Oh porn, why doth thou beckon?

An example of porn

When I think about it I just don't get porn. Perhaps porn should just be seen and heard but not thought about in much depth. After all, porn movies rarely demand much, or if any, intellectual rigour or emotional depth. The plot is usually easy to follow that even our local politicians can understand them in one sitting, or may even have acted out some of them out themselves unknowingly, of course. And like the usual Hollywood summer blockbusters, we all know who is whom, whom does what to whom and how it ends. Yes, there are some variations in terms of where the limbs are placed, or whether one is standing, kneeling, on all fours or lying down but when you come down to it, there are just two main working components with a straightforward two stroke motion. Forward. Backward. Isn't it strange the amount of complexity people go through to seek for such an embrace in such a manner as pleasurable (generally anyway, Navel Gazing recognizes that there are occasional performances so dismal in quality that it would have been better for both participants to have not engaged in the act) as it is simple?

So we can understand the act itself and the reasons for doing so. (And if you don't please stop reading the rest of this article immediately. Read only what is in within these brackets. If you stay in here, you will be safe. Now, very slowly, press the reset button. Keep your eyes on the words in these brackets. Got it? Good.) Now that we've got rid of those fellas, as I was about to pose a question rhetorically, why do we enjoy porn, or in another way, watching other people copulating?

We are not engaged in the act with them. We do not know them. And they are not performing it live in front of us, it's recorded. In an immediate sense the performers don't care what we think. In most cases we will never meet them. It's not as if we haven't done it before, or done it in that fashion, or know how it feels. What is more they could make us feel inferior with their better bodies, better looks (okay, maybe not for most of the guys), better staying power, and are skilled at their craft to do some fonky positions like the verticle 69 and helicopter (novelty factor: 10 cool factor: 0). We are also less likely to perform the act in heels, with a bowtie around our neck, or crotchless underwear in a room filled with other people. The loudness of the moans would usually be less because we are embarassed if other people hear us having sex (what's so bad about hearing other people having a good time? Enjoy it like you would good news off the radio-ish, unless of course their dirty talk sounds up like some filthy DJ banter then turn the volume down. They are, after all, not there to talk). Our facial expressions would more likelier be less intense and pained looking than those on screen because we are not performing for people we would never meet and need to impress them with the intensity of our performance.

So what is it really? Why ah?

I mean aside from the fact that it's nice to watch every now and again in reasonable doses.

The face a woman looks best in

The face a woman looks best in is when she is in the throes of pleasure. That look of vulnerability and sensuality on her face, of a willing and utter surrender to the pleasures assailing her every pore. Those closed eyes spoke of wanting to achieve a depth of feeling, of being able to trace the faint outline of the contours of her pleasure. That frown of indescribable pleasure. Sighs that slowly emerged and rose into a crescendo before gently fading away, washed over like a fresh wave on the beach by her full throated mouth wide open moans that tittered at the knife edge of pleasure and pain, betrayed by a body that could not contain the pleasures coursing through her, demanding that she vocalize her enjoyment. Occasionally, she manages to restrain herself by biting her lower lip only to surrender to her soulful cries again. Each one a lick more sweeter than the last. And there is a radiance to her then, as if pleasure itself glowed in her and overflowed out of her every pore. As if she were made for just that one moment of inconsolable pleasure.

She is never more beautiful than she is then.





(The real wan ah! Not the fake wan!)

Coming On Strongly

There are occasions when some people come on strongly.

To explain, take the following example. Let's say you meet X at a social function either through introductions or just happen to do so somewhere. You have a pleasant conversation because you find that both of you share common interests at some level - movies, music or whatever. And then you exchange numbers and say, yeah, let's meet up sometime. Although really in truth, you in all probability would not bother calling or meeting up unless X is a hot, sexy and horny babe\stud\[whatever] who flirted with you and grabbed your crotch\stuck a finger up your ass\[whatever gets your goat, sicko].

But this time. X calls up next week and asks to meet up. And you're like, uh, really? Wow. Were you that fookin' interesting? But you're busy, really. So you tell him, hey maybe some other time. At this point, the conversation should prepare for ending with the goodbyes and false promises to stay in touch.

But X doesn't get it. He perseveres and says, okay, how about the week after that? I'm good for the week days, blah, blah, blah.

So you check your diary but god damn, for real okay, it's full. Sorry man, you say. I'm full up. Hey, I gotta run, I'll check my diary and get back to you okay?

But X doesn't get it. Okay, how about the week after that one? he asks calm, as a fookin' cucumber, as if he completely missed the bit where you said, Hey I gotta run.

So you reply, Dude/tte/[whatver tf] I said I gotta run, I'll get back to you. Have a nice day.

But X replies and very coolly and calmly almost as if you were the annoying one, Okay, why don't we just fix the date since your diary is open there.

And you're like, what the fook is wrong with this psycho bastard and the shrill violins in Psycho now start kicking up in your head. You now imagine he wants to meet you beause you will be his latest victim. You imagine him spiking your drink and then bundling you back to his place where he saws you off piece by piece. Death claims you soon after he saws off your arm from excessive bleeding. Some of your body parts are incinerated and some are kept in the fridge.

But perhaps you were overdoing it, but his perseverance was becoming annoying if not scary. What the hell you wonder was so interesting about you that X wanted to meet you so badly? It's not like you sucked/fooked/[pon pon] X at any time during the conversation.

So you tell him, I told you X, I gotta run. Bye.

Okay, X replies. You hit the end call button.

You feel relieved. After that stunt, there was no way you were going to meet with him. His coolness was creepy.

Until he calls you again next week. And when you start avoiding X's phonecalls, X diligently leaves voice messages every time to remind you about meeting up with a request to return his\her\[whatever] call over the course of several weeks, with three to four voice messages each week.

Okay, so the point up for discussion is, do you have an obligation to meet up with X after saying in casual conversation that you would? Or to put in another way, could X rely on what you said in casual conversation concerning your interest in meeting up with him? If X could not rely on that statement of interest then what else in that conversation could he or should he not rely on? X may fairly form the opinion that you are a person not to be taken at your word and unreliable.

The dilemma is this: You don't want to take it any further with X but as a parting gift you want to do X a favour. But how do you tell X about this, in the gentlest possible manner, without you sounding like some shitfaced arsehole? I mean to see the X's side would be: how can you without even knowing me, come to the conclusion that I am not worth your time just because I am a little more persistent than others? How dare you be so presumptuous you shitfaced arsehole?

