So that I hope I may with Justice pronounce myself an Author perfectly blameless
~Gulliver's Travels, Jonathan Swift
Long story sort, I have a book deal, as in an offer. Some crazy establishment with lots of money wants to print my words. They are going to put a cool dust jacket on it with some tasteful artwork.
Mainly we’ll pour through the archive of this blog, they get to choose the story line and I would have to fill in some missing gaps. They also get to fix the grammar.
The moral problem being the obvious, my stories resemble many actual characters who would perhaps be best served by not having their kisses exposed in public.
I always think that - if these people who were allegedly living lives remarkably similar to the intertwined characters of my life - if they were real characters, they would’ve had their own stories to tell.
Their stories could share remarkably similar plot lines and might even evoke some uncanny details. They would probably have the same general opinion of kisses overall but they might reserve the rights to interpret the drunk dials.
Most of all, they would probably have their own language to tell and it might’ve told you guys an entirely different story. Villains could’ve been angels and I could well be the repenting serpent.
The idea bothers me as I am considering the offer.
The story could’ve been very differently told by different people.
They would be the same story told differently, essentially the same.
Would it suffice to say that this is the story as I - the idiot - having it understood?
Or perhaps it was just the different glimpses of the same elephant. We each tell what we knew.
When I was very little, mother dropped me in libraries for daycare while she went to work. I later grew up to be the youngest librarian on the staff and helped them put books in bookshelves.
I tried reading each of them if only to know whether they go to the fiction or non fiction isle. With some, you never know.
Do give your opinion, I am in dire need of good advice.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
on the Brave New World
Sixty two thousand four hundred repetitions make one truth. Idiots!
~Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
It wasn’t really a lie at first. More an ineptitude with insufficient cover. A momentary lapse of judgment. Perhaps even, mere a temporary loss of the sensibility chip.
The most effective of them is when you convinced yourself in full that it wasn’t ineptitude anymore. Things assumed their fuller pose when you’ve fully absorbed the newly found reality retold. It helps also to have a bad guy somewhere. You get better with time and repetition.
When you started believing your villain doing the very things you yourself did, however, ought to be the time when the bells start ringing. No longer sorry, you’re just sad.
I am too upset to say it any better at the moment.
She had a ring on her finger. A tiny diamond on two rings bound together. She knew the buttons well. We knew all the buttons there ever was. When it comes to the self destruct buttons, we all knew ones with the most damage. It won’t be over until there’s absolutely nothing left. All retold.
Makes me very sad.
Sixty two thousand four hundred repetitions make one truth.
We’re all idiots.
Read More..
~Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
It wasn’t really a lie at first. More an ineptitude with insufficient cover. A momentary lapse of judgment. Perhaps even, mere a temporary loss of the sensibility chip.
The most effective of them is when you convinced yourself in full that it wasn’t ineptitude anymore. Things assumed their fuller pose when you’ve fully absorbed the newly found reality retold. It helps also to have a bad guy somewhere. You get better with time and repetition.
When you started believing your villain doing the very things you yourself did, however, ought to be the time when the bells start ringing. No longer sorry, you’re just sad.
I am too upset to say it any better at the moment.
She had a ring on her finger. A tiny diamond on two rings bound together. She knew the buttons well. We knew all the buttons there ever was. When it comes to the self destruct buttons, we all knew ones with the most damage. It won’t be over until there’s absolutely nothing left. All retold.
Makes me very sad.
Sixty two thousand four hundred repetitions make one truth.
We’re all idiots.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
on Californication
I won't go down in history, but I will go down on your sister
~Hank, Californication
Guys, I’m not sure if I’d mentioned this before, but you should all watch Californication. I saw this a while ago, then Jen reminded me of it again, so I think I’ll mention it again.
It has David Duchovny and lots of hot girls. The story is about a blogger who shags a lot and drives a Porsche.
Imagine lots of blogger sex.
Even better, he was an author before he was a Blogger. The Y Generation had arrived to rescue us from the R2D2 rule over the geekdom. This is Melrose Place 2.0. You need a social networking tool to connect the dots and the style sheet is always pretty.
In any case, go get it.
Read More..
~Hank, Californication
Guys, I’m not sure if I’d mentioned this before, but you should all watch Californication. I saw this a while ago, then Jen reminded me of it again, so I think I’ll mention it again.
It has David Duchovny and lots of hot girls. The story is about a blogger who shags a lot and drives a Porsche.
Imagine lots of blogger sex.
Even better, he was an author before he was a Blogger. The Y Generation had arrived to rescue us from the R2D2 rule over the geekdom. This is Melrose Place 2.0. You need a social networking tool to connect the dots and the style sheet is always pretty.
In any case, go get it.
Monday, January 28, 2008
on a Limbo
“No good in a bed, but fine up against a wall.”
~Heard on the Internet
Okay, this is a hypothetical exercise to test my general mental well being. Do help me. Imagine your partner decided she wanted to take a position overseas.
It would be hard, but long distance sounded plausible for a short bit. You’ve facebook and gmail to help.
After being alone for a while, she prodded you to move, making it clear that you were needed the most, in order for her to do her things.
Needs lead to conclusions, you agreed to the good idea and decided to leave your job and your home and took a more somewhat ambiguous position at a local entity where she’s at, so that both of you wouldn’t have to deal with facebook anymore.
That meant pretty much leaving a career and starting a new one from several notches down (you wouldn’t have your local network access like you would in your hometown).
Throw in some nasty math of numbers and it was as much a gamble as it was a decision. So you packed your stuff and get ready to go.
Imagine, just as you were effectively standing in that life limbo, she violently announced her decision to go elsewhere, for a new position, rewarding immediately. Perhaps to explore the opportunity to be a salesman of some sort.
Imagine her placement was another country less hospitable than Tibetan winter. You won’t have facebook this time around.
Imagine yourself standing with luggage and no current destination.
Then you lost your luggage.
(Add music for dramatic effect).
Imagine yourself being in that situation.
Is it acceptable to feel slightly annoyed at that point?
Read More..
~Heard on the Internet
Okay, this is a hypothetical exercise to test my general mental well being. Do help me. Imagine your partner decided she wanted to take a position overseas.
It would be hard, but long distance sounded plausible for a short bit. You’ve facebook and gmail to help.
After being alone for a while, she prodded you to move, making it clear that you were needed the most, in order for her to do her things.
Needs lead to conclusions, you agreed to the good idea and decided to leave your job and your home and took a more somewhat ambiguous position at a local entity where she’s at, so that both of you wouldn’t have to deal with facebook anymore.
That meant pretty much leaving a career and starting a new one from several notches down (you wouldn’t have your local network access like you would in your hometown).
Throw in some nasty math of numbers and it was as much a gamble as it was a decision. So you packed your stuff and get ready to go.
Imagine, just as you were effectively standing in that life limbo, she violently announced her decision to go elsewhere, for a new position, rewarding immediately. Perhaps to explore the opportunity to be a salesman of some sort.
Imagine her placement was another country less hospitable than Tibetan winter. You won’t have facebook this time around.
Imagine yourself standing with luggage and no current destination.
Then you lost your luggage.
(Add music for dramatic effect).
Imagine yourself being in that situation.
Is it acceptable to feel slightly annoyed at that point?
on a Muse
Hey, I’d a muse. I lost my muse. Now my muse is back.
(expect improvement in the overall quality of these pages)
PS: we're having Slank tonight at the party. If you know where it is, then you're invited. Find me. Pray gods i won't sing.
Read More..
(expect improvement in the overall quality of these pages)
PS: we're having Slank tonight at the party. If you know where it is, then you're invited. Find me. Pray gods i won't sing.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
on the Sins of Fathers
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence
~The Dictator, Pablo Neruda
So the old man finally died. He died several times in the last few years, but today he died for good. The media circus gets on high gear, the hospital looked like a zoo with just about everybody there: special forces units, police, soldiers, presidential details, cabinet ministers, Supreme Court Justices, family members, herds of the fourth estate as well as the curious onlookers.
The country couldn’t seem to get enough of him. The President himself expressed his condolence with the veep next to him. The family members looked sad and mostly in tears. The rest of them at the hospital quite simply looked too excited.
We used to have a picture of him and mom in the living room, back from days God knows when. I’ve never met him in person, but as for anyone that spent anytime in Indonesia at all during his days, you could hardly name another name more influential than the old general. For someone so conspicuously being the public face of the country, Soeharto was as much a myth and legend as he was a leader. There’s not another person more responsible in shaping this country for the last 50 years after its independence.
He took the country to economic prosperity before plunged the rest of us into chaos. He symbolized an Asian dream and a lifetime of opportunity for many and yet he took more than we could ever afford to make it happen.
In the later days, as he ascended into benevolence, everything became personal, for him and his family as well as for many of us here, my immediate family included. He kept the country in once piece at the expense of its citizens.
I’m not sure at all what would be the significance of him dead. Whole loads of unfinished business and unpaid debts. The family had no more the comfortable security of a Godfather. The establishment no longer kept its due to a man larger than life. IOUs were settled and secrets unbound, it’s an end of an era.
I’ll be curious to see how long before the entire clan moved away to their Boston mansions for good. It would be a much better alternative than what’s on offer from the Indonesian courts.
I’m sitting here within the immediate thirty minutes of his death, watching the telly, and I couldn’t tell if they were mourning or celebrating. Common decency dictates that you do not speak ill of the dead so soon and yet it would seem callous to ignore much of the public sentiment. I’m not sure they’ve the time for retrospect at the moment, the press were just getting giddy he finally kicked the bucket. Pundits craft ambiguous phrases full of superlatives, loosely wondering in a nostalgic limbo, everything appeared in third person plurals. If you were to learn Indonesian, this is the time when you learn nothing from listening.
TV stations were announcing a seven days of mourning for the nation. I’m not sure if that was official at all, though it does seem excessive. We should’ve put it up half mast for at least a few years if we were really to remember him.
Read More..
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence
~The Dictator, Pablo Neruda
So the old man finally died. He died several times in the last few years, but today he died for good. The media circus gets on high gear, the hospital looked like a zoo with just about everybody there: special forces units, police, soldiers, presidential details, cabinet ministers, Supreme Court Justices, family members, herds of the fourth estate as well as the curious onlookers.
The country couldn’t seem to get enough of him. The President himself expressed his condolence with the veep next to him. The family members looked sad and mostly in tears. The rest of them at the hospital quite simply looked too excited.
We used to have a picture of him and mom in the living room, back from days God knows when. I’ve never met him in person, but as for anyone that spent anytime in Indonesia at all during his days, you could hardly name another name more influential than the old general. For someone so conspicuously being the public face of the country, Soeharto was as much a myth and legend as he was a leader. There’s not another person more responsible in shaping this country for the last 50 years after its independence.
He took the country to economic prosperity before plunged the rest of us into chaos. He symbolized an Asian dream and a lifetime of opportunity for many and yet he took more than we could ever afford to make it happen.
In the later days, as he ascended into benevolence, everything became personal, for him and his family as well as for many of us here, my immediate family included. He kept the country in once piece at the expense of its citizens.
I’m not sure at all what would be the significance of him dead. Whole loads of unfinished business and unpaid debts. The family had no more the comfortable security of a Godfather. The establishment no longer kept its due to a man larger than life. IOUs were settled and secrets unbound, it’s an end of an era.
I’ll be curious to see how long before the entire clan moved away to their Boston mansions for good. It would be a much better alternative than what’s on offer from the Indonesian courts.
I’m sitting here within the immediate thirty minutes of his death, watching the telly, and I couldn’t tell if they were mourning or celebrating. Common decency dictates that you do not speak ill of the dead so soon and yet it would seem callous to ignore much of the public sentiment. I’m not sure they’ve the time for retrospect at the moment, the press were just getting giddy he finally kicked the bucket. Pundits craft ambiguous phrases full of superlatives, loosely wondering in a nostalgic limbo, everything appeared in third person plurals. If you were to learn Indonesian, this is the time when you learn nothing from listening.
TV stations were announcing a seven days of mourning for the nation. I’m not sure if that was official at all, though it does seem excessive. We should’ve put it up half mast for at least a few years if we were really to remember him.
on the Alchemist
Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering
~Paulo Coelho
Paulo Coelho, in the introduction to the Alchemist, he quoted Oscar Wilde saying, “Each man kills the thing he loves.” He was talking about how hard it is for one to realize one’s dream. He went on, ‘and it’s true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far.’
The book itself is quite light and easy to read. I read it once before but I went through it again last night, not having anything else to read at the moment. Santiago the shepherd boy journeyed from Andalusia, through Tangiers and further to see the Pyramids in Egypt. He was looking for a treasure told in dreams. Santiago was looking for his Dream.
Making a decision was only the beginning of things. When somebody makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.
Not sure what it was, but the book was good. It gives you some funny feeling in the morning. I’m going back to my Hunter Thompson.
Read More..
~Paulo Coelho
Paulo Coelho, in the introduction to the Alchemist, he quoted Oscar Wilde saying, “Each man kills the thing he loves.” He was talking about how hard it is for one to realize one’s dream. He went on, ‘and it’s true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far.’
The book itself is quite light and easy to read. I read it once before but I went through it again last night, not having anything else to read at the moment. Santiago the shepherd boy journeyed from Andalusia, through Tangiers and further to see the Pyramids in Egypt. He was looking for a treasure told in dreams. Santiago was looking for his Dream.
Making a decision was only the beginning of things. When somebody makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.
Not sure what it was, but the book was good. It gives you some funny feeling in the morning. I’m going back to my Hunter Thompson.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
on the Moon in Dragonfly
Q. Why doth the shining of the moon hurt the head?
A. Because it moves the humours of the brain, and cannot afterwards dissolve them.
~Aristotle's Book of Problems
Was in Dragonfly last night. Nothing to report except that nothing happened. Well, nothing happened in Dragonfly anyway. Things could well be happening everywhere else. I’m the butt of a cosmic joke, you need only to laugh.
The new place is much bigger as they tore down the restaurant side. We had one of the tables on the top, bunch of us old friends including several senior members of the Jedi Council. We talked shop a little, love a little and yearned to live a whole lot more.
The rest of the crowd is still the usual Dragonfly crowd, pretty and pretentious, all glitter and thick on the base. It was great to see the old guys though. Things changed a lot since the days that we were camping out in our very own corner – the corner isn’t even there anymore – but it was good to catch up.
Am I being too superstitious that I was right? I scare myself when I’m right.
I couldn’t think straight for the most of it and we were low on the cranberries.
I went home driving really fast under the moon, knowing she wasn’t very happy. She didn’t look happy. I felt that she was angry.
I’m skipping the reopening gala tonight, playing ball instead.
Read More..
A. Because it moves the humours of the brain, and cannot afterwards dissolve them.
~Aristotle's Book of Problems
Was in Dragonfly last night. Nothing to report except that nothing happened. Well, nothing happened in Dragonfly anyway. Things could well be happening everywhere else. I’m the butt of a cosmic joke, you need only to laugh.
The new place is much bigger as they tore down the restaurant side. We had one of the tables on the top, bunch of us old friends including several senior members of the Jedi Council. We talked shop a little, love a little and yearned to live a whole lot more.
The rest of the crowd is still the usual Dragonfly crowd, pretty and pretentious, all glitter and thick on the base. It was great to see the old guys though. Things changed a lot since the days that we were camping out in our very own corner – the corner isn’t even there anymore – but it was good to catch up.
Am I being too superstitious that I was right? I scare myself when I’m right.
I couldn’t think straight for the most of it and we were low on the cranberries.
I went home driving really fast under the moon, knowing she wasn’t very happy. She didn’t look happy. I felt that she was angry.
I’m skipping the reopening gala tonight, playing ball instead.
on Recent Events
Now that I’ve to be sitting on a bare board, does your worship want me to flay my bum?
~Sancho to Don Quixote
I want to write about recent events. Only I don’t know how to. Not sure where to start, where did recent events even begin and how it ended. Believe it or not, it’s kinda hard to tell.
I guess that you could start with me sitting down with a flute of bubblies and Hootie and the Blowfish. She is most likely out with her friends, one better than others and occasionally gets a kiss if she was drunk enough.
I wasn’t to worry about it coz he’s a mere multi level marketing (Herbal Life) guy.
I could shit all over them, I shouldn’t worry so much. Those were the reassuring words, verbatim. I don't need to quote more, you get the fucking drift.
Back in the day, the great Pharaohs took MLM and car salesmen, flailing and aspiring musicians all and put them to work making gigantic phallic monuments.*
But that was so last millennia, these days we’re not supposed to care much at all except for that provides for astounding sights. If even I did, then I was the only one sad fuck to have done so and I've paid for it dearly. 'Tis less than appealing these days, really.
You could also start with me and my bubblies and perhaps a small amount of low grade, harmless but illegal substance, poking the pinoy chic who wore her skirt much too short, nice boobs and positively fuckable. I am less inclined to think that she turned me on, she eyefucked me first and what was that but the good of misfortunes?
I should get out there and affect my retribution upon all womenfolk, don’t think they’d notice anyhow. They’re too busy with the bubbles.
What is it with Catholic girls and their insatiable appetites?
You could proceed on to the immaculate teen heartthrob with bad fashion sense.
God’s very own perfect little creature. Somebody please tell her she’s not sixteen anymore? I’ve not the heart to.
We’re not sixteen anymore. We’re not getting anywhere shooting hoops and dancing for trance. We been everywhere instead with burning pains and whole lot of Christmas luggage. It’s a whole lotta sex and a whole different world of hurts.
No such thing as an orgasmic damnation. There’s a time when the Idiot realizes it’s the last call for the night. Go make a bumper sticker.
Considering how many people are here, it’s amazing that I haven’t contracted any STDs or any other such naturally fatal diseases.
