Saturday, August 16, 2025

CONVERSATION AT A TEA STALL (reprise)


Around midnight we were cruising down Imbi Road, headed for my usual tea stall.

The roti pan was still sizzling but empty and the small heap of unsold nasi lemak indicated that we had arrived ahead of the late night movie crowd.

“What will you have?” I positioned myself where I could keep an eye on the street life. The man came over with a damp rag to wipe the tea rings off our table.

“Boss, teh tarik dua, kurang manis.” I ordered two teas with sweet milk, pulled to aerate and cool the steaming brew.

I looked at her, probing to see if she felt comfortable here. She smiled, then leaned forward solemnly: “You know, I really enjoy talking to you.”

Our drinks arrived. I grinned and ritually raised my glass to her. “Cheers! The best conversations are held over tea.”

“I’m bored to death with my job,” she said. “The other girls are quite friendly, really. But they’re strictly lunchtime, you know what I mean? The guys there are corporate jerks. Well, most of them. David’s okay, he comes over to my desk every day and chats. He’s the only one who’s relaxed, who can be himself...”

“It’s the same everywhere,” I offered.

“Well, my pay will be reviewed next month, if I am confirmed. Another three months and I’ll have saved enough to move into my own place. God, I can hardly wait! No more explanations and excuses, no more nagging. Mother will probably turn on dad and drive him up the wall. Oh, I just wish working life wasn’t such a pain.”

“Look at it this way, you could have been born a Rohingya.” (My latest all-purpose consolation.) “Besides, you’re not exactly dumb. You’d do well in any job. Anyway, even geniuses have to put up with occasional employment. Take my situation, for instance.”

She giggled. “That’s another thing I like about you... you’re modest!" Her tone was teasing but I could tell she was sympathetic towards self-styled aristocrats-in-exile.

"One thing I know... you can't become a genius if you succumb to boredom," I added with a wink.

“My, my... I guess I don’t qualify as a genius yet. I felt bored, even more so, when I wasn’t working.”

“Maybe boredom’s not such a bad state. Billions of civilians find comfort and security in it. People like complaining, that’s all.”

“Oh well, if you’re going to be bored you might as well get paid for it!” She finished her tea with a flourish.

A few yards away on the kerb, two painted ladies were waiting for a taxi. Pointing with my chin, I remarked: “Look, there’s two people on their way to work who probably couldn’t agree with you more.”

“You’re terrible” She kicked me in the shin (but not too hard).

“More tea, madam?”

“Hmm.... okay.”

I decided to investigate the nasi lemak. “Want one?”

“No thanks. You know, it’s really ironic.”

“What? The nasi lemak?”

“No! I mean life. Life’s pretty ironic.”

I chuckled heartily. “That’s because so many people are still living in the Iron Age. Although, personally, I prefer to call it the Age of Irony.”

“Hey, I’m serious.”

“Sorry, carry on...”

For a few moments she absently watched me unwrap my packet of cold rice and I pinched myself mentally for having interrupted her so flippantly. “I’m listening,” I said.

“Well, take my parents. They’ve worked their butts off to be comfortable, so their kids could have all the advantages, you know. They’ve worked and worked and worked and now they’ve made so much money they don’t know what to do with it. They’re very generous with their children. I could ask them for anything and they’d give it to me. But there’s always a string attached, you know what I mean? That’s why I decided to get a job. The only reason I can find for working in a office is just so I can get away from my parents. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“You’re lucky. Some people have to work to support their parents. At least, you can quit anytime you want and you won’t starve.”

“I know... but what bothers me is that I really don’t need a job. My family’s well off enough to support the next few generations in style and here I am, taking on a job just so that I can enjoy a little independence. Well, that hasn’t happened yet, but it’s what I’m working towards. I mean, sometimes I can’t help feeling guilty about depriving someone else of a job - someone who might really, really need the money. It’s no problem for me to get employed. My dad has all kinds of connections.”

I nodded sympathetically. “You know, this nasi isn’t bad at all. Sure you won’t try some?”

“Positive. Well?” She refused to let me off the hook. She insisted on some kind of response.

