Wednesday, October 22, 2025

The Court Philosopher encounters a Mountain Sage


I once read an apocryphal anecdote about a close encounter between Confucius and Laotze which greatly amused me. Having heard about the extraordinary wisdom of a wild mountain sage whose original name was no longer known, the Master Confucius was determined to seek him out and learn everything he could from this reputable sage.

After months of unrelenting search, following every lead that came his way, Confucius finally found himself approaching a humble cottage hidden among trees on a remote hillside. But there was nobody home. Determined to find the reclusive mountain sage, Confucius decided to follow a narrow trail that eventually led to a crystalline stream, and there he beheld a spritely elder perched on a mossy log with a makeshift fishing rod.

“Pardon the rude intrusion, but I assume you are the illustrious Master Laotze?” Confucius began. “I have sought you for many moons with a humble request.”

Laotze glanced at the intruder for a brief moment with a penetrating look and then turned back to his fishing. “What do you want?” he asked after a pause.

Confucius approached Laotze and sat down on the grass a respectful distance away. Clearing his throat, he declared: “I am Kung Fu-tze, Resident Philosopher of the magnificent Jing Court, and I have been authorized to offer you a lucrative lifetime tenure as Special Advisor to the King and Senior Mentor to his Offspring – a position that comes with your own luxurious quarters and a minimum of 10 household servants. I beg you to seriously consider.”

There was a long silence before Laotze finally spoke in a quiet voice, pointing to something he had spotted on the riverbank: “Do you see that tiny terrapin dragging its tail through the mud?” He continued, conversationally: “Many decades ago I visited the palace and saw, in the foyer, a gigantic tortoise on display, stuffed and mounted in a glass case, reputed to be the largest within memory. Well, I would much rather be that little fellow over there!”

Confucius was duly impressed by Laotze’s answer. “Forget about my foolish offer, Exalted Master!” he said apologetically, “but please accept me as your humble disciple and diligent student. I shall resign my position immediately and sit happily at your feet.”

Laotze looked directly at Confucius, brow furrowed as though in deep thought; then he burst out laughing and didn’t stop until Confucius, too, found himself laughing along. Finally the wild mountain sage placed a friendly hand on Confucius’s shoulder and gently said: “There is nothing you can learn from me and nothing for me to teach you. Don’t waste my time and your own, my friend. Come, let’s have some tea. You have a long journey home.”

To his credit, Confucius never had a negative thing to say about his brief encounter with Laotze. In later years when asked by his many admirers what it was like to meet the legendary wild mountain sage, he would smile and say: “How does one describe a dragon flying in the sky beyond the sight of men?”

[From a letter to Chris Ang dated 12 February 2020. First posted 12 March 2020, 
reposted 27 October 2020 & 29 October 2022]

Monday, October 20, 2025

BRINGING DOWN THE 9/11 HOUSE OF LIES (reprise)

[In this blogpost I was going to summarize my years of research on the 9/11 atrocities, rounding up my personal campaign to expose the cynical masterminds behind the monumental sandiwara (which in Malay means a political Punch'n'Judy show); but my friend Dave Blackman just passed me a link to a superb article by Steve Bhaerman (aka Swami Beyondananda) which covers all the points I was going to make and much more - and does so scintillatingly! I can do no more than help the good Swami spread this cogent message by reproducing it here in full, complete with all the handy hyperlinks...]

BRINGING DOWN THE 9/11 HOUSE OF LIES ~ The Final 'Leg' Of The Journey
By Steve Bhaerman
16 April 2007

It's a bit of a mixed feeling to realize that millions and millions of people who didn't get this distinction two, four or six years ago now understand that the "political' issues we now face aren't about right and left, they're about right and wrong. On one hand, what took you so long? On the other, thank God and welcome aboard. Although the media has downplayed it - it doesn't fit with the general stupidization program of creating a lot of heat but very little light - more and more actual conservatives and even members of the religious right are coming to see the Bush-Cheney regime as a rogue administration and a thin cover for criminal enterprise. Such right wing stalwarts as former Georgia Rep. Bob Barr and Richard Viguerie (one of the architects of the far right wing) have formed an organization to protect our civil liberties from our own government. Chuck Baldwin, an associate of Jerry Falwell, has become an open advocate of impeachment and writes a very articulate column.

These folks are far bolder than the Democrats in this regard, and they will play a key role when impeachment happens - and it will. Now some of you reading this who have a deeper spiritual understanding of love, forgiveness and the ways in which we do indeed create our own reality might be wondering "Gee, this whole impeachment thing seems pretty 'anti'. Shouldn't we be focusing on what we want instead of what we don't want?" Indeed, the point can be made that the failure of the Democrats in 2004 - aside from the minor issue of voting fraud in Ohio and Florida - had to do with John Kerry's approach of "Vote for me, I'm not as bad as George Bush," and failure to articulate any compelling positive vision. However, the real issue goes much deeper.

Ending The American Hostage Crisis


It has nothing to do with loving or hating George Bush, whose policies have educated and awakened more Americans than all of the "progressive" leaders combined. It does have to do with what we need to recognize as the American Hostage Crisis. The American people - and particularly our soldiers in Iraq - are being held hostage by a ruthless criminal cadre (this is not hyperbolic invective; the definition of "criminal" is "one who commits crimes"). The people up until now have been blackmailed into supporting a war of choice with the cynical cry, "Support our troops." As if our troops sent themselves over there and now we have to rescue them.

