Watching the Witching Hour

I watch the death throes of a diseased and despondent year. I watch it die in pain and wonder if I should smile. I wonder if it is dying from the pangs of painful labour, or is it a major bout of diarrhea.

I await to see with little hope, watching with eyes overgrown with cynicism. If in its dying push, would it birth a beautiful baby, or fart into existence, a little piece of shit.

Songs of the Morning

I've been woken up earlier than I would have wanted to, much more often than not, lately. Have you ever felt like dwelling longer in slumber and perhaps escape waking up to yet another day you wished you didn't have to see? Ever just wanted to sleep later, after a late night?

Then you might understand how incredibly happy people get, when they are rudely woken up in any circumstances.

Today, it was the sheer stupid inconsideration of a bridal procession. The noise made in a funeral procession has no qualms in silent curses, since the person is already dead anyway. But to drive in a procession of several cars into a carpark closely surrounded by HDB flats, in the wee hours of the morning, with every car honking away is just going to blow the fuses of the happy couple's neighbours, bathing their happy day with wishes they may not expect.

Tradition may call for loud noisy processions as the groom makes his way to the fetch his bride, but when you logically think about it, they have very good reason to do so. Ancient times saw people living faraway in possibly remote quarters, where the noise can aptly inform the bride and her family of the arriving groom and how soon they will be arriving.

These days. We have mobile phones. Need I say more?

This morning was the third I've experienced in such an early cacophony of honking vehicles, resulting in a rude awakening from a weekend slumber. I covered my head with pillows to muffle the noise which seemed to last forever. It isn't fun to wake up to a migraine. But I could feel it coming. I couldn't take it, I went to the window to look at the circus. I could feel the joy welling up inside me, similar to an untimely moment of diarrhea.

Then the noise got louder, this time a series of shouts and cheers from monkeys in suits who had gotten out and stood outside their cars, while the alpha male chimp strutted before them. Considering how happy they were in sharing their ape calls with everyone (no matter if the neighbourhood may actually need some quiet rest), it was only eventual that others may begin to join in the fun as well.

I could hear loud blessings coming from various windows around the carpark. Blessings of "KAO PEH LAH!"... "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"... "DIAM LAH!!" (and one distinct anatomically correct description of the groom's mother) rang through the neighbourhood. It was a hard not to enjoy such raucous singing (some may even call it rapping or hip-hop) to show sincere appreciation to the monkeys' posturings. One can even imagine the background humming from a multitude of silent wishes and messages sent from other neighbours who may be too shy to publicly show their love.

The groom and his groomsmen must've been very touched by the neighbourhood's impromptu acapella performance in appreciation of their early morning wake up calls, as they stood there in silence, soaking in the love and attention of the rudely awakened neighbourhood.

I couldn't help but smile. I had almost wanted send them a congratulatory message by decorating their bridal car's windshield with a flower pot. But I was too lazy.

A Short Detour From Depression

Saw something as I made my way home earlier.

Stupid teenagers. Playing with the elevators. One seemed intent on slowing two others from going up and probably home. So he presses the button, everytime the lift nearly closes. Then he uses his foot. Then his hand. And ultimately, he peeks in. Yes, he didn't look very smart.

Yes, the door closes and does a fast clamp on his face. It opens almost immediately. And he groans as he squats by the door, holding his face. I think he broke his nose.

I wanted to help, I wanted to ask if he needed help. But I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I was laughing too hard.

Sigh.

I think my morbid sense of humour is the only thing keeping me sane now. Or am I? Who cares. I felt alive for a moment. My life is in such a mess. I am absolutely in a mess, its almost laughable. I'm destroying everything I touch, and people I care for are probably among them. Perhaps I should just disappear. Sometimes, packing up that backpack and just walking off into the sunset is just so tempting.

Anyway, his friends pulled him into the elevator and probably brought him home. Yes, they couldn't stop giggling too.

Words. Just words.

