Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Archive for July 2008

Siapa Babi Negara?

Say Goodnight Grace

Say Goodnight Grace

If only the Parliament is as funny as the Pearls Before Swine comic strip.

Ah, wait.

It is.

Only less witty.

Le Mythe de Sisyphe

Camus presents Sisyphus’s ceaseless and pointless toil as a metaphor for modern lives spent working at futile jobs in factories and offices. “The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and this fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious.”

[Source:The Myth of Sisyphus]

Beneath the vessel lies the mariners’ catacomb of ancient sunken ships. From north to south, traffic of flotilla haste through the commercial sea highway of the narrow strait.

The underwater salvage work took 2 years.

Offshore soon. I’ll be back onshore another 45 days.

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In the middle of the sea, ‘one must imagine Cthulhu happy’ as he labours to create meaning.

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The Neko consoled, in the tone of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Swimming from the sea of morose and dejected to the plain of pleasant thought and warmth sincerity.

Written by cthulhu

July 12, 2008 at 8:07 pm

Favthumbs: Current Favourite del.icio.us Mashup

Favthumbs — Your del.icio.us bookmarks visualized.

Grid love and sweet cycle carousel!

Written by cthulhu

July 12, 2008 at 3:54 am

Jedem das Seine

A little voice in my head, echoed a whisper. As I lay to sleep, in the darkness of space and the din of percussion and strings. The guys and gals, outside the room, relished the harmony of post-rock vibration.

Midnight already passed. The adjoining neighbour at the mercy of the Indie trio — although at the end, the music seemed to lull, than to roll. They were relishing their youthful days.

That little voice stirred, piercing the waning tune. It echoes of my youthful past with the Teesside Girl.

Last Saturday was the Teesside Girl’s wedding dinner. I’m invited, but chose not to go.

Since I got back from UK, it took us one year to get in contact with one another. Broken — as I eased myself with solitary life. And another one year to get to know each other again. Broken — yet again, as I’m a wee too late, to woo her back.

I felt like a child with a wreck heart in a wild abandon of fruitless adventure. Crying as he found the jewel, no more than a lesser stone.

I’m a little sad, but then it’s nothing. All will be in passing.

In the end, it’s a little lie just to make myself better.

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Near 2 am, *pat pat* the Neko consoled. A smile, etched on my face.

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“Thanks bro. See you when you come back. :-)” said the Teesside Girl this morning, as I congratulated her on her blissful wedding.

Bro?

Written by cthulhu

July 7, 2008 at 10:00 pm

Arbeit macht frei

\

Work Brings Freedom

The project(s) in shambolic. Planning the completion of the operation(s) by half of realistic plan.

Devising lies upon lies, to deceive for profits. Relying on faulty equipment and incompetence personnel to compensate for lower project expenditure.

Arbeit macht frei. Self-sacrifice of endless labour brings spiritual freedom.

I’m trapped in the prison of unethical work practice. Suffocating on miasma of pretension. Deafened by the blaring sound of deception. A recipe for good technical report of smoke and mirrors.

I’m weary of the nullified qualm of conscience in the department. Sacrificing my own principles for bread and butter. Blinded with subtopian necessity.

In the breathe of Aristotle maxim: primum vivere, deinde philosophari –first live, then philosophize.

I’m disillusioned.

Written by cthulhu

July 6, 2008 at 2:11 pm