The people of America are now at a crossroads that will determine whether the world continues hurtling down the highway to hell, or whether we change course in the direction of our true human potential, what Swami calls "humanifest destiny." I say the world because if the United States honors the intentions of our founders and accepts the evolutionary role of genuine self-governance, the entire world will cheer - and breathe a sigh of relief. Under the guise of true moral authority, we will be able to isolate the sociopathogens in the world and deal with them as criminals instead of what we're doing now - killing the people the criminal elements are holding hostage, and creating new converts for the criminals.

There is something positive to be built, but it cannot be built on a foundation of lies. That is why the so-called "surge" or any other policy to "stay the course" in Iraq will not succeed. The entire structure -- why we're there, what's been happening since we got there, what our future intentions are -- all lies. Those troops we are "supporting" are being sent in as surrogate targets for George Bush and the American empire, an empire that isn't even ours but belongs to a slew of multinational corporations that could care less whether America lives or dies. That's what American soldiers are discovering, sadly, that their most ardent "supporters" at home have been unwilling to face. Until now.

America's next step - and only step - that can take us forward is to bring the Bush-Cheney regime to justice. This isn't about vengeance, it isn't about punishment. It's about truth. That element that has been so lacking in our political environment that it has caused a spiritual, psychological and political heartsickness in the heartland. This basic lack of integrity - that even those who overtly believe the lies still feel deep down in their guts - is why we have the Don Imuses and the Ann Coulters. Those are the people who keep us occupied with weapons of mass-distraction, who help us aim our rage at the wrong targets.

Their brand of free speech is what Caroline Casey calls a "toxic mimic" of the real thing. The freedom of speech and freedom of press the American revolutionaries risked life and fortune for wasn't so our "commonest" of commentators could sling invectives like "faggots" and "nappy-headed ho's" but to empower citizens by letting them know what's going on. In this regard, the record of our so-called "free press" is dismal, if not traitorous. Try initiating a real conversation about the unanswered questions and unquestioned answers regarding 9/11. There you will find a stone wall of silence, or loud screaming to drown out the truth. While up until now, very few have wanted to "go there," more and more people are awakening to the tragic truth that "there" has already come "here."


Cutting the Legs Out From Under Their Story

Just over two years ago, after what many of us realized was a stolen election (with Barbara Boxer the lone Senator to stand and raise the issue), I wrote a piece about the wall of lies. In the midst of the frustration and despair that many of us felt, I predicted the wall of lies would crumble. It wasn't a difficult prediction to make. In these times when the veil is being lifted everywhere, the "irony curtain" is no exception.

I wrote that the illegitimate "legitimacy" of the Bush-Cheney regime rested on a three-legged stool. The first leg was the belief they were fairly elected in 2000 and 2004. The second was the Iraq War and the reluctance of people to "change horse's asses in the middle of an extreme." The third was 9/11, and the official account of what happened that day.

At this writing, one leg is completely gone and another is severely splintered. More than two thirds of Americans now see the Iraq War as an unmitigated disaster, and a large portion of our armed forces are demoralized and angry. It is now being termed "an unpopular war," a phrase that begs the question, "And when exactly was the last 'popular war'?" Wait a minute ... I think I have it. The last popular war was the Battle of the Groups at the Brooklyn Fox Theater ... Dion and the Belmonts vs. the Drifters. I think it was 1960.

As for the legitimacy of the "elections", that issue broke through the soundless barrier a year ago when RFK, Jr. published his article in Rolling Stone. Timing is everything, and the timing of that article coincided with a general "upwising." Having seen mounting evidence of lying, cheating and stealing on the part of Rove and company, a critical mass of Americans (or at least Democrats) were able to accept the inconvenient likelihood that the Republicans cheated to win the election too. This awakened awareness and the voter mobilization that followed helped the Democrats win control of both Houses of Congress, despite any shenanigans. As lame as you may think the Democrats are, this was the first important step of restoring the balance of power and the rule of law. I contend it could not have happened without the widespread awareness that the Republicans were getting set to steal elections again.

So here we are. The "leg" called the Iraq War is gone. The "leg" called "these people were elected legitimately" is badly compromised. And yet, like the mad monk Rasputin, Bush and Cheney are still standing behind their stone wall. Subpoenas notwithstanding, they've entrenched and have no intention of giving in one iota. Because as soon as they do, the avalanche of revelations will cause their downfall. How long can this holding pattern go on? It can definitely go on indefinitely.




Unless we as a nation allow the 9/11 story to break through the soundless barrier. When this leg gets chopped off, Bush and Cheney will be gone.

More importantly, the truth will be revealed so that we can collectively "face the music" and set a new course. Never has any nation been in this position. Nazi Germany was forced to face their heart of darkness only by military defeat. Soviet Russia collapsed under the weight of its own unworkability. But now, for the "land of the free" to finally earn that name and claim our true inheritance, we must face what is perhaps the most profound betrayal in our 200 year history.

