Ghost In The Machine

GHOST IN THE MACHINE

Video :-
Track - Synchronicity by The Police
Photo - posters from Ghost In The Shell Standalone Complex anime


Two weeks ago, I'm astounded when the blog kotakpentipu.blogspot.com was deleted by its owner.
I've never met the guy, we chatted once in g-talk, few ramblings by e-mail as I used to send him some writings for the blog pseudosains.blogspot.com under anonymity.

Actually, I did feel a "loss" to the extent I asked another lady blogger about his wellbeing.

We never met in person, me, the guy and the lady blogger, but I don't think we ever intended to meet in person anyway.



Once, there was a blog Tehtarikgelasbesar.blogspot.com (deleted also) which I like to read.

When the writer/blogowner shared the news that his ex, passed away in 2012, every reader was shocked, including me.

She was younger than me, so that instant, I felt a "loss" that I listened repeatedly at that time to Terminal Spirit Disease by At The Gates. Here is a soul younger than me who is taken away by God from this world. That fact maybe made me melancholic about my own existence, maybe, I don't really know.

Those are people whom I never met.

Then, I realised, there are trillions of souls who had affected my life, whom I never met as well.
Politicians, prophets, heroes, philosophers, writers, engineers, etc.

Then, I realised, the idea behind Ghost In The shell anime by Masamune Shirow were right.

We are actually ghosts in this great machinery of network, information and life.

Frigyes Karinthy once raised the idea that at each second, each one of us are connected by 7 degrees of separation.

You might think that Internet or information network (media, books, schools) just made the connection between us even tighter, deleting the separation gap.

There's even more than that.

Arthur Koestler,in his book The Roots of Coincidence and Ghost Of the Machine, brought forth the concept synchronization, based on the works of Carl Jung's synchronicity and Gilbert Rye's "ghost in the machine" concept.


That is, our soul, being a "ghost in the machine" of our body, are able to affect other soul, not only by physical action or direct action, but by means of complex interaction.

You might post one thing in Tumblr, for example.
It'll be beautiful piece to some, and might be ignored by some.
No matter what, each reader who came to read that post will react to the post. Liking is a reaction, ignoring itself is an act of reaction.

Same thing with free market forces in economics. Every person reacted to everything, thus any action, any news, any speck of info will somehow affect the value of the commodity or share prices, whether directly or indirectly.

This action and reaction, carried out in infinite cycles, will somehow drive us towards synchronicity.

The music band, The Police have written this on 1983 in the song “Synchronicity 1".

It was around the same time, in 1982, when TCP-IP Internet protocol was standardized, and Internet was globally connected. (although it’s only later on 1995, that Internet was commercialised globally )

I'm not surprised about PRISM program by the USA. Empowerment will cause someone or some group to control this synchronicity, somehow indirectly developing a "police state" as once visuallised in the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell.

Maybe, there'll be day in the future, when ideologies and religions, which seems so divisive, no longer mattered to mankind.

Only those who can't afford to get connected will have a different values than ones who are connected to the synchronicity.

The day when the synchronicity of mankind network have achieved its own social intelligence.



Then mankind will truly be different than the animals, a total evolution never imagined by Darwin.
It's our spirits or souls, forever affecting and be affected without physical touch, like ghosts, by interaction in this web of information network machinery, synchronised by globalisation.

Check out:-

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_in_the_machine

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Roots_of_Coincidence

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ghost_in_the_Machine

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non-synchronicity

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronization_of_chaos

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Social_intelligence

Tears In Heaven

Note : Article is Malaysian in nature. Video above is a comment by Dr. Asri regarding the abuse case of Saiful Syazani Saiful Sopfide, who died on 2011 due to beatings from his teacher.

I’m sorry to other English-speaking viewers who don’t understand this video. So I will tell you briefly about this story.





The fella in the video above (a PHD doctorate named Dr. Asri popularly known as Dr. MAZA), commented on the death of an orphan boy, Saiful Syazani Saiful Sopfide, who was 7 years old, happened around 2011.


The kid’s mother was nowhere to be found, he had a father who went to see him once, a year before his death on 2011.

So this kid, was adopted since he was 2 yrs old.

And he was sent to a boarding school when he was 7, the adopted family told the press that the kid was happy to go to this boarding school.



What happen then was very heart-wrenching.


The teacher accused this kid of stealing money, in value of RM 7.00 (around 2.3 US Dollar).

The kid denied the accusation, nevertheless, the teacher tied him and locked him in a room for 2 hours.

Imagine a 7 year old kid, a small nobody who had no father and mother, tied and locked in a room for being accused of stealing a couple of bucks. (2.3 USD to be exact)


Then somehow, the boy escaped, and was caught by the teacher.


Police found beating marks on his body, and also marks in his hand, suggesting that the boy was dragged and tied by the teacher when the teacher caught him.


Then the teacher beat the kid, and eventually slammed the kid against a wall, causing internal injury to the kid and the kid died days later.


What was sickening, is that the teacher and the school, phoned the adopted parent, and told them that the kid suffered seizure and had to be sent to Hospital.


It was only in Hospital, where the Doctor got suspicious of the injury and phoned the police.

The teacher was eventually sentenced to 18 years imprisonment a year later.

What was more sickening, is that the school and the other teachers went to defend the teacher, telling the public the teacher was a good guy, the death was accidental, due to seizure which cuts off the oxygen supply.


This was what was told by the school to the public by bloggers:-
http://usmad05.blogspot.com/2011/04/assalamualaikum.html
http://dppwm.blogspot.com/2011/04/sebelum-ini-kita-digemparkan-dengan-kes.html
(sorry article in Malaysian language)


It was then, the fact went out that the school was supported by funds from the pro-opposition Islamic party in Malaysia.

The issue got more complicated, when the Islamic party defended that the case is simply highlighted by the government to weakened the public impression of the Islamic party.

That is why, even though most youths in Malaysia voted against the government in the previous General Election, they do not delve much into the party-ism of the opposition because the politics in Malaysia is too sectarian and divisional, that even a killing of 7 year old is defended in the name of politics.


The Islamic party apologised for the issue, but their blogs never deleted the story.


This is the ugly story of Malaysia, folks.

http://n9kini.com/ustaz-kena-penjara-18-tahun/

Grafitti Wall at Porky Land

Article : Fictional short story. Nothing to do with anyone.

“What’s great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca-Cola, and you know that the President drinks Coca-Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca-Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca-Cola, too. A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it” - Andy Warhol.

The problem with the pro-government party at Porky Land is over-campaigning.

You see, even in the Muggi instant noodle that is distributed at shops, it had a picture of the Dear Leader and Dear Leader’s wife giving thumbs up at the front cover of the instant noodle packet.

