Quietness, passé, stagnation and rot.

It can get pretty boring at work.


People see me rotting, I think. The see the stink lines rising and the air waver in acridness. No one took the liberty to roll me over yet, to check if I was dead, or still breathing but close to dead, and then call the cops to bundle me away in black body-bags (they probably need 2).

Nope. I sit at my table and ooze, green slimes and maggots and whatnot.

There are a few good things in the coming weeks that I’m looking forward to. One of them is the 16th of April, which means this damned Industrial Training comes to an end. Another is the decision of sending me to PWTC for the remainder of my days to help out with The Book Fair thing. Finally, days where I spend my time out in an environment both inviting and fresh, and while probably occupied with showing scholarly professors to their rightly books, is still something that beats the office monotony and utter tedium.


At least the Training is going out with a bang. At least I get fresh air.


(I think I complain a lot. I think my fellow course mates undergoing the same Training at different places are having it twice -- if not trice -- harder that what I’m forced to go through, but I think what I really wanted is having it hard.)


***********************


The evening skies these days all spell an imminence of storm.


The trouble is, said impending storm either never happen or it happens very much later than what you can predict. Come three to four P.M and dark clouds are a- gathering, with winds a-toiling and thunders rumbling and people immediately seeking for shelter or to shelter their stuff, only to find that the rain didn’t come, or came hours later.


Even the weather-reports seemed to shoot off target by miles; yesterday they told me to expect cloud and thunderstorms in the afternoon, but all I see was clouds at first, with the thunderstorms coming 5 hours later, and by then -- as people would put it -- it's already evening.

Because there is nothing better to do: MeMe!

Also because I got tagged by Goblok and Vic, which makes two tags, and some time ago when I was into memes I hear that if you get two, you gotta do two. But of course, those were the olden times, where getting up to 30 tags because you’re popular meant that you have to do it 30 times, provided you’re very much dedicated, so perhaps I shall overlook it.

And now, the meme:


1. When you look into the mirror…

The corridor appears, and the glass shatters and falls and I walk through it in the semi-darkness, taking right at every turn until the ground gives way and I fall and suddenly I’m back in the light, with my hair miraculously gelled.



2. When did you last saw someone picking their nose?

This man was at the LRT, reading a Chinese magazine that seems to be a cross between a gossip mag and a business bulletin, when he suddenly let the magazine down and coughed. After that he got up and left the train. It was last year.

The man beside him picked his nose.


3. What are you doing now?

I’m exploring the finer points of life, and this one involves an invariably and involuntarily reaction towards something that -- on most days -- I deem to be an activity for the days of lesser work and worries, and yet I am at work (which I should be taking seriously, no doubt) and typically wasting my time doing anything but anything work related, and one of them is this.


4. What would be the best birthday present?

To me or to be given to soeone else?

If it’s for me, then it should be on the lines of X360PS3WiiCliverBarkerNeilGaimanLeatherBoundBookMasterPenThreeWishes1)Handsome2)JessicaAlba3)LoadsLoadsLoadsofMoney

If it’s for someone else, a ball pen and a notebook and a witty card to justify its cheapness.


5. Who do you think is hot right this moment?

Marge Simpson


6. Who annoyed you recently?

The gadarnit producers of Avatar: The Last Airbender for not releasing the newest episodes.


7. Where did you meet your loved one? If you have yet to find, where do you plan to meet him/her?

I saw her at the mall, amidst of others so similar to her, that until today I wonder how was it -- as though by some heavenly guidance in all divinity of light -- that I found her. So I took her, got to know her, and shortly she was in my room, spending that night, and the night after, and the night after too, and now we share the same bed and I embrace her to sleep every night.

My darling bolster-pillow...


8. How will you use this meme for the benefit of mankind?

I think I’ve done it already. I’ve managed something that someone might read and possibly wonder why someone had to do something like this; I’ve given that person something to ponder about. Of course, eventually, I will do the inevitable task of Tagging more people into this endeavour, only that I don’t actually have anyone in mind but Ji Lin the Princess Snail, so I shall open this meme for all to do and post whenever and wherever they want.

