It has been said -
Quite on the sly -
God made the fly
To make us figure why;
Well, here's one possible lie:
A fly on the food you are about
To put in your mouth
May at first appear
To have an agenda completely
Incongruent from yours;
No doubt the fly is having its mush,
With utter panache,
While you view the invasion into
Your personal space as
Utterly incongruous;
Similarly the agenda of
A bunch of youngsters,
Out on a joy ride in a rented Kancil,
May be rudely knocked out of kilter
By God's differing agenda;
When the Muar river
Decides to break ranks
With its banks
And pulls the breath of
A few souls going about
Their mundane lives
Into its murky depths -
God, like the fly,
Has a different agenda;
Saddam had a vision of being
the paramount Arab leader,
But God saw otherwise,
Like the desert fly
That settled on the nose
of his videotaped corpse.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
Zaharan Razak by Liz Greene
The following is an extract of what the English psychologist-astrologer had to say about me on the subject of relationships:
Intelligence and a capacity to share your thoughts are qualities you value highly in a partner if you are to build a long-term relationship with any woman. No matter how attractive, charming, socially suitable or erotically exciting a lover is, in the end you tend to become bored if you cannot talk to her. And when you become bored, you become critical and even nitpicking, finding fault everywhere and making your dissatisfaction known through chronic flirtations with other people which tell your partner loudly and clearly that you are suffocating.
There is a touch of the intellectual snob about you, but it is not mere posturing; you are a clever and sophisticated person with strong aesthetic sensitivities, and you genuinely love the world of the mind.
Your partner must be able to share in that world, and nothing less will do. You also like to use words a lot, to talk, philosophize, and theorize about love. You may have difficulties with a more taciturn or dour type of woman who cannot play with romantic words and gestures as you can. In part, you love this kind of verbal love-game for its own sake, because it is stylish and graceful and makes love interesting and in part you do it because you tend to protect your feelings with your intellect so that you are less vulnerable.
There is a rather cool and detached side to your love-nature which, however initially smitten you might be, quickly assesses the intelligence of the woman and gives a rating. And you expect your partner to have the same capacity for detachment and reason, for you dislike steamy emotional scenes and rapidly become evasive, aloof and disinterested if your woman starts becoming what you call irrational.
You need and deserve an intellectual match. What you can afford a little less of is your critical tongue, which can reduce anyone to ribbons - and often when she has done nothing to merit it except express needs which you construe as voiced in an inappropriate way. After all, not even the most intelligent partner - not to mention you yourself - can be clever and articulate all the time.
Intelligence and a capacity to share your thoughts are qualities you value highly in a partner if you are to build a long-term relationship with any woman. No matter how attractive, charming, socially suitable or erotically exciting a lover is, in the end you tend to become bored if you cannot talk to her. And when you become bored, you become critical and even nitpicking, finding fault everywhere and making your dissatisfaction known through chronic flirtations with other people which tell your partner loudly and clearly that you are suffocating.
There is a touch of the intellectual snob about you, but it is not mere posturing; you are a clever and sophisticated person with strong aesthetic sensitivities, and you genuinely love the world of the mind.
Your partner must be able to share in that world, and nothing less will do. You also like to use words a lot, to talk, philosophize, and theorize about love. You may have difficulties with a more taciturn or dour type of woman who cannot play with romantic words and gestures as you can. In part, you love this kind of verbal love-game for its own sake, because it is stylish and graceful and makes love interesting and in part you do it because you tend to protect your feelings with your intellect so that you are less vulnerable.
There is a rather cool and detached side to your love-nature which, however initially smitten you might be, quickly assesses the intelligence of the woman and gives a rating. And you expect your partner to have the same capacity for detachment and reason, for you dislike steamy emotional scenes and rapidly become evasive, aloof and disinterested if your woman starts becoming what you call irrational.
You need and deserve an intellectual match. What you can afford a little less of is your critical tongue, which can reduce anyone to ribbons - and often when she has done nothing to merit it except express needs which you construe as voiced in an inappropriate way. After all, not even the most intelligent partner - not to mention you yourself - can be clever and articulate all the time.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Mitsubishi Triton: A Thirty Year Dalliance
More than thirty years ago,
I saw my first pickup truck,
The Toyota Hilux Single Cab,
Powering past on a road sans tar,
Against a padi landscape far,
On the east coast of the Peninsula;
That's it, enthused I,
This would be my dream car;
Till today I still haven't got da,
Since that first sighting,
My heart flitted on the Isuzu,
The Pajero, the Ford Ranger,
The Mitsubishi Storm,
The Toyota Hilux Double Cab,
The Land Rover Defender,
In the thirty year span;
But still I baulked,
At getting a pickup truck,
Single or Double Cab;
Oh, I bought one car after
Another in that three score years,
But not a pickup truck;
Last week, mid-December 2006,
At the Eon Mitsubishi showroom
In Tanjung Aru, Kota Kinabalu,
I took the new Mitsubishi Triton
For a spin,
That's it, resolved I,
Come the new year,
I'll get myself a pickup truck,
After a thirty year dalliance.
I saw my first pickup truck,
The Toyota Hilux Single Cab,
Powering past on a road sans tar,
Against a padi landscape far,
On the east coast of the Peninsula;
That's it, enthused I,
This would be my dream car;
Till today I still haven't got da,
Since that first sighting,
My heart flitted on the Isuzu,
The Pajero, the Ford Ranger,
The Mitsubishi Storm,
The Toyota Hilux Double Cab,
The Land Rover Defender,
In the thirty year span;
But still I baulked,
At getting a pickup truck,
Single or Double Cab;
Oh, I bought one car after
Another in that three score years,
But not a pickup truck;
Last week, mid-December 2006,
At the Eon Mitsubishi showroom
In Tanjung Aru, Kota Kinabalu,
I took the new Mitsubishi Triton
For a spin,
That's it, resolved I,
Come the new year,
I'll get myself a pickup truck,
After a thirty year dalliance.
Monday, December 25, 2006
ProtoCosmic Course: Continuation
After the organic equivalent of the physical big bang, we humans are thrown up between two interstices - land and water, the beach and the sea, the blood-sweat-tears life and the Perfect Form.
Life is an Amazing Race, an Ultimate Challenge to break free from the proto mold to the perfect form. That is the name of the game. Simple as that. Look no further. But because we often feel too big to fit our evolutionary footprint, we try to look beyond and come up with revolutionary theories to explain away our human predicament and mystery - the neosophies and pseudologies.
What if you don't make it? Resits! Failure is not an option. You will be made to take as many resits even if it takes a thousand years, and some believe, a thousand lifetimes, until you finally break through the interstitial barrier to claim or reclaim you right of place in the Ethereal Estate.
Meanwhile, you will be staying back in the hostel of life while others who have broken through have all gone home. Some of you will be wandering aimlessly, feeling restless, clueless, or worse, getting into all sorts of difficulties and uncomfortable situations, to say the least.
Don't blame others or yourself for these adversities. It is part of the course. Be thankful. Turn the other cheek, as one tradition says. Just manage them as best as you can - no resentment, no moaning, no lashing out in anger, no revenge, no escapisms ... don't repeat the same mistakes or stock responses. Break out of the old reaction patterns to break the jinx.
What if the above view is wrong? What is the opposite position? Oblivion! When you die, you die. Nothing matters. Nihilism. Life is meaningless, just like a dead frog, nobody cares, no insurance, no ceremony, no litigation, no justice. Less stark is existentialism which concedes that although life is ultimately meaningless, at least you can make it meaningful during its shelf life.
Hey, that's not a fate worse than some I know.
Life is an Amazing Race, an Ultimate Challenge to break free from the proto mold to the perfect form. That is the name of the game. Simple as that. Look no further. But because we often feel too big to fit our evolutionary footprint, we try to look beyond and come up with revolutionary theories to explain away our human predicament and mystery - the neosophies and pseudologies.
What if you don't make it? Resits! Failure is not an option. You will be made to take as many resits even if it takes a thousand years, and some believe, a thousand lifetimes, until you finally break through the interstitial barrier to claim or reclaim you right of place in the Ethereal Estate.
Meanwhile, you will be staying back in the hostel of life while others who have broken through have all gone home. Some of you will be wandering aimlessly, feeling restless, clueless, or worse, getting into all sorts of difficulties and uncomfortable situations, to say the least.
Don't blame others or yourself for these adversities. It is part of the course. Be thankful. Turn the other cheek, as one tradition says. Just manage them as best as you can - no resentment, no moaning, no lashing out in anger, no revenge, no escapisms ... don't repeat the same mistakes or stock responses. Break out of the old reaction patterns to break the jinx.
What if the above view is wrong? What is the opposite position? Oblivion! When you die, you die. Nothing matters. Nihilism. Life is meaningless, just like a dead frog, nobody cares, no insurance, no ceremony, no litigation, no justice. Less stark is existentialism which concedes that although life is ultimately meaningless, at least you can make it meaningful during its shelf life.
Hey, that's not a fate worse than some I know.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
What Do Ashaari Muhammad and Ron Hubbard Have In Common?
At first glance,
The juxtaposition of these two names
Might furrow a brow,
But actually both are cult leaders
In their own rights,
They have been operating
For quite some time now
With large followings;
They have hammered out
Beguiling alternative road maps
To immortality, while thumbing
Their noses at mainstream religions;
In the bargain, they made milllions.
Me? Even members of my own family
Don't agree with me.
Tee hee.
The juxtaposition of these two names
Might furrow a brow,
But actually both are cult leaders
In their own rights,
They have been operating
For quite some time now
With large followings;
They have hammered out
Beguiling alternative road maps
To immortality, while thumbing
Their noses at mainstream religions;
In the bargain, they made milllions.
Me? Even members of my own family
Don't agree with me.
Tee hee.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Land Rover: A Grand Delusion
World reknown is the Land Rover,
To many a 4WD vehicle driver;
Launched in 1948 by an English company,
An unashamed copy of the American jeepney,
Though now left in its wake by the Humveed,
It is considered still, by the moneyed,
The best four by four by far,
Which for the course, is par.
Many an adventurer in Africa,
Camel Trophy competitor,
Estate manager, fire fighter,
Whether in Surrey or Sahara,
Agrees and chooses no other.
The list of rivals is long and impressive,
Mitsubishi, Nissan, Toyota, all Japanese,
Volkswagen, Niva, Mercedes;
But the Landy,
From Sungai Siput to Sydney,
From Cameron Highlands cabbage packer,
To National Day salute taker,
Has notched its own market niche,
And became, in the process, cultish.
And so to the LR showroom at Resort Paradise,
I headed to see the best and brightest of the enterprise,
After having done the round of seeing the other merchandise,
It was the Double Crew Cab my eye settled on,
In keeping with the growing trend in the zenre,
There's the Frontier, the Hilux, the Ranger, the Storm,
All decently spec'd and going for under 100K.
A sales ex placed a promo booklet in my hand,
Person and paper share the same narrowband,
Detailing the oft repeated tagline,
That the LR is the best 4 by 4 by far,
I nodded, not wanting to appear
An out of sorts commissar.
And so I turned to the actual tab,
The object of my visit and interest mad,
The Land Rover Double Crew Cab.
I looked hard at the legendary mud plugger,
A workhorse to the world, wildlife protector,
Outside, inside, the truck bed, the seater,
The cockpit, the dashboard, the wiper,
Ah the wipers, wimpy dared I to whisper?
The truck bed, rivet, metal edge, rougher
Than a Frontier's covered with a spray on liner,
The seats, interchangeable with those from a schoolbus,
The cockpit, dashboard - spartan, ordinary,
Looked like they were homologated from a Pahlawan lorry.
The canvas canopy did nothing
To make the impression contrary;
This is no lifestyle statement, being all utility,
Next I peered at the performance sheet -
Well below that of the competition;
Then I took it for a testing,
Nowhere near the driveability
Of the under 100k family.
Finally I peered at the feared -
The price is 160k!
All in all the looks and performance of a 70s Mahindra,
With the price tag of a 2005 Toyota Fortuner.
So, whaddaya think, Sir?
Cried the sales supervisor!
Dared I demur and be wiser?
It's the best 4 by 4, said I, miser,
Not wanting to be original, nihilistic,
Or stick out like a sore dick.
I made my purchase,
It made me sick.
Not long after,
During a LR owners strut,
We passed a posse of Lanun Darat,
Did I imagine a gleam of admiration,
In the eyes of the pirates,
Or did the gleam signify commisseration,
At our collective delusion?
Overheard under the Jolly Roger,
Cost of spare parts for the Land Rover,
Are stratospheric,
Oh dear, that, for me,
Is news catastrophic;
Soon, I can already imagine,
I'll be back to being
Carless, peripatetic.
To many a 4WD vehicle driver;
Launched in 1948 by an English company,
An unashamed copy of the American jeepney,
Though now left in its wake by the Humveed,
It is considered still, by the moneyed,
The best four by four by far,
Which for the course, is par.
Many an adventurer in Africa,
Camel Trophy competitor,
Estate manager, fire fighter,
Whether in Surrey or Sahara,
Agrees and chooses no other.
The list of rivals is long and impressive,
Mitsubishi, Nissan, Toyota, all Japanese,
Volkswagen, Niva, Mercedes;
But the Landy,
From Sungai Siput to Sydney,
From Cameron Highlands cabbage packer,
To National Day salute taker,
Has notched its own market niche,
And became, in the process, cultish.
And so to the LR showroom at Resort Paradise,
I headed to see the best and brightest of the enterprise,
After having done the round of seeing the other merchandise,
It was the Double Crew Cab my eye settled on,
In keeping with the growing trend in the zenre,
There's the Frontier, the Hilux, the Ranger, the Storm,
All decently spec'd and going for under 100K.
A sales ex placed a promo booklet in my hand,
Person and paper share the same narrowband,
Detailing the oft repeated tagline,
That the LR is the best 4 by 4 by far,
I nodded, not wanting to appear
An out of sorts commissar.
And so I turned to the actual tab,
The object of my visit and interest mad,
The Land Rover Double Crew Cab.
