Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Archive for February 2009

Opium for the Masses — Mental Retardation

leave a comment »

I sent mass text that rendered the perfect white picket fence garden, smeared with the obscene calamity that struck the peaceful citizen into the “soul of soulless conditions, the heart of a heartless world”. Not twice or thrice. But only ONCE.

That is enough to get a citizen of outsource capitalization that is frequently flooded with global call to get irked with one simple text that only inquire about a shipment of goods from Borneo. I apologise for not abiding to the rule of internet sophistication of Twitter and Facebook at that moment, since I’m in the middle of 3G and Internet void. Hence the sms, as the shipment just arrived from Miri and intended recipient is required — the goods is perishable and still fresh.

I don’t have to be creative with an elaborate prose just to inquire 3 people. Yes, only 3 masses of person.

Massive masses of human mass.

You wanted me to make a different tearful and eye jerking story about the passing of something dear to me for each of intended close circle of loved ones too? I send it to the citizen of the animal lover with ever intricate narrative; and the reply is understandable since the trip to the mountainous theme park surely take out breathe of the visitor there. I don’t trespass further, and the succinct reply is enough.

If I didn’t blog it, does that mean I didn’t value it the same with someone else quote that comes from a different mode of communication? Do I have to divulge everything just to make a simple point that death is something poignant?

Why overlook a simple structure of word — death — yet looking further to the voice that uttered the word; unsteady vibration, foul stench from the parched throat, indistinct accent and the facial tic that’s irksome. The messenger is being judged, for he didn’t come decent and charmingly enough to utter the distressing word — death. How should I say it: Longer and poetic version with singular recipient, as if the world of my despair revolved around one person alone?

Somehow, I, remaining in perpetual confusion amuse some of you. Like a decrepit dog tailing its tail.

Does death also amuses some of you? And do I have to blog every frustration with every answer that comes from each of you just to be fair — as whom I value the most?

Should I also divulged how many promises that’s broken, how many debt left unpaid, how many disappointment that I stomach with nihilistic contempt! Because being ignorance is bliss?

I’m glad [he] got the gut to make it happened, because that would be definitive enough for me, how it should ended in term of being in perpetual complication.

If blogging my frustration is the valid form of real life frustration. So there. I’m frustrated with all the argument about stupid judgement of one simple multiple or effing mass sms, plural recipient for tragic story instead of singular recipient and the grading system like in kindergarten on how much valuable the feedback is.

This is such an infantile argument.

Would it be professional if I ask how much debt that you should pay? Or just because I work in Oil & Gas, I should ignore all the debt incurred? Oh, that’s only rhetorical question, since it required spending monetary value equivalent on how many gas, mileage and time that already spent the last 4 years.

It’s easier to make the argument worse by divulging financial losses. That’s when alimony issues arise.

Nevermind. Do whatever you want to do.

If I did, is it going to get worst?

Only if I blog this that is.

And I did.


Blogging is not a valid form of mutual conversation. Try the traditional verbal dialogue next time, winning the argument is easier amidst the tantrum. Then again, that’s why I blog, to stay clear from the “paroxysm of indifference importance”.

Written by cthulhu

February 27, 2009 at 1:37 am

Travelogue, Dislodge

leave a comment »

As I keep updating my globetrotting of near and far flung cities to a circle of loved ones, I realised that it hardly matter to some of my whereabouts. I don’t think they even notice of my absence.

I guess, I fear for my safety whenever I travel to some dodgy place — like the time in European cities’ back alley. Mentioning of my destination to a circle of contact, should leaves an ample track of footsteps, if something really bad should happened to me.

It may sound like paranoia but I likened it as a safety net. My current job is risky enough with all the travel between vessel, platform and the port. A simple text of assurance is a mark of my welfare.

I’m cutting down the text-ing recipients. There’s always facebook, twitter and this wordpress for the rest of you.


