LOMEO & JURIET (Act II, Scene 2) ~ Terangslated from the Shakespeare into Proper Manglish by Antares

The Story So Far

There has been little peace in the new township of Jinjang Utara ever since the long-drawn and gruesome War of the Seafood Palaces caused a serious rift between two influential clans – the Ngs and the Chans. At a lavish Chap Goh Meh party hosted by Datuk Chan, trouble brews when a bunch of rowdies from the Ng clan decide to gatecrash and are immediately spotted. Not wishing to ruin the festivities, Datuk Chan orders his hotheaded nephew and his gang to ignore the intruders. And so, while the rest of the guests are merrily lambadaing the night away, Lomeo Ng (youngest son of Towkay Ng) encounters the lovely Juriet Chan (favorite daughter of Datuk Chan) and Fate (or Biochemistry and/or Electromagnetism) takes over. They fall desperately (or rise ecstatically) in love; and after the party Lomeo finds himself drawn to the luxurious Chan Villa where, as our hero lurks libidinously in the shadows, he sees the moonstruck Juriet on her second floor balcony, sighing and calling for her true love…

                               Shakespearean                                                      Manglish

JUL:  O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.	JUR:  Aiya Lomeo, Lomeo! Where are you ah, Lomeo? Donkair your farder lah, simply chain your name olidi can; udderwise ah, you plomise to love me orways and I will tlade in my surname Chan.
ROM:  [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?	LOM: [Aside] Watudu ah, keep quiet and rissen summore, or say hurro to her now?
JUL: 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy: thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name. What's in a name? That which we call a rose  by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.	JUR: Your name oni got ploblem one; you yourself okay, so what your family name called Ng. Arfter all, what is Ng? Not your finger, or your foot, or your nose, or your toes, or any udder part of you called Ng wat. Aiya, why notchew call yourself some udder name? Name is name oni wat. Loh’s frower we call sumting else steel smelling nice wat; so Lomeo oso nice, sahpose he not called Lomeo Ng, evelyting about him ngam-ngam oni. Lomeo, cancer your name lah; your name not rike gum to your body wat. Give up the Ng and take me lah.
ROM: I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd; henceforth I never will be Romeo.	LOM: Orait lah, I take, I take! You oni have to call me sayang, and olidi I got new name; Lomeo Ng habis!
JUL: What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel?	JUR: Alamak! Got olang minyak or wat? Who de hell are you ah, and why you spy on me one?
ROM: By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: my name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word.	LOM: My name I skad to tell you, bekos now I oso hate my name: arfturds you ting I am your anneemee, dear moon goddess. Sahpose my name wlite on piece of paper, better I tear it up.
JUL: My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?	JUR: Oni a few words flom your mouf enter my ear, but olidi I know your voice: you are Lomeo, your farder Towkay Ng, istlu ornot?
ROM: Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.	LOM: Not tlue, cantik, if you doan rike my farder name or mais one.
JUL:  How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here.	JUR: How you kum here and waffor, yutelme? Got high-high wall outside, summore bubwire and 24-hour sikhulity; dailah, sahpose my family catch you.
ROM: With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do, that dares love attempt: therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.	LOM: My hut feeling so right one, can fry olidi; so hauken stonewall stop me? Bekos of love lah I bekum helo, and helo kennot die one.
JUL:  If they do see thee, they will murder thee.	JUR: Aiyo, eef my brudders see you ah, dey weel hantam you kau-kau.
ROM: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet and I am proof against their enmity.	LOM: Adoi, your rooks arone enuf to kill, no nid twenty palangs and bearing sclaper; you rook so sweet, hauken anyone fill beetter?
JUL:  I would not for the world they saw thee here.	JUR: Better dey doan see you here, udderwise mampus lah.
ROM: I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes, and, but thou love me, let them find me here; my life were better ended by their hate than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.	LOM: So dark one, how dey can see me? And eef you doan love me, better dey catch me; better to die flom their hate dan leeve widout your love.
JUL:  By whose direction found'st thou out this place?	JUR: Who show you de way here?
ROM: By love, that first did prompt me to enquire. He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot, yet, wert thou as far as that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, I should adventure for such merchandise.	LOM: Love lah, love orways find a way, izzenit? I kennot dlive Ploton or sail boat or fry aeloplane, but even eef you leeve overseas, steel I weel find you; how far oso nevermain, I doan brarf you.
JUL:  Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek for that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain deny what I have spoke. But farewell compliment. Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay', and I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries, they say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo: but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; and therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light: but trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, but that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware, my true-love passion: therefore pardon me; and not impute this yielding to light love which the dark night hath so discovered.	JUR: Lucky tonight vely dark, so you kennot see my chik turn led-led one olidi. Aiya, shy oni lah wat you hear me spik just now! But wat I said you olidi hear, so nemmain lah; no nid to pletend anymore, too rate to save face. You love me ornot? Sure lah, you say yes; can sumpah summore, but mebbe tipu oni. The God oso he orways raughing at peeple’s plomises of love. Aiya Lomeo, tell me tluly one lah: you love me ornot? Sahpose yuting I am too easy to get? Mebbe I better talik harga and say dowan! Den you weel chase a bit lah; but I oso dowan to lun too fast. Ackchwurly, my dear Mr Ng, I feel vely geli lah: plis doan ting I am phooling alaun wid you, I am vely stletford one, my hut kennot chit people one, not rike dose womans wid swit-swit tongues. Mebbe sum people weel say I am too flenly to you, a stlanger summore, but olidi you heard me saying all kind of tings, so nemmain lah. Solly ah, I kennot acting one: I give myself to you, even doh I kennot see you one, so gelap tonight.
ROM: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops…	LOM: Chah Bor, I sumpah by the silver moon which makes all de tlees in your garden shiny…
JUL: O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.	JUR: Cheh, doan sumpah by the moon, he not vely steady one, evely week chain size and shape. Arfturds your love rike dat oso, den how?
ROM: What shall I swear by?	LOM: Den how to swear?
JUL: Do not swear at all. Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee.	JUR: Better not to swear at all; or else you sumpah on your own hut, which is the awltar where I can pray; like dat I can belif lah.
ROM: If my heart's dear love...	LOM: Sahpose my hut pumping too hard…
JUL: Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: it is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast!	JUR: Aiyah, den doan swear lah. I am vely happy to see you, but not so happy to see you rike dis: hauken so fast, so culi-culi one, rike rightning which doan last more dan a few seckands. Let us meet again later lah, and see eef dis tender fluit of love is masak ornot. Now our lomance rike frower bud oni, not open foolly yet. So I say goonight; go home and sreep first, okay?
ROM: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?	LOM: Aiyo, I nochet satisfied.
JUL: What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?	JUR: How you wan me to satisfy you?
ROM: The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.	LOM: I wan to hear you sumpah your love for me.
JUL: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: and yet I would it were to give again.	JUR: Podah, oridi swear wat, even before you arsk. But you wan, I can swear again, no ploblem. I take back my plomise.
ROM: Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?	LOM: Oi, doan take back lah; waffor you take back?
JUL: But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within] I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit]	JUR: So I can geeve you again lah, bodoh. But you got olidi wat. Arfterall I filling open rike the sea, and my love vely deep one you know: I geeve and geeve you, steel kennot habis, just rike sea orways got water one. [Amah calls from inside] Someone bising olidi. Okay lah, sayang, goodbye! - Ah Soh, why you shouting? – Mr Ng, manis, you wait reetle while ah, I come out again. [Exit]
ROM: O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial.	LOM: Wah, shiok oni lah! Hope I am not dleaming oni; why I so rucky bugger one?
[Re-enter JULIET, above] JUL: Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, by one that I'll procure to come to thee, where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; and all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay and follow thee my lord throughout the world. NURSE [Within]: Madam! JUL:  I come, anon. -- But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee -- NURSE [Within]: Madam! JUL: By and by, I come: -- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: to-morrow will I send.	[Re-enter JURIET on 3rd floor of Chan Villa] JUR: Tlee words more, Lomeo sayang, or mebbe tlee hundled; den distaim really goonight oridi. Eef you love me enuf to marry me ah, tomollow you must pass me message  showing orspeeshus date and which lestoran we can have beeg dinner; and my holaif I weel put infrun of you lah, and all alaun de world I weel forrow you. AMAH [Within]: Meees! JUR: Kahming, kahming – But eef you are not really selious one, aitelyu – AMAH [Within]: Meees Juriiiiet! JUR: Okay, okay lah! – stop praying dis game and let me suffer hut pain by myself. Tomollow I contact you ah.
ROM: So thrive my soul --	LOM: Hweeyoh, my hut so happy can die one --
JUL: A thousand times good night! [Exit, above]	JUR: Goonight, goonight, lepeat one tausend taims goonight! [Closing 3rd floor window]
ROM: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.	LOM: One tausend taims more susah to see you go away. Love ah, going near love orways rike rong weekend coming up; but when love reaving love ah, just rike must go for extla tuition.