They can even do it differently, which makes for a good few freshness, and they can do it something like this:




1. When you look into the mirror…







2. When did you last saw someone picking their nose?






3. What are you doing now?

4. What would be the best birthday present?








5. Who do you think is hot right this moment?






6. Who annoyed you recently?





7. Where did you meet your loved one? If you have yet to find, where do you plan to meet him/her?




8. How will you use this meme for the benefit of mankind?

http://freerice.com/




Something like that.


******************

Hmm, more to follow, apparently.

A few interesting things to read.

I shall first, in all of my honour, present to you the link to Elizabeth Bear’s Hugo Nominated story, Tideline, which you can read here: http://www.elizabethbear.com/tideline.html

If you think Mark Twain is a boring writer with limited imagination, you can read Adam's Diary here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/ExtrAdam.shtml and Eve's Diary here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/EvesDiar.shtml

Also, because it talked about meat, there is this: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/TheyMade.shtml

This one because it’s so interesting: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/TherMan.shtml

And this one for the roll and because I love it: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/MaggMiso.shtml

Lastly, and perhaps not quite a big deal at any rate, I’ve gotten something up in Monochrome Smogs, and it’s a short story commissioned by Ji Lin to abate my boredom at work. Drop by and give a comment.

And that, I swear, is the end of it.

In my dream there, there was a neighbourhood.


It was night and the streetlights were on, orange incandescent and dim. Double storey terraces, flanked by overgrown trees and self-maintained foliage that did more to obscure than beautify, ran along the road and turned itself into a disguised maze.


I didn’t know the place. It was familiar for being real, but it was nonetheless alien and -- under the dreamlike waver of the moon -- completely mystical, somewhat.


I was in the car, and I was nervous in the way one would feel when feeling lost. The radio was turned on but nothing was playing. Somehow the icy air emanating from the conditioner whispered like a sighing breeze, sharp and penetrating, and it was as though it could freeze the dull flickering warmth I think was hope. I was helpless. I remembered being close to fearful.


The turn took me to a house with a raised tent at the front, and from underneath the little light that could escape was almost blinding. There was thumping music; a party, and where the music came also came with bits of cheerful yells and whoops. I stopped and got off, hoping to ask for directions.


A young man appeared out of nowhere, and made towards me.


“Here for the party?” he asked, his accent Scottish. “Got an invitation?”


“No,” I said. “I’m lost, and I was wondering if you can give me some directions.”


He raised an eyebrow, the judgemental way, and somewhat belittling. I could see his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He looked almost unsettling; there was a perturbing energy coming from him.


“It depends on where you want to go,” he said, and now he was looking at me as though he expects me to start giving him something for his trouble. “Can’t give you directions if you don’t tell me where you want to go.”


I realised that I didn’t really know where I was headed. “Just out of here,” I said. “Out of this place. The neighbourhood.”


He smiled, looking cocky. “Drive down the opposite direction and turn left. Keep going until you see this house with a big yellow gate, then turn left. You should see the sign telling you where out is.”


“Thanks,” I said. And then I remembered. “Listen, I appreciate the help, so perhaps maybe I can give you something for your t-”


“Fuck it,” he said, pulling some sort of mock grimace and waving his hands. “All to help a lost friend.”


And then he vanished. The music turned into an unmistakable medley of jazz. The light from the tent turned blue.


I got into the car and drove.


I took the left turn like the man told me to, and drove for several minutes before I came to the house with the big yellow gates. Somehow in the dark the yellow was still prominent; perhaps so thick in colour it managed to glow. I turned left, and found myself facing another tent.


Behind was the sign, but the tent had obscured the large part of it. Like the first tent the music was thumping, vibrating the ground rhythmically, though the light was velvet. Someone was singing inside, the amplified sound muffled and dulled by the thick canvas. I thought I could drive past, but the tent took up the whole of the road.


Someone knocked the side of my window. I looked up and saw a girl with a Mohawk.
“No minors,” she said, the little ringlets of her lips catching some of the velvet light. “Beat it.”
I wound the window down, and said to her, “I’m not going in there. I need to get out, but I can’t get around the tent. Is there another way out of here?”


