A Stranger's Silence

I love meeting people on the streets. The kind that I know I'll never see again for the rest of my life. It somehow preserves a sense of beauty to it, the faces of strangers that just disappears the moment something else comes up. That fragile short piece of memory just dissipates the moment you turn your thoughts away from it.

What makes it special though, is the silence of it all, the absence of conversations. Anyone I meet can be anyone I want them to be, in that minor two or three seconds in which we cross paths, I can make them demons, angels, lovers, humane even. The moment we lock eyes, conversations spark up in my brain, we'll talk, he or she as a character in a play, each with their own scripts and plots.

Though I must say, the hot ones are reserved as main characters. Just saying.

Anyways, this is why I love a traffic congestion, the characters show their true colours and I can sit and observe in my little reserved space in a vehicle, exactly like a play. I look around and there's bound to be someone who locks eyes with me and then... Then the act begins. She's a paranoid schizophrenic and no one understands her. He lost too much in the world, too much for a human being to endure. The old man finds himself wandering aimlessly because he lost his wife whom he had known for fifty years. A little girl plots on how to kill her abusive parents. So much potential...

Then a few seconds later, it ends.

However, I admit that the best acts are when I'm involved. As in there's an active conversation going on in my brain. Usually it happens when *cough* theres a hot chic that looks at me *cough*. Her gestures help in making the story each movement of her head, the way she flicks a stray strand of hair away... I'll say hi, she (Or my alter ego, it works both ways) replies, then the story unfolds... Or she starts the conversation... Sometimes it jumps straight to the climax sometimes it's at an ending. Sometimes she's screaming, sometimes she's crying, sometimes she offers advice and sometimes... Sometimes, she's dying.

God I love those moments...

Be Nice.

Someone told me back then that I should have a day where I should be nice. In her own words:

Just take a day off from all the moody shit, all the morbidity, all the ZOMG WTF you're so fucking stupid moments you know? A day where you're nice, well, to a certain extent, I mean, can't expect to still be all Confucius when some fucker steals your food.

I gotta admit, it sounds fucking stupid, so, in an attempt to prove her wrong (Note: This should be read with an image of a Persona gripping a flag with retro stripes in the background and uplifting music as the theme song), I tried it.

I lasted 3 hours.

Shit was hard you know, one; when you put me in an environment filled with douchebags and morons who don't know half of what they're saying, I'm bound to be an anti-douchebag to counter their douchebaggery with some douchebaggery of my own. Two; the universe hates me. Three; I like being morbid and moody.

So I went to her, defeated and whimpering (Note: Picture a wounded Lion *cough* with a wound on a leg, limping in a blazing desert with some sad instrumental playing. *Cough* LION.) and I expected this array of insults to be thrown with the viciousness of a uh... something that thorws thing in a fast manner. Actually, I was hoping she'd do it so that I can give the 'Nobody-can-be-nice-nowadays-and-you-proved-it' argument. But she didn't. She just laughed and ordered some fucken coffee for us. Which sucked. Big time.

Obviously I asked why, in a very dramatic manner at that (Fucken Indians ey?). Again, in her own words:

Fuck man, you were nice, for three hours. And I don't really trust you but whatever. Point is, for three hours, you made some pretty fucking fortunate people feel good about themselves. After this, while they have the happy feeling in em, they're gonna go make some other fucker feel good. And the cycle goes on and on. And you know what's the best thing? For three hours, you could be responsible for failed suicide attempts, you could have saved a relationship from crashing, you could have prevented a mass murder due to stress and shit. And knowing how you are, you couldn't care about all those things so think bout this. If you succeeded, you could've saved a hot chic from killing herself. And you can manipulate people easier if you're nice too. Three hours la wey. The shit you can do.

I didn't buy any of it though, no matter how awesome it sounded. Yet, even I know that deep down, I'd be happy that some fucker (preferably real smoking hot) didnt commit suicide, or some fuckers (preferably ugly as shit) decide that they're gonna have babies together and that some mental fuck (Preferably ugly as shit) didn't go berserk and kill a fuckload (preferably real hot office girls in skimpy outfits) of people. It made me feel good that I could have done some shit that matters by not even lifting a finger but by just saying some nice bullshit.

Then this thought came to me that I should do it here. Which was then canceled out by the fact that there are no hot chics here, no one to manipulate, literally, in the easiest way, there is no one here that's worth being nice too. Fuck, why should I? I enjoy telling people how they're too fucking materialistic or how they're living in a fucking dream world. I love busting people's bubbles, it's satisfying, and so god damn enjoyable. So fuck being nice. Fuck all the shit I could do with it. Fuck the manipulation. I'm might not be happy all the fucking time but at least I can shoot down some fuckers while I'm at it. The world is too full of fucked up stereotypes and if I can reduce that number by not being nice, ah well, that's just delightful innit?

