The Fall

Tonight I hit a new height at the lowest end of rock bottom.



When I said I was happy clearly it was my temporary insanity that has taken over and clouded my brain and vision, creating this faux hope and it wrought into a fictitious promise of a new dawn for me. But the truth is always penetrating; it reaches even to the furthest untouchable darkness to reveal things that you always try to hide. No matter how tight you close your eyes or seal your ears, eventually there is no escaping from it. That is why the things that you will always find are the things that you try to hide.



This blog right here, the one you are reading right here, this is my life, this is me. As sick and repugnant it may be; it is still me. It is a place where I can come clean with myself. No longer have I need to put on a mask or try to hide the millions of horrid thoughts that goes in my head. This is where I let my demons loose here. My thoughts, my feelings and my insanity slither inside the very vein of this blog; you know this is the era of seditious blogs, intended harm and malice to poison and defame others. Well, this blog is seditious too but the only difference is, it is only to defame me. Call it self-loathing, but to me self-loathing is a virtue because it teaches me to be who I am and not what others want or expect me to be. There’s no sunshine, rainbows and cinnamon here, all I have is a broken tale of a derange man to tell.


Sometimes I wished that I could have a better story to tell, I wished I could have a normal life and be labeled as normal and acceptable like the rest. God, believed me, I tried to change but the more I change the more I feel that I am living a fucking lie. If it means to be dislike and be desolate for standing up to what I believe and what I am, I would gladly give up this popularity contest and take my place as a pariah - an outcast from all. Sometimes I feel like I am not even good enough to be looked upon; in fact if God was alive, he probably would hate me anyway. The best thing is I don’t have to utter FML because it has already been fucked up so badly it could not be fuck anymore. So go ahead and tell me how great your life is and is going; I will not envy but I will greet you with a smile and tell you how contented I am with my fucked up life in my totally flawed existence.


Now that I have stray back into the darkness, I think it is also a good time to announce that I will be going on a hiatus. I don’t know for how long but three years have I’ve blogged unceasingly and I think it is time that I should take long break. Besides, I think I have been too much of a sloth lately and this vagabond needs to fulfill his wanderlust. So I have decided to ditch my plan of heading to Egypt but head north to Nepal and Tibet as soon as I get all my documents and papers done.



On nights like this, I am more than happy to let in hell than to break my own fall.


So at the 565th post and the misery, this is last post from India.

The Day They Turned Off the Sun

In my iPod: Dreamland - Our Lady Peace
[download]
State of mind: Bummed out
Location: Mumbai, India

This marks the longest interval between 2 posts in these two years of my 3 year blogging career. There are many factors that contributed to this phenomenon. I could say a million things like I was too busy with my sitar class; I have a writer’s block …etc. I’d really love to say that my current mundane life is not worth blogging about. Wouldn’t it be a great injustice if I let my readers read about how I started using soap again and fell in love with it after being a shower cream junkie for years; or how I loathe waking up early in the morning and found out that the day is so much longer but only to find that I had nothing to do. But the only valid reason I can think of is me playing way too much Mafia Wars on Facebook. It’s like a fucking shackle attached to your feet, once you are stuck with it. Every time you wanna quit the game to do something else, you realized that the countdown clock is about to strike and you might as well stay awhile and finished that round. And it keeps going on and on and on like an unending cycle. And before you know it, you have been sitting in front of your notebook like for hours. I hope that this is just one of momentary craze that I am having because I really don’t wanna turn into a fucking geek with glasses as big as the monitor and has a level 626 characters. I’ve seen one of them motherfuckers and it is scary. My life maybe mundane right now, but I think it is kinda in a happy zone right now because I think I am making a connection with someone which I am beginning to fall head over heels for. Maybe I would tell you more about it in my next post.



It was almost like night time during the day yesterday because India experienced the longest solar eclipse this century but this freak right here decided to stay in and play Mafia Wars instead of witnessing this historical event. The fucking Hindus believed that pregnant ladies are to stay indoors to avoid giving birth defects to their unborn infant, while the others are urged to pray, fast and bath in the Ganga. They believe that the two demons Rahu and Ketu are said to "swallow" the sun during eclipses, snuffing out its life-giving light and causing food to become inedible and water undrinkable. If that was true wouldn’t it be way much cooler than the crap they teach you in science class about how the moon is in the way of the sun. For many of these curry soothsayer believes that this is an omen for the bad things that are going to happened so enough. A Mumbai astrologer shit predicted that some sort of attack by Jaish-e-Mohammad or Al-Qaeda on Indian soil and a devastating natural disaster in Southeast Asia. Should I be living in fear now?