A Straussian Waltz Down a Slippery Slope

Although we would like to believe that the principles that guided America's founding fathers are still in operation, the sad truth is that the principles of truth, justice and transparency have been overridden by a new operating system called "neo-conservatism" which is neither "neo" nor conservative. The "neocon" is actually a very old con called "the end justifies the means." And that brings us to Leo Strauss, the man considered the "founding father" of neoconservatism.

Leo Strauss, who was born in Germany and who taught at the University of Chicago from 1949-69, brought Machiavelli into the machine age. He unabashedly believed in manipulation and deception, all of which he deemed necessary to rule the unruly masses. According to Shadia Drury, author of Leo Strauss and the American Right, Strauss believed that "those who are fit to rule are those who realize there is no morality and there is only one natural right -- the right of the superior to rule over the inferior."

Strauss was a strong believer in religion - as a way of imposing "moral law" on the populace, who would otherwise be out of control. He would have agreed with Marx that religion was the "opiate of the masses," only he had no qualms about being a drug dealer. The rulers, of course, didn't have to live by the rules of religion. Says Ronald Bailey, science correspondent for Reason magazine: "Neoconservatives are pro-religion even though they themselves may not be believers."

In the tradition of Thomas Hobbes, Strauss believed humans are inherently evil and need strong external control - and an external enemy. As he once wrote, "Because mankind is intrinsically wicked, he has to be governed. Such governance can only be established, however, when men are united - and they can only be united against other people."

According to Drury, Strauss believed that "if no external threat exists, one has to be manufactured." Interestingly enough, Strauss's neocon disciples William Kristol, Paul Wolfowitz and Richard Perle (along with Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld) helped found a think tank called the Project for the New American Century (PNAC) in the 1990s. A PNAC document, Rebuilding America's Defenses has been a guiding force for the Bush-Cheney White House. According to PNAC, the only way to assure America's safety in the 21st century is by being the only superpower on the block, what they referred to as Pax Americana. Of course, since the Iraq War many around the world are calling it a "Pox Americana."

Perhaps the most telling quote in the Rebuilding America's Defenses document refers to needing a "catastrophic and catalyzing event - like a new Pearl Harbor" to mobilize the masses for this undertaking (pun intended). The neocons insist this was an innocuous quote taken out of context. However, when seen in the context of Leo Strauss's core beliefs, it's easy to make the connection and see the 9/11 attacks as the "catalyzing event" that launched the so-called "war on terror." In fact, author and theologian David Ray Griffin called his sober account debunking the official 9/11 story The New Pearl Harbor: Disturbing Questions about the Bush Administration and 9/11. Whether or not the attacks were an "inside job," they were certainly used in classic Straussian fashion to create national unity and control through perpetual war.

Griffin, a well-respected mainstream theologian who has written and edited 30 books, contends that the official 9/11 story has been given the "halo of religious mythology." Like the infallibility of the Pope in the Church or the primacy of matter in scientific materialism, questioning the official 9/11 story is taboo. Consequently, most people fail to see the red flags that are literally in plain sight:

The official story was in place within 48 hours of the event, before any investigation was undertaken.

The official "remedy," the so-called Patriot Act (a 342-page document that many legislators signed without reading), appeared as if by magic and was ratified in an atmosphere of panic - right on the heels of Democratic legislators receiving packets of deadly anthrax, a crime that has never been "solved."

No satisfactory explanation has ever been given as to how and why the world's most sophisticated air defense system "stood down" in the most deadly attacks ever on American soil. And no one was held accountable.

Transcripts of testimony released at the insistence of 9/11 families - from firefighters, police and eyewitnesses - mention over and over again a "series of explosions" and the towers coming down in their tracks, "just like a planned demolition."

When there finally was an investigation, only testimony supporting the official version of the story was allowed. Imagine, if you will, a court case where there was no conflicting evidence ... case closed.

Time to Face Our Own Not-Seeism

The fact that these blatant contradictions have never been officially addressed stands as stark testimony as to how well weapons of mass-distraction have been used to keep the official story in place. Yes, the mass media has been complicit in failing to present an alternative view, and in marginalizing anyone suggesting otherwise as a "conspiracy nut." But it goes far deeper than that. The persistent "invisible belief" in America's intrinsic goodness makes it incomprehensible that the government in the "land of the free" would perpetrate something that horrendous against its own citizens. Like the Germans who heard about the death camps and were told it was "American propaganda," most Americans won't question the official story because the horrendous implications are too awful to contemplate. But the "Not See" era is about to end.

I'm going to apologize in advance for using a distasteful metaphor that many of you will find repugnant. But since this is the image that keeps coming to mind, I'm going to have to risk it. Think back when you were in college. You were at a party and had a little too much to drink. You're feeling wobbly and a bit nauseous. You are on the teeter-totter of a decision - to throw up or not to throw up. Throwing up. Ugh. You don't want to do it, it's disgusting. But then you realize, you have to do it. It is something the body is telling you to do, and you also know that when you've expelled the mess you will feel so much better.

That is where our body politic is today. We've literally had it up to here. But we've been reluctant to expel the toxins for all to see. Last year at this time, I had contracted to write a story on David Ray Griffin called Unquestioned Answers: A Non-Conspiracy Theorist Takes Aim at the Official 9/11 Story for a local mainstream publication. In the six weeks from the time the editor reluctantly okayed the story until the time I handed it in, she had undergone a change of mind. She told me, "I have come to believe the American government did indeed have something to do with the attacks, and the very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach."

