Monday, March 4, 2024

Free Yourself From Fear! (revisited)

Thirty-seven years have elapsed since Operation Lalang when Dr M (in his capacity as Home Affairs Minister) used the Internal Security Act (ISA) to arrest 108 people and detain them without trial - some for up to two years. Several newspapers were shut down and the shadow of fear fell upon the entire country. Those were dark days indeed, and Malaysia has never fully recovered from that trauma.

Police brutality, violent suppression of public dissent, the rule of fear. These are nightmare realities to be banished from the present and the future. Rather than wallow in images of oppression and authoritarian government, let's focus instead on images of beauty, freedom, and a mass awakening to joyful realities that transcend the quotidian world of foul-smelling politics.

The power of the imagination when aligned with the heart - and the will to consciously co-create heaven on earth - cannot be underestimated. Never allow your dreams to be hijacked and turned into nightmares by benighted souls who feed vampire-like off your weaknesses. Stay centered in the heart and don't let your mind be clouded by anxiety and other people's opinions.

Turn off that TV and if you have to buy newspapers, read only the comics. Truth is, newspapers are good for only three things: wrapping fish, lining the bottom of birdcages, and lighting bonfires. Declare independence from all ideologies, liberate your body from the dictates of petty-minded patriarchs. Follow your bliss and hurl yourself wholeheartedly into everything that's fun!

This blogpost is dedicated to the fearless souls who cherish freedom above creature comforts - and who have dedicated their lives to walking their talk and embodying their own ideals. The Earth is a living being, indeed she is the symbol of the Sacred Feminine so perfectly reflected in Nature's beauty.

Take time out to chat for hours with your buddies in coffee shops. Take your dog for a long run on the beach. Watch Tom & Jerry cartoons with your kids. Just laugh out loud every time a control-freak politician or bureaucrat opens his big fat mouth in public. Spare them as little energy or attention as possible. They are mostly a bunch of greedy and vicious parasites - the world will be a happier, healthier place without them.

Listen to your own heartbeat... and you will hear the music of the spheres! Transcend. Ascend. You are Infinite Potential incarnate!

Be it so.

[First posted 27 October 2007, reposted 6 November 2014 & 15 March 2019]

Sunday, March 3, 2024


I UNDERSTAND the colonial mind extremely well. That's because the memory of having been a series of megalomaniacal empire-builders remains vividly imprinted in my deep psyche and prompts me to do everything in my power to warn the present generation against the insidious dangers of attempting to impose a rigid control grid over forces beyond our comprehension.

Perhaps this explains my visceral rejection of all forms of bureaucratic arrogance and misguided efforts to "civilize and domesticate" the natural world. Much as I love my sister, daughter #1, son-in-law, granddaughters, and all my beautiful nieces, nephews, cousins and grandnieces in Singapore - I'm always loath to visit the so-called Merlion City with all its infamous restrictions (no smoking in public places except where specially designated; and, in the old days, no longhaired men which necessitated my buying a shorthair wig just to gain entry).

In November 2009 I had a close encounter with bureaucratic heavyhandedness which left a slightly sour taste in my mouth. It all arose over the hoo-ha a local businessman raised about the illegal road upgrading project in Pertak Village. This guy happens to be a member of PPP (People's Progressive Party) and a close friend of Dato' T. Murugiah (left), deputy minister in the Prime Minister's Department who oversees the Public Complaints Bureau.

I was surprised to receive a phonecall from T. Murugiah's personal assistant, a very pleasant lady named Shamini Bhaskaran, asking me for some background to the situation. So I wrote her a long email detailing the scenario and, before I knew what was happening, was informed that Dato' T. Murugiah was planning a visit to Pertak Village to see for himself what was going on. But before he could do so, he required a formal complaint to be lodged with his department, so I accepted the role - since Murugiah's businessman friend was unwilling to expose himself to the risk of losing the support of local bureaucrats who largely remain loyal to the Barisan Nasional.

On 15 September I had been visited by three Special Branch officers who informed me they were investigating a police report lodged against me by one Rapi Bata Abdullah - an Orang Asli Muslim convert and Umno member who had written a letter to Kuala Kubu Bharu state assemblyman Wong Koon Mun (right) requesting that the old logging trail through the Pertak forest reserve be asphalted.

To legitimize his request, Rapi had persuaded Bidar Chik, Batin of Pertak, to sign the letter. According to the SB officers, Rapi Bata had accused me of "obstructing" his road upgrading project (and thereby opposing "development" for the marginalized Orang Asli). He also alleged I was an agent of Western environmentalists and was harboring "Mat Salleh" activists - that's right, who are all jealous of Malaysia's success (yup, Mahathir has certainly left his indelible mamark... oops, I mean, mark on an entire generation of civil servants)!