See, recent events lead to nothing good. We’ll wait a while. I’m off to beat the gods tonight. Find me in Dragonfly and Kama Sutra right after.
Saturdays are for sissies, I’m all for the wrath of Karma tonight.
* Dufus, we call ‘em ‘dufus’: Most often they appear as car salesmen, herbal life vendor/merchant/salesmen, insurance salesmen, HR managers or aspiring (flailing) musicians (with no talent).
Generally, they are financially comfortable, albeit morally questionable. Or maybe they were just dumb. They’re good at the more mediocre stuff and useless at the better things. Frequently, they arrive in disguise of friendship, later they take whatever they can, most often they appear fun-loving and happy.
Beyond the narrow and short-lived perspectives of their preys, they are much less fun and much more obviously despicable. In this sense, they’re very much like the Singaporeans, except that you really find them in all cultures of the world. Aristotle refers to them as hubris, extracting their pleasure, “…by ill-treating others they make their own superiority the greater.”
Sometimes it’s spelled ‘doofus’ but this ain’t a spelling contest and we’re not playing scrabble. Go work on facebook and get a penile implant.
Friday, January 25, 2008
on a Tale of Two Cities
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
~A Tale of Two Cities
It’s amazing what one year brings, almost to the day. I might be overanalyzing things, but freak occurrence comes with surprising frequencies. Things changed so much, it resembles little to what memory wants to keep.
Words meant different things back then.
Or maybe you had held too much confidence in the power of articulation.
Words mean the same thing, only you had expected a lot more of them last year.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. You still have to solve the riddle.
We entered the new year with sets of expectation, mostly relying on the faulty economics of hope. You wanted life to unfold in certain ways that hurts least. Or maybe gain most.
Adjustments were made by August and considerations were taken by November. You close the book on December, to be tallied by January. You had your own forecast only the auditors disagree.
You set goals and milestones inconceivably tied to the predicament of others.
You made decisions on those things that knew a year ago.
You couldn’t see past choices you don’t understand.
They were mostly informed decisions but the assumptions they were based on were one shaky and an elusive trust.
The history of mankind is littered with failures of predictions.
Dreams are a matter of possibilities and hopes are the matter of probabilities, we are too soon to get confused.
Thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman, who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back, as Cervantes had so eloquently put it.
The mathematicians in us were tempted to put numbers on things. They were ones that were confused most.
The mathed out the risk and still they make the most colossal of mistakes.
The more romantic of us held on to dream the unattainable, desperate to prove others wrong. You never see the dark side of the moon. You're Syd Barrett at best.
We make resolutions to remind each of our own sad selves, how we wanted the year to end.
We sat and set the milestones of order.
And yet, changes happened to find us in firm denials, the better excuse being this is a New Year altogether.
What yours to give is what yours to love, and just one year ago, you’ve a life to give.
It’s the stuff dreams were made of.
It was the happy hour of assault and kisses and it buckled.
In the end, one full year almost exactly to the day, you were as lost as you’ve ever been and things are going wherever they might please.
Just like they always do in any new year.
It was a quick layover and not even for a final destination.
You’re the don on his donkey. You were happy only til you know better.
You were promised never have to go thru one year twice.
Never explicitly prescribed, the premise was just as easily understood.
And yet, one year almost to the day ago, you were in the very same spot only with less shit to bitch about.
You think the gods must’ve made a big mistake.
Only you thought the very same thing just one year to the day ago.
The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
Strange how stuff works.
* this post is a tribute to one of my favorite writers.
Read More..
~A Tale of Two Cities
It’s amazing what one year brings, almost to the day. I might be overanalyzing things, but freak occurrence comes with surprising frequencies. Things changed so much, it resembles little to what memory wants to keep.
Words meant different things back then.
Or maybe you had held too much confidence in the power of articulation.
Words mean the same thing, only you had expected a lot more of them last year.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. You still have to solve the riddle.
We entered the new year with sets of expectation, mostly relying on the faulty economics of hope. You wanted life to unfold in certain ways that hurts least. Or maybe gain most.
Adjustments were made by August and considerations were taken by November. You close the book on December, to be tallied by January. You had your own forecast only the auditors disagree.
You set goals and milestones inconceivably tied to the predicament of others.
You made decisions on those things that knew a year ago.
You couldn’t see past choices you don’t understand.
They were mostly informed decisions but the assumptions they were based on were one shaky and an elusive trust.
The history of mankind is littered with failures of predictions.
Dreams are a matter of possibilities and hopes are the matter of probabilities, we are too soon to get confused.
Thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman, who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back, as Cervantes had so eloquently put it.
The mathematicians in us were tempted to put numbers on things. They were ones that were confused most.
The mathed out the risk and still they make the most colossal of mistakes.
The more romantic of us held on to dream the unattainable, desperate to prove others wrong. You never see the dark side of the moon. You're Syd Barrett at best.
We make resolutions to remind each of our own sad selves, how we wanted the year to end.
We sat and set the milestones of order.
And yet, changes happened to find us in firm denials, the better excuse being this is a New Year altogether.
What yours to give is what yours to love, and just one year ago, you’ve a life to give.
It’s the stuff dreams were made of.
It was the happy hour of assault and kisses and it buckled.
In the end, one full year almost exactly to the day, you were as lost as you’ve ever been and things are going wherever they might please.
Just like they always do in any new year.
It was a quick layover and not even for a final destination.
You’re the don on his donkey. You were happy only til you know better.
You were promised never have to go thru one year twice.
Never explicitly prescribed, the premise was just as easily understood.
And yet, one year almost to the day ago, you were in the very same spot only with less shit to bitch about.
You think the gods must’ve made a big mistake.
Only you thought the very same thing just one year to the day ago.
The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
Strange how stuff works.
* this post is a tribute to one of my favorite writers.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
on the Singapore Conversation
The conversation went to whether I should move to Singapore. This was neither unexpected nor useful, but I was in a listening mood. I never liked Singapore before and I’m still not too crazy about it, but I’ve seen other things now. Things changed. Singaporeans smile a lot more nowadays. I wouldn’t be able to leave Jakarta entirely, with Mowgli and the house and all, but I can travel back and forth almost as often as I like so that is less of a problem. The maids totally love him so he’ll be in good hands, so long as I keep them employed. I’m pretty sure I could still afford it.
I spoke to Mowgli and he agreed to stay home for a while and not go into quarantine so long as he gets an increased portion of lamb. I agreed so long as it’s low fat.
Professionally, it’ll probably allow slightly more, though I wouldn’t know as much about the network in Singapore as I do in Jakarta, but already I deal with Singaporeans on daily basis anyway. I could pick it up in no time.
The clubs close earlier but it’s probably a good thing, the drinks being cheaper and the music better. From past experience, I know that it probably doesn’t matter where I live. I find fun just as easy anywhere.
There was a very real question of why would I move there in the first place. Isn’t the reason no longer there? That could well be true, but I had so far discovered many other good reasons why. One of them being the current career situation resulting from that very first reason in the first place. I know, it’s hard to understand, but trust me it makes sense. One thing lead to the other, they conclusively rolled for decisions I couldn’t make. I just try not looking at it as too disastrous. Who knows, it might even be a good thing.
There was a question of whether anything would be a good reason not to leave. The answer being the dog, but we already covered that. Mowgli was okay with it.
I haven’t made any decisions yet. There are whole bunch of technicalities that could possible make for complications ad infinitum for now. It’s just something up there if I really wanted to go for it. It wouldn’t be too soon anyway.
People don’t seem like this conversation. They seem to want me to stay in Jakarta.
On the flip side, I could see how a few things will unfold if I stay. It would involve at least one massively disastrous relationship. I seem to attract these with an alarming frequency. Work situation here isn’t really that interesting anymore. I’m running out of good things to do now.
There’s an obvious tragic in that paragraph and this was duly brought to my attention immediately.
I’m not sure what the answer to that either, but I know myself pretty well and once I’ve made up my mind, I’m usually pretty stubborn about it.
And I have made up my mind.
I think.
In any event, it wasn’t a happy conversation. I left after my last cigarette.
Public Service Announcement: I will be in Singapore on 4th for the Police. Any of you guys there for the concert or drinks afterward, drop me a note (or try my SG number). (email to a.treespotter(at)gmail.com).
Read More..
I spoke to Mowgli and he agreed to stay home for a while and not go into quarantine so long as he gets an increased portion of lamb. I agreed so long as it’s low fat.
Professionally, it’ll probably allow slightly more, though I wouldn’t know as much about the network in Singapore as I do in Jakarta, but already I deal with Singaporeans on daily basis anyway. I could pick it up in no time.
The clubs close earlier but it’s probably a good thing, the drinks being cheaper and the music better. From past experience, I know that it probably doesn’t matter where I live. I find fun just as easy anywhere.
There was a very real question of why would I move there in the first place. Isn’t the reason no longer there? That could well be true, but I had so far discovered many other good reasons why. One of them being the current career situation resulting from that very first reason in the first place. I know, it’s hard to understand, but trust me it makes sense. One thing lead to the other, they conclusively rolled for decisions I couldn’t make. I just try not looking at it as too disastrous. Who knows, it might even be a good thing.
There was a question of whether anything would be a good reason not to leave. The answer being the dog, but we already covered that. Mowgli was okay with it.
I haven’t made any decisions yet. There are whole bunch of technicalities that could possible make for complications ad infinitum for now. It’s just something up there if I really wanted to go for it. It wouldn’t be too soon anyway.
People don’t seem like this conversation. They seem to want me to stay in Jakarta.
On the flip side, I could see how a few things will unfold if I stay. It would involve at least one massively disastrous relationship. I seem to attract these with an alarming frequency. Work situation here isn’t really that interesting anymore. I’m running out of good things to do now.
There’s an obvious tragic in that paragraph and this was duly brought to my attention immediately.
I’m not sure what the answer to that either, but I know myself pretty well and once I’ve made up my mind, I’m usually pretty stubborn about it.
And I have made up my mind.
I think.
In any event, it wasn’t a happy conversation. I left after my last cigarette.
Public Service Announcement: I will be in Singapore on 4th for the Police. Any of you guys there for the concert or drinks afterward, drop me a note (or try my SG number). (email to a.treespotter(at)gmail.com).
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
on Soeharto, Life & Legacy
I’m reading a book on Soeharto now, by Retnowati Abdulgani-Knapp. The second president has always been fascinating, there are more urban legends about him than any other subjects in Indonesia, and yet, few hard materials are available on his character. With the old man dying and Indonesia yet faces another historical milestone, I thought it’s a good idea to read and educate myself a little.
The first part of the book covered Soeharto’s earlier days in Central Java until the tumultuous days leading to Soekarno’s downfall and his own ascension to the throne. I have to say that the book was interesting in the way it shed lights to what was happening in those days, at least from Soeharto’s perspective, why he did the things he did. The author was less straightforward when it comes to how he did the things he did.
She explained how the Javanese culture and philosophy was so engrained in him and practically guided him in all the decisions he made. Obviously, Soeharto was a very smart man, well equipped with the traits of leadership and armed with an almost singular determination for his goals and objectives.
The book glosses over the early economic achievement, the initial ‘Berkeley mafia’ was put together to fix the economy. It’s an impressive story of how a farmer boy from Kemusuk became a general through the most difficult times of Indonesia, and went on to lead what was probably the biggest economic reform this country had ever undertaken, all within the space of a few decades. Indonesia moved with a brisk pace from 800% inflation into a fully functional system, dragging the nation screaming and shouting into a whole new level in less than 10 years. It shed lights on the brilliance of his economic team as well as their foresight into strategic planning for the long term..
On the other side, the author took a very apologetic tone on the bigger questions of how Soeharto blundered so badly in his later years. She tried to explain everything against the delicate tapestry of Javanese philosophies and traditions, arguably the only way you could ever explain how he ended up where he is now. Yet in a way that was almost insulting the author failed to remind herself that she wasn’t writing a fabled Javanese monarch, Soeharto was a president in a republic, with accountability to the public, not all of them Javanese, but all of them human.
I credit Retnowati for the skillful blame shifting that she did, for she almost managed to do this quite eloquently and for people less familiar with the Indonesian history, the book would paint quite a cheerful picture of our second president.
She hinted on many occasions of foreign involvements – mainly the CIA – during the 1965-1969 period. This CIA involvement was well documented (partly through the de-classified documents released by the agency a few years back) and so there was no mystery there. However, she neglected to explain how the slaughter of millions of people – the alleged communist sympathizers – wasn’t the responsibility of the acting president at the time. Soeharto was the acting leader of the country and most definitively the one person in charge of the military, and yet the killings took place for many years with further indictments, renditions, tortures, kidnappings and exiles for many millions under his watch. Not only that this was probably one of the largest systematic purge of population in the post-Stalin world, the practice continued for many long years, alleged communists were still marked and discriminated even in the late 90s.
The author offered immaculate details in describing the success of early Soeharto policies: economic deregulation, Bulog, Pertamina, family planning and his many foundations. It is better to understand how these entities came into being, but she was less than satisfactory when it comes to how they later evolved into history’s very own nightmares.
The market approach envisioned in the 70s was brought into a standstill as the economy healed post the 60s mess and Soeharto’s very own cronies seized control from the technocrat. For someone as astute and clever as he is, he must’ve known what was happening in the first place. After all, Soeharto architected the move to open the market after Soekarno’s socialist leanings.
Bulog was a gem of brilliance in bringing the food sufficiency to the nation’s early days, later, it became the symbol of everything that’s gone wrong in Soeharto’s government: just about all its top management are now doing prison sentences or currently in trial and it has long since failed spectacularly in its goals for food sufficiency and stabilizing price/supply for rice in Indonesia. For all its landmark achievement, Bulog has become more a sore point in economy these days.
Pertamina was the favorite flagship of Soeharto’s vision of prosperity, and yet Ibnu Sutowo’s antique shenanigans took decades to untangle, it is still one of the single largest corruption case in the history of this country. Pertamina’s financial scandal was so massive, it brought down the economy along with it. 30 years on, and we’re still not through with it. Indonesia these days is the only net importer in the association of Oil Exporting Countries. And yet, Ibnu Sutowo maintained his residence next to Soeharto in Cendana to this day, being the only non family member to maintain a residence on that stretch of road.
The other party repeatedly presented for much of their faults are the conglomerates who took advantage of the president and his family during those days. These are tycoons with billions of dollars of wealth accumulated through special treatments and preferences, often with directives directly from the president. The author claimed that these tycoons took advantage of the family connection and eventually ‘abused’ the trust of the president, mainly through his children. She neglected to mention that the Soeharto family themselves became one the largest direct economic force in the economy. While it is true that the businessmen used the sons and relatives for the political connection in the earlier days, it is also glaringly obvious that in the later days, the family used them just as much for their own financial benefit. Tutut and Bambang own and run business empires that span the country, many remain still to this day. Tutut was investigated repeatedly in the UK for bribery cases in arm deals. Tommy was at the forefront of many direct monopolies, cloves (hugely lucrative in the largest clove cigarette smoking country in the world) and he screwed it up beautifully, bringing millions of farmers across the country down with him. Timor was an ill conceived plan that eventually became only a vehicle of greed for the young prince and at some point he was even awarded with the monopoly of providing black shoes for all students across the nation. The book didn’t mention any of this (Timor earned one paragraph of mention, but that was it). She also didn’t mention at all that the reason why Tommy was in prison during her writing of the book was because he went apeshit and killed a Supreme Court justice.
The foundations, she dedicated an entire chapter detailing each of them and what they did and how each of them was designed and perceived. They were all lofty ideals and undoubtedly have many good things about them, I’m not going to argue with that. It was a beautiful scheme with grand ideals to do good.
They, however, raised the question of, if Soeharto was such a great man with such a grand vision, so cunning and determined to do good that he created an entire system just to accommodate his good wills, being so benevolent and all powerful that he was, why didn’t he just do it through his government and policies? Why did he have to create his own foundations to realize his beautiful vision, while he was supposedly be running the country? Could it be that he probably didn’t believe as much in himself to realize the vision for the country?
In any case, you read the book and learned about the man. He could’ve been a good leader in his earlier days, an ugly tyrant in his later life and he was probably responsible for most things that have gone wrong in this country ever since, but he would’ve made a great Javanese king.
Read More..
The first part of the book covered Soeharto’s earlier days in Central Java until the tumultuous days leading to Soekarno’s downfall and his own ascension to the throne. I have to say that the book was interesting in the way it shed lights to what was happening in those days, at least from Soeharto’s perspective, why he did the things he did. The author was less straightforward when it comes to how he did the things he did.
She explained how the Javanese culture and philosophy was so engrained in him and practically guided him in all the decisions he made. Obviously, Soeharto was a very smart man, well equipped with the traits of leadership and armed with an almost singular determination for his goals and objectives.
The book glosses over the early economic achievement, the initial ‘Berkeley mafia’ was put together to fix the economy. It’s an impressive story of how a farmer boy from Kemusuk became a general through the most difficult times of Indonesia, and went on to lead what was probably the biggest economic reform this country had ever undertaken, all within the space of a few decades. Indonesia moved with a brisk pace from 800% inflation into a fully functional system, dragging the nation screaming and shouting into a whole new level in less than 10 years. It shed lights on the brilliance of his economic team as well as their foresight into strategic planning for the long term..
On the other side, the author took a very apologetic tone on the bigger questions of how Soeharto blundered so badly in his later years. She tried to explain everything against the delicate tapestry of Javanese philosophies and traditions, arguably the only way you could ever explain how he ended up where he is now. Yet in a way that was almost insulting the author failed to remind herself that she wasn’t writing a fabled Javanese monarch, Soeharto was a president in a republic, with accountability to the public, not all of them Javanese, but all of them human.