                                                 

Antares © 1995-2019

Antares now heads the Department of Advanced Manglish at the University of Pertak. He has initiated a RM42 million program to "terangslate" the World's Great Books into Manglish - which has yet to be formally acknowledged as Malaysia's de facto national language, even though many have actively campaigned for this since 1989. 

The infamous balcony scene in Manglish from Lomeo & Juriet has twice been staged in Kuala Lumpur. It also inspired a full-scale Malaysian adaptation in 2005 by Gavin Yap, titled Romi & Joo Lee (dan lain-lain). 

Thanks to Sheryll Stodhart (glowingly described by an Umno rightwing dickhead as a "diehard socialist, Anwar Ibrahim apologist, and rabid anti-government writer") and Men's Review for being the first to publish my Manglish-Lit series in 1995.

[First posted 2 October 2012, reposted 11 August 2016, 7 May 2019

& 11 August 2024]

THE ORIGINS OF MANGLISH ~ by Antares (repost)

A Manglish Primer

Contrary to popular myth, I didn‘t invent Manglish. Nor would I blame it on the Chinese either. As a distinctive language in its own right, Manglish has been evolving quietly and discreetly since the British introduced English to these shores - but it has only been in evident use for about half a century. Prior to 1945 local Anglophones generally attempted to speak "the King's English" (later replaced by the BBC Overseas Service Standard English). Or else they were content to squawk at each other in some lewd and loud local lingo.

When British rule ended in 1957, out went the rules of spoken English - and that's how Manglish rapidly became a functional intermediary between our official first and second languages, Bahasa Malaysia and Business English. I first heard Manglish spoken when I entered the garment (ackchwurly government) primary school - the same year Britain handed Malaya back to the Malayans. To celebrate Independence, we unstiffened our upper lips and reveled in the ecstatic freedom of "seemply tokking kok." No longer would we tolerate being accused of speaking Bad English. We could now proudly proclaim our mastery of Good Manglish.