The frustration might be attributed to the recent passing of my favourite cat — baby — back home. She died on the second day after giving birth to a kitten. Baby barely has the strength to eat off the umbilical cord on the kitten — she needs a little help from my sibling. On the second day, just when my sibling takes a day off from her work to take Baby to the veterinarian — she died. The way my mom picture it is so heart wrenching as the kitten still suckling the warm teats from her deceased mother.

I’m feeling angry rather than sad. Perhaps, to the futility of preserving the connection between the loved ones. A friend’s view of life, after I text her, pretty much summarise the wistful passing of someone that’s dear to me.

An existence of anything or anyone serves a purpose in life. Once the purpose is fulfilled, it will disappear into the background and we learn something in return.

Life is fleetingly fragile.


I hate business travel. I love backpacking. I miss Baby.

Written by cthulhu

February 26, 2009 at 3:32 pm

Posted in life and dream

Tagged with , , , , , ,

How Facebook Released Me from the Fetter of My Own Inhibition — Closure

leave a comment »

The two of you, now in relationship


Now that they’re officially in relationships – being a couple. I can now safely steer away from being complicated to single again.

Funny how social network makes more sense in the honest truth about courtship.

I can now have closure.



I don’t think its coincidence the sudden pang of nostalgia when it rain last night.

I’m always fond of the rain. The drizzle is soothing to this fragile soul.

I’m out at wee hour, taking a ride with my roomie, not to accompany him, but rather to drive in the middle of the rain. I stayed inside the car, while the roomie going about his business. The windscreen echoed the blissful sound of the spattering rain. The light flickered under the wavy splash of deluge. I hummed to the sound of the radio in the background.

I continued the conversation with her through the wonder of mobile phone.

If we first met, the last 4 years ago, today. I would have the same monologue (almost) like this:

It’s already raining outside. Soon it poured.

I took my dad’s car key, went to the parked car at the porch, reclined the seat, and tuned to Light & Easy station. I’m listening to the dropping droplets of rain outside to the tune of the radio. I’m having a whale of a good time to myself, until my heart started to fonder to melody of romance ballad on the air wave. The sound bored into the neck of my neck instead of my ear. With bitterness, blind naivety, and with a shot of guilt for catalyst, the tune set me to the perpetual state of being pissed off. It’s the longest time before the ballad ended.

When they ask me how long
I’m gonna love you
If the road to my heart
Will always stay true
I’ll say forever

You know what Voltaire (1694–1778) the French writer and philosopher said?

The road to the heart is the ear.

I was rarely privy to the lyrics of the song I heard but after the first couple of kicks to my eardrums, it was battered by abomination. I google-ed for the song lyric and the artist and found out that Hall and Oates sang the “Forever for You” song.

But before that, here’s the irony amidst the falling rain outside the car. This tune proceeded just after the said song came into air.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me just what a fool I’ve been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again

[The Cascades – Rhythm of the Rain]

The road to the heart is the ear but I rarely listen to my inner thought, thinking my gut have more nerve ending than the soft tissues inside my cranium. The rain told me just that, what a fool I’ve been. Now I’m cold, chilled to the marrow.

Light & Easy – Continuous Relaxing Favourites…what a mindfuck.

Oh, but she mindfuck me better than this, and that’s a compliment.

That’s actually a monologue, the past 4 years ago.

I’m just being a nostalgic fool.

The drowning man is not troubled by rain.



I lied.

When she asked me the question.

I had enough reflection of you cerebrally. I want to hold the stillness of your embrace.


Written by cthulhu

February 20, 2009 at 11:44 pm

The Sound of Your Voice — Cheers Me Up

leave a comment »

The Sound of Your Voice - Cheers Me Up

Do you miss mine?

