subterranean

2012-01-21T10:49:00.001+08:00

R.I.P. Etta James.
"It's A Man's Man's Man's World"

2011-12-09T00:54:00.001+08:00

Dec. 8: John Lennon Shot, Killed 1980"A working class hero is something to be"

precious

2011-11-23T14:12:00.004+08:00

Hi
I went for year one selection yesterday. 'Teacher' told me to do some underlining. It was difficult for me, because I did not go to pre-school. My dad doesn't have a job. My mother has just been retrenched and is looking for a job to support me and my sisters. Why is this blogger writing about me?

2011-09-27T19:18:00.002+08:00

I think it was actually a nice movie. It made me want to go to SPR and finally register to vote. But they took it off, and I'm still a non-voter.

Letter from Scott

2010-05-11T19:38:00.001+08:00

Dear franknice2010,

Hi-sir, my names Scott & Im Rochelles frend for over 25 yrs & room-mate. Trying to let her customers know shes in hospace care now after her hospitol stay where they found cancer in her liver recently. No one sespected this lest of all her-but its the bad kind of cancer & they didnt get it all even tho they tryed, plus she had complacations after surgury. No one knows even if shes gonna live or die right now and I dont know how if or how to save Ebay for her ether! Do you know what Im suposed to do? Look I do know 1 thing-she would be real mad plus real sad to see all the hard work on her sight here going down the drane. If theres any way you could hold off on giving her bad stuff to deal with I know shell do all she can to make things right whenever she is able to-I know that dosent give you much to go on but you seem like a real nice persen. All I know is nether one of us ever thought this was even a chance of hapening, espesialy since she just lost her husband Rick a few mos ago. She loves Ebay & the poeple she meets here-she would never do anything to hurt anyone on purpose, EVER! I just need to figure out how to fix it best I can for her now. And hope for the best you know? She was trying to keep everyone up to date-but never new herself what was gonna happen. Man I hate this. Wright me back here if you want. Im real sorry about this and beleve me so is she. My best frend in the world, she is-I cant get over all this to.

Scott

- my_rochelle

2010-05-05T10:08:00.002+08:00

Personal effects

I live ... again

2009-09-10T00:50:00.004+08:00

resurrection |ˌrezəˈrek sh ən|nounthe action or fact of resurrecting or being resurrected : the story of the resurrection of Osiris.• ( the Resurrection) (in Christian belief) Christ's rising from the dead.• ( the Resurrection) (in Christian belief) the rising of the dead at the Last Judgment.• the revitalization or revival of something : the resurrection of the country under a charismatic leader | resurrections of long-forgotten scandals.ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French, from late Latin resurrectio(n-), from the verb resurgere ‘rise again’ (see resurgent ).

2009-08-20T09:36:00.003+08:00

death |deθ|nounthe action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism : I don't believe in life after death | [as adj. ] a death sentence.• an instance of a person or an animal dying : there's been a death in his family.• the state of being dead : even in death, she was beautiful.• the permanent ending of vital processes in a cell or tissue.• ( Death) [in sing. ] the personification of the power that destroys life, often represented in artand literature as a skeleton or an old man holding a scythe.• [in sing. ] figurative the destruction or permanent end of something : the death of her hopes.• figurative informal a damaging or destructive state of affairs : to be driven to a dance by one's fatherwould be social death.

a hundred days

2009-07-11T21:45:00.002+08:00

a hundred days of eczema

eczema |ˈegzəmə; ˈeksə-; igˈzēmə|
noun
a medical condition in which patches of skin become rough and inflamed, with blisters that cause itching and bleeding, sometimes resulting from a reaction to irritation (eczematous dermatitis) but more typically having no obvious external cause.

the bridge on the drina

2009-06-22T05:41:00.003+08:00

"Now they could clearly be heard singing in the market-place. If only he had been able to breathe in more air, if only the road were less steep, if only he were able to reach home, lie down on his divan and see and hear someone of his own about him! That was all that he wanted now. But he could not. He could no longer maintain that fine balance between his breathing and his heartbeats; his heart had now completely stifled his breath, as had sometimes happened to him in dreams.Only from this dream there was no awakening to bring relief. He opened his mouth wide and felt his eyes bulging in his head. The slope which until then had been growing steeper and steeper was now quite close to his face. His whole field of vision was filled by that dry, rough road which became darkness and enveloped him.
On that slope which led upwards to Medjan lay Alihodja and breathed out his life in short gasps."

pg 314 -The Bridge On The Drina by Ivo Andric (1892-1975), © 1977 The University of Chicago Press, translated from the Serbo-Croat by Lovett F. Edwards

2009-04-02T22:25:00.000+08:00

2009-04-02T14:02:00.000+08:00

2009-03-27T04:30:00.003+08:00

cancelled going to artloft's opening of show by zallie, eddie, zaim, suzlee, hasni, patrick ets. had a bad case of the itches.
started on the two-horned one at around 4 a.m.

2009-03-22T20:04:00.000+08:00

panic

2009-03-12T15:13:00.002+08:00

my electricity bill for the month is rm202.20. for the month before it was rm194.20. not surprising since my working hours are at night (night time is the right time).
received sms from zabas: ".. our show at RA is brought forward to april 6 ..." what can i say? you do what you must do, and you do it well ...

delightful city of cats and dogs

2008-11-24T03:34:00.003+08:00

haha. managed to catch (?) the exhibition 2 days before it officially closed. i think jaja, roslee and donald's works are truly really delightful, captivating, raw, honest, great .. etc. funky, even. like looking at works before the word "pretentious" somehow found its way into the galleries and annihilated the kingdom of art.

short

2008-11-04T09:00:00.002+08:00

didn't make it to wayang uwei dlm seni tampak launching at finas uk the other day zallie was in jb and no taxi wanted to go to uk so it was back to starcraft and fiddling with the busted reciever saw it on tv this morning what 12 artists? glad i'm not involved hope R A is still on this morning if not well ...

2008-10-18T04:15:00.002+08:00

i'm almost certain i killed singam. or it could've been qumqum. i'm quite certain i stabbed one of them with the kitchen knife after being cornered into the drying area, seconds before waking up to the isya' azan. the surviving djinn must've knocked my head later on, for it was only then did i realize that a painting that does not tell anything is just that - a dumb surface of pigment. and so instead of ascribing a long narrative title to any work, i might as well insert the caption as part of the work.
now all i need to do is shake off this post-raya zombiedom ...

not enough sleep

2008-09-12T10:17:00.002+08:00

muffins. freshly baked. hundreds. thousands even. rows and rows of tables. but none on MY table. "over here!" i almost scream to the nearest waitress serving those most delicious things in the universe.
obviously, the feast was for other people.
so i awake with a slight headache and vow to myself: today i shall go to kenny rogers and demand they hand over my muffins! banana, chocolate, i don't care.

donuts

2008-09-01T03:55:00.004+08:00

1st day of ramadhan. had 2 donuts for sahur after taking photos of them for reference (meaning i want to copy those pictures). lousy looking donuts. when i told the donut guy to mix six, i didn't expect him to be so monochromatic in his choices. the girl from last week presented a more colorful selection - pink, orange, brown, yellow even. never mind. no need to copy. must complete 2 paintings each week.
mr. tom hodgkinson, please be informed that i am not free. i may have chosen early retirement to remove my free spirit from the shackles of the education-publishing system, yet jabba the hut comes again in the form of the art gallery. i want my works to be shown, right? right.

