Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Fashionably Speaking (via Untitled Journal)

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I didn’t know that Stylist Hijabist become a subculture in this hot tropical country and by stylist I meant a multiple amount of layer draped upon the fashionably attire.

I used to hike in UK, mainly in Scotland whereas it’s a survival requirement to wear base-layer, mid-layer and outer-layer (preferably GORE-TEX®) clothing. That’s in late-winter and pre-spring. It’s chic to wear four seasons fashion in four seasons countries — practically speaking. The only onion-layered garment that is acceptable in tropical country is Sari. Unless of course you’re one of the air-conditioned inhabitant that didn’t care much about sustainability and the melting ice caps.

Don’t get me wrong but minimalist is always a touch of avant-garde because it’s hard to capture the essence of beauty in minimal way — like design and architecture — yet practical and sensible.

On a different note. This is the first time I’m experimenting with WordPress feature: Reblog This Post. I’m not sure how this is going to turn out in my blog. This comment editing is done in QuickPress field and not the usual New Post field.

I’m afraid my blog is going to be another Tumblr wannabe.

Gosh, I was so naughty last weekend. And I blame it on my sister. The previous weekend before, I saw these three gorgeous skirts that I totally can wear both formally and casually. The problem was they cost like RM100+ each and when I tried them all hoping at least one would be lucky to go home with me, turned out all of them scored. So I went to the shops like three times and tried twice until I brought two of them to the counter and when the gi … Read More

via Untitled Journal

EDIT: It turned out well, but I prefer if the tag section in QuickPress field isn’t misleading. It didn’t show up in the actual post. Also, I prefer if the quoted article is on top instead of at the bottom. The flow of the entry is more coherent given that I come out with my thought first before the reader even understand what I’m prattling about.

Written by cthulhu

December 7, 2010 at 6:00 pm

Twitter on WordPress & Bloglines with MerchantCircle

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Wow, WordPress make it so easy to quote twitter with it’s new Twitter Blackbird Pie plugin. It just a matter of copy and paste the twitter link. No screenshot whatsoever (as seen on test shot on top and below). The geek in me is pleased.

And Bloglines is saved, by the people at MerchantCircle who bought it from Ask.com. Nothing can beat the user interface of this excellent RSS Aggregator (not even Google Reader). The geek in me is overwhelmingly pleased.

Now if only I can archive those tweet (minus the mention) automatically in WordPress by weekly schedule like I did with del.ico.us links.

Written by cthulhu

November 9, 2010 at 2:26 am

My Friend

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There was once a very lovely, very frightened girl.

She lived alone except for a nameless cat.

My Messy Moleskine

Image by Alexandre Dulaunoy via Flickr

I’ve been revisiting the moleskine diary again. The last jotted ink was dry since my past birthday. Nothing much written on that last one except the summary of the years’ written words inside the black bind cahier. A summary of the year 2009. In a very succinct form and if it’s a colour it would be a faltering hue of grey, a glimmering ray of silver and haphazard strokes of blue. The colour of conscience, hope and life at sea — and the love of the ocean. Considering it was soak in brine once.

“In case of loss, please return to” and “as a reward: $” were the printed words at the first page of the moleskine. There’s never a monetary reward written on it but I do mull on the ever cryptic xoxo and xxx. Depends on whom who find it as a romantics or sober samaritan. There’s still blank pages unused from the countless doodles and periodic rants. It’s worth more to the founder than the owner. If he’s the type who didn’t type but writes.

My Friend.

Holly Golightly in Hell

Image by bixentro via Flickr

The title originated in one particular scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) when Paul (George Peppard) slowly typed on his typewriter and then came forth the line of a lovely girl and a nameless cat.

The strings and soft voice of Holly (Audrey Hepburn) came in tandem with the lines and she sang Moon River at the window sill with calm composure and remote emotion.

Two of them broke the silence with greetings when she ended the song with a blank stare to the finite space.

I felt so invested with the emotion with a simple a ‘hi’ and the soft ‘oh’ that it moved me to write in the abandoned notebook. I remember the dialogs, I wrote the lyrics and I spelled the emotion. Why it doesn’t affect me as it does 5 years or 10 years ago when I first saw the movie. Why do I favour the Louis Armstrong version back then, when her voice is more sincere? Why do I think this passing scene so suddenly became so magically enthralling in the history of celluloid?

I don’t know.

Yet I do know that I’ve been missing the details in the past decades in favour of end result. The last view wasn’t out of love for lyrical and cinematography value but out of entertainment. I’m not saying that I dissect the current view with empirical proportion but I can feel the sincerity without satirical exhaustion. Two non-matrimony relationship taught me how to endure as a wounded bipedal mammal. Another two pre-matrimony relationship ended me as a quadruped mammal on my back looking at the sky, like a half-dead panda munching bamboo on a deforested patch of urbanised land.

What I’m saying is, or what I think that I’m supposed to say is that I’m becoming less sardonic. Less cynical with romance, but I’ll never be without one when it comes to the world view. Always one with a cynical eye (or eyes).

