Saturday, 24 February 2007

The Story Of The Landlord's Daughter And The Poor Man's Son


* I thereby lay claim to this story so that no one could be blamed for how bad it was.

Once upon a time.

Here we go.

Once upon a time, there was an unpopular landlord's daughter. Spoilt by her wealthy father who owned the most lands in the province, she was wilful and abominable to be around. She adored attention, but couldn't seem to seek them in proper manners.

She would break a rabbit's leg just so she could heal it back to life for everyone to see.

She would hurt herself so that she would see her maids punished and gained satisfaction from her father's fawning and worrying.

As a result, the landlord's daughter grew up to be a very lonely person.

The landlord himself was nary a decent character himself. He would con the peasants' hard earned money and often work them to death. So one fucking fine day, some of the more disgruntled peasants decided that they had no more to lose, and hatched a plan to kidnap the landlord's daughter for ransom and raped her to death.

Their plan was foiled by Tooka, a poor man's son. For he was righteous and saved the landlord's daughter, delivering her out of harm's way, and becoming the province's hero. The landlord's daughter was utterly smitten by her shinning knight in the armor and swore that she would marry Tooka.

Now, Tooka's heart already belonged to his fiance. And so the landlord's daughter started to spread lies around the province, accusing the fiance's fidelity. The rumors didn't achieve far as Tooka's love was steadfast to even hear a word of it

Tooka's mother then grew sick with Tuberculosis which was a poor man's disease in that era and reaped many peasants' lives. The landlord's daughter took Tooka's family into her rich residence, entrusting his ill mother under the care of the best physicians. That went on for half a year, in which the landlord's daughter spent every waking hours courting Tooka with gifts and affections.

For six months, Tooka and his fiance was apart.

However, Tooka was never stirred and only promised to work harder to repay this debt.

That angered the landlord's daughter and made her even more determined to possess Tooka's love.

One day, in private she challenged Tooka's fiance to prove her love by drinking poisonous wine. The fiance died, proving her eternal love for Tooka. Upon mourning, Tooka cried himself blind.

Before his fiance was even properly buried, Tooka was imprisoned in the landlord's residence. And the day of burial, the landlord's daughter forced marriage upon Tooka with the threat of his parents lives. Tooka never spoke a single word again.

To prevent Tooka from escaping, she locked Tooka with tight claws of iron chains and was happy that she had Tooka. She visited Tooka like a pet in his dungeon twice a day. Years went by and unknowingly to all, the locks she had for Tooka was too tight and Tooka's legs grew gangrene and had to be amputated.

Tooka's parents could no longer bear the sight of their child suffering, yet they did not have the power to release him from the bond of his wretched marriage, they did what merciful parents would have do to protect their children.

That night, Tooka's parents sneaked into the dungeon to murder Tooka.

Alas, the landlord's daughter was there and very furious with the folks for trying to take away her only love. In Tooka's presence, she threaten to kill his parents if Tooka still wouldn't say a word to her,

Consumed by her anger, the landlord's daughter killed Tooka's parents even he opened his mouth, pleading for them.

Tooka crawled over his parents' bodies and felt around.

When he felt it, he smiled.

A smile in over seven years.

For he found his father's knife. The very knife he was going to be murdered with.

Tooka craved out his heart, threw it to the landlord's daughter and died reuniting with his loved ones in another world.

The landlord's daughter remained bitterly lonely for the rest of her life.








Monday, 19 February 2007

Paranoid Android


'Did you ever want to feel the things you ain't suppose to?' asked RN9 nervously.

His mechanic stopped shinning the violet rays into RN9's pupils and inquired more into RN9's question.

'I have no where to turn to. I need your help.' Claimed RN9.

His mechanic in white physician's coat stood up and poured his patient a warm cup of embryo enzyme.

'Take some, it will help your nerves.' Said the mechanic calmly, 'Then you best get back with your work. This is not a place for you to hang out whole day. What would the authority say?'

RN9 didn't received the offer and persisted with his seemingly impossible request.

'Doc, I need to feel. Something. Anything. Please. You can help me.'

The mechanic dumped the enzyme into the trashcan and replied with a grave tone.

'RN9, don't test my patience. I'm not a street dope peddler which you could waltz in and purchase contraband. I'm a certified professional. I will not be regarded as such manner as the humankins.'

'Please. Please.' begged RN9.

'Listen to yourself, you can't even carry an exclamation mark in your statement. We are robots. We are what we are. We are not supposed to feel. We don't need to feel. We don't need such liability. Emotions are hazardous heroin apt to destroy our prosperity, look at what happened to the mankind. Remember their fall from the food chain?' said the mechanic, turning his back.

'Return to your workstation, RN9. Or I would be forced to record our conversation and submit to the Circuit.'

Dejected, RN9 stepped out of the mechanic office. He took some time to look at the fellow androids around him. They all moved with precision and order.

