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the2ndrule Issue 02

Published in

· 4 years ago

The 2ndRule
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Feb 2000 email edition
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Contents
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0. Editorial
1. Lifestyles [Ong Ee-Ing]
2. Why A Man Cannot Have Wings [Alfian Bin Sa'at]
3. Rosary [Shannon Low]
4. Instant Cafe [Koh Beng Liang]
5. Happened [Shannon Low]
6. Chua Mui Hoong [Koh Beng Liang]
7. Subway [Shannon Low]
8. Cliches [Ong Ee-Ing]

Editorial
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We're back! And like skydiving, the second time is always the hardest. We're glad that most of you enjoyed the first issue and it's caused us to do much thinking into how we'd like the magazine to grow. In the language of corporate business, we are diversifying while maintaining focus. This issue we have a concert review and an interview in addition to our usual essays and poems. We also have 2 new writers this issue (Alfian and Ee-Ing) and we are looking for more so do send in your articles. We'll publish anything to do with urban living, as well as whatever we feel has literary value. We want to give you stuff that will rattle around in your brain and make you think. And act.

Our email address is the2ndrule@hotmail.com so that's where you send your comments and contributions. Do forward this magazine to your friends, and if you're one of those who got an issue and would like to subscribe, email us at the same address. Please put the word "subscribe" in the subject, it'll make our lives slightly easier. Enjoy!

(visit our new website at http://here.is/the2ndrule )

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2ndRule team : Koh Bengliang, Shannon Low, Benety Goh, Russell Chan, Alfian bin Sa'at, Ong Ee-Ing
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Lifestyles
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So I'm in this woman's group, and we're working on empowering young women. And it's a wonderful and worthy cause, and boy am I having fun doing it.

But it's been making me wonder about something. We're trying to empower young women, right? And ok, we equip them with assertiveness and financial advice and other life skills. So, ok, we give 'em that extra push up the corporate ladder. And...and then. They climb, and they climb, and they kick ass and get these six figure salaries and that - ok, maybe not penthouse but definitely house with heart-shaped pool and that new BM, and then one day they look at themselves and their lives and their jobs and go: hey wait a second. I hate my job, I hate my life, and I hate what I've become. And they quit and go join the tribes in the Amazon, protesting against deforestation.

So anyways.

I'm aiming to join the line for that ladder as well, complete with snazzy business suit, high heels, and an attitude. And I'm prepared to step on more than a few toes to get to the top, or at least to the second-highest rung. But when I look around at those in the rat race, those who have already made it, and especially those who have made it and dropped it in disgust, I wonder: is it worth it? Will I get to the dizzying heights of corporatedom and look back and realize that I've wasted my life? And then ditch it all to go to India and protest the latest dam-building project which will destroy 10 villages, plus ruin the water supply for another 100?

I wonder.

Not, of course, that any of this is going to deter me. I want in, if only so that I can look back one day and decide I want to leave. I want the option of being able to sneer at the corrupt and soulless rich, *after* having made my own riches, obviously. I mean, might as well have your cake and eat it too, right?

Right.

Definitely.

Hmm.

- Ong Ee-Ing

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Linus Torvalds + Mika Hakkinen + Nokia + Santa Claus = Finland
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Why a Man Cannot Have Wings
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Because he will crash land on his head, assuming it to be
The strongest part of his body.
Because someone will put up a sign that reads:
Do Not Step on the Cirrus Clouds.
Because it does not even take a man hundreds of feet above
Sea-level to learn contempt.
Because there will be new categories of handicaps: bow-wings,
Ostrich disease, scaly feathers, carousel flight syndrome,
Or at a freak show: The Amazing Wingless Wonder.
Because he will have a new weapon, gravity,
And everything he releases becomes a missile,
Even glass marbles, books, the fatal music box.
Because he is lonely enough without being able to
Frame the house he lives in between his forefinger and thumb.
Because then the sky will shed its metaphors of freedom
And become another path for him to carry his burdens.
Because there will be a popular form of suicide:
Flying into foreign airspace and being gunned down;
All it takes is a nose-tip to press an invisible blue button.
Because each death in mid-air, each comic comet plunge,
Will be another enactment of the fall of Man.
Because in concentration camps people will break wings
And use the feathers for quills to write sonnets
And pillow stuffing for innocent dreams.
Because he will have less to fantasise about, less of miracles
And the word 'levitation' will not exist.
Because there will be children who will empty their bladders
Under cloud cover in an attempt to make yellow snow.
And because he might get the wrong notion that he is closer
To heaven, when he has not even come to a mile
Within the presence of angels, despite the resemblance.