“Supposing you give up your job. Do you have any idea what you’d do with your time and energy?”

She rested her chin on the back of one hand and pondered my question with mock profundity. Then she broke into an impish smile: “Well, for a start, I’d sit around and read and think and dream and meditate until I become a genius. Then I’d write a book or an opera or make an amazing film or just go about inventing wonderful things. What do you think of that?”

“You want an honest opinion?”

“Of course!” she frowned.

“Now what’s a genius? I think the whole concept is vastly overrated. Do you know where the word 'genius' comes from?”

“Uh-uh. Pray, tell me.”

“Okay, since you asked. It comes from the Arabic word jinn, as in 'genie' - remember the story of Aladdin and his lamp? Right, the ancients were convinced that everyone has a Guardian Angel or Muse, some spirit guide or guides, that can bestow gifts of inspiration. See, even the word 'inspiration' contains the word 'spirit.' This belief is just as strong today. People still go into trances, speak in tongues, and they ask for all kinds of favors. Some actually try and bribe the spirits. I’m not kidding! They do - and sometimes they get results (but corruption breeds further corruption and they end up paying in full). Anyway, there’s a hidden teaching the in the Aladdin story. The magic is always waiting within the lamp, you only have to rub it and the genie appears to grant your wishes. Well, the lamp represents your mind. Rubbing, however is open to interpretation.”

“Mmmmmm... sounds like a good practice!”

“Indeed! Anytime you need some inspiration, sister - just come over and I’ll gladly give your lamp a rub.”

“But....is it habit forming?” she asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence,

I managed to maintain a serious expression. “Let’s just say there are good habits and bad habits. If you keep your lamp well rubbed - in other words, if you keep your channels open – you’ll receive a steady flow of inspiration and turn into a genius. As more people understand this simple trick, geniuses will become a dime a dozen.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t think being a genius really means very much?”

“Right. There’s a difference between getting inspired and actually putting it to some use. For example, you might suddenly get a flash, say, a really grand vision - but if you don’t have the energy or the skill to put it on paper and actualize it, the vision simply evaporates. Follow through is what they call it. And believe me, it’s just as important as inspiration. A lot of people find it easier to turn into village idiots or they just stay employed.”

“All right, I get the point. Deeds not words, or something like that. So how does one begin?”

There was a brief commotion at the next table: a fresh group of customers, shifting chairs noisily about on the uneven ground. And to punctuate the interruption, the hideous high-pitched whine of a toy bike hell-bent for Puchong or Salak South.

My answer was a grimace, by the time the din subsided at least 15 seconds had ticked by. I glanced at my watch and said: “Now, we could easily spend the next 10 minutes venting our displeasure at traffic noise in general and attention seeking hell-riders in particular... and work ourselves into a foul mood, saying somebody ought to do something about it... and, of course nobody will. Which means we suffer a 10-minute energy loss. Or we could spend the time discussing something pleasant and beneficial which would give us a 10-minute energy gain. What I’m trying to say is that it’s possible - in fact, I believe it’s necessary - for us to get into the habit of making conscious choices about how we use our time and energy, how we interpret and respond to environmental stimuli. For instance, you can finish your cup of tea and see nothing but tea leaves, and all you can say is 'Ugh!' But you can also choose to study the dregs and catch a glimpse of the future. Do you get what I mean?”

She peered cautiously over the rim of her empty glass and squinted moronically. “Yes.....yes.... I think I see it now!” she hissed. “The future will consist of .... more tea! No, I think I’m about ready to switch to coffee, how about you?”

“Excellent idea. Eh, boss... kopi dua!”

“Don’t complain. That’s what you mean, right?” she beamed at me like the brightest girl in the class.

“Right! But let me qualify that. Sometimes, rather than just complain to no one in particular, you can try and present it as feedback - and, when you feed information back into the system, it usually does some good because it can help increase awareness and coherence within the system.”

“Hey, don’t get technical on me!”

“Aren’t you in the IT department?"

"I'm still a trainee," she explained.