The campaign at Porky Land is not similar to 1Israel campaign,  instead it uses the number  9898, which in ancient belief symbolises prosperity. This suits the capitalist mindset of the pro-government party in Porky Land.

And so they have 9898Muggi instant packets, 9898clinic, 9898Shop which sells rejected byproducts which are repackaged and sold at retail prices. Lots of 9898 here and 9898 there.

People in the Porky Land don’t really bother about politics.  They are pragmatic people. They don’t care about ism, socialism, communism, secularism, they just choose the way that works.

 

The thing that started to change people’s passion against Dear Leader at Porky Land was when the pro-government party bought a piece of land in the province of Carjunk to build shopping complex.

The problem was that, that piece of land is located next to a school.

This school get the funds not from the Government, but by the monthly donations from business associations and companies in Porky Land. And so this school don’t hang any posters of Dear Leader and Dear Leader’s wife to kiss ass to get funds, as there was no need of that.

As I already mentioned, the people here were pragmatic and practical. They build their socialeconomics by the use of business rather than depend on the government.

But by then Porky Land people had had enough after news of that shopping complex to be built beside the “pro-opposition” school breaks out.

First, the Porky Land people started street demonstration across the road where the land of that shopping complex is to be built.

But Porky Land Government was cleverer.  They send Fire trucks and spray water jet to the street demonstrators, and literally told them, the water spray was needed because the weather is too hot and Government is worried people might die due to heat stroke.

People in Porky Land then realised street demos don’t work, because at the end of the day, everybody just got wet and tired. The protesters, the police, the firemen who drive the fire trucks, got wet and tired at the end of the day, while the pro-government supporters just happily watched the scene in their TV screens as if they are watching wet-shirt contest.
I’ve mentioned before, the people here were pragmatic and practical. They stopped doing things that are not effective because doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result is pure crap.

By then, a brick wall was erected around the vicinity of the area where the shopping complex is to be built. In construction it is called perimeter walls.

The school principal (the school that opposes the development of the shopping complex), one day bought a lot of crayon to her kids. She saw that her kids became quiet for hours, only to realised the walls on her bedrooms was filled with crayon drawings.

Then she realised that, kids, if you give them crayons, they will start to draw on walls instead of paper.

And so, what happens on the weeks after her discovery, whenever the school session ends, while waiting for the school bus to pick them up, the kids from that school will start drawing grafitti on that particular brick wall.

Each week, the municipality will come and repaint the wall.

But every day, the kids will start drawing grafitti again on that wall.

Don’t wonder where they get the spray cans, paint, because nobody watches the school’s store room.

The school principal, knowing that the spray cans and paint are missing, just bought new stocks and literally told the teachers to close one eye on the missing spray cans.

Sometimes, the teachers themselves went to the wall and paint some art expressions.

Then one day, one smart-ass got the idea right when he painted at the brick wall,  an image of Muggi instant noodle packet with Dear Leader and his wife giving thumbs up.

The photo of the image in the grafitti wall became famous overnight.

The illegal press picked up the photo and circulate it in their illegal newspaper. Facebook, Twitter, all the social media had that cool photo.

In a week, everybody started to talk about it, and people everywhere in Porky Land started painting Muggi instant noodle packet with Dear Leader and his wife giving thumbs up on walls, books, posters, etc.

T-shirt of Muggi instant noodle packet with the Dear Leader and wife’s image being manipulated, having lipstick on their lips and other funny manipulations, sell like hot cakes.

Hishamuddin Roy, a political activist, went to draw a Muggi instant noodle package on a grafitti wall, and asked a hot model to stand beside the image, took the photo and put the photo as a front cover of his latest writing, TubeChange. After that every writer did the same, even though previously they criticised Hisham an atheist, socialist. Because if the trend is cool, everybody follows, nobody gave a damn even if it came from the Jewish.

It wasn’t long when a trend started where everybody took photo of their feet “crushing” the instant noodle packet and put it into their Facebook, Tumblr and Instagram.

Muggi Instant Noodle packet fever became a social trend in Porky Land.

Grafitti walls, everywhere in Porky Land, are full of images of Muggi instant noodle packet.

Social critics, media, every academics wanted to talk about Muggi instant noodle packet.

Those aligned with the pro-government party, criticised the image, with the Minister of Arts of Porky Land saying that this Muggi noodle packet image contributes to social decay in youths.

Bad publicity is a publicity, the more you condemn something, the more recognition it gets, because everyone will wonder and research about the thing that you condemn.

Eventually, the shopping complex idea was shelved.

During the night, when the demolishing team came to crush the walls, almost everyone in Carjunk province came and celebrated there, as if it was a demolition of Berlin Wall. Everyone cheers and whistles to the song “Wind of Change” by Scorpion when the demolition team started to crush down the walls.

Dear Leader announced his resignation right before the General Election.
I told you, the people in Porky Land were pragmatic and practical. They build their socialeconomics by the use of business rather than talk cock of ideology-ism.

What Dear Leader never knew, is that the pro-opposition had long bought the shares of Muggi factory at cheap price sold by the certain factions in the pro-government party that actually proposed the 9898 campaign in the first place.

 [PHOTO]


The End
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Notes :
I went cycling thru out Kajang, and took Photo 1, area beside Kajang Syariah Court and Sekolah Kebangsaan Kajang.
Photo 2 is a park beside Yu Hua Kajang.
Other photos are the actual Maggi Instant Noodle Packet and other photo associated with the word pragmatic, it is there to provide visual breaks.





























 

Franco Prussian War 1870-1871

1. Video attached above = Franco Prussian War 1870-1871, the rise of Otto von Bismarck.


2. Instead of writing too much, I'm now investing much time to the things below:-

http://fir-9898-islam.blogspot.com/

http://fir-9898-work.blogspot.com/


3. I reedited my Tumblr, so that all the long posts shall be linked to this blog.

Write on rocks what you feel

You can crush me as I speak,
Write on rocks what you feel...
Head Dirt - Godflesh from Streetcleaner (1989)

I learn of Godflesh in 2004, bought the cassette tape of StreetCleaner at Wisma Campbell near Sogo Plaza.

The accident was the cassette tape had a recording error. It doesn't start with the first track, Like Rats. Instead it started on the almost on the end section of Dream Long Dead track, and going into the track Head Dirt.

And so it happened that my first words I heard ever from Justin Broadrick was of the lyric Head Dirt mentioned above, while looking at the inlay photo you attached above.

It felt eerie, and it felt beautiful.

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I think I'm a little bit spastic or  autistic, in the way that I'm a dull boring conversationalist. Actually, I tend to speak a lot, but the theme and idea were very disperse here and there.

And so I think I grew up not having lots of friends, fortunately that means those who sticks around with me tends to end up as close friends.