Mr. Choong

2008-08-13T19:28:00.003+08:00

dr. choong kam kow's work entitled fit for life 7 (taiji) tagged at rm 55000.00. i studied figure painting from choong (he doesn't remember me anymore) during the pre-student demonstration years of the mid-70s. being unable to replace my broken glasses due to lack of money, i had a terrible time in his class. he was a good teacher and dedicated artist, but it was later on in my life that i actually "learned" to trace the human figure from a photograph, following in the footsteps of a fellow illustrator who had deadlines to meet. i've never looked back since.

euphoria

2008-08-11T20:28:00.003+08:00

we cannot all be as great as zakii, but it's nice to see that they decided to paste a little matching red dot next to my red painting.

080808

2008-08-08T22:04:00.003+08:00

sirin and fini got married today. i was unable to witness the akad nikah and had to head back home after more than 2 hours of watching overloaded trains stop and move on. i just couldn't get on the train. trust some people to forget to build enough trains.

ahmad zakii anwar: face to face

2008-07-19T20:48:00.008+08:00

DISCLOSURE - an exhibition by ahmad zakii anwar held by galeri petronas, curated by anurendra jegadeva (j. anu), launched on 15th july 2008 and, believe it or not, i was there. i was also at the generally quiet event a few days later when journalist eddin khoo introduced us to zakii's works, and the person himself. trust zakii to talk about his creative process, instead of giving us a classroom lecture on picture-making. the fine art people who arttended, were really looking forward to a rap session on formalistic issues relating to (or not) zakii's collection of labour of more than 100 pieces of hand-created images. and i secretly suspect they were generally disappointed, not being able to tell us what was wrong with zakii's works, him coming from that strange world of graphic design, advertising and illustration.
me, i'm unashamedly an ahmad zakii cult follower, having seen and followed his exhibitions (including group shows with jalaini, nazri, chief, zallie) whenever i am presented with the chance. they inspire me because these artists are among those that i know who constantly create without fear, and my thirty years of giving people what they want has actually artfected me with a deep respect for true talent. zakii may have touched on social and political issues here and there, but only as a casual observer, not taking sides, staying aloof and apparently unbiased, never losing focus upon his works. like the true visual exponent, he is thoroughly stimulated by images and their components. his works may seem to represent illustration at first, yet those of us who choose to believe that, pretend not to be reminded that those pieces no longer rest on instructional paragraphs of written briefs served in honor of utilitarian false demigods. and i wonder what ghazali would have had to say regarding badrul putting forward a question to which he already knew the answer. trust me, i don't know the answer.
"if you want to shoot, shoot. don't talk" - from a famous spaghetti western.

not

2008-06-11T14:47:00.005+08:00

it was a totally euphoric feeling. something i hadn't had for at least some time. the new intel mac mini, upgraded with all the ram, speed, space, connectivity and looks i would ever want, was out with an unbelievably extreme affordable third world price tag of only myr160.00. i would go to the bank, punch out the pitiful remaining notes from this month's pension, rush over to zul's office in ampang point and demand that he hand over my new mac.
and so i stagger out of bed at 11.30 a.m, tighten my pelikat sarong knot lest i expose my withering wuthering appendage to jibrail who's surely hiding behind the fridge, head for the kitchen sink, reach out for the toothbrush, and

bad color

2008-05-23T07:40:00.004+08:00

according to some people, white, which is usually applied as a primary undercoat for paintings, is a 'bad color', associated with violence against teenage girls.

sarapan

2008-04-27T12:12:00.002+08:00

saturday morning my favourite indian restaurant i log in at my favourite table beneath speaker radio not too loud or distracting the friendly indian waiter approaches with perpetual smile capati satu, teh ais he nods goes away i drift towards my incomplete image of pig issues and soon to be traced outlines of in god we trust i'm sure i had more ideas somewhere if only i can recall where must be the 'getting old' factor excuses excuses my waiter returns bring me capati and TEH TARIK i must be a true artist nobody understands my work that must be it recognition.

my bad

2008-04-05T20:21:00.003+08:00

pictures at an exhibition.
almost didn't find the gallery. wouldn't have gone by myself. whom did you say is exhibiting? contemporary artists, matahati included. don't really know them. zakii maybe. even shukri. others? rafinearts is a homegallery somewhat like taksu, ôlˈbē-it more crowded. opening day. unfamiliar faces. young faces. the same question from my eyes: why can't they paint nicely? my own fault. chot i haven't seen in decades. mad anwar a few times. sani sudin? thangarajoo? jai? we were doing THOSE works back in 1974-75.

ok back to coloring my disaster.

the nightingale's excuse

2008-03-19T14:10:00.002+08:00

6 a.m.: note for project.
after countless googles and searches this past month, i find that the nightingale is an uninteresting-looking bird. though Attar may have given it a significant role in his illustration of chronic devotion of evanescent beauty, i fail to find for it a place in my limited gamut of decaying appreciation for the unfulfilled, wondrous, mysterious, funny?
abandon idea. draw something else, a voice from over my shoulder says.

rahime, this is your time

2008-03-12T18:37:00.003+08:00

it’s been more than 40 days since i played my pretend-to-be-artist game. this is terrible. i can’t sleep properly, i can’t stand all these movies any more and there’s no background music in my life. worse, i’m broke. i've rebooted onto a desktop with no software.

words recurring on the tube since the ‘tsunami’: diterjemahkan, rakyat, wakil, dan lain-lain, post-mortem, terkejut, muhasabah, janji, harga, polarisasi, melihat, (among others)
are artists represented? words like catan, karya, pelukis, seni lukis, berus, kanvas, pengajian seni tampak, kurikulum seni lukis, buku teks kbsr seni lukis, never made it.

meanwhile, dio is performing in the background NOW

Right now it seems
You're only dreams and shadows
If wishes could be
eagles how you'd fly

This is your life
This is your time
What if the flame
won't last forever
This is your here
This is your now
Let it be magical

Rahime Harun passed away today in Melbourne.

thanks for helping me keep the spirit in more ways than all.

art, culture

2008-02-23T07:57:00.004+08:00

30 billion live lactobacillus casei shirota strain (from japan) entered my system. why would i want to allow such a thing? because the label says halal. and it's for "everybody, everyday". yakult ace.

i waaaaaaaaaant

2008-01-16T04:09:00.000+08:00

557 am memoir of a somewhat melancholy decrepitus, presented as a draft for a slight plot