"Well, okay, but let me give you a little background to what we’re discussing. Not far from here, actually just a few yards behind you (no, don’t bother turning around, you won’t see anything), up in one of those shophouses, lives an extraordinary man I called the Wizened Metaphysician. His friends called him George and quite a few regard him as their guru.”

She couldn’t resist looking around, as though expecting George to materialize behind her. However, when she turned back towards me, our coffees were steaming on the table.

“Is he a real guru... do you know him personally?”

“Well, I’ve chatted with him a few times – and I’ve picked up some valuable ideas through him, so I guess he qualifies. But he doesn't have a white beard down to here or a fluorescent halo. His hair is getting somewhat silvery and sometimes I notice he looks a little more ... er, radiant than you’d expect to find in the average coffeeshop clientele. The most extraordinary thing about him is how ordinary his life appears. By day, he repairs video recorders, gets nagged by his wife, and enjoys freestyle discussions on metaphysics. He smokes a lot and washes it down with Chinese tea. I think he’s also a massage therapist and a renegade Jesuit. He seems to know an incredible range of philosophies from Aurobindo and Teilhard de Chardin to Gurdjieff and Tibetan tantra.”

“Good who? The first two I’ve heard of, but who’s Good Jeff?”

George Ivanovich Gurdjieff
(1866~1949)
“Goorr-chi-eff, Gurdjieff. Can’t spell his name offhand. A Greek-Armenian born in Russia, I think...” (I began to realize the enormity of her question.) Who’s Gurdjieff? Er... let me think. Well... I believe he was engaged in the smuggling of Sufi notions across the borders of Western Paranoia. Something like that.”

“I see,” she sniffed. “Very enlightening.”

“Look, I don’t even know how to begin telling you about Gurdjieff. Labels don’t seem to stick on him. You could say he was a mystery man, a magus – a student of life and limb, as another friend of mine would describe him – a shamanistic metapsychologist (hmm I like the sound of that!). At any rate, Gurdjieff attracted a small but influential following of aristocrats and intellectuals interested in the esoteric. They spent a lot of time devising techniques and terminologies to enhance and understand awareness. Some people dismissed him as a trickster but I think his work will prove very important in the near future. He died in 1949.”

“Where on earth do you pick up all this weird information?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s just like mushrooms, I suppose.” (I smiled at a private joke.) “As soon as you show an interest in them, they simply pop up all over the place.”

“This Goody-Chef fellow sounds intriguing. Has he written any books or something?”

“Remind me to dig in my library for something about him. But I was telling you about George, our friendly neighborhood metaphysian.”

“Oh, yes. Please do carry on.”

I looked at her, grinning. “Yes, I do carry on, don’t I?”

“No, no, I’m not bored at all. Bum’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

“By the way, Gurdjieff’s first name also happens to be George - but so what, right? Well, it was George, our George, who transmitted this very useful attitude to me: why complain? That’s really stayed with me and helped me emerge from the primal pits countless times. Now, don’t think it’s at all easy. Like everything else, you’ll find there’s a sort of learning curve where it gets harder and harder till, finally, you master it - then suddenly life becomes fun again!”

“Hmm... ‘why complain?’ You think it works for everyone?”

“Anyone who’s complained so much he’s sick of hearing himself moan should give it a go. Of course, you need to apply the correct visualization when you use this formula. You have to put yourself in the position of the pauper prince - do you know the story by Mark Twain? You have to be inwardly secure and insufferably superior, totally above it all. Be an extraterrestrial on a secret mission, a messenger from God disguised as an ordinary taxpayer, whatever. Okay, so the going is getting rough but why complain? You lined up to buy the ticket, you went on the tour, you wanted excitement, adventure, a blast of raw reality, so here you are... on Planet Earth! Am I making sense?”

“You’re making me feel tired! Must we always be forging on, chin up and all that ... can’t we be allowed to just throw a tantrum once in a while? You must have been a headmaster in a past life!”

“Oh, dear... I was just getting to the good part. A little trick George taught me. How to get yourself recharged directly from the Sun and redistribute the healing energy to your environment... never mind, let’s save it for another day, okay? It must be the coffee.”

It was her turn to chuckle. “You’re not exactly romantic - but I like your intensity.”

