Thursday, December 7, 2023

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?" ~ An age-old question re-examined (repost)

I get asked this question quite often. 

But it isn't very often that the enquirer has the patience or the time to stay around for my response, which involves deconstructing the unquestioned assumptions of conceptual semantics. As far as I know nobody has ever come up with a definition of "God" acceptable to all.

The notion that the physical universe was created by an all-knowing, all-powerful, ubiquitously existing Maker is fairly common, especially amongst the more conservative, more traditional - and therefore less adventurous - thinkers.

When I gaze upon any object - be it a butterfly, a banana, or a blossom - it doesn't occur to me that some humanoid with deft hands wielding clever tools actually sat down at a workbench one morning and fabricated  these wondrous forms that are able to self-replicate and perpetuate their own species, ad infinitum.

I'm more inclined to admire the hidden geometries, complex architecture, and ingenious mechanisms underlying these forms which are also discernible in other forms that constitute our physical environment. A healthy appreciation for the miraculous nature of all forms ultimately leads one to focus on the mystery that is oneself.

For each of us is every bit as amazingly designed and constructed as a grasshopper or dungbeetle or seahorse or giraffe or walrus or duckbill platypus or an entire coral reef. The interlocking biochemistries and interwoven electromagnetic patterns that give rise to living forms are at once complex and simple.


Inevitably, one is compelled to marvel at the breakthrough discoveries in recent decades of the fractal nature of the holographic universe - and the curious effect that consciousness appears to have on how it evolves and mutates. It is, indeed, as cutting-edge physicists declare, "an observer-created universe."

Pioneering researchers have detected micro-macro consonances between the subatomic and the supergalactic realms, wherein the essential architecture of a single atom is echoed in that of a galaxy. This fact alone ought to qualify as a theophany that can yield an endless quantity of eureka moments - enough at any rate to induce an ecstatic vision in anyone who spontaneously comprehends the divinity and perfection of all that exists.


You could call this approach to answering the age-old question of God's existence (or otherwise) the way of the mystic-scientist. It's not dependent on culturally or genetically implanted beliefs or on faith. Rather, it is a metaconceptual gestalt formed from free associating a random sequence of sensory inputs with a variety of analogies drawn from personal experience as well as what C.G. Jung called the Collective Unconscious.

Anyone who has, by chance or design, embarked on the quest for meaning and significance must pay attention to signs, omens, auditory, visual and perceptual clues left as a legacy by thousands upon thousands of conscious thinkers who lived and died and whose insights were recorded externally in the form of artefacts - or internally through subtle alterations of the chromosomal data banks.

Each new pilgrim on the journey towards enlightenment will have a unique experience, though universal truths have a habit of recurring like strangely familiar motifs. In effect, any authentic attempt to grapple with the question of God is necessarily an individual process. Other people's narratives of "divine revelation" most certainly constitute a valuable reference - but they can never be a substitute for direct knowing, distilled from unique, personal experience.


This is why at an early age I found myself unsubscribing from prescribed belief systems passed down the generations. All the conflicting doctrines that constitute man-made religion serve merely to anesthetize the masses against the anguish of fully accepting our human limitations, in order that we might ultimately transcend them.


Religions are packaged and processed forms of accumulated mystical insight; and although there will always be precious glimmers of truth to be found in the crude ore of inherited or acquired beliefs, the unthinking and unquestioning acceptance of these dogmas is akin to condemning oneself to a lifelong diet of junk food bought off the shelves of a cosmic convenience store.

To visualize God as an eternal parent figure is to forever infantilize our apprehension of reality in simplistic terms of Good and Evil, Right and Wrong. These opposite polarities represent extreme ends of the moral spectrum; but as the sum-total of all existence, God embodies the entire spectrum of possibilities and is therefore beyond categorization and classification. In analogous terms, God is not just the Father but also the Mother and  the Child borne of their primordial union.

In ancient days when the majority of humans were illiterate, an elite corps of Scribes arose that took it upon themselves to interpret on behalf of the others what was purportedly the Word of God. This special breed of human we call the Priesthood. In India the priests established themselves as the Brahmin caste and exalted themselves above the ordinary folk.

An effective division of labor developed wherein the priestly caste collaborated with the kingly caste to form the earliest governments. The priests took on responsibility for the spiritual affairs of men while the kings ruled over the material domain, as evidenced in the political pact between the Bishop of Rome and the Emperor Constantine.

In the Book of Exodus we saw the same partnership in action with the brothers Aaron and Moses: Aaron took charge of administrative and logistical matters, while Moses played the role of divine visionary, receiving direct instructions from on high.

To this day the Mormon church classifies its membership as either of the Aaronic or the Melchizedek lineage. Those of the Aaronic Order undertake the day-to-day management of church affairs, like the raising of funds and the construction of temples; and those of the Melchizedek Order propagate the spiritual message of the founder, Joseph Smith, who received his revelation through an angelic messenger named Moroni.

What I'm waffling on about, then, is the sheer futility of identifying oneself with any particular religious doctrine. Our understanding of life matures with experience - or, at least, it ought to. It's fine to believe in Santa Claus when you're five years old and thrilled to bits at the prospect of finding a stack of prettily giftwrapped presents under the Christmas tree. However, by the time you're fifteen, you really ought to have realized that the fat guy in a red suit is actually your own dad - or some guy hired by the department store to lure kids and their parents into a ritual shopping spree.

I'm not going to denounce or deconstruct all the institutionalized religions in our midst. It's generally a waste of breath anyway. Many people cling desperately to their beliefs because they fear the bottomless abyss of uncertainty. Some will violently strike out at or even kill anyone who attempts to shatter their faith or so much as joke about it.

With some folks, loyalty to the faith into which they happened to be born can be even stronger and more fanatical than their loyalty to a favorite soccer team. Just as there are soccer hooligans at every game, you will encounter violent mobs of the religiously intoxicated. Best to stay clear of them rather than attempt to engage them in rational discourse.

