Ah yeah *snaps finger*

I could, publish my stories to another site. Or some of my writings of course.
There would be fellow writers and fellow readers who are there to either spew flaming criticism or probably none at all.

Those writings, in the other blog, it was dedicated to someone who I thought mattered in my life. Now that person is literally exited and with the door hitting her ass on the way out, I suppose that these sheaf of posts should be given to more perceiving, linguistic eyes.

*chuckles* of course not everything. Just the real romantic ones. More like I am showcasing my romantic writing skills, akin to peddling your handicrafts at a bazaar in Central Market, KL.
Just goes to show that I am not limited to mere general, fiction and basically boring excerpts about my life.


The post be in my Facebook but just in case.. I would monger my link here for your perusal.


http://www.fictionpress.com/~monodanee


Happy reading.

I wonder if I should delete the other blog..

or

.. publish it in a public manner and advertise it so the whole world would know about it?

But of course,
I would tell that... wait a second.

I don't think I want to publish it at all.





Deleting it.

Here's a little truth to invade your mind;

I thrive on hate.
It gives me life. It powers up my perception, my common sense to a lot of things.

Or to be more apt, hate sustains my life and made me who I am today. A lot of things I have achieved, with hate fueling my desire like a potent, poisonous drug.
But the problem with me feeling hate at times is, well, it conflicts with other "human" nature of mine. The unnecessary nature of thinking about others, the baggage of concern. It weighs my true potential as I do not want to offend people, or create a strife between us, no matter how much hatred and loathing I feel for that particular individual.

And such conflict, I have found, is destructive.

Two opposite opinions, each in their own polarity, is ripping my sanity sideways. And the pity is that, it happens all the time, most of the time. My judgement is impaired, everything seems to be cloudy, and there is that constant need to talk to someone about your brimming aversion to that individual.

It happened to me once before way back then. Around.. 8 years ago to be exact. I wanted to hate that person so bad, but I was afraid to offend. And thus, this ripped the fabric of my sanity in pieces, turning into a mute shell. Not gone off completely to full retard mind, but it was enough to let people know something had set off in my head.
I wasn't myself.

And it is happening again.
I fear for myself really. I wonder how long would it take before I would launch myself in front of a speeding train, or on electrocuted train tracks. Because,

It is driving me insane.

Only loud metal growls and heavy guitar riffs are able to anesthetize my head from being a full on suicidal psycho. Among that, food and a minimal desire to live.


I am afraid.

Raise my hopes up.




But then again.

With this annoying plethora of emotions that are seared since I learned to speak,

I would always raise my hopes and get shot down.


Again and again.


And life goes on.

He walked into the place. The place that had the flashing lights. The lights, mesmerizing him, as if beckoning him to take step by another step into a pseudo promised land.
The rank, dusty smell of cigarette smoke envelops his being; he took a gulp inadvertently as he drank the surroundings around him. People we chanting, laughing, screaming; it was a fiesta of emotions in that enclosed space.
Suddenly a shrill bell knock him into reality. And there he was, clad in completely black. Black T-shirt, black jacket, and black sneakers and slacks to complement a rather funereal look. He believed the colour would ward him off evil spirits. He was superstitious like that.

Another step, and he was taking large, leisurely strides.
He stops at a table.
There were money being tossed, cards being put out, and people looking forlorn (with some having a focused look about them). He stood and watched. A person sat across the table, wearing some sort of a uniform. The person dealt the cards, with a monotonous, unfeeling look on her face. And then came the abrupt sighs and curses in a variety of East Asian languages as the person took all the money that was placed on the table.

He was in a casino.

A place where dreams are often brought to survive and to shatter at the same time. A place, where dreams and nightmare walk hand in hand. A place, to completely beguile even the most smartest human being to waste his hard earned cash, or savings, to a complete stranger that cares little of your welfare.

The black clad dude, carrying a sum that he had just withdrawn from a bank, hoping to strike it lucky again. The crisp currency, sitting barely folded in his wallet, was thrown onto the table for an exchange for a couple of casino chips.
The dealer counts it, checks it for forgery with a UV sensor, and then prepares the appropriate amount of chips for the black clad dude. The dude accepts it, and soon he places the money onto the table, expecting a straight win.
But alas; luck was not on his side. He stared forlornly as the dealer took away the chip he has staked, but he would not be deterred. He put another. With the thoughts of this loss is just a mere fluke of sorts. He would recoup that initial loss and gain a straight run of wins.

Again, the result was as brutal as it can get.
He lost his capital in less that 5 minutes. He looked at the dealer for some sort of inspiration; the poker visage stared at him back with an unfeeling cruelty, offering zero sympathy.
Soon the black clad dude would do it again, and he would lose more than he thought possible.
And the cycle is repeated until he would have nothing left to go on with.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that is how an average day at a casino is like.
For literally anyone.
People, although losing, they would just go on and on to believe that they would regain what they have lost. Luck does play a part in gambling, but instinct and self awareness about what is happening, and the obvious common sense to stop while you're really ahead, or really going down.