But then why should you give a shit seeing as how you don't want to meet X and X probably (and usually) has no other friends which is why he wants so badly to meet with you after the first conversation? You can't be nice and spend time with everyone, especially those you don't want to or like. Time is your most important asset. You don't want to waste it on people you don't like or don't want to meet.

Right?

However that still leaves the question of why you feel X's persistence to be a turn off to be answered. Perhaps it is because X is making immediate demands on your time over the expected measure of time you expected to spend with him. To give an example. You were only psychologically prepared to spend about 5 minutes with X but because of his persistence, it has upset your mental state because the conversation has gone on for 10 minutes. And because of this upset mental state, it has provoked a negative consciousness which X has come to be cloaked with.

But when you come right down to it - even on this issue of why you feel that way - I think you just shouldn't give a shit.

Can intelligence be felt?

This question has occupied me for some time now. I think it occurred a while back when I did or said or wrote something that somebody thought was clever or smart or something like that and complimented me on it. The truth is I forgot how the question came to be asked, but I remember the sensation when it was. It was a sensation of confusion, puzzlement and certainly disbelief. I felt this because I felt the compliment was misplaced in the sense that I did not deserve it. I felt like I wanted to give some super witty retort like 'Heh, really? I know some guys who shit cleverer things!' or 'Thanks, but the truth is I'm like super stupid. Want to colour some books?'

I just could not accept it which is why I suppose I then end up getting into a protracted and occasional vicious bout of me denying, refusing and denying the compliment on my perceived intellect with a barrage of explanations about my limited intelligence to the complimentor who after his patience has worn out has to end up forcing me to accept the compliment. It's like this with all compliments (me looking slim, me supposedly clever, me actually possessing some skill worth announcing to an ant, etc.) I get except those perhaps directed at my hair, which I'd like to think is fully deserved (where it relates to its softness, body and elegant blending of the white with the black) and happily accept.

But coming back to the mains - ever since that schizm of perception , I have been thinking alot about intelligence and whether we can gauge it from a purely subjective stand point without any other comparison. The simple reason why I reject those compliments on my intellect is because I feel stupid most of the time. If I were clever, surely I should be able to feel it, to know it, to be certain of it. Surely, if I had such intelligence, I could feel its weight on my soul, be able to trace the contours of my cleverness, to wield my intelligence like a surgeon would his scapel. And some people seem confident in their intelligence, they walk around with a little swagger, leap into discussions arse first and bounce back on top of everybody. I feel nothing, just the hollowness of my mind, the faint echo of my thoughts that hover like fine mist that disappears at the touch of an outstretched hand. I feel no shape, no weight, no colour. Sometimes I imagine my intellect to be like a multi-faceted diamond suspended in the air and slowly, ever so slowly turning. But I know its not like that. It's not so nuanced. It's like a flat blistering desert where the constant whimsical winds shape and re-shape the endless dunes, never allowing a path to form.

I often wonder, what it must feel like to be like those terribly clever men, like Bertrand Russell, John Kay, Einstein, John Ruskin, John Nash... okay maybe not because he was nuts too, but men like that. No one can deny their intellectual fortitude and magnitude. And they looked it too. Their intelligence resonated in photos of them, there was this personal field of gravitas whenever they spoke or opened their mouth. Hell, I bet they even looked regal when they shat. Our eyes may see the same thing, but what else are they thinking when we look at the same things? How does their mind work? Is it arranged in a particular pattern? Perhaps the gears in their minds are finer, smaller, more precisely made and mine are from make shift bullock cart spare parts. Or its vice versa and they are better able to use their bullock cart spare parts better than I do those small annoying gears.

What's funny though is that you don't need a lot of intelligence to identify stupidity. And I can certainly feel the weight of my stupidity. Perhaps I cannot feel the weight of my intelligence because it is lighter than my stupidity. Or perhaps stupidity is that lightness of intellect that I feel.

Maybe I need a drink.

skirting the issue - the latest court of appeal decision

Malaysian Insider reported yesterday about the Court of Appeal's (the CoA) majority decision to dismiss a woman's appeal against the High Court's decision refusing to grant her application for a declaration that she has a right to renounce Islam. The CoA apparently, in a 2-1 decision, decided to dismiss her appeal because the name appearing in her originating summons "no longer existed".

This is yet another shallow minded, convenient and fearful approach taken by the second highest court of the land when being confronted by matters involving conversion from Islam by anybody who had earlier professed to be a Muslim. Rather than seizing the opportunity to make a fully reasoned decision by confronting the issue at hand heads on, the CoA would rather hide behind trivial technicalities as if procedures are made to hamper, rather than aid, litigants.

I have lost count on how many such cases have come up for appeals in the CoA or even in the highest Courts of the land, the Federal Courts. Not a single one has been decided on its merit. The most that has been said in these cases is that the matter is within the purview of the Syariah Court and thus the civil courts do not have jurisdiction to entertain the cases. Since when the Syariah Courts have jurisdiction to decide on a Constitutional issue is quite beyond my remembrance.

In this latest episode, the woman had used both her Muslim and her Chinese names in her summons. The purpose of stating one's name on a summons or in any legal documentation is to identify oneself. In the olden days in England, one did not only have to state one's name but also was required to state one's address and/or profession. That is solely for the purpose of identification so that a Robin Hood of Nottingham Forrest would not be mistaken for a Robin Hood of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The practice of stating one's name and address continues to this very day because as we all know, there is no such thing as an identity card over there.

That practice was adopted here. Thus, one has to state one's name and address in any summons and also affidavit. However, our Courts take the matter so seriously so much so that there are Judges who dismiss cases or reject affidavits just because the address is not stated or the name is not spelt correctly. In doing that, the Judges have failed to appreciate the rationale for such procedural rule (I would even say they don't actually know the rationale). They also forget that in Malaysia, an identification could be specifically done just by stating the Identity Card number! Thus, the rule requiring that one's name and address or even profession be stated must be taken in that perspective.

One of the CoA Judges was in the case yesterday was reported as saying "the question before us is who is appearing in the appeal? Is it the Chinese name or the Muslim name?". First of all, the one appearing before the CoA was not the "name" but the PERSON being represented by her Counsel. Second of all, her Counsel had already clarified that the name appearing on the Court papers was the name of the PERSON appealing. So, what was the issue? Where was the confusion? It also speaks volume of the quality of the AG Chambers' advocacy skills when all they could muster in such an important case was an objection of this nature.