This was followed by a visit from several high-ranking officers from the Selangor JHEOA (Orang Asli Affairs Department) who gently reproached me for bypassing them and going straight to the Public Complaints Bureau. I told them to their face that if it were up to me I would shut down their department without hesitation. Of course, I'd ensure that the people who worked in JHEOA would either be reassigned to other departments - or be given a generous payout so they could start their own businesses or acquire some useful skills.

Murugiah is crowned King of PPP in a party coup staged in May 2009

Dato' T. Murugiah's visit, originally scheduled for 30 October, was postponed for a week (his p.a. called up at the last minute and apologized on behalf of her boss, saying he was under the weather). My cellphone began ringing non-stop on the morning of 6 November. Reporters from the national news agency Bernama and Utusan Malaysia (Umno's much-maligned mouthpiece, famous for its acute ethnocentric halitosis) called up asking directions to Pertak Village.

It was amusing to see the media circus surrounding Dato' T. Murugiah's official visit. YB Wong Koon Mun was there accompanied by a cadre of MCA flunkeys in their North Korea-style paramilitary uniforms, along with reporters from Sin Chew Jit Poh and possibly Nanyang Siang Pau too. The New Straits Times was represented by a friendly but understandably jaded hack, while NTV7 sent a mobile unit and a very gung-ho crew to cover Murugiah's historic visit.

Even the district police chief, Supt Norel Azmi Affandi Yahya, was present with a platoon of senior officers (including the delectable Inspector Yusnita Samsudin who had "interviewed" me at the KKB police station at 11pm the night before, having sent a vanload of bullies-in-blue to summon me to her office).

When I was given the chance to speak, I voiced my indignation at the rude behavior of the policemen who had arrived at my residence at 10:30pm, demanding that I go down to the station to record a statement - and threatening me with arrest if I didn't comply.

They had clearly exceeded their authority in so doing, since I had commited no offence - and the urgency of the matter was entirely due to their dragging their feet on this case till the very last minute. They could have telephoned me anytime over the course of six or seven weeks, politely requesting that I come to the station at my own convenience to tell my side of the story.

In response, Supt Norel could only brag that the police in their zeal to perform their duties do not observe office hours. Such a smug and pompous old-school cop, he certainly would look the part better with a 19th-century-style handlebar mustache.

All in all, I estimate a total of 90 people were involved in this public relations exercise which was essentially an attempt to justify the RM200,000 roadworks through a forest reserve - and demonstrate how caring and generous the Barisan Nasional government was towards rural voters like the Temuan of Pertak Village.

My original complaint focused on the possibility of hanky-panky involving the misuse of public funds. YB Wong Koon Mun is, after all, a contractor and entrepreneur with fingers in many pies; and his Umno cronies have never been known to be overly concerned about how the Orang Asli are faring (indeed, the only thing that interests them is whether there are any logging concessions or resort projects they can apply for). Furthermore, Wong had instructed his contractor to start digging without obtaining the necessary permits from the District Office and Forestry Department.

When the Selangor state government learnt about this, a stop-work order had been issued through district councillor Chua Yee Ling - but, as to be expected, that only delayed MCA Wong for 3 or 4 days - the time it took for him to erect an official signboard announcing the road upgrading project.

This was clear proof that the Pakatan Rakyat state government is being undermined every step of the way by deadwood bureaucrats who haven't yet understood that Barisan Nasional wasn't appointed by Allah to forever misrule the country and enrich itself at public expense. It's a very serious issue that must be addressed. But how? Only a complete change of government at the federal level will resolve the problem.

Nevertheless, if an expensive "infrastructural upgrade" could be conjured out of thin air, these Barisan Nasional types become suddenly very anxious to help their indigenous brethren assimilate into the modern world (never mind lah that most of them remain stubbornly heathen) And, of course, what better emblems of modernity than asphalted roads (complete with speedbumps), cellphone towers, and - serunai fanfare plus a brief burst of kompang, please - STREETLIGHTS! Yes, the very things one requires to live comfortably at the edge of a forest. [Note: in 2016 the Orang Asli Affairs Department suggested that a toll-gate be constructed so that all visitors to the popular picnic area could be charged RM1. The Orang Asli seem quite happy to follow suit and become rent-seekers, albeit low-end ones, but making visitors pay a toll just to commune with nature has certainly degraded the magical feeling people used to experience upon arriving at this scenic spot.]

