Venomous (Jan26)

 

Old crone was first noticed at the teh counter ordering. Deft way of displaying her charms at every possible opportunity. Five minutes later awaiting her food around the other side of Abbas she got offa her feet for a spell, pulling up a pew at the end of the pair of tables. Back turned, angled away, but still able to present a portion of that artwork resting before her. Remarkable dotted pattern covering the whole of the back of both hands, right down to the knuckles and up to the sleeves, baby peacock eyes perhaps the motif. There might have been 25 on each, with the colour tone of the iris picked up in the deepest crimson of finely shaped nails. One wrist at least was banded with strings of gold, (the watch musta ridden up under the sleeve). The usual henna was nothing like. Gotta be tail end of her 70s, if not beyond. Face mask & navy cap rather than scarf further shrouded. (On a closer look when she turned slightly, the younger age was clear.) Did grandad even now benefit from that dazzling allure, that spider suddenly emerged from the jungle, when it began crawling over his chest? (Further was not required.) The palpitations here would start way ahead of any overt action, little fever quietly stoked unawares. A few minutes later when she was spotted again 3 - 4 rows back the decision was made. The hell no! We are gonna give that a try! The pose requested would be with the pair raised together before her, pinkie of the right giving a soft touch of the left’s ring finger—cropped later just above the line of chin, perhaps. Two steps back to collect the phone and quickly swinging round again, only to find the grandad had come to collect their purchases. Surprisingly youthfulness. That display would certainly not be all in vain there, not every single day. Highly serviceable. The old duck collecting her cane before setting off had it all properly sorted.

 

 

           Geylang Serai, Singapore 2011-26

 

 

 

 

Nano / Pico published by Six Word Memoirs

 

How to take back those kisses?

https://www.sixwordmemoirs.com/profile?uid=331225

Bing & Bob (‘Tis the Season)

 

Paper cup with the plastic lid removed and eschewing the straw (plastic), it was only the Chrissy lounge & carols one needed to contend with. Furnishings and the prospect on Wong Ah Fook, well, added elements. On the other hand, a little chat with the coloured young crew, intro-ing snatches of their own language, lightened everything. Screen fixation at every choc brown table — you get that everywhere. Pinches the brain to consider the heartlessness in the calculation; for the construction visible through the window likewise. In the case of the design along the canal, that was less heartlessness and more ineptitude and sheer boneheadedness. There was thought of the architects Jimmy Lim (local Aga Khan winner) and Sabine Johnsdorfer wincing at every single step. Even still Jimmy in his 80s now. Like trudging through merde no end in sight.

Johor Bahru, Malaysia 

Up & Down the Tube

 # Published by Fleas on the Dog, March 2021

Up and Down the TuBe (Re: Howard Zinn & Michael Gove)

By Pavle RaDonic

WHY WE LIKE IT: Moxy kool.

(Spacing and format is author’s own.)

Up & Down the Tube (Re: Howard Zinn & Michael Gove)

Howard Zinn

Isn't he wonderful. Heard him before. Loved the mentions of Mark Twain & Helen Keller.

Who in the heck knew that stuff? Carefully tailored fame.

From memory an autodidact, not uni grad.

You notice the size of the nib on Trumpet's signature quill? See the pour of lustrous black

from the Fordham grad who cheated his way into Penn.

Remember Prof Blainey only a decade & half back during Howard's time, Bush's sheriff,

banging on relentlessly about the advance of civilisation, impossibility of holding back

against lesser cultures, refusing the black armband version of history. Still not dead the old

bastard, god forgive me. (The voice of Bab at my back.)

My Pentel ENERGel 07 flows like a dream. Brought 20-25 refills with me out here, as well

as half dozen pens; near the end of the supply after such an extended stay. Disdain inferior

product. It took the Japs some good while to refine the technology for their nibs. Not to be

taken for granted. You drop or even knock them, goodbye the cascading outpour from the

heart.

