Remember those odd little flowers that became little spiky things? Well, the little spiky things are a bit bigger now. Here’s Sharon trying (and failing) to open our first durian runtuh since moving in.

It was all rotten on one side, and the rest of it was still a bit sappy. There are about twenty more hanging up on the branches. Perhaps we can have a makan-durian party?

Last year, for BERSIH2.0, Sharon made a series of awesome posters. This year she was too busy — so you’ll just have to settle for something by little old me. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

~~~

THE LEAK IN THE PALACE

Shortly after he was installed, our new di-Pertuan Agong moved his royal person, his royal family, and all the offices of his royal court and household into the new National Palace.

The new National Palace wasn’t precisely new. It was completed last year. But our previous ruler – now once again merely the Sultan of Terengganu – had refused to take up residence there.

“What is wrong with the old palace?” he’d asked. “I’m happy where I am, and it’s such a bother to move.”

Perhaps someone had told him how much the new National Palace cost, and our former majesty had balked at the figure, which contained eight zeroes. He was widely reputed to be a frugal man, where his own money was concerned; and a good enough man, when it came to the tax money of his subjects.

Our current Yang di-Pertuan Agong was also reputed to be a good man. Royalty can have no other kind of reputation. Daulat Tuanku! He was just a good man in a different way.

Because of the overly-fecund nangka, we’ve been getting a lot of visits from our friendly neighbourhood musang. You can just about see him there, crouching over and tugging at a half-rotten fruit.

There was a smaller musang tagging along — perhaps an anak musang. Nice to see that the jackfruit tree is letting our wildlife raise families.

When I approached they ran up the tree. Here is anak musang, staring into the camera flash:

And here’s Pingu, oblivious to my excitement, licking up the last bits of his wet tuna dinner:

Pingu murders snakes and gives no fux.

A baby durian we found fallen from the tree. RIP. Hope at least one survives to ripen. 

Seluar dalam sapa ni? Must have been left behind from our last party. Quick, own up. Sharon dah marah kat aku …

(Unless dia cover-line for her own indiscretions.)

A few things that have me in them this weekend:

POSKOD’s Artists In Conversation: SAT, 31 March, 4PM at the Whitebox, MAPkl. What am I talking about? Well, it was a toss up between art about censorship and art about friendliness - I’ve made both.

I’m going with friendliness.

I’ve been thinking lately that it’s actually more risque and difficult to talk deeply about things like art, love, hope and connection. I feel like I’m selling snake-oil, or worse, luxuries that people don’t need. My twitter feed (yes I quit Facebook for Twitter - I’ll blog that shit eventually) is choked with stuff on elections, corruption, mobilization, public transport, climate change, elections, politicians… opinions, SO MANY opinions, and calls to become an ‘agent of change’. I’ve come to the disconcerting realization that I don’t want to be a fucking AGENT. I want to be a person. Sometimes I could cry (actually I do cry, horribly and often) at how useless my art is, how it doesn’t DO anything. Except this: it remains stubbornly, stupidly, painfully human and incomplete. That’s all it is, that’s all I have to give the world and somehow I have decided to dedicate my whole life’s work to this endeavor. If you do too (part-time, full-time or any time at all) I salute you, my comrade.

This path, this strange path.

Anyway, FUCK IT. Friendliness. How I fell in love with a city and how that made me want to change my life. No joke, that’s what a city can do to you. This Saturday. Come.

And…

I make my singing debut as STINKY POODLE on April Fool’s Day, 5pm at Cabaret, PJ Live Arts.

For some people, music and singing is as easy as breathing - they open their mouths and out comes the sound, the talented fuckers. I’m not a natural, soooo far from it.  For the longest time, making music was like this super secret magical alchemy that I just didn’t get, didn’t have, never would have, so don’t bother. I HATED KARAOKE. I would rather have a bad hangover drinking cooking wine than do karaoke.

And then. And then.