MCA Wong described my protest as Greenpeace-inspired activism. Thanks for the compliment, Wong!

Rapi Bata Abdullah was the featured guest star of the day - a showcase Orang Asli with all the correct-correct-correct attitudes. First he had become a Muslim (at least in name); next he had joined Umno and seen the light. He understood all about commissions and cost overruns and how to instigate environmentally ruinous projects. Above all, he was loyal to the Barisan Nasional government and was aware that "militant tree-huggers" like me are the Enemies of Progress (as measured in the shallowest and most superficial terms).

In his desire to be seen as "progressive" Rapi had unwittingly turned himself into the Orang Asli version of an Uncle Tom. For a few official favors (and some quick bucks by way of payoffs) he had severed his own ancestral connections to the sacredness and inviolability of the land and was proud to be paraded before the crony media as an Orang Asli ready to embrace "modern values" - as represented by physical trappings such as asphalted roads, piped water, electricity, satellite TV, mobile phones, streetlights, neatly-mown lawns, even a toll gate - and endless bills to pay.

The way the mid-level bureaucrats fawned and fussed over the visiting deputy minister, one would have imagined him to be at least a royal emissary, if not a king.

A century ago, T. Murugiah would probably have arrived on elephant back, with a full panoply of ceremonial guards and a bugle brigade. He would have been carried in a gilded palanquin to inspect the roadworks whilst being fed exotic tidbits by native girls bedecked with multicolored hibiscuses in their perfumed hair.

This is precisely what's wrong with the Barisan Nasional misgovernment. They're too enamored of pomp and circumstance. They love a splendid display of extravagance (city streets festooned with flashing lights and giant ketupats every Hari Raya) and, of course, the demonstrations of almighty grandeur and worldly power the Sultans have made their royal trademark.

(courtesy of

Can I blame the Brits for this, I wonder? After all, it was they who handpicked the most corruptible and compliant amongst the contending Malay chiefs to be crowned as Sultans (an honorific conveniently borrowed from the Turks). It was in their own interests to cultivate a narcissistic, self-serving species of native leader who would be so aloof and detached from their own subjects they would pose few problems for the colonial masters, who would then supplant the Sultans as the real government of the land.

When the Brits created a Malay political class to take over the lower echelons of bureaucracy, they taught them how to keep the hoi polloi at arm's length and present an unassailable façade of divinely ordained authority. Indeed, if you observe how Barisan Nasional ministers like to be fêted and fawned over wherever they go, you will certainly conclude that they all believe that being voted into public office gives them the divine right to be treated like pseudo-royalty. Hence, they view it as their religious duty to squirrel away massive amounts of non-declarable lucre in some offshore account whilst keeping just enough to set themselves up in palatial style.

And now, some 60 years after the Brits have returned to their swiftly shrinking, once-great imperial home, their political heirs, the Umno fat-cat bureaucrats, are faithfully maintaining the colonial legacy by recolonizing the original natives of this fair and bountiful land.

If the Orang Asli Affairs Department is allowed to continue existing, it wouldn't surprise me to find a future generation of Orang Asli behaving as corruptly, myopically, and arrogantly as their Malay mentors. By then they would willingly have exchanged their Orang Asli status for the dubious privilege of being lumped together with the Sumatran, Javanese and Bugis descendants of brigands, pirates and refugees from tribal wars.

As for Dato' T. Murugiah himself, I found him fairly intelligent and suave, oozing with effortless charm and self-confidence - but, alas, too typically a Barisan Nasional politician to be taken seriously as a human being. A few weeks after his visit to Pertak Village, I read in the news (online, of course) that Murugiah was in the process of being thrown out of the PPP. Should that happen, he would become a partyless deputy minister, and therefore vulnerable to vicious attacks from his cannibalistic colleagues in the increasingly irrelevant, insufferably arrogant and irredeemably corrupt Barisan Nasional.

Indeed, Murugiah might even lose his cabinet seat. Well, if that does occur, his p.a. has my phone number. I'd be happy to offer him some counseling on how to regain his human core and child-like spontaneity - and charge him ten times my usual fee.

[Originally posted 6 December 2009. Reposted 1 March 2018]

Thursday, February 22, 2024


In 1999 or thereabouts, via the internet, I became aware of a wonderful soul named Michael who felt very much like an old friend. I discovered many similarities between us and we developed an etheric bond over the years. As a young man Michael had seen service with the British army in Malaya soon after the Japanese Occupation (he's now in his late seventies or early eighties and still sprightly as a wizard). Back in England Michael ran an actor's studio training actors for the camera and came close to being cast as Jesus (or was it Moses?) in a Dino de Laurentiis epic.