Loss.
Defeat.
Failure.
Nothingness.
Bewilderment.
Depression.
Death.
Cowardice.
Tears.
Pain.
Self.
Destruction.
Loathing.
Fading light.
Fading will.
God.
Take me home.

Masks. And superficiality. That is all anyone will ever see.
I am not me. And for what I have left, I leave only for me.
For you. I shall be.
An illusion of what you want me to be.

And if even that is unsatisfactory.
I already know forever is not to be.
Perhaps oh Lord. In eternity.

Myself, my echo, my shadow.
Only true companions I know.

Lost

How does one live?
Knowing death will come?
How does one love?
When told it will end?

Will the measurements of joy bear the pain that is to come?
How do I live without you?
Perhaps in my dreams,
perhaps in a sleep that never ends,
I will see forever.

In My Dreams, In My Wake

There was a time some time ago
When every sunrise meant a sunny day, oh a sunny day
But now when the morning light shines in
It only disturbs the dreamland where I lay, oh where I lay
I used to thank the lord when I'd wake
For life and love and the golden sky above me
But now I pray the stars will go on shining,
you see in my dreams you love me

Daybreak is a joyful time
Just listen to the songbird harmonies, oh the harmonies
But I wish the dawn would never come
I wish there was silence in the trees, oh the trees
If only I could stay asleep,
at least I could pretend you're thinking of me
cause nighttime is the one time I am happy

You see in my dreams

We climb and climb and at the top we fly
Let the world go on below us, we are lost in time
And I dont know really what it means
All I know is that you love me, in my dreams
I keep hoping one day I'll awaken,
and somehow she'll be lying by my side
And as I wonder if the dawn is really breaking
She touches me and suddenly I'm alive


A song by REO Speedwagon that I loved, and still do, for the many reflections of my personal life's.

I am fading. Like the dreams in every waking moment. I hide, like the child who loves to hug his mother, yet fears her frequent ire for his precocity.

For what is true togetherness? I have no answer. When we humanly fail in our inabilities to see the differences that make two people truly become one. That one should fade and become the other? Or that two should draw upon and feed upon the other's love, differences and strengths?

Or are we looking only for our own reflections?

That in moments of darkness,
you seek the sun and its light.
That in sunshine,
you soon wilt and despise its heat.
Seeking its very essence and yet,
you do not really want what it gives.

Seeking the wind for its breezy comfort,
yet cursing it for the dust and tears in your eyes
it also carries in its wake.

What are we truly looking for?

I am fading. I am a face without true meaning.
I am the moon, whose light is not my own.
A dark soul, lifeless and dead giving naught
but reflections of what people want to see.

There is no me, for I can only be,
When the world does not see.

There I Be

When you hear the breeze, its me whispering...
When you feel a warmth enveloping you, its me loving you...
When you're cold, its me missing you...
When your fingers brush your lips, its me wishing...
And when I flicker through your mind, its me...
thinking, dreaming and waiting... dying

for you. Always.

True Happiness

Have you heard of the 17th-century theologian Samuel Rutherford? Perhaps it’s time to resurrect his faith-inspiring memory.

Rutherford, a member of the council that wrote the Westminster Confession, was imprisoned because of his beliefs. While in prison, he wrote this soul-strengthening letter expressing the joy that sustained him through his trials: “If God had told me some time ago that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and then had told me that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing me from all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom manifest even in this! For if you should see a man shut up in a closed room, idolizing a set of lamps and rejoicing in their light, and you wished to make him truly happy, you would begin by blowing out all his lamps; and then throw open the shutters to let in the light of heaven.”

When the candles that light up our darkness are blown out, let’s rejoice that God is throwing open shuttered windows and pouring in the sunshine of His love.

Pitch Black

And then the ray of light fades.
I fall, kicking and flailing,
clinging on to illusions
and holding onto nothing.

Never place your hopes on anyone. For they can and will drop you along with all the empty words once spoken into the void, leaving hollow sights and sounds in old familiar places.

Darkness

This will without a doubt be the darkest day in my life yet. And I wonder how much darker it can get, while I suspect it will likely soon turn pitch black.

