There was a minute hand of a watch who was in love with the hour hand. It was a one sided love affair because the hour hand never could see the minute hand.
The minute hand chased the hour hand. It was happy for a minute of every hour, when they were together, and the minute hand would imagine leaning forward against the hour hand leaning backwards against the minute hand. Then, that minute would pass, and the minute hand would be forlorn again.
One day, the time on the watch might stop. When it does, would love be requited? Or having had the mere experience of any kind of love would be enough?
They were just hands of a watch.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Highlights from Parliament
The boy watched the highlights from parliament because his father made him, since it was important to start training him for scholarship interviews from young. At the end of the first week, the father asked,
"What have you learnt from watching the parliament debate all week?"
"That it is very important to be friends with the people you work with."
"That is insightful, my clever boy! That is primal in politics. Come, tell father, how did my boy come to realise that?"
"It is important because you will need a friend to wake you up if you're sleeping on t.v. and to tell you that your hair is very messy before you make a speech in front of everybody."
"What have you learnt from watching the parliament debate all week?"
"That it is very important to be friends with the people you work with."
"That is insightful, my clever boy! That is primal in politics. Come, tell father, how did my boy come to realise that?"
"It is important because you will need a friend to wake you up if you're sleeping on t.v. and to tell you that your hair is very messy before you make a speech in front of everybody."
His Mediocrity
He was an unfortunate man whose life was like a piece of wood balancing on an inverted nail that was a tumour in his stomach. The tumour was benign, but it was alive and grows, and he tried his best to let it grow, because it could predict how well his company was doing - the bigger the tumour the better the financial status - when the tumour growth was in control, the company growth was stagnant - when the tumour showed signs of shrinkage, the company would be in deficit. He was the CFO. He was very well paid.
When there was a job offer, he decided to change jobs. Then he tried to fix his tumour. Then the new company got into trouble. Then he let it grow again.
Finally, the doctor told him, "If you still don't want to fix it, it would burst your stomach, and you will die."
"What are the odds, doctor?"
"You will definitely die."
"Everybody dies, doctor. If I don't fix it, how long would I have to live?"
"Negative three months. I hope your creditor is kind."
Then he got it removed, because he knew that no creditors were kind and the interest rates must be exorbitant in some way for it to be profitable. The company he was helping to run, folded, and he was sorry, but not remorseful.
The shape of his tumour would remind one of a brain, as it has crevices and folds that looks like the surface of the brain, except that it was dumpling-shaped into that of a stomach. He got some people to study the tumour to explore possible chances of transplanting to some animal, but all they found, in its heart, was a greasy coin, that he recognised as the coin that he stole from his mother's purse when he was young and ate to prevent from being found out.
He was later suspected of fraud and had his wealth confiscated.
He thought about stealing something from his mother's grave to swallow, but he did not know where his mother was buried, so he resorted to just making an honest living working and tried to resign to his mediocrity.
When there was a job offer, he decided to change jobs. Then he tried to fix his tumour. Then the new company got into trouble. Then he let it grow again.
Finally, the doctor told him, "If you still don't want to fix it, it would burst your stomach, and you will die."
"What are the odds, doctor?"
"You will definitely die."
"Everybody dies, doctor. If I don't fix it, how long would I have to live?"
"Negative three months. I hope your creditor is kind."
Then he got it removed, because he knew that no creditors were kind and the interest rates must be exorbitant in some way for it to be profitable. The company he was helping to run, folded, and he was sorry, but not remorseful.
The shape of his tumour would remind one of a brain, as it has crevices and folds that looks like the surface of the brain, except that it was dumpling-shaped into that of a stomach. He got some people to study the tumour to explore possible chances of transplanting to some animal, but all they found, in its heart, was a greasy coin, that he recognised as the coin that he stole from his mother's purse when he was young and ate to prevent from being found out.
He was later suspected of fraud and had his wealth confiscated.
He thought about stealing something from his mother's grave to swallow, but he did not know where his mother was buried, so he resorted to just making an honest living working and tried to resign to his mediocrity.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
The Snake Renter
Once upon a time, there was a snake who lived in a cave, in the middle of a desert. One night, a cockroach came to the snake and said,
"Dear sir, I am on my way to somewhere and passing by your cave. It is cold tonight, and I am tired and weary. May I come to please rent a bed from you?"
"Sir, I am sympathetic, but I am sorry to refuse you, for I only have one humble bed."
"Kind sir, that is fine with me, if you do not mind, for me to share the bed with you. I am nothing but small and will only take up one small corner of the bed and surely I would not disturb your sleep."
Reluctantly, the snake consented, and that night when he slept, he did not sleep well. It bothered him that he was sharing the bed with a filthy cockroach, who although did not physically impose on the snake at all, as the snake could sleep in his normal position, had a profound psychological impact on him. As he laid, he imagined the tickling of the cockroach's feelers on his skin, and he thought about how the cockroach's dead and squishy body would feel should he accidentally crush the cockroach.
He slept so badly that he only fell into deeper sleep when it was nearing dawn because he was so fatigued by his paranoia. The next morning the snake was late to rise, and the cockroach left his rent on a corner of the bed and left.
