Geeks

We were supposed to catch Wild Ocean at the Omnimax Theatre, but it turns out that the Science Centre is closed on Mondays!! Who would have thought that the quest for knowledge rests on Mondays? This is a valuable lesson to all ye geeks out there: maketh of google beforeth embarking on strange journeys.

So we traipsed across the landscape of Science,

and encountered weird beasts and violent fauna. 

Oh well.

And I recieved this yesterday,

 

Yay. Now I can terrorise aunties on the road.

target affixed

:: Me in 1 months time ::

Nike Human Race

Sleek raindrops danced on our backs as clouds gathered above a massive sea of red.

The air was humid, but thick with festive anticipation; groups mingled in their corners, smiles were traded and tucked away quickly.

The day was just beginning.



An endless wave of crushing bodies surged forward as excited feet tapped in time to the loud, mind-numbing music.

The sticky air relented as we exchanged warm words all around. I tipped on my toes to glance over the countless heads; I could not see the racefront.

A DJ blared over the speaker as we started the imminent countdown.

The game was on.


56 minutes later,

I looked back on the race:

The constant distraction of cute boy marshals;

shit. which direction was I supposed to go again?

the constant distraction of cute boy runners;

the susurrus of my devil saying,

"come on, just walk lah";

there was no other player,

just me and myself.

And we celebrated life.

And the start of something crazy.



More runs to come.

reintro plz?

Okay.

My sabbatical; this artless sojourn in a cybernetic purgatory, shall cease.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Such a paradoxical venture, this: to exercise caution or let loose to the winds?

Don't Sell Me Your Church

Don't Sell Me Your Church

I for one, believe that the world would be a better place without organised religions.

I had the misfortune of bumping into a roadside-evangelist today (I thought they went extinct when Armageddon didn't happen 6years back as they planned...pity): the type that loiters amongst Man attempting to look human, or intelligent for that matter, with the book (haha) and pamphlets printed with the same proselytizing jingles. They are classified in my brain under the same section as door-to-door salesmen, or mosquitoes, or bad sex; and the common evangelist (also known as minor spiritus irritatus) is the amalgamation of these aspects manifest.

Actually, I must looked the archetype of sin, for it never fails to amuse me how they could single me out in a freaking bus interchange during the evening rush hour. Or perhaps, I looked gullible enough and had the scent of new born lambs (the smell of fear and innocence attracts them, I heard). In any case, the devil inside of me wanted to hear what she had to say - curiosity, if you will, and I was kind enough to allow her to believe I was actually concerned over the good news she was about to portent for that few minutes in her god-fearing life, well, because I am tolerant and had good manners.

In anycase, she told me that it was time to repent, and to renounce all my sinful ways (if I had any..*cough*) in the embrace of the lord god. Nothing breathtakingly new. She asked me what my religion was, and I told her that I had none but am a practising Buddhist, to which she responded with a wiry smile (I took it as she couldn't understand the difference between religion and spirituality) before going in that cute little pratter of hers. She handed me a plastic thingy with several pamphlets inside, before asking me my thoughts on pre-marital sex. I told her that premarital sex is cool and that marriage is not part of my agenda in this lifetime. She seemed alittle concerned, and thus proceeded to talk about abstinence and how sex before a sanctified marriage demeans the value of love and spirituality.

At this juncture, I knew I had expended my good karma points for the day, and sanity was slowly slipping; and so I managed to say something to the extent of - "Love cannot be debased" before excusing myself posthaste. It was only when I got home did I realised that I had no idea which religious organisation she was affiliated with (I threw the thingy away). Talk about bad salesmanship.

On hindsight, as much as I crave for a higher-love, for a belief in being the centre of some cosmic attention, I cannot bring myself to blindly follow the dogma regurgitated through the unbeknown thought processes of some man (also known as major spiritus interruptus) or group with their own agendas. A collective belief is such a powerful force that it can overcome reason and logic: just look at the fundamentalist lobbying against condoms and stem-cell research or the magnificent planet-wide coordination of the paradoxical muslim terrorists. 2000 years from the birth of christ, and these same people brandish their time-worn book and hide behind their archaic parishes; refusing to budge from the comfort zone of stoic faith, refusing to acknowledge anything else besides the collective ramblings of men long gone.

