i never really have anything to say these days

Well ok, that’s not exactly true: I do have a lot to say. I still have opinions (that will undoubtedly result in some people being offended and so on and so forth), I still think for myself and I still philosophise about the world and its contents. It’s just that, y’know, I’ve gotten a bit lazy. And am, truth be told, a bit disillusioned about the whole blogging thing. Sure, having one’s own personal soapbox is pretty nifty and all, but who really cares anyway, in the long run? I only ever seem to get responses when I go out on a limb to attack things which certain groups of people (most of whom I can’t stand) hold dear to their hearts, which isn’t what I want to keep on doing (at least, not ALL THE TIME). I don’t mind offending people, it’s just that it gets a bit tiring sometimes.

Of course, blog posts about what I did today or the latest college drama (not that there is ever any, at least not where I go to) would be easier to write and would result in a much-increased posting rate, but unless there’s a point to be made it’s kind of pointless to be posting shit like that, eh? I certainly wouldn’t be particularly keen on reading such posts. If having a blog and posting on it is already syok sendiri (and it probably is, you know), then filling it with posts like that is syok sendiri x 14.8. And I’m not particularly keen on that.

(Syok sendiri is basically when someone does something just to amuse themselves. Posting on a blog just to be able to look back and go “yeah, I wrote this” instead of trying to say something or express themselves. I think. Something like that. Meh. Translation is not my forte.)

Maybe someday after this thoroughly tiring (and seemingly pretty fucked) semester is over I’ll start posting more regularly again. And, yes, with more opinions, rants and sarcasm. I’m sure some of you miss that side of me. Eh?

life size mirror

I’m not a big fan of No Use for a Name. Not a fan at all, really: never really familiarised myself with them or their work. If the tickets to their show here in KL were a bit cheaper (hard, I know, but y’know, if) I’d most probably go just to get to know their songs and see them live.

But this post isn’t about their show in KL or about ticket prices. Their fans can write/whinge/obsess about that. All I really want to write about here is a song of theirs, “Life Size Mirror.”

Back when I was younger, sometime between the ages of 10 and 14, I had a Dreamcast. And there was this really horrible skateboarding game for the Dreamcast called MTV Sports: Skateboarding or something like that. I think Andy MacDonald was attached to it in some form or another (which makes it one of his worst mistakes ever, probably?). I had that game. And I played a lot of it. It sucked, I didn’t like it much (if at all), but I dunno, something about it kept me playing. Perhaps it was because I’d played the hell out of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 and wanted another skateboarding game to play. Perhaps it was because I was young and couldn’t tell the difference between a bad game that had redeeming points (and was, in some ways, worthy of playing) and a bad game, full stop (which Skateboarding was).

And then there was the soundtrack. I don’t remember much of it, to be honest (it’s been many years and many videogames with great licenced sountracks since then), but I do remember two songs from the soundtrack: System of a Down’s “Sugar” and, yes, “Life Size Mirror.” The latter was probably the song that most attracted me to the game’s soundtrack: it was melodic, not nu-metal or really at all hard (I wasn’t much a fan of the harder stuff back then), and had that intro riff that instantly wormed its way into your brain. The rest of the song is good too, but that intro riff. Man.

I remember taking the effort (haha) to turn the Dreamcast on, put the game in and enter a level just to listen to that song. Not to grapple with the silly controls, look at the crummy graphics or skate around the badly-designed levels, oh no. “Life Size Mirror,” man. I loved that song.

And you know what? I still love it now, five (or more) years on. That intro riff still gets me. It doesn’t just get me, though. It reminds me of the past, of being a young schoolkid whose world revolved around school, homework, TV, videogames and sleep. It reminds me of being naïve, of staying up all night during Ramadhan and sleeping through most of the day afterwards (which is what I used to do back when I was in school, as Ramadhan fell mostly during the end-of-year school holidays). It reminds me of my old neighbourhood. Old friends. Old times. It’s enough to make a nearly twenty-year-old fat young man cry.

And it also reminds me of the fact that I might want to get my Dreamcast repaired for old time’s sake. I can play a lot of the games on my PC via an emulator, anyway (gloriously imperfect, but still), and it’s not like there’s anything I really want to play on the DC, aside from Crazy Taxi, but yeah:

Nostalgia. Fucking hell.

believing: the safer way to go about things?

Look at it this way:

You spend a significant (not the majority of it, just a significant part) of your life in servitude to a particular god/deity/religion of your choice. Which is a perfectly normal and acceptible thing to do. You believe in your god/deity/religion, and that’s great. At the same time, you don’t let your beliefs get in the way of enjoying life: you go out with friends, party occasionally, have fun and try to live life to the most significant extent possible without going against your beliefs. Great, perfect, wonderful.