These mobs constitute what you might term the bottom rung of consciousness. Everybody goes through such a phase - though many today express their fanatical urges via ardent hero-worship of a particular popstar or screen actor. Left to their own devices, most people eventually outgrow these obsessions.

I'm absolutely convinced that Malaysians of all creeds will co-exist in sweet harmony when jingoistic politicians stop stirring up the shit. Is there any way we can compel them to cease their pseudo-religious rabble-rousing? None that I can think of, short of maintaining some barbaric law like the ISA for exclusive use against those who exploit racial and religious differences for their own political advantage.

Nevertheless, I don't advocate such quick-fix methods. Censorship of any kind is anathema to me. I'm utterly convinced that when people are regularly exposed to all kinds of ideas - no matter how lunatic or extreme - they will swiftly learn to discern what's palatable and what's poisonous in the way of opinions.

So instead of cringing at the absurd utterances of rabid religious reactionaries, all we really have to do is ignore them. And, if they refuse to stop after a decent interval, we could simply pull the plug on them, switch off their microphones, so to speak. That harms nobody at all - and they will eventually fall silent when their voices grow hoarse from shouting at the wind.

And in that brief silence the first seeds of wisdom just might germinate.


[Originally posted 18 April 2009 as Part 5 of "Where Malaysia is headed" Reposted 22 December 2013, 13 May 2018 & 1 December 2020]

Where Malaysia is headed (Part 6)


Monday, December 4, 2023

The Road To Radiant Health (revisited)

On his deathbed Tim Leary was asked if he had any regrets whatsoever. His candid answer: "I really should have done a lot more fucking."

The 1980s saw a puritanical backlash that came in the guise of a new scare - AIDS. In the late 1970s herpes was the "in-thing"... but somehow it didn't really catch on as a deterrent to guilt-free and uninhibited eroticism. AIDS, on the other hand, was sufficiently life-threatening to frighten a whole new generation of teenagers into accepting "safe sex" as routine practice.

There are women now in their late 30s and early 40s who have NEVER once experienced lovemaking WITHOUT a condom! How sad. Follow the money and who's laughing all the way to the bank? That's right... the condom manufacturers (who have inflated prices about 600% since the AIDS scare started).

I want to state in print that this puritanical backlash has generated a dangerous level of psychopathology amongst the overall human population - which may explain why violence, rape, and sexual murders seem to be dramatically on the rise. More police patrols and electronic surveillance are DEFINITELY not the solution.... and the rapid proliferation of porn sites won't solve the problem either. Indeed, it completely defeats the purpose of healthy erotic practice, which is Nature's most powerful prophylactic. When you're getting well and truly and ecstatically laid (in other words, utterly without fear or guilt) your immune system gets a real shot in the arm. Your hair looks and feels better, and your breath is always fresh. And you regain a wholesome perspective on LIFE... which means you will no longer tolerate any form of external authority. In short, you attain psychic and emotional maturity. I know Wilhelm Reich said pretty much the same thing 80 years ago... and was MURDERED while under custody in a U.S. jail for his efforts to free humanity of its State-induced robotism. Bless you, Willy. Long live the Fourth Reich!!!!

[First posted 3 January 2007, reposted 3 December 2018, 4 December 2019 & 1 December 2021]


Sunday, December 3, 2023

"Antisemitic" Rap


[In response to Rey Buono and Kathy Rowland's accusation that I was posting "antisemitic" notions on the ArtisProActiv forum...]

Actually, Rey, reading your concise resume of who you are, there seems to be only one divergence in our worldviews: you're more comfortable in the realm of liberal-rational humanism, while my briar patch happens to be the woolly-feely dimensions beyond the 3D matrix. You'd probably ridicule and dismiss many of the "esoteric" subjects that intrigue and fascinate me - topics like ET intervention in planetary affairs, the multidimensionality of consciousness, and the occult subtext of geopolitical history (e.g., the idea that astral/extradimensional agencies exert a significant influence on human destiny, whether they be called the gods or the Fates; and the suppressed evidence that the Adamic race was manufactured in the laboratory by a technically sophisticated subrace with ancestral roots in the Orion-Sirius systems).


I'm also fascinated by cosmomythology and the Grail mysteries - and the evolution of secret societies and quasi-mystical brotherhoods like the Knights Templar, the Mithras Society, Scottish Rite Freemasonry, and the plethora of clandestine splinter groups such as the O.T.O. (Ordo Templi Orientis), the Thule Society (of which Hitler was a patron and member), and the Skull & Bones society (co-founded by Prescott Bush, one of Hitler's financiers and paternal grandfather of the Mickey Mouse president).

Your quickness in shooting down some off-the-beaten-track info on pagan "Jewish" rites that have crept into Masonic ritual doesn't befit anyone claiming to support free speech. Like the mainstream historians who have banded together to pooh-pooh the 40-year research of maverick Mesopotamian scholar Zecharia Sitchin, you can only bray your vigorous disapproval when something beyond your ken crops up. Instead of doing some research on your own or asking if I am in possession of other info that might shed further light on the mythic thread I'm weaving, you immediately start calling me names. I don't take offence at anything anyone calls me, Rey. I have called many people all kinds of names myself, it's a great way to draw the temporary boundaries between ideas I'm ready to embrace and ideas that repel.

Since your feathers seem to have been ruffled by information you view as "antisemitic" (what a curious word: sounds like a pharmacological term, ummm, so may we describe the New World Disorder cabal as "antibiotic"? Makes sense, they kill organic life and benefit only the pharmaceutical giants that flog them through their white-smocked, stethoscope-wielding sales agents) - how about coming up with a new name for folks like me who find it hard to accept the aggressive, destructive, and genocidal Israeli national ego? "Do unto others as you have been done by," is that their credo? Okay, so call me "anti-Israelic" But even that begs further deconstruction, (to coin a phrase).

