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

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 theater; 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, reposted 23 August 2020]

"How Sexually Confident Are You?" (flashback & repost!)

[Sometime ago, in the early years of the 21st century, a popular women's magazine sent me a questionnaire on sexual confidence. I kept my responses in my personal folder and just stumbled on this fascinating document, which I'm reposting purely for entertainment purposes.]

The Marie Claire Interview: "How Sexually Confident Are You?"

1. On a scale of one to 10, how sexually confident are you?

When I was 15, maybe about 7... between 30-45, possibly 10... after 51, maybe about 7.

2. How would you describe yourself? Your personality etc.

Approachable. Friendly. Honest. Romantic. Affectionate. Abductable?

3. How do you view your body and sex?

No hunk like the muscle-bound species some girls drool over (who often turn out to be gay) - but appealing enough that I'd go out with myself if I were a woman. How do I view sex? Very favorably indeed! Seriously, sex is a very powerful key to holistic consciousness. Which is why it has been deliberately made a taboo subject, so people will be more easily controlled through guilt, fear, and frustration. In a sexually unrepressed community, folks would laugh wannabe dictators out of town.

4. Do you flirt? What's your come-on move like?

All the time. Don't have any (and even if I did, you think I'd tell and spoil it all?)


5. If you're outgoing, would you say you're confident sexually too? If you're shy, would you say that is the same when it comes to bedroom manners too?

I'm generally outgoing. As for sexual confidence: what you really wanna know is how long and strong my schlong is, admit it! (Haven't a clue what else you might mean by "sexual confidence.")

6. What would you do to make yourself more confident?
Overconfidence isn't very sociable and it ruins the economy.

7. Do you dress the way you feel?

Of course. Okay, that's not entirely true. I really don't care too much for clothes, the climate here doesn't support anything beyond sarongs. But I've yet to show up at the theater clad only in a sarong (besides, most auditoriums are way too cold).

8. How do others view you?

With great affection and profound admiration... I hope!


9. Is it important for you to be sexually confident?

Unfortunately, yes. Despite all protestations to the contrary, men generally think with their dicks. I'm perhaps one of the more genteel ones who thinks with his Richard.

10. Your name, age and occupation please!

Antares... I stopped aging at 52 (but am officially retired)... I'm a phase modulator for planetary shifts and galactic alignments. I also maintain an eclectic website at www.magickriver.net and a blog at www.magickriver.org.

[First posted 2 December 2006, reposted 31 July 2018]

Selected Poems of Arlen Riley Wilson (wife of Robert Anton Wilson)

ARLEN RILEY WILSON (16 July 1925 - 22 May 1999)

HOLISTIC REMEDY

This is the world that man made.
These are the ills that plagued
The world that man made.
This is the doctor prescribing the pills
That treated the ills that plagued
The world that man made.
These are the plants and labs and mills
That manufactured all the pills the doctor
Gave to treat the ills that plagued
The world that man made.
This is the banker with tellers and tills
That backed the plants and labs and mills
That manufactured all the pills the doctor
Gave to treat the ills that plagued
The world that man made.
This is the general with trumpets and trills
Who made the war that saved the bank that
Backed the plants that manufactured all the pills
The doctor gave to treat the ills that plagued
The world that man made.
Here is the mother all forlorn
Whose one and only child was born
To die in the war the general made to save
The bank that backed the plants that made
The pills the doctor gave to treat the ills
That plagued the world that man made.
This is the angel that blew his horn
To comfort the mother all forlorn
And fired the general and closed the banks
And shut the mills and scattered the pills,
Retired the doctor and cured the ills
And ended the world that man made.

Our Lady of Outer Space

Reach down for the sun, reach down
for the stars, reach deeper for the secret
places of the body of her the stars adorn.
You are lost and found in her embrace.
There is nowhere else for you to fall and
no escaping from her love for she is
black and pulsating source, her
million twinkling nipples nurse
all life, her jeweled ardent
body twines around you
always and there is
no place to go
but home
to her

SAVE YOUR BREATH

Don't budget deficit me you old men with eyeglasses and no lips
who say we can't afford to house the houseless or to heal the sick.
Don't fiscal responsibility me you devourers of the fat of the land
may it clog your devious up-for-election arteries.
Don't balance of trade me you horny-handed peddlars of shoddy shares
in finger-crossed bonanzas based on non-existent enterprise.
Don't national security me you who make deals behind our backs
under cover of law-proof dark.
Don't family-values me you who force apart man woman and child
in the interest of an ever-grosser national product.
Don't state of the union me you unctuous apologists for quotidian horror
may you choke on your aw-shucks-just-plain-old-me charisma.
Don't pay your speech-writers one more cent on my account
or your column writers or The News Tonighters.
Epoxy in my ears before I hear another word.

HAIKU
1999


This is the end

of the tunnel

and guess what

there is

a little

light


[First posted 10 July 2009, reposted 25 August 2017]

15Malaysia: 'ONE FUTURE' by Tan Chui Mui

This stark film by Tan Chui Mui starring Tian Chua and Ida Nerina is my personal favorite of this week's crop of short features presented by the exciting 15Malaysia project. In exactly 4 minutes and 44 seconds, Tan Chui Mui successfully conjures a hyperrealist nightmare vision of a conformist dystopia.

Tian Chua is absolutely convincing as The Man, while Ida Nerina is provocatively enigmatic as The Agent. Pete Teo's narration is crisp and tight and crucial to the dramatic flow.

Principal Cast
Tian Chua, Ida Nerina, Pete Teo (Narrator)

Supporting Cast
Cynthia Gabriel, Azman Hassan, Low Wai Sun, Oon Lai Keat, Lam Pooi Leng, Charlotte Lim, Diana Fernando, Sumining, Melissa Fernando, Noreen Joseph, Lee Kai Yin, Syed Harun, Muhammad Nazmi, Nikki Tok, Nor Aliya, John Teti, Albert Law, Christine Teti, Scott Issaac, Lee Ming Jun, Lee Yee Ling

Executive Producer: Packet One Networks
Producer: Pete Teo
Director: Tan Chui Mui
DOP: Tan Chui Mui
Editor: Tan Chui Mui
Music: Ng Chor Guan
Post Audio: The Ark Studios
Translation: Copyleft Studio

[First posted 3 September 2009]