This is a QR code. It can be perfectly translated to proper words and sentences.
I left this here for a few days but so far only three people managed to understand it.
Disappointed.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
A Reply Letter
To whom it may concern,
You knew it well, as a self-righteous egoistic bastard as I am, despite of the fucked up state I was in, I wouldn't hit the X button. I insisted to read despite knowing you took the plunge to write that letter. There's one thing you should know. I'm not the kind of person who will say "You're my best friend, dude!" or tell others "He's my fucking best friend!". It's not that I don't believe in that shit or I prefer to go solo neither I oppose the idea, but it's just it ain't my thing. Do I sound like a fellow nigga now? Honestly, you're one of the best among friends I've ever met. For all the crazy daredevil shit we did, you've been a good and ballsy mate. A bro and a /b/ro, someone I can tell jokes and stuff other people won't get, a guy I can ask to do what others wouldn't have the balls to do. And mostly a person who could cope and almost understand the infinite depth of my bizarre world. Heck, I'm an open book when I write, but I don't get a fucking clue about myself. Thanks for the being there.
Now, before this gets more gay than it should, let's move on.
First of all, that was totally conscious and I was totally aware of that and it had nothing to do with feelings from the past but rather, a confusion maybe? Or was I just doing it just for the hell of it? Don't take it seriously. Don't be worried about me feeling lonely and posting stupid shit on Facebook or blog. I do feel that sometimes. Its occurrence is similar to the rise and fall of tides. Something that needs a channel so that it can be released. Something like that. It had no effect on my awesomeness. I can still ride like a motherfucker, I still have the self esteem of a horse, I can still write good shit. Pretty much there's nothing wrong with me except at the moment I'm so fucking lazy and considering a new direction.
About frustration and why I kept mentioning the famous meme 'Forever Alone'. It's not that I'm regretting the past. How long would I reminisce the past? What's over is over. But I did write about being philophobic did I? It's not like I'm afraid to break my heart to try for a new relationship. But what I really fear is losing one or two or three precious years for something that is not worth the moment and efforts. I wanted to do more in this life and time is the most important factor in this. I just don't want to waste one or two precious years just because I felt lonely. As a matter of fact, I feel happy being alone. Less emotional burdens, absolute freedom, less phone bills, less needless fights and billions other stuffs you knew well. But as a human being which I was created as, I couldn't escape the natural instinct, the need for companion, love and other sappy lovey dovey shit. What I wrote and how I acted sometimes just proved that I was being human. I'm not invincible like the song 'Invincible' by Muse. Ergo, at times I need to listen to sappy melancholic songs and write emo shit. By the way, I'm not planning to be in any sort of relationship (maybe?) at the moment and what I expect is not perfection.
(How many shit(s) have I written so far?)
About my smoking habit. I don't know how many billion times I have to tell people. This unhealthy and smelly and ugly habit of mine had nothing to do with my life, feelings, emotions, for the life of me. Let me put it this way; when I'm happy I smoke, when I'm sad I smoke, when I'm high I smoke, when I type assignments frantically I smoke, when I ride my bike I smoke, when I shit I smoke, when I finish eating I smoke, when I'm relaxing I smoke. It's a large part of my life, unfortunately. I know it's a bad and tasteless habit. I would have quit if I could. I'm not proud of it, not a chance. What's happening to me is probably severe addiction and dependency on nicotine. It's a fact, nicotine addiction is way worse than addiction to marijuana. I've given up trying to cease smoking. It's the ultimate combination of habit and addiction. In fact without it a day feels empty. Yes, it's that severe. By the way I don't do shitty diet you bloody fool! It's pretty balanced now.
On a small note, I will not cut my hair. I'm gonna keep it long for the last fucking time for the next five years. Come on lah dude, I thought you knew me. My hair had nothing do with my frustration. I could fucking care less if it's ugly. I just like it that way. And plus I'm gonna style it soon.
