the policeman’s beard

I really should have slept earlier last night. Woke up at 9.30 having gotten too little sleep. Me and my dad had an appointment with someone at 11, and thus we had to wake up early. Why so early, though? You see, while neither of us take long to get ready, the problem is that we have to get on the computer/’Net in the morning, before anything else. The actual “getting ready” part is insignificant compared to the “oh shit I have to get on the ‘Net first and check my email/myspace/facebook/blog/bittorent downloads/etc” part. Sad, perhaps, but oh so true.

A Minolta 50mm f/2.8 macro arrived this morning. I kept saying I couldn’t really justify using it (I was [and still am] happy with my 50mm f/1.4 and thought that I wouldn’t use it that much), but, well . . . more on that later.

After meeting a guy at Burger King in Giant KJ for a deal (sold a 50mm f/1.7 RS) me and my dad got in the car and headed to Pertama Complex to see if International Camera could fix some troublesome lenses (TWO 50mm f/1.4s and a 35-70mm f/4) that would need fixing in order for my dad to be able to sell them off. Took us an hour, but not because of heavy traffic or whatever, but rather because we got lost pissing about KL/Jalan Parlimen/Mahameru Highway/I-don’t-know and basically, well, going around in circles. The traffic was relatively light, actually, and KL almost felt a bit empty. I’m sure the school holidays had something to do with it.

Ah, the perils of missing one turn . . .

At Pertama we walked about and I bought some CDs (ok, well, copies: Turisas’ The Varangarian Way—which, while not as good as Battle Metal, is purty kickass—and Municpal Waste’s The Art of Partying, which, sadly, is a bit fucked—the copy, not the music), looked at some t-shirts (will be back next time, yes~) and bought a pair of black Levi’s jeans (secondhand/bundle, of course: I like Levi’s but fuck off I’m not paying for a new pair). We also stumbled upon some nifty Vivitar OM-mount lenses, and sent the lenses in for repair. I spent quite a bit of time in International Camera eyeing a Lowepro Fastpack 250. Sure would be nice to have one. Would be more convenient too, I could stuff books and stuff in the compartment meant for the laptop. PTPTN loan leftovers to the rescue?

The store also had a Minolta SR-T 101 with the (apparently legendary) 58mm f/1.2 lens on it, going for around RM1500. Holy shit.

Sadly didn’t manage to head over to Campbell Complex but there’s always next time. We’ll be back there next week anyway, probably, to pick up the lenses and send a couple more in for repair/servicing.

I played around with the 50mm f/2.8 macro more when we got back and I ended up liking it very much. It’s a great lens. I may even like it better than my 50mm f/1.4, especially when it comes to the sharpness as well as colours and contrast. Perhaps not really suitable as a walkabout lens, it’s more of a “sit down then put it on the camera” type of lens. I think it’ll stay in my posession for a while. Wish it was a bit faster, though, as f/2.8 sometimes isn’t fast enough. Unless I get an A700. *drools*

A 135mm f/2.8 might be coming too (in a package with a Minolta 7000i and a 35-70mm f/4) and my dad is telling me to use it. Racun-ing, as the vernacular goes. He did the same thing with the 50mm f/2.8 macro, and, well . . . tengoklah. I guess when the dust settles I’ll be rollin’ with a 24mm f/2.8, a 50mm f/1.4, a 50mm f/2.8 macro and a 135mm f/2.8. The latter might not be as useful on APS-C as it would be on film (crop factor makes it a 200mm f/2.8 or thereabouts), though, but there are two Minolta Maxxum SLRs lying around. And who knows I might like a 200mm tele. If not, my dad would probably be able to sell it and make some money. heh.

I feel guilty all of a sudden. =/

I will get my hair trimmed and layered tomorrow. I will have to conquer this irrational fear of haircuts I seem to have due to some bad recent (relatively speaking, that is: last time I had anything done to my hair was over a year ago) experiences and get something done.

Photos:

The second photo was taken with the 50 2.8 macro. Nice, eh?

And shit I write too much sometimes.

eight short tales

Experiments. I like them.

satu
I can’t believe what I’m hearing is this for real is this really the end I ask myself over and over again as if I can provide myself with the answer I look in her eyes and I can see all the things that I’ve done wrong all the things I should have done all the things I shouldn’t have done and it is then that I know that yes this really is the end and I try to keep my composure but I know that I’m failing and I know that she can see my eyes start to well up with tears and I can see that the tears are starting to well up in her eyes as well but she says that she’s ok and she says she’s serious and she says that she’s going and she says that it’s over and I make one last attempt to draw her back to me I tell her I love her but she either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to hear me and begins walking away and she’s going and she’s going and she’s going and the buildings start crumbling down the wind picks up begins howling down the streets down the alleyways of kuala lumpur sending old newspapers and paper cups and plastic bags flying everywhere the people walking around bukit bintang scatter and run for cover and everything turns to grey and black and white and—

she dissapears amongst the crowd in front of the discount store and I never see her again

dua
they always disturb my sleep the neighbours every night with their shouting and their banging and the screams of pain screams of mercy-begging screams of whatever else I know it’s a rough neighbourhood and the police don’t patrol here often if at all but that’s no reason to be such loud assholes all through the night really with all their shouting and their banging and all the screams of pain screams of mercy-begging and the occasional sound of bones breaking and flesh being beaten it drives me nuts it really does I can’t recall the last time I had a good night’s sleep I think that maybe I should sleep during the daytime instead but I can’t I’m not a nocturnal creature besides I have classes to go to so I can’t really do that anyway and really I don’t think it would be much fun staying up at night and listening to the sounds coming from their apartment I don’t know why no-one else has ever complained about or to them am I the only one that notices am I the only one that cares

