Where heaven bents.

This is a very tired Saturday. On a new year's eve.

I got home late last night. Almost five. Spending hours with my colleagues celebrating the thousand notes that's been injected to our bank account at last. We spent it pretty well; six children tickets for Mission Impossible 4 and a three hours of screaming and scratching our lungs out session in Cheras.

I need this. A fake vacation but with a real friends.

Friends; ah a long story cumming short. We came from a society of which at the moment, care too much about their environment that they didn't want them to be different either in appearances or social behaviors or a way of thinking. And as any of these indifference is considered as disabilities, they laugh at it.

So I'll guess there'll be no celebration for me tonight. No. But if you do have one, please do care to put on some rubber.

Play safe.

He wanna be a big man in the coming years.

The kind of man who'll make every jaws dropped every once that he took a shout. The kind of man that every single thing he done will hypnotize others to unconsciously uttering the 'wow' word. That he didn't do nothing but impressed and gaining respect. And he'll die happy.

Shove it up since that was all for the future.

Because right at this very moment, he was a lousy dude, writing something that for some, didn't even make any sense. Rubbish. The automated teller machine card stuck in his left side of his wallet will determine where will he be on the next fourty eight hours.

The new year is coming and he wished for god to show a little bit of tolerance this fucking time.

Five years ago, he will occasionally pray for a better tomorrow. He ain't never go beyond that. He believes that, the day after tomorrow, whether it is good or bad, it is a road need taken. It's well written by Him. He reluctantly wish neither that he hope.

He prayed.

"Abra kadabra!!"

And then comes an Irish stripper. Dancing and shaking all the fancy part of her body, like there is any more or less. Letting that already loosen clothes departing her silky body. He stand still with no fucking erection.

Fuck! as he walk away, leaving that Irish whore insatiably insane.

Bulls. Oh god. He need no fucking stripper but a goddamn money. You get him some of that and then only he'll go find himself a fucking stripper. With ass.

No, I mean this 's'.

Happy New Year. God bless me.

Rules # 6: Coffee and tea.

You can't do nothing but to survive the differences between you and the world.

There's a lots of time that I found my friend's craziness towards Onitsuka Tiger is such a waste of taste. For me to sacrifice that amount of money for something that you can actually find thousands of it on display at the night market, never mind the authentication, well, that's purely illogical. But never did I threw a god-damn word.

I was watching Songlap the other day. The first Malay movie that, to be honest, gotten me excited up until the very end. I was never this eager to reach the end of a movie before. A Malay movie for god sake. I was anticipating the next scene and at every time that I thought I knew how it's going to end, I was proven wrong.

As an avid guy who loves to share thing with others, I told few friends of how exciting the movie is. Only to add to my disappointment since most of them were still in the moods for Adnan Sempit and Kongsi.

And I'll go for neither of that.

A random post.

Give me a book to read and I'll fall asleep before you knew it.

I love to read but never as much as I like writing. I have a small chat with a writer friend few months back. He say in order to be a good writer, apart from the talent, you need to be a good reader. And being a good reader in his personal context is to read a lot.

I beg to differ. Although if you asked me to name one good writer who didn't read a lot, now, I am hundred percent sure that I will unable to do it. There's also an inquiry about me going for this book writing session. I declined it with an open arm. Without even bother give it a second thought.

I still am lacking of experiences, to write. Because in my personal opinion, to become a good writer, experience do count.

I imagined myself as a writer in the next eight to ten years. In a more proper media than this free blogspot.com. Of course. A sports bulletin or maybe a newspaper column, I don't mind, as long as there's a dateline to meet and there's a story to be shared.

Dateline, well that is adventure and sharing, yes , I think that is a better word to explain why I basically wrote. I want to share with my readers, the experience that I have been through so that they can accommodate it with their own.

If I write about how I ride my bike in a heavy rain, I must have expecting that any of my reader have gone through this before. Or maybe they will face it somewhere in the future. I wants the reader to then remember what he read and smile. Only that they might be riding a different brands of bike and they were at a different place.

But the experiences are one.

I want that to happen. Because writing is not only about hitting the keyboard and things, it's about sharing your very own story that might eventually encourage others to, well, smile.

And there is no justify button, here.

Middle fingers to the sky if you don't like the reply.

I've bumped into situations where I felt like god was so harsh on deciding my character path that if I have those abilities required, I would go and look for the Epirus Bow and unleash all the titans from the Mount Tartaros. And revenged god.

What's stopping me from doing this is the fact that life isn't all about being good and perfect. It's about living.

For me, to blame god on all the difficulties that you've been faced with is very much tolerable. But still it won't change any fact that you will be stuck with it unless you find yourself an adequate and logical solution to it.

What did I missed? No fucking thing, no?

Sex, dream and jeans #7.

I've ended much of my cursing stuff since the last few weeks. I've changed. Turn in myself to the good side and for the good time.

However, it's pretty much stupid to realize that I will somehow won't be able to be myself in achieving what is good in the hereafter. I'm not that kind of person who murmured all those holy word at every time. Never. And to fake a holy expression with the inclusion of a holy word to this belong situation is sounds and looks fake,

and fucked up.

For the win.

My housemate was pretty much admirable I should say. He is a multi-language dude who earn this alienated software qualification that contributed to his luxury salary at every end of the month. He recently going for the Japanese as his what, seventh or eight method of communicating.

I was so impressed with him until last Thursday when he decided to sell his laptop to this Pakistani.

During the negotiation and viewing session, at our house, he talks to this Pakistani fella about how difficult it is for the people like him to go and venture the industry that was controlled by other race. The likes of Low Yatt Plaza that pretty much a one-color-owned.

And the Pakistani's counters is for the win.

He answered of how the people of where he came from took over the likes of Masjid India from the Chinese. And he added on how another foreigner managed to venture and take control the IT business at Imbi Plaza; also previously a one-color-business.

With half of them didn't actually gain a legal work permit.

Better day.

I write my first song back in 2002, when I was in form four.

Yes, it was in English and it was about a stupid boy and a pretty girl whom he bumped into every morning while waiting for the bus. The smiles and the morning coldness that they both shared, the arguments and the tears that they shed, the dreams; I turn it all into a song.

I create the melody, write the lyrics but never have I succeed with the musical part. That's pretty much because I didn't fucking know of how to work a fucking musical instruments. Up until now.

Just few minutes ago, I saw this girl profile on facebook. I remember her name on the performer's list during the book launching event, months back. I didn't watch her performances, thought.