A few days later, on another night, a beautiful woman came to the snake and said,
"Dear sir, I am on my way to somewhere and passing by your cave. It is cold tonight, and I am tired and weary. May I come to please rent a bed from you?"
"Madam, I am sympathetic, but I only have one humble bed, if you do not mind to share the bed with me, you are the most welcome."
"Kind sir, that is fine with me, if you do not mind, for me to share the bed with you. I fear, however, that I may disturb your sleep."
The snake repeatedly reassured the woman that he was fine with it, and that he would curl up and sleep in a coil and that he could even be a headrest for the woman. The snake was happy that he could share the same bed with a beautiful woman and he slept well, and had a sweet dream, inspired by the sweet scent of the woman.
He slept so well that he overslept. The next morning the snake was late to rise, and the woman went out of the cave and found a big rock to crush the snake with, and then, she cooked him for breakfast.
(sneak.)
"Dear sir, I am on my way to somewhere and passing by your cave. It is cold tonight, and I am tired and weary. May I come to please rent a bed from you?"
"Sir, I am sympathetic, but I am sorry to refuse you, for I only have one humble bed."
"Kind sir, that is fine with me, if you do not mind, for me to share the bed with you. I am nothing but small and will only take up one small corner of the bed and surely I would not disturb your sleep."
Reluctantly, the snake consented, and that night when he slept, he did not sleep well. It bothered him that he was sharing the bed with a filthy cockroach, who although did not physically impose on the snake at all, as the snake could sleep in his normal position, had a profound psychological impact on him. As he laid, he imagined the tickling of the cockroach's feelers on his skin, and he thought about how the cockroach's dead and squishy body would feel should he accidentally crush the cockroach.
He slept so badly that he only fell into deeper sleep when it was nearing dawn because he was so fatigued by his paranoia. The next morning the snake was late to rise, and the cockroach left his rent on a corner of the bed and left.
*
A few days later, on another night, a beautiful woman came to the snake and said,
"Dear sir, I am on my way to somewhere and passing by your cave. It is cold tonight, and I am tired and weary. May I come to please rent a bed from you?"
"Madam, I am sympathetic, but I only have one humble bed, if you do not mind to share the bed with me, you are the most welcome."
"Kind sir, that is fine with me, if you do not mind, for me to share the bed with you. I fear, however, that I may disturb your sleep."
The snake repeatedly reassured the woman that he was fine with it, and that he would curl up and sleep in a coil and that he could even be a headrest for the woman. The snake was happy that he could share the same bed with a beautiful woman and he slept well, and had a sweet dream, inspired by the sweet scent of the woman.
He slept so well that he overslept. The next morning the snake was late to rise, and the woman went out of the cave and found a big rock to crush the snake with, and then, she cooked him for breakfast.
(sneak.)
Friday, 21 November 2008
Theodore and Beater
Once upon a time, in a village, there were two woodcutters who were good friends.
One of them was known by his nickname, Theodore, which did not refer to Roosevelt, who was not yet born, but was short form for "Three Doors Down", which was his nickname in full. People, who did not know better, would think that that it referred to how Theodore could cut his axe through three wooden doors at one go, and since once upon that time, wooden doors were very thick and strong things, and to be able to cut through three wooden doors, they thought that he was a very strong man.
The truth was, however, that Theodore loved drinking very much. And once, he had a bit too much to drink, and he threw up. His vomit splashed across three doors of three houses.
This would not normally be remarkable, by Theodore's personal records (which was 6 doors down), however, it happened in the middle of the day, and he took down the three doors in a unbroken single gush of puke. Imagine, his mouth as a nozzle and esophagus, like a hose, and together, sprayed vomit in a continuous stream over three doors of three house, in the middle of the day.
Friends and passerbys who saw the remarkable feat happened, thus dubbed that the "Three Doors Down incident" and gave him the nickname which eventually became better known as Theodore.
One of the friends there, was the other woodcutter, whose nickname was "Beater", which the same people, who did not know better, thought that he was such a mucho woodcutter, such that he defeats the woods, thus, "beating them". The truth was, however, more... candid.
Unfortunately for him, he was not quite drunk enough that day, and he instinctively feigned a well-rehearsed apologetic expression, which invited assumptions that he was going to be responsible for everything. Since there was no point in questioning the passed out puker or the other friends who had laughed heartily, and passed out on the ground, or pretended to, the housewives who were the only people at home at the time, came out of the houses, and all gravitated towards Beater, and one of them asked him,
"So, how much are you going to pay us for the doors?"
"Wah, you are so direct and frank!" replied Beater, "Whatever happened to the art of conversation? We are in once upon a time you know. We shouldn't be so forthcoming when we speak. Come, let's beat around the bush a bit."
And with that, he delivered a spectacular demonstration of "beating around the bush" until it was dinner time when all the housewives had to go home to prepare for dinner, and he got out of the mess. Thus, they gave him the nickname "Beater Around the Bush" which eventually became better known as Beater.
