The Man With No Brain

Not too long ago in borneo, there was a man with no brain. he was born without one. well, maybe just an ounce or two of it, the size of a english penny. you see, god had ran out of brain mould that unfortunate day, so he had to go ahead with it because his mother (she's a loser) prayed at the church that she wanted a kid on new year's day to get some publicity in the papers. i guess it was only fair we forgive god for this because with the new year and all he must have overlooked his resources checklist. however i'm quite gutted that this kid had to be born with no brains since it was his mum's fault that she was so attention-seekin.

anyhow, when the kid was finally a man, it was revealed in an x-ray after a football injury that this man had no fuckin brain. doctors all over the world were dumbfounded as to this medical anomaly. in the brain's place was just metres and metres of funny-lookin membrane in the form of a tube. sorta like a rectum. you would ask how a man grew to be so old without no one ever knowin that he had no brain, but i would answer that to live in our world today, it doesn't take much brains too fit in. now his mom knew that this discovery would mean that the son would be held in observation for years, so she smuggled him away and sent him off to long beach, USA in a sunkist box, with much help from an oriental snakehead.

upon reachin shore, he was pleadin for food. as he spoke only malay (strange how he didn't have the mental capacity to learn his own aboriginal dialect but could speak malay fluently without lessons), the americans didn't understand him. luckily, there was an indonesian holiday-maker on the beach so they liaised clumsily and the brainless man eventually got a hotdog, a budweiser and a pack of marlboro lights. preplexed as to the properties of these items because he'd never seen them before in borneo, he stared at them for hours. in the end, he opened the pack of fags and ate all twenty sticks because he thought it looked a lot like the chocolate candysticks his mum used to feed him as a kid. they didn't taste very good so he flushed it down with the bottle of bud. at the instant of tastin the bitterness of beer (he'd never had beer before) he spat it out and condemned the beverage as a western version of the medicine he was fed in his early years durin illness. frustration and desperation drove him to actually think of bein careful with the last item -the hotdog. what should he do with it?

he decided to approach a sunbathin penangite woman to enquire, and produced the item at once with some level of desperation. this emotional display startled the lady but bein lonely, as she was just dumped by her russian boyfriend, she conjured some subconscious delusions on the nature of his enquiry and subsequently interpreted it as a request for sex. to further arouse the confused brainless man, she licked the frankfurt vigourously to suggest foreplay.

the brainless man flashed a thankful look and instantly took off, lickin the hotdog profusely. he walked by a priest and further exaggerated this act, in hope of showin off that he is at home and he knows the score. the priest, unfortunately, was gay as christmas, and decided that a tanned mid-aged asian man was a refreshin change to the irish altar boys he's been bangin. he promptly extended his arm of friendship and his penis of perversion, lurin the hapless chap back to the church where he was plannin a homosexual fiesta of olympic proportions with all the kids as well.

oh shit i gotta study. anyone wanna continue?

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is woolgathering \WOOL-gath-(uh)-ring\, noun:

Indulgence in idle daydreaming.

"Every day, I long for a man to come and excite me, sweep me off my feet and arouse me once more from my reverie and woolgathering."

_________________________________________________________ Woolgathering derives from the literal sense, "gathering fragments of wool."

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold

in a corollary of my previous idea on revenge, i today examine it more closely.

so -revenge, avengement, vengeance, justice. so many names. so much bitterness, so much anger. and DAMN it is fuckin fun.

why is revenge good?

revenge is one of the greatest motivators. the ultimate enabler. think edmond dantes and his shit-tough trainin with his priest-mentor in the most recent movie remake of dumas' count of monte cristo (yeah i know, i don't read much). think of the inscription GOD WILL GIVE ME JUSTICE on his cell wall for years (though he didn't exactly leave it to god after all, did he). on the brink of his extinction, he refused to accept his fate, and instead plotted a plan of grand revenge against his enemies. it gave him life when he was as good as dead. revenge is one helluva life tonic.

revenge buys you time to think of what to do next. in the edmond dantes example, he may have chosen not to seek revenge against the man who put him in chateau d'if and also nicked his bitch. by that time, he might have figured out somethin constructive to do with his life. in this case, he didn't, and he suffered by losin a loved one. however, the burnin desire for revenge has extended his life and subsequently bought enough time for it to precipitate into reflection and wisdom (although it was too late in the story). wisdom can be the orphan of vengeful urgency.

why is revenge bad?

revenge is a necessary manifestation of resentment. as my local priest once pointed out, the opposite of forgiveness is not sin but resentment. you do not really need to forgive a person for his sin as much as you need to stop feeling resentment over his sin against you. for example, i resent bein sodomised by a mr. marcellus wallace, so i wanna make sure he wakes up with a metre-long serrated blade in his rectum every mornin for the rest of his life. i replay in my mind the painful instances in which i was penetra.. i mean perpetrated. i remind myself how i was so cruelly wronged by mr wallace every day. i repeat to myself how i was the poor unfortunate victim. this is resentment -an angry and bitter emotion that can be so strong, it eclipses reason, rule and love. now anythin that overrides love is negative. imagine all that torment of self-imposed baggage. hate makes you so heavy, we all know that. it's very tirin to hate someone, especially if you intend to do it for years. it consumes you, bit by bit, insides rottin away. soon, it overruns your very lives, leavin room for nothin positive. so, as christ my lord commands, we must forgive and forget.