If there is any case that she read this, just so that she know that if she was in need of a material, I have this nine-years-old-masterpiece that I hold for long enough.

And no, it wasn't a punk song.

Rules #5 : A stranger's death.

The last time when someone make a fucking review about this blog, he ask me to show my appreciation towards my readers. I read it quite a few times to figure out what does it mean by this 'appreciate the readers' term.

Maybe I need to reply to their comments. Or visit their blog back and stamp that appreciation shit on their blog; sounds stupid enough when I don't even give a damn read of what they fucking write.

Truth is I don't care.

I didn't get paid for writing this shit so I don't have any time to waste going for your shit and read. This blog, it didn't have an expiry date. It dies when I want it to be. When I died. Tomorrow, next week, next month, who give a damn.

And the readers, they came and go.

I've placed a list of blog that I do prefer to read here. Some of which I haven't step in for quite sometime.

Keep holding on.

My trainer said that at some point of life, we need to let go all the feelings or secret that we hold inside. Cry, laugh, curse or do whatever necessary.

Share it. Because this will somehow help us to feel better. That our life will never be haunted by this 'feeling' again. That we won't have it presence all around us where ever we go.

"How can you go forward if you can't let go of your past?" He said.

I beg to differ.

I had too many of this sorrow story that if I decided to make a movie out of it, I'll sure beat the likes of Ziela Jalil bare-handed. But did I share it with others? No. Do I have this 'feeling' presence around me when I'm with my friends?

Well, maybe.

But I prefer to take one thing at a time. And I rarely turn my head back. That is how I survive.

The Ambiguity.

I am now personally think that being a gay or a lesbian is holier than telling and spreading lies. Yup, the Ambiga-whatever-her-name-is, is wrong again to try and to provoke the authority by organizing this program without a permit but hey, what the fuck is wrong with Malaysia's TV stations?

It's not a sex party for god sake. It's a program to seek individual freedom concerning the sexual relations issues in Malaysia. And there is a big different between these fucking two.

Fuckers.

So this 'seksualiti merdeka' thingy, they have 'makan-makan' or not?

Breaking down.

It was during this team building shit when we have to join into this counselling session where we have to share with others on what we have been through in all our years. We need to draw things and then relate it to our story.

I'm actually done with my part when this trainer suddenly came out with this question;

"When was the last time you cry?"

I stood there in silence. Truth is I really can't remember the last time I cry but I was pretty much sure that it was quite a number of years ago. And as I struggle to recall it, another question hit me.

"When was the last time, those who loves me cry?"

No, he didn't ask that and I thanks god for his not.

Sex, dream and jeans #6.

I always have this believe that a good looking men should go out or fall in love with a good looking women. In a way where a honorable gentleman make a perfect match for lovely lady and as the bad guys and the bad girls fall for each other's lies.

That nobody will question or doubt their loves for each other. You know, we saw a young beautiful women holding hands with an aging men and we goes;

"She's going for his money, ain't she?"

Fucknny.

Killjoy.

I got myself a work at last. Though it wasn't really what I expected of but for the sake of being a human being and off course of being a human being, I accepted it with open heart.

You see, I always look at every single thing in life as it is happens according to it's flows. As what it was written and with reason.

Things like I was destined to be a punk since I was fourteen. Well, maybe earlier.

But it was on my fourteen birthday that I first have my english cassette. It was this band and it was the blah blah blah album. This trio became my biggest musical influence since then. Up untill in 2005 when I read about the band split-up on some local mag.

It was their front-man who actually leaving. And it didn't took him long to come up with a new band. He formed a new progressive space rock outfits and the stars doesn't look like going to stop shinning on him. His webblog is getting crowded and his footwear company is growing bigger.

He is making a name of himself.

Even when the old band decided to make a comeback and with a new album launching this year, there still talks from the fans of how different he is now compare to him before. They still blame him for the massacre; on his decision to quit the band.

Did he care?

No. Because at that very moment when he decided to quit, he just knows that he was meant to do something bigger.

Next week or so, it's going to be the end of my punk life. There's no more nasi lemak bapok at 4 in the morning. No more Doraisamy's bitches bitching about how hot they were on the dance floor. And no more football on Wednesday morning.

There's just no more nightlife.

But hey, maybe I too was meant for something bigger.

The justice league.

I believe in order to achieve success, we need to let loose of our ego.

In a selected situation where you were a passive smoker whom suddenly fall in love with a girl who smoking is one hell of a problem, the best solution is always to stop. Bent your fucking ego or you loose her.

When you were one step away of being hired and you decided to not to move on from your expected salary on a basis that your abilities worth more than those bucks they're offering. Bent your fucking ego and take the fucking offer.

No?

Congratulation. Look like you going to spend another month in this league of unemployment.

Tolerance my ass.

John Doe.

I went to an event last Weekend. It was a book launching ceremony of not one but two books and a zine of where most of the audiences were either bloggers or students. They also have this independent film maker and this god of troll making an appearance there.

I didn't really keen for the book launch actually but more of having glances at the set of authors available on that day.

So I came, enjoy the performance, get a copy of Nurul Asyikin and left.

Feeling this.

I finally back in KL after my one week leave. It wasn't a work leave actually, it was on my mom request. She need to head somewhere north and I need to baby-sit our four beloved cats. Yes, cats. And it's cute, I know. Especially when I have to decline a job-interview offer for that.

The journey back to KL was quite a valuable one I would say. I sat next to this show off malay girl whom I can't hardly take my eyes off her chest every times she bowed reaching for her bag. Pardon me but I do enjoy pretty things.

So the week leave, it has an amazing effects on me as I supposed it should. The pro's and the con's.

I didn't get that bitch number and I still got this buzz for tits. Like after a week spending the night with only cats.

God bless me!

Blewjob.

With October's coming really fast, I've listed what should be my monthly budget. A new shoes going to cost me around three hundred bucks. And then the t-shirts. Those jumper. My daily broadband and my mobile phone internet payment.

Girly.

Oh well. I need a fucking job. Period.

Tank.

A words from an old friend knock me back down to reality. He pointed out how most of us growing up becoming what our society want us to be instead of what we desire to do. He said that's why most of us didn't really have the life to cherish for and for some, it was the end of their exciting life.

I gave him a nod. And a smile.

This big lad, he is one hell of a thinker now. Previously a decent student, a college dropout and a police wanted.

The Supertramp guy.

"I read somewhere... how important it is in life is not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong." - Chris McCandless.

Thing that I afraid the most in my life is to disappoint those who were closely related to me. Those who were with me during my ups and downs. Those who hope that I can at least lend them a hand when they were in need of one.

