I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
a desperate offendress against nature (that's Shakespeare, you fools!)
2007-11-03
Past midnight, under red skies, the streets of Kuala Lumpur look eerily like the freeways of Los Angeles.
Once upon a time ago, before I promised fealty to promiscuity, I traveled these roads with Death in my passenger seat. I did many things to entice him to take me, but all he said to me in that dreamy voice of his, a cool hand on my knee, "Darling, the way this works is, I call you, you don't call me."
One day, out of the black – it was too dark to be the blue – I felt better. Death had rejected me, but Fate, by a twist, had decided to take me in, so enamored was she by the pretty picture of my despair (hahaha).
She made me swear on my bed, while I was bound under the liquid spell of lust, to venture out and touch as much skin as I could see, to step in style and serenade as many souls as I could snare, to tease out as many sighs of pleasure as I pleased.
As long as I did that, she whispered, her strong fingers on my throat, (caressing? threatening?) I would have her as my mistress, and she would take care of me. [Editor's note: somewhat corny, not to mention creepy, start to a story, neh? "Birth of a Monstah!" seems a suitable title.]
But what is sex, ladies and gentlemen? Why is sex? And more importantly, why is lots of sex with lots of people? [Editor's note: where the fuck did your grammar go?]
Promiscuity, like all things fun, carries within itself a tricky package of risk. Lacking proper management, this prickly parcel may well become a ticking time bomb, just waiting to spray your way a medley of shrapnel composed of disease, unexpected progeny, surgical dismembering and other unsavory things. Collateral damage of this particular explosion includes and is not limited to failed relationships and irreparable damage to systems of trust.
At the risk of sounding ass-headed, I seem to have a natural understanding of this particular brand of risk governance.
My tricky time bomb has yet to explode, although, along the way, there have been a couple of minor Molotovian mishaps.
I didn't think my number would shoot up this high within so short a time. If I didn't know any better, or if I didn't know myself, I'd have thought me a slut. But I'm not! Seriously. I just really, really like sex.
See, if this place didn't suck as much as it does (VKLingamgate? Roti = MYR3.10? Tol untuk jarak minima 2KM = MYR1.60? Kamunting = Hotel California? Angkasawan = 4 decades too late? Nurin = no update? Brain drain = Cerdik pandai CinaIndiaLainLain lari ke TorontoDunedinPerthLondonHongKongDubai? Pemuda UMNO = Keris + KJ + slimy belia? Wanita UMNO = ShahrizatampuRafidah - Azalinatakdecan? Vellu vs. Kayveas? As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen), I wouldn't have to sound as if all I ever think about is sex.
Truth is, I'm a Romantic. No, not your kind of romantic, who dreams of rose-petal proposals and canoodling under candlelight, but a Romantic!
I dream of swimming through sand dunes, breaking hearts at Malaga/Tangier/Helsinki, swashbuckling on the seven seas, sailing down the river Nile/Amazon/Yang Tze, sleeping under auroras, running from bulls, initiating homosexual relations on Midwest mountains during summers while sheep herding, freeing oppressed peoples a la Che, rocking romantic rendezvous spanning decades, desperately wounding myself while courageously battling carnivores, kidnapping princesses, starting the Arab Revolt, escaping police custody, boxing kangaroos, eating snakes, drinking blood with the Masai, running across savannahs while being chased by poachers, poaching ivory, kissing women old enough to be my mother, reducing men to dust, shooting it up in Libya, and dying on the whispering sands of Tahitian shores.
Ah.
I do not have it in me to live a normal life.
Hey Noreen and tempted, I wasn't planning on staying away, I just don't want to tell you people about what I do anymore. Anyway, Ms Noreen, you sound fairly interesting, so I might take you up on that offer. Be prepared for insanity! Not. In person, as some readers who have met me IRL would testify, I am fairly sane, often reserved, although not without unexpected and abrupt bursts of crazy.
I can also be incoherent, as evidenced by this post.