- Alfian bin Sa'at

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We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams, we are the movers and shakers, of the world forever, it seems
- Arthur O'Shaughnessy
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Rosary
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I'm sitting next to a girl counting beads on her rosary while a hard industrial house track plays in my head. As she counts, the walls of the train crumple and collapse, and the sound of twisted metal rings through the carriage in time with the beads passing along the string. As the walls fall away, the glass windows scrape and smash against the tunnel sending shards of glass flying across the carriage and onto the track. The girl keeps counting, and I just watch her.

The train hurtles along the track going faster and faster but everything looks like its in slow motion. The track in my head pounds faster and harder but my heart and breathing slow down to a whisper. And everyone is either checking their watch, reading a paper, looking impatient or asleep. The girl is still counting. I think I like her. I think I'd die for her.

The apocalypse happened inside my head while everyone was on their way to work. The world ended, or at least could have, but nobody noticed, or did anything different. All those dreams, ideals and ambitions in a single carriage that could have been unfulfilled. Nobody noticed the splinters and shards of glass in my eyes.

- Shannon Low

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You have to realise that one day, you will die. Until you know that, you are useless. - Tyler Durden
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Instant Cafe
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It is 2 am on a warm slimy night in the city but this is when the buzz really begins. Happy punters stumble out from funky town nightspots blasting progressive house or "retro" (depending on the joint) to their respective designated driver cars or taxis, a little bit hungry and a little bit thirsty for some more groove. With a glance at their handphone messages, or crumpled flyers, or simply calling a hotline, they discover this night's location for the most exciting concept yet to hit Singaporean nightlife - Instant Cafe. I met up with DJ Beng and his bunch of wicked monkeys who run the cafe and chatted over a few cups of 3-in-1:

the2ndrule: So tell our readers what exactly is Instant Cafe?

DJ Beng: Well, Instant Cafe is a completely mobile chill-out cafe, selling all kinds of instant food and drink and playing what we call "dirty music", a bit of break beat, trip hop, drum'n'bass and ambient techno. We operate out of this big van you see over here, where we stuff our sound system, foldable tables and chairs, instant noodles, instant coffee and sugar packets and lots of hot water in military style insulators.

the2ndrule: So you guys could be at different places on different nights?

DJ Beng: Yup, that's right, although we tend to choose slightly deserted carparks and locations closer to the major clubbing areas such as Boat Quay, Jiak Kim Street and Mohd Sultan. We set up in a park once though and it took us quite a while to clean the grass off all our equipment!

the2ndrule: How do your customers find out where your location is?

DJ Beng: We use a variety of methods. We've got a hotline you can call in to, basically an unregistered mobile phone (have to be careful you see), and we also hand out flyers outside the clubs themselves. We also send messages out to pagers and handphones through this neat little laptop here (pointing excitedly) that's connected to the Internet completely wireless!

the2ndrule: And do they come often?

DJ Beng: Oh yes! We've got many loyal customers that are really regular. They really enjoy the music that we play, which I usually mix beforehand onto Minidiscs so that I'm free to do some waitering. Seems like there's nowhere right now where you can go to smooth out the transition from a hard night's clubbing to the quiet bed at home. Actually there's always this ringing sound I hear. People are discovering and enjoying our dirty music as they're getting bored of the standard club fare. I've especially got a lot of retro converts!

the2ndrule: What time do you guys usually start?

DJ Beng: We open at around midnight and close up whenever the last person leaves, which sometimes means after the sun's come up! We want to open earlier, for people to warm up before they start the night, but it'll be too easy for us to get caught...

the2ndrule: ...caught?