I looked hard at the legendary mud plugger,
A workhorse to the world, wildlife protector,
Outside, inside, the truck bed, the seater,
The cockpit, the dashboard, the wiper,
Ah the wipers, wimpy dared I to whisper?
The truck bed, rivet, metal edge, rougher
Than a Frontier's covered with a spray on liner,
The seats, interchangeable with those from a schoolbus,
The cockpit, dashboard - spartan, ordinary,
Looked like they were homologated from a Pahlawan lorry.
The canvas canopy did nothing
To make the impression contrary;
This is no lifestyle statement, being all utility,
Next I peered at the performance sheet -
Well below that of the competition;
Then I took it for a testing,
Nowhere near the driveability
Of the under 100k family.
Finally I peered at the feared -
The price is 160k!
All in all the looks and performance of a 70s Mahindra,
With the price tag of a 2005 Toyota Fortuner.
So, whaddaya think, Sir?
Cried the sales supervisor!
Dared I demur and be wiser?
It's the best 4 by 4, said I, miser,
Not wanting to be original, nihilistic,
Or stick out like a sore dick.
I made my purchase,
It made me sick.
Not long after,
During a LR owners strut,
We passed a posse of Lanun Darat,
Did I imagine a gleam of admiration,
In the eyes of the pirates,
Or did the gleam signify commisseration,
At our collective delusion?
Overheard under the Jolly Roger,
Cost of spare parts for the Land Rover,
Are stratospheric,
Oh dear, that, for me,
Is news catastrophic;
Soon, I can already imagine,
I'll be back to being
Carless, peripatetic.
Boyen Came Lately
Fire in the galley,
Fire down below,
Boyen came lately,
Boyen got aglow;
Boyen said loudly:
If the heat
Had you beat
Take a deck seat.
Fire down below,
Boyen came lately,
Boyen got aglow;
Boyen said loudly:
If the heat
Had you beat
Take a deck seat.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Mahathir vs Tengku Razaleigh, Musa Hitam, Ghazali Shafie
History shows Mahathir won his rounds
With Tg Razaleigh, Musa Hitam and Ghazali Shafie,
All stalwart Malays three;
However, anyone with a ear to the ground,
Can tell that all four of them will not succeed,
If they try and stage a comeback bid.
With Tg Razaleigh, Musa Hitam and Ghazali Shafie,
All stalwart Malays three;
However, anyone with a ear to the ground,
Can tell that all four of them will not succeed,
If they try and stage a comeback bid.
Mahathir vs Me
If Sun Tzu's advice,
Know your enemy,
Applies here, I win!
I know him, he doesn't
Know me.
Oh, we met a couple of times
And were even on the same
Helicopter flight once.
He even managed to raise
Laughter at my expense.
Er, one more interesting fact -
Our birthdays differ by a day.
Astrology will have a say,
But I will not give you the reader
An opportunity to smirk,
Or sympathise,
Over our similarities,
Or differences,
By revealing them here.
Tee hee.
Know your enemy,
Applies here, I win!
I know him, he doesn't
Know me.
Oh, we met a couple of times
And were even on the same
Helicopter flight once.
He even managed to raise
Laughter at my expense.
Er, one more interesting fact -
Our birthdays differ by a day.
Astrology will have a say,
But I will not give you the reader
An opportunity to smirk,
Or sympathise,
Over our similarities,
Or differences,
By revealing them here.
Tee hee.
Mahathir vs Coomaraswamy
Lost.
Since then everyone avoids
Mentioning it in public
To spare the feelings of Mahadick.
Since then everyone avoids
Mentioning it in public
To spare the feelings of Mahadick.
Mahathir vs Australia
Lost 0 - 2.
A former Ozzie PM scored
With the "Recalcitrant" label
Sending Mahathir reeling
Back on his heels;
Then incumbent Howard
Snubbed him by cancelling
A trip to Malaysia
Only to come a-calling
After Mahathir's retirement.
Abdullah's smiling welcome,
I'm sure, is not a double entendre.
A former Ozzie PM scored
With the "Recalcitrant" label
Sending Mahathir reeling
Back on his heels;
Then incumbent Howard
Snubbed him by cancelling
A trip to Malaysia
Only to come a-calling
After Mahathir's retirement.
Abdullah's smiling welcome,
I'm sure, is not a double entendre.
Mahathir vs Lee Kuan Yew
Afraid, Dr M never won this one,
All bilateral issues between S'pore
And Malaysia going the Lion City's way.
Even now, both retired, Lee is better placed,
Holding down his Senior Minister's post,
While Dr M is taking enforced bed rest;
Note that Lee is older than Mahadet.
All bilateral issues between S'pore
And Malaysia going the Lion City's way.
Even now, both retired, Lee is better placed,
Holding down his Senior Minister's post,
While Dr M is taking enforced bed rest;
Note that Lee is older than Mahadet.
Mahathir vs Abdullah
Though unfolding events and history
May dictate the contrary,
What with dark whispers of more
Embarrassing revelations
Of Abdullah's alleged convolutions,
Mahathir is losing this one,
Viling the very person he picked
To be his number two and replacement.
Bad prescription, Doc.
May dictate the contrary,
What with dark whispers of more
Embarrassing revelations
Of Abdullah's alleged convolutions,
Mahathir is losing this one,
Viling the very person he picked
To be his number two and replacement.
Bad prescription, Doc.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Mahathir vs Anwar
Just when one thought the worst
Happened in distant times and climes,
Faraway lands and different chimes,
It dawned on Malaysian sensibility,
That a bathos of the lowest order,
Was ascending from the depths,
To shock society at the highest level.
What was this assault
On our smugness?
It can't be!
How could the Number One
From the ruling set,
Be accusing his Number Two
Of kacang putih acts,
Normally scrawled on toilet walls,
And whispered about in
Fully residential halls?
How could this be happening,
To songkok and tudung wearers,
Who pride themselves
As moral standard bearers?
How not courtroom details,
In collusion with thick denials,
Served to rake up forgotten
Historical baggage?
From Hang Tuah to Tun Teja,
From Pahang to Melaka ...
Or its appendage?
Disclosures this sensational,
In recent memory were too risible,
To appear in mainstream media, sensible,
Though standard fare for Bacaria,
Street talk and Bukit Aman cafeteria.
As the sandiwara among the saudara
Unfolded, the line between sleazy street
And prim print turned effete,
Marking a watershed,
Since when the Press
Had not been able to look back
On the good old hack;
Now previously unprintable matter
Has become common media barter,
Rivaling Mastika banter.
The country's highest institutions,
Bystanders and partisans,
Jostled in the corridors of credibility,
Who to believe, who to give sympathy?
Do you believe in the conspiracy theory?
Or do you accept the guilty probability?
Are the courts' hands smirched?
Or are our faces wearing a worrying smirk?
Happened in distant times and climes,
Faraway lands and different chimes,
It dawned on Malaysian sensibility,
That a bathos of the lowest order,
Was ascending from the depths,
To shock society at the highest level.
What was this assault
On our smugness?
It can't be!
How could the Number One
From the ruling set,
Be accusing his Number Two
Of kacang putih acts,
Normally scrawled on toilet walls,
And whispered about in
Fully residential halls?
How could this be happening,
To songkok and tudung wearers,
Who pride themselves
As moral standard bearers?
How not courtroom details,
In collusion with thick denials,
Served to rake up forgotten
Historical baggage?
From Hang Tuah to Tun Teja,
From Pahang to Melaka ...
Or its appendage?
Disclosures this sensational,
In recent memory were too risible,
To appear in mainstream media, sensible,
Though standard fare for Bacaria,
Street talk and Bukit Aman cafeteria.
As the sandiwara among the saudara
Unfolded, the line between sleazy street
And prim print turned effete,
Marking a watershed,
Since when the Press
Had not been able to look back
On the good old hack;
Now previously unprintable matter
Has become common media barter,
Rivaling Mastika banter.
The country's highest institutions,
Bystanders and partisans,
Jostled in the corridors of credibility,
Who to believe, who to give sympathy?
Do you believe in the conspiracy theory?
Or do you accept the guilty probability?
Are the courts' hands smirched?
Or are our faces wearing a worrying smirk?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Metaphors To Live By
In attempting to write this topic down, I suddenly come face to face with the dreaded writer's block. My head goes blank. I thought of this topic this morning as I was doing the morning's chores. Then my head was full of ideas, coming out unbidden, but as usual, I did not jot the ideas down and now I cannot remember them. It is a familiar pattern.
Later ...
PRISON as a metaphor of life
If we see life as a prison, then whatever circumstances you are in, it can't be as bad as a real prison unless you are really incarcerated in one! That ought to cheer you up if needed be, and who doesn't from time to time. Think of worse scenarios and count your blessings, however small. This little self-deception always works for me.
Life as an ADVENTURE or OBSTACLE Course
Don't resent the adversities, big or small, laid in your path. Look upon them as tests or challenges to overcome and opportunities for growth and advancement. Then say your thanks.
Evil as Creation's necessary SHADOW or ALTER EGO
Evil is an impersonal accompaniment of nature's work; it takes no sides, it is random, it is not subject to rules of natural or even poetic justice; it is not meted out to the bad and prevented from the good. It is impartial and detached. No need for us to romanticize or use it as a means of persuasion or manipulation. It is a reality written into our read only collective memory.
What to do? Deal with it conscientiously, mindfully, minimize its effects, exercise damage control, don't give in to its urgings. Therein lies your opportunity for maturity and spiritual growth.
The COMPUTER as a Metaphor of the Mind,
The Mind as a Metaphor of God,
The UNIVERSE as the Body of God,
Nature as a Metaphor of God's Work,
Death as a Tunnel underneath the Berlin Wall thru which you wrangle an escape from East to West ...
BUDDHA as a Metaphor for the Found Pool of Calmness and Understanding Within You
The historical Siddharta Gautama is not the only Buddha. There are millions of unnamed buddhas before and now. He or she can be the person you just met. In fact you may be a buddha too, actualized or potential.
Buddhahood is not so much a religion as a state of mind though one tradition has evolved into a religion called Buddhism, the world's third largest after Christianity and Islam. Among eastern religions making inroads in the West, Buddhism is the most popular.
Later ...
PRISON as a metaphor of life
If we see life as a prison, then whatever circumstances you are in, it can't be as bad as a real prison unless you are really incarcerated in one! That ought to cheer you up if needed be, and who doesn't from time to time. Think of worse scenarios and count your blessings, however small. This little self-deception always works for me.
Life as an ADVENTURE or OBSTACLE Course
Don't resent the adversities, big or small, laid in your path. Look upon them as tests or challenges to overcome and opportunities for growth and advancement. Then say your thanks.
Evil as Creation's necessary SHADOW or ALTER EGO
Evil is an impersonal accompaniment of nature's work; it takes no sides, it is random, it is not subject to rules of natural or even poetic justice; it is not meted out to the bad and prevented from the good. It is impartial and detached. No need for us to romanticize or use it as a means of persuasion or manipulation. It is a reality written into our read only collective memory.
What to do? Deal with it conscientiously, mindfully, minimize its effects, exercise damage control, don't give in to its urgings. Therein lies your opportunity for maturity and spiritual growth.
The COMPUTER as a Metaphor of the Mind,
The Mind as a Metaphor of God,
The UNIVERSE as the Body of God,
Nature as a Metaphor of God's Work,
Death as a Tunnel underneath the Berlin Wall thru which you wrangle an escape from East to West ...
BUDDHA as a Metaphor for the Found Pool of Calmness and Understanding Within You
The historical Siddharta Gautama is not the only Buddha. There are millions of unnamed buddhas before and now. He or she can be the person you just met. In fact you may be a buddha too, actualized or potential.
Buddhahood is not so much a religion as a state of mind though one tradition has evolved into a religion called Buddhism, the world's third largest after Christianity and Islam. Among eastern religions making inroads in the West, Buddhism is the most popular.
The Doha AG Women Sepaktakraw Final
Did you watch the Doha AG Women Sepaktakraw final match between defending champion Thailand and upstart Vietnam?
I rooted for underdogs Vietnam and when they won and tears flowed, I shared their joy, but felt a tinge of sadness that Malaysia does not even see fit to encourage women to play the game what more participate at this level.
When other civilized nations of the world are falling over one another's heels to be represented in all arenas of human endeavour, we note that a few countries, particularly from deep Africa, central Asia and the Middle East, seem to be too embroiled in regional or domestic politics, holding hardline cultural and religious values, or at war, preventing them from being fully represented in international events.
Malaysia is one of these sidelined countries.
An opportunity for human resource development and a chance to stand up and be counted, goes down the drain, sacrificed at the altar of fundamentalist beliefs.
These beliefs in turn hide rigid and dualistic - us against them - psychological hangups and other assorted delusions which make up our historical baggage.
We are embalmed and fossilized in the backwaters of human development and spiritual growth. In the absence of real progress, we cling to and chant symbols and slogans as a substitute.
How sad.
I rooted for underdogs Vietnam and when they won and tears flowed, I shared their joy, but felt a tinge of sadness that Malaysia does not even see fit to encourage women to play the game what more participate at this level.
When other civilized nations of the world are falling over one another's heels to be represented in all arenas of human endeavour, we note that a few countries, particularly from deep Africa, central Asia and the Middle East, seem to be too embroiled in regional or domestic politics, holding hardline cultural and religious values, or at war, preventing them from being fully represented in international events.
Malaysia is one of these sidelined countries.
An opportunity for human resource development and a chance to stand up and be counted, goes down the drain, sacrificed at the altar of fundamentalist beliefs.
These beliefs in turn hide rigid and dualistic - us against them - psychological hangups and other assorted delusions which make up our historical baggage.
We are embalmed and fossilized in the backwaters of human development and spiritual growth. In the absence of real progress, we cling to and chant symbols and slogans as a substitute.
How sad.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
King Solomon's Saffron Rice As Adult Metaphor
Serendipitously, a news item today
Says you can make a million out of dung
Processing it into organic fertilizer;
This news coincides with my intention
To write this prose verse
About King Solomon's Saffron Rice
Which, as every pupil knows,
Is cow dung in the Sang Kancil
Tiger Escapade serial stories;
But in case you missed out,
The tricky mousedeer told the
Chasing tiger he was not to be eaten
As he was in the midst
Of performing a sacred duty:
Standing guard over King Solomon's saffron rice.