Having to swallow what we've been asked to swallow over the past several years, purging might be the very best cure. So now the question is, what to do and how to do it?

There seem to be two approaches to the 9/11 issue. One involves jumping into the details of the mystery itself and trying to figure out specifically what happened. The problem here is what has already occurred - squabbling about the details, one group of believers in one conspiracy theory accusing another of spreading disinformation.

The other approach is the one I took with the David Ray Griffin article I published last year. Focus on stepping outside the official story, removing its "halo" and asking if indeed, it is the likeliest story. Here's why. No amount of "evidence" will convince anybody unless they are open to the possibility of the premise. The breakthrough will occur when a critical mass of people begin to put it together for themselves.

What opened me to a premise I was - like David Ray Griffin - initially closed to was reading about the "false flag" operations done by NATO during the Cold War and those like Operation Northwoods that was proposed but not initiated here (you can read brief accounts about those in the above-linked article on David Ray Griffin). When I combined this information with the realization I'd already come to - that Bush, Cheney, Rove & Company were capable of anything they could get away with - I had bridged the gap.

Time to Cut Off the Tale That's Been Wagging the Dog

What we face right now is perhaps the greatest opportunity for freedom yet experienced in America. It is an invitation to become "political adults" and step outside the puppet show called electoral politics and take a look at the inner workings behind the "irony curtain." It is here - and only here - that transformational change can take place. It's as big a step as our Founding Fathers made "eleven score and eleven" years ago by declaring themselves sovereign and government a servant.

We do this by educating ourselves and taking heart that so many people are awakening a new field of understanding now. There are many sites but here is a good one to start with because it offers a surprising list of well-known people in all areas of endeavor who question the official tale that has been wagging the dog for the past five years. Another excellent educational site is Mark Robinowitz's Oil Empire site because he offers some very sharp distinctions for sniffing out the truth when there are many different stories.

Finally, we must address this undressing of the cloak of secrecy with healing intent. In other words, we must be able not just to picture but to "feel" what it will feel like to no longer have to fear our own government. We must allow ourselves to see those inside the military, government and intelligence services who have not been "ethically-cleansed" coming forward with the missing pieces of the true story. We must begin now to create a "container" for truth, reconciliation and healing.

Every indication is that there are individuals at all levels of government and influence who are waiting only for a critical mass of Americans to be able to "hold" the true story. Once there is a "listening" for the truth, the truth will out. We encourage the truth through our own courage, and by speaking about politics outside the box as matter-of-factly as the media speaks about politics inside the box.

The simple secret to bringing down the wall of lies is this. When enough people see through the wall, it will cease to exist.

May "Good" bless us all.


Swami Beyondananda © 2007


[First posted 17 April 2007, reposted 11 September 2014 &
11 September 2016]


Sunday, October 19, 2025

Meditation on the Muse (revisited)

Van Gogh painting stolen in Cairo: [22 Aug 2010] A Van Gogh painting worth an estimated $55 million was stolen from a Cairo museum yesterday and after reporting it had been recovered, the state news agency quoted a minister as saying it was still missing.


VINCENT VAN GOGH (1853-1890): During his brief career he managed to sell one painting (to his younger brother Théo, an art dealer). Van Gogh's finest works were produced in less than three years in a technique that grew more and more impassioned in brushstroke, in symbolic and intense color, in surface tension, and in the movement and vibration of form and line. Van Gogh's inimitable fusion of form and content is powerful; dramatic, lyrically rhythmic, imaginative, and emotional, for the artist was completely absorbed in the effort to explain either his struggle against madness or his comprehension of the spiritual essence of man and nature. [Source: The Van Gogh Gallery]
If you happen to be involved in the arts, you'd probably be familiar with some of the downsides of being a producer rather than a consumer of artifacts.

No matter how shy you may be - and whether you're a visual artist, dancer, photographer, writer or musician - there comes a point when you have to present your efforts to an audience. That's when every self-doubt you've ever encountered (and thought you had overcome) returns to haunt your waking hours.


Many of my painter friends are extremely reclusive by nature and recoil at the thought of being in the limelight. Yet they realize they eventually have to make their private obsessions public and exhibit their work. After the invitations to the opening have been posted, there's the nagging anxiety that only a handful will bother showing up - or that the usual incestuous clique will turn up for the free wine, stand around "networking" amongst themselves, and then adjourn for dinner somewhere chic after a cursory, non-commital glance at the work you sweated for months to produce. And, of course, there's always the scary thought that your exhibition may finish its run without a single piece being bought.

Lying in a hospital bed at the start of 2010, I had a flash of inspiration. Rather than wait till some miraculous windfall dropped a huge amount of money in my lap, enabling me to produce a 7-CD boxed edition of my music archive, I would reissue my 1986 second solo album as a stand-alone CD and flog it on my blog!