It's too sweet.

That taste of pure innocence... The way it spreads in your mouth... Caressing your taste buds; an inferno... Dreams manifest, reality crumbles... Smoother than silk and sweeter, much sweeter than honey... It trickles down your lips as you moan in sweet pleasure...  You lick what's left of it; rough and relentless... Till every single drop now reside in you... Apart of you, it glides in your blood, rests in your muscles...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Innocence...


It keeps you warm on the coldest winter night... It cools you down in the midst of a summer heat wave... You crave for it, nights are spent sleepless as you grit your teeth and clench your fists... Just one drop, you tell yourself... Just one drop of that oh, sweet innocence... Pure, untainted... Naive...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Sweet fucking innocence.............................................................................

Sleepless Nights 28 - Hi awak :D

Seriously, I think sooner or later, when someone fails his/her exam, they're gonna put the blame on Jews.

*Cough*

Moving on.

Anyways, I had this chat with this old fuck I knew before. You know how it goes after awhile, all you can actually think of is 'How's life'. I mean, as everybody sighs and goes 'You haven't talked to her in awhile you should have a fuckload to talk about...' I say fuck that, how can you have something to talk about with someone whom you haven't contacted in years and even have anything to talk about? It's fucken preposterous innit? Unless its a close friend or some shit then at least you can ask bout how his/her granddaddy got caught under debris or how his/her sister ran away from home in the arms of a transvestite and still... You'll run out of topics in a jiffy. And then there's that awkward silence that descends and you (I) appear offline. You know, just to avoid complications. Digression. It's morning.


Where was I? Oh yes.

So this friend of mine she found me through witchcraft and bad voodoo magic a mutual acquaintance and we talked for awhile. And somehow... There wasn't that awkward bitchin' 'ball of hay being blown by the wind' moment. We just... talked. Or she did. Oh yeah, she did. Anyways, it irritated me somehow. I mean, it was against the tide of reality, people don't just pop up from the past and chat as if they never left. The very fact that she had so much shit to talk about fucking freaked me out. It's like she was caught in a void in which time was nothing but a figment of the imagination and when she re-emerged from said void... She was the same hot fucking person. Nothing changed.

I have no idea why I'm even writing this shit. Reminiscing me thinks. Of those days when I used to throw oranges from the 37th floor with her and see who can hit the gaylords below or walk around in KL at 3 in the fucking morning because we were too fucking cheapskate to take the taxi had no money or harass the fucken cashier at bookstores because they couldn't spell the names of authors... It brought me back to days before this. Before all this. And fuck it you bitch, why didn't you invite me into that damn fucking void. Fuck. FUCK.

You know, fuck it, can't dwell on the past now ey... What's done is done, no hard feelings and heck, you still owe me a fuckload.


JS: Fuck those were good days...
Me: Guess they were. In comparison to now, that is, there'd prolly be more awesomer times otw.
JS: Faggot, you can't blame me for the huge nuclear explosion. You know as well as I do that there aint shit we could've done about it.
Me: Hmmm... I'm curious, does that mean I can put the blame solely on you? Cause that'd be pretty fucken awesome looking at how you exposed a tinge of guilt there woman.
JS: You're a fucking pussy, the only time that you can blame me on what happened is if I come up with this new theory on how it actually did happen because of me. You blame yourself, think I don't know that? And no, for the fact, I'm not telling you to stop feeling that way. I somehow enjoy the thought of you in deep depression. Anybody told you it makes you a lot more tolerable?
Me: Funny, I don't remember myself crying like a retard at the fucking balcony now do I... Oh wait, wasn't that you? Suicide ideations, thoughts of running away, hmmm... It all kinda points to you... And fuck you, if I'm happy, the world will brighten up and subsequently crumble upon itself.
JS: Cibai, I was undergoing a phase that day, it might ring a bell in your feminine brain; it's called menstruation. You know, the one you stopped by consuming lots and lotsa coffee?
Me: How do you not expect me to call you a fucking retard when 1, You think that coffee does that shit and 2,
JS: 2?
Me: Scratch that, 1 is enough to prove the world of your lack of brain cells.
JS: Well at least what I lack in fucking douchebaggery, I compensate with the ability to stay true to my words and pure courage. Unlike you faggoty cocksucker.
Me: Only those who lack a few segments of their brain including the fucking limbic system looks at intelligence as douchebaggery. And you? True to your fucking word? Please la babe, dont make me fucking go there.
JS: Aww, you called me babe. See, your gay-feminism is clawing out of you. Now who wants some pink undies?
Me: It was a figure of speech. Fucktard.
JS: Hi Awak :D
Me: ................. Don't start. You expand that and I swear on everything holy that I will fucking ban you from everything that involves me.
JS: Can you fucking chill the fuck out ah? Besides, it's a figure of speech.
Me: I'm gonna start laughing now.
JS: I'll prolly join.