His skin treatment in the shot here, as well as the autocue either side he swivels to read from

like a halting schoolboy. You can imagine years ago how long he practised that tag, curls,

hooks and flourishes to die for. No statesman in history has anything to compare, Theodore

Roosevelt poss coming closest.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_L7U0R0oSM

Michael Gove

Knew the name but never laid eyes on the man previously, nor heard that voice and those

rhythms.You feel humanity has been cruelly trapped and overpowered by malign forces of

darkness causing such numbers to be herded into the language of this fellow's marauding

ancestors. Stuck there we are like insect specimens in aspic. Three minutes of the twelve was

as much as could be borne. You begin to think of the possibility of the revenge of the natural

order currently working away on that island through this pandemic, the late interventions by

BoJo all too little. Did you hear his recent freedom-loving guff contrasting Brits / Germans &

others?!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VV42soUXW_g

NB. Replies to mail from George

https://img1.wsimg.com/blobby/go/9a0949f4-1d2a-4a7c-b9fb-a96b9b6bd861/downloads/NF%20_5%20_Up%20and%20Down%20the%20Tube_%20by%20Pavle%20Radonic.pdf?ver=1614992528313

# Published by Fleas on the Dog, March 2021. Orig. posted on the Blog, Sept 2020. This here is the Fleas layout.

Wearisome

Teh oh limau sikit, sikit, sikit gula still arrived over sweetened. The old snow-haired from last night rocked up again for his late evening meal. As did same time the young bearded with his piece of cardboard, seated on the path above leaning on the clipped hedge. No sign of active begging there—on its own the man’s figure was more than enough. The former withdrew an orangey-red RM10 from a tattered wallet, which was far more than the other could produce for the life of him. When the plate arrived shortly after a green RM5 was returned to Snowy; $4.50 cheap meal. Coming along half hour earlier, shortly before 8, night fallen properly not so long ago, another little oldie had found himself a narrow sunken space in which to insert himself by the path hard against the hoarding. It looked at first as if the man was assuming a squat for a discreet number 2. Some twisting and wriggling had him suddenly dropping completely from view, more than ready to zonk immediately. The day of course had been a trial. Few hours before in 420 in the darkened room again, the one in the middle of the corridor off from the covered inner courtyard of the hotel, a 20 minute doze had overcome under the a/c. For no good reason—apart from the heat always on the Equator—the day had wearied more than one. Unexpectedly, Dah’s mention of breast augmentation had addled the brain. An informed, thoughtful Achenese.

Pendulum Papers Archive

 Three pieces in the Pendulum Papers archive, an Australian literary magazine:

Sequestered

On the Horn

Visiting the Zen Man Al

https://www.pendulumpapers.com/archive/search/?query=Pavle&btn=

Hujan & One-Half (Dec25)

Originally written Oct 2016, re-posted now in the wake of this most recent flooding in Sumatra, Thailand & Sri Lanka. The wading through the water here mentioned in fact later resulted in a skin infection that eventually good Doctor Thanni around in Wong Ah Fook relieved. Serious medical problems can be expected now in the North.

The rains had been falling on the other side of the world too recently. Up in the hills of Montenegro it had been preventing some of the works of mid-autumn. A few days ago Zoran, who worked up in the village where he was born full-time now, driving up daily from the coast, reported it. When there was a break in the weather they were harvesting the potato on Uble. Photos emailed from a friend in Australia showing a political rally of the ruling socialists had been forwarded to Zoran, with an enquiry how the long-time president of the republic was faring. Djukanovic was not one to let slip his hold on the throne, Zoran answered, like his father, not a fan of the left. There was a suggestion of thievery too, as in the time of Tito. Zoran was a supporter of the union with Serbia; opposed to the separation. In Johor, southernmost Malaysia, two days of big bash downpour—hujan besar. Streets flooded, drains unable to cope, bedraggled orang passing under the walkways. Some of the hard-bitten kampung toughs could be found defiantly stomping through the middle of the downpour, in one case a chap standing gazing up the canal, as if taunting the thunder gods. Two nights ago the dark had closed in well before 6 and a boat had been ordered at reception for the supper table. As usual the event had not been visible for a good while, only telltale sound & the flashes. Looking down from the fourth floor window onto a patch of concrete outside an awning, there it was alright, machine-gun strafing the narrow little square. For some reason best known to itself, a pigeon had the not very bright idea to peel off from under the roof of the hotel for somewhere across the way. Good luck to you little birdie! Beating wings, beating; making heavy weather of it. Crossing a couple of lanes later the trouser cuffs were rolled & paddle/waddle gingerly over to the far bank. The working gals around the front were keeping under the walkway, on this dark night a lesser crowd gathered. Come up? Honey.. The full range of the spectrum between the genders was available. Reminded one of a central Java gal down in the south, who believed love-making was the perfect response to a deluge. Barnstorming rain on the one hand, and on the other the smoky mountains nearby bursting with hot rock, encouraged amorousness where that girl hailed from. Habitually living with the past, these big rains often brought the question how in the old days the shepherds had coped up on the mountain sides. Over at Crkvice, not far from Village Uble, they had the second highest rainfall in Europe. The deluge on the Equator was in fact not dissimilar. One could shelter in the lee of a hill, beneath a rocky outcrop, or in one of the many caves of the karst. The sheep and goats themselves knew the terrain; they would find their own shelter. On occasion mother had said brainless sheep would simply hunker down in a tight flock, pretending they were stone, and patiently wait out the heavenly hammer.

