 - How I Spent New Years Eve; From the Eyes of a Still Morbid 20 Year Old.

2012-01-01T04:02:00.002+02:00

Yes. This.

Again.

A bit more differently though, a bit of recap is appropriate, no?

Let's see, big things happened in good ol' 2011 didn't it? The biggest thing for me being my decision to stop photography for the time being. It's a necessity I guess, lest I be driven fucking crazy by it.

2011 was a year of utter insanity. I made it into clinicals after three motherfucking years of endless theories and biochemical reactions. I went to the UK with my brother, something which I will always hold dear to me because we finally found a way to actually talk to each other in some way that does not require some sort of mediator. Well, it's a start. I'm grateful for that.

AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

There were fucking babies born which are related to me by blood. There's one on the way which would probably cause the family to implode with utter fucking joy, and there were of course deaths. Cycle of life eh.

More than anything, 2011 taught me how fucked up it is to make decisions. Writing or photography was one thing, to let go was another. Getaran Jiwa is my parting gift to you; I might be about three years late but if I don't do this - Telling the world the story - I will never be able to truly move the fuck on. Ah, you get it don't you.

Tried a few relationships; failed miserably. Not enough spice, insanity and philosophy or I'm just picky. Take your pick. 2011 is a year where a few things were made clear, I know what I must do and while there's still so much that's veiled and left in the dark, I'm grateful for it. Also:

Dude. Dude. Dudeeeeeeeee....

Considering I have a short term memory and an even shorter attention span; I shall now proceed to forget about our good lady 2011 and fucking start living in 2012.

So. 2012.

If today is a template for the future, then I am rightly, justly, truly and verily fucked. A 12 hour marathon at Uni, with a fucking 'Elective compulsory' class to boot. Now what am I doing? I'm searching about brain-dead people giving away their liver and the fucking compatibility of em all; as if they're god damned motherfucking lego blocks. And coffee. And oranges. And a fucking subclinical shit brewing in my body.

You're out celebrating aye? Of course.

Tomorrow or actually today, I'm going to be a fucking emcee for some goddamn programme that require me to concentrate.

This pattern of having so much shit to do during new year's is quite disturbing.

What. This actually happened.

Happy 2012 motherfuckers. I actually mean that in a polite way.

Because They Deserve It.

2011-12-01T14:43:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-27T16:04:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-24T01:03:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-23T03:47:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-18T19:25:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-17T02:34:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-11-13T07:19:00.001+02:00

'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.

2011-11-11T07:21:00.001+02:00

As usual, Google Image never fails to deliver.

Sometimes, I think of it and I come to a conclusion that it's all the guys' fault. Taking everything into consideration, this is what I mean:

Guy wants a girlfriend/wife/slave/dominator. Not satisfied with this meagre classification, guy goes ahead and lists down a few(?) items in which said paramour must have in order to be selected.

1) Must be feminine (No, seriously, I don't even understand how a woman could be more feminine than say, being a woman.)

2) Must be shy and coy.

3) Must have a sense of humour and must be able to handle a joke.

4) Must act like a fucking fictional character.

5) Must be great at cooking.

6) Must be self-sufficient so as to not disturb guy when he's too obviously lazy/busy.

7) Must have the looks that rivals the goddess Aphrodite.

8) Must have melon tits.

And so on. Then, when said woman leaves for quite obvious reasons, they bawl, they curse, they pronounce everlasting hatred towards the female race. Then they go back to jacking off over lesbian porn.

Hence, my final say is this: If you're so much of a fucking Beta, don't be fucking picky, you spineless cocksucking pansy.

Courtesy of UrbanDictionary:

A beta is a male who, instead of being alpha and manning up, completely bitches out. Can apply to many situations, but often refers to scenarios with women.

Guy 1: Bro, hook me up with that girl's friend
Guy 2: Fuck that. I'm going to double up with both of them. Stop being such a beta.

This.

Why? Simply because I am tired. Tired of hearing whiny pansies complaining about how they've never found the girl of their dreams. How they've given everything, EVERYTHING, only to be dumped for another man. Sure, in their own words, it sounds pretty depressing. He did everything for her. Came home to find out she's playing doctor with another guy. She leaves him crumbling. It's quite okay to listen to the rants for about two bloody hours but after that it just gets pathetic.

Man the fuck up. If she leaves you, that just points out to two fucking simple things. One, you're simply not good enough for her and two, she's a raving whore. That's it. That. Is. It.

I admit, most of the time, I'm on the woman's side, being the fucking feminist myself but seriously friend, you cannot be that distraught over something so goddamned meagre. Move on. Many more fish in the sea. Bigger fish. Tastier fish. Shaved fish. Fish with bigger assets. Fish that could grant wishes. Tighter fish. Etcetera.

The problem with most of you fucking Men are that you were brought up to believe in the fantasy that you're more superior. Look around you, that shit doesn't make any fucking sense. You believe that you're one hell of a pussy magnet and that any woman attracted to you would be hooked. Seriously mate, they probably get bored faster. All you think about is having this fantasy romance and then you wonder why it didn't happen. I'm not saying that it will not, hell trust me, I'm all in for fantasy romances. The problem is that for it to happen, you might have to move away from the fucking monitor and come up with something.

Being alpha doesn't mean that you act like a douche and treat women like trash. It means you fucking man up, accept the fact that at times, you are indeed insufficient and that if she decides to leave you, accept the fucking fact. Then you find another person and try to make it work.

'But she cheated on me! SHE CHEATED! I've done everything and she rode that man like a goddamn seasoned jockey!'

So what if she cheated? I honestly don't think that it's wrong. That just means that your 'everything' is not enough. Refer above. If it is in fact, enough, then she's a whore. You're better off without her. Get your obese ass off the internet, exercise, get a job, be successful, get any woman you want and fucking be happy.

*

He doesn't understand you? He never does anything special? Open your eyes, you deluded woman.

I've always wondered, what is it about you women and hints. You give them out in such a discreet manner and then you get pissed off, you unleash the rage of a thousand burning demons and blame... Him. I really do wonder. There's only been two women that I've met who does not fucking participate in these heinous act. What the fuck.

This explains a lot.

Don't get me wrong, I think that once in a while, hints are okay but for the love of starving children, don't go fucking batshit insane if a guy doesn't get it. It just shows how fucking weird and shallow you are. In the event that a guy actually gets your hints, fucking appreciate it. Sometimes, I get why guys have an intense hatred to you women.

Guh, back to study.

Sleepless Nights 53 - Nostalgia Night.

2011-11-06T03:47:00.002+02:00

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.

2011-10-25T20:37:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-10-20T21:02:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-10-09T18:48:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-10-03T15:42:00.001+02:00

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.

2011-10-01T08:22:00.005+02:00

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.

2011-09-26T06:52:00.000+02:00

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.

2011-09-21T21:12:00.002+02:00

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.

2011-09-19T06:01:00.002+02:00

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.

Here's to a whole new year of asshole pulverisation.

2011-09-17T23:14:00.003+02:00

I'm back.

God damn it, I'm back.

Plunged right into chaos and disorganisation.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And I Dream...

2011-08-13T23:26:00.003+02:00

I descended. Of course, I would prefer to say that I slammed down onto a certain hard surface; splitting said surface and acting utterly superb but no, that would not have been the truth. I simply descended, slowly, and my feet touched the hard surface without any considerable impact.

I was naked, no, not naked, my flesh was not bared. It was, however, not clothed either, in the simplest sense, I could only describe a swirling cloud of unformed thoughts surrounding my body. So I set my mind to it, an easy feat, really. A shirt, plain, white, a tight fit for my small frame. Jeans, yes, dark as night. And a waistcoat, I felt like wearing something formal for I sense the presence of someone of utmost importance in the vicinity. Shoes? No, I wanted to feel the earth beneath my feet. The smoke dispersed, I adjusted my hair. I knew where I was.

Forward I moved, and the landscape twisted and turned as I walk past. Nothing is constant, noting ever stays the same. They continuously churn and wriggle, as worms do when they come in contact with a heat too great for their own life’s sustenance. I then stood forth before a castle, a looming silver behemoth of a structure, its very presence was demeaning and I knew that I have arrived to the Master’s lair. The gates were wrought of metals unbeknownst to me, they shone with an inner fire which blinded me. A voice boomed:

“Who dareth intrude the Master’s realm? Who dareth come unannounced? Who dareth challenge the might of Oneirus?” It chilled my very bones, the voice itself clawed at my heart, shred my will and I nearly faltered. In utter fright, I answered.

“I… I challenge no one. I do not find myself here complying with my will, nor do I know any purpose to which I am attracted to this strange city. I mean no harm and I come only armed with words and naught else.” Exhale. Calm down. You have not done any harm, a voice whispered in me. My courage returned to me, and I forced the demonic force present in the voice to flee.

“I seek an audience… With the lord of this realm, for I feel Lady Fate has brought me here for a reason, though the knowledge of that I have not.” Silence. There is not a whisper.

“You may enter, mortal. Enter the Lord’s sanctum and announce thyself.” The voice echoed and the gates swung open. I hesitated, of course, I knew not what lay in front of me. Doom or boon, and yet my insatiable curiosity forced me to ignore the fear and onwards I trudged.

Beautiful. As soon as I entered, I was greeted by arches and sculptures and wonders I could never find in the waking world. Announce myself, I remembered the voice telling me. But to whom? There is nary a soul present, only silent stares from stone and marble. Yet, I knew I had to, it was protocol and to go against it would prove to be destructive.

“I am a mortal man, of what house I know not. I humbly request an audience with the Master of this house, for I seek answers and wisdom. Forgive me, sire, if I have trespassed upon thy realm, for I mean not this intrusion.” I shouted, my voice echoing and clinging to the arches and pillars, as if they did not want to pass on.

“I heed thy plea, mortal, enter and we shall converse.” A different voice. It was somewhat distant, and I could only seem to remember bits and pieces of it when it ended. What manner of creature was I dealing with? Nevertheless I found my feet carrying my body deeper into the building. There was a massive door, closed, blocking my path. I thought of how futile it would be for me to open it, I knew that the strength in me was not sufficient to pry them open. Yet, as I touched it, slowly but surely did it part, just enough for me to enter.

“I welcome thee, mortal, to my realm. To how thou have had the ability to penetrate my barriers, I know naught of, but I welcome thee still.” I nearly collapsed. In front of my eyes sat a creature so majestic, so graceful and at the same time, malice emanated from it. It was in the form of a beast, sitting upon its throne with wings of the utmost beauty spread apart. Then it spoke: “Doth this form disturb thee, mortal? Why doth thou quake in fear, thy feet hardly able to support thy frame?”

“No, lord, I tremble and shiver only because of thine eloquence. Forgive this soul for exhibiting such impertinence before thee, my Liege.” I could hardly raise my voice, I felt as a mouse in the presence of a mighty feline, life hanging on a balance.

“Sit then, I cannot bear the sight of my guest in a state as such.” Behind me the same smoke which I had manipulated earlier appeared and it shaped itself into a chair with intricate carvings of marble and emerald. I did as I was told, and it calmed me.

“Now then, speak, what art thou wandering in my realm for? Didst thou not know the price of meddling in affairs unfamiliar to thou?”

I wanted to say that again, I did not know. That I was brought there against my will, as I had told the voice at the gate. Then it dawned upon me. I knew what I needed to ask.

“My Lord, I ask for pardon for what I ask may offend thee, however I must. Who art thou Lord? Where is this strange realm to which I am reduced to wandering without a cause?” The beast stared at me. Its eyes were dark pools with stars shining ever so brightly.

“I am one with many a name. Morpheus they call me, Oneirus, one of the endless, I belong to. I am Dream, the Master, and this strange land thou speak of; it is Dreamscape. The realm in which I reign and one which only I could alter. Thou mortal, do not belong here, but it seems that Lady Fate hath deemed it so that thee should arrive here. Destiny must have a hand in this, I shalt save this conundrum for later. And mortal, why do you not speak to me in a tongue more familiar to you? It is easier for you, and easier for me to fathom. I appreciate your humility, but it only goes so far. Please, be at ease. I do not mean harm.” The beast changed its form and from the smoke which appeared, out came a tall man, with wild hair and a thin frame. Only his eyes stayed the same, stars in dark pools.

“Forgive me, lord, but I am afraid. If you deem it so, then I will use this langue, but I cannot under any circumstances use a more colloquial variation. If I may be so bold, why am I here, good Sir, I cannot see my role in this play. Would you enlighten me?” As the words poured out, I felt a great surge of fear, again. What if he was offended by my words? What if I let slip a curse?

“I don’t know, myself. Destiny and Fate tend to work in ways even I cannot fully understand. What matters is that you’re here, and so I shall humour these turn of events. However, I cannot do this for long, I have matters to attend to. Ask me what you would like to know, child… I believe in common speech nowadays, it is called… ‘Shoot’?” He chuckled to himself, this seemed to humour him a great deal. I dare not ask.

“Sir… I…” Then it struck me. I only have a short period of time, and I know that I could only have an allowance of one single question. I doubt that I would meet him again. “Sir… Why… Why do I get these nightmares? These recurrent dreams that haunt me for so long, why do you allow them to ravage my very mind? Tell me, my Liege, for only you could fully comprehend this.” Cold sweat broke and wet my forehead. Will this anger him? Will I survive his wrath? He looked at me, and I could feel my mind telling me that I must run, if I were to have a chance to survive whatever catastrophe that was going to fall upon me. Then his expression softened, and he laughed. Hard, true and pure, the halls of his castle echo with his booming laughter. After a while, he composed himself and looked at me as a father looks at his troubled son.

“Child… Oh, child, foolish child, it is in my power to divulge that information to you but I will not. It would be pointless for me to do so, for a person whose very thirst is only satiated by the reaping of knowledge itself, I will deprive you of your very life force.” He glanced upwards, and at that time seemed very distant, as if he was disconnected to myself and his surroundings. Then he returned and his face exhibited urgency. I knew my time was up. “Now, mortal, it is time for you to return to your own world. I have other matters to attend you, and of grave importance they are. I have enjoyed this, child, verily and as payment… “ He opened his clasped palm and touched my temple with it. “Now dream… In peace…”

I dreamt.

This is what reading Dante's Divine Comedy and Gaiman's Sandman at the same time does to you.

Sleepless Nights 50 - Fucking ABBA, Why Are You So Goddamn Awesome.

2011-08-13T16:08:00.001+02:00

50. Holy fuck, '50 Sleepless Nights' posts.

I've come a long way since the first post, three years ago, writing wise and wiseness wise. Back then, I was still that bumbling fool, LOL-ing and fucking dancing in the clouds. Nowadays, my feet are more firmly attached to the ground and yes, in a way, I do miss those days. Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders. (Nietzsche.)

Ignorance, it is a curious thing indeed. I do not see the days where I was clouded in it bad, in fact, I think they were less taxing days. What you do not know, will hurt you not and that is probably the truest words in a sense. Metaphorically of course, if you do not know a lion, it could still maul you to death.

Finally, a picture!

Those days, everything was easy. It was easy to accept, it was easy to let go, it was easy to breeze past things. I did not think of questioning.

No, I won't trade this enlightenment for the past. To be as I am nowadays, is a gift, albeit a cruel one. I understand so much more, I've gained so much more knowledge and accompanying the pain, is a euphoria so massive that it gets me fucking high. Enough on that.

It's a funny thing growing up. To realise that you're ageing, to actually see the physical change, it humours me. Reminds me I'm human, I guess, prevents me from getting over me head.

With that said, holy fuck, I deserve to be fucking immortal. Why? Because I lust for knowledge, being present in this mortal cage will not satisfy this hunger growing more powerful every single day. I want more, and more, and fucking more, and there is no way I could achieve what I want with such a thing as age. I don't see the point in hoarding money, or women, or fucking being immortal just for the fucks of it, at the end of the day, these things will bore me. But knowledge... To have the ability to transcend above everything else, to know and to understand... That's the greatest gift and power a person could get. When the fuck is the philosopher's stone going to be discovered...

I've been writing a lot more than before, at the expense of photography. It's weird, it brings about such a profound sadness to not be able to capture the images I have in my head. Maybe it's time to actually chill the fuck out and start from scratch when the time comes... Fuck. Fuck.

