metahegemony.

you know the world has gone to nuts when the elitists find nothing better to do than to critique their own.

not the guy in the bowler hat.

As much as it's useful to claim some sort of portfolio (i have none, still), it's more important to quell an interesting rumour (and the resulting implications on my political leanings) and also to have peace of mind at night.

So, here goes: i'm not the kj on toc.

There are some similarities in prose and style (he does have a fiery breath which i lost somewhere transversing youth), but I'm too old and cynical to write pure dissident posts and take up the mantle of change (or liberty. or freedom. or whatever else high-minded tenet). But i can't bring myself to critique his work, because that would incur the armchair sin.

Ok, no need to fear the knocks on my door now. :)

strangely fitting.

i write obituaries. if you need an eulogy, go find someone else.

just noodling.

something that flew out of just noodles. very raw, but we prefer to proclaim the freshness of the words themselves.

stilettos, twice removed
so does your height betray you
but your appearance rings true
to the bells of your soul
how-do-you-do.

the weathers, fine.
i hope you see it, true and through
don't follow, follow me.
as i skip to the loo.
all i am, you gobble, gobbledygook.

you live life in a reflector
strapped to earth, naked wings, nestled poo.
where the lights light too, too bright for you
step back before you break apart,
bones & sinew.

on the woodchipper's block
chop chop chop chops of you
your barbed-wire heart, we melt in devil's brew
and then piece it whole anew
demon girl, you are your own peril.

train to Auschwitz
for your life, inferior and skewed.
enjoy that breath of fresh air,
lest I beat you like a red-headed Jew
or march you down to the Maginot Line,
like that kiddy game you play,
(Pew-pew-pew.)

all the world's a stage, baby
but hey, you're not Shakespeare's fool
nay, no fool like you waxes lyrics.
you're a Tussuad's child waxen, a Greek statue
with two full centuries to pursue

goodbye-see-you
the choir invisible has sung
so the curtain must too.
you have no understudy, lady
Tragic-comedy, there's no number two.

what it means.

things have come and gone. yet cynicism decides to make itself a permanent resident, amidst all the fanfare.

for what it's worth

It's funny how just a random, very overdue outing can set one thinking so much.

No photo-whoring, no silence (even when there is, shortly broken by a laugh and more banter). Just an publicly unacknowledged fact that we've grown up. But for that four hours or so, how young we have once been. When passion dominated more of our nerves and veins, than the stilted slumber that we call maturity. When raging fires have died down to reveal only glowing embers and a mere acceptance of our life, along with the vivid expectations of what's to come.

We have, devolved, I suppose.

But it sure is fun hanging out with old friends, even acquaintances. I guess it's partly due to how we at least have more similarities than acquaintances now. And how we're learned to live and forget, due to the many other sins we've experienced and committed.

But mostly because it harks back to the old, golden age of our civilisation. Back when we were young, dreams weren't fleeting, and we were raring to go forth.

To what? The future? If only things didn't work by relative comparisons.

Daddy

you came, and then you left.
hollow man, were you ever there?

in-between, television's fuzzing
you were the fleeting.
the one momma warned about
the telly's blurry image,
blacked-white, washed-out.

7/24, your clock on the brink
dreaming nothing but the kitchen sink
the one you couldn't fix
(actually, beyond that, there's more
like the kid who wanted Trix)

(forth-and-back, my pen begins its spin
the ink bleeds out, my disjointed limb
reality's fabric tears at the seams
i really can't make of you
unless with bad synonyms)

dormant volcano, spewing no ash.
your eruptions died a trillion years ago, there's only rehash
'tis a reminder of all things past
an empty wallet
dooming us to a lower caste

glowing embers, a familiar slope
you light up (yours, not mine) hope
smoke rings float gently to the top
guardian angel
i'd pray, but you're not.

sparkling white, your porcelain throne
also known as the beaten dog's bone
the sole solace to fornicate dreams-
plebeian fantasies,
i suppose, but it's my ice-cream

i've been flagging, can't you see?
taxi, taxi, taxi
drop me off, i'll pay the fare
or leave us both
breathing noxious fumes of despair.

but i grew roots, i grew shoots
i grew and grew, till i'm taller than you
taller than frail health, receding youth
all prestige has abandoned his name
except the silver age of sixty-two

the old sea barrel, it begins to burst
the fog above begins its choking curse
you've squirmed life of such a deal
a funny tattooist fate is, to give me
imprints of you

the lego i never had
the scooter i never sat
hey daddy,
c'mon,
play with me.

you missed~

the bulls-eye, the point, the sharpie edge, the birds, the bees, the trees, mas selamat, and even the overhead bridge.

the sheep calling the flock black.

this never gets old.

selectively pruning the holy book for the numerous verses that counter 'the' numerous verses, and then drawing a suddenly extremely clear boundary. All this done, while casting out the exiles and blasphemers (which harks back to that era the book detailed), and declaring oneself the sacred truth.

so who's the authority here?
and whatever happened to tolerance of all views that was championed, even the ones perceived as naive, bigoted ones?

so now that the big ugly has reared its head, it's time for the baby to be thrown out along with the bathwater, and brand 'ignorance' as unchristian?

I'm not quite sure how such posturing and demonstration of faith dexterity affects the final sum. You mean one can still be against homosexuality, but not ok when people impose their anti-gay beliefs upon others, because others should be able to do as they please? that sounds a lot like bending over backwards.

but the bright side, of course, is that compassion and rational thought did somewhat prevail in this polarised issue, albeit with some flag-changing and alliance-shifting.

Hardworking Also Guilty.

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