Believe it or not, when you have won aplenty, do get the hell out of there. Take a smoke, a drink somewhere or something.
They, the gambling conglomerate, would want nothing more than to regain their losses from you particularly. No one likes losing. And so are these guys. Although say, they lost a thousand to you, they'd very much like it back. Just as much as you lost a hundred, you'd want it back too.

The amount of stories that I have read alone while going around the Internet, horror ones.
Some fool lost 35 thousand ringgit and only had around 100 bucks left all in all because of his habit of not wanting to stop.

So.
Gambling is not fun.
Unless you're some oil baron, conglomerate, rich foreigner, etc
Not for students, or idiots who think they can make it big after winning a mediocre amount.

She is what I would call,
A cocaine, a drug that makes us crawl,
But I have never taken any at all,
Not that I would know of, at least I think that's all,
Fragile, white, like a porcelain doll,
Intoxicating me with a presence, enough to make me fall,
Like cocaine, like alcohol,
She is addictive, she's nice, she's a beautiful sight, I recall

But that was the beginning, my audience,
She have bathed me in her radiance,
She have showered me in happiness,
She has left me breathless,
For I could not believe that anyone, for once,
would want someone as worthless,
as ridiculous, as mediocre in appearance,
Like a person like me, it slaps me with an unholy force.

But slowly, these days, now and then,
I have these inherent thinking where and when,
Or what will happen,
Should the day comes when we would split, be broken,
Like a twig under a summer's sun,
crushed underneath the legs of children,
And strangers we shall be, decidedly being different,
A word, an email, seldom be penned,
Not anymore, not for her,
And our lives will be back as before,
Where I am living the average, cold, restrained,
And she would be in another nation,
Because we wouldn't be meant,
for each other should that ever happen.

But by golly, my unfaithful audience,
I would be damned in all sense,
If I would ever let her go just like that, with zero reasons,
Would we be friends?
Would we, like before, together, like before the fence,
That barred us, a guard with its spiking green lance,
The only thin line of defense,
Against the feelings that are immense,
And let the climbing commence,
As I drop all of my fear, my pretense,
To see you on the other side of the fence.

I would never let that happen,
I do not want it to end,
Were it within my domain,
of power, I would fight, I would restrain,
I would receive the pain,
I would not care whether I go insane,
Or be whacked to death by a stalk of sugar cane,
I still want to be with you, to be in the train,
Ignoring every Dick and Harry and Jane,
And sit with your head on my shoulder, your beautiful mane,
The warmth of your body, like spark on methane,
The heat of the flames, like a summer in Spain.

I would like to honestly state here, amid the darkness that has blanketed my room, I am frankly irritated.
Irritated at the fact, that insects are flocking to my computer screen, which is the only thing that is actually bright in the entire room.

Actually, there shouldn't even be such insects. Light insects, I dub them, are crawling through the screen like it is some kind of Animal Planet show their missing on the screen. Or like a makeshift, walk on the cinema kind of fad among light insects.
Imagery aside, why are there even such insects roaming on my screen?

I lived here for more than two years, and I have never experienced such insects on my screen in the middle of the night. Oh wait, I think I know why.
You see, there are two windows in the room that I am living in. And apparently, my room is located on the part of the building where it is facing this huge ass tree, all green and roots sticking out and all that. Let me see.. with trees that size, and it is the thing that is in front of your window, surely there is that odd one or two weird insects that come in for an excursion or claim permanent residency in some dark recess of the cupboards in my room, or that lonely shelf, or that wall corner.

And considering the ridiculous one track, fickle minded weather of the equatorial country I live in, the tree that is looming right in front me could well be breeding ground for God's most little joke: mosquitoes.
And not considering other wildlife that haunt the the tree, like bats, weird ass birds, giant moths (the big black ones that seem to just get stuck on the wall, never flying away) that might be thinking of placing their lodgings with their six generations together under my bed. I am surprised there isn't an actual biological orgy going under my bed at the moment.

So why all the unnecessary documentation of wildlife that is literally around me? You see, there are two, TWO windows in each room. Simple open and shut contraptions. Push to open, pull to close, and there is that odd latch to seal it tight. The most effective barrier, the wall, the unyielding shield against these hapless insects.

Only. If it is closed.
Open, it is like Chinese New Year for all the 8392373567 insects + whatever organisms that has wings or light enough to be blown in.
And if considered that I am too lazy to close the window, and to assume that pulling that curtain, somewhat a surrogate window, will protect me from all those weird ass insects from sharing my bed and breakfast.
I am oh boy, so wrong.

Mosquitoes in particular, are the prime bitches, the culmination of all things annoying and evil and ridiculously.. annoying. They are literally invisible until you feel that odd itch on where it last bit you. And in a place like mine, on a bad day, you will feel like Nosferatu's discarded meal thanks to an armada of mosquitoes thinking its Thanksgiving.

All because I left the window open.
I closed the window from then on.

But no, my room mate, bless him. He is doesn't get bitten as often as I do.
and he leaves his window WIDE OPEN.
And I become the unwilling blood sacrifice from 2am to 6am.
And the cycle repeats itself.

