I met one Master at Loewy sometime after lunch and we chatted for an hour or so. This guy is a total freak and we’re always happy enough with minimally civil conversation and that gives u lots of good time to do the more important things. We used to hang out doing X Box games. Today, I was sitting directly opposite to a super cute girl straight out of Japanese comics, replete with the outfit. Bebe dress and matching glittering open shoes with levitating heels. When she stood for the bathroom I could even see the strained muscles, the girl literally danced on pins. Even the proportion meets the comics.
I’ve always thought the Japanese totally made things up.
Anyhoo, so that made almost the entire conversation on my table uninteresting. Both Jedis, one with his back to the other table could hardly turn around but the other had a clear line of sight and both of them frantically tried to get my attention back to their mindful conversation. Really I remember very little of them.
As Loewy is on such fancy hours – that quiet lull between 2-4 in a work day – there’s always some interesting characters around. There was that Pretty Boy from the 80s when Blok M was cool, can’t remember his name but I recognized it cuz he dated Sis in high school, like in Jurassic days when I wasn’t even born yet. There’s that other dude who owns hotels and clubs and stuff. I think he was also an MP for a few terms, I think. We knew him cuz one of us was at school with his son and them two bitches fought for some fucking ridiculous years. I never knew him but I dated his ex for a while, after the Jurassic days but definitely a Pre-Modern Man days. I’ve always been very fond of her and just took her dislike for the man naturally so we bitched a bit about it for a while.
At this point in the day, I had very nearly puked twice and was feeling rather unwell since I just took my pills – which take the pain away but accumulate itself in decreased articulation skills. Master Jedi said he could get me a legit prescription so I could send someone to pick some up tomorrow. The girl on the opposite table was a worthy distraction but I was risking myself totally drooling after oogling her for thirty minutes or so. I could barely keep up with the conversation but the two guys were persistent. I think they were worried because there was a guy sitting on the other table, with his back to me. Someone wanted to grease a monky or something. I’m not even sure that’s how you spell monky but I feel like making up words today.
Some of you would remember that a few years ago I developed a strange fetish for girls with very short hair?
Indonesian have a lovely word for it: bondol. Like cropped out as short as you can get before it’s an army cut. I can’t quite describe it but there’s a certain fascination to that cut – very daring and well, literally in your face. Without the hair to frame it, it leaves only your face. The girl had exaggeratedly large eyes with long, thin and fake eyelashes. There’s certain aggressiveness to it. I’ve the word edgy but what I have in mind is more just a little over the edge.
Thing is, I like long hair. I like girls with hair as long as possible most of the time. I have never told anyone to cut their hair before so at the time – this was eons ago – I had to find a girl with a short hair that I like. I really wish I could tell you what happened, but I can’t.
Back to the day at Loewy, there’s a certain drama to it as the hour dramatically closed and we asked for the bill. Jedi One suggested I make it really quick and go over there and ask for her twit. Like I was supposed to twit strangers in Loewy at lunch time. This same guy suggested stealing phones and stuff too but I never listen to his advice. Ever.
When the waiter arrived I asked if he knew who the girl was – you can never be too careful – he told us that she was a Yuni Shara (a singer?). I’ve heard her names but never paid attention – I don’t think she had that hair when back in my pubescent fetish, or if she did then it just never registered.
I ran a google image search and on the first two pages of result, none of the pictures came out like she was today so there’s no point in posting any pictures.
Great, now she must’ve thought that I’m a freaky crazy stalker whereas I’ve only heard of her today. I mean I just learned that she’s a widower. Not available tho, apparently. The third Jedi consulted over the phone later expressed serious concerns at my apparent relapse. I told him that there’s an Italian word for it – girls that are only on television to look good. Thing is, I didn’t see her in television and trying to convince a Jedi that the girl literally stood on pins was rather hard. One guy who overheard the conversation thought I was totally out of her league but the Council just duly expressed their concerns.
People on twitter don’t seem to like her a lot. There’s some BOO and BAA when I asked around so I didn’t push. I was wondering if she’s on twitter. Anyone who could stand around on those heels and twit at the same time for any number of hours deserve serious medal, IMHO.
Someone on twitter said I should’ve said hello cuz apparently the girl’s very nice. I was thinking somewhere along the line of “Hello, someone on twitter said I should say hello. Can we twit?”
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
on the Magical Mystery Tour
"I am the Walrus"
I’m on a happy post run. This is where I only post the happy stuff for the next indeterminate number of days until I feel sufficiently shitty to get back at ranting. The world is almost completely shit these days, so long as we don’t have a nuclear war, I generally consider it in good shape.
Good shape with a shitty texture.
I learn of happy stuff today on twitter. Like ducktape and coconut oil and stuff. @chibialay added bubble bath.
I also learn that it’s actually easier not to talk anyone in big parties. In small parties you’ve to talk to them even when they’re really boring.
My new favourite word is now Mbuh. It’s like meh but better.
This is Happy Post #1
Read More..
I’m on a happy post run. This is where I only post the happy stuff for the next indeterminate number of days until I feel sufficiently shitty to get back at ranting. The world is almost completely shit these days, so long as we don’t have a nuclear war, I generally consider it in good shape.
Good shape with a shitty texture.
I learn of happy stuff today on twitter. Like ducktape and coconut oil and stuff. @chibialay added bubble bath.
I also learn that it’s actually easier not to talk anyone in big parties. In small parties you’ve to talk to them even when they’re really boring.
My new favourite word is now Mbuh. It’s like meh but better.
This is Happy Post #1
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
a Hurricane of Fish
happVery weird things happened the last week. It was weird the week before but it got weirder. I lost track of things a lot. Mother wrote from Europe. I starred her email but I don’t know yet what to write back. I don’t see any way I could make her want to read what I have to tell her, unless I tell her some other happier stories, so I’m presently making things up. I’ll put it down and click send later.
The maids are back so some semblance of order has returned to the house and the dog is now well secured and pampered. There’s a Golden Retriever from across the road that he seems to like but she doesn’t like him much it seems. He needs to work on his game.
Remember that Hurricane of Fish? I see it again. A hurricane of fish. This time they’re hungry and restless. Very. Even the water got very mucky.
I wrote to a few random people and chatted with a few friends. Samantha said I don’t make sense much. She thinks the rumors of my ignorance were greatly exaggerated. Sam sent me a signed copy of Bruce Sterling new book. Z talked of Neal Stephenson new tome but I’ve not come around to it yet. Sophia Latjuba and her husband agreed to do the questions. Chubby just called and asked me to help with his wedding. Olive called and I was happy enough to hear her voice. I’ll be happy to make it pass this week and keep my lil brother alive. Vi is back from her outback trip so can ramble to her instead and keep you people happy.
We’re going to happy post week
(this is where I post only happy stuff for an indeterminate period of time until the depression seeps back in).
Read More..
The maids are back so some semblance of order has returned to the house and the dog is now well secured and pampered. There’s a Golden Retriever from across the road that he seems to like but she doesn’t like him much it seems. He needs to work on his game.
Remember that Hurricane of Fish? I see it again. A hurricane of fish. This time they’re hungry and restless. Very. Even the water got very mucky.
I wrote to a few random people and chatted with a few friends. Samantha said I don’t make sense much. She thinks the rumors of my ignorance were greatly exaggerated. Sam sent me a signed copy of Bruce Sterling new book. Z talked of Neal Stephenson new tome but I’ve not come around to it yet. Sophia Latjuba and her husband agreed to do the questions. Chubby just called and asked me to help with his wedding. Olive called and I was happy enough to hear her voice. I’ll be happy to make it pass this week and keep my lil brother alive. Vi is back from her outback trip so can ramble to her instead and keep you people happy.
We’re going to happy post week
(this is where I post only happy stuff for an indeterminate period of time until the depression seeps back in).
Sunday, September 27, 2009
on a Week Gone Mad
Don't be a good neighbor anymore to her. I'll have to send you a love letter!
Straight from my heart, fucker! You know what a love letter is? It's a bullet from a fucking gun, fucker! You recieve a love letter from me, and you're fucked forever! You understand, fuck? I'll send you straight to hell, fucker!... In dreams... I walk with you. In dreams... I talk to you.
In dreams, you're mine... all the time. Forever
~Frank Booth
My body clock had gone completely funny. We’re so totally beyond the tin foil hat territory. At this point, I’m leaning more towards a rabit hole.
Maybe because of the drugs – one of them knocks me right out and I can sleep almost like a clockwork – but it also has the effect of knocking me out completely right out. Not a good idea to do that with noone around in the house so I try not to.
To stay alive and functioning however, I need a constant supply of painkillers and rehydration liquid and in 36 six hours cycle, it introduces a hazy like vision and renders good judgment to strict probability.
To start with – and we can bypass the part where Indonesia is in a constitutional crisis of sort with nobody running the country – but there are also not one, not two, but three people I know either in prison or going to be soon. If you think I need to hang in better circles, I’d say it’s just that time of the year.
Lil Bro’s gf called me in tears, he’s now using drugs again. Heroin, is his choice of poison and I’ve had to deal with that shit times before. I was more pissed than concerned but asked a few guys to go over and have a look anyway, just in case. She also told me she aborted a baby or something. Another friend sent me an email, it sounded very fishy but he could’ve been only writing a song. I can’t deal with the knucklehead stuff so I switched the phone off and smear in pain instead.
I’m serious about worrying only about things we can change.
There was a smaller Council gathered in the house the other night. One guy I haven’t seen for like six or seven years. The last time we were together was in LA where a Philipino shop owner chased us with a baseball bat. He taught me golf, and though I never grew to like it one bit, I got to play around in Pebble Beach and saw Michael Jordan. He was a caddy there. Chubby was around and he brought with her the Groupie Girl so tecnically it wasn’t a proper Council. Nevertheless, the subject of messy divorce and public humiliation and natural loathing for proprietry arose.
I have major teeth problems and I can’t swallow things properly cause things start bleeding and stuff so I stay on steady diet of cereals and vanilla ice cream. The hazy effect of painkillers is encountered by a steady stream of nicotine and caffeine and increasingly radical ideas.
Suicidal thoughts, prisons, drug dealers, abortions, civil movements, social revolutions, mexican drug trips and thrown in the fact that due to the combination of my drug habit, expensive bandwidth, a nonacceptable standard of minimum healthcare, a mandatory national holiday and Mother’s last minute announcement of her European trip all within one week of hari raya had completely fucked any budget I had in mind from the day before and so I am also completely broke.
Yes Brandon, this time, both morally and financially. If those weren’t enough, I woke up find out that the nuclear thing is back on the headlines. You could understand that I naturally need to get laid.
This of course, brings us back to the rodent problems though frankly at this point, I’m willing to forego the species definition. Any mammals will do.
Or trolls.
Some where in this deranged state, I started writing in Indonesian too and discovered a few more things – more on this I will rant about in a near future – but mostly I was debilitated by the impossibility of being funny in the Indonesian language.
Perhaps if I try again in a non drug induced state the result will be more successful but my attempt at crass humour was totally dejected – resulting in a vitriolic and elaborate flame war carried through several threads - and will most probably land me back in the Annals of Disreputable Blogger. I once attempted to join another online community of sort and was sent away to behave myself for 30 days.
Conclusively, I managed to be hated by the white people because I called them a dick and I was villified among the brown people for having called their logic stupid. In both occasions the wickedness of my vocabularies was exposed and both threads brought up racism more or less roughly halfway thru. One was in English and the other was Indonesian.
I suspect really it’s probably my trollish quality rather than their ill humour.
Still, I find it really hard to be funny in Indonesian. In English – even if I’m not funny haha, I would always be at least funny peculiar. That’s why most of you keep coming back to read even if you have no idea what I’m talking about.
That’s really okay. I’ve always said that writing is therapeutic. I’m never really quite certain what I write about anyway, which is why I bother to write them down. Things I already know I keep to myself.
I was wondering how and when that Gogol dude noticed he’s gone mad - probably somewhere around when the dogs start writing letters and stuff. The only copy I have of the book is in Cyrillics and I can’t read it. If you’re wondering why it’s there, then it’s there for the same reason that I have Spanish, German, Arabic, Chinese and French books lying around the place. To woo women. I speak none of those languages. Dead poet society. Straight rip.
So in the morning none of us could sleep and we went for the driving range. Lita is here for a few days and she wants to ‘practice her swing’. Chubby and his short skirted groupie smuggled a bottle of vodka and I suspect theyre drinking it straight up from the rather conspiciously placed bottle. Lita thought the morning light gives the groupie a ‘zombie whore look.’
I refrained from making any comments, took the chair furthest away from everyone else, watch her ‘swing’ and write a blogpost.
There you go. Happy Sunday all.
If you’re one of those who has no idea of what the blog is about, scroll down.
There’s a welcome message from Johnny Depp.
Oh, I almost forgot the kittywrap. The news piece is here.
.
Read More..
Straight from my heart, fucker! You know what a love letter is? It's a bullet from a fucking gun, fucker! You recieve a love letter from me, and you're fucked forever! You understand, fuck? I'll send you straight to hell, fucker!... In dreams... I walk with you. In dreams... I talk to you.
In dreams, you're mine... all the time. Forever
~Frank Booth
My body clock had gone completely funny. We’re so totally beyond the tin foil hat territory. At this point, I’m leaning more towards a rabit hole.
Maybe because of the drugs – one of them knocks me right out and I can sleep almost like a clockwork – but it also has the effect of knocking me out completely right out. Not a good idea to do that with noone around in the house so I try not to.
To stay alive and functioning however, I need a constant supply of painkillers and rehydration liquid and in 36 six hours cycle, it introduces a hazy like vision and renders good judgment to strict probability.
To start with – and we can bypass the part where Indonesia is in a constitutional crisis of sort with nobody running the country – but there are also not one, not two, but three people I know either in prison or going to be soon. If you think I need to hang in better circles, I’d say it’s just that time of the year.
Lil Bro’s gf called me in tears, he’s now using drugs again. Heroin, is his choice of poison and I’ve had to deal with that shit times before. I was more pissed than concerned but asked a few guys to go over and have a look anyway, just in case. She also told me she aborted a baby or something. Another friend sent me an email, it sounded very fishy but he could’ve been only writing a song. I can’t deal with the knucklehead stuff so I switched the phone off and smear in pain instead.
I’m serious about worrying only about things we can change.
There was a smaller Council gathered in the house the other night. One guy I haven’t seen for like six or seven years. The last time we were together was in LA where a Philipino shop owner chased us with a baseball bat. He taught me golf, and though I never grew to like it one bit, I got to play around in Pebble Beach and saw Michael Jordan. He was a caddy there. Chubby was around and he brought with her the Groupie Girl so tecnically it wasn’t a proper Council. Nevertheless, the subject of messy divorce and public humiliation and natural loathing for proprietry arose.
I have major teeth problems and I can’t swallow things properly cause things start bleeding and stuff so I stay on steady diet of cereals and vanilla ice cream. The hazy effect of painkillers is encountered by a steady stream of nicotine and caffeine and increasingly radical ideas.
Suicidal thoughts, prisons, drug dealers, abortions, civil movements, social revolutions, mexican drug trips and thrown in the fact that due to the combination of my drug habit, expensive bandwidth, a nonacceptable standard of minimum healthcare, a mandatory national holiday and Mother’s last minute announcement of her European trip all within one week of hari raya had completely fucked any budget I had in mind from the day before and so I am also completely broke.
Yes Brandon, this time, both morally and financially. If those weren’t enough, I woke up find out that the nuclear thing is back on the headlines. You could understand that I naturally need to get laid.
This of course, brings us back to the rodent problems though frankly at this point, I’m willing to forego the species definition. Any mammals will do.
Or trolls.
Some where in this deranged state, I started writing in Indonesian too and discovered a few more things – more on this I will rant about in a near future – but mostly I was debilitated by the impossibility of being funny in the Indonesian language.
Perhaps if I try again in a non drug induced state the result will be more successful but my attempt at crass humour was totally dejected – resulting in a vitriolic and elaborate flame war carried through several threads - and will most probably land me back in the Annals of Disreputable Blogger. I once attempted to join another online community of sort and was sent away to behave myself for 30 days.
Conclusively, I managed to be hated by the white people because I called them a dick and I was villified among the brown people for having called their logic stupid. In both occasions the wickedness of my vocabularies was exposed and both threads brought up racism more or less roughly halfway thru. One was in English and the other was Indonesian.
I suspect really it’s probably my trollish quality rather than their ill humour.
Still, I find it really hard to be funny in Indonesian. In English – even if I’m not funny haha, I would always be at least funny peculiar. That’s why most of you keep coming back to read even if you have no idea what I’m talking about.
That’s really okay. I’ve always said that writing is therapeutic. I’m never really quite certain what I write about anyway, which is why I bother to write them down. Things I already know I keep to myself.
I was wondering how and when that Gogol dude noticed he’s gone mad - probably somewhere around when the dogs start writing letters and stuff. The only copy I have of the book is in Cyrillics and I can’t read it. If you’re wondering why it’s there, then it’s there for the same reason that I have Spanish, German, Arabic, Chinese and French books lying around the place. To woo women. I speak none of those languages. Dead poet society. Straight rip.
So in the morning none of us could sleep and we went for the driving range. Lita is here for a few days and she wants to ‘practice her swing’. Chubby and his short skirted groupie smuggled a bottle of vodka and I suspect theyre drinking it straight up from the rather conspiciously placed bottle. Lita thought the morning light gives the groupie a ‘zombie whore look.’
I refrained from making any comments, took the chair furthest away from everyone else, watch her ‘swing’ and write a blogpost.
There you go. Happy Sunday all.
If you’re one of those who has no idea of what the blog is about, scroll down.
There’s a welcome message from Johnny Depp.
Oh, I almost forgot the kittywrap. The news piece is here.
.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
on Libertine
Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me. The gentlemen will be envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on. Ladies, an announcement: I am up for it, all the time.
That is not a boast or an opinion, it is bone hard medical fact. I put it round you know. And you will watch me putting it round and sigh for it. Don't.
It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my tarse up your petticoats.
Gentlemen. Do not despair, I am up for that as well. And the same warning applies. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say.
But later when you shag - and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down - I wish you to shag with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder.
Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed?
Did he know something more profound?
Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shining, livelong moment?
That is it.
That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I hope.
I am John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester and I do not want you to like me.
~Lord Rochester, from Libertine
The quote is taken in full from the opening scene of the film, as done by Johnny Depp in one of his best performance.
It's for everybody who got here for the first time and just started reading this blog.
Read More..
That is not a boast or an opinion, it is bone hard medical fact. I put it round you know. And you will watch me putting it round and sigh for it. Don't.
It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my tarse up your petticoats.
Gentlemen. Do not despair, I am up for that as well. And the same warning applies. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say.
But later when you shag - and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down - I wish you to shag with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder.
Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed?
Did he know something more profound?
Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shining, livelong moment?
That is it.
That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I hope.
I am John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester and I do not want you to like me.
~Lord Rochester, from Libertine
The quote is taken in full from the opening scene of the film, as done by Johnny Depp in one of his best performance.
It's for everybody who got here for the first time and just started reading this blog.
Friday, September 25, 2009
on Madness and Beauties
Wisdom spread from one Twittering superbabe to the other, RT @Meisyasiregar RT @parishilton:"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius,n it's better to be absolutely ridiculous then absolutely boring."
Marilyn M>Kewl !
I just have to stop and document this.
Also for everyone else - this week's special on Joko Anwar's naked adventure is available at Politikana - in Indonesian.
Stay tuned. I've kitty wraps to follow soon.
Read More..
Marilyn M>Kewl !
I just have to stop and document this.
Also for everyone else - this week's special on Joko Anwar's naked adventure is available at Politikana - in Indonesian.
Stay tuned. I've kitty wraps to follow soon.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
rambles
I was left out of the whole Joko Anwar and his Circle K thing cause we had to run somewhere for a thing. By the time we got home, the second batch of guests arrived, including lil Bro and a few of his friends. Things were apparently pretty wild at Dehooi and it’s a quick drive and I haven’t really done anything remotely fun for the last few weeks so I left. As it turned out, it was a pretty good crowd. One of them is an immigration official working out of Manado and he was blubbering about Manado girls and whatnot.
I think most of the guys have not been drinking alcohol for the whole month, so the binge went pretty bad. I was drugged out as I was and I wasn’t really thinking suicidal thoughts yet so I stayed away from anything stronger than orange juice. Somebody was figuring out an alcohol smuggling market potential until I explained that shipping them from Manado to Jakarta would take any profit so they stopped suggesting illegal business and chat happy stuff instead. I think some of the guys went to play Wii but I was finding myself entertained catching up with someone. An ex colleague of mine with silly little hard nipples and we used to flirt a little. She had her boyfriend around somewhere but I told her I didn’t mind trouble much. We used to go around to smoke on the emergency stairway to fool around a little but she didn’t think it was a good idea. At some point someone told a story of someone else giving a handjob to his dog and we all agreed we needed a better conversationalist to pick the theme.
I need to take my head off things for a bit. Things were a little crazy the last few months but the shit kinda hit the fan in the last few weeks. I’ve been thru worse so it’s nothing to worry about but I still not like it one less. It’s just one of those times in life where you seeming lost any sort of grips with real stuff. Not so much that you’re going goo or anything. You still see things, and hear things, and probably even understand things. But you’re completely detached. Like I can’t even pretend to care. It was one of those fuck all moments and these guys are usually good at it.
Okay, now here’s where we go for a short detour. I don’t usually use real names. Nothing in my blog is true. I change names, dates, places and sometimes, I make things sound better than they are. I make things sound worse than they are but that’s just me being naturally negative. I have always keep a journal in my life, Mother showed me my notes from when I was six or so when I wrote pirate stories. This blog is the latest incarnation, it was originally a series of letter keeping my wife updated with life in Indonesia. Now ex wife and all. Long story. But here you are.
In the beginning, there was some sort of naming convention. It was useful for most readers but it was useful for me. During the last few years however, I’ve broken my own rules several times and I learned that some people I write about actually read this blog. Not so much about what I wrote of them, but because they would then learn of things that are none of their business, sometime around two years ago, an emergency naming convention was enacted. It means I can call anyone I like and I have now since lost track. I will consider doing a new and revisited FAQ to cover this bit but maybe later.
Back to the story unfolding.