Later Michael became an author and wrote several books set in Avalon and Camelot about the secret life of Arthur Pendragon. He also co-authored a book with Princess Diana - after she was killed in a mystery-shrouded "accident" in Paris. Yes, my friend Michael is also a channel, spiritualist and a lifelong student of the esoteric.

Michael often mentioned a very close friend of his named Peter, an ally from many lifetimes. I suspected that I had inadvertently made contact with members of a modern-day circle of Archdruids and Atlantean magicians. My suspicions were confirmed when Michael sent me a photo of Peter looking like The Merlin.

Since early childhood, I have been fascinated by the Pendragon bloodline, of which Arthur - "The Once and Future King" - was the last known manifestation. Aficionados of Arthurian legend formed the Pendragon Society in 1959. Among their pet beliefs is that the Pendragon lineage is an extension of the Grail bloodline issuing from the sacred union of Yeshua and the Magdalene. Pendragonians do not accept the Windsors as the rightful rulers of Britain. Indeed, they point out that the Windsor family originated from the vampiric Saxe-Coburg-Gotha bloodline and must be regarded as usurpers. Just as in Christian mythology, Pendragonians anticipate the Return of the Pendragon at the close of this chapter of human evolution.

The Pendragon's return will be heralded by the reappearance of The Merlin - in Druidism the title given to the Supreme Bard.

This belief resonates well with me, for I too believe that all reigning monarchies on this planet are descended from the Anunnaki colonists who manufactured Homo sapiens specifically to perform menial tasks and mine for gold.

In effect, the present power hierarchy may be described as "the spawn of lesser gods." As such, they do not have any authority or jurisdiction over any lifeform indigenous to Planet Earth. The only way they are able to maintain their misrule is through force of arms and systematic mind control. In other words, their only hold on humanity is through skilful manipulation of our hardwired fear and guilt programs. Unsubscribe from their spin and their deathgrip on your imagination immediately loosens. You will no longer be trapped in their apocalyptic hell-on-earth scenarios.

With this little preamble out of the way, let me share with you a dream my dear friend Michael jotted down very recently...


I am sitting on a shelf of rock, overlooking a vast plain, when I hear someone approaching. He is about fourteen – but don’t let that fool you, I think to myself.

"Hi," he says, and hunkers down beside me.

I wait for him to speak, and eventually he does so: "I have been asked to give you some news," he says, gazing out over the plain. "The day you have been longing for, working for, all your life – and many previous lifetimes – is almost here."

"Alle-bloody-luiah!" springs to mind – and that’s the cleaned up version – but I don’t say it out loud. "That’s very good news," I reply. "But we’ve been hearing that for at least thirty years – and still nothing has happened." I immediately regret my churlishness, but the lad just smiles.

"Sorry, but I don’t live in your time frame," he replies. "Thirty, even a hundred Earth years are but a moment where I come from."

"And where do you come from?" I ask.

"I work in the IP centre." He senses that I’m about to ask him what the 'IP centre’ is, and forestalls me: "Incoming Prayer centre. All human prayers are downloaded onto a central computer, and my department is responsible for organizing them into topics and degrees of relevance and urgency – taking into account the hundreds of different languages in which they are transmitted, and the many degrees of precision of thought and visualization with which they have been expressed.

"The prayer that now outnumbers almost all the others put together is:


"During the last few years – in your time – critical mass has been reached, so this simple, one-word prayer, which is often spoken aloud, or whispered, or uttered silently, but is far more often sent subconsciously - even by those who don’t believe in prayer! - has earned the rare and almost unprecedented status of 'a prayer from all mankind’.

"Such a prayer merits a response – and the response is on its way."

This news restores my good humour – and my good manners – somewhat. "Alleluiah,”I say with a smile.

The lad gets to his feet. "Tell your friends and fellow workers that D Day is now very close."

"'D Day'?" I enquire.

"You tell me," says the news-bearer. "You who have spent so many years searching, identifying, defining and refining precisely what is required."

I get to my feet. "Deliverance Day."

The boy nods. "Deliverance Day." He lifts a hand in an informal salute and goes on his way.

I wake up, and reach for pencil and paper.

[First posted 8 March 2009, reposted 12 March 2016] 

Saturday, February 17, 2024

In the Spirit of Dionysus

December has been, for as long as I can remember, my least favorite month. Maybe I was a bear not too long ago & haven't shed my hibernating instinct? In any case sleep has become far too appealing to me in recent weeks and there are days I could sleep for 24 hours uninterrupted. The insane feeding frenzy of human animals has never been more apparent. How easily misled we are by destructive ideologies and beliefs antagonistic to Life Itself. 