At home my parents communicated in a curious mixture of Cantonese and Missionary English - which wasn't quite the same potent concoction as Street Manglish. Somehow the species of English spoken in pre-Merdeka days didn't have the gutsy gutturality of Proper Manglish - perhaps because the local Anglophones were in awe of their Colonial masters and suffered from cultural cringe. 

Those with middle class aspirations attempted to speak what they thought was "the King's English" (later replaced by BBC Overseas Service Standard English). But they kept pretty much within their own racial and social boundaries, demonstrating the efficacy of the Divide-&-Rule Policy. A great deal more inter-ethnic socializing occurred in the post-Merdeka years, and this eventually produced an organic amalgam of vernacular idiosyncrasies - the glorious outcome being what is today universally known as Manglish.

In Singapore some folks speak Singlish - which, naturally, has a lot in common with Manglish, since both societies sprang from the same polyglot roots. However, the use of Singlish appears to be diminishing as the literacy level rises - and along with it, social aspirations. But I may be wrong. I wouldn't be at all surprised to receive an indignant email from Sylvia Toh Paik Choo of the Singlish Preservation Trust setting the record straight. In fact a Singlish rap album (Why You So Like Dat? produced by Siva Choy) made the charts in the early 1990s, proving that Singaporeans do possess a sense of humor.

Siva Choy raps in Singlish on his hit album Why You So Like Dat?

Manglish, in any case, seems to be thriving in Malaysia. Indeed there is a growing body of literature in Manglish (mostly generated by me) which has found its way into British Council language courses as teaching aids. Furthermore, studies such as this one have been commissioned by serious anthropological journals (none of which, alas, still exists) - which hardly augurs well for the continued growth and development of this embryonic industry. 

A real pity, as the terangslation - pardon, translation - of the World's Great Books into Proper Manglish (so that they will become accessible to everyone regardless of social background) will inevitably be retarded, along with the intellectual vibrancy of the nation. Manglish, after all, is the Great Equalizer. No one could possibly pull rank or put on airs when communicating in Manglish. You doan belif me ah? Seemply abzob all the impoting facks, and den go araun booshitting like nobody's beezniz until peeple oso ting you are a regular/decent/down-to-earth kind of fler.

A Word of Warning: If you happen to be a Mat Salleh (read White-Skinned Furriner), we advise you not to attempt speaking Manglish to every Malaysian you meet - unless specifically invited, or else you've lived here long enough to appreciate the indescribable delights of sambal belacan, durian and tempoyak (a piquant relish made from fermented durian). Otherwise you may inadvertently cause serious offence (Bladihel, you look down upon us ah? Yuting we cannot spikking your bladi langwidge one ah?) and find yourself arrested under the Infernal Sensitivities Act. Nonetheless, you may enjoy studying Manglish purely out of linguistic interest (so you can understand wat de local peeple are saying about you lah).

Credit must be given to two cunning linguists (and excellent musicians), Messrs Julian Mokhtar and Rafique Rashid, who sparked my interest in undertaking a formal study of Manglish phonetics and usage - which led to a standardization of spelling and the compilation of a Manglish glossary in 1988. The preliminary results of my research were published in ADOI! (Times Books International, 1989) and since then I have been commissioned to produce a growing body of literature in Manglish - including original poyems and terangslations of eggcerpts from Shakespeare, which appeared in the popular magazine, Manglish Review - whoops, I mean, Men's Review - in the mid-1990s.

MANGLISH IN ACTION (Part One)

A man walks into a department store and is greeted by a good-looking sales promoter.

SALESGIRL: Iffning, sir, how are you? Today got speshul awfer one. Leemeeted stork oni. Impotteds from the Germ Ernie. Got two-ear guarantee. 39.99 oni and summore you baiwanfriwan!

CUSTOMER: Aiseh, you look just like Hongkong star Anita Mui, don‘t get angry ah...

SALESGIRL: Ofcos aidontch-main, sir, I oso like Anita Mui wat, but whynotchew buy one and get one free, can gif to your gurfren?

CUSTOMER: Where I got gurfren, no taim lah. Eh, wat is your name ah, can tell ornot?

SALESGIRL: Aiyah, arfturds your gurfren jailus. Mister, better you buy now, tomollow awfer feenish oridi.

CUSTOMER: Aitoyu got no gurfren lah. How about you ah, got vacancy ornot? Eh, you feenish work we go for sahper, okay?

SALESGIRL: Aiyoh, aiskad oni lah, you so fast-fast one! Plis lah, sir, you hairp me, I hairp you lah, oni 39.99 wat, no nid to be so chipsket one lah!

CUSTOMER: Here‘s my card, plis call me wen you have freetaim, okay?

SALESGIRL: Betayudon gif card, sir. Managemen not allaud.

CUSTOMER: Bladihel, I gif to you, not to managemen wat!

SALESGIRL: Velly solly, sir, cannot like dat one, arfturds I lose my job den how? Solly ah.

CUSTOMER: Barsket, yuting you so bew-tifool ah?

SALESGIRL: Dis kind of peeple oso got. Cheh.

MANGLISH IN ACTION (Part Two)

Coffeeshop scene featuring a gaggle of garrulous pensioners enjoying a few rounds of Guinness.