As word spread, and the people who did not know better perpetuated their misunderstandings about where their nicknames came from, Theodore's and Beater's businesses thrived, and they could afford to retire rich and retire young, and they drank all the time in the day and the night and tried to always remember to run away after vomitting on people's doors, if not, to pass out together.
They also generously and unreservedly treated their good friend, who wrote this story, to many, many drinks and happy things, and everybody lived happily ever after.
(For Yisheng and Terence.)
One of them was known by his nickname, Theodore, which did not refer to Roosevelt, who was not yet born, but was short form for "Three Doors Down", which was his nickname in full. People, who did not know better, would think that that it referred to how Theodore could cut his axe through three wooden doors at one go, and since once upon that time, wooden doors were very thick and strong things, and to be able to cut through three wooden doors, they thought that he was a very strong man.
The truth was, however, that Theodore loved drinking very much. And once, he had a bit too much to drink, and he threw up. His vomit splashed across three doors of three houses.
This would not normally be remarkable, by Theodore's personal records (which was 6 doors down), however, it happened in the middle of the day, and he took down the three doors in a unbroken single gush of puke. Imagine, his mouth as a nozzle and esophagus, like a hose, and together, sprayed vomit in a continuous stream over three doors of three house, in the middle of the day.
Friends and passerbys who saw the remarkable feat happened, thus dubbed that the "Three Doors Down incident" and gave him the nickname which eventually became better known as Theodore.
One of the friends there, was the other woodcutter, whose nickname was "Beater", which the same people, who did not know better, thought that he was such a mucho woodcutter, such that he defeats the woods, thus, "beating them". The truth was, however, more... candid.
Unfortunately for him, he was not quite drunk enough that day, and he instinctively feigned a well-rehearsed apologetic expression, which invited assumptions that he was going to be responsible for everything. Since there was no point in questioning the passed out puker or the other friends who had laughed heartily, and passed out on the ground, or pretended to, the housewives who were the only people at home at the time, came out of the houses, and all gravitated towards Beater, and one of them asked him,
"So, how much are you going to pay us for the doors?"
"Wah, you are so direct and frank!" replied Beater, "Whatever happened to the art of conversation? We are in once upon a time you know. We shouldn't be so forthcoming when we speak. Come, let's beat around the bush a bit."
And with that, he delivered a spectacular demonstration of "beating around the bush" until it was dinner time when all the housewives had to go home to prepare for dinner, and he got out of the mess. Thus, they gave him the nickname "Beater Around the Bush" which eventually became better known as Beater.
As word spread, and the people who did not know better perpetuated their misunderstandings about where their nicknames came from, Theodore's and Beater's businesses thrived, and they could afford to retire rich and retire young, and they drank all the time in the day and the night and tried to always remember to run away after vomitting on people's doors, if not, to pass out together.
They also generously and unreservedly treated their good friend, who wrote this story, to many, many drinks and happy things, and everybody lived happily ever after.
(For Yisheng and Terence.)
Uncle Hog
Hog normally sat at the corner table at the kopitiam. He would arrive in the afternoon, around 3 to 4 pm, and ordered continuous rounds of tiger beer until around 10 in the night.
At 5 pm, two of his students would arrive, and he would tutor them in literature and philosophies on life. They have to pay him five dollars on the spot, and he welcomes them to bring friends, so long as they pay too. Then he'll use the money to get more beer.
And cigarettes. Let's not forget about his cigarettes.
Hog smoked four cigarettes every hour, or one cigarette every fifteen minutes. It is hard to hold the cigarettes with his trotters, so he leaves them dangling in between his lips until from start to finish. He never coughs. When his students did, he gave them permission to leave the table until he finishes his cigarette. He told the rest that those who left the table would never be able to understand a good deal of literature, which came from people who smoke.
"Apparently," he said, "nicotine does something for the schizophrenics, and many writers are schizophrenics, you know. There's a certain sense of empathy."
"Uncle Hog, is that why you smoke even when you know smoking is bad for health?" said a student once, from the 8 pm class. He held two sessions daily, sometimes the students show up, sometimes not. He forbade his students from addressing him as teacher. When he was a kid, a long time ago, his mother told him to address people as "uncle" as a sign of respect. He liked that and asked to be called "Uncle" - a figure of authority without moral responsibility.
"50 years ago, they said smoking is good for health. Fifty years later, they say it kills you. Maybe 50 years later they'll say it's good for me again. Remember: Facts become obsolete. Fiction remains relevant. Even Shakespeare's old pansy rhymes are more relevant than the 'facts' of his time."
"Do you really believe that smoking is good for your health?"
"No. Smoking is bad for you, don't pick up smoking," said Hog sternly, "If you have to pick up something, pick up a pen instead. If that fails you, then pick up drinking. If that fails you too, then you can consider smoking."
"Then why do you smoke?"
"Smoking is bad for health, but it hasn't failed me."
When Hog died of lung cancer, his students buried him and put this on his epitaph, "His only hate sprung from his only love (other than drinking and the written word)." He didn't ask for it, but they thought he would find it funny.
