Tuesday, March 31, 2020

The Long & the Short


When you can’t get long, sleek and slender, firm inverted tree-trunks were alright too. More than serviceable. The Chinese shortie coming down from the bus on Guillemard was taken from behind. Usually from in front the reported passage from the Prophet came to mind, either from one of the Hadiths, or else the Holy Book itself: observation of the inside of women’s thighs was best left aside. Best avoided; the sight averted. Five or six weeks ago Era the Minangkabau had flipped a switch somehow. Invited over to the cloister, this time she had immediately accepted. Here she was at the door, across the floor to the bed and lying adjacent. Recent pics of Australie and Jakarta. From where flipping to the relevant literary output: the piece where she herself featured no less, together with her Mame and young daughter. Publikaci in Amerika The Minangkabau. How about that?! Four or five words in bahasa included apart from the title—here, here and there. A number of times Era had been shown the piece, but never mind, she had not tired. Preliminary kisses turned pretty serious, decently friendly an’ no end mysterious. We were going where exactly? Some little coyness over opening the mouth confused the picture. You needed to understand after so long. Ahoy! Hold onto your hats. There we were soon enough sailing into the warm waters of yore, wind at our backs to be sure. How long it had been. A Ramadan four years ago woz’n’t? Era and Angely had slept in the corner on a mat, with Era’s younger sister joining for a time. (Relax, no need get excited. There had been no crime.) On two or three occasions in the dead of night—once the sis had departed— Era had answered the call from the bridge. Weary though she had been from the long day’s haul, up she had jumped and didna crawl. The switch had only been part flicked: the Minangkabau would not remove her own clothes now. Not a problem when Doctors and Nurses added to the fun. (This was pre-Covid by the way, three or four weeks before, while the virus had seemed a problem for those Chinese with their unsavoury ways.  Before the local explosion of numbers among the foreign construction workers in the dorms.) Four years later there was thickening in the trunk particularly; the usual pear. Ya, here among those girls still feeling some part of the injunction, twas not uncommon to resist presumption. A week or two later repeat of the same. Sweet and one brightly burning flame. Since her separation from her loafer husband eight or nine years before, almost certainly for Era there had been no lovers more. Always makes a difference.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Distancing )April23 revised)


After having missed last week, it was not possible to keep Ni away today. She had assumed more than likely it would be the same precautionary measures again this week. But it was not possible. Like a fortnight ago when we had started with the careful practice, we refrained from kissing. On the way over Ni had stopped at Tekka to pick up the choice naan and chutney and made a similar salad to last time, this week adding pineapple and lemon. Less of a Greek repast this week. After Ni left a walk was taken around the neighbourhood, half-hoping Neet might be at Azhar’s Table 16 again. Not to be. Lat also had not contacted from the night before; no doubt her employer had forbidden an outing, like the last couple weeks. The fantasy of a first union with Lat in her scarf and added mask came to nothing. Now more than likely we had lost our chance. Something further seized from the day was a pavement buzz-cut in the usual middle Geylang lorong, where the jovial Chinese construction worker moonlighting seemed to recall his customer. His previous customer had obtained a good deal of attention for his scissor cut; we two though were done in five minutes. In the open air it was safe enough and the barber wore a mask. Snake Brand talc, 250ml. Singer machine oil, 4-5inch paintbrush and thick, broken pieces of foam the tools of trade. (The latter for applying the talc and brushing down—declined in this case.) Understandably the man was shy about photographing. Hearty congratulation on Wuhan was received with warm thanks by the barber.

