The real change is happening quietly, inwardly, unreported and unnoticed... (repost)

Adversarial politics, as practised in Malaysia, is every bit as polluting as the worst kinds of industries. The toxicity, in this instance, is mainly psychic, and results in clouding up the real issues.

On the second day of 2012, Raja Petra Kamarudin let off a loud and extremely smelly fart in the face of Pakatan Rakyat by declaring Anwar Ibrahim "morally unfit" to become Malaysia's 7th prime minister. The fact that RPK chose to do so via the Umno-owned media, a few days ahead of the January 9th sodomy trial judgement reveals that his intent was to inflict maximum damage on Anwar.

What has transpired between these erstwhile political allies to sour their relationship is unknown to me and, no doubt, will be the subject of much speculation. In 1998 when Anwar Ibrahim was sacked as deputy prime minister and finance minister and viciously booted out of Umno, RPK rose to his defence by inaugurating the online Free Anwar Campaign. Either RPK didn't buy the malicious gossip that Anwar is bisexual - or it didn't really matter to him then.

Well known to be a maverick and loose cannon, RPK isn't someone who can join any club without ultimately coveting the position of supremo. He has an ego that matches his mercurial intelligence - and his immense popularity in the period leading up to and after GE12 was largely due to the sheer audacity of his "No Holds Barred" column in Malaysia Today.

Soon after RPK went into self-exile to avoid another stint in Kamunting, he collaborated with Pakatan Rakyat leaders to forge a united front against Umno/BN. However, disagreements in strategy must have arisen, leading to the formation of the Malaysian Civil Liberties Movement (MCLM) supported by concerned citizens who didn't necessarily wish to be embroiled in partisan politics but were convinced that the primary goal was to remove Umno/BN from power.

AS MCLM started gaining credibility and clout, RPK began criticizing Anwar and Pakatan Rakyat over what he perceived as their weaknesses and shortcomings. He made it clear that his own mission to restore good governance and justice in Malaysia was above party politics - and, as such, it was his duty to "whack" politicians on both sides of the BN/PR divide whenever they got out of line. Fair enough, and those of us who admired RPK's guts and brilliant mind were happy to endorse MCLM's public outreach activities.

However, just before the Sarawak elections, RPK stunned the nation by agreeing to be interviewed in Australia by TV3. The gist of his revelations was that he had been misled and left in the lurch by a conspiracy to thwart Najib Razak's rise to power and replace him with Tengku Razaleigh as interim prime minister. The edited interview focused on RPK's declaration that he had no evidence of Rosmah Mansor's involvement with Altantuya's gruesome execution - and that he had accepted on good faith the testimony of one Colonel Azmi Zainal Abidin, a military intelligence officer. RPK added that the military intelligence report he had been shown no longer existed.

The timing of RPK's TV3 interview created shockwaves amongst his fans and many turned against him, convinced that he had finally succumbed to temptation and reneged on his own principles. After a few months, the antagonism subsided but avid followers of Malaysia Today had grown a little wary of RPK's volatile temperament.

With his latest move, conspiring with the utterly despised Utusan Malaysia and New Straits Times to dismiss Anwar Ibrahim's candidacy as prime minister, RPK has lost even more admirers - perhaps permanently this time.

RPK, of course, is entitled to his views on what constitutes moral fitness for the nation's highest post. He says it's possible that Anwar Ibrahim may be bisexual; that he's "90% convinced" Anwar is the main actor in the sleazy video produced by the infamous "Datuk T" trio. Nothing anyone in Umno/BN hasn't already loudly proclaimed through the mainstream media as an indictment of Anwar Ibrahim's "immoral" tendencies.

Amidst the myriad moral lapses that tend to characterize public figures, we need to draw clear distinctions as to which ones we must view seriously and which ones we can afford to overlook.

Putting your hand on somebody's lap and putting your hand in the till may be regarded as moral lapses - but each act has entirely different consequences. If I put my hand on your lap and you find it pleasurable, we'll soon be having a bit of grownup fun, at nobody's expense. However, by stealing from the public coffers, my act can be classified criminal and it will eventually impoverish the entire nation.

In a social climate supercharged with false piety and genuine hypocrisy, it may be a sign of moral weakness on my part to deny that I have enjoyed extramarital affairs or smoked a bit of weed or had a couple of beers with my chums or watched some porn.

But to allow crooks to infiltrate the judiciary and law enforcement agencies just to prop up my personal power is most certainly not an act of moral strength. And to say and do absolutely nothing as my uniformed goons beat people to death in custody and throw them out of highrise windows goes beyond moral weakness - it's abominably evil.

The endless catalog of crimes committed under the watch of every Umno prime minister since Hussein Onn needs no elucidation. Most Malaysians with access to the Internet acknowledge that many abominable evils became the norm during Mahathir's 22-year tenure - and that Najib's power rides upon the endemic corruption and moral degeneracy he inherited as the current Umno president and crime minister.

To my mind, if a new Pakatan Rakyat federal government led by Anwar Ibrahim can abolish once-and-for-all the oppressive laws that keep citizens docile, submissive and afraid of their own shadows, then I will lend their ascendancy to power my wholehearted support.

I wish to see a new attitude of dedicated service amongst elected representatives of the people - ministers who do not glorify themselves by arriving an hour late with police outriders just to officiate at public events; who totally understand that they are paid good wages to attend to problem-solving and the smooth administration of essential public utilities and social services - not to hog the limelight or rouse the rabble to racist hysteria.

If a Pakatan Rakyat government can oversee the outright abolition or massive overhaul of our dysfunctional public institutions - starting with PDRM and the judiciary; encourage the healthy growth of participatory democracy and ensure freedom of thought and expression; set a shining example to all citizens and motivate them to greater aspirations, instead of making them cynical and apathetic, then it's absolutely no concern of mine whether members of the cabinet are transsexual, bisexual, trisexual, metrosexual or pansexual. I might feel a tad anxious if one of them was exposed as asexual - simply because I find asexual people a bit creepy.