The truth is that the real issue at hand is the proverbial hot potato which no one would like to handle. The name or names was just a convenient excuse to pass the buck. One wonders why the CoA did not seize the opportunity to decide on a very importand and almost a cardinal Constitutional issue. After all, the issue is one of fundemental liberties of Malaysians as provided by the Federal Constitution and not about Islam. It so incidental that in this case the religion being professed is Islam but this does not detract from the constitutional issue which begs to be argued and determined. The Syariah Courts clearly do not have jurisdiction over this matter.

Malaysia must be the only Commenwealth country where a Constitutional law issue is being dismissed by the Courts because the litigant has used a wrong name!

That's the inconvenient truth of it all.

Of Selling Stuff

I often find myself declaring that I could not sell a heater to an eskimo to save my life, not so much because I want to lull the eskimo into a false sense of security before I hit him with my sales pitch, but because it is simply true. I used to dread those times of charity when instead of generously allowing me to make a fool of myself in the attempt to raise money, they gave me tickets to sell. Ugh. Seriously. Ask me to sing. Ask me to dance (take me to France... ... never mind). Ask me to do both in a bear suit. But for fuck's sake don't ask me to sell something. Once when I could afford all the tickets, I bought it out and then give them away. It was easier that way, plus it was a good way to get in touch with people. I mean, the first rule of freebies is that people respond to freebies. The second rule of freebies is that people RESPOND to freebies.*

I have not quite understood this inability of mine because if you asked me for a recommendation for a particular gadget i.e. laptop, cameras, etc. I would in all probability give a better sales pitch then if you paid me wages and had me sell those things. So it's not that I cannot make a sales pitch - I am able to understand and grasp the features of an object and their particular advantage, framing an object and its price, how to create a sales opening, etc because I have read books on how to sell things - but I am incredibly inhibited if paid to sell things. Very strange. Perhaps when I am not paid to give my recommendations it helps me feel independent and not feel particularly beholden to a particular manufacturer, so I feel less inhibited and more enthusiastic in my recommendations to someone. I think it also has to do with me as well - I don't like the idea that I am persuading or encouraging someone to buy something that they may not actually want or need simply to make a sale simply because I dislike others doing that to me. And do unto others as you would have others do unto you kind of thing. 

Although, modesty aside, I am pretty sure I could advise him on a tortious claim should the heater end up melting his igloo and spoiling his fine selection of rare caviar. 

*(Palahniuk, Fight Club, in case you were wondering)

Thoughts on the Infiniteness of Learning

It is often said that to learn something is to find illumination in that particular area. It is also commonly observed that the only thing one can conclude from a great deal of learning is how little we can eventually learn, retain and apply. The area of the unknown shall always and forever be greater than the known areas. This applies with greater force to an individual as opposed to a society which tends to retain an institutional memory, though it must be admitted that it might not be very accurate or even understandable. Myths are demonstrative of this, but perhaps this as humans we tend to be literal and obvious creatures first and metaphorical ones once we reach a certain intellectual and spiritual plane. We forget that our human illuminations are personal and therefore tend to be singular and that the illumination we train upon an area lights it up as much as it shows how much of the area around it remains in a formidable darkness. These I take as trite propositions in life though I welcome anyone who can demonstrate the contrary evidentially instead of by mere argument, like Xeno's paradoxes. 

I am beginning to realize too that there is an infiniteness to any area of study if we really wished to know any and everything about something. Let's take something as simple as a paperclip. Do we know enough if we know how a paperclip is made? It is made from galvanized steel wire and twisted to an meaningful shape to hold a few sheets of paper together. Let's even say we know what kind of machine makes it. Do we know enough of it if we know what it is used for? It is used to hold paper together, but it can be stretched out and used to poke small holes (resetting your phone or PDA) or it can be used to in other creative ways. Do we know enough if we delve into its history, how it came about, the developments and patents that resulted in most of the standard paperclips around today? Do we know enough if we then know what steel is made of on an atomic level? Should we also not know how they interact at that level as well? And sometimes we also notice that these paperclips turn rusty - so should we also not know something about oxidization? Then if we know of the paperclips impact in terms productivity, economically, spiritually (hey, ya never know!) and in literature, can we be said to know everything about paperclips? 

But all these are a great deal of things to know about just a mere paperclip which we often do not give much thought of. I am starting to think that there is no end to it; that we can never know everything of even one thing. We as humans are ultimately creatures of great practicality - we need not understand everything about something before we are able to use it, even effectively and efficiently. I am certain many people that drive cars don't even know the science of what makes it move - but what does it matter if they know how to manipulate the vehicle to do as they intend? What added benefit or advantage does a person who knows exactly how a car works as opposed to someone who doesn't though we assume for examples sake they are both equally competent drivers with similar skill levels? 

The added benefit is not just in terms of a richer experience when one is undertaking the driving experience, but also the former driver knows how better to modify the vehicle such that his car would be better than that owned by latter driver. It may also perhaps make him a better driver because he knows the exact limitations and advantages of his car. 

What does all this amount to then? That we are born into ignorance. That we shall always be partially ignorant. The lesser one is ignorant of something, the greater the possibility of obtaining a competitive or some sort of advantage over someone more ignorant. To be ignorant is a temporary bliss paid in the long run with significant inferiority. But then to be knowledgeable these days also means a greater chance of being obsolete.

The Photographer

I take too many photos these days.

For a long while, I never really consciously thought about creative focusing, interesting angles and other technical matters. I just wanted to click the damn button and get it over with. It didn't take me long to know the routine. Wait for everybody to get in. Let them comb their hair a bit with their fingers. Let them arrange themselves and then re-arrange them a bit. I don't know why those fucking tall idiots always have to plant themselves right in the middle. Go to the side lah! You know you are tall right, move to the side! If there was one thing I could say to them it is, be the frame.

Then give everybody fair warning and count out aloud. If you have a tripod, even better, use your hands also for gesture support, like making a wave with your arm and counting with your fingers. Trust me, it helps. This helps cut down those monkeys that time their lids to shut at just the time your finger nails that button and lets those about to sneeze know when to time it. I can understand those poor buggers because I also have sinus.