Written by cthulhu

February 18, 2009 at 2:36 am

the most amazing things are very simple anyway

leave a comment »

on all those cheesy internet quotes about ‘soulmates’

liy: its selfish to expect so much of a soulmate
liy: i just think its a lot simpler than that
liy: the most amazing things are very simple anyway
the good eek: ahh. truth.
liy: they come into your life, force you to look at yourself, at life differently
liy: they don’t need to stay, settle in, kiss you and touch you all over till the day you die
liy: but you know you’ll never find someone like them again
liy: and if it takes 2 months or 10 years for them to turn everything around or change the way you see things, why would you cling on them to stay longer if they have to go
the good eek: i mean this completely as a compliment of the highest order, but you’re like yoda with better hair and skin
liy: -_-

Written by cthulhu

February 17, 2009 at 7:41 pm

Silence Sustenance

leave a comment »

Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky. We fell them down and turn them into paper that we may record our emptiness.

— Kahlil Gibran (1883–1931), Lebanese-born U.S. mystic, painter, and poet. Sand and Foam.

I feel empty. Not the vast emptiness of the deepest abyss. More of the silent landscape of the arching dunes. 

Dunes. Thus comes the complexity of spannungsbogen. The self-imposed delay between when one begins to desire something and when one attempts to achieve or acquire it.

Am I always the patient one? Acquiring worldly material with every wrought of blood, toil, tears and sweat. Praying of heaven forgiveness for every virtue withered in the solitude of the night with this fragile faith. The courtship that gone awry in the tide of time. Ethereal affection that’s nought of immortality.

What do one seek from a soul mate? Matrimonial commune? Sensual gratification? Mutual camaraderie? Shared vision? Psychological support?

If what I sought is mere discourse as a way to break the recourse of being reticence. Would she partakes with mutual ascension of sympathy or falls down to concession of apathy?

Am I under the notion of overwhelming expectation from her? That delayed response is her unforgiving retaliation against my intrusion into her wall of contentment.

Is it a waste of poetic breathe for every prose and verse gusting into that small gap of her wall. As the voice rang hollow between the opportunity. A nuisance more than something that used to evoke “her soul to heaven.”

I didn’t seek more than I can sought.

The act of futility is enough to plough through the end of servile intimacy.

Perhaps it become too monotonous with all the attention, that there’s no more gratification from physical rendezvous (tiring and tedious), a simple messaging (succinct word come with a terse reply) and verbal banter (muffled and distracted).

Provocation rises doubt, but I’ll always the one end up being pigeonholed as <insert narcissistic adjective here>.

If I’m bored of you, why do I feel the opposite?

Written by cthulhu

February 17, 2009 at 2:15 am

Remembering Our Other Half – India

leave a comment »

Event: TheOtherMalaysia (Dr. Farish Ahmad Noor) lecture on the ties that bind India & South East Asia.

Location: The Annexe Gallery, Central Market Annexe.

Here's to the ones who see things differently

Case Study: Javanese/Balinese

The Malay Hindu cultivate their Indo-Hindu culture more as an empty ritual than a doctrine. Much like Malay in Malaysia with the wedding ritual and the sultanate custom. Form without the actual substances of Hindu God.


Event: Amir Muhammad launches Malaysian Politicians Say the Darndest Things (Vol 2).

Location: The Annexe Gallery, Central Market Annexe.

Amir Muhammad and Fahmi Reza are at the launch of “Malaysian Politicians Say the Darndest Things (Vol 2)”. More foot in mouth wisdom from our great leaders.

Catch the PopTeeVee interview with “Ambi Mohan” at http://popteevee.popfolio.net/default.aspx?e=61

Interview with Fahmi Reza (documentary filmmaker of 10 Tahun Sebelum Merdeka) athttp://popteevee.popfolio.net/default.aspx?e=34

Watch out the word porn/pun:

Q: What’s the state of Malaysian writings at this point of time?
A: As Erma Fatima answered when she’s asked to get into the character: What state are you in?

Erma Fatima: Selangor.

And there’s the obvious one about being in “DE.NIAL”.