The Shieldtox/Insect Repellent in a can is standing by. Waiting for its pressurized, poisoned content to be breathed by the insects that are retarded enough to take a meal out of me.

Often in this life, we anything but infallible from making mistakes. However, there is that moment in time, we will not realize that we have made that odd grave mistake, until it hits us squarely back in the chops.

Oh yes, we will make that mistake, it will be dormant. It will be living inside the very core of your brain, feeding off on more related events and rises at the most appropriate moment. To literally stab you with the reality that has resulted from that tiny little action that you have done so long ago.

But I wouldn't go as far as to say that I have committed such a mistake. No.
I just was giving it a thought.
The mistakes, or more my actions, have made me into that being today. I have no regrets. And stuff that I am supposed to say in order to make this sound cheesy.

I am sure there are those times, when you just look at your older posts and go, "damn! did I really write that?"
Just because it was really good.
No I am not kidding, I have read some of my older posts, in another blog (in which you guys won't ever get to you pretty much apologies) , that I still couldn't believe I wrote all that tripe.

Not that I am blowing my own trumpet mind, but I do think my past work are the equivalent of some Literature Prize on some level. I wonder where all those metaphors, imagery, the string of sentences that could provoke even the mildest of thoughts, the notions that could stir the very hem of your common sense to think.

I amaze myself sometimes.

And sorry for the month hiatus though.

Here's something unrelated for your perusal:


Happy trails!

It has been.. nearly a week??

At least the very first thing I can do at this moment is.. apologize?
I am sorry? Pardon for the imminent, unexpected although intentional, absence?

My dear ladies and gents, the readers that peruse my blog, you will be getting none from me. I doubt I am in some contract with Google or with any of my readers whatsoever to produce writings at least once a week or even twice. I don't live by that code. I write at my own leisure.

Of course I do have another blog out there that I need to maintain as well, but that place is hardly has the kind of material that is suitable for your eyes. No I am not even suggesting subversive messages or even adult/violence themed nonsense that is contained in the other blog of mine.
Let us just say that it is the very place that I write all my deepest and darkest thoughts, or my true 100%, unadulterated self complete with a barrage of swear words and choice cynical imagery. Like the Mr.Hyde of this cheery, albeit sarcastic blog of mine.

But I would be honest with you about something: I have been writing quite a lot since that date, but just all that materials haven't reached here actually.
And, my priorities have changed drastically over the past couple of weeks so.. yeah. Take a hint.
What would drive a man from regular blog posting at a rate of 3 posts a week to now, a fortnightly basis?

Food for thought, my dear readers.

Read THIS loud and clear idiots.

Let it swim, lodge itself and grow parasitically in your mind as it feeds on the knowledge that I am not. When it is full, you will finally comprehend that I am not the passive freak that I used to be. That will be the time you will expect a lot of changes, none of them pleasant.

Take a step back, and look how "good" how "kind" I was. Look at those pictures carefully, as I thrust a lighted match in your hand, for you to toss it towards those imagery I have built up over the years. Watch it burn, watch it disintegrate, and watch a new image is being painted as the old one is being burned away.

My error of this life is, is that I have been doing things for people, and not for myself. I have been a slave for every fool, a bitch for everyone to use and to exploit, and even spat at my face.

Let it be known to you everlasting actors in this stage of life, that I am literally taking a stand now. Hate me if you must you freaks, because that's what I am going to be for the remainder of my life until the headstones rest nicely at the foot of my six feet farm in a cemetery somewhere. If I want to be remembered, I want to be remembered as someone who was kind and at the same time, didn't take shit from anyone enough for them to use me again.

Record your watches, mark your calendars, as this is the moment the niceties are over.
I will lacerate you verbally or physically even if you try to ask me to do something. If there is nothing in it for me, pleasantly fuck off towards the other way please.
Never expect a constructive comment. You will be asking for the worst where my opinions are concerned.

Die in a blazing inferno, to all who seek my help and to not compensate me for it.
Perish in a burning car accident, with your legs stuck in the door and the petrol is burning up fast and you will expire in a burning coffin, slowly, painfully and definitely excruciatingly.

No one will save you from my words. My common sense will trump all of your bitch reasonings and shit excuses.
If you are expecting me to be nice and polite from now on, please bang your head on the wall and bleed while screaming yourself because that is what you will be doing THE MOMENT MY VOICE IS HEARD IN YOUR EARS.

End.
Don't go expecting my words to be half as flattering as this anytime ever.

On people who post about subject registration even though I haven't registered yet,

"Oh please la, as if you are the only bugger in the entire freaking MMU that is so excited about registering for the next semester subjects. Of course la, dah la your course so easy, it being MANAGEMENT, and us engineering students aren't as fortunate like all of you to get A's for entire semester. Do me a favour: shut up."


On a roomie who, has a gaming machine,

"Bro, you have a flipping strong gaming monster, it doesn't mean that you have to put every setting in games to HIGH or ADVANCED or I CAN SEE CHIN HAIR kind of detail. It will tax out your graphic card faster than a student in an engineering faculty studying for his finals."