The credulous tiger was so impressed
And jealous of the mousedeer being chosen
By the Lord of All Animals,
That he forgot he was chasing and going to eat the mousedeer,
Instead he begged his quarry
To let him at least try out the role,
If not let him eat the King's dinner as well.
Playing his pretense to perfection,
The mousedeer put on an air of reluctance
Before conceding to the tiger's entreatment,
Invoking the King's wrath,
If he did not abide by the rule -
No eating until the day was done,
Giving him ample time
To make his getaway run.
Well, you write the finish to the episode,
While I deconstruct the children's story
As a metaphor for adults:
The tiger is a metaphor for the unthinking masses
Or individual
Who follow or easily fall for propaganda
Which invokes authority such as religion
And uses threats of dire consequences
Such as excommunication.
The mousedeer is any clever propagandist
Who is out to advance or protect
His own interests - position, power, status,
Beliefs, security and profits.
King Solomom is a symbol of any feared authority, ruler, father figure, -
Often a myth or a post created by tradition or statute,
With an all too human incumbent behind it,
Like a boy king or god.
The saffron rice is a metaphor
For any nice, respectable sounding name
Which is invoked to camouflage, hide
Something which is mundane, substandard,
Or downright bad, a scam,
And make it appear good or worthy.
See also emperor's new dress, euphemism.
Now that you've got this far,
Following the analytical drift,
Why not have a go at dissecting
The cow dung?
Ugh!
Says you can make a million out of dung
Processing it into organic fertilizer;
This news coincides with my intention
To write this prose verse
About King Solomon's Saffron Rice
Which, as every pupil knows,
Is cow dung in the Sang Kancil
Tiger Escapade serial stories;
But in case you missed out,
The tricky mousedeer told the
Chasing tiger he was not to be eaten
As he was in the midst
Of performing a sacred duty:
Standing guard over King Solomon's saffron rice.
The credulous tiger was so impressed
And jealous of the mousedeer being chosen
By the Lord of All Animals,
That he forgot he was chasing and going to eat the mousedeer,
Instead he begged his quarry
To let him at least try out the role,
If not let him eat the King's dinner as well.
Playing his pretense to perfection,
The mousedeer put on an air of reluctance
Before conceding to the tiger's entreatment,
Invoking the King's wrath,
If he did not abide by the rule -
No eating until the day was done,
Giving him ample time
To make his getaway run.
Well, you write the finish to the episode,
While I deconstruct the children's story
As a metaphor for adults:
The tiger is a metaphor for the unthinking masses
Or individual
Who follow or easily fall for propaganda
Which invokes authority such as religion
And uses threats of dire consequences
Such as excommunication.
The mousedeer is any clever propagandist
Who is out to advance or protect
His own interests - position, power, status,
Beliefs, security and profits.
King Solomom is a symbol of any feared authority, ruler, father figure, -
Often a myth or a post created by tradition or statute,
With an all too human incumbent behind it,
Like a boy king or god.
The saffron rice is a metaphor
For any nice, respectable sounding name
Which is invoked to camouflage, hide
Something which is mundane, substandard,
Or downright bad, a scam,
And make it appear good or worthy.
See also emperor's new dress, euphemism.
Now that you've got this far,
Following the analytical drift,
Why not have a go at dissecting
The cow dung?
Ugh!
Monday, December 04, 2006
Letchumi
This is a story of a Malaysian academician,
Whose name is Letchumi,
She lives in Petaling Jaya,
And teaches at a local university,
She was born in Sentul,
Grew up in Brickfields,
In full view, cool,
Of Keretapi Tanah Melayu,
Her father was a station master,
When Malaya was classed in the colonial cluster.
She lives in a single storey bungalow,
With a large compound in Section 5, PJ,
Bought in a year when the ringgit was $2.50
to the US dollar for RM25K,
Now she won't sell it for a million.
She has many friends and reliatives,
Her three children are all grown up,
Living in Australia and Canada,
Her parents have passed away,
Her husband is a professor at Singapore U,
An old BMW sits idle in the garage,
She prefering to drive her new Suzuki Swift,
The Swift is easier to park and easier to drive, she says,
Her bungalow is full of keepsakes,
Mementoes of a full life,
Half opened gift packages,
Unused electrical gadgets,
Six wardrobes of dresses, shoes and oddments
She doesn't know what to do with them
She is still attached to them to be given or thrown away.
With a degree in anthropology and communication theory,
She understands herself and others
She has a collection of mobile phones and computers,
Bluetoothed and wiredup to the Internet,
But towards the end of her tenureship,
She is turning into a recluse
All wired up but no one she particularly wants to call,
All dressed up and nowhere to go.
Whose name is Letchumi,
She lives in Petaling Jaya,
And teaches at a local university,
She was born in Sentul,
Grew up in Brickfields,
In full view, cool,
Of Keretapi Tanah Melayu,
Her father was a station master,
When Malaya was classed in the colonial cluster.
She lives in a single storey bungalow,
With a large compound in Section 5, PJ,
Bought in a year when the ringgit was $2.50
to the US dollar for RM25K,
Now she won't sell it for a million.
She has many friends and reliatives,
Her three children are all grown up,
Living in Australia and Canada,
Her parents have passed away,
Her husband is a professor at Singapore U,
An old BMW sits idle in the garage,
She prefering to drive her new Suzuki Swift,
The Swift is easier to park and easier to drive, she says,
Her bungalow is full of keepsakes,
Mementoes of a full life,
Half opened gift packages,
Unused electrical gadgets,
Six wardrobes of dresses, shoes and oddments
She doesn't know what to do with them
She is still attached to them to be given or thrown away.
With a degree in anthropology and communication theory,
She understands herself and others
She has a collection of mobile phones and computers,
Bluetoothed and wiredup to the Internet,
But towards the end of her tenureship,
She is turning into a recluse
All wired up but no one she particularly wants to call,
All dressed up and nowhere to go.
Numerology
According to numerology, the name Zaharan Razak gives a Life Path number of 2. My mission in life is to serve. That's fine with me.
Al Arqam
All major religions experience the sprouting of sects, either breaking away to form new denominations or religions or staying within the fold but adding an extra handle to the pan or horn to the head.
Christianity has a rich tradition of breakaway groups but Islam too has its share of the history.
On the basis of there being no compulsion in religion, I say leave Al Arqam well alone. Ayah Pin too.
On an individual level, no two persons practise their religions equally alike in every detail and nuance. There are as many sects/mazhabs/religions as there are souls. We have to accept this dichotomy of public practises, private beliefs as part of the existential tension keeping it taut and tingled with its necessary micro adaptations and adjustments to meet life's surprises, apparent contradictions and ironies.
Christianity has a rich tradition of breakaway groups but Islam too has its share of the history.
On the basis of there being no compulsion in religion, I say leave Al Arqam well alone. Ayah Pin too.
On an individual level, no two persons practise their religions equally alike in every detail and nuance. There are as many sects/mazhabs/religions as there are souls. We have to accept this dichotomy of public practises, private beliefs as part of the existential tension keeping it taut and tingled with its necessary micro adaptations and adjustments to meet life's surprises, apparent contradictions and ironies.
Lina Joy
Now what can I say about the Lina Joy case in a few sentences?
The Lina Joy case throws up, again, an issue found in many religions which is often swept under the carpet or elicit more obfuscations - ambivalence.
Ambivalence means holding two contrary and opposite views at one time. On one hand you say there is no compulsion in religion, on the other, you are threatened with some sort of dire consequences if you are in breach of a religious edict. The word edict or command itself suggests force.
The only non punitive religion that I know is Buddhism. Buddhism holds that you are entirely responsible for your karma - cause and effect. You commit wrong, you yourself will suffer the consequences. No punishment is imposed by an outside authority.
Religion X will excommunicate or derobe you but you are free to walk out on it. Religion Y says walking out on it is a serious offence for it demeans the religion.
Many religions tell their followers, salvation, redemption lies in seeking the grace and forgiveness from a source outside of you. Buddhism says all that you seek outside are within you. Only you can save yourself.
So how does all that relate to Lina Joy? The answer is obvious.
The Lina Joy case throws up, again, an issue found in many religions which is often swept under the carpet or elicit more obfuscations - ambivalence.
Ambivalence means holding two contrary and opposite views at one time. On one hand you say there is no compulsion in religion, on the other, you are threatened with some sort of dire consequences if you are in breach of a religious edict. The word edict or command itself suggests force.
The only non punitive religion that I know is Buddhism. Buddhism holds that you are entirely responsible for your karma - cause and effect. You commit wrong, you yourself will suffer the consequences. No punishment is imposed by an outside authority.
Religion X will excommunicate or derobe you but you are free to walk out on it. Religion Y says walking out on it is a serious offence for it demeans the religion.
Many religions tell their followers, salvation, redemption lies in seeking the grace and forgiveness from a source outside of you. Buddhism says all that you seek outside are within you. Only you can save yourself.
So how does all that relate to Lina Joy? The answer is obvious.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
The Truth
If an individual cell in a living body
Is conscious, aware of its separate identity,
Aware of being a part of the whole,
Of its position, form, function and design,
Can see itself, its adjoining neighbour cells,
Clustered to form separate organs,
Hung together to form the closed body,
If the cell can see the whole individual,
Now going about independently in open space,
As well as other individual creatures,
Some alike, some not alike,
And yet sharing many similarities,
Forming and reforming
Dynamic patterns and static clusters,
If the cell can see the whole universe,
Tiered from the tiniest to the infinitesimal,
Much like its own awareness curve,
If the cell can see the oneness,
The connectedness,
The unity in the diversity,
The small in the big,
The big in the small,
The universe
In a grain of sand,
In a drop of water,
In the molecule,
In itself,
Then, perhaps,
We all
Can Know
The Truth.
Is conscious, aware of its separate identity,
Aware of being a part of the whole,
Of its position, form, function and design,
Can see itself, its adjoining neighbour cells,
Clustered to form separate organs,
Hung together to form the closed body,
If the cell can see the whole individual,
Now going about independently in open space,
As well as other individual creatures,
Some alike, some not alike,
And yet sharing many similarities,
Forming and reforming
Dynamic patterns and static clusters,
If the cell can see the whole universe,
Tiered from the tiniest to the infinitesimal,
Much like its own awareness curve,
If the cell can see the oneness,
The connectedness,
The unity in the diversity,
The small in the big,
The big in the small,
The universe
In a grain of sand,
In a drop of water,
In the molecule,
In itself,
Then, perhaps,
We all
Can Know
The Truth.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Friday, December 01, 2006
If I Were Blind
If I were blind
I would've seen thru you
But as I could see
I was blinded by what I saw
I could have put my act better
Committed no wrong
But I did not count
You could be other than strong
Your capacity to misconstrue
Recognized no sides of words
I would be asleep when you scream'd
Scream'd when you dreamt
Wasted was the word that befell your ear
Worse was your word that no one could hear
Weary were they who you pulled to your breast
Worse was the love that sought a figure gone to rest.
I would've seen thru you
But as I could see
I was blinded by what I saw
I could have put my act better
Committed no wrong
But I did not count
You could be other than strong
Your capacity to misconstrue
Recognized no sides of words
I would be asleep when you scream'd
Scream'd when you dreamt
Wasted was the word that befell your ear
Worse was your word that no one could hear
Weary were they who you pulled to your breast
Worse was the love that sought a figure gone to rest.
The Camera Is Too Much Between Us
I lift the camera and veil my face,
The camera is intimidating and suspicious,
Nobody understands or has any use for it;
You reach for your cigarette
Like you clasp your breast in sleep;
I lift it up chary of the world
Who chide me for keeping
A widget in the house.
Down the fallopian barrel of the tele lens
You crouch in prenatal mindlessness
Kuhlick! A magic spell,
Pronouncing you a lilliputian,
A foetal captive
In a little black hell;
But the camera is only an instrument of birth,
I lift it up in an act of love,
I dream the transformation on your face,
When I bring back in a week, a year,
A crisp gloss of your regained loss.
The camera is intimidating and suspicious,
Nobody understands or has any use for it;
You reach for your cigarette
Like you clasp your breast in sleep;
I lift it up chary of the world
Who chide me for keeping
A widget in the house.
Down the fallopian barrel of the tele lens
You crouch in prenatal mindlessness
Kuhlick! A magic spell,
Pronouncing you a lilliputian,
A foetal captive
In a little black hell;
But the camera is only an instrument of birth,
I lift it up in an act of love,
I dream the transformation on your face,
When I bring back in a week, a year,
A crisp gloss of your regained loss.
How To Attain Enlightenment In Just A Day, Well
Hey, I don't pretend to know any better than you or anybody. Wiser men have been telling us it takes a life time and even many life times to attain a state of enlightenment - moksha, nirvana, makrifat, atman. Fine. But if there is another proposal which says it can also be achieved in an instant or a day, fine, too. I think I'll subscribe to this view.
Enlightenment. Long word. Not sure what it means. Let us try. It means the absence or cessation of wrong assumptions. The mind is free from delusions. It sees reality as it is rather than as we want it to be or as we are told or led to believe. An enlightened person holds no false hopes or ideas.
It also means the absence of bad intention and action. At the minimum, the enlightened person has the ability to control the shadow side of his human nature and express only the good side.
He knows and understands what ambition, greed, selfishness, envy, jealousy, anger, revenge are but is able to control or subliminate these negative feelings into a neutral or positive state.
The purpose of life is to survive, to achieve a reasonable standard of living, to stay healthy, to mantain needs and to gain enlightenment.
Life is both a means and an end in itself. The ultimate purpose is to transform it into pure awareness which is our ultimate form. It goes by many names - spirit, soul, consciousness.
The body and the mind are the tools.
The world is the workshop.
Running parallel to this purpose continuum is the virtue continuum. While the purpose continuum states that the purpose of life is to gain ennlightenment, the virtue continuum states that the purpose of life is to live it virtuously.
Enlightenment and virtue go together and are the same thing, or two sides of the same coin of existence.