Then one day I thought I'd look through some of the more recent family photos and you know what shocked met? That I didn't remember any of those photos. And even more was the fact that I was really taking one photo the whole night. Okay, I'm exaggerating but you know what I'm talking about. Those same family photos that where everybody was properly seated or standing and all smiling obligingly. I now call those photographic evidence because it's just to show who came to the party and who was conspicuously absent. It was so fucking tedious that I was happy to come across some accidental candid shots or some out of focus shots simply because they broke the monotony.

Why do we keep taking the same photos?

Footballers

Though I fell in love with football only recently (circa 2003), it has not taken me long to hate footballers. Generally, of course. There will always be a few shining lustruous pearls amidst an ocean of shite. Now I hate them because most of them now have absolutely no loyalty whatsoever to the club. Those bygone days where footballers were proud of their clubs, even if they didn't win anything, and stayed on year after year in the hope that they did is now becoming the type of ancient history that doesn't make it to the history books. For example, even though I hate Manchester United and think most of their fans are a bunch of twats (except for Art, of course *chuckle*), you gotta respect some of their players like Ryan Giggs who spent his entire career at the club. I don't think we are ever going to see the likes of him anymore. More and more, I see footballers who have one singular good season (despite the earlier ones being shite or mediocre) being proclaimed by the English press as the next Pele or Maradona and then because of all the bloody media attention, they get poached by the Italian or Spanish leagues (read Juventus, AC Milan, Inter Milan and Real Madrid or Barcalona, respectively - bunch of non-English speaking twats). To use the Manchester United example again, in the last season 2007/08, Cristiano Ronaldo had by any standards an outstanding year. He won the European Championship and the Premiership Championship this year. He's 23. So he's got a lot of years left and you would think, he would stay with Manchester United which is as much as I hate to admit it the top club in Europe right now. But then as usual those fuckers Real Madrid then screw all these footballers up by indicating that they are 'interested' (I've got beef with them as well because they are making it a yearly habit to declare their love for Fabregas, may you never leave us!) and the worse part is these footballers then become 'unsettled'. How you can have a 4 year contract or whatever with the club, play so well for a few years, get on with everybody and then at the mere mention of an interest become 'unsettled'. These bastards are paid something like upwards of 50,000 pounds a week and they are unsettled. You pay me that kinda money, I settle wherever the fuck you like Mister and I love you long time oso! And of course you be nice to me then I no reason to leave sorta shite.

Sure you get the usual argument like - footballers have a limited earning time period - about 10 years or so, so they have to make the most of it. So we have to understand that even though they signed a 5 year contract, if some other club is willing to pay more and buy out their contract, they should be allowed to leave so that they can have enough for their retirement. What happened to loyalty? What happened to the contract which basically is a promise in exchange for obscene amounts of money that they would stay at the club for the duration of their contract? A footballers contract is now so meaningless - you can sign up for a 10 year contract, but if the player wants to leave and the buying club is willing to fork out the money, they are sold. And what happened to professionalism on the footballers part? Being professional means that you honour your contract instead of (i) claiming you want to play for your childhood club (do it after you finished your contract asshole) and the engineer to leave (ii) try to buy out your own contract (which apparently is now allowed). Professionalism for a footballer should not be limited to the football field, where most of them fail this test too. So often do you see big strapping lads with limbs like timber diving like a happy dolphin on the ground at the merest touch. Then they are usually clutching their legs or face or wherever it was there were last touched and clutching it and rolling around like a shot gun blew it off complete with the agonized looks. And after their supposed offender is shown a yellow card or reprimanded they're up and about like a happy lamb and back to being their usual arsehole selves.

So where does this leave us when more and more footballers adopt such attitudes - an utter lack of professionalism both on the field and in their contracts? I think it will in time turn off 'neutrals', those who just enjoy watching good football. Clubs and football then will be crushed by the financial expectations of men who really are paid obscene amounts of money for kicking the ball around on a field for the display. They do not create food. They do not solve people's problems. They contribute nothing to science (and being a subject for medical/sports science is not a pro-active contribution but a mere passive one). They do not contribute to the intellectual progress (and on the contrary by their very actions tend to hold back this sort of progress). They kick a ball well and make it enjoyable for us. That they are paid so much for so little, (especially in terms of professionalism), really makes me wonder what our priorities are as a human race. It would seem that pure entertainment is our priority instead of encouraging each other to do as good a job as possible and getting along with one another.

Speculations About The Mind

Bodleian Library, Oxford
Courtesy of National Geographic

I have recently begun to wonder what the architecture of my mind looks like. For those that you use the word mind interchangeably with brain, I am referring to the latter and we all have a fairly workable idea about the latter. So whilst there are many things that could easily stand as a metaphor for the mind, I think it helpful for my present purpose of pontification (sorry, couldn't help myself) it as that of an estate. For you Malaysians out there, I am certain that the mention of the word 'estates' immediately evokes scenes of rubber trees standing tall and silent in the morning darkness and the chanting cicadas, and if you hold the imagery long enough, a thin wiry man dressed neatly in a light blue t-shirt and a sarong bunched up around his thighs carrying a pail carefully making his way around the trees comes into view. I usually stop around here because he actually goes to take a dump so you might wanna stop here too. But anyway, if you thought something like that, you would not be too (cue: constipated pout and hard squinting of eyes) off the mark.

By estate I mean a plot of land of a particular shape, size, location and usually with the attendant natural wildlife, or human construct on it. For example, with those terribly clever chaps that have their information so well organized in their head and are able to effortlessly present complicated and difficult arguments systematically, coherently and understandably, I imagine their minds to be perhaps something like the Bodleian Library, complete with its knowledgeable and helpful staff, humming along or a vast stately English 20-room manor with its battalion of servants and butlers, resting on a sprawling few thousand acres of beautiful forests, lakes, hills and wildlife. As much as I would fancy myself in that intellectual class (in my wildest and raunchiest dreams), I find it difficult to avoid the fact that mine is at best a mud hut with only a dining table in the middle with a few torn up and halved books, and stacks of pages ripped from books here and there, maybe a page here and ten there with large rocks holding them down. On a good day, there would be a chair thrown in, but it would be broken. And occasionally there'd be a stray dog or cat that would wander in and once content that there is no food to be found, leave.