BUT HOW DO YOU FORGIVE SOMEONE WHO RAPED YOU?

i mean, he fuckin shoved his cock in your anus. he pulled your pants down, greased you up and aimed for penetration. what kind of sick man is that? you can't let him get away with that. you wanna call some hard pipe-hittin niggas to go to work on his ass, but they'll kill him straight -too quick a death. you wanna throw him to the long arm of the law, but they'll just slap on a coupla years in the pen for the bastard -too light a punishment (he'll probably get bummed for free to his enjoyment). you wanna leave it to the lord to fuck him in the afterlife -but damn it you don't really want him to burn in hell, you want a nest of fuckin fire-ants to set permanent camp on his anus!

in THIS life, he must remember his sin. even if no one else knows. if no one else knows he's got a colony of insects feedin on his arsehole, it's alright because you know. and even if you can't be there to see them ants to know for sure, you wanna be sure you've done all you can to make sure them fuckin ants are gonna be colonisin his anus.

WHY? well, i think it's more than pride, honour or even self-satisfaction. it's got somethin to do with how we all like to feel that we have some degree of control over our lives. it is very human to think of revenge but most stop short of actually carryin out the act because of societal norms. in this case, you can console yourself that it was no fuckin societal norm that put a black baton in your behind. the legal system is flawed, the illegal system is illegal and god takes too long but a colony of fire-ants is fuckin free if you know how to execute your revenge well. it's must be about how we want to feel that there is justice in the world, especially if you're impatient.

today, and most of many other days, i am fuckin impatient. you know, i once read a good line from time magazine, how "in that t-shirt in which we tried to trap him, the eyes of che guevara are still burnin with impatience". if you print my face on a t-shirt, i promise i'll burn a hole in it.

however, i also read in that same issue that "the height of cleverness is the ability to conceal it". so i've said too much already but hey fellas, i'll be layin, waitin for your next mistake.

ciao.

oyeah and btw, here's a very inconclusive online test on just how vengeful you are as a person. i scored 80/100. heh.

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Word Of The Wolf today is nolens volens \NO-lenz-VO-lenz\:

Whether unwilling or willing.

"With one final, long hard look at the man, Maximus took the sword and plunged it deep into the heart of his enemy, avenging the death of his dead wife and son, something he felt he waited six years to do, nolens volens."
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Nolens volens is from the Latin, from nolle, "to be unwilling"+ velle, "to wish, to be willing."

Arrivederci Il Kangsta (1981-2004)

you know how they say that things happen to set examples for people?

when bad news comes through cellular phones, it's hard to first conceive of the explosiveness of things. time translates rumour to reality. like when you first heard about your girlfriend cheatin on you, you wanna decapitate the bastard that nicked your bitch, but then you realise you'd really just lost your girlfriend and your best friend in the world. how at first, when you heard about your failin results, you wanna just drink the day away, but then you realise it's gonna be the very first day of an entire wasted year you're gonna be drinkin away on. and today, it was how i first thought i wanna kill some motherfuckers for killin one of my best friends, and then i realised fuck me -they just took away a husband from his fiancee.

it's all over the bloody papers. it's shockin. however, i think that shock, anger, grief and mournin are just mechanisms for survival. in fact i know they are because i studied it in socio. human beings need consolation to help them cope with death, an unexplainable phenomenon. religious men pontificate on heaven, judgment and 'greener pastures'. scientists and philosophers talk of the order of things and the dispensability of men. casual commentators say that people come and go to set examples to show the world a sign, a message. poets and dreamers sing about a better place for those who have left us. in the end however, i know they're all just figments of the frailties of the human mind, helpin us fill in some blanks to that big question mark that i don't think no one can really answer for certain -why does someone have to die?

in my favourite movie (featurin a song titled that very same question), her husband asked virginia woolf in one scene that very same question and she replied that people must die so that others may see the value of life. a contrast, she called it. unfortunately, i think there isn't much contrast for the eleven or so men who took the life of my closest friend for the past year, between their skin against the cockroaches of their cells nor the hue of the noose they'll hang under. i hope that my lord would have mercy on them, for i sure as hell won't.

"how many brothers fell victim to the streets, rest in peace young nigga there's a heaven for a g, i'll be a lie if i told you that i haven't thought of death, my nigga we're the last one's left"

it was not too long ago that i remembered drivin around with the son of a bitch and it was in the midst of my beat-up vectra's tupac-blarin days. he would annoyinly repeat the life goes on track while i pleaded with him to change it. today, i'm cruisin in his audi, and that song hasn't stopped playin in my mind, let alone the car.



Il Kangsta (1981-2004)

don't forget you owe me a threesome with an italian girl, bro.
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Wisdom Of The Wolf today is

"I can't remember if I cried/when I read about his widowed bride/something touched me deep inside/the day the music died/"

-Don McLean "American Pie" 1972