Carried Away

 

Hivis orange (faded) lads in their mid-50s, if not older, one hobbling, huddled under cover by the stairs. They were permitted to escape their labour in such weather, even only steady drizzle now. Electric bikes with mounted milkcrates carried the tools of their trade. Garden maintenance, keeping the forest and jungle from our urban amenity; roadside verges in their case. Another one of their number was greatly surprised couple weeks back being slipped a two returning to the digs after supper. A forested area out near Jurong was due to be cleared shortly for an extension of an industrial complex, the newspaper reported, noting that the habitat was a breeding ground or home to a particular butterfly and would not be easily replicated. (Deft soft pedal for devastation, always cannily delivered here.) The other night the retired engineer Mr Cha couldn’t decide whether the beneficiary of the two working on the grassy fringe below was Chinese, or Malay. Definitely hailing from Malaysia, said Mr Cha. Nearing ninety now, Mr Cha had come down as a babe in arms with his parents from Fujian, on the Mainland. The rhetoric of the new Japanese “lady” was of more concern to Mr C. Could the Americans press the Japanese into conflict in those parts? would that finangling be the best way to fix their trade imbalance? Over two hours without cease – and two & one half steady fall. Era had lost ten family members in NW Sumatra last couple days. 1,200 across the region had perished. Mr Lim the plate-collector, whose Bahasa was good, did not know banjir, the term for flood. In his almost seventy years, Lim had never left the island and did not watch television – never watched, it seemed. Likely he was illiterate in any language and on some kind of medication too. (There had been couple sudden verbal outbursts.) Yet it had come down to the man that swi chai could indeed be highly serious, carrying all before it. Decades ago it must have been when it first filtered down to the young Lim, the oldies remembering.

NB. A week later the count of casualties was 1,600, with more rain forecast.

Publication news: A Spot of Window-shopping - Hindsight Journal

Another flash of mine has recently been published, by a Colorado lit. journal called Hindsight, where they have a climate change focus as one of their specific concerns.

It's a locally well-known shopping paradise in Singapore — another take on the phenomenon in this piece (260 words).

On their YouTube platform at present is a reading of the work by myself (in something less than a polished performance). Digital now also up & print due shortly.

https://share.google/9oJ4eXKYaXHTQnGdk

https://www.hindsightjournal.org/spot-of-window-shopping

Cheers,

Pavle

Favourite Indian (published by Literary Yard, April 2016)

From the files

Favourite Indian

Hard to believe, but precisely on the point of seating the famous old Hindi song from the mid-seventies over the speakers. Remarkable coincidence. Did the look-out pass the wink to the lads in back for the switch to be flicked? Could it truly have been complete freak coincidence?

            Mein Shay’Ar TO Na’Hiii…. Mein Shay’Ar TO Na’Hiii….          

            The catchy refrain that gave the song its title carried a fluttering lilt.

            Da DaaR DA DaDiii…. Da DaaR DA DaDiii…. Magic.