2008-01-15T07:33:00.000+08:00

i wonder if she looks the same my right heel pronounces P_A_I_N as i limp down the slope of cracked cement i haven’t seen her in a long time it’s been raining i only managed 3 hrs continuous sleep in three days my head is bogged down still even after that quick shower and the opportunity to put my mangled hair in order yeah guess it’s nice-smelling armpits occasion one of very few i have no fond memories of her except for the edited imovie movies made during those years of not acknowledging the great age divide i no longer watch them i find bender more entertaining and full of love how can(?) she’s too young for you you’re expired the warung is a little crowded across the road sunday humans are getting their goods needed on a sunday at a sunday pasar malam which sells nothing in a real sense i sit next to and across facing her profile yes she still looks much the same albeit happier not radiant though first thing i complain to her about my right heel wanting the vibration of her voice to actually soothe the physical reminder instead the word klinik fills the fog that is blocking her face i remind myself of my stubbornness the pain will go away she’s returning the video camera with 2 recorded tapes one is for her cousin’s bertunang ceremony the other pokes little interest to me i only want to look at her face hear her voice and think about possibilities only a futurama robot might she breaks the news to me her sleight of hand is a “job” wedding invitation card design HER wedding she’s doing it in may it’s her way of fulfilling my request some years ago she says i realize this is no bollywood melodrama perhaps bender might have shown more emotion seems more like a poor fellini as i stoically become protective who is this guy(?) does he love her(?) does she love him(?) she doesn’t speak of love putting the blame on her mother’s insistence she’s 33 he’s 32 her kid will go to year one when she’s 40 i say 40 is a nice age for a woman as Nigella Lucy Lawson (born January 6, 1960) drifts across my mind like an rss feed i’m trying to appear calm and uninterested instead i ask more about him does he smoke(?) has he ever hit her(?) does he have a job(?) where will they live(?) has he ever married before(?) as an alternative to screaming out my perceived agony i give her a lecture on the virtues of good graphic design and printing a short spell of silence as an angel passes by i reach out across and my palms examine the set of keys beside her handbag nice i say as i absorb the feeling of metal and rubber THIS is her criteria i muse to myself this is no cooper s 11 am something mild to help me sleep i tell the doctor 319 am the phone is ringing i'm not getting up 544 am i read the sms saya baru habis pindah 711 am Teresa Salgueiro is singing Oxalá my wake up call i remove my black ipod from the bose sounddock to the multimedia system and turn the volume up 744 am my iburst terminal terminates connection as i try to upload my masterpiece of doubtful literary luminance obviously it can't take much more of this grouching i say shit as i press the restart button

2 am after teh tarik with zallie he reminds me At 21, Gilot met Picasso (then 61) and would ultimately raise both their children: Claude and Paloma (wikipedia) i say i look forward to the day as bender laughs out his cigar into the night air

signal

2008-01-11T21:27:00.000+08:00

it's all about the connection

ascension

2008-01-03T00:48:00.000+08:00

i'm very tired nowadays, spending more sleepless nights than before. don't misunderstand. i still haven't completed a single painting. a new year's day visit to yusof's art lot in cm left me very discouraged actually. i'm tempted to abandon painting altogether and seriously embrace the one true religion of idleness. call it ascension.

why didn't i get streamyx? when i was really desperate, i tried once at a tmpoint nearby, but my presumptions regarding and prejudices toward a certain species of beings were very easily confirmed upon meeting a real live streamyx tmnet telekom-type person, which made me try to get back to jaring. however they couldn't get me a port even after the merdeka offers ended. so i was left to resort to ezynet, that dial-up service that came with my phone line. too expensive. toooo slooow.
and then there was this service. looked much the same as the other mobile wlreless broadband offers, but my non-technical mind was captured by 2 letters: RF.

setting it up was kacang easy, although the reseller guy shook his head when i told him i was using a mac. and that was when sleep became non-obligatory. placing the modem on my desk next to my old faithful gave a signal status of less than 40. placing the modem by the window prompted some improvement of sorts, but i was constantly irritated by repeated messages of terminated signal, and i had to unplug and plug back in the modem to re-establish a connection. my imagination was that these radio frequencies were like mutated uninterested flies ignoring a carcass. especially when i'm doing what i usually do (dowloading .. games). yes, i could have called customer service, but common knowledge states that the buduh-sombong survives by being buduh-sombong, learning the hard way.

finally my iburst modem with extended antenna, stays in place by the clothes-line in a very low-tech manner, calling out to those naughty, evasive radio waves.

so, did i learn anything? no, nothing about technology, nothing about myself, nothing about painting.

nordin

2007-12-18T02:10:00.000+08:00

knocked down by a taxi while on his way to work yesterday morning. broken collarbone, smashed laptop. ended up in ampang putri, pending surgery. he was still in his work clothes when we visited him. he still remembers makram and mujahid. get well soon.

The Muse

2007-12-15T23:25:00.000+08:00

How long is the gap between idea and the first sketch? How much time between germination and the appearance of a seedling (to quote somebody else’s words)? For me it is a lifetime (provided of course that my life doesn’t end in the next few minutes or even some time next year). I have only one partly damaged painting left. The rest are either incomplete or have been destroyed and thrown away over the years because (because why? Call it an irrational urge to create AND destroy). I remember slicing to strips Presence and Touch, giving away Dawn, defacing and throwing away countless others, some just for the simple reason that someone had seen them before they were completed.

I’m almost convinced that “my leaves have withered, my roots have rotted”. Every day I look at unfinished works, unresolved pictures. Did my muse wave her final goodbye, disconnecting with no departing sms? (..you've known it all the time, i'm learning it these days..)

Real magic is needed here.

John Lennon

2007-12-08T10:19:00.000+08:00

John Winston Lennon
Born 9 October 1940(1940-10-09)
Liverpool, England
Murdered 8 December 1980 (aged 40)
New York City, New York, United States

Working Class Hero
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if your clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't fallow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for 20 odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and tv
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
(John Lennon)

comparisons

2007-12-05T11:02:00.000+08:00

it is 9.30 am and i'm in my painting room wondering why on earth did i waste rm600 for this slanted and flimsy easel that has a broken knob i used the vacuum cleaner yesterday looking at the dust and dirt collected no wonder i'm sneezing today didn't wake up at the usual 4 am this morning slept in instead woke terrified after promising to pay rm6k to hanif for damaging his car didn't apply the hand-brake wait a minute i don't have 6k even in a dream!
now ahmad zakii anwar or chong as we know him was a junior of one year in art school he was more presentable than i and unlike me was not rejected by the graphics dept i started to know him only years later after we were all in the jungle trying to earn livings i aspired to be a true artist in my life instead ended up receiving a monthly salary in the zoo i think it was the other way around for chong he was trained to be a designer and illustrator instead ended up in art world doing things WE were supposed to be doing who says illustration is the lowest form of art
zakii's works were recently sold by christie's HK i checked the website a piece oleg tambulilingan #4 went for USD28714.00 another one angkor 2 was USD54923.00 by the way we share the same birthdate his is one year later but that does not make me better or as good as he is
now why did i pay 600 for this easel?
a few days back a fellow retiree called from out of the ionosphere informing me that he had completed twenty paintings and is looking for a gallery to sell his works thought i was kidding when i told him i was still on my first piece these guys are using acrylics water mixable oil paints are still oils

not

2007-11-14T15:28:00.000+08:00

teresa salgueiro may be the voice of madredeus but obrigado and voce e eu are no madredeus
put away forget disregard ignore think of better things

"sitcoms in photoshop"

2007-11-10T14:47:00.000+08:00

will be a wet morning she’s all grown up with chewing gum and earpods brushed hair fat guy gets on places carcass between two girls who get up to find OTHER seats at first chance this is where I get off she doesn't

I am just in time to meet YEE I LANN they are pushing open the sliding glass doors she is womanhandling a macbook and an ibook with a non-functioning wacom tablet never use a laptop to show photoshop she says her working file is 5 gig++ with 200++layers rgb tiff she is all kadazan mix and all sabah-centric artist with something to say as long as it's about unending stretches of oil palm kinabalu kerbau finance ministry FIVE bobohizans left in the whole wide world she can’t use a mouse what else did I get 44 years of merdeka and the term siti nurhaliza mentality is perhaps derogatory?