Believe it or not, even to this day, many married couples who are going to have caesarian deliveries, asked their doctor to reschedule. This is a belief deeply rooted in Indian society; they are willing to do anything to ensure that the baby is not born on that day. Hey, I may not be pregnant but to be safe, I think I’ll stay in another day just in case.

*continues to play Mafia Wars.



P.s. I think hit and run post like this are indicators that I am losing interest in blogging but we will see how it all goes

xniquet's journey across India

The School of Hard Sitars

In my iPod: Ghost - Extreme
[download]
State of mind: Rocking
Location: Mumbai, India

It is very unusual for me to post up two posts back to back but I had to recap what went down today. (Okay, it wasn’t unusual for the “me” who was a blog addict a year ago but definitely not now). So it is finally Tuesday and it was my first day of my sitar class. Feeling rather like a kid on his first day of school, I have no idea what the fuck to expect. I mean for my fucking age, I would have been to school like a million times but never have I set foot in a school in India. I mean I didn’t want to get bullied or have my lunch money extorted by bigger curry kids. So I tried to dress down as much as possible: jeans, tee and a cap. I tied and hid my pony tail away; I really didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention. You know even though it was just music class and I am suppose to be having fun but somehow going to school always bring out the blues in me and to make it worse, I had to take a bus to school. Dang, I don’t wanna be beaten up by those bullies sitting at the back seat on my way to school… Anyway, class was great and in fact it was much more fun than I anticipated. Some nice punk ass kid even brought a fake Les Paul and a bunch of pedals to school, so we jammed a little after class.

So this is me in my element, playing a cover of INXS’s Suicide Blonde’s riffs.

To be frank, I was completely lost in class today. It might be that maybe 6 years of not attending any classes has rusted my brain but a little “fall behind” and rain won’t stop me from coming back again tomorrow.

This is me with a grin saying:
Night!

xniquet's journey across India

The Sari Hunter

In my iPod: This is It - Staind
[download]
State of mind: Healthy
Location: Mumbai, India

Not Delhi, not Bangalore, not Mumbai but there is slight chance that I might consider staying in Varanasi not because it is the modern city of the dead but it was the traditional lifestyle and the colorful culture that captivated me; to many it may seems queer but I totally feel right at home there.


So what about the food? I may have come to hate curry now but I am slowly getting used to the reek of it. I may be fussy about my food but the one thing that I am blessed with is my ability to withstand hunger. The heat? The place may be ancient but it still has AC. Language wise, I think I am still capable to pack in a dialect of two. So what the fuck is stopping me from coming here to stay?


I am not trying to fucking jinx myself but I swear to fucking God that the 10 fucking plague of Egypt is upon me. First it was severe coughing, so bad that it completely damaged my windpipe then I had the worst fever for 3 days, next my whole body was covered with fucking rashes. I mean WTF, what is next? I have been consistently getting sick for the last two and a half months here. Seriously, I love it here but my body just seems to be rejecting India.


After 3 days of not stepping outta my hotel, I finally got my ass outand decided to do a little Sari hunting again. Well I did bought a batch of saris for my friends but this time it was for someone special. Well, you know me, when I do something for someone that I hold dear, I would give it my 110 and is willing to go all out. Even though I already have a little sari shopping experience under my belt courtesy of Olivia but the sari shops in Mumbai are way bigger than the ones in Bangalore. It’s like stepping into a huge ass mall that only sells Saris and it is so easy to drown in the seas of fabric laid before your very eyes. I am completely overwhelmed and didn’t know where to fucking start looking when I step in such a shop.

It only took two of this mega ass size shop to make my eyes go vertigo and then it flip my fever switch back on again. Frankly, I have no idea what to look for except for the fact that it must be white and it must look good on her. I think I shall go to a smaller size shop tomorrow after my sitar class.


The shopping experience wasn’t that bad actually; in fact I did have fun watching the sale person posing as sari model. It may look funny on curry men but it is a pretty normal thing there.

"I feel pretty...Oh so pretty..."

"Oh... I iz Princess of Cury Land"

xniquet's journey across India

The Black Sheep of the Family

In my iPod: Women in Chains - Tears for Fears
[download]
State of mind: Fragile
Location: Mumbai, India

I filled my plate with a meager amount of spaghetti and rice noodles that clearly would not satisfied the hunger of a growing fat boy like me. But it will have to do for now; It is better to starve than to be ridicule and laughed at by my cousins. For my lust for food has caused me this body deformity that has earned me the nick name Fei Chai (which means fat boy in Cantonese) of the family.