I credit Retnowati for the skillful blame shifting that she did, for she almost managed to do this quite eloquently and for people less familiar with the Indonesian history, the book would paint quite a cheerful picture of our second president.
She hinted on many occasions of foreign involvements – mainly the CIA – during the 1965-1969 period. This CIA involvement was well documented (partly through the de-classified documents released by the agency a few years back) and so there was no mystery there. However, she neglected to explain how the slaughter of millions of people – the alleged communist sympathizers – wasn’t the responsibility of the acting president at the time. Soeharto was the acting leader of the country and most definitively the one person in charge of the military, and yet the killings took place for many years with further indictments, renditions, tortures, kidnappings and exiles for many millions under his watch. Not only that this was probably one of the largest systematic purge of population in the post-Stalin world, the practice continued for many long years, alleged communists were still marked and discriminated even in the late 90s.
The author offered immaculate details in describing the success of early Soeharto policies: economic deregulation, Bulog, Pertamina, family planning and his many foundations. It is better to understand how these entities came into being, but she was less than satisfactory when it comes to how they later evolved into history’s very own nightmares.
The market approach envisioned in the 70s was brought into a standstill as the economy healed post the 60s mess and Soeharto’s very own cronies seized control from the technocrat. For someone as astute and clever as he is, he must’ve known what was happening in the first place. After all, Soeharto architected the move to open the market after Soekarno’s socialist leanings.
Bulog was a gem of brilliance in bringing the food sufficiency to the nation’s early days, later, it became the symbol of everything that’s gone wrong in Soeharto’s government: just about all its top management are now doing prison sentences or currently in trial and it has long since failed spectacularly in its goals for food sufficiency and stabilizing price/supply for rice in Indonesia. For all its landmark achievement, Bulog has become more a sore point in economy these days.
Pertamina was the favorite flagship of Soeharto’s vision of prosperity, and yet Ibnu Sutowo’s antique shenanigans took decades to untangle, it is still one of the single largest corruption case in the history of this country. Pertamina’s financial scandal was so massive, it brought down the economy along with it. 30 years on, and we’re still not through with it. Indonesia these days is the only net importer in the association of Oil Exporting Countries. And yet, Ibnu Sutowo maintained his residence next to Soeharto in Cendana to this day, being the only non family member to maintain a residence on that stretch of road.
The other party repeatedly presented for much of their faults are the conglomerates who took advantage of the president and his family during those days. These are tycoons with billions of dollars of wealth accumulated through special treatments and preferences, often with directives directly from the president. The author claimed that these tycoons took advantage of the family connection and eventually ‘abused’ the trust of the president, mainly through his children. She neglected to mention that the Soeharto family themselves became one the largest direct economic force in the economy. While it is true that the businessmen used the sons and relatives for the political connection in the earlier days, it is also glaringly obvious that in the later days, the family used them just as much for their own financial benefit. Tutut and Bambang own and run business empires that span the country, many remain still to this day. Tutut was investigated repeatedly in the UK for bribery cases in arm deals. Tommy was at the forefront of many direct monopolies, cloves (hugely lucrative in the largest clove cigarette smoking country in the world) and he screwed it up beautifully, bringing millions of farmers across the country down with him. Timor was an ill conceived plan that eventually became only a vehicle of greed for the young prince and at some point he was even awarded with the monopoly of providing black shoes for all students across the nation. The book didn’t mention any of this (Timor earned one paragraph of mention, but that was it). She also didn’t mention at all that the reason why Tommy was in prison during her writing of the book was because he went apeshit and killed a Supreme Court justice.
The foundations, she dedicated an entire chapter detailing each of them and what they did and how each of them was designed and perceived. They were all lofty ideals and undoubtedly have many good things about them, I’m not going to argue with that. It was a beautiful scheme with grand ideals to do good.
They, however, raised the question of, if Soeharto was such a great man with such a grand vision, so cunning and determined to do good that he created an entire system just to accommodate his good wills, being so benevolent and all powerful that he was, why didn’t he just do it through his government and policies? Why did he have to create his own foundations to realize his beautiful vision, while he was supposedly be running the country? Could it be that he probably didn’t believe as much in himself to realize the vision for the country?
In any case, you read the book and learned about the man. He could’ve been a good leader in his earlier days, an ugly tyrant in his later life and he was probably responsible for most things that have gone wrong in this country ever since, but he would’ve made a great Javanese king.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
on Work Stuff
And nothing in her was real, nothing was distinct and solid but the heavy shadows that filled her decks with their unceasing and noiseless stir; the shadows blacker than the night and more restless than the thoughts of men.
~Nigger from Narcissus, Conrad
I’m not too upset about work, there’re lots of stuff out there. It was just disappointing, I guess. I was liking it and I was good at it. It was one decision lead to another and in the end things just happened under a whole lot of different circumstances than how it was originally expected. Candi was with me every step of the way as I was considering it in the first place, herself was trying to secure the job in Singapore. There were lots of lofty plans of things that we could’ve done, Singapore is a lot closer than Australia, it’ll make things easier.
Things changed differently instead and the idea became for me to move to Singapore instead. She was sad and unhappy and she needed me there. It wasn’t a decision as much as it was a necessity at the time.
You would want people to keep to their words, some decisions reached to funniest corners and just to make things happen, you need all the support you can get. Moving countries aren’t easy stuff and there were lots to consider, but this I foolishly did.
All this happened while things drifted further and further apart, they were changing with a pace that was really hard to keep up with. I was updated through Facebook and fragmented text messages. There were parties going on weeks at a time and things spiraled out of control. Long distance is shit. I would’ve thought that we had a little bit more. Anyone would’ve thought that we had a little bit more. I trusted that we had a little bit more. That’s probably the hardest to swallow. You hold something dearest only to realize that it wasn’t worth a fucking dime when weekends come.
I would’ve sworn that it couldn’t possibly have happened. We were better than that. I could’ve sworn to that. I could’ve sworn they were real. I have text messages. You would’ve thought that the gods have a common decency clause in their conducts.
(bullshit)
I’m still engaged as a consultant for the current clients’ commitments, some random stuff here and there I needed to do. It’ll buy me time to think of what to do next. There’s that offer in SG, but I can not think as much these days. No point in stopping the demolition, you wait till the dust settles then hope to rebuild something new. Look around and everything meant something once. With every new day, they ceased to mean for anything and the dust often gets in your eyes. It hurts, but it hurts less every day.
Other people have bigger shit to worry, I’m a shameless fuck, I'll be off to see my sis, try to make her feel better. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel better.
PS: Thanks a lot for all the emails, calls etc. for condolences, appreciate it. I'm okay though, just need to cheer her up a little. We will all be at my uncle's place, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night, there will be free food. Thanks again :)
Read More..
~Nigger from Narcissus, Conrad
I’m not too upset about work, there’re lots of stuff out there. It was just disappointing, I guess. I was liking it and I was good at it. It was one decision lead to another and in the end things just happened under a whole lot of different circumstances than how it was originally expected. Candi was with me every step of the way as I was considering it in the first place, herself was trying to secure the job in Singapore. There were lots of lofty plans of things that we could’ve done, Singapore is a lot closer than Australia, it’ll make things easier.
Things changed differently instead and the idea became for me to move to Singapore instead. She was sad and unhappy and she needed me there. It wasn’t a decision as much as it was a necessity at the time.
You would want people to keep to their words, some decisions reached to funniest corners and just to make things happen, you need all the support you can get. Moving countries aren’t easy stuff and there were lots to consider, but this I foolishly did.
All this happened while things drifted further and further apart, they were changing with a pace that was really hard to keep up with. I was updated through Facebook and fragmented text messages. There were parties going on weeks at a time and things spiraled out of control. Long distance is shit. I would’ve thought that we had a little bit more. Anyone would’ve thought that we had a little bit more. I trusted that we had a little bit more. That’s probably the hardest to swallow. You hold something dearest only to realize that it wasn’t worth a fucking dime when weekends come.
I would’ve sworn that it couldn’t possibly have happened. We were better than that. I could’ve sworn to that. I could’ve sworn they were real. I have text messages. You would’ve thought that the gods have a common decency clause in their conducts.
(bullshit)
I’m still engaged as a consultant for the current clients’ commitments, some random stuff here and there I needed to do. It’ll buy me time to think of what to do next. There’s that offer in SG, but I can not think as much these days. No point in stopping the demolition, you wait till the dust settles then hope to rebuild something new. Look around and everything meant something once. With every new day, they ceased to mean for anything and the dust often gets in your eyes. It hurts, but it hurts less every day.
Other people have bigger shit to worry, I’m a shameless fuck, I'll be off to see my sis, try to make her feel better. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel better.
PS: Thanks a lot for all the emails, calls etc. for condolences, appreciate it. I'm okay though, just need to cheer her up a little. We will all be at my uncle's place, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night, there will be free food. Thanks again :)
Monday, January 21, 2008
on Lost Ones
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
~Do You Realize, Flaming Lips
I had little time to think about anything today as it started off as a roller coaster on high steep. It started off at nine with one meeting of high level minds on the issue of my contract. Let’s just say it went the uglier route and it leaves many things unattended. I was beyond pissed off and very tired so I had no energy to argue on anything. I couldn’t care less anymore about work these days, it’s beyond reproach already. I had wanted too many things for reasons that are fast rendered irrelevant. Too late to go back anywhere now.
The meeting was broken with a text message, my nephew just died. He’s nine, the mother’s favorite, dengue fever.
(His father is actually a cousin, but I grew up with him, he’s as close to a brother as anyone else in my life).
I left the meeting right away, they may do as they please and draft whatever shit they want to draft, I needed to get out. I haven’t seen anyone from my family for almost a year now. There was an incident involving mom and my girlfriend (she didn’t approve) and I broke all contacts with anyone in the last year. Not one person of blood relation, but I know I needed to see my sis.
In the big house, the mood was dark and sad, the body laid in the bedroom the father and my sister sitting next to it. Reza is the least sentimental person I have ever known, he doesn’t have one bit of romance in him and you never see him with any sign of emotion whatsoever, it runs in the family. He came out from the bathroom with eyes bulging red and sat, put one hand on his son’s face and prayed.
Older sis looked as if she’s been crying for a week. She curled in a small chair as if she’s been spending the night on it. She held a picture of all the kids together from Kidzania last month. My uncle – which is as close as walking and breathing Don Vito Corleone as anyone in real life could ever be - sat in his own leather chair with cigarette and glassy eyes, watching and accepting the condolences. The mother was in a drug induced sleep. She hasn’t been up since morning and we had a doctor on stand by.
Suddenly my life doesn’t feel so shit anymore. Sure enough, I lost a girl, a job and a nephew all within the space of one week, it doesn’t seem too hard now, does it? Only one of them I really couldn’t afford to lose. I felt my life so empty and quiet and realized that it’s not such a bad thing.
I had to run and attend to a meeting at the Face Bar and quite enjoyed the Indian food there. Going home, I took the long way home if only for the longer stretch of straights. I like it when I do that. The moon was in full. She’s watching me. I hope she’s watching him, too. Bye little boy, take care.
Read More..
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
~Do You Realize, Flaming Lips
I had little time to think about anything today as it started off as a roller coaster on high steep. It started off at nine with one meeting of high level minds on the issue of my contract. Let’s just say it went the uglier route and it leaves many things unattended. I was beyond pissed off and very tired so I had no energy to argue on anything. I couldn’t care less anymore about work these days, it’s beyond reproach already. I had wanted too many things for reasons that are fast rendered irrelevant. Too late to go back anywhere now.
The meeting was broken with a text message, my nephew just died. He’s nine, the mother’s favorite, dengue fever.
(His father is actually a cousin, but I grew up with him, he’s as close to a brother as anyone else in my life).
I left the meeting right away, they may do as they please and draft whatever shit they want to draft, I needed to get out. I haven’t seen anyone from my family for almost a year now. There was an incident involving mom and my girlfriend (she didn’t approve) and I broke all contacts with anyone in the last year. Not one person of blood relation, but I know I needed to see my sis.
In the big house, the mood was dark and sad, the body laid in the bedroom the father and my sister sitting next to it. Reza is the least sentimental person I have ever known, he doesn’t have one bit of romance in him and you never see him with any sign of emotion whatsoever, it runs in the family. He came out from the bathroom with eyes bulging red and sat, put one hand on his son’s face and prayed.
Older sis looked as if she’s been crying for a week. She curled in a small chair as if she’s been spending the night on it. She held a picture of all the kids together from Kidzania last month. My uncle – which is as close as walking and breathing Don Vito Corleone as anyone in real life could ever be - sat in his own leather chair with cigarette and glassy eyes, watching and accepting the condolences. The mother was in a drug induced sleep. She hasn’t been up since morning and we had a doctor on stand by.
Suddenly my life doesn’t feel so shit anymore. Sure enough, I lost a girl, a job and a nephew all within the space of one week, it doesn’t seem too hard now, does it? Only one of them I really couldn’t afford to lose. I felt my life so empty and quiet and realized that it’s not such a bad thing.
I had to run and attend to a meeting at the Face Bar and quite enjoyed the Indian food there. Going home, I took the long way home if only for the longer stretch of straights. I like it when I do that. The moon was in full. She’s watching me. I hope she’s watching him, too. Bye little boy, take care.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
A Peripeteia
I think I could be a good woman, if I had five thousand a year.
~Becky Sharp from Vanity Fair, William Thackeray
I called her as I was excited about the trip. Things she wanted to see and all. We agreed on a date on Thrusday as I was going to be in Singapore for a work trip. She seemed a bit surprised but she approved and we agreed on dinner and to go for a walk. I had a small present for her, small and not fancy, just something I knew she would’ve liked.
I knew telling her ahead five days in advance was probably a mistake. She would be nervous and defensive. I know her well, in that mode, she would be impenetrable at best but altogether hostile was probably more likely. I wasn’t too sure if that was the right idea, but it seemed like the thing to do, beside, I didn’t really think that much. I just wished she was there.
I had a marathon meeting all day on Thursday. Checking my email in the break, I found one of confirmation, she was looking forward to it. She’d thought four days about it and still wanted to go. She said it was a great idea.
I was excused early and left for the hotel, showered and changed and took the gift, then caught a cab to her place just down the road from the hotel. My plan was to take her to Jewel Box at Mount Faber. It’s a nice place with a nice view on a clear night. May be we could see things better from the top.
I sms her from the traffic, told her to look pretty. She had this special dress that she mentioned to me several times. Apparently it was only to be worn on a planned special occasion for me so I could see her prettiest. I am most likely no longer the first person to see her in it, but it would’ve been nice still.
She replied, said to just find her by the pool, so I went in and sent the taxi away. She was alone by the pool with half a bottle of wine, in jeans and a crumpled old white top, looking positively dazed. She was lost in her own world, the feet barely touched the ground, the eyes wandering, staring at places and things I didn’t recognize. There was a person martyred to caution.
I remember the very first time I met her, as we were introduced I thought I was looking at the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
By the pool, the sight was shocking as much as it was painful. I have never in my life seen someone tried so hard to feel so bad. I don’t think I will ever understand. The air was void and heaven spat on us. It rained so hard, we had to go and cower in the bathroom. We sat on the sink neon lights and the mirror was smeared.
We didn’t go for any dinner with dessert, we sat on the sink in female toilet instead.
I knew all I ever wanted was to trust her with my life. I wanted her to look me in the eyes and told me that I have been wrong. She had the conviction of a Scientologist priest and glared away.
You know that old Pink Floyd?
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I see you on the Dark Side of the Moon.
I couldn’t put it any other way.
The very first time I met her, she sat opposite me in a coffee shop and I watched her tell stories and write me dreams. She wanted to be a car executive in Milan. She had maps of the world and places to go. We saw white capped peaks and songs of ancient kings.
The girl in the bathroom wanted to do multi level marketing in Singapore.
I guess that was when the band plays different tunes.
I couldn’t think of anything that could’ve made anyone wanting so much to feel so bad. I know few things more affecting than that timorous debasement and self humiliation of a woman, said Thackeray. Vanitas Vanitatum!
She cried and I kissed her tears.
Once upon a time, I was the man lucky enough to kiss those lips.
I guess the perfect night would’ve been if I begged her to get back together and all. Perhaps I would yell a little and cry a little. We could probably end up having an awesome angry sex. Perhaps that would’ve made her feel bad enough. Enough so she could blame me and the rest of the world for everything that was wrong.
The sight hurts like nothing ever did. It was the sight of crumbling dreams.
The rain stopped soon enough and I left while I still could. God was watching me and He did have a good time. I was bleached white.
She came reminding me how good things felt good, I wanted to leave while I could still probably remember something. I need to run before time took my dreams away, too.
Along the long road and on down the causeway
Do they still meet there by the cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
~High Hopes
* I have Pink Floyd to thank for this post.
Read More..
~Becky Sharp from Vanity Fair, William Thackeray
I called her as I was excited about the trip. Things she wanted to see and all. We agreed on a date on Thrusday as I was going to be in Singapore for a work trip. She seemed a bit surprised but she approved and we agreed on dinner and to go for a walk. I had a small present for her, small and not fancy, just something I knew she would’ve liked.
I knew telling her ahead five days in advance was probably a mistake. She would be nervous and defensive. I know her well, in that mode, she would be impenetrable at best but altogether hostile was probably more likely. I wasn’t too sure if that was the right idea, but it seemed like the thing to do, beside, I didn’t really think that much. I just wished she was there.
I had a marathon meeting all day on Thursday. Checking my email in the break, I found one of confirmation, she was looking forward to it. She’d thought four days about it and still wanted to go. She said it was a great idea.
I was excused early and left for the hotel, showered and changed and took the gift, then caught a cab to her place just down the road from the hotel. My plan was to take her to Jewel Box at Mount Faber. It’s a nice place with a nice view on a clear night. May be we could see things better from the top.