At 5 pm, two of his students would arrive, and he would tutor them in literature and philosophies on life. They have to pay him five dollars on the spot, and he welcomes them to bring friends, so long as they pay too. Then he'll use the money to get more beer.
And cigarettes. Let's not forget about his cigarettes.
Hog smoked four cigarettes every hour, or one cigarette every fifteen minutes. It is hard to hold the cigarettes with his trotters, so he leaves them dangling in between his lips until from start to finish. He never coughs. When his students did, he gave them permission to leave the table until he finishes his cigarette. He told the rest that those who left the table would never be able to understand a good deal of literature, which came from people who smoke.
"Apparently," he said, "nicotine does something for the schizophrenics, and many writers are schizophrenics, you know. There's a certain sense of empathy."
"Uncle Hog, is that why you smoke even when you know smoking is bad for health?" said a student once, from the 8 pm class. He held two sessions daily, sometimes the students show up, sometimes not. He forbade his students from addressing him as teacher. When he was a kid, a long time ago, his mother told him to address people as "uncle" as a sign of respect. He liked that and asked to be called "Uncle" - a figure of authority without moral responsibility.
"50 years ago, they said smoking is good for health. Fifty years later, they say it kills you. Maybe 50 years later they'll say it's good for me again. Remember: Facts become obsolete. Fiction remains relevant. Even Shakespeare's old pansy rhymes are more relevant than the 'facts' of his time."
"Do you really believe that smoking is good for your health?"
"No. Smoking is bad for you, don't pick up smoking," said Hog sternly, "If you have to pick up something, pick up a pen instead. If that fails you, then pick up drinking. If that fails you too, then you can consider smoking."
"Then why do you smoke?"
"Smoking is bad for health, but it hasn't failed me."
When Hog died of lung cancer, his students buried him and put this on his epitaph, "His only hate sprung from his only love (other than drinking and the written word)." He didn't ask for it, but they thought he would find it funny.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
Zhou the Walrus
Zhou was a walrus that lived in a zoo. He had strayed too far away from his homeland, and was captured by a whaler and sold to the zoo because the captain thought he was too majestic to be eaten. He was the only walrus in the zoo.
Everybody liked Zhou, especially the primates and the tortoises. He had nice stories to tell about his adventures and jokes about how he was "blubbly". Whenever any of the animals get depressed about life in the zoo, their good friends or family would bring them to talk to Zhou at night, and they would usually feel better about themselves.
There were times, however, when Zhou was unapproachable. Usually that was when he's in heat, or have a toothache. He usually had a toothache when he's 'heaty' - as in, in the traditional chinese medicine way. For example, when he had a toothache, or more specifically, a tuskache, one would hear him lamenting to the skies, wailing, "Whhhhy does the heavens give me such big teeth? My face is small, unlike the elephants, and I don't even a trunk, let alone hands, to clean them and take care of them. Ohhh... I am so miserable.
"Whhhhy does the heavens give me such big teeth? When it has willed for me to be enclosed in this dreaded zoo. There are no ladies here for me to impress with my teeth. Ohhh... I am so miserable."
Usually, when everybody heard the walrus wailing, they would stay away, as they were afraid of being scolded or chided by the heaty and angry walrus. They have experienced being in heat or toothaches before, and they know how irrational that makes them, so they kept away or kept their children away.
The next door couple of seals, however, had a little pup. One day, when the seals were out performing, the walrus was complaining, the pup did not know better and asked, "Uncle Zhou, my mother said everybody comes to you with their troubles, but why are you complaining about your teeth like how everyone complains about life?"
Looking at the cute and impressionable seal pup, Zhou thought it was important to explain, so he spoke to the pup softly,
"Little pup. I am only a walrus, and like everybody else, I am a subject of the heavens and fate and time. When I feel a toothache, I will feel like being complaining, so I complain. To complain is part of the joy of having a toothache.
"Little pup, it is important, however, when one is complaining, to know what one is complaining for. Complaining is for the better enjoyment of the experience. It is like, part of enjoying summer is to sit around to complain about the heat; and part of enjoying in winter is to huddle around and complain about the cold."
"My mother always tells me to appreciate the heat of the summer by remembering how cold it was in winter, and to appreciate the cool of winter by remembering how hot it was in summer," said the pup.
"Yes, it is very important to be appreciative of the present moment in your heart. That is basically how one is able to enjoy the present moment. When you complain without basic appreciation, then you will be miserable. If you are miserable without basic appreciation, then it is a waste of perfectly good misery.
"It is like, to complain about being in a zoo, is part of the joy of being in a zoo, only if one appreciates that he can sit around complaining about the zoo, instead of say, fleeing from predators or hunting for prey. Without appreciation, there will not be enjoyment, if there is no enjoyment, one is merely wasting the space he takes up."
The pup cocked his head to a side and did not understand everything fully, and said, "Well, anyway, Uncle Zhou, if it would make you feel better, I am impressed with your big teeth. I think it makes you look cool. When I grow up, I want to have teeth like yours too, but my mother said seals won't have big teeth... I'm thinking, I can help you clean your teeth, since you said you have problems cleaning it with your flippers, and maybe if I am close to your teeth often enough, it will help me get big teeth too."