The word ISRA-EL has many layers of meaning, exoteric and esoteric. In the geopolitical matrix, the modern nation of Israel is a strategic concept, borrowing on Mosaic traditions originating from Mesopotamia and Egypt. Bluntly put, an instant country installed by military and diplomatic means in potentially hostile territory - an effective way to ensure future flashpoints and the opportunity to wage perpetual war in Israel's defence. Modern Israelis are no different than Singaporeans (or for that matter most Americans, Britons, Malaysians, Taiwanese, or Russians) whose primary faith is materialistic consumerism or scientific materialism, no matter what names they give their gods. The majority seem to be unaware of their leaders' hidden agenda, and only need to be primed with pseudo-patriotic passions and kept in perpetual fear of non-survival for them to acquiesce to all manner of brutalities committed in their name.

However, I prefer the arcane or mystical interpretation of ISRA-EL: Abode of the Gods, or something to that effect. When the 12 tribes unite as a harmonious whole - and we reactivate our 12-strand DNA potential - an age of peace and plenty will arrive on this earth, and humans will reclaim their divinity. The reconsecrated earth will be known as ISRA-EL - and her centre will be called JERU-SALEM, City of Peace. I take the 12 tribes as projections of the 12 constellations in the zodiac or the 12 notes in the octave. Those of Hebrew ancestry aren't going to be the only tribe inhabiting Heaven on Earth - we're ALL welcome, as we are not merely sons and daughters of "God" but holographic emanations of Prime Creator. ALL the human tribes, all genetic attributes, are required to fulfil the evolutionary process which may be likened to the alchemical quest to transmute lead into gold.

Because of interpretative distortions applied to various scriptures, humanity is now divided along religious and racial lines - which suits the devious purposes of those who would wield absolute control over others. True spiritual gnosis facilitates fusion rather than confusion. In every religious tradition you'll find a mystical essence that seeks unity in diversity rather than ideological unanimity. Put a Jewish mystic together with an esoteric Christian, a Sufi master, a Zen monk, Hindu rishi, Tibetan rinpoche, and a follower of the Tao - and they will end up partying in celebration of life's beauty and glory. However, during the outgoing Age of Darkness (known to Hindus as Kali yuga), greedy priesthoods seized the opportunity to manipulate the masses with divisive doctrines - hence the disintegrative effects of competing dogmas.

These wicked priesthoods are today incarnate as presidential grand viziers, corporate lawyers, and international banking consultants. The gods they worship are Mammon, Moloch, and Marduk (the unholy trinity of Economics, Politics, and Military Might) - though they claim devotion and loyalty to Yahweh or his incarnation Yeshuah, or Allah and his earthly messenger Muhammad. Indeed, our planet has been hijacked by a shrewd bunch of compulsive schemers and plotters - call them the Phynancial Elite or NWO Cabal of Cosmic Criminals - who lack the ability to empathize with the rest of life, and therefore have turned into cancer cells in the Corpus Christi (Divine Body of Cosmos). These wannabe Evil Emperors recognize no ethnic loyalties, national boundaries, nor do they subscribe to any theologies - although they actively encourage religiosity (pious belief in external deities) among the populace because it keeps the masses narcotized and complacent in unquestioning conformity.

When "God" is internalized as one's Core Self, worship will become effortless service to one's fellow creatures in our abundant and diverse planetary biosphere - not to some invisible, bloodthirsty and jealous deity that demands human sacrifice to feed its egoic deficiencies or fear of non-existence. Each of us who reclaims our divinity will automatically become a self-governing, adult entity, no longer in need of judgmental Father or Mother figures - and consequently no longer part of the problem of interreligious antagonisms.

Out the window will go Zionist doctrine, Christian and Islamic eschatology: heaven will be redefined as a condition of infinite possibility and hell, of absolute impossibility. We will no longer need to die physically before graduating to "heaven" - nor will we fear being assigned to "hell" - because we would know ourselves as autonomous beings blessed with free will and the ability to safely and ecstatically navigate the entire multidimensional spectrum of reality options.

In any case: thanks, Rey and Kathy, for raising objections to my forwarding of Israel Shamir's article. It has provided me an opportunity to mouth off on the cosmomythological context in which such information (or disinformation) has become fuel for ongoing discussion, research, and discovery.


