The eighth wonder of the world
Has gotta to be the seat of a toilet bowl;
Rodin's Thinker, I tell ya,
Is rightly dressed for the stool session,
But wrongly stooled;
He should have been seated
Yes, you guessed it, on the ample rind
Of the toilet bowl seat;
Then again, I may have my history
Wrong - maybe they hadn't invented
The good news to a man's gluteus yet
During Rodin's time set.
Ah, the tortures man had to sit through
While waiting for the inside sewers
To clear off its load, before
Someone invented the ultimate solution:
A toilet bowl with soul -
A seat on the bowl
To deposit your haunches on
While your internals work out its deposits.
It is perfect as a bicycle is perfect -
You can refine it in any number of ways,
From an automatic sensor to temperature
control to an interactive robotic bowl
Costing a cool million - not yen but sterling -
But the basic design of seat and bowl stays,
Just as a bicycle can be modified in more ways
Than one, the frame-seat rig is always
As was done.
And to think man had to bear
A thousand years of severe posture,
An affront to his posterior;
Why, until only recently,
I'd rather the squat toilet -
Aka Chinese torture - prefer;
Or did it behind the ferns,
Enjoying being close to nature,
When the situation warrants.
And the first man to make a toilet bowl seat?
You tell me!
Just like its inventor was never credited,
Many a gem of an idea, a seminal thought,
A breakthrough to an impasse,
Could have been cracked while its Source
Was seated on the ring of a toilet bowl,
Without even getting a mention, until
This verse - haha - even if
Only generic, not specific.
Who knows if the world would have been
Any different today had Chief Crazy Horse,
Shi Huang Ti, Napoleon, Lenin,
Benefitted from it in their day;
Who knows the extent an easy passage,
Down in the internal sewerage,
Eased by a toilet bowl seat,
Could have influenced it -
Bush's tilt towards the Middle East.
And what if the Sultan of Brunei were
To reinvest the proceeds from the sale
Of his solid gold bowl to revive
The dysfunctional sugar groves
Of Mozambique? Would the Africana
Milling in the streets of Lisboa
Return home in droves?
What if, while encamped on a seat,
Yours truly came up with the germ
Of an idea of writing this poem?
Would you begrudge it?
And to think I discovered
Its use only the other day.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
A Spark of Jealousy
Teachers and friends have always
Counseled us not to be jealous -
But how could not we!
As much as jealousy is an unwelcome visitor
Who gatecrashes on us as we
Go about our daily lives
Trying our best not to fall into
The comparison trap,
We are still hard done by
The constant bombardment of things
We want but can't afford or have but
Others have better, bigger, prettier,
More up to the minute, or simply more.
Zap! We are shot by a snot of acidic
Jealousy, burning a hole in our stomach,
Sending a rush of blood into our hearts,
Sucking a breath of air from our lungs,
Drying our tongues.
What am I to do, Counselor?
If you haven't already installed one,
Hook up a hotline to the Damage Control
Department in the Ministry of your Mind,
Call in the Fire Brigade of Your Agama Class
To douse the flame of jealousy
And turn its ashes
Into a seedbed of self-renewal,
A spark of motivation
To fire up the lackadasaical mind,
To reawaken the slumbering heart,
Dusting away the work left undone -
Perhaps the poem/s you wrote ages
Ago but left unfinished?
Your blog looks like an unshaven site
Of shame, rather than of fame?
Well, let the whip of jealousy
Crack you into a gallop
And send you on your way
And, who knows, you just might
Engender the next generation
Of wide-eyed wannabes, who
Moved by the green-eyed monster of jealousy
At what you'll have accomplished,
Start to come into their own,
Perhaps writing poems - with polish.
Counseled us not to be jealous -
But how could not we!
As much as jealousy is an unwelcome visitor
Who gatecrashes on us as we
Go about our daily lives
Trying our best not to fall into
The comparison trap,
We are still hard done by
The constant bombardment of things
We want but can't afford or have but
Others have better, bigger, prettier,
More up to the minute, or simply more.