"Gee. Now, I will have to find something else to complain about," said the walrus.
Everybody liked Zhou, especially the primates and the tortoises. He had nice stories to tell about his adventures and jokes about how he was "blubbly". Whenever any of the animals get depressed about life in the zoo, their good friends or family would bring them to talk to Zhou at night, and they would usually feel better about themselves.
There were times, however, when Zhou was unapproachable. Usually that was when he's in heat, or have a toothache. He usually had a toothache when he's 'heaty' - as in, in the traditional chinese medicine way. For example, when he had a toothache, or more specifically, a tuskache, one would hear him lamenting to the skies, wailing, "Whhhhy does the heavens give me such big teeth? My face is small, unlike the elephants, and I don't even a trunk, let alone hands, to clean them and take care of them. Ohhh... I am so miserable.
"Whhhhy does the heavens give me such big teeth? When it has willed for me to be enclosed in this dreaded zoo. There are no ladies here for me to impress with my teeth. Ohhh... I am so miserable."
Usually, when everybody heard the walrus wailing, they would stay away, as they were afraid of being scolded or chided by the heaty and angry walrus. They have experienced being in heat or toothaches before, and they know how irrational that makes them, so they kept away or kept their children away.
The next door couple of seals, however, had a little pup. One day, when the seals were out performing, the walrus was complaining, the pup did not know better and asked, "Uncle Zhou, my mother said everybody comes to you with their troubles, but why are you complaining about your teeth like how everyone complains about life?"
Looking at the cute and impressionable seal pup, Zhou thought it was important to explain, so he spoke to the pup softly,
"Little pup. I am only a walrus, and like everybody else, I am a subject of the heavens and fate and time. When I feel a toothache, I will feel like being complaining, so I complain. To complain is part of the joy of having a toothache.
"Little pup, it is important, however, when one is complaining, to know what one is complaining for. Complaining is for the better enjoyment of the experience. It is like, part of enjoying summer is to sit around to complain about the heat; and part of enjoying in winter is to huddle around and complain about the cold."
"My mother always tells me to appreciate the heat of the summer by remembering how cold it was in winter, and to appreciate the cool of winter by remembering how hot it was in summer," said the pup.
"Yes, it is very important to be appreciative of the present moment in your heart. That is basically how one is able to enjoy the present moment. When you complain without basic appreciation, then you will be miserable. If you are miserable without basic appreciation, then it is a waste of perfectly good misery.
"It is like, to complain about being in a zoo, is part of the joy of being in a zoo, only if one appreciates that he can sit around complaining about the zoo, instead of say, fleeing from predators or hunting for prey. Without appreciation, there will not be enjoyment, if there is no enjoyment, one is merely wasting the space he takes up."
The pup cocked his head to a side and did not understand everything fully, and said, "Well, anyway, Uncle Zhou, if it would make you feel better, I am impressed with your big teeth. I think it makes you look cool. When I grow up, I want to have teeth like yours too, but my mother said seals won't have big teeth... I'm thinking, I can help you clean your teeth, since you said you have problems cleaning it with your flippers, and maybe if I am close to your teeth often enough, it will help me get big teeth too."
"Gee. Now, I will have to find something else to complain about," said the walrus.
Monday, 17 November 2008
The butterfly
Three sisters were playing in a room of when a butterfly flew into the room.
"Close the door quick!" the youngest sister said, "Or the butterfly may escape!"
"No, leave the door open!" the middle sister said, "So that the butterfly may fly out."
"No, close the door quick!" the eldest sister said, "So that no more butterflies may fly in."
"Close the door quick!" the youngest sister said, "Or the butterfly may escape!"
"No, leave the door open!" the middle sister said, "So that the butterfly may fly out."
"No, close the door quick!" the eldest sister said, "So that no more butterflies may fly in."
Sunday, 16 November 2008
The Man and the Woman
A man and a woman went to a market where many different foods of the world were gathered and sold. The market was crowded with people looking for interesting and delicious things to eat. The man was hungry and eager to eat something, but the woman was determined that they should sample something different.
"I think I will have a cup of corn," said the man, as he saw buttered and salted steamed sweet corn kernels sold in cups. They are always delicious, he thought.
"Oh come on! That is sold everywhere, we can always eat it at the food stall near our home. It is rare that we should come to this market. We should try something different!" with that, the woman pulled the man away by the hand and led him to go further into the market.
Along the way they remarked at many strange looking food and commented on many other familiar looking ones. Until they came upon a Turkish food stall that displayed two grand looking spits of doner kebabs.
"How about that?" asked the man.
"Oh, but you can eat that at the Turkish restaurant that we always eat at," said the woman.
"Which restaurant?"
"Never mind, I know where we could get to eat that. Let's look for something more exotic." Then she led him away again as he looked at the kebabs with puzzlement.
"Let's eat that," the man said, pointing at some African food stall, where they too, had roast meat on a vertical spit.