It would be a relatively painless exercise, requiring only minimal physical exertion on my part (meaning, no more than 3 or 4 trips to KL). The music had already been painstakingly digitized by Daniel Tang of AddAudio from 27-year-old open-reel masters and required only minimal tweaking by my audio wizard friend in Koh Phangan. I could scan the original cassette cover and program notes and resize it for the CD package. No problem persuading a few hundred curious souls to order the CD by post, I figured, so long as it was reasonably priced. And that should cover production costs, with enough profit to pay for services rendered along the way, and perhaps even cover expenses for a 10-day retreat in Bali...

The original 1986 release of 2nd Coming on compact cassette

As it turned out, the scanned cassette cover proved unusable. A totally new cover design and layout was in order as the original photos and artwork no longer existed. Not a major problem, especially when a helpful artist friend had kindly offered to take care of the technical details.

Finally the CD master arrived by express courier. My audio wizard mixmaster, Sanuk aka Daniel Schwörer (left), had done three versions - one with no equalization or processing, original tape hiss and all; another with souped-up dynamics; and a "mellow" version with a less aggressive personality. His feedback on the 2nd Coming project is well worth documenting in a separate post.

No Commercial Potential

After the excitement of listening to various versions of the mix (through loudspeakers as well as headphones) had subsided somewhat, I began to feel a twinge of anxiety about how the music would be received.

The way I create music in the studio is so uniquely idiosyncratic the results don't fit into any familiar categories or genres. Since early childhood, I have been exposed to an eclectic spectrum of different styles of music - ranging from schmaltzy big-band post-war dance music and Afro-Cuban cha-cha to totally far-out experiments by envelope-pushers like Conlon Nancarrow, Terry Riley, Sun Ra, John Cage, John Coltrane, Soft Machine, Captain Beefheart, and Henry Cow. I even owned an LP of George Harrison's little-known experiments with electronic music. Apart from this offbeat diet, I also listened a lot as a kid to soundtrack albums (my favorite film composers were Jerry Goldsmith and Elmer Bernstein).

One of my early musical heroes, Frank Zappa, was fond of mocking record company executives by describing his own prolific output as having absolutely "no commercial potential." Zappa never aspired towards mainstream acceptance, but his genius as a composer, producer and guitarist made him a living legend, respected by musicians of all genres - classical, jazz and pop alike. I wonder if Frank occasionally suffered from bouts of self-doubt about the ultimate artistic worth of his oeuvre.

The Acid Test

Well, I do. That's why my music undergoes stringent laboratory tests before being released. For instance, I would play rough mixes of 2nd Coming on various friends' sound systems to check the dynamics under different atmospheric and spatial conditions - and one evening, under the mind-expanding influence of lysergic acid diethylamide, I listened to the whole of Sting's 1985 debut solo album, The Dream of the Blue Turtles; and immediately afterwards played 2nd Coming all the way through. Both albums sounded perfect  to me, even though the musical idioms were worlds apart.

When Sting came out with The Dream of the Blue Turtles, I had been awestruck by the amazing artistic and technical heights the man had achieved. The recording sounded gloriously fresh and every one of his sessionists contributed a magical ingredient to the mix that was truly inspired. Apart from that, Sting's songs were remarkable in their beauty of construction and maturity of expression.

For a long time, Blue Turtles was my measure of absolute perfection in the annals of recorded music, along with the Beatles' ground-breaking Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Cliub Band. Now, I'm not comparing myself to Sting or the Beatles. The music we produce is totally different. What I'm saying is that I was able to enjoy my own stuff as much as I enjoyed Sting's album, without feeling a sense of letdown. That's what I call passing the "Acid Test"!

Not Exactly Easy Listening

I'd be the first to admit that the music in 2nd Coming doesn't qualify as "easy on the ears." I was going through a pretentious phase, so the music is extremely cerebral and demands the listener's full attention. At that point in time I didn't have a strong interest in rhythm, so anyone looking for funky grooves will probably be disappointed. It's not the sort of music you might hear on FM radio or put on at a cocktail party. Unless, of course, you've added a few exotic ingredients in the punch.

1986 ink portrait of E. Manu Eel (now known
as Antares) by Ahmad Fauzi
Why on earth do I make music? That's a question I often ask myself. Of all the activities I have indulged in since my childhood days - writing, cartooning, taking photos, acting, directing, videomaking - making music is perhaps the most intimate expression of my soul.

The hours I spend in the studio laying down multiple tracks in rapid succession, one after another - usually working all through the night - can be counted as my happiest, freest moments. Leaning back on the sofa and listening to the playback of a fresh mix through the recording studio's giant JBL speakers is more gratifying to me than sex.

I did the layout for the cassette inlay myself

It so happens that I have a rather low tolerance for campfire songs and instantly accessible music (such as has made composers like Bollywood whizkid A.R. Rahman and instrumentalists like Kenny G immensely rich). I can admire (and sometimes envy) the catchy hooks and saccharine melodies that constitute the main ingredients of mainstream pop music, but I guess I'm too much of a snob to ever be caught churning out such formulaic stuff.

Or, at least, I was. As one matures, the powerful desire to come across as "different" begins to diminish - perhaps because youth is the appropriate time for us to explore and express our uniqueness as individuals.

