Bad ones. A lot of thinly-veiled metaphors about manliness, father figures and general anxiety. Last night I dreamt I was being attacked by a death cult of elderly zombie priests, only when the lead zombie priest started to bear down on me he had a sudden change of heart and got down on his knees, begging me to kill him with my crossbow. Trouble is I kept being handed faulty crossbows -- either the bolt kept slipping out or else the bolt was too large to fit in the slot. Then when I had that bit figured out I needed to tie a bit of string to the end of the bolt so that I could yank the fellow's brain out when I shot him in the head, because apparently shooting them wasn't enough.
I've been having a lot of dreams involving older authority figures and being very, very angry with them. Angrier than seems immediately logical.
Lately when I wake up I feel pretty thoroughly drained, which means I've been waking up later than usual. But once that fades away there's a very lovely girl lying next to me very quietly and looking very beautiful, or else she's in the next room, which is less good but the anticipation of seeing her gives me this instant sense of comfort.
And she is very beautiful. Startlingly so. She has these eyes shaped quite subtly like half-moons with the round bit at the top. The iris is the colour of the ocean -- not completely blue but somewhere between a murky dark green and an intense, deep, dark encompassing... blueish. And surrounding the pupil is a ring of what looks like fire -- her eyes look like an eclipse viewed from underwater.
I tell her these things a lot because I feel them to be achingly true, and yet expressing it all verbally never seems enough. I tell her I love her a lot too, because this is similarly true, and even more achingly so.
Another recurring nightmare I've had is one I haven't yet told her about yet. It involves her lying in the bed we share, only by this point I am long dead. Still she calls out to me, in the same tone she uses when she calls to me now. It's a drawn-out call, small and a little forlorn but mostly heavy with love, only in the dream when I hear it she sounds increasingly desperate. "Come back," she calls. "Come back." This goes on for hours.
The love feels like a burden because we know our time is limited. It feels almost unbearably heavy because there will undeniably come a point when we will be alone again. And I hope, in my own morbid, self-flagellating sort of way, that it is me who will be alone when that time comes, because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving her like I do, every night, in my nightmares.
Up I get, one day older, greeting the day with unsteady legs, aching eyes and a wretched sense of desolation, until, inevitably, she sees me, and gives me a kiss, or holds me, or hides under the covers with me.
Life's a strange thing to take so seriously I find. But more on that later.
- I've been having nightmares.
-
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
noahj- September 27th, 13:40
- PLAGIARISED by Paradox Ink!
-
- noahj
- April 27th, 2:02
irate
Well, folks, it finally happened. I've been plagiarised! The culprit? Paradox Ink.
*confetti, music, explosions*
While googling my name (come on, we all do it) I came across an account on Paradox Ink. It's under my name and everything, and the account was created in November 2004. The surprising bit? I never made this account. I hadn't even heard of Paradox Ink until that moment.
Now, having an account bear my name is one thing, but the worst part is there's three of my written pieces on there. Their descriptions are verbatim exactly matching those of their counterparts on FictionPress.com, except the ones I uploaded to FictionPress were all much, much earlier.
The Day the World Got Bigger, uploaded 4th November 2008 at 3:51pm. I uploaded this piece on my own account on FictionPress.com on the 26th of February 2007.
Employer Employee Relations, uploaded 4th November 2008 at 5:23pm. This one I uploaded to FictionPress.com on the 14th of October, 2003.
Old Click Richards, uploaded 4th November, 2008 at 5:33pm. I uploaded this on FictionPress.com on the 26th of April, 2006.
Remember remember, the 4th of November. I sent a notification to the Paradox Ink admin through their Contact Us/Report Abuse system about the thing, detailing everything and asking that either they a) take down the account and its pieces or b) let me know the password of the account so I can take the pieces down myself. After a week or so, no response, so I contacted them again. Still no response, so I contacted them a third time.