I hope that ray of light will never turn dark on me too. For I know not why I would find life livable anymore.

Motivational Antonyms

I used to find these (among others) really funny.







I'm told when life gives you lemons, you make lemon juice. Only thing is, I'm beginning to suspect I've been handed rotten lemons that were left in the sun a little too long. Oh how I love my life now.

It makes me look forward to its end.

Shut Down Day

Its an amazing idea. Techies and all to shut down or unplug themselves from their computers and technology for today. Go get connected with your non-virtual life again! I love this idea, in fact I wish they could make it a monthly or weekly event.

As you can tell, I'm using this day to come online, taking advantage of the hopeful faster surfing speeds due to lower traffic, while others sit at home watching paint dry. Seriously, I have no life, so thats what I'd be doing if I actually shut myself off from technology.

Imagining myself a day without internet access. I'd be lost. And if I had to turn off the TV too, I'd fucking go mad. Just thinking if I also had to keep away from the listening to music on my player as well, would probably make me really unplug the wires and wring them around my own neck.

Can u imagine the geeks of the world suddenly abandoning their technological devices and virtual lives? It could quite possibly lead to a massive surge of aimless zombies roaming the streets. And zoned out faces at cafes, staring into coffeecups to seek out new life, new civilisations, and boldly go where no geek has gone before, without his notebook or PDA.

Some, or perhaps many, may tell me to go get a hobby. Well, my hobby is going online and playing games etc. Get another non-virtual, non-technological hobby, they'd probably say. So lets think, what could I really do anyway?

Sports? I don't even like playing sports on the computer. Why would I enjoy the real thing? Besides, I have a bad back and thus severely limiting my options to wading in shallow waters and fishing for prawns. Not really my cuppa tea.

Gathering with the family and friends perhaps? This genuinely sounds good. Because it is. But that won't use up the entire day. A few hours perhaps, before most of us get tired of yakking away about recent events and old funny moments during childhood, such as theone where we peed into our uncles' and aunts' shoes during weekend gatherings. And soon, everyone will be wondering when this pisshead is going to leave. So really, we still have lots of time to spend even with this option.

Perhaps I could spend my time reading. After all, I used to read books voraciously. As I looked at the mouldy tomes on my shelves, I realised I hadn't bought a book in years. Yes, I get most of my stuff online now, even novels. Perhaps a newspaper? Hmm, even if I read the entire thing, including combing through every classifieds advertisement, it wouldn't take me over an hour. Nuts.

Hey wait, some nutjob at the back of my mind whispered "sex". Cool, now this would actually be something I could spend the entire day and night on. Mmm, imagine the cuddles, snuggling and playful touches. The passionate kissing and much more. Mmm, yes, if I had someone now who'd bring my day to such a wonderful repose. That would really... sigh, I feel depressed now.

Hmm, perhaps I should go for a holiday. I never really get the urge to go online etc. when I'm on holiday. Great! I've decided. I'll take a holiday... someday. And I shall obvserve my personal Shut Down Day then. Meanwhile, I'm going back to that online game. I hope I get to login, as its a Saturday today and thus probably jam packed with no lifers like me.

Happy Families

It is now official. May 24 has been named Family Day Out and it will be an annual affair. Parents can now rejoice knowing that they can bring the family out in one massive national campaign once every year, to jostle with other families everywhere in Singapore.

I'm almost certain everone will be so happy to be mingling with the throngs of families, enjoying the sweet sounds of crying babies and incessantly noisy children. Not forgetting the nice slow pace everyone can look forward to as the elderly join in the fray. Sounds fun. The prospects of queuing for toilets in public attractions should prove overwhelmingly attractive for families out to enjoy themselvestoo.

Of course we can also look forward to restaurants and various other businesses to eventually help promote this heart warming day with new promotions at inflated prices, as this new potential public holiday gets popular.

Fathers can now assure their children than they can look forward to a nice day out every year, thus ensuring them of other more mundane activities like nights out with the boys, and working overtime. And children in Singapore can boast of how their parents will take them out next year, after May 24.