Zap! We are shot by a snot of acidic
Jealousy, burning a hole in our stomach,
Sending a rush of blood into our hearts,
Sucking a breath of air from our lungs,
Drying our tongues.
What am I to do, Counselor?
If you haven't already installed one,
Hook up a hotline to the Damage Control
Department in the Ministry of your Mind,
Call in the Fire Brigade of Your Agama Class
To douse the flame of jealousy
And turn its ashes
Into a seedbed of self-renewal,
A spark of motivation
To fire up the lackadasaical mind,
To reawaken the slumbering heart,
Dusting away the work left undone -
Perhaps the poem/s you wrote ages
Ago but left unfinished?
Your blog looks like an unshaven site
Of shame, rather than of fame?
Well, let the whip of jealousy
Crack you into a gallop
And send you on your way
And, who knows, you just might
Engender the next generation
Of wide-eyed wannabes, who
Moved by the green-eyed monster of jealousy
At what you'll have accomplished,
Start to come into their own,
Perhaps writing poems - with polish.
Skepticism: A Room With A View
In the mansion of life,
Skepticism is just one of
Many rooms, all having their place
and use. Here's a brief rundown
Of skepticism's role in the household:
(You may want to draw up your own)
Skepticism is a hard-nosed room
Who sees the ironies and realities of life
And is unimpressed with the hype
Of larger than life schema
Which, when undressed, are little more than
Hand-me-down self-serving scams.
Skepticism acts as a counterweight
To facile credulity and blind faith
In authority figures, rituals and symbols
Sanctified by tradition and
Street cure-all salesmanship.
Unconcerned and unimpressed
By the hype, hyperbole and heady stuff,
The glitter, the glut and the glitz
In the comings and goings of paraded life,
It draws up a checklist of potential hazards
In the jangle of trees hidden in the distant blue hills;
It keeps a steady hand on the helm,
While the blinkered eye view the world in
One dimensional color,
Seeing either all evil or no evil,
Brushing belief wishes white
And all contrary views, black.
Skepticism is just one of
Many rooms, all having their place
and use. Here's a brief rundown
Of skepticism's role in the household:
(You may want to draw up your own)
Skepticism is a hard-nosed room
Who sees the ironies and realities of life
And is unimpressed with the hype
Of larger than life schema
Which, when undressed, are little more than
Hand-me-down self-serving scams.
Skepticism acts as a counterweight
To facile credulity and blind faith
In authority figures, rituals and symbols
Sanctified by tradition and
Street cure-all salesmanship.
Unconcerned and unimpressed
By the hype, hyperbole and heady stuff,
The glitter, the glut and the glitz
In the comings and goings of paraded life,
It draws up a checklist of potential hazards
In the jangle of trees hidden in the distant blue hills;
It keeps a steady hand on the helm,
While the blinkered eye view the world in
One dimensional color,
Seeing either all evil or no evil,
Brushing belief wishes white
And all contrary views, black.
The Unsponsored Malaysian
tbc
If you happen to be lounging on a deck chair
at a tourist facility on Falkland Island or
any scientific station further south, nearer
to the South Pole, and suddenly a bedraggled-looking visitor
hoved into view, bedecked with the Jalur Gemilang
and paraphernalia appropriate to the undertaking -
be it by sea, on land, or dropped from the sky -
it did happen, you know, all three -
rest assured, the Malaysian is fully sponsored.
Safe bet you are too, if a Malaysian,
Otherwise what business you have there?
In all probability, any Malaysian
you run into in the streets
of New York, Berlin or Mecca,
is well-stuffed with a sizeable sponsorship -
a trade mission member, a forum attendee,
an athlete, a footballer, a student,
a Petronas Adventure Team
member, a Matrade or Porim official,
a Lucky Draw winner, an umrah pilgrim -
they are out there all over the globe
cushioned by well-padded payouts,
some, no doubt, more deserving than others
who, in all probability, are just on a junket, while
a few are just plain lucky.
So, can you ever hope to run into
an unsponsored Malaysian on a jaunt abroad?
