You.

For a brief moment, when time stood still, I felt my heart stop. The ticking clock above a copper framed Wheat Field on the olive green wall was soundless. The bees that hovered over the hibiscus grove beyond the olive wall in an untended garden, buzzed a violent silence. The whispering wind rustling in the frangipanis beyond the hibiscus grove suddenly fleeted into the earth. Raging traffic no longer passed the frangipanis like faded memories. Fishes in streams far from the traffic drifted in confusion as the waters paused and rocks on the river beds rolled no longer. Rays slept in timelessness as dolphins lost their bearings in the deaden ocean. No longer was there day or night for the Earth froze in place as the evanescing sun took with her the moon and the stars. The gods slumbered and demons fled the nether world. For a brief moment, time stood still and I felt nothing. For a brief moment I was nothing.

Everything around me faded to black.

Then, as suddenly as stillness enveloped my being, my sensory overloaded with every single nuance of existence. I felt the beating of my pulse as blood raced through every crevasse of my body; the tingle on my skin; the electricity raging through each and every neuron in my brain; the banging clock above a shouting copper framed Wheat Field on the olive green wall; the violent buzzing of bees over the hibiscus grove beyond the olive wall in that untended garden; the annoying wind rustling in the frangipanis beyond the hibiscus grove; the storming traffic that passed the frangipanis; fishes swarming the streams as rocks assaulted each other on the river beds; rays hunted through the endless clacking of dolphins raping Poseidon’s blows; the scorching sun; the glowering moon; the restless Earth; the thundering gods clashing in the heavens and malevolent demons cursing from hell.

Colours, vibrant. Sounds, clearer. Smells, cleansing. Taste, heavenly.

But time stood still. I stood still. My eyes fixated. My mind emptied but of one thought.

You.

Your soft curls resting on your lovely shoulders like soft pink satin sheets. Stars sparkle from your lovely dark eyes like the night sky in summer by the beach. Your eye lids fluttering like butterfly wings in a soft cool autumn breeze. Your sensuous lips glistening as you mutter sweet pleasant nothings. Your voice as soothing as the sound of La Vein Rose on violins while sipping on a glass of wine in Paris. Your skin tender like the soft brushing of a purple velvet curtain in a warm lit room after a romantic candlelight dinner for two.

I want to take your hand and hold it if only for a moment. To feel your touch, your soft skin on my palm. I want to dance with you, with your hand on my palm and my hand on the small of your back. I want to dance with you slowly as we gaze into each other’s soul while Elvira Madigan[1] brings us on a quiet boat ride in the evening sky.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky [2]

You.

You who would taste so sweet on my tongue as a fine glass of aged merlot. I would kiss your tender lips so slow as to savour that moment that I will forever remember how soft and warm they are. To feel your supple cheeks on mine as I would caress the nape of your neck and hold you like a newborn, fragile and delicate. I would whisper sweet words in your ears and your smile will light the space we are in so brightly that darkness would fade forever away. I would not let you go for you are to me very dear. I would want you in my arms forever to love and care for; and I would kiss you in the mornings and in the afternoons and in the evenings and before you slumber. I want to hold you as you fall asleep to the beating sound of my heart; you breath on my chest. I want to stroke your soft hair and keep you safe and warm. I will watch you as you dream dreams and when you wake I will still be there beside you greeting you with more loving kisses.

I will ward off your demons and battle your dragons. I will catch your tears and hide your fears. I will hold you close till the storm fades and the sun is smiling on your face. I will hold your hand and walk beside you through the every tides of time always with you. I will snatch falling stars out of the sky and place them back in your eyes. For you I will walk to the ends of the world and swim the deepest oceans just to be by your side.

No matter where you go, I will find you

If it takes a long, long time.

No matter where you go, I will find you

If it takes a thousand years. [3]

You.

You who gives me strength and will. You who give me life and reason to live. You who are my inspiration, my muse, my Calliope. You who are my burning paraffin in the dark. You who lifts me up and give me wings. You who are my friend and confidante. You who are my very soul. You and only you.

You.

The one who brings down my walls of Jericho. The one who weakened Samson. The David of my Goliath. My Cleopatra. My Juliet. My Eloisa.

So, come sit with me for awhile. Come speak with me for a moment. Give me a heartbeat of your time. Just for an instance, if only but a minute. If only for a moment, if only briefly, if I could be with thee, I would take you with me till my life’s end. My heart is yours till you want it no longer, and even then it is still yours to keep.

You.

[4] Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee

1. Elvira Madigan or Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21

2. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot

3. Lyrics from "I Will Find You" by Enya with the Clannad

4. Sonnet 18 by William Shakesspeare

In The City

In the city. On weekdays, streets turn into gigantic parking lots twice a day; and nothing short of a fuming mess on weekends. Tension builds by the minute as traffic police redirect vehicles at junctions that don’t require any attention. The honker is the average Joe’s police escort siren as they squeeze into 6 inches of a bus and a side walk. 1 plus 1 equals 3 and 3 equals 5 as you navigate with astronautical accuracy through 5 lanes of vehicles on a 3 lane road that bottle necks into 2 lanes. A fender-bender is never your fault whatever way you look at it because every single driver on the road is stupid. Truck drivers are Gods, bus drivers are druggies and motorcyclist are the little dots on a Pac-man game. Upgrading your car is more important than a Rm5 meal cause the car gets you “booty”. So imagine how urgent it must be when a revved up Fairlady is squeezing in and out of traffic, flashing and honking on your tailpipe at 10 o’clock in the evening.

