the2ndrule Issue 07
The 2ndRule
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Jul 2000 email edition
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Web edition: http://here.is/the2ndrule
Contents
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0. Editorial
1. EECHBYE [Sim Pern Yiau]
2. Letter [realdementedchickwaitress]
3. This room [Tim]
4. The white room [Shannon Low]
5. Suffocation [Dustin]
6. Joe Stock Broker: 21st century super-hero [Shannon Low]
Editorial
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To post-Elway Denver: Sorry about being too small for Spears.
To our readers: Thank you. We had a strong response to our last issue and it is heartwarming to know that you care. It is your voice that makes this a two-way dialogue, not some schizophrenic rant. We need you, not just as audience, but as writers as well. Respond: the2ndrule@hotmail.com
Observation: Images of extreme success and idolatry are always pervasive in our media-infused society, but the recent icons have been getting excessively young. See the teenage supersexed music video star, mustering the slutty purr through her girlish larnyx, or the sports superachiever, robotic in concentration (very strong since there is little in the short life to offer distraction), or the talented child actress, intelligent and brooding, beautiful enough to cause milk teeth to ache. Even CEOs are slipping towards diaper age.
It must be difficult for the younger generation, already in limbo between adolescence and adulthood, to have to figure out what is expected of them. Would they be full of optimism or cynicism? Would they devote themselves to serving society or towards selfish gain? Let us hope that they do not lose their humour, their childish laughter.
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2ndRule team : Koh Beng Liang, Shannon Low, Benety Goh, Russell Chan, Alfian Bin Sa'at, Ong Ee-ing, Sim Pern Yiau
Contributors : Cyril Wong, kinny, Dustin
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EECHBYE
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"We're in the renaissance, my dear. So think. Think big, think hard, and think long long. And may penetrative insight be with u."
- Lao Li Tzu
The porter grabs the lady's bags with his strong muscular
arms. He leads the way, his firm back and broad shoulders a
delicious beacon guiding the young missus into the hotel
lift. The lift door closes and begins its smooth, lubricated
journey, a mystic shaft through a dark alluring tunnel,
heavenwards. When the couple finally reaches the lady's room,
she closes the door behind them and whispers, "you're not
rushing, are you?" To which he replies, "No." "Don't worry,"
she smiles, "for soon you'll be rushing uncontrollably." And
then, in a barely audible whisper, "I recommend Urex."
"Sorry, my man. I can't shoot that. It's not your usual quality. Its bad porn."
"What's the problem"
"I don't know, it still got lots of sex, and control, masochism, powerplay, but it just doesn't seem to be as fun as the stuff you used to write. And it isn't as honest as it used to be."
"Honest??!!"
"Yeah, u know, it seems to be selling me something, and pretending its not what it is. We are porn, not advertising."
I'm alone in the lift, homeward bound, fingering my
newly-bought tub of ice-cream. The lift door opens, and sweet
young things pour in with their boyfriends, crowding the
space happily with their tender, tasty bodies. Suddenly I
have barely room to stand. Still, as John Wayne Jr knows, a
man's gotta stand when a man's gotta stand. The lift door
closes, it starts to move, and those gentle vibrations don't
help. Suddenly, they were all looking at me, those girls with
come-on smiles and their boys with go-on grins. One by one
the babes start slipping out of their clothes, to reveal
none-too-subtly the teasing bikinis with their hidden
treasures. John Wayne Jr itches to draw, to live up to his
manly legacy, and it was only with the greatest of resolve
that I manage to keep him in check, as well as the constant
reminder to myself, "They ain't half as good as the
ice-cream."
"For a first timer it's not too bad."
"What do u want me to change?"
"Hmm, let's put a pool in there, maybe at the rooftop, and take out the first person narrative. And the John Wayne bit is too arty"
"Should we mention the ice-cream earlier?"
"It doesn't matter, when the sex is there, they'll buy the ice-cream. You're doing a good job, man"
And that, in two scenes, was how I found my true calling. Don't ask me what it's called, for something like this has no single name. In fact, something like this is not even a single thing. It is the stuff of life itself, it pervades all, it moves the world, and if money makes the world go round, then guess what it is that makes the money go.
