sleepless in kuantan

Its 130am in Kuantan. Papa is in Kuatan again, twice in 48 hours. Papa can't sleep coz his paperwork is not finished.....Cant think...tired...So lets post a photo or two.

Papa was at Sg Lembing the other day, this is the view leaving the main mine site in Sg Lembing.












This is the view looking in towards the wagon track leading out of the mine shaft. Its DARK....and CREEPY. Papa has marked a ed arrow to show roughly the location of the exit/entrance to the railway. Which by the way is locked. (whether to keep people out or things in.....well, imagination runs riot in the wee small hours of the morning...)

Papa might go in one day soon just to look around. 300 plus kilometers of tunnels, down to 2100feet deep. Bottom 2000 feet flooded....

The state government tried to keep the water out after the mining company PCCL closed down. Pumped and punped for two years at the cost of 2million Ringgit a year. But the water rose and claimed everything for its own in the mine. Sort of an extreme "dark Water" scenario.

twilight of a town

Papa was outstation yesterday, looking at the remnants of a town, Sungai Lembing.

Once called the El Dorado of the East, this little town is practically in its bardo, where time seems to have stopped. This town was built on tin, mainly by the Pahang Consolidated Company Ltd which operated a concession just a stone throw away, on the hill overlooking it.

Anyway Papa was in a small coffee shop in town , looking for the former tin miners who used to work in the mine shafts. No luck that day, a lot of these miners have moved on, either to a better world , or closer home, to bigger towns, ie Kuantan etc.

Seems there are only three coffee shops and a barber shop around. Papa was on the corner of the main street, hardly anyone about.



Contrary to popular belief, the town is not named after the malay spear "lembing". It is a bastardised version of the name Lim. As in "I'm going to see" "Lim Beng"....

















gunfighter off market street

summer opera soprano

Papa just realised . Summer is an opera singer.

OK that was a bit devious and misleading. There is a British soprano named Summer Watson. So, she shares your name. Doesn't look like you at all . (On the other hand if she looks like a 4 year old, that would stretch reality).
Currently I believe she has only one album out. Papa likes her voice although she cannot reach for the high notes and even though she is not dramatic enough for Papa's tastes. (then again, no one can be as dramatic as your Mama....)

Papa will play Nella Fantasia for you , as sung by Summer W when Papa sees you. I hope you like it.

habanera

Cont...

Papa was in a little nite club in Kuantan (or perhaps in Kuantan ,that was THE biggest nite club. Papa has no idea). Two acts, one with a singer who didn't dance, and another with a dancer who couldn't sing. To Papa's surprise, the opening was Habanera from Carmen . Sung in Mandarin...

The singer was powerful, she was loud enough to tickle Papa's ear-drums. Its a bit strange to hear Bizet's Carmen in chinese. Of course, the only words left in French was "L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!"

Papa only remembers hearing it a long time ago when he was a kid. Opera in chinese is a rarity nowadays I guess. Papa is going to introduce you to sopranos and tenors once he can sit down with you. There is some pretty powerful music hidden in classical and Papa is sure you will like it. The alternative for you is to listen to Papa's country and western.

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle

que nul ne peut apprivoiser,

et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,

s'il lui convient de refuser

closing
L'amour est enfant de Bohème,
il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;
si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
si je t'aime, prends garde à toi! (x2)

in english

Love is a rebellious bird

that nobody can tame,

and you call him quite in vain

if it suits him not to come

Love is a gypsy child,

it has never ever, known the law,

if you love me not, I love you,

if I love you, you should beware!

nobody's child

Not a good song for a little girl.

Papa woke up this morning feeling really stupid. Papa has blocked out so many things that arise from Mama's behavior, so Papa didn't understand Mama's malice at all. But then again perhaps it was subtle and meditated (and pretty left-field) so Papa couldn't get it.

Papa remembers you singing in a woeful manner the song "Nobody's child". I couldn't see at all why you chose that silly song, Papa only thought you liked it since its easy to sing. Mama couldn't have taught you that song, what mother in the world would teach those lyrics to her own child?