Evil, negativiity is the raw material for us to fashion or hammer out a useful or virtuous effect.
It is part of the developmental process of life's work, transforming itself into a work of art and virtue.
Life is both an art class and a utility workshop as much as it is a philosophy lesson.
Enlightenment. Long word. Not sure what it means. Let us try. It means the absence or cessation of wrong assumptions. The mind is free from delusions. It sees reality as it is rather than as we want it to be or as we are told or led to believe. An enlightened person holds no false hopes or ideas.
It also means the absence of bad intention and action. At the minimum, the enlightened person has the ability to control the shadow side of his human nature and express only the good side.
He knows and understands what ambition, greed, selfishness, envy, jealousy, anger, revenge are but is able to control or subliminate these negative feelings into a neutral or positive state.
The purpose of life is to survive, to achieve a reasonable standard of living, to stay healthy, to mantain needs and to gain enlightenment.
Life is both a means and an end in itself. The ultimate purpose is to transform it into pure awareness which is our ultimate form. It goes by many names - spirit, soul, consciousness.
The body and the mind are the tools.
The world is the workshop.
Running parallel to this purpose continuum is the virtue continuum. While the purpose continuum states that the purpose of life is to gain ennlightenment, the virtue continuum states that the purpose of life is to live it virtuously.
Enlightenment and virtue go together and are the same thing, or two sides of the same coin of existence.
Evil, negativiity is the raw material for us to fashion or hammer out a useful or virtuous effect.
It is part of the developmental process of life's work, transforming itself into a work of art and virtue.
Life is both an art class and a utility workshop as much as it is a philosophy lesson.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Together Apart
Our bodies,
Our lives,
Lie in parallel,
A touch here,
In contact there;
In between, hiatus.
This life,
This world,
Separates us.
Our lives,
Lie in parallel,
A touch here,
In contact there;
In between, hiatus.
This life,
This world,
Separates us.
Moralist Down
Hoisted a leg onto high ground,
Slipped, slid and fell into a hole;
Shot from below;
But all I saw were flitting birds
Chasing invisible insects
Imitating the sound of my words
Ricochetting off the wall;
Look'd beyond to the sky, knew
Had to get off my butt, up and out.
Slipped, slid and fell into a hole;
Shot from below;
But all I saw were flitting birds
Chasing invisible insects
Imitating the sound of my words
Ricochetting off the wall;
Look'd beyond to the sky, knew
Had to get off my butt, up and out.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Class 64: Oink To The Oi
Brayed Oi United to Oink FC:
Oi, Fulsome Cowboy,
Long time no see!
For a daily dorky,
A day awol,
Is cause for worry.
Whassup? No more hawing at the Club?
Whatsa jazz? You running outta gas?
C'mon in, grab some grub!
WAH, YA, SZ and I,
Are worried and wondering why.
Altho the tip of your lance-in-pencil
Is at times sharp, at times limp,
We, members of the Tribal Council,
Are in no trance, being
Neither a zombie, nor a wimp.
We have sensitivities a few, you Fing,
So go easy on the Malay thing-a-ling,
On this, the Net Forum,
Mindful of tribal decorum,
We frown on any hokum-pokum;
We are here primarily to say Hello;
Occasionally warn of non-halal products, Lo!
A virus or two, maybe worms too,
While passe are jokes leached from the loo,
Golf and dinner invites are okay too,
That's all that are comfortable, Yahoo!
So no, we don't have to sit cross-lapped,
Holding a cup to your crap;
What to you are carps and complaints,
Not even profound, just plain profane,
Are to us a yarn, held in disdain;
To the head, heavy; in the butt, a pain.
Ever wonder why JoeK, TA and AI,
And the rest of class 64,
Perched on table high,
Don't dang deign the padang turun,
And with one another interact?
Even if the padang is only the Net?
No, not because they lead busy lives,
Grasshopping down the Green,
Or being Lounge Lizards at a Resort,
But you've turned this once merry hive,
Into a burial site that is barely alive,
With many a sting, many a sigh,
And raised the bar a notch,
The heat a degree, too high.
Not that we engineer, captain, school dean,
Private practitioner, exporter-importer,
Political aspirant and tin-miner,
Mostly ex, some botak, others botox'd,
Are lacking in might and means,
But we find your demeanor,
Obnoxious in the extreme.
Our sacred cows tribal,
You denounced as inconsequential,
Trivial; our Cause Celebre,
The need of the Murid for a Murshid,
You deemed as lacking in merit;
A Taksub Terrible,
Not at all cerebral;
Our best barb pro September Eleven -
Even Steven, contra Americum -
You scoffed off as schoolboy tantrum;
How not to be sore on that score.
So go easy on the cheesy Lizzy,
Cicak, ciplak and cheapo cc,
Spare your old mate, the venom of hate;
Stave off your tirade,
From this Forum, small grade,
On to a bigger parade;
And maybe, fain,
We shall meet again,
Over tehs tarade.
Otherwise we will in chorus,
In unison, vociferous,
Cry Oi to your Oink,
No less.
Neofeudalism, you say?
Oi by a ruler of yesterday?
Reserved for his gundek and gecko?
Recalled here for its cili echo?
Nerd, geek, wacko and cracko,
All melded into one, watcho!
Bluster and bustle,
Hive off to the hustle,
Dorky for the day,
Blather to the bray,
Boy oh boy,
Oink to the Oi.
Oi, Fulsome Cowboy,
Long time no see!
For a daily dorky,
A day awol,
Is cause for worry.
Whassup? No more hawing at the Club?
Whatsa jazz? You running outta gas?
C'mon in, grab some grub!
WAH, YA, SZ and I,
Are worried and wondering why.
Altho the tip of your lance-in-pencil
Is at times sharp, at times limp,
We, members of the Tribal Council,
Are in no trance, being
Neither a zombie, nor a wimp.
We have sensitivities a few, you Fing,
So go easy on the Malay thing-a-ling,
On this, the Net Forum,
Mindful of tribal decorum,
We frown on any hokum-pokum;
We are here primarily to say Hello;
Occasionally warn of non-halal products, Lo!
A virus or two, maybe worms too,
While passe are jokes leached from the loo,
Golf and dinner invites are okay too,
That's all that are comfortable, Yahoo!
So no, we don't have to sit cross-lapped,
Holding a cup to your crap;
What to you are carps and complaints,
Not even profound, just plain profane,
Are to us a yarn, held in disdain;
To the head, heavy; in the butt, a pain.
Ever wonder why JoeK, TA and AI,
And the rest of class 64,
Perched on table high,
Don't dang deign the padang turun,
And with one another interact?
Even if the padang is only the Net?
No, not because they lead busy lives,
Grasshopping down the Green,
Or being Lounge Lizards at a Resort,
But you've turned this once merry hive,
Into a burial site that is barely alive,
With many a sting, many a sigh,
And raised the bar a notch,
The heat a degree, too high.
Not that we engineer, captain, school dean,
Private practitioner, exporter-importer,
Political aspirant and tin-miner,
Mostly ex, some botak, others botox'd,
Are lacking in might and means,
But we find your demeanor,
Obnoxious in the extreme.
Our sacred cows tribal,
You denounced as inconsequential,
Trivial; our Cause Celebre,
The need of the Murid for a Murshid,
You deemed as lacking in merit;
A Taksub Terrible,
Not at all cerebral;
Our best barb pro September Eleven -
Even Steven, contra Americum -
You scoffed off as schoolboy tantrum;
How not to be sore on that score.
So go easy on the cheesy Lizzy,
Cicak, ciplak and cheapo cc,
Spare your old mate, the venom of hate;
Stave off your tirade,
From this Forum, small grade,
On to a bigger parade;
And maybe, fain,
We shall meet again,
Over tehs tarade.
Otherwise we will in chorus,
In unison, vociferous,
Cry Oi to your Oink,
No less.
Neofeudalism, you say?
Oi by a ruler of yesterday?
Reserved for his gundek and gecko?
Recalled here for its cili echo?
Nerd, geek, wacko and cracko,
All melded into one, watcho!
Bluster and bustle,
Hive off to the hustle,
Dorky for the day,
Blather to the bray,
Boy oh boy,
Oink to the Oi.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Bringing Up Sara
My little 'un is no Princess,
For I'm no Yang Di Pertuan;
Of her Dad, she seems to agree,
But of herself, she thinks she's one;
Admittedly, in abetting the case,
I'm guilty;
What can I do,
I have no plea,
Sara is only three.
Between queenie and subject loyal,
Between Dad's attempts futile,
To get the tiker to mend her style,
And give up her ritual,
Of being a little tot feudal,
There develops daily a battle royale.
The battle field is the settee
In front of the tv,
Which she hounds,
Refusing to give ground.
This is where she pitches
Her ensemble of imaginary
Pots, pans and dishes,
Made up of my toiletry,
Stationery and gadgetry.
This is where she scrimps,
Eyes glued to the screen,
Grubby fingers wiggling
To find the mouth;
Half enters, the rest goes south;
Mopping up is Dad's deed
Mashy, messy but necessary.
RC in her free hand,
She commandeers
All the cartoon channels,
Disney, Nickelodean, CN.
In the shadows Dad
Stands back, egad,
His is to nibble,
The dry biscuit Sara swivels,
Signalling his lot
Is not to quibble
Over the stuff from the pot
Or the missed tv news slot.
For I'm no Yang Di Pertuan;
Of her Dad, she seems to agree,
But of herself, she thinks she's one;
Admittedly, in abetting the case,
I'm guilty;
What can I do,
I have no plea,
Sara is only three.
Between queenie and subject loyal,
Between Dad's attempts futile,
To get the tiker to mend her style,
And give up her ritual,
Of being a little tot feudal,
There develops daily a battle royale.
The battle field is the settee
In front of the tv,
Which she hounds,
Refusing to give ground.
This is where she pitches
Her ensemble of imaginary
Pots, pans and dishes,
Made up of my toiletry,
Stationery and gadgetry.
This is where she scrimps,
Eyes glued to the screen,
Grubby fingers wiggling
To find the mouth;
Half enters, the rest goes south;
Mopping up is Dad's deed
Mashy, messy but necessary.
RC in her free hand,
She commandeers
All the cartoon channels,
Disney, Nickelodean, CN.
In the shadows Dad
Stands back, egad,
His is to nibble,
The dry biscuit Sara swivels,
Signalling his lot
Is not to quibble
Over the stuff from the pot
Or the missed tv news slot.
Gunung Kinabalu Climbathon 2005
The occasion was the 19th Mt Kinabalu Climbathon 2005,
The last event in the annual Sky Runner World Series mountain race,
Prestigious, publicized, offering prize money,
Attracting top names of the world athletic fraternity.
So what right had a crotchety pensioner,
Sea level aspirant, pushing sixty,
To have his name mixed up,
In the international cast of altitude runners?
Even if only in the above forty?
Why, they even required him to have a medical,
Before his name was put on the entry decal.
Well, as much right as the other recreational participants,
Who were runners in need, walkers in deed,
Who not only had no hope of winning a dime,
But might not even make it to the peak,
In the allotted time.
The route is 21.4 km long,
Climbing from 1.8 km to 4 km high;
Touristy trekkers only cover 17 km of the trail,
Done over a two-day round trip;
But for the race you are to complete,
The longer stretch in less than half a day,
With the cut-off time as six hours and a half,
And the record a little under three.
The pensioner, at the back of the straggling line,
Picked his way up,
Step, pause, step;
Step, pause, step.
He saw in awe,
The lead runner,
On his way down,
Bounding from boulder to boulder,
Bridging the intervening space,
As though helped by a bulldozer.
What diferent breed of animal is this?
What separates a runner of under three hours
From one who lurches home in seven?
What lungs, what heart,
What single-mindedness,
What knee ligaments,
What oxygen uptake?
Is it more a gift? Extra gills, Sir?
Or just the training factor?
A race is to the swift won,
And a rescue, rapidly deployed,
Is often successful;
Fortunately, no runner needed rescuing,
The pensioner to the finish line trudging,
One and a quarter past noon,
In a straggling line from the veteran unit
Who failed to reach the summit.
But my hat went to the senior ladies,
Elizabeth, Katie and one more,
Who traipsed behind the runners,
Sometime holding hands,
Often with hands in pockets,
Who made it to the finish line,
Ahead of the pensioner.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Safe Space
This space is safe. Scrawl till you crawl, but wear a sarong. Haven't got one? Ish, don a kopiah then!
Black Hole Alert!
(This space is unsafe. Skip it or you'll disappear like gargle water down a sinkhole!)
Lemah Lembut
Dulu orang Cina bungkus kaki anak dara mereka,
Orang Afrika dan Borneo cucuk hidung dan telinga,
Gelangkan tengkuk dan entah melakukan apa lagi
Kepada tubuh badan mereka demi kepercayaan,
Sekarang ramai pakai kasut yang nipis,
Yang mendedah lebih banyak kulit puan
Daripada kulit kasut,
Mudah rosak, yang cengkam jari kaki,
Sehingga herot, yang mempunyai tapak tumit
yang tinggi dan kurus,
yang menganjak pusat graviti
beberapa cm ke atas dan
menjejas kestabilan imbangan kaki.
Apa nama produk akhir proses turun temurun
dan sejagat ini?
Wanita lemah lembut.
Orang Afrika dan Borneo cucuk hidung dan telinga,
Gelangkan tengkuk dan entah melakukan apa lagi
Kepada tubuh badan mereka demi kepercayaan,
Sekarang ramai pakai kasut yang nipis,
Yang mendedah lebih banyak kulit puan
Daripada kulit kasut,
Mudah rosak, yang cengkam jari kaki,
Sehingga herot, yang mempunyai tapak tumit
yang tinggi dan kurus,
yang menganjak pusat graviti
beberapa cm ke atas dan
menjejas kestabilan imbangan kaki.
Apa nama produk akhir proses turun temurun
dan sejagat ini?
Wanita lemah lembut.
Pulau Besar Selatan
Budaya tak menulis: Kalu tidak, Australia hari ini bernama Pulau Besar Selatan
Ada pengkaji menegaskan bahawa orang luar pertama mendarat di tanah besar yang kini bergelar Australia adalah orang Melayu, bukan Belanda dan kemudian Inggeris.