PENSIONER 1: Aitelyu de barger so-poorting, dah. Lastaim working for debladigarmen, 20-over years, boy. Fraskes oni, defler. Den olafasudden resign and join praivet sector... and wat happen 3 years later? Kena retrench, dah. Hauken dat old fart find anudder job. I arsk yu. Dailah.

PENSIONER 2: Huseso, dah, doan tokkok, man. His brudder-in-law told me defler kena lowtree man, first prize summore. But he wen araun telling wankain sob story, and now defler shiok oni. Tax exile in Labuan. Left his wife and married a Thai pondan – doan laugh ah, I hear damn seksi one, more beatifuller dan woman - and de barsket started his own ooi-dio production kompeni. I tink she got fren in porn beezniz. Many Thai people name Porn wat, heh heh.

PENSIONER 3: Eh, who you tokking about, dah? De fatty bom-bom Singh, izzit?

PENSIONER 2: Yala, Ajaib, yuting who?

PENSIONER 3: Alamak! Yesterday oni I saw de barger!

PENSIONER 1: Ya, ka? Where?

PENSIONER 3: Infrun Central Market lor.

PENSIONER 2: Wat defler doing there?

PENSIONER 3: Nothing much, lah, seemply stand outside KFC in white suit, look like Kernel Sanders lah, shaking hands with customers oni.

PENSIONER 1: Must be wang habis oridi lah, easy come easy go... marry golddigger pornstar summore. Aisehman, taim for anudder raun. Kamon, lah, I spen you flers. Orait!

PENSIONERS 1, 2 & 3: Bawtums up, dah.

MANGLISH IN ACTION (Part Three)

Two old schoolchums bump into each other on the street.

PANG: Hoy, Dol! Long taim no see, man! So weh-yuattash now?

DOL: Aiyo, Pang, izzit? Steel wid debladigarmen, lah, watudu, got six mouse to feed, man. How about you, meelianair oridi ah‘?

PANG: Ha ha, sofanochet, not so easy mah. But working on it lah. Running my own carpet cleaning kompeni. Eh, here’s my card...

DOL: [READING CARD] Wah, Acksikutip Dairector... tera, man! Steel barechiller orwat?

PANG: Yala, where got taim to find wife, man. Make money first, den chewren. Dat’s wat my old man orways tell me.

DOL: Ha ha ha, good advice.... eh, I oso got card. Here, keep in touch, okay, oldfren.

PANG: [READING CARD] No booshit, man! Head of Maintenance Department ah? Wah, not bad, not bad.

DOL: Gimme a call anytaim. Use my hamfone number, okay?

PANG: Okay, man, next week I caw you. We go for makan lah... eh, Dol, you like seafood ornot?

DOL: No problem, towkay! Everyting oso I makan [WINKS]. Minum osoken. Cheevas Reegull, yutingwat!

A COMPACT GLOSSARY OF COMMON MANGLISH WORDS & PHRASES

ackchwurly - originally “actually” – used in Manglish as a sentence starter, e.g., “to be perfectly honest” or “frankly spikking ah.” 

ackshun (oni) - derived from “action” – meaning “to show off.” 

aidontch-main - corruption of "I don't mind" - the extraneous syllable 'ch' indicates that the speaker is well aware of the subtleties of the English language and is making an effort to sound the 't' in "don't." 

aisehman - contraction of "I say, man!" A totally meaningless utterance, most commonly used by those with absolutely nothing to say. 

aiskad (lah) - confession of nervousness, as in "I'm scared, don't have the guts to do it."

aisodono - expression of ignorance, probably imported from India, originally: "I also don't know" (polite variation of "Damned if I know!").

arfturds – contraction of “afterwards” – often used to imply consequence or effect, e.g., “You don’t hit me ah, arfturds I tell my farder!”; also used in place of “later” (“We go and see pickcher first, arfturds can have sahper.”) 

atoyu (wat) - gentle expression of triumph: "What did I tell you?" 

baiwanfriwan - ploy used mainly by Chinese shop assistants to promote sales: "If you buy one, you'll get one free!"  

barfellow – originally “buffalo” – a reference to bulk, usually signifying a clumsy oaf or plodder. 

barger – corruption of “bugger” – literally, pain-in-the-butt or nuisance.

barsket - uncouth interjection; term of derision, often preceded by the prefix "bladi." Probably a mangled compound of "blasted," "bastard" and "bugger. An all-purpose expression of acute annoyance, as in "Goddamn" or "Blast it!" 

betayudon - mild warning, as in "You'd better not do that." 

bladihel - exclamation conveying intense irritation; corruption of "bloody hell!" 

boh-sia – originally a Hokkien expression meaning “mute” but now loosely applied to teenage girls who hang out with, or put out for, sugar-daddies; frequently misheard as “Bosnia,” which arouses instant embarrassment, confusion, moral outrage or sympathy, not necessarily leading to charitable acts. 

bollsdar - rude retort favored by Malaysian Indians, especially Sikhs; essentially a scrotal reference devolved from "balderdash" or "bollocks." (The deliberate slurring of the commonly heard vernacular suffix 'lah' imparts a more emphatic measure of vulgarity. 

cari makan – popular Malay idiom, literally “looking for food” or “to eke out a living” – but usually employed as a rationale for selfish and myopic behavior. 

cheh – expression of total disgust, usually indicating that the user finds the entire subject vile, filthy, contemptible and unworthy of further discussion.

chipsket - contraction of "cheapskate," somebody not known to be generous; also used to describe anything low-cost. 

dai-lah - term of commiseration, usually mock, used in situations where an element of anxiety is present, e.g.,"Oh dear, now you've blown it!" or "Oh well, that's the end of that!" or "Shit! I'm in real trouble." 

debladigarmen - contraction of "the bloody government" - widely used scapegoat for all of life's disappointments, delays, denials, and prohibitions. 

defler - contraction of "that fellow." 