“I know. I get so intense I tend to overload people’s circuits.”

“Well, right now my circuits aren’t the only thing that’s overloaded. My bladder’s ready to burst!”

I wagged my finger at the empty glasses on the table. “That’s what tea does to you! It’s a dangerous substance - I ‘m about to explode myself. Let’s pay up and rush back to my place. You can do it in the loo while I pee on a tree.”

She giggled and then winced. “Ouch” she said. “It hurts when I laugh!”

“Patience and fortitude!” I cried, directing my thoughts immediately to more pressing affairs.

26 March 1985

[With thanks to Margret Voon, who kindly retyped the yellowing photocopied original and sent it to me so I could dedicate this to her father's memory. First posted 31 July 2013, reposted 28 June 2015 & 3 September 2016]




Thursday, August 14, 2025

The Armageddon By-Pass: Final Phase! (revisited)


[Originally posted to Jean Hudon's Earth Rainbow Network and published in his e-bulletin]

Date: Mon, 26 Jul 1999
From: Antares
Subject: The Armageddon By-Pass: Final Phase!

Rainbow Greetings on the first day of the Magnetic Moon, White Resonant Wizard Year!

This is a multidimensional story incorporating elves, phantasmal hierarchies, and secret stargates. It is happening right now in our hologram-fractal universe on the micro- as well as the macro-cosmic levels. My mission is to report the situation I as perceive it within the collective Merkaba of the Temuan - an indigenous rainforest tribe of the Malay Peninsula now facing extinction if a dam is allowed to be built near their ancestral home, inundating their sacred sites and two thriving villages.

In 1992 I was summoned to the area to take up residence and plant the seed of a future rainbow community to be called Magick River. Later I understood that the Temuan tribe were the traditional guardians of the ancient stargates in this scenic river valley, but they had been culturally and spiritually disoriented since the Second World War and were no longer able to perform their sacred ceremonies. Only since the vernal equinox of 1997 have they begun, tentatively, to once again perform their traditional 'sawai' or sacred song ceremony.

Last year in July I was in email contact with two earth-healers and lightworkers who carried out a remote scan of the area. They reported that the magnetic grid of the rainforest was in critical condition and needed to be repaired and reinforced. The local elves (Orang Halus) were dispirited and confused and needed a blast of healing light. For more details please click here.

In October 1998 we learned that an Environmental Impact Assessment was in progress involving a 400-foot-high reservoir dam project which would drown 1,500 acres of lush river valley and cause the Temuan to be relocated to oil-palm plantations, losing their beloved home in the rainforest. Once the dam was built, the consortium would acquire management rights to another 50,000 acres of the forest reserve (ostensibly to protect the water catchment zone from pollution and further logging, but it was clear that they saw enormous eco-tourist potential in the area and wanted control of all future developments). For full details of the proposed Selangor Dam please click here!

Not long after that, Mary B, one of the lightworkers was visited by a 70-foot tall guardian spirit and persuaded by a series of vivid dreams to physically present herself at a particular sacred site in the area. She arrived in Malaysia after the March 21 Equinox and stayed for a full month, reading the energies of the area. On April 12 we made a pilgrimage to the Mother Fall, which she immediately recognized from her dreams of the previous year. This was the culmination of her mission in Malaysia - to download a 5th dimensional Arcturian encoding she had acquired astrally from Mount Shasta in November 1998. Mary B was astounded at the sheer number of guardians present at the Mother Fall - not just hundreds, but thousands were based at that spot to protect an interdimensional portal which had existed for millions of years. She told me the guardians were now fully awake and ready to defend the area against further disruptions to the magnetic grid. "There will be no dam," she said with quiet conviction. However, on the human level, I knew that before the dam project could be halted, great damage might be inflicted not just on the Temuan, but any degree of environmental degradation could result in calamitous repercussions in the form of massive landslides and flash floods. In effect, we had to work on the political level to get the project aborted before too much damage was done!