Or is this species so rare it is yet to be discovered
and brought to public attention?
Surprisingly there are quite a few of them around -
unlike their fat brethren who tend to cruise
in the comfort lane of life,
this leaner variety of Malaysians abroad
can be found in any nook or cranny life can throw at them -
at immigration checkpoints getting their visas renewed,
living in the shadow of a Buddhist temple
after having failed to return home after
the japanese have gone, washing dishes to begin with
and now a member of a rock band or owner of
a Malaysian restaurant,
If you happen to be lounging on a deck chair
at a tourist facility on Falkland Island or
any scientific station further south, nearer
to the South Pole, and suddenly a bedraggled-looking visitor
hoved into view, bedecked with the Jalur Gemilang
and paraphernalia appropriate to the undertaking -
be it by sea, on land, or dropped from the sky -
it did happen, you know, all three -
rest assured, the Malaysian is fully sponsored.
Safe bet you are too, if a Malaysian,
Otherwise what business you have there?
In all probability, any Malaysian
you run into in the streets
of New York, Berlin or Mecca,
is well-stuffed with a sizeable sponsorship -
a trade mission member, a forum attendee,
an athlete, a footballer, a student,
a Petronas Adventure Team
member, a Matrade or Porim official,
a Lucky Draw winner, an umrah pilgrim -
they are out there all over the globe
cushioned by well-padded payouts,
some, no doubt, more deserving than others
who, in all probability, are just on a junket, while
a few are just plain lucky.
So, can you ever hope to run into
an unsponsored Malaysian on a jaunt abroad?
Or is this species so rare it is yet to be discovered
and brought to public attention?
Surprisingly there are quite a few of them around -
unlike their fat brethren who tend to cruise
in the comfort lane of life,
this leaner variety of Malaysians abroad
can be found in any nook or cranny life can throw at them -
at immigration checkpoints getting their visas renewed,
living in the shadow of a Buddhist temple
after having failed to return home after
the japanese have gone, washing dishes to begin with
and now a member of a rock band or owner of
a Malaysian restaurant,
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Verse, The Poor Cousin of Poetry
tbc
Verse is an illegal immigrant's street child
Giving the hard eye to poetry's Kikko-clad Japanese lad
Striding out from the local International School;
Verse is the poor country cousin to Poetry's urbane depth
and reach;
Verse is the manual drive to poetry's Auto Manual Transmission;
Verse is the flat dry plain to poetry's temperate mountains and valleys;
Verse is Mitsubishi's outphased Colt Gallant reproduced and rebadged as Proton's Waja,
While poetry is a OEM, Fully Imported, Limited Edition Mitsubishi Lancer Evo VIII 360;
My versical writing verges on poetry,
Sits on its fringe, in the shadow of its centre stage,
Talented kids perhaps imitating the superstar doing his
routine;
tbc
Verse is an illegal immigrant's street child
Giving the hard eye to poetry's Kikko-clad Japanese lad
Striding out from the local International School;
Verse is the poor country cousin to Poetry's urbane depth
and reach;
Verse is the manual drive to poetry's Auto Manual Transmission;
Verse is the flat dry plain to poetry's temperate mountains and valleys;
Verse is Mitsubishi's outphased Colt Gallant reproduced and rebadged as Proton's Waja,
While poetry is a OEM, Fully Imported, Limited Edition Mitsubishi Lancer Evo VIII 360;
My versical writing verges on poetry,
Sits on its fringe, in the shadow of its centre stage,
Talented kids perhaps imitating the superstar doing his
routine;
tbc
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Home Is Where The Feet Rest
In my life's unwinding,
I've done a fair bit of travelling;
Goaded by travel guides to go forth,
Urged to stride out by word of mouth,
I've gone east, west, north and south,
But I also stay back, a homebody,
Looking after kids in my custody,
Only venturing out into the vicinity,
On a basis daily,
To take the day's done deeds
To the Putatan town rubbish heap,
Ah, bliss domestic;
Having gone east,
I found it to the eye a feast;
Having done west -
I find home still the best,
But home is wherever my feet rest,
And for now it is in the coastal west
Of Sabah state, with a view
Of Gunung Kinabalu
Looking distantly blue,
But close to the heart nevertheless.