Porn? That's chicken feed my friend. I'm into the real stuff now, the hardcore. Just that day I advised the papers on how to write their articles. "Upskirt" I said. Most of their faces turned blank. But on the CEO's I detected comprehension, however hard he tried to hide it. "Upskirt" is an internet porn category, self-explanatory. Its attraction comes from its angle. Place your angle low, reveal what's private, what's titillating, and blow it up. Base instincts are the best instincts. The papers took my advice, and soon their sales figures were in direct inverse proportion to the level of their journalism. I was particularly proud when they took my advice not to talk about that pianist's fingering skills, but just take a pic of his bulging bod humping his instrument like a grand old dame. I heard the concert organisers were so pleased with that publicity angle that they made the pianist do the same in the concert itself. Art, after all, is a reflection of life, and this, my dear, is what life these days is all about.
But that was not the end of my story. There were still further heights for me to scale. I mean, I knew I had already given the world the best of myself. Helped kids of all sexes achieve greater hormonal growth with Bratney Spears (now ain't that a great last name). Changed the image of beer from a jilted-lover's drug to a harem-maker's tool. Taught publishers of car, audio, IT, entertainment, gaming, fashion and news magazines not to judge a cover by its look, but by its power to make the reader salivate. Sold handphones, sold discplayers, sold music, sold movies, sold charity shows, sold computers, sold bras, sold everything from condominiums to condoms. Sold everything except porn itself.
So now I needed a new challenge, a new mission. But what? Then I realised: what the world needs now is pet sounds. Yes, yes, the sounds that a pet, or more accurately, an owned animal, makes is the apex of pleasure itself. To own, and to have that which u own derive pleasure from pleasuring u, ahhh...that is the ultimate orgasm. To defile another, to force another to be what u want him/her to be, and then to hear him/her say, "This is exactly what I want to be...", that is...that is simply...well, to put it simply, that is how I invented the Children's Karaoke. Yeah, doll them up in little sexy costumes, ooh so cute they look, those innocent virginal faces, and parade them on that big bad stage, and hear them sing those adult songs of lust and love and broken hearts...oh it just breaks my heart and I want to give them all my tender loving care...
But even with this latest success, I still felt something was missing. And then I knew what. Honesty. Yes. The words of my former employer came back to me: "We r porn, not advertising." Well, buddy, I can tell u now that you've got the problem wrong. Because in so many ways, advertising IS porn. And that's what I've got to be honest to myself about.
And that was how I became inspired to create my latest, greatest, career-crowning achievement: On the wall of the public transport that serves as the nerve that moves and connects this glorious country that is our nation, the big, bold words: EECHBYE. Nuff said.
- Sim Pern Yiau
The above article is from the August 2000 issue of BigO. It appears here with the kind permission of the author and the good people at BigO.
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"There is this [energy powder] called E-Mergen-C that I drink during the show with some Gatorade."
- Britney Spears on how she combats fatigue while on the road
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Letter
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[This reader response has been edited for vulgarity and sequence. For the original letter, go to http://here.is/the2ndrule]
ech you guys are starting to bore me. oh don't bother with anything- i know you're trying to have one of those 'cool' newsletters. the kind that everyone wants to receive cos its different just like that lame youth movement that tells you to speak your mind- like everyone in this country is so scared of the government that they wouldn't say anything if they could fight the power (?)- you hope but none of this is really working and at the end of the day who really cares anyway?
they're everywhere and they're intimidating us at every step we take in our childhood in our youth- they're there trying to scare us threaten us with their groundless irrelevant ridiculous rules. and then they just look at us in the aftermath and call us mindless fuckshits with zilch knack for creativity.
look at those dumb boybands that exist- jesus christ. for some unknown reason this country even has those dumbass echoboys brainless mutts singing that insincere sentimental bullshit. who really cares about things like people not having a girlfriend nowadays?