About boyfriends - Ones that are being commanded by their girls

"Hey man, look, I know she didn't want you to buy that PS3 game. But why she didn't want you to buy it?
Huh? You mean she just don't want you to buy it? Don't care la, just go Toys R Us and buy it! Still you cannot?
Ok tell you what, let's book a ticket for two to Bangkok and a reservation for one at a plastic surgeon to have your balls removed. Don't worry, I'll pay.. its for your own good. Until you can stand up to your gal, your proof of fatherhood will remain in that jar of formaldehyde over there. Yeah, in the Donations section."


About the current heatwave in Cyberjaya, Seremban, Penang, etc,

" Why is it so hot?? Mau terbakar okay. Even shirts off, doors open, windows wider than a Najib's election smile, it still as blazing as holy hell. Rasa macam want to break open a bomba pipe and shower myself. Or even to take my pillows and blanket to camp out at MMU's library air-conditioned foyer."


On the recent price hike on sugar,

"If our prices are still low compared to other SEA countries, lets keep it that way? Or the saved money from cutting back subsidies because you need another RM100 million to keep your wife's wig on her head is that it? Eh, Najib?
Also, I wouldn't be surprised if a regular nasi goreng would cost RM10 in the future, a teh o ais limau will cost rm5. "

This post I solely dedicate to.. my mother.

I can't believe I became an asshole twice over at the eve of Mother's day. This post is just but a small expression of me begging for forgiveness as well as wishing a Happy Mother's Day.

I am not a poet, I am hardly a talented writer. I write as a form of expression, like how people play music to express themselves as well as art.

Today, I want to express what I feel to my mother, in this little corner of the Internet, and hope for her to see it to forgive me and bless me for my examination in the coming days.

Dear Mummy,

I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused lately. Although I have meant this many times, I still repeat it over and over again. Sometimes I wonder why, when I fight back and retaliate with you and Paps, I feel so horrible when I think about it not too long later. Especially the times where I would just keep quiet and let my ego get the better of me and hence preventing me from asking for forgiveness.

Although I am 23 as of now, I still act like a child in front of the both of you. Who wouldn't? Anyone, old or young when their parents are with them, they are bound to be childish somewhat, to feel their parents love as they always did.

I want to ask for your dear forgiveness again my dear mother, on this sacred day dedicated to all mothers. I am so sorry, I really do, as I recall back the moments yesterday. Maybe I am the only son in this entire planet that does not wish his mother a Happy Mother's Day with a gift.

I remember the times you put up with my anger and my stubbornness, and take it with a calm way even as I shout back and ignore your calls. I regret all those moments.
I just want you back. I never want to rebel again, I promise. God help me in succeeding that.

I just want to be comforted by your loving words and arms again, like a mother would. The times when you would cook, clean the house even when I am around, I don't appreciate it. I didn't appreciate the times I had being with all of you, the times we laughed together watching movies.

I am not perfect whatsoever I know. I always try to be better, to be someone that you can be proud of in the future.

I want to say I am really sorry, Mummy.
And A Happy Mother's Day.

Please Forgive me....

Your son (eldest),
Danny
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am sure we had our times when we literally danced with the devil itself. It terms of dancing, I mean as if in committing unspeakable acts that even the mind refuses to believe it.

The devil was literally in my soul tonight, when I seriously did it.
I wished it was murder, or even the befouling of some sanctified place or entity. I truly have sunk deep. Deep indeed to the depths where I could even barely see my own hands.

The feeling after you committed it.. it consumes you like a blazing inferno, engulfing your literal being, leaving you naked towards the harsh, realistic truth of the matter.

I did it.

But where was my mind when I committed it?
It wasn't there.
It was replaced by a darker, more twisted and crazier replica of my lateral thoughts; it completely substituted me for the time I was covered by awful sin.

It is scary when I think about it. It was barely moments ago.
But the guilt, grips me like a vise, torturing me with its painful needles into the very hem of my soul, and the sound of accusation rang loud, reverberating in a jarring endless screech.
It hasn't stopped. Even as I write.

I wouldn't think, what was I thinking then?
Because I have thought that a plenty times, and it didn't stop me from doing it again. And again. And again.


These vile doings of mine. Will ever it be forgiven?
Honestly, even I can't look at myself the same way again.

Funny how desperation of the matter leads you to do very inhumane acts.

I beg for forgiveness once again, from the Lord who is merciful. Cleanse me with thy blood, and make me clean and sanctified from all things evil.
I pray to you, make me strong, give me the strength to combat these unholy desires. I am sick of it all. I want.. to be free.

I want to be normal again..
I want to be... a regular person..

I am definitely not used to posting blog posts within the half an hour after I have already posted one.

For a socially awkward person like me, who even refuses to say hi at any new stranger he adds, it can be considered as an act of desperation to garner attention in a subliminal manner.

Didn’t understand what I wrote there? Neither did I.