I'm a poor at socialising. Yet most of my friends/colleagues find that my thinking as a bit unique, "funny and weird" and they're happy that way.

But it's not so helpful when it comes to getting chicks. I'm a bloody failure at this.

Writing helps to recoordinate all those dispersive thinkings into one fruitful theme, and so I liked writing.

But being a poor social animal who liked writing, there's one theme that I'm sharing now as I speak (write)

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Being  a poor social animal, only God knows how many times I were rejected or felt rejected, socially.

But the words of "Write on rocks what you feel", stuck in my head, from that first listening in 2003 and ever since.

I realised the reason why I write. And why I should continue writing.

I don't write for followers or to attract people. I don't write for profit. The rejections through out this 31 yrs of life made me not giving a damn about other people.

I realised this while looking at Facebook timeline.

You see, when you speak, or when you commented on the Facebook, do you wonder where will the thoughts that drive the speech and writing go?

I realised that most thoughts that drive our speech and that posting/commenting, usually gone forgotten.

But if I write those thoughts on something, on some media, then the thoughts will be forever embedded, just like the carving of writing of ancient ones on rock tablets.

It'll felt like Banksy grafitti. It'll felt that even though you're gone and forgotten, a part of your existence is still somewhere in the writing of rocks.
It'll probably felt like the same feeling that JD Salinger felt when writing.

Those writing of mine proved I exist. it proved that I'm different from other living creatures because I think. The writings proved that I think and that I exist.

And so this is the reason I wrote on Tumblr.

That's why I closed the comment section on all my blogs.

Because it's a matter of my existence being recorded electronically.

Because in actual life, I try to be self sufficient, not depending on other people as much as possible, and I would like to implement that in my writing.

And also, if I allowed the comments section, I'm exposing my self to the risks of being crushed by other people weighty words which felt like rocks.

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Writing In Malaysia

Note : Article is Malaysian in nature

For intro, I'll explain first why I wrote this piece in the first place.

I quit my job few months back, so now with my health improving, I'm starting to go back to working life again.

Now I started applying for mechanical M&E jobs, and also start studying again of matters relating to work.

And so I read BOMBA stuff and found this paragraph :-

"Tangga dan lobi menentang kebakaran hendaklah diadakan sistem isitekan mengikut Piawaian Australia 1668 Bahagian 1:2001 atau mana mana penentuan yang dibenarkan Jabatan Bomb dan Penyelamat Malaysia"

Ha? WTF is this sistem isitekan?

Then I read the Holy Grail of Fire Fighting book in Malaysia, which is the Guide to Fire Protection In Malaysia, by Prof. Datuk Dr. Soh Chai Hock.

Ceh! This isitekan this is actually pressurised system. Lift lobby pressurised system which I knew its existence during my university years, which I learnt in English.

I'm so bothered of this isitekan thing, hence the reason of writing this piece.

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Dewan Bahasa Dan Pustaka and local politician always popularise the campaign "To Empower Malay Language" (Memperkasa Bahasa Melayu).

And Anwar Ibrahim rose to politics, during his student leader days,  by championing this Malay language issue.

I will tell you now why the effort to empower Malay language failed.

Because nobody write books.

Everyone can talk-cock and say that the Japanese and German empower Engineering in their native language, and so we can use Malay to empower knowledge.


That is solely because they write books. We don't.


In Engineering, there is a thing called standardization, like instance your A4 paper size, is standardize, so that manufacturers all over the world can produce the same size.

The Brits wrote BS Standard, the German with DIN standard, the Japanese with JIS Standard, the US had their own standard, which is different for each sector (there are ASME, ASHRAE, etc.). Even China is now establishing their Standard.

In Malaysia, it is MS (Malaysia Standard) governed by SIRIM, but unfortunately, Malaysia is not a manufacturing country by itself.

The manufacturing in Malaysia comes from foreign investment, and so we are binded by the Standards which the foreign company uses.

I can say that the MS is literally a translation of whichever Standard are used in the current market. And sometimes, we used MS for economic advantages.

For instance, there are air-conditioner factories in Malaysia, which are indirectly protected by the Government thru the use of MS, by saying that the air conditioner equipment must meet certain Green Technology requirement.

The real story is, in the current worldwide market, there are lots of cheaper air conditioning equipment produced by China, and so we used MS to protect our market and our local industries.

But in Proton case, it is different.

Because the one teaching us to make cars are Matsubishi Heavy Industries.

Do you think the Japs will be stupid enough to teach us all the knowhow to make cars, so later we became their competitors by producing cheaper cars (or to be Air-Asia in the car industries) and hurt their market?

Of course not.

That's why only 20 years after Proton was established, could they come out with a local made  engine. And even then, the overall design knowledge for that engine is not 100% Malaysian, we just found cheaper ways to fabricate, you can check with guys at HICOM.

During my UM days, I knew of one lecturer in my Mech. Dept who write Malay books on Engineering syllabus. The highly respected Ir. Kapten Abdul Rahim Manaf.

I was one of his student, he liked to call me Kojak as I like to shave my head every month.

The other lecturers wrote paperworks, articles for research. And so we had to buy English textbooks for classes. But for Kapten Rahim's classes, we had to use his Malay textbook.

I knew of Prof Ramachandran in Elect. Dept who wrote a book on Microprocessor Chip, but even that was in English.

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The most annoying thing is, not only we don't write technical books in Malay, even in matters of Islam also we didn't do enough translation!

I bought Ihya Ulumiddin in 2010, having  read the piece during University days. Ihya Ulumiddin is a "kitab" by Imam Ghazali.

You know what, even the Malay translation of Ihya Ulumiddin is done by the Indonesians. (Fakultitas Jakarta or whatsoever). What the hell is DBP doing then?

If you like reading "real" books on Muslim literature (not those RM10 books which talk of Illuminati or  Jin stories), I suggest you go to Jalan Masjid India. You will find most kitabs are translated to Malay by the Indonesians.

Even your religion knowledge also are translated by foreigners, how the hell you expect to empower the Malays?

And then you scream in the media and Twitter of words like opsyen, diskusi.

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That's why we must support Lejen Press and Fixi. Please forget all the nonsense about grammar or technical issues. Those are small fish issues (ikan bilis issues).


I like Nami's Teh Tarik Gelas Besar blog, especially when Ezreen was along (she already passed away), because of the idea and the knowledge found there.

I bought Pengejar Bintang, Bayang, Lelaki Existential, which have some good idea inside it to ponder upon, but I didn't buy ACT, because I don't  buy romantic teen stuff.

My mother bought too much romantic novels by Barbara Steel, which I secretly read because there are some "scenes" inside.


What I realised is that the market forces in Malaysia, in terms of local Malay novels and books.

Most buyers of Malay novels in Malaysia are basically teenagers , or people below 30 yrs old, and most of them are women.