Well, there really aren’t stories unfolding. I think lil Bro went over the line when he told me not to do things I was thinking of doing. I thought he was being unreasonably harsh. He thought I was being irreparably stupid. We just couldn’t agree but I left him alone. I just told him to make sure that there’s a bottle of tequila when she gets there and we dropped it. He said yes. Fuck it. I went back to the pool table and slugged a few games but we left for another place after that. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell people anything much these days all things considered but the place was really loud. There was a bunch of us and most were pretty cool but I was getting itchy and I felt like just talking to someone. I used to call Olive when I needed to yell at night, but she stopped talking my calls after she figured out why I called her in the first place. I can’t believe I actually know her number. Baby Bro took my phone away but there was a few more new people and Master Chubby turned up. Still the same groupie and he was drunk as a pie. Like idiot drunk. I think he also called me an idiot. I would never forgive myself for ever having Master Chubby involved in my mess. It’s even messier to get him out of it. I heard of the bad shit first. In fact, I heard of it before any of you fuckers even wondered about it. I was married before everybody else so I asked the same questions earlier. I just didn’t want to think about it. Not tonight. I needed to get the knucklehead stuff out of the way.
I called Vi instead. She probably knew more things. She told me to go to sleep. I need to get the knucklehead stuff out of the way. Some things we cannot change. Let’s worry about things we can.
It’s supposed to be the best week for prayers. My best wishes, sincerely.
--
Note: the original post is an email, but I realized that I can’t say everything I wanted to say. So you guys get the wholly completely different and edited – and most likely totally nonsensical version.
Read More..
I think most of the guys have not been drinking alcohol for the whole month, so the binge went pretty bad. I was drugged out as I was and I wasn’t really thinking suicidal thoughts yet so I stayed away from anything stronger than orange juice. Somebody was figuring out an alcohol smuggling market potential until I explained that shipping them from Manado to Jakarta would take any profit so they stopped suggesting illegal business and chat happy stuff instead. I think some of the guys went to play Wii but I was finding myself entertained catching up with someone. An ex colleague of mine with silly little hard nipples and we used to flirt a little. She had her boyfriend around somewhere but I told her I didn’t mind trouble much. We used to go around to smoke on the emergency stairway to fool around a little but she didn’t think it was a good idea. At some point someone told a story of someone else giving a handjob to his dog and we all agreed we needed a better conversationalist to pick the theme.
I need to take my head off things for a bit. Things were a little crazy the last few months but the shit kinda hit the fan in the last few weeks. I’ve been thru worse so it’s nothing to worry about but I still not like it one less. It’s just one of those times in life where you seeming lost any sort of grips with real stuff. Not so much that you’re going goo or anything. You still see things, and hear things, and probably even understand things. But you’re completely detached. Like I can’t even pretend to care. It was one of those fuck all moments and these guys are usually good at it.
Okay, now here’s where we go for a short detour. I don’t usually use real names. Nothing in my blog is true. I change names, dates, places and sometimes, I make things sound better than they are. I make things sound worse than they are but that’s just me being naturally negative. I have always keep a journal in my life, Mother showed me my notes from when I was six or so when I wrote pirate stories. This blog is the latest incarnation, it was originally a series of letter keeping my wife updated with life in Indonesia. Now ex wife and all. Long story. But here you are.
In the beginning, there was some sort of naming convention. It was useful for most readers but it was useful for me. During the last few years however, I’ve broken my own rules several times and I learned that some people I write about actually read this blog. Not so much about what I wrote of them, but because they would then learn of things that are none of their business, sometime around two years ago, an emergency naming convention was enacted. It means I can call anyone I like and I have now since lost track. I will consider doing a new and revisited FAQ to cover this bit but maybe later.
Back to the story unfolding.
Well, there really aren’t stories unfolding. I think lil Bro went over the line when he told me not to do things I was thinking of doing. I thought he was being unreasonably harsh. He thought I was being irreparably stupid. We just couldn’t agree but I left him alone. I just told him to make sure that there’s a bottle of tequila when she gets there and we dropped it. He said yes. Fuck it. I went back to the pool table and slugged a few games but we left for another place after that. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell people anything much these days all things considered but the place was really loud. There was a bunch of us and most were pretty cool but I was getting itchy and I felt like just talking to someone. I used to call Olive when I needed to yell at night, but she stopped talking my calls after she figured out why I called her in the first place. I can’t believe I actually know her number. Baby Bro took my phone away but there was a few more new people and Master Chubby turned up. Still the same groupie and he was drunk as a pie. Like idiot drunk. I think he also called me an idiot. I would never forgive myself for ever having Master Chubby involved in my mess. It’s even messier to get him out of it. I heard of the bad shit first. In fact, I heard of it before any of you fuckers even wondered about it. I was married before everybody else so I asked the same questions earlier. I just didn’t want to think about it. Not tonight. I needed to get the knucklehead stuff out of the way.
I called Vi instead. She probably knew more things. She told me to go to sleep. I need to get the knucklehead stuff out of the way. Some things we cannot change. Let’s worry about things we can.
It’s supposed to be the best week for prayers. My best wishes, sincerely.
--
Note: the original post is an email, but I realized that I can’t say everything I wanted to say. So you guys get the wholly completely different and edited – and most likely totally nonsensical version.
on Joko Anwar, Circle K, and Naked on Twitter Trending Topics
Not exactly my post, the full post is here at @aulia
Earlier today around 2 pm west Indonesia time, renowned Indonesian movie director and screenwriter Joko Anwar tweeted that he was going to go into a Circle K naked if his twitter account reaches 3000 followers. In barely any time at all, that tweet was retweeted so many times that it pushed "Circle K" into the top of trending topic within a few minutes and baffled a lot of Twitter users around the globe.
....
Read More..
Earlier today around 2 pm west Indonesia time, renowned Indonesian movie director and screenwriter Joko Anwar tweeted that he was going to go into a Circle K naked if his twitter account reaches 3000 followers. In barely any time at all, that tweet was retweeted so many times that it pushed "Circle K" into the top of trending topic within a few minutes and baffled a lot of Twitter users around the globe.
....
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
on my Staff of Comfort
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
~Psalm 23:4
Katadia mentioned something on the post the other day, reminds me I haven’t told the full story on the previous troll.
You see, I’m the first to admit that I can be a major nuisance.
I was told that I could be rather persistent. Others have used the word, pesky. Whatever.
I’m a wordy guy and way back when we could hold arguments running for weeks on mailing lists minuting the script for the Matrix – it’s a geeky quality that occasionally spellbind me completely to other important order of things.
Again, the point here being, recognizing this faults of course, I venture very little outside my treespotting lair. Whatever I have to say, I usually say it here. Sometimes, discussions interests me, or characters I found attractive or issues I care about – or even just plain nosy, I dive in.
Now, I love getting emails from people and I’m usually a lot nicer on email – and this character (I’m pretty sure a she) – sent me an email, commenting on my writing. You see, every once in a while, some kind souls write to me after reading my stuff and it feels kinda nice. And since I write on just about any subject under the sun – from dildos to lesbian ninjas to legos and often rantish civic lessons – my standard return question was, which particular post did you like?
For some reason, people chose to send me emails rather than dropping comment on the post, I’m not sure why but I never really get much comments on these blogs.
Anyhow, in this particular case, the said character, a Probable-She-Troll, wrote back in rather tendentious tone. I’m not sure what it was but I think at the time, it read a little like a suicide note. Something very depressing.
Believe you me, I have enough dramas in my real life and I don’t need imaginary ones no more than I need an imaginary hand job, sending me notes you’re going Jesus just don’t cut it. A very good friend of mine was once married to a big rock star dude. He’s a brilliant artist with a clinical suicidal tendencies but it came from a series of events – suicide threat for some one dumb thing or another. My friend finally had enough playing shrink after a few years and left him. He called with suicide threats several time – and at one point stupid enough to actually take some insecticide or something. My friend was married to him but at some point, you gotta say enough was enough. He’s alive, I think.
I had no fucking idea who this character was - totally out of the ether - voila, with a suicide note.
As a pickup line, it prolly did get my attention more than others (no more, I set a filter for random suicide notes to bounce back to senders). You do with what you want in your life. If it’s not my business, please don’t make it my business. I’m sorry for your hardships but it’s not like I’m getting anything easy either.
I sent a sort of short response, in kind, suggesting that she’d probably mistook me for someone else. If she had sent the note by mistake – come to think of it, I really don’t understand what that was about.
At that point she gone total bananas and I failed to comprehend anything anymore.
At some point, in a furiously blackberried spasm, mini emails – more like twit (but more sinister) – start peppering my inbox. She gave few details but it sounded like she was very certain that she intimately knew me in real life, quoting my brother at some point. Now, I have only one proper brother and since the Probable-She-Troll has a CV on a google search, I know where she went to school (I know, bit of a spoiler innit?). The point being it’s geographically impossible that they were friends anywhere at school since they were literally, continents apart. She also accused me of many imaginary charges, among others, of conspiring with ‘my friends’.
Now, that is the mindboggling part because I don’t really have ‘friends’.
I am a completely bipolar lunatic hermit and I call people dick a lot, and I don’t conspire with ‘friends’.
I run my Empire ALONE.
Bow before me!
(Ahem!)
With these allegations, I forwarded the email to a few prominent members of the Indonesian blogging scene – aka, the BlogBabes. I’m not naming names for fear of reattracting the said Probable-She-Troll, but the girls always know more about gossips from the underground.
Just to be clear, all of my blog friends are blog friends, we're not friends in real life. in the case with the BlogBabes gang, we're all usually scattered on the wrong ends of the world over the last few years and I only got to know them and be friendly online. The words returned that the Probable-She-Trolled was socially known and sighted in some public appearance somewhere following a certain blogged incident taking place sometime before the ancient ages.
The plot thickens.
Any-ho, I think what happened was she was in a spat with someone and she thought I was that someone and she went hormonal and the trollish seizures took the better of her. Seems like everything is now chill and okay there is absolutely no point in revisiting those dark days.
It really cracked me up tho when I stopped responding to those eviltwits and they just streamed in, the next day, this one was on top of the line. I thought it’s super funny.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
~Psalm 23:4
This story is mostly true, I don’t make things up.
Read More..
~Psalm 23:4
Katadia mentioned something on the post the other day, reminds me I haven’t told the full story on the previous troll.
You see, I’m the first to admit that I can be a major nuisance.
I was told that I could be rather persistent. Others have used the word, pesky. Whatever.
I’m a wordy guy and way back when we could hold arguments running for weeks on mailing lists minuting the script for the Matrix – it’s a geeky quality that occasionally spellbind me completely to other important order of things.
Again, the point here being, recognizing this faults of course, I venture very little outside my treespotting lair. Whatever I have to say, I usually say it here. Sometimes, discussions interests me, or characters I found attractive or issues I care about – or even just plain nosy, I dive in.
Now, I love getting emails from people and I’m usually a lot nicer on email – and this character (I’m pretty sure a she) – sent me an email, commenting on my writing. You see, every once in a while, some kind souls write to me after reading my stuff and it feels kinda nice. And since I write on just about any subject under the sun – from dildos to lesbian ninjas to legos and often rantish civic lessons – my standard return question was, which particular post did you like?
For some reason, people chose to send me emails rather than dropping comment on the post, I’m not sure why but I never really get much comments on these blogs.
Anyhow, in this particular case, the said character, a Probable-She-Troll, wrote back in rather tendentious tone. I’m not sure what it was but I think at the time, it read a little like a suicide note. Something very depressing.
Believe you me, I have enough dramas in my real life and I don’t need imaginary ones no more than I need an imaginary hand job, sending me notes you’re going Jesus just don’t cut it. A very good friend of mine was once married to a big rock star dude. He’s a brilliant artist with a clinical suicidal tendencies but it came from a series of events – suicide threat for some one dumb thing or another. My friend finally had enough playing shrink after a few years and left him. He called with suicide threats several time – and at one point stupid enough to actually take some insecticide or something. My friend was married to him but at some point, you gotta say enough was enough. He’s alive, I think.
I had no fucking idea who this character was - totally out of the ether - voila, with a suicide note.
As a pickup line, it prolly did get my attention more than others (no more, I set a filter for random suicide notes to bounce back to senders). You do with what you want in your life. If it’s not my business, please don’t make it my business. I’m sorry for your hardships but it’s not like I’m getting anything easy either.
I sent a sort of short response, in kind, suggesting that she’d probably mistook me for someone else. If she had sent the note by mistake – come to think of it, I really don’t understand what that was about.
At that point she gone total bananas and I failed to comprehend anything anymore.
At some point, in a furiously blackberried spasm, mini emails – more like twit (but more sinister) – start peppering my inbox. She gave few details but it sounded like she was very certain that she intimately knew me in real life, quoting my brother at some point. Now, I have only one proper brother and since the Probable-She-Troll has a CV on a google search, I know where she went to school (I know, bit of a spoiler innit?). The point being it’s geographically impossible that they were friends anywhere at school since they were literally, continents apart. She also accused me of many imaginary charges, among others, of conspiring with ‘my friends’.
Now, that is the mindboggling part because I don’t really have ‘friends’.
I am a completely bipolar lunatic hermit and I call people dick a lot, and I don’t conspire with ‘friends’.
I run my Empire ALONE.
Bow before me!
(Ahem!)
With these allegations, I forwarded the email to a few prominent members of the Indonesian blogging scene – aka, the BlogBabes. I’m not naming names for fear of reattracting the said Probable-She-Troll, but the girls always know more about gossips from the underground.
Just to be clear, all of my blog friends are blog friends, we're not friends in real life. in the case with the BlogBabes gang, we're all usually scattered on the wrong ends of the world over the last few years and I only got to know them and be friendly online. The words returned that the Probable-She-Trolled was socially known and sighted in some public appearance somewhere following a certain blogged incident taking place sometime before the ancient ages.
The plot thickens.
Any-ho, I think what happened was she was in a spat with someone and she thought I was that someone and she went hormonal and the trollish seizures took the better of her. Seems like everything is now chill and okay there is absolutely no point in revisiting those dark days.
It really cracked me up tho when I stopped responding to those eviltwits and they just streamed in, the next day, this one was on top of the line. I thought it’s super funny.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
~Psalm 23:4
This story is mostly true, I don’t make things up.
Monday, September 21, 2009
on Liberty, Basic Rights and Executive Powers
When democracy granted democratic methods to us in times of opposition, this was bound to happen in a democratic system. However, we Nationalist Socialists never asserted that we represented a democratic pont of view, but we have declared openly that we used the democratic methods only in order to gain power and that, after assuming the power, we would deny to our adversaries without any consideration the means which were granted to us in times of our opposition.
~Josef Goebbels
We're still on Liberty, basic rights, democracy and executive powers and i'm still following the previous theme on Nixon and a crash course in history lesson on what happened when the executive branch gone suddenly delirium. This is from the book, All The President’s Men, just as Woodward learned about the wiretappings and about to run the story for Washington Post.
“The wiretapping activities –actual and suspected- of the Nixon administration had always been controversial. Under the admnistration’s “national security” wiretap policy, also known as the Mitchell Doctrine, the President’s men had claimed unprecedented authority to conduct electronic surveillance. The Supreme Court declared it illegal on June 19, 1972, two days after the Watergate arrests. “
Of course, with President Nixon, it was his own FBI that installed the wiretap – under then Director J. Edgar Hoover. When Time magazine reported the details two weeks after Woodward, it revealed that the wiretaps included the phones of half a dozen reporters and twice as many White House and government aides.
In Jakarta at the moment, the whole mess started with a general that was caught on tape discussing money and stuff. What puzzles me still is really, if that conversation actually exists at all. The whole scandalous dam broke when the officer in question quipped to the reporter – somewhat offering an explanation for a conversation whose existence was unknown to the public at the time. Checking it closer through press records and Google search reveals the same thing, which is that there is no reason to believe that any of those conversations ever took place except for this peculiar public statement. President Nixon went down not because of the burglary but rather for stubbornly resisting some 100 subpoenas to have those tapes handed over. Some of those we still never heard of.
After relentless public pressure – the press in particular was outraged by the tapping of the reporters – the White House suddenly went on an about face and issued a misleading statement to the effect that the President was a significant relaxation of Nixon’s policy to shelter under the doctrine of executive privilege. Woodward and Bernstein argued that President Nixon never really changed position – they highlighted an additional reason why the President would allow a criminal grand jury hearing and not a Senate inquiry.
Criminal grand jury proceedings would be secret and under the supervision of the administration’s Justice Department, while the Senate hearings would be public fishing expedience and independent of the Executive. When the reporters later met Seymour Hersh, of the New York Times, Hersh said, “The abiding characteristic of this administration is that it lies.”
Later, after the White House Annual Correspondents Association reception, in a Wall Street Journal Party and probably more than slightly drunk, Edward Williams, the Post’s lawyer and Pat Buchanan, a White House speech writer argued over the dodgy election. Williams shamed Pat Buchanan over playing dirty, and Pat responded, “Sixty-one percent, Ed. Sixty-one percent. Just the biggest landslide in recent history, and if it hadn’t been for Watergate, it would’ve been more.”
Ed retorted back, “You won, Pat, all right, and now everyone is seeing how it stinks.”
Not too long after this, President Nixon made a public appearance to reiterate his commitments to his own Justice Department and announced that he would suspend “any person the Executive branch or in government” who was indicted in the case.
The President had become the investigator who would see justice done where others had failed. These were the much reported “major developments.”
Spooky innit?
By the way, the thread on that whole LIBERTY thing over at Politikana went a climactic post after I discovered that the particular Ben Franklin quote was bogus. You see, this is precisely why when it comes to politics, I am left out with nobody to vote for in Indonesia. The Right thinks I’m too far Left. The Left don’t know where they are and the Liberals have no fucking clue what the word means.
Apart from that nonsense about armed sheep or lambs or whatnot tho, the American Founding Fathers discussed at great length the check and balances in the American system and at heart of the discussion – apart from the then irreconcilable differences over slaves – was a discussion on rights and interests of the minority. Robert A. Dahl, asked a fundamental question:* is there a principle of general applicability that justifies an entitlement to extra representation for some individuals or groups?
Here is the full quote,
In searching for an answer, we need to begin with an eternal and elementary problem in any governmental unit: whether the unit is a country, state, municipality, or whatever, virtually all of its decisions will involve some conflict of interests among the people of the relevant political unit. Inevitably, almost any governmental decision will favor the interests of some citizens and harm the interests of others.
The solution to this problem, which is inherent in all government unit, is ordinarily provided in a democratic system by the need to secure a fairly broad consent for its decisions by means, among other things, of some form of majority rule. Yet if the decisions are arrived at by majority rule, then the possibility exists, as Madison and many others have observed, that the interests of any minority will be damaged by a majority. Sometimes, fortunately, mutually beneficial compromises may be found. But if the interests of a majority clash irreconcilably with those of a minority, then the interests of that minority are likely to be harmed.
Some interests, however, may be protected from the ordinary operation of majority rule. To a greater or lesser degree, all democratic constitutions do so.
…end quote.
I warned you that he also dedicates an entire chapter elaborating why and how American constitution is unique and one of a kind among twenty two countries with democracy in the last fifty years. Making a constitutional comparative with Indonesian UUD is a tricky business and I would not really go there.
When discussing the American Constitution, he pointed out that it took three quarters of a century and a sanguinary civil war before slavery was abolished. He further noted that it took a century and a half before women were constitutionally guaranteed the right to vote, and nearly two centuries to guarantee the voting rights of African Americans. It took Indonesia roughly fifty years to recognize Corruption and Graft as a constitutional sin.
This whole constitution thing is a very messy business and at some ten years old, it’s a mouthful load of presumptions to assume that this was going to be easy. The basis for the lectures itself was based on a research of only stable and mature democracy – only those that functioned without interruption for the fifty years period since 1950. Indonesia doesn’t qualify. But it does help explain a little how governments interact with the citizens, and the virtues of political equality as well as the threats it posed against rights and liberties – a the basic misunderstanding of the relationship between democracy and fundamental rights.
In a study of 22 mature and stable democracies, classified as those which maintained a high level of protection for basic democratic rights and liberties, presupposing the existence of certain fundamental rights such as freedom of speech and freedom of the press, he highlighted that he found no discernible relationship between constitutional systems, broadly defined, and these variations in rights and freedoms. Freedom House, and independent non profit organization that since 1973 provided annual evaluations of the conditions of liberty among the countries of the world, put seven countries below the top score – including Belgium, the United Kingdom, France and Germany. Even after an exhaustive examination over the variations in broad constitutional features of the different countries, none can account for the difference.
Mr. Dahl further concluded that the answer will be found in differences in national histories, political cultures and perceptions of internal and strategic threats to survival.
“If this is the case, then in the end, a democratic country cannot depend on its constitutional systems for the preservation of its liberties. It can depend only on the beliefs and cultures shared by its political, legal, and cultured elites and by the citizens to whom these elites are responsive.“
** *
Note: All the President’s Men is the Watergate story by Carl Bernstein & Bob Woodward, also a film starring Robert Redford. Almost the whole part about Nixon and Watergate was quoted directly from the book.
* How Democratic is the American Constitution? is a series of lectures by Robert A. Dahl in Yale University, 2000. The quotes were taken directly from the booklet, published by Yale University Press.
Read More..
~Josef Goebbels
We're still on Liberty, basic rights, democracy and executive powers and i'm still following the previous theme on Nixon and a crash course in history lesson on what happened when the executive branch gone suddenly delirium. This is from the book, All The President’s Men, just as Woodward learned about the wiretappings and about to run the story for Washington Post.
“The wiretapping activities –actual and suspected- of the Nixon administration had always been controversial. Under the admnistration’s “national security” wiretap policy, also known as the Mitchell Doctrine, the President’s men had claimed unprecedented authority to conduct electronic surveillance. The Supreme Court declared it illegal on June 19, 1972, two days after the Watergate arrests. “
Of course, with President Nixon, it was his own FBI that installed the wiretap – under then Director J. Edgar Hoover. When Time magazine reported the details two weeks after Woodward, it revealed that the wiretaps included the phones of half a dozen reporters and twice as many White House and government aides.
In Jakarta at the moment, the whole mess started with a general that was caught on tape discussing money and stuff. What puzzles me still is really, if that conversation actually exists at all. The whole scandalous dam broke when the officer in question quipped to the reporter – somewhat offering an explanation for a conversation whose existence was unknown to the public at the time. Checking it closer through press records and Google search reveals the same thing, which is that there is no reason to believe that any of those conversations ever took place except for this peculiar public statement. President Nixon went down not because of the burglary but rather for stubbornly resisting some 100 subpoenas to have those tapes handed over. Some of those we still never heard of.
