With just days ahead and the months behind, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. It is now down to a few nights. Countable on my available digits. Time seemed to slow down, to take on meaning as a sudden realisation of its reprecussions came in. Bullet time with a touch of zen. Yet the bygone months felt fleeting. Perhaps that is what happens when time dilates. The past appears illusionary, fast forwarded at 16X times normal speed. Or was it just because of the day dreaming I did during all those lectures? Wanderings are after all an everyday wonder. Along together with this new awareness comes the confusing screams of its monologues. How peculiar. Realization begets more 'mental noise' Szchizophrenia in the flex? Repetitious strings of cheesy 'movie name'-ish phrases resonate within my cerebral cortex;'CGPA 2.0:The Hunt for The Brood Burden', 'Study and Hatch" and of course 'Bujang Lapok'. Clique threats with a tone of class prejudice rose up, to become prevalent if not acceptible in my phyche. Amplifying this is the sober remindings of a stint promoting a self acclaimed 'health product', in the process of which my (mental) health is dangerously compromised. With just days ahead in wait, with the months behind in waste, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. However, the inersial grindings of loath ensumes to engulf all those witch threatens its existence. In spite of the tweaks, the thoughts of dread and, of course, guilt, a refined sense of 'boh chap' and deliberate ignorance counters any attempt at action. Someone may quote pain as gain, but I say gain is pain.

The library chair. A sturdy hack of processed cheap timber compromised to an even cheaper budget. Ergonomically unsound, its fond identification as a ‘chair’ by the masses has tricked many into its trappings. Soon enough, I too was hashed by this ultimate deception. Its shapely edges began to stab almost decisively as I place my buttocks and back on and against its polished planks.Before long, its blunt corners nudge deep into my flabby flesh. Cholesterol dampens none of its tight thrust into the surrounding meat, especially those around my hips. Yet in between pressured backs and pressed bottoms, the mind was pulled deep into the most elegant of intellectual frolics. A hard cover was placed on the soft wood table top in front of me. My literate self was ready for anything with a secured Romanised footing. If not the alphabet song and the calling out of individual synonyms in sequence would do fine as a guide. Claims and critism alike were jolted down with a touch of Indian ink, printed on pieces of modern papyrus that were sewn together as a slab of data known as the book. My eyes bare witness to their boastful assertions as my vision suffers only from a mere case of terminal short sightedness. Short distances, such as that from the kornea to a book, are still competent. I took it all in a go. The sentences. The words. The letters. Yet, something was amiss. A hollowed aftertaste, similar to those emotions after an orgasmic-less love or in a man’s lust was felt. Then it hit. The coalescing of intelligent scribbling makes no sense! Just like poetry, it was explicitly implicit! It flowed, my flawed cognitive as it stutters amid abstracts. Concepts seem alien, what more their degrees of affiliation! The iceberg bears none, except for its tip. 'Yang tersirat' in metaphors, imagery, antropomorphisms and the likes were hidden under the deep blue artic sea, jealously guarding the secrets of unscrupluous academic blabber. In an attempt at gathering some hope, I begin to discern, to unravel a pattern of thought for a more systematic method of understanding. The colluded mechanisms of the theoretical universe surely must allow a peep for the humble eye. As it turns out, the mysterious workings of the mind, well at least mine’s, hark on simplicity and a five second attention span. Thus from the former the only direct course of action would be to tediously deduce and to fragmentise ideas to understandable components. What a brilliant plan! My ego was restored! I took it in a stash, only to realize later after a series of applications that the latter ensues for surrender in the end. A slight strain was felt. In order to relieve it, the torso was tilted upward. The spine, stiff from a prolonged pose, was finally relieved from the bow noticed during long readings. A crackle was heard. The sound of air gushing out from relieved pockets released much accumulated stress. to be continued...

In light of a recent incident that is making news nationwide here, it would be worth highlighting some words from a fellow blogger. "Justice is still but far when a high court judge can make a 'mistake' that cost a man his freedom? This is not a matter of us humans making mistakes, but it is a question of what made a human being willing to make 'mistakes'. This is not a matter of justice but a matter of power where justice can be put under the influence of power to execute injustice. It takes a man of power to endure and fight back tirelessly for his justice. Without that power to generate resources, a normal condemned person would be condemned far longer Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice." -gotterdamug "Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice". (For grammatical soundness, this quote was edited. However, much of the message intended by the blogger was left intact )