Personally, I bring all my children everywhere I go. It helps that they all fit snugly within my testicles. I figure many of them are probably mature enough to have their own children, but I guess they found no reason to leave their comfort zone.

When The Wind Feels Like The Devil's Fart

It was yet another amazing day.

I just had to make sure I got this down so my grandchildren can read it some day. Assuming one of their parents ever find their way out of my balls.

Besides, I had nothing better to do.

Woke up to find an old friend who has come back from a long holiday. I wouldn't probably call it a friend, but it seems intent on making close contact with me. Good ol' Mr. Migraine. A real bastard. Felt like my both halves of my brains decided to do a 69. And it sure didn't feel good one bit.

Its times like these that you wish the advertisements for Panadol were 100% accurate. I decided the doc was probably able to do something about it at least, but after the arduous journey to the next block where he does business, I find the clinic filled with people. It was an epidemic. It was Monday. Bloody malingerers. I was once one of them, till I stopped working that is.

Anyway, looking at the number of people, I decided going home to rest was a better choice and so I took a slow trek back to the squarish cave on the rectangular mountain I call home.

Boredom and depression, doesn't mix well with headaches. Playing games didn't give me the kind of satisfaction I needed. But it was tolerable, I've not found real satisfaction for a pretty long time anyway. Haha... Damn, even laughing feels like piercing my skull with a bamboo pole.

Maybe I'll pay a visit to my good friend, Mr Whiskey later. He's nice.

Good to be bad, bad to be good?

Men with largely uncontrolled libidos, playing the field with no qualms, seem to have it all. All the pleasures of life (as some would call it) and the lack of baggage on their backs. Of course, we all know someone or many like these. And to be fair, women have their fair share of similarly wild oat sowers. Or rather they let many oat sowers plow their field. We don't really like them, for what they do. Accuse them, they won't care and thus wouldn't bother anyway. Or are we just envious we have not chosen or been able to choose to live the way they do?

Men with largely controlled libidos, playing the game of remaining as good as they can possibly be, seem to have it shoved up their chaste asses. Consider the hen-pecked husband. The obedient sucker boyfriend. And perhaps all those in between. All the heartaches and pain in trying to appease the unappeaseable, with largely no benefits, except perhaps the joy of knowing true love (and pain), and the physical joys of a monk with blue balls, at the mercy of a companion's whims. The pain and feelings of idiocy infinitely soars, when they realise their efforts are largely small in the eyes of others, when inescapable suspicion and its cousins creep into their lives.

Sometimes, I wonder. Is there a point to being nice? Sometimes while sitting on a dry bed of thorns, the grass indeed looks greener on the playing field.

Sometimes I have no idea what I'm writing about. And this appears to perhaps be one of those times.

Definition of Pain

pain (arch.)

punishment, penalty (now only in phr.);
suffering; †trouble, difficulty XIII; (pl.)
trouble taken in doing something XVI (earlier sg. do one's p., etc.).
ME. peine, paine — (O)F. peine :— L. pœna penalty, punishment, (later) pain, grief — Gr. (Dorian) poinā́, (Attic) poinḗ expiation, ransom, punishment, rel. to OSl. cěna price.
Av. kaēnā- punishment, Skr. cáyate avenge, punish.Hence painful hurtful; †laborious. XIV.

© The Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology 1996, originally published by Oxford University Press 1996.


Oxford says it all. If only they provided information on how to end it. Someone mentioned its called a bullet.

But the only way to get one in Singapore is to sign up as an idiot working under other career idiots (who wouldn't survive long in a real war) with self hyped ranks earned from deskjobs and colourful reports of bravery while dressing a wound for an old lady during a peace mission to a foreign country.

Bloody pain. Pain sucks ass. Especially the kind you can never see or mend with medicine or bandage.

Bowels of Life

It's been an amazing journey. The kinda amazement one gets when you step on a slippery turd and fall headfirst onto the toilet bowl, cracking the porcelain and lying there unconscious while shit drenches your comatose body.

