Saturday, March 14, 2026

Clean Sweep


 

Touch before quart past landing @ Tanamera. Slow-pacing along the left, shaded side of Mangkubumi, where some of the last little shopfronts were still standing. Within the A/C-ed walls of TM not a single soul at the tables, unsurprising during Ramadan. There had been a narrow miss on the Tugu crossing, because of a motorcyclist shooting along on the opposite side of the road, as they do here.

            A spectacular WA from Sak arrived before leaving the room. 

            The pic of some blouses for suggested gifts had looked unappealing to the gal; looked like male attire. Couple jokes then following. After which Sak requested another item; a completely left-field other. No exaggeration—it was spectacular. 

            Here is the accompanying photo she sent:

 

 



            Well, the gal may have guessed by now the odd range of gifts preferred by her new beau, only her second partner since teen years: a tongue scrapper had been presented, a blouse from the JB night market, an A5 journal & a pair of different coloured gel pens. The rest of it had been tehs & lunches at the street eateries.

            (The two month Bulgarian husband had complained about his wife’s halitosis; perhaps something to do with the changed environment in the Balkans, because back on the Equator it was all honied sweetness. Once Sak had taken a nip of the Listerine in the cupboard. The thought of the scrapper must have arisen from that, though the gal had been given a clear A-OK otherwise.)

            Now a broom would be a pleasure to add. Small, hand-sized, easily fitting in the suitcase, Sak had gone on to explain later during some to-and-fro. (Assuming a case and not knowing of the usual small shoulder bag.) The article was needed for brushing her bed mattress, she said. 

           Outright pleasure. Truly. But best left for the return to Sing, where the pieces had been noticed in the passes of the older form provision stores.

            Frankly speaking, you needed such an item for your own mattress at Carpmael, too. All kinds of matter always managed to insinuate itself among the creases and folds of the litter, after tossing and turning night after night, dreaming, composing, fantasising still.

            Over the journey it had always presented a problem the conventional gift expectation—cards, wrapping, ribbons added—though precious few of them were ever bought any of the girls, sweet and fine every single last one.

            Lottsa probs with Sak and some of the others in the Tropics, but a whole other order of consideration there.








Wednesday, March 4, 2026

The Intercessor - published by Action, Spectacle Winter 2026


What are you supposed to do with a man who says he wants to die and lies down on the roadway?  

Nothing. It was impossible. Shield him from the cars from the three directions.  

At first he had been standing in the middle of the intersection and taken by the arm gave signs of violence, snarling and half-raising his hand. Eyes glaring.  

Soon he was flat on the bitumen, at first hands down by his side, then back above his head in the sign of surrender.  

I want to die, again.  

A Somalia likely, sick of the life there. His clear enunciation suggested he had arrived many years back.  

It left you stunned.  

Telling the man that this would only get him locked up failed to move him. The police station was on the corner, immediately opposite. Another cyclist who stopped tried gentle mockery, without success. It was a hopeless case.  

The fellow was not one of the regulars in Nicholson Street; he had never been seen before. The police were decent enough, as they in fact had been all those many months. Three of them in their rubber gloves comfortably carted the man over to the footpath by the pub.

Many of the cars wanting to take Hyde Street took other options; others passed slowly, looking and thinking, Accident victim.

There was nothing to do but wheel off and leave him; there was nothing for it. The other cyclist had voiced the thought that had occurred to you too, offering to take the man for coffee down the street.  

There was nothing else. Just the whole thing completely woeful. Months and months afterward it nagged in the brain, both the hopelessness and the shameful helplessness and ineptitude. Someone with some deft, natural touch might have managed something; at the critical moment sometimes people were remarkable. Sometimes the right kind of intervention, even some simple response for a case such as that, could make a difference, become life-changing even and the sufferer never looking back. You heard of such stories and read about them. The sort of people who could settle a disturbed animal with some quiet words, a particular intimate balm in their manner. In dire situations people could find a means of providing comfort, relieving the position almost immediately. In childhood illness one sometimes received that kind of gentling from a mother, or some other person of the circle. Though difficult to recall specific instances, it wasn’t imagination. You had done better yourself encountering some troubled circumstances, albeit less dramatic than this.  

Knowing Nicholson Street and all the challenges made it especially hard. Fakery never worked in such cases.  