Pax Antares
~~~^@^~~~
4 December 2006

David Icke's 30-minute lecture on money... and how humans have been enslaved (repost)



This information has been around for years but not everybody knows exactly how we've all been enslaved for generations by the Shylockian scheissters who invented banking and worthless money. Please pass the link around to your network of friends, thank you.

[Brought to my attention by Walter Smith]

Some background information from a 2009 lecture...



[First posted 3 December 2011, reposted 21 October 2017]

WHY I TOLERATE FACEBOOK... (repost)

In March 2009 I received a message via Facebook from someone I hadn't been in contact with since 1989. I'd known her as Virginia Kelly and she had been traveling with her bosom pal Jane when I met the duo on Tioman Island. Jane and Virginia accepted my invitation to visit when they were in KL and I recall we had a real jolly time. Then they left for Australia and there was an exchange of letters for a period, but that eventually fizzled out.

Virginia sent me a lovely, chatty email along with a whole bunch of scanned images that effectively collapsed the 20-year gap. It was truly delightful to view photos taken in 1989 that I had never seen. Whatever happened to my youthful good looks? 😥

Anyway, I just felt like sharing this recently retrieved fragment of my past...

The Rt. Hon. Armpit or Nutopian Embassy Residence 
@ 7 Pesiaran Ampang Hilir where I lived from 1970-1991. 
Looked like a hovel from the outside but it felt like a palace to me!
The-Pyramid-That-Xandi-Built was located behind 'The Armpit'
and served as an exotic guestroom
The cluttered living room where I received a broad spectrum of visitors:
from junkies and prostitutes to princes, princesses, sages, wizards, kings
and queens in exile, and goddesses of all shapes and sizes
The cap was a present from Denis Hewett.
It's still lying around somewhere!
Roxanne, the neurotic dog I inherited from former housemate Jeanne Donven
Virginia's attempt at low-light portraiture...
or perhaps I was completely stoned at the time?
Jane and Virginia (wearing my Balinese jacket) dining at the Bangles
Mary, Virginia and Jane at CJ's pub
Aha! It appears I was there too...
Who dat Dancin' Fool?
Now he's making a monkey of himself on the drumkit...
Imbi Road was a favorite haunt (oops, whose earring am I wearing?)
Camera on self-timer. Sorry, my hand got in the way, Mary!
Warding off Virginia's pheromones (or zapping her with chi,
not sure exactly what I was up to)

The 1972 Fiat Polski I inherited from Xandi Hoesch, the famous pyramid builder

Hello dear Antares,

Thank you so much for your prompt reply to my message on facebook. I was so happy to hear from you. Sorry I have taken so long to reply, you must think me very slack...

When I told Jane that I had googled you on the net and had actually found you.... she was amazed and said “so did he remember us”? I said to her well he didn’t actually say if he did... I think he did... but I can’t be sure ha ha ha ha!!! 

You were a very popular, extremely charismatic and fascinating special being then with loads of friends, and I can see that continues with over 1,100 friends on facebook. Wow!!! So I think for you to remember 2 young Aussie girls that briefly passed through would be pretty amazing... although I do think we kept in touch for a little while - you wrote to me in London... I do remember you sent me that pic of you and Marilia (the one you have on your bio). So then I dug out my ‘ol travel pics and found some of us and thought I would send them to you. I assume you have broadband with all your blogging with loads of pics etc. (I do hope you do... apologies in advance for the large email if you haven’t!!! but I think somehow you must to do what you do on the net???)

Anyway none of the pics are fabulous shots but some are funny with the expressions on some of our faces!!! Anyway I hope that the pics jog your memory (apologies for the blurry ones!! but I still thought they were worth sending even if they were blurry!!)

Oh there was another thing I thought was funny and wanted to share with you... Jane & I were both reminiscing - about lots of things... then we started talking about the little presents that you gave each of us the day we left your place in KL. The little round tin you gave me with the dice in it. The blue scarab beetle you gave Jane. I have my tin sitting on top of my fridge and frequently give it a little shake of the die and I have a code for different numbers... for some answers to some questions... strange I know... but I have always had it not far from me all these years... and Jane (who is extremely minimalist) still has her scarab beetle in her bedside drawer... I was so surprised about that... She rents a little building on this guy's place (he had originally built it for his wife to use to massage clients... (she left him... for a client I think!!) anyway it’s just a room with another room with a small kitchen and small bathroom... So being so small she doesn’t have very much with her... I guess what I am saying that I think it amazing that 2 old women (I can’t believe I said that about Jane and I ha ha ha !!!) still have those gifts from so long ago and they both still mean so much to us both... Hmmm ain’t that nice... Got a nice warm feeling now have you!!! ha ha ha!!! Well you should - you deserve it!!

Well it is a couple of days later and I still haven’t finished this email... Andy and I just got back from Brisbane today... We went down to go see the band ‘Coldplay’ it was a good night... We both really enjoy our music. I like most of the music he likes but he doesn’t like a lot of music I do... I recently went down on my own to Brisbane to see Leonard Cohen... You’d know him wouldn’t you? He is more of a poet than a singer. I just couldn’t miss this tour... At 74 he decided to tour again... and said quite honestly it was because he needed the money. I love his music, in fact I can say it was one of the best concerts I have ever been to. Andy makes fun of him saying his music is depressing and he calls his music wrist slashing music to die to,,. I say if you think that you just “don’t get it” Ha ha ha!!!

I have so enjoyed looking through the pics you have on facebook and also the family pod pics... through other links. I see Mary is there... We met Mary, I am sure it is the same Mary... she is in the pictures I am sending you. What is she up to now? What about your girls... All grown up and have children of their own now... Jane reminded me that we met one of your daughters whilst we were staying at your place... and haven’t you got some gorgeous grandchildren... Sexy grandad indeed!!!!!!... And now you have a young son with Anoora... wow!!! I love touching base with old friends and getting the gaps filled in... what useful things have they done... and how have they spent their time. It looks to me that you have had a wonderful life (and still do!!)... Full of connecting with people from all over the place and through your blog informing and stimulating awareness and conversation about important issues... You are a very special being Antares!!!

The Moossajee Family: Ryan, Andy & Gemma