One might think that falling into a dark pithole of life, resembling the very bowels of reality, you'd have reached rock bottom and the only way is up. Except the footholds you discover as you try to climb back up are really either illusions or they simply crumble at your every touch.

So you fall back, onto what you thought was the cold hard bottom. Only to discover its not as hard as you may have thought, as it gives way and you fall through it. Down further yet, making new explorative discoveries that beneath the pit holes of life, is it's sewer system.

I wonder, is the only way out, the light ahead, not what I think it could be? Sigh.

Many Faces of Mas Selamat Kastari

Its probably pointless to talk about the hidden story behind his escape. Especially from a once secret "Alcatraz" of Singapore. A probable underground facility which only certain people with particularly high clearance could have entered. Even the police force was probably not privy to visits, much less "family" of the detainee.

One can imagine that with the search now being headed by the army, having taken over from the "usual guys", one can almost imagine the "physcal breach" which the Deputy Prime Minister refused to elaborate.

Anyway, in the spirit of community service, posters of the man on the run has been put up everywhere. Except, a trained fella like him would probably disguise himself if he were still in Singapore. So here's a public spirited post on the possible ways you might find him. :P

Could he be the security guard you pass by everyday without a second look?

Is he having lunch next to you at Shenton Way? Is he trying to sell you insurance policies against terrorist attacks?

Did he save you from falling onto the MRT tracks? To plant a little bomb in your bag?

Did you just pass him by? A short non-descript woman in tudung would hardly make you take a second look. Or want to even take a first look.

Did you just have tea with him at the zoo?

Did you try to pick him up in a bar? Did you make out? Gawd...

Were you oogling him as he served you coffee?

Have you seen him? You could have.

Mas Selamat Tinggal (and Ah Meng gets post mortem sex change)

It was a scene almost any movie goer knows by heart. Escorted by guards, the prisoner requests for a little visit to the boy's room, and we all know an escape is imminent. This scene has been replayed in myriad forms and scripts, while we groan at the utter stupidity of the guards at hand.

One almost wonders how writers could even think that guards this stupid could exist or be employed as one. Then we see the exact scene replayed in Singapore. Mas Selamat (the country’s most wanted man) takes a leak and dumps his guards into new jobs as warehouse (empty ones) security guards.

It’s just amazing. We groan when we see onscreen, some young silly girl enter a dark building by herself. We groan when the villain (or sometimes hero) asks to free his willie. We all know what’s going to happen. But Mr Wong Kan Seng’s Home Team apparently wasn’t trained for daring toilet escapes.

In fact the almost sternly embarrassingly arrogant faced Wong said in parliament, “This should never have happened. I am sorry that it has.” One can almost detect from his tone of voice, as he raised his tone at the end of the sentence, he was pissed it happened. Not exactly sorry, but pissed. Well, perhaps sorry for what he will do to the day’s duty guards and their abilities to sit properly or defecate. For letting Mas Selamat Kastari say selamat tinggal (“goodbye” for those not familiar with the terrorist’s native tongue) to our inescapably tight security forces. We all know a contrite apology is spoken in lower tones. But obviously the minister for home affairs wasn’t very at home with admission of his ministry’s ineptitude. It was apparent, no matter how tight you squeeze your ass, a turd still can manage to slip out if you lose a moment's focus.

After successful riot police deployments against peaceful gathering of people in similar teeshirts, or elderly people holding placards, I guess they were unable to comprehend the audacity of such a daring escape. I forgot, he is after all a deputy prime minister too. And we all know why a sheriff is a sheriff and why the deputy is the deputy, don’t we?

Why the fuck do toilets in detention centres for terrorists have escape possibilities anyway? Shouldn’t there be no windows or exit alternatives? Anyway, it’s not my place to question the expert and elite guards of my country, is it? We apparently have to wait for some independent inquiry into the escape. I wonder if they’re going to get our “independent” President to do it. It should give him something to do.

Of course our media went out of its way (as always) to ensure we all think or know that it was an apology.

