Dreamless nights

My eyes are open in my head

the light visible through my eyelids 

another dreamless night 

falling asleep only to 

wake  

no Freudian slips

no heroic adventures

no fearing your own incompetence

no crying for help

no smiling for her

no summer breeze on a winters day

the passing of time so 

invisible 

when I dream I can touch it

grab it 

make it

mine 

i close my eyes and i

awake

and it terrifies me

that’s right

it terrifies me 

Openness

Outside, the rain screams at the windowpane and the worn, thin curtains move lightly from the howling wind. Thomas feels the draft, waking him from his day dreaming. He rubs his face harshly with both hands and walks over to the window checking to see if it’s fully shut: it is. Looking outside, Thomas catches his reflection first: his eyes tired, his face expressionless. He looks beyond the pale, ghostly reflection and sees the empty land covered in a grey mist. On a clear dry day you could see the solid oak trees in the near distance, and the gentle rolling hills further behind them. Thomas always felt the oak trees acted like a row of giant guards, watching over him, protecting his solitude. Today those guards were no longer visible; the grey mist created a feeling of vastness and openness, as if the land went on for an eternity. Thomas shivered. He imagined the oak trees as where they should be, looking for any visible shape. Nothing. He suddenly felt vulnerable and visible. His knees began to grow weak, he could feel the sweat prickling on his hairline and his back felt like it was made of wool. Thomas shut the curtains and went back to his chair. Distracting himself, he sparks a match and lights up a crumbled cigarette. Closing his eyes while inhaling, the daylight still visible through his eye lids and the sound of the rain slapping the window, two random unrelated images come to mind: an open gate and a pink elephant. “AARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!”, the noise is deafening, the chair crashes back, Smoke fills the room: Thomas’s ass is on fire for the third time this week and the pink elephant laughs while closing the gate.

END

Nostalgia

Looking back at it

all

the air seemed 

fresher

the night sky

bolder

drops of water from the tap 

rhythmically kiss the sink

I sleep

the flame danced without 

self-consciousness 

the laughter was loud and

important

the tears felt real and the man smiled wide

the moon was heaven and closer

the ticking of the clock was slow and

quiet.

Jalan Petaling

Personally speaking, this is my magnum opus of photographs from Kuala Lumpur. I snapped it late one night from my hotel room on my third week of staying there. I’d probably spent hours just people watching from that window ledge.

   From around 7am until 12 am , seven days a week, Jalan Petaling is the busiest street in Chinatown, KL. For me, though, it gets interesting after midnight. The tourists head back and the locals pack up their working lives for a handful of hours. In about an hours time, after this photo was taken, the workers would hang out at the smaller restaurants below that were previously packed with people; they’d eat massive meals, drink a fair amount of beer, chain smoke and talk loudly. You’d see/meet some real characters on that stretch. So much so, that grabbing a beer at 3am (or an insomniac’s milkshake) at the 7-Eleven across the road was an adventure in its own right. By 4 am the street is being violently swept clean by an army of binmen and before daylight breaks the morning shift workers are back with their stalls. The decibels only go up from then.    

   It was nearing the start of the monsoon season when I arrived in KL and most days there’d be the obligatory heavy rain on and off. I’d be walking down street some days and all of a sudden umbrellas would be going up at lightning speed, tables would be taken in, food covered and the younger locals, the ones who took more than pride in their appearance, would wear shopping bags as shower caps on their heads. Two minutes later after all this commotion it would piss it down. It was pretty impressive to watch. 

 The fluorescent lights in the center of the photograph, although overpowering what with everything else being quite dark, provides a visual tease; the beauty of it is you can’t see anything that the lights are intended for. The fluorescent lights also make the rest of the surrounding seem even more aphotic than they perhaps actually are- the few lanterns that are on seem to look like they’re almost dimming, with the umbrellas, surprisingly, providing that much needed splash of colour that you’d normally expect to see during day light hours in vibrant Chinatown.

You’ve also got this sturdy steel infrastructure above that holds a massive, fragmented, green transparent roof which, unfortunately, you’re unable to see from this angle. This roof of course provides some rain protection but also allows decoration, such as the previously mentioned Chinese lanterns you see. The idea that this steel structure is a solid and (built for) permanent part of the street, whereas the soul of Jalan Petaling are the flimsy, movable stalls, its workers and punters, is made more obvious by the emptiness that’s starting to creep in at that time of night. There’s also the contrast with this infrastructure and the buildings in the background, that on closer inspection, are pretty much falling apart. Not all of the buildings on the street are like this, but these one showed their bones.

   Like I said before, Jalan Petaling is normally bustling at most hours, but this was taken probably at its quietest; that part where most of the tourists have left and the workers are waiting it out. There’s a stillness that’s amplified by the thinning crowd and the wet, deserted concrete. The unremarkable setting the tone for a change.     

Love for Singapore

I hadn’t done much research on  Singapore  when I arrived by night train from  Kula Lumpur . I had some rough knowledge of her past; the colonisation by the Portuguese and British, the Battle of Singapore and the joining of Malaysia in 1963 only to gain full independence three years later. I was also randomly aware of their global status in water technology. I was getting thirsty. After dropping my shit off at the hostel and three strong yet super sweet condensed milk coffees, called kopi, I decided to explore.