For nearly 4,000 years Mother Earth has been ravaged by an alien virus injected into the collective psyche via a portal overhanging the Middle East. Its human agent is documented in tribal lore as a patriarch named Abraham (an anagram for Brahma) and since his advent the world has been deliberately split asunder by messianic and apocalyptic faiths each claiming to be the only "true religion." Via this portal, insectoid and reptilian ET influences have spread throughout the 3D computer simulation we call "The Matrix" which have infected the elite bloodlines and corrupted all political systems through manipulation of wealth distribution systems. 

By subtly promoting rule by fear and scarcity conditioning, the power structure has ensured that humans be mostly driven by negative emotional tendencies like paranoia, suspicion, hostility and dread of the strange and unknown. The herd mentality is formatted via institutions like schools and universities and vulnerable young minds forcibly given a left-brain bias, effectively suppressing intuitive faculties and disconnecting them from their own senses. They are programmed to focus on the dots, not to connect them.

Well-paid shills are given the task of "manufacturing consent" by cluster bombing the collective psyche with disjointed trivia and ephemeral distractions, to ensure that the bulk of the populace never attains independent and original thinking and feeling, but remains content to parrot catchphrases and memes, in the process turning themselves into automatons and zombies, easily swayed by statistics and trends.

Competition is encouraged instead of cooperation, to further fragmentize the human ego - an artificial social construct that obstructs us from a constant awareness of the interconnectedness and interdependency of all biological processes and living species. Anthropocentric concerns justify the systematic exploitation and ultimate desecration of the ecosystem that supports and nurtures life. Humans are taught to fear and worship invisible, punitive, judgmental deities and a set of rules and regulations issued by power-hungry priesthoods - rather than revere the beauty and integrity of the natural environment and trust our instinctive, spontaneous responses to external stimuli.

Cult figures are made of long-dead tribal heroes and vast resources squandered on constructing spectacular monuments to their memory - instead of channeled to alleviating poverty and lack across the social spectrum. The disempowered and disenfranchised are kept in their place as a reservoir of menial labor to be drawn upon ad infinitum, to support the luxurious lifestyles of the privileged. In such a distorted reality, truth speakers are habitually incarcerated or allowed to starve, worm-tongues exalted to ministerial posts.

Many decades ago I woke up to the realization that Heaven on Earth is not only possible but absolutely necessary to the continuance of anthropine evolution on this planet. It has been a full-time job keeping this vision alive in my heart, but there have been many encouraging signs. The incoming souls I have encountered since have reassured me that masterful, powerful entities are now in our midst, in physical embodiment, many from a dazzling pedigree of star lineages. They are here with unimaginable talents and cutting-edge apps, waiting in the wings to take the reins of power from the decadent and debauched Old Guard, which obstinately refuses to give way.

As the tumultuous and polarizing Gregorian Year 2016 grinds wearily to a halt, I shall celebrate with a tribute to the Dionysian spirit of Jim Morrison & The Doors... 

[Posted in Facebook on 19 December 2016]

Thursday, February 15, 2024

Are these the three women who got caned?

Hmmm... nothing like a bit of state-sanctioned sadomasochism to break the daily routine and spice up your humdrum life. These healthy red-blooded girls appear to have enjoyed their punishment and I won't be surprised if the pain they now associate with pleasure becomes an integral part of their sexual behavior.

So if any of you guys out there are into dominance, rough-play and bondage, check these three girls out. If you want their mobile numbers... it will cost you (please email me privately).

"See? No marks... and the cane didn't even cut through our thongs!"

Malaysian women say caning ‘good’ for them

KUALA LUMPUR, Feb 19 — Three Malaysians who became the first women to be caned under the country's Islamic laws said they "deserved" their punishment and that it would help stem sex outside marriage.

The three women were caned for having sex out of wedlock in a move that has angered human rights activists and some lawyers who say the punishments are illegal in this mainly Muslim country that runs parallel civil and Islamic justice systems.

"I deeply regret my actions as I should have married before having sex," the New Straits Times newspaper quoted one of the women who it said was aged 17, as saying in its Friday edition.

The newspaper did not reveal the women's real names and a picture showed the three clad in traditional Malaysian dress and headscarves seated before reporters.

The 17-year old said that she had become pregnant and gone into labour while at school, losing the baby, and then had turned herself in to the authorities last December.