one night I tell myself that I’m going to grow some balls and do something and knock on their door and ask them to quiet down stop the shouting and the banging and whatever else because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages but as soon as I reach their front door I hear a gunshot and everything suddenly falls silent I stop in my tracks and I think that maybe it’d be better for me if I bought earplugs instead

tiga
I love you your cocaine lips your black hole gaze I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before every time you suck me off I can feel little bits of me draining away into the vast emptiness inside you every time we kiss every time our lips touch every time our tongues begin their dance every time we trade saliva I can feel my insides atrophying every time we fuck I inch closer and closer towards death and every time I come inside you I feel as if I’m watering a barren desert I love you I love you I love you I love you—

but you don’t love me do you though

empat
i’m sitting at a roadside cafe waiting for you where are you I ask myself I look at my watch it’s a quarter past ten you said you’d be here at a quarter past nine a man disshevelled and unwashed and unshaved and smelly suddenly appears out of nowhere I don’t know how I didn’t smell him before and he begins talking gibberish repeating the same words over and over like a mantra

a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama a man a plan a canal panama

it doesnt make sense but I keep listening and listening there’s nothing better for me to do really while waiting for you on a bright sunny sunday morning at a little roadside cafe and then suddenly it all makes sense—

a man a plan a canal panama

I briefly feel truthful

lima
i’m in love with a lesbian I pretend to be gay so that I can get close to her and tell her I understand how it feels to be living behind a facade of straight relationships and cheating ex-boyfriends how it feels when people look at you oddly because of your orientation how it feels to be different how it feels to be isolated and spat upon I see that she’s comfortable around me because she thinks i’m gay and I understand her to keep up appearances I spend time with pretty boys in tight t-shirts and tight levis I go to bars pubs plays art events with them and I begin thinking hey I might just like this one day I wake up in a boy’s bed with my pants off like in that casiotone for the painfully alone song and I can’t remember what I did last night can anyone tell me

please please please

enam
i’m looking for her in all the wrong places I’m trawling the back alleys of kuala lumpur asking the prostitutes transvestites and what-have-you have you seen this girl over and over again I stay out for hour after hour in the dead of night when kuala lumpur finally falls asleep my parents worry about me but I don’t care I need to find her need to find her need—

I can see her every time I close my eyes I see her hollow eyes her cracked lips her sunken cheeks I can see the bruises on her breasts on her thighs on her stomach I can see her wafer-thin body clothed in sweaters two sizes too big for her sweaters which used to be mine I remember how it felt to hold her in my arms her skin on mine I remember nights spent tracing her bruises laughing at the odd shapes they took I still remember her hollow laughter her forced laughter—

I stumble into a 7-eleven my eyes take a while to get used to the light the girl behind the counter greets me in a perky voice I smile at her and walk to the back the clean floor squeaks under my sneakers I grab a beer and pay for it and head out I sit down at a bus stand and begin crying because I cant find her and I begin drinking—

suddenly I see her in the middle of the road she’s looking in the opposite direction she can’t see me I shout out to her but she doesn’t hear me so I drop the bottle and run to her jump over the railing and run to the middle of the road suddenly I see bright lights approaching I hear the sound of an engine I hear the sound of a horn but its too late—

I meet my death at the hands of an eighteen-wheeler

tujuh
i turned the corner and there walking towards me was satan himself he was wearing a trenchcoat and dark glasses and he looked like anyone else on the street like a normal human being like you and like me but in my gut knew it was him i could feel the darkness emanating from him i could feel the hate i could feel the fires of hell burning somewhere inside of him no-one else noticed him or they pretended not to maybe because they were scared or something but i couldn’t stop staring i just kept looking and looking at him like i was hypnotized i was so engrossed that i actually stopped walking and just stared and i noticed that for some reason he seemed to be heading towards me i wanted to run and get away but i couldn’t—

as he approached me the sky began growing darker the wind began blowing stronger and it became hotter and hotter and when he was right in front of me he stopped looked me in the eyes and lifted up his glasses i could see that he didn’t have any eyes instead there were black holes where they should have been i looked at them looked into them and i saw everything i saw everything i saw everything all the things they teach you all the things they don’t all the things people wish they knew all the things people wish they didn’t i saw them in his eyes i saw it all in those black bottomless pits—

and then he dropped his glasses back onto his nose and he walked on past me i stood and stared at him until he turned the next corner and i lost sight of him and then i did the same—

i walked away

lapan
i went outside and saw that the world was ending i saw people running around screaming their heads off running into their houses looking for refuge for shelter i saw dogs barking and howling cats screeching i saw buildings crumbling down glass skyscrapers shattering in slow-motion like in a john woo film brick buildings imploding einsturzende neubauten indeed—

i saw old men in business suits stuffing themselves with pastries their ties and dress shirts all in a mess i saw a couple fucking in the back of a ford mondeo i wondered how it’d be like to fuck in the back of a car and how i’d feel if i was in that position knowing that it’d be the last time i would ever have sex would things be any different would i be any different would she be any different—

then i remembered that i did know the feeling i did know how it felt to fuck for the very last time i felt it the night before she went away the night before she boarded her 10am flight to some godforsaken destination on the other side of the planet both of us knowing full well that she’d never come back that it was the end of her it was the end of us—

when she left i knew that i’d never love anyone again i’d never fuck anyone again because she was the one she was the one she was the one