I keep my optimism alive still with romance. In the back sleeve of the black cahier moleskine lies 3 pieces of paper of optimism and sentimentality.

My first Singapore dollar note from that damsel in distress who (almost) ruin my academic life in United Kingdom.

Train ticket with hand-written notes as I sat for hours on that last train station for the Seremban girl to wake up for a cup of coffee at Starbucks on Saturday morning.

The Sunway girl’s signature on a folded receipt from her flight to Neverwhere with a purple binded book of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran as a gift to me.

The trinkets were there to remind.

Just as the words are.

They’re lovely friends who’s now in love with their nameless cat — their significant other.

+++

On a different note. The WordPress Zemanta plugin for recommended media gallery is fun to use. Who doesn’t like tattered moleskine and Banksy-ish stencil graffiti?

Ministry of silly (via Lolcats ‘n’ Funny Pictures of Cats – I Can Has Cheezburger?)

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What the heck. WordPress can reblog like Tumblr. Like, like Facebook and subscribed rss feed like Bloglines (well, almost).

I can now announce myself as smug as this kitteh. A smug wordpress user.

Ok, Tumblr is still a massive time waster at the moment. Not so much with Facebook. Oh, goodbye Bloglines *sniff*.

Ministry of silly Ministry of silly walks feline division i challanj u 2 a walk-off! LoL by: FISHPicture by: Unknown» Recaption This!» View All Captions … Read More

via Lolcats ‘n’ Funny Pictures of Cats – I Can Has Cheezburger?

EDIT: WordPress just added new feature: Sexy Stats. You read my mind, WordPress. I love charts.

Written by cthulhu

September 30, 2010 at 7:24 am

Distant Mirage

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Lately, I’ve been treating this space like a whirlpool of nostalgia, a wormhole of memories. I’m not sure why I’m siphoned into this maelstrom of fragmented gloom. All distant and “insignificant”.

Maybe it’s Ramadhan and Syawal.

Not to say that I detest the holy month. Religiously, it’s fulfilling. I’ve done my Puasa Enam today . Breaking fast at one place that I’m comfortable being alone (that served spicy Penang fares) after attending Student Power lecture by Fahmi Reza at KL & Selangor Chinese Assembly Hall. Digressing, the student movement nowadays are lacking in the “Mahasiswa Jurubicara Rakyat” spirit due to one thing. Apathy.

Apathy is what I associated with the holy month.

It happened last year when I’m offshore in Miri. It lasted for 3 months and it felt like 3 years. I’ve been working at almost the same oil field near the petroleum platform last 2 years — and even longer. For 6 months. With the only break in Bintulu and Labuan for ship repair and changing vessel.

It’s that 6 month offshore that foster the breaking up with the penultimate relationship, and that 6 month I form a new one with the previous relationship.

Heaven knows how hard it is to get connected with the terra-firma world when you’re living in the dead space of static telecommunication wave at the distant sea — except for UHF and VHF wave, and the pricier satellite phone like Iridium. I’ve known one Diving Supervisor who owned one, who called her lucky wife every 12 hours break. Being responsible for the 24 hours shift, that’s one luxury that I can’t engineered into the hectic schedule.

In those 24 hours shift, she managed to break through the vacuum of nonexistent communication with one phone call. And it was at Bintulu when the vessel anchored for one day for a quick crane repair. I called that destiny or maybe I’m just lucky.

She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 3-4 months after being offshore to finally meeting her. I’m patient back then.

I’ve known her for 3 years as a friend. 1 year as a fiancée to be.

Then it comes to another 3 months of offshore last year. The dreaded months that felt like years.

She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 2 months to meet her again. But it didn’t happen. She told me the relationship won’t work out. I keep my patience but only just.

I’ve been distant from her for a year now. Until last night, I just can’t keep the pain inside me compartmentalized no more, hidden and unassuming except for the discharging miasma.

I wrote. I wept.

It felt almost cathartic telling her how I kept the one year alive with her memories, how it kept me sane. Despite her replying that the past is where the past belongs and that she’s shaping a new future with someone else. It feel good to keep in touch with her again even if it’s semantically indifference.

It’s an emotional sincerity that had been repressed since last Ramadhan. The memories maybe far, but it’s not distant.

Melancholy is not something that I’m looking forward to, at that months. I can’t help it triggers the sentimental switch.

I hope there’s dead man’s switch for closure.

+++

I’m not being depressive and I’m not in mirthful condition either. Life is life.

I took the freedom purchasing a Kessler Crane time-lapse rig that cost me ten thousand and another ten thousand for a new MacBook Pro.

For the penultimate breakup I spent that same amount of money on full-frame camera body and prime lens with cinematography rig. If you’ve to know, it’s the 5DM2.

That money should be in the nuptial ceremony that didn’t happened.

Look how easy it is for one man to compensate a heartbreak with mere gadget? Not to mention, travelling.

Time lapse photography can be treated as meditation with its long exposure, long hours at the field and of course long hours of post-processing.

There’s a muse — a she-devil — who inspired me with the musical soundscapes with the trailing flare of bioluminescent fireflies.