This post comes as a culmination from a 10 minute conversation with a friend regarding weddings and love. I, being the silly puppet of fate, reminisced about a time where I used to picture weddings of my crush. About 5 years ago, when I was young and stupid as well as liking this particular female, like hell.

In any case, I actually imagined the wedding; gardens, cakes, flowers, white dresses, crying parents, jeering friends... and then came the worst part.

I imagined life after wedding, and how would it be like living with her and stuff in the household. F*cking imagine that would you? I mean, at that time, I would say it was all candies and spice. But now, down the road of adulthood with more common sense and life lessons unwillingly driven into my mind, *shudder* I solemnly think of marriage’s unpleasant consequences to me when I eventually end up with her, or even anyone else.

Pardon the usage of crude words in my post. It was, a necessary evil.

Also, I ache to write about my friend’s wedding moments. Truly, anyone who watched the royal wedding on live TV, would imagine what would that moment be when they eventually get shackled, balls to chain for life.

At this point in reading, you would actually surmise the fact that this post is basically demonizing marriage. The pact between two humans, sanctified and revered by God, the Son and The Holy Spirit, may it last forever and until death do them apart.

I would want to quote that last part, the ‘till death to us part, that sentence yeah. The groom, or even bride, that utters those fateful binding words, is bound to each other like Faust did to Lucifer. Later in their marriage they would realize that they would be actually aiming for that little, yet infamous quote. By actually dying. Who dies first? Leave it to the husband and tehe wife after years of marriage turmoil. Affairs, money, children, even relatives could be the cause of that turmoil.

Ok, back to my friend’s situation. She, being obviously a female, because only girls who are madly in love these days could only fantasize that kind of nonsense. You don’t hear guys spouting to his dudes in an Irish bar about how his future bride will be like, wearing what, where it will be held, and the whole nine yards. If he eventually did, which is most probably out of exhilaration of getting his first girlfriend, he would be jeered and probably get whacked in the balls for uttering ridiculous nonsense in front of the fellow single guys in the bar, or guys who want time out from the wife at home.

Why do I keep railing off track?? Back to her. *fumes*

She fantasized about a wedding, after watching the royal Brits getting knotted at somewhere in London. I can tell you, she would’ve gone on about the dresses that she is going to get if I hadn’t told her about my a long dead experience with me imagining myself. Scroll back up for actual details.

So, she imagined a wedding at a beach, or a garden, and with a wedding dress that is definitely prettier than the British royal bride, and how long her hair would be at that point. I foolishly added my imagination about my former crush, and somehow this post is birthed through those two ideas literally intercourse with one another and conceived a ridiculous rant.

Not much I wrote eventually. I am never much of a wedding person. Considering if you found out rather recently.

It has been sometime, I admit, since I actually wrote something here.
It has only been a week and by my reckoning, it has been far too long indeed.

What, you were expecting something factual, or a curse-laced rambling about... something?

Anyway, I'd like to give whatever little readers here a small preview about an upcoming historical novel that I am actually writing. I have been thinking about writing something that is related to the Malaysian history, which is during the time where Malacca was at its prosperous era. It is about an European guy that sets foot in the Malay Peninsula for the first time in 1509, and well, about the events that eventually led to the conquest of Malacca by the Portuguese.

Drab.

I know.

But I was considering something along the lines of this dude, where he helped the crummy Malaccan ruler at the time, Sultan Mahmud Shah from screwing things royally (pardon the pun) and therefore, create a parallel universe which is based on the prevented Portuguese attack. And from then on, I will weave my magic and see how the Malaccan Sultanate ends or it prospers.

Or, I might just use that history as my backdrop, and construct something that is very Dan Brown-esque, with a historical relic, assassin, nerdy professor, intelligent foreign chick, the whole nine yards. Apparently that seems to be the formula for most mystery-relic-running across countries kind of stories that I read..


And then, I would form a historical backdrop and modern day Malaysia, transitioning between each other as the story progresses..

Or,

You know what, do hand me your suggestions and I will try to make sense of them as I am trying with my mind at the moment. I could use some help. Who knows, when I actually get this thing published, YOUR name, yes, I repeat, YOUR name, will be at the first page. Some sort of dedication if you will.

Alright...
Going to continue my research into the history of Malacca with the aid of the Internet (once again).

But seriously though, if this project does seriously take flight, I may have to actually consult scholars on Malaysian history and do a little museum visits. Let's see how it goes..

See ya.

Frankly, I don't write reviews.

I deem reviews are basically is just one man's opinion about something that people can fall back upon. Reviews about movie, music, even literature, practically dot the seemingly volatile condition of the mass media in the present. Reviews are would, say, something to become a point of reference before anyone would buy a music CD, or a book, or even to purchase a movie ticket. Or in this Internet-slash-Piracy age, the aforementioned items are easily obtained from the vast recesses of the Net.

But piracy and its symbolic greatness of freedom against oppression, is hardly the thing that I would want to elaborate at this moment in time.