A second woman said she had to support her family after her father left home and she had a three-year-old daughter out of wedlock. She said that she too turned herself in due to feelings of guilt.

All three women were caned on February 9 and the punishments were announced by Home Minister Datuk Seri Hishammuddin Hussein (right) on Wednesday.

Hishammuddin said they were "carried out perfectly."

The punishment of six strokes of the rattan is carried out while the women are fully clothed and while they are seated. The person administering the punishment is not allowed to raise their arm above shoulder level.

"Even though the caning did not injure them, the three women said it caused pain within their souls," Hishammuddin said.

[First posted 19 February 2010]

Thursday, February 8, 2024


That’s what the Munchkins gleefully sang in the wee hours of May 10th, when it became apparent that Barisan Nasional had finally been voted out after 61 years. As we celebrate Merdeka three months and three weeks from the epic and euphoric Great Reset of 2018, let’s grab a drone’s eyeview of what grand promise regime change may hold for the nation in general and the Arts in particular.

For a start the fraudulent toad of financial excess has been forced from its comfort zone - the odious tempurung of identity politics, founded on false notions of tribal supremacy and monoculturalism. Bare their reactionary fangs and beat their atavistic breasts all they will, they can’t turn back the quantum wave of evolutionary change that swept them off the ramparts of their crumbling fortress. The sheer energy and exuberance of millennials who proudly posted pics of blackened fingers on election day, combined with the tenacity and passion of elders who never lost their youthful idealism, will ensure that things will generally improve rather than worsen (although not as swiftly we’d like).

Now, the essential difference between practitioners of Commerce and the Arts is that while the unrepentant entrepreneur compulsively seeks to privatize what’s public (for instance, fencing up a forest, installing a turnstile, and selling tickets to the waterfall), the true artist feels obliged to transmute private experiences and insights into public displays or performances (turning a painful romantic breakup into a catchy folk ballad, or some childhood nightmare into a blockbuster horror movie).

The sneaky and destructive urge to exploit, control, anesthetize and enslave is shared by the bureaucrat, corporatocrat, technocrat, aristocrat and plutocrat; while the inherently creative artistic impulse seeks to excite, awaken, enlighten and liberate. We can gauge the maturity, sanity, vitality and wisdom of a nation by the value it places on the future-shaping dynamic of cultural and spiritual ferment generated by its arts practitioners and sociocultural visionaries.

As a rejuvenated nation (and who doesn’t feel young seeing an acerbic but grandfatherly nonagenarian reinstated as prime minister?) celebrating its hard-won freedom from the mental shackles of a murky feudal past, Malaysia would do well to encourage and nurture creativity and innovation in all its diverse forms - even if fresh ideas and a revitalized national narrative may horrify a few stick-in-the-mud Keepers of Outmoded Tradition.

Only an inept and timid fool would drive into an unknown future with eyes glued to the rearview mirror of a dysfunctional past. So let’s look forward in confidence, calm and clearheaded, and trust in the innate decency, creativity, resourcefulness and wisdom of all Malaysians.

Failure to seize the moment and ride the momentum of metamorphosis will lead to cultural paralysis, intellectual stagnation and political disintegration. If we wish to witness a reverse brain-drain and a resurgence of true patriotism expressed creatively, then we would do well to embrace the enthusiasm, optimism and positivity of a Dorothy Gale, whose close encounter with the dreaded Wizard of Oz ends happily with his being exposed as merely a bogus god, fearfully hiding behind expensive machinery and massive propaganda.

[Originally published in The Edge Merdeka Supplement, 31 August 2018, reposted 5 October 2018]

Wednesday, February 7, 2024

Absolutely fascinating... the behavior of a hecatonicosachoron in 4D/3D space! (reprise)

[Source: American KabukiA CELESTIAL MYSTERY SOLVED ~ The Secret to an Unknown Human Power by GW Hardin]

 Hecatonicosachoron rotating in 3 Dimensions
Hecatonicosachoron inner cell rotation in 3 dimensions

[First posted 19 April 2013, reposted 11 Febriary 2019]

Monday, February 5, 2024

One easy way to work a miraculous transformation in Malaysia... (reprise)

Institutionalized idolatry... or what? I can understand some folks hanging portraits of their dead ancestors on the wall to honor their memories.

Teenagers tend to adorn their bedroom walls with posters of their current idols - usually chart-topping popstars or icons of the silver screen.

College students generally prefer to decorate their dorm rooms with images of their ideological or athletic heroes.

Bachelors tend to worship buxom bombshells like Playmates of the Month or Bollywood sirens.