I'd be a fucking awesome teacher. Like really fucking awesome. I'd teach the kids shit that the present flawed education system fails to integrate and they'll grow up knowing the importance of knowledge; not only in one specific field, but in a more diverse way. It's sad to see the future generation having to be shackled by the burden of a shallow mindset. I guess that's what I'd like to do. Change the academic system back home, so that there'll be no more Ministers who can't fucking speak proper English when interviewed by a goddamn global media channel. Oh yes, I abhor that fuck.

A long overdue chapter of 'Trade Bargain' is coming soon, how soon, I cannot specify. But it's developing, I think, hopefully into something worth reading... So much to do, so little time. I found out that Keats died at the age of 25. Fuck, the utter fuckupperry is massively depressing... Such a genius, such a romantic, gone before he could even fucking taste the bitterness of age. Hmmm, death, a curious thing indeed...

And fucking hot too, it seems.

I'm reading Gaiman's Sandman, fuck how does he even write that way dammit.

Ode to Time.

2011-08-10T06:23:00.000+02:00

The conqueror of all, thou art christened,

Never didst thou age, and never wilt thouunderstand,

An everlasting testament, a higher powerthere existeth none,

Death and life art thy puppets,

Swayeth they in the clutches of thin steelfingers.

Exceptions thou giveth not,

But this ailing soul with its yearnings andwants

Beseech thy grace to reconsider.

Strike me with thy furious wrath!

Tear at my body with claws of celestialomnipotence,

Bequeath this insolent flesh with the fireof thy pride.

Thou art my Queen, of all mortal souls,

A slave I am to thy grace and a slave willI remain,

Yet prithee, Milady, on all fours I beg,

Preserve these moments, prolong my bliss,

In thy currency I deal with thee.

Of man I am, weak and mortal,

Yet my heart in everlasting darkness

bow down to thee in utter humility,

Even when my senses scream and futile artmy pleas,

I durst for I have tasted an unrivalled stupor.

This prison wilt wither but thou shallremain,

To dust I shall return but to thee shalt mymemory remain.

Milady,

Canst thou spare this soul a night

To be with his beloved?

To cleanse my mind of thy authority,

And to accompany my cherished, nary aninkling of thy presence.

Wilt it be too grave of a sin, my Liege,

For I to deceive myself of thy procession?

Sleepless Nights 49 - You What?!

2011-08-07T07:12:00.001+02:00

I actually enjoy your depraved, temporary insane moments. Really I do.

But? There's always a but isn't there?

Yes, but. I cannot find it in my conscience to agree with what you did. Well, our conscience. For now.

The past is the past, innit? Look mate, I'm moving on. It's been what, how many years since back then, I think it's about fucken time yeah?

It's been four years. Four years. Three years and a few odd months, to be exact but I digress. That wasn't an act of moving on, that's denial at its best. Deny the fact that she ever existed, deny the memories and it's all fine and dandy, yes?

Sigh, why do we have to do this every single fucking time. Look, to be perfectly fucking honest, we haven't been in contact since the beginning of time-

Quite the hyperbole there, I must say.

Fuck you. As I was saying we haven't been in contact. If she saw me nowadays, riding the LRT or fucking a horse by the roadside, she wouldn't even recognise me. Maybe the odd feeling of familiarity but that's it. What's the use of keeping something that doesn't serve any function anyway? What possible good is there in keeping something that only reminds me of those fucked up days? None. Trust me one this, she wouldn't even realise what happened.

Haven't been in contact... Somehow I sense a flaw in the integrity of that statement... What is it, I wonder... Wait, let me think real hard, I'm pretty sure I know this one... Wait for it... Wait for it... Ah yes, of course! She tried to mend things didn't she? Way early. Quite a lot too, if memory serves and you remember it too. And what did you do? What did Mr. Tough guy do? You ignored the pleas of a crying damsel and you embraced the shattered bond. Quite fitting, I must say, indeed.

My point still stands. I acted like an asshole-

Like an asshole? Tut tut, I have to intervene. You acted on instinct and raw nature. Don't blame it on some god damned trait that doesn't even exist in you.

That's getting quite irritating. Very well then, I rephrase. I acted on impulse back then because I knew that there isn't a valid way that it would work out. I mean, seriously. I'm a free bird aren't I? Have been, will always be and I cannot, under any circumstances present, be chained down by something such as distance and what not. Unacceptable. Now that shit is over with, ages ago, we have not been in contact and our so called 'bond' has developed into only status likes and the occasional comment which has so far, been ignored by both parties. I see no point in even calling it a friendship. Her face is not a profile picture.

For fuck's sake, I know your fucking point of view. I always do, even when it's to the point of utter insanity but this, this isn't the way to fucking do it. I don't mind you removing all the other worthless fucks on the list, cause none of them even knows who you are. She does, fucker, and you know what else? She made an impression. Showed you your mistakes, fuck it, showed who you really are in monochrome. You don't just brush people off just fucking like that.

You do realise that through your own logic, this just means that I'm acting as natural as possible. I mean, hey, you're the one that said being an asshole is an inborn trait, aye? Also, where's the other guy? This is new, aren't you guys fucking twins?

The other guy is too pissed off to even speak to you. You disgust him for some reason and I find it quite easy to understand why.

Sigh, you fucking hypocritical fuckers. You didn't even like her and now, just because I did something offensive to you, out comes the holier than thou shotgun, eh? Nice going, really, the two of you. Just perfect. When I was fucking around, what did you say? 'Get out of this', 'It's obviously going to get ugly', 'She's not fucking trustworthy', all that jizz. And now, here we are. Nicely done.

Oh, trust me, I still don't like her. Too full of shit and superficial for my tastes. It does not, however, change the fact that you're in the wrong.

You know what, fuck you. I'm content. It doesn't bother me, I'm not losing any sleep over it and I can't fucking give a damn. You know when she'll realise all this? Yeah, I know that's what you were about to use as your next point because you're fucking me. She'll notice this on the 28th of next month, then she'll get pissed off. Then she'll forget about it, just like every other human being. At most, she'll send me a hate fuelled message. The outcome stays the same.

Ah, we'll see friend. We'll see. This might be interesting, I always knew how soft you are when them tears start rolling down. It'll be fun, real horrorshow.

You Think You're the Only One Who Have Rights?

2011-08-02T21:27:00.001+02:00

Dedicated to all SMOKERS:
A fully burnt cigarette ash said:
Today its me, because of u,
Tomorrow its u, because of me...
COPY N PASTE IF U HATE CIGARETTES AND SMOKING.

So, as I waited for daylight to emerge - Time to sleep, in other words - my eyes were forced to feast upon said words a distant acquaintance posted as his Facebook status. For some reason this irked the fuck out of me, possibly because said person was - Or maybe is - a smoker, and possibly because there's so many of that shit circulating round the internet nowadays. It gets old, and old is annoying.

What gets to me is that you people are constantly going on and fucking on about how being amongst smokers annoys you et cetera when none of you even have the goddamn balls / lady balls to go ahead and tell it to us face to face. In a public place for example, all you do is look at us in scorn as if we are the very scum of the multiverse itself. Never have you openly approached us and told us about your views and most of the time, you in your perfect little world think that we won't give a fuck anyway. Of course, here I am referring to the general populace, as I always do.

So here's my view on the whole fuckupperry. Most of you non-smokers have a somewhat twisted view in which you see yourself perched upon a high-up balcony and the rest of us i.e. smokers are ants with our feet firmly planted on the ground. In short, you believe that you're a higher race.

See, you have quite a few things right, I have to admit. The ultimate truth is indisputable after all. We have a short lifespan, yes. We have a tendency to make you hate us due to the fumes et cetera, hmmm, yes. That's as far as I can go, really. What you got wrong, ultimately, is that we're scum, and that we contribute to the degenerating morales of the youths today. I don't really get that, to be honest, cause using that logic, then I can safely say that people who wear say, sandals rather than shoes are in fact, evil masterminds.

Let's take a few scenarios. In a public place for example. Need I say any more? It's a public place. Public. Meaning for the use of all. If I, a smoker, were to indulge in my hobby, there isn't any rules that I'm breaching. The fact that you yourself are condemning me, is wrong on your behalf. It's a public place, I can do whatever the fuck I want as long as it doesn't go against the flow of society. Like, say, raping a prepubescent teen in broad daylight.

Then there's the whole restaurant dilemma. I wonder why is it that people actually get pissed off and bitch about the fact that smokers are disrupting their meal and precious bonding time when they're sitting in the fucking smoker's section. But of course, they're always right because they had no choice; the restaurant was fully booked, and it was the only seat they could get. Of course. If you actually used your fucken brain and eyes to observe, most of us actually exit the shop and smoke somewhere else. Most of us aren't that fucking thoughtless, and the rest, you just need to ask. But you're too great for that. Of course.

Personally as a smoker, I don't smoke right smack in the middle of a fucking crowd of people. I isolate myself out of where people breathe and what not. If I see a child, I walk away from him/her and you know what I honestly think? It doesn't fucking do shit. Why? Look around you. I'm a smoker, yes. Blame me, sure. But look at everyone else, drivers, litterers, corporate bosses in their glass offices, all that. If you were to say that we smokers are the main reason that you get sick, that you get frustrated and what not, then I can safely say fuck you. What about the fumes from vehicles and the pollution from your own home appliances? That hole in the ozone layer, exclusively from smokers? Wonderful, I should probably apologise to Motherfucking Nature the next time I meet her.

What I think? Just another reason for you to go ahead and take the golden free for all ticket to bash some fuck. To justify your greatness. To usher yourself in the spotlight and rightly say that you're better. To say 'Look everyone, I'm a way better human being than this bugger with his ciggie over here'. That's all there is to it. Self satisfaction. Nothing more, nothing less. Look, guy, if it comes to blaming, I can hold you responsible for half of the shit the world is suffering from. I honestly can, but what the fuck does it do?

Some of you go around saying that you want to help us. Well fuck, I never realised I needed helping. I must be that disconnected from meself to not have realised that. It's like I'm smoking because I have to, or else I'll be skinned alive by the cigarette companies. What fucking logic is that? I smoke because I want to, not because I'm forced to, it's because I like it. And probably addiction, but you know, minor stuff. You can actually help, come to think of it. By not fucking annoying me.

Sleepless Nights 48 - Out There be Monsters.

2011-07-31T07:10:00.001+03:00

I want to tell the world about it.

Of course you do, everyone does, everyone fucking does. Score, aye?

You're not telling the fucking world you fucktard. You know the stories. You know exactly what is gonna be said in the event that you tell.

Well... Yeah, but fucking hell mate, this is kind of a big thing. Like, holy fuck I can't believe this is fucking happening to me.

So tell 'em. No, fucken advertise it. Huge banners. In fucking bold.

Look, guy, you think that this'll fucking bring you untimely joy and happiness but let me be the first fucking one to tell you what exactly is going on. Your brain, that is the place in which I live in, is right now in the state of fucking euphoria. One, is due to the lack of motivation to do anything, because you're twisted that way. Two, it's because of the fucking endorphins. Three, it's because your little friend has finally had some fresh air. Well, not exactly fresh but meh, not like you give a fuck.

Honestly, what the fuck could they possibly say that would fuck me up. Build up a wee bit of tolerance, haven't I? Besides, I'll just, you know, let it slip. To trustworthy people.

Yeah, yeah, I mean what harm could they even do. Minus the physical harm, pretty much zero.

I am here because you're weak and torn and damaged. That is why it is my fucking obligation to fucking stop you. You know exactly what the human fucking tongue could dish out. You know the tainted seed it could implant. You fucking know. Don't do this. Don't fucking do this. Shit will get out of hand and your little witty argentum lingua won't be worth fuckshit.

But it's been so long. So fucking long since a bit of warmth got to me. I don't fucking know what exactly to do now do I? Might need some help here.

Yeah, quite, probably from someone who's been there. Yeah, that dude, had a little taste didn't he? No fucken harm in gaining some extra info, aye?

Haha. I don't even know why the fuck I'm trying to talk you out of this little wee jiffy 'ere. Christ, it's fucken history innit? Repeating itself. Fucking again. You're gonna do the same thing you did, then it's back to the abuse and the numbness. Haha, mate, you know what, go ahead. Go fucking ahead, do what you do fucking best, go forth and destroy some fuck's life. Go ahead, because you're egoistic fuckself can't handle the fact that you're not built for shit like this. Holy fuck, you're pretty fucken cheap aren't ya? A little tease of the ol' gulliver and you fall straight into it like a fucking pathetic little bitch. Fucking perfect. Then you know what happens? I have to fucking tolerate all the bullshit while you retreat into your little fucking hermit hole and cower in silence. I'm the fucking one that's gonna have to fucking take over and act all fucking normal and fuck, when my fucking place is not fucking out there.

Oy you mean little fuck, give the guy a break will you? Been awhile hasn't it? 'Sides, it's all fun and fucken games aye? Haven't been into the whole flutter effect? Listen, phai, keep it here, just at this level. Bit of the ol' sugar coating, bit of the ol' teasing and that's it. Just fun and games. And manipulation. See how far you can go eh? Or not.

To be fair, I did lay a rough sketch of the ground rules didn't I?

Of course you fucking did. Didn't help all that fucken much back then did it? Or the what, the next four, five times? Sigh, fuck this. Abandon this ship mate. It's been sinking, you just happened to stumble across it and found out how perfect it fits your description.

Nope, you can't turn us off, mate. We're gonna be here, all the fucking time.

*

I told you so.

I know.

He told you so.

I know.

I don't really mind though.

Oh, look at Mr. Liberal here. Yeah, your little waggling don't exactly work on me. Us. You know. Since we're the fucken ones that come up with it.

It ain't that bad is it? I mean, pretty weird, yeah, pretty fucking awkward indeed but that's the end of it, aye? Their loss?

I'm blinking metaphysically in utter disbelieve at that notion. Is there any fucking sanity even left in your fucking gulliver? Phai. This is the whole 'I lost my fucking kid sibling in a fucking accident' sob fucking story. It's motherfucking fiction. How the fuck can't you even see that? It's not even a fucking good attempt. It's like a fucking green tit blender. You see? It doesn't fucking exist because blenders don't normally fucking have tits!

Ho man, we should definitely get a fucking sword. Like a big ass goddamn claymore.

I don't know. I don't fucking know any fucking more.

Sleepless Nights 47 - Hmmm...

2011-07-27T11:22:00.003+03:00

Well, exams are fucking over with finally. There's a calm feeling washing over me right now, knowing that I won't ever have to fucking read Biochemistry any more. Or is that wishful thinking? Of course it fucking is, when does Medicine ever abide to the wants of her students... It's like a fucking Sadomasochistic relationship, only that I'm the fucking masochist. For fucking ever.

Pictured: Medicine,\; whipping everybody into submission since Hell got a tad bit warm for human habitation.

Ah well, I'll cross the fucking bridge when I get there.

Surprisingly, for one who have finished a month of exams, I'm not exactly in an epileptic fit of utter bliss. For some reason shit keeps on coming up, like fucking people with their fucking problems, fucking shoving it in my face like I actually fucking give a flying fucking fuck. To be perfectly honest, I can tolerate shit, actually, I'm fucking like it when you relate shit and fucking whine at me. It gives me a sense of accomplishment see, some sort of ego boost. What pains me is that when you know, you fucking shove the same shit down my throat as if I like fucking repetitions. For the fucking love of whatever it is that's holy, have some variation.

Summer, as they so rightly say, is the season of misunderstandings. I quite like that quote meself really, knowing how true it is since it's fucking evident every fucking where. This time however, I'm finding myself, yes moi, right smack in the fucking middle of it. Jesus fuck, what on fucking earth do I even do in this circumstances. Do I go ahead, like a goddamn idiotic lumbering fuck, or do I stay behind the line and cackle like a fucking maniac. Disadvantage of the latter is this:

Sigh, this is pretty much what I hate about the human race. It's the need to be all fucking coy, giving out hints like they're fucking candy and my God they do it as if its an obligation towards the sustenance of life. Look, it might work well with every other fuck in the world, but for fuck's sake, you give hints to an over the top honest fuck, all he is ever going to understand is you're being a tad bit cheeky. Whatever happened to days where people used to shout how they feel from a fucking mile away? Those were simpler times, indeed. No wonder we're having these goddamn wars and protests et cetera. I'm as dense as an otherworldly metal yet to find its way to earth, christ, why is it communication so fucking awkward nowadays. Or is it just me?

There's also the unresolved issue of this hut I call home. Paying LE 400 is not fucking worth it in this place, not under any fucking circumstances. Sigh. The nomadic tendencies are already infused in the genes I see... It'd suck to move again...