After relentless public pressure – the press in particular was outraged by the tapping of the reporters – the White House suddenly went on an about face and issued a misleading statement to the effect that the President was a significant relaxation of Nixon’s policy to shelter under the doctrine of executive privilege. Woodward and Bernstein argued that President Nixon never really changed position – they highlighted an additional reason why the President would allow a criminal grand jury hearing and not a Senate inquiry.
Criminal grand jury proceedings would be secret and under the supervision of the administration’s Justice Department, while the Senate hearings would be public fishing expedience and independent of the Executive. When the reporters later met Seymour Hersh, of the New York Times, Hersh said, “The abiding characteristic of this administration is that it lies.”
Later, after the White House Annual Correspondents Association reception, in a Wall Street Journal Party and probably more than slightly drunk, Edward Williams, the Post’s lawyer and Pat Buchanan, a White House speech writer argued over the dodgy election. Williams shamed Pat Buchanan over playing dirty, and Pat responded, “Sixty-one percent, Ed. Sixty-one percent. Just the biggest landslide in recent history, and if it hadn’t been for Watergate, it would’ve been more.”
Ed retorted back, “You won, Pat, all right, and now everyone is seeing how it stinks.”
Not too long after this, President Nixon made a public appearance to reiterate his commitments to his own Justice Department and announced that he would suspend “any person the Executive branch or in government” who was indicted in the case.
The President had become the investigator who would see justice done where others had failed. These were the much reported “major developments.”
Spooky innit?
By the way, the thread on that whole LIBERTY thing over at Politikana went a climactic post after I discovered that the particular Ben Franklin quote was bogus. You see, this is precisely why when it comes to politics, I am left out with nobody to vote for in Indonesia. The Right thinks I’m too far Left. The Left don’t know where they are and the Liberals have no fucking clue what the word means.
Apart from that nonsense about armed sheep or lambs or whatnot tho, the American Founding Fathers discussed at great length the check and balances in the American system and at heart of the discussion – apart from the then irreconcilable differences over slaves – was a discussion on rights and interests of the minority. Robert A. Dahl, asked a fundamental question:* is there a principle of general applicability that justifies an entitlement to extra representation for some individuals or groups?
Here is the full quote,
In searching for an answer, we need to begin with an eternal and elementary problem in any governmental unit: whether the unit is a country, state, municipality, or whatever, virtually all of its decisions will involve some conflict of interests among the people of the relevant political unit. Inevitably, almost any governmental decision will favor the interests of some citizens and harm the interests of others.
The solution to this problem, which is inherent in all government unit, is ordinarily provided in a democratic system by the need to secure a fairly broad consent for its decisions by means, among other things, of some form of majority rule. Yet if the decisions are arrived at by majority rule, then the possibility exists, as Madison and many others have observed, that the interests of any minority will be damaged by a majority. Sometimes, fortunately, mutually beneficial compromises may be found. But if the interests of a majority clash irreconcilably with those of a minority, then the interests of that minority are likely to be harmed.
Some interests, however, may be protected from the ordinary operation of majority rule. To a greater or lesser degree, all democratic constitutions do so.
…end quote.
I warned you that he also dedicates an entire chapter elaborating why and how American constitution is unique and one of a kind among twenty two countries with democracy in the last fifty years. Making a constitutional comparative with Indonesian UUD is a tricky business and I would not really go there.
When discussing the American Constitution, he pointed out that it took three quarters of a century and a sanguinary civil war before slavery was abolished. He further noted that it took a century and a half before women were constitutionally guaranteed the right to vote, and nearly two centuries to guarantee the voting rights of African Americans. It took Indonesia roughly fifty years to recognize Corruption and Graft as a constitutional sin.
This whole constitution thing is a very messy business and at some ten years old, it’s a mouthful load of presumptions to assume that this was going to be easy. The basis for the lectures itself was based on a research of only stable and mature democracy – only those that functioned without interruption for the fifty years period since 1950. Indonesia doesn’t qualify. But it does help explain a little how governments interact with the citizens, and the virtues of political equality as well as the threats it posed against rights and liberties – a the basic misunderstanding of the relationship between democracy and fundamental rights.
In a study of 22 mature and stable democracies, classified as those which maintained a high level of protection for basic democratic rights and liberties, presupposing the existence of certain fundamental rights such as freedom of speech and freedom of the press, he highlighted that he found no discernible relationship between constitutional systems, broadly defined, and these variations in rights and freedoms. Freedom House, and independent non profit organization that since 1973 provided annual evaluations of the conditions of liberty among the countries of the world, put seven countries below the top score – including Belgium, the United Kingdom, France and Germany. Even after an exhaustive examination over the variations in broad constitutional features of the different countries, none can account for the difference.
Mr. Dahl further concluded that the answer will be found in differences in national histories, political cultures and perceptions of internal and strategic threats to survival.
“If this is the case, then in the end, a democratic country cannot depend on its constitutional systems for the preservation of its liberties. It can depend only on the beliefs and cultures shared by its political, legal, and cultured elites and by the citizens to whom these elites are responsive.“
** *
Note: All the President’s Men is the Watergate story by Carl Bernstein & Bob Woodward, also a film starring Robert Redford. Almost the whole part about Nixon and Watergate was quoted directly from the book.
* How Democratic is the American Constitution? is a series of lectures by Robert A. Dahl in Yale University, 2000. The quotes were taken directly from the booklet, published by Yale University Press.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
on Being Indonesian and the Burden of White Men
Kowe ini pengejawantahan sempurna dari sajak "bebane wong londho"
~Harbinger of Death
I’m in a bit of a pickle.
I caught a troll. This time, an Indonesian. This don’t happen as often as you might think. Also, this one is probably – technically – not a real troll because I didn’t catch him here, but more he found me on Politikana.
You see, I asked @Enda on Twitter if I could participate in Politikana – given that I write in English – and he said okay. As it often happened in the past, passionate argument ensued on my views and among them a specific one with a most distinguished member of Politikana, a character, furiously named, Harbinger of Death.
The thing is, this sort of things happen all the time. Back in the 1.0 days, the only place online to discuss and write about politics was among the English based blogs and a few expat forums. Most Indonesian based blogs don’t talk about politics. In fact, when I had the chance to write to Ndorokakung – among the magicians who bring us Politikana – I asked him this very question, why are there so few Indonesian bloggers around discussing politics. Maybe I just don’t read enough blogs, really.
Anyhow, back then, very often in the debate, the issue of colors took over the train of thoughts and then it got tired. The subject of my colors several times became an issue. Blogger Jakartass sort of moved my links a lot, grouping it under an expat blog or non expat or something but now I saved the gentleman the trouble – he could just point to me ‘serious blog’. Notable blogger Unspun yanked out my link completely, I think it was over some inconsistent views I had during the previous Malaysian dispute. I called Indonesiamatters, the English blogs aggregation a penis of some sort and I was completely banned for a while but most of us are grownups with a common commitment on having the dialogues in the first place.
I called them all sorts of things, but the armchair academics in Café Salemba are generally nice, if they never take me seriously. Or at least they never write about the things I write about, maybe because they don’t think I’m a real economist. But they always welcome me dropping by for coffee and chatted Jazz with the lesbian owner (I personally think that today’s Café Salemba have no sense of humour). I think they’re all Indonesians but write exclusively in English.
Patung – the operator of Indonesiamatters – actually let me back in and let me write there every once in a while. I once wrote about death penalty there and irked a number of real liberals and real professors alike. I don’t think Patung and I ever agreed on anything except on that it is important to have our questions ask. The defining character of a citizen, is that he – or she – participate in his citizenships.
Now, back to the pickle, in Politikana, a furious debate from several threads brought HoD to making that statement, but he actually used the phrase, “bebane wong londho.” It literally means, “the Burden of White Man.” Some of you could probably imagine myself bursting out laughing and spilling ice cream all over the keyboard. I think that comment alone qualifies him as a troll, don’t you think?
Personally, I avoid discussions about myself but that is of course, completely untrue since I write almost exclusively only about myself and issues I care about. The only way I can write about anything is if I could isolate it and tell it, hopefully with some message to it but at the very least, it’ll be there for recordkeeping. I never asked anyone to care about me. If you like what I write, then I’m humbled to be of service. If you care for things I care about, then probably our exchange would be useful to others like us. Nothing anywhere says you have to agree with what I write.
I don’t blame him for the assumptions, The Jakarta Globe listed this blog among the top 3 expat blogs or something but the article was quite clear that they mean English based blogs. It’s very flattering that a real ‘print’ actually print me. The Australian, I think once quoted Treespotter – and also Spiegel, Reuters, CNet and the Guardian – but usually not the Indonesian press. Or maybe I just don’t keep track but really I don’t. The only people that write about stuff i write about do so not because they knew who I am or what I do – but because they found what I wrote interesting enough so they investigate further and report the story, too.I'm happy enough with that.
The only reason I mention this is because in his desperation for a crunchy sound bite, Mr. HoD claimed repeatedly – not sure of what, exactly, but maybe because I offered him a translation job – that in his occupational burden of the proud Journalistic tribe he was deeply indebted to some libertarian cause.
I think he was trying to tell me that he is a proper Journalist, presumably because they are the only people that know what word means. I wrote about the sad state of journalism in Indonesian press – and singled out TV One in that particular post, but the Harbinger dismissed it as ‘my rant against TV One’. I don't really get that since I wrote about Indonesian press all the time – Tempo, Metro TV, Detik, TV One, Kompas - i wrote them all at least once in the last two months, with Tempo and Metro probably singled out most. Why you'd think have anything special for TV One is just one your cheap jabs that i couldn't care to entertain on its own but here you go.
What makes him think I pick issues by name, I’m not sure but I think he wanted it to be known that he was some journos in a whole different league better than any other of his peers.
Mr. Harbinger bandied about the word “liberty” in some vague reminiscing of the plebs storming the Bastille, Ben Franklin and “Separation of Powers” was dragged in the debate to make murky water toxic.
President SBY is thinking about issuing an Executive Order in lieu of Law, hastily concocted and drafted in a holiday weekend, and the Harbinger of Death thought that this is a cause for “LIBERTY”
I am presently enduring a continuous stream of pain from the nerve endings all around the back of my mouth due to a serious case of bad teeth. I am sleep deprived and function only thanks to painkiller and I have got nothing else to do so I decided to set him straight.
He returned with a wiki clip.
By the time I stopped to write this post, I was quoting Johnny Ringo, in Latin, from Tombstone, “Eventus stultorum magister.” Fools can only learn by making mistakes.
The arrogance struck me. The perpetual self charm of Indonesian rhythmic nationalistic chimes – mums without substance. Smart and educated men – a Journalist no less – spoke of Indonesia as if the man owns and define it as his very own private Idaho.
How is it that anyone could claim to speak in behalf of the Nation – and to dismiss others who disagreed on some sort of racial undertone – spoke of “LIBERTY” while quoting American Founding Fathers at the same time?
Who are you to say that Indonesians are only allowed to speak their mind in any particular language? Do you know how many of your fello citizens don’t speak Indonesian and speak only in some other language that would sound alien to many – and thus forever destined to have their voices lost and unheard.
The last few months, I asked around a lot, about Being Indonesian. What it means to us – today – living in Indonesia. I couldn’t find out. Nobody seems to know what it means to be Indonesian. As a nation, aspiration is still a luxury item in this third world republic.I wrote a post on why i think the Indonesian middle class - smart and educated men like Mr. HoD appeared to be - are firmly to blame for this fault. He blamed an alleged white man syndrome for as an apparent disqualifier to participate in his debate - (as is common with the troll kinds, it was accompanied by some veiled threats of 'tracking me down').
You can just imagine that hilariousness that ensued.
I do think, however, that most Indonesian knows that it’s too colourful, too varied, too big, and generally too great for anyone to have claims over knowing and deciding on what being Indonesian is.
And there I thought I was having an argument on a ‘libertarian’ clause.
Dear Mr. Harbinger of Death, you’re it.
You were nice in the beginning but you made my Shitlist in a hurry.
PS: when I asked Enda on twitter if I could write in English, I told him why. I probably speak and write Indonesian as well as the next educated man in this country but writing in English helps sort out the knucklehead stuff.
I guess HoD just proves me wrong.
Read More..
~Harbinger of Death
I’m in a bit of a pickle.
I caught a troll. This time, an Indonesian. This don’t happen as often as you might think. Also, this one is probably – technically – not a real troll because I didn’t catch him here, but more he found me on Politikana.
You see, I asked @Enda on Twitter if I could participate in Politikana – given that I write in English – and he said okay. As it often happened in the past, passionate argument ensued on my views and among them a specific one with a most distinguished member of Politikana, a character, furiously named, Harbinger of Death.
The thing is, this sort of things happen all the time. Back in the 1.0 days, the only place online to discuss and write about politics was among the English based blogs and a few expat forums. Most Indonesian based blogs don’t talk about politics. In fact, when I had the chance to write to Ndorokakung – among the magicians who bring us Politikana – I asked him this very question, why are there so few Indonesian bloggers around discussing politics. Maybe I just don’t read enough blogs, really.
Anyhow, back then, very often in the debate, the issue of colors took over the train of thoughts and then it got tired. The subject of my colors several times became an issue. Blogger Jakartass sort of moved my links a lot, grouping it under an expat blog or non expat or something but now I saved the gentleman the trouble – he could just point to me ‘serious blog’. Notable blogger Unspun yanked out my link completely, I think it was over some inconsistent views I had during the previous Malaysian dispute. I called Indonesiamatters, the English blogs aggregation a penis of some sort and I was completely banned for a while but most of us are grownups with a common commitment on having the dialogues in the first place.
I called them all sorts of things, but the armchair academics in Café Salemba are generally nice, if they never take me seriously. Or at least they never write about the things I write about, maybe because they don’t think I’m a real economist. But they always welcome me dropping by for coffee and chatted Jazz with the lesbian owner (I personally think that today’s Café Salemba have no sense of humour). I think they’re all Indonesians but write exclusively in English.
Patung – the operator of Indonesiamatters – actually let me back in and let me write there every once in a while. I once wrote about death penalty there and irked a number of real liberals and real professors alike. I don’t think Patung and I ever agreed on anything except on that it is important to have our questions ask. The defining character of a citizen, is that he – or she – participate in his citizenships.
Now, back to the pickle, in Politikana, a furious debate from several threads brought HoD to making that statement, but he actually used the phrase, “bebane wong londho.” It literally means, “the Burden of White Man.” Some of you could probably imagine myself bursting out laughing and spilling ice cream all over the keyboard. I think that comment alone qualifies him as a troll, don’t you think?
Personally, I avoid discussions about myself but that is of course, completely untrue since I write almost exclusively only about myself and issues I care about. The only way I can write about anything is if I could isolate it and tell it, hopefully with some message to it but at the very least, it’ll be there for recordkeeping. I never asked anyone to care about me. If you like what I write, then I’m humbled to be of service. If you care for things I care about, then probably our exchange would be useful to others like us. Nothing anywhere says you have to agree with what I write.
I don’t blame him for the assumptions, The Jakarta Globe listed this blog among the top 3 expat blogs or something but the article was quite clear that they mean English based blogs. It’s very flattering that a real ‘print’ actually print me. The Australian, I think once quoted Treespotter – and also Spiegel, Reuters, CNet and the Guardian – but usually not the Indonesian press. Or maybe I just don’t keep track but really I don’t. The only people that write about stuff i write about do so not because they knew who I am or what I do – but because they found what I wrote interesting enough so they investigate further and report the story, too.I'm happy enough with that.
The only reason I mention this is because in his desperation for a crunchy sound bite, Mr. HoD claimed repeatedly – not sure of what, exactly, but maybe because I offered him a translation job – that in his occupational burden of the proud Journalistic tribe he was deeply indebted to some libertarian cause.
I think he was trying to tell me that he is a proper Journalist, presumably because they are the only people that know what word means. I wrote about the sad state of journalism in Indonesian press – and singled out TV One in that particular post, but the Harbinger dismissed it as ‘my rant against TV One’. I don't really get that since I wrote about Indonesian press all the time – Tempo, Metro TV, Detik, TV One, Kompas - i wrote them all at least once in the last two months, with Tempo and Metro probably singled out most. Why you'd think have anything special for TV One is just one your cheap jabs that i couldn't care to entertain on its own but here you go.
What makes him think I pick issues by name, I’m not sure but I think he wanted it to be known that he was some journos in a whole different league better than any other of his peers.
Mr. Harbinger bandied about the word “liberty” in some vague reminiscing of the plebs storming the Bastille, Ben Franklin and “Separation of Powers” was dragged in the debate to make murky water toxic.
President SBY is thinking about issuing an Executive Order in lieu of Law, hastily concocted and drafted in a holiday weekend, and the Harbinger of Death thought that this is a cause for “LIBERTY”
I am presently enduring a continuous stream of pain from the nerve endings all around the back of my mouth due to a serious case of bad teeth. I am sleep deprived and function only thanks to painkiller and I have got nothing else to do so I decided to set him straight.
He returned with a wiki clip.
By the time I stopped to write this post, I was quoting Johnny Ringo, in Latin, from Tombstone, “Eventus stultorum magister.” Fools can only learn by making mistakes.
The arrogance struck me. The perpetual self charm of Indonesian rhythmic nationalistic chimes – mums without substance. Smart and educated men – a Journalist no less – spoke of Indonesia as if the man owns and define it as his very own private Idaho.
How is it that anyone could claim to speak in behalf of the Nation – and to dismiss others who disagreed on some sort of racial undertone – spoke of “LIBERTY” while quoting American Founding Fathers at the same time?
Who are you to say that Indonesians are only allowed to speak their mind in any particular language? Do you know how many of your fello citizens don’t speak Indonesian and speak only in some other language that would sound alien to many – and thus forever destined to have their voices lost and unheard.
The last few months, I asked around a lot, about Being Indonesian. What it means to us – today – living in Indonesia. I couldn’t find out. Nobody seems to know what it means to be Indonesian. As a nation, aspiration is still a luxury item in this third world republic.I wrote a post on why i think the Indonesian middle class - smart and educated men like Mr. HoD appeared to be - are firmly to blame for this fault. He blamed an alleged white man syndrome for as an apparent disqualifier to participate in his debate - (as is common with the troll kinds, it was accompanied by some veiled threats of 'tracking me down').
You can just imagine that hilariousness that ensued.
I do think, however, that most Indonesian knows that it’s too colourful, too varied, too big, and generally too great for anyone to have claims over knowing and deciding on what being Indonesian is.
And there I thought I was having an argument on a ‘libertarian’ clause.
Dear Mr. Harbinger of Death, you’re it.
You were nice in the beginning but you made my Shitlist in a hurry.
PS: when I asked Enda on twitter if I could write in English, I told him why. I probably speak and write Indonesian as well as the next educated man in this country but writing in English helps sort out the knucklehead stuff.
I guess HoD just proves me wrong.
on Holiday Weekend
It’s very late at night on the last day of Ramadan. Technically, lunar calendar begins when the moon showed so that was about four hours ago. After much fanfare of cosmicians and politicians agreed on some one thing or another. I live in a nominally civil neighborhood and they’re doing barbecues and fireworks out there. All Indonesians, even my dog was invited. Verbal went over and never ceased staring with amazement at the fireworks. I think he likes it. Quite literally a party animal, the dog.
Everybody look so happy today and I refuse to be a party pooper so I’m staying indoors for now.
I’m still wondering about why so many Indonesians don’t care. I mean, there was the whole lot of them, euphoric mums on some vitriolic nationalism dance for weeks on end after the August independence.
It made a trending topic on Twitter and I thought that was a big deal, except that nobody seem to know what it means. Everybody wants some glorified ideals from ancient text books and high school photo albums.
Pubescent, almost romantic longings for notional historical moments when things were good, right and pretty. It’s maddening.
The whole country was charmed, content, mesmerized and absolutely wishful that in completing a five yearly ritual on multiple choice ballots, they have done their sacred civic duty and things will just magically get better.
This people believe in democracy religiously, almost in a literal sense.
Meh.
Back to the question, why so many Indonesians don’t care. I wrote about this a lot and sometimes, some poor souls wonder around to find this blog and I probably got some to think a little bit but most of them i bullied away mostly for my amusement. Unlike politicians, I don’t really have to promise you anything. This is a blog. If you want to find smart stuff go read a wiki or something.
I asked that question a week ago – and firmly blaming the rising middle class Indonesians for this defect. The whole yuppy Nuremberg defense - that everyone got a mortgage to pay – just doesn’t fly. It’s a crisis. A real crisis. An economic crisis – everywhere else in the world but Indonesia. It’s a constitutional crisis, right there happening before your very eyes. On a Holy Day weekend. How convenient.
Morally bankrupt.
I used that phrase to describe myself.
I find this puzzling.
Back later.
Read More..
Everybody look so happy today and I refuse to be a party pooper so I’m staying indoors for now.
I’m still wondering about why so many Indonesians don’t care. I mean, there was the whole lot of them, euphoric mums on some vitriolic nationalism dance for weeks on end after the August independence.
It made a trending topic on Twitter and I thought that was a big deal, except that nobody seem to know what it means. Everybody wants some glorified ideals from ancient text books and high school photo albums.
Pubescent, almost romantic longings for notional historical moments when things were good, right and pretty. It’s maddening.
The whole country was charmed, content, mesmerized and absolutely wishful that in completing a five yearly ritual on multiple choice ballots, they have done their sacred civic duty and things will just magically get better.
This people believe in democracy religiously, almost in a literal sense.
Meh.
Back to the question, why so many Indonesians don’t care. I wrote about this a lot and sometimes, some poor souls wonder around to find this blog and I probably got some to think a little bit but most of them i bullied away mostly for my amusement. Unlike politicians, I don’t really have to promise you anything. This is a blog. If you want to find smart stuff go read a wiki or something.
I asked that question a week ago – and firmly blaming the rising middle class Indonesians for this defect. The whole yuppy Nuremberg defense - that everyone got a mortgage to pay – just doesn’t fly. It’s a crisis. A real crisis. An economic crisis – everywhere else in the world but Indonesia. It’s a constitutional crisis, right there happening before your very eyes. On a Holy Day weekend. How convenient.
Morally bankrupt.
I used that phrase to describe myself.
I find this puzzling.
Back later.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
on Dog Flight
Many people i know are on holiday this week and are flying places. The painting above is called Dog Flight, an acrylic on canvas, by Daniel Peacock. He also did the Puff Dog i like so much and I use it as my avatar.