Local Malay guys are becoming more stupid, or most died of accidents due to rempit, or also maybe they become busier because cost of living is too great nowadays.

Look at the comment section in Blogserius, look at the anonymous, that's the level of mindset intelligence of common Malay guys.

You expect those kind of people to buy and read novels?


From observation, it is difficult to find a guy reading Malay novel than to find a lady reading Malay books.


And so that's the reason why blogs like Terfaktab are still around while other blogs usually died. Basically because the ones attending to Malay writings are mostly girls.


What I fear is, the Malay books of teen romance like Hlovate and Adam Akashah novels and of entertainment pleasing to the females will survive the market forces, and the knowledgable type of writing like those found in Teh Tarik Gelas Besar blog are not being bought much by the buyers.



It is just like the scenario in the 80's.

You see, by then heavy metal, thrash music are so popular, that in Malaysia,  a lot of people picked up the influence.

But two things happen.

One is Mohamed Rahmat (already passed away), Minister of Information banning all the  long-hair style and not favouring rock music.

One is Malay music market forces itself.

The guys like Search, Febians, and other rock band, they wanted to play heavy rock songs.

But due to market forces influenced by the nature of Malays who like melancholic melody, the industry forced these guys to play slow ballad songs.

Henceforth, they play Fantasia Bulan Madu type of songs,  giving birth to rock-seluar-ketat genre, which is glam rock by the way.

You look tough and violent, but all you sing are love songs sprinkled with emotion. It is Shit-like, if you ask me.

They have talent and wanted to play heavy songs, and so they put 2-3 heavy metal songs in their album, while the rest of the album are using compositions from composers like M. Nasir or whoever, which favours the ballad pace.


I bought casette tape of Exist's Anugerah 1993, the album started with a fast paced song called Panggilan Pulau. But after that is all ballad songs, with few true rock songs in between.



I just fear that will happen to our writing industry, and so why I supported this Lejen Press and Fixi, and I hated when certain people raised issues of grammar, sexism of their products.

Because in this Malaysia country, where the technical books are in English, the religion books are in Indonesian, and the Malay newspaper are pure crap, all I wish for is some good readings in pure Malay.

Lejen Press and Fixi, at least,  provided an alternative platform for this writers to write novels other than teen romance type.

And their books are good anyway.



To those complainers who whine about Lejen Press and Fixi books, whose complaint are that their books are not educative, let me tell you one thing.

The system that you live around is not educative, so what do you expect?

You switched on the TV buletin, and you hear the word sodomy.

You turn on the pages of the newspapers, and it gives you eyesore with stupid statement from politician.

Watching channel 715 Animax helps your Iman so much better than your local TV network. At least there's no rape scene, there's nothing to give you headache.



Personally, the best new-era Malay book for me is Kasino. It is because the story of one being in power, empowers.

And please,  don't use weird terms like isitekan. Sistem bertekanan udara is much better.

I actually thought isitekan system is a breakglass system, where you smash the glass and "tekan" the button. How silly I was.

Note to self : Must read  a lot of Malay translation of the technical terms as later, had to write letters to authority for approval. And yes, you write too long, but what the hell.
 
"It if it sounds bad, this people just got to wait", Kurt Cobain said in the Unplugged concert.

Don't recite poetry to swordsman

This writing is very personal in nature, yet I write it down because it has this fundamental concept I want to remember in my life.

I'm feeling like a sucker right now. I'm 31, yet I achieved less in life compared to my friends, colleagues. And the reason is because I didn;t follow this simple fact in life.

"Don't recite poetry to swordsman"

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As I wrote in my previous post, I just registered in Facebook earlier this June 2013, due to insistence from closed friends, so that we could keep in touch.

I'm so happy to contact my old friends.

There's one guy, a closed buddy whom I haven't met for few years, and I only heard about him from friends.

This guy had an impact towards my life, he introduced me to Radiohead, Pink Floyd and a lots of bands/albums, and also books.

The fact is what we shared is what shaped my thinking/ideology in life.

Unfortunately, we didn;t share a common path in life, he didn't completed his studies in UM, he went to another university to complete his degree.

After I came back from Dubai for a short period, in 2008  I met with him, and that time,  went to his house, play internet, watch soccer together.  we went to Ipoh one time to see my project manager. I believe that trip was a mistake, as soon as we're back from the trip, I basically left him and went back to Dubai.

After that, I emailed him and he never answers. I sent songs, sent hello messages, but he never answers.

And yet from what I knew from closed friends, he knew my whereabouts, he knew I was working in Bintulu 2009 and when I went to Bangladesh during 2010-2012.

I emailed him and he never answers. I sent songs, sent hello messages, but he never answers.

And when I made my Facebook account, he was the first fella I searched in the Facebook network.

From his postings, it seems to me that he still the friend I knew back then.

And so I sent a message to him, with a mp3 clip of Morrisey's "Jack The Ripper". He didn't reply although he approved my friend request.

I made a couple of joke posting in the Facebook, and a lot of my UM friends commented, he also joined the fray. But still we never spoke directly to each other.

And so today, I posted a few heavy metal clip, with one posting dedicated to this guy.

His reply surprises me.

He basically commented on the clip,  that everybody changes, only God doesn't change, then a clip of Tasawuf article.

Then I understood. I understood exactly what happened through the moments of silence.

This guy basically wanted to change to become better. He did graduated at his degree at a different university. He wanted to change to become a better person, in mentality and also religiously.

But then, I represented what he wanted to forget. Those punk songs, those excitement of extreme music. He wanted to forget those, maybe because those were the things associted with his failing.

It's not even wrong, really.

It just that our life once criss-cross each other, and we enjoyed our time at the crosses. But he wanted to move on towards his straight line. And none of my agenda, thinking, music will fit his future plans, it seems.

Since we are both males and adults, I guess it's stupid to be melancholic about it.

And so I deleted the clip I dedicated to him (a punk song that he introduced me anyway), and proceed to unfriend him.

I might be foolish to unfriend him, but it just serves as a mind-reinforcement to me of this hard truth in life.

Don't recite poetry to swordsman, don't sing songs sprinkled with emotions to those who are deaf, and don't make a huge effort to win those who didn't care.

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This episodes happen lots of time in my life, and yet it's my stupidity of letting it happen all over again.

Those who matter won't mind, those who mind won't matter - Bernard Baruch

When I registered the Facebook, you will find it much ease to re-contact your friends no matter how, it follows the Bernard Baruch principle I stated above.

If it doesn't come with ease, something is wrong.

When I got posted to the job in Bintulu back in 2009, I wanted to meet one guy who is an ex-classmate, and happens to be with my group of friends.