I would consider anyone morally unfit to be a leader if he or she is a congenital liar with a penchant for excessive luxury and self-aggrandizement - and is prepared to murder anyone who stands in the way of their grotesque ambition.

As far as I know, Anwar Ibrahim has never ordered any of his political rivals to be tortured by psychopathic goons, poisoned, bludgeoned to death, shot in the head, or blown to smithereens with military grade explosives.

The only reservation I have about Anwar's political ideology is that he doesn't seem to share my profound respect for Mother Nature and continues to regard logging and mining as legitimate industries. When he becomes PM, I shall have to convince him that a deep understanding of ecology is far more important than the stupid economy.

RPK, whom I continue to respect and love as a brother and friend, even though we may be diametrically opposed in specific instances - and to whom I will always be grateful for his magnificent role as a powerful galvanizer of political awareness - may have decided that Anwar Ibrahim is "morally unfit" to be appointed our 7th prime minister. He has every right to his personal opinion.*

My personal opinion is that we will never know if Anwar Ibrahim will make a great prime minister until we have given him at least 5 years to lead the nation to a more glorious and noble destiny. At this juncture, Anwar remains the most qualified candidate - and perhaps the only political icon with sufficient charisma and influence to win over enough hearts and minds and reunify this divided nation.

Meanwhile, I'm happy to report that I have been meeting a growing number of mentally and spiritually awakened young people who are more than capable of thinking for themselves and knowing when to put an end to systems that no longer work, because they have been abused for far too long by those who are truly morally unfit to lead.

-----------
*[Editor's Note: since January 2012 when this essay was written, much has changed in the political landscape, In recent years RPK has not only come out in open support of Najib and Rosmah's rogue regime, he has also revealed that he wholeheartedly subscribes to Ketuanan Melayu (Malay supremacy) - which means that all his past pronouncements about social justice and democratic principles were a mere pretence. I find it no longer possible to describe RPK as "a brother and friend." Indeed, just hearing his name mentioned evinces utter revulsion and a deep sadness in my heart.]

First posted 3 January 2012. Reposted 8 March 2018]

IS THIS THE END OF UMNO? (reprise)

I see a large crack and it's rapidly widening...

This is how hardcore Umno members view themselves - as irresistibly sexy. Or maybe they prefer operating through the backdoor rather than upfront, and that's why accusations of sodomy have become their chief weapon against political rivals. Umno really ought to be renamed Bumno.

Never attempt to hump a camel, unless you're accustomed to kickbacks.

Uh-oh... Big Shot do Big Shit! Stand back!

What a mess! If you're one of those anjing menyalak di pantat gajah (dogs barking behind an elephant)... put on your wet suit and dive right in!

Looks appetizing but is that roast rump... or grilled pachyderm turd?

The menu describes this as "barbecued rump of lamb with savory sauce"- but it looks more like the end result of 52 years of Ketuanan Melayu! "A deepening divide is becoming apparent between reformists energized by Anwar Ibrahim's recent return to parliament and the recalcitrant rump of a fading regime." - Richard Kraince (professor of Southeast Asian Humanities at The College of Mexico)

[First posted 20 November 2008]

Malaysia's 10th prime minister (updated & revised)

Like millions of other Malaysians I was looking forward gleefully to witnessing a Pakatan Rakyat government installed in Putrajaya after 16 September 2008 - with Anwar Ibrahim as our sixth prime minister. Alas, the Deep State decided otherwise and Anwar was effectively neutralized and bypassed for a succession of hereditary kleptocrats.

Sixth... seventh... eighth... ninth... tenth... it doesn't matter. I remain convinced that Anwar has the necessary experience to steer the nation clear of some treacherous reefs looming ahead.

Some of my friends say they would rather see Zaid Ibrahim (right) as PM. I'm a great admirer of Zaid Ibrahim and have no problem seeing him become prime minister one of these days.

[Well, this no longer holds true. Zaid Ibrahim has disqualified himself from consideration as a trustworthy leader. He has revealed himself as egotistical, petty-minded and occasionally vindictive - even though his views remain far more palatable than one would expect from any BN politician. Zaid has thus far had a cushy career as an Umno lawyer, de facto law minister, and lone wolf political commentator. Unlike Anwar and many other opposition figures, however, Zaid Ibrahim has never had to endure political persecution and incarceration, which makes me wonder if he has the mettle and stamina to survive a full-frontal assault from the power establishment.]

For that matter, Nizar Jamaluddin has also been described as prime minister material - but before he stands a chance of being appointed to the nation's highest office, his political party will have to shed some of the theological deadwood it is currently burdened with.

[It was reported yesterday that Hadi Awang bumped into Najib on the Sarawak campaign trail and hugged him warmly. That not only gives me the creeps, but I worry about PAS leaders like Hadi Awang, Nasharudin Mat Isa and Hasan Ali who seem unable to resist Umno's horny pheromones.]

In any case, so long as Anwar Ibrahim is in good health and willing to take on the responsibility, I would still prefer that the PM's job go to him. Not only does he have 16 years' experience under his belt as part of the Umno/BN regime under Mahathir, but he has also been initiated into the shadow side of power. Anwar has an intimate understanding of how precarious and illusory worldly power and status can be, having been at the receiving end of Mahathir's gross abuse of power back in 1998 (and again, ten years later, with Najib's Sodomy II).

I'm convinced that anyone who has survived such a nightmarish ordeal would have learned to cherish the true meaning of freedom and justice.

Nurul Izzah Anwar, a member of parliament at 28

Apart from Anwar's phenomenal charisma as an orator and political reformer, he is supported by the genteel, softspoken Wan Azizah whose compassion, dignity and strength stand her in excellent stead as a prime minister's wife the entire nation can wholeheartedly love and respect. Not only that, their beautiful daughter Nurul Izzah has proven her mettle as an articulate, intelligent and plucky leader and has all the qualities necessary to someday become Malaysia's first female PM. (Not that I'm in favor of political dynasties - but being born into a political family does provide a strong foundation for handling the stresses and strains of leadership.)

