Hahaha! RPK got blocked.

I used to think that the Badawi administration weren't afraid of a little royal pain in the ass (pun intended) called Raja Petra. Now I know that they really are shitting their pants.

They blocked his website. There was a directive to all local ISPs to do so. Of course, there will be the usual excuses about sedition and all, but seriously? Blatant censorship? I didn't think it would actually come to this.

I really, really had no idea that RPK was such an annoyance to the government. There is a line that you don't cross unless absolutely desperate. The backlashes from such a ban are obvious. I can almost see the BBC article now. And of course its going to affect our transparency rating. But like in Maslov's hierarchy of needs, survival always comes first. (Okay, I know food and sex comes before safety, but you get the idea). Upholding freedom of speech only makes sense if your ricebowl isn't threatened.

There are only two explanations to this.
1. The administration thinks its safety is threatened.
2. The painfully short sighted policies that have so far infested the lower levels of administration in this country have crept upwards and nested.

Yep, we have reached a new low. But hey, I don't even read RPK, so why do I care right? The government is just openly doing now what they have been sneakily doing since forever. Good on you Badawi! At least now you have the nuts to say, "Watch me do it! I am not ashamed or afraid!" Although following that up with, "What you going to do about it, punk?" might now be the best of ideas, given the current climate.

Bad move, guys. But who am I to say, eh? I'm just an apathetic and inconsistent blogger with a tiny readership and a very incomplete picture of the politics in this country.

Family guy?

I hate this guy so much I feel like exploding. He embodies chaos, the thinking that you can get away with anything as long as your intentions are good. Or if you are completely oblivious to the evils of your actions. The "I don't think, I just do" kind of mentality. Essentially saying that its ok to act like a big baby even though you are 40 years old with kids. What makes its worse is that he is always forgiven no matter what he does. What the fuck is that about? People like him should be quartered, minced and fed to cockroaches.



I absolutely adore this kid. He has to be the cutest attempted dictator in the world. Mum walks up to new neighbour and introduces Stewie to the new guy on the block. Kid looks up at him and glares. "Bow before me!" You just have to love him.

How does one show have both the most despicable character in the history of cartoons and the most amusing little bugger ever?

Quiet contemplation.

Lost in thought. Such a picture of peace, but you can somehow sense the turmoil within. Or is it just me?

The Shield.

An old man with wire frame glasses sat at the desk, staring intently at the notes that lay before him. In one hand, he held his pencil which occasionally moved to scribble some little note on the already messy papers. In the other, he had the bottle of cheap alcohol that he always kept in in drawers. The air in the room was dank and moist. The only illumination came from a lamp on the desk he was working on. He seemed absorbed in his work, not noticing the distinct chill that the air had, nor the annoyingly persistent sounds of the dripping faucet in the attached bathroom. This was his world. The very place that gave birth to the scourge that I was here to destroy.

"Working late again, I see," I said.

He didn't reply. He just stared straight at his papers and kept mumbling under his breath. If he had heard me, he didn't show it. I repeated my statement.

"I heard you the first time. I merely assumed that my ignoring of your obvious observation would be ample evidence that I have nothing to say to you, nor am I remotely interested in what you may have to say to me," he replied.

"Charming as always, Arthur. You know, not everyone thinks that your smart mouth is cute. If you kept it clammed up a bit more, I suspect you would not have driven away those women that were insane enough to even give you half a chance."

"I am well aware of my alleged character deficiencies, Cassandra. Unless you are here to proposition me with a night of passion, I suggest you leave me to my work."

I smiled. "I don't think either one of us wants that, Arthur."

"Really? I always imagined you would look rather nice underneath me. Of course, you could go on top if that's what rocks your boat, but my imagination always puts you firmly between me and the poor creaking mattress."

"You know why I'm here, Arthur."

"Of course I do. And you already know what I'm going to say. You know your coming here is pointless, but you just had to go through the motions so you can tell yourself that you did something." He was facing me as he spoke now, his eyes staring straight at me as if he was trying to bore a hole in my skull with his gaze.

"You are going to help me Arthur."

"Am I? A bit presumptuous aren't you? Tell me, Cassandra. Why would I suddenly decide to do something that I have refused to do for the past 40 years? My conviction of the evils that lie outside are still as strong today as they have always been. I have no reason to listen to you."

I bit my lip. He was being a pain in the ass, as I knew he would be.

"And yet you are talking to me, Arthur. My presence here is still worthy of your attention. What do you think that means?" I retorted.

He chuckled. "Mind games! Lovely!"

There was a pause. "You think that I feel guilty about building that shield? You think that I have changed my mind?" He shook his head.

"You weren't even born when I drew up the designs. You have no idea," he continued.

"The necessity of the shield was brought into question even then Arthur. I've read the parliamentary transcripts. There were those that opposed you alarmist reaction to the 'evil' posed by the rest of the world." I wasn't about to let his squirm away.

"Alarmist? My observations were sound and if it weren't for your stupid press and their ridiculous spin, I'd still have a good number of people believing in the greater good of this shield. How do you think the city's prosperity from the past 20 or so years came about? You think we would have grown so well if we weren't so well isolated from the filth that live outside?" He was getting angry now.

"The filth you talk about seem to be doing pretty well themselves. I don't see why they would be holding us back," I said.

Another pause. "Look, Arthur. We are going to break the shield whether you like it or not. I'm just offering you the chance to help us minimize the casualties that will be incurred when we do it. The desire to break out is becoming overwhelming, and someone might just do something stupid. Like lob a nuke at the damn thing. You know what would happen if someone did that don't you? Do you want that kind of blood on your hands?"

I continued. "You built it a long time ago. It has long outlived its usefulness. Its a dangerous relic of an isolationist past. Let it go, Arthur. Help us bring it down."

I moved over to him and straddled his lap. Giving him a crooked smile, I whispered in his ear, "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

I probably left him in a pool of drool and I felt a bit dirty inside for doing what I just did. But it didn't matter. It was all for the greater good.

What happens in my head.

Well, I'm not exactly going to talk about everything that goes on in my head. No. That would be much too disturbing.

You know there are certain thoughts in your head that are just taboo. You know, stuff that is in your brain, but your consciousness will never acknowledge exists. Its a condition that I frequently call self delusion. I'm guilty of that to some extent, but thankfully not to the point where people around me get worried enough to want to forcibly snap me out of it.

Well, my brain has a very weird way of shutting out all these unpleasant thoughts. I think I'll call it the ninja reflex.

Everytime I come across something I don't want to think about anymore, I think of violent sword fights.

I know. Its ridiculous, and I have no explanation for it. When I drift off and suddenly arrive at the memory of some embarrassing moment that I have had in my life, my brain takes over and shows me scenes of sword fights. Its quite an international affair, really, so the ninja reflex might not be that appropriate a name. The blades come from all kinds of popular culture that we see. Japanese, old english, high fantasy. They are all there. No curved Arabian blades so far though.

I'm not sure what this means. I'm not even sure I care what it all means. It probably explains why my metaphorical fiction stories are so graphic and violent. Those stories normally provoke memory of unpleasant emotion and fear.

So yeah. I'm a sadistic little arse-head. So there.