Pengkaji kata terdapat sisa tunggul tiang rumah dan pokok kelapa yang mencerminkan budaya orang Melayu di Wilayah Utara, Australia.
Tapi kerana moyang kita tidak mengamalkan budaya menulis, mereka tidak meninggalkan sebarang dokumen, peta, surat tuntutan, apatah lagi bangunan atau perkampungan tetap.
Persoalan sekarang: Apakah kita terus mengulangi kesilapan moyang kita dengan budaya tidak menulis mengenai pengalaman kita?
Ada pengkaji menegaskan bahawa orang luar pertama mendarat di tanah besar yang kini bergelar Australia adalah orang Melayu, bukan Belanda dan kemudian Inggeris.
Pengkaji kata terdapat sisa tunggul tiang rumah dan pokok kelapa yang mencerminkan budaya orang Melayu di Wilayah Utara, Australia.
Tapi kerana moyang kita tidak mengamalkan budaya menulis, mereka tidak meninggalkan sebarang dokumen, peta, surat tuntutan, apatah lagi bangunan atau perkampungan tetap.
Persoalan sekarang: Apakah kita terus mengulangi kesilapan moyang kita dengan budaya tidak menulis mengenai pengalaman kita?
One Blogger's Rationale
The theme of this blog is literary expression. The basis for it is a philosophical conundrum: does the tree in the forest fall if there is no one to witness and report - describe - it?
To do that you use words. You need words to name objects and events, to "make" them exist or happen.
Does the universe exist, did history happen, if there is no word to say so? Do you exist without a name? Without a name, an identity, who are you? Can you think without words? Without thinking, where will you be?
Word the World
There are two parallel realities here - the thing, and the word. Are they sequential or simultaneous worlds? If sequential, which precedes? Does the thing happen first and then the word follows? Or does the "word" causes things to happen? Obviously, the word can be taken to represent Intelligence which connotes Intention, Power and Effulgence. The Word then is a synechdoche of All-encompassing Intelligence.
To keep the analysis within a reasonable length, in keeping with the dimensions of this blog, I'm forced to take ontological leaps and shortcuts here.
So, in the foregoing sense, one can say, Word as Almighty Intelligence, precedes the universe and history. At the same time, the Word fires and keeps tabs on universal proceedings and reports back on them through its chief agents, human beings.
So there you have it in a nutshell - a dual parallel world of Word and Thing, but with Word upping the ante by being both antecedent and precedent to the Thing jeepneying along on the path of time.
That just about wraps it all up: the Word is a Thing wrap.
Hence this blog. The importance of the word is the raison detre for the creation of this blog. Writing this blog defines my life path, direction and purpose. By building it, I'm exercising my identity and feeding my soul. Filling up this blog is like putting things into a bundle to take on my journey along my life path to my final destination. Think of Dick Whittington with his stick and bundle walking on the road to London to seek his fortune. That's one children's story with a hidden adult meaning for you.
I am the word, and the word is me.
Suddenly, the possibly derogatory expression, blogging your life away, suggesting degeneration, has a ring of purpose and echo of direction to it.
Walk the Word
But of course you must have other interests, responsibilities - a life outside of blogging - to write about. Hence my add on list of other interests, not mentioning normal family and other social responsibilites.
To do that you use words. You need words to name objects and events, to "make" them exist or happen.
Does the universe exist, did history happen, if there is no word to say so? Do you exist without a name? Without a name, an identity, who are you? Can you think without words? Without thinking, where will you be?
Word the World
There are two parallel realities here - the thing, and the word. Are they sequential or simultaneous worlds? If sequential, which precedes? Does the thing happen first and then the word follows? Or does the "word" causes things to happen? Obviously, the word can be taken to represent Intelligence which connotes Intention, Power and Effulgence. The Word then is a synechdoche of All-encompassing Intelligence.
To keep the analysis within a reasonable length, in keeping with the dimensions of this blog, I'm forced to take ontological leaps and shortcuts here.
So, in the foregoing sense, one can say, Word as Almighty Intelligence, precedes the universe and history. At the same time, the Word fires and keeps tabs on universal proceedings and reports back on them through its chief agents, human beings.
So there you have it in a nutshell - a dual parallel world of Word and Thing, but with Word upping the ante by being both antecedent and precedent to the Thing jeepneying along on the path of time.
That just about wraps it all up: the Word is a Thing wrap.
Hence this blog. The importance of the word is the raison detre for the creation of this blog. Writing this blog defines my life path, direction and purpose. By building it, I'm exercising my identity and feeding my soul. Filling up this blog is like putting things into a bundle to take on my journey along my life path to my final destination. Think of Dick Whittington with his stick and bundle walking on the road to London to seek his fortune. That's one children's story with a hidden adult meaning for you.
I am the word, and the word is me.
Suddenly, the possibly derogatory expression, blogging your life away, suggesting degeneration, has a ring of purpose and echo of direction to it.
Walk the Word
But of course you must have other interests, responsibilities - a life outside of blogging - to write about. Hence my add on list of other interests, not mentioning normal family and other social responsibilites.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Role Call
Everyone is assigned a role,
Saint, sinner;
Perpetrator, victim;
Rescuer, rescued;
Therefore, beyond fate,
Lift not a finger to save your soul,
Let alone mundane matters.
Saint, sinner;
Perpetrator, victim;
Rescuer, rescued;
Therefore, beyond fate,
Lift not a finger to save your soul,
Let alone mundane matters.
Noktah Mati
Noktah mengakhiri ayat,
Mati mengakhiri hayat,
Tapi dari ayat ke ayat,
Dari hayat fana ke hayat
Baqa, ada kesinambungan.
Mati mengakhiri hayat,
Tapi dari ayat ke ayat,
Dari hayat fana ke hayat
Baqa, ada kesinambungan.
Alam Wajah Kewujudan
Kita kenali manusia melalui wajah,
Kita kenali kewujudan melalui alam,
Mulai dari alam baik-baik belaka,
Tapi resah, tersilap, tergoda,
Timbul persoalan, merantau, meniti,
Mengaharungi kelopak kehidupan
Akhir sampai Puncak Makrifat.
Kita kenali kewujudan melalui alam,
Mulai dari alam baik-baik belaka,
Tapi resah, tersilap, tergoda,
Timbul persoalan, merantau, meniti,
Mengaharungi kelopak kehidupan
Akhir sampai Puncak Makrifat.
Your Thoughts Never Die
You can stop to think,
But you cannot stop thinking,
Even when you are asleep, or dead;
Awake, you think to process the mundane,
Asleep, you think to dream the insane,
Dead, your soul, pure consciousness,
Rises from the blushes,
To rummage memories,
Individual and collective,
Review historic files
From the Cosmic Archive;
Soar over scapes as an eagle's eye,
Hover in the clover as a dragonfly,
Slide down a chute as an otter,
To a sunlit spot underwater,
Grow as a sapling, gracefully
Into an old Tualang tree.
Far-flung are the reaches,
Limitless are the riches,
Greater is the sum
Of Thoughts Incorporated,
Whether awake, asleep,
Or Transformatted.
But you cannot stop thinking,
Even when you are asleep, or dead;
Awake, you think to process the mundane,
Asleep, you think to dream the insane,
Dead, your soul, pure consciousness,
Rises from the blushes,
To rummage memories,
Individual and collective,
Review historic files
From the Cosmic Archive;
Soar over scapes as an eagle's eye,
Hover in the clover as a dragonfly,
Slide down a chute as an otter,
To a sunlit spot underwater,
Grow as a sapling, gracefully
Into an old Tualang tree.
Far-flung are the reaches,
Limitless are the riches,
Greater is the sum
Of Thoughts Incorporated,
Whether awake, asleep,
Or Transformatted.
Mahabohsia
Dari kampung ke kaki lima kota, gadis
Belasan tahun naik teksi, gi
Shopping kompleks, habis
RM30 jumlah emak, penggores
Getah, kutip dari 2 pagi.
Dari kampung ke kampus, siswi
Awal duapuluhan kapit beg, Delphi
Kamar, kuliah, kantin, komsis E,
Keluar handset Nokia 6000C, beli
Duit emak, pekebun kecil, beri.
Pabila ditanya tutor,
Diinterbiu oleh NTV3,
Diminta pendapat isu semasa,
Tiada bunyi apa-apa,
Boh tau, boh kata,
Rupanya dalam senyap
Simpan rahsia, ada kuasa,
Itulah dia mahabohsia.
Tak suka, takut bertanya,
Dok di bangku, nyata
Nampak macam zombie
Cuba melindung identiti,
Balik tiang hidung sendiri.
Bila habis kuliah, baru
Nampak bernyawa kembali.
Belasan tahun naik teksi, gi
Shopping kompleks, habis
RM30 jumlah emak, penggores
Getah, kutip dari 2 pagi.
Dari kampung ke kampus, siswi
Awal duapuluhan kapit beg, Delphi
Kamar, kuliah, kantin, komsis E,
Keluar handset Nokia 6000C, beli
Duit emak, pekebun kecil, beri.
Pabila ditanya tutor,
Diinterbiu oleh NTV3,
Diminta pendapat isu semasa,
Tiada bunyi apa-apa,
Boh tau, boh kata,
Rupanya dalam senyap
Simpan rahsia, ada kuasa,
Itulah dia mahabohsia.
Tak suka, takut bertanya,
Dok di bangku, nyata
Nampak macam zombie
Cuba melindung identiti,
Balik tiang hidung sendiri.
Bila habis kuliah, baru
Nampak bernyawa kembali.
Fakawi
Fakawi's Unforgettable Cycling, Kayaking,
That's the tagline for my blog
Where I deposit promissory notes
Expressing my interests and pursuits.
One of which is long postponed,
Circumambulation of Africa,
From the Sahara to the Kalahari,
Where I hope to meet my nemesis,
The legendary lost tribe of Fakawi,
Whose name lends its mystique,
To my otherwise prosaic site,
Fakawi's Unforgettable Cycling, Kayaking,
Whose acronym is not my doing,
But may yet be my undoing.
That's the tagline for my blog
Where I deposit promissory notes
Expressing my interests and pursuits.
One of which is long postponed,
Circumambulation of Africa,
From the Sahara to the Kalahari,
Where I hope to meet my nemesis,
The legendary lost tribe of Fakawi,
Whose name lends its mystique,
To my otherwise prosaic site,
Fakawi's Unforgettable Cycling, Kayaking,
Whose acronym is not my doing,
But may yet be my undoing.
Pegawai Melayu Di New York
Seorang pegawai tinggi dalam hairaki UMNO sekarang (latest, dah bekas) pernah berada di New York awal 80an buat master's.
Pada satu hari minggu pertama di sana, sambil menyesuaikan diri dalam kerumitan budaya dan bahasa yang amat bercanggah dengan b-d-b ibunda, beliau beratur di sebuah kedai Italian menjual pizza.
Bila tiba giliran, seorang kakitangan, Yang 195 CM Tinggi, bertanya: "Here, or to go?"
Yang 165 CM Rendah menjawab: "Go where?"
Pada satu hari minggu pertama di sana, sambil menyesuaikan diri dalam kerumitan budaya dan bahasa yang amat bercanggah dengan b-d-b ibunda, beliau beratur di sebuah kedai Italian menjual pizza.
Bila tiba giliran, seorang kakitangan, Yang 195 CM Tinggi, bertanya: "Here, or to go?"
Yang 165 CM Rendah menjawab: "Go where?"
Buruh Indon Di KL
Just Another Ordinary Day In The Life Of Buton, Same Like Yesterday
Seorang buruh yang baru tiba dari Buton, Sulawesi, sedang melayan pelanggan beratur di gerai makan Fakulti Pendidikan, Universiti Malaya, KL. Sampai gilirannya, seorang pelanggan mengajukan sebilah pisau roti kepada Buton dan berbisik:
"Berikan semua nasi dan lauk pauk itu cepat, kalau tidak aku cederakan kau!"
Tanpa sebarang perubahan wajah, Buton pandang lurus kepada Pengancam dan dengan entah mana satu daripada 300 loghat Sulawesi, menjawab:
"Makaan ... bungkuus."
Ancaman tidak memberi apa-apa kesan, Pengancam balik jadi Pelanggan.
Nobody noticed the ruffle in the smooth surface of existence, not even Buton.
Next.
"Makaan, bungkuus."
Seorang buruh yang baru tiba dari Buton, Sulawesi, sedang melayan pelanggan beratur di gerai makan Fakulti Pendidikan, Universiti Malaya, KL. Sampai gilirannya, seorang pelanggan mengajukan sebilah pisau roti kepada Buton dan berbisik:
"Berikan semua nasi dan lauk pauk itu cepat, kalau tidak aku cederakan kau!"
Tanpa sebarang perubahan wajah, Buton pandang lurus kepada Pengancam dan dengan entah mana satu daripada 300 loghat Sulawesi, menjawab:
"Makaan ... bungkuus."
Ancaman tidak memberi apa-apa kesan, Pengancam balik jadi Pelanggan.
Nobody noticed the ruffle in the smooth surface of existence, not even Buton.
Next.
"Makaan, bungkuus."
Smsing Whisperer
Scene: Smsing through airwaves/radio/cyberspace/infrared signal?
Characters: ZR is the lynchpin. All other characters are in communication with ZR but are unknown to one another. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely poetic and to truth, coincidentally coincidental.
ZR: Pampering, after achieving, is a good strategy,
But, if indulged in, will turn you into a softie,
Physically, mentally and spiritually;
Neither a slob, nor flabby be,
Better be hard, mean and lean,
Sinewy, synapsy, soul squeaky clean;
So put on the running shoes,
Put word to verse, pen to use,
See the weather in a bead of water,
The world in a clump of sand
Then sit back and wonder,
Is not the First Source close at hand.
To be able to smooth out the bumps and potholes of life,
Essence of existence
To have a purpose in life, one must love;
To love, one must have discipline.
Nee: ??? Apa tu? Salah hantar ke?
Ruby: You send me 38 smses.
I'll only reply to the 38th.
Then you can have teh tarik.