He also sends this Happy Holiday card.
Have a good weekend everyone, have a happy holiday, have a gracious one and wish only for the best of things.
Selamat Hari Raya!
He also sends this Happy Holiday card.
Have a good weekend everyone, have a happy holiday, have a gracious one and wish only for the best of things.
Selamat Hari Raya!
Friday, September 18, 2009
on Family Scriptures
Every family has its scriptures, but most can't articulate them. These are stories people repeat to reinforce their identity: Who the are. Where they came from. Why they behave as they do.
Rant used to say, "Every family is a regular little cult"
~From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms
The above quote is from the book Rant, by Chuck Palahniuk. I was rereading it before in the cab. Crazy fun book really. The main character may or may not be the most efficient serial killer of our time.
There are times when i can't really muster to read any new books so picking up old favorites is really the best i could do. Have a good weekend, all.
Read More..
Rant used to say, "Every family is a regular little cult"
~From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms
The above quote is from the book Rant, by Chuck Palahniuk. I was rereading it before in the cab. Crazy fun book really. The main character may or may not be the most efficient serial killer of our time.
There are times when i can't really muster to read any new books so picking up old favorites is really the best i could do. Have a good weekend, all.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
on Twittered Stories (part II)
FYI...If you send me an email that starts out "Hello Mommy Blog" I am just going to make fun of you.
~@TheBloggess
- the first part of this stories are here.
I asked Vivian – false name, probable imaginary character whose primary form of occupation is an independent, high priced call girl but was at the present moment, sitting on my couch eating Pringles. She may or may not be on twitter – if she thought the image of modern Indonesian women need protecting at all. She also thought that was rather funny. Maybe they do, some twisted reverse gender twisting logic to help the unaffirmed. That is not a coherent sentence let's not be too pedantic.
Luna Maya was heard on Twitter asking Tora Sudiro of how to ‘botox an armpit’. The latter had allegedly done his. I am so totally at lost about what that could probably mean but I daren’t ask proper.
Do people really botox armpits? Luna is sometimes funny on television so she was probably funny on twitter too. Either way I couldn't find out more about this strange armpit thingy - Tora said it makes his 'armpit cooler' or something. I was left more confused than i was when i started listening in. I thought Tora would make an excellent subject since he is on twitter a lot.
There was an article on Lindsay Lohan, written via Blackberry convo over a few months while she was going through rehab. I think the story was on Esquire or something but i lost the copy. I thought it’s an interesting idea to test, see if anyone on Twitter would doing a piece since that would probably be fun. Anyhow, back to next agenda item. Also, first heard from twitter a while ago, a vicious rumor about Megan Fox being a man and all. The rumor originated from a certain Twitter character who claimed that she has a 'tutti frutti' flavor. I honestly can't remember how we got to twittering flavors but here's to end that whole Megan Fox thing - forever - from the new Rolling Stones photos.
The Kanye thing doesn’t interest me, except for the precedent of having a Presidential off record conversation twittered the rest was really hubris. Kanye was a jackass, but the world has never been short of jackasses. Axl and Kurt almost came to blow over Courtney (I know!) at a Grammy, I think. Eminem, Slash, Motley Crue, the lot of those guys were as badly behaved as today’s corporate sponsored jackasses. It’s too gimmicky and I can’t make me interested.
To be frank, I know almost nobody on Indonesian twitter scene and hardly pay attention to anyone beyond a small group of people with interesting conversations, but I can’t do a story on a Twitter character. Apparently ‘print’ people demands this. I don’t know. Maybe that’s why nobody ever print anything I write. I never send anything because nobody would take another nobody seriously. The logic chilling and goes in loop and Vi lost interests.
I told Vi to never twit with location. That just sounds a little careless to me. Being a prostitute and a pin up girl and all, it’s just possible that there are crazies out there pulling crazy stunts. Broadcasting your location is probably not very safe. She said DPR people are apparently using Blackberries because they’re safer. I pointed out that DPR is not where Indonesia put their smartest. Personally, I advised her against twitting. I don’t think it’s a good habit but I’m already addicted.
Sophia Latjuba and her husband are on Twitter and they twit each other a lot. They seem like a fun couple and frequently quite funny and there’s nothing to report except that the two seem scandalously happy. I suggested to Michael that he live twit their massage sessions but he said only to take it into consideration. Sophia called me an ‘almost’ angel and i was dizzied for a bit but Vivian really was not too impressed with my pubescent crush.
There was another terrorist shoot out on Indonesian telly but I refused to watch news so we just hang out and chat about more random rubbish. She asked if I truly cared of things I care about. I have a known phobe to commitments and it could be prohibitive to a cause.
She asked if I could truly care. I don’t know I guess. I used to talk about what things feel good and how someone once came along and reminded me how good things felt but that was a whole different episode and I generally try not to dance with fairy tales. Vi drank the rest of the Chianti and called me some food.
McDonald is apparently available 24/7. Twice I had McD in almost three years. I feel commoditized but we had no other food in the house. She bought a porn spoof of Pirates of the Caribbean a few nights ago and I planned to write about that but I haven’t actually got around to watching it. Can’t seem to find time to do smut these days. I find that worrying, too.
Speaking of porn, Maria Ozawa – the porn sensation – is coming to Indonesia next month. I’d love to score an interview but only just now found out. I find Twitter to be brimming with some serious lowbrow art aficionados but to have a proper porn star to do an interview would be totally cool. I told Vi she should read that book on Annabel Chung and this time she questioned my literary judgment for real. The other night, I ranted on everyone who was on the Secret Service Shitlist, a curious interests on the porn scene might be misinterpreted but really, it was one of those times when I couldn’t care for shits.
Vi stopped for a bit and spoke to Samantha on the phone, I was on a call with a roomful of lawyers on the wrong end of the world trying to learn why and how some people make tons of money with little more than zeal for more money. She thought I should stop bitching so much and take my medication. They both thought so.
Despite persistent efforts, I couldn’t find out who the father is to Sheila’s. Rob (the lawyer I interviewed earlier wrote a few bits on Sheila if you’re keen). Frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to be fake too much interest on the subject. She’s a barely legal starlet with a rap sheet, kids make stupid decisions all the time. I don’t really get off kicking little kids around but whatever I guess. I’m not sure what the fuss was about.
Edwin – the short film director – had his movie opens in Manhattan this week, but I guess it was more lost in the shuffle. It was a day or two after DPR passed the new Film Law so I thought it was a bit sad. I don’t really know him but I saw some of his stuff and I thought they’re excellent. I've a copy of the Kara film and I thought it was really cool tho I don’t really get it. It just reminds me of that scene from Douglas Coupland with Ronnie McDonald. I told Vi the scenario and she thought it was fun tho we were really watching The Police on the screen. Something about the black dot in the sun. The pictures were just lost in the shuffle.
I tried finding out on Twitter if Edwin is around on twitter but the young man is obviously busy so I can only wish him luck. Andhara Early is the only person on the cast returned by a twitter search but I don’t know her. I thought she’s a babe, tho and from what I heard the film is cool (NY Times wrote a review here) I haven’t seen it yet, so I can’t say. I’m not sure why people don’t find this more interesting, but well then.
I want to write about the Queen of Dangdut but currently having problem identifying one proper. She couldn’t think of any so we leave it at that. I thought it was unfair that a King of Dangdut was determined by his musical quality and yet the Queen was nominated by her bust size and i wonder why this is not an issue for the newly educated masses.
I asked Vi why nobody cared for such things but we reckoned the country is too big for anyone to care for everything. I told her Cut Tary – the supermilf from Indonesia’s twittering uberelites is there with other crews of her gossip shows and regularly chat with other twitterattis. I prolly a good start to check for the day's gossip. I don’t keep track of those things and I needed to rest. Vivian needed to go home, too. She needs to pack and stuff.
The world will just have to stay on without us lot keeping it together at all time. Sophia and Michael agreed to do it so I’m going to do my research on the good things of the world. I need the distraction. I also need to rest a bit. Vivian packed her stuff and got back into her car and drove off.
Have a good weekend all. Stay twittering.
Read More..
~@TheBloggess
- the first part of this stories are here.
I asked Vivian – false name, probable imaginary character whose primary form of occupation is an independent, high priced call girl but was at the present moment, sitting on my couch eating Pringles. She may or may not be on twitter – if she thought the image of modern Indonesian women need protecting at all. She also thought that was rather funny. Maybe they do, some twisted reverse gender twisting logic to help the unaffirmed. That is not a coherent sentence let's not be too pedantic.
Luna Maya was heard on Twitter asking Tora Sudiro of how to ‘botox an armpit’. The latter had allegedly done his. I am so totally at lost about what that could probably mean but I daren’t ask proper.
Do people really botox armpits? Luna is sometimes funny on television so she was probably funny on twitter too. Either way I couldn't find out more about this strange armpit thingy - Tora said it makes his 'armpit cooler' or something. I was left more confused than i was when i started listening in. I thought Tora would make an excellent subject since he is on twitter a lot.
There was an article on Lindsay Lohan, written via Blackberry convo over a few months while she was going through rehab. I think the story was on Esquire or something but i lost the copy. I thought it’s an interesting idea to test, see if anyone on Twitter would doing a piece since that would probably be fun. Anyhow, back to next agenda item. Also, first heard from twitter a while ago, a vicious rumor about Megan Fox being a man and all. The rumor originated from a certain Twitter character who claimed that she has a 'tutti frutti' flavor. I honestly can't remember how we got to twittering flavors but here's to end that whole Megan Fox thing - forever - from the new Rolling Stones photos.
The Kanye thing doesn’t interest me, except for the precedent of having a Presidential off record conversation twittered the rest was really hubris. Kanye was a jackass, but the world has never been short of jackasses. Axl and Kurt almost came to blow over Courtney (I know!) at a Grammy, I think. Eminem, Slash, Motley Crue, the lot of those guys were as badly behaved as today’s corporate sponsored jackasses. It’s too gimmicky and I can’t make me interested.
To be frank, I know almost nobody on Indonesian twitter scene and hardly pay attention to anyone beyond a small group of people with interesting conversations, but I can’t do a story on a Twitter character. Apparently ‘print’ people demands this. I don’t know. Maybe that’s why nobody ever print anything I write. I never send anything because nobody would take another nobody seriously. The logic chilling and goes in loop and Vi lost interests.
I told Vi to never twit with location. That just sounds a little careless to me. Being a prostitute and a pin up girl and all, it’s just possible that there are crazies out there pulling crazy stunts. Broadcasting your location is probably not very safe. She said DPR people are apparently using Blackberries because they’re safer. I pointed out that DPR is not where Indonesia put their smartest. Personally, I advised her against twitting. I don’t think it’s a good habit but I’m already addicted.
Sophia Latjuba and her husband are on Twitter and they twit each other a lot. They seem like a fun couple and frequently quite funny and there’s nothing to report except that the two seem scandalously happy. I suggested to Michael that he live twit their massage sessions but he said only to take it into consideration. Sophia called me an ‘almost’ angel and i was dizzied for a bit but Vivian really was not too impressed with my pubescent crush.
There was another terrorist shoot out on Indonesian telly but I refused to watch news so we just hang out and chat about more random rubbish. She asked if I truly cared of things I care about. I have a known phobe to commitments and it could be prohibitive to a cause.
She asked if I could truly care. I don’t know I guess. I used to talk about what things feel good and how someone once came along and reminded me how good things felt but that was a whole different episode and I generally try not to dance with fairy tales. Vi drank the rest of the Chianti and called me some food.
McDonald is apparently available 24/7. Twice I had McD in almost three years. I feel commoditized but we had no other food in the house. She bought a porn spoof of Pirates of the Caribbean a few nights ago and I planned to write about that but I haven’t actually got around to watching it. Can’t seem to find time to do smut these days. I find that worrying, too.
Speaking of porn, Maria Ozawa – the porn sensation – is coming to Indonesia next month. I’d love to score an interview but only just now found out. I find Twitter to be brimming with some serious lowbrow art aficionados but to have a proper porn star to do an interview would be totally cool. I told Vi she should read that book on Annabel Chung and this time she questioned my literary judgment for real. The other night, I ranted on everyone who was on the Secret Service Shitlist, a curious interests on the porn scene might be misinterpreted but really, it was one of those times when I couldn’t care for shits.
Vi stopped for a bit and spoke to Samantha on the phone, I was on a call with a roomful of lawyers on the wrong end of the world trying to learn why and how some people make tons of money with little more than zeal for more money. She thought I should stop bitching so much and take my medication. They both thought so.
Despite persistent efforts, I couldn’t find out who the father is to Sheila’s. Rob (the lawyer I interviewed earlier wrote a few bits on Sheila if you’re keen). Frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to be fake too much interest on the subject. She’s a barely legal starlet with a rap sheet, kids make stupid decisions all the time. I don’t really get off kicking little kids around but whatever I guess. I’m not sure what the fuss was about.
Edwin – the short film director – had his movie opens in Manhattan this week, but I guess it was more lost in the shuffle. It was a day or two after DPR passed the new Film Law so I thought it was a bit sad. I don’t really know him but I saw some of his stuff and I thought they’re excellent. I've a copy of the Kara film and I thought it was really cool tho I don’t really get it. It just reminds me of that scene from Douglas Coupland with Ronnie McDonald. I told Vi the scenario and she thought it was fun tho we were really watching The Police on the screen. Something about the black dot in the sun. The pictures were just lost in the shuffle.
I tried finding out on Twitter if Edwin is around on twitter but the young man is obviously busy so I can only wish him luck. Andhara Early is the only person on the cast returned by a twitter search but I don’t know her. I thought she’s a babe, tho and from what I heard the film is cool (NY Times wrote a review here) I haven’t seen it yet, so I can’t say. I’m not sure why people don’t find this more interesting, but well then.
I want to write about the Queen of Dangdut but currently having problem identifying one proper. She couldn’t think of any so we leave it at that. I thought it was unfair that a King of Dangdut was determined by his musical quality and yet the Queen was nominated by her bust size and i wonder why this is not an issue for the newly educated masses.
I asked Vi why nobody cared for such things but we reckoned the country is too big for anyone to care for everything. I told her Cut Tary – the supermilf from Indonesia’s twittering uberelites is there with other crews of her gossip shows and regularly chat with other twitterattis. I prolly a good start to check for the day's gossip. I don’t keep track of those things and I needed to rest. Vivian needed to go home, too. She needs to pack and stuff.
The world will just have to stay on without us lot keeping it together at all time. Sophia and Michael agreed to do it so I’m going to do my research on the good things of the world. I need the distraction. I also need to rest a bit. Vivian packed her stuff and got back into her car and drove off.
Have a good weekend all. Stay twittering.
on Twittered Stories
notes and thoughts on things heard on twitter, the new E Class, a prostitute, a whole load of nothing, a chianti, a conversation, a ton of questions, Dji Sam Soe, a film premiere, Hanung Bramantyo, Andi Mallarangeng, Indonesian Women, twittering yuppies, Luna Maya, Lindsay Lohan, Tora Sudiro, Kanye West, President Obama, Courtney Love, DPR, Maria Ozawa, Sheila Marcia, Andhara Early, Megan Fox, Inul and the New York Times, (plus there was a scandalous affair in some gym somewhere but the details are hard to verify). All in no particular order.
This is the first part.
***
Vi called after the premiere and dropped by with a can of Pringles. She asked if I’d any holiday plans yet. At the moment my plan is very practically limited, considering the few obvious handicaps, most important one being I don’t have enough time to find anyone to babysit my dog, so only places within driving distance.
She’s going to Semarang or Magelang or whatever to see her daughter but would be back on the second day, I think. She managed to land the test drive date of a new E Class on one of those and we planned a getaway plan. The downside being I don’t really want to get stuck in any Lebaran traffic so we’ll be within the city and the suburb. Vi suggested we see malls. I digress.
I asked if Vivian saw anyone interesting today. Anyone I might know or I’d like to know about. I told her about the plan to do a piece on an Indonesian celebrity on twitter. Vi seemed particularly concerned at the potential damage of any stupidity on my part. She trusts I have an impossible and terrible capacity to completely make a fool out of myself so utterly in the whole process and warned me to behave. I told her to chill out and get some breathing space. She said she had half a bottle of Chianti in the car. I lit a ciggy. Anyone tried the new Dji Sam Soe thing, it's awesome good.
I thought of doing Vivian for a while but there was the obvious lack of angle – she is neither on twitter or a celebrity. I asked how she got the dealer to approve her drive request and she said she didn’t make the call. Someone else did.
Vivian travels in better circles so she knows things I don’t, I asked if anyone was upset that I pestered Mr. Andi Mallarangeng so much. I wouldn’t exactly describe what I did as pestering but I let her on. She said something about Mr. Mallarangeng must’ve read it, because the gentleman is on Facebook or something. I don’t really care, to be honest. I can only ask questions, that’s what I do. It doesn’t really matter now, maybe. I don’t know. Someone said earlier President SBY stepped out and said he is looking into it. I can only guess now he understands what the problem was. I personally think the whole reptilian thing to it – while outrageous – was taken too far out of proportion; it presents completely the wrong message to the people. They think of it like some frivolous fights of powerful and –thus probably – corrupt officials. I’m guessing they’re now in a bit of a pickle but I salute the President for finally stepping up. Indonesians should have more trust in their leaders, and their system.
I don’t know. We’re in chill mode by midnight with the Police saying something about the material world on the screen. I was mostly writing and she was eating Pringles. I told her that I didn’t really want anyone around cause I need to get demons out of my head for a while but if she care to spare some juice on Hanung Bramantyo’s recent wedding, I’ll be curious. I asked what she thought of the film and she said something about plastic and well packaged tho she did say she wasn’t watching properly. I asked if the studio let Blackberries in and she told me how to sneak one in.
I was only interested cause I heard Hanung said that they got married to ‘protect her unspoiled image as a Moslem girl’ – not sure if that was the exact wording, but something to that effect. I heard it on television in passing and I wasn’t really paying attention. Hanung Bramantyo I find notable if only because he’s a Director with huge blockbuster history on sensitive issues – marriages and religions and stuff. That and blockbuster is an unusual combination.
Vi said that someone who was at the wedding said the happy couple looked magnificent too. The bride looked spectacularly sweet with simple and elegant veil and there were happy looking guests around. Come to think of it, I’m certain that Mr. Hanung was not really referring to his beautiful bride. I think he said more of, protecting the image of modern Indonesian Moslem women. That I find interesting.
****
Treespotting is presently run on by robots and the Part II of this post will appear approximately four hours from now.
Read More..
This is the first part.
***
Vi called after the premiere and dropped by with a can of Pringles. She asked if I’d any holiday plans yet. At the moment my plan is very practically limited, considering the few obvious handicaps, most important one being I don’t have enough time to find anyone to babysit my dog, so only places within driving distance.
She’s going to Semarang or Magelang or whatever to see her daughter but would be back on the second day, I think. She managed to land the test drive date of a new E Class on one of those and we planned a getaway plan. The downside being I don’t really want to get stuck in any Lebaran traffic so we’ll be within the city and the suburb. Vi suggested we see malls. I digress.
I asked if Vivian saw anyone interesting today. Anyone I might know or I’d like to know about. I told her about the plan to do a piece on an Indonesian celebrity on twitter. Vi seemed particularly concerned at the potential damage of any stupidity on my part. She trusts I have an impossible and terrible capacity to completely make a fool out of myself so utterly in the whole process and warned me to behave. I told her to chill out and get some breathing space. She said she had half a bottle of Chianti in the car. I lit a ciggy. Anyone tried the new Dji Sam Soe thing, it's awesome good.
I thought of doing Vivian for a while but there was the obvious lack of angle – she is neither on twitter or a celebrity. I asked how she got the dealer to approve her drive request and she said she didn’t make the call. Someone else did.
Vivian travels in better circles so she knows things I don’t, I asked if anyone was upset that I pestered Mr. Andi Mallarangeng so much. I wouldn’t exactly describe what I did as pestering but I let her on. She said something about Mr. Mallarangeng must’ve read it, because the gentleman is on Facebook or something. I don’t really care, to be honest. I can only ask questions, that’s what I do. It doesn’t really matter now, maybe. I don’t know. Someone said earlier President SBY stepped out and said he is looking into it. I can only guess now he understands what the problem was. I personally think the whole reptilian thing to it – while outrageous – was taken too far out of proportion; it presents completely the wrong message to the people. They think of it like some frivolous fights of powerful and –thus probably – corrupt officials. I’m guessing they’re now in a bit of a pickle but I salute the President for finally stepping up. Indonesians should have more trust in their leaders, and their system.
I don’t know. We’re in chill mode by midnight with the Police saying something about the material world on the screen. I was mostly writing and she was eating Pringles. I told her that I didn’t really want anyone around cause I need to get demons out of my head for a while but if she care to spare some juice on Hanung Bramantyo’s recent wedding, I’ll be curious. I asked what she thought of the film and she said something about plastic and well packaged tho she did say she wasn’t watching properly. I asked if the studio let Blackberries in and she told me how to sneak one in.
I was only interested cause I heard Hanung said that they got married to ‘protect her unspoiled image as a Moslem girl’ – not sure if that was the exact wording, but something to that effect. I heard it on television in passing and I wasn’t really paying attention. Hanung Bramantyo I find notable if only because he’s a Director with huge blockbuster history on sensitive issues – marriages and religions and stuff. That and blockbuster is an unusual combination.
Vi said that someone who was at the wedding said the happy couple looked magnificent too. The bride looked spectacularly sweet with simple and elegant veil and there were happy looking guests around. Come to think of it, I’m certain that Mr. Hanung was not really referring to his beautiful bride. I think he said more of, protecting the image of modern Indonesian Moslem women. That I find interesting.
****
Treespotting is presently run on by robots and the Part II of this post will appear approximately four hours from now.
on Indonesia, circa 2008
This is from another post i wrote, roughly a year ago, also during the fasting month. The full post is available here.
***
For the geographically challenged here’s a backgrounder: Indonesia is roughly three time zones longe from one end to the other, 250 million people of various colours, ethnics, religions, languages and sense of humour, scattered in random messy lumps on most of 17,000 islands. I’ve personally travelled very little in Indonesia but I been told it’s really beautiful.
Jakarta is its capital and very much its own world. In day time, the population is around 12 million people, half of them on motorbikes. The other half navigates life trying to dodge them. People seem to appear magically in Jakarta – you see them everywhere yet with no idea of where they live. One Half never see where the Other Half sleeps so estimates are always vague.