I am also sending a fairly recent pic of Andy and Gemma and Ryan. Andy was born in England (Gloucester) but his Mum is Welsh (living in Australia now) and his Father was born in Mauritius (but has been living in Switzerland for the last 35 or so years) so in case you are wondering where the colourful surname ‘Moossajee’ came from. There are only 6 of us in Australia... Andy & I and our kids and Andy’s brother in Melbourne and his wife... so it is a little unusual over here... it is pronounced Moose-a gee!!! I never had to spell or pronounce Kelly (my maiden name) ha ha ha!!!

Anyway I want to get this sent to you so you can see the pics and see if you remember us... be honest!!! We won’t be offended... As I see it you have 1000’s of people pass through your life and you can’t possibly remember everyone...

Take care and I will be continuing to read your blog so I can get a picture and be informed about these issues that you write about... hopefully when you have time you can drop me a line (part of me feels like you have so many people to keep in touch with already that another will only burden your already overloaded cyber correspondence) but I will be happy to hear from you if/when you have time...

With love and cyber hugs x Virg


[First posted 18 March 2009. Reposted 22 November 2019]

Tuesday, November 28, 2023

Do we really want to march to Putrajaya? (reprise)

Heart-shaped cloud over Putrajaya. Was it Photoshopped? (Pic by Saeed Salem)

I've been to Putrajaya total of three times. The first time out of sheer diabolical curiosity. I was on the highway and spotted the Putrajaya exit; decided to make a brief detour just to see for myself what the hoo-ha was about. I parked in front of the PM's office and noticed the Egyptian-style obelisk outside his window. I couldn't believe the rococo lampposts and idly wondered how many there were and how much each cost (after mark-up).

The place was utterly soulless. A monumentally overpriced concrete façade. Like a colossal movie set for very boring and unimaginative epics involving millions of demure concubines and uncomplaining slaves. Only an evil emperor with massive delusions of grandeur (or terminal ego insecurity) could have conceived such an anachronistic monstrosity - and the man who launched the Putrajaya project was indeed an evil emperor wannabe, albeit of pathetically mediocre caliber. Unsurprisingly he left us with a cumbersome and morally diseased mediocracy to dismantle.

The second visit was with my ethnic fusion group Akar Umbi. We were invited for a gig in Putrajaya in conjunction with something or other. We even overnighted in a local hotel there. Luckily, the presence of giggling Orang Asli neutralized the robot city vibes of Putrajaya. It wasn't too bad an experience and we even got paid for our efforts.

Last week I went to Putrajaya to assist my friends with their application for a visa extension. Our visit to the Immigration Department turned out to be rather surreal and decidedly unpleasant. My friends were only given two weeks when they re-entered Malaysia after a trip to Singapore. However, the immigration officer at Tuas reassured them they could apply for an extension at the nearest immigration office and led them to believe it was a routine procedure.


Well, it was hardly routine. We were made to wait nearly 5 hours, only to be told the application for an extension was rejected. No reason given. But judging by the smug unfriendly tone in which the betempurunged and betudunged immigration officer pronounced that my friends had to leave the country, it was only too clear that our immigration policy discriminates against citizens of certain countries, in this case, China. If we had been treated with courtesy and not made to wait fruitlessly for hours, not getting an extension would have been much easier to accept.

The cold unhelpful treatment we received at the Jabatan Imigresen in Putrajaya merely confirmed what all of us have known all along: that BN slogans like "Performance Now" and "People First" are just a huge load of Najis (absolute crap, for the uninitiated).

Ironically, my friends had been seriously considering investing in Malaysia and making it their second home. Now I'm not so sure they would want to live in a such a rabidly and crudely racist country - even though all the Malaysians they have encountered - outside Putrajaya - have been very friendly and hospitable.

This foul-tasting encounter with post-Mahathir bureaucracy has prompted me to question the wisdom of wanting to take over Putrajaya - an architectural abomination which carries the reek of an accursed kingdom, something only a reptilian warlord like Sauron could relish.

Every structure in Putrajaya is designed to dwarf and diminish the common man and exalt the abstract notion of financial and political clout. It flatters the megalomaniacal ego and sneers at the whole idea of the soul. The architecture of Putrajaya insults all notions of human warmth and peremptorily dismisses the idea of democracy. Instead, we are browbeaten into submission to whomsoever operates the machinery of government from within those imposing stone fortresses.

If Pakatan Rakyat succeeds against all odds at vanquishing the Barisan Najis, the new federal government ought to seriously reconsider moving into Putrajaya. I'm convinced that just occupying those cold unfeeling premises will swiftly turn the newly elected government into an ugly replica of the old guard. Very bad fengshui, in other words.

Hard to imagine putting on the clothes of a moral leper - and not getting infected almost immediately.



Putrajaya is the concrete and glass manifestation of Mahathir's megalomania - which is really no different than that of Josef Stalin, Adolf Hitler or Benito Mussolini. In an earlier age, Mahathir could have been Atilla the Hun or Genghis Khan. These would-be world-conquerors are essentially cut from the same crude cloth. They have no time for the simple and the wholesome. They curl their lips and snarl in contempt at those who show compassion, forgiveness and mercy. They are prepared to do whatever it takes to seize earthly power and hold on to it with a vice-like grip. Their egos crave abject adoration from their disciples and followers - a sure sign that these personality types are descended from fallen angels and false gods.

Only false gods enjoy being feared by those who worship and unquestioningly serve them. The corrupt Umno priesthood established by Mahathir to serve his unholy ambition are the ones who typically work in ideological think-tanks and indoctrination agencies like Biro Tatanegara (National Civics Bureau). Just as Hitler's Third Reich was founded on a perverted sense of racial pride and prejudice, Mahathir built on Abdul Razak Hussein's Ketuanan Melayu agenda and infected two generations of Umno Malays with the dangerously divisive notion of racial supremacy.


Imitation of false gods is what prompts potentates to construct monuments and palaces to their own vainglory. In Malay the word raja (king) constitutes the root of the word for government - kerajaan. This suggests that government officials represent the rulers.

Instead of serving the public, the bureaucracy believes its primary purpose is to serve the symbols of Malay power, the sultans. That's only in theory, of course. In practice, most bureaucrats are programmed to serve their political masters, while helping themselves to the goodies at every opportunity. The upshot of this unhealthy practice is that we invariably end up with a rusty can of overfed maggots in public office and greedy, grasping, dragons of debauchery in the palaces.