What good are religions, but an organised effort to inject the dogmas of the past into the blood of the present? Jesus was a revolutionist of his time, he wasn't a man shackled by status quo, and sometimes I wonder if the current state of things were of his original intent and how much of the corporate-ship religion-model nowadays are really the byproducts of men with agendas. Simple minded people flock to the nearest church promising an afterlife that would be meaningful and not maggot-ridden. People fear death, so there really isn't an argument here, 'cos whatever floats your boat, baby. The problem is that these same people do not think, they possess no mental faculty or a basic modicum of ideological individualism. They rely on someone else to feed them their beliefs: to tell them how to eat, sleep, act, think, behave. I giggle at the delicious irony whenever the term "Shepherd and his sheeps" comes to mind.

Sometimes, I'd look at the terrorists and think, these are poor souls who are dying to resist the tides of change. And in seeking out their personal evil, they had projected their own fears and resent onto a much grander scale - the american wave sweeping the world. America (and everything associated with it) is thus, the evil that must be defeated for the old ways to stay pure. Very simplistic thinking actually. We'll just have to hope the terrorists implode themselves from the face of the planet...and maybe bring a few churches along with it too.

Oops. Deicidal streak exposed again.

And yah, I went off on a tangent. Blah.

Say no to mind-control. Nights.

*big wall of text crits you for 37612 damage*

On Unkarma

Consider this: whilst most people subscribe to the ideology of Karma being a force of consequences, I have, upon considerable ponderance, augmented this viewpoint with the belief that Karma is an internalised force, rather than an external universal power subtly enmeshed with the fortunes of man.

To analogise first in the extreme: a man raped another man's wife. She was badly brutalised and her husband, in a fit of rage, killed the rapist. Subsequently, the husband was convicted of manslaughter (or whatever) and the beleaguered wife, in her sorrow and despair, took her own life. We could then say, that the rapist got his just dessert, and the husband - for killing the rapist - in turn, received his own. Universal justice prevailed, or rather, the system of Man did. If we were to turn this around, who is to say then, that it was not a debt of Karma the wife had paid? Whence then, flows the direction of morality? Is not morality, the fundamentals of our commonly-perceived form of Karma?

If an orphaned kid in Timbuktu (or insert wherever), hungry and desperate in a sun-baked city, is to steal a pie from a local vendor, and subsequently falls sick from the pie (because stealing, by all of society's normality, is an aberration of the "good" laws) would that be considered a divine retribution? Do not unto others, what you want not unto you. We've all heard that before, but is it possible to practice when there are people, children of the world, lost in a living purgatory? How then, do they redeem themselves when destiny chucks them away in a corner of a world where they are the targets of Providence and good will? If you exist on a level where the paradigms of morality blurs, who is to judge your actions? What is to justify your actions? How could you be faulted, for trying to survive?

The boy who steals an apple is a bad boy. So what about the boy who steals an apple for his dying mother?

And to the discerning, the compassionate, we might look at the little boy and say: "It's ok, here, take this money and bring a doctor to your mum" but where then, did the little boy's karma debt went? What about the vendor who lost his earnings, who might, in turn have a family to feed? Does subjectivity then trivialise morality? Is it okay to do things as long as it is justified? Is the univeral powers oft-lenient to the well-reasoned? How then do you claim universal justification? Who is to say that the rapist is not justified, due to this uncontrollable urge, augmented by the (in his mind) salacious tauntings of the wife? Surely, the husband is justified in killing the rapist! Is it okay then, to say that you are unredeemable just because of circumstances? That things happened, beyond your control?

Thus, when all external reckoning fails, we must look inwards. In the end, society's basis of morality must fail. Society does not equate to spirituality/morality, and yet the forces of status quo enroach every aspect of our judgements. The rapist must be the aggressor, the little kid is forgivable. From where do we draw these conclusions? Is there a common benchmark of morality that sleeps within our subconcious? Why is it that we frown upon someone hurting another, yet remain agreeable when we inflict the same pain onto the aggressor? A death sentence for the murderer, it's only logical, isn't it? Or is it?

To understand the root of karma, I'll ask you to look at a tree in the autumn breeze. A falling leaf sways to the undulations of the breeze, it does not falter. It will reach the place where it must, be it on a rock or a patch of water. It will decay, return to the earth, nourish the tree and be reborn as a new leaf. It will perpetuate this cycle of life, persisting in the wind, until one day, it returns as a seed: whence it'll fall to the earth, where it waits to become a new tree, or not.

So of Karma I'd say that it is not a force of judgement, but of choice. Karma is born not from your actions, but in the process of your decisions. Karma is the force of morality sleeping within your psyche, where instances of righteousness and avarice is fought on the battlefield of your soul. Karma never returns to haunt you, because you will go where the wind blows, and whether a new tree will grow, only you will know.

