Treatment

Get your ass to MarsYou know how when you go to get a haircut, you have a lot of time to think to yourself, and sometimes accidentally think aloud? No? OK never mind.

I went to get a haircut at Next Hair Salon at Holland Village on Monday, and after shampoo and conditioner had been put into my hair, the shampoo boy placed the towel, which I would have thought was for wrapping around your head for you to walk back to your chair, over the top of my head and over my eyes.

“OK, that’s interesting”, I thought as I succeeded in not panicking.

Then I heard the water being turned on again, and I wondered for a couple more seconds whether the shampoo boy had gone bonkers and begun doing things back to front.

“Hey, you’re doing things back to front, and the towel is still on my head, what are you doing spraying water over it?”, I thought as I stopped myself from speaking that same thought.

Before I could think of other thoughts not to speak aloud, the water turned cold, and I found myself audibly catching my breath. This went on for a good minute or two, before the towel was finally pulled from my eyes.

Shampoo boy (I didn’t catch his name this time) then said, “How? Was the water ok? Was it too cold? Some customers don’t like it because the water’s too cold”.

“No! It was not ok! I felt violated! I thought I was going to be tortured! Next time can tell me first before you do something like that?” I thought of saying out loud, but didn’t of course.

Apart from that, I had a decent haircut, as usual.

iTunes is playing an illegal copy of Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair from the album “Verve Jazz Masters 17” by Nina Simone of which I have the original CD.

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23 thoughts on “Treatment”

  1. The Confessions of a Singaporean Gangster in London – The Brotherhood Press 2002. 8893120028 & 29-Redux

    Chapter 28 & 29

    “When the road ran out” & “somewhere in the jungles in Cambodia.”

    “We all got conned, it was a bad mistake…….a terrible mistake…….we thought the old man who rules the four houses ordered us to beat you up…..that’s what we all thought…….we thought the order came directly from him…….you know how it is, we are all soldiers……..it’s not our place to ask questions……I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die…..someone fixed us…….I don’t want to die……not like this.”

    Those words rattled around like a pin ball in my head firing off a million cells – there I was sitting with a gun in my hand making a million calculations per second, connecting the dots when all I should be doing was keeping to the plan.

    “If it wasn’t the old man who else could it be?” one part of my mind whispered. “Who else?”- “This can’t be happening!”- “It doesn’t make any sense.” – “he must be lying. Yes, this is ploy, he’s just buying time!”

    With these thoughts swirling in my head, I tried to pick up the line again, but it was giving way to a broader and darker line that seemed almost to race past this faded line – it was the beginning of a new realization, one that was even more unnerving and sinister than any other word or sign that had passed between us that afternoon.

    That sinister line in my head raced across the landscape in my mind at the speed of light only to suddenly stop abruptly – there where the road ends, the awful realization suddenly dawned on me in the full splendor of Technicolor, the man who was about to die that afternoon was telling the truth – there’s no doubt about it – that’s the way with people who know death is certain – they no longer have any incentive to lie.

    It was bad enough that I was a Singaporean gangster in London, but a philosophical hit man who suddenly loses his line on the job – that was really bad – it was tragic.

    (Reflections: See what I mean killing a man isn’t that simple as they make it out to be in the movies or the radio – a hundred and one things can go wrong – see, I told you so! Didn’t I? – Did I tell you once some idiot pointed a gun at me demanding I hand over my briefcase. As a yawned with the expression,

    “Not another idiot with a rusty old gun, pleeeeeeeeze!”

    His hands began to shake so violently, the gun went off blowing off his big toe – the same thing happened once to another famous hit man in China town who once walked into the provision shop to do the proprietor, only to walk out smiling exchanging greetings and carrying two cases of canned abalone, it turned out the guy he was supposed to do, happened to be his long lost third cousin removed from the old country – like I said in the last chapter, killing a man ain’t that easy – fate has a strange way of stepping in – it’s a random thing, like walking into a betting shop picking out a set of numbers straight from the top of your head only to for it to magically line up – if this was a scene from a continental film, the subtitles would probably read.

    “Err, hey you’re not reading your lines like you’re supposed too.”

    As I sat there with these thoughts swirling in my head – I realized things weren’t going they way, they were supposed too – like being suddenly blind sided – wham! Bang! –now that I realized the old man wasn’t the one who ordered my creaming, this man had to live slightly longer– “slightly longer” spoilt it all, the dying time thing, the part about how a assassin needs to be like a cook preparing, marinating, brushing – I had it all down to a science like taking a piss.