Which means the common people, the rakyat, don't really feature at all in the power equation - except as a source of revenue and labor. This may have been the prevailing pattern in which power has been misused for millennia - but this sort of top-down hierarchy is no longer viable and should have become extinct along with the belief that Time is linear and Space strictly Euclidean..


Oppressive and authoritarian misrule is the primary cause of mediocrity. The docile, obedient, unimaginative and uncreative get promoted to positions of authority while "cultural creatives" - the innovators, mavericks and real talents - get sidelined or persecuted till they go into voluntary exile.

I hope the next government of Malaysia takes very careful note - even though I already know they won't and that they will rapidly become an almost exact replica of the bureaucratic tyranny they once vociferously opposed, proving once again and irrefutably, that those who consider themselves adult should unsubscribe from the notion of external authority (especially in the guise of their own parents, family clans, political parties, Cosplay governments and fictional off-planet deities).

[First posted 23 November 2010]


Sunday, November 26, 2023

I've been wishing I could share this extraordinary video with everybody for many years. Now you can view it for free!



What About Me?  is the second album by UK duo Jamie Catto and Duncan Bridgeman under the name 1 Giant Leap. The duo traveled around the world recording vocals and music by artists of various genres. The DVD/CD version of the album was released in March 2009.

I consider the 1 Giant Leap  project among the most brilliant and accomplished independent productions since the start of the Digital Era. A must-watch, especially now it's on YouTube!

[First posted 9 January 2013. Reposted 23 November 2019]

Friday, November 24, 2023

Interviewed about mixed marriages for a children's book... (repost)

From my email archives, a request from Jim Holmes - author of a children's book on "mixed marriages" - for an interview that may never have seen the light of day...

Anoora, Ahau & Antares in Tanjong Malim, 1998

----- Original Message -----
From: jim@jimholmes.co.uk
Date: Tuesday, February 4, 2003 9:08 pm
Subject: Re: A Children's Book.

Dear Antares,

Here are the questions, think 12-year-olds. Can I call you by your old name, or should I call you Antares?

Antares applies as it has better exchange value.

There are no guarantees that the interview will be used, as we have 27 out of a possible requirement of 21.

Mine are not the kind of answers that questionnaires seek - not usually - but we'll give it a go.

1. What are your own ethnic roots, and what are those of your partner?

I was born to Chinese parents, but describe myself as primarily human. Anoora is from the indigenous Temuan tribe who live in the Malaysian rainforest.

2. Most people find a partner or get married within their own ethnic group, are there any social barriers to crossing ethnic boundaries in Malaysia?

The usual ones - but these barriers are beginning to disappear as TV brings more of the world into people's living rooms.

3. Do people think it strange that you did not find a partner from your own ethnic background? Does it make life difficult at times?

The raised eyebrows were not because I married outside my tribe - but because I wed someone perceived as socially inferior. My own mother, when shown a photo of Anoora, asked whose maid she was.

4. Can you communicate easily by language and do you find that your partner has different ideals and a differing set of social norms from your own?

Communication of abstract ideas is not even attempted, but feelings are easily understood and require no verbal language. Anoora is in the process of acquiring her own view of what or who she is. When I met her she was only a conduit for tribal customs and beliefs. Our worldviews couldn't be more different - like a dialogue between earth and sky.

5. Has being in a mixed marriage/relationship changed your way of looking at the world?

My way of looking at the world was already different from the norm. Living with Anoora has changed my way of looking at myself.

6. Do you think that mixing the races is one possible way forward for Malaysia?

There is a natural attraction between people of different skin color and perspectives. Over time I believe that at least one-third of humanity will be an exotic genetic mix. However, in Malaysia, Islam is a bit of a barrier to intermarriage. Not many would willingly subject themselves to compulsory change of belief system, even for love. This is a pity, as intermarriage is perhaps the most effective way to outgrow ethnic prejudices that lead to political tension.

Why?

In a multi-ethnic community that views people as individuals rather than as racial stereotypes, the politics of ethnic divide-and-rule would soon become extinct. Diversity would be celebrated, not feared.


Anoora, Antares & Eugenie in August 2009 (photo by Robin Tan)



[Originally published 27 June 2012 & reposted 24 March 2013, 1 October 2015 & 13 November 2018]

Tuesday, November 21, 2023

Contemplating Eternity (reprise)

Cartoons by Antares

A Rabelaisian Discourse on Swiss Timekeeping, Scientific Orthodoxy, Satyriasis, and Saturdays


“HOW MUCH?”

She read aloud from the glossy magazine on her silky lap: “’It’s the first time such a complicated timepiece will be on the market, so it’s difficult to put a figure on it. Certainly five million dollars…’”

“U.S.?” I asked, as if it made a difference.

She nodded and continued: “’Certainly five million dollars. But it could be much more.’”

“That’s insane.”

She glanced at me with mild disdain. “How typical! You’re only interested in the price!”

“But why on earth would anyone make something like that?”

“It’s to mark their 150th anniversary…”

“Oh well, in that case it’s perfectly all right. However, I’m afwaid we can’t afford it, m’dear. Teddibly sowwy.”

I was rewarded with a faint smile. “Look, if I showed you a picture of a Rembrandt in an art book, does it mean I’m thinking of acquiring it? There are so many beautiful things to enjoy in this world. Masterpieces! For me it is a pleasure merely to know about them. Contemplating these priceless objects is like… well, like an experience of higher consciousness. It’s almost spiritual.”

“Well put! And as for me, whenever I feel the onset of Despair, I need only focus my thoughts on the Hope Diamond…”

The cushion missed me and landed with a fat plop near the kitchen door. She pouted in feigned petulance: “Bogus peasant!”

“My love, your beauty alone is enough for me.”

Another cushion – one she had been lying on – tossed, not hurled. I caught it and nuzzled it with mock Italian ardor: “Inamorata! O sole mio!” I breathed. “I worship the miraculous spot where you have sat!”

“Kees my ass,” she said. So I leapt on her and did precisely that.

* * * * * * *