Most and most of the time, I failed. And disappointment it is.

Sometime I got this thought of leaving gunning through my head. You know like pack up all my things, buy myself a ticket to north (or maybe south) and then gone. With neither goodbye kisses nor 'have a safe trip' cards.

Leaving behind, everyone and everything that I once face. And then start a new life. On my own and all alone.

Ah alone, one thing I guess I never will be good at.

Devouring the indifferent.

That night, when the lady threw the glasses away on to the floor, telling the world how un-class we are compared to them, I thought it was really really immoral. From her so called classy people, I expected a good if not a better behavior.

But I had to admit, since the first day that I got myself here, the only thing lacking between us is always class.

Here, we tend to think with our fist first then with our heads. We have our meal next to a garbage placement, behind those pub where transsexual was never a different. We even shared our tables with them. Always, we made a brag about a girl ass. We live the nights more than the days. We had an argument of an unimportant thing.

We kicked each each others butts and feelings.

I got lots of picture in my hard drive which I won't bother sharing. From a birthday celebrations to a farewell party to the recent Aidilfitri's open house. Most of them taken by our drunken photographer. He is Indian and he nearly burnt his upper lip trying to light up one of the candles with his mouth.

Yeah, we too enjoy a birthday party with cakes and candles.

Arsenalisation; Bring it on.

My friend once quote this on his twitter 'the worst thing that happen to me is becoming an Arsenal fan'. I've got to get agreed with him. Especially after that 8-2 thrashing at the theater of dream last weekend.

Last season was the worst of many. We lost a 4-0 lead to only a fucking single point. Then we got what could be our first potential trophy in six years stolen right under our nose to a fucking relegated club and by a stupid misunderstanding. And later, we never look like to be able to recover. A couples of losing streaks led us from a title challengers to only a champions league spot.

And we became the laughing stock since.

Sunday was the wake up call for everyone. The boss, actually. I do expecting a lose before the game but never with that kind of margin. It did hurt surely watching the team being outplayed and demolished like that but I, to be honest was quite please with the outcome;

two experience defenders, two creative midfielders and a hot shot Asian striker. Now look, who's smiling.

The plain malay.

I was against these act of giving kids the 'angpow' design with the mighty Malaysian's ringgit notes. It was like the old ritual of telling them to shush during the night and then go to sleep or else the evil ghost will come and take them to hell.

Plainly speaking, teaching them how to lie.

And I didn't.

It's been a while. I know.

I was too busy with the world. My world. I am slowly becoming what everybody expect of me to be; a good son, a loving brother, a charming boyfriend and hey, a friend. So do pardon me when or if I left too much breathing/forgetting space on this blog.

Plus this stupid broadband seems to not let me view even my fucking blog page. Did they block the 'fuck' word already? I miss the fucking announcement didn't I?

I rarely take a day off. For how long that I live myself here, I never really get a whole completed day for myself. I make the most of myself being in my workplace than neither in my living room nor in my bed.

Today and the day after was a heaven sent for those who were ready to trade their time for money. A greedy me will go for that, a pretty fucking straight away. Hit the buttons and calmly told the old lady that I didn't get a day off.

Yeah yeah. Never teach a damned guy to be a god damn greed. She didn't.

Selamat Hari Raya. God bless us all, may.

Instead.

It was a fine morning of August 1 when I finally realized of how hard it is to live a man's life.

These two months was fantastic. They would've been the highlight of my life or maybe the best sixty days I've ever had. For some, it was a sitter. A complete waste of time. They said I should have attended those fucking interview and grab myself a fucking fortune.

Because I am now at an age where enjoying life was an absolute taboo. All I need to do is to work hard, make a lot of cash and then get married.

All and all, like I was already a fucking thirty years old stud.

Oh god, I know I should pick a homo life, instead.

Fuck the future.

I just moved into my brother's house last Monday.

I mean, I moved into my brother's house yesterday. With house, I refer to a number of feet times a number of feet square space with neither people to talk to nor a television to lay my eyes on. Or anything that's usually used to describe what home is.

There was a cyber cafe down there; still operating using the windows XP service pack two on a fifteen inch cathode ray tube monitor.Vintage and pathetic at it's best.

So I manage to get myself an interview today. A writer post for quite an established company. Writing for them means I'm writing for the likes of dato-dato and tan sri's of Malaysia.

Amazing, ain't it?

There was eight person in the company's lounge. Three of them were there for their second phase of the interview which pretty much concluded that they already passed the first phase of the interview; writing test.

Among the eight were a journalism graduate, Melbourne International College Journalism's head of program, a Karam Singh Walia look-alike psycho, a total American's accent blonde and a sixty years old granny who barely see a fucking letter.

Great.

Now that I'm breathing the air of unemployment, fuck the future!

Of going back home.

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Rules #4 : On my own.

So I finally finished my degree level and counting my days in this lovely town of Shah Alam. It's a pretty emotional days to live, you know, considering how awesome I've been for the past two and a half years here.

Next step is to pack my stuffs, find myself a small but comfortable room at a very reasonable price, also a number of hangable lads who don't mind listen to my shit all night long and then, to start things all over again. First thing first, I need to find myself a well paid job.

This is the part that worried my mom the most. She kind of always stressing out that she didn't really see of where my future lies. Yeah, I don't too.

Both my younger brother and sister was into the teaching profession which mean that they were guaranteed a job right after their graduation. Or two month after, that was the very least. My brother have already celebrating his first salary last month while I was here, asking my girlfriend a few bucks for the thesis printing cost.

You see, it was all written but never will I blame Him.

My future, I believed that it was really up to me to choose mine. My call. And if I fall, it wasn't of Him. It's either because I didn't foot myself on where it should be or I misjudged my fucking step. Maybe I missed the 'wet floor' sign. Some monkeys irresponsibly threw this banana peels away, no?

I made a life of my own. And I will fight for it the same way I've ruined it. Even harder.

I shall start by being a fucken atheist. May I?

Resume.

I categorized myself as an independent team player who don't bother to say 'hi' on every single morning I passed upon your desk. Not that I am lacking any communication skill that you and your company required and neither I arrogant.

I don't do drugs.

I don't entertains poolitics.

And I will blog about how stupid my top divisions are.

Oh, how I too love to rush things on dateline date. I believe that is when my hidden potential truly revealed.

Fuckin hire me, please.

Role playing.

Up until this time, I never managed to complete the 'People Who Inspire You' section provided by the facebook people.