More than a year after Anwar's abortive 916 plan to take over the reins of government, the political situation is totally bogged down in sinister intrigue while outrageous shenanigans continue to be perpetrated with impunity by the Umno/BN regime under Mr Pink Lips (right) - the crime minister appointed by 190 Umno division chiefs - and endorsed by the Malay rulers and the Bumoid Kakistocracy aka the Corporate Umnoputra.

A few of my moneyed friends have expressed their reservations about having Anwar Ibrahim as PM. Some parrot Mahathir and Daim Zainuddin's heavy hints about Anwar's cozy ties with key agents of the New World Order cabal and their Zionist banker connections. They're wary of the fact that Anwar is respected by well-known Neocons like Paul Wolfovitz and has access to a global network of influential names in academia and the mass media. Unlike Najib, Anwar Ibrahim doesn't have to pay millions to some Israeli-owned PR agency to have the international media paint a rosy image of him as a leader.

Umno apologists just don't get it. These so-called Zionist plutocrats - men like George Soros (left), the Rothschilds, and the Rockefellers - admire intelligence and statesmanship and, of course, they are constantly trying to recruit new blood into their ranks. If they have indeed been courting Anwar, it simply means they believe Anwar is well worth luring into their inner circles - just as they at one time invited the likes of Lee Kuan Yew and Mahathir Mohamad to participate in closed-doors Bilderberg conferences. In the geopolitical arena one has to acknowledge that power has been jealously guarded for countless centuries by a secretive elite via interlocking fraternities like the Freemasons, Knights of Malta, and the Rotarians. The heads of these fraternities are members of even more exclusive and secretive mystical orders with names like the Priory of Sion, Opus Dei, P2, the Bavarian Illuminati, Skull and Bones,  and Ordo Templi Orientis. Many today label these esoteric elite powerbrokers as the Khazarian Mafia, NWO Globalists, Eugenicists, Transhumanists, Pedophiles Anonymous or even Satanists.

Their deadly grip on power appears indomitable and absolute. But that's merely an illusion. Truth is, the cracks have become huge enough for new reality options to hatch from within these occult power centers.

David Mayer de Rothschild (born 25 August 1978),
adventurer & environmentalist

As always their own descendants - the children and grandchildren of Evelyn Rothschild and David Rockefeller, for example, will break the family mold and mutate in ways unforeseen. Like a tower struck by lightning, the entire edifice of hereditary power and wealth will quickly crumble as the New World Order manifests as something its original planners would never in a million years have imagined possible.

As a brilliant and charming deputy prime minister cum finance minister, Anwar had apparently attracted the attention of these global powerbrokers. Perhaps he had been emboldened by their tacit support to make his power play against the recalcitrant Mahathir in mid-1997 - which triggered a vindictive and violent reaction from both Daim Zainuddin and Mahathir who represented the vested interests of the Umnoputra elite that had burgeoned during Mahathir's 22-year premiership.

Daim "Don Corleone" Zainuddin

Those who had grown fat in the mid-1980s and early 1990s from Mahathir's largesse were naturally incensed by what they perceived as Anwar Ibrahim's impatience and impertinence. He had to be forcefully put down as an example to other would-be upstarts within the ranks of Umno. This explains the ferocity and sheer viciousness of their attack against Anwar in 1998. [And why they decided to dust off the sodomy script and whack him again with it in June 2008... followed by that dubious "Datuk T" sex video, and when that plot laughably fizzled out, they redoubled their efforts to nail Anwar on Sodomy II... and finally succeeded, by bending the laws out of shape and irreparably tarnishing the name of the Apex Court.]

It was nothing less than a political crucifixion. Just as two thousand years ago the entrenched Jewish priesthood and the obese merchants in Palestine were terrified of the master Yeshua's populist message of reform and renewal - the feudal power establishment in Malaysia was severely rattled by the close proximity of the same groundswell of massive rebellion that swept Suharto and his dynasty from power right next door in Indonesia.

The Umno old guard isn't quite dead yet. Mahathir still growls as he paces and prowls in growing frustration, watching Umno warlords repeatedly shoot themselves in the foot and dig themselves deeper and deeper into their own graves. Quietly monitoring the political shifts since 8 March 2008 from his invisible vantage point, former finance minister Daim Zainuddin makes hardly a sound - but he has been busy behind the scenes, doing whatever he can and must to thwart Anwar's ambitions to become PM.

As for the Malay rulers, they have been compromised - particularly since the mid-1980s - by their immersion in entrepreneurial pursuits - an unhealthy trend that escalated following Mahathir's usurpation of their traditional authority. Few of them have any head for business, so they are largely dependent on a shadowy cadre of Umnoputra tycoons and the fly-by-night financial adventurers who serve as their advisors and proxies.

This is certainly an untenable and unwholesome situation. The royal houses must decide very soon whether to throw their lot in with the collapsing Umnoputra house of cards - or to discreetly extricate themselves from further involvement in the sordid world of business - a realm where their royal stature is susceptible to being irreversibly tarnished and brought into severe disrepute. They cannot carry on dabbling in business, getting entangled in constant conflicts of interest or risking legal action when their enterprises go bust - and yet expect the public to shut up and keep paying their royal allowances.

I was telling some friends recently that the political atmosphere during the Mahathir Era was horribly stifling, especially after 1986 when his power faced serious challenges. But, strangely, things feel even worse today - not necessarily because Najib is crueler and more ruthless than his cynical puppetmaster - but simply because the Internet can now reveal the full extent of Umno/BN's criminal mismanagement, complete with charts and tables and long lists of figures.

Thanks to the emergence in Cyberspace of loose cannon maverick royals like Raja Petra Kamarudin - whose access to "official secrets" and whose ability to expose and destroy the rogue regime we call Umno/BN (along with all who stubbornly cling to their ill-gotten gains and their obscene privileges) should never be underestimated - those of us who genuinely love this country still have many strategic options apart from migrating.