With me. Nothing comes cheap, lor!
Not my time, but as in my name.
Rus: I'm on the road from Kemaman to Kapar.
Catch up with you later, Papa.
Roby: Deeply stimulating words,
Mostly saintly, but some are absurd.
Pady: I couldn't agree with you more!
Your ideas flow, your words score.
ZR: Today I was goaded,
The provos to be loaded
With ammo to surge forward.
Pady: Who provoked you, pray tell?
Zr: My agent provocateur
Is always generic,
Never specific,
Whatya fink?
Hani: Haha, very funny!
ZR: Trust you, Hani!
You only one to see the sunny.
One was moved to tears;
Another was unmoved;
Number 4 nodded approval;
Five will reset her time table;
Six set to rearrange her priorities;
Seven wanted to know more possibilities;
Eight changed the subject,
Nine didn't bother to contact,
Not even to yell - go to hell.
Anis: Changed the subject ...
That's me, right?
Were I really like that?
Zr: Nolah, you were driving on your way someplace,
Mana ada konsentrasi nak sembang deep-deep.
I know you are not a superficial gal
Incapable of wading into a subject deeper than your ankle.
Or talk like Tarzan -
Briefer than his jungle brief.
Or Eve with her fig leaf,
Now I know how Jane must have grieved.
Anis: Mm.
ZR: Today a new art form is born
But between art and you
My heart is torn
For you were not there
To tamper the tempest
To pamper before the Pampers
To sooth the pain in the gain
To hear the cry in the netherness
To witness that Art R Us.
Characters: ZR is the lynchpin. All other characters are in communication with ZR but are unknown to one another. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely poetic and to truth, coincidentally coincidental.
ZR: Pampering, after achieving, is a good strategy,
But, if indulged in, will turn you into a softie,
Physically, mentally and spiritually;
Neither a slob, nor flabby be,
Better be hard, mean and lean,
Sinewy, synapsy, soul squeaky clean;
So put on the running shoes,
Put word to verse, pen to use,
See the weather in a bead of water,
The world in a clump of sand
Then sit back and wonder,
Is not the First Source close at hand.
To be able to smooth out the bumps and potholes of life,
Essence of existence
To have a purpose in life, one must love;
To love, one must have discipline.
Nee: ??? Apa tu? Salah hantar ke?
Ruby: You send me 38 smses.
I'll only reply to the 38th.
Then you can have teh tarik.
With me. Nothing comes cheap, lor!
Not my time, but as in my name.
Rus: I'm on the road from Kemaman to Kapar.
Catch up with you later, Papa.
Roby: Deeply stimulating words,
Mostly saintly, but some are absurd.
Pady: I couldn't agree with you more!
Your ideas flow, your words score.
ZR: Today I was goaded,
The provos to be loaded
With ammo to surge forward.
Pady: Who provoked you, pray tell?
Zr: My agent provocateur
Is always generic,
Never specific,
Whatya fink?
Hani: Haha, very funny!
ZR: Trust you, Hani!
You only one to see the sunny.
One was moved to tears;
Another was unmoved;
Number 4 nodded approval;
Five will reset her time table;
Six set to rearrange her priorities;
Seven wanted to know more possibilities;
Eight changed the subject,
Nine didn't bother to contact,
Not even to yell - go to hell.
Anis: Changed the subject ...
That's me, right?
Were I really like that?
Zr: Nolah, you were driving on your way someplace,
Mana ada konsentrasi nak sembang deep-deep.
I know you are not a superficial gal
Incapable of wading into a subject deeper than your ankle.
Or talk like Tarzan -
Briefer than his jungle brief.
Or Eve with her fig leaf,
Now I know how Jane must have grieved.
Anis: Mm.
ZR: Today a new art form is born
But between art and you
My heart is torn
For you were not there
To tamper the tempest
To pamper before the Pampers
To sooth the pain in the gain
To hear the cry in the netherness
To witness that Art R Us.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
99 Ways To Tell, or Tear, a Malay Apart
I might as well title this
Caricature of a Malay as
A Short Walk into
the Malay Kush,
Or Bush;
Here gush:
In the Malaysian cultural pastiche,
What traits a Malay to distinguish?
If you see a tour bus at the KL Twin Tower,
Festooned with white and pink tuala,
Sure it is carrying a Malay group from upriver.
If you see the crepe-thin China-made towel,
Used as prayer mat, head cover, mouth cover,
Modesty blind, sunshade for the car window,
Anything, but to dry your body down with,
Safe bet the user is a Melayu le.
If on Friday a little past noon,
You see a traffic police
Turns the other way round,
As cars and vans double park
On both sides of a road,
Or is nowhere to be seen,
You know Malays are en-mosque,
Praying to Allah.
In Kampung Pasir Putih, Putatan,
Saw a patrol car with a full phalanx
Of two constables by it standing
With engine and aircon running
No doubt in a state of readiness
For the return of the duty officer -
Or it could have been just a sargeant -
Who was in the mosque about to berjemaah:
Don't ask if the mata-mata are Muslim -
Bad form! I did. They are mukmin!
Two sheepish mukmin eyes,
One petty-piety officer,
And one nosy parker.
Every time a newly comfortable Malay,
Hardly a generation removed
From the hardship of the kampung,
Now installed in an urban housing estate,
Starts to drive away in his new Kancil,
Expect him to blow his car horn
By way of saying "Jumpa lagi!"
Its timed regularity, morn, noon, evening,
Is only outregulated by the even more
Jolting call of the muezzin.
With another nouveau riche Malay newbie
Starting up his diesel-engined gray-yellow
Mitsubishi Storm a full fifteen minutes
Before driving off - he must have got that
Advice from a sixties manual -
For a neighbor -
Then your living in the Malay-malaise-matrix
Is just about complete, but no, there's more ...
If on being shown a map of KL city,
And asked for directions,
A passerby ignores it and starts
Jabbing with his hand,
Directing with his foot, and
Pointing with his mouth,
Transforming himself into
Instant street puppetry,
Confirmed, he is Abdulla.
If, while slowing down to a halt at the
Sabah-Sarawak Sidumin border post,
You find the booth unmanned,
And you remember moments earlier
The PA system mic was knocked tok-tok,
Followed by a piercing call ...
Settle back for a long wait - the Pegawai,
Being Muslim and Malay,
Has taken a "short" break to pray.
Upon seeing a newly bought anything,
The first thing a Malay wants to hear is
What is its price;
To a Malay knowing the cost
Is a consolation in liew of not having
Or being able to afford the thing;
It also gives him a chance
To up the ante by saying,
"I got the same thing
For a dollar a dozen."
If a Malay acquaintance smiles a friendly smile
And begs you to belanja/treat him/her,
Don't be put off, he's no scrounger,
It was only a friendly icebreaker;
Or maybe he was - a scrounger.
In Sabah, the tactical maneuver is "Pinjam!"
Just say "Yes." That will stop him in his jump.
Other overt curiosity-tripping-on-propriety overtures:
"Where are you from?"
"What is your original village?"
"Where are you going?"
"How much does the fish cost?"
What is that in your bag?"
While the eye darts sharply
To the object in your hand
Like a come-too-close tree frog
Suddenly leaping across your face;
He or she is not being rude or a busybody,
But his need for a positional fix,
A check on his social status,
And sense of group affiliation,
In liew of a social GPS gadgetry,
Got the better of his sense of propriety.
If you chance upon an open community well
And see a woman pouring water over her head,
While being encased in a sarong of modesty,
The water cascading from the top of the head
Down the outside of the sarong sheath,
Hung-draped under the armpits,
Tightened above the breasts,
Don't wonder if the whole body
Ever got the benefit of a wash.
And while you are at it, you
Might also catch sight of
Another kembang gantung
Squashed onto her haunches
Scrubbing clothes on the slippery,
slimy concrete floor underfoot.
If later you see one of these womenfolk,
Now in the kitchen, preparing to gut fish
Directly in the, yes, again, slimy, sink,
Without the benefit of an intervening
Bowl or board, yes, I don't blame you
If your tiered guts start to sink
Into its ground floor.
If you see a person implode into a squat,
Like a being-demolished building,
Or a closing, telescopic umbrella,
He is probably not into sumo or yoga,
But is only a Malay transforming his body into a collapsible sitter,
The way a tortoise uses his shell to form an instant shelter.
If a local insists that you enter his house
And offers you tea and biskut tawar
Or even a plate of rice
Be graceful enough and eat,
Even if you don't feel like it.
At gatherings, if
You see men mix with men,
Women with women,
No, they are not sitting on
Opposite sides of the gay-lesbian divide,
No, they have nothing to hide,
Only their fear of being ostracized.
If you see a driver or motorcyclist
Giving out an apologetic hand signal
Upon overtaking you and then
You notice the same guy
Nonchalantly jumping the queue
At the Rantau Panjang immigration checkpoint,
That's okay too since everybody does it.
If a traffic police asks you
Where you are heading to
Or where you're from,
Instead of just asking for your IC
Or driving license,
Which he will eventually,
Grant him your patience,
He is only stalling,
The better to check your sizing
In his mental CPI -
Criminal Potential Index.
If you see a Malay eating with his hand
Off his own plate and using his grubby fingers
To pick up the shared dish spoon,
That's okay too bcoz everyone does it,
And you are the oddball if you raise Cain.
Don't show your ill-breeding by
Pinching off a spot of food
Which a fly had alighted on,
For Malays and flies have accommodated
Each other in the kitchen and toilet,
Public or private, probably
Even earlier than the day
Munshi Abdullah visited the Terengganu
Kedai Payang wet market in the 1880s.
If you see an extra flick to the hand wave,
More repetitions than due,
Like a car wiper switched on fast,
Or waved at an undue moment,
A bit of added-on lift to the leg raise
In a keen sepak takraw match,
A bit of twang to the English,
A bit more throat to the Arabic,
On a talk show or news presentation,
A little more action in the act,
More acting in the action,
More shriek than lilt,
In the drama minggu depan,
A haughty smirk at a strawman in absentia,
Especially if he sits on a Majlis Fatwa,
Ah, he is a Malay trying to make light
Of a post-colonial sense of being under siege,
Or under a populist and religious vigilance,
A counter stroke to preempt
The generic strike from an honorary enemy,
Or a peace offering to appease
The impending wrath of a traditional authority,
Putting up a veil of virtue,
Or a blind of braggadocio -
Whichever is due.
If you see a Malay working himself up
Into a hairball of denials,
Obfuscations and contradictions,
Especially when it comes to his last stand -
Agama, Bangsa and Negara,
Forgive him,
He is only playing to the gallery -
Which could be himself -
Or just grandstanding
In memory of his late grandfather,
With you as sounding board,
Stepping stone, foil or whatever.
A Malay grandstanding
Is a sight to behold -
Catch a sighting of this crescent moon
At the Umno perhimpunan agong,
Pas muktamar, the kedai kopi kampung,
Serambi surau and now blogpungs -
Mouths frothing,
Neck veins swelling,
Mustache or goatee twitching,
Tone of voice all bangsawan,
Pahlawan or usahawan;
Slogans and cogans,
Words smsing and smashing,
Spewing like bubbles
From the bubur lambuk pot;
Incessant like the tuk-tuk
Of Burung Tukang, the night jar;
Cemerlang, Gemilang, Terbilang,
Glittering this, Towering that,
All to a captive audience listening out flat;
But to Umnouts, Pasouts and other Pak Sauts,
It is just more hollering,
With the same hollow ring,
As in last year's soundings.
If you see a gathering more steeped
In style, ritual and custom
Than spontaneity or substance,
Forgive the Malay adat,
It is only the rolling out of the mat.
If you see a Malay a kris unsheath,
No need to head for the heath,
He is not about to run amok
But only using it to do the talk
His leaking confidence to caulk.
It has not happened yet but don't be surprised,
If one day a self-respecting Malay were to apply for a patent,
The word Allah as an exclusively Malay or Muslim God,
Thus preventing the Christian Kadazandusun in Bundu Tuhan,
Christian Arabs in Beirut,
The Malay Christians in Cebu, and
The Jahiliah Arabs prior to AD 632,
From using it in their prayers too.
And then there's the common practice
of using western products
To denounce western conduct,
Of using a Nokia or Sennheiser
To stop Azhar Mansor
From reaching his sponsor,
Or Bruno Manser
From going back to Penansular.
If you are a Malay celup - as many are,
And mistaken for Chinese, Indian, et cetera,
You will recall many a slight,
To your sense of pride;
If you express a liberal opinion
Just slightly peeking out of the box,
Be prepared to be put on instant trial
By being asked to recite the shahadah
By a footsoldier of your
shared, common khutbah.
A Malay, consumed in his vanity, sees
Any divergence in view or behavior
As a threat or insult to his dignity,
Which by a sleight of solipsism
He calls an insult to Islam!
For the same reason cow dung
Is called King Solomon's dinner
Or the emperor's nakedness
Is called his new clothes!
If the difference is trivial or harmless,
You will be slapped with the label eccentric,
If you disagree a lot and become careless,
You will be tarred a murtad - heretic.
To Christians and Buddhists alike,
A Christian can become a Buddhist,
A Buddhist can become a Christian,
It is a non-issue and does not make news,
But to the highly risible Malay,
Who has put all his eggs in one identity basket,
Even getting an SMS rumor that a Malay
Is about to convert
Will send him and his sahabats
Jumping over the culverts.
There are Muslim Arabs,
There are Christian Arabs,
All dressed up as Arabs,
This could cause many a red face
Among the Malays who are all
Muslims - at least in the peninsula,
Not so in East Malaysia or Indonesia -
When they assume all Arabs, like them,
Share their faith.
Until today the Malays have yet to fill
Their quota of unit trusts allocation,
While the Chinese snap up theirs
In a matter of days if not hours.
Another Malay penchant is the media craze to make
The longest, biggest of a local take
Which the world has never heard of
Like the longest lemang,
And claim it is a world shebang.
If you lend money to a Malay,
Don't hope to get it back,
Near or distant,
Acquaintance or relative,
It is all the same,
It is not in the mindset
Of a Malay to return
A borrowed anything
For "Loan" is only a
Loan word actually meaning
A gift, once given, is gone for good,
Like an arrow released from its bow,
To ask for it back is to
Rot the elbow.