GODDAMN IT THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING OUT THERE FOR FUCK'S SAKE
look at this stupid country with all its constrictive rules
they go and ban the boredphucks for swearing at a youth concert?
are you just so plain stupid or just goddamn blind- its not as if everyone's mind is still so pure that they've never said the words "fuck" or "cunt" or all that lovely hokkien stuff?
that episode of ally mcbeal that they went and cancelled hey guess what while you were sleeping- lesbianism exists you idiots. better the kids find out now than later and get traumatised for life
everyone just wants to get through life and have great sex banal and simple and who really cares about the real world?
tcs is such a lameass tv station- oh my god by some miracle of nature someone actually sees some potential in that stupid serial spin? don't glorify polytechnic life we all know how much it stinks already. and those incredibly lame music videos that advertise the show- i don't believe they were even aired; a moron could have done a better job of directing it and what happened to creativity again?
admit it we don't have free will- this anal retentive society is so bunged that they can't do anything of their own accord. you can just go follow the bloody trends blindly and will you just stop copying anything remotely japanese just to sound cool?
i don't understand how this screwed up society can spend so long with their heads in the sand not wanting to see the ugliness that stares them back when they look in the mirror
we can all sit back and do the craziest shit like have all our socks and hair at the same fucking length while you go import some of that goddamn 'foreign talent' in- i guess that in the meantime we'll just sit back and become worthless peons in this world.
for goodness sake can everyone just take a step back and go join amnesty international or sign the jubilee 2000 petition
you think that you're so great; you're a useless generation
fools go grovel for some love in the dirt you pathetic idiots
modern life is rubbish but not many people seems to want to admit that
sometimes i'd like to smash all you damn frivolous kids' heads in.
you're all shallow assholes who watch too much mtv
you'd probably wear shit on your head if britney spears was doing it
falling right into a trap- they don't want us to think for ourselves and look oops we do exactly that; must be a glitch in the programming.
i can't do what i want but my thoughts will always be all my own- so i say everyone above the age of thirteen should all go kill themselves and i don't give a fuck if its against your religion. i swear you people must have shit for brains.
- realdementedchickwaitress
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mantra: I shall try not to start conversations about things I don't want to talk about.
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This Room
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(Extract from 'The Invisible Manuscript')
My mother comes in and sweeps the room.
Her broom catches hair, some strands
I must have lost as I swept hands
through a numb head after a man apologised
to me that I wasn't "what he was looking for".
Other strands, smaller, broken cursives,
I might have uprooted furiously, believing
that I was all he looked for, imagining revenge:
his remorseful head slaving at my groin.
And the pillow that she overturns might
have spilled its share of fantasies:
bitter nipples hard as pips under my tongue--
a paradise of dimples and steam.
I look at her dusting the drawers
with their cache of letters, the torrid mess
of failed romances, the handwriting
neat and sentimental. It is a room
with too many echoes. And yet
my mother paces through it
with her feet unharmed, the only
devastation being a lattice of cobwebs
wrinkling a corner. With a broom
she believes she has set a house in order.
When she walks out I see a woman
whose sadness orbits beyond the reach
of her knowledge, whose blindness is a gift
stronger than the will to forgive.
Her ignorance is not some vague
gauzy innocence. It is the courage
of one who is carefully assembling
a palace of cards, the tone-deaf wind
practising piano scales up her back.
- Tim
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the boy is dangerous. they all can sense it. why can't you?
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The white room
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Where you can't tell the walls from the floor from the ceiling. Where you make no sound when you scream because no one can hear you and you can't tell your own voice from the voiceover in your head. Where you can't remember how long it's been since. Space, time and sound indistinguishable.
Your mind entertains a rare thought amidst the non-sensory confusion, "Why do you think you're here?" No answer.
Eyes gone fuzzy from the bright white walls, ears gone numb from the high-pitched tone signifying silence. It becomes hard to tell where reality ends and your imagination takes over. As the silence blends into the sounds in your head and your mind paints pictures on the walls.
But from the blank canvas of non-sight and no-sound, you have made mountains, trees, lakes and singing birds. The sun rises just beyond the hills and the clouds break bathing the land in a golden hue. There's singing from just beyond where you can hear clearly. "Joy to all the fishes in the deep-blue sea..."
Now all you need is an apple tree to start all over again.
-Shannon Low
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Think, then speak.
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Suffocation
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It's strange
I always laughed at people that told me the walls were closing in
"it only looks that way because of the angle of the adjoining sides" I'd say
"it's the color of the walls, it makes the room look small"
Crept on me, the bastards
Until one day I tried to stretch my arms out and crack my back
My fingertips brushed the sides of the wall.
It felt strange
I hadn't touched the edges, the sides, the wall for so long
I knew something was wrong but I thought
"hell it's enough space for me."