Now there are some things that can be drawn from thinking about the mind as a kind of estate or structure. Firstly, there is the idea of change or alteration. A house can be renovated to become bigger and wider, or smaller as the case may be. Land can be tilled, raised or lowered. Lakes and rivers created or dammed. That means ones mind can always be improved or it can also deteriorate. Secondly, since these are objects of great longevity (human constructs such as brick houses, the land itself) it lends to the idea of permanence. But this is a limited permanence. Our minds are permanent to us and is from which we think and act through. Thirdly, deterioration and longevity implies time which in turn suggests ageing and wear and tear, and the occasional break down, where applicable. And the longer the disuse, the quicker the deterioration. This leads to the idea of maintenance and the regular review because a lot of junk can accumulate and clutter the thinking. Sometimes its nice to clear the deck, or at least, part of it. Finally, the best and most important trait about it is that it our very own. This means we should necessarily take good care of it and to use it often, and take special care not to simply surrender it to or for the use of others, because it would be the surrender of ourselves.

Really Heavy Metal

No. This is not an outpouring in praise of the world's best and foremost adult illustrated science fiction/fantasy magazine to which I am a subscriber. If you are adventurous in your graphic novel forays, then this is the place to be. Cutting edge. I concede that not everything in there is good, and I will not go on save to say that each issue is a treasure chest with many true gems worth more than the gold, silver and copper it lay beside. But let us not forget some of the greats that honed and displayed their craft in that magazine such as Frank Frazetta, Moebius, Enki Bilal, Richard Corben Pepe Moreno, and H.R. Giger would do covers for it. Muahs. But no. This is about music.

I'm not terribly educated about music. Far from the academic Art is (If this is your first time here, I humbly beg of you to check out Art's awesomevoyages of rock and roll music history and scintillating analysis here: American Pie Revisited and Shine On You Crazy Diamond) but I know what I like even if I am not always able to explain to you why I like it. And it took me a long time to get to this stage of my life with regard to listening to music: to try finding something worth while in a song no matter what the song, to enjoy it for what it is, to not be overly concerned about what people may think of my musical tastefulness and finally to keep broadening my listening experience and expanding my musical appreciation vocabulary from the only 2 that I am capable of at the moment: 'Wah, damn good man!' and 'Eyer, damn shit man!'

I have to say that the music that I have listened to since acquiring that attitude has broadened a great deal so much so that I am now enjoying music I never imagined I would like about oh 3 years ago such as Indonesian bands (4 out of the 6 slots in my car are Indobands right now which is amazing for someone whose Malay is so craporama) and Latin American bands (although I have been quite into Cuban music for some time now right before the Buena Vista Social Club became huge! and caught them with Omara Portuendo when they hit KL some years back and threw an immensely satisfying show for all of those fortunate enough to attend).

But this liberal, reasonable and worldly attitude comes to a crashing halt where it concerns what I know it as: Really Heavy Metal (RHM). You know the one where you hear chugging guitars riffing out a wall of sound with the chap on lead guitar having a good plank spanking session there by himself, the drummer smashing away a steady pounding relentless beat and there's a 'singer' who screams, roars or could be belching the National Budget for this year for all I know and who tries to induce whiplash by whipping their head back and forth or doing the seizure thing with their head. And most of them will have huge heads of hair. Not stuff like Metallica, Led Zep, and the like. Those bands bother with the lyrics and melody.

I wanted to like it. I tried to like it. I really did. A family friend of mine once said to me, if somebody cooks something for me and tells me it is nice or good, in good faith of course, I will eat it no matter how disgusting it looks. That pretty much sums up my attitude towards music (and yeah food as well!). So I tried. But I just couldn't get it. I mean in terms of precision and tightness, there was no doubt about it. They could come to a grinding halt even at full chug but there was no subtlety. There is not much in the way of texture either. Lyrics were merely a sorry excuse for screaming something. One of my good friends is into it. He told me it was about the feeling. Perhaps. I guess. Hmm. Hee. Haw. I didn't get any feeling except, I need to listen to some good music fast!

I used to be a bit chuffed about it. Silly. I know. It was the whole 'if other people can, why can't I get it?' sort of thing. But I've come to terms with it. I'm not too bothered about the fact that it's harder to get into heavy metal as opposed to say someone like Britney Spears (she's got great producers) or Mariah Carey (she's got talent for the pop song and massive tits, so she must be ... oh sorry and a great voice, so she's got the goods) or even Take That (you gotta like 'Pray' at least). And I'm not bothered that you may catch me lip synching and doing those backstreet moves too or that I can't play as far as those really heavy metal bastards. And you know what? I've reached a certain measure of confidence in my tastes and appreciation of music that I am now able to say with utmost confidence that I abhor really heavy metal and if it is to be classified as music then it should be thrown into the category of burping and farting, because it sounds little better than that.

The unintended effects of the technological revolution

Technology makes the difficult convenient. And then makes the convenient effortless. To the point it becomes shameful. Allow me to illustrate for you what I mean, let's take my Ipod (Classic, 160GB if ya has to knowtz), Teri. Now, Teri tells me she has 9576 items on her at the moment which guarantees me 59.5 days straight worth of entertainment. There is going to be virtually no repeat of any of that entertainment either. And all that takes up a mere 46GB off Teri (which means I've got another 120GB of entertainment goodness to go!). She's hardly breaking a sweat! Just look at her. Still looking, all slim and sexy. mmm... I love it when she wears her skin tight outfit. Oh baby, who's your... uh, sorry about that. If you had your own Teri, you'd understand. Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, Teri has more ways than a real pro of of keeping me entertained. First there's what she's also renowned for - it's music playing capabilities and podcasts. If that doesn't do it for you, she can play movies and video for ya know on her bigger bust. She's built for widescreen too. So damn considerate Apple is. And if all that is just too much for you, there's also photos storing and viewing capabilities. You can also hook her up to an AV system and have her do a full blown presentation on a wall. And if you like to fondle your Teri a lot you can also play the games they give as courtesy like: iPod Quiz, Klondike , and Vortax.Okay, I know it sounds like I'm trying to pimp my Teri but that ain't it. Na'ah. Not my baby!

But the point I'm trying to make here is the numerous ways this gadget can keep us occupied by entertaining us visually and aurally. And you can take her any where. Even your mama won't mind. And when I mean anywhere. I mean, I could now do all these things while I'm taking a shit, or discreetly when I'm in the middle of a boring family dinner (okay your mama may mind on this one), or when perhaps I'm lying down in the back of a car or in the middle of the jungle (if your battery lasts).