I've done a fair bit of travelling;
Goaded by travel guides to go forth,
Urged to stride out by word of mouth,
I've gone east, west, north and south,
But I also stay back, a homebody,
Looking after kids in my custody,
Only venturing out into the vicinity,
On a basis daily,
To take the day's done deeds
To the Putatan town rubbish heap,
Ah, bliss domestic;
Having gone east,
I found it to the eye a feast;
Having done west -
I find home still the best,
But home is wherever my feet rest,
And for now it is in the coastal west
Of Sabah state, with a view
Of Gunung Kinabalu
Looking distantly blue,
But close to the heart nevertheless.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Farisa: Studying Stones
Against a backdrop of global trouble,
Often narrowing to a pitting between
East and West, Islam and non-Islam,
It is heartening to see an image
Of Innocence and Friendship,
Between two peoples of contrasting
Looks and Beliefs;
A picture of sangfroid and sanctity,
Of hallowed halls, framed flora and civil society.
Against a backdrop of western onslaught,
From mobile phones to jeans to football
To videos to English, Sir Launcelot - the lot,
It is gratifying to note the differentiating
Muslim girl's headcover sprouting,
All over campuses in western lands,
And not just the deserts of Iraq or Iran.
While a Palestinian youth
Is likely to see a piece of rock as a symbol
Of David's slingshot,
To bring down the Zionist plot,
However futile, ironic, distraught;
Or a rain of meteorites
Dropped by feathered flights,
Relying on repetitive gestures,
Empty rhetoric and hollow symbols,
As a last resort, while
The Palestinian state lie
In shambles; Farisa
Represents an alternative icon,
A lucky Malaysian Muslim girl,
Enabled to see Earth's swirl -
As the Stars and Stripes unfurl -
In sticks and stones,
Maple leaves and deciduous cones.
Farisa Zaffa Razak
Farisa Zaffa Razak is my niece -
She is the one in the black-n-white
Pullover spotting a headcover -
Grew up in Kuantan, Pahang,
Now studying geology,
In Ottawa, Canada;
One of the assignments
In her first semester -
An analysis of The Tempest,
by William Shakespeare;
Hey, what about the effects
Of the weather on surface cover,
Or the drilling for fossil fuel,
On the permafrost,
In the Far North?
And God Is Alone
Even if you are a survivor
Of a separated Siamese twin,
You are essentially alone,
A single person with your own identity;
Even as a member
Of a crowd or fraternity,
Falling in step with them
With words issuing in unity;
In the clutches of pleasure,
Or the grip of pain,
In trial after tribulation,
Flushed with anticipation,
Or cold with fear,
In the groove of life,
Or the nick of death,
You are essentially alone;
The longing of the lonely,
Is only the cry of the illusory;
Aloneness is the essence
Of true Reality;
You are as alone in the universe,
As God is alone,
Reflecting his Quality.
Of a separated Siamese twin,
You are essentially alone,
A single person with your own identity;
Even as a member
Of a crowd or fraternity,
Falling in step with them
With words issuing in unity;
In the clutches of pleasure,
Or the grip of pain,
In trial after tribulation,
Flushed with anticipation,
Or cold with fear,
In the groove of life,
Or the nick of death,
You are essentially alone;
The longing of the lonely,
Is only the cry of the illusory;
Aloneness is the essence
Of true Reality;
You are as alone in the universe,
As God is alone,
Reflecting his Quality.
Monday, January 15, 2007
I Dedicate This Blog ...
This blog I dedicate
To the day I vacate
This earthly mandate
And takes on a new date
With the next sequel in my fate.