At night, the headcount is even more puzzling. Some say it’s 8 million, others 6 million, depending on how you count the poor people. Some parts of town are so dense the headcount was done by smell - it’s not always accurate.
Other parts of town are really nice and you generally need to register before getting into office and residential buildings. From the taller buildings, the lights spread out all the way to the end of the night, phallic monuments of urban living to one side and dark patches of sleeping masses in between. My house is on the south end where civilized people live and keep pets – (they still eat dogs on some parts of town).
Connecting this massive sprawls of fuzzy headcounts, is a network of paraplegically maintained and tragically ill designed road system, populated exclusively by idiots, riding and wheeling incompetently on every moving device ever developed in the industrialized world. The system as a whole is inadequately policed by one of the most corrupt law enforcement agency in the country and the result is a paralyzing traffic in every definition of the word. Some World Bank economists thought it contributed to the national growth rate – currently stalled at 6%.
Traffic jam is a sub-culture to the new generation. Ancient Javanese travelers notoriously failed the notion of time since they lacked any accurate measuring instruments, Jakarta Urbanites encounter a practical condition that renders any such technologies irrelevant. The new generation are more flexible in their interpretation and more practical in their time management. It’s worthwhile: the good times always seem longer.
Sucks when you have to wait, tho.
I am clinically allergic to idling in traffic jams and with the luxury of a non-employment, I generally schedule my life around it. Other people have sex in the traffic. Girls bring special shoes to handle manual clutch. Radios have traffic update and roadie talk shows. There are food, cigarette, flowers and cold drink vendors along the main roads for the commuters comfort. During the fasting month, at six o’clock, the jammed masses stop trafficking and eat food, with their engine running.
On main intersections, you could also purchase maps, dictionaries, floating devices, mechanical robots and weird strange living real mammals that look an awful lot like little beasts from the endangered species list.
Motorbike is a chronic and serious issue and it needs to be dealt with. Anyone who could ride a motorbike can ride a motorbike while typing down an sms message. I strongly urge Jakarta Urbanites to visit Hanoi to fully visualize the potentially overwhelming chaos of too many motorbikes.
If you survived the traffic, next is to deal with the flood. Jakarta doesn’t have a drainage system and floods seasonally. During such times, you ride special buses - or boats - to the flooded gates of the airport if you needed to fly out (common sense dictates that you attempted to do that at least once).
Stuck in a flooded traffic jam is the very definition of 'proper fucked'. You're it.
***
The 2nd part is here - i'm putting this up and wondering at how is it almost nothing changed over a year.
Read More..
***
For the geographically challenged here’s a backgrounder: Indonesia is roughly three time zones longe from one end to the other, 250 million people of various colours, ethnics, religions, languages and sense of humour, scattered in random messy lumps on most of 17,000 islands. I’ve personally travelled very little in Indonesia but I been told it’s really beautiful.
Jakarta is its capital and very much its own world. In day time, the population is around 12 million people, half of them on motorbikes. The other half navigates life trying to dodge them. People seem to appear magically in Jakarta – you see them everywhere yet with no idea of where they live. One Half never see where the Other Half sleeps so estimates are always vague.
At night, the headcount is even more puzzling. Some say it’s 8 million, others 6 million, depending on how you count the poor people. Some parts of town are so dense the headcount was done by smell - it’s not always accurate.
Other parts of town are really nice and you generally need to register before getting into office and residential buildings. From the taller buildings, the lights spread out all the way to the end of the night, phallic monuments of urban living to one side and dark patches of sleeping masses in between. My house is on the south end where civilized people live and keep pets – (they still eat dogs on some parts of town).
Connecting this massive sprawls of fuzzy headcounts, is a network of paraplegically maintained and tragically ill designed road system, populated exclusively by idiots, riding and wheeling incompetently on every moving device ever developed in the industrialized world. The system as a whole is inadequately policed by one of the most corrupt law enforcement agency in the country and the result is a paralyzing traffic in every definition of the word. Some World Bank economists thought it contributed to the national growth rate – currently stalled at 6%.
Traffic jam is a sub-culture to the new generation. Ancient Javanese travelers notoriously failed the notion of time since they lacked any accurate measuring instruments, Jakarta Urbanites encounter a practical condition that renders any such technologies irrelevant. The new generation are more flexible in their interpretation and more practical in their time management. It’s worthwhile: the good times always seem longer.
Sucks when you have to wait, tho.
I am clinically allergic to idling in traffic jams and with the luxury of a non-employment, I generally schedule my life around it. Other people have sex in the traffic. Girls bring special shoes to handle manual clutch. Radios have traffic update and roadie talk shows. There are food, cigarette, flowers and cold drink vendors along the main roads for the commuters comfort. During the fasting month, at six o’clock, the jammed masses stop trafficking and eat food, with their engine running.
On main intersections, you could also purchase maps, dictionaries, floating devices, mechanical robots and weird strange living real mammals that look an awful lot like little beasts from the endangered species list.
Motorbike is a chronic and serious issue and it needs to be dealt with. Anyone who could ride a motorbike can ride a motorbike while typing down an sms message. I strongly urge Jakarta Urbanites to visit Hanoi to fully visualize the potentially overwhelming chaos of too many motorbikes.
If you survived the traffic, next is to deal with the flood. Jakarta doesn’t have a drainage system and floods seasonally. During such times, you ride special buses - or boats - to the flooded gates of the airport if you needed to fly out (common sense dictates that you attempted to do that at least once).
Stuck in a flooded traffic jam is the very definition of 'proper fucked'. You're it.
***
The 2nd part is here - i'm putting this up and wondering at how is it almost nothing changed over a year.
on Girls and Coffee
This is for the girls on twitter and their coffee.
I still don't understand why they once tried to outlaw it. They accused Coffee leads men to trifle away their time, scald their chops, and spend their money, all for a little base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking nauseous puddle water.
True story.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wake Me Up When September Ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
~Green Day
As I write that long Fear and Loathing ode the other night –an eerie Déjà vu seeps in. Like I saw a black cat and I realized something was very wrong with the system.
Last year, roughly around the same time of year – third week of Ramadan - as the country geared up for the holiday, exactly the same sorts of things happened. Hurried laws were passed, market numbers and big picture stuff were ignored. (here’s a link to my September/October 2008 posts – that’s when I first joined Twitter!).
Last year, i was wondering how this Indonesian Trrfic Economy could work, a reflection on what was happening them. Exactly two days ago last year, I asked the question "Indonesia: Lebih Baik atau Lebih Buruk?" and there was a discussion for several weeks or so. There was a debate about "Soeharto and Sharia Laws in Aceh", i said a few things there that i think remains in many ways, relevant to Indonesia this week. I wrote about people and government but at the time, i was hoping that Thomas Jefferson and American Founding Fathers will probably make sense to most Indonesians. This year, i turn to people that use drugs.
The country oozed and whooph through the nominal burden of religious masses – chants of prayers with no conviction. Its most sincerest values – divine ideals and aspirations of the best of men, the surrender of beliefs to hopes, dreams and fulfilled love – the wonderful joy of Islamic values as the humble Prophet taught them thousands of years ago, all so thoroughly valued and worshipped in Indonesia so that the prettiest dress worn and make up lavished. This ritual ceremonial tradition peaks during the holy month and in Ramadan, most Indonesians wouldn’t recognize Islam if it was knocking on their front door.
But how could they not, when their religious leaders were only too busy to meet family friendly airtime. Family friendly means no real conversation of any meaningful value. It’s the pat in the back sessions, designed by the preachers and preached to the willing.
Of course the business of television reporting is a whole different thing but you would expect that there will be some sentimental tribute to the journalism tribe.
The fasting month is the worst month for most media and television news during this period of the year is an embarrassment to the journalistic profession at large. Moralizing took to a whole new level of profitability since the introduction of premium sms service and the television channels usually practice this righteous orgy to their most extreme available airtime.
In the words of Williams S. Burroughs, "The junk merchant doesn't sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to the product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client."
Hunter S. Thompson famously offered his observation that the TV business is “normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.”
If the beatniks sound extreme, then consider Indonesia, 2009 – thriving democracy with an open press and 11 terrestrial channels. Good men die like dogs, for no good reason and we can all see it on television. Good people, do die.
They should stop calling themselves “news” and turn into a “public television feelgood program” instead. This preposterous conduct violating ethics, norm, sacrilegious values and basic human dignity should no longer be labeled ‘news’ or 'journalism' of any sort because it is insulting to the people who actually do news.
TV One and the Bakrie family gave massive and generous charity to the suffering of the people. It is hugely appreciated by the people and the disaster victims. It is an admirable and exemplary display of social participation. The Nation is thankful to everyone involved in the effort.
The news ends there.
Beyond that is a shameless patting of your own proud selves.
In Farenheit 451, Montag got suspicious of television and turned to read books he was supposed to burn only to find out even more bizarre stuff. At some point, he got to the banned journals of Gulliver and Montag was surprised to learn that eleven thousand Liliputians die multiple times over a Law about eggs. His wife insisted that it sounds too unbelievable.
A threat emerging from the bowels of unchecked greed of politicians and provided for by cooperative economic interests, secretly controlling the fate of a nation by twittering from the boardrooms of media barons, under the blessing and protection of Priests of Cosmic Intervention. Ian Flemming sounds a lot more believable in the book.
One day I will succeed in my World Domination Plan and make everyone watch only films I like. In one James Bond film the villain kept an actual ice fortress. But until then, sub-zero lairs, crusades on evil villains and tinkering with radical ideas are relegated to the provincial burden of anonymous bloggers and 007. Sometimes, i admit, i do have a troll-ish quality to myself.
The piece i refer to is on this page (it's 9 pages long). The footnotes and the credit to the Bedtime Stories goes here.The title of this song and the lines above is from the excellent song of the same name, from the album American Idiot, by Green Day.
Read More..
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
~Green Day
As I write that long Fear and Loathing ode the other night –an eerie Déjà vu seeps in. Like I saw a black cat and I realized something was very wrong with the system.
Last year, roughly around the same time of year – third week of Ramadan - as the country geared up for the holiday, exactly the same sorts of things happened. Hurried laws were passed, market numbers and big picture stuff were ignored. (here’s a link to my September/October 2008 posts – that’s when I first joined Twitter!).
Last year, i was wondering how this Indonesian Trrfic Economy could work, a reflection on what was happening them. Exactly two days ago last year, I asked the question "Indonesia: Lebih Baik atau Lebih Buruk?" and there was a discussion for several weeks or so. There was a debate about "Soeharto and Sharia Laws in Aceh", i said a few things there that i think remains in many ways, relevant to Indonesia this week. I wrote about people and government but at the time, i was hoping that Thomas Jefferson and American Founding Fathers will probably make sense to most Indonesians. This year, i turn to people that use drugs.
The country oozed and whooph through the nominal burden of religious masses – chants of prayers with no conviction. Its most sincerest values – divine ideals and aspirations of the best of men, the surrender of beliefs to hopes, dreams and fulfilled love – the wonderful joy of Islamic values as the humble Prophet taught them thousands of years ago, all so thoroughly valued and worshipped in Indonesia so that the prettiest dress worn and make up lavished. This ritual ceremonial tradition peaks during the holy month and in Ramadan, most Indonesians wouldn’t recognize Islam if it was knocking on their front door.
But how could they not, when their religious leaders were only too busy to meet family friendly airtime. Family friendly means no real conversation of any meaningful value. It’s the pat in the back sessions, designed by the preachers and preached to the willing.
Of course the business of television reporting is a whole different thing but you would expect that there will be some sentimental tribute to the journalism tribe.
The fasting month is the worst month for most media and television news during this period of the year is an embarrassment to the journalistic profession at large. Moralizing took to a whole new level of profitability since the introduction of premium sms service and the television channels usually practice this righteous orgy to their most extreme available airtime.
In the words of Williams S. Burroughs, "The junk merchant doesn't sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to the product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client."
Hunter S. Thompson famously offered his observation that the TV business is “normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.”
If the beatniks sound extreme, then consider Indonesia, 2009 – thriving democracy with an open press and 11 terrestrial channels. Good men die like dogs, for no good reason and we can all see it on television. Good people, do die.
I have never believed in the notion of independent reporting. The people who believe in independent reporting live in complete denial to pantomime indifference to the obvious and self gratifying fact - that their report matters
TV One took it to a whole new level this year with a continuous live report from the earth quake scene in West Java, where a massively generous charity program was launched. It was mighty nice of them.They should stop calling themselves “news” and turn into a “public television feelgood program” instead. This preposterous conduct violating ethics, norm, sacrilegious values and basic human dignity should no longer be labeled ‘news’ or 'journalism' of any sort because it is insulting to the people who actually do news.
TV One and the Bakrie family gave massive and generous charity to the suffering of the people. It is hugely appreciated by the people and the disaster victims. It is an admirable and exemplary display of social participation. The Nation is thankful to everyone involved in the effort.
The news ends there.
Beyond that is a shameless patting of your own proud selves.
In Farenheit 451, Montag got suspicious of television and turned to read books he was supposed to burn only to find out even more bizarre stuff. At some point, he got to the banned journals of Gulliver and Montag was surprised to learn that eleven thousand Liliputians die multiple times over a Law about eggs. His wife insisted that it sounds too unbelievable.
A threat emerging from the bowels of unchecked greed of politicians and provided for by cooperative economic interests, secretly controlling the fate of a nation by twittering from the boardrooms of media barons, under the blessing and protection of Priests of Cosmic Intervention. Ian Flemming sounds a lot more believable in the book.
One day I will succeed in my World Domination Plan and make everyone watch only films I like. In one James Bond film the villain kept an actual ice fortress. But until then, sub-zero lairs, crusades on evil villains and tinkering with radical ideas are relegated to the provincial burden of anonymous bloggers and 007. Sometimes, i admit, i do have a troll-ish quality to myself.
The piece i refer to is on this page (it's 9 pages long). The footnotes and the credit to the Bedtime Stories goes here.The title of this song and the lines above is from the excellent song of the same name, from the album American Idiot, by Green Day.
World Domination Legislation Plan #6527
I present the previous questions (scroll down, if you're new) as the main evidence why we need to regulate Celebrity Babies. You can also watch television and stuff.
We need to legislate "Pop" and eventually adopt an Overall Celebrity Naming Convention Order.
Duke Treespotter hereby decreed.
Read More..
We need to legislate "Pop" and eventually adopt an Overall Celebrity Naming Convention Order.
Duke Treespotter hereby decreed.
King of Pop
Why the previous question is important, really is because of the obvious,
If Prince Blanket is a real Prince, err... Prince of what??
Prince of Pop? Really?
Is Pop a hereditary concept?
Has anyone thought of this?
Read More..
If Prince Blanket is a real Prince, err... Prince of what??
Prince of Pop? Really?
Is Pop a hereditary concept?
Has anyone thought of this?
on Prince Blanket
I don't want to be harsh with kids or anything, but really parents name their kids the most ridiculous of names. I know MJ was King and all.
Blanket?!? for real? And his title will be, 'Prince'?
Can someone please explain?
Won't they offend some real royals somewhere?
Is King of Pop real???
I think people wants to know.
Treespotter wants to know.
Read More..
Blanket?!? for real? And his title will be, 'Prince'?
Can someone please explain?
Won't they offend some real royals somewhere?
Is King of Pop real???
I think people wants to know.
Treespotter wants to know.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Notes on Bedtime Stories
NOTE to the Bedtime Stories (here):
I'm not very sure what i was talking about earlier. A lot of it is about the last years of 1960s in the US and the some books from that era. To most people they're about drugs. To me, those guys gives us, civil rights, affirmative action, free press, good sex and rock n roll.
They must've done something right.
They also give us feminsm (the jury's out on that one).
Hunter S. Thompson (1937 - 2005) wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as an epilogue to the social revolution of the 1960s. Drawing the parallel to where Indonesia is today - looking back at the aspiration of the nation of "Reformasi 1998" - i can't help but thinking that he had just put it better than i could.
“(During the late 1960s) there was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
But now, less than five years later (this was written in 1971), you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
Many of the better sounding phrases I borrow from better writers and others are words of prophets. I don’t pretend to even understand most of the times and direct quotes for those I can remember are clearly marked.
Hunter S. Thompson works greatly helped describe and illustrate the burden of knowing and saying things others could not say. The Terry Gilliam film is an exceptionally true-to-the-book film in a sense most of the lines are taken directly from the book. The DVD bonus has commentary with HST, Johnny Depp, Terry Gilliam, Benicio del Toro, Ralph Steadman and more. James Nachwey amazing photographs distill raw moments so we don’t forget what we see. I posted his Jakarta series on my other blog.
Ralph Steadman, Andy Warhol and MS Escher illustrates their astute powers of observation. I sometimes see only absurd pictures in my head.
Heather sent Great Shark Hunt and an illustrated Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for my birthday a few years ago. Samantha gave me a copy of V for Vendetta and currently lives in San Francisco. She is a geneticist and she does not believe religion is genetics but she couldn’t tell me why. Her mother said she was conceived during the Bob Dylan concert in the Isle of Men.
Goenawan Mohammad was the first person I heard using the word “Krisis” and his one page column should explain what he means better to Indonesians.
Verbal Education is the series of post I wrote to educate my dog. The title for this post is Lawrence Ferlinghetti, quoted in full. He is an American poet and painter, currently 90 years old and living in New York. I hope he doesn’t mind.
Tony Parsons wrote a nice book on Stories We Could Tell. The story took place around an attempt to interview John Lennon, in one London night, August 16, 1977. The night Elvis died. In the interview, Like a great confessor, talking about the whole mad trip as if for the first time, as if for the last time. On the tape, John told stories about everything, everyone, death of Brian and the various trips they been and everything.
John Lennon said the quirk of life for self made man is that they usually have someone with education to front for them, to deal with the other people with education.
For all practical purposes, my blog is science fiction. Though if you really want to see more of science fiction, you should really go and see District 9 where they put poor aliens in the ghetto.
Read More..
I'm not very sure what i was talking about earlier. A lot of it is about the last years of 1960s in the US and the some books from that era. To most people they're about drugs. To me, those guys gives us, civil rights, affirmative action, free press, good sex and rock n roll.
They must've done something right.
They also give us feminsm (the jury's out on that one).
Hunter S. Thompson (1937 - 2005) wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as an epilogue to the social revolution of the 1960s. Drawing the parallel to where Indonesia is today - looking back at the aspiration of the nation of "Reformasi 1998" - i can't help but thinking that he had just put it better than i could.
“(During the late 1960s) there was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
But now, less than five years later (this was written in 1971), you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
Many of the better sounding phrases I borrow from better writers and others are words of prophets. I don’t pretend to even understand most of the times and direct quotes for those I can remember are clearly marked.
Hunter S. Thompson works greatly helped describe and illustrate the burden of knowing and saying things others could not say. The Terry Gilliam film is an exceptionally true-to-the-book film in a sense most of the lines are taken directly from the book. The DVD bonus has commentary with HST, Johnny Depp, Terry Gilliam, Benicio del Toro, Ralph Steadman and more. James Nachwey amazing photographs distill raw moments so we don’t forget what we see. I posted his Jakarta series on my other blog.
Ralph Steadman, Andy Warhol and MS Escher illustrates their astute powers of observation. I sometimes see only absurd pictures in my head.
Heather sent Great Shark Hunt and an illustrated Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for my birthday a few years ago. Samantha gave me a copy of V for Vendetta and currently lives in San Francisco. She is a geneticist and she does not believe religion is genetics but she couldn’t tell me why. Her mother said she was conceived during the Bob Dylan concert in the Isle of Men.
Goenawan Mohammad was the first person I heard using the word “Krisis” and his one page column should explain what he means better to Indonesians.
Verbal Education is the series of post I wrote to educate my dog. The title for this post is Lawrence Ferlinghetti, quoted in full. He is an American poet and painter, currently 90 years old and living in New York. I hope he doesn’t mind.
Tony Parsons wrote a nice book on Stories We Could Tell. The story took place around an attempt to interview John Lennon, in one London night, August 16, 1977. The night Elvis died. In the interview, Like a great confessor, talking about the whole mad trip as if for the first time, as if for the last time. On the tape, John told stories about everything, everyone, death of Brian and the various trips they been and everything.
John Lennon said the quirk of life for self made man is that they usually have someone with education to front for them, to deal with the other people with education.
For all practical purposes, my blog is science fiction. Though if you really want to see more of science fiction, you should really go and see District 9 where they put poor aliens in the ghetto.
What Happened the Day a Poet Was Appointed Postmaster
With violet pencils
he wrote upon the back side
of returned love letters and lost light years
readdressing them
to eternity Their cancelled postage stamps
wheeled away on round postmarks
and flew off like flying saucers
marked Moscow Los Angeles and New York
The moon turned to tenements
for lack of lovers And a cancelled George Washington
flew over America
~Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Bedtime Stories...
A series of events troubled me greatly recently. Some I wrote about but most I didn’t have the time. It it made me a bit sad. I love living here and I enjoy it a great deal and I think the country is full of wonderful people. I was just shocked to see the willingness of its citizens to abandon their government.
Many Indonesians – particularly those of my age – would tell me that I got it all wrong. They think their government abandons them. Most Indonesians won’t recognize Government if it were to stare right back in their faces. In fact, most Indonesians have no recollection of what Government is.
Government remains an incoherent abstract, non contextual entity for most Indonesian even after more than sixty years of Independence. Even after successive failures of numerous experiments, Government functions like a fabled black hole in a primitively structured society where Indonesians dump all hopes and pray something good will come out.
What struck me is that Indonesian people are often upset when this expectation failed to materialize, and also blame Government for these failures..
Ed Denson, an ex-Berkley radical said in 1967 of the hippies that if they “ were more realistic, they’d stand a better chance surviving. ” He could’ve been talking about Indonesia, circa 2009.
Allow me to give you the basics of Democracy and how it works.
You vote, they work. You vote them to work.
You do not vote for the smartest people – smart people are busy only with themselves and see no added value in collective interests, presumably because they’re smarter and know better. . Public service is not the high IQ club. The burden of governing nowadays come with legal liabilities and you pay peanuts. You pay peanuts, you get monkey.
I realize that I didn’t make Democracy sound terribly exciting, but rest assured, many great men have arrived to the same conclusion before. You just have to make it work. For you.
Or else, it wouldn’t work at all.