    It’s a 1, 2 and 3 thing – (1) unzip (2) slip out Mr. Anaconda (3) Aim (4) Fire – only this time step (5) was the one where I found my foreskin snared on my zipper – like I said, a hundred and one things can go wrong– that mucked up the timing – it spoilt the rhythm – above all one question kept bouncing no end in my head.)

    “If the old man who ruled the four houses didn’t order the beatings, who the hell ordered it?”

    As I looked at the man opposite me repeating the words,

    “I don’t want to die…………..I don’t want to die…….not like this……I don’t want to die.”

    I found myself loosening my grip on the gun. His mantra repeated in a shrill hypnotic tone, had a strange effect on me, pulling me back – far back into the distant past, as if the dikes which once held back the waters of time had suddenly given way.

    There I was again in the mud churned trenches somewhere in the jungle in Cambodia, the sound of shells tearing across the air before they shook the ground. Above the whop, whop, whop of helicopters swooping low as they sprayed the Vietnamese lines with machine gun fire. In the distance the clank, clank, clank of artillery fire being let loose. Cordite and sweat filled the air, columns of black smoke divided the horizon – I found myself in hell again!

    Sitting there in the restaurant watching the man, I found my mind’s eye turning inwards. I saw the whole line of the trench, it was exactly like a scene out of “all quiet in the western front”, straight for twenty meters, then dog-toothed to prevent blast, then straight again. Beyond it, stretching out further to the distance to the South, a range of mountains, forming to create the impression of a royal Siamese gondola. For an instant it looked almost too peaceful to be real, like some mythical vessel floating placidly in a sea of green.

    Then another incoming shell screamed in shaking the ground with a thunderous roar, the sandbags that made up the parapet had been blown clean away. A section of the trench caved in and barbed wire was all over the place hanging all over the churned smoking earth.

    The sound groaning filled the air. Someone shouted, “Mama!” The medics were trying to clear debris to get to the wounded men. Men who always wore that vacant expression whenever you pulled them out from the mud – men who always wailed after being cut down by shrapnel – men who kept on knocking their heads against the wall repeating the words,

    “I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die………I don’t want to die.”

    That day as the man before repeated the same words, I found myself to thinking about all the men who fell in some distant past – I remember one Kampuchean officer who stared at me leaning against the wall, his expression hardly betraying a glimmer of fear instead, he radiate peacefulness and as I approached him. I wanted him to get down, I remembered calling out to him,

    “Dein pak ay hen – a hun tei neh – pro tie jung je kai!”

    (take cover you idiot – it’s heavy artillery – what you doing there, propped up for like a sitting duck)!

    I ticked off his details in my head as I crawled over to his side, he was around my age one of the first batches, the red beret trained in jungle warfare. I remembered vaguely how he wanted to start a small business fixing bicycles after the war ended, he liked to listen to Michael Jackson, a son was on the way, his wife had eyes shaped like a banyan leaf – as I came up close to him, I realized his head was cut away in section, so that the smooth skin and the handsome face remained on one side, but on the other were the ragged edges of skull from which the remains of his brain were dropping on to his scorched uniform.

    At that moment, another incoming tore through the skies – this time, it was close, some one shouted, “Get down Captain!”– after the blast, the world became radiant white and silent, it was calm and peaceful – I had just turned 19 and like the other boys there that day, I found myself repeating the same words I heard that afternoon.

    “I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die………I don’t want to die.”

    That afternoon as I sat there watching the man before me – his words cast a spell on me – I found myself suddenly standing all alone watching a wave of immense loss from the past sweeping into the present, as it fingered towards past the sands of time and touch me. I felt that unspeakable fire – that afternoon as I sat there with a gun in my hand watching the man, I mourned the lost of those who had fallen – I mourned the loss of my innocence – above all, I didn’t want to be a part of it any longer.

    I realized then, I loved life, it didn’t even have to be my life or even the life of a loved one or even the life of someone I even knew – any life would do, even the life of a stranger who once beat into a pulp – the life of the man who sat before me weeping that afternoon.

    I don’t expect you to understand these contradictions – they’re not supposed to make sense – like a the faint impression of the moon in daylight – it’s vague – hardly making any sense at all except to those who see the world through the eyes of a man who simply knows, he’s damaged goods.