On 24 July 1999 a press conference was called, announcing the Selangor River Coalition and a renewed commitment to stopping the dam. We were ready to stage street demos, camp-ins, whatever it might take to halt the madness. However, as Ceremonial Guardian, I still feel it is essential for us to maintain focus on the spiritual dimensions, working with thoughtforms and protective filters so that no harm will come to any lifeform, and so that the crisis can be resolved without causing further polarization. And yet I admit it's difficult to envisage any kind of win-win scenario for the dam proponents - short of their experiencing a dramatic conversion to deep ecology and appreciating, for the first time in their money-grubbing lives, the true beauty and majesty of the Goddess Gaia...

As we approach the Lunar Eclipse of July 28, the Solar Eclipse of August 11, and the Double Grand Cross of the Fixed Signs in the week following the eclipse, I know that millions of earth-healers and lightworkers will be focused on World Healing and Transmutation of the Hellish Apocalypse into a Glorious New Heavenly Epiphany.

We are dealing with very negative entities - the so-called Powers and Principalities - who have long had dominion over the human imagination on this planet. Indeed, upon returning to the U.S. after successfully completing her sacred mission, Mary B was attacked by the 'negs' via the agency of her nuclear family, specifically the husband and son, and is now under house arrest, much like Aung San Suu Kyi of Burma! She is not allowed the use of the Internet and is closely watched in case she tries to contact her circle of 'New Age' friends. But she's determined to transmute the negativity her own way, in her own time, as she feels there is karmic residue to be worked through.

Anyway, the 'negs' know that if the secret stargates in the Temuan ancestral land are left undisturbed, they will draw thousands of pilgrims to the area, and for every three who come, two will be awakened and activated beyond manipulation by the phantasmal hierarchy's totalitarian thoughtforms. Armageddon, the Final Battle for Control of the Earth's Destiny, is being fought everywhere - from the Balkans to Machu Picchu to the rainforests of Malaysia! Each of us is a hologram of the Whole Universe, and if we succeed in anchoring the fractal image of a 'New Heaven on a New Earth' within our immediate environment, the Ascension of Mother Earth will be accomplished with minimal hardship and pain. The crucial phase is NOW!

Circumpolar Rainbow Blessings and Full-Spectrum Light,
Antares
Ceremonial Guardian
MAGICK RIVER
44000 KUALA KUBU BARU
MALAYSIA
(First day of the Magnetic Moon, White Resonant Wizard Year, old calendar, July 26, 1999)

[Originally posted 2 December 2006. Reposted 31 July 2018]

Wednesday, August 13, 2025

Why I often pick "Mr Lee Bee Doh" or "Hum Sup Loh" when I require a fake ID... (repost)



When I was 19 I went through an intense and highly compressed ascetic phase. For about two weeks I lost interest in food, sex and sleep. My mind went into overdrive and kept me in a constant state of excitement. I was absolutely determined to figure out what the hell I was doing on this planet in a human body - and what I had been, if anything at all, before taking birth.

My days and nights were spent reading, writing, thinking, observing everything around me, and discussing my ideas and insights with a couple of close friends. I didn't require much solid food, sometimes drinking only a bowl of soup and nibbling on a Marmite sandwich. Meat didn't appeal to me; often I chewed on some vegetables just to get their essence; and I couldn't be bothered or didn't need to sleep, though I would sit in lotus position and recharge my cells from time to time.

Soon I found my testicles retracting and my penis shrinking to a ridiculous size. All I did was burst out laughing because I suddenly understood why Indian yogis have traditionally subjected themselves to long periods of fasting and abstinence.

It was to focus their minds like a laser in order to cut through the crap of mundane existence and begin to stepdown and receive data from an extended range of the electromagnetic spectrum.

I've written extensively about my early initiatory experiences elsewhere so I'll fast-forward to the moment when, unexpectedly, I experienced a resurgence of my libido. I was absorbing the Sun's energy one morning and suddenly found myself with the most incredible hard-on ever. The word virile  came alive for me as I felt the solar force course through my throbbing veins. I gazed in awe at my rampant manhood, luxuriating in electric ripples of unmitigated concupiscence.