She was looking aggravated, and I could tell that she was slightly drunk. “Go the opposite direction, past that house with the big stupid gates, then turn left, then left again. There is a road to the right that takes you to the highway. Go straight and you see the sign, but better the highway if you want to make out of here.”


“Thanks,” I said, but before I could roll the window down she stuck her head into the car.


“You’re no minor,” she said, and she sniffed at me as though she could smell my age. “You can join the party.” She threw me a smile that was half flirty and half chilly.


“No thanks. I really should get going.”


“Well,” she said, lifting her head out. “Yours to waste.” She turned her back and walked towards the tent.


I didn’t wait for her to enter the tent. I did a there point turn and went the other direction. Left and left again, and true enough there was a road to the right with a sign saying Highway. I didn’t turn, however. Somehow I thought I should be looking at the sign. It felt to me that there was another way out, or at the very least, I should know what this place was.


The sign was the type you get at the zoo, with small wooden plates pointing which is where.

There were 5 plates in total.


The first plate said Taman Megah, pointing left. The one pointing right said Taman Sentosa and the third one said Library, pointing behind it.


The fourth one was blank, pointing towards the highway. The last plate said Exit, pointing northwest.


I took the road that said exit.


It took me to past a playground with a basketball court, and there was sign that said Exit with an arrow pointing left. I took the road, which led me back to the house with the yellow gates.


I stopped in front of it. The gates were open, and from within the darkness I could see the Exit sign, lighted green.


A chorus. A song. Like a choir, flowing, like it was the wind itself.


I walked in. And then I woke up.

**************

Maybe i should've posted it in monochrome smogs, but it was more like talking about a dream to me than actually telling a story. I didn't mean to write it like a story even, but somehow it caught up.

The funny thing with this dream was that I remembered the words exactly; like my dream about the Arch in the Desert, this one was so real i woke up not knowing who i was for a minute.

I'm starting to like what i'm dreaming lately.

August Rush for the Seasons.


I guess everyone has a bad movie they somehow like. And I say bad in the context that the people themselves know how bad the movie was, only that they didn’t care. August Rush was one of those movies. For me, at least.


I like it. Most of all I like the music. And I guess that’s all that matter.


I was heading home on Tuesday and many interesting things happened.


The first one was hearing my name being called loudly and enthusiastically, the sort of name-calling you register to people you haven’t seen in a very long time and would very likely turn your day that day. I started, halfway up the stairs, and found a college classmate who somehow managed to delve herself in the world of sales and marketing. Her Maxis Broadband booth was there at the LRT station for the day.


(Perhaps it’s safe for me to point out that this particular ex-classmate was the same person who pounced on me online trying to sell me an internet package. The world is too small sometimes.)


She was all smiles, but the worst part was the she was all hopeful. No escape, her look says. You’re buying.


Fuck it, I’m not buying shit, I tried to say. But you know you don’t ever say that.


So I listened and nodded and tried to look interested, and in the end I took her number and promised that I’ll tell my uncle at least. She didn’t sound too happy. But hey, that’s sales and marketing for ya.


Then she introduced me to her boss, which is a tall Indian dude that I reckon to Russell Peters gone to London for a few years to get a degree, minus the humour and wit. This dude runs a sales & marketing company training ‘young hopefuls’ in the arts of the trade, and soon I’m there under some well rehearsed recruitment speech.


“I was an engineer once, doing about 3K a year,” he said at one point, and you can tell where he’s going. “Then I went into sales and marketing. And you know the way sales work… you do know, right? And soon I was getting about, say, 6K a month. And then the company tells me, ‘you better get out of here and start one yourself.’”


And then he chuckled. You can smell the condescension and overwhelming pride.


“So, whenever you feel like taking sales and marketing up, give me a ring,” he said, in all the conviction a man who knew that a few years down the road I’d call him or someone like him.


“I’m thinking I’ll more likely go into my interests first, if not something closer,” I said. I had I hate sales and marketing I hate sales and marketing repeated in the mind hoping he will pick it up telepathically.


He cocked an eyebrow. “You can never tell, really.”


At this point Pauline tapped me on the shoulder and whisked me away before I can give a retort of some sort.