    I reached out for the cup the man held up and placed it on a set of chopsticks.

    “I want to tell you this, I just had a divine revelation, but if you don’t stop whining. I going to change my mind and pop you one right here. Do you hear me? So get yourself together!”

    The man poured tea three times into the cup, his hands shaking so violently threatening to tip the pot. Then holding up the cup to me again, he said:

    “Brewed from the fire of magical arrows – benefactor.”

    Raising the cup, I said.

    “Let neither, heaven or earth come between what we have agreed upon.”

    After the man had settled down and composed him, I leaned forward and asked.

    “If it wasn’t the old man, tell me who was it then?……….This better be good….I swear to God it better be very good!”

    darkness 2002

    Greetings from the brotherhood Mr Miyagi, I am the chronicler.

    You know what to do!

  2. The Confessions of a Singaporean Gangster in London – The Brotherhood Press 2002. 8893120028 & 29-Redux

    Chapter 28 & 29

    “When the road ran out” & “somewhere in the jungles in Cambodia.”

    “We all got conned, it was a bad mistake…….a terrible mistake…….we thought the old man who rules the four houses ordered us to beat you up…..that’s what we all thought…….we thought the order came directly from him…….you know how it is, we are all soldiers……..it’s not our place to ask questions……I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die…..someone fixed us…….I don’t want to die……not like this.”

    Those words rattled around like a pin ball in my head firing off a million cells – there I was sitting with a gun in my hand making a million calculations per second, connecting the dots when all I should be doing was keeping to the plan.

    “If it wasn’t the old man who else could it be?” one part of my mind whispered. “Who else?”- “This can’t be happening!”- “It doesn’t make any sense.” – “he must be lying. Yes, this is ploy, he’s just buying time!”

    With these thoughts swirling in my head, I tried to pick up the line again, but it was giving way to a broader and darker line that seemed almost to race past this faded line – it was the beginning of a new realization, one that was even more unnerving and sinister than any other word or sign that had passed between us that afternoon.

    That sinister line in my head raced across the landscape in my mind at the speed of light only to suddenly stop abruptly – there where the road ends, the awful realization suddenly dawned on me in the full splendor of Technicolor, the man who was about to die that afternoon was telling the truth – there’s no doubt about it – that’s the way with people who know death is certain – they no longer have any incentive to lie.

    It was bad enough that I was a Singaporean gangster in London, but a philosophical hit man who suddenly loses his line on the job – that was really bad – it was tragic.

    (Reflections: See what I mean killing a man isn’t that simple as they make it out to be in the movies or the radio – a hundred and one things can go wrong – see, I told you so! Didn’t I? – Did I tell you once some idiot pointed a gun at me demanding I hand over my briefcase. As a yawned with the expression,

    “Not another idiot with a rusty old gun, pleeeeeeeeze!”

    His hands began to shake so violently, the gun went off blowing off his big toe – the same thing happened once to another famous hit man in China town who once walked into the provision shop to do the proprietor, only to walk out smiling exchanging greetings and carrying two cases of canned abalone, it turned out the guy he was supposed to do, happened to be his long lost third cousin removed from the old country – like I said in the last chapter, killing a man ain’t that easy – fate has a strange way of stepping in – it’s a random thing, like walking into a betting shop picking out a set of numbers straight from the top of your head only to for it to magically line up – if this was a scene from a continental film, the subtitles would probably read.

    “Err, hey you’re not reading your lines like you’re supposed too.”

    As I sat there with these thoughts swirling in my head – I realized things weren’t going they way, they were supposed too – like being suddenly blind sided – wham! Bang! –now that I realized the old man wasn’t the one who ordered my creaming, this man had to live slightly longer– “slightly longer” spoilt it all, the dying time thing, the part about how a assassin needs to be like a cook preparing, marinating, brushing – I had it all down to a science like taking a piss.

    It’s a 1, 2 and 3 thing – (1) unzip (2) slip out Mr. Anaconda (3) Aim (4) Fire – only this time step (5) was the one where I found my foreskin snared on my zipper – like I said, a hundred and one things can go wrong– that mucked up the timing – it spoilt the rhythm – above all one question kept bouncing no end in my head.)

    “If the old man who ruled the four houses didn’t order the beatings, who the hell ordered it?”