So the mystery left unrevealed here is... Why the cribs? Why the clothes? Why the piece of trash look? As you can see, I'm an obsessive compulsive person with OCD certificate of approval. I am really a particular motherfucker about tidiness and the order of my stuff; as you can see in this blog I manage them with pure enthusiasm more than I worry about my assignments (despite of messed up, confused and too personal contents in this blog). The biggest mistake I made earlier this midyear was choosing this room with a particular entity which you knew well. Room, the place I live plays a big role in my daily life. What I'm trying to say is that this kind of shit hole stressed me more than anything else. Plus, as a person, which you might did not know, I'm against narcissism, metrosexuality and douchebaggery despite of the fact that at times I take narcissistic photos too hahahaha. This kind of attitude and behavior will get to my fucking nerves, it itches me to the very core of my balls, my brain, and my utmost limit of patient. It's a free country, it's a freedom of choice of what you wanted to do and wanted to be, but fuck it. I can't handle that. And I don't feel the necessity to elaborate this more as it may hurt a person unnecessarily and accidentally. So you see, the first factor added with the second put me in the highest possible point of stress, plus practicum, lesson plans, and the thesis. It's just too much of emotional and psychological strain. Another matter of fact here is the fact that I am losing interest in this course. Seriously. I know, this is fucked up. Anyway, don't judge me for what you saw when you came once in a while, you weren't here all the time, the clothes weren't always like that, things weren't always that way. Come on, particularity has its boundaries! You don't have to go to such detail twice. I know how to take care of myself. I did not put burden on others or annoy them to extreme extent.
I bet it's clear now. It's just so fucking weird to write this. Knowing me, you're probably aware that I rarely talk openly and directly to people. There's a reason beneath that. For there are things that we don't have the need or sufficient rights to correct. Similar to particular things that should be left alone. Secrets we don't want people to know. Ugly shit and dark secrets we prefer to put aside and keep to ourselves. Sometimes circumstances put us in a position to condemn, to loath, to correct, to be angry and to be concerned. I preferred to keep certain things left unsaid despite of what I felt about it, how mad I was about it because I don't believe people can be corrected unless they correct themselves. Especially when correction is not their choice. Now I shall cease writing. I'm afraid this might get more fucked up than how it should.
Sincerely, thanks.
You knew it well, as a self-righteous egoistic bastard as I am, despite of the fucked up state I was in, I wouldn't hit the X button. I insisted to read despite knowing you took the plunge to write that letter. There's one thing you should know. I'm not the kind of person who will say "You're my best friend, dude!" or tell others "He's my fucking best friend!". It's not that I don't believe in that shit or I prefer to go solo neither I oppose the idea, but it's just it ain't my thing. Do I sound like a fellow nigga now? Honestly, you're one of the best among friends I've ever met. For all the crazy daredevil shit we did, you've been a good and ballsy mate. A bro and a /b/ro, someone I can tell jokes and stuff other people won't get, a guy I can ask to do what others wouldn't have the balls to do. And mostly a person who could cope and almost understand the infinite depth of my bizarre world. Heck, I'm an open book when I write, but I don't get a fucking clue about myself. Thanks for the being there.
Now, before this gets more gay than it should, let's move on.
First of all, that was totally conscious and I was totally aware of that and it had nothing to do with feelings from the past but rather, a confusion maybe? Or was I just doing it just for the hell of it? Don't take it seriously. Don't be worried about me feeling lonely and posting stupid shit on Facebook or blog. I do feel that sometimes. Its occurrence is similar to the rise and fall of tides. Something that needs a channel so that it can be released. Something like that. It had no effect on my awesomeness. I can still ride like a motherfucker, I still have the self esteem of a horse, I can still write good shit. Pretty much there's nothing wrong with me except at the moment I'm so fucking lazy and considering a new direction.