29 March

Saturday, March 28, 2020

Main Force


The lady at the share table had a little embarrassed coughing fit that seemed to be simply because something of the meal had not gone down right. She coughed into her elbow; husband opposite eventually passing across a tissue. 1.2 - 3m. was likely enough separation to be out of harm’s way—which did not apply to hubbie. Separation, no face touching, distance in queueing, no shaking, and from old neither was it advisable to sit cross-legged. Another clot would be no good at all right now, bad timing. The same with a traffic accident, a fall; &etc. 
Sometimes an incident, an image or fragment of some kind forces itself upon you here, and not infrequently in one of the most densely urbanised locales on the planet. It doesn’t go away. Recurs rather again and again in the mind. Returning home from supper early last night a chap was down on his knees in a tight corner behind the Chinese apparel shop at Block 10, the smallest tower of the Haig Estate, which fronts Geylang Road. Four or five years ago along that wall the men used to gather for the games of dam. Police presence and a large surveillance camera at the head of the path had sent them away. (Games often had wagers on the side, one of the reasons for the keenness of the crowd.) In tight little corners like this older men would sometimes take a pee. This corner must have been alright, otherwise the man would not have chosen it for his maghrib prayer. It was the improvised tight space that struck so strongly, the man going up and down with his head into the narrow perpendicular. There may have been a mat he had brought, or cardboard possibly. Drawn by the vegetable gardens, there were rats along the path nearby, especially as darkness fell. People were walking to-and-fro along the upper pathway ten metres off, children with parents, joggers and cyclists. The man had needed to do his prayer and hadn’t been able to find any place better. The Converts had a prayer room out back, but at that hour they were likely closed. Opposite the Wisma had some kind of provision, though it seemed the designated prayer room there had been included in the government order. The mosques had been closed two Fridays now; almost two whole weeks. Something that had never happened before in Singapore. This Ramadan there would be no pasar malam, or any other kind of gathering. More than ever there was need for prayer.

                                                                                                                                     28 March

Friday, March 27, 2020

Wanting Definition


Helen’s lovely, strange song late morning through the party wall after she had settled, it must have been. One was rarely gifted free and intimate delight of that sort. A complete, extended song all from within—Helen didn’t listen to the radio or play music. A few weeks before there had been a similar performance, for which Helen had been complimented. A moment’s concern at the report was quickly overcome and the bouquet received with pleasure. With the interviewing work stopped and the cutting back on her food prep, as she had revealed some weeks before, the more relaxed routine was agreeing with Helen. The feeding was still continuing the same, but the cooking every second day and the organic purchases from the market might have slipped now. It had been some while since Helen had been seen with her shopping jeep making toward the Haig. None of the mogs roundabout seemed to be any the worse for it. With that fine, lilting rhythm Stojan’s story of his Ljube came to mind. After love-making, Stole reported Ljube’s whistling and lightness in the kitchen and at her housework. Stole and Ljube did not get on, but they had their moments, evidently. You could tell too from Stole’s account there was some tolerable peace in the house in Werribee, beyond that generated by sexual fulfilment. For her part likewise, Helen was managing decently enough by her own devices.
            After lunch at the Buddhist, a wild goose chase for a newspaper led all the way back to ABC beneath the overhead rail-line. Refreshing low and quick-growth greenery eye-level along that path, while above your head a great many tonnes of concrete and steel were hung. The question arose: for each of the housing and construction towers here—in many cases fifty and sixty storeys—how much of the same material went deep into the ground? Say 10-15% of each upper tier? Recently Omar had gotten excited at learning of a friend’s connection with high government officials in East Timor. A relative was trying to broker a deal for riverine sand, hard to come by now in the construction industry. Yesterday Mike Tong had sent an item reminding of the wondrous Wuhan cityscape that included an iridescent green river.
            Days without definition otherwise. A Friday without the run to the mosques, the men keeping away from the kopi shop tables too. Trafficless roads ought to have been more welcome. 
           The latest news had penetrated to the Sumo Deaf, who kept this evening to a lonely table against the railing on Onan Road.
            The ginger in the teh after supper immediately soothed, removing the scratchiness in the throat and silencing the cough.