My opinion on reviews has been basically the same - not credible and hardly represents the actual value of said items. Hence that's why I do not write reviews. I face the possibility of my writing to be dismissed by some Bieber freak or ripped to shreds by a Twitard.

However, I have read something special that is written by a dear friend, and it somehow drove me to write something about it. Honestly, this friend of mine, a girl, she didn't want me to read her works before and now I still wonder why she let me read this time round. The written material in question is, an obituary that is supposedly an assignment.

Let me blunt for a moment here; obituaries are depressing and hardly the kind of thing you want to read on a Sunday morning. In the newspapers, I doubt anyone would want to flip to the obituaries section in the actual time you get it moments after being tossed by the paperboy in the morning. It's either the sports section or the front page.

There I go again, railing off the track on purpose.

What's different about this particular obituary is that, it is written with a passion so fiery and loving at the same time. It is a work of someone who had loved and lived with the departed and misses her dearly. The language needless to say, it is flawless, with a lot of touching phrases in line with quotes from infamous individuals. But, the selling point of this obituary is that, the emotions that conveyed in every each sentence. As I read, the emotions reached out to me with its caressing fingers, and snaked into the dark recesses of my inner emotions and practically, moved me to bits.

In a light moment, stuff like this are only written with the assistance of Hans Zimmer's Davy Jones Theme. Sombre and somehow uplifting.

That is how the obituary was. The writer did not lament the loss of her dear departed so grievously, but at the same time writes about her deeds and how everyone misses her. Admittedly, it was something that I would want someone to write about me when I actually leave this oh so cruel world.. Morbid much?

If only the lecturer that graded her essay/obituary could read this dear post of mine. I would adjure her to actually give this piece of work a standing ovation in class, and of course a highly distinctive recognition to it. If her lecturer didn't, and assuming the lecturer is a female, I would personally regard this "qualified" person as another cold, heartless academician that only regards flowery words and "witty" phrases. Like there isn't enough already from British comedians or shockingly unfunny Malaysian comedians.

Wrapping this up, I would say to you, my dear writer, continue writing! And keep at it! You are seriously, stupendously amazing.

I SERIOUSLY,

Got to get this out of my mind immediately before it actually burns a part of the sane storage device of physical being; my brain.

The part where common sense and tolerance go hand in hand and function together.

My room mate, even after a food poisoning incident in which, I helped him to get to the hospital in Putrajaya. Wheeled him all the way in the wheelchair and even called the transport to get us back and forth from the hostel and there.

If it is not for that event, I doubt we will even have remote conversation beyond the occasional "off the lights?" or " I borrow _____".

Now, at least we are having some conversation. About games and general stuff. And not very often as he is always, I repeat, ALWAYS on his PC whenever he was in the room. Most of the time MSN-ing with his girlfriend or playing some high-end games.

At this point I must sound like a jealous, scorned girlfriend who was left dumped by her happy go lucky dude at the mall because he wanted to play pool or a kopitiam session at the local mamak shop.

Even I wouldn't even consider writing this here, you know. But things have actually stretched to the point where I am actually getting irritated because of his behavior. Which, are listed in a few eloquent points below:


-Switching on ridiculously loud gaming noises from your PC?

I know you have subjects that relate to game designing and requires you to expend hours of your life in a day dedicated to gaming. But, it would be far more preferable if you kept the sounds to your own ears. I am pretty sure technology has significantly improved especially in terms of expelling garbage to your ears and making you deaf before you turn 40.

Or... wait a minute! You spent 4 grand on that gaming rig itself, don't tell me they didn't even provide you with a headphone? Those lying basta*ds! They ripped you off! Even a tiny headphone?? Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo~ that's not the way to do business man...

Keep the gaming developing process to yourself. Please. Us engineering students have a future to look to.


-Unplugging my LAN cable SPECIFICALLY from the router.

Just mine. That little blue cable.
So the line with is supposed to be SHARED and whatever little bandwidth that is provided, is entirely scoffed by his fervent, almost religious downloading and uploading activity. In which I can surmise, an important task, given the amount of games he download and upload daily.

As a frequent user of blogging and actual socializing and some minor downloading, I find it is a rather very distasteful attempt to hoard the entire trickle of downloading speed to yourself. Do spare some for the Banana Chinese that uses only a laptop in the corner of the room eh?


-Throwing his clothes around to even my part of the room.

See, this is where gets thoroughly irritating. I am pretty sure it is rather disturbing and absolutely mortifying to see an undergarment in the part where you reside in a shared hostel room. As with these little undergarments (note I am using it in a plural form. Use your imagination), it is horrid enough for me to come back after a long day and actually stepping on one.

Leaves much to the imagination, isn't it? And I agree wholly, the feeling is not a pleasant one.


- Switching off the room lights inadvertently without warning.

Picture this: You are lying down in bed after a long night completing assignments and have just studied for an upcoming midterm. All you want is a good rest. And you pick up a favourite novel at your bedside, (romance, thriller, twilight) to read, and to relax you to sleep. As you are already, literally into the novel in a leisurely manner, darkness practically embraces you in its unfeeling arms and you are ripped away from the fantasy world. And in that instant, you are jolted back roughly into reality, and of course, cranky and annoyed.

