Nothing in this Silence

I m clueless as to what am I even doing these days. I wake up at 6am to find myself pedaling my balls off to almost 70clicks every morning. I rest for which I felt like a little while, and then I get myself ready to run another 5-6 miles in the evening. Even before the day is through, I am already lying horizontally on my bed getting ready to sleep; sometimes without dinner because I'm just too tired to eat. Most nights I slide in a Blu-ray disc hoping to catch a movie but even before the starting credit ends, I’m already sound asleep.




Everything just sorta repeats itself the next day.




No, I am not training for some endurance event; no, I am not trying to lose weight, in fact the last I checked, I should be putting on weight. I don't hang out with my friends much; heck, I don't even interact much with my online friends these days. I’m now a hermit that is turning into a ball of silence; lately, I don't even have much to say here in my blog. It’s not any emotion sickness that I am having but I think it is just probably boredom that the banality of my mundane life provides me.



So should I be sucking God's dick and be thankful that everything in my life is damn peaceful right now? Or should I be worried that this stillness in my life is just the calm before the big shitty storm? Fuck it, this isn't going to well with me at all. I should be out somewhere looking for trouble or stirring some shit up.


But for now, I am just corpse-like tired to my motherfucking bones. You can expect me to go on a hiatus, at least until I get over this fucking silence that is binding me.

Over You

He says it’s so loud here yet it has never been so much quietness inside his hollow and emptied out soul that has just been left so vacant that even any spirit would haunt. He's tried from all the fucked up things in his life that has come undone and now he tries to take refuge under the shadow of this world's scorching sun. Yet he realized that there is just no escape from this tormenting silence inside of him.


He likes writing and watching the sun as it hits her long silky hair; she likes talking and listening to him serenades while it rains outside.


Now they're not talking because of his mistakes.



He lied, lied, lied.




..and it is killing him that he can't tell her the truth. So he is writing these bottled up feelings for her on a little piece of paper and hoping someday she might find. For now, he'll hide it behind something, so they won't look behind...


“I painted our room late at midnight, so that I'll know that yesterday was over. I've placed all your books on the top shelf. I took down our pictures from the walls and wrapped it in newspapers. But in all of these, I 'm still feeling caged up inside here, and I'm hoping that maybe one day you would finally come around. I really wish that this could have been any other way than this. But please forgive me for I just don’t know what else I can do.”

Tasty Crap

Alright, this is really going to be a hit and run post because I am still trying to juggle with my current lifestyle. Since I have switched on my rant mode, I'm just gonna briefly rant to y'all about what the fuck happened the fucking day before and yesterday. I'm not proud about my ranting but before I turned my blog permanently into a blog that reeks of emo-ness, I think I should blog about something else besides all the shit storm that is bombarding me.


So as I promise, this is going to be short...


You see the day before, a friend brought over some braised tofu for my dad and me; it was the best tofu we have ever tasted; it even got me and my dad talking about it at night, so we came to an accord that we just gotta have some more of that tasty motherfucker the next day. I gave my friend a call and asked her for the directions. That night both of us went to bed with the widest grin because we knew tomorrow we are going to have some more of that tasty tofu.


After my morning run at the gym, both of us headed to that place. Our first impression was how the fuck such a shit hole like this could ever produce such tasty tofu? Look at the fucking tables, it hasn't been cleared for don't know how long. The black dots on the table weren’t grime, its bloody flies.

When we sat down, the table across us looked like this. Half an hour later after we've done, the table was still looking like that but only with a little more flies on it.


Look at how clean these are; we are supposed to use it. I remember that was the case when I went for Hokkien noodles near Kota Raya(KL), the clean chopsticks came with a pieces of vegetable sticking to it but at least the people there give us a pack of tissue to wipe it. Here, you're fucking on your own.

It was like a fucking safari here but the only species on the loose were flies. The flies here have no fear of human at all. As soon as any food comes, they’ll come too. You can swat them off as many times as you want but they are just gonna come back right at you. So, you just gotta chase them off as you eat and when you get tired, those fuckers will just hang around your plate.

Seriously, the fucker selling this tofu thinks their tofu is really that good that they don't really need to give a shit about food presentation. Well, I can adhere to that but my threshold has been passed when you serve me with crap looking like this.