The words are very hard and painful for a 3 year old to hear and learn. You kept singing the lines:

I'm nobody's child, I'm nobody's child
I'm like a flower just growing wild
No mommy's kisses and no daddy's smile
Nobody wants me I'm nobody's child

All the things that Mama does, I know now that just as she taught you this song that she would have told you that you were unwanted. Thats why you when you told me that Mama doesn't kiss you, that was really the truth. Papa couldn't see that Mama would be a monster to you also and Papa blocked what you said out from his thoughts, but it wasn't because Papa didn't want to listen to you. Papa just couldn't see...

Lyrics to that stupid song

I was slowly passing an orphan's home one day
And stopped there for a moment just to watch the children play
Alone a boy was standing and when I asked him why
He turned with eyes that could not see and he began to cry

I'm nobody's child, I'm nobody's child
I'm like a flower just growing wild
No mommy's kisses and no daddy's smile
Nobody wants me I'm nobody's child

People come for children and take them for their own
But they all seem to pass me by and I am left alone
I know they'd like to take me but when they see I'm blind
They always take some other child and I am left behind

No mother's arms to hold me or soothe me when I cry
Sometimes it gets so lonely here I wish that I could die
I'd walk the streets of heaven where all the blind can see
And just like all the other kids there'd be a home for me

[spoken]
I just can't seem to figure out
Why the folks all pass me by
Cause I know that it's true that god takes
Little blind children with him in the sky
And they tell me that I'm oh so pretty
And they seem to like my big curls of gold
But then they take some other little child
And I'm left here all alone

I'm nobody's child, I'm nobody's child
I'm like a flower just growing wild
No mommy's kisses and no daddy's smile
Nobody wants me I'm nobody's child

But Papa's eyes are open now and Papa sees. Papa has to find the best way to protect you. And maybe Mama from her own madness, if possible. Papa has to do both and Papa has to find the way.

You are not nobody's child, you are Papa's one and only.

Papa loves you.

papa stories

Some stories for you. These are a little more adult, so when you are slightly older you will follow more easily.

Papa was outstation last week, trying to understand a little piece of the puzzle of Malaysian conservation law in theory and forestry practices in reality. Papa is trying (along other things) to block illegal logging and mining and to revive or defend the existing forests in a fragile ecosystem in Pahang. If Papa is successful, maybe you will be able to see a forest system which will be in better shape than in Papa's time. Papa will tell you more next time, when he finds the words to convey what Papa wants to do and achieve.

Anyway somehow or other, Papa ended up in a Chinese nite-club in Kuantan. (NOT Papa's choice. Somehow or other also, for some strange reason, Papa always gets dragged to these places).
(to be continued)

summer in the park

While waiting for Mama, Papa took you to the nearby park. It was good to see you with a big big smile on your face. I wish Mama could see you with Papa's eyes.

















You snuck under the table, so Papa got a photo of you there showing your new panties.....oops..




The look of sheer happiness on your face, Papa wishes Mama had taken just a little time with you to learn and grow together.















Papa loves you.

summer diary

This will be factual...(at least as much as I can be)

Papa got to see you last Saturday. Mama changed her mind at the last minute , and agreed to 10am pickup. Surprise!! Anyway, Let see what we did. Papa got to bring you to watch Ice Age: Dawn of the dinosaurs. It was a little troubling to see that you were so excited to see Papa, you told papa you didn't need to use the bathroom.....

So.... a big puddle in the toyshop!!! Pee and pee and pee....!! A frantic search for new panties ensued, in the kiddie portion of the department store. Papa had to buy and sneak you out real quick just in case anyone asked about the big pool of water in the toyshop...

You enjoyed the movie but things got downhill from there. Papa took you to another toyshop.
I asked you then whether you wanted to learn how to build a necklace with a kit. You kept saying no, and I asked you to have Mama teach you. The saddest look came across your face, and you said in a small voice that Mama won't teach. You asked me to teach you and offered to follow me home to learn.

SO....Papa got a little pain in the heart and started asking you questions.

"Does Mama play with you?" (this had been asked before) "No....."
"Does Mama bring you around?" "No.."
"Does Mama stay with you?" (test question) "no...Mama is never in the house..." [small voice, looks down on the ground]
"Is Mama [in the house] at night?" "no.."
"Are you alone?" "yes"
"Where does Mama go at night, mergirl?" "Mama go shopping...."
"Every night?" "yes"
"Does Mama dress up?" "yes, she look beautiful...like when the wind in blowing in the hair..."