Shiny and invincible.

But RN9 could only find them pitifully. The inability to feel was the inability to live.

RN9 moved to the window and witnessed the spread of the city's dark towers and blacker buildings as the night storm approached.

RN9 made up his mind.

RN9 drove his policing vehicle and stopped at the dark alley of the city's slum.

Where the extrangled pride of the food chain striven quietly.

RN9 walked to a man waiting by the corner. The Joe was wearing dirty clothes and looked hungry.

'So yer the...' The Joe took a closer look at his buyer, gave a scream and tried to run.

RN9 grabbed him and shoved the Joe against the wall.

'It's a mistake, Officer! I'm just a man in the wrong place and time! I'm no Joe!' cried the Joe.

'Relax young Joe. I'm indeed the buyer.' Said RN9 as he dropped the Joe to his feet. 'I would like to purchase contraband items.'

'But yer are a civil officer. Yer a cop...' said the Joe as he struggled to breathe.

'I don't need the intoxication that your humankins jump on, I need to feel.' Said RN9.

'That's gonna cost yer a bomb! But I think I have what yer need.' Offered the Joe as he dug into his haversack. He brought out a small bottle of blue capsules.

'Where are they from?' asked RN9, refusing to take his sight of them.

'Lemme think, a man who lost his daughter in a traffic accident, a miscarried teenage mother, a poet, some lost love and some really messed up one. Quality tears from really fuck up mortals.' grinned the Joe.

RN9 paid the Joe and hold the bottle of shimmering blue capsule tightly.

'Word of the wise. Do not take more than three a day. Overdose shit yer kind.' said the Joe. 'Why do you need so much anyway?'

'I need to remember a mortal lady I once shot.' Said RN9 silently, 'She was innocent.'

'Can I go now, Officer?' asked the Joe.

RN9 nodded his head and went back inside his car. He locked the door and wound himself to a sleeping position. He looked at the mellow sun and stars through his windshield.

RN9 closed his eyes and swallowed the entire bottle of capsules.

Capsules of tears.


















Sunday, 18 February 2007

Conversation To No One


It's easier to fall in love with the idea of someone in love with you, then actually with the person itself.

Three stories of six escalators streamed past each other in mechanical silence. They each carried the absence of flesh and memories. Quiet rotatory of metal hums and the air-conditioning most obvious in void of crowd.

Twelve hours later, I was the only one left behind.

The sick house remained gravely silent.

Occasionally someone coughed and that's that.

That's the problem with holidays, hospitals were almost a taboo.

And then more sounds. I guessed when one's tired, details can be very attractive. The world compressed into illogical preceptive of space and sound. Traffic squashing, street lamps flashing and shapes of speed can be comfortably suffocating.

Thank you, I would like some starlight in my coffee.

The train - the promiscuous shack of disinterest. Decibels of atoms pulled along the journey. Pulled along us to drop-zones of deluded destinies. I stripped wide the obituaries on the newspapers and saw that the announcement for obituary bookings would be closed tomorrow. Everyone would be immortal this stroke of midnight?

I like to forget what I've told. A sweet solace in knowing that I won't miss anything when I have missed everything. That's my philosophy of loneliness.

I reached home by evening, the skies hang low and yellow and massive and bitter and unworthy. I drew the curtains and locked my door. And I closed my eyes and buried my heart.

Bite my thumb and watch the moonshine in the groove.

Holidays are so misplaced. They should be on days:
  • Baybeats are taking place.
  • Whenever days after I'm drunk.
  • And days I don't feel like waking up.
Sometimes I see a friend. I always enjoy the moment of passing each other with flash in the pan recognition and quicker pretence. Friendship is a shared twisted point of view.

Won't it be nicer if we don't have to try so hard at living it right?

With the neat whiff of antiseptic; the ever grinning bribery of mercy, I regained conscious and found myself back in the sick house.

Hospital is my life.

I don't get it.





















Sunday, 11 February 2007

Bjork - Bachelorette




directed by Michel Gondry

I'm a fountain of blood
In the shape of a girl
You're the bird on the brim
Hypnotised by the Whirl

Drink me, make me feel real
Wet your beak in the stream
Game we're playing is life
Love is a two way dream

Leave me now, return tonight
Tide will show you the way
If you forget my name
You will go astray
Like a killer whale
Trapped in a bay

I'm a path of cinders
Burning under your feet
You're the one who walks me
I'm your one way street

I'm a whisper in water
Secret for you to hear
You are the one who grows distant
When I beckon you near

Leave me now, return tonight
The tide will show you the way
If you forget my name
You will go astray
Like a killer whale
Trapped in a bay

I'm a tree that grows hearts
One for each that you take
You're the intruder hand
I'm the branch that you break

Space/Cerys Matthews - The ballad of Tom Jones




read the lyrics!