I sms her from the traffic, told her to look pretty. She had this special dress that she mentioned to me several times. Apparently it was only to be worn on a planned special occasion for me so I could see her prettiest. I am most likely no longer the first person to see her in it, but it would’ve been nice still.
She replied, said to just find her by the pool, so I went in and sent the taxi away. She was alone by the pool with half a bottle of wine, in jeans and a crumpled old white top, looking positively dazed. She was lost in her own world, the feet barely touched the ground, the eyes wandering, staring at places and things I didn’t recognize. There was a person martyred to caution.
I remember the very first time I met her, as we were introduced I thought I was looking at the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
By the pool, the sight was shocking as much as it was painful. I have never in my life seen someone tried so hard to feel so bad. I don’t think I will ever understand. The air was void and heaven spat on us. It rained so hard, we had to go and cower in the bathroom. We sat on the sink neon lights and the mirror was smeared.
We didn’t go for any dinner with dessert, we sat on the sink in female toilet instead.
I knew all I ever wanted was to trust her with my life. I wanted her to look me in the eyes and told me that I have been wrong. She had the conviction of a Scientologist priest and glared away.
You know that old Pink Floyd?
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I see you on the Dark Side of the Moon.
I couldn’t put it any other way.
The very first time I met her, she sat opposite me in a coffee shop and I watched her tell stories and write me dreams. She wanted to be a car executive in Milan. She had maps of the world and places to go. We saw white capped peaks and songs of ancient kings.
The girl in the bathroom wanted to do multi level marketing in Singapore.
I guess that was when the band plays different tunes.
I couldn’t think of anything that could’ve made anyone wanting so much to feel so bad. I know few things more affecting than that timorous debasement and self humiliation of a woman, said Thackeray. Vanitas Vanitatum!
She cried and I kissed her tears.
Once upon a time, I was the man lucky enough to kiss those lips.
I guess the perfect night would’ve been if I begged her to get back together and all. Perhaps I would yell a little and cry a little. We could probably end up having an awesome angry sex. Perhaps that would’ve made her feel bad enough. Enough so she could blame me and the rest of the world for everything that was wrong.
The sight hurts like nothing ever did. It was the sight of crumbling dreams.
The rain stopped soon enough and I left while I still could. God was watching me and He did have a good time. I was bleached white.
She came reminding me how good things felt good, I wanted to leave while I could still probably remember something. I need to run before time took my dreams away, too.
Along the long road and on down the causeway
Do they still meet there by the cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
~High Hopes
* I have Pink Floyd to thank for this post.
And I ask could we wipe the slate clean
But they tell me to please go fuck myself
You know you just can't win
~Lost for Words
But they tell me to please go fuck myself
You know you just can't win
~Lost for Words
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Mr. Brightside in Singapore (pt. 2)
Perhaps all pleasure is only relief.
~William S. Burroughs
The meetings were back to back and exhaustive. It happens most times I’m in Singapore, one after another with no time to switch brain onto other things. It was good in a sense that I haven’t the time to think about C and what things happened and all, although it was nevertheless strange that I am here for so long and not see her.
Boss in Jakarta was throwing a hissy fit over some shit I don’t understand, at this point, they’re only trying to aggravate me into being stupid, so I don’t really pay attention to that stuff. The meetings were productive and hopefully, things will start happening quickly by beginning of next week. I love my job, but it could be time to move on.
After a quick nap at the hotel, we went to a club called Home Club at Boat Quay, which is some sort of underground, semi goth club with a college atmosphere. It wasn’t fancy or anything but we had one couch corner to ourselves and the music was great. When was the last time you had Blur in a club? The play list includes Ramones, The Cure, Nirvana and Jane’s Addiction, so I’m happy. Past the first bottle of Moet, the girls were moving on to MoS, but I was too tired to go anywhere so Laticia and I went for a quiet walk instead along the river.
That’s what I like best about Singapore. You can just go for a walk and still have a good time. There’s no place to walk anywhere in Jakarta. Laticia had noticeably matured since the first time we met some while ago, she was still servicing London-Singapore route back then and we hooked up from time to time when she stayed for transit. These days, she’s based in Dubai and was only in Singapore for the weekend. She had taken that life of the lone beauty that takes everything coming her way and gives little back. We chatted about the general things, nothing too deep, none too profound and it was kinda nice to remember the good things of life.
Life’s been kind to her though she wondered what else she was missing out there. I wanted to say that she probably didn’t really miss that much anyway, but refrained from stating it out loud. I still want to believe what I believed in all my life, so I stayed and listened.
We crossed into Clarke Quay with the weekend pretenders and went for IndoChine. I’m always partial about the place for no reason. There’s nothing special about it, but I always ended up there. The inside was empty, they were about halfway into playing Mr. Brightside as we walked in and I couldn’t help but laughed out loud to the startled surprise of my company.
I do believe in God, He is watching me and He is having a whale of a time.
There were always all these places in Singapore that C used to talk about. I showed her some places and once she settled in, she told me of all these places that we should go and things we should do. Some watery sport somewhere, cable car, various clubs with names I can’t remember, nicer restaurants and all the happening parties. She sounded happy and excited, obviously liking the new country code and I’ve always expected that someday she would take me to see them places like she said she would. Amazing how I could be so wrong about so many things, really.
Laticia’s Swedish friend was waiting for us there at the end of the song and we had a bottle of 1800 just for the fun of it. Doing shots seemed like the right thing to do. Debby arrived not too long after to pick me up, we’re going to this barbecue thing on Sentosa in the morning.
I felt a bit strange doing all that, C loves her champagne more than most. I would've wanted her to be there, it would've been nice. Except for the thoughts of all the other nights, all the time while i was running around worrying about her, she would've been there herself with her very own flute of bubbles, all things me the furthest thing from her head.
My lips went dry. I rarely felt that stupid.
The night was warm and the sky was bright, the music great and life was going in full throttle. The girls laughed and joked their dirty high altitude jokes, busty and pretty, a man could shouldn’t want to ask for more. Aged tequila was the tears of heaven, liquid gold of lost memories, we had time to wash away things not worth remembering.
I am a man blessed with no hangover and a funny God that cares.
I am Mr. Brightside at his best. Laugh all you want, I’m still all yours to give.
Have a good weekend all.
Read More..
~William S. Burroughs
The meetings were back to back and exhaustive. It happens most times I’m in Singapore, one after another with no time to switch brain onto other things. It was good in a sense that I haven’t the time to think about C and what things happened and all, although it was nevertheless strange that I am here for so long and not see her.
Boss in Jakarta was throwing a hissy fit over some shit I don’t understand, at this point, they’re only trying to aggravate me into being stupid, so I don’t really pay attention to that stuff. The meetings were productive and hopefully, things will start happening quickly by beginning of next week. I love my job, but it could be time to move on.
After a quick nap at the hotel, we went to a club called Home Club at Boat Quay, which is some sort of underground, semi goth club with a college atmosphere. It wasn’t fancy or anything but we had one couch corner to ourselves and the music was great. When was the last time you had Blur in a club? The play list includes Ramones, The Cure, Nirvana and Jane’s Addiction, so I’m happy. Past the first bottle of Moet, the girls were moving on to MoS, but I was too tired to go anywhere so Laticia and I went for a quiet walk instead along the river.
That’s what I like best about Singapore. You can just go for a walk and still have a good time. There’s no place to walk anywhere in Jakarta. Laticia had noticeably matured since the first time we met some while ago, she was still servicing London-Singapore route back then and we hooked up from time to time when she stayed for transit. These days, she’s based in Dubai and was only in Singapore for the weekend. She had taken that life of the lone beauty that takes everything coming her way and gives little back. We chatted about the general things, nothing too deep, none too profound and it was kinda nice to remember the good things of life.
Life’s been kind to her though she wondered what else she was missing out there. I wanted to say that she probably didn’t really miss that much anyway, but refrained from stating it out loud. I still want to believe what I believed in all my life, so I stayed and listened.
We crossed into Clarke Quay with the weekend pretenders and went for IndoChine. I’m always partial about the place for no reason. There’s nothing special about it, but I always ended up there. The inside was empty, they were about halfway into playing Mr. Brightside as we walked in and I couldn’t help but laughed out loud to the startled surprise of my company.
I do believe in God, He is watching me and He is having a whale of a time.
There were always all these places in Singapore that C used to talk about. I showed her some places and once she settled in, she told me of all these places that we should go and things we should do. Some watery sport somewhere, cable car, various clubs with names I can’t remember, nicer restaurants and all the happening parties. She sounded happy and excited, obviously liking the new country code and I’ve always expected that someday she would take me to see them places like she said she would. Amazing how I could be so wrong about so many things, really.
Laticia’s Swedish friend was waiting for us there at the end of the song and we had a bottle of 1800 just for the fun of it. Doing shots seemed like the right thing to do. Debby arrived not too long after to pick me up, we’re going to this barbecue thing on Sentosa in the morning.
I felt a bit strange doing all that, C loves her champagne more than most. I would've wanted her to be there, it would've been nice. Except for the thoughts of all the other nights, all the time while i was running around worrying about her, she would've been there herself with her very own flute of bubbles, all things me the furthest thing from her head.
My lips went dry. I rarely felt that stupid.
The night was warm and the sky was bright, the music great and life was going in full throttle. The girls laughed and joked their dirty high altitude jokes, busty and pretty, a man could shouldn’t want to ask for more. Aged tequila was the tears of heaven, liquid gold of lost memories, we had time to wash away things not worth remembering.
I am a man blessed with no hangover and a funny God that cares.
I am Mr. Brightside at his best. Laugh all you want, I’m still all yours to give.
Have a good weekend all.
Friday, January 18, 2008
in Singapore
Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.
~William S. Burroughs
I normally hate Singapore, but I'm actually liking this trip, which considering the circumstances, is weird. The story on the dinner will be for later, that takes a proper sit down and some wandering, I need to run again soon . My life does have other things happening other than stumbling over the cheesy stuff.
Last night was probably the best night out i had in a very long time. It was everywhere from No.5 in Emerald Hills, to Attica, to China One, to MoS in Clarke Quay and we ended up racking up room service bills in the hotel. The hotel was not great at all, there's no internet, but i get stray signals from the open windows, but hey, i'm not even complaining about it. As a matter of fact, i forgot my plug converter and i didn't even realist my laptop was running out of batter. Also the rooms are large and comfy and it fits three.
Singapore was pretty dead last night and we were slightly desperate after finding Attica deserted, but Laticia was in town for a transit and so we hooked up at the Ministry of Sound, just around 1 or so. We practically barricaded ourselves in the smoking room upstairs and expensed three bottles of Moet, which was rather excessive.
With the time to burn and energy to spend, I finally got in touch with some friends that I haven't seen for a while and we had a total blast. Debby lost weight but was still very pleasant to stare at, Fabrice was still french and Steve still beat me at pool.
Not that I would even contemplate to even try another long distance shit, but Debby was surprisingly pleasant to hang around with and we made a date to see Santana next month. She's also trying to get me to stay for another night and go to a barbecue party in Sentosa on Saturday. I'm tempted. We'll see, i'm not thinking too much at this point.
The work meetings were long and tiring, but they were very positive. Lots of stuff were happening in Jakarta as i was away and i imagine quite a number of people were in panic mode, but they could sort themselves out.
The main prize of this trip being the job interview which went better than well. I would be looking after Indonesia, but based in Singapore. That kinda solve the biggest problem of Mowgli moving to Singapore (he's getting too old for quarantine), I get the new job and be in Singapore while at the same time, at the same time i could visit Mowgli as often as i like and probably arrange for him to move here once i settled properly.
I didn't make any decisions yet, they'd like me to start ASAP, but it could wait. I'm not exactly in a state to make decisions, much less to move countries so soon. Need to settle my other things first.
It's one good news though, at the very least, i'd have some backup plan for the coming 'talk' with HR. I've a big project commencing right now, so i guess that's where my head should be for the next few weeks, but it'll be good to know what's coming beyond that. P called again soon as i got back to the hotel and i told her about it, she didn't seem very happy. I so totally don't understand why, it shouldn't matter at all. In any event, she guilt tripped me into seeing her tomorrow night soon as i get back. I've a feeling that I've to settle this business once and for all. It's becoming the song that never ends.
In any event, many things are happening, Christina and others are back in Jakarta on Sunday and I look forward to be back with my dog after a week away. More stories will follow later. Thanks a lot for all the messages, emails, comments, advice and other stuff, i really do appreciate it and God only knows, i'm not worthy of them. Let's hope I'll be able to do the same to you in later life. I'll be back in the city either tomorrow night or Sunday noon and my phone doesn't currently work, i'm using my Singapore number, you can try there if you know it.
For now, let's have some fun. Cheers!
Read More..
~William S. Burroughs
I normally hate Singapore, but I'm actually liking this trip, which considering the circumstances, is weird. The story on the dinner will be for later, that takes a proper sit down and some wandering, I need to run again soon . My life does have other things happening other than stumbling over the cheesy stuff.
Last night was probably the best night out i had in a very long time. It was everywhere from No.5 in Emerald Hills, to Attica, to China One, to MoS in Clarke Quay and we ended up racking up room service bills in the hotel. The hotel was not great at all, there's no internet, but i get stray signals from the open windows, but hey, i'm not even complaining about it. As a matter of fact, i forgot my plug converter and i didn't even realist my laptop was running out of batter. Also the rooms are large and comfy and it fits three.
Singapore was pretty dead last night and we were slightly desperate after finding Attica deserted, but Laticia was in town for a transit and so we hooked up at the Ministry of Sound, just around 1 or so. We practically barricaded ourselves in the smoking room upstairs and expensed three bottles of Moet, which was rather excessive.
With the time to burn and energy to spend, I finally got in touch with some friends that I haven't seen for a while and we had a total blast. Debby lost weight but was still very pleasant to stare at, Fabrice was still french and Steve still beat me at pool.
Not that I would even contemplate to even try another long distance shit, but Debby was surprisingly pleasant to hang around with and we made a date to see Santana next month. She's also trying to get me to stay for another night and go to a barbecue party in Sentosa on Saturday. I'm tempted. We'll see, i'm not thinking too much at this point.
The work meetings were long and tiring, but they were very positive. Lots of stuff were happening in Jakarta as i was away and i imagine quite a number of people were in panic mode, but they could sort themselves out.
The main prize of this trip being the job interview which went better than well. I would be looking after Indonesia, but based in Singapore. That kinda solve the biggest problem of Mowgli moving to Singapore (he's getting too old for quarantine), I get the new job and be in Singapore while at the same time, at the same time i could visit Mowgli as often as i like and probably arrange for him to move here once i settled properly.
I didn't make any decisions yet, they'd like me to start ASAP, but it could wait. I'm not exactly in a state to make decisions, much less to move countries so soon. Need to settle my other things first.
It's one good news though, at the very least, i'd have some backup plan for the coming 'talk' with HR. I've a big project commencing right now, so i guess that's where my head should be for the next few weeks, but it'll be good to know what's coming beyond that. P called again soon as i got back to the hotel and i told her about it, she didn't seem very happy. I so totally don't understand why, it shouldn't matter at all. In any event, she guilt tripped me into seeing her tomorrow night soon as i get back. I've a feeling that I've to settle this business once and for all. It's becoming the song that never ends.
In any event, many things are happening, Christina and others are back in Jakarta on Sunday and I look forward to be back with my dog after a week away. More stories will follow later. Thanks a lot for all the messages, emails, comments, advice and other stuff, i really do appreciate it and God only knows, i'm not worthy of them. Let's hope I'll be able to do the same to you in later life. I'll be back in the city either tomorrow night or Sunday noon and my phone doesn't currently work, i'm using my Singapore number, you can try there if you know it.
For now, let's have some fun. Cheers!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
in a Meeting
this is amazing. i been sitting with nine other people in a meeting for the last six hours. i can't even remember what this was about anymore. i need to get outta here soon, only i'm not sure if i'm jumping into something better, or worse...
send me more porn.
Read More..
send me more porn.
on a Facebook Plane
Q. Whether it is hardest, to obtain a person's love, or to keep it when obtained?
A. It is hardest to keep it, by reason of the inconstancy of man, who is quickly angry, and soon weary of a thing; hard to be gained and slippery to keep.
~Aristotle’s Book of Problems
I’m back in Jakarta for the day and already the head is spinning hard. Mostly work stuff, not exactly happy stuff. At the moment, everything seems to be floating in the air with the fragility of bubbles. I’m expecting it to pop anytime. I can’t really say, but it involves headhunters, HR managers and client commitments. With everything else that’s happening at the moment, few, if anything, are certain.
Except probably the dog, but since I’m traveling so much these days, I don’t even see the dog enough.
The trip yday was business, incidentally, it was a client’s site that C had been wanting to see for a while. She’s been talking about it for a few years, but never got around to visiting. I spent a few days there and had a great time, it was exciting. Tiring but fun. I couldn’t help but thinking that she would’ve enjoyed it a lot and it would’ve been a lot more fun if she’d been there.
In my little dysfunctional head, the idea is I shouldn’t txt her if I wasn’t sufficiently intoxicated. I’m not sure why that is. Cheap pride, probably, or some high school-ish despise for accountability. In any event, the whole trip was too exciting and I was going silly about it and could take it no more and so I called and told her all about it.
The timing as a whole was just a tad strange. I asked her for dinner, not even sure if that was a good idea at all. I just knew I wanted to tell her stories. Just need to see if the girl was still there.
She said yes, sometime this weekend. I can't help feeling that it’s like Ike announcing DDay on BBC so Rommel had a good time to fortify the coast of Normandy. Except that I only want to tell her the story of how much fun it was seeing stuff I saw. Imagine Overlord had one company and the German had the time to move their Panzer divisions just on the shore with X mark the spot.