As I sit at the very corner alone, trying to chew on my food and not attract any attention from my cousins and relatives around me. I saw my mum showing off her newly acquired knowledge of Japanese culinary to my dad while holding a bake Unagi in her hands. As convincing as she was, my dad will tend to find something to prove her theories wrong thus showing that he was always the smarter one and he always has to win. (Now I wonder where all these aggressive competitiveness comes from). My aunty would always back my mum and my uncles...well, they are like scavengers; they will wait and see and then side the winning party.



While the adults were having their debate, my cousins were amongst themselves, talking in either encrypted codes or a high language that I totally couldn't understand. It didn’t make any sense to be around them, for I would only be called slow and then ridiculed again. So it was just me, myself and I, sitting alone in the corner, hoping and praying that the night will be over soon. But that isn't always the case, for it was always long and lonely that I have come to understand the real meaning of eternal solitary.



On unbearable nights like these, you will soon find my hiding in a closet with a flash light and a guitar. Going through notes, chords and scales but in a very quiet manner, just so no one would hear and discover me. And no one did ever found me because they were too busy with themselves that they didn't even notice my non existence. But it was also at this time that I have come to create the most beautiful sound to my ears and my ears only. For the world is outside of this closet.



I woke up, only to realize that it was all but a dream.



It was a dream about my past which did happen. Probably that is why I have developed this repulsiveness for family gatherings and festivities. I have always been the odd one in my family, probably the looks. Compared to those good looking motherfuckers, I was a real ugly duckling. No wait, what am I saying, they are not good looking at all except for my mum who was a former beauty queen. But I wonder how she got to carry a child who is so below par in good looks.



As my 2 days of fever comes to an end, it took this dream to once again remind me that I am the black sheep of my family. Even the last gathering didn’t felt so much different. At least I didn’t hide in the closet or have to hide what I am eating. But still I don’t seem to see any bridge of communication that could ever link me to them. Probably this is part of the reason that I choose to be far away from home and to start anew.



You know, once you get pass the taste, India doesn’t seem that bad after all. I am sure you ladies who swallow get what I mean.

xniquet's journey across India

Tainted Sacrament

In my iPod: Bearing Witness - Collective Soul
[download]
State of mind: Confusion
Location: Mumbai, India

I guess a lot of you are still suffering from the aftermath of Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service, it was really a tearjerker. If I am not mistaken for most of you, it was the moment where Paris Jackson spoke. As for me, it was Magic Johnson’s story about Michael, himself and a bucket of KFC that left me all choked up. God, I fucking miss KFC; I am gonna get a bucket to myself later today.


So as Michael Jackson’s fans around the world are trying to cope and get over the sudden loss of their idol, I am too trying to cope and get over the fact that one of the most beautiful women in the world used to be a male. Just how fucking sad can that be? I know guys around the world must have had their tough time getting over Harisu when they found out about it a couple of years back but it was a very recent affair for me after I watched one of her movies.


Now how the fuck can this be? In my thesaurus, the word “Transgender” is always associated with synonyms like icky, gross, disgusting, revolting, repulsive, repugnant and it often brings out the meaning of words like puke, vomit, barf, spew, regurgitate, disgorge… you get what the fuck I mean right?


The term “Beautiful Transgender” has always been an oxymoron but Harisu has came out and proven it wrong. How can it be that a tranny can be so goddamn fine? If there is a beauty pageant regardless of sex, I think she would come up amongst the top. You see the disturbing part is even after knowing that she is a transgender, I was utterly disgusted when I caught myself Googling for pictures of her. Fuck man, when did this fetish for Harisu come about?


As you all may already know, she is now happily married with a guy which is pretty good looking I might say. But riddle me this, should I be happy or sad for him? Yeah, so he may have one of the most beautiful women in the world as his wife but dude, she used to be a dude like you. I wonder does he have mood swings and thoughts like this while fucking his wife: “Damn, I am the luckiest man on earth, I am banging the most beautiful women in the world” and when he comes to his senses: ”Ewwww… what the fuck am I doing? Technically speaking I am banging a guy that looks like a lady.”