                                                                                                                               27 March

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Understandable


Practical Ethics & Profound Emptiness might just about be the way to go from here on. In the Buddhist shop window at Bras Basah Complex after the airline wild goose chase. On the Cathedral corner one stop back from the library an unconnected pair had gone in through the gates and one after the other up the stairs into the house of worship. Chinese and Indian. Passing the temperature test at the entry to the airline offices on Magazine Road was something perhaps. (Reminder: most cities and all major colonial outposts had old armouries sited by the river.) On the 7th floor no personal contact was understandable; all the numbers tried by the door on the intercom finding people away from their desks ditto. There had been no expectation of anything better; the fraying was well underway. Ghost town throughout; it had been a simple matter crossing the major roadway in the heart of Chinatown against the red. In an imaginary street walk for a news service a queue on Havelock Road was guessed for the camera as toilet paper—turned out a café with take-out cups. In Australia as well as the beaches the liquor stores had been rushed; the more ruly segment of the population would find it hard to get by without their caffeine fix. (To say nothing of substances that cannot be mentioned here, which might perhaps in fact remain unaffected, if not actually trading more smoothly.) On the airline site that had finally been restored after days of blanks only the next 48 hour schedules showed. Understandably. Who at present was planning much longer than a couple of day ahead, serious hoarders aside. The library café peopled and the tables upstairs too, judging by the 1.5m separated queue at the doors. Registration and temperature testing could be managed at all civic hubs across a city-state of this kind. Was there a better haven in our contemporary moment than the library? You would bet sheep stations it would get as much patronage as any of the other notable faiths. How rapidly it had all collapsed though? An earthquake in Zagreb to add woe in that corner. Refugees, the poor and homeless might become more of a concern now because of the dangers to the rest of us; prisons had already come into calculations. Across the library forecourt sleek, slender legs briefly worked their old magic again, giving a little reminder at least of carefree days. The day before Ni had needed to be rebuffed. Through the morning it had been touch-and-go with the arrangements for meeting, the gal proving difficult to deny. After some misunderstanding however the guillotine came down THWACK. For younger lovers desire was no doubt unaffected by a virus. Apart from food and water supplies this place was well positioned; for a foreigner without health insurance and on a limited visa perhaps not so much. In the time ahead of course medical treatment anywhere outside China would be problematic—a deposit system for a non-cit. one would guess in this particular marketplace, say $5-10k. One needed to prioritise one’s own, naturally.



                                                                                                                     Monday 23 March

Sunday, March 22, 2020

Runaway Trolley


The railway trolley hurtling down the track, where in its path five people were tied to the line. The railwayman at the shunting tower sees it unfolding. On an available side track there’s only one person similarly tied. What to do in the railwayman’s shoes? (Numerous variations: the indiv. on the side track is the daughter of the railwayman; &etc.) A leader in a think tank down in Melbourne was advocating a shut down of all except essential services—electricity, water & internet—and either close the borders entirely, or allowing citizens to return and housing them in controlled facilities. In Australia a substantial majority of new infections were arising from travellers returning to the country, as was the case currently in China and also here in Singapore. Earlier in the morning there was unusual knocking from behind the party wall. Starting, stopping; starting again. Along Paya Lebar Link beneath the MRT line where there was slender young greenery by the path, the death throes of a bird it sounded like. That was no cooing. But it hasn’t really started here yet; the first two deaths were only recorded yesterday. Last night at Azhar almost every table had been occupied, a young Chinese couple in fact requesting to share with barely a metre separation. With Shiela joining we also sat under a metre away and leaning forward a number of times when the conversation became a little warm. Shiela has been focused on her painting, displaying some commendable determination; her reports from the trip to Bangalore were inspiring. Passing through Paya Lebar Square en route to lunch slender, shapely legs took the attention as usual. There was some little assurance in that, like a comforting memory returned to mind. One wondered whether risky, reckless sex may have started somewhere, in some other locale perhaps. Sing was unlikely after the decades of social programming, the cleanliness, orderliness and the rest. At the Buddhist place around half the tables were filled, the fare delightful as ever. It was to be the adjacent teahouse again after lunch for the quiet, the good separation, the black tea and the fine reception from the aunties. Again yesterday there had been another example of the tea tray first carefully landed, then in three or four separate movements slid slowly forward and finally swivelled so that the handle of the pot sat within reach. Taiwanese Buddhist order of a particular kind, established by an esteemed master still in her forties she may have been. An added thought too at the lunch table, from two or three days after the event. Sameer the Kashmiri had been rather perplexed and confounded by the report of the “herd immunity” concept, which was at that time still the British means of tackling the virus. Even for a modern, progressive Muslim with excellent English, that kind of implied equivalence had been a bridge too, too far.