And then you die. And you find out that there is no afterlife. There’s no beyond. It’s just blackness. Nothing. You’re dead, and that’s that. I’m not exactly sure how you’d find that out, seeing as nothing remains of your consciousness but well, let’s just run with it okay?

It hasn’t worked out too badly for you, y’know. Sure, you could’ve spent that extra hour or two of your days getting plastered and playing drunken games of Pro Evolution Soccer, but at the end of the day, it ain’t that bad. You had fun, you lived life, you even managed to get a girl/guy or two. All in all, it ain’t too bad.

Imagine that you were right, though, and there is indeed an afterlife. If so, a winner is you! That hour or two you spent in praise/sumbission to your (perhaps arbitrarily) chosen god/deity has paid off, and you’ll be able to reap the rewards as soon as he decides to, y’know, have the world end.

It’s not that bad, actually, and it might just be safer. Covering your bases, or whatever they call it. Just as long as you don’t spend your entire life cloistered up in some sort of monastery or something of that sort. Now that’s just risking it.

No way I’d be able to stomach something like that, though. Logical it is; palatable it is not, at least for someone like me. I’ll risk it, man. I’ll put it all on there being nothing past that horizon. Spend my life cloistered in a monestary of unbelief. People play the lottery every day with worse odds man, it’s not as crazy as it seems.

hold your horse is

I installed Baldur’s Gate II along with, of course, Throne of Bhaal, even though I don’t particularly like it (aside from well, duuuuh, timestop + massive horrid wiltings) and started playing through it again. Not as fast as I usually do, admittedly, but I’m trying to stretch the experience a bit more. I find that while I can’t really get into the Icewind Dale games, Baldur’s Gate (I and II, although I greatly prefer the sequel) just sucks me in and makes me lose track of time oh-so-easily.

But really, I’m sure no-one wants (or needs) to hear any more praise of the Baldur’s Gate games from anyone, let alone me. No. The main reason I decided to make mention of my re-installation of BGII was an observation I made while going through Irenicus’ dungeon for the nth time in my 20 years of existence, namely that of me feeling a bit of an attachment, for lack of a better term, towards Imoen, and towards all the things she talks about during the slog through said dungeon (namely, the moment where she reminisces about Candlekeep).

Perhaps it’s because I’ve played through BGI as well (although not as much as BGII): I’ve gone through thick and thin throughout the course of two lengthy RPGs with her in my party, I know what she’s talking about when she mentions Candlekeep and “home” and all the “musty tomes” and, well . . . I dunno. Maybe it’s due to her character as well (no, not the fact that she’s female), but rather the way she is, you know. Unlike Jaheira (and Viconia, for that matter), she’s really the type of girl a guy (or anyone, perhaps) could learn to like and eventually see as a younger sister or something of the sort (which she kind of is). She’s pretty much the “girl next door” of the Baldur’s Gate series. Albeit one that, you know, eventually turns out to be more like “Bhaalspawn next door.”

I “get” her, her fears and her emotions (from the starting dungeon to the post-rescue moments right through to the end of the game) and, while I admit that she does get annoying a lot of times, I seem to always be ready to let it all slide (unlike, say, with Tidus in Final Fantasy X . . . but yes, I know, two totally different games and levels of quality). I (and other players) know what she’s gone through—loss of innocence, death of foster father, etc—mainly because the Main Character’s gone through the same things and I guess this helps in making her so . . . I dunno, likeable? Fuck, I’m sure there’s a word for it, but I can’t think of it right now.

No, I’m not in love with her, if you’re asking. That’d just be silly, falling in love with a videogame character (“But, Azzief, what about Yukari from…” “Oh, shit. Yeah.”) What I am in love with, though, is the developers/writers, for somehow managing to create a non-player character that I can actually really like, and not because they’re attractive (shallow, I know), significantly powerful, loaded with incredible spellcasting ability (Edwin, I’m looking at you), funny as hell (Minsc! <3) or any combination of the above. It’s partly her character itself, partly the plot of the games (which continues, in case you don’t know), partly Melissa Disney’s voice acting and a bit of . . . god, I’m not sure myself.

I wish I could end this pointless post with a kicker, but I can’t think of one.

another one of those stupid things everyone says

Honestly, what’s the point of people saying things like “do what you want, because you never know when you’re going to die?” I mean, really. Come on. I don’t get it.

Look at it this way. You’ll be dead. You’ll have more important things to worry about than that person you didn’t fuck or that opportunity you passed up back when you were alive. You’ll probably be too busy dealing with punishments and/or tests and/or questions to be able to sigh loudly and whinge about how you’d have been happier if you’d just told that person you liked about how you felt, even though you know full well that they’d probably have rejected you anyway.