So next time, please stop and think before you say to somebody with a naughty tinkle in your eye,

"Yeah, you probably deserved it."

"Let us all be unto the lotus."

deconstruction of a falling star

Maybe I will find you one day,

and we shall sit under the withdrawing sun;

softly, quietly, painting our memories an eternal shade.

Maybe you will fall in love with me,

and I shall open my soul to this -

blossoming unknown;

gently, anxiously, awaiting the colours of my love's dawn.

a day of maroon

A Day of Maroon

Bland weather, soupy skies.

I imagined raindrops on the windowpane, today, when I woke up to this silence: invisible lines meandered with a pitter-patter softly drumming in my head. The world was a soggy mess of colours. The air - a frigid humming from the conditioner. I sat in bed for awhile, thinking about the things you could do in the rain, or in bed, or dead, but I felt as if I was being translated somehow: the voice in my head felt distant and spoke in harsh whispers back to myself. Like I needed justification for my thoughts; like I was on this huge, fucking, stage.

So maybe we are all actors. You and I, my love. I sat on the beach and dipped my finger in the clouds, drawing a god in the sky that only I could see - replete with a top hat and this crazy grin. You drummed your fingers at me, impatience seeping out of your skin. I smiled like how I imagined it to be, but I was hating it - like invisible raindrops; like crazy, fleeting dreams.

And when I walked down the streets, I saw beasts playing the lead. I looked into the mirror and liked what I see, though horns and pitchforks are so last year, I must admit. Maybe this is one fucking comedy.

Yeah, that's it.

Maybe I'm just missing the script.

How To Catch The Man of Your Dreams:

1) Eat alot. All the time.Divert the sins of the mind down the path of indigestion.

2) Invest in a good, reliable astral net.Best woven from newborn dreams. Spare no expenses.

3) Sever romantic connections with all men in the physical plane.The real world fades away but into a trickle of the mind. Such earthly ties dim the luminescence of extra-planar relations. Avoid at all cost.

4) Yield not to your passion.The ethereal persists with desire; what lasts forever must diminish with the completion of your being. Do not let the hole in your soul be sated and you shall gain eternity.

5) Take to flights of fancy.Dance under the starfall of a meteor-rise; tell him the beauty of the gems that are his eyes. Carouse lightly in the dream-mist separating the worlds and survey the limitless horizon on the rings of the galaxy.

6) Do not ask for his number.Should the no-world collapse under the weight of your opalescence, you will find that it is best to leave no strings behind.

6.2) Never be friends.When all is said and done, and should passion fail to ignite; fade away and smile with all the sparkling whiteness in the void of your no-mind.

7) Do not fall asleep.Slumber weakens your gnostic affinity, thus reducing the chances of your meeting a ready dream-man.

Should you find yourself unable to persist in the dreaming world whilst awake, abandon your perceptual system and undress yourself to the moon, keeping in mind that the noise of your breath is a thunderous rancor that must be silenced for the voice of your love to soar.

Vow never to breathe again and you shall reach your dream-man shortly.

Pengy The Bodoh Cat

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Pengy! Bodoh extraordinaire!! His actual name is Percival, but we wondered how his mummy cat thought up of such a smart sounding name (his mummy only got kindergarden education..and failed her Purring lessons somemore) so we decided to call him Pengy. Why leh? Because we all thought he looked like a penguin mah. Then when we tell him his new name, he asked us what is a penguin. I told him it is a bird, and then he kena panic attack and until this day he still thinks he can fly (cos penguin is a bird what?)...Very sad case.

But we are very accomodating, cos Pengy is a fellow kaki mah, no matter what, even stupid cats also must protect one..But his stories really alot. One time he kena ditched by Cleopatra, very heartbroken tried to committ seppaku, but he couldn't find a knife..so he took what he learn from Baywatch and tried to drown himself.....in a puddle of milk. It was a funny sight siah, watching him...and then he'd keep asking us if he dieded anot and if we were kitty angels. We didnt have heart to say no, so for that day he so happy cos he thought he was a ghost bird. Lucky he never try to fly, else we will be purring at his funeral already.

*meow out*

my charboh Snowy!