It does not help with the slumber at all whatsoever.
Instead, it leaves you with seething tongue and unpleasant thoughts of fury.


So, with all that, you can actually come to the conclusion where my room mate treats the room like he actually rented it wholly from the university. For his personal purpose.



So my life here actually, its comparable to the way the Soviet system or the Nazis treated their people. With me being the common public in question.

Fun = Liberal Thinking = Rebellion

or

Books = Freedom Of Mind = Different Ideology = Rebellion

In America, you look at the mirror. In Soviet Russia, Mirror looks at you!
In France, you read a book. In Nazi Germany, Book READS you!

Ok I bluffed about the 1 week timeline.

I just need to get my mind of certain things, like some vices...

Ahem.

I just utilized the Internet to whatever potential it had today.

I found out the solutions for my in-a-week due assignment. It involved computer coding, some programming skills.

But I couldn't just copy it, no. So there is still some work to be done after all, and it doesn't seem that I am much interested in doing it at the moment.

Oh dear.
What is to become of me?

I am thinking of changing the title of my blog though. To something that is more catchy and probably that is not as abstract as the current one or immature as my previous ones.



Also,

There is simply something very degrading about the way I wrote my little phrase beneath the blog title.

"The less you know about this life, the better"

I just discovered how funny it sounds.
The less you know about who's life exactly? And why is it better?
Not as if it can get any better even if we know it. And why we want to know it?





And my revolution is still in progress.

Out with the introductory sequence I would say, at least nowadays. Because I just realized its somewhat homosexual to greet your readers, if there ARE any readers AND they are either male or female.



Or it is somewhat retarded or gila, when I greet something that doesn't exist.



Dispensing with the greetings, oh and one more thing.



I barely would want, especially now, to introduce what I am writing, like a summary behind JK Rowling books that barely explains the gist of the entire cerita. Which is very much what I have been doing since this little rant spot was birthed in somewhere the year 2006 because of an emotional breakdown or some teenage angst phase I am going through at that time.



Somewhat a cultural revolution that is happening here in this undistinguished, backwater, caved in, Sanctum-like spot of the 8th-circle of the Internet.



I have been doing some thinking as of late.

My little posts, are they boring? Are they the by-product of a low self esteemed teenager who wants to get back at society? Is this a stepping stone for a favoured writing career in a Malay spoken country?

Although I do adjure you to ignore the next two lines at that particularly explanatory paragraph.

Not that my content is uninteresting.

No.



Maybe is irrelevant to write about German music for the local Malaysians who, just plain gravitate to whatever local music they can grab with their pirated feelers within again, the Internet.



And maybe, it is rather incorrect to write my little depressed moments, ones that I am feeling down. You know, if you actually read it, ones that I will do something about it but in reality I never actually do?
Indeed. If people had a depressing article fetish they'd just go visit Berita Harian or Harian Metro site or just buy a Malay love novel. It is far easier to comprehend those materials rather than spending half the time comprehending what I wrote.



And lastly, I would probably want to stop crafting stories and actually posting it here. As said by a fellow writer and a reader (Hi there!), it is far more likely to get plagarised by some mud-eating secondary school drop out who's desperate for even the most mediocre of materials on the internet. Of course, ones that doesn't have a Copyright insignia or a copyright claim by the author.

I would beg to differ here, as my story, full of holes as it is, would be probably would pass on ignored, being granted an extra invisibility feature by Google. Seeing as I don't place their ads, they decided upon a free and exciting feature which I would loved to be applied on my physical being, which is invisibility.



Ah and FINALLY, probably the last and the most important part of my little semi-cultural revolution of my blog.

It is the part where I said I would continue my posts soon.

I sooner believed that I would continue them as Hitler would've given himself willingly to the Allies, or our glorious PM ceding power to his opposition counterpart.
To perpetuate an actual post here is a seemingly daft effort as I surmised.

Or as much eloquently I would put it, I will mean what I say.


That's it for the declaration of a language revolution here in this post.

AND


I would actually post something next week.



Oh and a little satire moment:

Finally found the time to write something after all.

For starters, I discovered a hidden gem of an artist - Silbermond. German Pop. If you impartial to foreign music (notably European) THEY ARENT FOR YOU. Nein? Because I lately discovered that listening to foreign songs especially Russian, or German ones, are sort of an acquired taste.

*Singer's kinda cute too =D*

No really, it is.

The people that I know listen to these languages are countable with a single hand, maybe even less than that.

I heard many comments regarding the German songs especially, as it is my most favourite language at this point.

- This sounds like bad English.

- Sound like a distorted version of English.

- How can you listen to this?

I have no idea too. It is an acquired taste. Just like eating raw salmon sushi or grilled eel.

Rather I want to ask the people who assaulted me with those kinds of questions; when the music is good, should the language matter at all?

I would've got some very interesting replies had they weren't busy tuning into the English twaddle that is desecrating the airwaves these days.