For me, I fucking know that I really can’t get pass the same gender sex thing. Ladies might not fully comprehend the implication of this because generally all ladies are lesbian in nature but normal guys are generally homophobic; even talking to another guy on the phone or in a pub for more than 5 minutes seems gay to us. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if she was Susan Boyle that has gone through an extensive facial tweaking but a someone who used to have a penis is more than I can ever bear.


I really gotta get this Harisu outta my system before it turns me into a queer and the best thing to do is to go out to the streets of Mumbai to see some tranny that would put back the real meaning in the word “Transgender” which should rightfully mean “Ugly and Disgusting”


On another note, my search for an apartment and sitar guru have once again been put to a halt mainly because I just found out that my sweet computer technician (which is a FEMALE), installed Street Fighter 4 on my notebook and I was momentarily distracted. No worries, I told myself that I will be back on track…


… once I unlock all the hidden players and complete the game using all the characters. For the time being this is for all the mishap that happened to me in India:

Die Dhalsim! Have a fucking taste of your own medicine you yoga flame throwing curry motherfucker.


*Throws the peace sign

xniquet's journey across India

The Tin Man

In my iPod: Mechanical Animals - Marilyn Manson
[download]
State of mind: Heartless
Location: Mumbai, India

I'm caught in the pissing days of India known as the fucking monsoon right now and it isn't something new to me because the sky pisses too this time of the year from where I fucking come from. I used to love it when it rains in Kuantan. As a kid, that means there will be puddles of water everywhere and I could catch as much tadpole to torture as I could. As an adult, the hillside is filled with mud and its slippery. It is the perfect excuse to get all dirty and wet while I go downhill cycling. But not here in Mumbai, when it rains, it reeks of garbage that has been long neglected. The water that washes down the roads are basically shit streams of rubbish. It is so goddamn repulsive when you get your feet wet.


So it is just the perfect excuse for me to postpone my search for an apartment and also for a sitar guru. That is why I stayed in and watched as much horror movies and drink as much red as I could, enjoying this part of life while I still can before I move out into the real life you might say. Anyway, I watched this Malaysian made horror flick "Possessed", which stars Malaysian model Amber Chia and all I can say is please do not let her do any seductive dance moves on any movie again, for it is as gross as the transvestite in Kuantan dancing in the streets trying to seduce clients.


While I was listening to Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animal; I notice that there is a line in it that goes "...If we cry, we will rust." Which lead me to believe that Manson was referring to the Tin Man in the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. You know, I have always had this compassion for the Tin Man. Even though I am not made of tin and chop wood for a living but I think we still share certain qualities.


For those who haven't read the Wonderful Wizard of Oz nor have any idea who this Tin Man is. Let me enlighten you. You see the Tin Man wasn't always the Tin Man but was born Tin Woodcutter, son of a poor woodcutter who eventually grew up and took over his father's business. He fell in love with a girl but couldn't afford to married her because he was poor. Therefore he worked as hard as he could, so that he could marry the girl but the lazy girl's mother didn't want her daughter to get married. She wanted her to stay with her for the rest of her life to cook, wash and clean; so she made a deal with the wicked witch to stop the woodcutter from ever marrying her daughter. The wicked witch enchanted the woodcutter's axe and causes it to slip off his hands every time he cuts wood. Every time the axe slips it would cut off his limps or body part. But each time the wood cutter loses his limps, the tin smith in town would replace it with a limp or part made out of tin. But pretty soon, when all his limps and body is replaced with tin, he eventually became so mechanical and became without a heart. Without a heart he couldn't love the girl anymore. That is why when he met Dorothy, he wanted to join in the quest to seek out the wizard and ask for a heart, in order to love again.


Just the other night I had a talk on MSN, someone asked me why am I not in relationship or interested in anyone? Busy? No fate? Well, I could strike off being busy because that would be the last thing I am now. No fate? Initially I thought it could be but thinking back, it wasn't that because I have met incredible ladies that could easily flip me head over heels. I guess the thing with me is that I am pretty much become a tin man myself. Some time back then, I have pretty much lost it - a heart that is capable to love. But somehow I couldn't agree more with what the Tin Man said " ...I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart. While I was in love, I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can love who has not a heart..."

xniquet's journey across India

The Sitar Hero

In my iPod: Govinda - Kula Shakers
[download]
State of mind: Sluggish
Location: Mumbai, India