 


                 Hyde & Footscray Roads

 

 


https://www.action-spectacle.com/winter-2026-part-ii/radonic






 


 


Dress

 

Fair chance it was the trialing of the dress that gave the disturbance last night for Sak. In the earlier, conservative black baju the day beforewith the accompanying scarf, there was little issue; ensconced within that simple envelope Sak had sat easy & comfortable. The bright white and printed blue batik was a very different proposition, a very different venture—doubtful, problematic and hazardous. With the flat, lank hair on display further concern again was added, even though the new colour certainly suited Sak better. (At one of the early meets Sak had confessed she wore the scarf because she could do nothing with her hair. Far from a traditional Muslim gal beneath the persiflage.) Some acne was not able to be adequately covered by the make-up too. A testing circumstance, however you looked at it. Understandable unease was the result, which was perfectly apparent from the outset, even from the approach on the steps at the Plaza. An actor on the brightly lit stage before the public feeling very little fit for that role.

 

 

 

Monday, February 23, 2026

Fire Away!


 

Concerted AI campaign in the paper on these widespread crow attacks upon the populace, which have necessitated a return to the former sharp shooting, shortly to be resumed. Trapping & poison had not been working. Some years ago the authorities had desisted with the earlier measure, after an exponent had deployed a shotgun and wayward pellets caused alarm (a possible shrapnel wounding too). Chap concerned had been a foreign national, whose accreditation, safe practices cert, &etc. had lapsed. Promptly fined, jailed & deported. In the pic in today’s S. T. a poor woman had a long, coloured strand of hair cruelly plucked and pulled upright, in an almost vertical line. Not lifted off her feet, but had the bird managed to gather a few more strands it may have proved tricky. An online video on CNA featured another innocent, hapless victim, caught kinda unawares/half-expectant from behind. Got some curry to go on with the poor sod. Various other examples had been displayed in the last few days, making for an open & shut case. Complaints of urban warfare through the housing blocks were ready to be met with strongest argument and plentiful dramatic evidence. In the current period, however, after all the terrible troubles, the restored measures might not play so well among some groups. Nerves were frayed, on edge. The horrors were unrelenting. Ill-legal feeding of pigeons had continued in the Malay quarter and no doubt elsewhere, despite the threat of harsh fines & incarceration. Armed men now on the hunt, massacring the intelligent, glossy black birdies might not pass so easily, not pass without resistance; revolts in the heartlands were not outta the question. Politically it may turn out quite dicey. But the authorities had certainly prepared themselves.

 

                                                                                                                     Singapore 2011-26

 




Sunday, February 22, 2026

Publication news: Johor Bahru - The Introduction, Eksentrika Mag

 Hello everyone 


Another short flash of mine has been recently published by a Malaysian outfit called, Eksentrika, appropriately for a piece like this from the very first intro to Sing's near sister city, one kilometre over the Causeway. 

It all came as a surprise that first venture over 14yrs ago now.

Free on the site (800 words), —





Cheers
PR




Friday, February 20, 2026

Whereto?


 

Whereto, then was the question. Near 10AM Mr T T tutup, despite hearing last night from the Tamil-Malaysian tea-maker that they would be opening late, namely 9AM, he said. In the morning the same was spied from the kitchen window coming along from his digs at Block 2, where his crew were housed (3-4 to a room likely). Therefore, as one does need to be somewhere, the PLQ Starbs, first in some long while, judging from the lad at the counter. (Frictionless cash only since Dec.) Oh, Golly! How could that dribble come as a surprise? Arrgh!… What would you call that fare that passes like sweet mead for the boomer / millennial tops? One headphone, one plug among.  Just as a tall, leggy bunny passed outside the window with pointed pink mounts atop her own phones. Now, was that remastered Bob, or the original Nobel? Uncertain. Tricky for a tin ear. Did the man sell his back catalogue to Amazon like some other star recently? Might possibly stretch out the neck, risk it and say, no, actually. The strain, the tight little effort spoke against. One tattoo, with black sunnies added when a wink of sun through the window emerged from the overcast. Lashes latecomer landed left. Soon every table would be claimed, just like on the last visit. Opposite the fluro pink in her 40s canna help blinking when she feels the eyes of the whitey upon her, scanning ever so briefly & ever so discretely. All four older chaps upper 30s-40s dyed. Black, apart from the guy on the end with a fade one side & mottled tan top. Not a single brolly among them—they could all manage to get where they were going from there later under cover, either walkways or underground. Not unexpected. All comfortably snug in the warm aural waters. How is it that 100m away the outlet at Kinex could crank up the volume so strongly? Managerial independence & initiative? Always dribble piddle around the ankles here, that was unchanged. The guy following Bob gave it some big yeah, yeah couple points, muted again and blank. Yesternite outta the blue Yasu sent from Tokyo John Zorn’s throat-slitting screeching from darkest, deepest jungle, as if from the past hereabout. Yeow-wee!! double-plus! The young hooded Asian lad in duet reminded of the kamikaze pilots hurtling onto the battleships. If you’re not screeching & screaming inside right now you were not paying attention, way outta it in your own little private world. Tearing suicidal screams for emperor & country, delivered with twisting & bowing by the hoodie. Amusing the other day Morrie referencing from schooldays the Whiter Shade of Pale thingy. Boy! Took a bit to reclaim that memory. Morrie musta bin seriously fixated. Ukrainian tubby on the bus last week with his wife in a Zeppelin tee had got on board those boys from the get-go, he said, complete collection all in vinyl. Did say he saw them in Moskva back in the day? Junior radical dudes by comparison with J Zorn, though of course we have spun some fair way further now in these short few decades. No sign of the robot in the hour plus, getting serviced & upgraded during the NY pause, maybe. Many still shuttered three days on, joined coincidentally by their Muslim countrymen this year. Expensive fold-up Velo needed to be brought indoors and sat by the table right against the legs of the author, with nary a word or sign. Soiled panama, plastic magnifiers & frayed Op Shop Levis shirt left the disguise rather threadbare now. (Blasted Op Shop Versaces busted clean in half during routine handling.) Task to keep the jowls both from hanging and also stiffening. The sage of course or the master. Excellent guides. Letting the music slip first of all, easy does it, loose & settled. Why allow yerself to be smashed so easily on an innocent Thursday morning. Ramadan & the Fire Horse, latter only riding over the horizon every 60 years. This year some more attention to the last ten days for the Mussies, esp. that particular odd numbered for when the prophet first received revelation. One single toothy gleam from the screens along the bench seat, and the three others against the inner wall diving the bar. Heavy Indian lad had been tickled properly.