Priapus, Greek God of Fertility
It was as though my libido had died and resurrected itself as a hitherto unknown species of sacred sexuality wherein my own innate divinity was being expressed as a manifestation of the Primordial Progenitor. The Father archetype and I literally became one.

Omphalos stone
From that moment hence, I was liberated from a hundred thousand generations of hand-me-down sexual taboos. In a flash I understood the serpent symbolism underlying all pre-Abrahamic belief systems. The esoteric word kundalini  was unknown to me at the time, but when I later read about the phenomenon I knew it was what had spontaneously happened to me.

The electromagnetic basis of all existence in a bi-polar universe is grounded in the sacred union of shakta and shakti, male and female principles. This simply means that the ultimate goal of yoga - which means "union" in Sanskrit - is conscious fusion between polarities on all levels - from the biological (as in sexual conjugation) to the metaphysical (as in the alchemical marriage between our divine and human aspects).

Tantra teaches us that the ego-transcending act of sexual union is among the most powerful and direct methods of realizing our own inherent divinity - at least when performed as an act of worship by those who have cleansed themselves of negative emotions like guilt, fear and hypocrisy.

However, the erotophobic male priesthoods that sprouted in the wake of Abraham approximately 4,000 years ago have systematically perverted human sexuality with their erroneous doctrines of shame and false purity, wherein celibacy became promoted as a virtue unto itself.

Activation of the chakras above the navel was encouraged as a means to "get closer to God" - whereas activating the chakras below the navel was considered dangerous - even wrong - as it reinforced our animality and focused our senses on carnal pleasures.

Thus was sexual taboo entrenched in the Book Religions which gave rise to what I call the fig leaf syndrome. Humans became schizoid and a great divide separated their inner and outer personalities into private and public selves - with a hardwired conditioned reflex to cover up whatever was considered "private" and exaggerate or magnify everything regarded as "public."

This is why in patriarchal societies like Malaysia, issues of morality tend to revolve around sex. Corrupt and dishonest politicians are tolerated to the extent that they often get re-elected, but they must resign the moment they're caught with their pants down.

In effect, we're being given the message that it's okay to do just about anything - including abduct, extort, intimidate, torture, imprison and murder - so long as we keep our trousers on at all times.

By the same token, anything sexual is subject to strict censorship - no kissing, no nudity, no glimpses of genitalia. However, the worst forms of violence are acceptable: punching, stabbing, shooting, karate-chopping, beheading, crucifying, dropping bombs on crowded cities are all "okay."

Is it any wonder that our police force - and a volunteer reserve force like RELA - has attracted such a large number of sexual perverts and psychopaths? These are men who have been brought up to believe that their sexual nature is demonic  and must be suppressed or controlled through harsh laws. Burdened with chronic guilt feelings, these men harbor a subconscious fear of being assigned to hell after they die. And if you're going to hell for masturbating too often, you might as well go the whole hog and commit rape, murder, brutal torture, the works.

Have you ever wondered why on earth in the 21st century we still have statutes against oral and anal sex? Not only are these activities ominously classified as "acts against the order of nature" - they are also punishable with caning and imprisonment of up to 20 years! Each day that such nonsensical laws continue to exist in our legal statutes, they make a complete mockery of reason and sanity.

Only a perverted male priesthood could visualize a deity dressed like a stern-faced judge who can routinely sentence anyone to jail for up to 20 years simply for enjoying a bit of mildly kinky sex. How can you argue with such a twisted mindset? The keenest legal mind in the world cannot get you off the hook except by proving your innocence beyond doubt or providing a watertight alibi.

The ISA may be an extremely cruel and unjust law - but what about the laws against anal and oral sex? They are utterly insane and totally insufferable. If this Victorian era legislation were to be enthusiastically enforced, I'd venture that more than one-third of Malaysia's adult population would right now be serving time (free at last to enjoy as much anal and oral sex as they can handle, just as drug addicts can always find a regular supply if they befriend the right prison warders).

Infamous arsehole Saiful Bukhari Azlan with Khairil Anus Yusof,
special aide to Najib Razak
But do you think any Barisan Nasional lawmaker would even consider revoking these archaic laws so long as Anwar Ibrahim remains poised to take over as prime minister?