Friday, March 20, 2020

Security & In-


In Oz a new 4 sqm. social distancing protocol announced for indoor gatherings. Earlier in the morning the thought had run to the saviour that the quarter acre block might prove down there for those still in possession. Food security had to be also as good as anywhere. (Sing on the other hand was one of the most dense urban agglomerations on the planet and reassurances on sufficient supplies must be doubted longer term.) Prior to lunch an hour and half was wasted on the phone and online attempting to contact Qantas regarding the booked ticket for early next month. You wouldn’t have wanted to be an American for the last three years at least, and now especially. CAL has just been placed in lockdown and in Washington the commander-in-chief has only now reluctantly, and belatedly, changed his previous tune of downplaying the whole crisis. In SOCAL our Scottie has queued four hours in order to purchase a gun, any sort on the shelves had to do after what seems to have been a run on those stores too. In the heat here the eateries still function more or less as normal, with the improvement that directives regarding leaving tissues and regurgitated food on the table tops seems to have been accepted. A large communal prayer gathering was reported in the Straits Times in Bangladesh, in an open field in Raipur town, police estimating 10k and organisers 25k. in attendance. It is especially hard for traditional communities when collective prayer and gathering is denied. In Saudi the authorities might be able to enforce the measure; here in SG certainly. Thailand possibly and China of course. Most definitely it would not be the case in neighbouring Malaysia and Indonesia. India was similarly very unlikely on either side of the communal divide, as demonstrated by the recent viral cow urine drinking display. Could you count on the social fabric in the States holding with the level of gun-ownership, opioid and alcohol use, the degradation of the health care system and all the rest over there? If global unity had been needed before for our shared problems, certainly the time has arrived now for joint action and cooperation. Some of the heads of government present the greatest obstacle.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Our Turn Now


One girl loves you certainly. Maybe two you could count, with the second running a long, patient campaign from a remove. The third might have loved you 4 ½-5 years ago, before she took fright somehow badly and now when she is the one always in mind you can’t draw her back. Can’t persuade her by any means, not with any of your inspired mails and declarations. The last three years at least on and off you have been trying. Two days ago she offered the first little glimmer of some possibility, almost unreal when the mail arrived…. can’t promise to meet you today. Actually, i really like to talk to you. But i don’t know why, my heart always againts it. So sorry P.


When the experts confirm your own practice you get that old bulletproof feeling from younger days: exercises kept up a number of years now; milk, yoghurt, nuts that have always been part of the diet; oranges too from way back. Washing fruit has long been habitual. The hand-washing has not been too difficult to adopt and you were on the way to eliminating nose-picking some while ago. Face-touching is the biggest challenge, but there has been some progress there too. At this age twitchy fiddles should have been overcome.. (Poor Slavoj Zizek, presumably now equipped with some kind of special face cover.)


Solzhenitsyn, Levi, Cormac Mc & the others long ago outlined what is in store. Going into the kitchen to make brekkie it was best to stash the wallet somewhere out of harm’s way. In the pillowcase would do for the 10 mins while the cereal was consumed in the back garden. The Buddhist handyman was more than likely irreproachable, but better be safe than sorry. (Man was outta work.)


Another cat story yesterday that Jeanette in Block 11 needed to tell. With the morning sun scorching already we retreated to the shade of a tree. The poor trapped puss was heard crying in a drain. Not a grill-covered drain, one of the ones with the flat steel doors. Very hard to lift and then how to properly secure again for safety. A few days later along the line the poor thing was heard again. Coaxing it toward an opening, food lowered, enticed out eventually, and then the skin and bones plain to see. In short order it was foisted upon Auntie Helen. Who else would take her in and nurse her back to health? Wang Lin who had helped Jeanette with rescue has been told by her father, any more cats in the flat he would fling them from the balcony. (Helen subsequently reported Jo from Block 2 immediately bursting into tears upon hearing the tale. Useless tears in place of action, Helen felt.) Following the successful mission Jeanette, who worships up on Tanjong Katong Road at  Charis Tabernacle, prayed to god: with his protection she would continue all her good works as usual. Works which did indeed run quite some way. Not now the place for elaboration.