(doan) tokkok - playful insult ("Don't talk rubbish!"); the etymology of tokkok is uncertain but it probably derives from "talk cock" (as in "cock and bull" stories). 

fatty bom-bom – a juvenile reference to bulk; synonymous with “fatso” – a jocular and universally understood description of obesity. 

filim – mispronunciation of “film” – usually refers to movies, whether analog or digital.

fler - personal and/or impersonal reference, originally a contraction of "fellow" but frequently applied in neuter gender, e.g., "You flers better wochaut!" ("Don't any of you try to be funny!") 

fraskes - noun applied to any individual caught in an unenviable impasse; someone whose case is frustrating; could also imply sexual deprivation. 

gifchan (lah) - half-serious plea, as in "Give us a chance, will you?" Could also mean: "Please do us a favor." 

gurfren - slurring of “girlfriend.” 

hauken - another elastic expression applicable in almost any situation, e.g., "That's not right!" or "Impossible!" or "You don't say!" 

ho-laif - adverb, meaning "perpetually" (contraction of "whole life"). 

huseso - "Says who?" or "Who says so?" (alternatively, hused).  

hutoyu - mild challenge, as in "Who told you?" 

izzit - expression of mild unbelief: "Is that so?" 

izzenit - from "isn't it?" but applied very loosely at the end of any particular statement to elicit an immediate response, e.g., "Yused you will spen me a beer, izzenit?" 

kennonot - request or enquiry, contraction of "Can you or can you not?"; also used as "May I?" or "Will you?" or "Is it possible?" 

kenoso - affirmative, "can also"; in other words, "It's quite all right with me" (see osoken). 

kopi money - unofficial commission; bribe. 

lastaim - denotes the past ("last time"), though not necessarily in any specific sense: e.g., "Las-taim we orways see filim but nowadays stay home and watch dividi oni." 

latok - corruption of “datuk”; (i) “grandfather” in Malay; (ii) a tutelary spirit residing in trees and sacred spots; or (iii) an honorific bestowed on individuals deemed worthy (e.g., Malaysia’s best-loved cartoonist Lat, who’s now a “Latok”). Latokship is a much sought-after status symbol (for which some are willing to pay handsomely). 

mais-wan - possessive pronoun, meaning “it belongs to me” or “it’s mine.” Etymologically part of a family including yos-wan (“yours one”) and dias-wan (“their’s one”). 

mebeken - contraction of “maybe can”: in other words, “It may be possible…” 

nemmain - casual dismissal: "Never mind." 

notshai-wan - from "not shy one" - meaning "shameless" or not standing upon ceremony. 

nola - a dilute negative, used as a device to interrupt, deny, or cancel someone else's statement. 

olafasudden - melodramatic variation on “all of a sudden.” 

oridi - contraction of "already." 

osoken - affirmative, interchangeable with kenoso ("also can"); in other words, "Anything goes!" or "Fine by me!" 

ow-tah (punya) - temi of disparagement, meaning "utterly substandard." 

owk-steshen - from “outstation” - a relic of Colonial days when officials were often absent from their posts doing field work; in other words, “out of town” or “abroad.” 

podah - extremely dismissive term derived from street Tamil, as in "Go to hell!" or "Get stuffed!" or "Fuck off!" 

rigadingwat - interrogative used exclusively by telephonists and secretaries when you demand to speak to their bosses: "What is it regarding?" 

sahper - "supper," usually a major pig-out after a nocturnal shopping spree or pub-crawl. 

seehau - mangling of "let's wait and see how it turns out." 

shiok (oni) - expression of intense pleasure, etymology obscure. 

sofanochet - meaning "it hasn't happened yet"; can also be shortened to nochet, a slurring of "not yet.“ 

sohau - polite interrogative, usually used as greeting, e.g., "Well, how are things with you?" or "how goes it?" 

so-poorting - expression of sympathy or condolence: "You poor thing!" 

sorait - universal apology or palliative ("It‘s all right.") 

tera (oni) - noun describing someone who inspires awe, "a real terror." Often has a positive connotation, as in "defer wankain tera ladykiller lah!" 

tan-slee - corruption of “Tan Sri” - the equivalent of a knighthood. 

tingwat - highly adaptable expression stemming from "What do you think?" May be used as a challenge ("Who cares a hoot what you think!"); a rhetorical question ("Well, how about that?"); or as a friendly insult ("Please don’t inflict your abysmal ignorance on us!") - depending on context and intonation. 

wankain -(wan) - adjective denoting uniqueness, oddness, weirdness, extraordinariness: contraction of "one of a kind" (with "one" repeated for rhythmic symmetry). Sometimes rendered as wankain-oni (to emphasize the uniqueness). 

watudu - rhetorical question: "But what can we do?" An excellent excuse for apathy. 

weh-yuattash - polite question when introduced to a stranger: "Where are you attached to?" (in other words, "What do you do for a living?") 

wochaut - from "watch out" - an ominous threat favored by gangsters and polticians. 

yala - non-committal agreement, liberally used when confronted with a bore. A string of "yalas" issuing forth from your hapless listener is a sure sign that he or she wishes to terminate the conversation as soon as possible. 

yesa - general expression of interest, usually inserted as a question during conversations, as in "Oh, really?" 

yu-a-yu - term of friendly accusation, meaning "You're really too much!" 

yugifmisi - imperative indicating intense curiosity, as in: "Let me have a look!" 

yusobadwan - expression of mild reproach: "Hey, that's not very nice!"