Antares (right) plays pots and pans on Chaos at the Supermarket with Rafique Rashid and R.S. Murthi (pic by Syed Zainal Rashid, 1984)

I believe that with my early musical output I went as far out on a limb as anyone possibly could to be totally individualistic - which, alas, automatically disqualified me as a candidate for Top of the Pops. Much as I admired the Beatles (I still do and always will) and at one time yearned to be as rich and famous as the four lucky and talented lads from Liverpool, the influence of Saturn in my Leo makes me distrust popularity and commercial success. This trait can be a serious liability, I know. Another reason why I could never be a politician - I'd lose my deposit at every contest.

I'm not counting on selling a million CDs like Michael Jackson or Cold Play. In fact, I'd be delighted if even 500 people on Planet Earth show enough curiosity to give 2nd Coming a fair hearing - since only 500 copies of this CD exist. And if they find my musical explorations thought-provoking, neurologically stimulating and mysteriously instructive, I'd be positively over-the-moon.


Click here for more background info.
Click here to listen to 2nd Coming.

[First posted 22 August 2010, reposted 10 November 2013, 17 October 2019
& 21 October 2021]


Wednesday, October 15, 2025

Four Fathers at a Class Reunion (repost)

Four friends, who hadn't seen each other in 30 years, were reunited at a party. Several drinks later, one of the men had to use the rest room. The other three started talking about their kids.

The first guy said: "My son is my pride and joy. He started working at a successful company at the bottom of the barrel. He studied Economics and Business Administration and soon began to climb the corporate ladder, and now he's the president of the company. He became so rich he gave his best friend a top-of-the-line Mercedes for his birthday."

The second guy said: "Wow, that's terrific! My son is also my pride and joy. He started working for a big airline, then went to flight school to become a pilot. Eventually he became a partner in a new airline, where he owns the majority of its assets. He's so rich he gave his best friend a brand new jet for his birthday."

The third man said: "Well, that's really terrific! My son studied in the best universities and became an engineer. Then he started his own construction company and is now a multimillionaire. He also gave something nice and expensive to his best friend for his birthday: a 30,000-square-foot mansion!"


The three friends were congratulating each other just as the fourth returned from the restroom and asked, "What are all the congratulations for?"

One of the three said: "We were talking about the pride we feel for our sons' wonderful success. Hey, what about your son?"

The fourth man replied: "Ha ha. Well, my son is gay and makes a living dancing as a stripper at a nightclub."

The three friends said, shaking their heads: "Oh dear, what a shame... what a terrible disappointment."

The fourth man replied: "Heck, no, I'm not ashamed of him. He's my son and I love him. And he hasn't done too badly either. His birthday was two weeks ago, and he received a beautiful 30,000-square-foot mansion, a brand new jet and a top-of-the-line Mercedes from his three boyfriends."

[Courtesy of V. Cornelius. First posted 5 October 2010. Reposted 12 October 2017]

Tuesday, October 7, 2025

Tribute to a Working Class Hero (reprise)

John Winston Ono Lennon (9 October 1940 ~ 8 December 1980)

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) ~ John Lennon/Yoko Ono, 1969




WORKING CLASS HERO (John Lennon, 1970)

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me


John Lennon was assassinated by a Deep State patsy named Mark David Chapman outside his New York City apartment on 8 December 1980. He had just celebrated his 40th birthday on 9 October. I shall always be grateful for the tremendous inspiration I received from this great soul during my teens and even into my adult years.

[First posted 8 December 2008, reposted 8 December 2016 & 9 October 2018]

Saturday, October 4, 2025

How retired riverdancers amuse themselves & others



Uploaded on 22 Sep 2011 (reposted 4 October 2014)
Video by @Jonny_Reed
Performed and Choreographed by Cleary & Harding

Sunday, September 28, 2025

Wall Street Monkeys (revisited)

I found this posted on a now defunct blog called The Might Of The Pen....

If you have difficulty understanding the current world financial situation, the following story should help...

Once upon a time in a village in India, a man announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for $10.

The villagers, seeing there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest and started catching them.

The man bought thousands at $10, but, as the supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their efforts. The man further announced that he would now buy at $20. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again.


Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer rate increased to $25 and the supply of monkeys became so scarce that it was an effort to even see a monkey, let alone catch it!


The man now announced that he would buy monkeys at $50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now act as buyer, on his behalf.

In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers: "Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has collected. I will sell them to you at $35 and when he returns from the city, you can sell them back to him for $50."

The villagers squeezed together their savings and bought all the monkeys.

They never saw the man or his assistant again, only monkeys everywhere...

Welcome to Wall Street.



[First posted 13 October 2008. Reposted 2 October 2014]


Saturday, September 27, 2025

Mak Minah, Uncrowned Queen of the Temuan (repost)

"Minah Angong" by Andy Maguire (oil on fiberboard, 10" X 8")

Yes, I am pleased to tell you my story. But as I cannot write things down, I will ask my friend to help. He is among those who knew me well in my last years on this earth. I whisper these words in his mind’s ear, for he is still in the world of the living, while I am already back in the realm of spirit, and happily so.

Minah Angong's gravestone
My bones now lie buried on top of a hill overlooking the saddest sight you can imagine. Majestic hills stripped of trees, mountains blown up to make a dam. I may be dead but my spirit lives on in my songs, and in the sacred (and now badly scarred) landscape I love so dearly.  One day my songs will be heard and they will soften the hardened hearts of the greedy ones who destroy more than they construct. When men’s hearts heal, so will the land.

