Archive for the ‘Snippets’ Category

On her Facebook, Ting Yi-yeh posted the video above of her father reading his letter at her sister’s wedding in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. SCMP reproduced the video with its English translation.



Which reminds of Altantuya’s father….

Dumped by Baginda Razak then murdered in a fucked-up Islamic, oh-so-righteous, so glorious, God-fearing country named Malaysia, she was not even dust for Setev Shaariibuu to take home. Today, in Mongolia, our brothers and compatriots observe the Great Duichin‘ — Wesak Week. It would be a time of remembrance and there is only the memory. Nothing else.

Image result for buddha day mongolia


Mongolia president and local monks in Kalimya.


Summer is surely here when I see…Related image

…she promotes (oversize) sun glasses. Tian-ah!


Had you Rachel Kushner shoplifted — ‘pocketed’ — a lipstick?

Now, tell the truth, and better, ‘more’ truthful it is without your crapped up, fucked up God:

Whether I’m reading about the necessary abolition of the police, or blasting Z-Ro like a typical woman of a certain age, I am never without this lipstick, in number 438 (“Suzanne”), both wearing it, and pocketing it, and that’s the honest-to-God truth.


Will remind Jian how to re-stock her high cost, moderate risk (genuine?) Chanel inventory.

Related image

Get the fuck out of the street. Balik tongsan Berkeley!


O! The flower of women…




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Najib and Serenity



In stormy days, keep Serenity with you. That way, thinking clears.


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Stupid Stevie

When Steven Gan’s Malaysiakini says there is freedom in saying, two and two is four, the editors had relied on a 70-year-old Orwellian equation. Meaning, they weren’t just out of date. They were completely banal and stupid in uncritical ways.

Freedom, complete utter freedom, is to say two and two is five. Freedom is to say, fuck God. Only then is it real freedom; it is to blaspheme, to defy the desert gods, and to go against given white man’s mechanical truths held by Anglophiles and their Arabian cousins.

This is why China is one of the world’s freest countries. Revolt is easy, but not freedom of the will. Only in China is where we can say, safely say, fuck god. That’s real freedom, freed of Stevie white superstition, religious stupidity and mindlessness.

People like Stevie ‘Wonder’ Gan delude themselves to think they are free. Go on, delude yourself, please…. Third rate, third world Bangsar.

Now, why is saying two and two is five, and not four, actual freedom? Answer below.


PS: Correctly it should be singular: two plus two makes four, not ‘make’ four. Imbecile Stevie again, doesn’t know his Queen’s English grammar.


The Shepherd Girl

Young girl on the hill yonder,
The evening wind blows desolate and cold!
In your thin clothes,
Why are you not back in your village?

The north cold wind chills me
I shall snuggle up to my sheep,
No longer shall I return to my village,
For my master’s butcher-knife sparkle, waiting, thence
to slaughter my sheep.






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Behind the Mask

Spring came then the rent fell due, and Jian returned to Panjin after completing her assignments. But it is I who feels the pangs of remorse. How else is a confession exorcised if not here?

Panjin faces the Yellow Sea. From here it is nearer to North Korea than to Beijing, faster to get to Vladivostok in the east than to Shanghai in the south. The Japanese took its province of Liaoning, bombed and occupied Shenyang in 1931 on the excuse of the Mukden ‘Incident’. Later, they would again passed Panjin then moved on Beijing. Thus had begun the Japanese conquest and seizure of China. They never could go far, not even 14 years later when WWII ended. In that time, the Japs killed and starved to death more than 30 million of us. Deployed against Shenyang, 160,000 on our side, were just 60,000 Jap troops; yet we lost. It won’t happen again.

Next day, Jian is still distraught, feeling a sense of incompetence, she tells me. Life has become unbearable but she doesn’t know how to respond. In return I offered only silence, without even the words of comfort. When will you come, she asked. Summer when the grass (below) turns red, I replied. We’ll walk the beach and watch the cranes.

It is a promise I don’t know if I will keep, or can keep. Perhaps this is the reason for the remorse.

Xi Jinping has spoken of war and our readiness for that eventuality. If, indeed, war comes then we must continue to endure our separation. For now, we keep our masks on as if time and space pass by for no reason other than they have to.

We search for motives when there are none to be found.

In Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky devoted much of the plot not on the murder of the pawnbroker who prefaces the novel. Instead the book went on a quest, searching for Raskolnikov’s motive. But, who should deserve their respective fates: Raskolnikov for the murder or the greedy pawnbroker, murdered because she lends money at extortionate rates?

Dostoyevsky explored two kinds of people, the law abiding and the law breaker.

On that premise, you can see why those out to create a new world order (the absurd class called the ‘New Malay’), people like Mahathir Mohamad, are no less guilty of breaking the law. They have to: When new ways of thought and edicts are introduced to replace existing ones, the old ways must first be broken and stamped out. This explains Mahathir’s constant railing against the Malays in a senseless attempt to dispose their traditions and conduct and then overlay that with new models of behavior, new laws on old ones, the things we’d call ‘values’.