I've also polished off the last of my coffee reserve with a little bird earlier, so now I'm going to have to consider suicide as a viable option. Or buying some of them fine grained coffee powder... Why on earth is it so fucking fine anyway? Cap Tupai... I'm going to miss you, friend... You have been with me through thick and thin, stayed with me without fail on those sleepless nights, urging me to not cave in to the temptation of Lady Sleep. You laughed with me when my eyes are bright and my days happy, you inject the very essence of comfort into my blood when the skies are grey and my soul fragile... You fend the claws of past sins when they were just about to reach me, knowing very well how lethal their touch could be... Good night, sweet prince, fare thee well along thy journey into the sunken abyss... One day we shall be reunited.

Only one photo of you to have ever graced the internet... The injustice...

The company was fuck good though, I cannot find any fault. A tad bit lack of sleep resistance though, but ah well, that could be repaired.

On the lighter side of things though, I reckon that I could have a bit of space to spend in the coming days before the UK tour, just maybe... I don't know what amount is left in me bank account but I have been keeping the expenditures to a minimum. Also, reduction of my waist size to fucking 28. Let's see how far we can get this baby to go, aye.

Anyway, this blog of mine is going to go on hiatus while I fuck around in the UK, stuff happening over there will be updated in me travel blog which can be found GERERERERERERERE.

Cheers, fuckers.

You Fucking Insane Brain.

2011-07-23T14:04:00.001+03:00

It's fucking weird, you know. I've been fucking trying to get less hours in my sleep but with better rest (If you don't fucking understand what I said, click this long ass bitchy link.) but most of the time, I get to the point where a day will pass with what, 2 hour power naps 4 times, then it's back to fucking 10 hours of sleep.

Then on days like this, my body will fucking think that hey, maybe today is a fucking good day to do that, let's just sleep for fucking 3 hours now. Sure, it's pretty nice and everything, I wake up refreshed and all that jizz. Unfortunate as it is, my body is a fucking idiot and it'll do this in the worst possible situations. Take today for example. I was up till 7 am just now, Skyping with a few old friends while trying to cram as much Parasitology as possible into the unwilling brain. After all that shit is done with, I thought yeah, an 8 hour sleep would be perfect, I'll wake up at 3 or 4 in the evening and then I won't sleep until tomorrow after the fucking exams. Apparently, that thought didn't set in me fucking gulliver, instead it thought 'Meh, you know what, fuck this shit, I'm gonna wake up and start functioning at motherfucking 12 pm, cause fuck long sleep.'.

What will fucking happen is that I'll feel fucking sleepy as a fucking doped up terminal patient by 10 pm, which will fuck up my cycle and if I don't sleep, my fucking tongue will feel fuck weird. Like it's too big for my already oversized mouth cavity.

Still, I can't complain about falling immediately into REM sleep, lucid dreams are never to be complained of. Doing so will result in gaining a cardinal sin, like getting a black star in fucking kindergarten.

Enough on that. I just realised how fucking weird it is to catch up with fucks that I haven't seen in three years and realise that none of us have really undergone a metamorphosis of the self (Change does not exist, remember?). It's like after all these years, we are still those fucks having no clue whatsoever to what we are doing, relying instead on the passage of time to reveal stuff to us... I actually expected something to surprise me; a new way of speech, physical appearance or just a new fucking way to laugh. It's somewhat comforting.

On a more depressing note, how is it even plausible for someone as fucked up as I to have such loyal friends? Like fuck, if I have to, I'd frig 'em over, and yet they still abide and prefer to not think of the day where I might actually do that... Hmmm...

Ah well.

Also, 10,000 views, I think this post is just a sad excuse to thank thee reader(s?) for being the silent non-commenting types. You know how much I love it when you do that.

Sleepless Nights 46 - (Fucking) Love M.D.

2011-07-16T22:00:00.001+03:00

So, as it is, an apparently enlightened female soul has found it in her conscience to liberate me from my own ignorance by telling me that hey, for some reason unbeknownst to mankind, that I have a rare gift which is the inability to fucking understand the notion of romance. She further based this upon the fact that;

1) I have been single for about three years.
2) I am apparently mean to women.
3) I don't seem to pay much attention to the other sex.

So with the arsenal of three seemingly valid reason, she valiantly handed her verdict to me and she further justified herself with the sentence and I quote "... I know you're going to deny this."

To make it crystal clear, I am mocking this lady because at this moment, I am awfully offended and well actually downright insulted.

Inability to love, you say? There are three things I take pity upon right now; your parents for having brought up such a shallow little cretin, the government and the people of our country for having spent money on you and your education and your intelligence which resides in you because I see not the how you could utilize it.

I'm going to disprove every single one of your claims, and then I am going to further mock your moronic ideology because as much as I know that this won't change a thing about your shrewd mentality, at least I'll have my say. Also, I doubt that this level of English would appeal to you since I am pretty sure that your comprehension doesn't exceed a ten year old. That was me being polite. You might want to have a dictionary by your side.

As preposterous as your first claim is, you are right about a part of it. I'm single yes, not by choice but more of an obligation to the gene pool. Over here, my choices are extended to the likes of you. What's wrong with being yourself, you might ask? Please, let me elaborate in excruciating detail. Unlike most men, I could give physical attraction some slack, I don't give a fuck about your body parts - Which you seem to lack anyway - the only valid thing I seek of is a face which I could bear to look at for half a day, and your personality. Now, since your face is not something which would make me look forward to my day, I would still consider it since there is a probability that your personality might just brighten my dull life. Then I think of it and I realise that all that is just a mere fiction of my imagination.

Apart from having the stature of a prepubescent teen, your mind and ego makes a puddle of water seem like the vast ocean. You're a shallow little fuckling with a perspective narrowed down to your academic performance and your dreams of prince fucking charming. You have a disability in the terms of widening your horizons; you see a road and you refuse to follow it because amidst all that confident persona you pretend you are, there lies a core of cowardice which has you so tangled up in its roots and branches that you've felt comfortable living in that hell hole. You're lazy and negative, your ideal future is to stay at home and reproduce while waiting for a husband to come home and treat you like a lower mammal. So with all of this said, do you honestly think that I would like to waste my time and effort to offer someone like you, my love? Of all the better potential out there, do you think that I'd settle for an inferior little you?

Now, onwards we trudge to challenge (Which trust me, is too strong of a word for your little puny statement) which is the fact that I am mean to women. I refute your claim by saying that I am mean to most people, regardless of sex. Why? Hmmm, I can't really put my finger on it but I believe it has something to do with, I don't know, maybe the fact that most of you have the intellect of a cretin? How am I supposed to treat you as a functioning adult when your mind is underdeveloped, your maturity at the level of a zygote and your actions are on par to that of a domestic animal?

I have people whom I treat as my equal because these are the people to whom I could have an argument with, whom I can raise my voice to and refute any of their claims but after all that, we could go grab a fucking coffee and laugh at people like you. And they do the same to me because being offended doesn't exist in our vocabulary, we have an unspoken rule that all of our debates are based on the fact that we disagree and hence, we aim to have total honesty. Your definition of 'mean' is sadly a fucked up one, because as far as I'm concerned, I try to be honest in most of my dealings but you, O my fucker, can't seem to accept this truth and hence you label it under a term which you feel is fair to you. The people whom I treat as equal do not begrudge me when I tell them that maybe the dress that they're wearing is a tad bit too funky for the day, they begrudge me when I lie to their face and tell them they look splendid. They accept my opinions with an open mind and if they find the need to disagree, they speak up. So if telling me that I'm mean to women, then fuck you, it is fucking obvious that this 'women' that you speak of only pertain to little shallow you, fucking selfish bitchlet.

Now, let us move on to the last of your so called 'valid' point which is the fact that I don't pay much attention to the other sex. I'm going to go out of my way here and say that this is a repetition of the first point, but then again, I guess that reflects your ability for critical thinking. Here I actually thought that someone of your academic calibre could at the very least give a sound argument. Who am I fucking kidding, really.

Since you have a knack for repetition, I'll do the same but because I refuse to stoop down to your level, I'll find a different set of points to use and you know why? Because unlike you, it does not tax my brain to have to think of all these, it comes naturally and in all truth, I feel a wee bit sad for your trapped intelligence. It deserves to be placed in a more liberated physic. A homeless person would do. So let me get to the point. Why I don't pay much attention to the other sex round here. That's pretty simple actually, as I have outlined before, the potential here is not only pathetic, it's almost non-existent. To be paying attention to the likes of you would taint my lineage, it would be a direct insult to my forefathers. In simpler terms, if I ever have my dick touch any part of you, it would result in an immediate severance of everything I hold dear to me.

The truth is that some of you devotchkas here have a pretty sweet face with a nice personality to go with it. What's stopping me then? The fact is that every single time I pass by you fuckers give me a look as if I'm a fucking rapist. A religious obligation I hear you say? I call bullshit, to insult a person would be such a nice thing God tells you to do. I honestly don't give a fuck if you would want to look to the ground - I'd do so too, really, those manholes are a bitch to skip over - but when you look away as if I'm a goddamn leper, it gets personal.

A manhole; in case you didn't understand.

Here's the deal. I'm not pissed off at the fact that you blatantly took a hit at something you have no inkling over. I'm not pissed off over the fact that you can't even give a good argument. What I am pissed off, is that it was uncalled for. Also, your understanding of love is shallow and perverted.

You think that love is about the bond shared between two humans, a bond which they will hold on to until they get married, have children and then fucking die. My definition is that love is an abstract object that could latch on to anything - Anything - and because of this, it could bring forth magic and enlightenment. It can cause a person to be happy for the rest of his life, at the same time it could cause the same person to go insane. It could manifest itself in the form of music and it will lead to masterpieces, it could be present in between a painter and his/her subject. It could lead to creation, and it could cause imminent destruction. It's everywhere. The same love could evolve into hatred.

So, here, let me ask you a pretty simple question. With so much things to love, why, why in the name of everything fucking holy and unholy; would I choose to love you? You, a weak coward with a shallow mind. You with a touch that spells death to intellect and joy. You. Why the fuck, would I ever do that.

The Colours of Our Flag.

2011-07-15T11:06:00.000+03:00

I rarely write about politics. It's because I'm not interested in it and at the same time, I don't have the adequate knowledge. This however, is an exception because this is my country in peril and I will not let it pass without saying a word.

As most of you know, there's the Bersih 2.0 rally going on. So far there's the whole separation of the rakyat where some support Bersih while the others are against it.

Where do I stand? Right now, I can honestly say that I'm against both, the participants of Bersih and UMNO supremacists. I admit that I am in support of the idealism of Bersih. Who wouldn't be, really? A movement to remove corruption from the very heart of the nation, that would be such an idealistic vision. I want that, everyone wants that. What I do not want, is blood to be spilled over it.

I don't agree with the fact that there has to be a rally over this. Sure, I get the point that you want your voices heard loud and clear. I get the fact that the government aren't the most receptive things around. I get that you've had enough of whatever it is that you find flawed. However, I do not agree that a mass protest would be the best way to resolve this. What happened to forming a committee and sending representatives with the memorandum? I know that some are going to say that it is not going to work but I'm sorry for being condescending, you have not tried have you? If you had, and you failed, it would be to your advantage; you have a stronger point to convince the people with. The government are not run by idiots, they've been in power for 50 years not only because they're tyrants. It's also because they know how to win people over.

I wonder, however, at the aim of the rally. It's plain and simple, of course. To hand over a memorandum to the King, and strongly hope that it all goes well. At this point I must stop myself and inquire about the logic of getting the King involved. Why? What good does it make? Am I the only one who realises that the King is no more than a symbol in our country and that he holds no power whatsoever in the comings and goings of the fucked up administration? What could he possibly do with these demands? He could read it of course, support it, carve it into marble and hang it outside the palace but that's it. Why did Bersih not go to someone with a more direct involvement in the administration, say the Prime Minister himself? Folly? The fact that you have not tried is already a testament to your unwillingness to explore other option, instead you want to go through with the one which would generate as much discontent as possible.

The current government is shit, I agree. Spending the Rakyat's money as if it were milk poured into a huge bowl of cereal, I understand the need to be angry. I am angry. I am pissed the fuck off when I heard that a facebook page needs to be maintained at a cost of about one million Ringgit. I'm pissed the fuck off when I heard a fucking ring costs 73 million Ringgit. I'm pissed the fuck off when I heard that a proposed MRT project would cost 50 fucking billion Ringgit when the Trans Siberian link only costs 3 billion (Citation needed). Look, I myself am not sure about the facts but listening about this scares the shit out of me. However, and this is important, it does not stand to reason for any to bypass all the ethical and moral barriers just because of all this fuckupperies the present government. People are angry, they fear for the future, but there has always been a guideline to overcome these problems.

I heard (and am not entirely sure of this) that Bersih aims to follow the footsteps of the Egyptian revolution. I cannot hold back but ask this: Are you motherfucking insane? The Egyptians won, yes, but at a cost so high that we won't be able to pay. Not only were there countless casualties, their economy is fucked up beyond relief. There's a price for hard fought peace, and often, it is not one that we are prepared to pay.

Now there's this whole anti-Bersih thing. Not only do I find this extremely offensive, it's an insult to every single Malaysian out there. What happened to being tolerant and patient? What happened to keeping calm and analysing the whole situation? Or am I the one who is being delusional in believing that my fellow countrymen could do that? Fuck you Perkasa. Fuck you for being so fucking fragile and scared of change.

People are at the moment, delirious. There's a voice in everybody's head asking what is to happen to the country if this is what the government is like. I myself have been asking the question countless of times and I'm in Egypt for fuck's sakes. If I were in Malaysia, I'd probably start constructing a goddamn killing machine and go on a rampage. That's why I looked at the way Barisan National handled the rally as an embarrassment. They allowed themselves as the ruling party to be provoked, they allowed their ego to top their rationality and sadly, that brought much chaos. They did not think about the consequences of their actions but instead, they held dear the phrase 'To live during the moment.'.

They should have allowed the rally to go on. That's what I honestly think the best way is. If they had, the memorandum would be sent to the King (I'm still in doubt over the effectiveness of this.) everyone would have gone home and that's it. They would have prevented the loss of resources by dispatching the FRU, they would have stopped unnecessary violence and most important of all, is that they could at least have been praised by the media. Now, there's thousands of videos and what not condemning my fucking country and making the lot of us look as if we're a goddamn bunch of unruly barbarians.

What's worse is the by-product of the rally. Hatred goes without saying, racism, the seeds of a major catastrophe being sown into the minds of our generation; the generation that is supposed to take over the reins of leadership. I have personally seen on facebook how photos have been spread by obvious racists with condescending remarks and people react to it by showing how shallow they really are. They allowed themselves to ignore the brain they have and be swayed by what they see without factual evidence. So I ask, when will this stop? Do we need another 13th of May to finally realised what fuck ups we are? I hope not.

It's funny. Yellow and Red (and Blue, if you consider the police force) going at each others' throat when nobody stopped to see that all these are the colours of our flag. Our Jalur Gemilang. It's been far too long for one without the proper knowledge to talk, so I'll stop. Just my two fucking cents.

Mania; Part One.

2011-07-12T18:42:00.001+03:00

Nowadays…

I feel dead inside,

Like a machine, I go about doing my daily chores and errands,

Numb; the cells dead and fossilized,

The blood in my veins stand still and coagulate,

My heart; it’s just a dry well.

Nowadays…

I feel old,

The demons of past sins claw and they gnaw at my brittle bones,

My hands tremble and they shake,

Nights are never peaceful but then again, so are the days.

Nowadays…

I look in the mirror

and all I see is a void, a deep black abyss,

Churning and turbulent, it has its teeth sunk so deep into my soul

That all I can feel in between the pangs of despair and numbness,

Is a deep stabbing pain.

Nowadays…

I lie down on a bed

With seven different women of seven different colours from seven different continents,

And all of them, they do seven different things which gives me the illusion of heaven,

Yet all I can feel, all this fragile soul can feel…

Cold.

Nowadays…

I look at the sky

And all I see are white clouds amongst the light blue sky,

Gone are the scene of angels and demons at war,

Gone are the different worlds which I used to play in when I was a kid.

All that is left is the monotonous white clouds amongst the endless blue.

Nowadays…

I try to talk,

But the only sound I have left is silent sobs,

I try to sing a happy song,

But all I can come up with is a lament to this crumbling decrepit world.