          On Youtube there were numerous film clips from the period with smooth moustachioed leading men sending Beauties spinning over palatial ballrooms under the spell of the wolf call. Cut to green fields, sports convertible with passenger door flung open after the lass had taken flight. Cavorting thereafter and a chase that wasn’t through lush, flowering garden splendour belonging presumably to the Tata Empire. (Formerly the estate of one of the British nabobs).

            Light skin tones, bright eyes and slender waists, the vocalist never a patch on the naiad.
            Here on Buffalo Street last week the wrong waiter had been chosen for the enquiry.

          Closer observation would have noticed the sliver bracelet on the hand. Fellow was too young for another thing. Plenty of the younger Sikhs working here dispensed with the turbans.
         The older Tamil enlisted for help knew the thing straight off easy as pie. Who didn’t know Mein Shayar for goodness sake? A short little pantomime ensuing in the passage before the table.

            You dolt! Hand clap to the forehead. What good are you? Out. Out I say…. The whole bag of potatoes right this instant…. High Nazi salute. (The swastika had originated in Hindu India after all.) Marching orders in the direction of the kitchen.
            One fears the reno job cannot be too far off at Komala Vilas, now in the third generation here. The old founder is still venerated enough to maintain his place in the frame hung above the register. A couple of times a year the elderly daughter comes out for a review from Chennai. Even in these few months new furniture has been introduced—metal-framed chairs shrieking across the tiles. As the various heirs have gone their own way, there are now numerous Komala Vilas in Singapore, Buffalo Street opposite Tekka Market holding the line as much as possible.

2

K. V. two long weeks later according to the Chief. (Magnificent smiling gallantry from the time equivalent to the Troubadours.) Gone quart past three on another hot afternoon, busted sandal strap making it hotter. Thiru a couple of days ago reported back after a first visit, commenting on the typical middle-class South Indian form. The kind of place where the money-making imperative was not ruling and absolute; not entirely. The speechless head-loll of the waiters taking orders without any pen or paper was noted. (Better class places in India with those aids invariably got the order wrong, Thiru said.) It was something of a surprise to hear the characterization. Occasionally one found working boys there from the construction industry; a couple of foremen had been struck, and oil-industry men. The gold, rings and watches ought to have indicated the matter more clearly. Eating with the fingers, the manner and behavior across the floor, had masked the reality. In Singapore the construction workers cooked in the dorms or their illegal shelters—heavy 25 kg. sacks of rice and tins of cooking oil lugged in the gutters of Geylang Road nightly. Even S$3.50 meals and S$1.80 masala chai definitely pitched the place into the middle bracket, no two ways about it. One recalled Yanasagaran complaining about the latter and abashed at being treated the former. Still, places like Woodlands around in Upper Dickson and Aravinds behind the temple were something else with their epic wall paintings, cuckoo clocks and place mats. Butter-milk just the shot here against the heat—the Chief had once complimented on the wise choice one other hot afternoon. (Who would have thought green chilli and coriander leaf?) Dark balding fellow opposite with dyed goatee and mullet very much the aspect of one of our Aboriginal ex-football stars dispensed with the physical regime. A definite worker, as confirmed by the Ang Moh Kio Council tee when he went to wash his hands. Some of the older sari-wrapped widows and spoilt kids ought to have made the matter abundantly clear, together with the whitening creams. Almost entirely full-house, four vacant chairs in total. Numerous hopefuls had turned on their heels after an initial survey from the corner.