Private Ryan would’ve been dead.
Things have been too weird. All advice me to calm, but the hostility was reaching an ouched proportion, there were just too many little things that tickles. I don’t understand where I became the enemy from whom things are to be kept away so much. It’s not like I’d ruin anything, it was rotten to begin with. I’m sure it wasn’t the intention, it just how it feels. I know that very well, except that it still hurts.
Someone said it’s a girl’s logic. I think it’s just spite. We don’t deserve more lies. We should’ve moved forward a long time ago.
When would people learn that once you’re on facebook, then you lose all privacy?
You can tweak your security settings to pretend like you don’t exist, but it ends up only looking like you tweaked the privacy setting. When you smell a rat: you don’t really need to see the rat. I feel like tearing the roof and catch em, have my cat to have a go at it.
Except that it’s probably not even worth it. When you try to hide things too hard then it defeats the purpose.
Dear dufus, you need to learn some facebook.
I still feel like to see her tho, strange as it may seems. Maybe I’m just a little loose in the head right now. It just hurts a little, I’m not sure you even understand this.
I told HR that I don’t really want to talk about stuff right now and walked out. I’m meeting with the headhunters too. The way it is right now, whatever decision I make, it’s lose-lose for everyone; between shit and shittier none will be happy. That’s a big regret really. I had high hopes for this job and I’m actually pretty good at it, it’s depressing to see things go fubar by things totally unrelated to it.
I’m still trying to figure out how exactly this ended up being here. Just a few weeks ago, my Table of Eight looked very different. There was Turkey and Tibet and the East Coast and a book and a puppy and a new apartment and all. One seismic moment and suddenly I am in career and life limbo with bubbles to pop and facebook to blame.
My head spins really hard now. Maybe because I am actually sober.
Read More..
A. It is hardest to keep it, by reason of the inconstancy of man, who is quickly angry, and soon weary of a thing; hard to be gained and slippery to keep.
~Aristotle’s Book of Problems
I’m back in Jakarta for the day and already the head is spinning hard. Mostly work stuff, not exactly happy stuff. At the moment, everything seems to be floating in the air with the fragility of bubbles. I’m expecting it to pop anytime. I can’t really say, but it involves headhunters, HR managers and client commitments. With everything else that’s happening at the moment, few, if anything, are certain.
Except probably the dog, but since I’m traveling so much these days, I don’t even see the dog enough.
The trip yday was business, incidentally, it was a client’s site that C had been wanting to see for a while. She’s been talking about it for a few years, but never got around to visiting. I spent a few days there and had a great time, it was exciting. Tiring but fun. I couldn’t help but thinking that she would’ve enjoyed it a lot and it would’ve been a lot more fun if she’d been there.
In my little dysfunctional head, the idea is I shouldn’t txt her if I wasn’t sufficiently intoxicated. I’m not sure why that is. Cheap pride, probably, or some high school-ish despise for accountability. In any event, the whole trip was too exciting and I was going silly about it and could take it no more and so I called and told her all about it.
The timing as a whole was just a tad strange. I asked her for dinner, not even sure if that was a good idea at all. I just knew I wanted to tell her stories. Just need to see if the girl was still there.
She said yes, sometime this weekend. I can't help feeling that it’s like Ike announcing DDay on BBC so Rommel had a good time to fortify the coast of Normandy. Except that I only want to tell her the story of how much fun it was seeing stuff I saw. Imagine Overlord had one company and the German had the time to move their Panzer divisions just on the shore with X mark the spot.
Private Ryan would’ve been dead.
Things have been too weird. All advice me to calm, but the hostility was reaching an ouched proportion, there were just too many little things that tickles. I don’t understand where I became the enemy from whom things are to be kept away so much. It’s not like I’d ruin anything, it was rotten to begin with. I’m sure it wasn’t the intention, it just how it feels. I know that very well, except that it still hurts.
Someone said it’s a girl’s logic. I think it’s just spite. We don’t deserve more lies. We should’ve moved forward a long time ago.
When would people learn that once you’re on facebook, then you lose all privacy?
You can tweak your security settings to pretend like you don’t exist, but it ends up only looking like you tweaked the privacy setting. When you smell a rat: you don’t really need to see the rat. I feel like tearing the roof and catch em, have my cat to have a go at it.
Except that it’s probably not even worth it. When you try to hide things too hard then it defeats the purpose.
Dear dufus, you need to learn some facebook.
I still feel like to see her tho, strange as it may seems. Maybe I’m just a little loose in the head right now. It just hurts a little, I’m not sure you even understand this.
I told HR that I don’t really want to talk about stuff right now and walked out. I’m meeting with the headhunters too. The way it is right now, whatever decision I make, it’s lose-lose for everyone; between shit and shittier none will be happy. That’s a big regret really. I had high hopes for this job and I’m actually pretty good at it, it’s depressing to see things go fubar by things totally unrelated to it.
I’m still trying to figure out how exactly this ended up being here. Just a few weeks ago, my Table of Eight looked very different. There was Turkey and Tibet and the East Coast and a book and a puppy and a new apartment and all. One seismic moment and suddenly I am in career and life limbo with bubbles to pop and facebook to blame.
My head spins really hard now. Maybe because I am actually sober.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
on Meat Loaf
Q. How doth love show its greater force by making the fool to become wise, or the wise to become a fool?
A. In attributing wisdom to him that has it not; for it is harder to build than to pull down. Ordinarily love and folly are but an alteration of the mind
~Aristotle's Book of Problems, on Love
This probably goes beyond sad but it's still my blog, right?
I couldn't sleep for no particular reason. Mrs. Locke scared me home, and she was right. I missed my dog, but i still couldn't sleep - I think i'm just too tired to sleep. Ended up staying up , chatting with GJ (who was swimming in the river in Bangkok), and somehow talked about Meat Love.
So the night found me staying up with Meat Love cranked up in between all sorts of Sting. I haven't heard this one for a very long time. Always thought that the lyric was a tad off. But hey, fluffy just noticed I had a heart. (insert big smiley here).
Read More..
A. In attributing wisdom to him that has it not; for it is harder to build than to pull down. Ordinarily love and folly are but an alteration of the mind
~Aristotle's Book of Problems, on Love
This probably goes beyond sad but it's still my blog, right?
I couldn't sleep for no particular reason. Mrs. Locke scared me home, and she was right. I missed my dog, but i still couldn't sleep - I think i'm just too tired to sleep. Ended up staying up , chatting with GJ (who was swimming in the river in Bangkok), and somehow talked about Meat Love.
So the night found me staying up with Meat Love cranked up in between all sorts of Sting. I haven't heard this one for a very long time. Always thought that the lyric was a tad off. But hey, fluffy just noticed I had a heart. (insert big smiley here).
And I would do anything for love, I'd run right into hell and back
I would do anything for love, I'll never lie to you and that's a fact
But I'll never forget the way you feel right now, oh no, no way
And I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, I won't do that
Anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, oh I won't do that
Some days it don't come easy, and some days it don't come hard
Some days it don't come at all, and these are the days that never end
Some nights you're breathing fire, and some nights you're carved in ice
Some nights you're like nothing I've ever seen before or will again
Maybe I'm crazy, but it's crazy and it's true
I know you can save me, no one else can save me now but you
As long as the planets are turning, as long as the stars are burning
As long as your dreams are coming true, you better believe it
I would do anything for love, I'll never lie to you and that's a fact
But I'll never forget the way you feel right now, oh no, no way
And I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, I won't do that
Anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, oh I won't do that
Some days it don't come easy, and some days it don't come hard
Some days it don't come at all, and these are the days that never end
Some nights you're breathing fire, and some nights you're carved in ice
Some nights you're like nothing I've ever seen before or will again
Maybe I'm crazy, but it's crazy and it's true
I know you can save me, no one else can save me now but you
As long as the planets are turning, as long as the stars are burning
As long as your dreams are coming true, you better believe it
Some days I pray for silence, and somedays I pray for soul
Some days I just pray to the God of Sex and Drums and Rock 'N Roll
Some nights I lose the feeling, and some nights I lose control
Some nights I just lose it all when I watch you dance and the thunder rolls
Maybe I'm lonely and that's all I'm qualified to be
There's just one and only, the one and only promise I can keep
As long as the wheels are turning, as long as the fires are burning
As long as your prayers are coming true, you better believe it
I'll never stop dreaming of you every night of my life, no way
And I would do anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, no I won't do that
Will you raise me up, will you help me down?
Will you get me right out of this Godforsaken town?
Will you make it all a little less cold?
I can do that! I can do that!
Will you hold me sacred?
Will you hold me tight?
Can you colorize my life,
I'm so sick of black and white?
Can you make it all a little less old?
I can do that! Oh oh, now I can do that!
Will you make me some magic, with your own two hands?
Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand?
Can you give me something I can take home?
I can do that! Oh oh now, I can do that!
Will you cater to every fantasy I got?
Will ya hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?
Will you take me places I've never known?
I can do that! Oh oh now, I can do that!
After a while you'll forget everything
It was a brief interlude and a midsummer night's fling
And you'll see that it's time to move on
I won't do that! No I won't do that!
I know the territory, I've been around
It'll all turn to dust and we'll all fall down
And sooner or later, you'll be screwing around
I won't do that! No I won't do that!
Anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, no I won't do that
Some days I just pray to the God of Sex and Drums and Rock 'N Roll
Some nights I lose the feeling, and some nights I lose control
Some nights I just lose it all when I watch you dance and the thunder rolls
Maybe I'm lonely and that's all I'm qualified to be
There's just one and only, the one and only promise I can keep
As long as the wheels are turning, as long as the fires are burning
As long as your prayers are coming true, you better believe it
I'll never stop dreaming of you every night of my life, no way
And I would do anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, no I won't do that
Will you raise me up, will you help me down?
Will you get me right out of this Godforsaken town?
Will you make it all a little less cold?
I can do that! I can do that!
Will you hold me sacred?
Will you hold me tight?
Can you colorize my life,
I'm so sick of black and white?
Can you make it all a little less old?
I can do that! Oh oh, now I can do that!
Will you make me some magic, with your own two hands?
Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand?
Can you give me something I can take home?
I can do that! Oh oh now, I can do that!
Will you cater to every fantasy I got?
Will ya hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?
Will you take me places I've never known?
I can do that! Oh oh now, I can do that!
After a while you'll forget everything
It was a brief interlude and a midsummer night's fling
And you'll see that it's time to move on
I won't do that! No I won't do that!
I know the territory, I've been around
It'll all turn to dust and we'll all fall down
And sooner or later, you'll be screwing around
I won't do that! No I won't do that!
Anything for love, oh I would do anything for love
I would do anything for love, but I won't do that, no I won't do that
ah...
on Things I Approve
i been tagged. It is particularly hard as well, since you know, Mr. Brightside over here hardly ever approves anything at all. But I'm giving it a try.
I'm supposed to tag other people. Let's have Me, GJ, Jen, Jay and the Wizard.
Read More..
- Fast cars. I approve of fast cars. The faster you can go, the more approving I get. Bonus point if you could leave noise behind.
- Sweet fruits. Mango, rambutan, melon, whatever, so long as they’re sweet and fresh.
- Hot food. Has to be hot, otherwise there’s no point.
- Sweet, hot and fast. Jackpot.
- Good massage. Good and proper one, I approve.
- Stars and walking. Every time I was away, I look at the stars and wondered why you couldn’t see them in Jakarta. And walking, for the same reason. It would be nice to walk and see the stars at the same time.
- Death penalty for people who doesn’t know how to use lift. Hell, death penalty, I approve.
I'm supposed to tag other people. Let's have Me, GJ, Jen, Jay and the Wizard.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Treespotting Traveling Wisdoms
I just caught a cab ride. Sometimes, it does occur to me if there's any honest person left in this town. Except that to say that would mean a sweeping stereotyping against all 16m people who aren't taxi drivers.
Jakarta airport sucks. I dare say that even Surabaya airport was better. The aircon doesn't work. The long walk to the gates was dreary, empty and utterly void of any welcoming experience whatsoever (except for the sign that declared Death Penalty for Drug Traffickers). The only good thing about it is that Jakarta is the only airport where you can smoke straight off the plane. From the outside, it's even worse. There's no place to wait except for McD's and A&W. You HAVE to park your car and pay the rip off price. Since there's actually a huge road right at the front, i totally get the logic of why you can't drive thru for pick up like in any other airport on the planet?!?!?
The huge totem in the car park depicting funky group sex orgy was an odd welcome, in any culture.
In any case, you shouldn't draw conclusion of the country from the airport alone.
Wait til you get in the cab instead.
PS: to you, Mrs. Locke, you guilt tripped me into going home. You're bad. If i'm alone for the rest of my life, it's all your fault. entirely your fault.
Read More..
Jakarta airport sucks. I dare say that even Surabaya airport was better. The aircon doesn't work. The long walk to the gates was dreary, empty and utterly void of any welcoming experience whatsoever (except for the sign that declared Death Penalty for Drug Traffickers). The only good thing about it is that Jakarta is the only airport where you can smoke straight off the plane. From the outside, it's even worse. There's no place to wait except for McD's and A&W. You HAVE to park your car and pay the rip off price. Since there's actually a huge road right at the front, i totally get the logic of why you can't drive thru for pick up like in any other airport on the planet?!?!?
The huge totem in the car park depicting funky group sex orgy was an odd welcome, in any culture.
In any case, you shouldn't draw conclusion of the country from the airport alone.
Wait til you get in the cab instead.
PS: to you, Mrs. Locke, you guilt tripped me into going home. You're bad. If i'm alone for the rest of my life, it's all your fault. entirely your fault.
Monday, January 14, 2008
on Withdrawal
I am not happy. Please don't send me to places with no internet again. Ever again. It's cruel and unusual. I am not happy. In fact, i am very depressed. Please cheer me up. Send me porn.
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on Getting Wherever Faster
I should have thought things through, yeah
I'm holding out
But not getting an answer
I want to do right by you
I'm finding out
Cheating gets it faster
~Get It Faster, Jimmy Eats World
I’ve this rash on my forearm that wouldn’t seem to stop itching for the last few weeks. I’ve a vague recollection of certain mud wrestling session on a flower bed, there must’ve been bugs. I scratched it today and it bled. If I were slightly more superstitious, I’d think it’s a sign for something. Maybe a prelude to a curse.
I went to see Soeharto today, someone in the family is a close friend and came to pick me up – just arriving from overseas and I haven’t seen him for a while. The media circus there was bizarre. I’ve nothing for the old man whatsoever, he should go, one last service to this country, the quicker the better, but the media circus over there was quite simply inappropriate. Forget the senile old tyrant, remember that the hospital also looks after several thousands of other less glamour dying people. What is wrong with our local establishments?
I have been reading Hunter Thompson, the Great Shark Hunt, on the period of the hippy movement in Haight Ashbury and slightly before that, the beatniks and how Berkeley moved to the left. First of all, I’ve to say that it’s great writing and anyone with interests in that part of history/contemporary culture should read the book. It also makes me wonder how similar it was – at least on the intellectual level – with Indonesia post-Soeharto. I might ponder on this for a little bit and write the extra stuff when he kicked the bucket.
Additionally, rumors abound that I have been up to no good. The Jedi Council had predicted this fairly well and it was finally confirmed: I was dumb and stupid.
No doubt, they may very well be in the right. They’re always right.
I see what I see, I hear what I hear and I don’t always react accordingly: with certain things, I simply don’t know how to react. I’m dumb like that.
I write because I needed to sort things out in my head. Not because I want to explain things. If and when I came up with the wonderful theory of a better life, I’ll start a religion. You'd be notified. In this convoluted head, most times things just don’t come out right.
One thing I do want to set straight though, particularly since three different persons independently came to poke at my head today. I don’t cheat. I didn’t cheat back then, and I am not cheating with anyone presently. Working on someone else’s girl was stupid, spiteful and downright cowardly. To get a friend drunk and took advantage of her was cruel, sickening and downright wrong and I don’t do that either. I know a guy who took it up for a habit and as much as I despise the act, I couldn’t bring myself so low to that level. I’m still not sure what to do to such people, but I sure as hell won’t bring me to that level.
I didn’t do anything I said I won’t do. If I were to shit on your face, take my words for it, you would’ve known. I’m not the kind that would do it behind your back. In certain circle, this made me the villain, God bless their puny souls.
Sure, I did all sorts of God awful things that I regretted ever having done and I probably wouldn’t ever do it again, but there are certain lows that I don’t really bring myself to. At least not yet. I’m trying to be proud of that, there’s little to be proud of these days. This is one. I’m sorry that I’m getting a bit emotional, but to say that I cheat, particularly under the present circumstances, is somewhat sensitive.
Now, back to my crazy writing and insanely misleading characterization of life. I’ve no explanation for it except that I didn’t know how to put it any other way.
It’s a fucking blog.
PS: Just in case I’m getting it wrong again, I’m actually in a very happy mood. I see stars. Stadium Arcadium, Jimmy Eats World, White Plain T’s and Foo Fighters keeps me happy. I’ll be in wonderland for a few days, not so sure of bloggy situation out there. Happy Monday, all.
Read More..
I'm holding out
But not getting an answer
I want to do right by you
I'm finding out
Cheating gets it faster
~Get It Faster, Jimmy Eats World
I’ve this rash on my forearm that wouldn’t seem to stop itching for the last few weeks. I’ve a vague recollection of certain mud wrestling session on a flower bed, there must’ve been bugs. I scratched it today and it bled. If I were slightly more superstitious, I’d think it’s a sign for something. Maybe a prelude to a curse.