There’s an eccentric graphic artist who speaks in puzzled that even the she-devil amused with the conundrum — of whom draws me close to the technicality of cinematic.

There’s a little scientist-poet who speaks of love and (korean -_-) songs and a little writer who purrs-cuckoo and writes wonderful prose that inspires a theme or two for the future time-lapsing.

Time-lapse, as space and time frozen in light sensitive sensor with a flick of a timed switch.

Now there’s a switch that I know how to turn on and off.

The intervalometer.

If there’s a thing called interval-love-meter?

That might be the perfect gadget for closure’s dead man’s switch.

+++

Oh, I’ve to add. Listening to The Helio Sequence – Lately doesn’t really help at all. In retrospect, I listened to it after I finished up this entry.

As for the song. Sweet, tragic irony.

Yeah, I wish.

Written by cthulhu

September 17, 2010 at 4:51 am

Bloglines Demised

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The end of Bloglines

This is a sad day for internet.

I remember using Bloglines during its infancy. The interface may not differ much but it’s the simplest and manageable RSS aggregator I ever used. Now I have to migrate to Google Reader, which sadly isn’t equal with the Bloglines interface.

Godspeed.

Thank you for making RSS feeds experience with K.I.S.S. interface.

Written by cthulhu

September 13, 2010 at 2:49 am

Sisyphus and the Prophet

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I. Sisyphus

I see you’ve set aside this hectic time to lose your priority and further impaired you with multiple tasks that shall rendered you with the tragic Sisyphean merry-go-round – like an amusement. Maybe you like to amuse yourself with inconsistency so much you marvel with the notes upon notes and devoted precious time to simple shot of dopamine after-hour then suffers with hangover of procrastination.

Since when you treated an iMac as MacBook Pro? You don’t packed it around town and got back home to unpack it later for a “quick gig” of narcissism. I’ve already make a scheduled for moving out your stuffs and you rather play snooker until wee hours? Keep up with this attitude in UK — though I’m not sure what kind of sleazy pub will opened at this ungodly hour at Aberdeen.

II. Prophet

The preacher of the altar is running out of time and never bothers to inquire further with that holier-than-thou robe of his. I’m still without clean slate but I wish him to leave with clean sheet on the bed. I don’t expect myself to clean up on someone else’s mess for the last time. Practice what you preach!

This is one confusing convert. Cleanliness is not one aspect that reside deeps in his faith, that’s for sure. Moldy bathroom, broken toilet, unmaintained washing machine and kitchen after usage, spoiled food in fridge and totally absorbed in his utopian idea that the routine maintenance of his rented house seems foreign. I felt like I’m a janitor in this house.

III. Janitor

I changed the bulbs at the living room because no one seems to care with the flickering madness.

I fixed the choke and the starter of the light in Sisyphus’s room, because it’s too much a complex system for an architect.

I changed the broken flexible hose of the toilet because the Prophet’s stinking feces permeating the air (obviously he can’t flush and too “pure” to clean up his own shit) as I step out of my master bedroom (with my own toilet and now I have to take care of theirs too).

I fixed both the outside toilet and Sisyphus’s room door knobs because the Prophet and the Sisyphus doesn’t mind at all about their privacy — much less broken amenities.

Spoiled foods and dairy products are their own little science experiment (perhaps I can tell the same about their floating feces in the toilet bowl).

When I got back from offshore for 3 or 6 months. I can expect a brick layer of lint inside the washing machine’s filter — which none bother to clean up, at least once a week! Last week, I found a handful of coins inside the outlet tube from the washing machine!

The drying rack is broken but no one seems to bother to change the grip mechanism, it took me 5 minutes of twisting and spare foam to replace it.

I make up a list of to-do items last time but the Prophet took it as a blasphemy — like a totem of passive-aggressive notes and a tablet of heresy for championing personal hygiene. So I got a little scribble to fuck myself in his most prophetic manner.

It took Sisyphus quite sometimes to understand my effort for paper and plastic recycling, although he can’t really understand the system behind proper recycling management. If you want to send the refuse to the recycling centre, make sure it’s well tied and properly selected, not with those half-hearted attitude. Good luck with the Green Building Index (GBI) revolution. If you can’t even manage simple recycling, I’m not sure about those green-movement preaching of yours behind those sustainable architecture design.

The Prophet totally lost it to the recycling idea. He took all the stacks of bottle to be recycled to the garbage chute. All of it, that’s awaiting to be flattened!

Maybe I’m a bit anal about hygiene and OCD in the way to implement cleanliness but their ignorance and selfishness are all the reasons I needed to reinforce my Gestapo attitudes.
And dude, both of you lost the humour of my little post-it notes.

What with confused Muslim (and hypocrites) that can’t get witty sarcasm and respect to environment?

I’m getting a Malaysian-Chinese girl (not to be confused with the one from China) room mate next September.

3 more days before you two move out for good.

Let’s see how she — the food scientist — fare.

Wait, now I got a real “science experiment” in my fridge!

Written by cthulhu

August 28, 2010 at 6:01 am