"I'm maturing, I don't need the space I had when I was young"
"People less fortunate have settled with less I should be glad with what I have"
Slowly the edges eased their way into my space
I found myself leaning off the sides eventually, they gave me support
It was easier leaning on the sides than squatting on the floor
I used to be able to lie down but hey who needs to lie down anyway?
Lying down's a waste of time and space.
I found myself squeezed in
Barely able to move
My arms are crossed in front of me
Fingers in front of my face
"this is kind of uncomfortable"
"at least my hands are in front of me
otherwise I wouldn't be able to scratch
that itch on my forehead"
"Now THAT would be truly unbearable"
- Dustin
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Summer fashion statement
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This summer, jeans are taking the forefront with Levi's new "Engineered cut" with 3D seams. Seams designed and sewn along a three-dimensional pattern to match the tiny detail that our legs are in fact three-dimensional. Simple, no? why didn't they come up with that sooner? The jeans are arguably more comfortable (those with 2-D legs may not agree) than the standard cut and fall along the leg better. Be warned, though, the loose cut version comes without belt loops, so they either fit or fall down. Those who don't fancy supporting Levi's can look forward to similar lines by Japanese labels arriving at the end of the month.
Still in the trouser department, the hot season's innovations are helicopter trousers and pull pants. Bad names aside, helicopter trousers beat the heat with draw-strings at the ankles that let you tighten them above your calves, turning them instantly into baggy bermudas. Pull pants do the same thing, except with a clever string running down the leg that you pull to bunch up and shorten the trouser leg before securing it with elastic draw-strings. And if you don't want the added complication of draw-strings and pullstrings, you can still find cut-off trousers on the racks, which are making slow headway in the men's department.
Colours are moving into the bright zone: men get to enjoy splashes of white, orange, yellow, bright blue and red, while women take to the streets and the beach in light limes, lemons and of course, pink, turning heads not just with colour, but backless tops and halter-necks. And in the evenings, lizard, snakeskin, paisley and seventies-style prints will do the head-turning work.
It looks like a summer of play, as fashion tries to combine style, comfort and fun to beat the heat and the drear of urban summers. So why are we talking about fashion? We should get out and play.
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Joe Stock Broker: 21st century super-hero
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Joe Stock Broker makes a killing on the market. He short sells on a freshly-listed startup: bets that it's overpriced, that it doesn't have what it takes. And when it collapses, he guts the little fish while it's still gasping for air, buys out its discounted stock to balance his books at the end of trading. What a killing, he thinks to himself. He keeps the stock market machine well-oiled with the fat of those he fries. Corporate fish fear his professional pride.
But Joe is only thirty and already, his hair is thinning. The stress shows in the lines on his face and the twitch in his hand.
Jane Investment Banker brings in huge bonuses every month. The best in her field of technology funds, she knows who to play and who to drop. Since college, she knew who to play and who to drop. She'd give every suitor a once-over, know better than themselves what they did, how they did it, and how good they were in bed. Capital, outlays and revenue projections. And then there were the profits. She relished the profits to the early hours of the morning.
But now, three hours of sleep a night is taking its toll on Jane's body. When was the last time she saw the sun?
John Technopreneur has a small fortune in options. And he's only been in the business for a year. The killer app he's designing will change how we perceive the Internet. And swallow his competitors whole. He has vision that penetrates decades ahead, and hands that thrive on down-to-earth dirty work. From business plan to first-round financing to breaking even to IPO. All that, and he's only twenty-four.
But John is being consumed and he knows it. Every thought that enters his head is about how to make the business better. He hasn't had a free moment in his mind for months.
Jack Civil Servant just got a pay rise. For his efforts in fighting inertia, he'd like to believe. He turns policies on their heads, throws in some spin, and lets them loose on the floor. They ever know what hit them.
But everyday, Jack is stonewalled by those who don't dare rock the boat. "It ain't broke; don't re-invent the wheel," he keeps hearing. "He's led us for over thirty years, and look where we are now. He has to be right. Always." O calm, dishonourable, vile submission. "Play safe, don't gamble with a country's future." Jack gambles with his integrity by staying in the same place. He knows it'll make him stop trying one day.
- Shannon Low
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I will not conduct my own fire drills.
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EECHBYE, (c) 2000 Sim Pern Yiau
Letter, (c) 2000 realdementedchickwaitress
This room, (c) 2000 Tim
Suffocation, (c) 2000 Dustin