I saw quite a number of musicians in my mates column. Both local and international. P Ramlee, Sudirman, Thomas Matthew, Billie Joe Armstrong, Dan Smith, Jona Weihhofen, Jay Chou, Siti Nurhaliza, Bob Marley and John Lennon for examples. You see, even some tattoo artist was there on their list.

Truth is, I can see this people greatness. A great musician, a revolutionary and all.

I just can't see how this people had inspired them. Apart from how they dressed the same dresses and sing the same songs.

Beaver.

We were right in front of the cinema for the midnight show, still arguing which movie we should watch. There were three movies available at that time; JB's Never Say Never, A Chinese Ghost Story and World Invansion : Battle of Los Angeles.

I already watch the alien-fight-human-for-water action two weeks ago so to put my foot there again will be a big NO and since I wasn't a big fan of chinese movie, I voted for the Bieber.

And off course, lose out.

So my problems with these chinese horror flicks were that they always put a beautiful hot chicks for the ghost role, too much martial artses and flashbacks is a must, especially when the hero is dying.

Ten minutes and two of my friends already left for the World Invansion. Great start mofo!!

One thing impressive however, was that I finished the movie with a boner; something that usually happens only when I heard Bieber's "baby.. baby.. baby.. uhhhh" on play.

The boat that rocked.

The stupidest part in one's life is when he already got this awesome-but-not-yet-watch movie in his external hard disk drive and after about half year wasting that one gigs on this awesome-but-not-yet-watch movie, he decided to call it off thus thrashes it to the bin.

Then suddenly, from a friend, he heard that it was an-awesome-but-not-yet-watch movie so he spent another hours downloading all the good shit he missed.

I was metaphoring.

You can off course replace that awesome-but-not-yet-watch movie with anything you have in mind. Girlfriend or maybe girlfriend or maybe girlfriend or whatever.

Suit yourself. Just don't fucked things up.

Death, I mean.

God is great. Had He mixed in too little oxygen, all His creatures would have suffocated. Had He mixed in too much, one spark would have the world on fire.

Ah, so that was God. Perfect as he always be. Beautiful as we couldn't ever see.

But I am human. His less than perfect creation. Cool but hot tempered, a bit off-charm, sucks at calculation and yeah, never will be great.

Physically speaking.

The eight o'clock news, the five hundred ringgit and How I Met Your Mother.

My all time favorite comedy show should be 'How I Met Your Mother'. I start watching the show few years back when my mom finally decided to let those Astro peeps have a fucking space on our roof.

She previously against this whole satellite television idea. For her, it was a waste of money and yeah, a distraction for us to concentrate on our study. I, myself wasn't so desperate for Astro at that time. I spent most of my day in campus than lying on those cold floor in front of that twenty something inches television.

Until when my brother told her that he will take care of the monthly payment, she finally gave in.

My mom, she was a pro-government. She's been supporting the red over white and green keris flag for a quite sometime.

Back at home, watching the eight o'clock news slot is a must. Even when she was at the kitchen preparing for our late dinner, changing the channel would be an invitation to have her nagging as our appetizer. She didn't really care about the clips show on the tv, she just want to hear the news.

And yeah, better tune the volume up.

So no football or whatever program on that twentieth hour mark. It's all news.

Another taboo is to never state your political ideology nor condemn her political party in front of her and in her house. Not that she wasn't democratic, she is, as far as I concerned but here, in her house we have to always live to her rules. Break it, then we have her nag for desert.

She had her reason. A reason that none of us dare challenge.

For her, it doesn't matter which flag we were into but the important thing is to never forget those who has done good to our family.

She was right. We will never forget.

It was January 2002, I was at home when my older brother got the offer from the Universiti Teknologi Petronas. The fees was around RM500 plus if I'm not mistaken. A reasonably cheap but for a school's janitor cum housewife cum the bread and butter of six, that was such a burden. A huge one. The traveling cost alone will costs her a fortune.

The palm oil industry wasn't helping. To surpass the price of RM300 per tone is a mission impossible and to collect more than one tone of palm oil per plucking session means you are one lucky bastard.

And the offer couldn't come at any time worst as the school session was just around the corner.

While many of her typical-Felda-minded-mates would have surrender and let those opportunity slipped, she wasn't. She as humble as she always be, going from this one person to another looking for no donation but a loan. She spent her night thinking of her next move, pouring yet another motherly tears.

And while none of those people works any wonder, this one man come to the rescue. He was at that time, the head chief of both the village and the United Malay National Organization party.

But that night, he wasn't just that. He was the savior.

Eight o'clock and he was right in front of my house with his blue aging Proton Saga. He's going to take my mum to see the state assembly representative, whom he have quite a close relationship with. Alongside him was another guy who was having the same problem. Only that his daughter was going for a top premier school.

Leaving the six of us with our dinner, skipping the news slot.

The gift, five hundred ringgit, it wasn't much, although according to mum it was her request to only have that amount of money. She told us even the driver called her idiot for failing to name a greater amount when she was asked.

But it was more than enough. With that five hundred ringgit, my mum and my brother took the night train going north for his registration day.

And I have my first taste of 'How I Met Your Mother'.

Sex, dream and jeans #5.

To have your girlfriend or boyfriend created a goddamn blog just because you were some awesome blogger is for fuck sake the lamest thing to do, in the world. It was like that reality show guy old shit stories. You know, he become a phenomenon and that ex-fiance of him suddenly jumped into the industry.

So where is she now? Writing some stupid biography again? It's not working. Never.

Wait. You don't even know he blogged? About you? Your never-ending love story??

Good. Fuckin go kill yourself now.

Nonchalant.

This past few weeks, they were all about rejections. I was left helpless but thank god, never alone. And as I wasn't in any power nor possession to say 'I won't take no for an answer', the best available solution is to always walk away and wait for the long awaiting acceptance.

If and I mean, if only there was one.

From the other end of the phone, she spilled yet another disappointment. Telling me to 'never grow up!'. I sunk myself deep under my thick red blanket.

This was once my fortress, this thick red blanket. It's where I hide myself from all the bad monsters I watched on the tube. It's the only place in the world where my Uncle's red eye vampire should never find me.

I am breathing another defeat but it is always good to feel home again.

The only constant is change.

To change things, you need both yourself and the world to cooperate.

Few days back, I was in front of my laptop, getting ready to jot my two hundred and one entry when my mind starts playing tricks on me. I ended up tweeting some friends and damn, seven hours of sleeping.