Would you look at her?? Oh my kitty gods! She is how chio can?? Like the Faye Wong of pussy cats you know? Porcelain fur, like ice like that. Must be very nice to touch woh..*purrs* So cold, so heartbreaker. Always got so many AhBengCats (henceforth known as ABCs) try to get into her good paws..The last abc Pengy dragged a dead mouse as big as my head to her place somemore, we were all so worried that she would want his babies you know?? Pengy is so ugly, their babies sure terrorise us one. But that bodoh cat kena slapped upside down..Why? cos Snowy dear is a vegetarian. Bodoh Pengy never do research one! Lucky I don't know how to catch mouses, else malu also. This is my favoruite photo of her, I keep it and look at it at night when I feel lonely. *sad purrs*

Anyways, Snowy is actually a lady of great dreams! Last christmas, she got abit drunk from drinking a Tiger Beer puddle a fat human left on the floor, and she actually took me to go watch stars with her. So romantic siah...Even though she vomitted here and there, but my love is blind!! *purrs* At the top of a HDB (we took the lift lah), she told me of her childhood dreams! Like how she wanted to conquer the humans, and enslave them with her emerald green eyes! To boil milk and catch mouses for her! So ambitious! I like!! If only she will be my pussygirl..I will die a happy cat! And those stupid humans don't know anything one...Slowly we will...

*cough cough*

Got fur ball...*meow*

introducing Ginger

*meow*

Harlo, human friends! My name is Ginger the Cat and I will be your cute, furry, orange bundle of joy for this special season of "Ahbeng Meows(x2) On The Streets!" Actually, the yandao who I share this blog with thought that I am being too rude calling ourselves AhBengCats, 'cos he scared that human ah bengs might find it offensive and pour red paint outside his house! Red paint is so last year loh. But whatever man. Hum Chee Kia! I can call myself the AhBengMeowTow if I like ok, cos those pussy cats like us bad kitties! Who stop us? Gahmen meh? *purrs* Bad cats get all the sex, you know! See, my attitude face, how sexy can? Those pussies cannot resist! *licks paws*

But anyways! I am here to be the guide to my many many kakis in the neighbourhoods! We roam the streets like police like that, and do nothing but suntan in the sun every day woh! Shiok anot?? Envy anot?? But cats life is like that mah...Sometimes I bored until stare at the wall you know? So sad....Ah..And hor, I stay in this small city called Singapore, where everything is so well fed and clean that even the mouses are bigger than meeeeeeow. The last one I fight in the drain almost take my tail home as a trophy, damn malu. =_=" Imagine what my friends would say? No tail like impotent like that...Very sad one.

Anyways, I will slowly slowly introduce you to all my beautiful feline friends! They have wonderful personalites and dreams too (but are usually too lazy to get on it). We may not have a home loh, but at least we have character ok!

*meow out*

bullshit

Bullshit

For some strange reason, the NKF thinks of the public as a psychic entity, equipped with a supernatural depth of common-sense that should, by its accord, provide a keen self-aware insight to the cog works of the organisation. They must believe that we can discern their kindly intentions, hidden as it were in an opaque maze of nondisclosure, simply by going to bed at night and mewing to ourselves softly,"I don't know where my money went..but I'm sure its somewhere helpful..loh." It is almost heartbreaking to learn that the top executive of an established charity deigned it unnecessary to justify or make known their actions to the public, from (and for) whom the very existence of their organisation is based upon.

For example: the amount of patients serviced by the program was inflated and published in error, but the man decided that it was, I quote, "no major importance" and took no steps to correct it because, he felt that the public was giving money for various reasons (20chances to win a condo loh!) and for the NKF "brand" (and not because of patient numbers....duh). He assumed that the working man is fundamentally aware of the benefits invested with a position such as one he is holding, along with golden taps and frequent flyer miles, and thus felt justified in maintaining his principal of non-disclosure.

What is even more interesting is his adamant stance on how: 1) the public need not know, 2) he is faultless, 3) his responsibilities have been fulfilled.

Infact, it is not so much his salary figures, but his stonewalling of efforts to make transparent his legitimacy, that is the bigger issue. So maybe he is paid a mammoth salary to manage a traditionally thankless job, maybe he truly deserves it for his outstanding managerial skills, but surely the bonuses were overly extravagant when juxtaposed with the fact that it is all, infact, donors' money spent towards helping the needy. The needy, and not towards the building of a single board's personal pool of wealth. I am sure that those sitting on the board aint drawing shabby numbers afterall. Why then, the secrecy? Does it stand to reason that perhaps, they possessed of an inner humility that tells them (like a little angel on your shoulder) that the public might be displeased to learn of the interesting numbers? If they knew that the people would be unhappy, doesn't it mean that they were doing something against public interests? (like gay concerts woh) If so, their strict practice of non-disclosure can only mean that they knew that they were doing something the people would not like, but wanted to keep doing it. Thus, how is this different from decieving the people? At least, that will be how it looks like to the public.

