The Irony

a blog entry where in,
which the blogger posts what he wrote while taking shelter one rainy night at a bus stop.
This thing he wrote, although unfinished , became the central element of this blog post and therefore completes while being incomplete.
And,
the blogger will post a link, here, to the lyrics of the wonderful song by Elbow “Not A Job”. This would compel the reader of this blog to click on it and try to listen to the actual song which is really very good despite lack of attention from the maintream. The irony will then be, the blogger while blooging will try to give a different meaning to the song than what was on the link prior.
Additionally,
irony will arise in the realisation that this description is quite long itself.

I am the person that stands on street conners at night
Alone and silent
Sighing words of poetic consolotion to myself
A bit off center

I am one that says hello and good evening to strangers but hide when I see you
Odd and awkwardly I have no abilities for hissing bitter punchlines, but I know dreams that nobody understands eventhough for my personal one I am not even close to encapsulating it in words. This song have mentions some elements of imagery that I use as reference for emotions that I try to convey in my works.The walk through long grass is what I use for the emotion of peace without effort, The lovers at the station is the image for romanticism in modern times, notice the juxtaposition of human relationship taking place at a place associated with rapid transport. Even if the imagery is what I use, I have never been as good.

Morbid Dream

i always had a daydream that could be considered as morbid by some.

i would be moving at a great speed along some backstreet on foot or by cycling and my head would get grazed by a sharp structure usually rusting metal roof eaves. i would fall, hand clutching forehead, rusted fragments and dirt stirring along with blood. the impact was terrible, my own momentum pushed the the wound right pass my skull. the rusted metal shavings mingling together with some tissue which were formerly parts of my own frontal lobe. my brain functions would now be whacked and i remain an invalid till the day i die.

these last few weeks saw the replacement of my usual morbid daydream with a new one.

my limbs are tied to stakes on the ground. the place is dark, but i can see a chair near my legs. on that chair stands a girl. she was wearing iceskates, and she jumped…

but a wierd thing happened this week, the girl’s face is now known to me and i just have the feeling that she might do it if she wants too.

ha ha ha

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If You Push Hard Enough…

…Mountains will give, for a wise man once said,”For every action there’s an opposite and equal reaction.” I really hope it’s as easy done as said. Really want things to be achievable, alas, all are dreams.

…They’ll believe whatever you say. Write US-centric articles, emphasizing the difference of culture between the fifty states (California:Hippy Central, New York:Big Apple, Hawaii:SunSeaSurf &c), refer to Washington DC as “the nation’s capitol”, all will believe we are all living in the US of A.

…People will ignore you. They will grow sick of you, you pushy bastard! All have limits. Push hard and strong but subtly.

All is false, but the truth. The truths contradicts eachother.

Tardiness.

I’ve been lazy. Very lazy.

***

Thoughts flashing/playing/sneaking in my head lately:

• What makes Explosion In The Sky sound so good even without lyrics? Emotional input by the listener?, Superior improv?, The band’s own advanced introspection, cooperation and understanding on how to impart a coherent but multifaceted whole (style, effect on listener, “story”) song?, Am I being a little bit out of my league trying to grasp music theory even though I only listen to them and never played any instrument to my and other people’s satisfaction…
• Wondering whether it is possible for anyone to translate Pynchon’s work to Bahasa Malaysia with even the same effect on the reader, because everyone read different and feels different and have different expectation of what a book should be like.
• The egalitarian Resource Based Economy, where everyone produces for every one the best products and serve everyone the best services without the involvement of money (e.g. The war effort of America in WW2.) thus eliminating middlemen, lawyers and (gasp!) bankers. The difficulties over the model when the poblem arises of who should say what’s the best for everyone. The prospect of design by committee is a bit daunting for someone like me that feels that in terms of creativity; the individual is superior than a collection of people that have to each of them different notions of good.
• Wondering sometimes that I am asexual and then doubting it whenever I see females.
• Wondering sometimes that I am emotionally retarded and confirming it when people sometimes ignore me when I speak. Do I feel the same as others when I react differently? Or is it just my apathy?Am I paranoid?… Yes.
• Why is there noise in my PC sound system?
• My supposed road to financial freedom and dreams of early retirement.
• Are males threatened by me? Do I give female wet dreams? Why this ego?
• Does anybody enjoy my presence on earth?

Makings Of A Perverted Mind.

It is was on a saturday evening when I was getting back from KL, i was on a bus going from kajang towards Semenyih.

As usual i sat upon the last bench on the bus as it would have the room to house these bamboo poles I call legs. I was actually sitting in-between a chinese kid who was busy sending SMSs to another person apparently not on the bus and three malay girls who were as usual too busy to care what other think of them,because they were like as any group of likeminded people did when they were together, they were busy entertaining each other. Amidst all this giggling and whisperings about pretend glances from men imagined and real towards them, and frantic keypad clicking. I noticed a solitary person in the in the bus, not busy with anything, and unlike me was hardly even awake at all.

From my bench behind her I saw that she had used her long straight hair as a kind of curtain. Whether it was to hide her face from the sun or to hide it from other people I wouldn’t know. but in doing so she had unintentionally revealed her neck. the kid beside me had finished sending his SMSs and busy reading replies and now was in throes of heavy T9 assisted thumb typing and the three malay girls are going off the bus and was looking for other places to giggle in. In time the SMS kid also arrived at his wanted destination, maybe he going to meet his friends. There was now not much to look at so I did as any guy in my situation would do, concentrate on the girl.

The sun was succeeding in doing what it was doing in the dreamy light of near sunset, which was to make skin of girls look silky and details be emphasized with shadows going eastwards. her neck was creamy pale white. with fine fuzz from beyond the sight barrier that was her collar, those small hair were coming up her neck in an inverse ‘V’ pattern until it came to the pit behind the neck where it would start to grow longer in fine filaments of darker than black and abruptly up from that her hairline starts.

It is known in wet and warm countries like this to shave the fine hair behind the neck to allow for better contact of skin and air, but the girl apparently have never heard done that. what does this imply? the girl doesn’t care about sweat? her hair was long on the back so it was useless to do so? I am thinking too much?

Then as usual, she did what people on busses do, she stood up and rang the bell. well so much for that. she got off that bus and walked home. I stayed on sweating amidst the indons and banglas and nepalese and vietnamese and malaysians and others that are smelling of the undried sweat the malaysian climate was excelling at producing. who am i amongst these people on this unair-conditioned bus , but the sweatiest of all, of stench and of lust. I am the paragon of this ‘thing’ here. when it came to my stop, the other passengers allowed me, their dominar, to get down first as proper respect demands.

Then I felt the urge of making lactic acid sting these legs of mine. so I walked home, while my mind and eyes were busy gawking and interpreting the abstract patter on the sunset sky. Seeing orgasmic symbols everywhere. HAHAHA!

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