    As I looked at the man opposite me repeating the words,

    “I don’t want to die…………..I don’t want to die…….not like this……I don’t want to die.”

    I found myself loosening my grip on the gun. His mantra repeated in a shrill hypnotic tone, had a strange effect on me, pulling me back – far back into the distant past, as if the dikes which once held back the waters of time had suddenly given way.

    There I was again in the mud churned trenches somewhere in the jungle in Cambodia, the sound of shells tearing across the air before they shook the ground. Above the whop, whop, whop of helicopters swooping low as they sprayed the Vietnamese lines with machine gun fire. In the distance the clank, clank, clank of artillery fire being let loose. Cordite and sweat filled the air, columns of black smoke divided the horizon – I found myself in hell again!

    Sitting there in the restaurant watching the man, I found my mind’s eye turning inwards. I saw the whole line of the trench, it was exactly like a scene out of “all quiet in the western front”, straight for twenty meters, then dog-toothed to prevent blast, then straight again. Beyond it, stretching out further to the distance to the South, a range of mountains, forming to create the impression of a royal Siamese gondola. For an instant it looked almost too peaceful to be real, like some mythical vessel floating placidly in a sea of green.

    Then another incoming shell screamed in shaking the ground with a thunderous roar, the sandbags that made up the parapet had been blown clean away. A section of the trench caved in and barbed wire was all over the place hanging all over the churned smoking earth.

    The sound groaning filled the air. Someone shouted, “Mama!” The medics were trying to clear debris to get to the wounded men. Men who always wore that vacant expression whenever you pulled them out from the mud – men who always wailed after being cut down by shrapnel – men who kept on knocking their heads against the wall repeating the words,

    “I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die………I don’t want to die.”

    That day as the man before repeated the same words, I found myself to thinking about all the men who fell in some distant past – I remember one Kampuchean officer who stared at me leaning against the wall, his expression hardly betraying a glimmer of fear instead, he radiate peacefulness and as I approached him. I wanted him to get down, I remembered calling out to him,

    “Dein pak ay hen – a hun tei neh – pro tie jung je kai!”

    (take cover you idiot – it’s heavy artillery – what you doing there, propped up for like a sitting duck)!

    I ticked off his details in my head as I crawled over to his side, he was around my age one of the first batches, the red beret trained in jungle warfare. I remembered vaguely how he wanted to start a small business fixing bicycles after the war ended, he liked to listen to Michael Jackson, a son was on the way, his wife had eyes shaped like a banyan leaf – as I came up close to him, I realized his head was cut away in section, so that the smooth skin and the handsome face remained on one side, but on the other were the ragged edges of skull from which the remains of his brain were dropping on to his scorched uniform.

    At that moment, another incoming tore through the skies – this time, it was close, some one shouted, “Get down Captain!”– after the blast, the world became radiant white and silent, it was calm and peaceful – I had just turned 19 and like the other boys there that day, I found myself repeating the same words I heard that afternoon.

    “I don’t want to die……..I don’t want to die………I don’t want to die.”

    That afternoon as I sat there watching the man before me – his words cast a spell on me – I found myself suddenly standing all alone watching a wave of immense loss from the past sweeping into the present, as it fingered towards past the sands of time and touch me. I felt that unspeakable fire – that afternoon as I sat there with a gun in my hand watching the man, I mourned the lost of those who had fallen – I mourned the loss of my innocence – above all, I didn’t want to be a part of it any longer.

    I realized then, I loved life, it didn’t even have to be my life or even the life of a loved one or even the life of someone I even knew – any life would do, even the life of a stranger who once beat into a pulp – the life of the man who sat before me weeping that afternoon.

    I don’t expect you to understand these contradictions – they’re not supposed to make sense – like a the faint impression of the moon in daylight – it’s vague – hardly making any sense at all except to those who see the world through the eyes of a man who simply knows, he’s damaged goods.

    I reached out for the cup the man held up and placed it on a set of chopsticks.

    “I want to tell you this, I just had a divine revelation, but if you don’t stop whining. I going to change my mind and pop you one right here. Do you hear me? So get yourself together!”

    The man poured tea three times into the cup, his hands shaking so violently threatening to tip the pot. Then holding up the cup to me again, he said:

    “Brewed from the fire of magical arrows – benefactor.”

    Raising the cup, I said.

    “Let neither, heaven or earth come between what we have agreed upon.”