Mama didn't answer calls to pick you at 5pm that day. Normally she would be shouting and screaming if Papa is even slightly late. Papa called until around 6pm when Mama called. Mama said she needed another 1/2 hour to pick you. Very evasive, subdued and wouldn't answer Papa.

So at 630 Mama came. Looked like she had a bath, sarong decked around the upper body. (to hide hickeys I guess.)

Papa was very angry. Flat out accused Mama of fucking until she forgot you entirely. Mama refused to say no, eyes down, said she had "something to do" but refused to elaborate.

Papa has to take you away from Mama, because you have lost one year of growing up in staying with Mama. You are 4 1/2 now but you behave in so many ways like a 3 1/2 year old toddler. Papa was not good enough to see this until very very recently. Yes you stay with Mama, but she doesn't pay any attention to you and you have not grown any.

Papa has told Mama (by numerous sms, which she has not answered any) that Papa will take custody and raise you. Papa does not want you to grow home alone in a cubicle. Papa will try and give you all the love he can , ok?

comparo

some comparisons the truth is out there, sometimes far far away.

Gandhi = Warlike
Gengis Khan = Hippy
Mother Theresa = Muslim
David Carradine = Alive
Jenna Jameson = Virgin
France = Never Surrender
Siberia = Tropical
Hippies = Cannibalistic
Politicians = Honest
Obama = White (wait, he kinda is)

this by some autophile guy.....cones gone into his head, xmax too high.

poetry about quickie

Warning : adult content.
(there. done)

Make me cum
Slip me toung
Give me some

Touch my breast
Feel my chest
Hear my confess
Give my best

Heat is hot
Cold is not
Night is shot
Love is sought

Feels so good
He so could
I so would
We so should

Let’s get down
Not get found
I get pound
Don’t get sound

Time to go
You’re to slow
Nothing to show
Know one to know

Penny L. Poore

summer macro. "I am a doggie..."
This is a many times crop.

Papa misses summer

curiousities

Natural Prince Rupert`s Drops

If glass is melted and dripped into ice-cold water, the glass solidifies into drops with a thin tail. Tremendous stress between the surface and the interior is the result. If viewed between polaroid films, the stresses and strains can be seen, just as in toughened glass. The bulbous end of a drop can withstand being hit with a hammer, such is the toughness. If however, either the thin tail is snapped, or the body scratched with a file, Prince Rupert`s drops violently explode into glass powder.

poem quickies

More quickies, one on death and the other on love, or sex. Death and sex go well together, I guess.

The one on death is excerpted from a slightly longer poem. Poet of the day is Emily Dickinson.

1st one.

Because I could not stop for Death -
He kindly stopped for me -
The carriage held but just Ourselves -
And Immortality.


2nd one. Lots of !!!!!!

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile – the Winds -
To a heart In port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor – Tonight -
In Thee!

they tuck you up

Some poor innocent thought Larkin must have had meant, tuck instead of fuck. So some kind soul wrote a parody of the original, "This be the worst".

This be the worst

They tuck you up, your mum and dad,
They read you Peter Rabbit,too.
They gave you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

They were tucked up when they were small,
(Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke),
By those whose kiss healed any fall,
Whose laughter doubled any joke.

Man hands on happiness to man,
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
So love your parent all you can
And have some cheerful kids yourself.

I forget who was the author....so no credits for now.

poem unquickened

As promised.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with all the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

I have it on good authority there are Hitler and Mao Tze Dong mums and dads around. But wait. I digress. There's more.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin-
This be the verse.

A gloomy view of life for my little girl. There is always, always another side to the coin, and we will get to that other view another day. Post to come as counterpoint to Philip Larkin's world view

poem quickie

Ok super quick one, bit from the first line.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad

Post the rest later. Firefox not playing nice today.

poetry quickie

Ok. Posting another poem, except I've decided to quickie it. Just the opening paragraph....

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;

and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal

surrendering the bruised scent of the blackberries,

or cherries, the rich spurt in the back

of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.