[The Manglish Glossary originally appeared in ADOI! (Times Books International, 1989) which sold 13,000 copies and is currently accessible online. This version, first posted 5 October 2012 & reposted 3 June 2014, 12 June 2020, 22 January 2021 & 13 August 2024, has been slightly expanded.]

Guntram Prochaska, chainsaw sculptor (repost)

Guntram Prochaska on chainsaw
Derek Hauffen on keyboards
Gabriel Herbst on saxophone

Landau, Germany, November 2010

This is true alchemy - transmuting horror into beauty, tree-killing into creativity. Master of the chainsaw, Guntram Prochaska, turns brutal massacre into extraordinary performance.

[My dear friend Gabriel Herbst alerted me to this. First posted 18 december 2010]

THE INTERFACE by John Kaminski (repost)

Relax! This is only science fiction. It couldn’t possibly be true. Or could it?
THE INTERFACE
History from the future about the present

“Creativity is divine memory where we remember ideas from the future.” ~ Plato

By John Kaminski

Concerning the events of January 5, 2014:

The Vanderloopers turned out to be itinerants in the galactic sense, in that they hopped from place to place much like happy Mexicans, only their hopping was up and down the timescale across the entire spectrum of universes. They liked Earth for the sex, of course, and also going to the dog track, for reasons I never understood, and so hung out in various times and places, ancient Persia long ago and even at the North Pole in the far future, when there were plenty of condos there.

I only got a glimpse of their true form once, in San Francisco, when they were transiting from one identity to another. They were long thin strips of bright light, four to twelve feet high but only a foot or two wide, almost like a single match out of a matchbook, and not unlike those Gumby figures, but without features, only varying and pulsating hues of clouds of light subtly coursing like muted TV
weather maps all over their slowly undulating surfaces.

Amongst all the strange beings I was encountering during that time of my life — naguals tracking blue scouts, channelers commenting on temporal politics from their imagined galactic perspective (the archon Hatonn is still hitting for high average after 20 years), and all sorts of people twisting legends of commonality into lucrative New Age pastimes — I didn’t pay that much attention to the Vanderloopers. But I was cordial to them; they were beautiful in human form, very polite and relaxed. I never guessed how important they would be to those of us who remained.

Today (2014) our world has changed completely. All the dire predictions about 2012 turned out be true in a far worse sense than any of us could have possibly imagined. My Pleiadian friend The Boopster had it right all those years ago. I remained skeptical for about a decade, and then the consiliences started to hit me. It was the Photon Belt. And in 2012, it made the sun explode and vaporized the Earth. But many people were ready for this, once the news got out that while the corporeality of the human species was to be obliterated beyond recognition, the actual essence of life contained in its astral and etheric fields remained for a short period of time, as it does in the bardo, and a kind of life continues, and it’s operable if you get the instructions.


And so it came to be that all those who had put their knowledge and beliefs into metaphrand technology retained a safe harbor in which their spirits could operate inside their metaphrands. These solid spirits coalesced in the vaporous etheric footprint that was the fading shadow of the rubble of Earth, now swathed in the poisonous volcanic ash that finally removed the poisoners of the planet from its surface, and in the disorienting maelstrom of fog actually we finally learned to operate our metaphrands, then linked in league with each other, and formed an ectoplasmic organism that could very easily manipulate physical matter, which mastery of the metaphrand requires.

Trouble is, we were floating in outer space, all feeling like we’d been through the biggest car wreck ever — which it was — it took awhile to get oriented, and later, coordinated. But once we did we found we had the instantaneous synchronicity of a flock of birds.

And I haven’t mentioned what is appearing to be the best part. It’s really nice here, and warm, since the shifting of galactic influences made Our Sun burp in the most momentous way, and caused it to expand its searing heart out beyond the orbit of Mars, barbecuing everything closer to it. So it’s warm here, warmer than it has ever been. And it’s nice.

Wait til you hear what happened with the Vanderloopers. They came back and saw us in our savaged states, astral and etheric bodies flailing around in the void with no heart to attach to — right after the planet had been flamed into an instantaneous cinder, nobody felt a thing. If it wasn’t for them, we never would have made it.

The Vanderloopers turned out to be the Varatners, who were from a star system we only have a number for (NGC 7000).


When we were trying to coalesce into a group after the catastrophe (our astral and etheric fires only last about a month or so without regeneration, accomplished by attaching to the Sun), the shadowmasters — as we had come to call ourselves, because we could operate in the after death state known as the bardo — were arguing about what our purpose should be in this curious and unfamiliar state of affairs. But we were all in agreement that wherever we were, it was such a terrific place that we shouldn’t be in a hurry to do anything rash. Even though we had no sense organs, it seemed warm, slightly sweaty, and ever so fragrant, intoxicatingly so.

