the voices in my head-

Ethics


i have a friend. his name is h. he is as unethical as i am.
i have a friend. his name is j. he is as ethical as he is horny.





we flew to shanghai over the weekend. and from the moment SQ815 took off into the air, i dare say the airplane never had a more idiotic trio on board. having the vaguest sense of our surroundings, we were blind to the possibilities of an angry chinese politician slapping us behind bars - and determinedly exchanged our opinions over the din of shoving elbows and thundering chatter.


and interestingly, our debate ranged from the intellectual, to the more intellectual.
all air stewardesses are horny. that took 3 minutes, of which 1 minute was dedicated to admiring the tight bum of she-bending-over-to-serve-me-my-boneless-chicken-set.


town planning is important. i love lee kuan yew. that took 14 minutes, a stroll beneath a flyover.


i hate stupid people. that took under a minute. plausibly due to the fact that i was particularly irked by a very stupid woman running a stationery shop.


i don't like owing people money. under a minute as well, aided by the dismissive attitude of j.


turn left. no! turn right. no lah, left. isn't it this train. no its that! always under 15 seconds. but the summation of such directional-founded arguments amounted to an hour in the least.


bloody hell. i can't read chinese. what does this menu say. and thats always from me.


but i raise these points of debates, not to whine. but a particular motion intrigued me. the truthful lie is more truthful than the truth. and even as i silenced the screwed h and horny j with spectacular schisms of rationality that touches and impinges upon them, i was struck by the thundering truth that seemed to sunder my utterly self-aware mind from the world.


i manipulated the motion with such craft that i half managed to convince myself - in that, the truth mixed with a potent blend of lies would be more widely acceptable to the world than the truth in its naked form.
take a look at the wars. whoever cares the actual agenda of osama, or bush on a more noble cause. it isn't the actual agenda that matters, but the marketed agenda.
take a look at the escape of a terrorist in our midst. one half metres with a limp slinking through the bars of a high-security cell.


and of what do we really know. and of what do we really not know. ignorance breeds bliss, yet knowledge is power.


off the political arena (and by this, i hereby declare that there was no implied term that the escape of mr selamat datang was in any way a political manoeuvre), lets align ourselves on a student's perspective. pray tell. my marketing campaigns that graced A+ on my academic transcripts had always been pegged to a telling phenomenon - a truthful lie, never the truth.


can't quite remember if i've touched on this debate before, but my success had always been in tandem with my unethical ethics. and thats how the world works, sadly. truly.


how would it be, to be completely self-aware, to be absolutely cognisant of all that little thoughts in your mind. and placed them gently upon the centre of gravity which speaks of the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.


but i hover between the black and white.
i thank God for a religion inspiring a frosted white. yet the truthful world begets the black. but put in arrogance, my brilliance allows me to reap the success of the world from a paintbrush of blackish white.


and even as my friends succumb to a substantial amount of mindfuck, i know. that if i hadn't had the faculty of measureable success, i would have gone to the blacks.


and i know too, there might come this time.

the voices in my head-

Chiang


if only i could capture the faces, of my darling customers from the class of egoistical freaks and freakish egoists. they who purchased those discs of physiology from me back in the years of '00 and '01.


you're full of nonsense waikit, brilliance misplaced. when would you stop dabbling in the unorthodox and put your head to where it should be? says one of the greatest teachers in my time. occasionally with assistance from the most dangerous props.


i dedicate these to you, dear lai chiang.








dean's list and a flight to shanghai, for the thundering shoe and the spinning fan.

the voices in my head-

the voices in my head-

ProProtectors


in the factory we make cosmetics, in the drugstore we sell hope.
sad to throw in the wet blanket but no you holy cockster. you merely sell more expensive cosmetics in the drugstore.


no wonder they say marketeers are liars.











thank you, for standing by me.

the voices in my head-

the voices in my head-