Be wary therefore when Mahathir accuses Najib Razak of being a criminal and a thief. Mahathir is no less a law-breaker than Najib; the former, who, behind the mask of serving a greater good — Save Malaysia — is willing to kill the pawnbroker.

Had Mahathir himself not broken every law? Had he not wage war against the same people he said he now want rescued? Who then is more dangerous: Raskolnikov or the pawnbroker? Man with mask or thief?

More dangerous than a kleptocrat is a snarling, rabid dog — Mahathir —  who, having trampled on the old and birthed all the new, has produced the Malaysian society one sees today: retrograde in every facet of life that opposition politicians and a chanting lynch mob now blame a thief as the cause of the malaise. It doesn’t make sense. Najib’s ways might lead to discomfort, even disdain from the world, but Mahathir’s way leads to destruction and war.


The Cranes are Back


This (above, below) is the incredible, surreal Red Beach of Panjin. It is formed by the Suaeda salsa (碱蓬草) specie of marsh grass that starts to grow in April then deepen in red as it matures and as the growth cycle moves into summer before its decline in Fall. This specie is found no where else. The red-crowned crane (further below), which the Japanese airline JAL uses as its logo, reproduces here. I am told they have started to fly in, to feed and then to breed. Together Jian and I will watch.





Mourning before death


The Face Masks the Heart

With colleagues on summer fashion assignments: why is the face so good at masking the turmoils of the heart?

Clothes, bags, accessories are sale items.


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  • 马哈迪
  • 纳吉
  • 哈迪阿旺
  • 杨美盈


孔子: 以約失之者,鮮矣。



Pop Quiz (English version)

Who represents the greatest existential threat to the Chinese in Malaysia?

  • A) Mahathir Mohamad
  • B) Najib Razak
  • C) Hadi Awang
  • D) Yeo Bee Yin

For the answer, consider this from Confucius:

To put the world in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must first cultivate our personal life; we must first set our hearts right.

If the citation seems difficult to take in, the Dan Fogelberg clip (below) might help: the people we will come to love most, adore and trust are those that grant us our greatest freedom, the freedom to be what we become, eventually, warts and all, and not to be chiseled out of some design and made to follow some model stone image and biblical figure; that is oppression.

As ominous as the oppression is the deception employed. Terms like ‘save’, ‘shame’, ‘seduction’, ‘temptation’, ‘sin’, ‘blame’, ‘serpent’ are deception’s chiselling tools. (See, for example, The Genesis of Blame.) These terms introduced Abrahamic — hence western — religious morality into local politics, poisoning it under a toxic us-them, good-evil, believer-unbeliever cloud. (See ‘White People Fighting‘.)

Consequently, the PH is incapable of suggesting overarching philosophical ideas and policy guides for the future. All that its electoral manifesto shows are itemized ways on how to fix the other side. (See Tontine Manifesto.)

The band is the family.


安妮 ,亲爱的朋友:


多年过去了 很小回来






Red Dust 红尘








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From a DAP pulpit, words of Christian righteousness:



Then in the workplace, online and in the home, another reality takes over.

Zairil Khir Johari: “One door closes, another opens.”


Lim Guan Eng: Many people want my photos, so what?



Yeo Bee Yin: God told me, go to Johor. Someone give me a hanky please (sob, sob).


Going to Singapore, I told God that I am not going far. But He told me, ‘isn’t it the same for you if you go to Singapore? Why don’t you just stay overseas?’ So, I started my social marketing media company … Everything would fall into place in the right timing. We just need to pray, work hard and wait patiently for his Sovereign Will to be done in this nation….


Yeo Bee Yin again: “My blasted mind….”


(A) small incidence in the (Petronas) education unit made me utterly disappointed with how things work in Malaysia. While waiting at the lounge, I met two returning scholars from Nottingham University, UK. I started to talk to them. To my very surprise, they couldn’t even speak proper English! After a while, an education unit guy came and met them, I accidentally saw their results – one of them get second class lower and the another one a third class. That blasted my mind. Here I was, with a CGPA of 3.95/4.00 begging only for 1 year of deferment, not even a scholarship, but was denied. Here they were, spent 4 years in the UK fully sponsored and yet graduated with at most, mediocre results.


Now, can you see why we blew up the Jesus Motherfucking Church…

So what, Yeo Bee Yin? Try stopping us. Here’s a bucket for your tears. Jesus cunt. 


China, My People

China, My Fight

We are ready for war.

We fear not broken bones nor bitterness.


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Relax. I, Ultra. Good.


Below is a truncated version of a conversation between Jian and I. A part of it had to do with Annie (above image). This took place some time ago and began, as with such things, a boy-girl exchange:

Jian [twitting her eyebrows]: Do you have a Malay girl friend? Tell me honestly.

Me: It was a long time ago.

Jian [her voice, pleading, was raised a few decibels]: Is that a yes? Tell me.

Me: One year in a Chinese high school. It was a mixed girl-boy class.

Jian: Do you still talk with her?

Me: Of course, not. I don’t even remember her name.

Jian: Is she pretty?

Me: Not half as you.

Jian: What are Malay girls like?

Me: What do you mean?