In the city. You party all night to relax after a full week of hard work. Mondays are a drag. Tuesdays are date nights. Wednesdays and Thursdays are Lady’s Night; when both liquor and women are supposedly free. On Fridays and Saturdays, you load yourself with alcohol to the brink of poisoning while pumping smog down you lungs because you can live forever; getting so trashed that you cannot walk 20 feet to your car but you can drive 20 kilometres home. Cops spoil the fun while accidents are caused by other stupid drivers who think they can drive after high consumption of liquor. Sundays are for quality time with the wife and kids, running errands and portraying good citizenship, and all the while recovering from a hangover from drinks you did not have the night before.

In the city. Hormones are an ever rising commodity even when the stock market crashes. Sex is an aftertaste from partying if it’s with someone who wears Oakley’s sunglasses, Giorgio Armani jeans and drives nothing short of a 2-year old Honda Accord with 15 hundred dollar sport rims for starters. Sex is a horrible and morally distasteful act if you wake up in a stranger’s rented room and realise that you had hit the town with your boyfriend last night. Your best buddy’s lover is always a potential scandal; just ensure that you fuck him where it’s most likely for the “innocent” party to walk in. A one night stand is getting drunk and going home with a “mat-salleh”. An affair is fucking a rich old man who pays your bills. A relationship is fucking the same person more than once and not getting paid. Going out with an average Joe is for one who is young dumb and full of cum. Going out with a guy whose father is a rich tycoon is a free ticket for luxury. Going out with the tycoon himself is preparation to settle down. Going out with a rich “mat-salleh” makes you elite. No classification for guys cause they fuck anything on 2 legs and stilettos.
Every woman aspires to be Paris Hilton, Jessica Simpson or any other sluttishly clothed white-trash-female-sex-bomb. A guy gawking at your tits as they bob around through your transparent tank top while you pump away on the podium is a dirty minded sex fiend. The guy not drooling at your front-end bumpers must certainly be gay. Women at night clubs are not sluts. They don’t fuck just anybody, only strangers who buy them loads of whiskey.

In the city. The line between Metro-sexuality and Homo-sexuality is becoming a blur as Transsexuals become more appealing as guys come to terms with their feminine side; ladies dress to kill for other ladies; and the lady selling you the latest in Paris Hilton’s must have perfumes is not a woman. Once again, guys fuck anything on 2 legs and stilettos.

In the city. Love is the refined art of buying the most extravagant gift your credit card can afford you. Valentine’s Day is the day restaurants get to charge you extra for visiting them. You don’t spend Rm50 for a bouquet of flowers all year rounds because love is roses at 50 a pop on Feb 14. Chocolates are a poor man’s gift to a woman unless it is followed on with a diamond necklace. The wine list is for style because neither of you know the difference between a Merlot and a Pinot Noir.

In the city. A General Relations Office (GRO) is a good job to meet highly successful businessmen. Clubs pay them to spend time with customers and coax them to spend on liquor; customers pay them for their time and an excuse to spend on liquor. GROs are not prostitutes, however they are willing to give you a blowjob at Rm80 and fuck you for nothing less than Rm150. This is called Value Added Service.

In the city. Lifestyle magazines are informative and books are for boring nerds. Conversations are only seen over the Short-Messaging-Service (SMS) or online messenger software. You meet new people through social community websites where you can display the 1191 friends you have but do not keep in touch with.

In the city. Individuality is the art of being noticed. You can be yourself and yet never truly be you. You can be yourself by being like others. Be you but never show the real you cause you never know who you can trust.
Indians are African Americans who have never lived in the States, aspire to be the next Tupac and think the Chicago Bulls and L.A. Lakers are Hip-Hop gangs. Chinese are Chinese still; only this year they are Koreans. Two years back they were Japanese and before that they were Hongkies. I think next year they are going on Hindis. Malays; well, they listen to Indonesian music and live in the eighties rock era. A motorbike is great for picking up chics, a Proton means “married and responsible” and a family van says you are important. Anything more than that means you are rich. Punjabis are a powerful people in the nation because they all know the richest man in Malaysia, the biggest gangster in Brickfields and are all related to the most powerful lawyer in the country. The Ex-pats have it best: Earn in Pounds, spend in Ringgit and everybody wants to know you.