In their defense, I do not understand the attacks made on the reserves: having a huge safety net to fall back upon is the whole point, isn't it? Irregardless of how many years it'd serve the current pool of patients, any estimation on the lifespan of the reserves is moot, because we simply cannot foresee the future. Please do not tell me that the number of patients will stagnant at 2000 ad infinitum. And mis-management aside, the organisation has done much good over the years and should still be given the benefit of a doubt, if but for their contributions.

And so the greatest irony is this: The tearing of facades began as a lawsuit against the SPH, but culminated in a withdrawal and a not-so-subtle reversal of roles on the stand. In their infinite wisdom, the NKF decided that a(nother) lawsuit was the best alternative (instead of blatant denials or forthright disclosures), for what could justify their innocence better than the bearing of fangs and claws? (As with several previous litigations) To show the public: the incensed righteousness of the maligned, the NKF must fight to protect their reputation via the judicial pipe, naturally, against our hegemony of a journalistic sector no less. But did they not anticipate the drudging of dirt out from beneath their corporate carpets, or the already disillusioned opinions of the vox populi. Were they expecting Mrs Goh to continue backing their misadventures now that the changing of blood has taken place? All in all, I thought that their actions were all rather, bizarre and showed a lack of foresight (to their credit, of course). Would not a gentlemanly recourse be the wiser alternative? Why must they seek redress through the most aggressive and counter-intuitive method available? Against the national paper that controls the dissemination of popular information. Humility and acceptance would have saved them from this media circus of their own doing.

Anyways, if the information are to be believed, a consolidated boycott against the organisation would be a gratifying slap in their face. Although, I still believe that if we start boycotting the 3rd, in as many weeks, instalment of the "NKF Cancer Charity Funds" (do we really need them managing another charity's funds?), we are depriving those in true dire needs of help, just to make a point (which isn't fair to the patients). As an alternative to extend your charity, LydiaMei directed me to this organisation: The KDF. Purportedly, a more respectable cousin of the NKF.

If I were Mr Durai though, I'll probably be wanting to make sure that the latest charity show actually hits the donation target: I'll liquidate my assets, cancel flights (but the cavier..ohhh..and the leg space...), melt some gold, hire stand-in phone number smashers, just to foster the image that the NKF is still very much with the hearts of the people. I mean, really. I'm sure he could, if he wanted to; all the donations he will make must flow back into his coffers anyways. A Win-Win for him. But why the incremental amount of charity weekend events? Maybe he is saving up to buy a gold plated jacuzzi, along with gold trimmed toilet paper.

This has also illustrated another point: Singaporean's gullibility. If you look sad and pitiful on national TV, people will kaypo and want to help regardless of facts. Like my mum going, "Adoi. So poor thing. My heart pain pain, must call more (so no pain)." Any issue capitalising on this quasi-altruistic tendency seemed to have had resounding success. Whether this is a good or bad thing is entirely subjective and left to another rant.

"Maybe a new golden showerhead will wash away the bad luck"

fucking retarded kamikaze bastards

Religions and Extremists

Reckon this:

Since almost all major forms of religion states that you will go to hell for either 1) not belonging to their faith, 2) sinning, and taking into consideration that 1) most people will only belong to one faith (meaning you're not of MY faith BWAHAHA Heathen!!), 2) we have all sinned at some point of our sinful lives (dont tell me you have not! having fun is a sin too! oooh..yeah...and condoms! sinny sin sin!) 3) the Gods are probably not hypocritical enough to save everyone: it stands to reason that, hello good people, we are all going to hell.

If so, why bother with all the niceties? Just nuke the planet already! Earth is the embodiment of another planet's hell, a rapturous inbetween! You can expire your sinful lives over there, and you'll be reincarnated here as divine punishment. The more horrific your pre-earth sins, the longer your sentence here will be. Yes! Yucky longevity.And instead of taking potty shots at the oft-misunderstood devil, we should be raking points with the Dark Prince himself (DumDumDum Dummmmm)! Why serve in heaven, when you can rule in hell, right? Right. If everyone of us is going to hell anyways, I reckon it'd be wise to have the best seats for the ride, 'cos honestly, who doesn't enjoy wading through an eternity of brimstone and tangible evil?