As RPK has shown by positioning himself out of harm's way and continuing to fire salvo after salvo at political targets of the day, it's futile trying to scare bloggers into silence. You can haul up and question a few - but at what cost to your expensively tailored international image? And for every Malaysian-based blogger who gets intimidated into silence, a hundred outspoken bloggers based abroad will emerge to carry on the information war.

[RPK launched the Malaysian Civil Liberties Movement as a "Third Force" when he realized that Anwar Ibrahim had his own way of doing things that didn't always coincide with RPK's strong opinions. These two men are extremely charismatic but very different in temperament. Anwar is a natural-born fiery orator, diplomat and political strategist; while RPK enjoys the role of flamboyant revolutionary and gunslinging political Paladin, six-shooters blazing from both holsters. RPK has never run for political office and maintains a stance independent of BN and PR. However, what troubles me is that RPK maintains an affable, hand-kissing relationship with Dr Mahathir and recently met with Sanusi Junid, who was sent to the UK as Dr M's emissary to persuade RPK to disconnect from Anwar Ibrahim. RM10 million was dangled as a carrot. RPK says he turned it down, even though he was momentarily tempted. Since his shocking U-turn at the beginning of 2010 when he agreed to be interviewed by TV3, publicly withdrawing his lethal insinuations against Rosmah and Najib, his former admirers have largely agreed that RPK has now become just another hired gun, shooting his mouth off on behalf of the highest bidder.]

One of the perks of amassing a vast fortune is to be admired and applauded wherever you go. However, if your reputation sinks to the level of infamous rogues like Robert Mugabe, Augusto Pinochet, Ferdinand Marcos, Slobodan Milošević, General Than Shwe, Kim Jong-Il, Najib Razak, Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama and Joe Biden... you'd probably be wishing you could have been half as talented as Michael Jackson instead... or twice as dead.

[First posted 12 November 2009, reposted 28 September 2015 & again with revisions on 14 September 2019]

Paying homage to a planetary rainbow warrior dreamtime goddess

Marianne Y. Naerebout

planetary 

rainbow warrior

dreamtime goddess

she showed me her true colors:

i felt a delightful tingle 

of molecular excitement – electric!

& sensual in a long-forgotten

or just-remembered sense

those fluid lines & funky colors:

music to the eyes – they make one

realize what a spectacular gift 

SIGHT is! oh i feel like jumping up &

dancing to that happy/lively/friendly

pulsating energy

[she had come to me, you see, for “professional advice” on the production of this “promotional tool”]

i said:

you don’t need words to sell your

pictures, they have the power

to create their own demand

she said:

what do you see in my paintings?

[i smiled & handed her her “pound of words”]

for a start: the hologram of eve & 

evolution; primary waveforms, photons,

molecules, cells; also algae, germs,

sperms, worms & axolotls; snakes,

fishes (all shapes & sizes), birds, 

turtles, tetrahedral crystals &

quetzalcoatls (yes… the feathered

serpents of the aztecs!)

Piece by Dutch artist Corneille
@ Guillaume Cornelis van Beverloo (1922–2010)

elemental, rudimental, transcendental

micro-macro-cosmic fractal images

such as one may find in the mindscapes

of aboriginal magic art, punk 

guerrilla graffiti & some visionary

works by ernst, corneille, klee, miro

picasso, chagall et alia; or on

tibetan thangkas, guatemalan weavings,

precolumbian jugs & rugs

chromosomes at play:

highly neural (but unneurotic)

& erotic in a subliminal way –

none of that egocentric intellectualism

one finds in much of modern art –

do you know why this is so?

she said:

well, i was born in holland but

when i was 3 months old we moved

to curacao – i remember vividly

playing in the sea! later i shifted 

to the desert & recently i experienced

the malaysian jungle – i like 

movement!

i said:

do you mind being called a planetary

rainbow warrior dreamtime  goddess?

she laughed

with childlike innocence

& the wisdom of the ancients

 

kit leee

(antares maitreya)

magick river

kuala kubu bharu

july 1994

 

NO TURNING BACK! [revisited]

As we ease into 2009 following upon BN's spectacular loss of its two-thirds parliamentary majority in March 2008, many of us are resigned to an uphill stretch ahead - at least where economics and politics are concerned. Looking back over the decades, I realize I have been anticipating this exciting phase in our evolution for nearly forty years. I'm talking about the mass awakening that's occurring across the spectrum on this planet right now (aided by Pluto moving into Capricorn on 26 January 2008).

In two weeks all eyes will be on the Kuala Terengganu by-election. The outcome will provide a fair indication of whether we're moving forwards or backwards. A win for PAS will signal that the rakyat has truly had enough of being bamboozled by Umno/BN and is ready to venture into unknown waters on a new political adventure called "participatory democracy."

On the other hand, a win for Umno will indicate that a large number of Malaysians are still driven by fear and greed... and that the long dark night of Umno-style "guided democracy" will linger on a while more before the New Dawn finally breaks, as it eventually must.


While some are already aligning themselves with the Najib Razak camp on the assumption that he will succeed Badawi as our next PM (shudder), others are praying for a miracle - a spontaneous lifting of the curse of misguided pragmatism passed down through countless generations. What we're looking at isn't just the ill effects of 51 years of BN misrule. The problems go much farther back in time...

Somebody left a book in my van a few months ago. I stuck it in the glove compartment and immediately forgot about it... until last week when I spotted it just as I was about to drive to Tanjong Malim and catch a bus to Ipoh. So I brought the book along to read on the journey. It was an illustrated "People's history of Malaya" titled Where Monsoons Meet - published in 1987 by the Institute of Social Analysis (INSAN). A socialist primer aimed at secondary students, the comic-style book was designed for easy reading and I finished it in less than an hour - but it had significant impact.