And then, later, in Hell, you’ll be too preoccupied with whatever punishment(s) it is that people in Hell are subject to. Go read a religious text of your choice to find out what they are. Or maybe Dante’s Divine Comedy.

But what if I end up in Heaven, you ask? Oh come on. You’re in Heaven, are you really going to give a flying fuck about what you did or didn’t do back on Earth?

But, of course, there’s also the possibility that there ain’t any afterlife of any sort for any of us. You definitely won’t be too busy enjoying yourself in Heaven or be too busy lying in some sort of slush in Hell, but then you won’t really exist anymore, anyway, so yeah. Hmm hmm.

runk pock

I do think it’s a good thing, the whole do-it-yourself no-corporate-bullshit mindset that the (worldwide, but here I’m only really referring to Malaysia) punk/hc/grind/crust/etc scene promotes. I think it’s a good thing that, here in Malaysia, corporate sponsorship and major-label backing isn’t needed to be able to put on shows (even bringing some overseas bands in) and release CDs. I like that whole thing, I really do. I’m not enamoured with it, no, but I do like it.

But what I don’t like, however, is how said mindset means that all many people are doing are looking inwards and turning everything into an “us vs. them” thing, and how there cannot be any sort of compromise or blurring between the two. I don’t like how people are willing to soak themselves in that same stagnant pool of black-and-white photocopies, repetitive song structures and poser-ific buttons/patches/stickers/t-shirts (but, of course, no, it’s not consumerism because it’s not corporate!) just because “it’s DIY man” and because “anything corporate sucks.” I don’t like how, for some, ideology has to take precedence over form. I admit, the DIY, anti-corporate mindset and punk/hc/grind/crust/etc are nigh-on inseparable (just like how, some might argue, anti-religious/nihilistic sentiments are a pre-requisite for black metal), and I also admit that said mindset is a Good Thing (to an extent), but does that mean that a band who play, say, righteously good hardcore punk but choose to discuss philosophical themes in their songs instead of rage against the media, government, god, politicians, capitalism and all the other Things Punk Bands Are Supposed to Shout About and who don’t strictly adhere to punk ideology isn’t worthy of your average punker’s attention?

(And don’t get me started on how a band “isn’t punk” because, say, they don’t play fast enough or because their albums actually sound good or because they have clean guitar breaks and long guitar solos in their songs.)

Punk rock isn’t an island. It doesn’t exist in its own little world (although many would like to think it does). Many would also like to think that this whole punk thing and its insistence on an adherence to DIY principles is breeding open-mindedness amongst “the kids,” but come on. Sure, maybe it does open metaphorical doors for some, but at the expense of other doors being closed. And, for the unlucky ones, those same doors get locked and boarded up and, well, that’s that (unless they can break said doors down, which is what I managed to do). Is listening to punk rock a sign of open-mindedness? No. Is shouting slogans like “fuck the police!” and “DIY ’till I die!” open-minded? No. Is sitting together with your punk rock friends talking about punk rock stuff while listening to punk rock music a sign of open-mindedness? Hell no. It’s just as bad, and maybe even worse, than the spoilt kids sitting down with their silly friends talking about “that boy” or “that girl” or High School Musical and listening to whatever tripe radio plays nowadays. Worse because the punkers have this delusion in their head that they’re “better” ‘cos they’re open-minded and rebels and whatnot, all because they’re listening to/talking about Discharge instead of Disney.

(Man, that would make a great name for a d-beat band, wouldn’t it? Disney? Preferably with an umlaut somewhere. Dïsney?)

I’ve always found it funny how the same people who harp on and on about how we should break away from culturally-determined values of right and wrong, good and evil, positive and negative and think for ourselves are the same people who also imply, through their actions and words, that anything that fits within the (perhaps arbitrarily determined) “rules” of punk rock is good and that anything from the “outside” is bad (and perhaps even, god forbid, evil) and shouldn’t be touched, or ingested, or enjoyed, or compromised with. The world isn’t as black and white, as “us and them,” as “punk and not punk” as you’d like to hope, y’know.

I’m not saying that punkers (or anyone, for that matter) should accept anything and everything with open arms. Far from it. But, come on, just open up a bit, look beyond your self-imposed, restrictive, silly horizons and stop wallowing in that smelly pool of stagnant water all the time. Take a dip in a different pool once in a while, it’ll only do you good.

an observation

You know the place you’re at serves alcohol when you go to the gents’ and find that someone’s been sick in one of the toilet bowls.

i will mourn morricone more than i mourned my own grandfather

Yes, I know, I owe my entire existence to my grandfather. If he hadn’t had my mother, my mother wouldn’t have had me, and I wouldn’t be here typing this out. Maybe I am thankful for that. Maybe.