I was born in Pertak, Ulu Selangor, between two world wars, into the Temuan tribe. The identity card issued by the government says I arrived on September 14, 1930, and records my name at birth as Menah Anak Kuntom.  People knew me as Mak Minah because that was my stage name as lead singer with a band called Akar Umbi. Perhaps the most exciting moment of my life was when we performed before 42,000 people at the biggest stadium in Selangor. Afterwards, so many people came and congratulated me. I had a photograph taken with Sharifah Aini and Sahara Yaacob, who were also performing that night. We looked like three queens together!

Anyway, Menah or Minah makes little difference to me, since I can’t spell. Our names keep changing as we change. But once we write anything down, it becomes harder to change. Take my sister’s name: although we have the same father and mother, her name is recorded in her identity card as Indah Anak Merkol, after our  stepfather. My mother’s name was Beresih but all her children called her Mui, which is the Temuan word for Mak or Mother.

As a child I remember life was carefree and fun. Fish was abundant in the streams, and the forest supplied all our needs, except for luxuries like sugar, salt, and milled rice. Fresh meat was easily available as there were many animals that could be hunted or trapped.  We Orang Asli can eat anything, with or without legs or wings, as long as it’s not poisonous (we even know how to remove the poison from some wild plants so that they become edible). Apart from fish and wild boar, we also eat porcupines, pythons, leaf monkeys, deer, birds, and bamboo rats (whose flesh is very clean and sweet, as they feed only on bamboo shoots). These are all gifts of the Great Spirit That Dwells In Everything.

Mak Minah with younger sister Indah (1997) 

The only education I received was from my grandmother, who enjoyed telling us stories. She explained how human beings were seeded on Tanah Tujuh (which is what we call this physical world) by Mamak and Inak Bongsu, a brother and sister who survived the Great Flood by clinging to the top of a gaharu tree on Gunung Raja. 

My grandmother was full of wonderful tales about the beautiful elven races (Orang Halus) who left the planet for the higher heavens when the Difficult Times began. Some chose to remain, because they had grown to love the earth, but they gradually became invisible to human eyes.

Minah claimed she could summon the dragon,
totem of her tribal lineage (Peter Lau)
People ask me if Orang Asli have any religion. I always reply that we don’t need religion because our God is not separate from the everyday world in which we live. The Great Spirit That Dwells In Everything takes all forms and speaks to us as the song of the wind in the bamboo grove, or as the neverending gossip of the river. Sometimes it is the distant call of a mist-covered mountain. Other times, it is as close as a sleeping child breathing gently in its mother’s ear.

During my lifetime I saw how people became blinded by ambition and greed. They began to mine the earth for metals and log the forest for wood. With each passing year the land became hotter and the rivers became dirtier, so we could no longer drink the water without boiling it first.  With each passing year we had to walk farther and farther to find some bamboo or catch some fish because people would come into the forest and take out more than they needed. And with each passing year we saw more and more wilderness cleared so that towns could be built.

I enjoyed going to town where many things could be bought, but to do that we had to sell durians, petai, bamboo, cane (manao) and aromatic wood (gaharu) for cash. Yet I could never imagine myself living in a town where it’s always so noisy and hot. Like all Orang Asli, I dearly love the jungle which is our natural home and hunting ground. I would rather die than be forced to live in a town.

Japanese soldier in Malaya, 1942
When I was 12 the world turned upside down. Planes dropped bombs in the jungle to destroy bridges and railway tracks. We had to hide in caves on the slopes of mountains. For many years my family stayed hidden deep in the forest, for fear that we may be captured or killed by the invaders. During those war years we missed the taste of salt and sugar. We lived in the middle of the Malay Peninsula - far from the sea – and had grown accustomed to flavoring our food with salt bought from the Chinese merchants.  My mother taught me how to make cooking oil from the perah nut.

After the war life became even worse for us. The government put us all in detention camps, surrounded by barbed wire, and guarded by soldiers. They said it was to protect us from the communist guerrillas. Unused to suddenly being confined in a small space so close to town, many of our people became depressed, fell sick, and died. This is how I lost both my parents.

Sembo, Minah's favorite granddaughter
But I was already an attractive young woman with many admirers. My life stretched ahead of me like a newly laid road, and I had a taste for adventure. I found myself married to a man I hardly knew. At least he could take me away from the confines of the resettlement camp. We ran back to our beloved jungle and built a hut along the river, along with many others who could no longer bear living within a fence.

My first marriage was a tragedy. I was too young to be a dutiful mother. My children died of illness and my husband left me. For a while, I flirted with the idea of becoming a white man’s mistress. Then I met Angong who had recently become the Batin (headman) of Kampong Gerachi. He was a patient man with great wisdom. It was he who taught me the ceremonial songs passed down to him by his ancestors. Angong taught me to be proud of my noble naga (dragon) lineage. Not every family has an animal totem. Only those with some knowledge of jungle medicine (jampi) or who possess magical powers (dukun) have special allies in the animal kingdom. 

I bore Angong five children and greatly missed him when he returned to Pulau Buah, where souls go after they drop their physical bodies (which we call baju, or clothes). When my children grew up and started their own families, I moved to Kampong Pertak to live with my younger sister Indah and her husband Rasid. My elder brothers, Diap and Utat, lived nearby.  My eldest son, Ramsit, took over as Batin of Gerachi.