 

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, February 4, 2026

Publication news - The World’s Faire

the note below was in fact proofing stage - the edition finally got out end February


Out now—




 Hallo all


Another publication to announce up in the States, a little longer this one, coloured by some of the darkness of our current times.

The lit. journal Action, Spectacle has just posted "The World’s Faire", a kind of survey of various trouble spots over the globe, some contemporary and others from the not too distant past that still lives with us.

Freely available here, (2.7k words) —




All best
Pavle 



Saturday, January 31, 2026

Publication news: Bunga Rampai - Plants & Poetry Journal

 Hallo all


Happy CNY!… Soon! (Ignoring all the black clouds for a moment.)

A short-short of mine from the local Malay market in my neighbourhood in Sing has just been published in the States. 

Weddings need flowers of course, — here is a small part of the Malay theatre still currently employed locally, though this particular penning goes back to 2011, soon after first landing on the Equator.

Published by an outfit called, Plants & Poetry Journal. Print costs, but the online is free on the site, pdf included (260 words).






Cheers,
Pavle



Wednesday, January 28, 2026

Florida Marlin


 

Inanity no especially big deal ordinarily. What did it matter? In politics it was a bit more serious, but there it mostly covered the usual push from the usual direction; different kinda mask in that case. Otherwise, routine everyday inanity you quietly step around, pass by. ‘Tis the way. Can’t be helped. Onward regardless. True, somedays, unprepared, it could strike a fellow like a sudden arrow, pierce the heart and slowly begin to gnaw. Irritation and unsettling hardly noticeable at first, mostly impalpable. Implacable as it proceeded. That beanpole footing along this morning had never been in the meritocratic race, never made the starting line. Back in the field, bunched behind. Among the also-rans making up the numbers. Florida Fishing College... Faded, but still legible. Not clubcollege. Lad like that would never get into any college. Never get off the island, much less Florida. Maybe the $3 commuter bus over the Causeway to JB. Fishing off the bridges here was more like; that was the hook prompting his mother’s purchase. Trifle google-eyed, spectacles, flip-flops slapping. Sweetest as could possibly be every chance, which doesn’t deny the point here. All the sloganeering, the government, advertisers, fashion industry, the influencers & churches. (The Muslims & Hindu eschewed.) Before the first cuppa of the day didna help.

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

Sunday, January 25, 2026

Touching

 

 