   Okay, so I don’t know anything about  Singapore’s  main attractions apart from that rogue Merlion. I’m walking for about 20 minutes in one random direction after getting off at the City Hall MRT. I look up and BOOM! What the fuck is that?! It looks like a ship has fallen on three separate buildings. It looks like a Ridley Scott inspired alien fucking invasion. Am I on a film set? Is this real life?? It’s surreal. I’ve got the stupidest grin on my face and I’m aware the locals have seen this face before. I love legitimate surprises. This I guess was the moment I fell in love with  Singapore .

   When I was in  Kuala Lumpur  I bumped into this American girl who taught English at the same institution.

“I’m heading to  Singapore  in a few days”, I said, eventually.

“Visa run?”

“Ha! Yeah…” (It wasn’t)

“Well, good luck!”

“Ha! How’d you mean?”

“Oh I don’t know. I had the worst time in  Singapore ; it’s so expensive! I spent like $200 in two days and it’s just you know…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah I guess it’s just not very ‘Asian’, you know? It feels like any other western city.”

It feels like any other western city. That sentence made me vomit in my brain. But I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t been yet. I was consciously ignorant.

Now I get the whole, I want a different experience from home. I want to see cultural marvels and immerse myself in new histories. I think a lot of the reason why we go travelling, given the opportunity, is to leave our comfort zones in a bid to understand not just the world a little bit better but ourselves. I GET THAT. But saying  Singapore  was not ‘Asian’ enough pissed me right off. By simple implying that  Singapore  is too western is saying that any successful country in a bid to truly elevate its position in the world has to turn its back on its roots and conquer capitalism. Now, capitalism isn’t a saintly economic system by any means, it just so happens it’s the best there is. So is any Asian country that benefits and develops due to capitalism simply a doppelganger of western countries? What about China with its communist state? It’s created domestic economic growth yet China’s succeeding and expanding global domination is supported by capitalistic principles. You wouldn’t rock up to  Beijing  and deem it to ‘western’, or at the very least, say it’s not ‘Asian’ enough because you saw a Starbucks and umpteen skyscrapers.

    Okay,  Singapore  is organised. The MRT/LRT line is probably the most efficient in the world and there’s a public litter/recycling bin every so many steps. Stubbing out the odd cigarette on a guilt-free conscience wasn’t a mission here and of course, you can’t purchase gum.

 I remember arriving from KL and feeling 100% weird when I was in the heart of the city. Was it the no-sleep-sleeper train? Or was it the strange realization that I don’t have to concentrate on not being killed when crossing the road? Is this what apparently makes it less ‘Asian’, pedestrian power? Or is it the fact that pretty much everyone speaks/knows English? Surely there’s nothing wrong with wanting a nation of bilinguals, most likely trilingual.

   I think if you truly explore  Singapore , you realise that it’s most definitely got its grit. Head over to Little India and you’re immersed in fragrant yet musky incense smoke, vibrant colours of Indian Gods and surrounded by some of the best Indian food you’ll ever indulge in. It’s cheap as well: maybe not as dirt cheap as other South Asian countries, but cheap comparable to western prices for sure. Ahem.

More grit you say?  Chinatown  is poetic in its lay out. It doesn’t just jump out and slap you like other cities, it eases you in. It builds and builds and builds like a great symphony until your surrounded by little treasures and your ass is surprisingly comfy on a plastic chair, drinking an ice cold Tiger beer and pointing to a dish that’s just as confusing as anywhere else in Asia.

Or Arab street with its middle-eastern gastronomic delights, Islamic architecture and narrow alleyways hidden by hookah smoke.  

  Okay, so for Cinemas, Imax screens, nightclubs, zoos, restaurants, hotels and shopping centres some would say you’ll feel at home, and yeah that’s true if you’re from the west. You’re talking comparable to NYC, London and any other big western cities; the crème de la crème.

Culture wise, yeah,  Singapore  is no  Siem Reap ,  Hoi An  or  Penang . But its own culture is a reflection of its immigrant history, years of rule and melting pot society. 

 “It feels like any other western city.” Well no, actually.  Singapore  is like any city, a lot of things: Office workers, market workers, big shots, old, young, Chinese, Indian, Malay, White, skyscrapers, colonial buildings, cable cars, art, food, noise, calm, dynamic, developed, photogenic, plain, dramatic, urban, and definitely, Asian.

Venus

The air is crisp and cold and

quiet

far ahead I see Venus burning

bright

I keep walking

following her path

eyes locked, the dark sky magnifies her

Venus

I’ll never reach her but I’m content with that

I’d rather keep moving knowing

I’ll never make it 

what would you do if you did?

turn around and walk back? 

bone palace ballet by Charles Bukowski

as many interpretations of
Mozart’s “Mass in C”
as fleas upon my favorite cat,
or as many garbagemen of verse
in a world full of flamingos.

this
tired
life
this dusty dream,
these April nights,
this thunder in a paper cup,
all the old ladies
alone in rooms
working crossword puzzles,
the dead dogs of forever
crushed with
lolling tongues,
the parched innards of
mountains
aching to
scream,
what is this grueling
nonsense?

is it
the worm crawling toward
no paradise?
the scissors in a closed
drawer?
young girls giggling and
lost in their flesh?
the night and then the
day or
the day and then the
night?
the hammer?
the saw?

the mirror which swings
open?

and what about
the dark streets of Dublin?
the last page of the book?
the green park bench alone?
the last necktie?
the last footstep
behind you?

this incomplete sob of darkness.
a wingless bird waiting.
a druid in the wasted light.
a drunk in the gutter.
the singing of fools
and the volcano laughing.