If you look up on the high achievers list,
You'll find occasionally a Malay,
But scroll down the neg stats,
Their representation is out of all
Proportion to the ratio of population;
For a Malay takes to buang anak, ponteng,
Lepak, mat rempit, syabu and conteng
Like flies to a suppurating sore;
Ask him to sail alone offshore,
Play the violin at Albert Hall,
Or gain English mastery,
He will report you to the state mufti
As a suspect for having converted to Christianity.
Whether in politics, marriage, or patronage,
A Malay is at best a fair-weather friend,
When in need, he is hovering near,
When want not,
He is nowhere to be got,
Indeed, a friend in deed
Is a Malay only when in need.
At worst, he will betray you
At the slightest sign of a change
In the climate, political or relational;
When he was down,
He wrapped himself around your ankles,
On the way up, all sweetness,
He used you as a stepping-stone;
Out of the piste,
He showed a clean pair of heels,
Loans, Mara or familial, to date, unpaid,
Passages or the whole script credited
To his PhDship, leaving you the crumbs
Of an unacknowledged manuscript;
Perchance he rose to be a minister or dean
And years later met you again,
You might just catch him saying:
"So you're still alive and kicking!"
As though only he had the extra something
To stay on, while others are done in,
Covering up the soiled spot
Like a tomcat his scat.
A simple matter of applying
For an OKU card can send you headlong
Into a free fall of ten people telling
you ten different things, entailing
Ten trips to ten different counters
At ten different pejabats:
All that right under the promising
Mission statement and work desiderata
Put up by the graphics boys
On the wall for decorum, who,
One suspects, do not care two hoots
About the message in the medium.
That, more or less, is my experience
Of being a detached Malay,
A part of and yet feeling apart
From the Melayu World.
Caricature of a Malay as
A Short Walk into
the Malay Kush,
Or Bush;
Here gush:
In the Malaysian cultural pastiche,
What traits a Malay to distinguish?
If you see a tour bus at the KL Twin Tower,
Festooned with white and pink tuala,
Sure it is carrying a Malay group from upriver.
If you see the crepe-thin China-made towel,
Used as prayer mat, head cover, mouth cover,
Modesty blind, sunshade for the car window,
Anything, but to dry your body down with,
Safe bet the user is a Melayu le.
If on Friday a little past noon,
You see a traffic police
Turns the other way round,
As cars and vans double park
On both sides of a road,
Or is nowhere to be seen,
You know Malays are en-mosque,
Praying to Allah.
In Kampung Pasir Putih, Putatan,
Saw a patrol car with a full phalanx
Of two constables by it standing
With engine and aircon running
No doubt in a state of readiness
For the return of the duty officer -
Or it could have been just a sargeant -
Who was in the mosque about to berjemaah:
Don't ask if the mata-mata are Muslim -
Bad form! I did. They are mukmin!
Two sheepish mukmin eyes,
One petty-piety officer,
And one nosy parker.
Every time a newly comfortable Malay,
Hardly a generation removed
From the hardship of the kampung,
Now installed in an urban housing estate,
Starts to drive away in his new Kancil,
Expect him to blow his car horn
By way of saying "Jumpa lagi!"
Its timed regularity, morn, noon, evening,
Is only outregulated by the even more
Jolting call of the muezzin.
With another nouveau riche Malay newbie
Starting up his diesel-engined gray-yellow
Mitsubishi Storm a full fifteen minutes
Before driving off - he must have got that
Advice from a sixties manual -
For a neighbor -
Then your living in the Malay-malaise-matrix
Is just about complete, but no, there's more ...
If on being shown a map of KL city,
And asked for directions,
A passerby ignores it and starts
Jabbing with his hand,
Directing with his foot, and
Pointing with his mouth,
Transforming himself into
Instant street puppetry,
Confirmed, he is Abdulla.
If, while slowing down to a halt at the
Sabah-Sarawak Sidumin border post,
You find the booth unmanned,
And you remember moments earlier
The PA system mic was knocked tok-tok,
Followed by a piercing call ...
Settle back for a long wait - the Pegawai,
Being Muslim and Malay,
Has taken a "short" break to pray.
Upon seeing a newly bought anything,
The first thing a Malay wants to hear is
What is its price;
To a Malay knowing the cost
Is a consolation in liew of not having
Or being able to afford the thing;
It also gives him a chance
To up the ante by saying,
"I got the same thing
For a dollar a dozen."
If a Malay acquaintance smiles a friendly smile
And begs you to belanja/treat him/her,
Don't be put off, he's no scrounger,
It was only a friendly icebreaker;
Or maybe he was - a scrounger.
In Sabah, the tactical maneuver is "Pinjam!"
Just say "Yes." That will stop him in his jump.
Other overt curiosity-tripping-on-propriety overtures:
"Where are you from?"
"What is your original village?"
"Where are you going?"
"How much does the fish cost?"
What is that in your bag?"
While the eye darts sharply
To the object in your hand
Like a come-too-close tree frog
Suddenly leaping across your face;
He or she is not being rude or a busybody,
But his need for a positional fix,
A check on his social status,
And sense of group affiliation,
In liew of a social GPS gadgetry,
Got the better of his sense of propriety.
If you chance upon an open community well
And see a woman pouring water over her head,
While being encased in a sarong of modesty,
The water cascading from the top of the head
Down the outside of the sarong sheath,
Hung-draped under the armpits,
Tightened above the breasts,
Don't wonder if the whole body
Ever got the benefit of a wash.
And while you are at it, you
Might also catch sight of
Another kembang gantung
Squashed onto her haunches
Scrubbing clothes on the slippery,
slimy concrete floor underfoot.
If later you see one of these womenfolk,
Now in the kitchen, preparing to gut fish
Directly in the, yes, again, slimy, sink,
Without the benefit of an intervening
Bowl or board, yes, I don't blame you
If your tiered guts start to sink
Into its ground floor.
If you see a person implode into a squat,
Like a being-demolished building,
Or a closing, telescopic umbrella,
He is probably not into sumo or yoga,
But is only a Malay transforming his body into a collapsible sitter,
The way a tortoise uses his shell to form an instant shelter.
If a local insists that you enter his house
And offers you tea and biskut tawar
Or even a plate of rice
Be graceful enough and eat,
Even if you don't feel like it.
At gatherings, if
You see men mix with men,
Women with women,
No, they are not sitting on
Opposite sides of the gay-lesbian divide,
No, they have nothing to hide,
Only their fear of being ostracized.
If you see a driver or motorcyclist
Giving out an apologetic hand signal
Upon overtaking you and then
You notice the same guy
Nonchalantly jumping the queue
At the Rantau Panjang immigration checkpoint,
That's okay too since everybody does it.
If a traffic police asks you
Where you are heading to
Or where you're from,
Instead of just asking for your IC
Or driving license,
Which he will eventually,
Grant him your patience,
He is only stalling,
The better to check your sizing
In his mental CPI -
Criminal Potential Index.
If you see a Malay eating with his hand
Off his own plate and using his grubby fingers
To pick up the shared dish spoon,
That's okay too bcoz everyone does it,
And you are the oddball if you raise Cain.
Don't show your ill-breeding by
Pinching off a spot of food
Which a fly had alighted on,
For Malays and flies have accommodated
Each other in the kitchen and toilet,
Public or private, probably
Even earlier than the day
Munshi Abdullah visited the Terengganu
Kedai Payang wet market in the 1880s.
If you see an extra flick to the hand wave,
More repetitions than due,
Like a car wiper switched on fast,
Or waved at an undue moment,
A bit of added-on lift to the leg raise
In a keen sepak takraw match,
A bit of twang to the English,
A bit more throat to the Arabic,
On a talk show or news presentation,
A little more action in the act,
More acting in the action,
More shriek than lilt,
In the drama minggu depan,
A haughty smirk at a strawman in absentia,
Especially if he sits on a Majlis Fatwa,
Ah, he is a Malay trying to make light
Of a post-colonial sense of being under siege,
Or under a populist and religious vigilance,
A counter stroke to preempt
The generic strike from an honorary enemy,
Or a peace offering to appease
The impending wrath of a traditional authority,
Putting up a veil of virtue,
Or a blind of braggadocio -
Whichever is due.
If you see a Malay working himself up
Into a hairball of denials,
Obfuscations and contradictions,
Especially when it comes to his last stand -
Agama, Bangsa and Negara,
Forgive him,
He is only playing to the gallery -
Which could be himself -
Or just grandstanding
In memory of his late grandfather,
With you as sounding board,
Stepping stone, foil or whatever.
A Malay grandstanding
Is a sight to behold -
Catch a sighting of this crescent moon
At the Umno perhimpunan agong,
Pas muktamar, the kedai kopi kampung,
Serambi surau and now blogpungs -
Mouths frothing,
Neck veins swelling,
Mustache or goatee twitching,
Tone of voice all bangsawan,
Pahlawan or usahawan;
Slogans and cogans,
Words smsing and smashing,
Spewing like bubbles
From the bubur lambuk pot;
Incessant like the tuk-tuk
Of Burung Tukang, the night jar;
Cemerlang, Gemilang, Terbilang,
Glittering this, Towering that,
All to a captive audience listening out flat;
But to Umnouts, Pasouts and other Pak Sauts,
It is just more hollering,
With the same hollow ring,
As in last year's soundings.
If you see a gathering more steeped
In style, ritual and custom
Than spontaneity or substance,
Forgive the Malay adat,
It is only the rolling out of the mat.
If you see a Malay a kris unsheath,
No need to head for the heath,
He is not about to run amok
But only using it to do the talk
His leaking confidence to caulk.
It has not happened yet but don't be surprised,
If one day a self-respecting Malay were to apply for a patent,
The word Allah as an exclusively Malay or Muslim God,
Thus preventing the Christian Kadazandusun in Bundu Tuhan,
Christian Arabs in Beirut,
The Malay Christians in Cebu, and
The Jahiliah Arabs prior to AD 632,
From using it in their prayers too.
And then there's the common practice
of using western products
To denounce western conduct,
Of using a Nokia or Sennheiser
To stop Azhar Mansor
From reaching his sponsor,
Or Bruno Manser
From going back to Penansular.
If you are a Malay celup - as many are,
And mistaken for Chinese, Indian, et cetera,
You will recall many a slight,
To your sense of pride;
If you express a liberal opinion
Just slightly peeking out of the box,
Be prepared to be put on instant trial
By being asked to recite the shahadah
By a footsoldier of your
shared, common khutbah.
A Malay, consumed in his vanity, sees
Any divergence in view or behavior
As a threat or insult to his dignity,
Which by a sleight of solipsism
He calls an insult to Islam!
For the same reason cow dung
Is called King Solomon's dinner
Or the emperor's nakedness
Is called his new clothes!
If the difference is trivial or harmless,
You will be slapped with the label eccentric,
If you disagree a lot and become careless,
You will be tarred a murtad - heretic.
To Christians and Buddhists alike,
A Christian can become a Buddhist,
A Buddhist can become a Christian,
It is a non-issue and does not make news,
But to the highly risible Malay,
Who has put all his eggs in one identity basket,
Even getting an SMS rumor that a Malay
Is about to convert
Will send him and his sahabats
Jumping over the culverts.
There are Muslim Arabs,
There are Christian Arabs,
All dressed up as Arabs,
This could cause many a red face
Among the Malays who are all
Muslims - at least in the peninsula,
Not so in East Malaysia or Indonesia -
When they assume all Arabs, like them,
Share their faith.
Until today the Malays have yet to fill
Their quota of unit trusts allocation,
While the Chinese snap up theirs
In a matter of days if not hours.
Another Malay penchant is the media craze to make
The longest, biggest of a local take
Which the world has never heard of
Like the longest lemang,
And claim it is a world shebang.
If you lend money to a Malay,
Don't hope to get it back,
Near or distant,
Acquaintance or relative,
It is all the same,
It is not in the mindset
Of a Malay to return
A borrowed anything
For "Loan" is only a
Loan word actually meaning
A gift, once given, is gone for good,
Like an arrow released from its bow,
To ask for it back is to
Rot the elbow.
If you look up on the high achievers list,
You'll find occasionally a Malay,
But scroll down the neg stats,
Their representation is out of all
Proportion to the ratio of population;
For a Malay takes to buang anak, ponteng,
Lepak, mat rempit, syabu and conteng
Like flies to a suppurating sore;
Ask him to sail alone offshore,
Play the violin at Albert Hall,
Or gain English mastery,
He will report you to the state mufti
As a suspect for having converted to Christianity.
Whether in politics, marriage, or patronage,
A Malay is at best a fair-weather friend,
When in need, he is hovering near,
When want not,
He is nowhere to be got,
Indeed, a friend in deed
Is a Malay only when in need.
At worst, he will betray you
At the slightest sign of a change
In the climate, political or relational;
When he was down,
He wrapped himself around your ankles,
On the way up, all sweetness,
He used you as a stepping-stone;
Out of the piste,
He showed a clean pair of heels,
Loans, Mara or familial, to date, unpaid,
Passages or the whole script credited
To his PhDship, leaving you the crumbs
Of an unacknowledged manuscript;
Perchance he rose to be a minister or dean
And years later met you again,
You might just catch him saying:
"So you're still alive and kicking!"
As though only he had the extra something
To stay on, while others are done in,
Covering up the soiled spot
Like a tomcat his scat.
A simple matter of applying
For an OKU card can send you headlong
Into a free fall of ten people telling
you ten different things, entailing
Ten trips to ten different counters
At ten different pejabats:
All that right under the promising
Mission statement and work desiderata
Put up by the graphics boys
On the wall for decorum, who,
One suspects, do not care two hoots
About the message in the medium.
That, more or less, is my experience
Of being a detached Malay,
A part of and yet feeling apart
From the Melayu World.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Breaking the Protoplasmic Barrier
Crawling up the rock face of early life,
Lightfooting the wooded midlife,
Sloughing past the peak,
Slip sliding down the slope
of mundane existence,
Lifting a leg up thru a tear
In the fabric of existence,
Between here and there,
Where time and space intersect,
A perfectly timed leap,
Through the fast narrowing gap,
Crossing over to the other side
From the protoplasmic to the cosmic.
