New book

Renewal is fascinating.

Little signifies catharsis as aptly as sweeping away the old to make room for the new.

Of turning new leafs. As many as the pages are numerous. White, pristine and acid-free.

Is it possible to go beyond the turning of a leaf to becoming a completely new tree? To blossom and burst with new found life, to tremble in the sunshine and proclaim to the sky that now, I shall be the Oak and not the sapling, the Raintree and not the senduduk.

Fresh starts are good. False starts are not. False starts are when the intentions are ambitious but one only achieves the grandeurs of a pokok renek. So one starts again and another leaf unfurls.

One only hope a branch would finally touch the clouds and lives out an epic.

Wisful thinking .. and rejection hurts!

I will not write on sadness because there is too much of it in the world already. Antidotes are fabled and medical research is negligible. But I will write on anger.

It is a fury that consumes. In the pyre, the lapping flames further illuminate the injustice, the humiliation, the loss and anguish. What magnificent despair! And it fuels the soul to burn and burn and burn. And reprieve is sought among the smouldering cinders. But there is so little ashes can do, but be carried away by the whispers of the wind.

So that is where broken hearts go. They disappear. Eventually.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know

one thing.

 

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

 

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

 

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

 

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

 

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

 

- Pablo Neruda

Google Me This

Google has been changing their logo/masthead to mark specific events in history for some time now, generating millions of hits for the cause selected. Like when Google celebrated Braille’s birthday with a cluster of dots. Loved it loved it loved it. No doubt there would be groups that would raise hell and high water to get theirs dates of consequence celebrated in all googlised glory. And I am glad Google is not going down the commercial highway of hell by offering the spot to the highest bidder.

Here is an interesting article on it.

My favourite masthead is the Braille one above. And this comes a close second. In celebration of Nikola Tesla's birthday on Friday.

As much as I would like to attribute my facination to my deep reverence for the history and development of physics, I admit that I was first introduced to the comrade through the Soviet’s badass Tesla coils which are highly effective in frying Allied butts to a crisp in the one of the best time wasters of all time - Command and Conquer.

Who says you don’t learn anything from gaming? Plus it’s a great guy magnet. But ladies, it HAS to be Real Time Strategy with awesome graphics and mindless violence. These days it’s even better if it’s MMORPG. Kick ass and win friends. SIMS does not qualify regardless of the number of time you could WooHoo.

(*Qualifier: I only date geeks. If you are thinking of hooking up with Sean Combs, note that this does not apply. Try implants instead.)

Look what the postman brought me

Its so nice receiving packages. Especially if its books.

Help! I am held hostage by my rabbits

Hm, has it occurred to you that this blog has been taken over by everything bunny?

Yet, you must concur, they are far more soothing on the soul than the state of our national politics.

El-Bunny!

To be surrounded by so many bunnies, you bet I squealed like a little girl!

The Pets World Malaysia Expo held at Mid Valley Convention Centre was crowded with people and pets. One of the highlights was Malaysia's First National Rabbit Show.

Alongside the rabbit competition, there was a fancy dress contest for Thumper. Wabbit expressions ranged from "Woe, the Indignity!" to the bored "I don't give a fuck anymore" resignation.

Lop eared bunnies featured strongly with a couple of them reminding me of OREO, one of my earlier rabbits. Equal in temperament as well, thumping impatiently in the cages. One of them also tried to eat their contest tag. Yup, sebijik like my Oreo.

Besides bunnies, dog owners also brought their fur kids, from Schnauzers to St. Bernards. I was so fortunate to be acquainted with another Afghan. The breed is so magnificent and regal, it was just a joy looking at her.

Enjoy the slideshow!

Gilly of My Heart

Gilly gently passed on last Wednesday. Its a mystery as to why as everyone was so careful with her. Perhaps she was already ill when she was brought home. Although I only had her for just a few days, my loss is profound.

And there goes another chunk of my salary

In another spur of the moment madness – I have gotten myself another bundle of mischief.

I rescued her from a stinky pet store (I am still grappling with the implications of supporting a pet store). I first caught sight of her right at the back, behind a glass door and a cageful of siblings, and she was the only one going the other direction.

My new baby is smokey with one ear perpetually pointing north. With her hind legs far larger than her front paws, she moves as gracefully as a baby turtle heading towards open water. So in other words, my baby is gorgeous.

Introducing - Gilly.

Baby wabbit

first steps

Pfft! Here's looking at you

Remember the Time

For me and most of my generation, Michael Jackson, as with Thudercats, KFC and Dr M, is an icon that not only hallmarked but practically defined our growing up years.

We were in the golden age of VCRs and cassette decks when Thriller debuted. I could not get my head around Bille Jean and I thought the chick that played in Thriller was such a wuss (a 7-year-old feminist I was). Maggi Mee hair was in and everyone saw or had a recording of THAT MTV programme which also featured hits like Telephone by Sheena Easton and Every Breath You Take by the Police and not forgetting, the original Uptown Girl by Billy Joel.

Every MJ album and movie was awaited and revered. He was the only one who could get away with grabbing his crotch on TV. To the young, we never understood why the adults sniggered so.

The Gloved One encapsulated all that was strange and wonderful and magical. He was true royalty with stardust on his lapels.

And as his eccentricities and lawsuits drove him further away from reality and relevance, time quietly swept him under the carpet. We all knew who MJ was but, lets be honest, we also ceased to care.

Did he molest the children? I don't know but with America's preoccupation with Sex and the Celebrity (truth optional), I can't really say that I am totally convinced.

So in typical fashion - with his death, we celebrate his life.