That’s when the Vanderloopers suddenly popped out right in front of us, Veronica and Voorhees Vanderlooper who I used to hang out with at the pool, flashy German tourists when I saw them. Only they were in their Gumby matchbook attire, tall and slim and graceful, undulating slightly as if swaying in an unseen wind. Behind them was the most terrifying thing of all, the endless blackness of the universe.

“Why are you still here?” they asked coldly, without words.

“Because we are meant to be alive,” I responded, adding hastily, “And we have a gift to give you, and everyone we meet.”

Voorhees, 12 feet tall, chuckled contemptuously. His wife, about 4 feet, was more polite. “What are you DOING here?”

I stammered: “We have lost our bodies and our planet through our own stupidity, and what you see before you are the bedraggled remnants of what remains of us, a tangled mess of desires and recrimination, as yet, however, unfulfilled in our wish to be alive again, to be free of this guilt and this shame of having destroyed what has only nurtured us and loved us. But before I complain any longer, let me ask you, Mr. and Mrs. V: Are you all right? Do you need our help, for we would eagerly give it. And if not, are you here to hurt us, and do we need to protect ourselves?

They replied, seemingly in unison, but again, without words.

“Explain what you’re doing here, Jack, or we’re going to treat you like just another bunch of lunchmeat planetoids, and never give it another thought.

“Do you have a purpose here, I mean, floating around in space like this? Are you not certain of where you have to go.”

We shadowmasters looked at each other, gulped, and I turned around to face the Vanderloopers.

“We are the remnants of race that never overcame its own fear. Our task is to reestablish ourselves as a corporeal species, after first obtaining some piece of land that might be congenial to our objective. My guess is that Enceladus, the small moon of Saturn, is our ancestral home from the future, and it is there we should go further away from this heat and try to evolve more sensibly than we have in the past.


“In our past, we have bribed ourselves into oblivion by trying to buy something that is not now nor has even been for sale — which is eternal life. This destroyed us, a neverending parade of fear and terror, that was deliberately provoked, all constructed for the acquisition of something that could never be obtained. Our lives are so good that we would never trade them for any jewel in existence, and yet we have tossed them away over things we thought we important that really were generated by our own cowardice and small-mindedness.

“We would never accept that all life is one thing, a whole cloth, because we measured our lives in terms of the things that others convinced us to buy, rather than deciding what it was we wanted and who we are on our own. So it was the deception of others that really bounced back and killed all of us, a planet run down by a fast buck.”

The Vanderloopers turned to face other, their surfaces radiating a rapid sequence of red and purple flashes. They quickly entwined in a double wrap, then returned to their original positions, facing us.

“Do you not understand that the universe needs a reason to let you live, that there must be some beneficial aspect to your species to prevent you from going extinct? You will have a hard time explaining to us that anything you can do will be worthwhile. What could you possibly do atone for all your fellow Earth species you have killed, including your own?”

I cleared my throat, nervously.

“We knew, but in our fear, we ignored it. ‘The guy with the most toys wins’ was the favorite saying on the late great Planet Earth. But not one person who ever said that reached the end without regretting he said it, for in the piling up of toys everyone misses the real beauty of passing through this life, and that is the real lesson we are here to learn.”

Growing impatient, Veronica Vanderlooper interrupted.

“It could easily have been that humans were the pinnacle of materialization in the universe, more beautiful and capable even than the brightest quasar. But instead they chose to lie about the whole thing, insisting they knew what cannot be known by single organisms, and created a self-hating cancer — fear of death — that consumed them. Already the scars of human stupidity are found on other planets and moons near you. Thanks for the warning. The universe has heeded it.”


And with that, the Vanderloopers turned around and disappeared into outer space.

But they kept coming back, with hundreds of their friends, and taught us the basics of individual and group motility in the noncorporeal state, which fit perfectly with the metaphrand technology we had invented to take advantage of precisely this mode of transportation. The metaphrand was actually a detachable probe we conceived of, where we could put all our best things and detox our personalities from those destructive God poisons that have antagonized us all these years, become the soul we always hoped to be, and, if the technology we had basically mastered were developed into a hard science, it meant that we could go anywhere and do anything forever.

So the Varatners, who seemed so kind but utterly without emotion, kept quizzing us on what we were going to do if we were given a second chance. Finally, I couldn’t take their badgering anymore, and let loose a torrent of emotional invective. It seemed funny to me to be saying it, to be defending the human race after it had completely destroyed itself, but what was even funnier was to pretend I had an ego when I didn’t even have a body anymore. Somehow the two things just don’t go together.

“Dear Varatners,” I began, marveling at my own sudden ability to do just what they did, and speak without words. “Thank you for your thoughtful guidance, and bringing some degree of calm to our frazzled state. It’s nice to know that there are others out here in the universe who share our desire to nurture life and help others. As a civilization we never learned that to help others is really the only way to nourish ourselves. And that in large part accounts for where we are at this very moment, and this sorry predicament we have brought upon ourselves.

“Though we might never be able to communicate this to our living brothers and sisters, we nevertheless have learned that the secret of life is to finally realize that we are never alone, that we never have been alone.


“All other species on Earth realized that except us. And because we had the power of thought but not the knowing of universal love, we killed them all, all the while thinking we were making our lives better. All that life, sympathetic, understanding life, that gets everything it needs from the environment it is born into, was all
there to help us learn, about ourselves, and about everything else.

“And now we learn of you, sublime Varatners, who somehow derive nourishment from giving, and travel the universes in search of perfect conditions, in which you somehow improve the situation anyway. How bold of you! What a perfect flower of an idea is your existence.”