About frustration and why I kept mentioning the famous meme 'Forever Alone'. It's not that I'm regretting the past. How long would I reminisce the past? What's over is over. But I did write about being philophobic did I? It's not like I'm afraid to break my heart to try for a new relationship. But what I really fear is losing one or two or three precious years for something that is not worth the moment and efforts. I wanted to do more in this life and time is the most important factor in this. I just don't want to waste one or two precious years just because I felt lonely. As a matter of fact, I feel happy being alone. Less emotional burdens, absolute freedom, less phone bills, less needless fights and billions other stuffs you knew well. But as a human being which I was created as, I couldn't escape the natural instinct, the need for companion, love and other sappy lovey dovey shit. What I wrote and how I acted sometimes just proved that I was being human. I'm not invincible like the song 'Invincible' by Muse. Ergo, at times I need to listen to sappy melancholic songs and write emo shit. By the way, I'm not planning to be in any sort of relationship (maybe?) at the moment and what I expect is not perfection.
(How many shit(s) have I written so far?)
About my smoking habit. I don't know how many billion times I have to tell people. This unhealthy and smelly and ugly habit of mine had nothing to do with my life, feelings, emotions, for the life of me. Let me put it this way; when I'm happy I smoke, when I'm sad I smoke, when I'm high I smoke, when I type assignments frantically I smoke, when I ride my bike I smoke, when I shit I smoke, when I finish eating I smoke, when I'm relaxing I smoke. It's a large part of my life, unfortunately. I know it's a bad and tasteless habit. I would have quit if I could. I'm not proud of it, not a chance. What's happening to me is probably severe addiction and dependency on nicotine. It's a fact, nicotine addiction is way worse than addiction to marijuana. I've given up trying to cease smoking. It's the ultimate combination of habit and addiction. In fact without it a day feels empty. Yes, it's that severe. By the way I don't do shitty diet you bloody fool! It's pretty balanced now.
On a small note, I will not cut my hair. I'm gonna keep it long for the last fucking time for the next five years. Come on lah dude, I thought you knew me. My hair had nothing do with my frustration. I could fucking care less if it's ugly. I just like it that way. And plus I'm gonna style it soon.
So the mystery left unrevealed here is... Why the cribs? Why the clothes? Why the piece of trash look? As you can see, I'm an obsessive compulsive person with OCD certificate of approval. I am really a particular motherfucker about tidiness and the order of my stuff; as you can see in this blog I manage them with pure enthusiasm more than I worry about my assignments (despite of messed up, confused and too personal contents in this blog). The biggest mistake I made earlier this midyear was choosing this room with a particular entity which you knew well. Room, the place I live plays a big role in my daily life. What I'm trying to say is that this kind of shit hole stressed me more than anything else. Plus, as a person, which you might did not know, I'm against narcissism, metrosexuality and douchebaggery despite of the fact that at times I take narcissistic photos too hahahaha. This kind of attitude and behavior will get to my fucking nerves, it itches me to the very core of my balls, my brain, and my utmost limit of patient. It's a free country, it's a freedom of choice of what you wanted to do and wanted to be, but fuck it. I can't handle that. And I don't feel the necessity to elaborate this more as it may hurt a person unnecessarily and accidentally. So you see, the first factor added with the second put me in the highest possible point of stress, plus practicum, lesson plans, and the thesis. It's just too much of emotional and psychological strain. Another matter of fact here is the fact that I am losing interest in this course. Seriously. I know, this is fucked up. Anyway, don't judge me for what you saw when you came once in a while, you weren't here all the time, the clothes weren't always like that, things weren't always that way. Come on, particularity has its boundaries! You don't have to go to such detail twice. I know how to take care of myself. I did not put burden on others or annoy them to extreme extent.
I bet it's clear now. It's just so fucking weird to write this. Knowing me, you're probably aware that I rarely talk openly and directly to people. There's a reason beneath that. For there are things that we don't have the need or sufficient rights to correct. Similar to particular things that should be left alone. Secrets we don't want people to know. Ugly shit and dark secrets we prefer to put aside and keep to ourselves. Sometimes circumstances put us in a position to condemn, to loath, to correct, to be angry and to be concerned. I preferred to keep certain things left unsaid despite of what I felt about it, how mad I was about it because I don't believe people can be corrected unless they correct themselves. Especially when correction is not their choice. Now I shall cease writing. I'm afraid this might get more fucked up than how it should.
Sincerely, thanks.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Brickfields Sex
Title post ini saja dibuat untuk mengumpan mat-mat desperate yang lurking di internet. Hahahahahah.