After that it was some sort of game Coincidence was playing, maybe for some laughs over popcorn night.


Meeting Pauline is coincidence enough. I was then introduced to Yi Liang (the closest I can spell his name by ear), who strikes me of as a sci-fi fantasy fan so big as to having his own parody songs.


He advised me that the next time I get bothered by people trying to sell me something, I should tell them that my religion is against their products. He also said that if they persisted, I should start chanting.


Charming.


And then I got a call from a familiar number, which my Bluetooth earpiece failed to register its owner’s voice clearly to me. My first thought was that someone from the other company was calling me over the political blog, so I went, “I’m sorry, who’s this?”


And the voice in the other end said, “You really can’t remember my number ah??
*interrobang*”


Then the line went dead. I was like, “Shit.”


Then Amanda showed up.


I was the most sorry that I’ve ever been, but I don’t think people noticed.


Argh.


And then Mekz and Mr. Foo (Kevin?) appeared. I swear it was like a sitcom situation not unlike the moment the lead lands himself in some embarrassing troubles.


Well, nothing like that really happened, but the feeling was there enough.


Seeing Amanda for the first time in just about half a year now is quite something. For one, she never seem to have changed. She said I’m still same old me either. And we talked a bit on the way back. She sounds alright, and I’m glad for that.


For a moment there it felt like it was back in college (when I was somewhat thinner with less nonsense).


****************

I am going into a decline.

We’re probably at the brink of a new era; the type we promised ourselves.

So it was like a fleeting dream, somewhat unbelievable, somewhat astounding, but overall it is like the stuff reality mostly shun but decidedly brings it back so that we know it exists.

I have to admit; I’ve been spending these past weeks feeling that I’ve been deliberately stepping away from the country’s elections. I feel that I have no place in it. I say this because I don’t have a political agenda (or a stance, or even a thought) and because I’m not able to vote, and somewhat that amounts to ignorance. Or avoidance, however you may put it.

I go through it like an unsupportive spectator would a tennis match, ooh and ahh-ing when the shots are thrown forth and backwards and at the end I’ll cheer the winner, only that all the while I didn’t really care less whatever the game’s all about. State Championship or Nationwide League?

I feel bad, but that’s honesty for you. I should probably grow up.

*************

The Princess Snail, Katatsumuri O-hime-sama, celebrated her 21st birthday on the 5th of March. Happy Birthday, Ji Lin!

It was a nice party. It started late and I was both hungry and wary that people would decide to throw me into the pool because my birthday was two days prior to hers. There were catering food and some barbeque, but I didn’t manage to stay long enough to get myself more than two sausages and one chicken wing off the stove.

I went around to talk to a few classmates, and found that most of them have a lot of stories to tell. All I could tell them is that I’m bored with work and the most eventful thing was probably the short stint in which I was indirect PR to Victor Gu's political blog(he lost by a huge margin, and I’m not feeling guilty).

Which is true, really, because all I’ve been mostly doing (currently) is type a whole bunch of letters and e-mails and trying to manage a charity blog with limited resources. I get a lot of free times, and these times I devote to watching Avatar:_The_Last_Airbender online. No one even cared; they knew I have nothing to do until the boss gives me. They only give me e-mails they feel too meddlesome to type. I feel almost content.

Give. Me. Work.

*********************

I’ve spotted myself a few target books.

One of them is The Sandman: Book of Dreams, edited by Neil Gaiman and Ed Kramer, which is an anthology of short stories based on Gaiman’s Sandman comic book series.

Tempting, but I’ve not read a single Sandman issue, and I don’t even know what it’s about.

Secondly is Eoin Colfer’s Airman.

The price of the book is steep; bout RM50+, so I might just wait for a cheaper version or ignore it completely until the next Artemis Fowl book comes out, which is August this year under the title Artemis Fowl: The Time Paradox.

Thirdly, the Old Kingdom trilogy by Garth Nix, which comes in a 3-book set for about 70 bucks the last I checked (bout 20 bucks cheaper compared to buying the books separately). I’ve been meaning to get my hands on it, but the 3-book set seems to disappear whenever I go to the bookstore with money in hand.

And lastly, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Waterson, which is RM600 and I might just dream about it when I sleep.