What did I do wrong?
Oh you nearly drove me cuckoo
Am I really all that bad?
You're worse than Hannibal Lechter, Charlie Manson, Freddie Krueger
Why are we still together?
Oh I can't leave until you're dead
You mean 'til death do us part?
I mean like cyanide, strangulation or an axe to your head
It was lucky for us I turned the radio on
They say that music soothes the savage beast
There was something in that voice that stopped us seeing red
The two of us would surely have ended up dead

[Chorus]

You stopped us from killing each other
Tom Jones, Tom Jones
You'll never know but you saved our lives
Tom Jones, Tom Jones
I could never throw my knickers at you
And I don't come from Wales

So haven't solved our problems
You mean we hate each others guts
I still wanna poison your pizza
And I still wanna cut off your nuts
I phoned the marriage guidance
I tied the phone line round your neck
I'm sick of all this hatred
Well that will be the arsenic making you sick
You were about to drive me over the edge of a cliff
As I tried to jump out I knocked the stereo on
You changed your mind and then slammed on the brakes
It was lucky for us we bought his greatest hits

[Repeat Chorus]

And now the war is over
I've lost the urge to break your neck
I owe my life to What's New Pussycat
Delilah stopped me hating you and wishing you dead
Oh I used to call you satan
And you were Cruella De'Ville
And now you call me your Delilah
And I am not your lucifer
And I am just your pussycat
But just a word of warning now
Just in case we ever get tured of his voice
I know the Mafia, Godzilla, King Kong
And I know an atom that's bomb going for a song

[Repeat Chorus Twice]

Blur - Beetlebum




Beetlebum, what you done
She's a gun, now what you done, Beetlebum
Get nothing done, you Beetlebum
Just get numb, now what you done, Beetlebum
And when she lets me slip away
She turns me on and all my violence gone
Nothing is wrong, I just slip away and I am gone
Nothing is wrong, she turns me on
I just slip away and I am gone
Beetlebum, because you're young
She's a gun, now what you done, Beetlebum
She'll suck your thumb, she'll make you come
Cos she's your gun, now what you done, Beetlebum
And when she lets me slip away
She turns me on and all my violence gone
Nothing is wrong, I just slip away and I am gone
There's nothing wrong, she turns me on
I just slip away and I am
He's on, he's on, he's on it,
He's on, he's on, he's on it. (to end)

Saturday, 10 February 2007

You Stopped Us From Killing Each Other


I realise that I seldom blog much when I'm happy. And this week of orientation was pretty much it.

Working in hospital can get pretty shitty.

Overloaded, overburdened, overtime, overstressed, underpaid, depressed, used, abused, buried and silenced.


But I guess with a pack of good friends, hell becomes easier.





The Mingles







Much easier.


I really need to get back to my studying.












Friday, 9 February 2007

Thursday, 1 February 2007

Love + Mayhem


I told her bedtime stories.

Because only she would listen to me.

Going on and on.

About something that was never there.

Mostly my bedtime stories were original, but sometimes I would lift fantasy from Neil Gaiman or some lines from my favorite movies.

From Neil Gaiman's Sandman, I told her about the evil writer whom kidnapped The Muse was punished by the Prince Of Stories to suffer the endless flow of ideas. The evil writer had to write all his ideas down on the walls with his blood and slowly dying of imploding madness.

I lifted stories from Gaiman's take on the biblical tales, of how the first wife of Adam was Lilith whom bred demons, the second nameless bride was cast off by Adam because he bore witness of her birth in flesh and bones and lastly Eve whom God had to create in the dark of the night while Adam was asleep so that Adam won't be disgusted by the process.

I told her about Liang's story: A tree in love with a mortal which ended in an innocent tragedy.

And most nights, my stories...

Of a suicidal photographer was mesmerized by the accidental picture he took of a female voyeur. And their lives changed forever.

Of a husband having an affair came home shocked to find out his pregnant wife attempted suicide, killing their unborn in the process. And their desperate love rekindled through redemption and mayhem.

Of two young strangers having robbed of their innocence with one being raped and the other whose dear mother committed suicide in front of him, found solace in each other's sorrow.

Of three friends who found out that they were not real people, but entities living inside my head and had to kill me to prevent me from going crazy.

Or that depressed boy who couldn't die and the iron-cast maiden who couldn't cry.

Ludicrously dark and unsuitable for bedtime?

I couldn't help myself. These were the only versions I could cook up.

It was as if I'm a different kind of werewolf, sniffing at the coming of night and sleepiness, I just had to ask her:

'You wanna to hear a story?'

Though it always ended with the world ending, the characters forever destroyed and ruined. But it was always about love. Between two souls. In its most brutal form.

Love to me, sometimes could only be found by destroying each other. Utterly.

That's why love is real and can only afford to be from triumphing over the bruises from the combined demons that existed between two people.