Nowadays…

I wake up in the morning,

Only to find my body rigid and paralyzed,

I see my soul hovering over me weeping,

It refuses to return into this prison,

This ugly feeble prison.

Nowadays…

I welcome the descend of chaos,

To wake up knowing that many have not the pleasure of doing so,

Going out and examining the splatter of blood against an unfortunate wall,

Watching the faces of wailing women as the martyrs are paraded,

I feel as if God is by my side.

Nowadays…

I see naught but an endless road,

One that I tread on, one that I’ve known since birth,

It goes on, across the horizon, over the rainbow and under the ocean,

I strain my eyes, I squint and I blink but all I see at the end,

Is myself, staring back, dead eyed.

Nowadays…

I fear everything,

People passing by, a balloon floating pass,

They conspire and they plot,

Cold sweat line my brows and my heart races,

The Sun, its malice pierces through.

Nowadays…

I am constantly pinned down,

The burden of being utterly useless,

Crunches down on my bones,

It bludgeons me, runs me down, I cry!

Bloodied and broken, I lie crumpled.

Nowadays…

I watch as pieces of myself,

Crumble and dissolve and disintegrate,

A million shattered pieces forming a trail of despair behind me,

I hug myself, fear grips and I shudder,

It does not help.

Nowadays…

Nowadays I fall,

And the ground, oblivion,

She welcomes me.

Listen.

2011-07-11T03:59:00.000+03:00

Listen.

Do you hear it?

The tension of my body’s strings increasing,

As your voice, it tunes them,

Your mind composing the song

And your fingers running through,

From me and from me alone,

You could bring forth music.

Do you hear the deep bass beats,

Of my heart as it thumps and bumps along,

The tempo increasing as you skip among the lillies,

Moonbeams shine upon you and only you,

Drumroll, cymbals clash;

You hold my hand.

Listen to the trumpets and the sax,

Going on and on and on,

Like a bird in flight swooping and sweeping,

My breath erratic, struggling,

The sweet scent of jasmine in your hair,

Out comes the fluid tune which the angels envy,

Only you, love, only you could bring it forth.

Have you heard the string quartet,

Resonating from my voice as I look to you confused,

My mind catatonic, scrambled, insanity descends,

The violins and the cellos playing ever so furiously,

Then softly, calm,

As you hold me tight and tell me that it’s okay.

I wonder if you heard,

The scaling and the bends and the licks,

Of an electric guitar with its amp on full blast for all the world to hear,

Simply as you smile and tell me that you’re mine,

Note after note, fret after fret,

Like a twenty minute solo,

Without even the lightest glitch.

Do you hear, love, do you hear?

The piano weeping,

Its pain raw and painful,

Suppurating, malignant and bleeding,

On and on it goes, grieving,

And it’s all because you’re not there,

Listen, my charm, listen well,

Listen to this instrument of yours,

Only by your hands could my noise be composed,

Arranged and sown together to form something so utterly soothing,

Listen well, my maestro,

Listen.

Sleepless Nights 45 - Because Real Women Never Seem to be Good Enough.

2011-06-21T07:51:00.000+03:00

Being the drama (Queen, King, Prince) that I am, people seem to misunderstand me when I say that I can't be involved in a relationship. Sure, I talk about how fucking hot some girls / women are, but hey, I solemnly believe that being associated just for the sex is not, in fact a legitimate relationship. Why should it be, really, why complicate things.

The truth is, I have a wide range of things I want in a woman and unfortunately, these things often contradict each other. I'd like a lady who's an evil mastermind but at the same time, I'd want the essence of innocence. I want a lady who's artistic, but at the same time, I want her to be a total fucking geek. In short, I'm greedy as hell and I want everything rolled into one package. Like a massive sushi. With boobs. Or you know, if technology allows it, I'll clone a female copy of myself and marry her. Yeah.

Strange. Sushi with boobs actually have results...

So, how do I combat this whole conundrum? I turn to fiction. Fiction allows so many things to come to fruition. I can get my sushi boob and at the same time two time on my female clone because fuck it, I deem that they live in two separate planes of existence and only I can move freely between them. Fiction, is the answer to my childhood, fiction is my reality. Fuck all the relationship problems you'd get, in my world, there is none. Sure, I hear murmurs of 'Freak' or 'Loser' or 'Retard' but the beauty of it is that I don't care. The fact of the matter is that I can get a real lady to entertain me but what's the fun in that? This lady is going to eventually want presents and fuck, she'd need attention. I can't give that, I pay attention only to myself. So, the following are the ladies that had helped me get pass being a needy little hormonal fuck. God bless their immortal souls.

And yeah, they don't age either.

1. Daphne Anne Blake

I admit, this is kind of weird. But the past is the past, and when I was a kid, I watched a fuckload of Scooby Doo, after an hour of Discovery Channel. It was a requirement set upon by my mother but enough on that. Daphne, through my wee eyes, was simply fuck awesome. I mean seriously, she was fuck smart, looked awesome, rides a fucking VW, and goes around ghost hunting. What more would you want. I hated that blonde fucktard in the white shirt, even as a kid, I'd understood that he was the epitome of douchebagerry. And the other girl? Fuck that, the other girl didn't even have a name... Did she?

2. Final Fantasy VII Girls.

In all their pixelated glory!

I shit you not, this was like a fucking obsession. Is.

I didn't really give a fuck about Aries though, she's too nice and well, she kind of died halfway. But Tifa and Yuffie though, those were quite special indeed. I mean really, both of them could probably beat me up and leave me a crumpled husk by the roadside. Which is hot, I think.

Yuffie's a ninja. Those three words are pretty much the main components of obsession, you put a barely legal girl in a ninja outfit and send her out into the wild. All that's ever going to come out of that is rule 34. And Tifa's anatomically disproportionate body, sigh.

3. Morrigan Aensland.

I pretty much remember the first time laying my eyes on her. She was a playable character in the very first Marvel vs. Capcom which was on the PS1 and holy frak did I ravage her. Uh. On the console I mean, beating the Hulk to a bloody fucking pulp. There's also this fan comic of most of the Darkstalkers characters which I got my hands on (In a secretive manner I believe, the content of said comic could cause the multiverse to implode upon itself and create a new big bang.)

4. Mandy from the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy; previously part of Grim & Evil.

We used to have real fucking good cartoons back then, and jesus fuck, I really do wonder where the fuck those days have gone. Grim & Evil used to fuel my childhood with the consolation that the thoughts I was having was pretty normal. Now all you have is motherfucking Cow and Chicken. Humanity is indeed doomed.

Anyway, seriously, you could throw in any badass female persona into the mix, and none of them would even come close to the ultimate awesomeness that is Mandy. I mean really, she's technically an infant wears a weird little infant dress and she could manage to whoop everybody's ass to bits. Including the fucking Grim Reaper. If that's not a testament to her capabilities then i don't know what else is.

She's a constant reminder that those days were ultimately more awesome. We had good music, good cartoons, good familial values and appreciation. We even fought with more honour. I honestly can't figure out what happened to the years after I was born, it's like 1991 was the last year that awesomeness survived. Now, you have Bieber, then Black, and then a girl who looks like Bieber and is feeding off his fame. Humanity failed, and Mandy is constantly there with a baseball bat to remind us of it.

5. Android 18 from Dragonball.

I'm pretty sure this list is pretty fucking weird but fuck it.

6. Lúthien Tinúviel.

Your mind, body and soul.

I've said this once, and I'll say it again and again till your ears develop vocal cords to drown my voice. The Lay of Leithian or the Tale of Beren and Lúthien is undeniably the awesomest love story ever. Why? Because she's fucking in it.

The beauty of written words is that your imagination will be free of any pesky weights which society forces upon and you can just soar. For example if I say big without any reference to an object, everybody will have a different idea of what big is. It's the same thing with beauty. Tolkien described milady to his utmost capabilities but somehow, it doesn't really work. My Lúthien will be unique to myself that through my eyes, none could compare. Which is why she's on my list, she can be anything, she can take almost any physical mortal form, and she can be anything.

If that didn't make sense, I actually understand. I don't understand half of what I'm saying either right now. Go away sleep, I need to study.

7. Enma Ai from Jigoku Shoujo / Hell Girl.

Now we come to the ones who pretty much made me realise that the world is not a place that promises happiness. First off, we have the one and only Enma. Okay, first off, I have to clarify that though she may be barely legal, technically she's about 2000 year old. If anything, I have an obsession with a cougar. A very fucking hot cougar.

She has everything doesn't she? Long hair, bangs, dead eyes (Which are motherfucking red. Suck on that normal humans.) and the prized 'I don't give a fuck attitude'. Also, she's an emissary of hell itself so I believe that it should add about a gazillion points to her value? Seriously, a valid chance to be with her for eternity... I'll do almost anything. From being a slave to destroying earth.

Fuck man, just look at her.

8. Nishino Tsukasa from Ichigo 100%.

I'm pretty sure that most of you don't know who/what she is or what Ichigo 100% is. She's fictional, it's a manga and guuuhhhh thou shalt go retard whilst reading it.

9. Death from Neil Gaiman's Sandman.

Jesus fuck, do I even have to say any more? She's Death, and unlike the oh so fucking common character portrayal (Hats off to Neil Gaiman for pulling this off) she's... Nice. And warm. It's like what I see Death as, not some twisted creature, skeletal or whatever.

Also, as the picture above shows; hot much? Always in black leather, that's enough for me, oh yes.

10. Yuuko Ichihara

Come to think of it, I naturally suck when it comes to traditionalist. I like tradition, I like having something that you have to protect and to teach for it to remain alive. Hence, it's only obvious that I'd be attached to such an awesome character. I mean in a whole, the manga itself is quite painful to read with the plot holes and the fucked up ending but she pretty much saved it. The character, the addition of eccentricity... But mostly it's the whole traditionalist thing, fuck, where have all the ladies with great appreciation of the old days gone to? I mean really, where?

Also, long hair and bangs, ah fuck.

11. Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel or as awesomely known as: Harley Quinn.

I'm not gonna lie to you. She's number 1.

Ever since I was a kid, I've had a crippling fear of clowns and mimes and whatever it is that paints a smile on it's face. Then I remembered watching the Batman animated series, and when the Joker came about with his fangirl, Harley, it fucking blew my mind. They don't hide the fact that they're evil little fuckers. Like, painted face is a yes, laughter all the more but no whining or pretending and shit. Just plain unadulterated violence.

So I guess I was naturally made to fall for Harley. Like, fuck, what kind of irony is it to be so obsessed with one's mortal fear. Shit, whoever made the sketch above is fucking godlike, that's one hot Harley. I remembered watching the Return of the Joker, and there's the part when Harley falls off the cliff and fuck, the depression that came about... That sucked.

So yeah, fuck all the hot ladies of the fucking world, gimme a Harley Quinn, fictional or not, and I can go celibate. Who needs em, eh?

Sleepless Nights 44 - Pain.

2011-06-13T01:39:00.000+03:00

No, for once I'm not going to bore you with the metaphysical realm. Instead, I'll focus on the physical stuff and what more awesome way to do so then by bringing forth the gift of pain.

1) Taste Buds.

So, unless you're the few mutated infants who could read by the time your brain have not even developed, there's probably a hundred percent chance that you've had the pleasure to experience ulcers in your mouth. If you are, in fact, the mutated infant, I strongly suggest that you leave and never come back to this hallowed grounds. I hate you.

Anyway, with the freak of nature out of the way, let's start. Ulcers aren't actually painful per say, I believe that at most, they're just a minor irritation, an inconvenience, maybe an object subject to much hatred when you're trying to manoeuvre your tongue away from another hot, wet muscle invading your buccal mucosa. I'm just saying. I'd be very much irate, to be honest.

Pain however, makes it's graceful entrance by waltzing in when one of two things happen: Either the ulcer comes in contact with salt, which I'd give a 3 on a scale of 1 - 10 on the pain rating or when you foolishly try to tear the ulcer out with your fingernails. On a scale of 1 - 10, I'll give it a zero, actually because no scale could even come close to measuring the amount of pain I felt.

No, I don't know why I did it. It seemed quite logical at the time. So, first off, you receive the sting when your obviously grimy fingers come in contact with aforementioned ulcer. It does not matter though, it's only a 3 and you've gone through far worse, haven't you. Then you shape your thumb and index fingers to the likes of a forceps, and you bring the two nails together in an unsuccessful attempt to sever the ulcer from your tongue. The result?

A cosmic orgasm is pretty much the norm.

The pain will literally jump out of your conscience and beat you up till your eyeballs explode, then beat you up some more just for the fucks of it. But, what's this? The taste bud which you have stupidly tried to tear off is still there and what caused the pain is direct damage to the underlying nerve fibres? How amazing!

Tears will begin to well up in your eyes, blasphemy begins to form in your brain but the pain is still there. So again, you must go ahead and claw at the exposed nerve in hopes that when it does get severed, the pain will be gone... Well lucky you, the pain does leave, but not before it makes your whole body shudder with extreme convulsions and make your tongue feel as if it had been cut off.

2) Genito-urinary system.

This includes pubes. Of course it would, fool. Also, since I am of the male subspecies of the human race, I have to make this entry a masculine one.

There comes at times, when pubes act like a total motherfucker and starts to fuck around. What could go wrong, you might ask. Sigh, you foolish little prepubescent moron... This brings about much tears when it tag teams with the fabric of clothing (Read: Boxers / Jeans). Imagine rushing to the loo with a full bladder and innocent little you start to feverishly tear off clothing like there is no tomorrow then suddenly... As you begin to pull the last item off (Read: Boxers), you feel a slight tug. In your maddened state of mind, you desperately try to consciously stop your hands from doing anything further but psh, what the fuck does your hands care? Off comes your boxers and also two strands of pubic hair. Also, your sanity.

This might put it in perspective.

Pubes... The bane of creation... Pain rating: 7/10 since there's fast relief and no permanent scarring. Physically that is...

Enough on that. Let's move on to more delicate matters shall we.

I remember once upon a time, a time when the world was still an infant and dinosaurs roamed free, I made the horrid mistake to sleep in jeans and nothing else. I have to emphasise on the nothing else, really, I mean seriously, nothing else. Get it yet? So I arose the next morning filled with the wonder of what the day might bring when an unpleasant tugging feeling lingered down there. O my brothers, the horror upon which I discovered that my zipper had betrayed me in the utmost contemptuous way was grievous to say the very least. It was stuck. I was stuck. In my own jeans. I tried everything, even fucking toothpicks, yes, toothpicks. To no avail, utterly defeated, I realised there there was only one more option, one which I could not believe had the courage to do. It's spoken in hushed voices in shady pubs and dark alleys.... It's called 'The RIP'.

I... I weep...

The RIP means what it means. So I bit a chunk of wood, braced myself, got a hold on the treacherous zipper and with a silent prayer, pulled it down as hard as I could. The chunk of wood splintered, my will crumbled and the zipper... The zipper cackled maniacally...

Pain rating: 4/10 since it left only a relatively small memorabilia and the anticipation pretty much exacerbated the whole ordeal.

3) Falling.

No, it's not the plain ol' fall. This category pretty much includes those falls which you thought that you had seriously damaged some internal organ or some shit because the pain pretty much kicks you so hard in the nuts that they rocket into your eyes. You do remember that your eyes have exploded aye?

The greatest pain when it comes to falling is when your bone comes into contact with concrete. No, not the usual bones, like the arms or legs, these are the bones which are not fucking meant to ever come in contact with anything at all, it's just meant to stay all cuddled up in between layers of fat and muscle. Like the fucking hip bone, or more fucking specifically, the ischial tuberosity.

I know you didn't fucking study it. Stop whining already.

See, there's a reason for an ass, and this here is the exact reason why it's created. There are times when this fails, and when coupled with the fact that some of us are skinny as fuck, it doesn't help... Cushion the blow.

Pain Rating: 8/10 because fuck, even if it lasts for a while, it hurts like a bitch.

4) Being seared.

One thing about being seared is that my God it feels so freakishly good. Uh. Nevermind.

I'm pretty sure that being consumed by molten metal would hurt a fuckload but no, for some reason, I have yet to taste that, so I will instead emphasise on another milder but more common variation. Plastic.

I'm not particularly sure, but Google gave me this, so yeah, it must be relevant.