Looking at our recent history from a non-elitist perspective reminded me how thoroughly brainwashed my parents' generation was. I recall that my mother and father thought very highly of the Brits. In the early 1950s goods produced in Hong Kong still carried the imprint "Empire Made" even though the sun was swiftly setting on the British Empire. Where Monsoons Meet effectively demolishes all notions of a benign imperialism. The colonizers emerge smelling quite foul.

The "Independence" we were granted in August 1957 was but in name. Before leaving Malaya the Brits had rigged the system so that it would always favor the capitalist elite comprising the Malay aristocracy and a handful of Chinese entrepreneurs. When the rakyat began to demand better working conditions and more rights, they were brutally suppressed through heavy-handed police action. The Communist bogeyman justified the introduction of a slew of repressive laws. The truth of the matter was: Malaya was a fat milk cow sustaining the Anglo-American economy and they couldn't afford to lose control of the country's rich natural resources.

In short, British rule wasn't quite as halcyon as it may appear to the present generation of middle-class non-Malays. Every dirty trick in the book of governance as practised by Umno was learnt during the ruling class Malays' long apprenticeship with the British Colonial administration.


In the time of the British, indentured laborers imported from India were paid 12 cents a day for their back-breaking work in the rubber estates and on the railway tracks. Even if the local currency in prewar days was worth two hundred times more than it is today, these debt slaves only received the equivalent of RM20 a day. They had to dismount from their bicycles and tabik (salute) whenever a White Tuan crossed their path. The ones who spoke a smattering of English were made mandors and were given the authority to horsewhip insubordinate workers. Rebellion against injustice in the form of trade unionism was roughly and swiftly dealt with. The word "rakyat" was as little tolerated as the word "Communist."

In May 1969 the coup d'etat masterminded by Abdul Razak Hussein (right), Harun Idris, Syed Jaafar Albar, Mahathir Mohamad, Ghazali Shafie and a few other young Turks in Umno resulted in a new breed of educated middle-class Malays wresting a measure of power from the traditional aristocracy. In doing so, they also adopted the self-aggrandizing tendencies of the hereditary elite, hence their fondness for unwieldy honorifics and exclusive "VVIP" treatment.

Forty years down the line (in 2009), we are poised on the brink of another major coup - this time involving the overthrow of a diseased and dysfunctional feudalistic concept of leadership, in favor of a more decentralized, more democratic, more egalitarian, more accountable, more interactive form of management. And we intend to accomplish this feat bloodlessly and through entirely legal procedures.


What is called for at this juncture is optimum clarity of focus and supreme resoluteness. We the people cannot waver for a moment in our desire to shake off the yoke of tyranny and reclaim our civil rights and individual authority as free citizens of a free country. Each of us now has a sacred duty to embody all the qualities we cherish - courage, honesty, compassion, integrity, wisdom, and the ability to love more and more inclusively.


We can endorse and lend our wholehearted support to leaders whose visions align with our own - but we must never become entirely dependent on them. Otherwise we will only experience disappointment and disillusionment when these leaders reveal themselves to be just as fallible as anyone else. No use pointing fingers, scapegoating and foisting the blame for failure on others.

We are the redemption and salvation we have yearned for throughout the ages.

Happy Regime Change, folks! It can still happen, and sooner than you think... believe in miracles!

[Originally posted 2 January 2009, reposted 25 September 2009]

Is there a way out of this labyrinthine nightmare? (reprise)

DREAM DIARY 4 JULY 2021

In this morning's dream I found myself wandering through a back-alley busy with hawker stalls & as I strolled past a mamak tea-stall, someone called my name. It was my Singapore friend Farah Ong, an actor & drama teacher. As we were catching up, her friends came up to say hello. They were all out-of-work actors, dancers, stage crews, producers, writers, directors, devastated by the abrupt cancellation of a production they had worked really hard on for months before the scamdemic was unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. 

It was heart-wrenching, to say the least, to see the distress of these delightfully charming, talented & exuberant spirits, forced into despondency & despair by a Globalist Agenda none of them had any clue about. Some had invested their life-savings in creating beautiful performance spaces they could call home & then the phantom menace codenamed "Covid" had mercilessly crushed their dreams. Now all they could attempt were virtual performances...

Well, they had been so focused on honing their performance skills, driven by ego ambitions & dreams of fame (if not fortune) & had in the process become so totally entangled in their personal identities (as arty-farty eccentrics, queers, misfits, pundits & pontificators) they had all missed seeing the forest for the trees. Indeed, many had completely forgotten that artists are, in fact, magicians, wizards, visionaries, oracles, shamans & prophets whose primary function is to serve as the Oversoul of the Community, as inspirational guides & wayshowers.

In their eagerness for things to "return to normal" - for the show to go on again, for auditoriums & theaters & borders to reopen, they had succumbed to the lure of dark sorcerers posing as medical experts & health officials & they had signed up for the dangerous & deadly experimental jabs (sincerely believing that in so doing they were actually "saving lives"). 

But in so doing they had cast their vote for the perpetuation of massive deceit through cunning manipulation of collective perceptions, for the manifestation of the Brave New Normal. They had effectively surrendered to Sauronic/Ahrimanic forces hell-bent on confiscating every last vestige of free will & individual sovereignty that is the absolute birthright of every ensouled human & adopted the cynical slogan of The Great Reset - "Build Back Better" (But For Whom)?

And now, no longer capable of acknowledging their own gut feelings, trusting their animal instincts, having opted to "trust the science," they would henceforth reject any unfiltered truth shown to them as being too painful to accept & embrace. Their work as intermediaries between the Seen & Unseen Realms, as community therapists & educators of future generations - once utterly essential to the long-term health & well-being of the species - would henceforth be officially classified "non-essential."

Is there a way out of this labyrinthine nightmare that does not end in our destinies being ruthlessly ripped apart & devoured by the minotaur?

