Sleepless Nights 43 - Death.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.