I don't care if you don't serve it to me in a silver platter but as least have the decency to give me a tofu that is whole, not pieces of crap that looks like someone have just taken a bite from it and on top of it someone’s curry puke.


Fuck you, if you think the taste of the crap you sell can overshadow the way it looks. Even my dog eats better looking crap than that.

And fuck you again, I'm not coming back here for your tasty crap.



*Opppps, this wasn't that short after-all.

Almost Famous?

Today I met a friend…


“To me a blog is a piece of parchment where I can be completely honest and write down all my inner thoughts. “

But today, the people who once said that the net has given them the opportunity to be themselves are using blogs and social network site as a tool to boost their popularity for the sake of their own celebritarian needs. In fact these days, people are more concern about their online reputation more than their real self. They would rather look better on the webcam or pictures uploaded to their blog than being caught without any make up in the real world. Our whole goddamn generation has turned into a blog traffic craving, fame mongering, and picture photoshopping freaks that leeches off the net for the sense of belonging. You know when they say that the internet world is slowly becoming like the real world, I totally agree with it because everyone is starting to put on a mask and everyone is just as superficial on both sides.

So tell me, is it ever safe again just to be your own self in the net or are you just going to be label as a cry for attention for being different. Where is this place where you could be yourself and speak your unpopular thoughts and opinion without being labeled nut job? Whatever happens to the honest person inside of us who just wants others to accept him for who he is? Has the need of being famous and accepted made us forget who we really are inside?


If you ask me...

fuck trying to get famous, fuck trying to get approval, fuck trying to mind what others think about you and fuck anyone who thinks less of you for being who the fuck you are.


Let me rephrase this sentence again, "To me a blog is a piece of parchment, where I can be completely be honest and write about my malicious intents, my scandalous fantasies, my murderous cravings, my blasphemous thoughts, my betraying affections, my indecent proposals, my sinful conducts, my immoral affairs and most of all, me. "



Today I met up with a friend I haven’t seen him for ages but what I gathered from his "famous" blog, everything seems to be heading his way, he is doing super fine and is having the time of his life. Even his friends from his social network pages could bloody flood a stadium 3 times over. But I never really thought that he could be so pathetically low on the downside of his real life. Even an outcast hermit like me has more friends than this "famous" blogger.



I felt sorry for him, I really do.

ag.o.ra.pho.bi.a

Today, I decided to take a leap of faith, so I drove myself 3 miles to the famous Sunday street market where you can get all sort of mouth watery treats in one place. It’s been years since I’ve been here. Mainly because it’s crowded, secondly it’s crowded and finally it’s crowded. Ever since I moved from the city to come back here, I have been trying to avoid places with large congregation of people, so much so that I think I have developed this phobia of being in places with large amount of people especially in open spaces.


It just got worse lately, every time I find myself in the middle of a crowd, I begin to feel that I am getting smaller and smaller; then everything around me starts to move in super speed that I can’t seem to catch up. My heart would pound so fast, I 'll hyperventilate; all I know is that I gotta get outta that crowd to a place where there are less people, then everything would just go back to normal. I really don’t know what is happening to me but it could be that I have started to resent all humans in general.


But somehow I manage to find a way of dealing with crowded places; I find that if I jack into my iPod to shut out all the noises around me, I am able to regain more control of myself. So that was what I did today, with Robert Plant and Alison Krauss playing in my ears, I walked the street market like a scavenger preying for something that would fill my stomach tonight. My tactic was proven effective but only for the first few moments; but when throngs and throngs of motherfuckers started to flock that street market, I couldn’t but to feel my anxiety started to take my wheels. It was just too much for me to bear, even with my iPod playing over 5 decibel. Without going any further, I turn back to where my car was parked and I bullet outta there like a bat from hell.


But I guess it was a good effort because I manage to grab some grill chicken before I flew out of my living nightmare.

The fucking Malays here like to grill their chicken to perfection and when I say perfection in term of the Malays, it means almost turning the chicken into charcoal. So my dinner was the charred chicken which probably would increase the risk of me developing cancer . It was suppose to taste sweet because I saw the fucker spread generous amount of honey on it. But I think I am finally feeling the side effect of taking too many Paracetamol in the last few days, now my tongue can only handle the bitter taste.