To the day I vacate
This earthly mandate
And takes on a new date
With the next sequel in my fate.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
On Semi Home Exile
Since my retirement,
I've put myself on semi home exile,
The metaphor is a bit loose,
But is still valid;
I banish myself from main stream,
To escape the heat, the traffic jam,
The striving and strutting -
Chasing and being chased;
I put myself out of circulation
From the social circuit and
The climb up the social ladder;
I still go out,
Out of necessity,
But more and more,
I stay home, comfortabilist;
I don't go out to look
for a paying job, but stay indoors
Bending hearts, nurturing minds,
Not for the money
Which is paltry,
But to till a mind-field,
Theirs and mine;
I don't travel as much
As I would like to,
I don't go to a karaoke lounge,
Bowling alley, golf link,
Pub, club or study KK's nightlife;
I hate cinemas, claustrophobic;
I confess I enjoy shopping some,
But there is a neurotic element to it,
So I try to reduce the trips
To the marts and complexes -
Vortice of material and people deluge -
And make my home my shell,
Sanctuary and refuge.
I've put myself on semi home exile,
The metaphor is a bit loose,
But is still valid;
I banish myself from main stream,
To escape the heat, the traffic jam,
The striving and strutting -
Chasing and being chased;
I put myself out of circulation
From the social circuit and
The climb up the social ladder;
I still go out,
Out of necessity,
But more and more,
I stay home, comfortabilist;
I don't go out to look
for a paying job, but stay indoors
Bending hearts, nurturing minds,
Not for the money
Which is paltry,
But to till a mind-field,
Theirs and mine;
I don't travel as much
As I would like to,
I don't go to a karaoke lounge,
Bowling alley, golf link,
Pub, club or study KK's nightlife;
I hate cinemas, claustrophobic;
I confess I enjoy shopping some,
But there is a neurotic element to it,
So I try to reduce the trips
To the marts and complexes -
Vortice of material and people deluge -
And make my home my shell,
Sanctuary and refuge.
Friday, January 05, 2007
The Pilot Metaphor
The pilot metaphor
For managing one's life -
You know how it is,
An airplane pilot faces a bank
Of instruments telling him
Of current conditions -
The weather outside,
The engine and electrics inside,
Whether another aeroplane
Is anywhere near out there;
The fascia of electronics
Provides the interface
Between the pilot, the aircraft
And the world outside
While he sits in his cockpit,
Encased in a surreal sphere,
In a pool of controlled climate,
No matter the deadly
Temperature outside,
Cocooned in comfort and stability,
Against the rushing speed outside,
Buoyed up in the sky against
The pull of gravity;
A pilot could be forgiven
For dreaming of pleasures
And concerns forbidden;
He can put his mind on auto pilot,
As much as he can put the plane
On the same routine control;
But, as every salty pilot knows,
This surreal security is not guaranteed forever -
Occasionally, an air pocket
And other weather turbulences
Can rock his stately aircraft
And put his state of mind on orange alert -
And, as a pilot is trained
To anticipate and handle,
But dreads all the same,
The possibillity of a red alert,
Is always at the back of his mind;
An impending collision or crash, engine failure,
Poor landing visibility, forced landing,
Being hijacked, miscommunication,
All may burst the bubble of security
With disastrous and fatal results.
As piloting a plane,
So it is with managing life.
Just as you don't blame
And hit out at the array
Of instruments for any
adverse info,
What more at the weather outside,
Every time an air pocket or turbulence
Knock you out your comfort kilter,
So you don't react at the person
Or circumstance which is giving you the jitter.
You don't kill the messenger
However bad the news;
But rather you make choices and decisions
To not make things worse
And keep things on an even keel,
Just as a pilot would make adjustments
To keep his aircraft on a safe course.