Slip slidin away as usual otherwise the corona. One moment envisioning the sequence of cough, air passages blocked and a non-citz confined to a trolley in the hospital corridors; then the next some little fancy provides forgetting—an encounter, cloud shapes, thoughts of the night’s supper. Passing girls of course worked wonders still. On the walk back from the Buddhist lunch a lass at the Haig was given a little electric shock when the stride was timed just right with her backswing and a firm hit achieved high on the thigh. Nearly jumped outta her skin poor thing.


This morning at Al-Azhar a large group of raucous older Malay gents disdained precautions of any kind, hand-shaking and sitting tight shoulder to shoulder. Hahaha chat throughout. Old donkeys, you uncharitably thought, and even spoke the epithet to the young waiter Jordan. (A non-Muslim.) Lots of the Malays have left the whole matter to Allah. He knew best. The virus came as a reminder too possibly for the ummah venturing from the path—in recent days that has been voiced more than once. At midnight last night the Malaysians closed the Causeway and of course anticipating alarm the front page of the Straits Times carried reassurances from Muhyiddin, the new backdoor PM up there, that food supplies would continue as normal, no need fret.


The old bald Chin uncle in his late seventies who has kept up his exercise regime through all these years was caught in the afternoon by the Void on Block 11 like a Mussie with his arms out, almost definitely sunbaking palms.


Late night news of an evangelical gathering in Sulawesi similar to Tabligh in KL a week ago that had infected numerous hundreds. Flesh and body was one thing, one of the participants was reported as saying; soul entirely another.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Take-2

 
That didna look right. Nowhere near. Slender black Indian legs beneath the table and—angling for a look in front—Chinese above.... 
Oh! Against the office aircon. Rare wear here.
Lunchtimes the eateries are still well-populated. For a fortnight from tomorrow in Malaysia restos & kopi shops will only be doing take-out. The Causeway which averages 300k crossings daily closed for the same term. The relevant local Minister assures food supplies on this island are well protected.

Friday, March 13, 2020

Virulence


On the dining-room table now the whip-cracking Buddhist handyman with the mantra tattooed on his shoulder has placed a large, gold-coated Buddha with a couple of smaller figures flanking. The pieces face the door to his and his TCM wife’s room. For the rest of us in this pandemic we have Gautama’s backside for helping us get through, Helen the JW Catlady suggested the other day. Young Jordan the waiter at Al Azhar reminded that while there were so many infected here—until the explosion in Italy and Iran the biggest cluster outside China—there had been no deaths in the republic. The point must have been doing the rounds in the media as same again came later that day from the Fruiterer uncle by the Haig bus stop. Somehow the man had guessed the author would away soon, fleeing from the virus no doubt, he must have surmised. Only thing he wanted to point out, it was here in this country and nowhere else that there were no deaths. Everywhere dead, dead. No Singapore. I tell you true. (You shouldn’t have replied that it was “coming soon.”) Worse than that virus was the political one on the other side of the Causeway continuing apace, virulent as nobody’s business. By large-scale treachery and opportunism, careerism and deal-making, the frauds, cheats and likely killers of the earlier regime have managed to get back in the saddle after having been ousted twenty months before in one of the globally significant people’s democratic revolutions. Despite the gerrymander, money politics, all kinds of manipulation and intimidation, a non-race-based reformist coalition had triumphed, only to now be cut off at the knees. Chief thief, the disgraced and widely condemned former PM, has been before the courts almost the whole of the twenty months, defended by one of his main partners in crime, who has used various delaying tactics to save both their dirty, stinking asses. Now further delay again after fears all the lawyers in the defence team might have become infected, following a visit to a mosque no doubt. If there is any justice in this world, hopefully a good proportion of the notorious gang might be hoist on their own petard, and, beautiful irony, we would have the Chinese, who have been shamefully vilified for the entire twenty months, to thank for cleaning out at least one pocket of toxic contagion.