“THIS IS INSANE,” I found myself saying an hour later. I had retrieved the magazine from the floor and was reading the feature on the multi-million-dollar timepiece from Patek Philippe, the Geneva watchmakers: “’Nine years in the making… 1,728 parts, 33 functions, weighs over a kilo…’ and dig this… ‘Every 400 years a special mechanism reinstates the Leap Year!’ ¡Caramba!”

“Isn’t that amazing?” she said, with no trace of cynicism. “And they say it will be the most complicated portable timepiece in the whole world.”

“Portable? Yeah… for Arnold Schwarzenegger, maybe.” I tossed away the magazine and mimed a well-dressed gorilla with an enormous load on his left arm: “Duhhh… mmmph… ooof…” I gasped. “Please, please, please, whatever you do… DON’T ask me the time!”

“Idiota.”

Oh, she says it so delightfully. I decided to try for an encore. “Er, ‘scuse me, what time is it?” I grunted and heaved and hauled up my left arm up to consult my imaginary 1.1 kilo timepiece. “Wait… I need time to figure it out, it’s the world’s most complicated watch, you see… 24 hands! Er… could you come back in half an hour?”

“Stupido!” she giggled.

“Who, me? Or the gorilla with the five-million-dollar watch?”

“You! You belong to the Casio crowd.”

“Mine’s a Xonix, see! You know I’m not the good Citizen type – and I certainly can’t picture myself going into a Patek Philippe showroom and asking to see the cheapest thing they’ve got.”

“Which you couldn’t afford, anyway,” she laughed. “Do you know how much the cheapest one costs?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” I said truthfully. “An arm and a leg?”

“TWO arms and a leg!” she retorted. “You’d have to wear it around your scrawny neck.”

I sat down and murmured into her ear: “I can think of much more interesting places…”

“Jesumaria, you are insatiable!” she breathed, surrendering to the luxury of a lazy Saturday afternoon.


I AWOKE FIRST, feeling hot and sweaty. When I had showered away the sleep I came downstairs to find her groping for her cigarettes in the mellow half-darkness of twilight.

“What time is it, do you know?” she ventured, husky-voiced, mussy-haired, but divinely beautiful as ever.

“7:23,” I said, having long adapted myself to digital timekeeping.

She groaned and yawned, then lit a cigarette: “I had such a weird dream.”

“What was it?”

“Can’t remember…”

“That’s funny,” I scratched my head. “I had a pretty weird dream myself. But all I can remember is the bit about the monster watch… god, it was a pretty complicated dream!”

“What watch? You mean the Calibre by Patek Philippe?”

“Is that what it’s called, the five-million-dollar watch?” I shifted her legs and plonked myself down on the sofa beside her, reaching for the cigarettes. “Well, yeah. It was quite vivid. I was somewhere in the future, you know – somehow I knew it was the year 2400. Something about the date… February 28th.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, snuggling closer.

“You want to hear this?”

“Mmmmm,” she affirmed.

“There was a great deal of anticipation, it was in the air. Everyone was watching the same live telecast; we were glued to the holovision set. It was great: I could see this perfectly realistic 3-D image of that monster watch just dangling in mid-air… actually, I think it might have been some sort of vacuum column. Anyway, it seemed like the entire planet was eagerly awaiting the stroke of midnight. Everyone wanted to witness the miraculous Reinstatement of the Leap Year by means of that wonderful mechanism built into the watch movement. Mainly, we were extremely curious to see if the damned thing was still ticking after so many centuries.”

She reached out and borrowed my cigarette. Exhaling slowly, she sighed: “I know you’re making this up.”

“But why should I?”

“Perhaps to tease me?” she purred.

“Hey, it’s hardly unusual to dream about clocks and watches,” I countered, retrieving the cigarette. “Salvador Dali did it daily – or nightly at any rate.”

The languorous hint of complaint in her voice was quite exquisite: “You’re a very naughty man. I never know when you’re telling me facts and when it’s pure fiction.”

“So what? It’s of no significance.”

“You haven’t finished telling me your dream. What happens?”

I laughed and kissed her. “Okay… we’re sitting around watching this great event on HV…”

“Who’s WE and what’s HV?”

“You and me and a few friends… nobody specific, just a few good friends. And HV is holovision, dum-dum.”

She pinched me: “Don’t call me dum-dum!”

“Who started it? You called me stupido… look, let me finish telling you the dream before I forget it completely. Er… where was I?”

“We were watching the mostruoso watch on HV.”

“Ah yes. The announcer was saying it was now more than 400 years, or sixteen generations since the original owner bought the watch back in the 1990s. Then the midnight chime began: doong… doong… tooong…”

“And??” She was hooked. Her voice betrayed it.

“Well, the suspense was getting too much to bear. I was sweating like a pig in a sauna…”

“Pigs don’t sweat. I read an article the other day…”

“Please don’t interrupt, my dear. The monster watch chimed three times… four times… five times… six times… then I woke up.”

“Stronso!” she snorted, “that’s bloody cheating!” Shoving me off the sofa, she jumped to her feet and danced upstairs to shower for dinner.


The Universe according to Count Antoine de Patek and Monsieur Adrien Philippe.


THE FIVE-MILLION-DOLLAR WATCH popped up again a few days later during a ‘heavy’ discussion concerning Time and Timelessness. We were watching a popular science documentary on TV about the serious research going on at some gargantuan cyclotron complex in Switzerland. A Carl Sagan look-alike was leading us on a guided tour of the exciting new frontiers of quantum physics.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded after my third or fourth quiet chuckle. “Would you be kind enough to tell me why you find this program so amusing?”

“I was reminded of something Dane Rudhyar once said.”

“Dane who? And what did he say?”

“Rudhyar. You probably won’t have heard of him. He’s only one of the most remarkable renaissance geniuses of the 20th century.”

“So what does this Dane fellow do for a living?” she said drily.

“Nothing whatsoever, he died a few years ago. But he was a philosopher, painter, esoteric scholar and astrologer; a true visionary and a highly articulate holistic thinker. And what he said was: ‘It’s really all so simple! One should not have to talk about it, which is like trying to catch atoms with a butterfly net.’ I think he might have been referring to our Brave New Scientists’ desperate attempts to crack the Mystery once and for all.”

She yawned: ”Atoms are not my specialty, but don’t you think this is a good documentary?”

“See that particle accelerator? You realize how massive that goddamned thing is? And how much it costs to operate? And do you know how extremely tiny sub-atomic particles are? Well, they’re so small they only exist in the realm of possibility. They might as well be purely mythical.”

She shrugged, not quite warming to the subject. “None of my business what they do with their equipment. But I’m sure all that research will prove useful some day.”

“Where would Big Science be without you?” I said, licking her left earlobe. Whereupon Time took a quantum leap into Timelessness. The Wild-Quark-Chase science doco was long over when we re-entered consensual time and turned off the 7 o’clock news.