Then, the account disappeared. Just vanished, completely. The website too. This was a little perplexing, and it occurred to me that they might somehow have been blocking my IP address. No e-mails from them too.
After a few months of studying and more silence from Paradox Ink, I checked back to find... sure enough, the website was back, and of course, the account with my name was still there, complete with the pieces stolen.
Right then. I e-mailed FictionPress this time around, went through the matter in painstaking detail, sent it off and sat back. Then I figured I'd google Paradox Ink, and sure enough... I found a forum post by a guy who'd also had his identity and work posted on the site on the 4th of November.
Back I went to Paradox Ink. Yep. Not just mine, not just this fellow's, but EVERY piece on Paradox Ink has been uploaded on the 4th of November, between 3pm and 6pm -- most of them at exactly the same time. Absolutely no reviews on them, and all of them with between 1 and 3 views, and all of them rated 5 stars. Suspicious.
Clearly, Paradox Ink is being a naughty naughty monkey. This is upsetting, because I've been considering getting one or two of these pieces published (the good one or two at least). Be forewarned: if you or anyone else you know have posted something on the internet, it might just appear on this dasdardly website.
- My montreal meanderings
-
- noahj
- April 11th, 13:34
Montreal, I am a stranger to your concrete bosom.
I am a schooner, navigating your grey and rocky pulse,
Pointing a finger at your blank spaces, fixing upon them.
Saying, “That one. That is mine. And that.”
As I lie to myself and the world I can feel a drawing breath
rushing from the wounded mountain whose name you bear,
Lying still and placid, limbs stretched out in a spreading star.
Montreal I hated you when first I came.
This admission comes not
without remorse, for I repent today. But then
today is special. Today I am myself and you are you
And I love you for it. But then
Then I was young, and borne on the backs of giants
who shrugged me off at port, left me in the cold.
Your October chill struck me like the cruellest of children.
I was taught a lesson,
though words, I feel, would do the lesson an injustice.
Montreal I am trying to tell you something.
I am trying to
I am trying to
I am trying to break free of the stuff. The thing, the composition
I am trying to escape the solution and its cold mix,
that I might find words to call my own. My wielded words
are blunted by whiles of war on your wild weir.
My petty tricks are but cheap and senseless parlour games.
In their mean meaning, they mean nothing.
My god. My god, what red, what red fire.
What red fiery hate I feel, and still you lie, star-limbed,
back arched and ice-capped in March.
Montreal you are patient. You bear my little wanderings and pretensions
as the teacher does the child in his wildest, silent yearnings.
I am myself and you are you, and we lie together for it.
25th March, 2009.
- In the glow of the desk lamp and monitor...
-
- noahj
- February 5th, 7:06
She lies amidst the red of my bed, her naked arm reaching out over the empty space next to her. She breathes in occasional heavy sighs, sometimes audible, sometimes barely a whisper, as if with rising and falling excitement. Her eyes are closed, her head is on its side, tilted slightly upwards. I watch the rise and fall of the red sheets draped across her chest. Yes. Yes. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.
But I have promises to keep and miles before I sleep.
- (no subject)
-
- noahj
- November 22nd, 2008
Egoism is good, and altruism is good, and fidelity to nature would be best of all, and systems could be built, and rules could
be made – if we could only get rid of consciousness.What makes mankind tragic is not that they are the victims of nature, it is that they are conscious of it.To be part of the animal kingdom under the conditions of this earth is very well – but as soon as you know of you slavery the pain, the anger, the strife – the tragedy begins.We can’t return to nature, since we can’t change our place in it.Our refuge is in stupidity, in drunken[n]ess of all kinds, in lies, in beliefs, in murder, thieving, reforming – in negation, in contempt – each man according to the promptings of his particular devil.There is no morality, no knowledge and no hope; there is only the consciousness of ourselves which drives us about a world that whether seen in a convex or a concave mirror is always a vain and floating appearance (The Collected Letters of Joseph Conrad, vol. 2: 30).