If you haven't heard, go and listen to Rebecca Black's Friday on youtube. You will witness what is I call the beginning of the end of what music used to be.

In layman's terms, music is devolving back to its prehistoric state where cavemen howl and bang their heads on stone (just an assumption though).

So seriously, I recommend STRONGLY, listen to foreign songs, as they might be the only salvation for your ears.

Oh wait, I know you're thinking: What's with him being a hater towards good music?

Dear reader, if that thought be entering your collapsible mind, bless you child. You're young. There is much to learn in the world.

Ok no.

Bye.

p.s: That' artist's songs, are all in German. Try it!!

Not going to exactly apologize. Not me, not for being absent from the internet blogging universe.

Then again, who am I going to apologize to exactly?

Maybe that one reader, and yes I am sorry for being MIA these past few weeks.

Don't know what to write exactly, just to speak that these few weeks have been quite rocky, none plain sailing in any way possible.

Or if you really want a clue of what happened for the last few weeks, here it is:


Can't be more specific than that.

See you soon!

Wow. I am literally on the brink of euthanasia. Towards myself.
It is sort of a mercy on myself and the lives around me I suppose.

I realized I have sunk deeper than deep into the callous mire of failure. Imagine that, I never felt as useless like this in this entire 2-bit life of mine.

Uninteresting, not even half as good looking, shy, callous humor, can't even write well, and can't even make a good lasting impression on friends.

Study wise? I am killing myself. I am doing something I literally hate. I have no idea how many times I have written this at all in my posts. Gosh, I must really despise what I am studying at the moment.

And even now in the dead of the night, I can still write about this. Why? I need to let this out before these pent up feelings consume me and my life as well. Really. I never felt this close to the Reaper's scythe ever by will before. I was always the cheerful kind. I took things lightheartedly. Although things looked bad, I would always look at it in a positive manner, I things would be solved.

Now, I have entered a zone where impossible seems to be the very trend when it comes to scoring good marks for my subjects. It seems grades are the very measure of friendship in this university life; not good grades, can't talk well, you are best left alone.
Too smart, and people would shy away from you, only treating you like an accessory when things need to be done.

However, it is the darkest before dawn. The problem with studying your hardest for anything, working your hardest for anything in this life. It is that when you do all that, your end result sometimes will end with nothing, or it yields a small fraction of the effort that was put in. A real put off. This happened to me, and it is rather a dispirited effect to the mind. The mind will be led into thinking that the only door is open is failure. Because even if you worked your hardest, yet you're not rewarded accordingly, what is exactly the point of striving?

And then my parents. I am a guy, yet, I cried when I heard they still had hopes for me, even when I know that I am taking a one way direction towards failure. How does that make you feel? There is no other feeling in this world like that. My parents love me so much, I am blessed to even have such wonderful parents. Failure after failure in my life, yet my parents still think that I have it in me to succeed one day.

But yet. I still remain the failure I am. The ugly duckling that never grew up.

Enough.

Greetings.

This is the first post I have written (in a while) that is NOT something about a story of a wasteland that is so close to home.

That's it for preview.

Part of me would want to wish my reader(s) a New Year greeting, but the lack of responses (or bodies) that I have noticed for some time, compels me to do so. (Or take this statement as a New Year greeting if you would)

Life has been quite the b*tch the past year. 2010. It was a year that I was willing to forget. Wasted opportunities, girls, choice in friends (and studies T_T). Compressing those, it was an all round streak of horrible (and contemplate-able) decisions. Even I sit here and wonder as I pen this (or type), why am I even here at all? Not saying that Engineering isn't my passion, but actually writing is.

Look at how I take the time of a beautiful but rainy, Sunday evening just to pen a senseless blog. Where I could've hunkered down to the library, shut down my computer, and pore over illegible writings and write down even more illegible formulas. If it was vice versa, I tell you now. I could've reached the heights of even entering a Dean's List, scholarships abound, offers to study overseas in droves waiting for the stroke of my pen.

*sigh*

Sadly writing is considered a "non-paying" job or "not-enough income" and maybe "who would want to employ you" statements from EVERYONE in this third world minded country. Sometimes I look at my writings and I would be proud of them. Because I conceived something, literally out of nothing.

Previously, I had a friend, a fellow writer to read some of my writings and comment on them. The response she gave me, it was actually good. I even pressed her to be honest about it. She said it was. If you are reading this Liz, thanks! Thanks aplenty! I felt as if I am some proud mom/dad looking at their child being praised by teachers. *cue puffing and huffing nose sound*

I have friends who have descended into the realm of studies and working, and some into just plain studying to impress their parents, or studying, to gain an MBA and to get a job overseas and stay there. Nowadays, in my opinion I would say, studying these days are all just about getting good grades, getting a good job, a wife, a house, a successful career. No one exactly asks you what you want to do.

I see many of my friends are in that stature. Probably I am too. But this, keeping a small space in the vast Internet, and to write what I think, let my mind out. It keeps me sane and to remind me who I really am, and what I really want.

Out.

I said too much as it is.