3

Lunch crowd thinning quickly. First few spoonfuls of the rasam surveying the tables one was about to say a chap always felt warm in that place! Such has been the delightful cool of recent days here on the equator. With only short bursts of rain not much evidence of the Nor ‘westerly monsoon. A couple of days ago a bold and brilliantly illumined moon low in the east and slow-rising. A boy at the Haig bus-stop the other night must have sighted it a day or two before because he was drawing mummy’s attention to a corner of the sky where he was hoping for re-appearance. Rather touching: there were at least two of us on the island taking note. With some opportunity in the respite Shanmugam rounded for a couple of chats. Lad had noticed the absence last few days and well-knew the reason. Sly smiles. Thankfully the white collared Colorado shirt had been donned for lunch. At Al Wadi in the morning there had been close scrutiny from Zaharuddin at the counter. A passing look in the mirror preparing for the second outing provided a shock when the loose collar of the tee showed big-toothed Ni’s marks of passion from the day before. Odd for Zaharuddin, a father of four young children, to see on a professional Westerner and an intellectual of sorts. (In younger years Zaharuddin had studied Arabic seven years in Syria and then one more year in Egypt. We were fixing for a meeting and chat.) Cricket it was again with Shanmugam; other subject matter quickly ran dry. The New Zealand lad Guptill had made a quick-fire half century the day before almost in world record time: a mention on ABConline. Fellow didn’t know how close he was till the last few balls, Mugam knew. Pity. Record gone begging. Wasn’t the lad an all-rounder?… Yes, earlier in his career. Now solely a batsman. Not a Tamil by any chance?… Brought head-lolling assent. What, Tamil? Guptill a Tamil?… Ah. Born in India was he?… No, parents or grandparents; immigrated. In earlier conversations Shanmugam had bemoaned the kind of deracination that occurred with immigration. Often enough at Komalaa Chindian entered who would have no idea of his heritage. With Shanmugam’s assistance one was slowly beginning to discern. Shanmugam twisted his head like a pony in those instances. So Guptill almost a world record. The performance would have made it into Tablaon the Friday had it been realized, whether or not young Guptill acknowledged his ancestry. Another thing too on Guptill was it?… Shanmugam’s heavily chewed English could not be comprehended immediately. When Mug bent close to deliver one was often surprised by the level of vocab; it was only pronunciation that continued to snag. Twice incomprehensible now brought Mugam around the table into the narrow passage in order to show his sandaled foot…. Oh. Oh. Young Guptill missing one or more toes from one of his feet? Really?… Well golly. It had not stopped the young champ’s progress; almost a world record. Claimed by the people from the land of his forebears however young Guptill might conceive of himself. Bright Tamil star. Shanmugam was a proper aficionado. Australia v. West Indies meanwhile at the G? Last time Mugam looked Windies seven down second innings. Not much of interest here, though there was more than one Indian name in that line-up too.

                                                                                                                                         Singapore 2011 - 25

https://literaryyard.com/2016/04/17/favourite-indian/

Beauty At A Premium

 

Into the Modern: Impressionism From The Museum Of Fine Arts, Boston. 

Perfect for the era of the chandelier in the re-modelled White House loo. The age of the Gentle Woman brand. Drill baby drill. The projected new Mediterranean beachside development. 

$15 for Singaporeans & Residents, $25 tourists.

(A new Udon Shin opening on Orchard as we speak; the Impressionists tomorrow.)

Bummer

 

Numerous bum-cheeks were on offer now every side, proliferating. The shorts and dresses were measured and cut just right, though the reveal always did depend on posture, movement, various factors. Daily average might be over a handful, so to speak. Lessening the impulse of the trigger-happy vouyers; clear the backlog of cases in the courts. The escalator / stair / upper window prospect was a far lesser necessity nowadays. Guy could just go along to his neighbourhood mall, take a seat by the fountain with an icecream and happy gandering. Cornucopia. Young Tufail the Kashmiri when he first landed here and was still acclimatising during the first weeks sent a puzzling emoji in one exchange. At first the illustration looked like a boomerang, which produced puzzlement. Ahmm? For his new Aussie mate, something from home?... But apropos of what exactly; it was far from clear. Or perhaps it was signifying homesickness. It was never easy in a new country with new ways; we had spoken about the estrangement. An intention to purchase a ticket back? lad just unable to hack it more? In fact, no. This was not a gripe exactly. Adjustment. Acclimatising. Still finding his bearings. Legs, the young man was forced to come out with it. These were a row of legs pictured, crooked at the knee. The preponderance of them on the streets was taking some getting used to here. Good Muslim boy; no mention of this particular hardship earlier from Tuf. On the weekend during a downpour the cavalier had risen from our table to escort an Indo gal across the street to the market. First time girl under my umbrella, the lad gloated shyly. Their preponderance. Traffic, malls, heat, the punishing work regime. Nakedly exposed legs topped all as the supreme challenge; test of a lad's mettle. (Young twenties bachelor at the time. Fixed up later by his father, Tuf, with a girl from Srinagar.) The cheeks emoji must still be in the works; on last checking it had not appeared among all the others.