Now any 'loose' time can be entertained. You shall never be bored. You shall never be without opportunity to occupy yourself. Entertainment is a click away. As long as the battery lasts, anyway. And now more and more phones are being able to do this. My Mobile/PDA Phone can do all this. I can play a movie off Teri's SD Card. Some cars ICE (that's In-Car Entertainment) can do that too. In the future maybe you could play it off your stomach or your girlfriend's arse (if it's large enough). Can you just imagine how far we've come from the past when we used to live in caves, draw pictures of hunters and mammoths on its walls, shit at a big tree 20 meters from our cave and make stone flints? Damn far! If you think it's not far enough hand me that 3000 word essay of yours. What I'd really like to know though is what they must think of us, if they could comprehend us.

Other thoughts on Love

Some people think that it is enough to be in love with someone and for that someone to love us back. That finding someone to love is the hard part. That once you have achieved that the rest is supposed to take care of itself. That the intensity of love for each other is the most important. That its riding into the sunset from there on. As with all things that are supposed, it is not like that.

A very important component left out of the common idea of love is learning and understanding how to love someone. Each person has a unique way they need to be loved. Some need to be seized by their lover and die in their arms. Some need to be teased playfully. Some need to feel the heat of jealousy. Some need to be in complete agreement. Some find contentment with a peck on the cheek once a day.

Whatever that way be, you must find it. Your love depends on it. Once you have found it, possess it and walk upon it so often until it is only you that travels upon it. On doing this would you would be able to discover, identify and turn out any brigands upon it. If you do not find their way of love, then your love will not be able to reach your lover's heart. Your impoverished lover would be damned to only seeing your love as if through a bulletproofed window, unable to feel its heat, from the outside looking in.

Of Sex Objects

Betty Paige
World Renowned Sex Object

There are some women that vent about how derogatory it is for women to be treated as sex objects. I have for some time found this terribly annoying and am hereby submitting my riposte. Now a distinction needs first be drawn between a 'sex object' and 'an object for sex'. These are 2 different things. The latter is generally comprised of those offering sexual services either voluntarily or as a result of duress. They transform themselves into an object to be used for the sexual pleasure of others, to which their own sexual pleasure is of no consequence. A sex object is often mistaken for an object for sex. So what then is a sex object? It is someone who is able to symbolize not just sex but sexuality and sexiness.

Though a person often has to be beautiful/handsome or cum-in-your-pants HAWT, this singular feature does not a sex object make. More is necessarily required. I've seen lots of nova hot but clueless cardboard women. These women are lacking an important quality: sensuality (say it with me now), which intensifies, deepens, broadens, and infuses one's natural beauty (being what it is, not necessarily CIYPH) with sexuality. Just so you get an idea of what I'm talking about, go find some plants that have not yet been watered (better yet find a garden). Now ejaculate water on to it and take a hard look at it again. Do you see how fresh it looks? Do you notice how it looks almost horny as it drips with fresh cool water on its tender leaves? Do you see how the branches and trunk glisten in the sunlight, as if cleansed and ready for some action? If you don't you shouldn't be reading this. Go back and sleep with your parents you waste of carbon material. And if you do, that's what I'm talking about.

And in that sensuality is firmness to the softness, there is a familiarity at once both intensely familiar and intimate and yet at the same time distant and cool, there is an innocence to her coquettishness, there is a lover's touch in each social or friendly physical interaction, there is provocation of your fantasies as much as it forces you to suppress it, there is maturity and confidence as there is ignorance and reticence. Sensuality can be honed or refined but one must first possess it. Yet it is uncommon and even those that possess it often know little about how to develop it. It is a condemnation of our culture and society that there is now so little sensuality and too much sex. The difference can be illustrated thus: a striptease is sensuality, whipping off your clothes as if jumping into a river to save someone's life is sex. And there is just too many people jumping into the river. The problem is that they ain't saving anybody!

And because women who are able to combine raw beauty with refined sensuality are so uncommon, they should be celebrated and be offered a spot in Playboy instead of being dissed by their own sex. I mean let's face it, how many of us reading here have really come across a sex object or has ever been described as one? (If you are a sex object reading this, please email me immediately) If somebody told me I was a sex object, I'd reply thank you, ma'am/miss, but if it's a he then it'll be no thank you, sir (with nasty look). And then I'd immediately tell all my friends about it but will in all probability be laughed at by them and be accused as being delusional and making the whole thing up (I didn't you bastards!). So object not to the sex object. Because when you do you make an object out of u and me.

Pre-Marital Sex

Note: All puns are intended unless notified otherwise. Definition: Navel Gazing categorizes 'sex' as the complete act of copulation until ejaculation (whether premature or mature) or orgasm (multiple or otherwise). So even if there's a whole lot of bed shaking but no crash, we won't count it (even though we'd be quite happy to watch or assist in the video recording). It also does not include foreplay no matter how heavy such as blow jobs, cunnilingus and any form of masturbation,(mutual or otherwise).

Every now and again some unsuspecting fool will ask me, 'Do you believe in pre-marital sex?' I always wonder about such people. Were they dropped on their head when they were young? I tell them, 'I don't just believe in it, I pray feverishly for it (optional: you stupid fool!)'.

Why they use the word 'believe' never ceases to baffle me. And what is there to 'believe' about pre-marital sex? It happens. It happens a lot. As it should. Except to people who want it most. ... And you know what, it's probably happening all over the world in all sorts of funky places as you are reading this - in some nearby secondary jungle, in some filthy public toilet, in the backseat of a car, on the bosses' office desk, at the 7th floor of an internal fire escape of a building. Not that I would know but those 3gp video clips that get passed around sure help verify this (so thank you all of you selfless exhibitionists in Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Singapore, and occasionally the Middle East)! And that's just counting the humans.