See, molten plastic is one of the few remaining magical items in our decrepit world today. It withholds massive amounts of power in it's microscopic bonds and when heated, it will lead to the release of said energy onto the surface it has been projected upon. Let's say that said surface is the skin. Upon melting and coming in contact with it, the molten plastic realises it's form has changed and it needs to revert back or else the multiverse will be caught in the tear of the space-time continuum and implode upon itself. However by doing so, it will have to release it's own energy source as stated above and while this might not amuse you, do note that this is happening on your skin. The result:

This is largely the reason why there are less magical items nowadays... We humans are so fucking fragile that they decided to leave our world into the magical kingdom of Zura-Zura.

Pain rating: Depends. Normally, it would be a 6.5/10 but in certain cases like below...

It tends to be a zero. Personal preference aye?

5) Smoking mishaps.

This includes anything which concerns the voluntary entry of smoke into the lungs. I mean everything, cigarettes, joints, shishas, pipes, embers, shit like that.

First off, there's the ol' accidental fuckuppery with the exit of the smoke, it might be due to a laugh, a shout, or just plain fucken talking but it all leads to the same thing.

That... but stuck in your throat.

See, smokers come under great criticism over the course of time, but none know of the sacrifice they undergo to uphold the art of taming smoke. Feverishly they continue without a step of hesitation, and if the above happens, they weep because the smoke has prevailed and it hurts like a bitch. Pain rating: 4/10, might increase overtime.

Accidental searing of self: 6/10 and increases as more areas are involved. Like setting fire to your own hair. Yeah, that sucks.

6) Acne...

In places that shouldn't have fucking acne.

Like in the nose. Have you had a fucking pimple in your nose? It's hell, and for some reason, it doesn't heal as fast as a normal pimple would. Instead it takes weeks to settle down and fucking fuck off. Some of you might see the perks in this but as myself, this is another bloody bane of existence. Imagine rubbing your nose, then realise that the bastardly pimple is being compressed together with your nose. Imagine digging the ol' goldmine but then scraping the surface of the fucking pimple instead.

I don't even...

6) Stubbing a toe, and the complications.

Walls have a nasty habit of having corners and these corners in turn, have a nasty habit of getting in your way. Well, to be exact you toe's way but the corner doesn't give a flying fuck does it?

Pain rating here would probably be a 7/10 I believe but what fucks the whole thing up is when you get caught up in the massive shitstorm following the stubbed toe. Most common fuckuppery is a cracked toe nail or uh... How do I explain this in words...

THIS

The horrid feeling when you realise that you no longer have a toe is one thing, then the pain associated with said horrid feeling skyrockets the pain level to a fucking eleven. Then you have the occassional asshole who laughs at your permanent disfigurement takes it to a whole new level.

7) Ligament/ joint/ nerve pain.

This, I believe trumps it all because if it happens in your fucking knee, or lower limb, you're fucked for life. It's like having a poisoned dart stuck in between your joints and you dread the time when the pain comes... It lurks in the deepest pits of your twisted conscience and it waits, it waits till you let your guard down and it pounces upon feeble little you. You're incapable of walking, and it feels like you calf has turned into acid and it eats it's way into the remainder of your leg...

Pain rating: Fuck/Fuck.

How Your Mind Fucks Around With You.

2011-06-02T17:04:00.000+03:00

Now that I can finally access my fucking Blogger account and serenade thee with awesome profanities, I shall begin.

So, this week has been in total quite low-profile, since all the fucking assignments are done with. All there is left is Biochem which has been ramming it up me arse dry and well... Let's leave it at that.

Also, I time travelled.

Through time and space, onwards!

Allow me to explain. I found myself with a sudden urge to study Biochem a few days ago, which was on a Wednesday. It was quite appropriate see, there was sixty pages worth to cram into my brain and exactly three days to do so. Hence I began studying and again, strangely, I felt... What's the term. The feeling you get when something feels right and it all goes your way and the world actually makes sense for once... Counter-Murphy? I don't know. But I felt that.

So I went on with my life, finishing 25 pages of pure mashed up bullfuckerry and I went to bed. The next day, I actually finished Biochemistry, fucking Biochemistry, and it was good because I no have Friday to revise the whole thing. So with harps playing in me heart, I went down to the droogies' house and well, chilled.

And we drank... Milk.

So as per usual, we talked, insulted (Your Mom) and uh well whatever it is that we did until there came a point in the conversation about classes.

Droogie 1: Nah, I'm free tomorrow, hahaha, no classes for me.
Droogie 2: Crap I've got *Insert a medically related subject here*... Fuck this shit.
Yours truly: What the fuck are you fuckers talking about? Tomorrow's Friday.
1 & 2: What the fuck are YOU talking about? Tomorrow's fucking Thursday.
Yours truly: What? *More profanities* Tomorrow's fucking Friday!

This went on for quite awhile until I had to humbly accept that I have, in fact time travelled and went through the week a day in advance. That meant I had a full 24 hours to do more things. Seriously, I can't be the one who thinks that it's mind-fuckingly awesome?

I have a full two days now to revise Biochem. I can relax and bite the imaginary tits off the imaginary girl I just made up for this context because fuck, I have returned to the present!

Says it all.

I agree though that your feeble minds could only find fault with my logic, after all, it's easy for one such as me to say all this stuff since it happens quite often. I understand that your understanding of the world is quite limited, you're like the later Númenorean Kings, angry and frustrated at what you do not understand to the point where you'd rebel against those who do. Let me try and enlighten you.

1) Seriously, mate, it's me. These things tend to happen.
2) I'm not sure about you but... Forgetting an entire day is quite the feat... It's almost impossible.
3) I studied Biochem with vigour. It's a miracle.
4) Again mate, it's me we're talking about here.

If you don't want to believe than suit thine ignorant self, for I, Tar-Zufarion, understands the limitations of the mortal mind. What I would like to point out is this.

How many times have each of us prayed that we had more time? We, as humans, never seem to be content with what we have and that includes the time allocated for each of us. We need more time to leave a legacy, to educate our children, to continue our work with renewed vigour, to be ourselves. We always seem to lament on the fact that time is limited, there's too much shit to be done and I agree, wholeheartedly.

I am elated because I tasted what it feels like to actually have more time without consciously knowing it. I am elated because today I woke up and I realised that fuck, I can afford to sit back and just stare into space without having assignments raping my ear. It felt... Good.

You see what I did there? I educated you, motherfucker.

Sleepless Nights 43 - Death.

2011-05-26T02:57:00.001+03:00

I remembered the time in my life where death never seemed to bother me. It occurred to me once in a while, as an afterthought most of the time but it never persisted as something. I do not attribute it to being immature because the fear of death I think, comes along with experience rather than maturity.

On my eighteenth birthday however, I still remember it quite vividly to be honest, I found myself carrying a coffin of a recently deceased relative to be buried. I remembered not feeling anything at all inside, feeling empty and nonchalant; I was just helping in the burial. When it was time to carry her into the grave, I felt her head brush across my hand and all I could think of was how stiff it was.

I guess me being dense and everything, the whole event did not disturb me in any way. Yet, the seed had been planted and it began to grow and its roots began to gnaw at my conscience ever since.

It is fair to say that I fear death. I do not fear the judgement which would be passed to me when I leave the world, no, for I believe that whatever happens then will inevitably happen and it's of no use to be pondering over it. What I am afraid of is in fact, leaving the world itself. It is not that I'm concerned over the fashion in which I would inevitably die, I already have a few predictions to be honest but my attention is more spent towards what I leave.

I am an egoist, in which I honestly believe that I am great. I have illusions of grandeur and most of my thought process daily is quite fictional. For instance, in the event of seeing an attractive woman, I would conjure up classic tales of saving a damsel in distress only that I put said tale in a container and I start to inject more and more imagination into it. It would go on to such lengths where I could no longer remember how or what made me conjure up such a convoluted tale. It keeps me amused though, and I am not ashamed of it. My point is that being this egoist that I am, I feel the need to leave behind a legacy, a legacy so great that I would end up with a following. What I also am is a pessimist and I fear I see not the day in which I could achieve that. How could I really, everything that I do seem to fall to pieces and I have not the attention span to pay heed to it.

I'd like to have achievements, something which my children would be able to recount as I have done when one asks about my lineage. Truth of the matter is that I have huge shoes to fill, and looking at myself, I fear that I would only bring about embarrassment. Both my father and late grandfather has been labelled saints by all who knew them well and it moves me, how is it possible that a single man, a mortal could achieve such status. Countless times I have been told about the deeds of aforementioned people, and they weren't whispered, they were shouted, followed by unanimous agreements. How is it that I am supposed to live up to that?

It's a wonderful thing really, living alongside such great people, to be by their side and to not be forgotten by them but I, sinful little me, the envy consumes me. I remembered being told by my parents, and they meant it with all their heart and I quote "We do not want you to be comparing yourselves against anybody, each and everyone of you have different fields in which you excel in, we've seen it, you know it, so I don't see the reason why you would want to compare yourself to the others." Charming people, my parents.

I honestly care not about heaven and hell. It is not that I do not believe in them, it's just that I think it has become a concept which tears us apart. I am not pious yes, definitely but I refuse to believe that God, the one who is Omnipotent, no, who is Omnia itself, could be as shallow as a mortal man. I refuse to believe that He would look down upon the world and say 'Yeah, you know what, I'm only allowing Muslims to get into heaven.' I refuse. It is a fucking stupid thing to actually believe that a Muslim who prays five times a day and fasts and does everything in the book but is in truth a paedophile could go into heaven but a Christian or a Jew who lives a peaceful life and preach about good will and tolerance would not. God is not that shallow.

People kill each other for the promise of something better after death and what disturbs me is that they truly believe that it will happen. Never mind the countless children they made into orphans, never mind being part of spreading hate, never mind anything, they believe that hey, this is what God wants, and it'll all be fine... If God's voice could be heard by us mortals... I believe that all we'd hear is sobs of despair.

Of Women.

2011-05-15T19:17:00.000+03:00

I have no recollection about the events which brought me to write this down, it must have been some random topic my brain must have conjured while I was walking home or maybe I just felt the need to write. Meh, fuck that.

When I was a tiny fella, which must have been about a couple of hundred years ago, the only days I saw my father was on weekends, or not even then. He was out there in the world working, too much at times which seems to be the family's curse, fucken workaholics, most of us that is. So at all times, we were under the care of my mother, she was the one who single-handedly carried the burden of educating us and at the same time, having to keep everything in order until we cretins went to bed. It must have been hell, I'm pretty sure of it, the lot of use weren't the easiest to deal with, no, far from it. She beat us a lot, sometimes daily and I used to think that it's because she hated these spawn of evil she gave birth to but nowadays, the lot of us could genuinely laugh about the whole ordeal. I'm sure she's proud of us, having raised us to be the children which have a level head on their shoulders. Enough on that though, that's not what I'm here to talk about.

Supermom. And Dad. Superdad.

Having been raised by this extremely strong (In a very literal sense and also figuratively) woman, I have developed this... Shrewd perception towards other woman. One would expect that I of all people, would grow up to be the least sexist of them all but thankfully, I did not. Of course, the term sexist here is for the benefit of your understanding. I look at it as logic.

I had this teacher once who put what I am about to say in very simple terms. I quote "...so yes, I am a sexist, a very big one. Until you (the girls present) could show me that you could climb up an electric pole and repair whatever it is that's wrong up there, until you could compete with me in terms of workload (To an acceptable degree), until you can show me that whatever I can do, you will be able to do better, until then... I will continuously look at you as an inferior person and this I say this not to the girls only, it includes every single person whom I meet."

Since he existeth not in color'd print, thy eyeth shalt feast upon Yog-Sothoth

Sexism, like marriage, is fucking overrated. It's hyped up and every single moron follows suit. I do not believe that it is wrong for me to undermine a worthless worm because I know that aforementioned worm cannot come up to my standards. See, I would help another person when it benefits me but I will not deny that the pleasure (Now now, go easy on the innuendo) I get from helping is because the person clearly have weighed his/her options and sought me for help instead of another person. I know that he/she believes that I am a better option. So fuck your denial, fuck your faked humility, I take pleasure from being in the company of inferior people. It is the same thing with women, especially with today's women where I must emphasise that I am speaking for the general populace. Don't come to me screaming 'I AM DEFINITELY MORE AWESOME THEN YOU!'. I don't really care.

Excuse me truly for saying this but today, most women of this generation are spoilt to the point of ugh-ness. You whine when you don't get some stud to do your work for you, you give 'The Silent Fucking Treatment' when somebody annoys you. What happened to uppercutting other bitches that offended you?

Or, you know, DOUBLE-KNEE-ING THEM IN THE FACE

Look, I'm pretty sure that most of you females out there are starting to carry banners inked with pure hate to give to me when you see me but fuck it, I perceive what I said as the truth. Sorry to say, I've heard/overheard/ninja-heard some fucking cunt going "Ah you know, he's a nice guy and everything but can you actually believe that he didn't say anything when I told him some random guy whistled at me?" Why, why the fuck would he care? Did his whistle have some sort of magical sexual harassment powers which could automatically finger you? Why would it mater, and you would patronise a person just because he didn't say anything? What was he supposed to do, gather the brave and valiant to launch a fucking manhunt? You twat.

Sure, some of you are going to say 'Psh, I, being awesome and everything, need to care not about some sexually deprived dick making his lame moves on me.' My reply is, well, I don't think this concerns you. Go away. I remember having this girl which I fancied a millennia ago who, I shit you not, could physically trash me. I literally mean that. She could punch harder than me, could run faster, could curse much worse than me and fuck, the amount of respect I had for her was gigapowernormous. No, she's not some form of male-female hybrid of some kind, at times, she still openly showed her feminine side, wasn't embarrassed about it.

Most of you gals have this fantasy, being a fucking princess and shit, waiting for prince fucktard to skip among daisies and save you from some old hag. Sure, there are still those guys present, no, they're not gay, but really, do you honestly think they'd fall for fragile little you who can't even take care of your own basic necessities like you know, not getting fucking in trouble all the fucking time? I don't fucking get it, where does this ultimate pampering come from?

Even Mr. Apocalypse is foncused.

Some of you might say that it's because I'm used to the environment where equality is the norm, where male and female work side by side etc etc. Fuck yes, I agree, but my question is why the fuck can't the general populace be like that? Limitations? What limitations? I don't see the lot of you walking round without a limb where you'd need help doing every single chore which exists. I refuse to believe in that, flat out. We are all born different yes, in stature and in awesomeness (I understand your need to feel inferior, of course) but none of us, well; most of us would be more appropriate, are born without the normal physical strength needed to do the daily activities. Sure, opening the car door for you would seem romantic, and I'd do that if you're dear to me and hot beyond anything in the multiverse but seriously, to be throwing a fucking tantrum just because some guy didn't open the fucking car door for you is short of blasphemy.

I've met, in my life, women whom I respect to the point where I'd actually slam your head against concrete till your brain dribbles into your worthless fucking yap hole if you insult them. That's why I'm so pissed of, if it's only one woman, then I could actually give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that age has ended and I shall remain a bachelor till I die but it's not. So what fucking reason, other than you are clearly fucking retarded , could you give me?

Guh. You disgusting being.

Sleepless Nights 42 - How to Kill Yourselves Over Assignments That Never, Ever End.

2011-05-11T05:24:00.000+03:00

I for one, am going to forsake the title for it brings great pain to my itty bitty wittle heart. Instead, I am going to talk about things I hate. You know. Teenage fucking angst.

1) Responsibility

Of course being inevitable, I get the fact that the burden is great and the journey ever tortuous. Yet, at the same time, me being the fucking pessimist that I am, I would like to delay the start of the aforementioned journey until to a point where there is no more escaping. Why? Simply because I am one hell of a fucken irresponsible person.

I'm not even in this sign. I'm the one driving at 250 km/h and I just laughed at this. Also, goddamit, I dropped my light.

I anger easily, I utterly disregard vital signs and I am possibly one of the most erratic person who've walked this cursed lands (Since I'm also a fucking egoist, I'm bound to believe that I am). Let's say you hand me a slip to get some groceries, a baby will die because apparently, two years ago, someone told me to keep an eye on it. What about the groceries you ask? What groceries are you talking about?

2) Concerning toilets.

I fucking hate urinals. If the world is under my rule (Which will be, just not at the moment. I'm too busy fighting caffeine intoxication) all urinals will be sentenced to death and their bodies be flayed in public. They'll forever be hung outside homes and malls to remind everyone that nobody fucking messes with my choice of toiletries. Nobody. It also serves as a reminder to all the other urinals hiding underground that I know they're there and I'm on their tails and when I catch them... Mustard gas would be a child's plaything compared to what I'm going to do with them.