Last year I bought a ukulele. I know everyone has a ukulele now, and I am SO happy about it, because having one has made ME so happy. More ukuleles! Forever! For everyone! If people call you a hipster, you can turn around and SING and PLAY IT right in their faces.

Suddenly, halfway through slaughtering Let It Be for nth time, I got it. I got music. No, I couldn’t magically play songs and sing in-tune, but I understood how you make music - what a song IS. My ukulele taught me what years of piano lessons couldn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be anything but a perpetual beginner, but this world of music is so beautiful, so gratifying, so universal, that it’s ridiculous to assume that it’s a mystery available only to the talented few.

I think too, that singing has everything to do with the relationship you have to your own voice. Speaking is hard sometimes, to say what you think and feel, especially if you’re not naturally extroverted. It may not seem like it, but I have a hard, hard time speaking. I think alot. I second guess. I’m afraid of sounding stupid, forward or insulting. And in a country like Malaysia, where everyone is so different, and language becomes territory, the simple act of speaking is even more loaded and complex.

Singing can make you feel more comfortable with your own voice. It is OK if you sound ‘bad’. It is OK. It is ok. It is ok. How can the voice be bad if the voice is your own voice? It has its own sound. You made it. You make the sound.

I’m scared. I’m not a good singer. Why did I agree to do this? What business do I have opening my mouth in public? I don’t want to embarrass myself.

FUCK IT! Come see me be STINKY POODLE on 1 April, 5pm at Cabaret, PJ Live Arts.

Hey, you fill up the spaces, those empty places
The corners and cracks
you watch us dance
we dance till we’re dying
we dance to free ourselves from the room
We love the sound, the sound is what found us
Sound is the bond between me and you
- Wild Flag “Romance”

Thank you Grace Chin for making this event and making me do this. Check out her blog here and get a closer view of that rather awesome SCALE logo.

I also have some art in a group exhibition in Singapore called Wawasan 2020: The Malaysian Dream… which, if I’m not mistaken, hmm.. lemme see, opened TONIGHT!

For the show, I reworked an older installation about banned books into portable versions. They’re buzzwires bent into the shapes of graphs that indicate statistics about banned books in Malaysia. I didn’t take any photos before delivering the works, but basically you can now carry around the buzz wires in black boxes. There’s 6 of them in all, in an edition of 3. Here’s the only image I have right now:

I could tell you about the angst, blood, sweat and misfortune that dogged me every step of the way while completing these works.

But FUCK IT. They are finished. Done. They look ok. I hope people like them, even though they are about a perverse aspect of Malaysia. What we censor tells us hell of alot about ourselves.

When I get some real images I’ll put them on the blog or my own website.

STINKY POODLE out. I need to go practice. 

Sing even if people tell you you can’t sing.

x.

Last Saturday I went to have lunch with the Prime Minister.

It was a major thing. The day before, a guy on a motorbike dropped an unmarked envelope into our mailbox; it contained an invitation for “Dato’/Datin/Tuan/Puan dan Semua Ahli Keluarga” to “Majlis Jamuan Makan Tengah Hari Perdana 1Malaysia”.

The invitation bore the Negeri Sembilan coat of arms, but BN flags lined the streets. Down at the waterfront by the district administration building they had put up tents, a stage, and long canteen-table-like seating for 35,000.

That was how many seats Menteri Besar Mohamad Hasan claimed he had prepared. He also claimed it was 10,000 seats too few.

“Saya sudah order 100,000 batang satay,” he said. “Tuan-puan silakan makan. Kalau tak cukup saya minta maaf. Kadang-kadang benda macam ni susah kita nak jangka.”

There were buffet stalls at the sides (for those who couldn’t get tables), costume jewellery peddlers set up here and there, multiple jingles of ice-cream-man bells, even counters where people could sign up for insurance. I gave up on exploring — I was pissing people off with my bike — and planted myself behind the main stage.

Haji Mohamad was talking about all the BANTUAN that the government was bringing to the people — specifically, the voters of kawasan Parlimen Telok Kemang.

