Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Being on Angst Pill Is Not an Excuse to Plagiarise Poorly

Ahmad Hazli Hasmi version of “Stories of laughter and forgetting” – Part I

Just got back from Perhentian Island. Sweet place. Cool people, nice beach (and bitches…LOL), great scenery. Definitely, I’ll be sure to come back and meet those cool, crazy ass people again.

I met lots of nice people there. And I mean REALLY nice people :)

I. There’s S. I met her at the bar. I was sitting there having my drink and reading Alan Bennett’s which I borrowed from the chalet owner. Then S came and sat beside me.

Well, S is a Swedish girl and we had a nice lil chat. She filled me in on her exciting adventures, and I filled her in on my boring non-adventures. Good times.

She said that I don’t have a grip on reality because I spend too much time in front of PC, read too much… and she did pointed one interesting thing ‘that books were figments of endless imaginations formed inside the skull of the authors’. I should get out more, meet real people and experience real experiences, she continued.

And then she got up and started dancing around me, to the tune of the imaginary music in her head as the deafening noise of the universe crept over that cold windy night.

I picked up another book as soon as she left.

Sigh~.

Ahmad Kamal Abu Bakar version of “Stories of laughter and forgetting” – Part IV

IV.

There’s X. She said that I don’t have a grip on reality because I read too much, and that books were figments of endless imaginations formed inside the skull of the authors. I should get out more, meet real people and experience real experiences, she continued.

And then she got up and started dancing in the living room to the tune of the imaginary music in her head as the deafening noise of the universe crept into the living room window.

I picked up a book as soon as she left.

Ahmad Hazli Hasmi version of “Stories of laughter and forgetting” – Part II

II. If you guys noticed I always wear a silver ring now. It has inscriptions engraved around it, kind of like the ones you see in prehistoric caves. It used to belong to J, when I told her that it looked cool on her, she gave it to me. I wore it on and off some four years ago, and then it ended up being swallowed by time and decay. Completely forgotten and erased, just like my existence among friends at this particular moment.

I was talking with K when he noticed the shiny ring on my finger. ‘Whoa,’ he commented, ‘a gift from your girlfriend?’

Just so you know, K is a French surfer and I met him on my first day at Perhentian. And we became ‘bar buddy’ ever since. And K refers to all the girls who come my way as ‘my girlfriends’. He thinks I sleep with all of them. I would normally have no energy to comment and/or deny this assumption, so I just let it be.

‘Nope,’ I answered, ‘just an old ring I found in my room.’

‘You’re lame,’ he replied.

I laughed. And then I said, ‘there are engagement rings, and there are wedding rings. You know what I call this ring?’

He shook his head.

With a giggle I said: ‘I call this a suffering.’

Ahmad Kamal Abu Bakar version of “Stories of laughter and forgetting” – Part I

I.

I wear a ring now. A silver ring I excavated from the rubbles of artefacts in greying shoeboxes and deformed plastic containers in my room. It has inscriptions engraved around it, kind of like the ones you see in prehistoric caves. It used to belong to L, when I told her that it looked cool on her, she gave it to me. I wore it on and off some five years ago, and then it ended up being swallowed by time and decay. Completely forgotten and erased, just like my existence among friends at this particular moment.

A few days ago I was talking with K when he noticed the shiny ring on my finger. ‘Whoa,’ he commented, ‘a gift from your new girlfriend?’

Just so you know, K refers to all the girls who come my way as ‘my girlfriends’. He thinks I sleep with all of them. I would normally have no energy to comment and/or deny this assumption, so I just let it be.

‘Nope,’ I answered, ‘just an old ring I found in my room.’

‘You’re getting lame,’ he suggested.

I laughed. And then I said, ‘there are engagement rings, and there are wedding rings. You know what I call this ring?’

He shook his head.

With a giggle I said: ‘I call this a suffering.’

+++

I laughed. And then I said, “There are imaginative writers, and there derivative writers. You know what I call this writer?”

He shook his bum.

With a wiggle I said: “I call this a ___ writer”

+++

Yawn.

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Written by cthulhu

May 24, 2007 at 7:16 pm

Posted in flotsam and jetsam

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