Albeit tilting at windmills, the battle has been engaged on the Comments pages of Malaysiakini. A brief selection from the last seven months here, —most recent going backward:

Shocking travesty!
Plummeting straight to the bottom.
What a gallery of rogues and woeful blunderers. Traitors rewarded.
Most of them belong in the Roman Senate beside Caligula’s horse.
Story: Azmin’s camp in the cabinet: All except deputy speaker Rashid Hasnon


Stop it please editors with these smiling pictures of these goons. You are abetting the front they are presenting. Surely you can understand! No more. Pictorial truth is part of the journalistic ethic!
Story: Khat: Since when does PTA decide syllabus? Umno chief asks


Very disappointing to hear.
Story: Minister: Malays compromised too much with ‘racists’, time to rise up


The trick is to track the funds flowing to the phalanx of lawyers he is currently employing. Shafee must work to save his own hide in this employ gratis, but the others will need funds sooner or later. THERE is the opportunity to uncover the bolthole. (The lawyers who have recently been reported to have gone missing from his troops must have given up on his promises. Very hard to pay them when the eagle eyes are out watching every move.) For all of us impatient for this slow-moving wheel of justice to turn we must take some solace from the nervous panic that has been set off in the camp of the thieving devils.
Story: Najib says IRB taxed him RM1.69 for a donation, wants reassessment.


Yes indeed, let’s have the police personnel who attended at the time verify this.
Self-serving lies. Desperate lies.
Of course he will not testify in court in the current case. Never met Jho Low. But somebody used his phone to ask Jho for the plastic to be topped up. A circus this procedure. Hopefully appeals and further legal extenuation fails to extend this mockery.
Story: ‘In sniper’s crosshairs’ - Najib shares bullet hole photo after accused of lying


And the unspeakable arrogance in the photograph in this case is appropriate editors! Job well done.
Story: Najib’s son Nazifuddin targeted in RM37.6m tax suit.


Like the Arab donor for a leader upholding Islam, evidence of the police report in this case cannot be revealed because of sensitivity.
Lies & manipulation continue from the man during whose tenure murders and disappearances were common (and murders where attempted disappearances failed).
Filthy liar. A disgrace to nation and religion.
Story: Najib: Sniper fired shots at my Pekan office in 2017


The infamous thief and hotshot Shafee “packing their pants” (as we boys used to say many decades ago in another country—and also to avoid an indecent rhyme); a wonderful prologue to the main act when this Sri Ram pounds the fiends into the dust, insha’Allah!
Story: Najib again fails to disqualify Sri Ram in 1MDB cases

The smiles are all desperate strategy. Please, no more of the big smiling frontal shots for the photos covering these court episodes. Only the vulpine portraits, as you have used in the earlier segment today. It is the truth we are seeking, both in the court & yr reporting. No duping. Makasih.
Story: Husni: Najib blocked me from recovering frozen funds in Switzerland


With Islam under ignorant attack from so many sides, when the counter-attack is so prevalent, wonderful to hear such a thoughtful and intelligent response.
Story: Daim: M’sians need empathy, not racial and religious superiority


These horrid photos you use MLkini more appropriate for TV infotainment. We have serious matters at stake here. Terribly poor junior grade journalism.
Story: Mahathir: Palace decided on Najib’s seat, not me


These nitwits are everywhere. Let’s not imagine this is a uniquely Malaysian shame and overreact.
Story: PKR senator’s remarks plunge a knife into the Reformasi agenda


How can the man be removed from public office? Perhaps export him to the States, where the leader over there might make a special exception for this Muslim.
Story: PKR senator moots law to protect men from being seduced into raping women 


The vulpine photograph editors please!! Sly old ghastly wolf. Not this BS grandfatherly all’s-right-in-the-world shot. Come off it. Stop doing his PR work for him! He’s got his well-paid unprincipled keyboard warriors for that. Enough!
Story: RM1.13b transferred to Najib’s accounts between 2011 and 2013 


Even by the measure of the numerous global political dunces this man is in a class of his own. Shared with one notable other.
Story: Zahid smacks Anwar over DAP again, says will reject cooperation.