He's working as a lecturer in our faculty, in the same department we undertake our studies. This guy is a 3.0 pointer guy, very very hardworking that you just know that this fella will somehow become a lecturer.

So before I had to fly to Bintulu on that Saturday, I made a trip to UM just to see this fella.

Twice, Thursday and Friday.

Thursday, I went to the Department office, chatted with all the lecturers and staffs who knew me as a former student. I told them I just wanted to see this fella for few minutes because it was so long that I have not seen this fella.

They told me he's busy, and so I waited at the Engineering Faculty 4th floor canteen.

I basically waited from morning, afternoon, and until 6 o'clock evening at that canteen, and lucky for me, I brought along books to keep me accompanied.

At 6 o'clock I called this fella, he basically told me he already on his way home. he told me the next day he will be free.

Now I had to go back to Kajang, and rode my motorcycle back to UM the next day which is stupid and tiring.

But I did it.

I waited the next Friday, but then I walk along the faculty, waiting this fella call.

I don't need an hour of your time, just a minute or two is sufficient.

After Friday prayer, I went to the office.

He was somewhere in the vicinity I was told.

By 3 pm, common sense knocked into my head and so I went back to Kajang, to pack my stuff as my flight to Bintulu is on the next day.

I didn't curse him. I curse myself for being a pathetic asshole.

It was early 2012, when I went again to UM for tea with my friends at 6th college food stall. This time I came in a car with my friend. My friend drove us there.

And so the meeting got a little bit late, and both of us went to a surau at the Engineering Faculty.

After prayer, my friend continued with his sunat prayer. I waited outside smoking.

At it was this time, this lecturer of mine suddenly showed up there, for isya' prayer.

After all this years of trying to get to see him, and now I actually saw this guy effortlessly.

We chatted a while, then he went inside for his prayer.

I didn't knew why, but I just went to the car and waited beside the car while waiting for the my friend who still in the surau.

I remembered this fact.  Friends usually comes to you effortlessly.

Those whom you had to put a little too much effort, usually doesn't worth it.

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When reading this, you probably advised me that in order to find peace, do it because of God then it will be fine.

I found that it'll be fine if it turns out fine.

What happened if the thing doesn't turn out fine?

I found myself alone.

And so I try to be as much as practical always. I know my weakness, so it's better to suit things to put yourself at an advantage rather than having to persevere in weakness while reminding yourself of God.

Not many can persevere in weakness and yet can still be positive about God or life.

But many people can be thankful to God and be positive of life when things turn out right.

So statistically, why put yourself in the very few when it's easier to try change life to a better level so you can be thankful.

But then, maybe you're right, it's best to do it because in long term, you can have mental toughness.

The mental toughness that is usedful in army life, like those Navy SEALS, which is also suited the construction engineering industry.

But from what I see, most successful people I met, they try to put their self at advantage.

You persevere when things cannot be helped, you just believe that by time things will turn out right.

But patience is needed to wait for the tide to subside.

And so what I learned is, while waiting in patience, try to do other things.  Keep praying while doing nothing is not advantageous.

 Those whom you had to put a little too much effort, usually doesn't worth it. Better look for those who worth it.

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The reason I failed with relationship with the opposite sex  is because of the "dont recite poetry to swordsman" thinking.

I reflected back all those time, yes, those effort are made to whom ain't worth it.

And so I pray to God, don't let me be so stupid again.

Don't recite poetry to swordsman, don't sing songs sprinkled with emotions to those who are deaf, and don't make a huge effort to win those who didn't care.

Those whom you had to put a little too much effort, usually doesn't worth it.

Cock Fight

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cock_fight
 
COCK FIGHT

In an agrarian community far away from city, the village people usually turn to the religion institution (mosque, temple,churches) to gain knowledge.

For instance, during the 70's, villages in Malaysia, , the people will go to the nearest "surau" (small mosque), to learn of knowledge outside their village as there were no TV, and radio were quite expensive back then.

In the city, knowledge is everywhere. Other than TV, the people usually learn knowledge from readings.

Now there's the Internet, but still I say that the knowledge learned is from reading. (reading wikipedia, blogs, etc.)

Smarter people, usually acquire knowledge through observation. Be it observing ladies psychology for courting, observing God's signs in nature, this knowledge is acquired through observation.

Smarter people than this, usually the academics, acquire knowledge thru research, which is basically combination of reading and observation.

Do you know how politicians gather knowledge?
This tactic is pure psychology. I call it 'the-cock-fight" tactic. It is the most efficient way of acquiring knowledge.

I observe this during Dr.M's government in Malaysia while I was growing up.

The politician will start instigating an issue.(which he have in doubt). Then the media will pick up the issue to the masses.

And everybody will talk of the issue.


Then, usually, the academics will join in the fray. And usually there are two sides of it. One is pro, one is contra.


As usual, somewhere along the line, there will be one who comes with a extreme view and upped the stakes.


Then the two sides of bad and good, spearheaded by the academics, will debate and debate, in the TV, radio, newspaper.


Usually the academic who reacted to this "issues" are those who have close inclinations towards politics and less about academic.


And the guys and girls debate and debate and debate, researching facts here and there.


You see, the politicians just sat there, watching the whole thing from their tall buildings. And the think tanks will pickup the best argument out there and implement it.
It is bloody efficient.


Once they acquired the knowledge, then you realised the issue suddenly disappear from the news.
Henceforth, why in the good old Dr.M's days, it is said that people's attention to issues lasted no more than two weeks.

I believe it is because it was made to be that way.

In the end, the overall scene is like a cock-fight.

People placed bets on the cock, then the cock will fight bloodily.

The cocks who won, survived with bloody scars.

The cock that lost, his neck will be chopped off, and that morning people will celebrate with chicken meat feast. (because cock fights usually held at night)

It's the fella who arranged the fight who won. No matter which side won, he still get a profit from bets, like the casino.

The End.

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Note :

 I just registered Facebook early this June 2013, upon the insistence of ex-working colleague and also friends from my University Malaya days.

I saw many things in Facebook, which has inspired the short-story "Pork Farm" and this article today.

The inspiration comes from what happened today. Earlier, my friend,ex-classmate of mine, started posting that Adam Smith is head of evil as he started capitalism.

I wanted to join the comment section, yet somehow I didn't because I know his nature of "debating".

What happen was, two fellas join the comment section and started debating, first about capitalism, then going off discussing about Islamic banking (?), conventional banking, etc.

I observe it. During the discussion, my friend never uttered a single comment, the two fellas and then other fellas also join the fray.

At the end of it, my friend just uttered the comment "wow what a discussion".

He never needed to think much, read articles or whatsoever, just wait for others to give him the info.

To me, it is efficient.

Then I realised, Hishamuddin Rais and Anwar Ibrahim is from UM too. I guess that, even though UM students might not be so knowlegable of things, but due to political nature of our university, maybe that's why most of the UM output are very good at instigation. Hahaha.

