firstly i would like to apologise for going off on a tangential arc recently. rest assured that the story is not just a rambling of sorts, with no intent or purpose, but (at least i would like to think) it is quite elaborately planned out, with the ingredients of making what should be a wholesome read (although i have no doubt that it is far from). in any case, as with any good story, there is a theme, with questions, plots and subplots, all ready for the literary feast that it will never be.
secondly, it is with great pleasure that i announce that the arc is part of a greater whim, which i will hopefully reveal should it come into fruitition.
thirdly, i have to sadly announce that i have a mild case of writer's block at the moment, and being someone who prides himself in the creation and giving essence into each and every post, i find that every time i sit down and write something, there is much a lacking and i am not going to post sub-standardly if i can help it (although this being biased since i set the standards myself).
so, once i get past this (hopefully brief) hiccup of sorts, it'll be back to the arc. and after that, hopefully back to lighter, less mind-wracking stuff. for the time being, here's some beautiful music introduced to me by a friend, chicken-president. classic meets rock for a fusion of wtfbbqsauce.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Thursday, 24 June 2010
exclusively, forest from trees
[to read this arc from its beginning, click here.]
though amaru and alphonse may never come to meet, it is destined that they would share a bond of consanguinity that transcends their ancestral rivalry, or their gender kinship. but, far from taking concern of their metaphysical linkage, let us consider both in their respective roles in courting and questioning the enigmatic fermastika.
alphonse carries the burden and the sign of aristocracy in his blood. he is well versed in the rigidities of social contracts and nuances of the unspoken languages. he is trained, by force and by nature, to be one of the elite of the populace - to converse with poetry and to sing in verse, to eat from silver platters and drink exclusively ambrosia, to deal with the dealings of only gold and nothing less. perhaps rare jewels, too, and possibly tin and coloured servants, but that is another matter. succinctly, if society were segregated into caste of crusts, he is the creme de la creme de la creme.
and so it comes, unsurprisingly, that upon falling for fermastika, alphonse had made it his every goal to win her heart. failing that, however, he would settle for winning her lips and her touch, for in his mind, those are one and the same. like a talismanic demi-god bestowed with cult-like fervour, he diverted his every resource in a zealous display of power and affection.
hundreds of gifts were sent, ranging from betel nut to jewelry, thousands of ufti were offered, from silk-embroidered cotton-dresses to bunga mas. on the peninsula, gargantuan idolatries were served in constructing statues of worship. effigies were made and distributed, to become household necessities, and the people came to know fermastika in such closeness, that myth and legend had blanded and blended for a while, rendering the powers of said puteri meaningless almost devoid. although this would seem unfavourable and even despicable an ends for fermastika, one should never underestimate the lunacies, logic bereft when one is in love. or at least while one is being wooed so strongly.
and so, the vulgar display of meaningless trivialities, but expensive showering continued. and did not stop yet there. positions of power were created and bodies of politics were erected to accompany and cater the every whim of our princess. national holidays and melodious anthems were construct, as construct of alphonse's weaving web of wily ways set into motion spiraling- and sand-pit traps for fermastika. blinded by adoration and fuelled by love, neither were lucid to the lies each played upon the other, nor were either to those they played upon themselves.
this would continue such that, every bystander would notice, every pedestrian would know of the ill intent from alphonse, and like a scar upon his handsome face, so would any and all ill-gotten gains which would come from his frivolities with fermastika. but, that is past the climax of this story, and it is with apologies and waving of our hands that we leave that aside, just as we do with the case of alphonse's courting because we have garnered all that we need to know of it - beautiful and expressive as it may have been, his love and its declaration to fermastika would and will always be just that: a declaration. one without much substance, and one without any puja, alphonse had won what he had set out to gain.
alphonse would go on to win fermastika's body and lust, but far from winning her whole, that would be the end of it. which suited him just fine. and what of fermastika's feeling in this grotesque puppet show of emotions and deception? we will probably never know, for is that not how all the intricacies of a woman's heart can allow?
though amaru and alphonse may never come to meet, it is destined that they would share a bond of consanguinity that transcends their ancestral rivalry, or their gender kinship. but, far from taking concern of their metaphysical linkage, let us consider both in their respective roles in courting and questioning the enigmatic fermastika.
alphonse carries the burden and the sign of aristocracy in his blood. he is well versed in the rigidities of social contracts and nuances of the unspoken languages. he is trained, by force and by nature, to be one of the elite of the populace - to converse with poetry and to sing in verse, to eat from silver platters and drink exclusively ambrosia, to deal with the dealings of only gold and nothing less. perhaps rare jewels, too, and possibly tin and coloured servants, but that is another matter. succinctly, if society were segregated into caste of crusts, he is the creme de la creme de la creme.
