Another death.

First, the wonderment: Death, or the presumption of it? Second, the confirmation. The cold, relentless embrace of realisation, the feeling of world’s harsh reality wrapping around the face like plastic garbage bags. Third, the reaction: stone indifference, or tears, or shock, or uncompromised disgust.

Shock. And indifference, this time. A mingling crawl of disgust somewhere, because it is a gutter-hole death, and because the only thing on my mind was how to tell the father.

Wore gloves. Removed body. Put it on newspaper. Rigor mortis had settled. Looked like it was on a mid-sprint. Eyes half-opened. Still dark, still emotionless. Still exuding a helpless feature - something frail, something small.

Wrapped it up in plastic bag. TESCO. Dad took care of the rest.

I’m starting to feel like I’ve seen it all. And then, knowing that I haven’t, I started wondering if I’ll see it till the time I see mine.

Probably not. For one, I won’t rear any more rabbits if I can help it.

The air of black omens. A permeated smog that curled with the cigarette smoke, that swirled with the ceiling fan. That settled on the furniture and the hair, that adumbrated the mind like a veil, like a shade.


A black rabbit in the gutter.

Nihil agere delectat - It is pleasant to do nothing. (Cicero)

Been bumming around at home. I’m starting to look like a hobo.

I can be lying on the floor right now, and my father will kick me accidentally, making me foam in the mouth, and he would still yell at me to go sleep someplace else.

Amazingly, the yesterday was a busy day. But it was busy in the way that I’m doing something I’ve been cheated into. I’ve wasted hours of my life (that I could’ve spent, in the most conducive of things, writing and bumming some more).

Today, equally, was a busy half-day. Again, I was cheated. I got a lot of sun.

Posted something on Monochrome Smogs. Something I just finished and is too lazy to proofread. Maybe the Internet elves will do it for me.

Bulldog Mansion is fun (it’s not a game. Look it up).

I need an RPG.

Oh, I’m quite sure I didn’t hear this from the movie, and it’s apparently for the lacklustre game;



And because I’m so damn bored right now, if someone were to commission me to write something, anything, at all, I’ll do it. Just don’t expect something good. But I’ll do it. Commission me. Go ahead.

(Wait, nobody reads this. Nobody comes here. Or do they? What in God-forsaken reasons are you here for?)

The Dandelion Effect, i.e:

The probable instance where all thoughts form into strands that lead to other strands, that lead to other strands, that lead to other strands, and so forth.


The massive, muddled, disordered grouping of ideas and brilliance and idiocy that join together in convulsive vagary.


The coming of the prominent wind to sweep away every strand of intellectual ruminations, that eventually leaves the mind in a state of penury and/or emptiness.


To be proposed as the primary method of deducing the telepathic interaction between man and bovina; as such in the case of Man and Cow (1975), in which the Cosmopolitan Effect was used to study such telepathic exchange, I will proceed with the application of the Dandelion Effect in a similar study.


As the presence of the cow (Bos Taurus) in the house highly perturbs the mental condition of other subjects, I will be using the common goat instead (Capra aegagrus hircus).


Man is identified as ‘Jorge Chainmaker’, to be abbreviated as J.C.


Occupation: farmer. Age: 33. Sex: Male (orientation, however, presumably bisexual).


Subjects will be placed in close proximity to one another in an enclosed area (20ft x 20ft), and telepathic interaction between will be recorded and subsequently discerned using the Dandelion Effect.


The results will, undeniably, in words of more literary finesse, ‘shatter the world of science.’


Once funding is completed, the study will proceed immediately.


Funding pending.


(Cheques, money order and PayPal are accepted)


*********

Funding pending.

At any rate, think of it as a contribution to science and the possibly benefits it will bring to the future of humanity.

I take cash, too.

***********

It’s past midnight. I’m supposed to be asleep, so as to maintain a sober posture when I wake at 6 in the morning in preparation to supervise over the minute maids coming in to keep the house in its civil, habitable state. Obviously, sleeping now is uncalled for. Unfortunately, it is both an act of stubbornness and idiocy, as tonight shall - and will - not provide any form of entertainment for me to strive in this consciousness with cause and reason.



It is therefore between going to sleep, highly disgruntled for being put to bed early (forced, incriminatingly, by the lack of activity; damn the injustice) or stay awake with the half-baked boast (and false assurance) that the night shall call for writing that is, at most, genius in the making.



Ergo, the mocking jeer of the blank page, constantly filled with words that were subsequently wiped clean unceremoniously, such like waves over the testimonials written on the sun basked sands, was a grief too hard to bear in a night as such. Ergo, the collapse of the human mind.



Ergo, the Dandelion Effect.



I’m going to bed.

Yeah, I found out after all these years; Bustin’ makes me feel GOOD.

Something happened today that made me very happy. A couple of hours later I realised that the happiness was something like a glorious puppet show, which is wonderful to look at and get lost in; magic, wonderment and lights. Then, when you remember that they’re just socks on a person’s hand, the magic just ebbs away.

Kill-show, I suppose; it’s the same as knowing the tricks to a magic show before hand. Nothing works.

Finally settled down to read A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon, and having finished it, found 6 empty pages at the back of the book, which purpose escapes me. Normally a publisher will deck it with excerpts from another book or with book order forms or with interesting adverts. 6 empty pages is strangely peculiar, and a little fascinating. To top it off, A Spot of Bother is about the subtleties of going insane very politely, and it got me wondering if 6 empty pages might mean something more than just pointless filler space.

Next, I’m going to try and really finish The Harmony Silk Factory. I’ve started over twice and each time I just managed to reach half of the first part. And now that I’ve forgotten everything (expect, perhaps, the Amazing Toddy Machine), I’ll just have to start from the beginning.

Quote of the week:

“This is a sign, Stuart, like the burning bush, except its a carburettor and I'm not Moses. But it's telling us something: Let your people go!”

- Snowbell the Cat (or Nathan Lane in another voice-work master class) -

That’s from Stuart Little 2, which I’ve rewatched with the first one a couple of days back, out of complete boredom and sheer curiosity if I can like a children’s show now that I’m watching it as an adult. For odd reasons, I laughed really hard when I heard that.

(To which Stuart Little, the intrepid Little brother and stout-hearted mouse, replied by saying; “We’re not giving up!”. And off he went to find a balloon to carry him up to the Pishkin Building to rescue his good friend Margalo the bird.)

I’ll be honest; I still enjoyed both movies. I guess if you like something young you’d still like it when you’re older.

This, however, does not apply to Michael Bay’s Armageddon.

*****

When I grow up, I want to be a Ghostbusters.

Of course, the most I could do is probably purchase a life-size replica of the Proton Pack and run around KL in a jumpsuit (and get mobbed and assassinated by our local bomohs, who’d figure well enough that I’ll ruin their businesses, directly or indirectly).

Or pick up Ghostbusters: The Video Game, and play it with the intensity of finally being able to live out a childhood dream in virtual simulation, the way all of us will be able to with nanotechnology in the near future by having a special nose inhaler.

The game is a blast. And the fact that it’s written by Dan Akroyd and Harold Ramis, who penned and created the movies; and also that all the actors from the original returned to do voice work (no Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis, though), makes it the crème de la crème of every Bustin’ fan.

Too bad it’s short. I ran through it in 4 sittings. That’s 8 hours.

(In the gaming world, that’s close to ripping off your money).

*******

Some Jin Bora (or Bora Gene, as she is known internationally - thanks, Amber :P) before I head to bed;





I can’t find anymore of her. Youtube only has as much in good quality.

Right, time to crash. Goodnight people.