No wonder so many of them joined politics in the end.

Weisses Fliesch

In Malaysia, the pro-government party coalition BN loses much of their Parliament seats in recent General Election-13, and the Prime Minister, blamed the loss on "Chinese Tsunami", a.k.a Chinese voters voting the opposition, and not the Malay-lead coalition.


Then, there was a campaign by the Malays,  boycotting Chinese products.

I don't buy this crap. Why?

It is because most Malays I knew, perversely harbours secret desire of wanting weisses fliesch.




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One trick I learn in this construction line , is usually applicable during the tendering stage, when companies compete to get the contracts/tender.


Most engineering sales department I knew and dealt with, usually will have attractive female "prominent" sales-persons.


This is sexist, but it is a fact that I saw in the construction industries, whether in Malaysia, Vietnam, Dubai or worldwide.


One time, I work with a group of Chinese females from mainland China, which were at that time, trying to win a contract in a Muslim Arab country.


I was the only engineer at that time, although more engineers joined the team later on. But, I had a tough time explaining things to them, since the girls do not have engineering background. They had their degree in English studies.


This was tough, plus that the technology we specialised on for the project, came from China.


The Chinese even have a Chinese character for the term "Poisson ratio", which is useful in understanding material strength, and I had to translate the Chinese Standard to English understand this.


Yes, Chinese are making their own standard, like in British Standard (BS) and Japanese Industrial Standard (JIS).


But during tender presentation, I kept my mouth shut as the ladies and the bosses presented our cases to the Client.


I never did a single presentation.Whenever I came to the meetings, I was the helper boy, the ladies were the "super-stars".


I also handle the paperwork and delivering the documents to the Client office, to the extent, one of the Filipine lady in the Office thought I was the clerical officeboy.


Image that are eye-pleasing, sells. No matter how clever you are, it is the image that sells.
And weisses fliesch sells.


Eventually I left the team because I want to focus on mechanical engineering works, because I may one day worked my way for IR, not worth for me to focus on civil engineering stuff.



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The two countries that is leading the pornography industry in the world are USA and Japan.

Why?

Weisses fliesch sells.



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During my teen years,  the UMNO-owned publishing company called Utusan sells two of the "hot-cake" sold-out magazine.


The two magazine are URTV and Mangga.


When the UMNO people tells people to upright the use of proper Bahasa Melayu, I didn't buy the crap, because URTV and Mangga is the one popularising the teens version of Bahasa Melayu.


My mother used to purchase the magazine, for entertainment purposes.


The two magazine sells weisses fliesch like mad.  The magazine will have photos of popular actresses in their swimsuit posing in swimming pool.



The funniest part is that although the magazine is full of Normala Samsuddin's (Malaysia newscaster in the 90s) bikini pictures, there will be short clippings of Quran verses  printed somewhere in the articles.

And lots of it.


The magazines sold like hot cakes as it has weisses fliesch and Quran verses in it. The Malays like it so much unwaveringly and unquestioningly.


Malays are so crazy about weisses fliesch that they can watch weisses fliesch and in the same time read Quran/Hadith verses. (That's what actually happens if you read Mangga and URTV)


 I remembered one of the "hot" news that came out in the magazine are of a Chinese actress, Janet Khoo converting to Islam.


Daphne Iking, a Chinese Sarawak lady also had the same problem. There's a lot of gossips saying she's converted to Islam.


Actually they never convert to Islam. But from the articles I read, the Malays are damned happy and secretly wanting them to convert. You know why?


It is because most Malays I knew, perversely harbours desire of weisses fliesch.



During the 80's, the hot actress back then were Deanna Yusoff and Sofea Jane,and nowadays it's the looks of Sharifah Sofea and Nora Danish.



The names I mentioned are Malaysian actress who have Western bloodline, somewhere along their bloodline, a Westerner married a Malaysian.


And in the same time, the Utusan newspapers keeps harping on Malays wanting special privilege in the economy and education.


All this happening while they secretly dream of weisses fliesch.




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Buletin Utama TV3 is the most watched news bulletin in Malaysia. But if you ask the people on the streets, what is the name of the newscasters, most of they could not name the newscasters, except of this two Chinese presenter.

Pang chinn fei and Gina Voon.

All this happened, while the Buletin Utama TV3 usually tells news of Malay supremacy.



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One of my best buddies in UM, was a guy studying Electrical Engineering. Hell, I had more friends in the Electrical Department than with my Mechanical Department colleague.

His mother is a Chinese, his father is a pure Malay.

We became best buddies, ironically, when both of us (and most of my closed friends) failed in our 2nd year semesters.

Anyway, this friend of mine, had a lots of "secret admirers".  By then, he was over with his first girlfriend and was in a "courting" session with a girl (who eventually became his wife and bears two daughters with him).

What the girls told me is that my friend of mine had this Chinese look.

By then I knew most Malay girls harbours secret liking towards Chinese look / Pan-Asian look.

By then, I knew that my chances of getting a Malay girlfriend are 0.001%.

Now, by this age of 31 being not married, I made peace with my self by telling myself that my failure is due to not having Chinese look.

My theory proved correct and could not be disputed since.

In 2000, it was the Japanese idol heart-throb Takuya Kimura of the drama Beautiful Life.

In the 2010 onwards, the K-Pop (Korean pop) fever and plague haunts the Malay girls in Malaysia. 

Not only the hot-blooded Malay males, even the Malay girls secretly harbours weisses fliesch.



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When I was in UM, during my 2nd year, my Mechanical class had to attend courses together with those of Material Engineering class.

There were a group of girls in the Material Engineering classes who happens to catch everyone eyes in the class. They wore attractive clothing, and they themselves look attractive.

If I'm not mistaken, the girls were from Sabah or Sarawak.

I was the class-rep,  so I had the bloody duties to distribute the notes, which I then turn to a photocopy business of small profit, so I can buy cigarrettes. (I'm a Mamak, cannot help it).

One day when I was selling the notes at highjacked prices, one of the attractive girl came to me asking for the notes.

I was dumbfounded in front of her, shy and all sorts of things that happens to a boy when he met a beautiful girl.

I end up selling her the notes at half price.

I ended up asking myself why the hell I sold her the notes too cheap.

I realised then , "Oh shit, I myself, secretly harbours weisses fliesch."

I then found out she was one of the smartest fella in the faculty with great CGPA or something.

By then also Slayer releases the album "God Hates Us All". and the opening track Darkness Of Christ made me thinking of this girl, and myself who were failing in my study back then.

"We hold these truths to be painfully self-evident

All men are not created equal

Only the strong will prosper

Only the strong will conquer

Only in the darkness of Christ have I realized"

Then I realised, I liked her, but I hate the fact of liking her.