The issue of sexual repression I have raised with this blogpost has a multitude of ramifications. Nature has designed our bodies in such a way that when we attain puberty, a psychedelic slew of hormones are secreted into our bloodstream which accelerate and enhance mental and spiritual growth. But if our early encounters with our own sexuality are fraught with guilt and shame and subterfuge, we shall find it much harder to attain mental and spiritual maturity.

This is precisely why patriarchies are invariably dead against sex, drugs and rock'n'roll - which may be considered evolutionary triggers in the context of modern living. Sexual freedom causes the young to mature more quickly. Drugs (specifically entheogenic substances like LSD, psilocybin and ketamine) - notwithstanding their potential negative side-effects - can facilitate neurological and sensory breakthroughs that provide otherwise unavailable glimpses of ordinarily inaccessible realities. And rock'n'roll  is essentially a code name for any innovative genre of music that serves to initiate young people into neo-tribal states of consciousness, often catalyzing new artistic and cultural forms into manifestation.


Going by the orc-like behavior of our policemen and security personnel, one can easily conclude that what we have in Malaysia is a sex-obsessed society of mental and spiritual retards. The more we attempt to suppress our sexual nature, the more obsessed we become with it. Four thousand years of religious erotophobia have produced only one significant result: the burgeoning of a multi-billion-dollar porn industry.

No sexually repressed society can ever produce great works of art. As long as our collective kundalini  is blocked or forced to express itself through "underground" routes, Malaysia will remain a mediocracy - where mediocrity rules unchallenged.

Think long and hard on this, people... and make sure your children do not grow up sexually repressed!

[First published 20 April 2009 as part of a 9-part series & reposted 26 July 2013, 12 November 2014 & 13 August 2019]


Tuesday, August 12, 2025

George Duke, weaver of dreams, a musician's musician, has gone home...



It has been confirmed that veteran jazz, R&B, funk and fusion keyboard virtuoso George Duke has died aged 67, after battling and being treated for chronic lymphocytic leukemia. This news comes after a difficult period for the acclaimed keyboardist and composer whose wife Corine passed away just over a year ago. Duke's record label Concord-Telarc have confirmed he died on 5 August in Los Angeles, his passing coming after he had just launched his latest album, DreamWeaver, which he’d dedicated to his wife’s memory and had debuted at #1 on Billboard's Contemporary Jazz Chart. Mark Wexler, General Manager of the Concord-Telarc Label Group has stated: “We are all devastated by the sad news of George’s passing. He was a great man, a legendary, one-of-a-kind artist; and our hearts go out to his family. George will be missed by all.”

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George Duke’s career spanned jazz, funk and fusion beginning with his modern own jazz group in the 1960s backing the likes of Sonny Rollins and Dexter Gordon, but he was soon moving into the fusion terrain that would define much of his career as he began a longstanding musical partnership with violinist Jean-Luc Ponty in the early 1970s. He was invited to join Frank Zappa’s ground breaking band The Mothers Of Invention and worked with them from 1969-1975, while also going on to work with Sonny Rollins and co-lead a band with Billy Cobham. His solo career began to take shape too as he released a number of classic albums for MPS and Epic including Faces in Reflection, I Love the Blues, The Aura Will Prevail, Brazilian Love Affair, Master of the Game and Thief In the Night.

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In the 1970s his producing credits also began to mount up and included work with Raul de Souza, Dee Dee Bridgewater, and A Taste of Honey as well as many funk and R&B artists such as the Pointer Sisters, Smokey Robinson, 101 North, George Howard, Gladys Knight, Najee, Take 6, Howard Hewett, Chanté Moore, Everette Harp, Rachelle Ferrell (his key collaborator in the early-1990s), Gladys Knight, Keith Washington, Gary Valenciano, Johnny Gill and Anita Baker. The 1980s saw him team up with bass icon Stanley Clarke in their ongoing Clarke/Duke jazz fusion project as well as sessions with Miles Davis, while the 1990s and 2000s saw Duke focus on his solo career as producer/composer and performer – leading one of the leanest and meanest live bands around.