    After the man had settled down and composed him, I leaned forward and asked.

    “If it wasn’t the old man, tell me who was it then?……….This better be good….I swear to God it better be very good!”

    darkness 2002

    Greetings from the brotherhood Mr Miyagi, I am the chronicler.

    You know what to do!

  3. Posted by the chronicler:

    darkness Says:
    November 30th, 2006 at 10:31 pm

    Nacra,

    Many in the 130th and 140th fought beside me in Pillium and the Ascension wars. Do you all remember? Or have you all forgotten? I wonder?

    I know some of you personally, we have sat down together breaking bread like brothers.

    Others I even know personally, I know the names of your sons and daughters.

    You will all turn against me now!.

    I think not.

    You should always bear this in mind Nacramanga.

    I want steamboy to be delivered to my cosca by 0800 GMT tomorrow.

    He is a fool, but even a fool has a right to speak his mind in the brotherhood. If I don’t mind his nonsense no one should take him too seriously. He has a right to his views.

    We are not here to hammer down ppl just bc they hold different opinions from us.

    We should all be graceful enough to give them a bit of creative license – after all he designed those space stations.

    I will give you 24 hrs to end martial law in the strangelands after that you may if you wish order your men to move against me, but not a single man will move against me Nacramanga – not a single one – I am the father of the game, the one who led them in Pillium and the Ascension wars.

    Do you understand who I am?

    I am darkness. This is very polite request, obey me if you are wise.

    Chronicler, I want this to be recorded.

    I don’t want to fight, I really don’t want too, but you ppl keep forcing me too.

    I feel very sad.

    I am darkness.

    30-11-06

  4. Posted by the chronicler:

    darkness Says:
    November 30th, 2006 at 10:31 pm

    Nacra,

    Many in the 130th and 140th fought beside me in Pillium and the Ascension wars. Do you all remember? Or have you all forgotten? I wonder?

    I know some of you personally, we have sat down together breaking bread like brothers.

    Others I even know personally, I know the names of your sons and daughters.

    You will all turn against me now!.

    I think not.

    You should always bear this in mind Nacramanga.

    I want steamboy to be delivered to my cosca by 0800 GMT tomorrow.

    He is a fool, but even a fool has a right to speak his mind in the brotherhood. If I don’t mind his nonsense no one should take him too seriously. He has a right to his views.

    We are not here to hammer down ppl just bc they hold different opinions from us.

    We should all be graceful enough to give them a bit of creative license – after all he designed those space stations.

    I will give you 24 hrs to end martial law in the strangelands after that you may if you wish order your men to move against me, but not a single man will move against me Nacramanga – not a single one – I am the father of the game, the one who led them in Pillium and the Ascension wars.

    Do you understand who I am?

    I am darkness. This is very polite request, obey me if you are wise.

    Chronicler, I want this to be recorded.

    I don’t want to fight, I really don’t want too, but you ppl keep forcing me too.

    I feel very sad.

    I am darkness.

    30-11-06

  5. darkness Says:
    November 30th, 2006 at 11:17 pm
    I am challenging you nacra give the order. No one will obey you. Give the order! Go ahead!

    I darkness am challenging you!

  6. darkness Says:
    November 30th, 2006 at 11:17 pm
    I am challenging you nacra give the order. No one will obey you. Give the order! Go ahead!

    I darkness am challenging you!

  7. The Confessions of a Singaporean Gangster in London – The Brotherhood Press 2002. 8893120030-Redux

    Chapter 30

    “La Grande Casino.”

    To enter the Grande Casino was to imagine words like chiaroscuro and destiny. It was a much smaller version of a full sized casino minus the razzmatazz one seldom comes across these days, slightly shabbier and worn around the edges, relying more on the patrons to supply “la atmosphere.”

    The type of place one typically comes across in dingy side lanes in Paris, New York and London where from time to time, the rich would simply indulge in a spot of slumming.

    Much too small for a full sized orchestra with only a lone singer with a husky voice and a shimmering gown who leans sinuously belting out jazz evergreens over a grand piano while the rest of the floor remains perpetually flooded in twilight: that was the Grande Casino.

    A place where men and women would look you up and down discreetly in the lobby area, where women dressed in long flowing gowns holding on to ivory cigarette holders sashayed by while leaving a lingering aroma of exotic perfume. While men walked around with a double scotch and serenaded older women. I’d seen it all in the movies, and I knew how it was supposed to look and feel – worn mahogany, and old velvet, that was the Grande casino a place that only came alive only after eleven.