She is beautiful, smart whereas I am one of the failures in the Mechanical Department. I was just lucky not to be included in the list of guys kicked out by the Faculty during the 2nd semester of 2nd year.


And I hate it.


So I told myself that I like her, because and only because she is weisses fliesch. Nothing more.


Whenever I saw her in the Faculty, I felt instant dislike because it reminds me of my failings. So I tried staying away as possible.


I got 3.7 GPA for my 1st Semester in my 3rd year.


The End.

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Note :

weisses fliesch means white flesh, and also a title of a song in Rammstein's first album, Herlezeid.

http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/16028/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wei%C3%9Fes_Fleisch

Edited version found in beyondthispunkt.tumblr.com

D-DAY 6/6/1944 - General Patton Speech to The Third Army

You see, all successful people who carved history in this world have one thing in common : They all hated weakness. They strived to be better because it felt pathetic to become incapacitated and weak.


General Patton Speech to the Third Army. 
Somewhere in England, June 5th, 1944.


Be seated.


Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle.


You are here today for three reasons.


First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones.


Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else.


Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight.


When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players.


Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American.


 You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle.


Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men.


Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar.


Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are.


The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.


Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.  Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men.


Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen. All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call "chicken shit drilling."


That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness.  Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who's not always on his toes.


You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive.


If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of shit!


There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job. But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did.


An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team.


This individual heroic stuff is pure horseshit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking!


We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world.  Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do.


My men don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back. That's not just bull shit either.


The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!


All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role.


Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.


What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands.'


But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Goddamnit, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job.


Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. Shits'.


Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him.


We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards.


The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men.


One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the wire, Sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!'


Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.


And you should have seen those trucks on the rode to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts.



Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.


 Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans.


Someday I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Third Army again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Patton.' We want to get the hell over there." The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned Marines get all of the credit.


 Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin, I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler. Just like I'd shoot a snake!
   

 When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually.


The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to.  Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have.


We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cock suckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.


 War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!


 I don't want to get any messages saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time.


Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn!
    

From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
    

There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again.


You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!'


All right, you sons of bitches. You know how I feel. I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys in battle any time, anywhere.

That is all.

Pork Farm

One day, two farmers walked along their farm, and found a dead horse.

The dark skinned complexion horse was found dead with strings on its neck. And they found a suicide note.

The note was written :

I was born in 1982 in this beautiful agricultural farm. My parents loved at watching the sky, so they named me Paradise, as in Chinese culture, tien or heaven which are associated with the one above.

My childhood was not a happy one. You see, both my parents have white fair skin, so the chickens and the white ducks used to laugh at me. However, my mother comforted me by saying that my grandfather is a black colored horse that used to race in racehorse competition.

Then as I grew up, I went to farm school with all the other animals.

The curriculum in the farm school is teaching us the way of Pig-me-ism, or in short, the way of the pigs.

The teacher told us that the Pigs are a very profitable commodity in agricultural. So all the animals in the farm should follow the way of the pigs.

At first, it is very hard for me to excel in the study of Pig-me-ism.

After a few years in the lower school, the teacher found my talent. My talent is walking with 4 feet, as the Pigs do.

I then proceeded my study to upper level, which I find with much ease, to the extent that I end up on a Walkin-neering Faculty, one of the best universities in the agricultural farm.

My father who used to be a clerical staff in the Walkin-neering Faculty, was very happy with my admission, although he did not live long enough to see me graduating.

At the Faculty of Walkin-neering, we focused on the study of walking with 4 feet, and we studied all the other animals in the world and their walk.

But everyone in the Walkin-neering Faculty told me, the Pigs way of walking are the best.

It was here that I had my doubt of Pig-me-ism.

One of my senior, a chicken who likes to makes noises in the morning, revolted and held student demonstration to protest Pig-me-ism. Then the authority farm dogs came after him. I heard he was held under the Upper Studies Act (USA), which he were held under house arrest.

The last time I seen him is when the dogs transferred him to Kajang Farm Clinic (KFC). I never seen him since.

My fear aggravated ever since.

There's a ceremony celebrating the Birthday of our Dear Farm Owner, with the tv station all praising him and saying "May God saved our Dear farm owner".

One of my friend,  a white duck of Asian descent wrote on her Fistbook, saying "May God saved our Dear Farm owner, and us from him!"

Then the other ducks joined together in the comment sections in the Fistbook, with their cynical remarks.

The next day, I read on the newspapers the authorities are now hunting for the 4 ducks.

I got paranoid.

Then I had my thesis study on the research of German horses and comparing it with the way of the pigs walking.

During my study of German horses, and German culture, i found the works of Karl Marx, the father of communism.

Communism, comes from the word commune, where you finally get the word community.

Karl Marx theorises that in the world of capitalism, there will be injustice in the distribution of wealth, thus causing great divide between the workers and the capitalist.

And so forth, this division expands to the point that the workers struggle intensify, causing anarchy and destruction to the capitalist system, then the economic system rebuilt itself under workers influence to a commune system, where all properties belong to the government.

I told a friend, which is a pure white horse of this Karl Marx thing.

He told me that what I'm saying is against the Pig-me-ism, and could get me killed.

Friend : Do you know that Karl Marx are a Jewish?

Me : So are Albert Einstein and Mark Zuckerberg!

Friend : You fool! Jewish seek to enslave all the animal kingdom by Illuminati propaganda!

Me : Illuminati means illumination what?

Friend : You fool! The point of Illuminati is they seek to enslave us, because we are non-Jewish!

Then it finally dawned upon me.
Illuminati, Pig-me-ism, education system, all seek to enslave me into the system.
From Enslavement to Obliteration.

No, I want to be free with the stars!
End of Story.

The story above are inspired by a question in the Facebook from a friend of mine. (Refer to photo)

He is asking me whether Karl Marx is part of a Illuminati gang or not.

I wanted to answer, but I felt so stupid to answer.

Honestly:-

1. I was born in 1982, so I was not in German when Karl Marx existed, so I could never confirm whether he is registered officially or had any connection with the Illuminati.

2. There's only two answer, yes or no.

3. If Karl Marx is not Illuminati, isn't it a sin alleging someone, while he is not? And the guy is already dead, how are you going to ask forgiveness for your sin?

4. If Karl Marx is Illuminati, he is dead. And so he should not harm you, so why bother?

5. If you are worried about his thinking, then write an thesis/ideology/book better than him. History chooses the best.

Muslim like to talk of Illuminati in Facebook using their Samsung or Apple smartphones.

Something is wrong in the education system.

Mamak and Crushed Ice Dreams

A mamak stall near my house selling Cendol, the crushed ice dessert.