So let 'em christians and catholics mind your own churches and stop irritating people with your brands of proselytizing corporate-ship, you're going to hell anyways. Islamic extremists really need to stop believing that dismembered body parts will be reconstructed by the benevolent plastic-surgeon in the sky, or that brandishing the proverbial sword to recreate hell on a planet that is already a purgatory itself, is an express ticket out of this mess of a reality. 'cos it aint so freakin' easy. I'm sure heaven is well-stocked with C4s and claymores for your happy weekend gatherings, oh you handsome, bearded kamikazes.

Deluded idiots. Bomb more people, will you? Kill more! Hate more! 'cos proliferating hate for the glory of your religion must surely earn the yummy favors of your genocidal god! The G8 summit is a festering conclave of evil: with god-hating agendas designed to ruin the establishment of your God on earth! Say no to the Kyoto Treaty! Say yes to greenhouse gases! Say no to anti-poverty! Stop coming to amicable terms! We should be fighting America! Not sitting down with them and having peaceful talks! Oh yes. I'm sure you'll have the best seats in the house. And the Dark Prince? He would simply die to have tea with you for the splendiferous fireworks. Bloody retards. Please leave some cookies for me, won't you?

"Fear me!!"

i am a blogger

I Blog, therefore, I am.

My alterego says that the digital presence one exudes on the net is proportionate to the limitations imposed by external and/or internal duress encountered during the blogging process. If people are reading your blog, chances are, whatever you say has now found an incredible medium by which to traverse a hundred willing/unwilling ears in the shortest possible time. Thus it stands to reason that opinions will be formed of you, and words oft-misunderstood. For fear of having to deal with the possible backlash of an invigorating rant, many have chosen the path of least resistance and downplayed their choice of words, perhaps even eschewing the elan once prevalant in many of those beautiful, angry entries. It is a public realm afterall, and the delicious irony lies in the delicate balancing between the desire to be read and the need to be forthright and honest on the tablet of your name. How honest should I be? To where do I belong?

Subsequently, with the invasion of our pesudo-private realm by the exanimate fingers of the world at large, the infinite boundaries to which we can extend ourselves have become severely limited by the ungainly attention of political or agenda policing. Anything you and I say, could evoke ripples across the collective blogosphere reaching ungentlemenly ears that desire no lesser a dogma, than that of unquestioning conformity. Now that blogging in itself has been accorded a sense of respect and fear for its potential power to disseminate ideas, conformist or not, the relevant forces are taking up arms to protect their constitution from what they perceive to be opinions. Of course, we all know that opinions are insidious little things, and thus, we shall just stick to the mundane reporting of quasi-provocative issues. Mundane yes, but incredibly honest ones.

Like how I like to dig my nose.

*dig dig*

maybe we should lay about and look cute loh

blasphemous rant

Booyah! I'm ranting about your church!

City Harvest Church is moving to the Singapore Expo: a grander vision there is none, replete as it is, with rows of card-swiping tellers to ease the burdenof emptying your bank accounts. It was quite an amazing sight: standing from a distance, beholding lines of faithful sheeps awaiting their turns on the box-like abattoirs, I felt remotely alien and broken, as if somehow my curiousity had betrayed me and left me to die on the doorsteps of the greatest corporation in the universe.

Anyhow, Pastor Kong was amazing - his charismatic ways were hypnotic and pervasive, and he spoke with such vigor, passion and righteousness that you cannot doubt for a second, his sincerity in trying to move you with his proselytising wisdom. He knows best of course, for he communes with the one true god! All of you! Say Amen!! Ohhhhhh...yabalah shikalaki huggaashagaa ugguggmoanmoan shukulidicko watevermajig. And so on and so forth.

But I was not impressed.

After the enlightening ordeal (which reaffirmed my love for the god of small things, and my disdain towards the dogmatic religious institution) , a friend (or rather, my friend's cell mate - haha! What irony!) drew me away to indulge in a little heart to heart talk. Unabashedly, I questioned the necessity of so elaborate a palace, of prinstine walls and black-collered security looking more like bouncers hired to keep the people in rather than to keep the demons out. But of course, he defended the place of the Church as a home and an abode, and how it should rightfully convey comfort and such, thus justifying the need to fortify themselves in sheaves and layers of beautiful, porcelain materialism.