Sunday night and I was once again in front of my laptop with that same old objective. I even put my tweetdeck on an offline mode this time. It took a couple of hours for me to realize that I was instead watching the Anugerah Bintang Popular than hitting these lousy keyboard.

And now, with two datelines coming up on Friday, I frankly celebrating my success of finishing what was supposed to be done four days ago.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!! I need to sleep.

# 200.

Larasephia was right. It was always sound like I was trying to put myself on the rational side. I am. But never did I trying hard to sound like one.

Truth is I am having this problem of emotion-less toward thing happening around me. It's always seem like I didn't care and to get those emotion back, I need to be rational.

You know like when every single people talks about how bad Japan is, lets pray for them Japanese, that's what you get when you hurt dolphins and all, I just go 'Sure, sure, the only Japanese peeps I know ins and outs is Maria Ozawa.

I should pray for her, no?

Or when that saya-gay-saya-ok dudette brought himself into the Malaysian's taboos, all I was thinking was 'Good for him. Now I have less cock to worry about'.

Because I am a post-android who's yet to become a human. I don't take order but if I do, I'll shoot to kill. Love me or hate me hard. And I just won't give a damn.

Yeah. I can't even find the right title for this shit.

Human didn't possessed super power, you idiot!

It has to be said that I don't prefer those peeps who jotted about the religious thingy on the facebook. I used to either skipped the post or hide it.

I think it was stupid. I mean to talk about God in public.

I used to look at thing as a whole; from the convict's perspective to the victim and to the crime fighter, itself. As a whole. You know like cock, rape, anal and that big bad bed. As a hole.

Rationality and emotionality do have differences in what ought to be a pretty similar role.

As such in writing when you need to always consider the emotional and the rationality part. Especially when you were airing out your opinion. Failed to do so will likely cause your 'honest opinion' to become a little too harsh or maybe a little too soft for them, readers.

Leading your judgment to nowhere but in between.

Because being rational for me is to abandon God while to love Him is to become one hell of emotional fag.

And yes, nobody want to end up being an idiot. You idiot.

Bill Gates was once a dropped out and now a billionaires.

Fucking read Mr. Gates biography will ya?

I think telling these little fellas that they were doing good by not achieving a better result for their Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia is plain stupid. That show how much they don't care about you kids. That's how they tell you to go and fuck yourself up.

Yes, they were right. It's not the end of the world. But unless you got yourself a brain of him and a big fucking mighty rich family, I have none but one advice.

Shine it up, roll it tight and shove it up.

Your ass!!

Et Ducit Mundum per Luce II.

I was having a hell of nightmare last night.

My family were all killed by this psychopath neighbour. This well-known psychopath neighbour, he was at my age, currently unemployed and was at the lowest point of his life.

I was the last person dying. I got stabbed in the chest for quite a countless time.

The dream was on a repetition mode. Every time I got myself killed the dream was none but starting again. It was like I was giving another chances to save my family from this psychopath neighbour. Something which I kind of failed to deliver. But it never stop me from trying.

Hell, I am the king of my life and death. Even my most horrendous dream spares me my chances.

Loser's lullaby.

One thing I missed the most here is me writing from the perspective of a single guy. One which I stopped doing for almost a year, now.

For me, in everything and at every time I write, I need to first put myself in the situation.

So to write about a single-lonely guy who was in need of a girls love, I need to first free myself from any love relationship I was bound to. And if I ever decided to write about a relationship, I then need to jump into one, first.

Honesty, that's what my major concern all about.

Like right now, I was writing in an empty office on a lunch hour mode just to get this feeling of a broke guy who skipping his lunch after buying his girlfriend a new Guess handbag as her birthday present.

I made it, am I?

Can't I help humanity AND wear pants?

It's a week of audacity, tenses and loss of hope.

I guess the world is really going to its end. You know with all the climate changing and the natural disaster happens around us, no one left to denied that assumption. We have the middle east revolution few months back, New Zealand earthquake a month ago and now this tsunami thingy in Japan.

I was joking with some friends the other day when we got our hand on the earthquake news. I told him the Godzilla was digging its way up to the surface and we laugh our asses off.

Yes its funny.

Especially when taking into consideration that Japan; the world largest exporter of superheroes were in such a huge problems. They usually got the likes of Ultraman to save them from the Zetton's monster. Cybercop against the Death Trap and to the smallest Doraemon who help Nobita from the bullish Giant.

Now, it was all different. It wasn't scintillating anymore. Thousands were reported died from these horrific tragedy while almost fifteen thousand of people gone missing.

For the next couple of years, months or days, the new generation of these Japanese kids will questioning their superheroes ability. "Where were Gundams when my mom were taken by the waves?" "Why don't Flashman bring their big jet and start the evacuation?" "Can't Son Goku ask the Dragon Lord to revive Tokyo?"

And it will be all down to the manga artist to again re-install these kid's believe.

Those kind of believes that bring their Tsubasa inspirational football teams fly high at the World Cup. Not just another bionic superheroes with multiple changes of hand or a fight to survive Island. Lame.

Because it wasn't some Gorgonian monsters they're fighting with now, it's nature. That even if all the Ultraman's family were there, I have this utmost doubt that they can't do nothing about it.

Welcome to my fucking broken home.

So what's the purpose of me, writing?

I kicked start my writing involvement during my school time. I was invited by a friend to write in his underground zine. I was writing on the Malaysian's mainstream revolution in Bahasa. For a sixteen years old stud whose experience came only from the two hours a week Bahasa classes, I think I've nailed it.

But it was ruled out due to the lack of funds and some problems. So the zine project was never happened and my articles was left rotten in my school's examination pad.

And I stopped writing since then.

2008, when Tony Pua win the 12th General Election, I start to learn what blogspot is.

I created mine. I blogged about everything I see, I heard, I read and I think. From footballs to love to girls to movies to songs to bands and to et cetera. I make my own poem, write my own song, provoking a stupid roomante but all in all, I READ MY OWN WRITING.

I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK! I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK! I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK! I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK! I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK! I READ MY OWN WRITING. FUCK!!

That's when I ask myself why am I writing for god sake?

I have to have a reader. Or maybe two. Three. I need readers to keep on writing. I think the stupidest person in the blogsphere is those who said they write only for themselves. Seriously go find a fucking paper or fucking private those blog!

Ok. I don't know you but I do. I need people to read what I write.

There's a number friends ask why didn't I put a single advertising gadgets on my blog. I gave them a very cliche answer.

"I don't write for money."

Because I don't think anything I write here worth a single penny.