Minah Angong & Nai Anak Lahai with Akar Umbi lineup in August 1995

Mak Minah with Antares & Chandrabhanu
after performing 'Birthplace Reclaimed'
in 1993 (photo by Rafique Rashid)
It was fated that my life would begin to change in 1992. I met a few people from the big city who happened to be musicians. They heard me singing and decided to record my voice, adding musical instruments to give my traditional sawai (healing) songs a modern sound. The first song we created together was called Burung Meniyun. I was asked to sing it on stage during a performance by a famous dancer named Chandrabhanu who lived in Australia. I was surprised and touched that people in the big city would receive my humble song with such open hearts.  Never before had I sung for so many strangers in such a large hall! Chandrabhanu himself was quite a colorful character, dressed up as some kind of witch doctor with all sorts of strange objects dangling from his body. I found it exciting to meet so many new friends who were delighted to hear my ancient songs. 

It all happened so quickly. One moment I was just an Orang Asli widow gathering firewood and tapioca leaves in the forest and going fishing with my sister. Then suddenly I was on national TV singing for thousands of people in a huge stadium! I shall never forget the pleasure of hearing the loud applause and shaking hands with everybody afterwards. I felt proud to be able to please so many people with my simple songs. For once I could feel that no one was looking down on me, or ignoring me, for being an uneducated Orang Asli. 

Can you imagine how it feels to be recognized by someone in Ulu Langat who had seen my performance on TV?  When I went to the market in town, people came up to me and congratulated me on my performance. But back in Kampong Pertak, I was greeted with a mixture of wholehearted support and suspicion. Some whispered behind my back that I was soon going to be too sombong (proud) to be their friend. That really hurt my heart.

Minah performs at the first Rainforest World Music
Festival in Sarawak, August 1998 (Wayne Tarman)
I enjoy singing for people, and my late husband taught me that these songs handed down from our ancestors carry healing power. They are medicine songs. When I sing I can feel my spirit expand like a strong wind blowing through a tree. Naik angin, we call it.  Once I start I must carry on until the wind becomes a breeze and goes quietly on its way. If I don’t let the spirit wind flow (lepas angin) I can get very sick.

My first experience of flying was when Akar Umbi performed in Sarawak at the Rainforest World Music Festival. I had such a grand time and made even more friends. I returned to Sarawak with Akar Umbi the next year, for the last time. At the party after the close of the festival, my newfound friends sang me a rousing Iban farewell. My heart was light and heavy at the same time. Perhaps I knew this was our last meeting on this earth.

Photo by Roland Takeshi
Even as I felt the pleasure of being applauded, I could feel the pain of losing our past and future. The dam project would soon destroy Kampong Gerachi and its durian orchards. A man-made lake would fill the Selangor River Valley, drowning a once-beautiful forest, along with our ancestral graves. I could not imagine anyone so foolish as to declare war against the forces of nature.  Did they have no understanding of, or respect for, our deep love of the land? Were they totally unaware that destroying the land would mean the end of our livelihood and future?  We are the land. If the land dies, we die. 

My sister Indah and brothers Diap and Utat felt the same way that I did. We cherished our traditions and would never lose our heart connection to the land, even if we were offered vast amounts of money.  The Temuan tribe has lived here for many thousands of years; the hills and valleys and rivers are much, much older than that. Our fruit trees can live for over a hundred years and as long as we keep planting new ones, our great-great-grandchildren will never starve. But if they destroy the wilderness and put our people in housing estates and make us work in factories, our tribe will be disappear within a generation. Our nenek-moyang (ancestors) told us: “When Orang Asli are no longer visible on this earth, the sea will rise, the sky will fall, and everything will perish.”

Minah Angong by Antares (1999)

It all seemed hopeless. My own son, as headman, had signed an agreement with the dam builders and loggers, allowing the destruction to begin.  I tried to talk him out of it, but he silenced me, his own mother.  My sorrow ran deep.  Before it had even started the dam project had split our families apart. 

But there were thousands of voices raised against the dam, and I was glad that we had so many friends, people who knew the true value of the rainforest and fought hard to stop the destruction.  I was interviewed by many reporters and I told them how I felt about seeing our way of life being taken from us.  One reporter asked me: “Don’t you want to see your grandchildren getting a good education, which they can only get when development reaches the rural areas?” I replied: “All those who cut down the trees and make the hills bare, causing landslides and floods, aren’t they educated too? If that’s what being educated means, then we Orang Asli don’t want to be educated!” The reporter had nothing to say to that.

Minah gazes at the Indian Ocean at Batu Ferringhi, Penang, 1993 (photo: Rafique Rashid)

In a way, I’m glad I didn’t live to see the bulldozers and excavators arrive. Three weeks after I performed in Sarawak, I fell ill and surrendered my body to the earth. It has become part of the sacred landscape of my ancestors. But my spirit is reunited at last with the Great Spirit That Dwells In Everything and I am happy.

[Originally published in Off The Edge © Antares 2002, first posted 21 September 2014. Reposted 14 September 2016, 14 September 2017 & 24 September 2019]