and so it comes, unsurprisingly, that upon falling for fermastika, alphonse had made it his every goal to win her heart. failing that, however, he would settle for winning her lips and her touch, for in his mind, those are one and the same. like a talismanic demi-god bestowed with cult-like fervour, he diverted his every resource in a zealous display of power and affection.
hundreds of gifts were sent, ranging from betel nut to jewelry, thousands of ufti were offered, from silk-embroidered cotton-dresses to bunga mas. on the peninsula, gargantuan idolatries were served in constructing statues of worship. effigies were made and distributed, to become household necessities, and the people came to know fermastika in such closeness, that myth and legend had blanded and blended for a while, rendering the powers of said puteri meaningless almost devoid. although this would seem unfavourable and even despicable an ends for fermastika, one should never underestimate the lunacies, logic bereft when one is in love. or at least while one is being wooed so strongly.
and so, the vulgar display of meaningless trivialities, but expensive showering continued. and did not stop yet there. positions of power were created and bodies of politics were erected to accompany and cater the every whim of our princess. national holidays and melodious anthems were construct, as construct of alphonse's weaving web of wily ways set into motion spiraling- and sand-pit traps for fermastika. blinded by adoration and fuelled by love, neither were lucid to the lies each played upon the other, nor were either to those they played upon themselves.
this would continue such that, every bystander would notice, every pedestrian would know of the ill intent from alphonse, and like a scar upon his handsome face, so would any and all ill-gotten gains which would come from his frivolities with fermastika. but, that is past the climax of this story, and it is with apologies and waving of our hands that we leave that aside, just as we do with the case of alphonse's courting because we have garnered all that we need to know of it - beautiful and expressive as it may have been, his love and its declaration to fermastika would and will always be just that: a declaration. one without much substance, and one without any puja, alphonse had won what he had set out to gain.
alphonse would go on to win fermastika's body and lust, but far from winning her whole, that would be the end of it. which suited him just fine. and what of fermastika's feeling in this grotesque puppet show of emotions and deception? we will probably never know, for is that not how all the intricacies of a woman's heart can allow?
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
exclusively devoted, too
[part i of this series can be viewed here]
in the years following fermastika's coming of age, the territories surrounding gunung ledang were lead in a time of strife. as do the parasites of nature thrive in the withering of the lush and the live, so do the parasites of humanity in the want of others'. by this, we see the social and economical invasion from the centre of the world, and in reaction, the coup d'etat of the local malaccan governing.
entering the scene, in a swoop of glorious cannon-shelling, and pompous trumpet-blaring, was a young and aspiring portugese admiral, alphonse d'esfiladeiro. in the ensuing confusion and unsettling wake of governmental reform, such external powers held an unnaturally strong sway on the aristocracy - which would later lay the pavement for an invasion highway into the heart of the malaccan sultanate itself. but, our tale does not concern the fall from grace of islamic empires, or does it revolve around the eurocentricities of colonial nations from what-was-then the epicentre of the universe. it does serve here, to mention that alphonse, in a story of his own, ventures into the depths of gunung ledang, and has meeting with fermastika.
a revolution, and restitution of power, though, does not come into being by itself. ceteri paribus, the subservience of local culture and unrelenting subordination to the decrepit leaders would have dictated a solemn, yet unavoidable coming into power of the portugese, but, nay. it is the singular event that follows, which muses and uprising to challenge the status quo, and this event will forever be spoken in the histories of the downtrodden, of that when amaru as-satari would meet the princess fermastika.
much like the story of her mother, fermastika's encounters with alphonse and amaru are elaborate and intricate, beautiful portrayals of love and kinship, and the ugly truth of lust, greed, and vanity. the years of retelling have reclaimed much from truth and what little is left of legend is too spread between heresy and profanity to recount. however, unlike the caveats and pitfalls of pride and blindness displayed by the sultan, many generations ago, the men of now are not as easily fooled as a slave in his throes of ardor.
in the years following fermastika's coming of age, the territories surrounding gunung ledang were lead in a time of strife. as do the parasites of nature thrive in the withering of the lush and the live, so do the parasites of humanity in the want of others'. by this, we see the social and economical invasion from the centre of the world, and in reaction, the coup d'etat of the local malaccan governing.
entering the scene, in a swoop of glorious cannon-shelling, and pompous trumpet-blaring, was a young and aspiring portugese admiral, alphonse d'esfiladeiro. in the ensuing confusion and unsettling wake of governmental reform, such external powers held an unnaturally strong sway on the aristocracy - which would later lay the pavement for an invasion highway into the heart of the malaccan sultanate itself. but, our tale does not concern the fall from grace of islamic empires, or does it revolve around the eurocentricities of colonial nations from what-was-then the epicentre of the universe. it does serve here, to mention that alphonse, in a story of his own, ventures into the depths of gunung ledang, and has meeting with fermastika.