Why do I hate these infernal spawn of Yog Sothoth so much, you ask? It's because their very creation defies the law of the land. No man should stand beside each other to take a piss while having to constantly be aware of their surroundings. No man should be subjected to such embarrassment when he realises that there are eyes lingering on his penis. No man should undergo the painful process of having to have a forced conversation while having to concentrate on the task which cannot be stopped no matter how hard he clenches his muscles. It's a bane really to talk with strangers while you take a piss. How am I fucking doing? I'm taking a fucking piss you fucking fucktard, that's how I'm doing and I have eyes to see that the fucking weather is fucking fine today, you don't have to narrate the fucking events of nature to me.

Whoever called me insane should be thrown into this... Void...

Also, presents in the toilet. Imagine waking up on a fine day, the sun is shining, you have had enough sleep and your dreams were wet and wild and all you want to do is take a nice long piss while singing Sweet Child of Mine. As you enter the loo, you suddenly feel a chill, a warning of doom, evil draws near... But you ignore it, what could possibly go wrong on such a perfect day? Then you close the door, unleash the beast and as you prepare to unclench those muscles, you realise something. What is that in the potty? Then fear overcomes your mind, you tremble and you take a step backwards... The beast shrivels but you cannot stop staring... It's the infamous unflushable menace, staring at you, baring it's undigested vegetable teeth at you...You panic, what do you do?

Police? KILL IT WITH FIRE!

And the worst thing is... All you can think of singing now is the Sound of Music.

3) Cold water.

There's only one circumstance which I could accept the presence of cold water and that's to drink. Other than that, cold water is the fucking bane of mankind. It's depressing, looking forward to a morning shower and confidently striding into the shower only to be sprayed with cold water... It's as if the uni/multiverse has decided that your existence is just for it's own sick amusement and what better way to make a man dance than to spray cold water at him.

4) Non-readers who make readers' lives a living hell.

First and foremost, I really don't give a fuck if you don't read. I ponder upon the chance of sustenance of life once in a while but after about a minute, my mind moves on and I'll start thinking of shiny things instead. What I do take offence though, is the fact that some of these pesky non-readers tend to fucking frown upon us.

What you look like when you do so.

From where I come from, reading is an inborn trait, more like a parasite that haunts my dreams when I haven't read anything in awhile. I do understand the difference between upbringing etc etc, but what I don't understand, is when you question me about it.

"What're you doing?" "Why do you read all this stuff" "How could you read all these stuff" "What point is there in reading all these stuff" "You should be more productive"

And the list goes on and on. Why is it such a weird thing for a person to sit down and read a storybook? Does the fact that he/she does it tickle your hatred centre or do you just go around trolling for fun. Really, I'm at a lost here.

5) The need to socialise.

Imagine a world where everybody minds his/her own business, and talking only when there is something to talk about and socialising only with people who truly appreciate the same things as one does. Wait. I believe that's heaven. Or Valinor. Or Valhalla. Take your pick.

6) Acronyms.

This one is selective, in a way that I find some acceptable while others are just asking to be skewered in the throat when one says it. I don't mind stuff like 'TTYL' or 'BRB' or fuck it, even 'WTF/H'. What I do mind is when you take these fucking 'LOL's and 'LMAO's into the way you speak. I do realise that the term to each his own is greatly present here so fuck you, this is my thoughts, this is my space so do not beseech me while you are in my territory.

I just find it greatly irritating when you are talking to someone and suddenly he/she burst out in a violent explosion of sunshine and rainbows with the word 'LOL' streaming out of his/her mouth. Whatever happened to good ol' laughing? What happened to fucking 'Hahaha!'s? Is it so fucking hard to even say that? The moment somebody says 'LOL' I personally imagine him/her saying Laugh Out Loud. Am I projecting a clear image here? I shall give you an example.

"So I told him, fuck you, you fraggart!"
"I am Laughing Out Loud. Laughing Out Loud. LAUGHING OT LOUD! Now I am Laughing My Ass Off. Do you see me Mommy? I'm Laughing My Ass Off!"

Call me old fashioned, call me an old twat, but it doesn't change the fact that you look like a thorough retard to me.

7) Sharing Food.

I'm a selfish person. No doubt about it. I abhor the fact that I have to share my personal belongings with other people but at the same time, I'm also quite the hypocrite because I tend to do this quite a lot. The parasitic side of me takes control so very often, see.

What I am very, very particular about is food. I have a voracious appetite but then I also keep an eye on my money. Hence, by correlating both of these items, you get a selfish me. I do not think that I could come up with something more hated than another hand in my plate. I want every cent's worth of whatever I am spending on going into my stomach and mine alone. My hatred goes to the point that I am actually willing to buy another dish for you to feast on rather than give you what's on mine.

What the bloody fuck....

8) Disturbed when I actually have the attention-span to do something.

I have a near non-existent attention span. I blame the world for being so mundane and hence, being the main causative agent for this disease. At times though, I get a stroke of the good stuff and that's when I begin to work and be a productively awesomer member of the society. This does not occur very often and some of you might think that I am telling you a bedtime fucking story but alas, it does happen from time to time.

Which is why when this occurrence takes place, I'd like to be left alone, isolated and locked inside a padded chamber with a single teddy bear staring at me from the corner of the room. Why you might ask, would I like such a thing? Is it to keep me from losing interest and wandering away? Oh no, good sir/madam, you are gravely mistaken, the function of this... Is to keep you out.

When I am disturbed at these rare moments, I feel... I feel like Fingolfin during Dagor Bragollach... In easier terms, I feel fucking angry. I myself realise that I do not always come across these moments and I would prefer to take full advantage of this but then people would come and people would disturb and people would then fucking wonder why, oh why is this person so fucking angsty and filled with anger.

Now, I've lost interest in this and will be moving on.

Infusion of Imagination.

2011-05-05T03:47:00.000+03:00

I woke up with a jolt. Something rare for me as I usually would extend lying in bed and hover in the state of sleep and wake until I was truly ready to go out into the decrepit civilisation that we humans seem to be so proud of. Why, why could I wake up in such a manner then?

Imagine everything which captures your imagination... The Marvel versus Capcom of dreams, and there are unlimited characters to choose from. The violence... That should have gone down in history as the fucking beginning of violence, that should enter the books as the day violence matured... Let's get to it then.

Things that I could never experience... Also, stop staring at Felicia's tits.

They stole something from me. I'm not really sure what it is, nor who they were, all I knew was that they shared the same faces with those whom I abhorred at one point in my life. Point is, they stole from me. Then they bundled into my Dad's parked car which was a new BMW for some reason. I wanted to tear it open and by God, I knew I could. I had a mental image of shattering the windscreen with my foot but then, I stopped. It's me Dad's car, those bastards, how cheap could they be?

So there I was, at a fucken standstill, not knowing what to do or how to do it. So I started to circle the car, maybe there'll be an opening somewhere which I could get into... Problem is, the car started to elongate, it seemed like miles away when suddenly, I reached the end. It struck me funny how it no longer had the ass of a BMW, it's so goddamn big for some reason... Since it was lucid, I stepped back, and in one of the most foncusing moments ever in dream world, I was looking at this:

... It's an Unser. Really mate, really?

So there I was, not knowing what to do since it's now an Unser and by God I hate that sad exccuse for a vehicle but nevertheless, I drew upon the wrath which cooled not in me and... Oh, the boot's unlocked? Alrighty then, I believe I need not rip metal... Yet.

I clambered into the space which was as dark and as filthy as the hidden tunnels of Angband and in front of me, there laid my first test. You (Here, I must refrain from giving too many of hints for I am nothing but a mortal, and tread with caution I must or my soul will depart to the Halls of Mandos before I could say 'I did not do it.') lay there on a fucken grand sofa which made me thoroughly believe that I have underestimated the Unser. You looked at me, and you told me to rest, and I was tempted, I was so very tempted... Then you looked at me with a gaze which nearly slaughtered my will and gave life to my boner, and you told me to please sit for awhile... But I cannot! I rose up and I coated my will in the fiery essence of my spirit and I walked away from you love. Godammit, it would've been quite the awesome dream too.

I can't recall a laptop but yes, more or less like that. More slutty, less clothed and infinitely more uh...

So forward I dashed awesomely and not softy elvishly and finally I came upon the defilers of my home, of my belongings. Unleashing my wrath, I feel it consuming me, it seared my skin and it scorched the ground beneath me. In short; holy fuck, I was so angry, I exploded into a meteor. Beat that Twilight!

They ran. Out of the car, tripping over themselves like foolish little children with foolish weak legs and shit. I started to let a river of blood flow. Broke one's back on a concrete elevation and then I jumped and impaled him on some spikes, convenient aren't they... Smashed one's face through the window and forced glass shards into his mouth and then triple shoryuken-ing him. I had miraculous powers and fuck moral codes, I misused them to the point where the term 'misuse' curled into the foetal position and drowned in it's own vomit. I threw a guy far away towards the horizon, then pulled him towards me at an abysmal speed with my awesome powers and while he was accelerating towards me, I let loose a double Rajinikanth kick. This went on till I could kick no longer.

Fuck. You.

What's important was only this one guy who stole my beloved somethings. I must've truly hated him in the dream because I spent quite some time making sure all his internal organs went back to the embryological state. He began to run and well, I thought that if the man wanted to run, there's no harm in helping him aye? So I accelerated him, because I'm awesome, till he was nothing but a blur and then, I teleported in fron of him. And tripped him. The results were quite impressive. He flew all the way to Penang from Melaka, which is, give or take, 500 km? I'm not good at judging distances, see.

When his trajectory started to be influenced by fucken gravity, I landed on him and his face missed the fence of my grandma's house and instead, underwent a pulverisation process on the porch.

Oh yes, this is only half of the dream.

And oh yes again, the other half does not concern me any longer. It involves the dead face guy above.

Oh and yes, double again, he's Vince Vaughn.

I'm fucken serious, it's this guy.

If you're wondering what happened to me, well, get in the boat mate. Apparently, I was an awesome character in a narration and the part where I pulverized his face was either his past or his present. Also, he's now an elf, and he's quite well liked. People call him The Tailor which in Elvish is Cocksucker-er, I think. I quote the narration which had been going on at this point:

"... And he was exalted in the eyes of Elves and Man alike for his deeds were far greater than any of his companions. 'Cocksucker-er' he was called, The Tailor for with the needle he is skilled, and it was passed in lore that with a pierce of a needle, one and a half holes were made..."

I. Shit. You. Not.

So his tale ended, quite abruptly and it moved on to another character, it was you, as in the Couch-in-Unser girl. I saw you walking on the beach and you were a fucking elf too for some bastardly reason unbeknownst to me. As you were walking, something attracted your attention and you bent down and blew on the sand (Innuendo very much intended) which then revealed a city, as small as a... Kettle? It had inhabitants and shit, and they were like these near microscopic little fuckers, cheering and laughing and stuff.

At this point, my mind decided to no longer support this total and utter fuckuppery and decided to detach itself from the dream and implode upon itself. Hence, I woke up with a jolt, with cold sweat running and a sudden urge to explode into a meteor engulfed me...

But Jesus fuck mate, that was one hell of a fucking dream.

Sleepless Nights 41 - Muted, Masala Chai and Mashed Potatoes.

2011-05-02T06:27:00.000+03:00

In a curious turn of foreseen events, my laptop, my dearest fucking laptop has; of course, lost it's voice. Again. It must be that time of the month again.

There is no explaining this picture. Why are they on tiptoes?!

The absence of sound is - when one eventually stops whining and sulking over my-laptop-sucks - actually quite refreshing. You start to hear things which you might not have noticed like the sound a ladybird makes when it brakes in midair and falls into your fucken meal. Or the sound of the wind blowing through the creaks and crevices of your home which, if I may add, is quite the fucking scary thing. I digress. Point is, you start to pay attention to sound and while it's a good thing in the most part, you might just hear some things which you have been consciously trying to bury deep down in the twisted, convoluted, dark abyss which is thine mind.

But of course, it was an accident wasn't it?

Hence, after giving in to the smoking hot ladies called Despair and Agony, I decided to be one who shall create, and bring forth joy to the miserable world. I shall be the saviour of mankind, the one who brought back the love from the pits of the underworld.

Pictured above: An ancient Greek prophecy showing how I will save Love from the pits of the underworld. Then banging her. There's seventeen different prophecies on that matter, oh yeah, totes.

However, I sat meself down and I thought. Was this decrepit world even worth saving? Was love better off in the underworld? And so thought I, which, due to an uncontrollable feral awesome mind which I have, it started to wander and it got dark. So yeah. I guess the prophecy did not come true then. You know how it is in the dark yeah, with all em monsters out there, it was way too much work. I did however, bang Love, and the prophecies were so utterly amazing that those ancient fuckers couldn't bear to distribute it to the common measly mass and decided to burn it, once and for all immortalizing me in their thoughts. Hence, no more evidence, which, unfortunately, I cannot proof and you cannot deny. Boo-hoo.

Digression.

I did however feel an urge to have some goddamn masala chai, which right here and right now, I will crown as King TeaWesome. Of course, I am sure that a few, or maybe, quite a handful of yous know not of such awesomeness which presents itself in the form of tea, so... Bugger off yeah? There's Google. And stuff like that, or ask your friendly neighbourhood Indian. We're everywhere and if you tell me there isn't one, I demand citation.

Remember that bitches, or he'll tornado your ass into your nose and your nose into the Sun.

The thing with Masala chai is that it takes me back home, down memory lane on a fucken floating cardamom. I remember the best chai I had was at York Road, at my Dad's Nanny's place, who must be nothing short of immortal. I shit you not, she's literally as old as Ea itself. I also remember that my sister makes a mean cup of that shit too. I mean through the taste, I could trace back so many things, of my family's culture, our awesome difference with all of you and more than that, having that cuppa makes me feel... At home. The smell of cinnamon intermingled with clove and cardamom, the slightly fiery aftershock it gives after swallowing (For fuck's sake, kill the perverted thoughts yeah?). It reminds me of what is the norm back home.

Really, I've been watching the Lord of the Rings extended trilogy again with the lads and it occured to me that the first film came out ten years ago. I was fucken nine and a half, the world was still sane, and I was still trying to sort reality from imagination. I'm now nineteen and a half, the world is fucking insane, and still, after all those years, I find it hard to differentiate between imagination and reality. It's been... Ten years.

Just in case you fucken forgot.

Sigh.

Still, when I have kids of my own, as soon as they start to understand the concept of words and alphabets, I'm going to dish out Tolkien to them. If they refuse, no food and shelter for you then.

Oh and mash potatoes are fuck awesome.

Photoshop.

2011-04-23T03:35:00.000+03:00

File, automate, HDR Efex Pro.

Select five photos of different exposures.

Okay.

Wait.

Wait.

Went to the loo.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Photoshop has encountered an unexpected error. End the program now?

That's probably Photoshop being polite. What I read was: Jesus fuck, a HDR? Can this fucking laptop even... Wait, fine, let me just try, what's the harm in it anyway. Okay, five photos... That's... Quite heavy but nevermind that. Hmmm, align the photos... Wait what's that smell... Why do I feel my body disintegrating... Oh shit. Oh shit. I'm putting a fucking stop to all of this right fucking now. Hey you, you back from wherever the fuck you were. End this shit right now! You're laptop is fucking disintegrating you mad fuck, why in fucking God's name did you even for an instant think that this fucking relic of technology could even handle a five fucking photo process? Are you clinically fucking insane?! What are you fucking pissed about? End this fucking thing! Click yes! Terminate me you stupid fuck! TERMINA-

'End program"

YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW PHOTOSHOP?!

It's a pain in the fucking ass, really, especially when I have something new to work on. I mean, it's been so long since I've even uploaded anything and this fucking happens.

Jesus fuck man, if Nik doesn't even work anymore on my laptop, how am I supposed to even continue living. It's like having no hate and malice to feed on... Air? Why'd I need that?

Also, today is quite historical. I finally dropped my camera from a height of no less than one feet. It's an interesting experience really, first a curse, then time slows down, a wild flailing of limbs, a prayer, more curses, then time speeds up to infinity, and...

Thud.

How is it that just one sound could cause your whole body to cringe and cause something in you to wither and die. Then of course, this:

It's like having the person you love most get hit by a vehicle, smash into said vehicle, fly out through the back screen (I have no idea what's it's called. Back glass thingy? Baglass? Second wind protector?), get mauled mid air by a mountain lion, fall into a mountain of shit, roll down said mountain of shit and then finally, drop into a wood chipper and well... That would be it wouldn't it?

