Friday, August 28, 2020

Drunvalo Melchizedek & The Maya of Eternal Time (14-part web broadcast)

Drunvalo Melchizedek introduces Don Alejandro Cirilo Perez and the Mayan Council of Elders who have a cogent and powerful message for the modern world. This easy-to-follow web broadcast in 14 parts was kindly brought to my attention by my starbrother Heiko Niedermeyer. Bookmark this and view the entire series at your own leisure - but do it soon!

Proceed to Part 2 on YouTube where you may view the rest without interruption.

Thursday, August 27, 2020


Dear God or Whatever You Prefer To Be Called These Days:

I'm not in the habit of publicizing my private thoughts,
But times are such that habits must be broken.
And so I will utter my innermost feelings
In the form of words,
Even though I know
That words are what imprison us
In mindsets of No Escape.

For I remain steadfast in my belief
That words spoken from the heart
Have the power to free us from
The evil clutches of political expediency.

It saddens me to see such beautiful, graceful beings
Caught in the deceit of cosmetic piety,
Enslaved by the ugly dictum - "Money Talks!"
Enfeebled by the lame excuse - "What to do?"
Disempowered by the abject fear of False Authority,
And disenfranchised from their own glorious destinies.

Grant unto us the clarity and wisdom
To understand that we have no grander gift
To bestow on our children than the freedom
To speak their heart's truth
Without fear of punishment.

Grant unto us the courage and the fortitude
To truly embody the lofty ideals we hold so dear;
Let us not falter in our inner struggle
To throw off the mental shackles of Greed and Fear,
For those are the twin towers of Tyranny.

Grant unto us a Vision of the Real.
Let us not be misled by cunning projections
From the debased minds of "economic experts"
Who advise us not to "rock the boat" of Status Quo;
And whose dire warnings are couched in grave tones of
"Security and Stability."

Is the key to the Divine Sanctum of the Self!

And since each Nation is but a collectivity of Selves,
My greatest duty to the land I love
Is to always seek to be true to myself;
And my true self tells me:
Bear not the yoke of feudal despots
A moment longer than you need.
There's room and board enough for everyone,
Once you cast the Vampires of Vitality
From their vacuous palaces erected by the sweaty toil
Of half-wit slaves, who know not half their worth.

This beautiful, gracious land is YOURS -
Not THEIRS! (Well, it COULD be theirs too,
If they'd only see themselves as YOU).
The Reality of Heaven on Earth will soon be here,
And to that we are ALL heirs.

24 October 1998

[First published 26 August 2008. Cartoons courtesy of LAT. Reposted 3 July 2011 & 29 October 2015]

Sunday, August 23, 2020

For Feroz, my free-flowing feral friend who loved felines...

Feroz Faisal Merican @ Feroz Dawson (17 February 1966~12 August 2012)

On August 4th I found out that Feroz Dawson was in hospital. Apparently he had been admitted to University Hospital a couple of weeks earlier, after his mother (my old friend Faridah Merican) found him unconscious at home.

I hadn't seen Feroz for many months, but he took delight in trolling his friends on facebook. More than once, I had been amused by Feroz's habit of saying rude things to people he didn't even know. The young man had a big chip on his shoulder, that's for sure. Pretty much the same chip his old man, Leslie Dawson, had carried around for years.

Leslie Dawson and Faridah Merican were married in the mid-1960s and Feroz was their genetic legacy. When Feroz was 3 his parents split up. Imagine growing up as the offspring of Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. Both parents were exceptional actors, utterly passionate about theatre; and both had been radio personalities. 

I got involved with local theater in 1976 and two years later found myself acting alongside Faridah Merican in an epic production titled The Battles of Coxinga (originally a puppet play by Chikamatsu, translated into English by Donald Keene). Early rehearsals were held at Faridah's spacious home in Petaling Jaya - and it was there that I was introduced to the 12-year-old Feroz.

In 1990 I had the great honor and privilege of sharing the stage with Feroz's legendary father, Leslie Dawson, when we did a 3-man one-acter by Israel Horovitz called The Indian Wants The Bronx, directed by Joe Hasham (who married Faridah Merican and inaugurated The Actors' Studio in 1989). Leslie turned in an absolutely unforgettable performance in a role that had hardly any speaking lines. Little did any of us know at the time, it would be Leslie Dawson's theatrical swan song.

Fast-forward to 1993 or thereabouts and meeting Feroz again as an aspiring writer, returned from studying in the U.S. (where he married a young lady from the Midwest whom he greatly adored, even though it turns out they had little in common). Feroz shows me a few of his short stories and I'm impressed by his acerbic, shoot-from-the-hip style. His head is full of ideas for screenplays. However, he finds himself recruited into the advertising world as an apprentice director, and subsequently gets assigned to a production house in Jakarta. 

"I don't like the fact that most Malaysian writers are journalists, lecturers and lawyers. For our literature to be vibrant we need criminals, maladjusted youngsters and psychotic housewives to write fiction. Then we'll raise some eyebrows." ~ Feroz Dawson

In his princely domain with a "French bulldog" (posted a week before his 46th birthday). 
Is there a difference between French and British bulldogs, a friend asked; 
and Feroz's response was: "Yes, the French complain more."
Truth be told, I didn't have much contact with Feroz, although we had lots of mutual friends. Like his father before him, Feroz sought his spiritual highs out of a bottle. There was always a feral, rebellious streak in him that inclined him towards a species of sardonic existentialism. He also relished the shock effect he had on the sensitivities of those easily offended, especially when it came to social taboos and religious dogma. He made an artform out of raising eyebrows and rocking the boat. In short, Feroz was well equipped to be a literary and cinematic enfant terrible.

"Finally the lovers get what they want, a dead husband, life insurance, all the property he owned, assets, bonds and cars, and the two girls escape to Mexico, one step ahead of the law. With no paw prints..." (caption for one of Feroz's famous feline portraits posted on facebook)

Call him maladjusted, a social misfit, a professional delinquent - a larger-than-life personality like Feroz Dawson is rarely appreciated or acknowledged for his talents and unique perspectives until he's no longer among us.

The last time I saw Feroz was on August 7th, in ward 12 of University Hospital, where I found him bound to the bed to stop him ripping out the feeding tube stuck down one nostril. His eyeballs were yellow - a sure sign of jaundice caused by liver malfunction - and he was startlingly bloated. But his life force was vigorous and I figured he stood a fighting chance of recovery. I think he recognized me, because he kept attempting to speak, though his words were barely coherent. I told him he was dearly loved by many, especially his mum, and he instantly calmed down. "It's really up to you," I said to him. "Sure, it will take some time to get back in shape, but it's worth the effort. Do stick around a while longer, please. At least get your collection of stories published first!"

"The husband, lonely and hungry for Whiskas Tuna and Sardine biscuits..." (from Feroz's facebook album)
Well, it looks like his stories will be posthumously published - and the rest of us will be reminded, once again, how easy it is to overlook thwarted genius while it's alive and kicking.

[First posted 12 August 2012]