In the city. Candy can be spelt Candi, Candie, Candii or simply replace the “C” with a ‘K’. Soon Q4nd13 will be the accepted version. A formal email from an executive today would go something like this “D meetin wif d MD wil b Monday 9am @ d confrnc rm. Pls hv ur reports rdy n spell chk. Dun b l8. C4nd13”

In the city. A place where one can shop aimlessly for things the idiot box told you to buy because you could not live without; or that if you wanted to be as successful as Donald Trump or Angelina Jolie, you’d never leave home without it; or that if you wanted to look like a supermodel such as Tyra Banks or Haeley Berry, you’d just die if you did not have it. A shopping mall is a trophy for every growing city; two makes your city worth mentioning in a conversation; three or more means it’s a weekend destination. A city tour in K.L. is never complete without Suria KLCC, Mid-Valley or The Curve on the list.

In the city. Every major fashion apparel company pays advertising agencies millions every year to get ads, billboards and a hundred other ways of throwing their names at you. Then stupid consumers spend at least that same amount every week at malls and boutiques to do the same thing for them cause your chances of picking a woman increases with more expensive branding. Everybody walks around town wearing Rm2000 outfits flashing its individual brands as a declaration of independence. Don’t be surprise if a total fashion misfit introduces himself to you think your name must certainly be Valentino.
“Hi my is Adam. I’m wearing an Armani shirt, Dockers pant, Calvin Klien briefs and Nike shoes.”

“Nice to meet you Adam Armani Dockers Calvin Klien Nike. That’s a very long name. I’m simply Victor.”

Untitled

It’s been too long since I have had a friend to confide in. It has been too long since I have felt the touch of another human being, the air of breath that mist on the window panes in winter, the conversations that eases the mind. Months have passed since I have felt the skin of a woman pressed against mine. Months have passed since I have heard soft whispered white lies in my ears. I have forgotten the scent of a woman. I have forgotten the sweet smell of passion. I have forgotten the warmth of love. Now as I stand facing the most vexed and troubled times of my life and I cannot but feel a greater sense of loneliness than ever before. But I cannot love either. I cannot love because I cannot trust. What is love without trust?

Once I was hurt. I bled. But I forgot.
Then I was hurt. I bled. I remembered.
Then again I was hurt and again I bled. I remembered too.
And again and again and again I was hurt. And I bled and bled and bled. And I remember still.

I remember the steel against my skin, splitting my flesh. I remember feeling the dagger pierce my heart many times over. With each thrust more painful than the previous. I remember the heartless faces that stared at me with hollowed sockets of darkness. I felt its anger. I felt its hatred. I felt its scorn. And I felt the presence of Abbandon, Belial, Legion and Sammael. I cowered in its shadow. I bled love! I bled trust! I bled everything good within me!
Now I am left with pain; with hurt; with misgiving. Fortitude eludes me.
No longer do I stand before God. No longer am I accepted at the gates of Heaven. Now I stand at the barren dessert gates of Hell in the hope that at least this final place may accept me.

“Anubis! Hades! Pluto! Lucifer!” I called. I called again. And again. But nay even here I am refused entry. Even in Hell where all are welcomed all year around, I am refused entry. I stood there and watched the hounds of hell sniff at me and turn away in disgust. Even as flesh I am left like a rotting carcass on a forgotten trail, sneered on by ugly vultures. Maybe purgatory may accept me. Maybe the Cenobites will take me. I now know that there is nothing left for me. Never could I have envisioned a deeper sense of rejection. Standing there in the dessert; refused by Heaven and Hell. I have nothing left to loose. I have no one left to account for or be accountable to. For I can bleed no more.

I am beyond lonely.
I am beyond abandoned.
I am living death.

Demons in Us

We all have our demons.

Good people or bad people; civilized or barbaric; beauty or beast. We all have something that taunts us and keep us awake at night as we lay in the darkness staring into the black void. Call it guilt; call it remorse or simply mea culpa. We all have something that makes us weak and frail; something we don’t want our friends to know about; something that leads us to take stupid unreasonable actions. We all have things we regret, some more than others. We all have at one time or another fallen from grace. Mistakes made intentionally or unwittingly. Ill-decisions from the best of intentions or from the darkest recesses of our minds. Some of us ignore them and reward ourselves for each tiny little nuance of virtuosity. Some of us create our own delusional reality convinced that we already are angelic and can do no wrong. Some of us rationalize and believe it was all someone else’s fault that we did what we did. Some of us attempt to create more order, perfecting things that don’t need perfecting in an effort to make up for past errors. Others repent through punishment, sending themselves deeper into the pit of remorse.

We all have our demons.

However you may look at it, we are after all simply human. Whether that is a reason or an excuse is entirely up to you. For if you think it right or if you think it wrong; you are right. But as humans we are prone to make mistakes, learn from it and move on. We have a gift that no other creature on Earth has and that is the gift of compassion. We have the ability to forgive. We have the ability to choose if we would free ourselves and the ones around us of the mistakes we make. We have the ability to choose if we would live in the past or work towards the future. And that is a choice we make every single day of our lives.

We all have our demons.

Have you never lied? Have you never hated? Have you never left a friend in need? Have you never lusted for your friend’s girlfriend or boyfriend or spouse? Have you never broken a promise?
Jesus said, “Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone.”

We all have our demons.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

Thomas Jefferson