I went to see Soeharto today, someone in the family is a close friend and came to pick me up – just arriving from overseas and I haven’t seen him for a while. The media circus there was bizarre. I’ve nothing for the old man whatsoever, he should go, one last service to this country, the quicker the better, but the media circus over there was quite simply inappropriate. Forget the senile old tyrant, remember that the hospital also looks after several thousands of other less glamour dying people. What is wrong with our local establishments?
I have been reading Hunter Thompson, the Great Shark Hunt, on the period of the hippy movement in Haight Ashbury and slightly before that, the beatniks and how Berkeley moved to the left. First of all, I’ve to say that it’s great writing and anyone with interests in that part of history/contemporary culture should read the book. It also makes me wonder how similar it was – at least on the intellectual level – with Indonesia post-Soeharto. I might ponder on this for a little bit and write the extra stuff when he kicked the bucket.
Additionally, rumors abound that I have been up to no good. The Jedi Council had predicted this fairly well and it was finally confirmed: I was dumb and stupid.
No doubt, they may very well be in the right. They’re always right.
I see what I see, I hear what I hear and I don’t always react accordingly: with certain things, I simply don’t know how to react. I’m dumb like that.
I write because I needed to sort things out in my head. Not because I want to explain things. If and when I came up with the wonderful theory of a better life, I’ll start a religion. You'd be notified. In this convoluted head, most times things just don’t come out right.
One thing I do want to set straight though, particularly since three different persons independently came to poke at my head today. I don’t cheat. I didn’t cheat back then, and I am not cheating with anyone presently. Working on someone else’s girl was stupid, spiteful and downright cowardly. To get a friend drunk and took advantage of her was cruel, sickening and downright wrong and I don’t do that either. I know a guy who took it up for a habit and as much as I despise the act, I couldn’t bring myself so low to that level. I’m still not sure what to do to such people, but I sure as hell won’t bring me to that level.
I didn’t do anything I said I won’t do. If I were to shit on your face, take my words for it, you would’ve known. I’m not the kind that would do it behind your back. In certain circle, this made me the villain, God bless their puny souls.
Sure, I did all sorts of God awful things that I regretted ever having done and I probably wouldn’t ever do it again, but there are certain lows that I don’t really bring myself to. At least not yet. I’m trying to be proud of that, there’s little to be proud of these days. This is one. I’m sorry that I’m getting a bit emotional, but to say that I cheat, particularly under the present circumstances, is somewhat sensitive.
Now, back to my crazy writing and insanely misleading characterization of life. I’ve no explanation for it except that I didn’t know how to put it any other way.
It’s a fucking blog.
PS: Just in case I’m getting it wrong again, I’m actually in a very happy mood. I see stars. Stadium Arcadium, Jimmy Eats World, White Plain T’s and Foo Fighters keeps me happy. I’ll be in wonderland for a few days, not so sure of bloggy situation out there. Happy Monday, all.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
on the Shape of My Heart
He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal the king in his hand,
While the memory of it fades
~Shape of My Heart, Sting
A very long time ago, I left home for the very first time. It was probably the most important decision I have ever made at that point of my life. I left home and didn’t tell mother I was leaving. I just walked out one day right after school. I needed to go home first because we still wore the school uniform.
After a few weeks away, I started missing the familiar scent of home and thinking about all things I left behind. I wondered what was happening to my cat, and if mother had already dispatched a search party for me. The later prompted guilt and I immediately sent words that I was in good condition, healthy and alive, but I wasn’t coming home.
I wondered if my friends were doing the stuff we usually did if I were home. I wondered if they’d found a replacement in the bball team yet. I wondered if the school kicked me out yet. The self imposed exile was designed to minimize contacts with civilization: I went on a 30 hour trip into wonderland where they had no phones. Electricity was powered down after 10 and people went to sleep at 8. I had a small room in the back of a huge colonial manor where I largely kept to myself and busied with my readings. I wondered if they’ve new books available in bookshop.
I wondered if Michael Jordan managed an extra second in the air the weeks that I was away.
Mostly though, I was missing a girl. She was the hottest girl walking this scorched earth. She used to wear her hair just below her shoulder with lots of curls, they weren’t even black. Almost as tall as me, she had the first pair of disproportionately long and beautiful legs I had ever laid my eyes on. Most times, she looked at me funny but she always smiled, a body built for sin and the attitude to match.
The music was always the same. I had a tape with Shape of My Heart in it and I used to just put that on in auto repeat. It was the most beautiful song I have ever heard and I lay on the floor each of those nights as I wrote her a letter. I don’t think I had yet sent anyone a love letter before and so I wasn’t sure at all how to do it. I guess she was just lucky that I wasn’t listening to the Cure.
In the largely romanticized version, I did the letters squinting under the moonlight. My room was too dark and we had no lights at night. I saw the stars and I wondered if she’d been seeing the same ones. Perhaps she would teach me stars. She wasn’t the only thing that waits for me at home, she was the only good thing waiting for me.
I still think that the song was a perfection in musical art. No other song captured emotion the way it did. Keeping a moment so freshly embedded, and yet remained ready at a moment’s notice to give it back. I’m a big fan of Sting and I still enjoy his current works, but the song was his very own trophy.
She was very wealthy and had this diamonds on her. The necklace was particularly beautiful and she let me touched her neck while telling me the family history. The song brings back the picture of those diamonds on her neck.
It helps that the lyric was probably the best lyric I’ve heard anywhere anytime. It brings you hope and despair and love and everything in between. It speaks of consequences and how unpleasant they are most times. I wrote several pages on each of its verses, wanting to make sure that she got to see the beauty that I saw. I kept them pages and I still do.
In the later episodes of my life, during my bleakest of days, I found myself the song the only thing to console. It brings some order into chaos and it breezes life to the undead.
The album was also special as in my opinion it distinctly distinguished the transitional period for Sting beyond the Police. He was proud to carry himself and tell his story. Aptly called Ten Summoner Tales, I’m convinced that Shape of My Heart was the essence of the other nine tales.
To me, it tells the tale of love and forever romanticized it. It is the closest resemblance to the real thing, if there ever was a real thing. She taught me to kiss and I was trying to remember the lessons.
I never saw her again for another 14 years or so, during which time she grew into a sexy mother of three. Her husband reads this blog and I suspect she does, too but she won’t admit it. She was every bit the drop dead beauty with the look to kill and strangely gleaming diamonds around the neck. I broke her heart and she yet she still smiles.
When I returned home after the runaway stint, I found that she’d been writing to me. She told me she listened to Shape of My Heart as she lay in bed, wondering what I was doing. She wrote me on the most beautiful scented papers and she used colors. She wished me the most beautiful dreams each night and wondered if I saw the stars. She moved to NYC just a few days before my returning.
She had never read one of my letters, I’d never sent any of them.
In fact, I never wrote her anything at all. Reading her letters brought me joy and pains in a weird, but pleasant way.
I realized that I was walking away from her whole life and the future for us held not a path together. She would not seek me and I wouldn’t her.
I took a life out of her shattered dreams and stole her hopes. I broke my promises. Ours.
I never thanked her.
I know that the spades are the swords of the soldiers
I know the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds means money for this art
But that’s not the shape of my heart…
Read More..
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal the king in his hand,
While the memory of it fades
~Shape of My Heart, Sting
A very long time ago, I left home for the very first time. It was probably the most important decision I have ever made at that point of my life. I left home and didn’t tell mother I was leaving. I just walked out one day right after school. I needed to go home first because we still wore the school uniform.
After a few weeks away, I started missing the familiar scent of home and thinking about all things I left behind. I wondered what was happening to my cat, and if mother had already dispatched a search party for me. The later prompted guilt and I immediately sent words that I was in good condition, healthy and alive, but I wasn’t coming home.
I wondered if my friends were doing the stuff we usually did if I were home. I wondered if they’d found a replacement in the bball team yet. I wondered if the school kicked me out yet. The self imposed exile was designed to minimize contacts with civilization: I went on a 30 hour trip into wonderland where they had no phones. Electricity was powered down after 10 and people went to sleep at 8. I had a small room in the back of a huge colonial manor where I largely kept to myself and busied with my readings. I wondered if they’ve new books available in bookshop.
I wondered if Michael Jordan managed an extra second in the air the weeks that I was away.
Mostly though, I was missing a girl. She was the hottest girl walking this scorched earth. She used to wear her hair just below her shoulder with lots of curls, they weren’t even black. Almost as tall as me, she had the first pair of disproportionately long and beautiful legs I had ever laid my eyes on. Most times, she looked at me funny but she always smiled, a body built for sin and the attitude to match.
The music was always the same. I had a tape with Shape of My Heart in it and I used to just put that on in auto repeat. It was the most beautiful song I have ever heard and I lay on the floor each of those nights as I wrote her a letter. I don’t think I had yet sent anyone a love letter before and so I wasn’t sure at all how to do it. I guess she was just lucky that I wasn’t listening to the Cure.
In the largely romanticized version, I did the letters squinting under the moonlight. My room was too dark and we had no lights at night. I saw the stars and I wondered if she’d been seeing the same ones. Perhaps she would teach me stars. She wasn’t the only thing that waits for me at home, she was the only good thing waiting for me.
I still think that the song was a perfection in musical art. No other song captured emotion the way it did. Keeping a moment so freshly embedded, and yet remained ready at a moment’s notice to give it back. I’m a big fan of Sting and I still enjoy his current works, but the song was his very own trophy.
She was very wealthy and had this diamonds on her. The necklace was particularly beautiful and she let me touched her neck while telling me the family history. The song brings back the picture of those diamonds on her neck.
It helps that the lyric was probably the best lyric I’ve heard anywhere anytime. It brings you hope and despair and love and everything in between. It speaks of consequences and how unpleasant they are most times. I wrote several pages on each of its verses, wanting to make sure that she got to see the beauty that I saw. I kept them pages and I still do.
In the later episodes of my life, during my bleakest of days, I found myself the song the only thing to console. It brings some order into chaos and it breezes life to the undead.
The album was also special as in my opinion it distinctly distinguished the transitional period for Sting beyond the Police. He was proud to carry himself and tell his story. Aptly called Ten Summoner Tales, I’m convinced that Shape of My Heart was the essence of the other nine tales.
To me, it tells the tale of love and forever romanticized it. It is the closest resemblance to the real thing, if there ever was a real thing. She taught me to kiss and I was trying to remember the lessons.
I never saw her again for another 14 years or so, during which time she grew into a sexy mother of three. Her husband reads this blog and I suspect she does, too but she won’t admit it. She was every bit the drop dead beauty with the look to kill and strangely gleaming diamonds around the neck. I broke her heart and she yet she still smiles.
When I returned home after the runaway stint, I found that she’d been writing to me. She told me she listened to Shape of My Heart as she lay in bed, wondering what I was doing. She wrote me on the most beautiful scented papers and she used colors. She wished me the most beautiful dreams each night and wondered if I saw the stars. She moved to NYC just a few days before my returning.
She had never read one of my letters, I’d never sent any of them.
In fact, I never wrote her anything at all. Reading her letters brought me joy and pains in a weird, but pleasant way.
I realized that I was walking away from her whole life and the future for us held not a path together. She would not seek me and I wouldn’t her.
I took a life out of her shattered dreams and stole her hopes. I broke my promises. Ours.
I never thanked her.
I know that the spades are the swords of the soldiers
I know the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds means money for this art
But that’s not the shape of my heart…
Saturday, January 12, 2008
On the Line
Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you
The angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
~Round Here, Counting Crows
There’s a new place in Kemang that I actually like. A lot. It’s a bar, wooden and rusty décor, old typewriters, antique phones and all. One of the typewriter was one used by E. E. Cummings and the letter E was stuck. Or so it was thought.
It’s called Tabac, right behind QB/Jesslyn Cakes, across from Kem Chic, just off the main road. They’ve an American guy doing the bar and Billy does mighty pours of vodka. The bar is also quite impressive. They’ve quite a few tequila, including those that I like and those I don’t. They’ve No. 10 and a good selection of whiskey, too.
Not that I drink any.
The crowd was nice, it was pretty packed last night, nice crowd for a bar that’s only been open for five days.
I went there after work. The day was harsh and I kinda needed Friday. We agreed not to talk shop, so we bitched about everything else instead. It suddenly felt kinda good. I haven’t been out having fun and bitched for a while.
I recall someone confiscated my phone right after that. I was smacked and my phone was taken away from me, which was quite funny. People like me really shouldn’t be let to roam free.
We went elsewhere after that, I’m not exactly sure where, the recollection is a little vague. You know the way you try hard to blank out certain stuff so you won’t have to think about it for a while, only you went further and ended up not thinking at all?
Well, occasionally I did end up hustling hot girls in ATMs. I might even be lucky and get half a blowjob. More often I don’t. It’s more like sucking on the rusty end of the bus.
Not that I do that very often either.
I’m guessing I upset a lot of people. I’m not sure who or how many or how, but I woke up with a resonant heartache and a slight headache. The weather was nice, not too hot but not very cloudy. The bedroom was cooled and was empty.
It wasn’t what I did, really. Drunk dialing was a common phenomenon in my world. The place was nice and the night was great, I thought it was worth sharing. Not that the thinking was done thoroughly at all.
It was when they told me that it wasn’t.
I don’t think that it’s their place to judge. (Again, I am using the verb ‘to think’ quite liberally here). I don’t know what the fuck was going on and they knew even less. I don’t think they should judge.
Or maybe it was when they said it out loud then I was forced to believe.
Except that I didn’t want to. It was a Jack Nicholson moment.
Maybe it was the name calling. I don’t think we should resort to name calling. That was just nasty. There’s a chance that we were wrong. There’s always a chance that we were wrong.
Like so many other things that were just plain wrong.
Like throwing glasses at people are wrong. I need to remember that.
PS: August and Everything After, best album ever written. I think everyone should get a copy.
Read More..
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you
The angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
~Round Here, Counting Crows
There’s a new place in Kemang that I actually like. A lot. It’s a bar, wooden and rusty décor, old typewriters, antique phones and all. One of the typewriter was one used by E. E. Cummings and the letter E was stuck. Or so it was thought.
It’s called Tabac, right behind QB/Jesslyn Cakes, across from Kem Chic, just off the main road. They’ve an American guy doing the bar and Billy does mighty pours of vodka. The bar is also quite impressive. They’ve quite a few tequila, including those that I like and those I don’t. They’ve No. 10 and a good selection of whiskey, too.
Not that I drink any.
The crowd was nice, it was pretty packed last night, nice crowd for a bar that’s only been open for five days.
I went there after work. The day was harsh and I kinda needed Friday. We agreed not to talk shop, so we bitched about everything else instead. It suddenly felt kinda good. I haven’t been out having fun and bitched for a while.
I recall someone confiscated my phone right after that. I was smacked and my phone was taken away from me, which was quite funny. People like me really shouldn’t be let to roam free.
We went elsewhere after that, I’m not exactly sure where, the recollection is a little vague. You know the way you try hard to blank out certain stuff so you won’t have to think about it for a while, only you went further and ended up not thinking at all?
Well, occasionally I did end up hustling hot girls in ATMs. I might even be lucky and get half a blowjob. More often I don’t. It’s more like sucking on the rusty end of the bus.
Not that I do that very often either.
I’m guessing I upset a lot of people. I’m not sure who or how many or how, but I woke up with a resonant heartache and a slight headache. The weather was nice, not too hot but not very cloudy. The bedroom was cooled and was empty.
It wasn’t what I did, really. Drunk dialing was a common phenomenon in my world. The place was nice and the night was great, I thought it was worth sharing. Not that the thinking was done thoroughly at all.
It was when they told me that it wasn’t.
I don’t think that it’s their place to judge. (Again, I am using the verb ‘to think’ quite liberally here). I don’t know what the fuck was going on and they knew even less. I don’t think they should judge.
Or maybe it was when they said it out loud then I was forced to believe.
Except that I didn’t want to. It was a Jack Nicholson moment.
Maybe it was the name calling. I don’t think we should resort to name calling. That was just nasty. There’s a chance that we were wrong. There’s always a chance that we were wrong.
Like so many other things that were just plain wrong.
Like throwing glasses at people are wrong. I need to remember that.
PS: August and Everything After, best album ever written. I think everyone should get a copy.
Friday, January 11, 2008
on the Cover
My friends are so great. Someone gave me this Vanity Fair with Knut on the cover!!!!
...and i also got a brand new flash cool 1GB thumb drive.
I am happy today.
on Eclipse
When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?
~Franz Kafka
Writing about it was a mistake, it would’ve given all the wrong impression. She wasn’t the issue here. Not at all. Especially not recently. I might be oversimplifying things a little here, but she was more a neat coincidence, if a scary one.
Recent events had absolutely nothing to do with her, she wasn’t even in recent events. She was a distraction for empty bloggy pages.
To my credit, recent events has a whole lot to do with myself and little with others.
To paraphrase the monster, you can’t reduce me to a set of influences.
My writings are cryptic at best and misleading most times and for this, apologies are sincerely offered.
C doesn’t read my writing. Always the smart girl, I guess she knew better. Sometimes, I wished she does, you know, I occasionally come up with the rare gems. Or perhaps she could shine some light on this convoluted mind. Shame really, I wrote of her quite often, some of them I really wished she read. She could probably explain recent events better.
I went thru guidebooks and maps last night, trying to figure out if there’s a safe and feasible route at all from India to Turkey by land. I wanted to do my trip, from Bangkok to Istanbul by land. I’m thinking of doing that around end of the year since I’ve a trip to the US in the summer. That’ll be fun, to spend a few months on the road and meet new people all the way. I most look forward to the route from China to India, through the Himalayans. Roof of the World.
I saw the mighty sight once from the plane and I swore I was going there some day. I might just be able to afford it now.