Burning, flaming, gushing, putrescent, flooding, chunky, bloody hell.
- Happy fucking hoohah.
-
- noahj
- August 30th, 2008
What's this?
It's the 30th here.
It's also the 31st there.
I suppose I may as well say it now, I mean, I said it last year didn't I?
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MALAYSIA.
Now go and get your fucking act together.
- Meandering.
-
- noahj
- August 17th, 2008
It's five thirty in the morning and I haven't been sleeping. My plane leaves at nine twenty-five, which means I must be out the door at 6, then deliver the entire collected works of The Sandman (including the two Death comics) to Calvin, who will in turn hand me back my recently acquired brownish fedora which he, wittingly or no, has been holding ransom.
There's a poem rolling around in my head. The other night there was a different poem rolling around in there with a significantly different tone to it. I'd been lying in bed growing gradually more frustrated, or angry, or miserable, or solemn, or something straddling all of that in some strange faraway sort of way. I was also listening to some rather impressively audible snoring, which wasn't putting me to sleep any quicker either.
The words were rattling away in there so much that they started to form sentences. That was bad enough, but then they started to arrange themselves in a goddamned meter. Pretty soon I had whole verses belting themselves out in my skull and by now it was four in the morning and the snoring was just getting louder so I thought, Right. That does it. and went downstairs and wrote as much of it as I could remember.
It came out... awkwardly. I remember when writing a poem felt easy, but that was back when I thought what I was writing was halfway decent. Note, of course, that this is not a self-pitying exercise. It's just that as I get older I seem to get harsher about what I read, and doubly so if it's from me.
But the poem spilled out on paper and I realised that it wasn't finished, not really, and it ends before it really should, but then again it felt strangely appropriate that it did.
But anyway. As I said, there's a poem rolling around in my head -- a new one. I wonder if I should start on it now, or let it roll around in there some more, like a snowball gathering mass down a slope. The only poems I'm still happy with at the moment are the ones that I really let sit for a while, anyhow, so perhaps that'll be that for now.
It's a funny thing.
You really have no idea what I'm talking about.
- Some things just plain burn me up.
-
- noahj
- July 23rd, 2008
pissed off
So there am I, waiting with Calvin outside the Setiawangsa train station, waiting for a cab. Like good citizens we're letting those in front go first, and behind us a queue of Malay women in tudungs is forming. It's six pm in a city filled with too many people -- it's the rush hour from hell, and worse still for the taxi drivers who haven't had a raise in years, fuel hike price or not.
But regardless, there we are at the taxi pick-up place, and Calvin and I are talking about the Discovery Channel. I mention that, really, when you think about it, the Discovery Channel sorta leaps out at you as a ray of beaming sunshine in a decrepit sea of corporate-sponsor-driven soulless cable networks. Its intent is to educate or else to entertain while perhaps to explore something interesting and Intellectual -- not necessarily to report and manipulate. At least, that was my immediate impression, and who couldn't feel some spark of optimism after watching this? Boom de-yada, the world is just awesome.
Fortune vomits on my eiderdown, as Blackadder put it. Like some agent of slap-ironic providence, it's our turn and a taxi pulls up in front of us. Hurrah! we say (internally -- there were people about), and approach it, and before we can say anything the driver shakes his hand at us and signals for the Malay ladies behind us to come forward.
(Picture, if you will, Calvin and myself. Calvin is unmistakably Chinese, while I am unmistakably a... a... well I'm white-ish.)
My brain goes, What the hell? but my mouth is already a step ahead, and asks, as the betudunged lady steps in front of us and into the cab, "What the hell just happened?"
The driver (need I also mention he was middle-aged, sour-faced and Malay?) retorts with, "Stu-pid guy..." you know, as one might do when one is a thick-headed ignorant bigot unable to string a coherent sentence together through what might undoubtedly be spite at the world at a facile, meaningless existence.
