cookie-cutter comments

A stick of dynamite everytime I blow up.

A fucking unconscienable comment, you bastard, that’s what it was: and you deserved every fucking word I dished out your way you bloody pint-sized goatfuck.

Right. If I had a therapist, she’d say “think happy thoughts, darling”, then flirt with me. My luck’s not going to change anytime soon, so I’d say counting to ten should’ve been a better option. I should’ve just reached out and showed him some love, fist-first. I mouthed off and walked away, instead. How much of a pussy am I now?
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I think he gets it right again: just why are the MPs so worked up over the exposure of their AP ownerships? Is it a reaction against arm-twisting or is it something more? Mr Pereira notes:

So why was there such a sledgehammer reaction by the MPs to the release of the list? Perhaps because Rafidah is vulnerable.

Perhaps because there is little downside in going after someone who appears to be nearing the end of her political shelf-life, more so a minister who once moved around with such swagger.

Perhaps, because there is so much negative vibes about APs that no one wants to be linked to this policy, even if they have legitimate reasons for being recipients.

Whatever their reasons, Rafidah does not owe anyone an apology for letting the public know which MPs got APs.

If transparency over the automotive policy is what everyone in this country craves, then Malaysians must get the unvarnished version.

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Surviving funks is like surviving a long, heady night out with the boys: isolate yourself, innudate yourself with water/piss/panadol and then brood as the headaches take over. It’s such a human endeavour, getting stuck with ruts and such; it’s almost as if we are pre-programmed to stumble through life with one eye blind and the other shuttered. I suppose stumbling has its very own, particular comic value to watching deities. (anyone remember Gabriel’s opinion of angels on the expression of faces during coitus? ha!)

And sometimes you see it coming, the train-wreck to end all train-wrecks, and most times you don’t. I didn’t and my own particularly cheerful train-wreck has been creeping up on me without my knowledge. How has this come to pass, one might ask? It’s pretty simple: backroom deals, conversations whispered between conspirators in private and other cloak-and-dagger stuff resulting, with reference to the latter, with daggers in the back.

“Et tu, Brute?”

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The gods have deigned to remind me of their ubiquitous presence today. I mind my own business doing work the way it’s supposed to be done, and voila! car accident! Argh!

I tell you, it’s a cosmic plot to turn me loony. For no particular reason I decided to do my part and offer my car for our lunch trip, and within minutes of bowing to the fairer side of my conscience, I get banged from the front: a nasty bulk of a bulk-mover reverses right smack into the front facing plate, bonnet and grille and all.
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An addendum to being evil: being evil really has consequences, but just who the fuck cares anyway? Not your regular police-man-joe-public-investigative-crap-wannabe. Just last night (it seems so long ago — for reasons that have put nice little black bags under my wee orbs.. um, eyes) while discussing - you guessed it - work, our regular lawyer friend stopped over for a chit-chat. We had, by that time, finished an equivalent portion of coffee, coffee-tea-cham (just, really now, wtf is that?!) and tea, teh-o-ice-limaus to rival any pub outing. Our bellies were stretched to bursting, and I could hear the seams of my shirt screaming.
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Oh, man, the conclusions drawn are priceless: if you should not say X, the right to say X, Y and Z should be denied to you. Did you get that part? I’m referring to the NST article “Up to no good” over here. Basically if you “peddle racial and religious prejudice”, said peddler should be denied the right to free speech. I’m not even paraphrasing, it’s all there:

Indeed, there is a strong case not to extend the right of free speech to those who peddle racial and religious hatred.

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It’s more like seduction. The eyebrows knit and rise, the thin-lipped smile widens, the head nods. Seduction falling from below, up and up and up. Your fists ball up and you feel… triumphant.

Gratifying, better than sex. Being evil, not smashing your fist in someone’s mirror, just being evil. You feel like you could do anything, and get away with it. You feel invicible, like a god. You strut, you tease, you walk on ceilings and think nothing of angels looking up to you from a different angle.

Sex in your walk, your talk, your squeeze, your tease, a wild orchid.