Well, for a start, stop calling me a "conspiracy theorist." The day is upon us when the only source of undistorted truth will be from the ones you now dismiss as tinfoil-hatters, the ones with no vested interest in maintaining a corrupt & perverse status quo, whose incomes & public image do not depend on subscribing to an official narrative.

If you can get beyond your limited ego for a moment & listen carefully to this simple message, it might not be too late to wriggle free of the Archontic snare:

1) Evil can be defined as the compulsion to wield ever increasing power over others. To this end some quarters have invested heavily on ways to hold the world ransom through monstrous weaponry - whether nuclear, weather control or manufactured disease (whoever dropped 2 atomic bombs on Nagasaki & Hiroshima was only interested to observe & document the short- & long-term effects of radiation on humans, it wasn't to end the war; HIV/AIDS was concocted in a biowarfare lab as an ethnospecific virus that got out of control & in the 1980s Anthony Fauci frittered away $15 billion pretending to combat AIDS & since then has reportedly squandered $191 billion on weaponizing viruses; countless billions have been poured into cancer research even as carcinogenic chemicals were sneaked into processed foods). 

In effect, you & I may be incapable of even imagining such evil, but you had better accept that a teeny-weeny minority are & they just happen to control almost all the money in the world. Let's loosely call them the New World Order Cabal. Yes, they control us via religion, academia, news media & entertainment, big tech, big pharma, big agri & they sponsor covert agencies & the military (at least until very recently).

2) The PCR Test used to ascertain whether people are Covid positive or negative is completely bunkum - indeed, an outrageous racket in itself, along with all the Covid paraphernalia (hand sanitizers, masks, gloves, PPE gear, ventilators). Used in conjunction with fake statistics published by complicit & unquestioning media, it has effectively created a phantom menace labelled "Covid-19" (based on a GMO coronavirus deliberately unleashed on us as an excuse for the WHO to declare "a global pandemic" which, in turn, was used to implement harsh quarantines, lockdowns, shutdowns, the mask mandate, etc).

3) The CDC recently announced, very quietly & unapologetically, that in the US, less than 6% of fatalities recorded as Covid-related were actual Covid deaths. The other 94% were, in fact, due to a variety of other causes, many as a direct result of inappropriate hospital procedures, adding to acute fear & psychological trauma.

4) The media has relentlessly promoted anxiety & panic by publishing daily Covid cases (those who tested "positive" with a bogus PCR Test) & listing Covid deaths (even those with severe comorbidities). Not once have they published fatality statistics for other causes of death (accidents, heart attacks, strokes, cancer, etc) nor have they counterbalanced their reportage with the number of births. In effect, reporting only Departures without noting Arrivals creates an oppressive sense of doom & gloom. They have also suppressed statistics, if any, on the alarming increase of mental health problems & suicides, mostly due to financial distress.

5) The moment you realize what is actually happening & cease to subscribe to the orchestrated fear campaign, you will also stop trusting all governmental authority hiding behind medical & pseudoscientific chicanery. When so much money is involved, people can be bought & bribed & intimidated into silence. Globalist agencies like the UN & the WHO have an occult agenda behind their glossy public relations facades. They were set up by oligarchs to implement their megalomaniacal dreams of Total Control over the entire planet. Along with this realization comes the eureka moment when you begin to experience your Core Self as a Conscious Fractal of The Whole, with direct access to the Supreme Being (or Source) & that you are beholden to nobody & nothing - no monarch, no pope, no president, no panjandrum with a long string of titles, not even your childhood notion of God or Allah or Jesus Christ or the entire Hindu or Nordic or Greek Pantheon. Not only that, you will begin to laugh uncontrollably when you remember that you have always existed & shall forever exist as an Immortal & Indestructible Consciousness, free to take on physical embodiment in any form you choose, for however long you like & wherever you wish. 

So it's perfectly fine to take off that stupid mask already & stop complying with utterly absurd SOPs issued by pathological liars & hypocrites or worse! Reclaim your dignity, your sovereignty, your sacred destiny & your perfect freedom... NOW!

P.S. I strongly feel that in the very near future, those who wish to neutralize the ill effects of the toxic jabs they have foolishly taken into their beautiful bodies will be able to do so through a variety of healing modalities that are beginning to become accessible - though at this stage they cost a fair bit, it's true. I refer specifically to vibrational therapies patented variously as Antantra or Healy or Bioscalar Photonic Fusion Quantum Healing Systems (there are so many more I have yet to even hear about) which, to be expected, have faced vigorous opposition from a Medical Inquisition founded entirely on Allopathy & surreptitiously funded by Rockefeller $$$.

[First posted 5 July 2021]

Horace Tan’s Horrible Skin Condition (& how Mrs Tan cured it) ~ a bizarre short story by Antares

This story began its life in 1967 as a high school creative writing assignment. It was originally titled Herbert von Schenke’s Rare & Disconcerting Problem – And How Dutiful Delilah Solved It. I dusted it off in 1987 and fleshed it out for a short-story writing competition. It was awarded a consolation prize. I subsequently sold it to Men’s Review, a trendy monthly magazine, in 1995, along with a couple of new illustrations. And now, here it is again in its latest incarnation as a blogpost (first uploaded 26 May 2007), which only goes to show that there's a future in recycling one’s past...


HUMMING WITH above-average self-confidence, Mr Horace H.L. Tan would flounce down the street each day, despite his rare and disconcerting Skin Condition.

And an uncommonly horrible problem his was at that: poor Mr Tan was burdened at birth with the distressing misfortune of Loose Skin.

When Horace was but a day old everyone had tried to dismiss the issue with humor, saying how charmingly like a plump little prune he looked. The doctors had conducted a series of expensive tests and, after serious conference, had diagnosed the child’s condition as “a most unusual case of acutely uncoordinated cuticular cellulation.”

“Probably a passing phase,” the doctors had declared in reassuring unison, fondly tickling the gurgling bundle of joyful wrinkles that glistened in its cot.

“Don’t worry, dear, he’ll grow into it,” Horace’s father had said, with sensible optimism.