Hit paling banyak dari Google search (Malaysia ja, yang global nanti aku cerita) kebanyakannya kena dekat entri aku pasal Brickfields, one of the hot spot for cheap hookers in Malaysia.
Search terms yang diorang guna adalah seperti:
brickfields sex
brickfields sex price
prostitutes in brickfields
brickfields
sex brickfields hooker
Kesimpulannya, secara tidak sengaja aku sudah bagi chance sama diorang ni cari info pasal Brickfields. Babi betul, dapat dosa sekali. Kalau desperate pi la cari sendiri. Boleh lagi buat internet research tu?. Hahaha.
Desperados!
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Imperfect Paradox
*Old entry which I refused to post but what the hell*
Practicum is almost over. Three months of teaching English and Civics in total. Why the heck Civics? That's not for me to answer. Teachers are expected to teach anything without proper preparation. Anyway, what I have done during this particular time frame? Honestly if you ask me...
I think I'm a bad teacher by the usual standards.
What do you expect from a teacher anyway? Are we role models? No we are not. Teachers are human, salary-people who work to afford a living. We are not holier-than-thou kind of people. We have life outside of school. Teachers are human, prone to weaknesses, imperfections, flaws, mistakes!
In fact, the current treatment to teachers in Malaysia proves that teachers are merely tools; ready to be blamed for mistakes they don't do, unjust treatment by the media, scapegoats for parents for the children's lack of demeanor.
When teachers are in deep shit due to something that they didn't do, no one's there to stand up for the truth and justice.
When your children drink booze, take drugs, have kinky gang-bang sex partey, it has nothing to do with teachers. When your children got beaten for their shitty behaviour, it's not always teachers who are in the wrong. When your children demand too much of a freedom, that didn't come from school and it's not our fucking responsibility to shape their attitude. When they say shit, motherfucker, asshole, bloody hell, fuck, fuck off, goddamn, even in the most incorrect usage and function, I can assure you that came mostly from the internet that all of you dengan selamba badaknya provide to the kids.
Teachers should not be role-model. And don't give me bullshit that parents are the best role-model.
Kids are getting more and more interested to be the bitches and douchebags they saw on TV. They innocently believe that the good life is about singing and prancing happily, having good money falling out from the sky, having a cool ride and girls with big titties, keeping and worrying about that so fucking good looks, kissing and making out and everything will be okay and yeah-we-won't-get-pregnant even after fucking with more than 10 people that you don't even remember their names.
That's both generalization and slight exaggeration, yeah, but it's close.
What the fuck is happening actually? Media? Bad parentage? Teachers? Schools? Friends? Deep inside we know what's going on.
Practicum is almost over. Three months of teaching English and Civics in total. Why the heck Civics? That's not for me to answer. Teachers are expected to teach anything without proper preparation. Anyway, what I have done during this particular time frame? Honestly if you ask me...
I think I'm a bad teacher by the usual standards.
What do you expect from a teacher anyway? Are we role models? No we are not. Teachers are human, salary-people who work to afford a living. We are not holier-than-thou kind of people. We have life outside of school. Teachers are human, prone to weaknesses, imperfections, flaws, mistakes!
In fact, the current treatment to teachers in Malaysia proves that teachers are merely tools; ready to be blamed for mistakes they don't do, unjust treatment by the media, scapegoats for parents for the children's lack of demeanor.
When teachers are in deep shit due to something that they didn't do, no one's there to stand up for the truth and justice.
When your children drink booze, take drugs, have kinky gang-bang sex partey, it has nothing to do with teachers. When your children got beaten for their shitty behaviour, it's not always teachers who are in the wrong. When your children demand too much of a freedom, that didn't come from school and it's not our fucking responsibility to shape their attitude. When they say shit, motherfucker, asshole, bloody hell, fuck, fuck off, goddamn, even in the most incorrect usage and function, I can assure you that came mostly from the internet that all of you dengan selamba badaknya provide to the kids.
Teachers should not be role-model. And don't give me bullshit that parents are the best role-model.