    According to the man who once beat me up, this was the place where I would find the third wife that evening – she had taken to a spot of gambling recently. I imagine it was her way to while away the evenings.

    The Casino was on the second floor with a rigged roulette table from where I stood, I could just hear the muffled sounds of an ivory ball bouncing away – so the man who once beat me up said, he had even given me a few complimentary chips with the words,

    “It’s nothing much, but that’s the least I can do to square the accounts.”

    He said he knew some people there like the Russian émigré who whispered,

    “Place your bets gentlemen.”

    In an oily foreign accent who oversaw the roulette table.

    “Put it on 18 as many times as you like. Like I said, I do what I can to square the accounts.” The man who once beat me up had said.

    When I asked whether the third wife could enlighten me, the man who once beat me up simply shrugged his shoulders.

    I want to share this with you this, the human mind is a strange thing, on one level, you could say. I am a very practical man, I needed money for both me and Jeannie. Emigrating isn’t cheap, there is a whole lot of stuff that needs money and now that someone had placed a price tag on how I winch and limped, I wasn’t about to let it simply past by without at least cashing in on my chips. Remember, I am a Singaporean gangster in London and gangsters are the most practical people on the face of this planet, that’s why they choose to do the things they do. It’s business. It’s nothing personal.

    But I knew, the reason why, I went to the Grande Casino that night was because I was drawn to the notion of meeting her again – the third wife. It’s a tractor beam thing (someday, I may try my hand at writing sci-fi to explain further) but if I am pressed to explain. I would simply say, I was a moth and she was a flickering flame.

    A moth doesn’t have anything resembling such a thing as a choice, it’s fate is predetermined, it has no other choice but to fly around in ever decreasing circles around the flickering flame, each circle drawing tighter, each circle bringing it one step closer to it’s source of fascination and fear only to eventually charge into the very source of it’s allure.

    By the seventh round I had amassed quite a sum, it was time to cash it all in – and then it happened, from the corner of my eye, I saw her and though she registered a slight look of surprised, I realized she was had been there quite a while, staring at me – it was the third wife of the old man – who looked at me as if she knew I was simply meant to be there that evening –it was the overpowering sense of calm that enveloped her, the radiant silence burning within – one which spoke of her desire for me.

    I am Yu Huan Guan, the Singaporean gangster in London.

    darkness 2002

  8. The Confessions of a Singaporean Gangster in London – The Brotherhood Press 2002. 8893120030-Redux

    Chapter 30

    “La Grande Casino.”

    To enter the Grande Casino was to imagine words like chiaroscuro and destiny. It was a much smaller version of a full sized casino minus the razzmatazz one seldom comes across these days, slightly shabbier and worn around the edges, relying more on the patrons to supply “la atmosphere.”

    The type of place one typically comes across in dingy side lanes in Paris, New York and London where from time to time, the rich would simply indulge in a spot of slumming.

    Much too small for a full sized orchestra with only a lone singer with a husky voice and a shimmering gown who leans sinuously belting out jazz evergreens over a grand piano while the rest of the floor remains perpetually flooded in twilight: that was the Grande Casino.

    A place where men and women would look you up and down discreetly in the lobby area, where women dressed in long flowing gowns holding on to ivory cigarette holders sashayed by while leaving a lingering aroma of exotic perfume. While men walked around with a double scotch and serenaded older women. I’d seen it all in the movies, and I knew how it was supposed to look and feel – worn mahogany, and old velvet, that was the Grande casino a place that only came alive only after eleven.

    According to the man who once beat me up, this was the place where I would find the third wife that evening – she had taken to a spot of gambling recently. I imagine it was her way to while away the evenings.

    The Casino was on the second floor with a rigged roulette table from where I stood, I could just hear the muffled sounds of an ivory ball bouncing away – so the man who once beat me up said, he had even given me a few complimentary chips with the words,

    “It’s nothing much, but that’s the least I can do to square the accounts.”

    He said he knew some people there like the Russian émigré who whispered,

    “Place your bets gentlemen.”

    In an oily foreign accent who oversaw the roulette table.

    “Put it on 18 as many times as you like. Like I said, I do what I can to square the accounts.” The man who once beat me up had said.

    When I asked whether the third wife could enlighten me, the man who once beat me up simply shrugged his shoulders.