Lightfooting the wooded midlife,
Sloughing past the peak,
Slip sliding down the slope
of mundane existence,
Lifting a leg up thru a tear
In the fabric of existence,
Between here and there,
Where time and space intersect,
A perfectly timed leap,
Through the fast narrowing gap,
Crossing over to the other side
From the protoplasmic to the cosmic.
Bent On A Roll
With my back against the recumbent seat,
Feet cranking the sky, butt ploughing the street,
I keep an eye for mundane traffic,
While the world rolls back sites scenic;
With my thoughts pressed against history,
The mind mapping outward directions,
The heart plumbing inner dimensions,
I keep an eye for little things present,
As Life peels away its layered mystery.
Feet cranking the sky, butt ploughing the street,
I keep an eye for mundane traffic,
While the world rolls back sites scenic;
With my thoughts pressed against history,
The mind mapping outward directions,
The heart plumbing inner dimensions,
I keep an eye for little things present,
As Life peels away its layered mystery.
Watching the world roll from a recumbent trike
With my back pressed against the seatback,
I kept a look out for mundane traffic,
As the world turned, rolling back its greenery;
With my back turned to the past,
I kept a look out for present little things,
As life unfolded, revealing its mystery.
I kept a look out for mundane traffic,
As the world turned, rolling back its greenery;
With my back turned to the past,
I kept a look out for present little things,
As life unfolded, revealing its mystery.
Meniti Hidup
Falsafah hidup menjamin imagine pun dah hidup,
Pandangan hidup bermakna pandang pun boleh hidup,
Pendekatan hidup bermaksud dekat-dekat je pun dah hidup,
Sentuhan hidup memberi erti tersentuh barulah hidup,
Pegangan hidup memberitahu pegang baru hidup,
Pergerakan hidup membawa erti digerak-gerak pun belum tentu hidup,
Perubatan hidup bermakna guna Viagra barulah hidup,
Tanpa meniti anak-anak tangga kehidupan, matilah pucuk.
Pandangan hidup bermakna pandang pun boleh hidup,
Pendekatan hidup bermaksud dekat-dekat je pun dah hidup,
Sentuhan hidup memberi erti tersentuh barulah hidup,
Pegangan hidup memberitahu pegang baru hidup,
Pergerakan hidup membawa erti digerak-gerak pun belum tentu hidup,
Perubatan hidup bermakna guna Viagra barulah hidup,
Tanpa meniti anak-anak tangga kehidupan, matilah pucuk.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Survivors After The Tsunami
The world above,
The world around,
Is ruined and desolate,
Something cataclysmic,
Something tsunamic,
Something pandemic,
Took place.
Here and there,
Survivors few -
Osama ben Laden
Holed up in a cave,
The gopher in its burrow,
A blighter in his bunker;
Anis A Shukor ensconced
at Regency Court Hotel,
The blurter plastered to Blogspot.
All and singly in sundry air pockets,
Instantly formed by and
Amidst the tangled ruins,
Interlaced in force field biospheres,
Safe havens like mounds on tidal beaches,
Like prenatal homes,
Laced up in supporting tapestries,
Bathed in nourishing light,
Pentagrams to the second coming drawn.
Osama ben Laden in a nameless cave,
Anis A Shukor at Regency Court Hotel,
The blurter in a lucid interval at Blogspot,
Three contrasting survivors,
At the transit lounge of life,
Thrown up by an existential wave,
Caught in a resistant kink,
In the frayed fabric of life,
Waiting for Heavenly Airways
Flight 69 to take off.
The world around,
Is ruined and desolate,
Something cataclysmic,
Something tsunamic,
Something pandemic,
Took place.
Here and there,
Survivors few -
Osama ben Laden
Holed up in a cave,
The gopher in its burrow,
A blighter in his bunker;
Anis A Shukor ensconced
at Regency Court Hotel,
The blurter plastered to Blogspot.
All and singly in sundry air pockets,
Instantly formed by and
Amidst the tangled ruins,
Interlaced in force field biospheres,
Safe havens like mounds on tidal beaches,
Like prenatal homes,
Laced up in supporting tapestries,
Bathed in nourishing light,
Pentagrams to the second coming drawn.
Osama ben Laden in a nameless cave,
Anis A Shukor at Regency Court Hotel,
The blurter in a lucid interval at Blogspot,
Three contrasting survivors,
At the transit lounge of life,
Thrown up by an existential wave,
Caught in a resistant kink,
In the frayed fabric of life,
Waiting for Heavenly Airways
Flight 69 to take off.
Agama
Agama ialah persinggahan terakhir
Setelah segala eksperimen manusia
Gagal menembusi kebuntuan hidup
Tapi ramai tak mahu lalui kehidupan
kerana mahu sampai ke persinggahan akhir
dgn cara menaikki ekspres senandung malam
dalam terowong. Sedar2 dah sampai.
Mana boleh! Nak gi seberang sana mesti
Lalui titian siratul mustakim,
Mana boleh pakai lalui terowong.
Tak nampak apa le.
Setelah segala eksperimen manusia
Gagal menembusi kebuntuan hidup
Tapi ramai tak mahu lalui kehidupan
kerana mahu sampai ke persinggahan akhir
dgn cara menaikki ekspres senandung malam
dalam terowong. Sedar2 dah sampai.
Mana boleh! Nak gi seberang sana mesti
Lalui titian siratul mustakim,
Mana boleh pakai lalui terowong.
Tak nampak apa le.
Poetuns
Poetuns are short poems which are written to resemble pantuns. Pantuns are quatrains, or four lines to a stanza, with the rhyming pattern of abab, or aaaa. The resemblance may be loose or strict, it does not matter.
Sleeping in a tent with no-see-um,
You might be mistaken for a cartoon,
When a Pantun marries a Poem,
The progeny may be called a Poetun.
Hehe.
Buy junk, sell Antique,
In goes punk, out comes Geek,
Push in oink, pull out Clinique
Input sampah, output Elite,
From throwaway plastic,
Industry makes Polar mits,
Jumpa murah, jual mahal,
Jampi muntah, jadi khayal,
Sewn in the Lembah,
Sold at the Mall.
Hehe.
Singa betina disambar helang
Bila dah kena, tak akan hilang
Bukan malu, bukan malang
Itulah untungnya Putri Neelam.
Hehe.
Kadok lalu, bunting keladi,
Dah tahu tanya lagi,
Biduk lalu, pecah teratai,
Tak tahu, tak pandai.
Hehe.
O seksanya demam cintal,
On the contrary,
No ordinary,
You are one lucky gurl!
Hehe.
Salleh licik guna toyol
Tak payah peteh
Tak usah leceh
Dah pasti masuk gol
Hehe.
If life is a game,
In love there's no shame,
If love a bit late came,
None is to blame,
If the heart can be tamed,
Then love will never be the same.
Hmm.
Ada Zaitun,
Ada Putri,
Tiada pantun,
Tiada bestari.
Hehe,
SMS From Irresolute Son:
Dear Dad,
No wimin, no cry,
No frens, still can,
No hon, no prob,
No cert, no job,
No mon, no fun,
Send one.
Response From Intractable Dad:
Salam Son,
Begad,
So sad,
Too bad,
Regad,
Your Dad
Ita
Ita fell down at work,
Lapsed into a coma;
Her man, and memory, too
Deserted her;
Her nil Perkeso papers
Turned her into a pauper;
Slow step by slow step,
She picked up the scraps
Of her shatttered dreams;
With the shadow of deprivation
Stalking her every move,
She stumbled into cyberspace
And into her mindscape hove
From a speck of stardust
A forming figure of light
A holographic sight
That ends her plight.
Sleeping in a tent with no-see-um,
You might be mistaken for a cartoon,
When a Pantun marries a Poem,
The progeny may be called a Poetun.
Hehe.
Buy junk, sell Antique,
In goes punk, out comes Geek,
Push in oink, pull out Clinique
Input sampah, output Elite,
From throwaway plastic,
Industry makes Polar mits,
Jumpa murah, jual mahal,
Jampi muntah, jadi khayal,
Sewn in the Lembah,
Sold at the Mall.
Hehe.
Singa betina disambar helang
Bila dah kena, tak akan hilang
Bukan malu, bukan malang
Itulah untungnya Putri Neelam.
Hehe.
Kadok lalu, bunting keladi,
Dah tahu tanya lagi,
Biduk lalu, pecah teratai,
Tak tahu, tak pandai.
Hehe.
O seksanya demam cintal,
On the contrary,
No ordinary,
You are one lucky gurl!
Hehe.
Salleh licik guna toyol
Tak payah peteh
Tak usah leceh
Dah pasti masuk gol
Hehe.
If life is a game,
In love there's no shame,
If love a bit late came,
None is to blame,
If the heart can be tamed,
Then love will never be the same.
Hmm.
Ada Zaitun,
Ada Putri,
Tiada pantun,
Tiada bestari.
Hehe,
SMS From Irresolute Son:
Dear Dad,
No wimin, no cry,
No frens, still can,
No hon, no prob,
No cert, no job,
No mon, no fun,
Send one.
Response From Intractable Dad:
Salam Son,
Begad,
So sad,
Too bad,
Regad,
Your Dad
Ita
Ita fell down at work,
Lapsed into a coma;
Her man, and memory, too
Deserted her;
Her nil Perkeso papers
Turned her into a pauper;
Slow step by slow step,
She picked up the scraps
Of her shatttered dreams;
With the shadow of deprivation
Stalking her every move,
She stumbled into cyberspace
And into her mindscape hove
From a speck of stardust
A forming figure of light
A holographic sight
That ends her plight.
Hustle in the Haiku
This is my first attempt to write a poem in haiku form.
In my attempt to write to a form, I am not tied to it, thus it may sound, resemble, but does not necessarily conform strictly to the original form.
Ditto with this atempt to write my first haiku. The idea occurred to me in the early hours while still in bed, having awakened earlier from lucid dreams. The words and form were already in my head before I wrote it down. The others came as they were written.
Here it is:
Chinese medicine shop:
A drawerful
Of bird's nests
In a nest
Of drawers.
Another:
Unlike
the first,
This one
is written
from blank;
Also,
it doesn't
seem to be
saying anything;
It is empty,
blank.
So many
words
expended on
nothing;
Just making
an appearance;
Much as
in life.
Don't you
think?
III
Wow
That was
One
Long
Haiku
Lookalike
Maybe
it could be
called
Haikulong
is a long haiku
In my attempt to write to a form, I am not tied to it, thus it may sound, resemble, but does not necessarily conform strictly to the original form.
Ditto with this atempt to write my first haiku. The idea occurred to me in the early hours while still in bed, having awakened earlier from lucid dreams. The words and form were already in my head before I wrote it down. The others came as they were written.
Here it is:
Chinese medicine shop:
A drawerful
Of bird's nests
In a nest
Of drawers.
Another:
Unlike
the first,
This one
is written
from blank;
Also,
it doesn't
seem to be
saying anything;
It is empty,
blank.
So many
words
expended on
nothing;
Just making
an appearance;
Much as
in life.
Don't you
think?
III
Wow
That was
One
Long
Haiku
Lookalike
Maybe
it could be
called
Haikulong
is a long haiku
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Some Seductive Phrases & Titles Related To Cycling
Some nice turn of phrasing to pitchfork stale thoughts over:
1. Transcendental triking
2. Globetriker
3. Globalcyclist
4. Pedal Planet
5. Cycling: Sweet Surrender
6. Cycling: Sweet Obsession
7. Into the heart of the matter
8. Playing Hide and Seek with the Sun
9. Cycleway to the Stars
10. Power to the Pedal
11. Watch the world turn from the saddle
12. Comfort on the Go
13. Recline n Ride
14. Comfort is to travel as rest is to exercise
15. All that you seek may be within you but the rewards are outside
16. Exercise is not a means to an end but an end in itself
17.Told To The Wind
18. News On The Wind
19. Wafted In On A Wing
20. Leaving A Wake of Astonishment As Seen In The Rear View Mirror
21. Mikraj or Mirage
22. Where there's a way, there's two wheels
23. The Wind In My Wheels
24. Bent Into The Wind
25. Bent World Travel
26. Bent Two Wheels
27. Bent On A Planet
28. Bent Around The Bend
29. Full Tilt, Folding Bent
30. FeetUp, FeetFirst
31. Goody Two Wheels
32. Bent Bike: Decadent Comfort
1. Transcendental triking
2. Globetriker
3. Globalcyclist
4. Pedal Planet
5. Cycling: Sweet Surrender
6. Cycling: Sweet Obsession
7. Into the heart of the matter
8. Playing Hide and Seek with the Sun
9. Cycleway to the Stars
10. Power to the Pedal
11. Watch the world turn from the saddle
12. Comfort on the Go
13. Recline n Ride
14. Comfort is to travel as rest is to exercise
15. All that you seek may be within you but the rewards are outside
16. Exercise is not a means to an end but an end in itself
17.Told To The Wind
18. News On The Wind
19. Wafted In On A Wing
20. Leaving A Wake of Astonishment As Seen In The Rear View Mirror
21. Mikraj or Mirage
22. Where there's a way, there's two wheels
23. The Wind In My Wheels
24. Bent Into The Wind
25. Bent World Travel
26. Bent Two Wheels
27. Bent On A Planet
28. Bent Around The Bend
29. Full Tilt, Folding Bent
30. FeetUp, FeetFirst
31. Goody Two Wheels
32. Bent Bike: Decadent Comfort
Friday, March 31, 2006
Watching The World Turn From The Seat Of A Recumbent Trike
With my back pressed against the seatback,
I keep a look out for mundane traffic,
While watching the world turns,
Rolling back its greenery;
With my back pressed against the past,
I keep a look out for present little things,
While watching Life unfolds,
Rolling back its mystery.
I keep a look out for mundane traffic,
While watching the world turns,
Rolling back its greenery;
With my back pressed against the past,
I keep a look out for present little things,
While watching Life unfolds,
Rolling back its mystery.
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