I am a grammars freak. I didn't scored any of my BEL subject during my time at UiTM. Neither did I get a 6 for my MUET paper. I bet you guys will enjoy correcting my grammar mistakes than understand what I fucking write.

But I believe that it's not only grammar what's matter. It's more than that.

That everything I write here is a thought I opted to share. And when I say I opted to share, it means that it is always an option to read.

Having said that doesn't mean I am neglecting all the grammar aspects. I am working my sweet asses to that.

To find the right word to express between an anger and sad. To differ what has happened and what is yet to. To come out clean. To achieve the perfection.

Only time will come and tell.

But not now. Never. Because this time, I'm writing to keep myself awake. So my supervisor won't knocked my table and gave me don't-you-fucking-sleep grin.

Bang the doldrums and wave that wooden legs.

I am the type of guy who's imagination is as high as the sky. I used to imagine what people talks to its perfection and off course, imperfection. Depends on how the story were told.

Let's say when a guy friend talks of his nasty hook up with his girl, I'll imagine a really hot passionate sex on queen size bed, lots of ah.. uh.. ah.., doggy, blah blah and yes, cum shots.

Twice, at least.

Ok. Maybe too harsh for an example. But hey, for an example to be argue is harsh too you goddammit!

Let's say a cheap Adidas shoe for me is equal to a China made products. You guys got me?

The problem is when things I've imagined is never as it is in the real world. The nasty hook up was nothing but a 3 minutes of a crappy bj in a crappy car and my so called China made product is actually a 70% off clearance sales by Al-Ikhsan.

Double the fucked up, I know.

So now I opted to experience things, myself. Both the girl and the Adidas shoe.

Any volunteer bitches?

Vacancy.

I've made my mind.

After completing my intern and before I start committing my life into the society again, I'm going to give myself a BIG CITY experiences.

I will rent myself a small room in the middle of Kuala Lumpur.

I've done some searching on the net. A small unfurnished room of an apartment/shop-lot will cost me around 300 bucks a month, at the very least. To accommodate this price with my monthly income, I need to find a really suitable place with less miscellaneous cost.

Affordable lunch and dinner, cyber cafe, sexy neighbors and yes, no transportation cost.

So I can just walk to either go to work or to hang out with friends. Bukit Bintang, Imbi and Hang Tuah were so far my most preferable spot to live.

I'll work at the Pavilion again. Doing what I do best; skipping works and watching movies. Haha.

This entry is about being attacked by monsters. And a revolution.

I guess what destroyed the Arabic continent now is not the revolution but equality. A war to equality. Yes, I do blame the leader for fail to conduct in a better way of leading but still I have this side of me blaming the people for, in my honest opinion, being too fanatic with equality.

I too, believe in equality. I complain when my lecturer treats this dudette like she was his fucking wife. I complains when this policeman let his nephew escapes a traffic summon. But how far will I go for equality?

Dying is a big no, no, no.

Equality as what define by some dictionary is being in the same amount, level, value, quantity and status. Which is in contrast with the idea of life as a whole. I meant how can you rule when you were on the same level as the others.

Can you ask your fellow marhein to sacrify their soul while you were on your back, watching some football highlights?

You need a leader. Your world need a leader.

So you pick one. The best among you. And as a leader, you'll expect him to be as equal as he can. That every decisions he make next will draw smiles on everyone faces. Failed and he deserve a revolution. Streets demonstrations. A reformation.

And you bring up your new-soon-to-be-deposed leader.

Can't you live a good life just because an equality wasn't in your meal? Can't you go for Nasi Kandar when the hot and spicy roasted turkey wings wasn't in your plate for dinner? Is Mocha Frappuccino really is necessary? Ever heard of Kopi Tarik?

It's life, dude. Not some God greatest heaven.

Even in heaven, you'll have this segregation based on your previous deeds. Virtue. Firdaus, 'Adn, Na'iim, Na'wa, Darussalaam, Muaqaamah, Al-Maqaamul and Khuldi.

All created for a specific type of goodness.

Nah. I fucking googled that.

Friday's rambling ; to kill a monsterous mocking bird. Again.

Do you really think that second chance is a must grab? What if there were third, fourth and fifth? Which does bring you a better outcome.

I am talking bout works, experiences and a confuse lad.

I spend most of my day thinking of what I'm going to be next.

This accountancy and banking things never suit me. I can't imagine myself being stuck in an office analyzing papers I can't even understand. I need to get out. To a more adventurous day-to-day job. A thriller. At least more than what I am facing now.

I got easily fell out with the environment. I mean by the surrounding. I got bored more often than ones could think.

I remember this few lines by this singer cum motivator. He said the most important things is to get yourself a qualification. Doesn't matter in what fields you were into so that whenever you were airing out opinions, there were a base people can look upon. That people know that you have this sort of qualification to utter this view.

I, to be honest doing what I do best now, to get mine.

A piece of paper followed by a heart-beating interview, a big congratulation, a good pay, a hot and spicy colleague, a backstabber, a mouthful war with finance department, an MC, a resignation letter and ...

And then I'll go astray.

Yes, we do learn from the experience. But was the first experiences sufficient enough that you can go and pick your own destiny?

I doubt that.

The upside down of a kingdom.

I am a Nescafe addicted freak. I never start my day without either a cup or a can of Nescafe. Wasn't a good pick for a healthy lifestyle but that's what makes me going.

I have this bad habit of staying up late. My daily sleeping time kicks off around 2 or 3 am. Maybe worst.

Not that I can't sleep but I have this obsession to not sleep early.

I think the great-greatest sleep came only when you are out of energy. Zero. Where neither nightmare nor sweet dreams can pass you by. Let alone wake you.

That's when you wake up, the only thing you remember is you, having the sleep of your life.

So I worked my asses off. From mamak to Pavilion to uptown. Even when I was at home, I watch movies, facebook-ing and play computer games. Everything to stay awake. Until when my eyes can take no more of this liquid crystal display lights.

There, then I'm off to bed.

With another caffeine-esque morning to come.

Sex, dream and jeans #4.

I have this one belief here in me to not idolize someone who is still around, breathing. I prefer to idolize a dead person. Because people, Malaysian or not, Muslim or non, they will talk only the good things about a dead person.

Of what seem to be contrary when he is alive. And fucking.

Who the fuck is Maher Zain?

Last night, a friend of mine talks of how stupid she thinks Malay is. One, for entering this reality show while they didn't seem to possess any kind of talent required and two, for keep saying that they want to change their life through that program.

She thinks that they should study or work hard to change their life instead of go for this instant success. And yes, always and always pray to god.