A stay of proceedings on the basis that the individual would be bankrupted and disqualified as an MP? The logic here Mr Hotshot Lawyer!
The caliber of these goons defies belief!
Story: Lawyer: Income tax demand will bankrupt Najib, disqualify him as MP 


This gargantuan thief, liar and perhaps worse too feels himself entitled to speak of morality.
Story: Sex scandals: Najib points to Dr M’s contradicting stand in 1998 and 2019


This man, this deplorable hypocrite, thief and charlatan, wants to upbraid someone for breaking promises!
Please editors! No more of these patrician poses in yr selection of photographs. They are revolting to behold.
Some understanding and insight please.
Story: Najib pans honorary ranks for Selangor MB, Malacca CM


The money trail for the cosmetic surgeries would make interesting reading too, in addition to the Chanel, the Swiss jeweller and the others. MACC & Mr Thomas, if you could!
Story: Rosmah withdraws appeal against property acquisition declaration order 


Yes, editors! This vulpine photograph that indicates the black heart of this thief and outrageous liar. We are heartily sick to death of your others on file showing the Setan straightening his tie in the lift, marching into the courtroom &etc. &etc.
Story: Najib withdraws appeal against SRC International charges


Would this man have a more base nature and morality than even Trump? And even a lower intellect?
Story: Najib defends spending RM3.36m on Swiss jewellery



                                                                             *



Meanwhile, thoughts turn on how best to manage Lat’s visit on the weekend. The first private and secluded, much-delayed, assignation. No doubt she’ll be wearing a mask. Not a problem. On the contrary, further and added charge! Scarf and mask together with the baju we find ourselves upon the Parisienne catwalk; almost as good as full burqa. Brrrh!... Well then, air kisses the order of the day. Delicate caress and fondling. Kinda like phone sex, but in this case from adjacent positions on the bed. First there will be help with the needed documentation, the paperwork. Followed by showing of photographs on the Pad—Australie, which Lat of course dreams about. Tanah Abang, Jakarta, likely not very well known by a kampung gal; then Jogja and the recent JB. Circumspection throughout the preliminaries; no move to draw attention to the signs of excitation. (The sarong worn of course, which perhaps Lat will recognise as Sulawesi pattern.) Couldn’t be better. Possibly add some Mozart. Was Abduction from the Seraglio Wolf?



                                                                                              Singapore- Malaysia 2011-2020


Saturday, March 7, 2020

Re: give it the f_ck up and get a proper hairpiece


When yr up against Donnie that kinda thing’s no chance. Bar’s been raised way higher. You might rememb back in the day during one of the earlier tilts Joe had actually fronted the cameras egghead. You recall? Try the tube. No more. Who was the last shiny domed contender? Gerry right. But that was an age ago, totally different era. Loved the canary yellow convertible, roof down, Ray Bans they musta been. Channeling Pete Fonda or Bertie Reynolds was it? Musta been a still to stop the combover getting mussed. You seen couple of the pics of Trumpet getting blown—by the helicopter I mean, or it mighta been on the course in Florida. Great big bald spot behind even orange on peach couldn’t hide. Executive time mornings includes a stretch in the chair setting it right, sprays n non-sticks that give the man all the confidence he needs—like in the deodorant & sanitary pad ads. Bowling up to the podium heart burstin. Mel helps too of course. More confidence. Poor gal must be on some punishing diets. She mightn’t have understood all his remarks to the partners of the foreign leaders, but she would know the drill alright. Young... Baron was it? (Man oh man!) Gotta wear kiddie suits & ties mornin noon & night. Haven’t seen Joe’s gal but she’d be nervous if he won the nomination, open slather with Donnie prowling. How in the heck was she suppose compete with a woman half her age? Scottie thinks T. will “destroy” him—dunno why exactly. The rattle off the cuff. Parently he’s slipping a bit too, forgetting stuff, interviewer names; &etc. Confused wife & sis-in-law recently. Never was the sharpest tool in the shed they say, as was proved by the BS of the Harvard story he tried to get away with on an earlier run. What hope is there.


NB. Mail to a friend in Oz following the US primaries.