To top things off, he went on (with a sigh, no less) to address the "pitiful Pastor Kong" (exact words) who has to preach sermons four times a week, because the congregation is too gargantuan to hold in one sitting, and how he wished that they'll have a place as big as the indoor stadium someday soon! Wow. Im pretty sure they'll want a whole off-shore island to themselves before long.

Ok. Maybe I sound prickly, but harken this: the kind of hysterical elation infused in these boys and girls is almost clinical, like an infection hopping from one host to another, afflicting them with the disease called joy (the hopping variant). But this is a joy that is based off an external stimuli seeping inwards through the pores of your skin into your blood vessels and combusting in the emptiness of your being. It is a joyous addiction, and I regard these peeps as rapturous addicts returning weekly to get their fix.

Of course, addictions of this kind, nobody gives a grand hoot about. You dont see any religious rehabitation centres out there, do you? When you encounter fanatics, it is usually assumed to be O.K. and that he is merely, intense. Nobody will entertain the notion that religious rapture can be an addiction too. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll! Now, that is the problem. Everything black is bad, everything white is good. We are all addicts in someways or another, but what removes you from the acceptability lies in the packaging. And thus, it stands to reason that the more an institution deigns to divert your attention with spires of gold and turrets of ivory, the more insidious the problem lurking beneath it, is.

I am not that young, but still well within the demographics of their intended market. With this perspective, I believe that when churches take on the mantle of a new generation and embraces the attitudes of quantity: that is, to sacrifice rustic spiritualism for charismatism, to fill their coffers and stands, to package the good word and to align themselves with the forces of a new paradigm, they've become something else altogether: something smaller and starts but on the surface of your skin, something that crawls amidst the comfort of numbers. They call themselves the fisherkings, the fishers of men, and in an insane race to outfish each other, they irrevocably destroyed the most beautiful river. And so, in their quest for the bountiful harvesting of souls, they deemed it acceptable to suffer the collateral damage of a few injured faiths and a few battered hearts (your faith werent strong enough in the first place!), that it is acceptable to lose a few whose faith were destroyed by vulgar and rough intensity, to control the many lost in the bosom of euphoric praise.

You see, I recall rapturous joy on the eaves, under the benign eyes of god slanting through the windows as the golden evening while away. I do not recall loud noises blasting into oblivion my senses, leaving a soul so empty it cries to be loved. I do not recall visions, so narrow in ambit, that it demands but the endeavours of one church. I do not recall such pomposity, that when I lay myself humbled, all I hear is the collective drone of godless voices. Mayhaps I am still atad traditional, and though no longer in tandem with the doctrines, still believes in the quietness of christmas nights, in the memories of a warm, and gentle church bathed in the heady afterglow of a perfect noon-day shower, with soft piano and sandalwood, with me and god and a beautiful peace, with a joy and warmth that arises from deep within, like fingers of god reaching outwards of me in a gentle sunburst, like I was waking into a dream.

Come on ladies! One for the church!

its like this

Anyone can offer to to be a companion when the tides are in your harbor,
but only a true friend will stay when a storm rages.

You can offer your love to anyone who comes your way,
but only the person who loves you will love your pimples, farts and snores.

rainy day

Raindrops dying on the pavement,
dreams of another heaven

an acidic future

An Acidic Future

I am saddened to reside in a country where we parade ourselves globally as a renaissance city of vibrant excesses and yet unabashedly undermine its very essence by subduing all manners of ill-percieved dissension within the citizenry. Our country is a gorgeous city of verdant finery; a haven amongst havens where waters run clean and the city sleeps in relative peace, and yet the government seems fearful of any iota of political individuality budding amongst its quiet people and seeks to root them out at the quickest convenience. What can be so wrong with the proliferation of new ideas and differing opinions? Is the government so fundamentally flawed that it cannot stand against the tides of would-be criticisms?

Having been born into an era where freedom of speech is relegated/confined to an idyllic corner in an out-of-the-way park where stray cats fornicate, most singaporeans learn by the age of 16 that the best policy by which to govern a safe and tepid life is to entertain no policies at all. Indeed, the bovine populace understands the methodology, both inconspicuously and unconsciously - oft discarding ideologies of a different, if not better singapore for an easier path of apathatic disengagement. It is a much simpler task to keep silent and remain inconspicuous amongst millions of other voiceless drones, than to place yourself in the limelight and risk the attention of dangerous people. It is an indoctrination of the highest degree, a subliminal framework by which the ordinary citizen strives to remain within; content as they are with the landscape of their horizon.

