.: A little taste of obscurity :.

:: Monday, September 29, 2003 ::

when i am king, you will be first against the wall

So I was out for supper yesterday with some old friends, right smack in the middle of pork heaven Petaling Street. Then we were joined by an obviously drunk Indian guy and then later by a Malay guy who thinks he grew up in Harlem.

Drunk Indian looked at me and spoke in an Ah Beng accent. "Hah-low, hau are yew doiiing?" and I laughed it off. Then he offered me some roast pork because "yew lub to makan babi riiight?" and I smiled curtly whilst playing Paranoid Android in my head. Not impressed, he later asked me "Eh, chinaman, where's your WRX or izzit a Honda Civic?". I cock-stared him, but in my head it was snapping "Well at least I can afford a turbo-charged all-wheel drive Japanese car, and not some fucking bright green 1.3 fucking Iswara with no fucking power windows." I'm sorry I didn't know we're still stuck in the medieval ages where we randomly hurl stereotypical racist insults at one another upon meeting. At that point, I wanted to buy the latest Nokia phone and install fucking blinking lights on it. I wanted to get a Hello Kitty steering wheel. I fucking wanted a Mashimaro tampon disposal system to match my Mashimaro tampons. I'd rather be an Ah Lian than associate with a dickhead of a Neanderthal.

Rappa Malay appeared in style, dressed in Fubu and Adidas sneakers, complete with a sweat band. Index finger and thumb permanently sticking out as he spoke.

Rappa: Yo, yo, yo, whassup G?
Friend: Heyyy whassup!
Rappa: What's dis, bro? Fuckin' goin' out wit'cho peeps, and you ain't be callin' me? Why you gotta be dissin' me like that foe?
Friend: No lar… just having dinner only. Come, come, join us
Rappa: Ey, but I ain't gots no dough, so this one's on you, aiiiight?

So not only was I in the medieval times, I was also in Harlem. You got to love multifuckingcultural Malaysia.

:: Another pointless rambling at 5:51pm ::

:: Tuesday, September 23, 2003 ::

Blissful is the drifter who falls in love, for he never hears the breaking of his heart.

This piece was written on the 15th of November 2002, meant as a birthday gift, but I never gave it. No guts or no point? No good more like.

Anyway, it came back to haunt me recently, after a conversation on compromising with the love that you have because you can never have who or what you want. People like me just settle with Haruki Murakami books and platonic friendships that seem to go somewhere but end up nowehere. And then write about it to show off your talentless writing skills.

my unintended

I remember those times when we'd converse through the lines
Everything went so fine I felt like I was nine
Yea how those adolescent nights went by so quickly
My stories were in pages and your reply took ages
Yet with your infrequence I doubled my patience
Yea how I keep thinking of its ending sequence

Our past lives so alike, were we on the same flight?
Of all the times I've cried, at least I know you tried
Yea you took away the obscurity in me
Those little times spent, the hours turned to sand
Warped in a dream, that's what it seemed
Yea you took away the longingness in me

All my dreams and all my thoughts and all that's in between
Bet you didn't know I want to be your queen
And all my words and all my songs and all the things I do
It's all for the love I want from you

We talked of The Bands, but you never held my hand
Immersed in a song, to you I didn't belong
Yea still all my dreams were in your hands
The air you breathed, made me believe
In life once again, despite of all the pain
Yea still all your dreams I never touched

The moments we joked, happiness you coaxed
The smiles that you left, memories a cleft
Yea your innocence still echoes in here
Here's me here's you, a line between the two
Again the sunset bus, stops to separate us
But yea your beauty still lingers in here

:: Another pointless rambling at 1:51am ::

:: Monday, September 22, 2003 ::

weasel eat dog world

What's worse than having something that belonged to you taken away nonchalantly? When the authoritarian doesn't fucking give a rat's ass about it. And you're once again reminded of your obscurity and worthlessness in a society where you're supposed to act "professional" about it by making a cup of coffee and smile when all you really want to do is whip out an Eagle Apache carbine gas-operated semiautomatic with a 50 round mag and shoot randomly ... at the water bottles surrounding the pantry so it floods the entire place and the company will have to whip out extra cash to re-carpet the office. HAH! Then we'll see who's boss.

Really, you're just short of fucking me in the ass with a strap-on dildo and calling me Nurse Judy.

:: Another pointless rambling at 11:13 am ::

:: Thursday, September 18, 2003 ::

"not tonight honey ... i've got a headache"

My nose is blocked and my throat hurts. My head bangs and my intelligence is fucked. Voices seem distant and concentration is futile. Wah, did Marlboro lace a special one-and-only edition of Marlboro Menthols with weed and sell it to me? Wah, did my boss want to find an easier way to dispose of me without looking like the mean tyrant who fired me by spiking my glass of water with posion? If only my life were that entertaining.