Jian: Do they dress well? Are they tall? Pretty? Can they make money?

Me: They are darker skin. Never as tall as you. Some are pretty, some not-so. Come in all types. All wear the same clothes, same fashion. Make money? They don’t need to. Malaysia government takes care of that.

Jian: What do you mean same clothes?

On my notebook, on Baidu, I typed ‘马来人’ — malairen — then click on photos. Soon all sorts of images appeared. I skipped the tourist and wedding stuff, and picked those with lots of tudung, something like the one below.

She might be pleased by my responses so far, though there’s no telling. If she were, it would be because she beats all the competition. Which is true. At work or on the street, Jian is stunning in her beauty and demeanor. Think of 張曼玉 Zhang Manyu or Maggie Cheung walking down the alley or going up the stairs in 花样年华 The Prime of Life (also titled, badly, In the Mood for Love) and you are pretty close to picturing her persona.

On the monitor, she points to a tudung pair on the beach: You say it’s 33 degrees, but why do they wear that? Don’t they feel hot?

Seeing the way they dress, even I feel hot. Cannot ‘tahan‘.

What? What did you just say?

Nothing, it’s just a Malay word: I said I can’t stand the heat even just looking.

Have you slept with her?

I didn’t hesitate and could have said right off: ‘It’s dangerous, sleeping with a Malay. She can go to jail’, but that would mean going into Islam, and there it gets troublesome, in spite of Syed Akbar Ali singing the wonders of the Quran that is equally convoluted. One look at it, Malaysia isn’t just bizarre; it is madness, day in, day out, with all that delusional piety yada, yada. I simply answered, No.


Really, no. The most was, hold hands. Once, one kiss, on the cheek. That’s all, I swear.

Why do you go out with Malay girls? Why don’t you go out with Chinese girls?

Chinese girls didn’t ask me. She did. I was just stupid then.

Do you know any Chinese girl?

Of course. I have many relatives, and daughters of relatives.

I know your relatives. Not relatives. Non-related.

From the school.

What about, now? Do you still talk with them?

Now? Of course not. I hadn’t been back for years, except for chunjie. You know that.

I mean, online. Do you talk with them? On WeChat.

No. Except relatives.

I know. Non-relatives. Not one?

Here is hesitation. My reply was slow and calculated — on technical grounds. WeChat is available in Malaysia, yes, and in use. But, more likely, she meant WhatsApp which isn’t available in China. Then it struck me: Do blog platforms count, WordPress and Blogspot, though they aren’t actual communication exchange devices. These aren’t available in China. There are three ways around the firewall, one of which is legit. You simply ask the Public Security Bureau for clearance. You’d ask if you knew the chance of succeeding is a hundred percent. Jian also put in a word, and that must have helped. She knows about this site, therefore, but don’t read it because she can’t, unless a post is in Chinese and when we are separated by physical distance. It occurred to me, as well, should I tell her about the blog readers and the other Malaysia sites I visit.

But, is Annie Chinese?

I showed Jian Annie’s home page. Does this count? The site has no selfie photo other than a portrait line sketch on the top right corner. Pointing to it, I said, her name is an-ni 安妮. I have never met her. And she is not Chinese.

The page might as well be Greek. Jian doesn’t care and is the least bit curious. She twitched her lips, What?, then lifting her head turned to the clock. Never mind, she answered again. Never mind.

Outside is dark. Night comes early in winter. We hadn’t had a full meal the entire day. Shall I cook, she asked. Or, shall we go out.

I stepped up to the window, in my mind a bottle of warm wine, preferably maotai. On the side of the pavement below, beneath the lamps, week-old snow had turned gray and into mush. The weather looks clear. Let’s eat out, I said. She said, mmm. I switched off the heater, and we put on our overcoats and our gloves. We stepped out. In her knee-high boots, we are almost shoulder-to-shoulder height. She locked the door and we went down the long corridor to the lift, her heels emitting a faint echo. Stepping into the night, she grips me on the hand. I wrap my arm around her waist.

Then came a sense of guilt, thoughts returning to one of the previous postings made days and weeks ago: I really shouldn’t have been so harsh on Annie. Even so, had I not spoken the truth? Was I not right, even today? That Malaysia is just, as Donald Trump might describe it, a shithole. A pig’s shithole. Annie’s moronic, bigoted fans — plus those Anglophiles — are welcome to populate and wade in that shit.

We live in a crowd, not alone to ourselves, bloggers especially. Annie depends on the crowd. Upon them you draw sustenance and meaning and purpose. The century of the individual, indivisible self is today replaced by the century of the crowd, 99 percent of who burrowing in, commenting in your posts, do so unthinking because they have no brains. They are just a lot fart that they readily throw up as a matter of habit. Yet it is the crowd you live for. But not I, since an ultra, on the fringe, is never adored. Leave Malaysia, Annie. Forget the crowd, this 99 percent. Can’t you smell their stink? Take the blog with you, even take your crowd if that’s what you want. But leave. There is a world bigger and more interesting than Malaysia. Or, do you worry about patriotism?


Jian, a semblance portrait.


My Love is in the mountains,

Breeze, please take my words to her


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