That sinking feeling in your gut. I quite enjoy it but when it comes to my wife... Not quite as pleasurable.

Sigh, this post holds as much meaning as a cretin does in real life. Wait, no, scratch that, a cretin is quite fucking terrifying to look at, I could only have so much hope for this blog. Here's to procrastination.

Appreciation

2011-04-21T03:11:00.000+03:00

“So that’s with a double ‘F’, yeah?” She said in between loud chewing of her gum. She did not even look up to me, her eyes focused on the piece of paper. Nice pen, though I thought, very classy. There was an awkward silence which seemed to gain power and descended from the ceiling, downwards to where we puny mortals stood and making us feel… Uneasy.

“Sir?” She looked up at me, annoyed maybe, but I was told before that I am not a good judge at facial expressions. I raised my eyebrows to tell her that, yes, I am, in fact, listening but somehow, that ticked her off more. “Is that with a double ‘F’?” She sounded angry. Don’t be angry. Please don’t be angry.

“No, no, I mean, it could, really, who has the right to tell, it could have a double ‘F’ maybe in an alternate dimension, maybe with an extra ‘A’ or without an ‘R’ but funny, come to think of it, maybe the name itself would change in the other dimension, a mind-boggling thing really if you-“ I was stopped short by the malice in her eyes which at the moment, seemed to gain some sort of sentience and charged at me with a dark blade. I cleared my throat. “No. Single ‘F’. Just one.” She sighed, put ink to paper and handed me the form. I read what she wrote. She got it wrong.

She got my name wrong.

***

“Well, it wasn’t her fault really. I mean your name is quite… different, I’ve got no friends with that name, and trust me, I have a lot of friends. Why didn’t you write it down yourself? It would’ve saved a lot of time really, but then again…” She seemed to be deep in thought. “It would’ve been a messy affair, with you and your inept social behavior and all... Oh wow, I had a mental image of you stabbing her eye with a pen, just getting really in there you know, and over and over again till there’s nothing left to stab, just a hollow socket. Just. Wow. You’re really twisted, dude.” I stared at her and then took a drag from the duty free cigarettes I got from the airport months before. How am I the one who is twisted?

“As usual, I appreciate your honesty. Though I have to say, how am I the twisted one? You’re the one with the vivid imagery; I could hardly imagine a person being stabbed. In the face especially. Well, okay, I could actually but that’s not the point.” She gestured towards the box of cigarettes and I took one out and lit it for her. She took a long drag, kept the swirling blue particles of poison and nicotine and blew it out slowly, as if appreciating every single sacrifice her alveoli were making.

She looked at me, narrowed her eyes and put her hands on the table. “That’s why you’re the twisted one, dude. People like me, we let it all out, we tell the world, like, I could go to a stranger and just scream out that I want to be fucked in the face and leave, without a tinge of embarrassment. You, on the other hand… You keep it all in, suppress it, pressurize it, give it a little shake and hope that it doesn’t explode and consume everyone in the proximity. You’re a fucking time bomb; I really hope you realize that. Christ mate, you really need to let it out once in a while you know?” She touched my hand, a worried gesture rather than an affectionate one. I pulled it away and nodded, just to lay her off me. I do not like people touching me.

I always thought that when I was born, in the wee hours of my being, my parents already decided to play a little prank on me. Let’s give him a weird name, yeah, like something nobody will ever get right. Oh, oh, I know, let’s give him a name that’s easy to pronounce but hard to spell, you know. You could say it a million times but you can’t be sure of what consonants and vowels were involved. Oh lets! Charming people, my parents, the loveliest of them all really if you would want my honest opinion. Yes, I was sure that the conversation did not happen, and even if it did, it probably just echoed in the depths of their mind. I am sure they would want to give me a name which I would be proud of to bear but really… Couldn’t they have just given me something normal? It’s not that I am terribly ashamed of it but sometimes having half of the population getting it wrong all the time; teachers, officers, even friends, is quite frustrating.

***

“A least find out about it, yeah? The meaning I mean, like mine means the highest cloud in the heavens,” She held her hair up in one hand and brought her head down towards the mug of steaming black coffee in front of her. It was an excruciating slow movement, as f she was convinced that any sudden movement would cause the aforementioned steaming cup of black coffee to leap out of the mug and punch her in her face which could possibly have been crafted by the essence of angels, scalding it in process. After the whole charade, she licked her lips, enjoyed the obviously pleasurable feeling of caffeine coursing through her blood stream and let go of her hair. She grinned, as if what she did was a very mischievous thing and I could swear I saw the man sitting beside her blush. “But I’m Chinese, you know. We have a knack; some sort of racial trait, to exaggerate things, and trust me, I do mean a lot of things.”

I like her, not in a lovey-dovey way, honestly. To put it in the simplest way, I just fully enjoyed her company. It was funny how I, most probably one of the biggest pessimist ever to taint the ground beneath my feet, could bond so well, so naturally with the – I am pretty sure I am only exaggerating a tad bit here – manifestation of sunshine itself.

“I’d look into it,” I said half-heartedly. “I’m pretty sure that it’s gonna be hard to find though, I mean with all the ‘Zack’s and ‘Tila’s present nowadays, my name’s pretty damn traditional I think but yeah,” I hastily blew out a cloud of blue smoke, which in turn, caused my throat to set on fire, “I’ll look into it.”

What happened after was something which only could be described in metaphors. Imagine a gloomy day, cold and it is almost definitely going to rain. All you can think of is going home, make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and then bury yourself into the comforter and be alone. As you walk, thinking of warmth and comfort, you suddenly really do feel it, it kisses your skin and it feels so fucking good that you just want to dissipate so that more of your body could feel this insanely good sensation. When you’ve realized that, you look up to see what the hell is going on and right where you stand, right there at the exact point where your feet is brought together, is a beam of sunlight, the clouds break open for you, and for you only. That, is the only way I could ever hope to describe what other’s call the Million Dollar Gaze.

It’s fairly simple what she does. She would tip her head to the side by just a tiny bit, narrow her eyes ever so slightly in a way which wouldn’t make you feel as if she was suspecting you of doing anything bad, the very opposite, in fact. Her naturally straight hair will then shift towards the side and then… Her lips will curl into the most heart rending, endorphin releasing, butterflies-in-your-stomach, divine smile which will just stab you so hard that you’d fall. Or maybe experience a seizure. Men have been obsessed with it and I? I just thought it was beautiful.

Alas, we eventually drifted apart, as all humans are bound to be. Rumours, and I cannot emphasise more on this, they’re one of the most destructive things present to date, and while I, the insensitive fuck, a sad excuse of a human being could just brush it off, she on the other hand was utterly devastated by it. The last time we met, the only thing she asked me was this.

“I have said this a million times, well, maybe just a thousand times but dude, please tell me what the fuck is wrong with the world.”

I still miss my eternal sunshine.

***

“Sure. I mean, yeah, of course I’ve met some pretty bright people in my life.” I replied, my attention more deviated towards trying to pull a splinter out from the depths of my finger rather than on her question. After a short period of silence, I turned to look at her, and at the same time, conjuring up a few excuses on why I wasn’t paying attention towards her inquiry. It’s funny how none of them comprised of the splinter digging deeper into my finger.

It was the opposite thing really, her eyes were gleaming and I knew what was coming. She was going to explode, metaphorically speaking that is. A nuclear fission, the only words fit to describe herself as a whole.

“Yes! I know!” Off goes the thin blanket which she had wrapped around herself earlier flying into the air. “But answer me this, sir,” She shot me a questioning look, making me feel very uneasy; “How many of them would you trust with the country’s fate? I mean yeah, they’re academic superstars, I’m sure there’s millions of them in Egypt, leaders of various student bodies and everything but really, honestly, truly, sincerely, do you really think that any of them could lead millions of fucking people; the young and old offenders, the paedophiles, the ignorant society, the power mad and the backstabbers into towards the greater and better future?” She slammed her palm down on the couch I was laying on, the sound of the slam echoing throughout her living room. She took a deep long breathe and exhaled, too fast for a normal human being. I was going to have to answer her or risk the wrath of the famed ice queen.

“Well… No, obviously not if you are to refer to it generally. For every one genius, there’s a thousand other geniuses who, if not for their brains could be very well be labeled as fuckwits. I mean the ones whom I truly trust with the keys to our country’s door aren’t even academic overachievers. One of them doesn’t even attend college.” I said all of those words but in my head, I was still trying to get over the fact that she said all that in one breath. How is that even humanely possible?

“Exactly, the only things people look at nowadays are how many degrees you have in your hands, how many people you’ve saved, how many prizes you’ve won et cetera, et cetera. These are the things which has now become the driving force in our community, and no, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I mean heck, even I’d want to marry a doctor rather than say, a clerk but…” She paused, and let herself fall onto the couch. She sighed and put her head on my shoulders. She asked for a cigarette which I gladly gave and I lit it for her. After three or four drags, she continued. Her way of putting the obviously jumbled up words in her mind into the appropriate sentences. “We’ve lost track. That’s just it, you know. We’re all caught up in this great net of professionalism and the great grand search of more and more wealth that we forgot about the more important things.” I narrowed my eyebrows.

“Like love?” I truly did not know what to say. She looked at me as if she wanted to head-butt me in between the eyes but instead, she laughed.

“No you fuckwit, stuff like art appreciation or gardening or fucking walks in the park or swimming. Honestly mate, have you seen the state of the working class nowadays? If they aren’t overweight, they’re skinny little bastards. If they’re not smokers, they’re chronic alcoholics or hardcore junkies.”

“And if they aren’t any of that?”

“Then they’re fucking sex offenders. What else can they be? I mean really, my parents hates the fact that I smoke and I get it, I really do but sometimes, I just want to show them these people who’re straight edged and everything, but underneath all that shit, is a fucking monster just waiting to be unleashed. Hell, I should tell them that I’m probably a saint.”

“Saint. If you’re one, then I’m the Dalai Lama. No, the ultimate, grandest, the most awesome of all of the Dalai Lamas.” I risk losing an eye or a testicle by saying that, but it was just too tempting. “Anyway, what do you think of my name then?” If there was anybody who could help me, or at least give me an honest point of view, then it’s her. Everybody else might think that she’s this cruel Queen of the Damned or something, but to me, she’s this endless well of wisdom.

“Your name? Why the fuck would it even bother you? I thought you were joking earlier. Listen mate, I’d kill for your name, literally. You know how many friends I have with the same name as mine? Seven. And those are the ones whom I’m really close to. People think it’s cute, I mean there’s this bloke who tried kept on saying I have the same name with some fucking celebrity. Can you imagine that? Being put on the same plane as some prepubescent bimbo who makes too much money for her own good. That’s a living hell. If anything, you should be bloody proud of your name. I mean fuck the meaning, fuck the spelling and everything, when it comes down to it, you at least could be sure that you’re the only one in the vicinity with that name. Sometimes, amongst all that wisdom and maturity, you really act fucking retarded.”

I smiled. I was not wrong about her.

***

“Names? What about them?” She looked truly puzzled. We were on the roof of a forty story building and the wind kept blowing her hair into her eyes. Eventually she gave up, rummaged through her leather void which she calls her handbag and pulled out a lone chopstick. I could never understand what or how she does it, but every single time, without fail, the chopstick and her hair would mutually agree to hold each other’s structural integrity in place.

“Well, you know, names, what do you think it means? How it could affect a person.” We sneak up to the roof once in a while to have a meal, just the two of us while enjoying the skyline of the city. While I truly do hate the light pollution which hinders my sight of the sky, I have to admit, it was beautiful and it never fails to impress me. It was her turn to cook on that occasion, so again her hand disappeared into the void and when it appeared, there was a plastic bag with what I presumed to be heavenly delicacies in it. Instead, out came a polystyrene box. She cast her eyes down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t have the chance to cook, there’s been problems at home, there’s so much shit I need to do and my parents are constantly fighting and…” Tears welled up from her eyes and the only thing stopping it from gushing down as if a fountain has been inverted was the fact that she was keeping all of it in, forcing herself to swallow all of it in and keeping it down. I was not good with handling such a delicate situation, I could be a complete twat at such a time and I did not want it to be messy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I felt stupid saying it. Of all the things in the world that I could have said, of all the words I could have chosen to say, I said that. For fuck’s sakes what is wrong with me.

She looked at me, and there was not even a tinge of disappointment in her eyes. Contrary to it; she dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie and laughed. There were screams of pain in the high pitched joy but I did not point it out. Till now, I still doubt that if it was the right decision but at that time, I was clueless, at a crossroads.

“You’re really something you know that.” She interrupted my thoughts. “How do you even do that, really?” She laughed some more and then caught her breath. She sat down on the concrete floor and sighed. “Thanks, I guess, but no, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just a clump of messed up situations getting tangled with each other and it’s just making me really confused.” Then she turned her head to look at me and she smiled. “I mean, I would never risk losing my cool in front of you now, who are you going to look up to then, right?”

“Ah fuck, I guess you’re right then. If you’re no longer there for me to look up to, whoever shall I look for when I need inspiration and ultimate guidance.” I tried saying that with a straight face but then both of us burst out laughing. It was awkward but I would like to think that both of us needed to keep that degree of distance. I would like to help her, to console her, to make her feel better but then I realized that our friendship would have then evolved to something which would be pretty taxing on both of us. So we laughed. When life gives you hell, what else could you do but sit back and laugh.

“So, anyway, about the name thing. I’m just curious, but is it about yours?” I stopped taking a drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke out. Was I too obvious or does nothing gets pass this lady. “So it is about yours then. I can’t really think of a reason why you’d be thinking about it in a negative way but-“ I cut her short.

“I wasn’t thinking of it negatively, I just wanted an opinion.”

“Of course you weren’t. No need to get all defensive now. What I’m trying to say is that it is what it is. If you think that your name would pose a risk to the stability of your entity then of course it is going to. If you don’t, then if shit happens, you won’t blame it on your name. We all want names which are awesome and totally rad but sometimes, we don’t get to pick. Sure you can change it, put yours as Moonwalker Zero or something but really, do you think it’s worth all that? It’s just your mentality, how you look at it. Personally, I like your name but I really doubt if it matters. You should control your own life man.” She stood up and put her hands on the ledge which separates her from life to a plunging death. “How did we puny humans even make this city? How did we, small and feeble, end up creating objects that are infinitely bigger than ourselves. I mean dude, you’re out there thinking about your name, while somewhere another guy is having the first thought of the world’s tallest building. I’m not saying you’re insane or ignorant, but hey, some things are better off left on their own.” She pulled the chopstick from her hair and the bun shaped collection of hair disintegrated. “I’m awfully chatty today, what’s been up with you anyway?”

So we talked. Hopping from one unfinished topic to the other, debating, agreeing, laughing until eventually, there was almost nothing else to talk about. She told me she had to leave, that she was staying over at a friend’s place at the moment until things cooled down. I told her I’ll walk her to wherever she needed to go. Just as we were about to go, she took out the polystyrene box and threw it with all her might over the ledge, and out into nothingness. She told me she’d like to prove that food might just come falling from the sky. I told her we should run.

***

“That’s a funny name. It’s not Arabic.” The overweight Egyptian man with too much cologne tells me. It stole my attention, where most of it was spent in ways which made me forget he was there. “What does it mean?” He was sweating and the areas under his armpits and stomach darken with moisture. It was a very uncomfortable situation.

“It means the might of an army.” I hoped my answer would throw him off me. For once I thought of sincerely sitting in class and listening to the lecturer. Instead, he laughs.

“It is a very weird name! Why don’t you have an Arabic name?” I smiled. This might get messy.

“Simply because, my name is special as it is unique and I would dread being called Ahmad and having two persons sitting beside me answer simultaneously. My name is perfect, and it represents myself, and I would not give it up for the price of the world.” I sighed and looked at him. “Does that explain anything, or do you need some kind of auditory aid to further help your comprehension?” He must have not understood that so I reached for my bag, and I left. I could hear insults yelled by him but I was not offended. I have learned to appreciate my name, and it almost took me twenty years to do it.

Lay Back, Look Up, Enjoy.

2011-04-19T16:24:00.000+03:00

I was actually supposed to write a very intelligent article - Intelligent in my books that is, which roughly translates as insane ramblings of a twisted soul in plain English - but then, as I opened my journal - Yes, it exists - in which I have written a page of so of said topic, I suddenly and of course, rather theatrically realised that I had written it in another journal which was, of course; being me, left in Malaysia.