Cendol = Crushed Ice + Coconut milk + Brown sugar + red beans + corn beans

MAMAK AND CRUSHED ICE DREAMS

My grandfather came from India to Malaysia during the 50's to start a textile business in Batu Pahat, Johor. It was from his seed that brought forth my aunties and uncles, and most importantly, my mother.

Even though the Indian blood runs thick, my mom have a very fair-skinned complexion, which she told me that it must be from the Arabic descent. I didn't buy her logic.

Apparently by the time I was born,  the textile business has long gone bankrupt. Personally, whether you are Arabic, or Indian or pure Malay, it doesn't matter because if you have no money, you are poor.

I had my grandfather's dark skinned complexion. And so, during my teen years (age 13 to 17), I do not like to mix with Malay counterparts and choose to mix with the non-malays.

This is because the Malays will usually harp on me being "Keling".

Keling is a derogatory term to describe Indians, as Keling is the clicking sounds of chains that were used to enslave the Indian workers in the plantation back during the British days of colonisation. (cling! cling! the sound of chain attached to the Indian slaves)

My father, who is of pure Malays breed, understood my irritation and told me of a story which I shall share later on.

There's a hawker stall near my house, which is run by two Mamak. Mamak is a term to describe people of Indian Muslim origin. I like to stay around there for hours, reading newspapers and books before heading off somewhere else after finished reading.

And so one day, the hawker owner, told me he wanted to join UMNO. This was days nearing the Malaysian General Election 13.

I translate this to English :-

Me : What the hell? UMNO is United Malay Nations Organisation, a party for pure Malays! You are like me, a non pure! Why the hell you want to join UMNO?  For sure, they look you in the eyes of discrimination.

Mamak : Come on, now many Mamak joining UMNO, like those in KIMMA. And we can get business contacts...

Me : No, don't be stupid. You have to understand, deep inside, UMNO Malays harbours a deep sentiment towards non-malays, it's 50 years after merdeka they will say things of Chinese against malays, Malays are weak in their own fatherland. They use this inferior complex thing for their strength.

Mamak : But, we can be better off using UMNO to earn livelihood. (Actual word he said was "Cari makan")

Me : Bos, they want you because the election is near!

Mamak : Nevermind! The BN will give lots of gifts, presents, we take it. But votes are secret, nobody knows who we are voting for.

Me : Bos, believe me. We must follow the Chinese.

Mamak : What do you mean?

Me : Chinese build their business, their networks with their kins. After their network is strong, then they use their strength to influence politics. And also using politics to make more money. But we? No strength,just small business, if we stir the nest of politics, your small business will be crushed.

Mamak : (Silent)

Me : For you and me, we are like the Chinese, we will forever be looked upon as Non-Malay due to our skin complexion. No matter if we are married or have blood connection to a Malay, as long as our skin looks like this, we'll be looked upon indiscriminately.

Mamak : So what do you suggest?

Me : Fight indirectly.

Mamak : What?

Me : You heard me, we couldn't choose the race we are born, so against this, we fight indirectly.

And so I told him the story which my father told me, when I told him how I hated being called "Keling".

The story revolves around a Crushed Ice seller (Cendol seller), of a Mamak origin. The scene was of 1970's -1980's era.

This Mamak had a spot, where he conduct his crushed ice business, in a village whose majority population are Malays who still depend on rural agriculture.

His crushed ice stall, which he worked daily and religiously at his business spot, where the villagers used to spend time around, usually during the late afternoons, after they tended to each's business of chicken rearing, small farming, fishing, etc. 

The weather is spot-on hot and humid, and so a bowl of crushed ice sprinkled with brown sugar, coconut milk, red beans is all that they need.

The business is a spot on, after which in few weeks, there are already daily customers.

Upon those daily customers, are a group of Malay teens who used to hang around the spot, playing chequers, guitars, joking.

And so to drive the story further, in this poor rural village, there was a sweet Malay girl, whose age are the same of the Malay teens.

And on the crushed ice business spot, the Malay teens usually talk about this Malay girl, singing their hearts sometimes. Each and everyone in the group dreamt of this Malay girl.

One day, the sweet girl came with her siblings to buy crushed ice.

The Malay guys, whose head are over heels over the girl, started whistling. And each whistles loudly, to attract the girl. They called her name, whistling it and started singing of her beautiful attributes.
As usual, a girl being as shy as girl is, remains quiet and cautious.

Actually, she felt afraid, intimidated.

After a while, noticing the girl didn't react to any of their advances, the group started to become irritated. They felt the girl was too proud to even replied to their callling.

They started name-calling. And one of the curses they sprawl upon the girl is that one day, this proud lady will bear a dark-coloured skin sibling just like the Mamak.

"May one day this proud girl bears a dark-coloured skin baby, as dirty as this Mamak who sells this crushed ice".

And ever since, the Malay teens talk of the girl of this nature, even though each and everyone still harbours on marrying her.

Be careful of what you wish for.

As time pass by, the Mamak selling crushed ice, began to expand his business in the village by constructing a brick house, in which he started a shop selling household items and groceries.

In front of his shop, he maintains his crushed ice business. Only this time, he did not need to worry of the tables and chairs went missing as he could always keep it inside the shop.

One have to understand rural economics, that in the villages, when the fields are attacked by rodents and parasites, the fields wouldn't generate enough income for the season.

And so on, as time passes by, everybody in the village had a debt with the Mamak, as they kept buying things in credit whenever the fields "didn't make it". The debt are recorded in a small book called 555 book.

What the Mamak did, was to invest whatever loaned money that he got back, by building brickhouses which he rent out to anyone wishing to live in it.

There were lots of youngsters in the village migrated to the city looking for better prospects, including the Malay teens.

After they migrated, little did they know what happened.

By the time they migrated, the girl was in her 20's, she was the beauty of the village.

But the problem is, the girl's family had a huge debt with the Mamak.

The solution is, the girl's family married off the girl to the Mamak, and in return, the debt is cleared, they no longer need to worry about food as they now depended on the income of the rented houses, the shop, and the crushed ice business.

The family sold out their land and house, upon which a canned goods factory was built. The family stayed in the Mamak rented house free of charge.

And the Mamak further built more rented houses for the workers for the canned goods factory.

Then years pass by, when one day the guys (the previous Malay teen) went back to their village. They decided to have a group reunion in the crushed ice shop.

First, they were shocked to see the ways things are changing in their village, due to the canned goods factory.

By the time they arrive in the crushed ice stall, they were in for a big surprise.

They were appalled, when they saw the Malay girl whom they had their crush on, was working on the ice crushing machine.

The crushed ice were then served by her 5 year old dark skinned complexion daughter. They even watched how the Mamak taught her daughter on how to count the balance money properly.

"Not by speeches and majority votes are the great questions of the day decided, but by blood and iron" - Otto von Bismarck