My flu is back to haunt me because I did not get rid off it properly a couple of days back. Calvin asked me to prove my sickness by sneezing into his face. Although I look perfectly normal on the outside, I'm struggling to breathe inside. I'm sorry I don't look like I'm about to die. I don't have the final stages of AIDS killing my blood cells or anything like that. He reckons I'm faking my flu so I can get a half day leave and run out of the office into the loving arms of that long-shirted waiter with a permanent scrunch on his face serving random customers a cup of 'yeah-what-the-fuck-do-you-want-order-it-now-or-i'll-launch-into-my-miserable-life-story" at Purnama downstairs.

Sigh. Where do you think we're at? High school? Do I have to fake a minor case of herpes so that I can skip a session of Geography? Must I pretend to be dying from a sex operation gone wrong to skip Physical Ed? I'm a whole 22 years old! I don't have to fake illnesses as an excuse to leave the office! If I want to go downstairs to my beloved waiter, I'll grab my ciggies and money and storm out! (quietly of course so that the boss doesn't find out)

I'm sulking because no one cared and thought I was practising a Best Actress with a Cough Oscar-winning scene. I hope all of you get my flu next week.

:: Another pointless rambling at 9:37pm ::

:: Wednesday, September 17, 2003 ::

asphalt with chocolate frosting

He looks out the window and watches as the leaves on the trees sway in the direction of the wind. Ever obedient to its master, never a word of protest. Instantly, he felt sympathy for the unbending slaves, yet somehow drawn to their call of pain. Their cries fed lust and joy to his writhing heart.

He reached out for his Zippo and pulled a cigarette out of a crumpled box of Indonesian cigarettes. A rub of the flint sent a dancing flame in his hands and he drew it closer to his face to light the cigarette between his lips. Inhale the sweet smell of death, let it linger, so that it may slowly turn his lungs into a putrid disintegrating mess. Always flirting with death, he plastered a sinister smile on his face as he envisioned himself soaking in his own blood after a slow stab of a blunt knife across his chest.

Brendan Lee, his pet crow (which he'd refer to as a raven) , squawked from within its cage and broke his train of thoughts. "Silent, my pretty, we'll prowl the nights soon," said he, as he went through tonight's plan in his head. He looked out the window and the setting sun was more than an indication that it was time. For a shower.

The warm blood shower rejuvenated his aching soul. He wore his favourite bright red t-shirt, to symbolize his anger against the world and his lust for blood. A dark pair of jeans, to match his dark, wretched soul. One look into his broken mirror and he knew something was missing. A sly grin creeped from the corner of his mouth. He opened his drawer and the room suffocated in its secrets. "There you are, my precious ..." he said as he picked up his spiked collar. Placing it around his neck, he felt its secure grip against his throat as he swallowed in the excitement. He was ready. He was ready to begin tonight's tale.

He made slow and accurate steps, each echoing a devious plan. "Come, my pretty" he instructed Brendan Lee. "It's time ..."

The taxi rode off into the dusk, with Brendan Lee flying by its side, as they headed off to an Avril Lavigne concert.

:: Another pointless rambling at 1:16am ::

:: Friday, September 05, 2003 ::

when all else fails ... just admit it you fucking loser

Brian and I earn meagre wages. What's worse though, is having expensive dreams. One concerning that RX-8 parked in the Mazda showroom right under our office. What's even worse than Avril Lavigne trying to sing is, there's a midget geek salesman giving you the "Ye-ah, like you can afford this shit" look.

So what happens when two people who have no shame go to lunch? Two people whose monthly combined salary can generate world peace when it makes the whole world laugh in harmony. Two people whose combined car knowledge can only help in picking out which colour is best. Yep. We walked right in to check out the RX-8.

Brian: Oooo ... RX-8.
Sue: Oooo ... in white.
Midget Geek Salesman: Yes, may I helpchu?
Sue: Oh, hey, we're just checking out the car.
Midget Geek Salesman: Mmmm (starts using his tongue to dig out lunchtime chicken bits wedged between his teeth)
Brian: So, how much does this go for?
Midget Geek Salesman: (raises his eyebrows and looks someplace else) Too hund-led and fortee kay ah. *snicker*
Brian and Sue: Oooo.
Sue: (in desperate attempt to save face) But Brian, I have my eyes set on the Skyline GTR R-34. *smile*

Two people who then quietly walked out of the showroom. Two people who ended up having Twisties for lunch.

:: Another pointless rambling at 10:13pm ::