I remember bits and pieces of it but simply said, I really could care less, I mean fuck, you can't expect me to write the whole thing back for your reading pleasure for nothing. That was not a very good comeback, yes, I realised. Summarizing what I wrote would be easy, I literally do not believe in change. All that exist is just a plain metamorphosis of the self.

Almost.

What made me write this post is the realization that sometime, you have to accept some shit. You have to accept the fact that some fucker will eventually fuck up, you have to accept that some things are not only not worth changing but it would not make sense in changing it. It's like trying to take a Labrador and change it into a Golden Retriever. It does not make sense.

That's why people with this Messiah complex irritate me a great deal. Sure, in your definition, you're trying to save a soul from damnation and potential overdose, and mark my words, I would respect you if you accept the fact that some people would not change with your meagre words and you might just exacerbate the situation further with your messed up mentality. It happens a lot, push a person that's on the edge and he ends up dead. It'd be nice if you actually cared for your actions, but of course, why would you care, he's just a junkie aye?

There's so many things that I hate, literally, there's an abhorrent tidal wave which seem to just well up and shoot out of my eyes like jell-o laser beams every time I see something which disgusts me but fuck, I know my capabilities, I know what I can do and I know what is appropriate to do. For example, a pious dude walks up to a couple at an eatery and starts lecturing them about whatever the fuck he thought was wrong with the whole thing. Turns out, the couple were engaged and the soon to be caged man almost gouged said pious fella's eyes out. He should have. That would have been great entertainment. Digression.

That's my point. No investigations, no nothing, that, in my books, is an inch away from going all radical with suicide bombings and shit. Viva la Mussalman eh?

I have no idea what caused this but I think I dare bet my money on the fact that none of them have ever seen the Milky Way. Who am I kidding, of course they haven't. It's a joke really, to talk about God and celestial beings etc etc when you've never even cared to look up and gaze at the stars. I'm going to do you a favour.

Tsk.

Anyways, frig it, I'm concentrating on a long short story which I, for once, quite like. Till then.

If I Could Have It My Way, No One.

2011-04-06T17:12:00.000+03:00

Years ago, one of my greatest pleasures is rummaging through the mini-library of my home. It still is, really, something like a must-do thing every year when I get back home. I'll take a few books, add quite a lot and it goes on. However, this scribble is not about how I seem to do that on and on and on, oh no my dear fickle readers, this is about a time when I was doing the whole routine and I saw a book.

It's a normal, 200 pages or so binding of mindless babble - I have yet to read it, hence I must allow myself to label it that way - but what caught me was it's title. Simply; 'Who Will Cry When You Die'. I think it has been about five years since that discovery but finally, I have found out what abhors me so much about it.

The moment I saw it, something in me rebelled. Like a mutant foetus, it clawed and drove it's presumably scaly foot against the wall of my stomach, trying to tell me something but of course, answers never do come to you instantly does it? It hovers an inch away from your extended, grasping hands and it laughs. It's for a good cause, I suppose, if it does not do that, we'd still think that it's definitely safe to jump from twenty story buildings when life gets too problematic.

It's been five years. I guess that with age, wisdom does come skipping through the fields of daisies while singing those damned fucken Sound of Music shit. It takes awhile but there's a price to everything. Forgive my continuous rantings, it's very enjoyable, see but what I'm trying to say is that given that I were to die, I would hate it if people shed countless tears at my funeral.

It's not that I think that sadness is non-existent, far from it actually. I have learned that sorrow is quite the potent emotion and I was fed copious amounts of it when Babe died. What I am trying to say is that most of us have lost the grasp on what sadness and despair is nowadays, most of us have simply, forgotten how to cry properly.

Call me insensitive, - I'd actually appreciate asshole more really - but nowadays, people seem to cry at almost everything. See, I believe it's fine if it has something to do with you, like a lost loved one, or even while watching movies but I find it hard to accept how people seem to cry at random things. This would be where you call me the scum of the earth, because really, I do not understand why you'd cry when there's a disaster occurring at some distant faraway land, where you have no association to said place, and frankly, no reason to feel any sadness at all. Reflection, maybe, but sadness, I dare say not. If you want to cry and whine at how sad the whole affair is, then cry twenty four hours, seven days a week. Better still, go to the disaster struck area and cry with those people who've lost everything because in my books, you're fucking insane.

Nowadays, this world is full of sorrow that people have made it into a god damned normality. It's as if the logic behind the matter is that 'Since everyone is doing it, I should probably join in'. That's why I don't want people to cry when I die. It would be a direct insult to me or what's left of me. I'd rather have one person sitting by my grave and laughing and thinking about those times where we did so and so, rather than a thousand people crying but then going home and not feel a thing. If I die, I want to leave behind nothing more than fond memories of myself, I think that's good enough. I don't want to leave a legacy behind, I don't want to die famous. I do not want people shedding tears when they themselves have no idea why the fuck they're doing so.

I sincerely hope that said book does not tell people on how to die and leave a million bawling fuckers lost in the world. That would be the end of creative writing and I could imagine Tolkien begging God to be resurrected for just a day so that he could strangle the author with his own bare hands... Really, I couldn't have been the only one to have seen that book, anyone read that shit yet?

Transformation?

2011-04-03T16:12:00.000+03:00

I have been thinking and maybe I should convert this blog into a photoblog thing. Well, excluding the google pictures I've posted in here, I mean my own photos, with ways I achieve the shot etc etc. Wait, why the fuck am I asking you, you don't even care.

Transformation, hmmm, I sense a shot from that term... Anyway, here's the first.

'Perception'. For the love of God. Click on the photo above to go to fullview.

Okay. Hmmm. This is truly a salvaged shot really, but it shows what you could do with a bit of creativity and experimentation. Sleep deprivation might help really but don't count on it.

Most of my shots are made possible with fucking Nik post processing software which I swear, should be the first fucken virtual entity which to be awarded the Nobel. Most probably for keeping world peace or some shit. It's awesome, but only when you know how to balance the effects of it. For example, since this is a salvaged shot, it had a shitload of noise in it, grainy and utterly hideous. Nik's noise reducing mechanism causes a tad bit of detail loss which would fuck this photo up for good. So what I did was that before reducing the noise, I sharpened it further, increased the structure and you know, the whole shenanigans. After reducing, the loss of detail is less apparent.

I played with a bit of tonal contrasts and adjusted the levels. Then, rotated the photo 90 degrees Counterclockwise just so that it bugs with the viewers mind.

*End*

Wha... What?!

2011-04-02T15:05:00.000+03:00

Some things have been really weird lately, and I'm not talking about all the earthquakes and tsunami and shit. People are making too much of a big deal over it, it's no fun making a fool out of them anymore. Ah, God, a 5.9 magnitude earthquake! Oh God there's gonna be a fucking tsunami! Oh God we felt it for about five seconds! Oh God!

Seriously people, fuck you.

Anyways, onwards we ride, leaving the fools to choke upon the obviously polluted air, to weird dreams. Only just now I had this fucked up concoction of weird stuff mashed together and tastes damn good with gravy. The dream started with my Dad's birthday and we all had presents and stuff. I knew I had mine in my bag and proceeded to take it out while my Mom watches and out it came... I uh... I had a trophy of come sort but then I took out another thing.

A crab. No. A flying crab.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBB!!!!

Yes. A flying crab. Well, more like hovering, it didn't have wings or anything but it didn't make it less weird. I gets worse, my friend.

I actually was surprised or in more understandable terms, went 'What the fucking fuck?' but I guess it was mainly due to the fact that it was a lucid dream. Then as the crab hovered around, I remembered my Mom laughing and asking me why'd I get a crab for my father. Something in me might've thought that he would want to eat it but I'm not really sure. So we were getting ready to go to where my Dad was when I realised I left my bag which had stored the trophy and hover-crab (Ho-Crab? HoverAb? Hover-E-Crabby?) when a person attacked me. Well... A person might be sugar coating it. It was a man with the face of a frog, red-skinned and wearing shades.

The few times that even Google Search fails me...

And he kept on trying to hit me with a damn dagger and then... The Ho-Crab came to my rescue. It attacked the dude (Frude? Frode? Froge?) and flew around the fucker and eventually he... Something. I don' quite remember. What I do remember was somehow, the Hover-Ab got fucking insanely protective and tried to fight with fire and got roasted. I took his corpse and must've eaten him.

Anyways, we got to where my dad was and my dad kept asking me does he look old. And frak, in the dream, he looks like what I remembered when I was a kid, which would make him 40-ish and I told him that and it made him a tad bit jolly. Then the dream fucken ended because anymore of that and it'd turn into a nightmare... No more Hover-E-Crabby man, thats some weird ass shit.

Now, to another dream, I think this was the first time I lucid dreamed. Also, the first time I knew that my calling in life was being awesome but it's debatable. Some have said that as soon as I was born, the Lords of Awesome sitting high above their awesome thrones and were busy being awesome felt their awesomeness challenged by the awesomely born me. Digression.

So I was around an old traditional house and there were two middle aged men sitting there. This is not going to be some sort of fucking porn you pervert. They were talking about something which I didn't understand, then turned to me and told me that I was in line to inherit something. Again, not porn. They had to test me first, to see if I was eligible and for some reason I agreed. Which was a bad move. Never agree to anything shady people say in a dream. It'll fuck you up.

They morphed. One into a Shark-human thing...

Damn, anyone else miss this show?

And another into a huge badass fucken minotaur.

Yes, that minotaur.

And they asked me to fight them. Seriously, how does that even fucking make sense... Still, I didn't have the time to question them cause one; they had weapons, the shark had his katana (Awesome, I know) and the minotaur had a club thing and two; they attacked me immediately. So they trashed the shit out of everything in the vicinity when eventually, we reach a room that they trashed and I dived behind a table presumably to fucking curl into foetal position and wonder what the fuck I did wrong. And they seeing I was in that state, they took a fag. I shit you not, they say down and lit their ciggies and smoked. Then they taunted me, pretty heavily and one of em, the minotaur I think told me that there's nothing to be afraid of since this is a fucking dream.

That made sense so I got up, threw the table at them which they smashed easily and I tried to take a swing at the Shark guy. He had this fucking barrier around him, like my punches felt as if they went into some wet cement and fuck, I didn't even hit him. So then they told me to stop and told me that I was not ready for it. I asked them to at least tell me and they projected a mental image of this fucking badass sword. Jeez man, that was one hell of a sword... But yeah, they told me I wasn't ready to inherit it yet and told me to go train some more. That sucked I guess.

There's so many more, fuck, all of em lucid. This shows that if left to it's own devices, my mind must never be trusted and should be locked away in fucking solitary confinement for the rest of eternity.

But of course, you really think that's gonna stop it?

Sleepless Nights 40 - Wishlist

2011-03-20T12:14:00.000+02:00

There are so many shit that I want nowadays, I think I might go crazy if I go on this way any longer... Hence, I have decided, largely due to the fact that I know I'm not going to get this and boredom, to make an impossible wishlist. Why? Because I can. No, seriously, because that's the only thing I can do.

1. Kiseru.

I have an obsession with anything that could and would produce copious quantities of smoke, you know, cigarettes, shishas, that kind of shit. However, I started thinking that fuck this shit, I am too awesome for cigarettes, for my awesomeness makes the cigarette itself wallow in shame and self pity. I'm so awesome that I have to build a bonfire to warm the cigarette up before lighting it with a normal lighter. The thought of it having to be in contact with my godawesomely awesome lips while it's cuddled up with it'd cousins in the box sends shiver's down it's leafy spin. I'm so awesome that- Yeah, enough on that.

Hence, I stumbled across this heavenly piece of awesome which is befitting for one as awesome as I. It's the traditional Japanese pipe, made to make one more awesome than one theoretically is. Even it's tobacco, shares it's share of awesomeness because if you're going to be lit in that awesome piece of awesome, you need to have be of sufficient level of awesome. Here's a picture of how you wish you were this awesome:

AWESOMER THAN YOU!

The shitty thing is that the Kiseru is quickly going out of style in the not-so-awesome community nowadays and has a limited number of real traditional uh... Kiseru-makers. It goes to show that we (Yes including me) are natural morons (You, more than me) to actually let this awesome piece of awesome to die a slow death. Yeah, fuck you. To whoever is going or is already in Japan, seriously, I'll pay you to get me this shit plus sexual favours. Because I'm awesome.

2. Steampunk Goggles/ Accesories.

Why the fuck should I even explain this? The sheer amount of awesomeness in Steampunk is enough to impregnate seventeen infertile women with sextuplets five times over. The design, the incorporation of Victorian era fashion... How can one not find that fucken worth starving for...

3. Ford Mustang 1969 Boss

I have never really been a car nut. For example if you ask me what kind of engine et cetera, your question will immediately take the form of a paper inside my brain, get crumpled and be the subject of much torment at the hands of the two fucks living in there. I think that it may just be because cars today don't appeal to me in a way that they're too... Curvy, yes, too curvy. However, muscle cars, they've captured my heart and proceeded to run over it with their sheer majestic beauty... I mean the sharp lines, the beefed up exterior and my god, that sound... Holy fuck man, that's the fucking dream... If I ever want a car, it would that one up there, not anything else... Still, I have no idea what the hell those technical stuff mean, is it such a sin to just like the car?

4. Pocket Watches.

I will literally beg and grovel or basically sell my soul for this babies. I kid you not, these are the timepieces which I will not hesitate to fork out some cash for... Having one of these is like having pieces of heaven stored away neatly in your pocket. Having this obliterates the need for any human emotion or social interaction. Having this is the ultimate way of staring bug-eyed at a person and telling him that his time is running out.

5. Nikon D300S

If I get my hands on this (Which is a metaphorical arm's length away) I have pretty much removed the need to consumed food for at least five years. How can you even resist that look, that curvy body, that sly, slutty grin...

6. Zippo Black Ice/ High Polish Brass; Venetian Pattern

7. Dictionnaire Infernal by Collin De Plancy

Uh, I just really really want it. It has them demons in em!

8. Campbell Hausfeld Oxy-Acetylene Kit.

Being the pyromaniac that I naturally am, this fucken kit over here, is like a materialization of a wet dream. Practicability, you ask? Ah, yes, good point indeed but fuck it, it's a wishlist, half of the things people include are fucken impossible to have a any practical use whatsoever...

9. Tesla Coil

I'd actually settle for Nikola Tesla himself but apparently, people aren't too comfortable with neighbours that steal corpses and try to bring them back to life. They also refuse to accept any explanation given when their recently deceased relatives comes back home in time for dinner which I have to say is damn awesome. Why won't they understand?!

Anyway, since I couldn't get my hands on the great man himself, I'll just settle for his shockasmic creation which, as the picture shows, is the Tesla coil. Getting this would put a stop to all those pesky squirrels for sure, them bastard children deserve such a death...

10. Go back in time, drug the old me and throw him into an incinerator.

I swear to fucking God that was the only thing running through my mind when I actually had the brilliant fucking thought to go have a little peep on DArt... It was a fucking mistake... Christ, how did I look at myself in the mirror... Those blasphemously noisy photos, the equally blasphemous attempts to try to be creative... And that way of speech... That fucking way of speech! How the fuck did my tongue and fingers not wither and die out on the spot?! I fucking deleted every single abomination on that page... Oh god... I'm poisoned by my old existence... Shiver me fucking timbers... Why did anyone not set me on fire or throw me off the 39th floor or poison my coffee... Why did everyone not do anything... Oh fuck, oh fuck...

11. Tenum Coffee

Mainly because the first time I made it, I had to use a sock to filter it. Sigh... Good times phai, good fucking times...

12. Giant Steel Arm

Why would I want this apparent insult to God you ask? To kill my foes? No, no that is of course, too immature, I would rather use these hands to feel all the sweet pleasures it could offer... To go on a rampage then? Hah, you foolish little peasant, go back to mending the fields... Obviously for good then? Are you mad, you filthy little gremlin, I have a giant steel arm, what possible good could I use it for?

The reason is simply so that I can wave to planes and be seen. Seriously, it's fucking annoying that you see them damn planes and it kinda laze around seemingly hovering and shit... I want to wave at it and freak it out, then give it the finger while shooting fireworks in it's direction. Oh my... That would be splendid...

13. Custom made cigarettes.

Because I wont be able to get that fucking kiseru...