For desire-Kim Addonizo

Food and life, in XXL proportions. Whats not to like.The rest of the poem is pretty good too. If you make it this far, it continues...

Give me the lover who yanks open the door

of his house and presses me to the wall

in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched

and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload

and begin their delicious diaspora

through the cities and small towns of my body.

To hell with the saints, with the martyrs

of my childhood meant to instruct me

in the powers of endurance and faith

to hell with the next world and its pallid angels

swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.

I want this world. I want to walk into

the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along

like I'm nothing but a piece of scratched glass,

and I want to resist it. I want to go

staggering and flailing my way

through the bars and back rooms,

through the gleaming hotels and the weedy

lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks

where dogs are let off their leashes

in spite of the signs, where they sniff each

other and roll together on the grass, I want to

lie down somewhere and suffer for love until

it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again

and put on that little black dress and wait

for you, yes you, to come over here

and get down on your knees and tell me

just how fucking good I look.

nasty picts

Papa got to trying the little cam on a moving object without the zoominess of Summer. Results as follows.

Original but resized too big to fit otherwise


Crop of original.


Not going to crop again, as things look scary enough....

Back to the original but with a bit of retouching and a bit of crop

more pointless picts

Papa stopped by some little town with one street (maybe more but sounds cooler this way) and one coffee shop (this one no exaggeration). Karai just off Ipoh on the way to Sg. Siput (or after Sg. Siput. I can't remember). The soft focus effect is actually because the lens was fogged up coming out from a very cold car.

Deep in the jungle

Beside an illegal mining stall. A river runs through, carrying muddy water where once a crystal stream ran.

jungle fever

Tree so high

Track deeply rutted, leading out from jungle.

Some of the workers Papa has got to do the manual and menial work in said jungle

Papa has been busy lately, popping into some jungle and out of the way places. Papa will just post some photos and make up the stories later... hehe.
A dead beatle (John Lennon?) outside Papa's homestay room near outskirts of the jungle. The room key is next to the said bettle. There were hundreds of them lying around the area, maybe because of the rain.ll dead or dying.

another week goes by

NO reaction at all to letting me see you. Maybe slowly we will forget each other, bit by bit? Papa is at wits end. Its no good being in pain all the time. So Papa will write about other things for the time being.

See, Papa has been listening to some albums by Carla Bruni. Ms Bruni sings and writes with some intelligence and sensitivity which would be notable for the average songwriter. Papa likes "Le toi du moi" which is hyper-clever. For a bit of fun, Papa has got some of the lyrics down here.

T'es le Laurel de mon Hardy
T'es le plaisir de mon soupir
T'es la moustache de mon Trotski
T'es tous les éclats de mon rire
Tu es le chant de ma sirène
Tu es le sang et moi la veine
T'es le jamais de mon toujours
T'es mon amour t'es mon amour

translated (by Papa, so please excuse errors, if any)

You're the Laurel of my Hardy
You're the pleasure of my sigh
You're my mustache of my Trotsky
You are the breaking of my laugh
You are the song of my siren
You are the blood and I''m the vein
You're the never of my always
You're my love you're my love

Whimsical song, she keeps the counterpoint in every line, save and except "T'es mon amour t'es mon amour". As there are always two sides to the coin, but the coin itself is one (Zen like eh?) As you were my eyes when I was blind ,and you were my light in the darkness.

For this line, there is no synonym nor antonyms, no counterparty, no opposites. Allegorically there is no replacement, it stands on its own, singular and unique. A throwaway line, slipped in so casually seemingly. A quiet intelligence. So to my little girl. I have no replacement for my feelings for you.

T'es mon amour t'es mon amour


I will see you soon.

quasimodo

I was playing some music in the car. Nothing much, just some tortured moanings, Quasimodo in Notre Dame [Vivre] where he groans out how unfair the world is...

"God this world is so unfair, he's so handsome and I'm so ugly, Even if I gave you the moon, you'd refuse to love me... My ugliness insults your beauty ...."etc etc. Garou who plays the hunchback, has a gravelly pained voice on the perkiest of days, and he really hams it out in his role. Lyrics are also pretty unsubtle. Unfortunately my friend doesn't know french....
So. My friend blurts out...."wah its really quite soothing..."

pond again