Don't forget animals always have pre-marital sex because there's nobody to marry those poor godless things. Bloody sinful heathens that they are! It's bad enough that as compared to humans they are naked most of the time or have their pubes cover their whole body and can have a riotous bout of sex in public without having to worry about on lookers or the local state religious departments raiding them. So that they get lots of pre-marital sex (granted its the only kind) is quite unfair and smells like the big H putting one over us humans. Sure we get opposable thumbs and big brains but hey, them animals get only pre-marital sex (which I understand from my assiduous analysis of voluminous literature both fiction and non-fiction about this category of sex is the best of its kind as opposed to virgin sex [homosexual or heterosexual], post-marital sex and lousy sex). That's probably the only reason why the big H made animals incomprehensible to us because they would be lording it all over us. I mean, that's why birds sing, hyenas laugh, horses' neigh and cows moo. They're gloating. If we had lots of that, we'd be doing a lot more singing, laughing, neighing and uh... mooing.

If I could enact legislation as easily as I could some really kinky sex fantasy and then pass it as easily as I answer Nature's routine call, you would by now be governed by the Compulsory Pre-Marital Sex Act 2008. This sexcellent Act would require all couples seeking to be married to have sex about 4 weeks before their marriage registration or nikah date with their intended lifelong partner. You could do it with someone else but complications are very likely to arise.

The first 2 weeks is to be spent having lots of sex in as many ways they can think of. The remaining 2 weeks is for the couple to decide whether to go through with their mutual lifelong commitment. If they are virgins that is. If they are not then the first 2 weeks is an encouraged option, unless of course they had already boned their brains out earlier in their courtship. Then only the first week is compulsory. Both are then to fill in a form setting out what they enjoyed, what they want more of, what other positions they want to try, which public places they would like to enact those fonky positions and any suggestions on equipment which will have to thereafter be affirmed before a Commissioner of Oaths. That's right - statutory declarations will be compulsory and must be submitted to the newly formed Ministry of Sexual Pleasure and Sexuality, which I fully expected to be appointed as both First and Second Minister.

The reason for this very pressing Act is to firstly establish sexual affinity between the couple. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to marry this hot hoochie mama only to discover that she likes eating the carpet after she takes one look at your lamp (and lamp shade, where applicable). Or once your clothes are off, she realizes that she actually likes guys with lots of hair, especially on their back or ass (the disgusting bastards!). Or that she dislikes the smell of your body odour around your privies and needs to wear a gas mask to give you the Australian kiss. Or that he screams excitedly, 'I won! I won!' when he comes 2 minutes after he sticks in her. Loser.

Secondly, it is to ensure sexual compatibility in terms of performance and interests. Sure you may have the affinity but do you want to do the same things, the same positions? I mean, if you like only straightforward missionary sex (you uncreative bastard!) and she can only get going when you have a 12" spiked dildo up your ass, you got a problem. How big the problem is depends entirely on size of dildo and how roughly she manipulates it. Or perhaps she may have this awful habit of pulling out her magazine to read while you're 3 minutes in. It's not uncommon okay! The trouble with modern women is everything is a job and sex is their 5 minute power nap break. So you definitely wanna check this stuff out lest you be prepping for your bout of sexual dalliance by arranging the magazines on the bed. Loser.

Thirdly but not the least important, is to gauge your future partner's sexual desire not just for you but for sex as well. I know for a fact that there are a race of people walking the earth that have no interest in sex whatsoever. Though they may indulge in it 3 or 4 times in their life time, they could quite comfortably and calmly do without it. They sound human, they look human, hell they even eat what we do but don't be fooled my friend. Don't be fooled for a second.

They are fucking aliens. Only aliens don't like sex and well filmed and acted porn. And no they are probably not from Uranus (you immature bastard!). You don't want to tie the knot only to realize you've got to tie up your space shuttle as well. That first 2 weeks (or week depending on which is applicable to you) is therefore very important. These aliens may fool us for the 1st week but their alien inhibition cannot hold out that long provided inflict awesome bouts of fornication upon them. I know this because Pentagon knows this and have yet to declassify the documents on alien visitation but watch out for it in 2024.

Now that you know why you need me to be Prime Minister of Malaysia, please vote wisely in the next elections. I'll be in one of those independent parties with a strong sexual policy for government. So now go out there and register to vote and convert some of them aliens. They're taking over the world as we know it. And if you're an alien reading this, do us all a favour - go fuck yourself.

Some thoughts on Love

Love is the emotional sun of a human being. Like plants, we creep, we crawl, we bend, we twist to seek its rays, to feel its warmth. Until we receive enough to radiate our own glow and so be able to see and bask in the glow of others. It is the sun that can make fertile the barest patch of the heart's soil and make the smallest seedling become a tall and mighty oak of trust and love.

Without it, we wither, we wilt. Without it, the soil of our heart slowly becomes acidic. The taste of life's bitterness envelopes our tongue and then consumes the rest of our body. Without it, we turn upon ourselves, inflicting ourselves with loathing, regret and helplessness, scarring our heart so the pain blocks out that taste. Feeling something is better than wanting to give without having anybody to receive. And once we have so completely and thoroughly despised ourselves, our darkness shall escape into the world.

Well, Fried Kuey Teow

That was my lunch yesterday and the topic of today's discussion. It is also an exemplary picture of a well fried Fried Kuey Teow (WFKT, fer short). It is theoretically not difficult to produce WKFT.

Firstly, you need a roaring flaming fire, the type that flicks and leaps threateningly into the trembling air. If it doesn't roar, it ain't hot enough.

Secondly, you need an old regularly used big ass beat up wok to do the cooking. It's got to be large enough that if you wore it on your head upside down, the edges should reach your chin. If it reaches any lower, you're Einstein and Bob's your uncle. The more used it is the better because that means some of the goodness from earlier fry ups that didn't get dished out with it might come unstuck in yours. Yeaaahahaha. You sometimes see those black flecks or odd shaped thin black slices in there? That's the good stuff. Now the most important part about the wok is that it must be fwoking hwok! If it ain't fwoking hwok, it ain't fwok.

Thirdly, you need a big assed scarred and mean looking stainless steel spatula. You don't need to know why. If you don't have this then please go home and place it carefully where the sun doesn't shine. And yes, I mean the drawer. Sheesh. Like grow up people.

Fourthly, ideally it would be great if the kuey teow is made by virgins from China with the most gentlest hands, long hair and big breasts dressed in red cheong sams with high slits on the sides because those are the best. If you can't get then eat lah what you can. Try and by them fresh as you can. Don't buy the preserved one. It's bad for our health and for men it can cause koro.