If you’re in the biz of promoting reflection, elucidation, understanding whatnot, you’ve gotten yourself a sticky problem right there in the middle of your life right now. Strange set of circumstances. What is it exactly with these two gals and their particular ways? your own responses too? The pair all at once more or less, in these latter days of the career, when you weren’t exactly top of the form. Both Sumatran, coincidentally; the Northern half in fact of that largest island in the Indo archipelago both. (Sixth largest in the world; as Mr Trumpet has said, Greenland being No. 1.) In what has been a long, if not illustrious life of those pleasures of the flesh, you have never previously been requested to administer spanking. Nothing particularly remarkable for many, especially since the advent of the Net. (Sak in fact admitted getting her idea from the example.) Good, firm clapping of the peach, when properly landed. Resonant thwacking. One times! Two times! Three times in succession was not overdoing it. From the reaction it clearly stung the gal, making her start, making her wince and gape; but equally clearly, if not quite a bit more than equally, the relish was unmistakable. Four times! Five! Spaced a bit the latter needed to be. Eight, nine or ten altogether on the last Tuesday meeting. Counting a couple of misplaced, it may have totalled over a dozen. Without any implement or aid employed; only the flat of the hand, the right for a right-hander. Whack! In the centre of the cheek, usually the left, given the way Sak liked to straddle her lover crossways. Oh! Gasp. Ah! For a palpable hit on the spot. Misplaced was unsatisfactory; it did need to land on the fleshy centre of the mound, which in Sak’s case was nicely raised and shapely. On the spot there made it sweet. Very likely the auditory effect added to the girl’s pleasure. That the Korean lad behind the party wall must have heard gave no concern; indeed, on the contrary, added plus. (He would feel he’s missing out: Sak.) Surprisingly, and unexpectedly, there eventually came some pleasure too for the disciplinarian. Mainly for a new job well done; and the satisfaction providing the partner. How about that! You were in the lists of the sadomasochists now, kinda. Active participant. How to account for the preference was the question? In early youth Sak had once been beaten by her father with a belt. Not the buckle, and not especially fiercely. A signal event nonetheless, however. The young girl had been caught by Da alone with a lad as twilight descended. The compromising position was relatively minor. Sak had ducked flat when the Da was sighted; clothing intact; little dishevelled. It had only been some smooching & squeezing. Single, solitary episode. Not enough to go by for present purposes, one would think; for this decided preference in her middle thirties. In a WA exchange Sak had sensibly suggested it was another means of creating intimacy with a partner; effecting union. Who was the newcomer to quibble? Was it possible to delve more deeply for some more satisfactory and definitive explanation? Then Era. The second example; fellow Sumatran. Well, it should be added, both women came with limited sexual history. No doubt an important factor, especially in the elder Era’s case. Sak’s predilection for porn noted. Not become obsessive. It had helped enduring twelve long, prime years of unwanted celibacy; no kind of sexual partner for the duration. Both women too had shared the fate of exceedingly brief marriages, (little over a year in the one case & only 2 months the other.) Era had never resorted to porn, though in the last few years—into her early & mid-forties now— she was relishing some visual imagery on the screen, when it was granted. During absences, especially of the protracted kind, when Era was messaged for notice of some proper standing to attention, she quickly responded with, Ingin lihat. Ingin lihat; and more recently adding, dan pegang. Want to see; and hold. For a good long while E’s little hand had needed to be directed onto, or at least toward the member. Once ventured the lady soon settled and got herself going perfectly well under her own steam. Stroking, caressing, jerking a little; and increasingly more strenuously than her partner liked, in fact, before long needing to be slowed. (The Bahasa for “gentle” would not stick—lembut; close to lembu, cow. Lemah, halus or manis, which latter was common in the request for less sweetening in the teas—kurang manis. More recently, over the last 4–5 months, E’s stroking, her holding and clasping had become almost peak feature of the union. That hesitant, shy little hand. The quiet, deep relish. Evident, but carefully hidden pleasure. (In the subsequent jockey mount, especially the first round after the week or two’s absence, all that pleasure Era attempted to clench and stifle in her jaw.) Now, wherefore? The question. How was that? Why that simple cherishing come to be relished so dearly; by both parties? The number of weeks the clasping close continued for many minutes; continued for two or even three quart hours in a couple of notable cases. Certainly in the WA exchanges, this matter was the chief node. Ingin lihat; wanting to see on the screen. Dan pegang; and hold. Hold somehow by imaginative extension. In one of the early episodes during the long European separation, E’s little thumbnail portrait in the bottom corner of the screen showed fixed concentration and a glowing, radiant smile. Recently, during the inoperability of her teenage daughter’s phone and the pair’s sharing of E’s own, the mother had needed to take special care to delete the threads. Ingin lihat. And dan pegang. This case with E was perhaps a lesser mystery; but nonetheless, such a simple manoeuvre proving so powerful, so dominant, remained a wonder. Each week as we drew toward the Friday evening, that first lunge when it came, and the following persistence, played powerfully upstairs. Girls rarely clung on very much to the rudder. It seemed to offer little on their side. Yet here it was very much contra-wise. Era might not ever explore the porn online, but if she were to be sent an artful photograph, or video, as she had quietly pleaded for often enough, every chance she could survive on that prospect for a very long time. An all too brief, unsatisfactory marriage was key. (The husband had simply brought another woman home when their daughter was 5–6 months of age.) Followed by the extended withdrawal and celibacy again. One’s own reactions raised interesting questions too. Reversions of some sort was the working hypothesis.