The defining characteristics of any leader is that they have at least one follower.
Twitter users know this well..
Goenawan Mohammad wrote about Yudhistira - I can’t find an English translation - but It made me think of the curious leadership of Pandawa’s eldest. Mahabrata is the oldest novel in history and the story was mostly about a leader with a gambling habit – and how the Kingdom he lead fared against Fate.
Yudhistira sat on a dice game and literally bet his nation, surrendering himself and his people to verdict of random probability.
Then he lost.
What does that say of mankind that our oldest civic society lesson, was taught in the form of good people wondering around in the woods doing a twelve steps program, before emerging victoriously in an epic and glorious bloodbath - all to redeem the gambling habit of a pale and quiet bastard from unhinged gods and goddesses ?
Plights of righteous men in messianic roles are commonly unpleasant and legendary in their fairy tale taste but they rarely base momentous decisions on a dice roll. Neo, at least trusted the Oracle and took with him lots of guns. Throwing a dice seemed awfully fatalistic.
There must’ve been many good qualities to Yudhistira and I leave it to Pak Goenawan Mohammad to spell out those wonderful things but it’s obvious that from the lesson of Mahabhrata, leadership qualities are not defined by the lack of vice in character.
Politicians are monkeys and leaders have bad habits.
They make reckless decision all the time..
The business of governing is complicated and citizens delegate to their lowest common denominator, that’s why it’s a wonderful thing to have if you ever get it to work.
Democracy is really, a rather crappy. Except that the true alternative to this horrible idea is to elect a King. Or a Chancellor.
I personally think Duke Treespotter sounds regal.
Indonesian citizens need to realize what they could reasonably expect from their leaders. I once, for example, suggested that introducing Mandatory Mosquito Bats for all citizens as their Constitutional Right. GJ further added how I could use that to help balance my fiscal policy, too.
Even the most seemingly balanced minded leaders have crazy ideas sometimes.
Citizens need to be aware of this.
In mitigating the potential damage from this ludicrously acceptable leadership, it’s worth learning a lesson or two from the Asterix comics.
In ancient Rome, the Republic was represented by the top elites of the breeding few. The lived in different days so there’s no point to ponder on the antics of their questionable habits but the model of leadership survived for thousands of years..
Rome grew to be a prosperous civilization. The parties in the thriving Capital were set to the standards of decadence suitable for demigods, Rome was the most happening thing since Babylon.
With everyone rich and happy, it was practical for the Senators to delegate governing to generals and harbormasters – they themselves were preoccupied perfecting bubble bath products, choosing wine and throwing sex parties. Some Senators – particularly the accountants – expressed concerns of how to afford those parties and that Rome might require a new economic approach but most of Senators were too drunk to care.
The only sensible policy left to keep the republic civil was that nobody was allowed to carry weapons or bring soldiers within the city limit. Both rules were broken when Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his army to reprimand those Senators, and later stabbed 22 times on the senate floor by his fellow supposedly unarmed citizens. It marked the end of the Republic. Octavius stopped bothering with Senates altogether and started calling himself emperor.
From the Roman, we know exactly how not to do a Republic. No soldiering or sharp instruments.
A few thousand years later, in another republic, when America entered a defining moment in its modern role of post war guardianship, right after the inauguration of President Nixon, HST wrote worriedly that the President, “moved into a vacuum that neither he nor his creatures understand. They are setting up, right now, in the calm eye of a hurricane… and if they think the winds have died, they are in for a bad shock.”
I wrote today to Mr. Andi Mallarangeng, the spokesperson for President Yudhoyono, wondering if anyone is advising the President properly. Frankly, i'm very worried.
Though there was no serious soldiering or sharp instruments involved, President Richard Nixon took America on a roller coaster ride leading to his impeachment. I’m still not sure what happened but there were spies, robbers, senators, bankers, jews, secret agencies and a whole lot of obscure tapes of conversations.
The whole thing tested the limits of the American leadership, all the way to the top of the pile – the president himself was fired and very nearly arrested. All The President’s Men is based on the book of the same name. Oliver Stone’s Nixon is good if you’re not claustrophobic.
I’m not sure what the lesson is from President Nixon, except that citizen got to say to the President, with all due respect,
“No, sir. You can’t do everything you like.”
Also you should be careful with conversation records.
The bottom line being, Democracy is not insurance against bad things. Democracy is mostly about the system we have in place to accommodate exactly what to do when bad things happen.
Run by monkeys and all, the business of governing gets to do with a lot of bad things.
Shit happens. That’s physics.
To the footnotes of the Mahabhrata epic, Yudhistira lead his brothers for their climb of redemption to the top of the world where one by one, they succumbed to lonely and distant death, forever frozen, their destinies eternally fulfilled.
Most leaders of infant democracies consider themselves lucky if they were not deposed and exiled at the end of their terms. The burden of leadership is often unforgiving and just as brutal and sad. But always worse is the rage of the people – or those hating you enough to bring weapons within the city limits.
I was in Thailand a while ago and witnessed some of the Thai style democracy, large crowd holding picket lines and blocking traffic in the city. It was mostly peaceful compared to those I’ve seen in Jakarta but the sights of tanks on the streets scared me a little. I don’t think anyone like to see tanks on the street. What usually happens when people with guns stands against people without guns?
Democracy demands some dignity, that people trust themselves they can speak their mind without killing each other. I’m not sure Indonesians appreciate what they have.
What’s surprising is they have forgotten it so quickly.
I think acceptable values to a respectable modern day man are generally defined by the air conditioning system. It is time Indonesians learn doing their politics indoors. Important decisions are taken only in the cold rooms. Roadside democracy is impractical with the traffic jam.
John Lennon said he wanted the revolution from his bed. Andy Warhol said in the future, everyone will be on television for 15 minutes. Indonesia has an excitable media scene and some 30 million internet users. On late night MTV shows, rockstars twits fans and insomniacs from their PJs and mockprop bedroom. I thought that was cute. I don’t know.
The important message here is that democracy requires your participation.
Democracy is not a five yearly ritual. If Indonesians believe that ticking multiple choice ballots one morning every five years will make your life better then this will be the end of today’s civic lesson. Go watch the funeral of the King of Pop. It’s on Youtube.
Most Indonesians are quick to jump on the faults of their leaders and yet, when asked, what exactly they think they should do, they stuttered.
Samantha, Irish and blond, calling from San Francisco, asking of more evidence of why I think this relapse of judgment is okay with post millennium Indonesians.
I admit, I might sound a little melodramatic.
I can’t help some colorful in romanticizing on what hopes I have of this Nation but a lot of Indonesians did go through a great deal of trouble to have what they have now and more. How they’re about to lose it and roll back on everything without realizing it happening is maddening.
I think the answer is really because a great many Indonesians are fairly richer than their companions today compared to they were ten years ago. The arrival of a tidal middle class with the full humdrums of a stubborn silence and the country tumbled under the avalanche of their mediocrity.
It’s amazing that Mr. Creed was not dispatched immediately.
The middle class are notoriously promiscuous and in the hyper urban Jakarta manners, almost hormonal. Most people care more of food and traffic jams. The lack of leadership qualities in the this particular caste is vulgar. Metrosexual suburbunites, semi literated and over saturated by ideas sold in small boxes – they trust no one and believe only things in their Blackberries. Steve Jobs used acid and Apple was named after the Beatles. Is it more relevant now?
It is really hard to get their attention.
As the euphoric election high wears off, the economy struck and the nation going slowly back to normalcy, more and more people are learning that their social and political progress do not track comparably to their economic progress. A lot of people are hitting fatigued by politics and tabloid television, everybody else who care enough for anything are planning their holidays.
Roughly a year ago, also nearing the last week of Ramadan, I was doing exactly the same thing – catching up with the news mostly while researching a few things, My subject then was the free fall in global market and holiday season in Indonesia. I was particularly interested to see how modern Indonesian leaderships react, returning from holiday only to the rest of the world gone bananas.
You can go back in the archive to see what I dabbled about those days but there is almost a pattern to it. The eerie similarities is a little spooky. Freak occurrence, I’m not sure how it could be that in many ways, they are the same things as they are about these days. Unless it’s really the same things.You can’t help but think if there’s a picture of Dorian Gray in the attic growing old.
I think it’s because the peak of the holiday season is usually the quietest week of the year and everyone wants only to hear good news. If you ever done anything bad, this would be the time to let everyone know about it.
Indonesians and Moslems are generous with favors and particularly most forgiving around this time of year. This is the time to get away with many, many things and hope you never get caught because nobody heard about it.
Samantha reminded me that I’m anal with numbers, my peculiar fixation on small details irritating and my predisposition to confrontation offensive. As much as I must accept those as the flaws of my character I have to point out that citizens may choose to care or not about it later but to demand that they care without giving them accurate and timely information is pretentious and really, rathat academics.
Alphonse Bertillon, a French police officer created anthropometry, an identification system based on physical measurements. He wrote the manual for first scientific system to identify criminals and granfathered CSI and modern day forensics. He said you only observe things that are already in your head.
The journalistic profession does not develop immunity to this basic flaw of man. HST said that if told the truth of what he knew 600 people from Rio to Seattle will be rotting in jail. Absolute truth and rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.
I have never believed in the notion of independent reporting. The people who believe in independent reporting live in complete denial to pantomime indifference to the obvious and self gratifying fact - that their report matters.
Independent reporting in modern day television is a state of denial, we – the moden audience - tolerate it to a degree that it keeps the system going and keeps us from going completely nuts.
I watch DVDs and watch only very little television..
You can trust the media only to tell you about roughly as much things as what you can say in a dinner conversation before you make the other guests cringe.. In America, President Clinton was made to say the word SEX on tv setting the millennium standard for acceptable in polite company.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care because I don’t get invited to polite dinner parties anyway.
Only I find it alarming that the press establishment have a consistently blonde disregard for facts or coherent storylines.
Indonesian press establishment – despite their noble aspirations – maintains similar disturbing signs of denial, in their unformed reluctance to adhere to standards applied in other lands. Political interests with direct control of media interests get to title headlines and look at the teleprompter. Business reporting and economic advice came with no financial disclosures and publishing inconclusive information is a common and acceptable practice. As much as I hate defamation laws, the only way to admit and demand retractions and corrections from the media barons is by taking them to court.
Still in their pubescent days, television doesn’t seem to know what they can do and cannot do, Which is strange since televisions existed before presidents. Orwell warned citizens the dangers of television before television exists. You should have known..Nixon was convinced that television conspired against him. I think the argument was that television discriminates against the better looking half of the population.
The only reason they got mentioned here is because they play a peculiar role. Between the people and their government, and the court and the banks and the beautiful people and everyone else in the country, press establishment is responsible for a cohesive bond of thoughts, ideas, conversations, questions. Chomsky explained that modern day people and even the conspiratorially controlled media corporations do this to keep “dissent and disinformation within bounds and at the margin.” Their job is to convince Indonesians to do their Democracy indoors.
That Award guy, Joseph Pullitzer said something about republic – "Our Republic and its press will rise or fall together. An able, disinterested, public-spirited press, with trained intelligence to know the right and courage to do it, can preserve that public virtue without which popular government is a sham and a mockery."
Appealing to the scholarly priests and prayers to ancient gods are probably the only options left for most Indonesians but in the grand scheme of things, I don’t really buy membership cards for the afterlife and I don’t have library cards. I think government should govern and priests should pray and the two should do their best not to annoy each other..
Organized religion introduced a new ruling class of by providing legitimacy to accommodate obsolete ideals and substantiate the hopefuls. It’s a common pact for society to agree to not move forward, ever from etched ideas that will only turn stale and frozen and irrelevant. While it may sound absurd to some, Flintstones have a certain retro quality to eat. Some nostalgic appeal when things were, well, Stone-age-ish. Whatever.
Religious organizations however, often mutate into cancerous concerns with similarly promiscuous morals as their nationalist politician cousins in the social power structure. If religion is benign and probably nurious, religious lobby and special interests groups are parasites to effective governing. At best, they could serve as distraction but the last two elections have practically rendered Indonesian moslems a minor power in the political map.
At some point Indonesian Moslems and the Knights Templar of all holy causes must wake up to the fact that their influence in modern day Indonesia is being rendered irrelevant, not because the citizens no longer believe in God or the Zionists or more sinister scheming of the godless infidels, but it’s because the politicking of religion have turned the Prophet’s proud example for commercial endorsements on cellular phones and supermarket snacks.
A threat emerging from the bowels of unchecked greed of politicians and provided for by cooperative economic interests, secretly controlling the fate of a nation by twittering from the boardrooms of media barons, under the blessing and protection of Priests of Cosmic Intervention. Ian Flemming sounds a lot more believable in the book.
One day I will succeed in my World Domination Plan and make everyone watch only films I like.
In one James Bond film the villain kept an actual ice fortress. But until then, sub-zero lairs, crusades on evil villains and tinkering with radical ideas are relegated to the provincial burden of anonymous bloggers and 007.
One might say I’m delusional. In True Blood, the reverend’s blonde wife gave the warrior crusader a handjob in a bathtub. The blonde faithful was the priest of the Church Children of the Sun and they send suicide bombers to kill vampires.
Back to troublesome leaders and things people shouldn’t say in dinner parties.
Both American Presidents started off by doing some stupid little things. Admittedly, in the case of Nixon, an exhilarating train of stupid little things leading to a lot of big stupid things. Before Deep Throat became a porn figure, he was bringing down presidents in trench coat. President Clinton was barely guilty of flirting. Never too popular with the porn cult now an acceptable excuse to tell a dirty joke in the funnier circles. If the Nixon tapes is a conversation starter apparently nobody wants to see Clinton videos.
Both presidents were prosecuted and accused of not telling citizens what they did.
Citizens knew, when they cast their vote, they weren’t looking for the smartest.
Most likely they voted for the best looking ones.
But again paraphrasing Dr. Thompson on this critical flaw of Nixon, there must be something wrong with a government that is pathologically unable to reveal the truth to their citizens.
For a bonus booklet and a short detour, Andy Warhol, Hunter S. Thompson and John Lennon all had accidents with gunshots. One was shot by a raging feminist. One radical shot himself. One was killed by a mad man. One draws the cover for the Rolling Stones, two made the cover when they died.
This month, John Lennon – with the Beatles – are once again on the cover of the Rolling Stones, mostly courtesy of the Steve Jobs – Apple buzz. Steve Jobs was a psychedelic figure and a product of San Franscisco of this era.
Freak occurrence, no?
Back to whatever it was we were talking about.
Wishful citizens and stupid governments, I think.
I don’t know what citizens can do. In other countries you can call your MPs or write to the papers but they also have a functioning postal system.
HST was disappointed to find the Haight Ashbury becoming capital of the hippies in 1967, questioning if the beatnik lions have become lepers. The hippies were losing their political conscience and social cause, they were only there to get stoned.
I think the hippies were there to get stoned anyway, whether something important - like a social revolution or anything equally history changing event - happened while you’re stoned or not is a matter of Fate though I could see the point he was trying to make.
Kerouac ’s chronicled road adventure was the equivalent of Marlowe’s trip up the river to earn a face to face audience with the horror of men. The horror was real, whether one required drugs to deal with the pain depending a lot of his personal choices.
Experimental ideas were thrown around the place. Brave New World speculates on a world sterile of radical ideas. Farenheit 451 took to extinguishing records of ideas and in The Man in the High Castle, Phillip K. Dick speculates on the scenario that Nazi Germany won both the war and the propaganda. Like most good books, all of them have been banned by different governments in different parts of the world.
Jack Kerouac, while editing Naked Lunch, was said to have asked Williams S. Burroughs, "Bill, what is all this stuff about young naked boys being hanged in limestone caves?" Burroughs retorted back, "No idea. I know I'm some kind of interplanetary agent but I don't think my signals are decoding properly."
If James Swift took to giants and small people and Marlowe met Colonel Kurtz, the Beatniks saw aliens.
In 1971, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was an epilogue to an era. Jim Morrison died in Paris. Sting and The Police sent an SOS message in a bottle, a cry for help forever trapped and left unread and released it as the white man’s reggae.
I believe the fear was real.
The fear and loathing came from a void, a sense of abandon and dismemberment of trust as social cohesion. Desperation leads a lot a lot of people to extremes. Language is prohibitive to reason sometimes.
There was a sense of helplessness to it.
You probably heard a lot more but you choose to remember a great deal less. Excess decadent of men and absurdity of demands was brutal and often tragic to the point of being pathetically funny.
After his aborted escape from Las Vegas, returned to find Dr. Gonzo, the Samoan attorney, introduced the only notable presence of women in the book, a barely legal painter with an unhealthy obsession with Barbra Streissand. The girl had been most probably drugged and raped under the influence of various drugs, alcohol and revolutionary ideas.
Duke realized that they really must have lost it completely and in panic, he flee.
“We’d abuse every rule that Vegas lived by. Burning the locals, abusing the tourist, terrifying the help. The only chance now, I felt now was the possibility that we’d gone to such excess that nobody in the position to bring down the hammer down on us could possibly believe it. “
Fear and loathing was a lot about Hunter looking at the edge of his generation. That point at the crest of a high and beautiful wave, at which point and only with the right kind of eyes, you could see the high water mark. That place where the wave finally breaks, and rolled back.
Samantha thought I was being awfully fatalistic, V, pointing to the man behind the mask said idea is bullet proof. That’s only in celluloid. In real life, V died but he blew himself up to be remembered forever. He died to live in bedtime stories.
This is a well known quality, martyrdom requires a stage friendly presentation. Authorities insists in proving that ideas could be killed. Poor people are prone to messianic ideas and for that, there was a very public execution to put an end to any arguments. Decisively. Che Guevara’s dead body was paraded so citizens can poke at the bullet holes.
The deafening silence of Indonesian leaderships to speak out at this defining moment in history will forever escape me. Maybe because fasting also requires them to speak less.
Samantha asked if this overly elongated blogpost was really provoked by the man with leather jacket and cheap tie. That by somehow observing the fashion sense of different revolutionary ideas, I glanced at that high water mark of the Indonesian dream and felt confident enough to write an obituary to Indonesian “Reformasi” era.
I don’t know. Stupidity have a knack of getting it’s way. I hope I’m wrong.
I really have no idea and merely contributing to the footnotes of history. That booklet I was reading earlier, in explaining Why the History of the English Law Has Not Been Finished in his inaugural lecture, J. H. Baker, Q.C. LL.D., F.B.A., Downing Professor of the Laws of England says that he was “concerned about the more basic truth that history cannot be written in any reliable way until the best evidence has been harvested.” (I didn’t make it up, that’s his real name and titles)
With Google and the Internet, history will be rewritten in search engine formulas at the behest of dropout geeks on a mission to catalogue all ideas on the planet to make all of them searchable by context, however ridiculous that sounds.
Consider this my contribution.
Read More..
he wrote upon the back side
of returned love letters and lost light years
readdressing them
to eternity Their cancelled postage stamps
wheeled away on round postmarks
and flew off like flying saucers
marked Moscow Los Angeles and New York
The moon turned to tenements
for lack of lovers And a cancelled George Washington
flew over America
~Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Bedtime Stories...
A series of events troubled me greatly recently. Some I wrote about but most I didn’t have the time. It it made me a bit sad. I love living here and I enjoy it a great deal and I think the country is full of wonderful people. I was just shocked to see the willingness of its citizens to abandon their government.
Many Indonesians – particularly those of my age – would tell me that I got it all wrong. They think their government abandons them. Most Indonesians won’t recognize Government if it were to stare right back in their faces. In fact, most Indonesians have no recollection of what Government is.
Government remains an incoherent abstract, non contextual entity for most Indonesian even after more than sixty years of Independence. Even after successive failures of numerous experiments, Government functions like a fabled black hole in a primitively structured society where Indonesians dump all hopes and pray something good will come out.
What struck me is that Indonesian people are often upset when this expectation failed to materialize, and also blame Government for these failures..
Ed Denson, an ex-Berkley radical said in 1967 of the hippies that if they “ were more realistic, they’d stand a better chance surviving. ” He could’ve been talking about Indonesia, circa 2009.
Allow me to give you the basics of Democracy and how it works.
You vote, they work. You vote them to work.
You do not vote for the smartest people – smart people are busy only with themselves and see no added value in collective interests, presumably because they’re smarter and know better. . Public service is not the high IQ club. The burden of governing nowadays come with legal liabilities and you pay peanuts. You pay peanuts, you get monkey.
I realize that I didn’t make Democracy sound terribly exciting, but rest assured, many great men have arrived to the same conclusion before. You just have to make it work. For you.
Or else, it wouldn’t work at all.
The defining characteristics of any leader is that they have at least one follower.
Twitter users know this well..
Goenawan Mohammad wrote about Yudhistira - I can’t find an English translation - but It made me think of the curious leadership of Pandawa’s eldest. Mahabrata is the oldest novel in history and the story was mostly about a leader with a gambling habit – and how the Kingdom he lead fared against Fate.
Yudhistira sat on a dice game and literally bet his nation, surrendering himself and his people to verdict of random probability.
Then he lost.
What does that say of mankind that our oldest civic society lesson, was taught in the form of good people wondering around in the woods doing a twelve steps program, before emerging victoriously in an epic and glorious bloodbath - all to redeem the gambling habit of a pale and quiet bastard from unhinged gods and goddesses ?
Plights of righteous men in messianic roles are commonly unpleasant and legendary in their fairy tale taste but they rarely base momentous decisions on a dice roll. Neo, at least trusted the Oracle and took with him lots of guns. Throwing a dice seemed awfully fatalistic.
There must’ve been many good qualities to Yudhistira and I leave it to Pak Goenawan Mohammad to spell out those wonderful things but it’s obvious that from the lesson of Mahabhrata, leadership qualities are not defined by the lack of vice in character.
Politicians are monkeys and leaders have bad habits.
They make reckless decision all the time..
The business of governing is complicated and citizens delegate to their lowest common denominator, that’s why it’s a wonderful thing to have if you ever get it to work.
Democracy is really, a rather crappy. Except that the true alternative to this horrible idea is to elect a King. Or a Chancellor.
I personally think Duke Treespotter sounds regal.
Indonesian citizens need to realize what they could reasonably expect from their leaders. I once, for example, suggested that introducing Mandatory Mosquito Bats for all citizens as their Constitutional Right. GJ further added how I could use that to help balance my fiscal policy, too.
Even the most seemingly balanced minded leaders have crazy ideas sometimes.
Citizens need to be aware of this.