"Okay," the woman agreed at last. Alas! There was nobody tending at the stall, and a sign says that the African cooks were on a break. The man was disappointed, but the woman led him away again. He took a deep breath at a popcorn stand, and the woman said, "Don't tell me you want to eat popcorn!" And she briefly wondered why he wanted to eat corn so much.
By the time they walked past some pubs that were showcasing afternoon beers, they were tired and disoriented by the bustling crowd. She sneaked a look at the available bar stools and thought of how nice it would be to sit down now, she was feeling a little dizzy from all this. Then the man said,
"Let's just get out of here and go to some Macdonald's and have fries."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I have a sudden craving for fries."
She too, realised the vanity of the pursuit and abandoned it.
"I think I will have a cup of corn," said the man, as he saw buttered and salted steamed sweet corn kernels sold in cups. They are always delicious, he thought.
"Oh come on! That is sold everywhere, we can always eat it at the food stall near our home. It is rare that we should come to this market. We should try something different!" with that, the woman pulled the man away by the hand and led him to go further into the market.
Along the way they remarked at many strange looking food and commented on many other familiar looking ones. Until they came upon a Turkish food stall that displayed two grand looking spits of doner kebabs.
"How about that?" asked the man.
"Oh, but you can eat that at the Turkish restaurant that we always eat at," said the woman.
"Which restaurant?"
"Never mind, I know where we could get to eat that. Let's look for something more exotic." Then she led him away again as he looked at the kebabs with puzzlement.
"Let's eat that," the man said, pointing at some African food stall, where they too, had roast meat on a vertical spit.
"Okay," the woman agreed at last. Alas! There was nobody tending at the stall, and a sign says that the African cooks were on a break. The man was disappointed, but the woman led him away again. He took a deep breath at a popcorn stand, and the woman said, "Don't tell me you want to eat popcorn!" And she briefly wondered why he wanted to eat corn so much.
By the time they walked past some pubs that were showcasing afternoon beers, they were tired and disoriented by the bustling crowd. She sneaked a look at the available bar stools and thought of how nice it would be to sit down now, she was feeling a little dizzy from all this. Then the man said,
"Let's just get out of here and go to some Macdonald's and have fries."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I have a sudden craving for fries."
She too, realised the vanity of the pursuit and abandoned it.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
The Man
Once upon a time, there was a man who woke up one day and found himself in the wilderness. He knew he was no longer in his country, because the plants that were growing about were not from his childhood. He was no longer at home and no longer with the people he knew. He did not know where he was and what was he supposed to do there. So he set out to find out.
He sat down in a corner to think of how he would find out what he was supposed to do. He decided that he needs to take care of his daily needs, and see to how he could maintain his life, so that he could comfortably establish what he was supposed to do there.
He decided that he had to first find food and water, and to build himself shelter. He built a makeshift hut and realised that it wouldn't last, so he built a sturdier hut that could weather the storms should the storms come. After that, he thought he should make himself some new clothes because he would need to go and meet people and interview them and establish his location. Surely he must appear presentable. If he were to wear the same clothes everyday he would look like a beggar. This made him think of how winter might be coming, and he did not have enough warm clothes. In this fashion, he took some time and he went about preparing for his livelihood, so that he could comfortable establish what he was supposed to do there.
He had not met anybody so far, and sat down and thought that he should travel to go and meet people who could tell him where he was and what he was supposed to do.
He thought about how he was going to approach the people, recalling what he remembered of the town he lived in, he realised that everybody would seem to have a purpose. The bun seller was a bun seller, and the innkeeper was an innkeeper. He had nothing to offer, and surely, in the foreign town he was headed towards, people would not be obliged to talk to him. So, he decided to establish himself as something first, and started to train himself in carpentry. By the time he was pleased with his craft, he built a stock of stools that he could carried to town to sell. He thought he could use the money to repay people as well. He was unable to carry with him his entire wardrobe, so he left most of his clothes in the hut that he built. That should be alright, he thought, because it seemed that the land did not have the four seasons, and there was no winter.
Finally, he met people, but it turned out that the people were primitive and barbaric. They grunted and ate raw meat and did not live in huts and did not sit on stools. He could not talk to them, much less establish where he was. Scared that he would be killed for his fancy clothings and foreign manner, he took off his clothes and abandoned his wares and joined the yahoos, thinking that he would try to understand them so that he could eventually communicate with them. Soon, with his day-to-day association with the people, he lost himself and his agenda.
One night, a snake came to the man in his dream, and reproached him for wasting his life and efforts. That was the first time in a long time that he had any conversation in a language. He felt bad for being reproached and defended that he did not ask to be put in this strange land, and he did not know what he was supposed to do. When he woke up, he felt very angry, and took a stick and went out to hunt for snakes, intending to beat them. But before he found any snakes, he was distracted by the crowd gathering about a fire, that somebody had apparently discovered. The man forgot about beating snakes and what he was supposed to do again.
He sat down in a corner to think of how he would find out what he was supposed to do. He decided that he needs to take care of his daily needs, and see to how he could maintain his life, so that he could comfortably establish what he was supposed to do there.