JS: I miss you.
Me: Again, don't start. Shit's over woman, and believe me, saying this is fucking hard even for me.
JS: I'm flattered. Ah well, we had a pretty awesome time didn't we?
Me: Haha, hell yeah... Hell yeah...
JS: You're not feeling anything are you?
Me: Meaning?
JS: No pink tears flowing? No pink hanky by your side?
Me: Uh. Do I need to pour ketchup over my head?
JS: Hahaha! Nah, we're way past that, kan awak?
Me: I swear...
JS: Wordplay bitch, get used to it. Oh well, it's reassuring to see you're the same fucking asshole from before. Don't change kay?
Me: Again, you can't tell me what to do.
JS: I know I can't, I'm just telling you your future. You're always gonna be that bitching asshole in the corner, its inevitable. And make sure you get someone just like me in the future, I can tell you're having so much fun :D Don't cry over me too much aight?
Me: Yeah, I'll try. Go away.
JS: So will I. Heh. I won't come back to you, you know that right?
Me: If I didn't I wouldn't have started this shit in the first place.
JS: I need a bigger smiley.
Me: I'm going to bed.


I raise my glass with menstruating-stopping coffee to you. Thanks. And bye for that matter.


Fuck you and your hankies.

Riddles and Answers.

So you've been asking. What the fuck is going on. Why the sudden change. What happened?

This is no call for help. Only answers to riddles if not more riddles to the evasive answer.

Going back to originality, returning to the passive, motherfucking earth deems it be that way.

The social introvert will always remain one, no you will not make a difference, you are not of any importance.

The lonely, he curses and utters profanities but lonely he shall remain. Company is not meant for him.

Now you say 'Shush! Your tongue dances away from the truth! You're ill, everybody needs company," with concern and a pat.

To that he smiles and his fiddle belches out more riddles; 'Nay my sweet, my tongue cannot dance and the truth remains intact; though my trunk might sway, my voice never goes astray. '

Paranoia sets in, thoughts of loss floods ye mind. 'I can heal you, let me be the one!' You cry and you pry, the lonely flew away on wings of wax and bone.

The social introvert will remain one. The lonely will die alone.

Let me be. I am me, behold the truth.

Sleepless Nights 27 - You don't belong here.

Yesterday I dreamt that I was walking along some sidewalk and it was snowing. So I took a huff from the cigarette that magically appeared and seriously, I paused and thought where the hell did the cigarette come from. Someone shouts my name from the crowd which also magically appeared. I have no idea why I brightened up, prolly was some friend or some shit. And in the case you don't know, my dreams are in the image of mood photos. Sorry, refer here.

Yes, that, grainy, lack of colours and all that shit. Digression.

So anyways, this friend hollers like a fucktard and I therefore brighten up like a fucktard. Then he runs towards me, like a fucktard, and I await, like a fucktard. Then he stabs me in the gut.

Yeah, didn't expect THAT did you. Neither did I.

So, there I was, frowning (There is no pain in dreams you moron), blood oozing out and my newly exposed intestines freezing. This is what I said to the dot:

'This is getting interesting.'

I was dying and that's what I said. Oh and best part is, my friend was grinning.

But the best part comes next. He/She leans towards me, gives me a hug and right before letting go, he/she whispers into my ear and says;

'You don't belong here, you just don't belong in this world.'

See, that part hit me. I was sure I let happy tears flow; do not the fact that your throat is at a pinpoint distance of being ripped off in the case that you do happen to make fun of this, because I dunno, I thought that here it is, a person who finally understands me. In a way, even if giving me death is a sign of acceptance and I was that appreciative of it...

Then I followed he/she everywhere she went, bleeding non stop telling him/her 'Thank you'. And asking him/her why he/she thinks I don't belong. He/She told me I knew and laughed saying me bottling shit up is okay.

Then Morpheus left. Bitch that he is. When I came to full realization of where I was, I hated it. Same room, same house, same fucking country and same body. Knee fucking malfunctioning, body moving towards a state equal to that of a skeleton... Man it'd be awesome if that fried really stabbed me...

Obsessions.

I have no idea what to fucken write anymore. Damn this rottweiler part of the creative brain.

Anyways, yes, obsessions. Currently-

I have to stop myself. Apart from writing cliche sentences like some corny fucked up geek (no offense to you mate, metaphors, really) I just saw two copies of the same book in front of me. Well not really in front of me but... One is two inches away and the other is uh... a feet away. Still, they are in a way in the line of sight, no? Digression. Damn these ramblings.

Where was I... Ah yes, obsessions.

1) Hindi movies.