Some things aren’t really what you’d like to think they are. It’s a Platonic mind trick. Not being able to see them, you wanted to believe that they were bigger than they are. They lived in your mind being larger than life and you worshipped them diligently.
Eventually, they stopped fucking with your head and revealed the truest forms. They’re ugly and full of potholes like the moon.
The infatuation for that you see. An overwhelming love for beauty.
You were lead to believe that there was no darker half to it. Only there is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it's all dark, as the old wisemen say.
It’s a Platonic mind trick.
It’ll be cool to go and see the Himalayans. Roof of the World.
Flash Update: I didn't realise as i was writing this, Sir Edmund Hillary died.
Read More..
~Franz Kafka
Writing about it was a mistake, it would’ve given all the wrong impression. She wasn’t the issue here. Not at all. Especially not recently. I might be oversimplifying things a little here, but she was more a neat coincidence, if a scary one.
Recent events had absolutely nothing to do with her, she wasn’t even in recent events. She was a distraction for empty bloggy pages.
To my credit, recent events has a whole lot to do with myself and little with others.
To paraphrase the monster, you can’t reduce me to a set of influences.
My writings are cryptic at best and misleading most times and for this, apologies are sincerely offered.
C doesn’t read my writing. Always the smart girl, I guess she knew better. Sometimes, I wished she does, you know, I occasionally come up with the rare gems. Or perhaps she could shine some light on this convoluted mind. Shame really, I wrote of her quite often, some of them I really wished she read. She could probably explain recent events better.
I went thru guidebooks and maps last night, trying to figure out if there’s a safe and feasible route at all from India to Turkey by land. I wanted to do my trip, from Bangkok to Istanbul by land. I’m thinking of doing that around end of the year since I’ve a trip to the US in the summer. That’ll be fun, to spend a few months on the road and meet new people all the way. I most look forward to the route from China to India, through the Himalayans. Roof of the World.
I saw the mighty sight once from the plane and I swore I was going there some day. I might just be able to afford it now.
Some things aren’t really what you’d like to think they are. It’s a Platonic mind trick. Not being able to see them, you wanted to believe that they were bigger than they are. They lived in your mind being larger than life and you worshipped them diligently.
Eventually, they stopped fucking with your head and revealed the truest forms. They’re ugly and full of potholes like the moon.
The infatuation for that you see. An overwhelming love for beauty.
You were lead to believe that there was no darker half to it. Only there is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it's all dark, as the old wisemen say.
It’s a Platonic mind trick.
It’ll be cool to go and see the Himalayans. Roof of the World.
Flash Update: I didn't realise as i was writing this, Sir Edmund Hillary died.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
on a Sentence
if there was a sentence i wished i could write properly, it would be:
'i never cheat'
Whats yours?
Read More..
'i never cheat'
Whats yours?
Monday, January 07, 2008
on the Balls
The recent events are too recent still to recount accurately.
I should keep you guys entertained in the mean time with a short fiction. Regular programming will return later.
***
The lone security guard looked as if he wasn’t expecting me to be there. I knew he recognized me, he buzzed me in even as if he didn’t look very convinced that I was supposed to be there. I chose the stairs into the back yard, paced along the tennis court and followed the path further down.
I could’ve been nervous, I’m not sure, but I recall that my head was doing its own thing. There were many questions, the primary one being what could I be doing, finding myself in that building, only it was rather late for loose contemplation.
There could be any number of explanations of why I was walking down the path, chiefly being my invitation for dinner.
I suppose I could also claim that it was a normal friendly visit.
A naughty peek, an innocent flirt with not-so-old stories.
A futile wondering of what ifs.
I might’ve been just sentimental.
Beyond the main lights of the towers, on the darker shade of the path, almost rightly outside the complex, was half a basketball court with one hoop. The light shone directly on the keyhole area, you could just made the faded the graffiti on the court and a girl.
I stood and watched for a minute. Some things haven’t changed. She still had problems with her left hook and jumped too awkwardly for wild rebounds. She had a new pair of Nike, or at least a pair I didn’t recognize. Approaching closer into the open court, I smelled the incoming rain, wild breeze with an almost whistling sound as it picked up speed among the towering lights in the central business district.
She probably sensed my arrival, turned around just in time to face me, the lights made it picture perfect for a health drink tv commercial. The hair tousled in perfect frame around her face, slightly wet jersey hanging loosely from the shoulders down to her waist. She was in the shadow but I recognized the pair of eyes that stared my welcome, they glow even in the darkest of shadows.
On her back, Jakarta horizon lit up every few seconds with distant cracks of heavens.
I needed to change first. I don’t play in long sleeves. I’d no spare shirt so I’ll be roughing it with no top. She passed me the ball, only to have me pass it back, the worn leather was wet with sweat and slightly dirty and so was she. I guessed she’d been playing for a while.
The girl walked slowly towards me and watched as I put on a fresh pair of socks. Dispensing with details she asked if I thought she play was playing any better, to which I responded curtly that I barely saw her play for a full year. A full year. All sorts of things that you never thought would’ve happened in a year could’ve happened in a year.
She had the legs wide, the back bent slightly forward with eyes piercing into mine. The bare shoulders moved in rhythm with the thumping of the ball on the ground. Neck tilted slightly up, her eyes were neither mad nor sad, they were just into me.
I edged closer, arms on the side and I covered pretty much everything. 8 Feet away from the hoop she was not much of a threat. If the left hook had improved at all, all I had to do was to make sure she remained on that side of the court. The nose was inches to mine and I could almost smell her. Faint clues of some obscure French stuff faded away.
The ball handling didn’t improve much either and she learned to do better by playing aggressive. The tiny shoulder thrust into my chest, first in a sharp angle and then in one sweeping motion, pushed me wide open to the left. Perhaps I felt her soft breast against me with a mini jolt to freeze some brief milliseconds of reflexes. Or it could’ve been the French stuff. I watched her back as she moved in and shoot from the right to score. She looked just nice from behind.
Now it’s my turn.
On the court, she looked even smaller than she usually was. I reached out to patronize and almost touched the top of her head. I glimpsed at her loose cleavage but even that she didn’t seem to mind much. Again, the eyes stared with a strange intensity into mine, the lips unmoved.
I could just rest back and shoot. That was the easiest way. A small fadeaway from the right spot, even at her happiest days she could never reach the tip of my fingers. I needed to only jump. I usually do that to catch up after her first few points. She’d lose her temper after a while and attempted a block anyway. The first few milliseconds in the air were moments where our bodies closest and occasionally, the proximity was distracting enough.
The breeze got louder and the thunders closer. The lights had gone more distant and the half court smaller. She stopped dead on her track in an awkward corner. Her back was on me, and there was no room to move anywhere. She stretched her arms forward, holding on hard onto the ball, away from my reach. My legs pressed against hers from behind on a sticky sweat coat. She would have to make the shot. That meant she needed to turn around and face me.
I watched only the back of her head and the white t shirt clinging to her back. To reach for the ball meant to stretch my hand alongside her arm, on more sticky sweat coats. My legs pressed against the back of hers, almost like a perfect cast and that alone was enough for a shudder. To not hurt her meant to have my other arm around her, gently enough not for a foul but ready to hold her if I accidentally knocked her down.
You could presumably touch her bellybutton if you edged your fingers.
To reach even closer meant to lean forward as far as I could on her back, bringing us just that much towards too uncomfortably close.
For a flashing moment, I watched as her body turned to the side. Her face in a magnified close up, each and every one of her pecks and pimples distinctly visible. The eyes fixated above my head, noticeably not trained on me for the first time. Jersey flapped in the air and I thought I glimpsed her flat stomach, just as nice I had committed to memory.
I wanted to jump and reach for the ball, the trajectory was fairly limited from where she was taking the shot. Her hands much shorter and smaller than me, it was probably worth trying for a good block.
I left her up there and watched instead. You don’t really get to see that very often. That one moment when she cared not at all of what she might’ve looked like.
The first drops were there, mist against the lights, they were crystals tearing from above. She told me to stick around for another point, dared me to stay for a final score. She had a tone in her voice and I thought she was in tears.
It was the rain and the sweat and the light wasn’t perfect but it looked like they were tears. For a brief second, I was sure I saw tears.
…
Smoking isn’t good for sport.
Did I tell you that? I tried to catch my breath, hoping not to look embarrassingly out of breath. She did that whole stare thing again, looking at me with her animated irony. I nodded and I reached for the ball. Rare lucky moments where she had the ball low enough and quickly enough to shift for her other hand. I was half expecting the soft shoulder into my chest again, except that she moved even swifter this time.
She barely jumped when I flew up from behind and reached for the ball, just as it curved away from her fingers. I felt the tip of my hands nudged it just a little.
The split seconds right after that I was busy not tumbling down upon her and hoped that I did touch the old leather ball.
I probably did or didn’t but the ball missed by several inches and bounced to the opposite side of the court. She sneaked out quickly, firmly holding to it just before it left the court. This time she’s in the far darker side corner of the court and there was a shadow from that angle. She was cornered two steps away from the lines. If she weren’t lucky enough before, she didn’t have a better chance now.
The rain was getting heavier and I could now feel water on my skin. I told her that she wouldn’t have the chance now and we should probably call it off. It was getting wet and too slippery to play any further.
She put that nasty, smirky smile that I hate. The way she smiled to the rest of three hundred other people. The only way she could win. Did i say she has a pretty smile?
She dared me to close, knowing I wouldn’t risk knocking her down on. I asked her to please be careful, that’s how I usually win. Nothing like the comforting voice to calm her down. She knew I was there to watch her. I wouldn’t let her down.
As I moved closer, the tease became real and neither of us would move anymore for fear of knocking the other down. She had the ball firm in her hands, she wasn’t allowed to do that for more than five seconds. The rain blew harder and we were getting positively wet.
She insisted to finish the game and asked why I wouldn’t let her lose. I let her win occasionally but I never let her lose. She questioned of whether I had the guts to ever make that final score.
I could see the questions lead to nowhere good.
She asked if that was the reason I never played last minutes: that I didn’t want to make the final score.
I told her I was being polite.
It did sound like a viable excuse at the time.
Next I was informed that being polite was hardly my natural trait, not in so many words. There was a scarlet of pain in her voice.
That was really a path not worth venturing into.
She kept the ball on her waist, just on one side with one hand covering it. The pose of a good small guard. I explained that she sulked whenever she lost. I was simply saving myself the trouble. I hate seeing her upset.
I was guarding too uncomfortably close, she reached out to push my face away, the other hand remained glued to the ball. She told me that I caused trouble anyway and I wasn’t allowed to guard that close.
I explained the NBA rule, that it wasn’t actually a foul if I didn’t reach in.
She pulled back, rested one of her hand on my shoulder, almost leaning, the shoulders relaxed a little.
To push just a little bit closer, I would’ve had the side of her face against mine, I could just tease her around the ear. The loose tangles of her hair would’ve been pressed and stuck on my face and to taste the watered down sweat.
She repeated that I was trouble anyway, almost whispered but I got all the words.
She noticed that I never seemed to care much when she sulked every other times.
The conversation was veering into the less comfortable territory alarmingly fast.
I reached for her shoulder, softly pushing her away, there was now exactly a one step distance between the two of us.
I told her the she loved winning too much. She liked winning more than most and she looked prettiest when she won. I love looking at her the prettiest.
She stood back in the point guard pose, now soaking wet, the jersey no longer hung loose. I could almost made the cold erect nipples underneath, the wet shirt hugged every creases of her against the lights just off the edge.
She moved not so suddenly, but easy enough to free herself off my guard, and took the shot.
Read More..
I should keep you guys entertained in the mean time with a short fiction. Regular programming will return later.
***
The lone security guard looked as if he wasn’t expecting me to be there. I knew he recognized me, he buzzed me in even as if he didn’t look very convinced that I was supposed to be there. I chose the stairs into the back yard, paced along the tennis court and followed the path further down.
I could’ve been nervous, I’m not sure, but I recall that my head was doing its own thing. There were many questions, the primary one being what could I be doing, finding myself in that building, only it was rather late for loose contemplation.
There could be any number of explanations of why I was walking down the path, chiefly being my invitation for dinner.
I suppose I could also claim that it was a normal friendly visit.
A naughty peek, an innocent flirt with not-so-old stories.
A futile wondering of what ifs.
I might’ve been just sentimental.
Beyond the main lights of the towers, on the darker shade of the path, almost rightly outside the complex, was half a basketball court with one hoop. The light shone directly on the keyhole area, you could just made the faded the graffiti on the court and a girl.
I stood and watched for a minute. Some things haven’t changed. She still had problems with her left hook and jumped too awkwardly for wild rebounds. She had a new pair of Nike, or at least a pair I didn’t recognize. Approaching closer into the open court, I smelled the incoming rain, wild breeze with an almost whistling sound as it picked up speed among the towering lights in the central business district.
She probably sensed my arrival, turned around just in time to face me, the lights made it picture perfect for a health drink tv commercial. The hair tousled in perfect frame around her face, slightly wet jersey hanging loosely from the shoulders down to her waist. She was in the shadow but I recognized the pair of eyes that stared my welcome, they glow even in the darkest of shadows.
On her back, Jakarta horizon lit up every few seconds with distant cracks of heavens.
I needed to change first. I don’t play in long sleeves. I’d no spare shirt so I’ll be roughing it with no top. She passed me the ball, only to have me pass it back, the worn leather was wet with sweat and slightly dirty and so was she. I guessed she’d been playing for a while.
The girl walked slowly towards me and watched as I put on a fresh pair of socks. Dispensing with details she asked if I thought she play was playing any better, to which I responded curtly that I barely saw her play for a full year. A full year. All sorts of things that you never thought would’ve happened in a year could’ve happened in a year.
She had the legs wide, the back bent slightly forward with eyes piercing into mine. The bare shoulders moved in rhythm with the thumping of the ball on the ground. Neck tilted slightly up, her eyes were neither mad nor sad, they were just into me.
I edged closer, arms on the side and I covered pretty much everything. 8 Feet away from the hoop she was not much of a threat. If the left hook had improved at all, all I had to do was to make sure she remained on that side of the court. The nose was inches to mine and I could almost smell her. Faint clues of some obscure French stuff faded away.
The ball handling didn’t improve much either and she learned to do better by playing aggressive. The tiny shoulder thrust into my chest, first in a sharp angle and then in one sweeping motion, pushed me wide open to the left. Perhaps I felt her soft breast against me with a mini jolt to freeze some brief milliseconds of reflexes. Or it could’ve been the French stuff. I watched her back as she moved in and shoot from the right to score. She looked just nice from behind.
Now it’s my turn.
On the court, she looked even smaller than she usually was. I reached out to patronize and almost touched the top of her head. I glimpsed at her loose cleavage but even that she didn’t seem to mind much. Again, the eyes stared with a strange intensity into mine, the lips unmoved.
I could just rest back and shoot. That was the easiest way. A small fadeaway from the right spot, even at her happiest days she could never reach the tip of my fingers. I needed to only jump. I usually do that to catch up after her first few points. She’d lose her temper after a while and attempted a block anyway. The first few milliseconds in the air were moments where our bodies closest and occasionally, the proximity was distracting enough.
The breeze got louder and the thunders closer. The lights had gone more distant and the half court smaller. She stopped dead on her track in an awkward corner. Her back was on me, and there was no room to move anywhere. She stretched her arms forward, holding on hard onto the ball, away from my reach. My legs pressed against hers from behind on a sticky sweat coat. She would have to make the shot. That meant she needed to turn around and face me.
I watched only the back of her head and the white t shirt clinging to her back. To reach for the ball meant to stretch my hand alongside her arm, on more sticky sweat coats. My legs pressed against the back of hers, almost like a perfect cast and that alone was enough for a shudder. To not hurt her meant to have my other arm around her, gently enough not for a foul but ready to hold her if I accidentally knocked her down.
You could presumably touch her bellybutton if you edged your fingers.
To reach even closer meant to lean forward as far as I could on her back, bringing us just that much towards too uncomfortably close.
For a flashing moment, I watched as her body turned to the side. Her face in a magnified close up, each and every one of her pecks and pimples distinctly visible. The eyes fixated above my head, noticeably not trained on me for the first time. Jersey flapped in the air and I thought I glimpsed her flat stomach, just as nice I had committed to memory.
I wanted to jump and reach for the ball, the trajectory was fairly limited from where she was taking the shot. Her hands much shorter and smaller than me, it was probably worth trying for a good block.
I left her up there and watched instead. You don’t really get to see that very often. That one moment when she cared not at all of what she might’ve looked like.
The first drops were there, mist against the lights, they were crystals tearing from above. She told me to stick around for another point, dared me to stay for a final score. She had a tone in her voice and I thought she was in tears.
It was the rain and the sweat and the light wasn’t perfect but it looked like they were tears. For a brief second, I was sure I saw tears.
…
Smoking isn’t good for sport.
Did I tell you that? I tried to catch my breath, hoping not to look embarrassingly out of breath. She did that whole stare thing again, looking at me with her animated irony. I nodded and I reached for the ball. Rare lucky moments where she had the ball low enough and quickly enough to shift for her other hand. I was half expecting the soft shoulder into my chest again, except that she moved even swifter this time.
She barely jumped when I flew up from behind and reached for the ball, just as it curved away from her fingers. I felt the tip of my hands nudged it just a little.
The split seconds right after that I was busy not tumbling down upon her and hoped that I did touch the old leather ball.
I probably did or didn’t but the ball missed by several inches and bounced to the opposite side of the court. She sneaked out quickly, firmly holding to it just before it left the court. This time she’s in the far darker side corner of the court and there was a shadow from that angle. She was cornered two steps away from the lines. If she weren’t lucky enough before, she didn’t have a better chance now.