each of her prints cost rm1200 to print she sells them rm9000 each she could get a brand new powerful Mac desktop why are works of art so depressing doesn’t humour belong anywhere in art there are only two old people in the audience one of them is me i don't get a chance to tell her i climbed kinabalu at age 48

elsewhere in the city 4000 police personnel have to tell their families they have to go to work today because many people do not wish to understand the word haram after all the tshirts and banners have been printed though from the news at 8 raincoats were not supplied demonstrations can influence change though not necessarily for the better did those non-issues in 75 improve my life i don't have another life to compare with the one i'm having right now maybe we need more open-air rock concerts for those who like to go out and let off steam in whatever name they prefer ENJOY people are dying from too many diseases nowadays to worry about whether your vote was counted or not instead of going out in the rain to get beaten sloshed with water cannon gassed with tears arrested guess they don't like photoshop why not have a pesta makan dance song music ART BUY MORE WORKS instead of those crazy misguided teachings make more artists into millionaires

elsewhere it is children's day one picture book coming up in 2008 if i don't ____up the dream of butterflies

many thanks yee i lann and petronas gallery
i still have to celebrate raya puasa though

Izzaudin's mother

2007-08-25T08:04:00.000+08:00

it was a cold black night. somewhere else, not here. here it was 32ºC. cold enough for me to try to get my life cycle back to boring normal. sleep in the day, work (play diablo) at night. watch movies in the day, sleep at night. after all this time, i’m actually getting to readjust, fighting off sleep the whole sunshine space, and going to bed at night. within those subdivided cubes that make up my low-priced house (which title i haven’t got still), all is silent. no tv. no music.
outside, a different story. it was school holidays and nobody was going to bed any time before midnight. they’re either making noise at the warungs, spending their pocket money, racing their bikes trying to die young, or they’re making noise inside their homes. even the calls to prayer sound like they’re trying to be in tune. perfect. and so i fall asleep, hoping to wake in the morning, like all normal people who are not vampires, in any simpsons episode.

that generic ring tone. not assigned to friends or family. it’s only 47 minutes past midnight. hallo? hallo, ini alang ke? sape ni? mak izzaudin. hah? salah nombor. ok.

right. boil the water. turn on the g4. play miles davis. eat the last remaining banana. make coffee. play starcraft expansion. no cure for the vampire yet, who is growing fat.

god bless you, izzaudin's mother, for giving me a call; though we may be strangers in the night, for strangers are better than no friends at all. ha.

um amor infinito

2007-07-19T06:05:00.000+08:00

©2004, 13 tracks on a copy controlled disc. but i can't listen to those on hotrats (my blk ipod). i had to replace the battery. ??? only managed to play video for 6 minutes before conking out. i'm not blaming technological underachievement here. i suspect the fault lies more on consumerism. my consumerism. well, back to the good old reliable cd/dvd player. meanwhile, i'm dreaming of this
play the flash demo!

more fado

2007-07-12T19:47:00.000+08:00

now i have cristina branco. tower records robbed me of only rm69.90 for that superb album. no food for 1 week.

from wikipedia:

"Fado (translated as destiny or fate) is a music genre which can be traced from the 1820s in Portugal, but probably with much earlier origins. It is characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea or the life of the poor. The music is usually linked to the Portuguese word saudade, a unique word with no accurate translation in any other language . (Home-sickness has an approximate meaning. It is a kind of longing, and conveys a complex mixture of mainly nostalgia, but also sadness, pain, happiness and love). Some enthusiasts claim that Fado's origins are a mixture of African slave rhythms with the traditional music of Portuguese sailors and Arabic influence."

such beautiful music. it came from a people who once set sail from across the world just to visit dear old melaka.

"berjalan mesti ke depan?"

2007-07-01T09:32:00.000+08:00

how to survive on a poor man's pension:
quit astro. after all, for about rm90 monthly, you only watch the simpsons, my family, seinfeld, al jazeera, and spongebob squarepants.
quit broadband. it's rm99 monthly, and a movie torrent takes longer than forever to download. go for narrowband. you won't go crazy because you'll know why it's slow ("... ooo, dial-up, no wonder...")
quit dinner. have only 1 meal per day. either have breakfast or lunch. you don't need the energy any more.
quit all forms of transport other than the bus.
don't go out.
stop calling friends just to let them know you're still alive. if you must talk, have a conversation with yourself, but don't let your neighbour's children hear you.
pretend to be content.
re-read stephen king.
re-read joe sacco.
don't buy drinking water. drink tap water. don't use a filter on your tap, beacuse you'll notice the dirt and rust, and want to buy drinking water instead.
stop using the washing machine. wash clothes manually, bachelor-style, one-rinse only, weekly.
bersyukur because you're not a cigarette addict.
stop buying those cds and books from amazon. they only make you want to buy more.
stop painting. if your paints finish, you'll have to go out and buy more. oil paints are too expensive. do monotone drawings instead.

so near

2007-06-12T16:30:00.000+08:00

from shamsul khalid:
"so, how many galleries do you own now?"
from syed nadzri:
"so, how many galleries do you own now?"
from ogee:
"so, how many paintings have you completed?"
from asmawi:
"what, one year to stretch canvas?" (he didn't ask how many canvases had been stretched.)
from azalan:
"how many many thousands of dollars are you going to sell your paintings for?"
from (ehem):
"why aren't you rich?"

off the mark

2007-05-30T00:17:00.000+08:00

lunchtime. you have to queue for your turn. this is so you get the false impression that you're getting it for free as your eyes do the feasting. when at last it is your turn, the friendly indian will ask you:
"apa taroh?"
"ayam", you say, pointing to the kurma.
and he starts to get the taugeh.

sin's a good man's brother

2007-05-19T02:50:00.000+08:00

i 'happened' to be in the premises of a famous local newspaper quite recently, and i suddenly thought (that rare occasion of gray matter-jiggling): hey, he works here! i haven't seen him in 35 years. i rarely read his columns, when i'm not too skint to indulge in the luxury of a real newspaper. maybe i was feeling weird and wanted a familiar friendly face, i don't know, but i went in anyway, and inquired if i may see my former schoolmate (only later it occured to me that i had entered an office in jeans, t-shirt & god's footwear). the receptionist was very nice and full of smiles as she told me to sit and wait. and so i sat (and waited).
less than a minute. yes, datuk will see you; he has a meeting in half an hour. he remembers me! me! (too much joe sacco there) and he's a datuk! i didn't know that - he used to smash drums back when i was screaming mark farner!
and there he was. same boyish, jovial face, pleasant voice, friendly, polite, and ... the crown of maturity.
it was a nice meeting for me at least. maybe i sat for 10 minutes and blurted out my life in that space, but that was enough. i had my whatever-fix, and i was okay for that moment. i hadn't had enough sleep this whole week, and i was constantly talking to myself, arguing, laughing at my own observations of absurdity, checking my wallet over and over again, saying hello to alia's unfinished painting, getting my room lights upgraded (can't make out those subtle gradations - titanium white, zinc white ...) recharging hotrats my blessed black ipod, watching seinfeld, the simpsons, spongebob squarepants, ripping music off dvds, making coffee ... killing baal?

in those days gone they would probabily have said;
relaxlah brother.

service

2007-05-17T02:28:00.000+08:00

after fruitless attempts at calling a certain agency recently, i had no choice but to conclude that:
there is no such thing as bad service; it's really no service.
the hotline is aptly named: the person on the other end is really tengah hot (fuming).

dress

2007-05-14T14:09:00.000+08:00

they had a dress code. you needed to wear a dress to attend the recent convention. and no sandals either. even if james caviezel did wear sandals. no excuse.