Kids are getting more and more interested to be the bitches and douchebags they saw on TV. They innocently believe that the good life is about singing and prancing happily, having good money falling out from the sky, having a cool ride and girls with big titties, keeping and worrying about that so fucking good looks, kissing and making out and everything will be okay and yeah-we-won't-get-pregnant even after fucking with more than 10 people that you don't even remember their names.
That's both generalization and slight exaggeration, yeah, but it's close.
What the fuck is happening actually? Media? Bad parentage? Teachers? Schools? Friends? Deep inside we know what's going on.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Where To?
I'm well informed of my currently notorious name in the department, about my lack of appearance for consultation regarding my Academic Exercise, for our so called final year project, a so called 'thesis'. I know, it's beyond ignorance and this pieces of papers determine my future. But wait, wait,
What is a thesis really? What is a research?
At the moment and for quite a while I had been in doubt if I had chosen the right path for this life. Quite off topic but it will come to senses later. What makes a good research? Is it a masterpiece just to write a redundant bullshit on pieces of papers? And if I write a good research paper will it be beneficial in the future? Beneficial in the sense that it will change anything towards education in this country. Beneficial in the sense that it will halt the idiotic bastards who decide what should and shouldn't be learned in schools. Beneficial in the sense that it will make a change even in a minor scale.
Or in the end will it be left out as a book which then will be referred back, repeating the redundancy?
We can write things beautifully on papers. We can toil ourselves and get diploma, degree, doctor on papers. On papers. On fucking papers because that's how the world judges us today. One of the flaw in this system is the fact that it can be bought. When you have money many things can be bought. How many of you reading this article have experienced seeing a so called knowledgeable person acting like a dick? And when he or she speaks their intelligence and logics seem to baffle you? Right, bitches. What's written on papers does not prove anything. What matters is YOU. Even if you're fucking genius ass, yes, genius ass, if you can't live with people you're none but rubbish. If you can't deal with people you'll end up being used by another genius who knows how to deal with people, how to exploit people, how to manipulate power, how to take control.
What I'm really trying to say is that I'm tired of all of these. I'm tired of picturing myself in the future living up to people's expectations. I'm tired of seeing the visions of myself putting up with ass-kissers, ass-wipes and idiots. I'm tired of imagining a life unfulfilled and relentless angers and resentments of the future Valossa. Negative and pessimistic, I know. What do you expect? After all we must prepare for the worst. Life is not a fucking playground, life is not a walk in the park, life is not a bed of roses, life will not last forever, life is not perfect and will never be, life is an imperfect theater and we're not the main characters. People will die, people you loved will die, happiness will not last forever. Your wealth will not follow you to your graves. Your shirts, your shoes, your cars, your bitches will not accompany you to your graves.
You are a fucking loser, who toiled through your life just to rot underground when the moment comes. Your existence itself is a redundancy. You're a part of a system that develops to intricacies of self-made purposes and happinesses just to fade into oblivion.
Now tell me. Where to? Where the fuck are we going? Where? Where? Where? What the fuck are we doing here taking our time, waiting for our last breaths? What are we trying to achieve? Why the fuck do we need money and why the fuck is it never enough? What the fuck is this shit?
In the end we're just a powerless bunch of ungrateful beings. We're merely slaves. We've lost our purpose. Or at least I've lost mine.
I'm an angry man. I'm angry at the world for being unfair. I'm angry at most things being dumbshit. I'm angry at this old laptop and my lack of financial ability to purchase a new one. I'm angry at my unbelievably messy roommate and this room was just an inch less than a shithole. And mostly I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at myself for not being able to achieve anything significant at the age of 23. I'm angry at myself for not willing to take the risk. I'm angry at myself for being such a dick in a relationship and now forever alone. I'm angry at myself for being philophobic and refusing to take the first step. I'm angry at myself for purchasing a horrible Symbian phone and fell into the trap of consumerism. I'm so fucking angry.
I'm angry at different contrasts. I'm angry because it's hypocrisy.
I'm not only angry. I'm angry and confused. RRRAAAAHHHHH!
St. Anger round my neck.
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