In mitigating the potential damage from this ludicrously acceptable leadership, it’s worth learning a lesson or two from the Asterix comics.
In ancient Rome, the Republic was represented by the top elites of the breeding few. The lived in different days so there’s no point to ponder on the antics of their questionable habits but the model of leadership survived for thousands of years..
Rome grew to be a prosperous civilization. The parties in the thriving Capital were set to the standards of decadence suitable for demigods, Rome was the most happening thing since Babylon.
With everyone rich and happy, it was practical for the Senators to delegate governing to generals and harbormasters – they themselves were preoccupied perfecting bubble bath products, choosing wine and throwing sex parties. Some Senators – particularly the accountants – expressed concerns of how to afford those parties and that Rome might require a new economic approach but most of Senators were too drunk to care.
The only sensible policy left to keep the republic civil was that nobody was allowed to carry weapons or bring soldiers within the city limit. Both rules were broken when Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his army to reprimand those Senators, and later stabbed 22 times on the senate floor by his fellow supposedly unarmed citizens. It marked the end of the Republic. Octavius stopped bothering with Senates altogether and started calling himself emperor.
From the Roman, we know exactly how not to do a Republic. No soldiering or sharp instruments.
A few thousand years later, in another republic, when America entered a defining moment in its modern role of post war guardianship, right after the inauguration of President Nixon, HST wrote worriedly that the President, “moved into a vacuum that neither he nor his creatures understand. They are setting up, right now, in the calm eye of a hurricane… and if they think the winds have died, they are in for a bad shock.”
I wrote today to Mr. Andi Mallarangeng, the spokesperson for President Yudhoyono, wondering if anyone is advising the President properly. Frankly, i'm very worried.
Though there was no serious soldiering or sharp instruments involved, President Richard Nixon took America on a roller coaster ride leading to his impeachment. I’m still not sure what happened but there were spies, robbers, senators, bankers, jews, secret agencies and a whole lot of obscure tapes of conversations.
The whole thing tested the limits of the American leadership, all the way to the top of the pile – the president himself was fired and very nearly arrested. All The President’s Men is based on the book of the same name. Oliver Stone’s Nixon is good if you’re not claustrophobic.
I’m not sure what the lesson is from President Nixon, except that citizen got to say to the President, with all due respect,
“No, sir. You can’t do everything you like.”
Also you should be careful with conversation records.
The bottom line being, Democracy is not insurance against bad things. Democracy is mostly about the system we have in place to accommodate exactly what to do when bad things happen.
Run by monkeys and all, the business of governing gets to do with a lot of bad things.
Shit happens. That’s physics.
To the footnotes of the Mahabhrata epic, Yudhistira lead his brothers for their climb of redemption to the top of the world where one by one, they succumbed to lonely and distant death, forever frozen, their destinies eternally fulfilled.
Most leaders of infant democracies consider themselves lucky if they were not deposed and exiled at the end of their terms. The burden of leadership is often unforgiving and just as brutal and sad. But always worse is the rage of the people – or those hating you enough to bring weapons within the city limits.
I was in Thailand a while ago and witnessed some of the Thai style democracy, large crowd holding picket lines and blocking traffic in the city. It was mostly peaceful compared to those I’ve seen in Jakarta but the sights of tanks on the streets scared me a little. I don’t think anyone like to see tanks on the street. What usually happens when people with guns stands against people without guns?
Democracy demands some dignity, that people trust themselves they can speak their mind without killing each other. I’m not sure Indonesians appreciate what they have.
What’s surprising is they have forgotten it so quickly.
I think acceptable values to a respectable modern day man are generally defined by the air conditioning system. It is time Indonesians learn doing their politics indoors. Important decisions are taken only in the cold rooms. Roadside democracy is impractical with the traffic jam.
John Lennon said he wanted the revolution from his bed. Andy Warhol said in the future, everyone will be on television for 15 minutes. Indonesia has an excitable media scene and some 30 million internet users. On late night MTV shows, rockstars twits fans and insomniacs from their PJs and mockprop bedroom. I thought that was cute. I don’t know.
The important message here is that democracy requires your participation.
Democracy is not a five yearly ritual. If Indonesians believe that ticking multiple choice ballots one morning every five years will make your life better then this will be the end of today’s civic lesson. Go watch the funeral of the King of Pop. It’s on Youtube.
Most Indonesians are quick to jump on the faults of their leaders and yet, when asked, what exactly they think they should do, they stuttered.
Samantha, Irish and blond, calling from San Francisco, asking of more evidence of why I think this relapse of judgment is okay with post millennium Indonesians.
I admit, I might sound a little melodramatic.
I can’t help some colorful in romanticizing on what hopes I have of this Nation but a lot of Indonesians did go through a great deal of trouble to have what they have now and more. How they’re about to lose it and roll back on everything without realizing it happening is maddening.
I think the answer is really because a great many Indonesians are fairly richer than their companions today compared to they were ten years ago. The arrival of a tidal middle class with the full humdrums of a stubborn silence and the country tumbled under the avalanche of their mediocrity.
It’s amazing that Mr. Creed was not dispatched immediately.
The middle class are notoriously promiscuous and in the hyper urban Jakarta manners, almost hormonal. Most people care more of food and traffic jams. The lack of leadership qualities in the this particular caste is vulgar. Metrosexual suburbunites, semi literated and over saturated by ideas sold in small boxes – they trust no one and believe only things in their Blackberries. Steve Jobs used acid and Apple was named after the Beatles. Is it more relevant now?
It is really hard to get their attention.
As the euphoric election high wears off, the economy struck and the nation going slowly back to normalcy, more and more people are learning that their social and political progress do not track comparably to their economic progress. A lot of people are hitting fatigued by politics and tabloid television, everybody else who care enough for anything are planning their holidays.
Roughly a year ago, also nearing the last week of Ramadan, I was doing exactly the same thing – catching up with the news mostly while researching a few things, My subject then was the free fall in global market and holiday season in Indonesia. I was particularly interested to see how modern Indonesian leaderships react, returning from holiday only to the rest of the world gone bananas.
You can go back in the archive to see what I dabbled about those days but there is almost a pattern to it. The eerie similarities is a little spooky. Freak occurrence, I’m not sure how it could be that in many ways, they are the same things as they are about these days. Unless it’s really the same things.You can’t help but think if there’s a picture of Dorian Gray in the attic growing old.
I think it’s because the peak of the holiday season is usually the quietest week of the year and everyone wants only to hear good news. If you ever done anything bad, this would be the time to let everyone know about it.
Indonesians and Moslems are generous with favors and particularly most forgiving around this time of year. This is the time to get away with many, many things and hope you never get caught because nobody heard about it.
Samantha reminded me that I’m anal with numbers, my peculiar fixation on small details irritating and my predisposition to confrontation offensive. As much as I must accept those as the flaws of my character I have to point out that citizens may choose to care or not about it later but to demand that they care without giving them accurate and timely information is pretentious and really, rathat academics.
Alphonse Bertillon, a French police officer created anthropometry, an identification system based on physical measurements. He wrote the manual for first scientific system to identify criminals and granfathered CSI and modern day forensics. He said you only observe things that are already in your head.
The journalistic profession does not develop immunity to this basic flaw of man. HST said that if told the truth of what he knew 600 people from Rio to Seattle will be rotting in jail. Absolute truth and rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.
I have never believed in the notion of independent reporting. The people who believe in independent reporting live in complete denial to pantomime indifference to the obvious and self gratifying fact - that their report matters.
Independent reporting in modern day television is a state of denial, we – the moden audience - tolerate it to a degree that it keeps the system going and keeps us from going completely nuts.
I watch DVDs and watch only very little television..
You can trust the media only to tell you about roughly as much things as what you can say in a dinner conversation before you make the other guests cringe.. In America, President Clinton was made to say the word SEX on tv setting the millennium standard for acceptable in polite company.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care because I don’t get invited to polite dinner parties anyway.
Only I find it alarming that the press establishment have a consistently blonde disregard for facts or coherent storylines.
Indonesian press establishment – despite their noble aspirations – maintains similar disturbing signs of denial, in their unformed reluctance to adhere to standards applied in other lands. Political interests with direct control of media interests get to title headlines and look at the teleprompter. Business reporting and economic advice came with no financial disclosures and publishing inconclusive information is a common and acceptable practice. As much as I hate defamation laws, the only way to admit and demand retractions and corrections from the media barons is by taking them to court.
Still in their pubescent days, television doesn’t seem to know what they can do and cannot do, Which is strange since televisions existed before presidents. Orwell warned citizens the dangers of television before television exists. You should have known..Nixon was convinced that television conspired against him. I think the argument was that television discriminates against the better looking half of the population.
The only reason they got mentioned here is because they play a peculiar role. Between the people and their government, and the court and the banks and the beautiful people and everyone else in the country, press establishment is responsible for a cohesive bond of thoughts, ideas, conversations, questions. Chomsky explained that modern day people and even the conspiratorially controlled media corporations do this to keep “dissent and disinformation within bounds and at the margin.” Their job is to convince Indonesians to do their Democracy indoors.
That Award guy, Joseph Pullitzer said something about republic – "Our Republic and its press will rise or fall together. An able, disinterested, public-spirited press, with trained intelligence to know the right and courage to do it, can preserve that public virtue without which popular government is a sham and a mockery."
Appealing to the scholarly priests and prayers to ancient gods are probably the only options left for most Indonesians but in the grand scheme of things, I don’t really buy membership cards for the afterlife and I don’t have library cards. I think government should govern and priests should pray and the two should do their best not to annoy each other..
Organized religion introduced a new ruling class of by providing legitimacy to accommodate obsolete ideals and substantiate the hopefuls. It’s a common pact for society to agree to not move forward, ever from etched ideas that will only turn stale and frozen and irrelevant. While it may sound absurd to some, Flintstones have a certain retro quality to eat. Some nostalgic appeal when things were, well, Stone-age-ish. Whatever.
Religious organizations however, often mutate into cancerous concerns with similarly promiscuous morals as their nationalist politician cousins in the social power structure. If religion is benign and probably nurious, religious lobby and special interests groups are parasites to effective governing. At best, they could serve as distraction but the last two elections have practically rendered Indonesian moslems a minor power in the political map.
At some point Indonesian Moslems and the Knights Templar of all holy causes must wake up to the fact that their influence in modern day Indonesia is being rendered irrelevant, not because the citizens no longer believe in God or the Zionists or more sinister scheming of the godless infidels, but it’s because the politicking of religion have turned the Prophet’s proud example for commercial endorsements on cellular phones and supermarket snacks.
A threat emerging from the bowels of unchecked greed of politicians and provided for by cooperative economic interests, secretly controlling the fate of a nation by twittering from the boardrooms of media barons, under the blessing and protection of Priests of Cosmic Intervention. Ian Flemming sounds a lot more believable in the book.
One day I will succeed in my World Domination Plan and make everyone watch only films I like.
In one James Bond film the villain kept an actual ice fortress. But until then, sub-zero lairs, crusades on evil villains and tinkering with radical ideas are relegated to the provincial burden of anonymous bloggers and 007.
One might say I’m delusional. In True Blood, the reverend’s blonde wife gave the warrior crusader a handjob in a bathtub. The blonde faithful was the priest of the Church Children of the Sun and they send suicide bombers to kill vampires.
Back to troublesome leaders and things people shouldn’t say in dinner parties.
Both American Presidents started off by doing some stupid little things. Admittedly, in the case of Nixon, an exhilarating train of stupid little things leading to a lot of big stupid things. Before Deep Throat became a porn figure, he was bringing down presidents in trench coat. President Clinton was barely guilty of flirting. Never too popular with the porn cult now an acceptable excuse to tell a dirty joke in the funnier circles. If the Nixon tapes is a conversation starter apparently nobody wants to see Clinton videos.
Both presidents were prosecuted and accused of not telling citizens what they did.
Citizens knew, when they cast their vote, they weren’t looking for the smartest.
Most likely they voted for the best looking ones.
But again paraphrasing Dr. Thompson on this critical flaw of Nixon, there must be something wrong with a government that is pathologically unable to reveal the truth to their citizens.
For a bonus booklet and a short detour, Andy Warhol, Hunter S. Thompson and John Lennon all had accidents with gunshots. One was shot by a raging feminist. One radical shot himself. One was killed by a mad man. One draws the cover for the Rolling Stones, two made the cover when they died.
This month, John Lennon – with the Beatles – are once again on the cover of the Rolling Stones, mostly courtesy of the Steve Jobs – Apple buzz. Steve Jobs was a psychedelic figure and a product of San Franscisco of this era.
Freak occurrence, no?
Back to whatever it was we were talking about.
Wishful citizens and stupid governments, I think.
I don’t know what citizens can do. In other countries you can call your MPs or write to the papers but they also have a functioning postal system.
HST was disappointed to find the Haight Ashbury becoming capital of the hippies in 1967, questioning if the beatnik lions have become lepers. The hippies were losing their political conscience and social cause, they were only there to get stoned.
I think the hippies were there to get stoned anyway, whether something important - like a social revolution or anything equally history changing event - happened while you’re stoned or not is a matter of Fate though I could see the point he was trying to make.
Kerouac ’s chronicled road adventure was the equivalent of Marlowe’s trip up the river to earn a face to face audience with the horror of men. The horror was real, whether one required drugs to deal with the pain depending a lot of his personal choices.
Experimental ideas were thrown around the place. Brave New World speculates on a world sterile of radical ideas. Farenheit 451 took to extinguishing records of ideas and in The Man in the High Castle, Phillip K. Dick speculates on the scenario that Nazi Germany won both the war and the propaganda. Like most good books, all of them have been banned by different governments in different parts of the world.
Jack Kerouac, while editing Naked Lunch, was said to have asked Williams S. Burroughs, "Bill, what is all this stuff about young naked boys being hanged in limestone caves?" Burroughs retorted back, "No idea. I know I'm some kind of interplanetary agent but I don't think my signals are decoding properly."
If James Swift took to giants and small people and Marlowe met Colonel Kurtz, the Beatniks saw aliens.
In 1971, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was an epilogue to an era. Jim Morrison died in Paris. Sting and The Police sent an SOS message in a bottle, a cry for help forever trapped and left unread and released it as the white man’s reggae.
I believe the fear was real.
The fear and loathing came from a void, a sense of abandon and dismemberment of trust as social cohesion. Desperation leads a lot a lot of people to extremes. Language is prohibitive to reason sometimes.
There was a sense of helplessness to it.
You probably heard a lot more but you choose to remember a great deal less. Excess decadent of men and absurdity of demands was brutal and often tragic to the point of being pathetically funny.
After his aborted escape from Las Vegas, returned to find Dr. Gonzo, the Samoan attorney, introduced the only notable presence of women in the book, a barely legal painter with an unhealthy obsession with Barbra Streissand. The girl had been most probably drugged and raped under the influence of various drugs, alcohol and revolutionary ideas.
Duke realized that they really must have lost it completely and in panic, he flee.
“We’d abuse every rule that Vegas lived by. Burning the locals, abusing the tourist, terrifying the help. The only chance now, I felt now was the possibility that we’d gone to such excess that nobody in the position to bring down the hammer down on us could possibly believe it. “
Fear and loathing was a lot about Hunter looking at the edge of his generation. That point at the crest of a high and beautiful wave, at which point and only with the right kind of eyes, you could see the high water mark. That place where the wave finally breaks, and rolled back.
Samantha thought I was being awfully fatalistic, V, pointing to the man behind the mask said idea is bullet proof. That’s only in celluloid. In real life, V died but he blew himself up to be remembered forever. He died to live in bedtime stories.
This is a well known quality, martyrdom requires a stage friendly presentation. Authorities insists in proving that ideas could be killed. Poor people are prone to messianic ideas and for that, there was a very public execution to put an end to any arguments. Decisively. Che Guevara’s dead body was paraded so citizens can poke at the bullet holes.
The deafening silence of Indonesian leaderships to speak out at this defining moment in history will forever escape me. Maybe because fasting also requires them to speak less.
Samantha asked if this overly elongated blogpost was really provoked by the man with leather jacket and cheap tie. That by somehow observing the fashion sense of different revolutionary ideas, I glanced at that high water mark of the Indonesian dream and felt confident enough to write an obituary to Indonesian “Reformasi” era.
I don’t know. Stupidity have a knack of getting it’s way. I hope I’m wrong.
I really have no idea and merely contributing to the footnotes of history. That booklet I was reading earlier, in explaining Why the History of the English Law Has Not Been Finished in his inaugural lecture, J. H. Baker, Q.C. LL.D., F.B.A., Downing Professor of the Laws of England says that he was “concerned about the more basic truth that history cannot be written in any reliable way until the best evidence has been harvested.” (I didn’t make it up, that’s his real name and titles)
With Google and the Internet, history will be rewritten in search engine formulas at the behest of dropout geeks on a mission to catalogue all ideas on the planet to make all of them searchable by context, however ridiculous that sounds.
Consider this my contribution.
Friday, September 11, 2009
on Bank Century
To everyone looking for posts on Bank Century and other stuff on Indonesian banking system, you can find them here.
I wrote about Tempo's cover story on Bank Century, here.
About the numbers on Bank Century, here.
A Qs and As on Bank Century, Part I - here.
and Part II, here.
Read More..
I wrote about Tempo's cover story on Bank Century, here.
About the numbers on Bank Century, here.
A Qs and As on Bank Century, Part I - here.
and Part II, here.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
on Short Thoughts
Hi all,
I haven’t been writing properly of late, I know. I been bad. What’s the point of keeping a blog if you weren’t going to write anything, right?
Well, I still do write, even if I’m no longer funny.
I moved all the Indonesia-related stuff to my other blog, where I’m always sober. Respectable people read that blog and they’re probably not too interested in knowing details of the shenanigans I get myself into.
The other things will stay here. The people, the trolls, the rodents, the girls, the parties, the madness, the rant, the rock concerts and the other useless stuff.
I’m not sure why people insist on having a ‘use’ for blogging. If you really want to be useful, you should be a carpenter.
I recently launched my campaign to be the Governor of Jakarta. My first official policy will be to curb the use of plastic bags in this town. Jakarta being the city of excess, plastic bag usage in this town is disgusting.
A lot of things in this town need fixing up and I can do better than the current governor. I’m also much better looking.
Most recently, Governor of Jakarta decided to enforce the bylaws prohibiting poverty. The city bused away 1,500 beggars and homeless people as well as 12 good Samaritans who gave money to people on the street (they’re fined on the spot).
To be perfectly honest, I don’t like poor people much either. They’re smelly and ugly and mostly not very well educated. If it were up to me, I’d make being poor illegal outright and set up one of the outlying islands to keep them away from the city.
Then again, it wouldn’t be very nice.
So far, my World Domination Plan hasn’t quite gotten anywhere yet. Mr. Fauzi Bowo, the Governor (aka. “Foke”) has billboards all over the city with his well trimmed moustache and I’m still trying to get enough Twitter followers to make my voice heard. I have about 900 now. I’ll start a religion when I have 2000 and Foke will have to take me seriously then.
There was an earthquake in Jakarta last week. It was a big one and it was all over Java. We just don’t normally get big quakes in Jakarta but the last one was pretty strong. Apparently my building swung side to side and people panicked into the emergency stairway. I wasn’t there so I can’t tell you how it feels. I was driving and I didn’t feel a thing. Maybe I’m just numb.
I think my depression is getting worse. I can tell when I get worse cause my writing goes all over the place. My sleeping pattern is going back to the 36 hours cycle and I feel physically weak most of the time even if my head was raging like a hurricane of fish. The Jedis can’t help me much, Me and My Head is my problem alone though I do occasionally wish there’s someone around.
Mother is in Europe along with Lil Sis and everyone else. Mother was last heard in Prague and Lil Sis in Austria. I hope one of them keeps a map. I’m going to the villa for the Lebaran holiday and will just stay there. Maybe read a little and write a little. Maybe I feel better when I get back.
I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Still on rodents. The Girl Previously Known As The ATM Girl was back briefly but like Samantha said, a barely legal starlet with a rap sheet longer than me. She’s too much trouble than I can afford at the moment and I’d rather not.
I guess that’s that. In short, this is still a year like any other year. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, just as the noisiest insist that its being received, for good or evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
I promise to write more often and spend less time on twitter.
Ciao all.
Read More..
I haven’t been writing properly of late, I know. I been bad. What’s the point of keeping a blog if you weren’t going to write anything, right?
Well, I still do write, even if I’m no longer funny.
I moved all the Indonesia-related stuff to my other blog, where I’m always sober. Respectable people read that blog and they’re probably not too interested in knowing details of the shenanigans I get myself into.
The other things will stay here. The people, the trolls, the rodents, the girls, the parties, the madness, the rant, the rock concerts and the other useless stuff.
I’m not sure why people insist on having a ‘use’ for blogging. If you really want to be useful, you should be a carpenter.
I recently launched my campaign to be the Governor of Jakarta. My first official policy will be to curb the use of plastic bags in this town. Jakarta being the city of excess, plastic bag usage in this town is disgusting.
A lot of things in this town need fixing up and I can do better than the current governor. I’m also much better looking.
Most recently, Governor of Jakarta decided to enforce the bylaws prohibiting poverty. The city bused away 1,500 beggars and homeless people as well as 12 good Samaritans who gave money to people on the street (they’re fined on the spot).
To be perfectly honest, I don’t like poor people much either. They’re smelly and ugly and mostly not very well educated. If it were up to me, I’d make being poor illegal outright and set up one of the outlying islands to keep them away from the city.
Then again, it wouldn’t be very nice.
So far, my World Domination Plan hasn’t quite gotten anywhere yet. Mr. Fauzi Bowo, the Governor (aka. “Foke”) has billboards all over the city with his well trimmed moustache and I’m still trying to get enough Twitter followers to make my voice heard. I have about 900 now. I’ll start a religion when I have 2000 and Foke will have to take me seriously then.
There was an earthquake in Jakarta last week. It was a big one and it was all over Java. We just don’t normally get big quakes in Jakarta but the last one was pretty strong. Apparently my building swung side to side and people panicked into the emergency stairway. I wasn’t there so I can’t tell you how it feels. I was driving and I didn’t feel a thing. Maybe I’m just numb.
I think my depression is getting worse. I can tell when I get worse cause my writing goes all over the place. My sleeping pattern is going back to the 36 hours cycle and I feel physically weak most of the time even if my head was raging like a hurricane of fish. The Jedis can’t help me much, Me and My Head is my problem alone though I do occasionally wish there’s someone around.