So why do some folks hang up formal portraits of royalty? Well, I can sort of understand if they are impressed by figures of authority dressed in ceremonial costumes.

But why put up official portraits of public servants? I mean, unless your maid is as hot looking as Robengah, why would you hang her picture on your living room wall?

Perhaps there are a few kinky people who have a collection of infamous criminals' images on their wall - notorious characters like Jack the Ripper or Jeffrey Dahmer (the serial killer and cannibal) or Dick Cheney or even Pol Pot.

But why Najib? He may be involved up to his eyebrows in the cold-blooded murder of a Mongolian woman he never met... but nothing has been established in court... not yet.

So why accord him such a place of honor on your wall? Wouldn't that only serve to bolster his puffed-up ego and make him believe that 69% of the population actually adores him?

If you wish to do something really positive for your nation, people, take down all those ridiculous portraits of the crime minister... and chuck them in the trashcan.

Believe me, everything will improve overnight in this benighted land!

[First posted 4 January 2011]

Saturday, February 3, 2024

The Power & Value of Feedback... (repost)

Since I began blogging in December 2006 I've been dipping into other blogs and leaving the occasional comment. Yup, I believe in the Golden Rule. All bloggers love comments. It shows people are reading your output and responding to it. It's also a sneaky way to lure random visitors to your own blog.

One night, I stumbled upon a comment I'd left ages ago on someone's blog... and I was struck by the fact that I had almost completely forgotten what I said. Most times the comments are written on the spur of the moment, scanned for typos, and then published. And that's that. Anyway, I felt prompted to trace a few comments I had scattered here and there along the way, like some digital age Johnny Appleseed, and archive them. Re-reading them after weeks or even months had passed, I found many worth sharing (even if I say so myself!) Why not compile some of the more interesting ones into a blogpost? Why not indeed!

A friend ruminating on Death and Taxes in his blogpost:

This was my comment:

Unsubscribing from the 3D illusion of Decay, Debt and Death.

There are moments when I can happily contemplate living forever... and times when I would be quite happy to die immediately! In either case, the trick is to nullify the grimness and gravity of the grave - to laugh in the face of the unknown - we really don't have much choice. The alternative is to wallow in melancholy and moroseness and to see Life itself as a curse rather than a blessing. As a kid I occasionally allowed my thoughts to stray towards the inevitability of someday witnessing my parents' deaths - and I'd shudder at the horrible notion of never seeing Mum or Dad again.

Ironically, after watching my mother endure five years of dialysis and being subject to other medical ignominies (with a meter running all the while which eventually enriched the medical profession by at least a quarter million ringgit - that's right, folks, not only do you pay death duties, you also get heavily taxed as you're dying) I found myself encouraging her to let go, to allow the currents to take her from the pain and suffering of her bodily existence... I found myself promising her that she would be safe and well protected on the other side of the veil... and, thinking about it, I have served as Angel of Death for quite a number of people over the years!

Often, all one requires is a little reassurance that all of it has been just a colorful drama, a fabulous movie indeed, but the REAL LIFE awaits outside the theater. Indeed, it's like a show within a show within a show (or a trial within a trial :-)... What's evident is that when the Book Religions displaced Ancient Wisdom, they deprived humanity of any in-depth understanding of all the different dimensions in which Consciousness dwells - the only recent cultures that paid any attention at all to the scientific study of Death being the Egyptian and Tibetan; so it is to them that we must turn for some guidance to the realms that reside just beyond the EXIT.


You live in a hologram designed to harvest your vital energy to fuel a machine of destruction and enslavement. However, every atom that exists is a fractal of the entire universe and is supercharged with infinite potential and cosmic intelligence. The part of you that is immortal and indestructible (your Godself or Paramatman) is constantly attempting to wake you up from the robotic trance most humans are born into. Heed these signs. They are clues that will ultimately lead you out of the labyrinth and into true freedom. Good luck on your vision quest!

"I hope something comes out of 2012 or we'll have to wait till 2112."

You know, most of us are passive consumers of reality - shit happens and we bitch about it. Then one day a light bulb flashes on above our heads and we experience a eureka moment - like Pythagoras who exclaimed: "Astonishing! EVERYTHING IS INTELLIGENT!!!"

What that presumably meant was that he suddenly became conscious of the primordial consciousness permeating the quantum space-time within sub-atomic dimensions - more poetically expressed by the mystical knowing that the Divine Dwells Within Our Innermost Core. In effect, we are creators with a small 'C' who will eventually graduate to being Creators with a big 'C'- and then there will be nobody to blame when shit happens because it's only our own shit!