a revolution, and restitution of power, though, does not come into being by itself. ceteri paribus, the subservience of local culture and unrelenting subordination to the decrepit leaders would have dictated a solemn, yet unavoidable coming into power of the portugese, but, nay. it is the singular event that follows, which muses and uprising to challenge the status quo, and this event will forever be spoken in the histories of the downtrodden, of that when amaru as-satari would meet the princess fermastika.
much like the story of her mother, fermastika's encounters with alphonse and amaru are elaborate and intricate, beautiful portrayals of love and kinship, and the ugly truth of lust, greed, and vanity. the years of retelling have reclaimed much from truth and what little is left of legend is too spread between heresy and profanity to recount. however, unlike the caveats and pitfalls of pride and blindness displayed by the sultan, many generations ago, the men of now are not as easily fooled as a slave in his throes of ardor.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
exhaustively devoted to you
many decades ago, there was an era of fancifulness, where eastern mysticism met western mythology for the first time. unaware of the future encroachment of science and unable to unify these seemingly-juxtaposing creeds, the greatest minds all over the world devoted lifetimes and fortunes to find a common ground. fueled by personal gain, glory, fame and fortune, little was it expected that unity would be found in one of the greatest conflicts between the schools.
however, behind this story is a greater impetus. one that deals in life, love, lore and satirical criticisms of sarcasm itself. and, of course, one that deals with beauty unmatched.
beyond the forests, and across the seas, atop the mountains high, lay a little seclude, in which the progeny of beauty and handsomeness had come into being, only to lay in pining. for, you see, the parents of tragedy were once wrought with seething hate and blissful ignorance. in a place known as gunung ledang, throned the heart of distraught, and to gain such heart, the sultan of malacca was found wanting, lacking, insufficient. and for such shortcomings, a prize for the sultanate - a fall from grace that was five hundred years in making, and a whitewash of culture, race, language and religion, all set upon the pedestal by the greed and lust of a single man.
but, let us not dwell on such trivialities of parents, but look forward to the future, in which we seed the promise of redemption, and the hope of love anew. and to this being, the namesake of fermastika. it is the curse of lineage, and the boon of godly humor, that all children inherit traits of their parents. and although nakhoda ragam had only praise to his name, the same could not be said of fermastika's mother-princess. and so, shielded from the world after her father's untimely death, fermastika aged with each century, only a passing year, and one hundred and eighty summers-worth has come to pass, when this legend meets with our timeline; where our medieval sorcery will come colliding with chakraic flows; when the princess-mother will die of an incurable disease, an ailment of the soul and a malignancy of the heart: the sore wanting of lost love.
now left to fend for herself, fermastika grows ripe with mental agility, and sage with divine intellect. however, as much as is curse of the flesh, so is our aforementioned one of lineage, and fermastika wanes in the moonlight, with every passing day, longing for what her mother never could have before meeting the helmsman-and-father. nay, 'tis not love, though we speak of now, but instead, adoration. for which woman could resist, and would not want devotion of unquestioned faith, of unrelenting subservience, of unlimited puja?
however, behind this story is a greater impetus. one that deals in life, love, lore and satirical criticisms of sarcasm itself. and, of course, one that deals with beauty unmatched.
beyond the forests, and across the seas, atop the mountains high, lay a little seclude, in which the progeny of beauty and handsomeness had come into being, only to lay in pining. for, you see, the parents of tragedy were once wrought with seething hate and blissful ignorance. in a place known as gunung ledang, throned the heart of distraught, and to gain such heart, the sultan of malacca was found wanting, lacking, insufficient. and for such shortcomings, a prize for the sultanate - a fall from grace that was five hundred years in making, and a whitewash of culture, race, language and religion, all set upon the pedestal by the greed and lust of a single man.
but, let us not dwell on such trivialities of parents, but look forward to the future, in which we seed the promise of redemption, and the hope of love anew. and to this being, the namesake of fermastika. it is the curse of lineage, and the boon of godly humor, that all children inherit traits of their parents. and although nakhoda ragam had only praise to his name, the same could not be said of fermastika's mother-princess. and so, shielded from the world after her father's untimely death, fermastika aged with each century, only a passing year, and one hundred and eighty summers-worth has come to pass, when this legend meets with our timeline; where our medieval sorcery will come colliding with chakraic flows; when the princess-mother will die of an incurable disease, an ailment of the soul and a malignancy of the heart: the sore wanting of lost love.
now left to fend for herself, fermastika grows ripe with mental agility, and sage with divine intellect. however, as much as is curse of the flesh, so is our aforementioned one of lineage, and fermastika wanes in the moonlight, with every passing day, longing for what her mother never could have before meeting the helmsman-and-father. nay, 'tis not love, though we speak of now, but instead, adoration. for which woman could resist, and would not want devotion of unquestioned faith, of unrelenting subservience, of unlimited puja?