Mother is in Europe along with Lil Sis and everyone else. Mother was last heard in Prague and Lil Sis in Austria. I hope one of them keeps a map. I’m going to the villa for the Lebaran holiday and will just stay there. Maybe read a little and write a little. Maybe I feel better when I get back.
I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Still on rodents. The Girl Previously Known As The ATM Girl was back briefly but like Samantha said, a barely legal starlet with a rap sheet longer than me. She’s too much trouble than I can afford at the moment and I’d rather not.
I guess that’s that. In short, this is still a year like any other year. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, just as the noisiest insist that its being received, for good or evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
I promise to write more often and spend less time on twitter.
Ciao all.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
on Conversation in Small Bottles
Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh
More loneliness than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh
I'm sending S.O.S. to the world
~Message in the Bottle, Sting & The Police
I never liked my birthday much – funny things always happened to it and I’m left with most of August only trying to figure it out.
I ran into Princess during grocery the other week. She was buying a trolley load of tomatoes, saying she forgot what they tasted like. She uses ketchup instead, with everything.
I ran into the old man at the Ritz Carlton. He asked of my inquiries about a certain public prosecutor. I said it was curious that the head of detention at the AGO office – a mid ranking public servant – drives a midnight black X Type Jaguar with custom wheels. He said he’ll look into it. I asked him not to. Not for a while but I was genuinely irked. I am doing my best not to get involved in this. Honest.
I been listening to the same Dave Matthews song for the past few weeks. Something about celebrating things we can not change. I sing the song everywhere in my head, I almost sang it to a client but I caught me in time.
I ran into an old friend of mine whose vulgar and brutal divorce recently went through. He wasn’t completely sober when I asked but claimed that he was lucky. He said he was lucky he could afford it.
.
I met a girl who didn’t know who Keith Richard was.
I met mother just before she left for Europe and she said I looked skinnier. She looked a little older. She said one of her fabulously mannered and oversized Alsatians has a skin problem and asked if I could take her to the vet.
I heard from Lil Sis, she is in Austria doing something. She said it’s cold out there and she forgot to bring her coats. She was about to cross the border into Germany.
I heard a Jedi is planning a European trip to the book fair in Frankfurt and I told mother she should go and get me some books. She used to get me books from her travels until I was old enough and traveled more than her. I rarely bought her anything. These days she never brought me anything back.
I heard that Candi is also in Europe.
I once went to the book fair in Frankfurt. I got bored walking around so I found a quiet corner for a drink where there was a blonde looking kinda sad. I asked if she knew the German word for “beautiful”. I don’t remember what she said but she told me what it was. She spoke fluent English and taught me a few more words. I lost track of time and stayed long after the book fair until I ran out of money and had to ask her for the train ticket back to Braunschweig. She gave me a few hundred Marks and I never see her since.
I brought back with me Wittgenstein Mistress by David Markson which was a very good read and the German girl scribbled something on the margin on page 34. I wish she left her name cause my memory is failing me at the moment. The book plays with language and of what things you think you know. The things you think you know are dangerous.
I saw my brother, whose birthday is the day after mine, looking better than he had in years. He also had a hot looking girl to his side. He always does.
I spoke to Daisy. I have not spoken to her for a while. She’s older than me by a few years but never looked a day older than 22. She looked twenty two five years ago and she looked twenty two last weekend. I never figure her out either. When she was really little, Daisy was a genuine Javanese princess. Four well and able men carried her to school every day, along with a royal chambermaid. She was an awesome kiss and taught me all of ancient Javanese art of romance. It’s wildly fascinating. I might see her this weekend.
I’ve a terrible toothache and I can’t focus on anything.
I bought myself presents from the bookshop. One of them is a Neruda collection, Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. I like it a lot. Lepreous kisses and implacable spear, in Singapore. How did he get away with words like those, really?
I didn’t like Singapore before I like it less. In fact, Candi was the only good thing about Singapore before she went stale. The iron sun from above probably ruined her. She was a nice girl to start with.
I spoke to Samantha who asked if I still believe in God. I asked if she could explain God but she didn’t have enough international credit. Sam called from Los Angeles and said the weather was ugly. She couldn’t wait to go back to San Francisco. She said she is spending Christmas in the States and asked if I could join her in Lake Tahoe. I asked if she was seeing anyone at the moment and told her I will be checking flights and figure out if I could really afford it.
I started watching television a while ago to see what it’s like. Indonesian television are full of ugly pictures. I need to have cable to see more of Tara Reid. Any other blondes with cleavage will do, too.
Samantha said her boobs are bigger.
I met a pilot who wanted me to have a look at a plan to do a small regional airline. A fleet of small Beechcraft amphibious planes and cheap landing fee to connect obscure dots on the map. I said I’d look at any plans so long as it doesn’t require me to actually get on any of those planes. I don’t really like small planes.
I asked if David would still be David had he lost to Goliath. I’m not sure what the scripture said but most of the Psalms sound scary.
I found out that the origin of the word ‘kudos’ was synonymous with ‘prestige’ which was defined by Thomas Blount in a 1656 glossary of hard words as ‘deceits, impostures, delusions, cousening tricks’.
I also found out that Felicitas was a goddess that brought happiness.
I launched my campaign to be Governor of Jakarta. My first program will be to eliminate plastic bags – at least curb the excessive abuse of it. You can help my campaign if you use fewer plastic bags.
I saw Lita and we went for the Phoenix concert and she threw a party afterward. I wrote about her a lot but I could never remember what I call her on this blog. The naming convention requires a complete rework if it were to make sense. She was in Jakarta twice, each for a few days and spent most of them with me. She now has a much improved swing and I lost fifty bucks in a golf game to a lesbian. She asked if governors could do anything exciting. Vivian said it depends on the pills.
I almost died laughing.
Read More..
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh
More loneliness than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh
I'm sending S.O.S. to the world
~Message in the Bottle, Sting & The Police
I never liked my birthday much – funny things always happened to it and I’m left with most of August only trying to figure it out.
I ran into Princess during grocery the other week. She was buying a trolley load of tomatoes, saying she forgot what they tasted like. She uses ketchup instead, with everything.
I ran into the old man at the Ritz Carlton. He asked of my inquiries about a certain public prosecutor. I said it was curious that the head of detention at the AGO office – a mid ranking public servant – drives a midnight black X Type Jaguar with custom wheels. He said he’ll look into it. I asked him not to. Not for a while but I was genuinely irked. I am doing my best not to get involved in this. Honest.
I been listening to the same Dave Matthews song for the past few weeks. Something about celebrating things we can not change. I sing the song everywhere in my head, I almost sang it to a client but I caught me in time.
I ran into an old friend of mine whose vulgar and brutal divorce recently went through. He wasn’t completely sober when I asked but claimed that he was lucky. He said he was lucky he could afford it.
.
I met a girl who didn’t know who Keith Richard was.
I met mother just before she left for Europe and she said I looked skinnier. She looked a little older. She said one of her fabulously mannered and oversized Alsatians has a skin problem and asked if I could take her to the vet.
I heard from Lil Sis, she is in Austria doing something. She said it’s cold out there and she forgot to bring her coats. She was about to cross the border into Germany.
I heard a Jedi is planning a European trip to the book fair in Frankfurt and I told mother she should go and get me some books. She used to get me books from her travels until I was old enough and traveled more than her. I rarely bought her anything. These days she never brought me anything back.
I heard that Candi is also in Europe.
I once went to the book fair in Frankfurt. I got bored walking around so I found a quiet corner for a drink where there was a blonde looking kinda sad. I asked if she knew the German word for “beautiful”. I don’t remember what she said but she told me what it was. She spoke fluent English and taught me a few more words. I lost track of time and stayed long after the book fair until I ran out of money and had to ask her for the train ticket back to Braunschweig. She gave me a few hundred Marks and I never see her since.
I brought back with me Wittgenstein Mistress by David Markson which was a very good read and the German girl scribbled something on the margin on page 34. I wish she left her name cause my memory is failing me at the moment. The book plays with language and of what things you think you know. The things you think you know are dangerous.
I saw my brother, whose birthday is the day after mine, looking better than he had in years. He also had a hot looking girl to his side. He always does.
I spoke to Daisy. I have not spoken to her for a while. She’s older than me by a few years but never looked a day older than 22. She looked twenty two five years ago and she looked twenty two last weekend. I never figure her out either. When she was really little, Daisy was a genuine Javanese princess. Four well and able men carried her to school every day, along with a royal chambermaid. She was an awesome kiss and taught me all of ancient Javanese art of romance. It’s wildly fascinating. I might see her this weekend.
I’ve a terrible toothache and I can’t focus on anything.
I bought myself presents from the bookshop. One of them is a Neruda collection, Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. I like it a lot. Lepreous kisses and implacable spear, in Singapore. How did he get away with words like those, really?
I didn’t like Singapore before I like it less. In fact, Candi was the only good thing about Singapore before she went stale. The iron sun from above probably ruined her. She was a nice girl to start with.
I spoke to Samantha who asked if I still believe in God. I asked if she could explain God but she didn’t have enough international credit. Sam called from Los Angeles and said the weather was ugly. She couldn’t wait to go back to San Francisco. She said she is spending Christmas in the States and asked if I could join her in Lake Tahoe. I asked if she was seeing anyone at the moment and told her I will be checking flights and figure out if I could really afford it.
I started watching television a while ago to see what it’s like. Indonesian television are full of ugly pictures. I need to have cable to see more of Tara Reid. Any other blondes with cleavage will do, too.
Samantha said her boobs are bigger.
I met a pilot who wanted me to have a look at a plan to do a small regional airline. A fleet of small Beechcraft amphibious planes and cheap landing fee to connect obscure dots on the map. I said I’d look at any plans so long as it doesn’t require me to actually get on any of those planes. I don’t really like small planes.
I asked if David would still be David had he lost to Goliath. I’m not sure what the scripture said but most of the Psalms sound scary.
I found out that the origin of the word ‘kudos’ was synonymous with ‘prestige’ which was defined by Thomas Blount in a 1656 glossary of hard words as ‘deceits, impostures, delusions, cousening tricks’.
I also found out that Felicitas was a goddess that brought happiness.
I launched my campaign to be Governor of Jakarta. My first program will be to eliminate plastic bags – at least curb the excessive abuse of it. You can help my campaign if you use fewer plastic bags.
I saw Lita and we went for the Phoenix concert and she threw a party afterward. I wrote about her a lot but I could never remember what I call her on this blog. The naming convention requires a complete rework if it were to make sense. She was in Jakarta twice, each for a few days and spent most of them with me. She now has a much improved swing and I lost fifty bucks in a golf game to a lesbian. She asked if governors could do anything exciting. Vivian said it depends on the pills.
I almost died laughing.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
on Birthdays
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
~Robert Frost
The day after our birthday I went to look for Vivian and found her in Harvey Nichols buying presents for herself. She was standing next to a large pile of designer boxes with a bag of flowers laid on top while an effeminate store attendant hovered nearby.
I didn’t really check how I looked but there were mirrors on the isles and I glanced a few times. I looked okay I thought, though I could do with a haircut and some weight. I was carrying nothing. I was reading a magazine in the cab but I put it away in the bin by the entrance. I now regretted it. I like having a magazine in my hand just in case I need to hit myself. I should’ve kept the magazine and not throw it away.
Sometimes, I get nervous to see Vivian. I’m okay with her in painting lessons in Ubud or at home on the couch or just pulling crazies in pubs and clubs and places. We had fun playing Xbox. Sometimes, I took pictures and she posed and we spent hours on Photoshop making her look better. Occasionally though, I see Vivian in her natural habitat of glitzy crowd and I feel out of place.
I spotted her in one corner, wearing a soft and very white little dress with whiter frills around the edge, six inches or so below the waist. The material showed her skin tone, glowing almost pink. I had to ask if she was wearing underwear and she cracked her first laugh. She wore a small hot pants underneath, tight but came with several pockets, she said. I asked if the pockets were at all useful, but apparently they’re for show only. I complimented her ass and the laced heels she had, a shade of purple with too much red to match her lips and the stones on her ears. She walked like she knew she was looking good, too. I said she looked spectacular. She asked if I knew how much those heels cost. She said the shoes made her ass look good but it was a pain to walk in and after a few hours she usually didn’t care that much if her ass looked good. I nodded and said nothing.
I saw an Aksara bag and asked if she bought me any books. No, she bought some paperweights, she said, along with two pairs of shoes and a couple of dresses and other things, I wasn’t paying attention to the rest of it. The store attendant returned to finish his business and we left the shopping area to Social House for a drink. I had to help her with the bags and carried the ones with the shoes.
As we walked she asked of the dog, if he could do any new tricks. I told her no, he was too stubborn for tricks. She suggested we head on home later to play with the dog. We were walking through the male clothes and Vi asked if I had any interesting present. Nothing too special I said, the highlight was a cool t-shirt a Jedi gave me and a big ice cream cake and a bottle of Grey Goose that another sent to the house. She asked if Princess called and if she said anything but I didn’t feel like telling. Vi didn't like Princess much and it would be a conversation killer to talk of that person.
I thought out loud that August used to be more fun. She asked of the girl I was having a crush on and thought it was funny that I was seeing a criminal while I was not seeing the prostitute. She suggested I broaden my horizon.
We moved up the escalator and found an empty sofa on the furthest end, by the corner with the open large windows looking directly into Jakarta traffic. The wind was nice. The waiter came and took our orders, wine for Vi and oj for me. I needed the vitamin C. Vivian said her birthday was rather fun with lots of her friends. Everyone looked good and phony, she couldn’t tell if they were happy or just drunk but the party was fun. She said Sugar Daddy wanted to take her away for the weekend but she didn’t want to go on account that it was the fasting month. She said he wasn’t happy about it since he wouldn’t be able to get away from his wife and kids during the holy month.
I asked if prostitutes charge more during the month on moral grounds. She explained the basics of supply and demand and we discussed interest rates for a bit. Vivian asked if I was still seeing Olive and I told her no. I haven’t seen Olive since a little a run in a while ago in Potatohead. She was mad at me because I slept with her best friend and explicitly pronounced our social acquaintanceship over and done with. Vivian thought I was awful and called me an asshole. I suggested they start a club.
I didn’t know what Olive wanted. I was probably more than a little crazy about her and she was really, certifiably exciting, but I never got to figure out what she wanted. I felt really stupid then and I still do. Vivian told me it was okay to be stupid every once in a while and I felt better for a moment.
I told her I suspected I was going insane, slowly. Vi asked curiously if I heard voices or saw any vision. I wasn’t sure so I shrugged. She didn’t seem alarmed. I said I see words but there was no stories and it was really hard to focus on anything without a beginning or no ends. She said most people are insane, they just didn’t know it. I stared at her eyebrows for a while. She had them done since we last met, it was blacker and stronger now. I asked if she felt older. She felt how I felt, she said. We were born into this at almost exactly the same time.
She explained that her hairdresser did something to make her hair appear longer. I wasn’t even curious of how that was possible. She was thinking about having her boobs done but I thought they looked fine. I suggested we go home and fiddle.
She had very long fingers. Modern day nail care was expensive she said. Her touch soft and moisturized and just a little sad. She’s trying some new things, she said. She wasn’t crazy about the smell but it made her skin softer. Vivian stopped in the middle of her beauty train and stood to reach for one of her shoeboxes to show me a very small pair of sneakers. She had a daughter she didn’t see very often and she bought shoes, couldn’t think of anything else she might’ve wanted, Vi said. She asked if it was tough to grow up without a father. I said growing up without a father was okay but my mother beat me up. Vivian ordered vanilla ice cream with nothing else and stared at it for a while. She often ordered food only to look at them. I stopped asking a while ago and left her with her thoughts. I tried the ice cream and it was nice. I asked if it was true that Marshanda had gone Britney or she was really knocked over when she was a baby but Vivian didn’t know the details. She mentioned David Carradine and asked if I knew anything about asphyxiation. I only knew that it was an ancient art of some misfit warriors but never too curious to learn more. Michael Hutchence also died of the fatal exercise but obviously not everyone died. The idea of a squeezed penis don’t appeal much to me. She said Quentin Tarantino does it. Vivian explain that she was interested exclusively on the pain inflicted by squeezing the penis with nylon strings. I begged her to spare me details and convinced her to have some ice cream instead. She laughed a little and seemed a little less sad. She asked if Candi sent anything. I pointed to the lipstick marks she left in the vanilla white. I wondered if it tasted like anything. She offered a kiss for later and we finished the ice cream.
Jakarta, August 2009
Read More..
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
~Robert Frost
The day after our birthday I went to look for Vivian and found her in Harvey Nichols buying presents for herself. She was standing next to a large pile of designer boxes with a bag of flowers laid on top while an effeminate store attendant hovered nearby.
I didn’t really check how I looked but there were mirrors on the isles and I glanced a few times. I looked okay I thought, though I could do with a haircut and some weight. I was carrying nothing. I was reading a magazine in the cab but I put it away in the bin by the entrance. I now regretted it. I like having a magazine in my hand just in case I need to hit myself. I should’ve kept the magazine and not throw it away.
Sometimes, I get nervous to see Vivian. I’m okay with her in painting lessons in Ubud or at home on the couch or just pulling crazies in pubs and clubs and places. We had fun playing Xbox. Sometimes, I took pictures and she posed and we spent hours on Photoshop making her look better. Occasionally though, I see Vivian in her natural habitat of glitzy crowd and I feel out of place.
I spotted her in one corner, wearing a soft and very white little dress with whiter frills around the edge, six inches or so below the waist. The material showed her skin tone, glowing almost pink. I had to ask if she was wearing underwear and she cracked her first laugh. She wore a small hot pants underneath, tight but came with several pockets, she said. I asked if the pockets were at all useful, but apparently they’re for show only. I complimented her ass and the laced heels she had, a shade of purple with too much red to match her lips and the stones on her ears. She walked like she knew she was looking good, too. I said she looked spectacular. She asked if I knew how much those heels cost. She said the shoes made her ass look good but it was a pain to walk in and after a few hours she usually didn’t care that much if her ass looked good. I nodded and said nothing.
I saw an Aksara bag and asked if she bought me any books. No, she bought some paperweights, she said, along with two pairs of shoes and a couple of dresses and other things, I wasn’t paying attention to the rest of it. The store attendant returned to finish his business and we left the shopping area to Social House for a drink. I had to help her with the bags and carried the ones with the shoes.
As we walked she asked of the dog, if he could do any new tricks. I told her no, he was too stubborn for tricks. She suggested we head on home later to play with the dog. We were walking through the male clothes and Vi asked if I had any interesting present. Nothing too special I said, the highlight was a cool t-shirt a Jedi gave me and a big ice cream cake and a bottle of Grey Goose that another sent to the house. She asked if Princess called and if she said anything but I didn’t feel like telling. Vi didn't like Princess much and it would be a conversation killer to talk of that person.
I thought out loud that August used to be more fun. She asked of the girl I was having a crush on and thought it was funny that I was seeing a criminal while I was not seeing the prostitute. She suggested I broaden my horizon.
We moved up the escalator and found an empty sofa on the furthest end, by the corner with the open large windows looking directly into Jakarta traffic. The wind was nice. The waiter came and took our orders, wine for Vi and oj for me. I needed the vitamin C. Vivian said her birthday was rather fun with lots of her friends. Everyone looked good and phony, she couldn’t tell if they were happy or just drunk but the party was fun. She said Sugar Daddy wanted to take her away for the weekend but she didn’t want to go on account that it was the fasting month. She said he wasn’t happy about it since he wouldn’t be able to get away from his wife and kids during the holy month.
I asked if prostitutes charge more during the month on moral grounds. She explained the basics of supply and demand and we discussed interest rates for a bit. Vivian asked if I was still seeing Olive and I told her no. I haven’t seen Olive since a little a run in a while ago in Potatohead. She was mad at me because I slept with her best friend and explicitly pronounced our social acquaintanceship over and done with. Vivian thought I was awful and called me an asshole. I suggested they start a club.
I didn’t know what Olive wanted. I was probably more than a little crazy about her and she was really, certifiably exciting, but I never got to figure out what she wanted. I felt really stupid then and I still do. Vivian told me it was okay to be stupid every once in a while and I felt better for a moment.
I told her I suspected I was going insane, slowly. Vi asked curiously if I heard voices or saw any vision. I wasn’t sure so I shrugged. She didn’t seem alarmed. I said I see words but there was no stories and it was really hard to focus on anything without a beginning or no ends. She said most people are insane, they just didn’t know it. I stared at her eyebrows for a while. She had them done since we last met, it was blacker and stronger now. I asked if she felt older. She felt how I felt, she said. We were born into this at almost exactly the same time.
She explained that her hairdresser did something to make her hair appear longer. I wasn’t even curious of how that was possible. She was thinking about having her boobs done but I thought they looked fine. I suggested we go home and fiddle.
She had very long fingers. Modern day nail care was expensive she said. Her touch soft and moisturized and just a little sad. She’s trying some new things, she said. She wasn’t crazy about the smell but it made her skin softer. Vivian stopped in the middle of her beauty train and stood to reach for one of her shoeboxes to show me a very small pair of sneakers. She had a daughter she didn’t see very often and she bought shoes, couldn’t think of anything else she might’ve wanted, Vi said. She asked if it was tough to grow up without a father. I said growing up without a father was okay but my mother beat me up. Vivian ordered vanilla ice cream with nothing else and stared at it for a while. She often ordered food only to look at them. I stopped asking a while ago and left her with her thoughts. I tried the ice cream and it was nice. I asked if it was true that Marshanda had gone Britney or she was really knocked over when she was a baby but Vivian didn’t know the details. She mentioned David Carradine and asked if I knew anything about asphyxiation. I only knew that it was an ancient art of some misfit warriors but never too curious to learn more. Michael Hutchence also died of the fatal exercise but obviously not everyone died. The idea of a squeezed penis don’t appeal much to me. She said Quentin Tarantino does it. Vivian explain that she was interested exclusively on the pain inflicted by squeezing the penis with nylon strings. I begged her to spare me details and convinced her to have some ice cream instead. She laughed a little and seemed a little less sad. She asked if Candi sent anything. I pointed to the lipstick marks she left in the vanilla white. I wondered if it tasted like anything. She offered a kiss for later and we finished the ice cream.
Jakarta, August 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
on the Dog
The dog is staying with a friend. I'm missing him terribly and due to many, many things, i can't post anything else today. Here's a picture.
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