    I want to share this with you this, the human mind is a strange thing, on one level, you could say. I am a very practical man, I needed money for both me and Jeannie. Emigrating isn’t cheap, there is a whole lot of stuff that needs money and now that someone had placed a price tag on how I winch and limped, I wasn’t about to let it simply past by without at least cashing in on my chips. Remember, I am a Singaporean gangster in London and gangsters are the most practical people on the face of this planet, that’s why they choose to do the things they do. It’s business. It’s nothing personal.

    But I knew, the reason why, I went to the Grande Casino that night was because I was drawn to the notion of meeting her again – the third wife. It’s a tractor beam thing (someday, I may try my hand at writing sci-fi to explain further) but if I am pressed to explain. I would simply say, I was a moth and she was a flickering flame.

    A moth doesn’t have anything resembling such a thing as a choice, it’s fate is predetermined, it has no other choice but to fly around in ever decreasing circles around the flickering flame, each circle drawing tighter, each circle bringing it one step closer to it’s source of fascination and fear only to eventually charge into the very source of it’s allure.

    By the seventh round I had amassed quite a sum, it was time to cash it all in – and then it happened, from the corner of my eye, I saw her and though she registered a slight look of surprised, I realized she was had been there quite a while, staring at me – it was the third wife of the old man – who looked at me as if she knew I was simply meant to be there that evening –it was the overpowering sense of calm that enveloped her, the radiant silence burning within – one which spoke of her desire for me.

    I am Yu Huan Guan, the Singaporean gangster in London.

    darkness 2002

  9. “Aziz! Light!”

    Heh, your pic reminds me of the little boy in The Fifth Element who was supposed to be shining the mirror at the hieroglyphics.

  10. “Aziz! Light!”

    Heh, your pic reminds me of the little boy in The Fifth Element who was supposed to be shining the mirror at the hieroglyphics.

  11. Can someone please tell me when they (the brotherhood or whatever) will be running their next mini episode?

    I have also heard there is a party scheduled for this meeting with a Singaporean businessman. May I ask whether anyone knows of the time and place.

    Please note this is a genuine resquest for information. So kindly keep it accurate and remember to smile along with us all. Thanks Singapore.

  12. Can someone please tell me when they (the brotherhood or whatever) will be running their next mini episode?

    I have also heard there is a party scheduled for this meeting with a Singaporean businessman. May I ask whether anyone knows of the time and place.

    Please note this is a genuine resquest for information. So kindly keep it accurate and remember to smile along with us all. Thanks Singapore.

  13. bbdame,

    swd,pls follow the link:

    http://intelligentsingaporean.wordpress.com/2006/10/21/daily-reads-oct-21-wee-shu-min/#comment-2260

    I think the boyz have done their famous disappearing act once again.

    I heard the next episode will be 60 mini episodes entitled,

    “The moon in day light.”

    I will be coming out after this Christmas. However, I do not know where they will post from.

    It’s best if you check in the link regularly to get an update on what will be happening.

    I hope it helps. Bye Bye.

  14. bbdame,

    swd,pls follow the link:

    http://intelligentsingaporean.wordpress.com/2006/10/21/daily-reads-oct-21-wee-shu-min/#comment-2260

    I think the boyz have done their famous disappearing act once again.

    I heard the next episode will be 60 mini episodes entitled,

    “The moon in day light.”

    I will be coming out after this Christmas. However, I do not know where they will post from.

    It’s best if you check in the link regularly to get an update on what will be happening.

    I hope it helps. Bye Bye.

  15. Wow Miyagi is a writer as well. Yes, we will definitely have to support you and we look forward to it.

    May I ask is this planned meeting just another ruse or is it real?

    I really dont want to get stood up again

  16. Wow Miyagi is a writer as well. Yes, we will definitely have to support you and we look forward to it.

    May I ask is this planned meeting just another ruse or is it real?

    I really dont want to get stood up again

  17. Lynn et al

    Ruse or real? I don’t know, Bambi darkness is notoriously unreliable, but even if it’s a ruse, there are no tables anymore!!!!!

    They all got snapped up alredi! I hope this helps.

  18. Lynn et al

    Ruse or real? I don’t know, Bambi darkness is notoriously unreliable, but even if it’s a ruse, there are no tables anymore!!!!!

    They all got snapped up alredi! I hope this helps.

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