The difference, however, is that Morricone—and many other artists/performers/composers, not just him—is responsible for the betterment of my existence, and that’s something I honestly value more than my existence itself. Without music, I don’t know how I’d survive. Without music, I honestly don’t know how I’d manage to stay sane in this fucked up, tiring-as-all-hell existence.

Friends too, no matter how incredibly annoying I sometimes find them: I’d survive, but it just wouldn’t be as great without them, would it?

I know next to nothing about my late grandfather. I know his name, of course, and I’ve seen photos in which he was a strapping, handsome man, a world apart from the person I knew so little, and I know that, before his stroke, he was a capable woodworker, having carved a large wooden spoon or two. Aside from that . . . I’m not sure. I barely even talked to him, now that I think about it. And by “talk,” I mean meaningful conversation.

(Something which seems sorely lacking in peoples’ interactions in this day and age, might I add.)

I don’t know Morricone (or Zorn, or whoever) on a personal level, either, and I haven’t really bothered to read up on where he was born, what his parents were named, how his childhood was and all that stuff. I’ve never talked to him at all (and by “talk,” I mean just that: talk). I know him even less than I knew my grandfather.

But I know his music. I know his work. He has created music that has had an effect on my existence for the better. Without Morricone, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly just wouldn’t be what it is. And neither would any of Leone’s other Spaghetti Westerns.

Yes, I owe my existence to my grandfather. But I owe the betterment of it to Morricone (and so many others). And, you know what? That betterment means more to me.

ho hum hee dee dum

If you judge a person’s opinions—or, god forbid, the person themself—based on the language they use, then please go choke on horse penis.

Languages are tools, so use whichever one you feel comfortable with/the situation calls for. You wouldn’t use a screwdriver to hammer two pieces of wood together now, would you? Sure, you could, probably (and with great difficulty), but why not just use a fucking hammer? Hm?

God, I wish this stupid fanaticism about language would just end.

selective memories

It seems that, as humans, we’re all blessed with the ability to only remember—or, at least, only really focus on—the things we want to. The things that were fun, or exciting, or made us feel good. The good stuff. And we, of course, routinely forget the unpleasant things, the awkward, the painful, the bits that drove us mad. Sure, you can try not to, but you always do.

Maybe I should replace “you” with “I” in that last sentence, because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I’ve been indulging in a bit of nostalgia, recently, and in between bouts of feeling shitty about my continued feelings for someone I shouldn’t have felt anything for and definitely shouldn’t still be feeling said feelings for, I’ve been thinking about how I miss being in school. How things were good back then, how life was simpler, how things were more fun.

Yeah right. Things weren’t bad back then, no, but they weren’t better than they are now. Life wasn’t complicated back then, but it sure as hell wasn’t simpler. And things were definitely not more fun (funner?) back then. There were great bits, yes there were, but life wasn’t a bed of roses back then (just as how it’s not now, even with all the good times I’m having with friends).

My nights were horrible, just as they are now, and don’t get me started on all the shit I went through/was going through my mind during the latter period of my school years. Just don’t.

And, you know, school wasn’t that great either. I had great friends, yes, and we shared many great experiences, but there was also, well, school itself. Schoolwork and worrying about it. Teachers. Boring classes. Physics. Additional maths. The restrictiveness of the whole thing. Over-long morning/evening assembly. Sure, when I look back now, they aren’t as bad, but back then they were horrible. Which just destroys the notion of things being better “back then.”

But, you know, every time I start thinking about school, the first things I think about are the good bits (most of which, might I add, get overrated in the process). And then, if I don’t give myself a swift dose of reality, I start to go on about how I’d love to go through the whole thing again, experience all the experiences anew, relive the whole thing. But then I remember all the other shit, the shit that’s not as good, and I realise that, naw, maybe it’s better that I don’t.

And I guess that goes for everything. Sometimes I think about how I’d like to, you know, fall for someone again, just because I miss feeling good about someone. But then I remember all the anxiety, the confusion, the worry, all the “does she like me too?” and “wait what did that mean?” and “oh my did I do something wrong?” and I realise that, fuck no, I don’t want that shit. Not right now.

I guess it’s a case of only remembering the 10% that makes you want to do it again and never remembering the 90% that, when you were going through it, you hoped would serve as a lesson so that you wouldn’t do any of it again. Ever.

(Disorganised and rambly? You bet!)