He decided that he had to first find food and water, and to build himself shelter. He built a makeshift hut and realised that it wouldn't last, so he built a sturdier hut that could weather the storms should the storms come. After that, he thought he should make himself some new clothes because he would need to go and meet people and interview them and establish his location. Surely he must appear presentable. If he were to wear the same clothes everyday he would look like a beggar. This made him think of how winter might be coming, and he did not have enough warm clothes. In this fashion, he took some time and he went about preparing for his livelihood, so that he could comfortable establish what he was supposed to do there.
He had not met anybody so far, and sat down and thought that he should travel to go and meet people who could tell him where he was and what he was supposed to do.
He thought about how he was going to approach the people, recalling what he remembered of the town he lived in, he realised that everybody would seem to have a purpose. The bun seller was a bun seller, and the innkeeper was an innkeeper. He had nothing to offer, and surely, in the foreign town he was headed towards, people would not be obliged to talk to him. So, he decided to establish himself as something first, and started to train himself in carpentry. By the time he was pleased with his craft, he built a stock of stools that he could carried to town to sell. He thought he could use the money to repay people as well. He was unable to carry with him his entire wardrobe, so he left most of his clothes in the hut that he built. That should be alright, he thought, because it seemed that the land did not have the four seasons, and there was no winter.
Finally, he met people, but it turned out that the people were primitive and barbaric. They grunted and ate raw meat and did not live in huts and did not sit on stools. He could not talk to them, much less establish where he was. Scared that he would be killed for his fancy clothings and foreign manner, he took off his clothes and abandoned his wares and joined the yahoos, thinking that he would try to understand them so that he could eventually communicate with them. Soon, with his day-to-day association with the people, he lost himself and his agenda.
One night, a snake came to the man in his dream, and reproached him for wasting his life and efforts. That was the first time in a long time that he had any conversation in a language. He felt bad for being reproached and defended that he did not ask to be put in this strange land, and he did not know what he was supposed to do. When he woke up, he felt very angry, and took a stick and went out to hunt for snakes, intending to beat them. But before he found any snakes, he was distracted by the crowd gathering about a fire, that somebody had apparently discovered. The man forgot about beating snakes and what he was supposed to do again.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
USED III: Mr Creosote
Mr Creosote was the Minister of Deference. He used to be in the military and commanded a battalion of cleaning bots. He sustained some injuries (carpal tunnel syndrome) and presented his case effectively enough to be generously compensated. He argued his case so well, that he was immediately offered the position of Minister of Deference after he retired from the military, since he had quite the way with words.
Mr Creosote was in his fifties. He was a thin man. He had six sets of formal attire, one which he'd only wear to weddings and special events. He jogged and read in his spare time. He liked to drink wine and thought of himself as a connoisseur. He never gets drunk. He dislikes drunk people. He also dislike smokers or gamblers. He thought of them as decadent and pitiful. He did not like his job. He believes jobs are not meant to be liked. He liked himself. He liked his wife most of the time.
His wife recently joined the community centre because she had nothing better to do. She was kicked out of the singing class because she was too bossy. The people there recommended her to join the first wives' club where members met to exchange pointers on how to manage their husbands better. It suited her well, even though she would feel that the other members were pitiful for having husbands who had affairs. Mr Creosote did not have any other women. She was fairly sure of that.
The latest thing the club had been raving about was how to manipulate the diets of the husbands. "The way through to a man's heart is through his stomach." That was the theme until ideas for things relevant to it to do ran out. The latest thing was eating light and right, which was why Mr Creosote had to bring a sandwich to lunch.
Mr Creosote liked bringing sandwiches to lunch. He was rather pleased with himself for having a wife who prepared it for him and cared for his health. Anyway, it was economical and efficient. It would validate why he would not go out for lunch. Every lunch time, he would feel uncomfortable of the possibility of somebody asking him to go for lunch. He did not like to eat lunch with the people from his office, because they were his subordinates and would obligate him to pay for lunch if they were to eat together. He was resigned to how it was lonely to be at the top. He was used to it, because in the cleaning battalion he had to eat by himself too.
At lunch time, he took out his wine magazine and sandwich. He flipped to the page that he had previously bookmarked with a post-it note so he could read it for lunch. It featured an article on beef and wines. He was having a mashed cow tumour sandwich, so it was apt. He held the magazine in his left hand and the sandwich in his right. Then he felt that there was something tickling his nose, so he held the sandwich with his mouth by not biting through it, to free his right hand. Then he dug his nose and a piece of snot fell straight down from his nose and landed on his sandwich. He was aware of it, but he ate it anyway, with the bite after next. He ate his own snot without much thought.
(sneak.)
Mr Creosote was in his fifties. He was a thin man. He had six sets of formal attire, one which he'd only wear to weddings and special events. He jogged and read in his spare time. He liked to drink wine and thought of himself as a connoisseur. He never gets drunk. He dislikes drunk people. He also dislike smokers or gamblers. He thought of them as decadent and pitiful. He did not like his job. He believes jobs are not meant to be liked. He liked himself. He liked his wife most of the time.