Pathetic, I know. Both her and the contestants.

Disagreed, I left her a question 'Can praying to God ensured you a change of life?'. A few second and she gave me this 'No but they can at least make an effort'. I then replied 'Aren't singing, I mean entering this competition considered as an effort?'.

Another few second and this 'Please don't halal-ing what is already haram..' and shit.

Great. So I am debating God now huh, bitch?

The Ashburton Grove.

Football is another way of how guys achieved their orgasm. With no bj's and no penetrations required.

Just leave your sleeping girlfriend at home. You put on your color, go find a non-HBO-football-craze mamak, ordered yourself a cup of teh tarik, and leaned back.

And then, your first goal's arrived. With the second one's just shortly after.

Oh fuck. I'm cumming.

The settler's son.

I am not a town boy.

I grew up in the desert of palm oils in southern peninsular where the nearest shopping complex were fourty five minutes away. We (my family and me) didn't go to the town unless we were in need of something, ie; o buy school equipments or to repair electrical appliances.

Back in my school days, I have this big dream of living in this big city. Shopping complexes, cinemas, bad guy, hot chicks and waking up to the sound of car beeping. I sometime wonder how my parent came up with decision to chose a life there, in the middle of the jungle than in here,

Kuala Lumpur.

Don't mess with the Ind... Ivorian?

I always remind my friends to not mess with this kind of people. Those whom their god was there to be seen.

In a fucking square.

A few of those who everything they do was either a lie or under the influence of alcohol. Because they were born with this good ability of spinning things up. To turn a one hour problems into a major national issue.

I wake up to the this facebook status 'Happy Valentine's Day to those who are okay with it' with a smiley and I smile.

Yesterday errr... earlier morning was a hell of experience. Me and my friends were going through the tiresome night of our lives. My girlfriend car, her rear window was smashed into pieces. Mr. Police somehow got their hand on the convicts so we were spending our valentines morning in the police station waiting to this motherfucker to make a confession and settles things up.

A Monday blues v-day morning and some aging chairs. Vintage!

What's lacking is just a touch of candle light thingy but I swear to god if this is Russia or Cuba I've might turn this motherfucker into a human torch. For his milky god sake, put him down into the gasoline and let him fucking burnt and turn into ashes.

At least I made it easy for the family. They don't need to waste their money to buy any fucking sticks. So his father can go for another alcoholic night.

And yeah. My shit to sweet things up.

Revolution.

Wake up - take a shower - dress up - half an hour drive - punch card - computer - work, online, work, online, work - six ringgit lunch - toilet bowl - online, work, online, work, online - toilet bowl - punch card - half an hour drive - home - couch - take a shower - mamak stall - friends - girlfriend - sleep.

I'm channeling the pressure into my best performance. Can't you see?

To survive is to lie to the truth.

Happy people, they don't hesitate. They never, actually.

I do that. I don't hesitate.

Because I believe anything, I mean everything happen in this world contains within itself the way to how to escape. Where every problems have its very own solutions. That a dead end came with an exit door.

I believe that if this one girl walkout on me, there will be another coming. One, two or maybe three. That there will be ways of surviving my lunch hour if I decided to spend what's left in my pocket on this fabulous black leather jacket.

And I won't ended up suffocating for a fresh air in this already polluted world.

All I need to do is go and figure it out.

Sex, dream and jeans #3.

Everybody have this one moment that they want it to never happen. A moment where their weakest point was officially revealed and opened up for every soul around to see.

Their moment of truth.

Of being one of the everybody, I tried my very best to keep mine lying low deep in the ground and as I beg for it to differ, I can't help but spending my days avoiding things that will pave my way to it.

I kicked off by being realistic as a person. Slowly, I killed the feeling inside and out. I thrived under the societal pressure.

To date, the god of modesty is still here accompanying me and I praise Him for that.

A big fucking thank you.

Inter looking ; Black, grey and white.

The best place to actually hear a nonfact story must be at the kedai kopi. Malique spotted this in his 'Cerita Kedai Kopi' hits but giving the fact that I can't find any old skool kedai kopi (as what usually pictured in the malay movie) in the hundred kilometer radius, I won't mind saying mamak stall now is the new urban-type of kedai kopi.

Here, away from the daily arguments with their spouse, guys talk about how disgrace they were of the country's political system. Of their anger when the government decided to hike the oil's price. From how this guy analyzing this young stud to how a beautiful literature was dismissed for it touched the sensitivity of our fellow countrymen.

The Interlock.

Like seriously, what racism is to Malaysians?

So what do you think Encik Karim told Abu during his Biro Tata Negara camp at the Gua Kelam? Go collaborate with non-bumi's because together they can build a better nation. A better future. Fuck no.

Mrs Lim of SRJKC who always remind Ah Keong to go to school and to study hard so that he will someday became a respectable minister and then challenge for the Prime Minister post. Or else those Malay pricks will kick his asses out of this country.

What were Raju thinking when he saw the video of some 'brader-brader' inappropriately scolded and humiliated Mr. Karam Singh Walia for his unappropriated behavior?


Me?

As long as I can still got a high-quality-low-price pirate DVD from Ah Keong, my Kelantanese friends pronounced my name the way it is and the way Mutu make my car look like new every morning at the lowest rate of RM15 per month, racism is never my concern.

And oh, since I was never near to the interest of discussing about political thingy, my time at mamak stall always filled with hey-ho chants of celebrating goals and watching some hot chicks passing by with their urban dresses and their urban-type boyfriends. Fuck!

"Aney, teh tarik satu! Tosei satu!"

The four elements.

As always my Sunday never start before the clock ticked past twelve.

I got out of bed, half-naked, going for the towel hanging at the end of my six foot closet. I was thinking of having a hot cup of tea to warm myself of the coldness from the non-stop raining outside. But first thing first, I should grab myself a long and nice shower.

Urghh! Shivering as I dropped my black boxer onto the floor.

You see here, I always prefer to sleep or to bath with no clothes on. I love it. I enjoyed both when the cold-number-five-ceiling-fan-breeze and the icy cool water washed over my nude. Wishing that it would somehow help in cleansing all the sins I've done on the previous day.

Earth, wind, fire and water.

I rest my case.

Because it's going and it's going and it's going and it's gone.

People have the tendency to big things up. Especially when it's a bad one.

I've done that. During my school time, I used to get proud of every classes I skipped. Or maybe every Subuh prayer I successfully escaped without getting caught by the warden. I grown up idolizing some fuck-face-bad-ass-senior I dare not have a handshake with.