For managing one's life -
You know how it is,
An airplane pilot faces a bank
Of instruments telling him
Of current conditions -
The weather outside,
The engine and electrics inside,
Whether another aeroplane
Is anywhere near out there;
The fascia of electronics
Provides the interface
Between the pilot, the aircraft
And the world outside
While he sits in his cockpit,
Encased in a surreal sphere,
In a pool of controlled climate,
No matter the deadly
Temperature outside,
Cocooned in comfort and stability,
Against the rushing speed outside,
Buoyed up in the sky against
The pull of gravity;
A pilot could be forgiven
For dreaming of pleasures
And concerns forbidden;
He can put his mind on auto pilot,
As much as he can put the plane
On the same routine control;
But, as every salty pilot knows,
This surreal security is not guaranteed forever -
Occasionally, an air pocket
And other weather turbulences
Can rock his stately aircraft
And put his state of mind on orange alert -
And, as a pilot is trained
To anticipate and handle,
But dreads all the same,
The possibillity of a red alert,
Is always at the back of his mind;
An impending collision or crash, engine failure,
Poor landing visibility, forced landing,
Being hijacked, miscommunication,
All may burst the bubble of security
With disastrous and fatal results.
As piloting a plane,
So it is with managing life.
Just as you don't blame
And hit out at the array
Of instruments for any
adverse info,
What more at the weather outside,
Every time an air pocket or turbulence
Knock you out your comfort kilter,
So you don't react at the person
Or circumstance which is giving you the jitter.
You don't kill the messenger
However bad the news;
But rather you make choices and decisions
To not make things worse
And keep things on an even keel,
Just as a pilot would make adjustments
To keep his aircraft on a safe course.
ASA - Amanah Saham Akhirat
Each time you handle an adversity
With dignity,
Not blaming anyone,
Least seeking revenge,
Not going off your handle;
Each time you distance yourself,
From a negative feeling or impulse,
Which wells up unbidden from the depths,
Each time you control it from boiling over,
You are crediting your ASA;
The reverse is equally true -
React negatively, and
You're debiting your account;
A positive ASA
Is the very stuff you need
To reclaim the Perfect Form;
An ASA in the red
Means the Perfect Form
Is still in shreds.
With dignity,
Not blaming anyone,
Least seeking revenge,
Not going off your handle;
Each time you distance yourself,
From a negative feeling or impulse,
Which wells up unbidden from the depths,
Each time you control it from boiling over,
You are crediting your ASA;
The reverse is equally true -
React negatively, and
You're debiting your account;
A positive ASA
Is the very stuff you need
To reclaim the Perfect Form;
An ASA in the red
Means the Perfect Form
Is still in shreds.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Dakar Rally 2007
For about five years now, I've never failed to watch the annual Paris-Dakar Rally on ESPN at Astro. Each time it kindled my dream to take part in the race but I know it will always remain a dream as the entry cost is more than RM150,000. That is the price of a decent double-storey terrace house in KL.
The race is always held in the first week of January, at about the start of the new school year in Malaysia, a busy time for parents with schoolgoing kids.
My main interest is in the bikes category and it is no coincidence that the most dominant bike KTM is my favourite adventure bike as well. The 60 per cent import tax on big bikes put a dampener on my dream to buy one, but last week, it has been reduced to 30 per cent. Hmm, we shall see.
Again, it is no coincidence that my next car purchase, a Mitsubishi Triton pickup truck, is closely related to the winning Mitsubishi cars in the race. In fact, this year, two Tritons are being entered, albeit with the bigger 3.2 lit engine as opposed to the 2.5 I'll be booking tomorrow.
I feel strongly I'm going to "do" Africa one day, but it will most probably be on a push bike rather than a motorbike. Much less hassles, not to mention costs.
The race is always held in the first week of January, at about the start of the new school year in Malaysia, a busy time for parents with schoolgoing kids.
My main interest is in the bikes category and it is no coincidence that the most dominant bike KTM is my favourite adventure bike as well. The 60 per cent import tax on big bikes put a dampener on my dream to buy one, but last week, it has been reduced to 30 per cent. Hmm, we shall see.
Again, it is no coincidence that my next car purchase, a Mitsubishi Triton pickup truck, is closely related to the winning Mitsubishi cars in the race. In fact, this year, two Tritons are being entered, albeit with the bigger 3.2 lit engine as opposed to the 2.5 I'll be booking tomorrow.
I feel strongly I'm going to "do" Africa one day, but it will most probably be on a push bike rather than a motorbike. Much less hassles, not to mention costs.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Fly And God
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.
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.
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.
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