Minutes after I made my mind to extend my stay here in Mumbai, I realized that if I was going to do that, I really gotta move right outta here as quick as possible before I turned into human vegetable. You see, staying here in this hotel has left me allergic to movements. All I do all day is fucking lay on my back in my sweet bed. Besides bathing, crapping & taking a leak of which I bearly do these days, I can do everything else with just a touch of my fingers on the touch screen panel right beside my bed. It's like a whole command centre here. The lighting, temperature, TV and everything else can be done from here. Blogging? I am sitting on my ass in bed blogging about this on my notebook; Twitting, Facebooking and MSN-ing, I got a PDA, I can lie down on my back while doing it. What about food you say; well allow me to retort; you see I just need to send a request for what I wanna eat and when the food arrives, with just a push of a button, the door is opened. Bell boy pushes the food cart into my room and the only movement I need to do is sit up, reach for the food, chew and let the food slide in, while I flip through multiple TV shows on the huge ass plasma TV.

So you see you can't blame me for being such a sluggish sloth because it is the comfort around me that allow me to be who I am becoming now. But seriously I really got to take an exit before anymore damage can be done to me. So that is why I have decided to rent a cozy furnished apartment around town. I guess there will not be any more room service or house cleaning but this would mean that I will be back on track in trying to experience the lifestyle of the average Muthu here in India.

So with all my strength and might, I got off my bed and with a triumphant victory I stepped outta my room in search for a lessen living condition for a better me. But my search for an apartment has been short lived when I passed this little sitar shop. I was taken by the window display and I had to go in. I was enchanted and mesmerized by the sound of this instrument as I heard an rather aged lady playing it like it was an extended limp. She was old but she was the type of lady who aged with graced. Without much thought, I blindly bought it. All I could think of was how cool I would look with a sitar in my hands and I was on my way of becoming a Sitar Hero. With an ass whooping bill of RS36,000, I purchased not one but two sitars. One being the real deal ?a double gourd sitar and the other was just a small sitar for kids which I wanna decorate my room back at home.

So there was I, holding two sitars outside the little store. Great, now how am I going to walk around town looking for an apartment with such a load? So I decided to call off the search for today and head back to my current crib for some pie and puddings.

The next day, my search for an apartment had to be put on hold because I realized that I had a more pressing matter at hand. So I headed out with my sitars and was back at the shop to get them tuned because it didn't come with an operational manual. Since I was there, I might as well ask for the name and addresses of Gurus who are giving sitar lessons.

The sacrifices I am willing to make for the sake of learning the sitar are somewhat legendary you might say. So I guess I will be ordering some Pizza, Nachos and a tall glass of root beer from my bed tonight. Sigh...

xniquet's journey across India

What The Fish!

In my iPod: WTF - Saul Williams
[download]
State of mind: WTF!
Location: Mumbai, India

They say you are what you eat, so does that mean if you keep having cheeseburger you will eventually turned into a cheeseburger yourself? I doubt that ever a human being will ever turned into cheeseburger but after coming to India, I finally realized that there is some truth in it. These fuckers have curry in almost all of their meals and the curry odor that comes from them in enclosed places is simply unbearable. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say they are like a walking curry leave plant. If you find yourself short of curry leaves, you just have to pluck some of their hair. With the scent that they are emanating, they will work as well as the real thing. Even a straight guy that just hangs around with one too many gay friends would somehow turn gay himself. Trust me I lost two to the other team. And what about if you read too much of something? Will you eventually turn into a monster for reading too much stuff about them?


My fetish for reading the life story of deranged human beings that have ever walked the face of this earth has landed me on Albert Hamilton Fish, also known as the Gray Man, the Werewolf of Wysteria, the Brooklyn Vampire, and The Boogeyman. But he is more widely known as Albert Fish the self-admitted molester of more than 400 children during a span of 20 years. So he is a pedophile, what is so special about him? We got plenty of them here in our century. Well, just read on if you wanna know.


Being fascinated by his story and not wanting to turned into him, I have list out a checklist of things that he have done and I shouldn’t be even thinking of committing:

-Enjoyed physical pain and the beatings would often give him erections.
-Indulged in the practice of Urolagnia (being pee on) and Coprophagia (eating shit).
-Became a gigolo; molesting children, raping young boys mostly under six.
-Became fascinated by a bisection of a penis that he developed a morbid interest in castration.
-During a relationship with a mentally retarded man, attempted to castrate him after tying him up.
-Self-embed needles into own groin, which would be remove afterwards.
-Soon after, started to insert them so deep that they were impossible to take out. (Later x-rays revealed that Fish had at least 29 needles lodged in his pelvic region).
-At the electric chair, it took two jolts to kill him because it was short-circuited by the needles Fish previously inserted into his pelvic region.
-Last but not least, cooked and ate at least 3 children. Man the guy is better than Armin Meiwes.