Mal

 

 

Three pop-up booths in a large mall here on the waterfront were each set alight one late evening earlier this year, one after the other. Some research in fact finds VivoCity at Harbour-front the largest shopping mall in the Republic, on a territory that is well-known for their many forms. Composed of a number of levels, Vivo includes the usual clustering of fashion, dining, health & wellness, electrical & electronics. A renowned Japanese architect had taken his hint from the water, highlighting curved, flowing forms that mimic sea waves & create a dynamic, open atmosphere. (AI Overview from the promo.) A children’s playground was included, water features & garden. As at other malls, in addition to the familiar brands behind glass in the stores, numerous pop-ups lined the passageways. The young arsonist still in his teens was “feeling upset while walking around VivoCity on the night of March 19,” the newspaper reported, presumably citing a presentation in court. First a Polo Ralph Lauren booth on the first floor was attacked, the flick of a cigarette lighter on the black cloth covering enough to set ablaze. After the polo line, an Oh! Sunny booth on the second floor received the same treatment, the same means effective for the same result. (Stylish beachwear to manage the punishing tropical sun.) Finally, a little later the impulse again took the young lad at the main atrium back on the first floor, at a Refash outlet. All same again. On each occasion the lad had remained on the scene watching the flames. The Public Defender representing suggested the youngster did not offend out of ill will. No one was injured, though the damage bill was significant and financial restitution difficult in the circumstances. Depression, coping mechanism, impaired judgement, OCD were all mentioned in the representations; and, unexpectedly, during the course, both the prosecution and judge seemed rather sanguine at what had transpired. Condemnation seemed strangely absent; listing of the commercial victims was flatly put and likewise the $10k damage. While the pressures upon the young lad’s mind seemed to be appreciated even in advance of prompting from Defence. Wildly anti-social behaviour in this Republic usually drew immediate rebuke. Here, as if a wave of understanding and appreciation had forced itself on all the adults concerned; as if the young lad’s disturbed mind in the those halls could only be given its due; granted, acknowledged and accepted. Something in the circumstances in those corridors at Vivo had curbed automatic, reflexive responses. Not a hint of censure or reproach; not the merest suggestion. All in attendance gone sombre and quiet. Long faces through the chamber. Nodding; cleaning of eye-glasses. Heads bowed and others vacantly staring, pondering. Churches, temples and mosques could not be shared by all in Singapore; the malls certainly. Court in session in a kind of ponderous trance. Easy to imagine.

 

 

 

           Singapore 2011 - 25

 

Snot-rag

 

Woman arrived at an adjacent table at the little kopi shop on the first floor at PLQ surprised when she suddenly lent over with a new pack of tissues in her hand. Freely offering, it was clear. Head bowed and fixed on the papers, took a moment to realise. 

There must have been a blow into the snot-rag just a moment before.

… (Something, something), better than – pointing at the offending article …back in pocket again.

Surely she had not been able to take a whiff of the sambal & curry smears of the weeks past from 1.1m?

Well, difficult to argue. Ya, scrunched up in the trousers was hardly best hygiene practice dealing with bodily filth. When paper tissues were so plentiful, cheap and convenient, hawked around all the eateries by the bent old pensioners and cripples.

Musta assumed the maid or wife of the Foreign Talent had forgotten to properly equip her sir/partner that morning.

Putting the counter enviro case to a woman in her late 60s, well preserved, outfitted, smelling roses of a kind, seemed inappropriate, especially after the generosity.

When hus & wife got down to it shortly afterward with the young lad they had joined at the table, all the ins & outs of effective volunteering, managing to actually get people moving, achieve some kinda useful effect, were outlined with lottsa force and earnestness. High energy. Strong clear mind. Social project Sing chop, chop style, and allied to one of the Evangelical churches, little doubt.