His wife recently joined the community centre because she had nothing better to do. She was kicked out of the singing class because she was too bossy. The people there recommended her to join the first wives' club where members met to exchange pointers on how to manage their husbands better. It suited her well, even though she would feel that the other members were pitiful for having husbands who had affairs. Mr Creosote did not have any other women. She was fairly sure of that.
The latest thing the club had been raving about was how to manipulate the diets of the husbands. "The way through to a man's heart is through his stomach." That was the theme until ideas for things relevant to it to do ran out. The latest thing was eating light and right, which was why Mr Creosote had to bring a sandwich to lunch.
Mr Creosote liked bringing sandwiches to lunch. He was rather pleased with himself for having a wife who prepared it for him and cared for his health. Anyway, it was economical and efficient. It would validate why he would not go out for lunch. Every lunch time, he would feel uncomfortable of the possibility of somebody asking him to go for lunch. He did not like to eat lunch with the people from his office, because they were his subordinates and would obligate him to pay for lunch if they were to eat together. He was resigned to how it was lonely to be at the top. He was used to it, because in the cleaning battalion he had to eat by himself too.
At lunch time, he took out his wine magazine and sandwich. He flipped to the page that he had previously bookmarked with a post-it note so he could read it for lunch. It featured an article on beef and wines. He was having a mashed cow tumour sandwich, so it was apt. He held the magazine in his left hand and the sandwich in his right. Then he felt that there was something tickling his nose, so he held the sandwich with his mouth by not biting through it, to free his right hand. Then he dug his nose and a piece of snot fell straight down from his nose and landed on his sandwich. He was aware of it, but he ate it anyway, with the bite after next. He ate his own snot without much thought.
(sneak.)
Monday, 3 November 2008
Secret Report: The Earthworms
As requested, this is an interim report to update on research on the earthworms that may live inside our heads. Apparently, they are not exactly the same kinds of earthworms that are physically found in the garden soil or the leaf litters, but they are what scientists would (if they had known any better) call in layman terms, "distant relatives". These earthworms that may live in our heads, actually live in brains and slither around the little ridges and the crevices and in between the spaces in the brain's lobes. Like most other worms, they are generally disgusting, and slimy, and blind.
The worms have never been previously identified by anyone in the world. This is because, upon the death of the hosts, the worms will immediately transform into blood and hide in somewhere nobody can imagine to look.
Nobody knows how, or when, or why, but these earthworms need to reproduce in the buried dead, where they will mate with worms from neighbouring corpses. It is supposed they will morph into blood and sort of crystallise or take up form again when the time is right. They will die upon mating, and their offspring will be carried forward to the afterlife to be born with new or reincarnating souls. It is beyond modern understanding of metaphysics. Breeding the worms is not deemed viable.
The worms used to live in everybody. With each person, or rather, each brain, there will live within it, one worm. Due to evolution and other stuffy reasons, however, less people are buried and it was harder for these earthworms to reproduce and get reincarnated into new people. When dead bodies are cremated, as they usually are nowadays, the earthworms in them will too be burnt to crisp, and there will be no earthworms in the brain of the person of the reincarnated soul whose previous body was torched to ashes.
Thus, presently, not everybody has a earthworm in their head. This is to the despair of the good of the world.
These earthworms feed on the causes of meningitis. Causes of meningitis may include cancer, drugs, and various types of bacteria, viruses and fungus. It can be concluded that the worms are good for health, and should a person be a host to one of these worms, he is more likely to live a longer life. In fact, it is speculated that it makes one smarter, think better, and act wiser.
One day, these worms will be extinct. Meningitis will become ever rampant. People will become more and more stupid.
(sneak.)
The worms have never been previously identified by anyone in the world. This is because, upon the death of the hosts, the worms will immediately transform into blood and hide in somewhere nobody can imagine to look.
Nobody knows how, or when, or why, but these earthworms need to reproduce in the buried dead, where they will mate with worms from neighbouring corpses. It is supposed they will morph into blood and sort of crystallise or take up form again when the time is right. They will die upon mating, and their offspring will be carried forward to the afterlife to be born with new or reincarnating souls. It is beyond modern understanding of metaphysics. Breeding the worms is not deemed viable.
The worms used to live in everybody. With each person, or rather, each brain, there will live within it, one worm. Due to evolution and other stuffy reasons, however, less people are buried and it was harder for these earthworms to reproduce and get reincarnated into new people. When dead bodies are cremated, as they usually are nowadays, the earthworms in them will too be burnt to crisp, and there will be no earthworms in the brain of the person of the reincarnated soul whose previous body was torched to ashes.
Thus, presently, not everybody has a earthworm in their head. This is to the despair of the good of the world.
These earthworms feed on the causes of meningitis. Causes of meningitis may include cancer, drugs, and various types of bacteria, viruses and fungus. It can be concluded that the worms are good for health, and should a person be a host to one of these worms, he is more likely to live a longer life. In fact, it is speculated that it makes one smarter, think better, and act wiser.
One day, these worms will be extinct. Meningitis will become ever rampant. People will become more and more stupid.
(sneak.)
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