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
the simple life
where is it and how can i get there?
by yellow brick road or climb a golden stair?
will i be happy, will it be fair?
this is enough to make me pull my hair.
this simple life, wherever it may be,
over the ocean and under a tree,
or take a reductionist's simple approach,
and just set sail, and let the ship take broach.
and greet the wind harpies with unbashful abode,
and talk to sea serpents, and liches, and toads,
so casual that you can say 'sup, my naga?'
or reply with a 'kita bukan proton saga'.
sigh, it's been a lifetime, and a quarter or more,
these eyes can no longer stare hard at the sore;
take away all that is, that's precious to me,
i yearn for death, for that's what it means to be free.
i wish for the simple life, not one with meander, at least whilst i die, of it i hope for a gander.
p/s: (maybe you think, 'man, this kid's bat-sh*t the crazy',
i hope though, that's better than being quite lazy,
like doing the dishes, sinks and refrigerators, too,
man, i've drunk too much, i need to go to the loo.)
p/p/s: no, twiddling is not an euphemism for masturbation. god. here, i'll link it so you can get your mind out of the gutters. also, yes, i've linked UNcyclopedia somewhere, it's just a joke. don't take that too seriously. ctfd.
by yellow brick road or climb a golden stair?
will i be happy, will it be fair?
this is enough to make me pull my hair.
in anger, in rage, in outright a frenzy,
in a flight of white passion, and a flaccidness mimsy.
i think it is time to take in consideration,
that it is a republic, more than a confederation.
this simple life, wherever it may be,
over the ocean and under a tree,
or take a reductionist's simple approach,
and just set sail, and let the ship take broach.
i hear that, even this simplest place,
has a fancifulness that is commonplace,
and its inhabitants are not wary,
of those who twiddle and tarry.
and greet the wind harpies with unbashful abode,
and talk to sea serpents, and liches, and toads,
so casual that you can say 'sup, my naga?'
or reply with a 'kita bukan proton saga'.
for in the simple life, they talk of deep and wide things,
much like swimming pools and holes, and withered bat wings.
but, hark!, there can be no harder task than,
to find the darned place, i'll search to the end!
sigh, it's been a lifetime, and a quarter or more,
these eyes can no longer stare hard at the sore;
take away all that is, that's precious to me,
i yearn for death, for that's what it means to be free.
and maybe i'll find solace in the afterlife,and to sum it all up, i say take a gander, at what is left here to paddle and pander,
where simple things like a fiddler, can matchmake a wife;
where times, they are not always abidingly free,
ah yes, i remember 'oh ye, monetary'.
i wish for the simple life, not one with meander, at least whilst i die, of it i hope for a gander.
p/s: (maybe you think, 'man, this kid's bat-sh*t the crazy',
i hope though, that's better than being quite lazy,
like doing the dishes, sinks and refrigerators, too,
man, i've drunk too much, i need to go to the loo.)
p/p/s: no, twiddling is not an euphemism for masturbation. god. here, i'll link it so you can get your mind out of the gutters. also, yes, i've linked UNcyclopedia somewhere, it's just a joke. don't take that too seriously. ctfd.
Monday, 14 June 2010
give and take
the semester has ended and i have nothing to do... god - he takes away everything dear to me, and next on the list is probably something like family and friends. curse you, fair and just karma! curse you!
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
stylistic rhetoric. checkmate.
the shallowest pool is that of the human gene type. and that's hypocritically like calling archetypical-and-antediluvian anthropologists, hypocrites; because, really, we're all just pseudo-spidermen (peter parker) politicians. who happen to be like hypocrites. and that makes us all very, very deep indeed.
depending on interpretation, there are (or should be):
4 metaphors
3 paradoxes
2 similes
2 repetitions
2 alliterations (although one is more of a consonnance, and there's quite a few of those here, so never you mind that)
1 assonance
1 allusion
1 rhetoric
although funny, this is not really true, as it is not a metaphor :(. common misconceptions aside, it's really more of simile, or symbolism. although it could be a metaphor given the right context. hey, i just wrote all this for nothing, then. weeeewwwwww.
but more importantly, there are:
1 recurring theme in this entire blog and
1 message or question in this particular entry.
i just made this up to keep you (me) busy 'til my exams are over. should you try to find them all, then you should know what i'm talking about. can you tell me? because i don't.
now this is a kickass metaphor. goddamn i love futurama. (make sure you watch it, or you won't get the entry title).
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