Redza Piyadasa

2007-05-07T21:03:00.000+08:00

"I'll remember you as the jagung man."

"They were against art that was retinal."

"What, you still need me to ketuk you?"

did he really tell us to balik kampung?

i don't think he seriously hated us. we were just too slow getting out of the box.
any way, piyadasa was my lecturer. so was joseph (deceased), phua (deceased), ismail zain (deceased), ahmad khalid (deceased).

i'm still learning to stretch canvas.

al-fatihah (as always).

the swinging amulet

2007-04-08T12:43:00.000+08:00

will this entry ever be written?

maulud

2007-03-31T10:28:00.000+08:00

it was his 53rd birthday. as he did the year before and the year before that, he drooled over his imaginary cake,
'mmmmm.... cake....'
after all, every one's entitled to a birthday, he thought.
never mind if nobody came to his birthday party. as ususl, he had forgotten to plan one. besides, they were mostly celebrating someone else's birthday today, that most important and greatest person who ever lived. it was on tv, rtm1, live. and it was also going on at the nearby surau. if they hadn't marhabbanned so loudly thru the p.a., he would still heve been in between the sheets. 'mmmm.... sheets ...' he mmmed.
waking up earlier than usual popped that question into his mind: what's for breakfast? nothing.
never mind, wait for lunch.

'thank you for letting me live for so long,' he mused, not really addressing anyone in particular. he was, after all, lost, all seasons.

nostalgic. not

2007-03-26T10:49:00.000+08:00

30 years is a long time. i finished my first month's pay in one short night at a pub at happy mansion pj. not that i was a big spender; my government salary was way much less than a college student's allowance nowadays. so how did i survive? living on friends, of course. mini-bus fare was only 40 sen, and office was walking distance from klang bus stand (20 minutes if i walked very fast). breakfast and lunch could be skipped, until the day i had to almost crawl to the bus stand due to gastric pain (which never really left me).
before punch card was implemented, attendance was recorded on a type of buku kira-kira. after 8 a.m. a red line would be drawn across the page and those arriving after that would have to fill in a late-comer form, stating reason(s), fantastic, banal or surreal. the person before you would never write down 8.00 a.m., clearly for the benefit of us late comers. after the entry for 7.58, a long line of us would be on the 7.59 mark. of course there were those unsporting types who couldn't wait to mark 8.00 a.m.

met rahime at a teh tarik binge binge some time last last week. in art school he did ide, and was a friend of my friend, that 'heathen' from sabah (he did not pretend to be christian the way i did not pretend to be muslim. to him we were all stupid malays/muslims and he had f---ed all the girl students in his dreams. he also went after my friend, my lecturer, and last i heard of him, his office barely escaped 9/11). now in no way am i saying he's a bad guy (the heathen).

for me rahime is just a casual friend (fact is, i only have casual friends) who used to be the director of the national art gallery. as a student i did not consider him to be in league with us pseudo-cool types, mainly me, me, my friend from sabah, my girlfriend, my guitarist friend, u-wei, and me one more time.
something happened which put me where i am today. those i consider responsible (besides my stupidity): one is no longer living, another is falling from grace, and the other one? he'll live longer than me.
now rahime. while we were struggling to get jobs, he took on a business course, and did art promotion. that was 30 years ago. he didn't learn etching like us fine artists did in college. he was, after all, ide. he was supposed to design chairs and tables or rockets or something. they wouldn't tell him where to get an etching press on account of it being 'rahsia kerajaan'. really. i for one, could not grab the opportunity to be what i wanted to be. and so there was almost no 'promotion' for me from rahime. but he did sell one or two for me, and of course, i'm thankful. not that i could have made 7 million like that artist recently (another story, some other time). come to think of it, no fine art graduates from our year became practising artists. so no shame there!
i suspect rahime is a millionaire now. me, i'm (in rahime's words) just rebooting. i only hope it's a warm restart, mac-style, in G-major, with no system errors.

Odyssey |ˈädəsē|

2007-03-24T19:02:00.000+08:00

homer simpson went to heaven and there he met God. after God showed him what was happening to his family, he asked God to put off doomsday in order that he may yet try to save them. God granted his wish and so homer returned to put things right. among other things, he observed that God was kind, merciful and wore sandals. it was uncertain whether they were Timberland or some other brand.

this depressed me a lot, and so today i went out, took a ride on the bus and then the lrt, looked at the strangers around me, had nasi kandar, bought three CDs, returned home and realized that i didn't turn off the aircon before, and watched Borat, not knowing whether to laugh or to.

thanx

2007-03-24T10:19:00.000+08:00

thank you God for creating stupidity

duh

2007-03-10T04:20:00.000+08:00

now i don't have brazil and jabberwocky. my friend just borrowed those.

uh

2007-03-10T04:17:00.000+08:00

now i have brazil and jabberwocky.

huh

2007-01-27T01:04:00.000+08:00

dec 2006 - jan 2007: repaired 1 cabinet. sorted out books. threw out 12 plastic karungs of books and almost entire collection of video cassettes. got rid of huge quantity of dvds belonging to the 'other' genre. only discovered that my G4 already has a line-in port. converted some vinyl tracks to itunes. converted some cassette tape tracks to digital. converted some movies from VHS to imovie, quicktime, itunes AND ipod-playable.
relocated 3 cabinets to dining area (no dining there). bought griffin's imic (for laughs), also bought creative's x-mod. now everything sounds different. also bought srs iwow online and shopped at amazon for madredeus' euforia, which miraculously arrived yesterday (i didn't get the 5 cds bought through ebay last year. hangus)
my pioneer sacd dvd audio/video player finally conked. throw away?

distress |disˈtres|

2006-12-18T15:58:00.000+08:00

rringg
1 pm. there it goes again. someone's stuck in the lift.
3.59 pm. rringg
there it goes again. still there.

encontro

2006-11-30T18:09:00.000+08:00

person from past: ha, buat apa sekarang?
me: sibuk, astro
person from past: you attached dgn astro?
me: tak, tengok astro

cannot

2006-11-22T10:54:00.000+08:00

this one cannot eat already. keep in fridge too long time.

on painting

2006-11-19T11:56:00.000+08:00

when the night comes falling from the sky
when all else fail
glaze

presumptions, assumptions

2006-10-18T16:49:00.000+08:00

nok nok nok
kak, kak ...
ada surat, kak

must be the postman
must be news from lawyer
must be cheque from insurance co.
must be many other things

(opens door)

happens to be guy distributing flyer untuk tempahan menjahit baju raya

oh sorry, takde perempuan di rumah ni

salam

haze

2006-10-09T15:24:00.000+08:00

smog

2006-10-09T01:30:00.000+08:00

bloody hell. jerebu all over again. and i have to get to the post office.

traffic

2006-09-23T01:25:00.000+08:00

zebras don't cross roads. only pedestrians get run over.