DJ Beng: Yes, we're technically illegal you see, could get arrested anytime for disturbing the peace or something. Which is why we're so mobile... my crew can pack up in 2 minutes flat once the police are sighted! But we're working on getting some money together, some funding from angels as well as appreciative customers, as we eventually want a permanent location.

the2ndrule: But people would still be dancing on the streets right?

DJ Beng: Definitely!

- Koh Beng Liang

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seen pasted at a bus stop:
For cat, dog lovers
Home delivery
pg: 95951213
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Happened
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Primal Scream in concert, Zouk, 20 Jan 2000
Mohandes Gandhi assassinated, India,30 Jan 1948

Primal scream open with "Civil Disobedience." The crowd isn't as wild as they're used to, and I think the message is somewhat lost on them. The second thing that strikes me is that Zouk is serving drinks in little plastic cups tonight.

Mohandes Gandhi was the Mahatma (Great Soul) to many. Remembered for his espousal of non-violent protest and India's independence. Forgotten for the racial violence that followed. The second thing I learn is that when non-violent protest didn't work, he called for civil disobedience.

A small crowd in the front centre begin waving their hands to the manic guitar of Andrew Innes. Bobby Gillespie is livening up, screaming into the microphone, his voice cutting through the thick cloud of after-work air-conditioning hanging off the clothes of most of the audience. At $55 a ticket (advance), what kind of crowd were you expecting?

Crowds cheered at the little man's appearances. Everybody eager to garland his photos. "But nobody wants to follow my advice." As he talked to his people, calling for dignity through independence, self-sufficiency and non-violence, racial and religious violence erupted between British and Indians, Hindus and Muslims.

The crowd erupts to "Swastika Eyes," Gillespie's repetitive vocal works into a chant, but no one follows. I know they know the words. They just don't seem to know the voice. The crowd starts to boogie, but I don't think boogie is quite what Primal Scream are looking for.

National defiance of the law forbidding Indians to make their own salt landed tens of thousands of Indians in jail. He believed passive resistance and mass non-cooperation would achieve independence within a year. Instead, it degenerated into bloody rioting. On the day the British quit India, they also divided it, created the Muslim state of Pakistan. Gandhi said that day, "There is no message at all."

Primal Scream come from an era with ideas that reminisce those long before them, and angry messages directed at the now. Ideas that live to move and shake, that say we can change things with what's in our guts. But the crowd lacks an era, history from textbooks written by curriculum developers and people who believed in "the hippy threat." To them, "Kowalski" and "Vanishing Point" are just pretty cool tracks.

After three encores, I'm just a little disappointed they didn't play "Come Together." Maybe they decided to quit while they were ahead. I think we disappointed Primal Scream in the end. Sure, the crowd appreciated it, but just the sound, not the soul. Gandhi would have appreciated them more.
"They're just not listening, are they?" he'd say.

- Shannon Low

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non y2k compliant: Joseph Heller, Q, Charles Barkley, Charles Schulz, Boris Yeltsin
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Chua Mui Hoong
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What I am eating is not a happy meal.
I clutch its mouthless kitty counterpart
with heartlander pride. This is the expression
of the lian in me, yet I have controlled it well.
I did not fight with the others in the queue.

I am Singapore's most eloquent biker's moll.
Since I have risen from kampung to cosmopolitan,
I have the right to bitch, to tell it like it is.
I dare you to molest me. I dare you to scratch my car.
I feel no stigma against violence.

I fill my articles with latent savagery.
These words slice the fragile veneer
of the middle class. I am thinking aloud
and saying something, sister.

15 Jan 2000

* Chua Mui Hoong is a Straits Times journalist with a weekly column "Thinking Aloud" which comments on Singaporean society, such as the craze about McDonald's Hello Kitty collectible toys and the prominence of delinquent wannabes affectionately called "Ah Bengs" (male) and "Ah Lians" (female).