"Er, yes," says my brain quietly. "Um, what's happening, please?" but my mouth is already answering this question, and is working in conjunction with my accusing, outstretched index finger. "You're a racist!" I exclaim, and "Fuck you, buddy!" and punctuate this when my middle finger decides to join in.
"Remember the Discovery Channel," says Calvin, as they drive off. "Remember the Discovery Channel."
And just so we're clear, my point isn't that he was Malay and therefore all Malays are racists. That's not the train we're riding. My point is, look, seriously, things are fucking bad enough, alright? Our government is treating us like we're a gaggle of morons. People with anything negative or damaging to say about the administration are bloody DISAPPEARING, while legislature passed by a bunch of useless corrupt cretins ensures that we're more racially divided than ever.
And now THIS? People, please. Can't we grow the fuck up?
- Welcome back to Malaysia.
-
- noahj
- April 29th, 2008
( Today's rant )
- Fucking nazi philosophers.
-
- noahj
- April 18th, 2008
"The being whose analysis our task is, is always we ourselves. The being of this being is always mine. In the being of this being it is related to its being. As the being of this being, it is entrusted to its own being. It is being about which this being is concerned. From this characteristic of Da-sein two things follow."
This makes me hate everything.
- (no subject)
-
- noahj
- April 14th, 2008
Well you're my friend
And can you see
Many times we've been out drinking
Many times we've shared our thoughts
But did you ever, ever notice
The kind of thoughts I got?
Well you know I have a love, a love for everyone I know
And you know I have a drive to live I won't let go
But can you see this opposition
Comes rising up sometimes
That this dreadful imposition
Comes blacking in my mind
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
Did you know how much I love you?
Is there hope that somehow you
can save me from this darkness?
Well I hope that someday buddy
We'll have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
And we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
This isn't all I see
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Did you know how much I love you?
Is there hope that somehow you can save me from this darkness?
- (no subject)
-
- noahj
- November 11th, 2007
Hello, world.
It's 3:24am, and roughly two years as of the fateful words "Would it be okay if I called you my boyfriend?"
She's been progressively cuter ever since.
Not to mention as beautiful as ever.
- The bee's knees, the cat's pajamas and the dog's bollocks.
-
- noahj
- September 14th, 2007
I just saw Sunshine with Dan and Dan.
This is after an evening of sushi with Amelie and Marilyn, followed by wine and silly funny internet movies back at the apartment. The Dans and I were set on watching a movie, and it was either Sunshine or the Die Hard movie.
We seem to have chosen right.
I haven't felt this good about a movie in a while. If you're able, go and see it on the big screen. Think 2001 meets Alien. It's... phenomenal.
- You have to wonder why they'd send it to a hamster.
-
- noahj
- September 6th, 2007
Dearest One,URGENT ASSISTANCEGood day, I am Frideric Emmah From Abidjan Cote d'ivoire, I wish to request for your urgent assistance in my investment plans in your base,I wish to invest in manufacturing and real estate management in your base,this is because I inherited an important sum from my late father who died in recent political crisis in Cote d'Ivoire here.Before the death of my father he informed me near his hospital bed at chu- teaching hospital, that he has saved the total sum of ($10.700,000) Ten Million, seven hundred thousand united states dollars only, in one of the bank here in cote d Ivoire.
This money was been deposited for my social security and for fruitful international investment.That is why I need you to keep this transaction highly confidential and trustworthy person who will assist me to receive this fund overseas for investment establishment purposeindurities and lucrative profitable ventures.
Further directives and details about the deposit and on how to move the fund successfully into your private bank account in your country will be given to you as soon as I get your response.Yours Faithfully.
Frideric Emmah
And my response:
I am a hamster. I do not need your human money.
- Sad news, world.
-
- noahj
- September 2nd, 2007
Was browsing around the internet when I came across this headline:
BREAKING NEWS: Michael Jackson dies.