in memory

2006-09-21T20:56:00.000+08:00

a year has passed

face to face

2006-09-20T18:02:00.000+08:00

math. stink. embarassing financial setting. measly, downgraded. unmentionable. incapacitated. down to 24%. telekom, tenaga nasional, pkns, astro, indah water, maxis. jaring, inhuman. skip my brother's insulin. stop getting dvds? stop visiting tower records? resort to limewire's mp3s! re-read entire collection. printed and bound texts?
thoughts that, like an abscess in brain, greet late afternoon, bowels urge to wake up!
go to the bathroom.
face to face with my own reality tv, i stop in my tracks.
she is nicely in black.
she smiles and she asks,
"Yes sir, got eat Burger King or not?"
I shake my head.
utama sahaja, all-day valid transport pass.

itunes

2006-09-17T20:25:00.000+08:00

do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect do not disconnect

fear

2006-09-17T20:11:00.000+08:00

i'm afraid to create art lest they brand me an artist
i'm afraid to simplify lest they call me naive
i'm afraid to finish my flower series lest they call me the flower artist
i'm afraid to sign my works lest they think i finished them
i'm afraid to trash color principles lest they think i'm uneducated
i'm afraid to use my real name lest they don't recall
i'm afraid to say post-modern lest they think me pop

wah wah

2006-09-17T19:04:00.000+08:00

it's raining bullets of skyjuice and my brain crosses a semiconclusion: programme cancelled. that's the trouble with immobility. you can't travel on beams of conciousness like you used to do before when you didn't care. i'm beginning to translate the vision of rain into an escapist's view of an untitled oil on canvas when my friend turns up. the 'new gallery' is somewhere in the vicinity of melawati. the porch is a collapsed tentroof. pictures drawn by smaller human beings hang on the main wall. other parts have some dabblings in oil, acrylics, watercolor, etc. etc. why am i here? i force my aged camcorder into action. my trusted cybershot is not with me. yallah, yallah is in my itunes library as i play with texedit NOW. 2 flights downstairs. they're gathered here bubbling their murmurs and the occasional roar of happiness. these are mostly art people whom i've never met. our hostess is very polite, i'm not noboby knows me. the satay is good though the tea is gone. lady in white hair and white garments shoots: are you an artist? i can only speak the truth and i say not yet. city don't cry. rock and bajak is there. my past appears before me in a manner of speaking. miharbi has grown. and a host of other thoughts.

gemarimba feels more like a gallery. thereis izzu, ramlan mastersculptor and his group of mild-mannered ex-students. i don't know who they are but i like these works. like, like, like. my pix don't do justice. i'm sorry, i'm sorry. yet the uitm fine art grad's response is stereotyped. where is the fine artist who can illustrate better than those self-taughts? the battle of evermore NOW. zallie is taking away his paintings. i'm trying to bring mine to these art dealers. either i'm late or misinformed.
final say gemarimba has good material, chosen with taste. affordable, but i'm still trying to clear last month's phone bill.

daddy cool

2006-09-06T07:40:00.000+08:00

who would've guessed it. you belong to the disco crowd, and all this while i've been trying to feed you portuguese fado and bob dylan.
songs like daddy cool, brown girl in the ring, sunny, ma baker, rivers of babylon, these are the songs you grew up with, songs which i went to great extremes to reject.

convalescing

2006-09-02T18:54:00.000+08:00

"what are you doing at the moment?"
"very busy, actually, i'm convalescing"

how to be idle, - tom hodgkinson

the mendega kids

2006-08-31T10:23:00.000+08:00

30th august 2006
i'm trying not to be awakened. my body is tired (hai, tak buat apa-apapun, letih?) (ajak minum pun tak mau?).

i only needed to go to mph midvalley, klcc, taman klcc and return home again to know that i was 18 some 34 years ago. sure, public transport within this 'city of mud' has much improved since those days when we had to pray that the sri jaya bus was on time (and you didn't get 'maki' from the conductor just because your hair reached far below your shoulders). monopoly.

nowadays we have choice in terms of mode, at least. you could take a short journey by bus, switch to monorail, then lrt, even take the commuter train to mid valley. and you don't see much anxiety on people's faces. they're laughing and enjoying themselves within their transient circles, and young people are actually better-looking nowadays(?). many are mp3-music equipped. i have a black video ipod myself, but i don't listen when i'm on the go. i only bring zappa and madredeus for the exceptional moments when i can sit on a bench after that futile search for the photo of my dreams. and i'm not even a professional lensman.

my visit to gajah gajah gallery yesterday taught me a few things. the art business is business all the way. and i'm just one of the competition. they might stick the inappropriate 'naive' label to yusof's works, but if such a label helps bring in the collectors, well, so be it then. can't say i blame him. any way his works are quite good and unique in this part of the world. yusof grabbed the grand prize of the noma concours with 'gajah sejati' a few years back when the rest of us were stuck in the doldrums such as only school textbooks are capable of inflicting. loyal as i am, i had to get out, even at this stage (too late... too late...). yusof gajah is the 'gajah man' since he manipulates the elephant in his works, although some deviations include local fish and forest. his work is included in the colorful malaysia series by mas, and a ride within his work is possible if one takes the monorail in kl.

the only time when i was in an exhibition with him was way way back, i don't know. young contemporaries organized by the national gallery. i'm sure we shared the same space (me, yusof, amron, if i'm not dreaming.) i managed to sell one piece, 'igauan' for a measly price. i thought highly of myself in those days, though stupidly not in terms of ringgit. 'igauan' is not in the gallery's collection, so i assume it was bought by a collector, or sadly lost. the other pieces which i finished at that time no longer exist, i destroyed them because i 'wanted to change my style'.

i don't have siblings or relatives who are or claim to be, artists. so what's wrong with me? my nephews will become business people someday, following in their parents' footsteps. sirin is ict trained, naim might go into catering. when they were kids, they yelled mendega! mendeka! whilst waving small plastic flags. they're both grown into men now. sirin lost his wife nisha last year, but i suspect he's not much into saudade. on some fridays he visits nisha's grave. he has a girlfriend. naim is happily married with faezah, and recently added a second child to his young family.

i'm still trying not to be awakened. it's almost midnight, minutes to merdeka day. the children down there are having the time of their lives with patriotic songs. knowing that it's impossible to drift back into oblivion, i get up to face another crucifying spell with astro.

12.00 am. it's merdekalah, bugger! mendega.. mendega..

one (is the only number)

2006-08-18T00:45:00.000+08:00

on the phone:
"buat apa sekarang?"
"painting."
"painting?"
"ha-ah, painting."
"dah berapa banyak dah, painting?"
"err.. satu.."
"satu?!! sekian lama ni, baru SATU?"
"ha-ah."

it could have been much worse really. i could have said "satu hari nanti..."

waiting

2006-08-10T21:40:00.000+08:00

still waiting for my stretchers

of dragons, crocodiles, elephants and snakes

2006-08-09T01:16:00.000+08:00

bintang - a solo exhibition by yoessof olla

opened on saturday 5th august 2006 5 pm at gemarimba gallery. will be on till merdeka day.
went there at 8 pm, 3hrs after opening with zallie (he was the one with transport), because the name 'basquiat' kept appearing in my pop-up window and refused to disappear with my every empty trash command. gemarimba is a private gallery situated at taman tunku apartments.

entitled 'bintang' (kala gelap dia pedoman, kala kelam dia menawan, kala sunyi dialah teman - husni), olla's presentation is typical young artist rebellion. 31 yrs old and from jakarta, he may claim to be romantically influenced by such as basquiat, but where SAMO®'s 'statements' evolved drastically from defacing graffitti spray-painting into an anti-art commercial vehicle that was enthusiastically promoted in NY, art is evident in olla's works. whether formal or occult, all his pieces are composed whilst his subjects provoke a feeling of naiveness. using his 'own dictionary of symbols' olla poses typical questions: peace, aid, war, love, globalization; but like most, the artist is neutral. he does not hate the world. he only asks why.

