foreword

I’ve been brought up within capitalism, and will always want it even though I think communism is the better ideology. But I’ll go straight to the point:

Yes, we have joined the horde. Introducing the Superflies – a joint effort between Henny, Choonie and I to set up shop within the vastness of the internet. Do show some support!

It’s funny how I adore the way the sky portrays itself to us all the time – the magnificence that takes shape with clouds, cirrus or cumulonimbus or just a blend of blue that seems to disperse from right above my head; how the sun seems to be its beating heart, its ferocity dissipating around it as it gets closer to the ground; the cirrus shapes of the clouds about it seeming to be the arteries that form a web around us, gently enclosing us within its body as if we were meant to serve our time in it as blood cells, or maybe viruses.

We are encased in, and as long as we do not cause the body to disappear we work parallel to the conveyor belts we have built. We are to follow the stereotypes of the Bible and the Koran, as well as those that the Presidents of the United States have set since the World War II; we are to remain educated and civilised whilst taking from those who are not, we are bound almost limitlessly by the contract of our blood to those who share it, we are to marry and love a husband and his children – but only if we are female. We are to marry the one whose seed we accidentally start nurturing, but only if we are female. We are to live with the illusion that what we call life on this planet is a lot better than the lack of it on Mars, though somehow we still seek to find something else on it, as if we know there was something better to look out for. We are to live, but we are not allowed to die of our own accord.

The sky hides us within its ozone-lacking bosom, protecting us from the menace of the outside world but not our own… much like the embrace of those who love us.

No Matter Who Is President of Iran, They Would Stone Me

For the women out there who think that life hasn’t been exactly fair for them.

I can still taste toxic metal that came from the fumes of one of those sparkler things, that the wind blew in the direction which allowed me to accidentally inhale it. Deeply.

Bleah.

Sundays are fantastic for me, as long as there’s nothing planned on that day. It’s not that I don’t have to do work, it’s actually the total opposite.

Sundays are when I un-clutter the clutters of my life. Literally, I tidy up my desk – both physical and virtual – that almost always resembles a mountain range by the weekend. Anything could be on my table, be it half-week-old boxes of sweets that don’t belong to me or tissue paper filled with words and requests, or even the occasional gem that I’d been looking for all month but only decided to surface in that last week.

Sundays are when I can walk Rocky without having to worry about time, when he can go around scaring little kids who try to annoy him. Sometimes there is also the occasional adult who whistles or makes some random noise to get his attention, only to end up running away as Rocky runs after him.

Rocky will keep running even after he’s passed the adolescent adult though, so I prefer ignoring them.

Most Sundays allow me the luxury of cooking dinner, after I’ve spent the afternoon trying to finish up my work. For some odd reason it’s the only day that I actually give myself the discipline to complete unfinished work, or at least develop the occasional rudimentary garble that I also classify under this category.

Some Sundays I actually watch TV.

If not, I’m on the computer and I can hear my Mom singing along to songs that she plays on her laptop that I haven’t heard of – because she listens to 98.0fm and 98.7fm and I do not. I listen to music that she classifies as ‘noise’, regardless of whether they are folk or metal.

I like how Sundays feel. Good thing they come by more often than the monthly.

Twice bitten, forever shy.