I got a mate who never stop telling us how genius he is to get away with no charge after got caught liquoring with some friends during his diploma days.

Fucking annoyed, I draw a comparison between us. Me at the age of fifteen years old, doing bad things and never get myself caught while he, at the age of twenty one, doing bad things and got caught.

So to call him a genius, I fucking doubt that.

Nowadays when it come to encounter news on the newspaper I have created my own method of reading. I look at the picture first. Interesting? Then I read the title. Related? Now the article. And yeah, always start from the back.

Same it goes when I wasn't in a healthy state of condition. I start by feeling my body temperature. Hot? Then I'll take a long shower, grab myself a nice pair of cloth and off to mamak.

Cool? Then I off to mamak, fucking straight away.

I think I just put myself a level ahead of others in the way of thinking and on how I lived my life. I am at one point where Afdhlin Shauki glamorous joke was no longer my best medicine. Where a hand-job alone could never satisfy my urging desire.

I now declared destruction as my biggest ever achievement. And that is how I end my January.

They teach me how to be happy, yet, they hate me when I laugh.

It was waiting for the lift going down looking for some panadol activefast when I heard these two ladies talks about how their colleague now showing them her true color. They joke about that she's now even has a tiger-look-a-like stripe.

Funny.

I chuckled on that only for the two of them swing their head around flashing me an ugly smile.

Sure. They already ugly even without that smile. Bad people is. This is not some kind of movie where those villain slut are way hotter than the main act. This is when the villains got jealous of the heroin's beauty and starts doing bad things to her. This is what we called a reality.

This is life.

And the fact that these two ladies is bitching about someone on what I won't presume a wonderful morning make them look even uglier. Bad-der.

Just now, a fat middle-aged Chinese lady run into my office noising about something I don't understand that I don't even fucking care. She burst into the HR office arguing in a mandarin words with Ain, our smokin hot HR staff. Quite a fucked-up scene.

I just took a quick glance as I don't need much time to figure out who is good and who is not.

FTSNC social responsibilty.

Since I can't really remember the last time I exchange my one ringgit note for a pack of tissue with some unlucky fellas, I decide of doing some good deeds.

Coming this February, if I do have an extra money, I am thinking of giving my readers some gift with no fucking contest require. Still haven't made up my mind of how the lucky reader will be pick but it's going to be a top with FTSNC printing all over it.

Fine. Not fucking all over it. Just a few word, a picture and yeah, it's going to be ugly.

So fucking wait, Off.

I miss my mom.

When my younger sister decided to leave the house looking for work rather than staying with my mother, I can't stop but worrying. I don't blame my sis. She was young and she deserve some stand-on-her-own-feet life experiences. Cash for her still outstanding driving license bills.

It's mom. With my sis leaved for Putrajaya last weekend, mom is now all by herself. Alone.

So now mom can watch her favourite Nona's program every Sunday without disturbance. She can tune on to Chef Wan's AFC at any time she prefer. She don't have to waste her time nagging at us sibling early in the morning so that we will get up and perform the Subuh prayer.

No.

I am three and a half hours away from her. And god how I hate that.

Refactoring facts.

The fact that I write and all my girlfriends and boyfriends were reading my shit afterward was never an interesting one. Especially when I do talks about them. And I cursed, a lot off course.

If you was to clarify something that you think you'll never be sure of, don't! Or else you will sound like some dude got confused by his own sexual orientation.

"So dude, are you gay?"
"Nope. But I love man."

And yeah, you have to be gay to be fabulous.

The fact that I hate breaking people's heart doesn't mean I can't fucking break one. You wasn't my first and you of all people should know well.

I am writing as a no brainer but please, fucking note this will ya?

Along the whoring streets.

When you see thing, it's either you see the beautiful part or the ugly side of it. Both of you then will start voicing your honest opinion. And both of you will try your hardest to cancel out each other.

In My Honest Opinion? Yeah. Fuck off.

Ready for the fall : The do's and dont's.

I've spent a number of note for my new jacket. Still there are skinny jeans, a couple of tee's and a denim shirt left on my new year list. The breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper are all quite a costly too.

So I made my count.

If I was going to go on spending like this, I will only last for a month before I started ringing my sibling looking for a 'loan'. Pathetic but that won't be such a problem. And if I too continue consuming the same amount and type of food which I recently do, I'll double my weight before valentine. A hundred something kilos fat ass and damn!! that is a huge problem.

But no worries. I've come up with the solution already.

I'll spent my money to the max this month. Freely. I'll buy what I want. I'll run into any fast food I seen. So next month, when I'm officially declared broke and becoming extraordinary BIG, I'll start having the diet program.

Two MYR 0.60 gardenia breads for breakfast, no lunch and a roti kosong or roti telur for dinner. No fucking fast food for month and we'll see from there.

Fuck. I am such a genius.

Guess you are God when...

You ask someone not to do this but to do that.

And by asking someone not to do that but to do this, I'll expect you yourself is one hell of perfection masterpiece motherfucker. Or maybe close to. Come and tell me those instant noodle I'm checking out is doubtful of its illegality but hey, unless you go and buy me a goddamn Spicy McChicken for my lunch, I'll then surely give your bullshit a consideration.

And a large cup of Coke, please.

Yeah. I am God, myself. Just get the fuck out of here if you don't fucking believe me.

Rules #3 : Hungering for perfection.

When you're in a fucking relationship, every bitches passing by seem so (too) attractive than whom sitting right in front of you. As those bitches are fuckable at all time. Always.

Yet, this is just an honest opinion from a single lust homo sapiens.

Nine? You gotta be kidding me.

Sex, dream and jeans #2.

I hate going (again) for what I once achieved.

During my football manager session, when my lappy decided to show me a 'not responding' sign and the need of playing the match that I've played before appear, didn't matter if the outcome is better than the previous one, I can do nothing but stop playing.

I know it'll take quite sometime for me to start playing again. And I know the best way to start again is by taking a break.

Sex, dream and jeans #1.

2011 started late for ftsnc.

I felt like losing my passion toward blogging and this ftsnc. How many times my so-called-brilliant thought ended up in the draft and then, the next day, to the bin. That's what always bothering me at the very start of the year. I seemed to lost my words. Last new year it happens and come this January, the same thing occurred.

All this days, passion is what driving me forward. I used to live my life on the passion basis and I am enjoying every moment of it. I can stand playing a football manager stuff for days only to stop when I was already worn out or when I'm hungry.

Passion.

Give me a Sudoku and I'll turn around and start texting my girlfriend before you even make it to ten.