basquiat was a star who rose and shone to prominence in the 1980s. he did not reach the apex of greatness like kurt cobain who had to 'die young' (in the words of guns n roses), but ended his living career like his hero jimi hendrix, of an overdose, on august 12 1988 at the age of 27.

yoessof olla's star has only started to shine, a distant glimmer judging by the humble price-tags on his works.
me, i'm an old artist who's fighting to reclaim lost years. watch out!

on the side: we already have a yusuf gajah. does yoessof olla strike as anything?

contact olla at po_on_studio@yahoo.com

ehem

2006-08-01T01:13:00.000+08:00

"Abang artist ye?"
"Ha-ah."

crimson hair across your face

2006-07-31T00:11:00.000+08:00

"kerang rebus"

"kerang bakar, ye?"

just where is all this leading us?

2006-07-22T02:24:00.000+08:00

i'm sure there has to be some deep hidden meaning somewhere in this pic. it's just that i haven't really figured it out.

"I will survive"

2006-07-22T02:17:00.000+08:00

taken on the way out of klcc lrt station while trying to get me some garlic bread the other day. these guys were singing their hearts out while elsewhere in the world people are getting blown to bits.

meanwhile |ˈmēnˌ(h)wīl|

2006-07-20T02:35:00.000+08:00

opening of exhibition: works by zaim, fauzin, and nor hanem
galericitra

"all we are (is) dust in the wind"

azhari's no longer with us

2006-07-19T10:34:00.000+08:00

recieved sms this morning:
from asmawi 8.25am: jeri meninggal dunia jam 4 am d UH, jenazah akan d bawa ke kg. AL FATIHAH
from azalan 8.27am: jeri meninggal dunia jam 4 am d UH, jenazah akan d bawa ke kg. AL FATIHAH
from zallie 8.34am: Inalilah.. jerry meninggal dunia! aku dpt tahu dia nazak semalam.

so long, friend.

postscript

2006-07-16T04:41:00.000+08:00

my beauiful rambutan tree in tanjung rambutan. paintings. warm teh o brought up from the restaurant below. how many have you collected so far? still can't get over 'mother earth' can you? i hereby declare that was not an original. not even derivative. a copy from a hippy poster back in the 70's. same era as the one i saw in my dream, 'sea of joy'. seen in a catalog in a dream, seen again in physical state copied by shh, the guy who designed the belia logo back then. unexplainable. strange but i swear, true. so here's your eric dolphy, cecil baker & mingus back. thanks for lending them to me and introducing me to the world of jazz, if there is such a world. by now i already have monk, mingus, eric dolphy, coltrane, miles davis, maria joao. bad time to start collecting, especially with no salary. also have some opera stuff, which i listen to at night when i pretend to be a finished artist. finished in the sense of wash-out, the end, kaput... i have a pimple on my nose. pain. back to your rambutan tree. brother and sister in house, 60's? 70's? camera angle throughout doesn't go above kid's eye level. we don't see the adults' faces. parents go out to dinner, leave children at home. brother and sister fight over rambutans. must taste good. sister accidentally falls and dies. brother buries sister outside. parents return home and can't find missing daughter. case of missing daughter 'unsolved' till the end. unless we are willing to accept that the rambutan tree that grew outside as a solution. closing shots show brother, a grown-up, in tanjung rambutan mental hospital. he has morphed into a talented and accomplished painter who has gone to art school, studied the impressionist style, and created works that are to be found in u-wei's collection. okay. beautiful. a film's a film. the guys who questioned similarities (or lack of) between your perempuan.. and their myopic lives really didn't get it.

if i remember rambutans right

2006-07-16T04:02:00.000+08:00

almost forgot to post this, being sick and all. my beautiful rambutan tree in tanjung rambutan. place: somewhere in malaysia. what: brother and sister. noticeable camera angle: low/child's viewpoint. throughout film we don't get to see parents' faces. only once or twice, their backs. what happens: parents go out for dinner invitation, leaving kids at home. why leave kids at home? don't know. ask uwei. brother and sister are seen before to fight over rambutans. must be good rambutans. brother accidentally cause sister to fall and die. brother buries sister's body outside. parents return home, mildly surprised at daughter's absence. male child waters grave. soon a (beautiful) rambutan tree grows. mother comments something like: i didn't notice that tree before.
final scene: male child whose name i have no recollection whatsoever, is a grown adult, has gone to art school (presumably school of art and design, fine art department, ITM - uwei's time. he didn't go to art school-he had friends there.) he is in the process of creating 2 paintings, in the manner of the impressionists. (the famous jalaini did those pictures). his studio is outdoors, in a mental hospital. his former home has transformed into the compound of familiar surroundings-TR.
what is interesting? opening: camera paints with light, we see photography. ending: those moments are captured on canvas. a moving and a still. in fact, the stills are actually 2 pieces, and the last time i saw them, they were in uwei's office. sorry, i didn't take photos of THOSE. but i took this.

whatever it takes

2006-07-15T01:40:00.000+08:00

it came as a shock, really. never expected to fall ill. viral fever. for the first time i was introduced to those tubes and needles, red, green, large, small. funny how all the time i had a fixed idea of what red my blood would be. didn't realize it was so dark red. more like black on a undang-undang lesen test.
those drips really made me want to go to the bilik air. first time heard of platelets. first reading was 60. they told me to go to the hospital. first time on a wheelchair. made me feel real decrepit.

why did i wear jeans to the hospital? recieved 2 jabs on the side of my right buttock. how many doctors did i see? i'm sure i told one to be "careful" right before she plunged that syringe in. i'm an old man. i'm not supposed to be sick. i'm supposed to be dead.
but, no. i have to do my painting , my art, my one obsession which in so many words and stupid acts put me on this so far useless course of life.

what did they mean, couldn't find my vein? why is my blood dripping on to the floor? is it alright to waste such good blood? where's the toilet already?
why is she asking me if i want an mc? is that what everybody does, ask for mc? "i'm self-employed.. i mean, self-unemployed.." what did you mean, so high? oh, my temperature. in Celcius? how high in F?
i get it. i don't have to be admitted. let me look at the sheet. platelet: (platelet |ˈplāt-lit| noun Physiology a small colorless disk-shaped cell fragment without a nucleus, found in large numbers in blood and involved in clotting. Also called thrombocyte.) 90!
yayy! hurray for drips! i can go home! (home is where the heART is?)
and so they take me to the nearest tom yam place for a very late dinner. of course the one feeling the pain couldn't eat anything.

it's good to have family nearby. they can take you in and let you use that xtra room so you don't have to sleep on a hospital bed for the next 2 weeks.

continued to give my blood samples for the next few days, this time at the nearby pusat kesihatan kerajaan. everyone knew everyone. except me. they knew me only as 'suspected denggi'.
readings: 53
50.3 and going down. time to worry.

that was when i decided to stop being ill.
so back to eating a lot of kerang, bananas for energy, a lot of air suam (not less than 3 litres daily). and isotonic drinks gave me hiccups all day and all night long. which was why i didn't have much sleep. every one was very patient and understanding with me. yes, i was a sick man!