Monday, March 2, 2020

Sulphur


Mornings coming down the stairs it was always difficult to catch the denominations on the coins for the newspaper. Gold twenties and fifties were much of a muchness here, the former unreliably thinner and the embossing likewise. One needed to flip each coin a number of times even to get the right side up for the numeral, on the steps aiming at the shaft of light from the vents in the outer wall. Merchants, even of the street-stall kind and 30sen involved, didn’t need donations as much as beggars and cripples. One afternoon earlier in the week with what was an overcast sky, sitting against the wall in the usual position opposite Hiap Joo, the light had played another kind of trick on another poor, hapless victim. Two lasses in fact, one almost directly after the other, both having exited Hiap loaded with bags of its locally famous banana cake. The yellowing of Asian skin that the British had noted during the time of their Concessions in China, that the Americans had found in Vietnam, Cambodia & Laos, and other Europeans elsewhere in the region, was ordinarily exceedingly difficult to discern, even for sharp observers and long-time residents. This revelation outside the bakery needed a particular cast of light, filtered somehow by cloud perhaps, or by some other means, and possibly more prominent in the monsoon season. On this pavement the girls’ fine, shapely legs had taken a noticeable cast of sulphur; a prominent pale daubing that seemed to run below the skin like water over a pane of glass. At the wrong time of day in the whorehouses and on the streets of the cities hereabout the old cruising foreign devils had lost sense of erotic pleasure and delight in the twinkling of an eye. Shocking still in the present day was all the reference among the Indians to skin colour, its various gradations of blackness in the range up to the desired fairness. In the case of the Malays, where the variance could be almost as pronounced, the matter was much less remarked upon by those people; their use of the whitening products less common, certainly among the older generation pre- the new media. The presence of the foreigners, the kind of regime imposed and the extraction from the forests and jungles was of a different order across the Malay Archipelago. One young traveler recently returned from a long trip to Tuscany reported olive being a much celebrated tone just now through Europe, and elsewhere among the fashionistas. Here on the Equator none had a snowflake’s chance in hell making that discrimination.
   

Sunday, March 1, 2020

Campanology


Gone 7pm by the time all the paperwork was put aside. Coming up toward Nilla the temple bell opposite was ringing in the usual way that time of evening; pretty much the same as maghrib at the quarter hour. Dusk. The moon high again earlier in the evening. The two or three day moon had been first noticed up above the Paki mosque at one of the naan suppers at Reaz. Later that particular evening of the sighting Sameer the Kashmiri had Whatsapped an unsatisfactory photograph of the same he was viewing from our usual place at G. Serai. Some weeks before Sam had had his attention directed to a moon sailing above us. On that occasion it was suggested to the young man that we were failing in our weeks of talk at the table never once mentioning the moon there. The engineer seemed to have been nettled by the remark, or at least it had set him thinking. Moons presented a negligible spectacle on the equator. Here the bell of Rajamariammam delivered much the stronger impression. The nearest Hindu temple in Geylang Serai was too far from the market to be audible. After checking the veg. counter at Nilla and finding the cupboard bare the decision was made for the smaller iteration around the corner on Jl. Trus. Up the slight slope by the fortune-tellers either side. The old green parrot lady had evidently shut up shop for the night, or gone for her supper. That morning she had started early, well before the youngsters. Having paced up a few metres toward the corner it soon became apparent the evening had been transformed somehow. It was something like a ship changing course when there had been no command issued. Subtle in the first impression; soon the sense was strong enough first to cause a slowing of pace, and then a complete stop midstream. The chiming was not the same as before; the street was not being carried as just a minute ago by the ringing bell reaching up toward the crescent above. Having come to a halt the temple across the road again drew attention, its steepled yellow tower standing tall. On the way over a few minutes before a man had been fishing with a long pole at the banner strung between the pillars at the entrance to the grounds. The long plastic sheet advertising an event had become tangled in the wind, chap attempting to right it with his rod. To that point there had been no breath of wind. Watching the man prod at the banner the alert was received. Twenty feet off the ground the wind had some kind of strength. The banner had been twisted upon itself and upwind closer to Trus corner the peeling of the bell had been significantly muted; indeed rather twisted a little itself too. Caught in the wind, it was quite a different tune one was hearing now, a music as much for the heavens as for worshippers below. A shredded pealing like that would have little drawing power for souls lost in darkness in the surrounding streets. During lulls in business at Maccas in City Square here the staff used a little hand bell that rang out in the echoing void. A White turning in front of the counter there could not help feeling the weight of expectation in his passes.

 

                                                                                                                       Johor Bahru, Malaysia