Andre Yeo from The New Paper even decided he should help our esteemed well-fed minister’s grammar and sentence construction.

Andre wrote, “Mas Selamat's escape should not have happened. But it did. And for that, I am sorry.

Those were the words of Deputy Prime Minister and Home Affairs Minister Wong Kan Seng in Parliament yesterday.”

This is what Wong really said. “This should never have happened. I am sorry that it has.”

Read both and tell me they mean the same. If you do think they mean the same, you’re well qualified to be working for the official mediacocks and news publications in Singapore.

Oh and of course the entire government went into damage control overtime. Just look at the massive manhunt island-wide and the massive deployment of forces. Personally, the entire show doesn’t exactly bolster their competence and would probably worsen public perceptions of them if the limping terrorist (whom they tell us, has no money, no food and resources to leave the country) is not captured soon. The fact that he still remains at large is bad enough.

On a side note, since I did mention our media’s knack for correcting our elite leaders’ words, I thought I’d mention the not too recent death of Singapore Zoo’s matron orang utan, Ah Meng. Tagged as an icon, it’s not hard for any Singaporean to know something about her.

But our country’s highest paid political mime, (non)Elected President SR Nathan, made a monkey of himself yet again. Broadcast on TV, we can hear him say, "Ah Meng has been so much of a symbol of the Zoo. A lot of people – locals and foreigners – have enjoyed his company. I'm sure the patrons of the Zoo will miss him a great deal. But that's life."

Amazingly the person in the highest office of Singapore calls the monkey a symbol and well recognised symbol and then goes on to verbally change the gender history of the dead ape.

Of course the captions on TV, repeating his words, corrected the gender. As did every media report after that. Not much accuracy in our reporters or journalists, is there? Then again, I wonder if Mediacock was subtly making a fool out of him, since they could after all get the newscaster to read the lines over Nathan’s interview. Haha… who knows?

They should ambush this fella for more impromptu interviews and get him to make more unscripted comments. He is one amazingly hilariously overpaid fucker, and its only right that we taxpayers get to laugh at his fucking idiocy.

Hey, maybe we can televise Nathan making an effort to hunt down the terrorist. Seriously I doubt he can do much worse that the guards who lost him at the toilet. Except maybe perhaps proclaim Mas Selamat an escaped stingray from the Underwater World in Sentosa. Nathan vs Mas Selamat. The makings of a straight-to-video comedy.

Deja Vu

Took out my dinner, all ready to watch "Wes Craven Presents: They" on TV, and began eating as I watched. Yummy crispy KFC thighs, not exactly as yummy as a woman's thigh, but you should be satisfied with what thighs life wraps around you.

Into the final 15 minutes of the movie (incidentally, this is aired on Mediacorp's Channel 5, Singapore's free to air channel), I took the chance to bless the porcelain with a little water spout during a commercial. (Ever wondered if the spouts you see at sea could be a giant pissing? And the sea you're swimming in, is really just a huge toilet? Oh wait, it is a huge toilet for many).

Coming back, anticipating a climactic end after watching one and a half hours of the movie, I thought life began to simulate the Matrix. Deja vu... the movie continued with a scene from the beginning of the movie. I was thinking, hmm, this could be one of those movies that shows you clues from the beginning before ending in a twist.

And twist it did. Bloody twisted too. The award winning Mediacock who owns Channel 5 did yet another first, and may yet win another award for this.

The movie went into commmercial break at the end of the timeslot and the next thing I knew, I was watching the next timeslot's lousy show.

Somebody had screwed up, or I believe screwing himself with porn and rewound the tape or something, while happily spanking his monkey.

All we got was a scrolling text later, saying that the movie will be screened again in its entirety on a later date, "due to technical difficulties". Guess the fella in charge had a difficult time getting it up.

It was utter pissdom for me, watching a movie only to get screwed over by the final scenes. And having to watch the movie again, just for the ending? I hope everyone at Mediacock gets a good lashing of words from someone. And perhaps a good intercourse with an abrupt end before climax.