“’Tis God’s Will,” Horace’s mother had responded, carefully powdering her infant and arranging his skin in neat folds, with stoic affection.

As to be expected, young Horace encountered traumatic difficulties in trying to gain the acceptance of society. At school the other children mercilessly mocked his pleated skin: “Jellyfish, smellyfish,” they chanted, “just go away, that’s all we wish!”

Before long Horace had acquired an aura of grand isolation arising from his dermatological uniqueness. Some called it freakishness, but never to his face, for his features had by now become very much enshrouded in the spotty skin of adolescence. Nobody could think of anything meaningful to say to him, and he remained enveloped within himself. For Horace Tan it was one of life’s poignant ironies that he should suffer a total deprivation of the sense of kinship, while enjoying a superabundance of skin.

But he comforted himself by recalling his father’s last words: “A great man, Horace my boy, must have the courage to be different. The ugliest insults to one’s dignity are, at their worst, only skin-deep.” At one time Horace Tan’s father had been the owner of a famous reptile farm (featured on all the tourist maps).

After her husband’s death, Horace Tan’s mother had sold the business and established a trust fund for her only son. She somehow knew her own days were numbered.

Solace also came to Horace in the sweet, unselfish person of Philomena P’ng, a quiet girl from the local orphanage who had been engaged as his handmaid and cosmetician. Not having really had a proper upbringing she had been spared the normal quota of prejudices that children inevitably absorb from their parents.

Now, Horace’s extraordinary hide had attained new dimensions in horniness ever since puberty – for his prodigious dermal development was accompanied by no significant loss of tactile sensitivity. Perhaps in defiance of his own physical shortcomings, he had perversely cultivated a keen interest in feminine pulchritude (which would later prove valuable in his professional life).

For the present, Horace had to make do with Philomena P’ng’s services. No doubt she struck Horace as a morsel too bland for his exotic taste, but she did seem to care for him above and beyond the call of her domestic and cosmetic duties. In fact, after the death of his parents, Horace’s only companion was Philomena – and hers the only other human skin he had touched.

At nineteen-and-a-half Horace Tan stopped growing. But not his skin. It was now at least three sizes too large for him. (To get a more graphic idea of how Horace looked at this stage, slip an old condom over your index finger and wiggle it.) However, to a sympathetic eye, Horace did not appear at all repulsive – thanks to Philomena’s conscientious and tender ministrations which kept his overall complexion clear and healthy. A ridiculous proportion of their monthly expenses, however, went towards imported skin care products.

Since his strange affliction precluded active participation in sports and other social games, Horace had naturally turned to books. (He rarely watched television, complaining that he found the “superficiality and false glamor of TV-land “ in poor taste.) During this period he chanced upon Frank Herbert’s Dune stories which profoundly altered his self-image: Horace was drawn irresistibly into a quasi-mystical identification with the Hero - whose horrendous transmogrification into a hideous heap of omniscient protoplasm earns him the status of Emperor God. The silent contempt Horace felt towards the human hordes that pride themselves on Normalcy became even more pronounced.


FOR A FEW best-forgotten years, Horace Tan supplemented his dwindling trust fund income by submitting his Skin Condition to public exhibition. He was billed as “The Incredible Human Fungus.” It was disgusting and demeaning, true, but on weekends the takings were appreciable. Philomena set up a tea stall outside. Soon, a multi-cultural element (consisting of two giggly Thai women wrestling in French salad dressing) was incorporated into Horace’s Human Fungus routine. While Philomena diverted curious policemen with her excellent tea and delicious margarine rolls, Horace livened up his act with a series of other ingeniously flamboyant titillations. “Fun on Fungus” evolved into a fantastic money-spinner, and Horace H.L. Tan was well on his way to true-blue entrepreneurship. “They want skin… I sell them SKIN!” became his private credo.

And with that Horace Tan married Philomena P’ng, bought her a gleaming new chain of fast-food outlets, and installed himself as the Invisible Godfather of a proliferous network of adult video agencies. It was the perfect climate for purveyors of preserved prurience: hot, humid and hypocritical.

Working behind the scenes with transcendental vulgarity, Horace swiftly established a vast and venal empire of ‘musical’ coffeehouses, ‘massage’ salons and ‘sex-clusive’ health clubs. Meanwhile, video vice was doing very well, thank you, with the staunch support of the nation’s puritan aunts and uncles: the more they raved, the more they rented (this was before the advent of the internet made rented videos obsolete). When the Official Outcry Over Obscenity and Hedonism (OOOOH) reached a premature climax of impassioned publicity resulting in Nocturnal Omissions by the Blind Forces of Moral Erectitude (ref. Raids & Seizures Act, Amendment V, 1969), Horace gently pulled out of pornography and plunged into other, more personally gratifying pursuits.

He took up a correspondence course in Amateur Dermatology and soon was acknowledged as the World’s Foremost Authority on the tragic case history of John Merrick (the original Elephant Man). Inspired by one of Alan Sherman’s doggerel ditties (“You gotta have skin/All you ever really need is skin…”), Horace next tried underwriting and producing a musical extravaganza (predictably called Skin). The critics dismissed the whole show as “a flabby and shabby flop” but its lyrical content, though accused of “unrestrained idiosyncrasy and self-vindication,” was occasionally brilliant:

Skin is a most precious commodity
Especially when it stretches to Infinity;
Although a few fools think me an oddity,
My ego-encompassing epidermal packaging
Gives me a great sense of Divinity!

Skin, luxurious skin:
Oo, it’s the nicest stuff to be in!
Come rain or shine it won’t fade with time;
Yes! skin is a substance sublime.

Skin, my glorious skin:
Where do you end, where do I begin?
Who cares! just send up an endless supply
Of skin…

But most of all Horace cherished his regular afternoon jaunts. When the sun warmed him like a chappati and the breeze billowed his cheeks like a Sultan’s birthday banners, he would pause and tuck the freehanging ends of his knobby kneeskin into his superstretched socks (so as not to trip and embarrass himself). And he would think fondly of faithful Philomena: so passionate, so patient, so practical, so resilient and resourceful. And his entire skin would quiver with a peculiar pleasure.