The rain was getting heavier and I could now feel water on my skin. I told her that she wouldn’t have the chance now and we should probably call it off. It was getting wet and too slippery to play any further.
She put that nasty, smirky smile that I hate. The way she smiled to the rest of three hundred other people. The only way she could win. Did i say she has a pretty smile?
She dared me to close, knowing I wouldn’t risk knocking her down on. I asked her to please be careful, that’s how I usually win. Nothing like the comforting voice to calm her down. She knew I was there to watch her. I wouldn’t let her down.
As I moved closer, the tease became real and neither of us would move anymore for fear of knocking the other down. She had the ball firm in her hands, she wasn’t allowed to do that for more than five seconds. The rain blew harder and we were getting positively wet.
She insisted to finish the game and asked why I wouldn’t let her lose. I let her win occasionally but I never let her lose. She questioned of whether I had the guts to ever make that final score.
I could see the questions lead to nowhere good.
She asked if that was the reason I never played last minutes: that I didn’t want to make the final score.
I told her I was being polite.
It did sound like a viable excuse at the time.
Next I was informed that being polite was hardly my natural trait, not in so many words. There was a scarlet of pain in her voice.
That was really a path not worth venturing into.
She kept the ball on her waist, just on one side with one hand covering it. The pose of a good small guard. I explained that she sulked whenever she lost. I was simply saving myself the trouble. I hate seeing her upset.
I was guarding too uncomfortably close, she reached out to push my face away, the other hand remained glued to the ball. She told me that I caused trouble anyway and I wasn’t allowed to guard that close.
I explained the NBA rule, that it wasn’t actually a foul if I didn’t reach in.
She pulled back, rested one of her hand on my shoulder, almost leaning, the shoulders relaxed a little.
To push just a little bit closer, I would’ve had the side of her face against mine, I could just tease her around the ear. The loose tangles of her hair would’ve been pressed and stuck on my face and to taste the watered down sweat.
She repeated that I was trouble anyway, almost whispered but I got all the words.
She noticed that I never seemed to care much when she sulked every other times.
The conversation was veering into the less comfortable territory alarmingly fast.
I reached for her shoulder, softly pushing her away, there was now exactly a one step distance between the two of us.
I told her the she loved winning too much. She liked winning more than most and she looked prettiest when she won. I love looking at her the prettiest.
She stood back in the point guard pose, now soaking wet, the jersey no longer hung loose. I could almost made the cold erect nipples underneath, the wet shirt hugged every creases of her against the lights just off the edge.
She moved not so suddenly, but easy enough to free herself off my guard, and took the shot.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
on Obama, Poker and Soeharto
As much as I want to go on talking about myself, recent developments in the global world are worth noticing.
First, Obama won the Iowa caucus and Hillary dropped to third. The US election is fun to watch. The superpower is about to elect either a black man, a woman, a mormon or Rudy Guillani for the first time. This will be an entertainment to watch.
Still from the US, poker is now the most watched ‘sport’ in American television, right after NASCAR and American football. Yes, poker. Ominous.
A man fell 47 storey and survives. How’s that for luck? I need some. Britney, however, is in total meltdown. It's getting really bizarre.
Last, from Jakarta, Mr. Soeharto is in a special care unit and there’s talk of funeral and stuff. Next to Castro, he’s probably among the most resilient of them all. I’m gonna go and check the odds.
Hmm…
Uh, you should see this paper plane over NYC on YouTube.
Let’s get back later with other stuff.
Read More..
First, Obama won the Iowa caucus and Hillary dropped to third. The US election is fun to watch. The superpower is about to elect either a black man, a woman, a mormon or Rudy Guillani for the first time. This will be an entertainment to watch.
Still from the US, poker is now the most watched ‘sport’ in American television, right after NASCAR and American football. Yes, poker. Ominous.
A man fell 47 storey and survives. How’s that for luck? I need some. Britney, however, is in total meltdown. It's getting really bizarre.
Last, from Jakarta, Mr. Soeharto is in a special care unit and there’s talk of funeral and stuff. Next to Castro, he’s probably among the most resilient of them all. I’m gonna go and check the odds.
Hmm…
Uh, you should see this paper plane over NYC on YouTube.
Let’s get back later with other stuff.
Yours Truly
Not yet smut.
But here's the man behind the screen. Explain things, don't it?
Read More..
But here's the man behind the screen. Explain things, don't it?
Friday, January 04, 2008
a Footnote
I keep forgetting that there are people I know who reads these pages. Why would they want to know about my sick and unscrewed head, I am not sure, but they do.
My phone rang almost immediately after I posted the last piece. She happens to be a close friend of my ex with a strange affection for my failures. She demanded that I am clear on a few things:
What girls do for their own kind, amazing stuff. I strongly urge other readers to simply leave me comments and NOT call me an asshole on the phone. Unless of course, there’s a strong and immediate reason to do so, like she did.
She mentioned something about that this whole thing had happened once before and retracing each steps into an impending disaster don’t mean that you could actually get away with it next time. We’ve been thru this before and it wasn’t an episode anyone of us wishes to relive. This is a point worth making. What does that got to do with her, I am not sure. Maybe she just want to be a sage?
Anyway, I gotta get back to work now, but if you’re reading this again and feeling an urgent and immediate need to dial your phone, let me say that all I ever did, was to accept the calls.
Will update you lot as this cheap drama unfolds.
PS: on a more interesting subject, the Oxford English Dictionary accepted 'blankie' as a new word and 'puttanesca' which is some sort of prostitute-esque food. I find that fitting to the common theme this week.
Read More..
My phone rang almost immediately after I posted the last piece. She happens to be a close friend of my ex with a strange affection for my failures. She demanded that I am clear on a few things:
- The calls were out of courtesy and had no underlying, subliminal, implicit or metaphorical seductive tone nor intentions. It was a happy new year call and an expression of concerns from an old friend. Ex had no intention whatsoever of re-exploring whatever that was, much less to engage in any kind of physical activities within my proximity. I am to understand this clearly and explicitly and expected to reflect that in all my future conduct.
- The call ended in tears had nothing to do with prostitution and/or other ideological arguments, but more with the fact that I was an asshole. This was simple and straightforward.
- She further recommends that I mend my ways and contribute to the betterment of mankind by getting my house in order, or better, ‘drop dead’. She informed me that their relationship is in good order and that I should expect a wedding announcement very soon. How one relates to the other, I am not sure but I’m hesitant to speculate.
- Lastly, she wanted me to be sure that I am aware that she thinks I’m an asshole.
What girls do for their own kind, amazing stuff. I strongly urge other readers to simply leave me comments and NOT call me an asshole on the phone. Unless of course, there’s a strong and immediate reason to do so, like she did.
She mentioned something about that this whole thing had happened once before and retracing each steps into an impending disaster don’t mean that you could actually get away with it next time. We’ve been thru this before and it wasn’t an episode anyone of us wishes to relive. This is a point worth making. What does that got to do with her, I am not sure. Maybe she just want to be a sage?
Anyway, I gotta get back to work now, but if you’re reading this again and feeling an urgent and immediate need to dial your phone, let me say that all I ever did, was to accept the calls.
Will update you lot as this cheap drama unfolds.
PS: on a more interesting subject, the Oxford English Dictionary accepted 'blankie' as a new word and 'puttanesca' which is some sort of prostitute-esque food. I find that fitting to the common theme this week.
on Being Resolutely Mad
When a man sees the spirit of a woman and not the eyes and tits, he's in trouble.
~John Wilmot
A friend of mine called today to wish me Happy New Year. She told me, her resolution is to no longer fuck other men. She was referring to men other than her current spouse. She is young and smart built with legs all the way. Passionate and skillful, she had a reputation for certain things that she was really good at.
We chatted for a few minutes and she expressly rebuffed my advances, so don’t expect juicy details from that department. One man can only wish.
The ex called me after the show, I could hear 200,000 watts music blasting from the background. As it were, she couldn’t have picked a worse/better time, some of us were contemplating on whether we needed four or six strippers. The call didn’t end well and I couldn’t see how it could lead anywhere better, but the woman won points for intuition and resolution.
I usually think I’ve a good intuition and I’m rarely wrong. I’m also resolute, most times those are qualities I’m proud of. Except when I’m dealing with her. She calls her my kryptonite.
She has a point. My radar doesn’t work with her. Not always, but when it failed, it failed sensationally with one fucking loud bang. Common sense doesn’t work with her. My brilliance for logic and analytic deduction failed me every time.
She cites that as a proof, every once in a while, she calls to check if I’d have my head back. Over the years, she warns me that the insanity doesn’t seem to get better. Not that I’m giving her much point for analytical skills.
I asked what she was doing with the dufus. She mentioned something about him being sane. He wasn’t any good in bed and I don’t think he would last another month and a few more hairdos, but the whole being sane bit was apparently a plus point. She prefers someone sane, apparently.
She asked why I chose to stay insane, which was a strange question to ask to a guy tanked up on whole load of stuff flipping thru pictures of bleached blonde strippers. Well, it is a strange question in the first place. I told her she’s getting old and eight boyfriends in two years are too many for anyone. She told me the saner ones are boring. Like I didn’t know that already. I asked her if she were ever to wed one of the saner ones but she said she wasn’t that crazy yet.
For a moment before her boyfriend got off the stage we were considering dinner. We didn’t get there quick enough, she hung up on me with some spice. Not sure exactly what, but it could’ve been something to do with prostitution.
This one girl, however, is very pretty and resolute. She texted me in the morning. Timed just right for the hangover, she asked me again why I chose to go mad.
Why, I said. I am mad.
I feel rather good about myself then. It’s about the only thing I got right this time around.
Read More..
~John Wilmot
A friend of mine called today to wish me Happy New Year. She told me, her resolution is to no longer fuck other men. She was referring to men other than her current spouse. She is young and smart built with legs all the way. Passionate and skillful, she had a reputation for certain things that she was really good at.
We chatted for a few minutes and she expressly rebuffed my advances, so don’t expect juicy details from that department. One man can only wish.
The ex called me after the show, I could hear 200,000 watts music blasting from the background. As it were, she couldn’t have picked a worse/better time, some of us were contemplating on whether we needed four or six strippers. The call didn’t end well and I couldn’t see how it could lead anywhere better, but the woman won points for intuition and resolution.
I usually think I’ve a good intuition and I’m rarely wrong. I’m also resolute, most times those are qualities I’m proud of. Except when I’m dealing with her. She calls her my kryptonite.
She has a point. My radar doesn’t work with her. Not always, but when it failed, it failed sensationally with one fucking loud bang. Common sense doesn’t work with her. My brilliance for logic and analytic deduction failed me every time.
She cites that as a proof, every once in a while, she calls to check if I’d have my head back. Over the years, she warns me that the insanity doesn’t seem to get better. Not that I’m giving her much point for analytical skills.
I asked what she was doing with the dufus. She mentioned something about him being sane. He wasn’t any good in bed and I don’t think he would last another month and a few more hairdos, but the whole being sane bit was apparently a plus point. She prefers someone sane, apparently.
She asked why I chose to stay insane, which was a strange question to ask to a guy tanked up on whole load of stuff flipping thru pictures of bleached blonde strippers. Well, it is a strange question in the first place. I told her she’s getting old and eight boyfriends in two years are too many for anyone. She told me the saner ones are boring. Like I didn’t know that already. I asked her if she were ever to wed one of the saner ones but she said she wasn’t that crazy yet.
For a moment before her boyfriend got off the stage we were considering dinner. We didn’t get there quick enough, she hung up on me with some spice. Not sure exactly what, but it could’ve been something to do with prostitution.
This one girl, however, is very pretty and resolute. She texted me in the morning. Timed just right for the hangover, she asked me again why I chose to go mad.
Why, I said. I am mad.
I feel rather good about myself then. It’s about the only thing I got right this time around.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Eventus Stultorum Magister*
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
~Macbeth
Nonsense, I have not yet begun to defile myself.
~Doc Holliday, Tombstone
Before I go on, let me just say that I always wonder how dog knows what they do. I don’t get it. I don’t understand how Mowgli understand me. Many a prettier face have tried to no avail.
Also that I hate facebook.
Fuck all that.
I’m getting predictable.
I’m getting to the point where Mowgli knows this, too.
First was the indeterminate mumbles and incoherent speeches. Then comes the flood of sms. Additionally, there will be some drunk texting and speeching involved. None of them in their right mind will care. Bears none worth none, they said.
Almost in parallel, there will be nights out and drinking binges, more likely some less than appropriate sexual advances to the available female companions. Occasionally, but less frequently, they complied and we have ourselves an entertainment.
Keep in mind that all along, there's a running a commentary on a globally available internet blog, under the common theme of Self Deprecation. So far so good. There will be parties and troubles are unavoidable. Troubles seek me like passionate lovers, enjoyable as always, none a young man couldn’t handle.
If I were to write a memoir at this point, it would’ve been called F.I.N.E. Dead right here, under the age of thirty, a world renowned blogger and quality smut peddler. Clever but unfortunate, loving but holy vengeful, caring and wholly uneventful.
I am right and you’re always so fucking wronged to the left, Mr. Ace A. Treespotter.
That’s how it should be on a big marble block.
But it doesn’t stop there. Mowgli knows. There are more.
For what they were they are none.
There are still strippers and prostitutes and exes. Keep your chin up and head straight. The worst is yet upon you. Ever seen the devil dance on the pale moonlight?
Hell awaits. I knew.
Except that she called me first. Life is fair, earth is round and hell is hot. We shall wait. You will all be notified, blame me. Lust and gore.
Life’s weird and funny but not both at the same time, that we all regret.
Fuck all that.
I’ll keep you guys posted.
* Fools are taught by experience
Read More..
~Macbeth
Nonsense, I have not yet begun to defile myself.
~Doc Holliday, Tombstone
Before I go on, let me just say that I always wonder how dog knows what they do. I don’t get it. I don’t understand how Mowgli understand me. Many a prettier face have tried to no avail.
Also that I hate facebook.
Fuck all that.
I’m getting predictable.
I’m getting to the point where Mowgli knows this, too.
First was the indeterminate mumbles and incoherent speeches. Then comes the flood of sms. Additionally, there will be some drunk texting and speeching involved. None of them in their right mind will care. Bears none worth none, they said.
Almost in parallel, there will be nights out and drinking binges, more likely some less than appropriate sexual advances to the available female companions. Occasionally, but less frequently, they complied and we have ourselves an entertainment.
Keep in mind that all along, there's a running a commentary on a globally available internet blog, under the common theme of Self Deprecation. So far so good. There will be parties and troubles are unavoidable. Troubles seek me like passionate lovers, enjoyable as always, none a young man couldn’t handle.
If I were to write a memoir at this point, it would’ve been called F.I.N.E. Dead right here, under the age of thirty, a world renowned blogger and quality smut peddler. Clever but unfortunate, loving but holy vengeful, caring and wholly uneventful.
I am right and you’re always so fucking wronged to the left, Mr. Ace A. Treespotter.
That’s how it should be on a big marble block.
But it doesn’t stop there. Mowgli knows. There are more.
For what they were they are none.
There are still strippers and prostitutes and exes. Keep your chin up and head straight. The worst is yet upon you. Ever seen the devil dance on the pale moonlight?
Hell awaits. I knew.
Except that she called me first. Life is fair, earth is round and hell is hot. We shall wait. You will all be notified, blame me. Lust and gore.
Life’s weird and funny but not both at the same time, that we all regret.
Fuck all that.
I’ll keep you guys posted.
* Fools are taught by experience
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Not
And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;
~ Words, William Butler Yeats
Do you ever feel like that?
You know what I mean, when you feel like you have a chestload of things to say but all the words came out as nouns with no verbs?
Series of incoherent nouns, not all of them bad words, except that they’re all grammatical failures.
The first work day in Jakarta started with a drizzle and a bad traffic, much like any other day in this town. I drove to work, I haven’t done that for almost two months. It was quite bearable tho I’m not expecting to do that every day.
In a way, I was quite looking forward to coming to work. The holiday was too long and was too shitty, it brought me down to new low points. I needed to look at other things and maybe play around with other things. Takes my mind off the less pleasant stuff.
I still sit here and I can’t focus on anything. I know that this will pass and things will get better. Probably they get worse before they get better, that’s how they usually are. I can’t work out how I feel, exactly. Nor how I should feel. It’s a jumble, and currently they’re all nouns.
Don’t know. Not sure about anything at all. Hard to talk about anything that way.
Will be back later.
Read More..
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;
~ Words, William Butler Yeats
Do you ever feel like that?
You know what I mean, when you feel like you have a chestload of things to say but all the words came out as nouns with no verbs?
Series of incoherent nouns, not all of them bad words, except that they’re all grammatical failures.
The first work day in Jakarta started with a drizzle and a bad traffic, much like any other day in this town. I drove to work, I haven’t done that for almost two months. It was quite bearable tho I’m not expecting to do that every day.
In a way, I was quite looking forward to coming to work. The holiday was too long and was too shitty, it brought me down to new low points. I needed to look at other things and maybe play around with other things. Takes my mind off the less pleasant stuff.
I still sit here and I can’t focus on anything. I know that this will pass and things will get better. Probably they get worse before they get better, that’s how they usually are. I can’t work out how I feel, exactly. Nor how I should feel. It’s a jumble, and currently they’re all nouns.
Don’t know. Not sure about anything at all. Hard to talk about anything that way.
Will be back later.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Happy New Year
Happy New Year 2008 all. Hope you all had fun last night!
PS: The picture's from Sydney. I'm not in Sydney, a very sweet girl sent it. Happy New Year to you too, Tan.
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PS: The picture's from Sydney. I'm not in Sydney, a very sweet girl sent it. Happy New Year to you too, Tan.
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