The first fictional being that pops unbidden to mind who has exerted the greatest influence on me, I must confess, is Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan/Lord Greystoke. Indeed, I often think I've modeled my own life after the Lord of the Jungle who, amazingly, is also Lord of the Manor.

A close second might be Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes - but, much as I enjoy the occasional bit of sleuthing, I found Holmes's misogynist Old Boy ways (hanging out the whole time with his sidekick Watson) rather off-putting. Same goes for Henry Higgins. Seems to me that our "education system" has done a thoroughly fine job of dumbing down children born in the late 1970s (that's right, when Dr M was education minister) But, alas, the same can be said about Britain - I meet some dazzlingly ignorant young people from there.

Postscript: After 50 years of serious probing and research I have been forced to the inevitable conclusion that a character I profoundly admired (from the New Testament, no less) and who exerted extraordinary influence on my own character development - is not only fictitious but an intentionally manufactured icon inserted into the collective psyche by pioneers of mass mind control. That's right, folks, I'm referring to the world's most successful fictional character, Yeshu Ben Joseph aka Jesus the Christ :-)


Political systems on this planet are essentially a facade for old-style warlordism - wherein the baboon with the longest fangs and loudest roar (and who controls a large army of samseng,* uniformed or otherwise) invariably ends up being Boss Baboon.

In effect, Might-Is-Always-Right (as the UK/US-Israeli Gang have clearly demonstrated in recent days). Same applies to the Baboon Nazional party who have had such a long run ruining the country it's very hard for them to contemplate giving up their power to anybody now or anytime.

The ones largely responsible for propping them up are the comfortable, well-educated middle-classes whose obsession with financial success turns them into potential Ananda Krishnans, Vincent Tans, and Patrick Lims (got enough money can buy the garmen wat?). BN's prime appeal is to the lowest common denominator of primeval self-interest. Donkair de udder flers, aku cukup makan sudahlah!**


The phenomenal world is like a magic lantern show of moving images that ceaselessly change and distract from the ONLY authentic task at hand: clearing our neural and emotional circuitry so that we can individually emerge from our cocoons of illusory powerlessness and victimhood. As each of us achieves Buddhahood and other degrees of spiritual maturity, the historical nightmare on this beautiful planet will abruptly end.

Bloggers (and most humans for that matter) are like gossips. Always a new sensation to obliterate yesterday’s scandal. Another day, another disaster… and for businessmen, it’s always busyness-as-usual… until the first heart attack or stroke.


The Battle at Wounded Knee, Malaysian style. Goreng pisang seller. How totally appropriate! It just wasn’t this guy’s day. But they say “Bapak borek, anak rintik” (Like Father, Like Son) - and who’s the “Bapak” of the Polis Di Raja Malaysia? Isn’t it the Home Minister? Is he at Home??? If you get mauled by a vicious dog, you find out who the owner is and file a suit.

Your ANALysis reveals a loose sphincter, Mat Salleh

It may once have been fashionable, indeed de rigueur in journalistic circles, to sound worldly-wise and cynical, Mat Salleh, but your busyness-as-usual mindset has become part of the problem, not part of the solution.

Are you too old to have ideals? Must you reduce everything in life to the Bottom Line by viewing the world through that primly puckered aperture in your nether regions? Do you truly believe you can get away with pretending to be "objective" in an observer-created universe? What comes across in your opinion piece is that you subscribe to a belief in politics-as-usual, failing to see the significance of such a massive turnout for the 10 November march.

And, in this instance, what's genuinely important isn't the expected Umno infighting - or the rulers' sophisticated mummery - it's the fact that so many Malaysians from across the racial and social spectrum overcame their own fear and inertia to show the BN that they will no longer be intimidated by the police nor will they be placated by pious platitudes and empty promises of clean and efficient government.

Without the police roadblocks and the turning away of dozens of buses at the outskirts of KL, the crowd on Saturday may well have exceeded 100,000 - and that's a REAL phenomenon when you consider the climate of fear Malaysians have lived under for 20 years. I'm so glad I was there to witness so many Malaysians break free of the shackles of their own fear. And FEAR is the only power any oppressive government can wield over people - the power to terrorize and paralyze them via the mass media. You are doing us all a gross injustice by belittling this simple act of bravery consciously undertaken by at least 50,000 Malaysians.

*samseng = hooligan, thug
**Donkair de udder flers, aku cukup makan sudahlah! = Après moi le déluge!

[First published on 24 November 2007, reposted 2 September 2013 & 12 January 2019]