To further show how deranged this fucker is, here is the infamous letter that was sent to the parent of one victim by Fish which lead to his arrest:

“Dear Mrs. Budd. In 1894 a friend of mine shipped as a deck hand on the Steamer Tacoma, Capt. John Davis. They sailed from San Francisco for Hong Kong, China. On arriving there he and two others went ashore and got drunk. When they returned the boat was gone. At that time there was famine in China. Meat of any kind was from $1-3 per pound. So great was the suffering among the very poor that all children under 12 were sold for food in order to keep others from starving. A boy or girl under 14 was not safe in the street. You could go in any shop and ask for steak—chops—or stew meat. Part of the naked body of a boy or girl would be brought out and just what you wanted cut from it. A boy or girl's behind which is the sweetest part of the body and sold as veal cutlet brought the highest price. John staid [sic] there so long he acquired a taste for human flesh. On his return to N.Y. he stole two boys, one 7 and one 11. Took them to his home stripped them naked tied them in a closet. Then burned everything they had on. Several times every day and night he spanked them – tortured them – to make their meat good and tender. First he killed the 11 year old boy, because he had the fattest ass and of course the most meat on it. Every part of his body was cooked and eaten except the head—bones and guts. He was roasted in the oven (all of his ass), boiled, broiled, fried and stewed. The little boy was next, went the same way. At that time, I was living at 409 E 100 St. near—right side. He told me so often how good human flesh was I made up my mind to taste it. On Sunday June the 3, 1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese—strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her. On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How she did kick – bite and scratch. I choked her to death, and then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms. Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin…
(of another victim)…I brought him to the Riker Ave. dumps. There is a house that stands alone, not far from where I took him. I took the boy there. Stripped him naked and tied his hands and feet and gagged him with a piece of dirty rag I picked out of the dump. Then I burned his clothes. Threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley to 59 St. at 2 A.M. and walked from there home. Next day about 2 P.M., I took tools, a good heavy cat-of-nine tails. Home made. Short handle. Cut one of my belts in half, slit these halves in six strips about 8 inches long. I whipped his bare behind till the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears - nose - slit his mouth from ear to ear. Gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth to his body and drank his blood. I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut him through the middle of his body. Just below the belly button. Then through his legs about 2 inches below his behind. I put this in my grip with a lot of paper. I cut off the head - feet - arms - hands and the legs below the knee. This I put in sacks weighed with stones, tied the ends and threw them into the pools of slimy water you will see all along the road going to North Beach. I came home with my meat. I had the front of his body I liked best. His monkey and pee wees and a nice little fat behind to roast in the oven and eat. I made a stew out of his ears -- nose -- pieces of his face and belly. I put onions, carrots, turnips, celery, salt and pepper. It was good. Then I split the cheeks of his behind open, cut off his monkey and pee wees and washed them first. I put strips of bacon on each cheek of his behind and put them in the oven. Then I picked 4 onions and when the meat had roasted about 1/4 hour, I poured about a pint of water over it for gravy and put in the onions. At frequent intervals I basted his behind with a wooden spoon. So the meat would be nice and juicy. In about 2 hours, it was nice and brown, cooked through. I never ate any roast turkey that tasted half as good as his sweet fat little behind did. I ate every bit of the meat in about four days. His little monkey was a sweet as a nut, but his pee-wees I could not chew. Threw them in the toilet. “

Frankly, I don’t mean to poison you with the morbid images and thought of this deranged killer but what I have learned from Iris Chang’s The Rape of Nanking, is that horrid tragedy should not be forgotten or kept hidden. Mass amnesia will not do justice to the victims whose voices that will never be heard. So let's remember the ones that ate and had been eaten. This horror should be remembered and served as a reminder that even the most unlikely person can be an instrument of hell in this earth and that this world is far uglier than you can ever imagine.


Anyway, enough of that bullshit, what would I know? I am just a fucked up blogger who likes to mess up people’s head. But I guess any sane person who found out about Fish would go “WTF!” , so I am guessing that this is how What The Fish came about …


For more deranged fuckers read this: The Man who ate His Lover

29/6 In Mumbai

29/6 I'm Screwed

27/6 Leaving Bangalore

26/6 Curry and Beer

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

xniquet's journey across India