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.