Lately, I find myself in a story deprived state.

I’m re-reading the Artemis Fowl series on the train (because it’s such an easy read, best when you’re exhausted and wouldn’t want to get dully lost between the deep convulsive lines of most works), and sometimes I pick up my anthology of H.P Lovecraftand try to read a story or two. I’m turning into quite a fan. Now I’m even visiting sites such as lolthulhu.com

Nothing better than getting a pic that reads:

(Pic from lolthulhu.com)

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die."

21

Suddenly it’s not such a big deal anymore. Suddenly the world passed on like it always did, and while I kept reminding myself that being 21 is the big 2 1, it never did settle, like a promise that wouldn’t hold. Suddenly it was, “So what?”. Repeat that a couple of hundred times.

But I made resolutions, nonetheless. I did feel whole new. I did feel like I’ve stepped onto a threshold of the new and strange, which can either be wonderful or calamitous, but not that I’m anywhere worried or wary. Just walk. And it starts out as a nice kind of walk.

3rd of March will be ending soon, and if I said I’ve made the best out of it, I lied. Somehow it always felt like there’s more. I’ve done my extent, however, and I’m tired. It has been a nice celebration.

I was on my way to a celebratory dinner on Saturday when it occurred to me that I haven’t, just quite haven’t, made a speech. Or plan one, perhaps, the way my brother did (and delivered, to a group of people who roared and responded). Somehow it felt that a speech had to come, had to be made, but in the end there wasn’t a speech, and there wasn’t one concocted.

I simply figured, that if I had to say something, it’d be; “I’m 21, two for many seconds, one for newer firsts.”

(After that, the statement hit me in all of its idiocy and I decidedly drowned it off with hot tea.)

The dinner was great. I didn’t have pictures, but I wished I did. There was a video though, which I shot over whenever I was free. There was a nine course dinner and some karaoke, and the brother sang Click 5’s Happy Birthday and got booed off by dad. Charming.

It was quaintly dealt with without any embarrassment or overly prolonged limelight (which I shunned, preferring the darkness, which soothes the skin). I did sing, however, and twice Elton John’s Your Song thanks to a very insistent mother. Nutmeg. But it’s the kind of karaoke you’re meant to sing badly in, because people simply didn’t care. There’s too much happiness going on about to worry about poorly enunciated lyrics and off-pitchings.

The next day, however, was superb.

There was a luncheon with the Kelv-ster, Pauline (Goblok) and Vic at Mid Valley Chilli’s. There was bottomless taco(?) chips served with salsa sauce, bottomless kegs of drinks and very, very large dishes that required every ounce of determination and stomach place to completely consume. Add that with a lot of laughter and stories, including a variation of Sweeney Todd (what if he was a janitor?), and you get the type of lunch you’ll never quite forget, not only because it was downright funny all the while, not only because the darned Kelv-ster went to order a birthday brownie sneakily (but got exposed, because the waitress didn’t know better but to be discreet), but because you’ll remember that you tried to laugh with a very, very full stomach.

It’s like every celebration with friends. It never goes away.

For presents, I got a box of chocolates from cousin Jasmine, while lil Billy gave me the regular photo frame (to which a picture similar to my profile pic would go into). Pauline, Kelv and Vic, though, got me The Simpsons Masterpiece Gallery: A Big Book of Posters, and the latter two also gave me a T-Shirt wishing me perpetual infusion with the Force.

The Force is with me. All your donuts are belong to us.

The shirt is based on the Lego Star Wars double-suicide incident. I jumped off-cliff and Pauline followed. And it was the funniest thing in gaming history.

The poster book is excellent, but the best is the movie poster parodies.

The Planet of the Apus; now available in VHS, DVD, and Store Security Camera Tape

I have the poster book up on the tallest row in the bookshelf, propped at where I could see it whenever I walked into room.

*********

And that was it.

I figured I’d end it doing some writing, and here it is. Somehow in the course of three days, I’ve done just about everything that made life more worthwhile than going through it without the minute details and intricacies which matters the best, and also most importantly.

And I guess I’ll end it like I always did, and it always been a Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday, Pauline =P.

Goodnight world.