After recovering what was left of my glass of water, I clicked on the headline to read:
Top beer expert Michael Jackson died this morning. Jackson dedicated more than three decades to the pursuit and documentation of the world’s finest beers, and wrote many books on the subject.
Rest in peace, Mr Jackson.
- (no subject)
-
- noahj
- August 30th, 2007
Dum dee dum.
I wonder what day it is.
Oh, my.
HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY MALAYSIA!
- The Superheroes I'm into these days
-
- noahj
- August 22nd, 2007
As a pre-emptive measure against the undoubtedly imminent prodding from Mr Wong (who, until he churns out more cool short stories, will not be known as Mr Write, hurr hurr) I thought I'd brief those of you who care on some things I'm into.
First and foremost, I suppose I should mention City of Heroes. Generally speaking I'm opposed to entertainment that I have to continually pay for to enjoy. While I still get that oily-queasy feeling every time I buy a game time card for the game, I'm nevertheless quite appreciating what it has to offer.
Essentially, I get to play superheroes (or villains) who dress up in flashy uniforms with fun names. And, unlike Guild Wars, my co-players tend to be generally tolerable, if not, I daresay, quite likeable.( Meet the cast! )
A few supernames that I've come up with that I'm especially proud of... "C'est Le Vile" -- I mean come on, you can't go wrong with that! VelociTina, Budgie-Jumper, and of course, get ready for it...
"ARISTODDLER"
The questioning youth on a quest for truth!
Clearly I haven't implemented the latter name until I've gotten over myself.
Apart from pretending to be a superhero, I've also been rather enjoying a few graphic novel series.( Comicky fun )
Finally, I've been rather fascinated lately with that rogueish bounder... or that bounding rogue: Spring-Heel Jack. An odd sort. Apparently he was sighted frequently from the mid-nineteenth century all the way to the early 20th, with a possible further sighting in the 1950s. He was reported as being bulletproof, able to leap superhuman distances, breathe blue fire and possess cold, metal claws. The sightings of him have generally been of the terrorising kind -- that is, he'd leap over, scratch at a woman, then leap away onto the rooftops, or else jump onto an unsuspecting police officer, slap him full on the face and then jump over a nearby house cackling madly and never actually killing or seriously injuring anyone.
Stories of him circulated around about him being a masked vigilante. Sort of the forerunner of Zorro, The Phantom and eventually Batman and a host of others.
Here's a book about him, if you've nothing better to do than read an old book online about an urban legend: http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0602571.txt.
Maybe I'll write a story about him.
- The Adventures of Wonderbrat, Live, from a girl's room
-
- noahj
- August 22nd, 2007
Oi.
Yes, that's what I've gotta start off with, and I'll do so proudly.
Where to start? July opened with a trip with Dini and a couple of her friends to Phuket, where we were touted to, drank some alcohol, and I splashed around in the sea while the girls preferred to be sandy, dry and burned. Somewhere along there I flagrantly disobeyed international counter-terrorism laws. It ended a lot more painlessly than I would have otherwise reckoned.
Then I told my brother that spending two weeks in Vietnam alone would be counter-intuitive (but not in so many words) and informed him that I'd be tagging along, and that it'd last nine days. He thought it was a pretty cool idea. So off we went, working our way from Hanoi to Halong Bay to Hanoi to Hue (bumpy bus ride) to Nha Trang (terrible train ride) to Ho Chi Minh City to Phnom Penh. The latter, yes, is in Cambodia, but apparently taking a flight from Phnom Penh back to KL as opposed to HCMC to KL takes slightly longer, is a little more complex, and has the added bonus of being four hundred bucks cheaper.
Shortly thereafter I was whisked away from KL on a disturbingly quick plane ride back to Montreal. Honest, I didn't even get stopped in Toronto Customs... for the first time in three years. That's what a new short haircut will do for you I suppose.