Duke had recently returned to form in the studio and remained a hugely popular live draw at festivals and jazz clubs around the world. He will be sorely missed by his legions of fans from both R&B/soul and jazz-fusion worlds.

[Source: Jazzwise Magazine]

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Featuring George Duke on keyboard & lead vocals

[Reposted 7 August 2013]


Monday, August 11, 2025

TAGORE ON FALSE RELIGION (repost)

FALSE RELIGION
By Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

Those who in the name of Faith embrace illusion,
Kill and are killed.
Even the atheist gets God’s blessings –
Does not boast of his religion;
With reverence he lights the lamp of Reason
And pays his homage not to scriptures,
But to the good in man.


The bigot insults his own religion
When he slays a man of another faith.
Conduct he judges not in the light of Reason;
In the temple he raises the blood-stained banner
And worships the devil in the name of God.

All that is shameful and barbarous through the Ages,
Has found a shelter in their temples –
Those they turn into prisons;
O, I hear the trumpet call of Destruction!
Time comes with her great broom
Sweeping all refuse away.


That which should make man free,
They turn into fetters;
That which should unite,
They turn into a sword;
That which should bring love
From the fountain of the Eternal,
They turn into poison
And with its waves they flood the world.
They try to cross the river
In a bark riddled with holes;
And yet, in their anguish, whom do they blame?


O Lord, breaking false religion,
Save the blind!
Break! O break
The altar that is drowned in blood.
Let your thunder strike
Into the prison of false religion,
And bring to this unhappy land
The light of Knowledge.




[Borrowed with thanks from Jonson Chong's blog, Malaysian X]

RABINDRANATH TAGORE was born in Calcutta, India into a wealthy Brahmin family. After a brief stay in England (1878) to attempt to study law, he returned to India, and instead pursued a career as a writer, playwright, songwriter, poet, philosopher and educator. During the first 51 years of his life he achieved some success in the Calcutta area of India where he was born and raised with his many stories, songs and plays. His short stories were published monthly in a friend's magazine and he even played the lead role in a few of the public performances of his plays. Otherwise, he was little known outside of the Calcutta area, and not known at all outside of India.

This all suddenly changed in 1912. He then returned to England for the first time since his failed attempt at law school as a teenager. Now a man of 51, his was accompanied by his son. On the way over to England he began translating, for the first time, his latest selections of poems, Gitanjali, into English. Almost all of his work prior to that time had been written in his native tongue of Bengali. He decided to do this just to have something to do, with no expectation at all that his first time translation efforts would be any good. He made the handwritten translations in a little notebook he carried around with him and worked on during the long sea voyage from India. Upon arrival, his son left his father's brief case with this notebook in the London subway. Fortunately, an honest person turned in the briefcase and it was recovered the next day. Tagore's one friend in England, a famous artist he had met in India, Rothenstein, learned of the translation, and asked to see it. Reluctantly, with much persuasion, Tagore let him have the notebook. The painter could not believe his eyes. The poems were incredible. He called his friend, W.B. Yeats, and finally talked Yeats into looking at the hand scrawled notebook.

The rest, as they say, is history. Yeats was enthralled. He later wrote the introduction to Gitanjali when it was published in September 1912 in a limited edition by the India Society in London. Thereafter, both the poetry and the man were an instant sensation, first in London literary circles, and soon thereafter in the entire world. His spiritual presence was awesome. His words evoked great beauty. Nobody had ever read anything like it. A glimpse of the mysticism and sentimental beauty of Indian culture were revealed to the West for the first time. Less than a year later, in 1913, Rabindranath received the Nobel Prize for literature. He was the first non-westerner to be so honored. Overnight he was famous and began world lecture tours promoting inter-cultural harmony and understanding. In 1915 he was knighted by the British King George V. When not traveling he remained at his family home outside of Calcutta, where he remained very active as a literary, spiritual and social-political force.

[For the full article on Tagore, click here]

Albert Einstein meets Rabindranath Tagore (14 July 1930)

[First posted 10 August 2008, reposted 30 August 2014 & 17 August 2016. Read a transcript of their conversation here]