Passers-by say “who are you” and you gift them with smiles and condescension and you strut oh so viciously: like an open palm, fingers askew and outstretched: declaration of intent.

The glossy facade of your blood red lipstick, a ferrari on a two-lane road to nowhere. Parted: the wet sheen like your want. The perspiration on your skin: how dare you. You sway on your tight, tight rope.

Wild orchid.

This week’s been one big “WTF” moment.

As most whines go, I hope this is one’s the least self-piteous or self-flaggelating. Chances are, this one will be a whole load of crap accumulated over the weeks. I need a break from work, but knowing this means also knowing that I can’t afford to stop now; it’s got nothing to do with ‘rooting for the team’ since I’m pretty ambivalent about ‘the team’ in the first place. It’s just the usual demands from people who are too used to getting what they want, and I mean clients, not bosses.

(Well, ok, we should include bosses in the above.)
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“On the theme of the military uniform Bertrand could have supplied some such theory as this:

Once upon a time it was the Church alone that was exalted as judge over mankind, and every layman knew that was a sinner. Nowadays, it is the layman who has to judge his fellow-sinner if all values are not to fall into anarchy, and instead of weeping with him, brother must say to brother: “You have done wrong.” [more..]

I felt the uncertainty over breakfast today. It was a dodgy vibe I got off him; avoiding looking at me when talking to me, lips pursed and face blank. It isn’t as if we were destined to have a sophisticated relationship: I have grown to despise him, he has grown to despise me, I think. He doesn’t give me sleepless nights, but he pricks my comfort bubble whenever I’m around him. From what I’ve learned, he’s blabbed quite a lot.

I can’t say I’m surprised anymore. You’d expect umbrellas and typewriters to meet in some bizarre but somehow appropriate way: just not in this instance. I’d be tempted to toss the typewriter right in his face. Which was what I almost did today.

Something must’ve snapped in my head, because I forgot all restraint and just went for the jugular. My other friends looked at me with raised eyebrows or knowing smiles. I didn’t care and persisted with my own brand of insensitivity vs. his and he relented in the most unsporting of ways: by dismissing me.

I suppose I could’ve expected less, but an outburst from me — I don’t scream and shout very much in real life — cost me my own peace of mind.

If you’ve watched this clip on the DAP website here, you will see a far different Nazri confronting LKS on the former’s insinuation of Chin Peng being the ‘bapa kemerdekaan’ for DAP. We should all take lessons from the short clip: having an insinuation well-delivered with the right strategy will do far more damage to your opponent than your own insinuation. And this is simply from the heated response that obtains from your opponent.
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The word “tolerance” has various meanings. My favourite is its characterization as lying between that of soft-headedness and narrow-mindedness, per Aristotle. I’m wondering how this is evaluatively different from the very romanticized ideal of the word “tolerance”, and one at the core of democracy, that one should tolerate the other, in the other’s interests and goals, while respecting one’s own. As discussed previously, multi-culturalism is basically the bracketing of one’s own interests and goals to appreciate the other’s. Multi-culturalism: it has become a precept, dogma of democracy.

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The inevitability of it all caught me by surprise.

I suppose in every food chain, the higher you move up, the more you see. Or presume to see: let’s not be blinded by our own vanities, shall we? It becomes disorientating for a while, because there are so many viewpoints thrust upon you, apart from the new responsibilities that you found yourself shouldering quietly many months back suddenly accumulating into an almost apocryphal announcement.

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The message: let’s not try to create hostility in our country, says Deputy Internal Security Minister Chia Kwang Chye.

The incredulity: there’s no hostility already meh?!

The abstract:

“We will not tolerate messages that can cause disharmony in the country.

“Stern action will be taken against those who try to create hostility in the country,” said Deputy Internal Security Minister Chia Kwang Chye.

He said existing laws such as the Sedition Act and Multimedia and Communication Act would be used against those who post such remarks on the Internet.

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When you’ve got to stay above the shit, you’ve got to stay above the shit. It’s a matter of having the right stools for the job, failing which, grab an inflatable and make like a floater. The consequences of not staying above the shit is having your aspirations flushed away like yesterday’s curdled remains.

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