A blog is a personal space by which we extend ourselves into the cybernetic realm, where national barriers are broken and inculcated facades dissolved. It is a medium through which we redefine ourselves, and consequently the world around us. It is an unassailable freedom: to speak our minds and think our thoughts, and should be kept so long as liberty is valued and upheld by a democracy-loving governing body.

Thus, it becomes intrinsically paradoxic to the mind, that an institute of state would threaten to exact legal actions against a citizen for publishing thoughts and statements born from a critical angle, made with regards to the machinations of an institution that has now proven itself less than admirable. If indeed the comments were blatantly or suggestively offensive to the institution in mention, then perhaps it would be prudent to conduct a debate of sorts where the oft-cited "defammatory remarks" are rebutted in a gentlemenly and gracious manner. At the very least, it would have been respectable and difficult to fault.

It seems to me however, that if one cannot hope to win by deconstructing your opponent's mantle through the auspices of one's abilities, then one can only prevail through the muscles of judiciary bullying and honestly, nobody respects a bully.

Or at least, I don't.

as all things must

My Granny

everyday is a gift

I fear losing her, every single day. When I look upon her smiling face, all wizened and wrinkled now with valleys of time and toil, she reminds myself of how noble love can be and really is. The aura of altruistic maternity glows from every instance of her angelic smile, like a newborn babe resurrected once more in her sunset years. I hate myself for not being able to give her more than the meagre love I could spare from the desert of my heart, but I know truly, that there is no other whom I'd deign to protect with the very fabric of my soul and love without a shred of want.

gateways to the heart

On Euthanasia and protecting the Right To Die

I cannot believe that they are still fighting over the drawn-out fate of Ms Terri Schiavo; the pitiful lady who was left in a tragic vegetative state after her heart stopped more than 10 years ago. From the look of things, this one lady has evolved from that of a mere medical oddity to that of a symbolic polarization between schools of thoughts and policies. People are invoking her name as a manifestation of their self-deluded righteousness, elevating their morality by climbing on the potency of her name and utilizing her fate as a tool to be brandished against proponents of opposing faiths.

If you look at this from another point of view; her parents' vehement objections to the removal of her feeding tube (thus ending her life..doh) is an act of intense and undiluted selfishness. They know of her condition, they are aware of the impossibility of rehabilitation or rebirth, but they hold on to the lingering hope that their daughter might rise from the ashes of their prayers like a phoenix and back into their life to mend the hurts and longings. Well. Fuck you two old bastards. For fear of facing their own pain, for a false hope of fulfilling their personal desires, for wishing for a miracle to descend upon them like a shroud of god's grace and invisible intent, for being acutely blind to the pain and indignity their flesh and blood is going through, for being wilful just to ensure other's beliefs will not supersede theirs, I say fuck you.

Her husband's motive is by and large, out of the whole picture. It doesn't matter if hes doing it to get out of a deadlocked marriage, it doesn't matter if hes doing it just to get a kick out of having power over someone's life. (fictional assumptions yah) The only thing that truly matters is that he is exercising his wife's pre-vegetative wishes, and standing steadfast against the onslaught of the will of a world that claims and parades itself to be pro-human.

The thing is; with all degrees of separation, you will undoubtedly feel hurt, pain, anguish, sorrow, devastation and all that in between. We are only humans; puny, breakable ones at that. A loved one's passing is not to be mocked nor lessened by circumstance, and one can empathise with the heart wrenching sorrow the elderly couple must be going through. But enough is enough. There is a time to persist, and a time to let go; the greater love is right there, knocking by the locked gates to their shrivelled hearts but they would not listen to reason. They must have their way, they will not have their sovereignty over their daughter's destiny usurped by the greater love, they cannot find in themselves, the courage to accept the pain and release their loved one from the bondage and shackles of a living purgatory.

The president oh-so-magnanimously cuts short his idyllic ranch vacation to return to congress to pass a bill to "protect her right to live." Now isn't that some spiffy publicity; the king of the world takes some precious holidaying time off to attend to the rights of his mortal peons, making sure that the half-life of the most publicised one is furnished, whilst sending nameless ones off to die.

Well fuck them all bitches who proclaims that life is to be treasured and honoured; god damn hypocrites advocate the reverence of life whilst being dirt blind to the duality of death. You know nothing of life till you have some respect for death. Or come to think of it, choice too.Fuck that. There is no use in just protecting the right to live, we must protect the right to die as well.

continue?