- Koh Beng Liang

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the moro reflex: frightened babies fling out their arms and straighten their legs, then draw in their arms. don't try to elicit the response, you could upset the baby.
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Subway
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I'm walking down the stairs to the subway, my train has probably left, but I rush for it anyway.

My life is screaming, "Live me!"

Yep. Missed it. Now I'm really going to be late, and I pace up and down the platform, hoping that it might make the train arrive faster or the time pass slower.

My heart pounds on my chest and yells, "Cut it out!"

The train arrives, I step inside, but I don't notice when it stops and I get out. I contemplate picking up a magazine, but shelve the idea, figuring it's a waste of money if I never get around to it anyway.

My brain goes, "What?! You don't have time to read?"

From the station, I walk to the office. Do I have time to stop by for breakfast?

"Don't get me started," my stomach growls.

Brush past suits in the crowd, head straight into the lift and bump into my boss who's four years younger than I and already balding. Get a lecture, something about mornings and I don't even catch the punctuation because he's talkingsofast.

My bleeding spleen is screaming, "Stop apologising!"

I walk out of the lift and start writing a checklist in my head of what I have to do for work today. It comes up to sixteen items and goes on to 9pm. I try and re-organise it, but this time I'll be here till eleven.

My gall bladder chokes on its own bile.

Head hurts, It's a strange kind of headache, with a high-pitched scratching, like crickets against my skull. Every now and then, what sound like words screamed through grit teeth emerge from the static.

"...Live...", "...Cut...", "...time...", "...start...", "...Stop..."

Body freezes in mid-walk, and it feels like I'm headed out a window. My centre-of-gravity swinging back and forth over the knife-edge of my life and my muscles refusing to let me move. I see the words form in my head, in the space just above my eyebrows. White static amalgamating on black. Termites forming a sentence.

"What...", "Are...", "You...", "Doing?!" The punctuation is very clear.

- Shannon Low

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A vice-like grip on life. Rips the fabric when it pulls away.
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Cliches
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All right, here's my spiel for today. Trot out the 10 most overused and annoying phrases you've heard lately (and don't you dare include anything from me). Here's my list:
1) Think out of the box
2) Don't reinvent the wheel
3) 24/7
4)

Ok, so I can't really think of any more at the moment, but you get the idea.

Let's start on the first one. There are these people, naming no names, but some of whom work with me, who trot out the phrase "we must think out of the box" practically everytime we have a meeting with the boss, as if using it somehow validates their whole idiotic idea. Myself, I think that people who use that phrase can't. Think, period. If you can so-called "think out of the box," then you can damned well think of some other words to describe the idea.

Why am I so fed up with this one phrase in particular? I mean, who doesn't use cliches anyway? They're like the...the little bits of raisin you find in the fruitcake of language. They're there, whether you like it or not. And some people actually like them. (Then again, some people actually like fruitcake.) Granted, but I don't use them as some sort of talisman. Cliches should be used as a last resort, when you've run out of words, or when you want to make a joke, or, or something. Not as the first, the foremost, and frankly the only option. There are - I don't know how many - hundreds of thousands of words in the English language, most of which people actually spend their lives exploring: surely one or two of them can be used to replace those hackneyed phrases. Language is as boring or as beautiful as you make it; why not make that little extra effort and bring it to life, illuminate your point, make it memorable?

I'm trying to make a deep social comment here, so pay attention. The overuse of cliches is a symptom of a deep social malaise. People aren't thinking anymore. They prefer to use well-worn phrases that have lost whatever novelty value they might ever have had. Listen up: it's not original anymore. It may have been cool the first two, three, or even ten times. Now it's just plain ol' irritating. Got that? The next time you feel a cliche coming up, throttle it. Stomp it to the ground. SAY SOMETHING ELSE. Be the phrase, rather than just say it. Otherwise you'll just be another one of those idiots who can't think and who, not content with that, think that saying something will make them be it, rather than the total opposite. You have at your disposal a language of 26 letters, a few strange rules of grammar, and phrases which fire people's imaginations and leave white-hot trails of passion across the mind: go use it.

See ya'round.

- Ong Ee-Ing

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Check the box. Check your watch. Live inside, a checklist box.
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