He did not talk very long. He said: ”Cukup saya berkata. Saya sebagai Menteri Besar cuma menjaga ladang. Perdana Menteri, tuan punya ladang, sudah datang, membawa ‘baja’ untuk menyuburkan tanah Telok Kemang ini.”

Lots of applause as the PM went to claim his mic. At the same time, the buffet counters opened, and I started seeing people with piled plates wandering about.

“MB kata saya tuan punya ladang. Tak tahulah saya bawa ‘baja’ macam mana,” Najib said, coy.

He greeted the “bala tentera”, of which there were several long tables — transported from the nearby army base in several dozen green trucks — and told them about his conversation with the local general.

“Tuan Panglima kata: ‘Bagi kolam mandi untuk tentera? Lima juta je datuk.’ Jadi saya kata: ‘Kalau lima juta, lima juta lah. Saya bagi lah.’ “

Applause.

Najib outlined some of the other BANTUAN that his visit would be giving the area:

• RM14 million for a shortcut between Taman Sirusa and the Port Dickson Politechnic;
• RM450,000 to fix the Masjid Jamek roof;
• RM300,000 for two futsal courts;
• RM1.5 million for the building of new mosques;
• RM1 million for “rumah bakar mayat untuk Kaum Hindu”;
• 7-15% pay increase for military personnel.

“BN tidak cari populariti semata-mata,” Najib said. “Pihak pembangkang tuduh yang BANTUAN yang kita sediakan untuk rakyat, seperti BR1M, duit haram. Pinjam dari IMF — tapi saya hairan, bila kita buka daftar untuk BANTUAN BR1M, mereka datang ambil, kadang-kadang lebih awal dari penyokong kita.”

He continued: “World Bank kata baik. Setiausaha Agung PBB kata baik. Ekonomi makin sihat. Apabila ekonomi makin sihat, kita pulangkan pada rakyat. Saya kata, tak kira lah penyokong kerajaan ke, penyokong pihak pembangkang.”

“Kita beri BANTUAN,” he said. “Kalau tak dapat undi tak apa. Dapat pahala.”

Najib wound down, expressing thanks, stressing once again that all his BANTUAN came without attached strings. “Harap makan kenyang-kenyang,” he said.

He only wished that the constituents of Teluk Kemang remembered his kindness. “Hajat tuan-puan dah tercapai,” Najib said. “Bila pilihanraya nanti tuan-puan ingat lah, hajat saya masih tidak tercapai.”

I didn’t stay for lunch or the customary “allowance” envelope. There was just too many people waiting to get their own slice of BANTUAN. So I cycled around, counting buses.

There were 136 of them parked in the immediate vicinity. Roughly half were from within the state, from Rembau, Tampin and Seremban - the rest were from out of town: bas pekerja from Kajang and Ampang; school buses with “J” plates; tourist buses with “W” plates, Tourism Selangor decals, or SKS KL markings.

More buses drove in and out. The coast road was jammed the entire afternoon. My neighbours were smart; they stayed indoors.

(Sorry no photos, guys. Sharon had the camera that weekend, and I don’t have a smartphone.)

So, the seeds and vegetable matter we throw into the compost have been sprouting. Soon I shall have a new tomato to eat! (The plant itself is a bit wilted though, sadface.)

(Follow these links to Part Two and Part Three)

This is the draft text (final edits are all in a single-lined buku latihan) for my piece at  the Saya Sebatang Pensel storytelling festival, kelmarin. The lines in italics are character direction.

Not shown: the dorky high-school uniform I wore during the performance. Thank goodness no photographic record of that.

~~~

1.

The BLUE PEN will follow the rules even if they are unjust.

Saya sebatang pen. Jenis saya balpen. Nama keluarga saya Kilometrico. Bangsa saya berwarna biru.

Saya dilahirkan di sebuah kilang besar, bersama-sama adik-beradik saya. Saya mempunyai beratus-ratus adik-beradik. Ibu saya sebuah mesin yang besar.

Apabila ibu melahirkan saya, saya dibawa pergi oleh mesin konveyor. Saya bertemu dengan seorang pekerja kilang. Dia memakai tudung dan baju merah jambu. Dia menguap keletihan. Dia menutup kepala tubuh dengan topi berbentuk silinder dan berwarna biru.

Selepas keluar dari kilang, saya dibawa ke sebuah kedai buku. Semua alat tulis – seperti pensel, pensel mekanikal, pen pelbagai warna, pemadam, dan berus lukisan – disusun pada rak. Rak alat tulis ini terletak bertentangan kaunter bayaran. Alat-alat tulis disusun mengikut jenis, jenama, warna, dan saiz mata. Susunan ini untuk kemudahan pelanggan.

Di kedai buku itulah saya bersua dengan Muhamad Ghazali, tuan pemilik saya yang tercinta.