No, I have no fucking idea why. It just crept from behind and pounced like some fucked up ravaged mutant grasshopper. Oh and the part where I can understand bits and pieces makes it all the more bearable. Heck even the damn songs and 'Blink-change costume-Blink-change costume' thing becomes bearable. In fact, the love songs, albeit corny as uh... corn, turns out to be actually fucken poetic. Which is good. You know. *Cough*

2) Pissing you off with big words and twisted explanations.

Again, no, I'm not congenitally born with it. Or was I? Sorry, turns out that when you're a day old, it's hard to remember stuff when all you can feel is a fucking gloved hand smacking your ass. Talk about child abuse.

Anyways, it seems particularly pleasing when after a long argument, the argumentee (See, I just made up a word!) gives a Fuck-you-I-give-up-you-know-it-all-fucktard-twit laugh/look/stab. Scratch that last one, they usually don't go that far. Apart from satisfying my huge parasitic ego, it's kinda fun actually. Oh and I'm the argumentor, see, that way it makes sense, me argumentor, you argumentee, we make sense here, no? Oh and it could only be done to full uh... fulfillment in English apparently. Damn those hard to translate Bahasa words.

3) The Sahara

How do I put it so that it doesn't sound as if I have a fetish for deserts. Ah, got it. See, I thought of writing a whole blog post on it but I can't seem to start. See, I look at everything with this sense of 'Is this it?' but as soon as I got in that fucken desert, there's this thing that keeps on ringing in my mind. It says: HOLY SHIT.

Seriously. It's hard to imagine how that massive piece of land could be covered in just sand, sand as far as the eyes can see, sand everywhere; fuck man, I came back to Alexandria and I had fucking sand in my fucking hair. And ear. AND EAR! I mean. Fuck. I was brought upon my knees by... sand. If that wasn't bad enough, the jeep stops and in the midst of everything... There was a fucking huge pool of fucking water. Ice cold water. What. The. Fuck. In the middle of the fucking desert. A fucking pool of water. Apparently, I'm the only one tripping over this. Then night comes and the fucking sky is filled with a shitload of motherfucking stars. That is the first time in my life that I had trouble looking for Sirius. Why?

This.

I'm not shitting you. Those shit aint noise. It's stars. A shit-fucking-load of them.

Okay fine, take this instead.

I think the only thing that would do justice is this.

In the Sahara, everywhere I looked, I saw God.

4) Jhumpa Lahiri.

She's an author. With a fairly weird name. Anyways.

Her material is usually what I kind of stay away from, it's boring reality, predictable stuff ya know. Or so I thought. Oh man, it's reality alright, but fuck man the way she tells it, and that final fucking twist that eventually twists again... That's the shit that makes it real absorbing. And it's all Indian. Jay Hind! Really good stuff. If anyone asks for the reason I miss my lectures, it'll be her name coming up. Among other stuff.

5) Getting into fucking OneExposure.

Go here. And you'll understand. Or not. Either way, I don't care.

For those who do understand, here's a rough sketch of what 1x is all about. Amazing photographers meet and makes awesome webpage. Awesome webpage attracts more awesome photographers. More awesome photographers makes awesome community. Awesome community plans on world domination. Awesome world domination leads to awesome world.

Uh. I think you know where to stop.

Somebody once asked me to my face; 'Do you think you have the talent? Do you think you're actually fucking good enough to be a photographer and make it a career? Do you?'

See, I said something back there in which I had no proof of, no solid evidence to shove back into the other's face. I said 'Yes.' Well, with a bit more aggression and confidence, but you get the point. Later I thought of it I felt fucking stupid. In what position was I to say that? In what fucking base was I standing on? Fuck that shit. Fuck that to the circles of Dante's hell. To this day I regret what I said. Why? Because it made me a fucking hypocrite. It made me stoop down to the level of posers, to the level of phonies and shit. Getting into 1x will be my fucking ticket towards my redemption. That's why with each and every reject I'll feel like a fucktard. An inferior fucktard. It means that what that person asked was true. And I do not like to be proved wrong. My ego is way too big for that.

6) Finally coming to the day when my fucking overdue short stories and fucking novels are done.

Yes, that. Referring to the very top of the post (Yes, begin scrolling up now.) the creative part of me brain is like a... shot of endorphin. It's awesome when you get it, then as time goes on, it fades, then something triggers it and then it goes away again and then the cycle repeats itself. See usually for this trigger to launch, the environment comprises me in addition to some other exciting stuff eg. having a debate on some god knows topic that nobody else could understand, running round dodgy staircases to get to the rooftop, taking long walks in the rain or whatever you know. Here, on the other hand, well lets just say the environment serves no purpose except to cage me in a glass prison and/or fill me with hate. And you people ask me why I haven't been writing as much. Ha-ha. Fuck you.

Oh and if you missed it the first time, those purple underlined stuff are links. Yeah, who could've known.