“Now that we have learned, all that remains to do is act. And such we will do.

“We understand that the animal that became man, because of the condition of being in the universe, was hardwired to all things, both now and for as long as the universes lived. He lost the connection to that ability by believing that he died, and inventing all sorts of amulets and formulas to convince himself that he didn’t, which only took him further away from the truth.

“Now we know it was the human destiny to become the finest, most admired beings in the universe, known for their trustworthiness, their reliable fidelity, and their open-armed compassion.

“And Earth, as a consequence, would have become a jewel among the heavenly bodies (which of course it was, the most beautiful of all the places in the universe), known as a refuge for the diseased and disheartened, who were inevitably cured by that magic potion known as the sun and the rain, known as the place where you could always get an aspirin or a decent meal when you needed it, no matter how bad a shape you were in.

“This is what humans will make our new Earth, wherever and whenever it is — a beacon of hope for all the universe to see, and a refuge for all who refuse to lie about their predicament. And all guided by one principle! To make laughter reign beyond the sun for as long as the future shall be!”

Veronica’s pulsing surface gently rippled with hues of lavender and gold, and tiny glittering silver stars orbited around what you would have called her head if it wasn’t rectangular, Veronica leaned over to me and giggled: “That’s the way it already is, silly.” And at exactly that moment, seemingly from as far away as the stars but as close as your own nose, the music began to play. But so much more than music.


It’s as if we WERE sound, and the music that began so softly and majestically, with all the beauty of Vivaldi, Debussy, Brahms, and Elgar all rolled into one, but so much more than that; words can never describe music. This was like a cool lava flow in a steam bath seeping through our porous surfaces, and we were riding on the solar wind like beautiful birds.

And then there were the colors. As the surfaces of the Varatners rippled and pulsed with surging colors, so the sky began to do that. Again, suddenly we WERE the colors, radiant carnelian streaks splaying across of field of golden clouds flecked with purple and green colorbursts, all pulsing with the beat of divine music from an orchestra so large it dwarfed the stars.

Randy, in his gaudy lime green metaphrand, leaned back, took another hit off his imaginary spliff, and said, of course, without words: “Dude, how can people be sweating out death when it’s like this!?”

Sofia, intently eyeing Veronica’s wavy geometrics, whispered to me: “I think I saw a corporate logo on one of those Varatners.” And Bruce, sitting in the saddle of one of his horses in a meadow of his memory that was now the whole cosmos, sized up the contours of what appeared to be a growing wraith in a far off mist, fast closing in. “I just don’t think these are the type of people who would shoot anyone. Probably is something we could learn from them.”

Out of the mist that now engulfed us, all sparkling and twinkling with increasingly visible strips of bright light, began to appear Varatners by the millions, filling our field of vision with their spectral brilliance with a light never seen so bright that infused our ectoplasmic entities with a warmth we had never known. And not just
Varatners, but all sorts of colored beings, glittering and... the stars were singing, welcoming us into galactic consciousness. It gets difficult to try and record ecstasy past this point, but as we listened intently to the hypnotic music and soothingly sublime colors, we began to discern vague lyrics in the music. Though it sounded somewhat like one of those whale chants, the words we discerned, which played over and over, were...

“... all I have is you... all I have is you... all I have is you...”


This is what the universe has always sung to us, only precious few of us have ever heard it.

On December 21, 2012, Our Sun exploded — as the Maya said it would — but it did not self destruct. Instead, it grew to almost twice its size, as if it was about to burst, which it was. The aura of intense heat and radiation expanded, killing all nonheatbearing organisms to a distance of out beyond the orbit of Mars. But as that section of our solar system was utterly fried and most life died, the outer planets began to blossom, and all sorts of new life forms found new expression in the suddenly warmer weather. But there were no humans there to discover and greet them. Humans, in their ontological pain, had driven themselves right out of the organic realm back into the conceptual realm of potential, where they had come from all those eons ago, having failed in their million year long bid to act real.

Amid the sublime experience of sound that put peace in our hearts and color that put fire in our veins, the metaphrand fleet headed out toward Enceladus to begin the long process of reincorporealization. The Vanderloopers waved goodbye and wished us well.

“May the glory of creation enfold you in the loving arms of its eternity,” said Voorhees warmly.

And off on the music we rode, carrying our intrepid songs of life into the darkness we had made for ourselves.


The purpose of this tale is to point out that the music we heard after the lights went out on Planet Earth, that music that is really only the normal conversation of that ecstatic place known as the wider universe, that communicates to us knowledge that we need but have never heard, and gives us courage to hear something we have heard but ignored — that you are absolutely nothing without who you love.

That is precisely what powers eternity. All you are, and all you have, was given to you by others. The inevitability of that gift returning is what makes the universe run.

But the big news for you and the purpose of this dispatch is to mention that this music that has guided us for so long which we remain deaf to was beginning to be heard by large numbers of people, for the first time in human history, in the month of December in the year 2010.

[For Michael Bradley, fellow time traveler]

John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida preaching the message that no problem in the world can be authentically addressed without first analyzing tangents caused by Jewish perfidy, which has subverted and diminished every aspect of human endeavor throughout history. Support for his work is wholly derived from people who can understand what he’s saying and know what it means, and now would be a good time to send some to 250 N. McCall Rd. #2, Englewood FL 34223 USA . All of the writer’s Internet works can be found at http://johnkaminski.info/

[First posted 13 December 2010]