At some point during the cigarette break our conversation drifted back to metaphysics. “It’s a complete waste of time,” I remember saying, “like smashing a clock against the wall and then examining the broken bits to try and grasp the nature of Time.”

“You mean a complete waste of timekeeping devices," she said drolly. "But what else do you expect scientists to do? Meditate and write haikus?”

My laughter set her off and we ended up farting in unison. It was an entirely ridiculous situation. “That was pretty good” I said at last.

“What was good? Our synchronized farts or my joke about haikus?”

“Both!”

“I can just imagine Albert Einstein in haiku heaven,” she giggled.

“Now old Bert was no grant-grubbing High Priest of Science. His was perhaps the most brilliant mind after Nikola Tesla and Niels Bohr, and he managed to keep it open to a remarkable degree. However, most of your professional scientists are just overpaid technicians, faceless data-gatherers in white smocks caught up in their own myopic specializations.”

“You are, as they say, waxing lyrical.” She popped a peeled grape in my mouth and rested her magnificent head in my lap.

I was unstoppable: “So what do they do all day long? Chasing shadows with their high-tech measuring instruments trying to get a statistical fix on everchanging forms. ‘It’s a trick of the Light!’ the smarter ones conclude. And then, when night falls, they hold anxious conferences hoping to determine precisely why their data has suddenly become invalid.”

“You make them sound so stupid…”

“’Extreme cleverness is as bad as stupidity’ – Lao-tze said that, I believe.”

“But you must admit the scientific method has produced some very useful results. I mean, when I think of video and airplanes and washing machines and computers… I’m impressed. You’re prejudiced – because you don’t have any engineering or mathematical skills, isn’t that so?”

I was silent for a moment. “You’re right to a certain extent, but I’m not saying we ought to eliminate scientists. I just don’t want them to eliminate us.”

“Don’t you agree, science can work together with art to produce functional beauty? Take the mostruoso watch for example. God, the skill that goes into something like that, the dedicated craftsmanship!”

“You seem to have taken a real fancy to that overpriced watch, haven’t you?”

“Why not? To me it represents something unique and exquisite. It’s a celebration of human ingenuity and… at least it’s a form of attainable fantasy.”

“Oh, you terminal case of intellectual materialism.”

“Stop calling me names!”

“Baublehead.”

“Bobble?” She glared at me. “What do you mean, bobble?”

“Bauble… B-A-U-B-L-E… a pretty little useless thing,” I said helpfully. “The sort of precious junk you’re so fond of admiring and collecting. Thank goodness you haven’t got unlimited credit.”

“If something makes you happy you don’t call it useless.”

“It’s that simple for you, is it? Buy a bauble and be happy. Just keep buying and live happily ever after…”

“You know I am NOT like that, Mister!” She sounded genuinely peeved.

“Hey, hey… relax! I was only trying to ruffle your feathers. I’m sorry I succeeded. Anyway, all I wanted to point out was this: not knowing what Time is all about, humans become obsessed with measuring it. They invent clocks and calendars, and then spend the rest of their lives trying to escape the Time Continuum. No wonder human affairs have become nearly impossible.”

“Who’s trying to escape from Time? Not me! And I love human affairs!”

“That’s splendid! You don’t even know you’re doing it!”

“Can you explain, please?” She started stroking my calves.

I lit a couple of cigarettes and handed her one. “All right… why do you pay so much for skin creams and Royal Jelly and extract of reindeer horn and that yucky seaweed stuff? To keep yourself looking young, right? What is age, after all? Merely a demonstrable effect of Time. We’re always seeking the Elixir of Eternal Youth – some secret passage to Immortality. Wait, wait, please don’t interrupt…”

She interrupted all the same: “I need a drink. You want some tea?”

“Brilliant idea. I need to use the loo, anyhow.”

* * * * * * *

MY THOUGHTS WERE SUBLIME as I sat on the pot. The tea was invigorating. We settled on the sofa to contemplate Eternity.

“Past, present, future – they’re mental constructs,” I informed her, feeling like some schoolboy iconoclast who’s just spilled the beans about Santa Claus to his chum.

Tea makes her attentive, so I charged on: “At certain levels of consciousness, Time spirals upon itself and nothing exists except the Moment… the Eternal Now.”

“I love it when you talk like a Buddha. Your face looks so calm.” She touched it gently.

I gazed at her with severe serenity: “The rivers of Time flow into Eternity, where the illusion of Time itself dissolves. So… why should anyone waste five million U.S. dollars on an overblown dress watch?”

“It’s an investment, darling. See what the Eiffel Tower has done for Paris.”

“Ah, but don’t you see? It’s this gnomish Newtonian notion about Law and Order in a Clockwork Cosmos. The Swiss have been obsessed with precise timekeeping for generations.”

“Don’t blame the Swiss. Blame the Chinese, they started this nonsense… as usual.”

“I’m afraid the habit began long before that, sweetheart. Timekeeping is one of the unfortunate and unnecessary by-products of higher intelligence.”

“Okay, why are you wearing that cheap watch of yours? Why talk all this high-brow stuff about Eternity? You use a desk diary, you look at calendars…”

“True, true… but I’m different, you see. I’ve managed to escape the Timestream and no longer take the passage of Time as seriously as other humans do.”

She chuckled: “Ah, my beloved Chronos, how I adore you – you are so marvelously arrogant!”

“Are you feeling peckish, Titania?” I asked, caressing her auburn locks. “I can run downtown and pick up some edibles.”

She tweaked my nose. “Hey, I’m not Titania… I’m Rhea,” she corrected me with no apparent umbrage.

“Of course!” I whacked myself on the forehead. “How could I be so forgetful? Mea culpa.”

“Anyway, I’m not very hungry… but this conversation is making me really homesick.” She sat up and looked me straight in the eye. “What do you think? Shall we take a break from playing humans? Just a quick little vacation, the two of us, hmmm?” Her painted fingernails traced a subtle pattern along my thighs.

I performed a swift mental calculation. “Okay,” I said with brow thoughtfully furrowed. “If we do it discreetly, nobody will get alarmed. We can use the new Antarean Gateway. It will take us right through Arcturus to Andromeda. But let’s set the Zuvuya beam to return in 16 gene cycles.”

“Why 16 gene cycles?”

“Well, that will spiral us back into this Reality Game just before Gregorian Year 2400, give or take a lunar phase.”

“Yes, but what’s the mission objective for that specific coordinate?”

“Don’t you want to watch our monster timepiece perform the miraculous Reinstatement of the Leap Year?”

“Perfect timing!” She winked and gave me the most sensational kiss I have had in aeons.

Or at least since Saturday.


Text & Illustrations by Antares © 1989
Painting: "The Children of Cronos" by Victor Hagea
First posted 27 May 2007, reposted 7 May 2019 & 7 April 2023