Goddammit! Even Pepsi taste bitter to me.

The Break

Scarred by the violence of change; charred by this sentimental break. I hear her start the engine but I looked the other way. Suddenly I feel the weight of the world rest upon my breaking back. Is this what I really want? Am I going to regret this? I twist and turn to try to catch a final glimpse of her but it was too late.



She’s gone.


Moments ago, she pulled over and waited at my porch.


You know, there was a time where I would have given up a limp just to have her here but today… today her black compact was like a funeral hearse waiting to give the one last ride to the deceased. Right now, this ride was meant for me. Walking towards her car almost felt like I was doing my death march because I knew that things wasn’t going to be pretty when I get in that car.


She unlocked the door and I found myself stepping into her office. How appropriate, Black Eyed Pea was singing 'I got a feeling…' on the car stereo; she reached down, muted the stereo, looked at me and demanded an answer. But all I could give her was the same old reasons that I gave her the first time and the second time we broke up - “It’s everything.” She wasn't buying it and she was not backing down. I had to put an end to this, no matter how fucking ugly this is going to get or else there will be chorus of these uncalled for visits and confrontations.


So I decided to lie; I turned into a fork tongue and I lied as hard as I could. Ruthless sentences that starts with “I don’t …“& “I’ve never…” joined in the foray. Words once spoken can't be taken back. I knew this and I was ready to accept whatever consequences. Right now to her, I’m the worst person in this world, I was the ultimate asshole. But it’s alright, if it means that her child now has a full time mother and if she doesn't have to divert her attention and affection on a fucking low life adulterer like me, I would gladly bear her loathe and disgust.


As much as my words and actions would hurt her, she will never comprehend the pain that I bear inside; it hurts even more when you have to lie and hurt the one you love. Every part of me says that it was the right thing to do but somehow there’s just this lingering aching pain inside of me that is slowly eating me up like cancer. I feel like I’m breaking from the inside.


I loathe myself so much right now I can’t even bear looking at myself at the mirror anymore.


I'm having the worst headache; I need more pills right now.

of Dying Alone

It doesn't really take a fucking soothsayer or a clairvoyance to figure out that at this rate that I am going, I can pretty much predict I am going to grow old and die alone, alright maybe not old but definitely die alone. Seriously, I don't know whether I have it in me anymore to be in a fucking relationship because I am already so used to living this life as it is now. I fucking do whatever I feel like doing, when I like fucking doing it and in whatever fucking amount I like doing it in. I answer to no fucking one except me and the last thing I ever need is someone to come and fuck it up for me. You know I seriously doubt anyone would want to share my unpredictable and ad hoc way of living. If there is, I pity the ones who’s willing to take a chance on me because it would mean a massive lifestyle restructuring and a whole lot of insanity to even consider being with me.



I saw this in today’s news:

Overdose of sex stimulants kills man

BANGKOK: A Malaysian man was found dead in a hotel room in the border town of Sadao, in what is suspected to have been caused by an overdose of sex stimulants. On Tuesday night, the 52-year-old victim and his Thai girlfriend (most likley a hooker if you ask me) checked into the hotel in Soi Thaijungloan after patronising a bar. “When she woke up in the morning, the man was already dead. She told us the man liked to take sex stimulants”



You know, I have always wondered how it is like to be dead and in the news; some people just has all the luck in the world. But seeing that I am pretty much on my way of dying a lonesome death, I could pretty much be that guy in the news, above, maybe 20-30 years from now. The ecstasy of overdosing on sex stimulant and having my cadaver discovered by my “girlfriend” (most likely a whore) the next morning is one way of leaving this world in style. So keep a look out, you might see my face in the news, somewhere down the road.

On another note, I’ve think I have just made a best friend. Since I came back, I have been relying on my friend for relieve, moral support and clarity in my head. This friend of mine doesn’t ask questions, it just does what it does best and that is keeping me intact. I’ve been living on these motherfuckers since the day I got back and so far they are doing a great job.

500mg per pop and I take two of these fuckers every four hours daily when I am awake. Seriously, I don’t know what am I gonna do without them.


Who the fuck says that you can't be friends with your drugs?