Fifth, you need to have the freshest eggs (free range), huge prawns (cos they shrink a whole lot), fat and juicy kerang, thin slices of squid (no janggut please, so tak kelassss ), small cuts of red snapper, scallop, New Zealand flown muscles, a bit of lala ready to be thrown into the mix and also have a bit of some barbecued marinated salmon and crayfish on the grill plate. Throw in some green onions, chopped garlic, soy sauce, and a bi' a chili paste to the fwoking hwok wok.

Sixthly, you need to have the passionate cooking face where you make all sorts of 'meaningful' facial contortions to reflect the passionate drama of the fusing of the ingredients as you, with feeling of course, crash the spatula noisily against fwoking hwok wok (it's rather annoying isn't it?).

Voi-fookin'-la.

You may by now have noticed that I said not one word about the tau geh. This is deliberate. And this is a little known fact but a WFKT should not have tau geh. It should be bereft of this monstrous culinary weed because it is so high in water content that it tends to dilute the good and delicious taste of a WKFT. This is because the good taste molecules easily bonds with water molecules especially those kept in tau geh and seeps out of the WFKT. That is why when WKFT is fried with tau geh, it always tastes weaker or less intense. Try it without the tau geh. You will find the taste is more potent, imagine the muscles on the shoulders of a huge male bull those that die in the bullfighting ring - it's something like that. Powerful. Raw. Tasty.

Well, Well Fried Kuey Teow.

Get the hell out of here now and get some.

6 reasons why I do not like to refuel my car

I wish my car can refuel automatically.

Imagine how much time you can save when you don't have to go to the petrol station to refuel your car. I really hate going to petrol stations.

First, I have to allocate some time to go to petrol stations for refuelling purposes. My car usually becomes dry at the most inappropriate time, when I am busy, sleepy, tired, rushing to go to work, catch a movie, appointments, dates etc etc and at the most inappropriate place, which is a place where the closest petrol station is more than 1km away. For instance, there are no petrol stations on the way from Pantai Dalam to KL. Sure I can always make a turning to Bangsar but I want something along the way and not when I am almost in KL, at a petrol station near Menara Tan & Tan, wishing helplessly that my car will not go dead on me!

Second, these stations are normally out of the way from both my house and office. It was okay before because there were three petrol stations before I reached my house. Now, if I wanted to refuel after work, I might as well wait until the next day. There are no petrol stations at the new KL-Putrajaya highway and NPE. When I get home, no petrol stations either! I have to turn all the way to the road on the way to my house and straight ahead for the far away U-turn. That's a waste of fuel!

Third, I do not like the smell of petrol and somehow every time I refuelled, the smells linger for about half and hour or so. The only way to let out the smell is to wind down my car windows but that will opened me up to other dangers, the mat rempit might grab my handbag or molest me! OK, the odds of that happening are small but winding the car windows may invite other forms of nuisance inside the car like smoke and heat.

Fourth, I have to walk to the main to pay for my petrol. Sure I can pay by credit card but I have made a point that I shall not pay by credit card. Credit cards are for shopping and other emergencies. Some petrol stations have attendants at the island where you can pay to them without walking the 1 minute walk to the main. Hm.. okay lah this is alright, at least I don't have to sweat myself by walking to main just to pay for my petrol.

Fifth, after I finished refuelling, I have to drive out from the petrol stations and they are usually located at busy roads and I find it difficult to get out. Besides, the moment I refuel, I have this feeling that I am letting other cars that were behind me go ahead. I feel like at the moment I am back on the road, I have to start all over again.

Sixth, is what I hate the most because after the fifth day of my last refuelling, I have to go to the petrol station again for refuelling. I did a quick research on fuels. If I bought the more expensive fuel and not speed, it could last me for 7 days if I do not go anywhere else besides my office. The normal petrol will last about 5 days, if I decided to gallivant, it would last for 3 days. If I decided to go home to JB, I have to refuel twice ,once before I hit the highway and another when I want to drive around JB. The amazing thing about JB is that I need not refuel for 8 to 9 days because everywhere is so near.

I am just lazy and it will be nice to have someone who can refuel my car and maintain it for me. I just want to drive.

Courier

The Courier. It's a classic. Everybody would have seen it. How could they not? IBM commissioned in the 1950s for use in its typewriters it rapidly spread to become the de facto standard for typewriters. So naturally it's a standard on even the most basic word processors. It's up there with the greats - Arial and Times New Roman.

But I hate it. I used to like it when I actually typed on typewriters but not these days. It's fat, takes up a lot of space, awfully square and fearsomely predictable. And not just I think so. The US State Department changed its standard typeface from 12 point Courier New to 14 point Times New Roman citing the desire for a more modern and legible font. Yeah, Yeah. The Americans get an A plus for giving some formal bullshit for a straightforward and simple answer.
Basically, it's ugly.

Demanding the Apology

You may sometimes read in the news about how A said something or implied something not so n nice about B, who then predictably gets quite upset, exaggerate his 'hurt' and then lashes out with demands for an apology. If none is immediately forthcoming, then for days the media will focus on the issue of whether an apology will be tendered. If there is a swell of public agreement which finds genuine expression in the local media, an 'apology' will finally be issued. I use inverted commas because that 'apology' is really a 'I'm sorry you feel that way' apology which always seems to imbue the user with the sense of cleverness, as if they managed to get away with something. It seems all rather predictable when one is on the other end of it and the officious bystander. And usually the manner in which it is delivered hints at no internal acceptance of his culpability and regret, its' insincerity is complete. Usually A and B are politicians and equally detestable. And the issue in question tends to be quite trivial. A complete and utter waste of everybody's time.

In that whole scenario, what I wish to hone in on is our national obsession for apologies. I am trying to understand why most of our politicians are so obsessed with this. Let's use a scenario. A says, 'B is silly.' B claims hurt and immediately demands an apology. This is the crucial point. What does B claim to get now that he demands an apology? Any apology now no matter how heartfelt and eloquently expressed will seem insincere because the demand has already been made. There is no closure without sincerity from A and acceptance by B. So what purpose could it serve? I really don't know. The other issue I wonder about is why B makes an immediate demand. I think it rather counterproductive because no time and space is given to A to reflect and perhaps come to genuinely regret his actions and expresses so. And surely the latter is the sort of apology that is preferred.

And a genuine apology must have sincerity in action not in words. That means there is two components to the apology - the words itself and then supported by the action or inaction (or abiding by the inaction) as the case maybe. There cannot be a genuine apology unless both are present.