and when they all went to work in the day, i got to know ASH, this cat. nisha and sirin's cat. only that nisha's no more. sad. but the living carries on, with no love lost for those gone.

there was this night when they brought their close friends around the box. astro ria channel 4 did a thing called KuMohon, and nisha's tragedy was on. they had tisha talking, recounting, they even had sirin on air. and their wedding snapshot was the one i took with the micromv cam, the one which didn't work with a mac. that was sad. i mean, the thing about nisha, sirin, tisha, and everybody else. me, i'm just sirin's uncle, who has viral fever and still cannot walk for more than 10 steps without having to sit down. i don't have to be sad about losing a wife. i have none. (visions of bananas flying across cowboy sunset, grand canyon-what's this? she doesn't deserve this).

and who is this? a new addition to the family group. only eight days young, this beautiful baby belongs to faezah and naim, sirin's cousin who grew up with him. i took their photos when they were very young, back in mensudut, that point in wilderness (elephants lumbered on the road!) in between pahang and negeri sembilan, where i took my first hornbill pictures.
her name? nur something. don't remember.

and last but not least, meet mr. labu. (must be the clouds in my eyes)
not least again, thanks to you two who cleaned my house and cooked; where did you put my books? where's my joe sacco? where's my robert crumb?

to syed, wherever you may be

2006-07-14T17:25:00.000+08:00

i can't write a tribute to syd barrett. i'm not a musician. i'm a consumer, like many others who, like me, only realize at the end that all musicians die, and wonder if my hard-earned cash was well-spent. the ipod's 30 GB is not enough space for my entire life's cd collection.

when cd appeared on the shelves many, many years ago, us vinyl-collectors (record-buyers) wondered if we could afford it. i still have my pink floyd vinyl collection. strangely enough, they were not thrown out together with my entire zappa. most were warped, wobbly. some had cigarette burn marks permanently ensconced onto the grooves. (groovy!)

i only have one syd barrett cd - the madcap laughs, which i'm sure i must have bought in marble arch, or petaling street, i don't remember.

i read somewhere syd barrett took up or returned to painting after the rest of the old pink floyd decided to replace him with gilmour.
there's something here: i quit my job to return to painting.
and i distinctly recall the mamak at the crossroads warung (the piper at the gates of dawn) constantly addressing me as 'syed' (thanx to naga).

well, hail to the memory of syd barrett, who in ways must've played something in shaping certain outlooks on my part, and letting people like me who are still alive, listen to pink floyd's music and lyrics.

syd barrett was not a muffin. he was a man who lived and died.

cd

2006-04-29T10:47:00.000+08:00

i have to return these cds. can't remember whether they were lent or given to me.

fair

2006-04-29T02:15:00.000+08:00

at the recent pc fair held at klcc, a printer sold for rm338.00. a day after the fair closed, the same model fetched rm299.00 at the low yatt plaza.

moral of the story?
who cares!

lunch

2006-04-14T14:22:00.000+08:00

bungkus ke makan?

bungkus

she proceeds to scoop rice on to the plate

bukan ...

needful things

2006-04-12T02:41:00.000+08:00

I'm 52 and I can't drive. Driving belongs to the list of compulsory items in my 'forgot to do' list, besides finding the love of my life and establishing a family, horseback riding, owning a Harley Davidson, learning to play the guitar, sky-diving, learning to swim, having a complete education, learning French and Arabic and Spanish and Japanese, becoming extremely rich, etc, etc.

Nowadays standards are not set so high as before (young). My 'remaining to do/get' list includes a plasma (or LCD) TV, a Gibson Les Paul ( I don't care if I can't play), and a Cooper. Most probably this list will soon degenerate into the 'couldn't do/get' list.

Some time ago I was taking a taxi ride. The taxi driver was a little older than I am, and like all taxi drivers, had an opinion about most things.
"Kereta model baru tu."
" Ya ke ..."
"Tapi murah saja tu. Orang tak pandang. Kalau nak beli kereta jangan beli Kancil. Tak ada standard. Perabot pun macam tu juga. Barang hiasan dalam rumah mesti yang mahal-mahal, baru orang pandang. Serupa juga dengan pakaian kita. Jam tangan, kasut, ... Sebab itu hidup ini mesti banyak duit."

Recently, I was again in a taxi, along Jalan Ampang. Traffic was as usual, at a crawl. A red Proton Saga from the opposite lane was trying to cross over, but couid not go over the divider, because the taxi I was in was blocking it. I didn't realize how desperate the men in it were, till a motorcyclist stopped in front of the car, and drew out a firearm (pistol). Last I saw of them, they drove into a used car lot. No escape.

I don't read the newspaper. Someone who did called me to tell me the news. Apparently the four were wanted for armed robbery. All were arrested. One was shot.

Sebab itu hidup ini mesti banyak duit.

the pursuit of happiness (happyness) through material gain shall never become a lost art. it's a way of life (the bus).

odds and ends

2006-04-04T10:18:00.000+08:00

i have a bed at last, with 'medium firm' mattress. did i sleep good last night? must have, since i don't remember any of it.

they're going to do my bathroom today. i'll have to move out and stay at a hotel for a few days. painting will have to wait.

31st march

2006-03-31T00:51:00.000+08:00

it's my 52nd birthday today. yayy! rock on!

somehow i feel life for me hasn't yet begun, considering my 'no achievement track' so far.

i still haven't got my own bed. buying a bed nowadays is no simple matter of getting a bed frame and mattress. there're the 'single', 'queen' and 'king' sizes to begin with. once you've decided how much space you need in order to escape your recurring horror-movie nightmares, you may choose either a wooden or a metal bed frame.
this place i went to offers a 20-year guarantee on their spring mattresses, which are categorized into 3 (?): least firm, medium firm and most firm. there's also the mattress pad, quilt cover, bed sheet, etc.

i don't know how to shop.
but at my age, i think i deserve to suffer less in the mornings when i try to get up.

breakfast |ˈbrekfəst|

2006-03-27T11:48:00.000+08:00

it's 11.47 am and i still haven't had breakfast.
this is serious.

sonder

2006-03-27T11:36:00.000+08:00

there's no sound coming from my surround right speaker.
this is serious.

dōmes dæg

2006-03-26T18:45:00.000+08:00

i seem to have misplaced my sketchbook . this is serious.

sacred moon

2006-03-24T22:05:00.000+08:00

"sayur campur"

"oo.. telur mata."

i need

2006-03-20T22:00:00.000+08:00

i need to make my life sufferable.
i need to make my time bearable.
i need to make my house livable.

i need a bed.

i need a gas stove.
i already have an electric stove. the problem with it is that it turns off automatically. it doesn't trust me.

i need tiles for my workspace.
i need comfortable chairs.

and so i venture out, in search of my needs.

"turun?"
"ya, turun"
"tak kerja?"
"tak, dah berhenti kerja"
"?"
"pencen pilihan"
"ooo... askar"

7:30 pm.
i didn't get any of my needs. instead, i got myself a fang shi wei 23 in 1 usb 2.0 card reader.
and dvds: mirror mask, net 2.0
also, i'm almost certain i know what a latte |ˈläˌtā| noun short for caffè latte tastes like.
and i like that bob dylan book which you promised to get me.

and i've employed a rm60.00 a day artisan, who starts work tomorrow.
i am now an employer.

things i don't need

2006-03-20T00:13:00.000+08:00