Megan met me at the airport. It would have been the ideallic romantic moment if I didn't have to wait about half an hour for my bag twiddling my thumbs whilst we cast furtive glances at one another. But hey! The bag came through, and with only one handle destroyed by the handlers! I think that's a new record for least eventful flight between Malaysia and Canada.
(Here follows a gap in the narrative that, for reasons this writer trusts will be obvious, will remain in his and his girlfriend's own memories and not yours.)
She left the following afternoon to return to work. A day later I played host to my uncle and cousin, who out of a terrible and mildly convoluted bit of misfortune were stranded in Mont Royal park with three bikes between the two of them. So I walked up to them, took the shiny blue bike, and led them back to my place. There followed a few days during which I was persuaded to join them on a week-long cycling/camping trip across the Quebec countryside.
Why not? It's not like there was a limit on the amount of adventures I'd have. Once again I packed a bag, and we set off on a journey that left my legs feeling at first ravaged and then made of some form of reinforced alloy. It was glorious.
And now I'm in Ontario, typing from Megan's computer on a week-long visit before --I think-- I'll be going camping (again) this time with Dan and Sven, up in Quebec somewheres.
O what a life to lead.
- And now for a word from Mister Moore...
-
- noahj
- June 28th, 2007
"I hate the movie industry [because] if I make a bad comic, it does not cost a hundred million dollars, which is the budget of an emergent small third world African nation. And this is money that could have gone to alleviating some of the immense suffering in this world but has instead gone to giving bored, apathetic, lazy, indifferent Western teenage boys another way of killing 90 minutes of their interminable and seemingly pointless lives." -Alan Moore (Nevins, 277)
God damn. It seems like every time I read an Alan Moore rant, I feel like revising my stance on life.
- Wow, they just don't quit.
-
- noahj
- May 22nd, 2007
Hello Noah NazimGod bless you for your prompt response to my mail and also your indication of interest to follow up this transaction with me as a born again child of God. i want you to know that it took me years to make this decision and i have prayed for God directives before i made up my mind to contact you for this project ,so you should be counting on Gods will to use you this day in reaching his people,I pray that the almight God will surely make a way and all shall went successfully as planed and the funds will get to your designated bank account in your country.Provided you has assured me that the funds will be properly distributed to the various Charity Organisations, expecially for the Christian Childrens' Fund,Compassion International.Well with out much delay i will like you to send the following details to me as required by the bank to effect the transfer.
YOUR BANK NAME AND ADDRESS
ACCOUNT NUMBER,.
SWIFT CODE IF YOU HAVE ANY.
YOUR TELEPHONE AND FAX NUMBER
YOUR FULL NAME.
Send the above inforations to me, so that i will submit them to the bank and introduce you as the new beneficiary whom the fund will be transfer to your account.
Your Sister in the LORDAnita
...and my response:
My dear Anita,
God bless your strength, my sister. May the twelve tribes of Arselon hail your piety, and may the great Deep Ones admire your taste.
Indeed I am a born again child of God, as has recently been communicated to me by my adopted parents. I find it unsettling, but knowing that there are others like yourself, dear sister, who share my faith, I have the strength to carry on.
As to the issue of the funds transfer, I feel I must mention that I presently hold an elite account with the Tangan Bermerah banking corporation. As such I enjoy significant influence over the fund transfer system, and owing to my standing any transfers from my account to yours would generate a substantial interest percentage.
With that in mind, kindly forward your bank name, account number, swift code, full name, address and telephone/fax number so that I might in turn forward a donation to your cause of no less than USD$500,000, in Christ's merciful name. This is to show that I am indeed at your service, dear sister, and upon receipt of these funds I shall also effect a further donation of USD$2.5 million, for the sake of the poor ethnic children in your fair nation.
Yours in his Holiest Jesus Christ,
Fenwick Turnquistlepock, esq.