Having thus worked up a voluminous appetite Horace would hurry over (the best he could) to his wife’s nearest outlet, where he would drowse behind the giant microwave ovens and wait for the last patron to leave, before doing hungry justice to the day’s remnants of frankfurters, French fries and fruit pies.

And yet, Horace Tan’s marital, epidermal and gastronomical contentment was clouded by the horrid certainty that the rate of his Gross Dermal Product was obviously and undeniably proportional to his age. In other words, Mr Tan’s horrible Skin Condition was STILL getting worse (notwithstanding his remarkable psychological triumph over the cruel bathos of Fate).

"Each day the dutiful Mrs Tan would scrape off the waxy waste with a scoop and sell it by the tub to an orchid fertilizer factory."



BEFORE HE REACHED 44 the unfortunate Mr Horace Tan had become quite incapable of carrying out the simplest tasks of daily living. His devoted wife soon had to administer liquid food to him through a veterinary hypodermic (it was impossible to locate his mouth); walk him in a heavy-duty motorized wheelbarrow (his feet were hard to find); read, or rather, shout the morning and afternoon papers to him (his eyes had for years been buried beneath pachydermoid lids and he hardly had ears to speak of or into); scratch him whenever he had an itch (and he had more than a few); and hose him down thrice a day (to reduce his profuse transpiration).

Almost all his natural bodily functions had undergone a bizarre mutation. He no longer had to “go to the toilet.” Instead he exuded, at regular intervals, a resinous effluent which, although slightly unpleasant in odor, was wonderfully conducive to plant growth. Each day the dutiful Mrs Tan would scrape off the waxy waste with a scoop and sell it by the tub to an orchid fertilizer factory. Then she would turn on the electric shower system in the ceiling and spray her husband with Dettol, followed by Odorono. At night she had to tape his facial folds to the wall to prevent his suffocating in his sleep as he lay helpless on his foam-rubber floor like a retired Portuguese man-of-war. It was a truly unhappy existence, even for such a positive-thinking pair.

Despite his Herculean struggles with dermal density, heroic Horace never forgot each night to whisper hoarsely, albeit inaudibly, to his wife: “Hey, Sugar-Melon… stick around. I… I’ll show you a good time yet!” (Alas, a rarely fulfilled promise.)

Philomena Tan, with phenomenal determination and without prejudice, divided her time equally between running her fast-food chain and attending to her poor husband’s saprophytic existence. But as each day dragged saggingly by with no miracle in sight, and even the subcutaneous sound of Horace’s voice receded beyond the effective range of the electronic bugs implanted within his remote recesses, Philomena began to admit that things looked grave.

The last time she heard him speak was through a medium. He sounded deeply regretful to have imposed such a massive burden on her, and begged her over and over again to put him out of his monstrous misery. She had replied (through the medium): “But, Horace! After all we’ve been through, how can I get rid of you?” (“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Horace had quipped via the medium. At least he still had his sense of humor.)

What with the bourgeoisie rabidly bourgeoning and its insatiable demand for junk food, Mrs Tan was kept too busy to indulge in self-pity. Not till the weekend did she find time to ponder a possible cure for her husband’s horrible Skin Condition. Every known medical approach had been attempted to no avail: Allopathic, Ayurvedic, Homeopathic, Dianetic, even Acupuncture, Ch’i Qong, Hypnotism, Mind Control, Reiki, Aloe Vera, Aromatherapy, Aurasoma, Past Life Regression, Royal Jelly, Lourdes Water, Mystic Ash, Prayer and Tiger Balm.

Then she remembered having seen, among some ancient books collecting dust in the basement, a frayed edition of Dr J.S. Petit’s quaint classic, 101 Ways To Cure Skin (published in 1903). The book had probably belonged to Horace’s paternal grandfather. In a thrice Philomena was rummaging through the musty accumulations of three generations of Tans until, at last, she retrieved the slim volume. Hands trembling, she began her desperate research, struggling over Dr Petit’s worm-eaten archaisms.

The following week, having secured “a good supply of tannin and gambier,” she mixed the recommended ingredients into a concentrated solution and added this regularly to her spongoid spouse’s nutrient injections. There was no way of knowing if the treatment would work. Now that hope and faith seemed useless, only luck remained.

One evening some weeks later she arrived with her husband’s food syringe to find his discolored and deflated blimp-like bulk even more devoid of human semblance than usual. Missing were the familiar rumbling undulations of inexpressible yearning that preceded every meal. “Horace!” she cried distractedly. “Horace, wake up! Your dinner’s getting cold!”

There was no response. Not a single heave, nor the subtlest quiver. “HORACE??” She began poking all over the unmoving mammoth mound of flaccid cuticle, looking for traces of her erstwhile matrimonial partner, but found absolutely nothing: nothing vaguely suggesting an arm or a leg or a protuberance of any description. Horace H.L. Tan had apparently dissolved into the labyrinthine folds of his own skin.

Perhaps for the first time in her life Philomena P’ng broke down and wept. But not for very long. Within a year, the phenomenal Philomena had gathered her resources and opened a classy boutique in Star Hill Plaza selling a chic selection of designer Belts, Boots, Handbags, Shoes, Wallets, Vests, Cigarette Cases, Pipe Pouches, Money Belts, and so on. The turnover was simply sensational. A massive promotional campaign was launched in Hong Kong, Taipeh, London, Paris, New York and Los Angeles, and exports began in earnest. Soon, the House of Horace could boast the rare distinction of being the “World Leader in Quality Leather.” Well, at least till the supply fizzled out… and, horror of horrors, it eventually did, poor Horace.


© Antares 1967, 1987, 1995, 2001, 2007, 2009, 2013, 2019 [Last reposted 6 November 2013, 20 August 2019 & 23 July 2020]