Hell, Yeah!!!
To Mexico!
Aug 26, 2009
Goddamn Rodriguez! Ever since I saw that shitty cheap looking El Mariachi, Mexico has toppled Japan from the top of my must-visit place. Forget New York and Ally McBeal, or that skinny models from Devil Wears Prada. Forget all the Holy Cities of old and its Omniscience Host (You-Know-Who). Forget Barcelona and Gaudi.
To Mexico! There I shall go.
There’s something magical, almost divine, that attracts me to that place. That arid, blazing hot, dessert-y place depicted in I don’t know how many movies. Of course, tequila alone has constituted half the attraction. Like angels, there is something divine in tequila, too.
To me, Mexico is the closest to Obama’s realm which is, unlike Canada (don’t get too personal now, Wolverine, you are still my favorite Canadian) never boring. So much have happened there, which, surprisingly, lack of better publicity. Zapatista, Juarez killing, maquiladora’s enslavement, cock-fighting (not that cock-fighting) to name a few. Even the cactus worth more exposure. As the most favorite bad guy’s escape destination in the entire catalogue of Hollywood’s movies, Mexico certainly worth my visit. That is to say, I want to know first-hand on why on Earth those cons, killers, rapists, drugs traffickers or simply hippies old timers always choose Mexico as their sanctuary.
So I fly myself to Texas. Like Kwai-Cheng Caine before me, I crossed the Mojave Dessert bare-footed, with nothing but flasks of water and loaded Wesson-Smith/Smith-Wesson Revolver (unlike Kwai-Chang Caine, I can’t do Kung Fu). Make my way to Rio Grande, swim across that river which known as the Winnetou’s tribe hunting border in the Old West’s days and enter Mexico.
On second thought. Instead of swim across the border, I rented a Buick, that cliche old, dusty farm truck loaded with hays and make a ride to the border’s check. You know, the one which says Mexico in one side and Texas in another? My forged passport (under the name of Kwai Chang Caine) worked just fine. I easily passed the border guards and the stationed Texas Rangers, drove a few miles off before I dumped the truck in Tijuana, where I resorted to the nearest old-looking bars to wash my thirst with a couple of tequila shots. I was spending a few hours there, gulping Butt-Burners and acting tough, before someone finally recognized that I’m a stranger there.
Just like the Wild West, such recognition always leads to suspicion, and suspicion, if not handled properly, would only means one thing: old school shoot-outs. And I, never famous for handling things properly.
Let’s not forget the fact that I’ve managed to smuggle my Wesson Smith few hours before, hid it under the hays stacks in the back of my truck. To no surprise, in the ensuing shoot out, with the help of my fella, Wesson Smith, I am the last man standing.
The bartender had reached his 12-gauge too slow and ended up with a one nice hole on his oversized head . The rests, who are simply too drunk to aim, couldn’t even shot down a drunken duck. I have the full advantage a few cowboys in the past haven’t. One bullet, one soul. Just like Jackie Chan and his Drunken Fist, I changed into somewhat a Javanese version of Lucky Luke. Well, sort of, since I’m not fast enough to beat my own shadow–although I certainly am against any average drunkards.
One man with a semi-automatic almost got me in his sporadic berserk. Very fortunate of me, I still got my move I learnt from Mariachi movie. A spring back somersault. It can be a quite difficult thing to do with crazy ass motherfucker shooting at you while at the same time, you him. The landing was not perfect at all. I had crashed too hard, almost sprained my angkle in the process. But the shot was perfect. That motherfucker would never call his mom again...
Happiness is a warm gun.
The bloodbath made me happy. Contented. The same way you would feel after you strike a major deal which enriched you by five-seven figures US Dollar. I felt like Doc Holliday minus the TBC. For the first time in my life, and I mean really really first time, I really want to hear We Are The Champion.
To Mexico! There I shall go.
There’s something magical, almost divine, that attracts me to that place. That arid, blazing hot, dessert-y place depicted in I don’t know how many movies. Of course, tequila alone has constituted half the attraction. Like angels, there is something divine in tequila, too.
To me, Mexico is the closest to Obama’s realm which is, unlike Canada (don’t get too personal now, Wolverine, you are still my favorite Canadian) never boring. So much have happened there, which, surprisingly, lack of better publicity. Zapatista, Juarez killing, maquiladora’s enslavement, cock-fighting (not that cock-fighting) to name a few. Even the cactus worth more exposure. As the most favorite bad guy’s escape destination in the entire catalogue of Hollywood’s movies, Mexico certainly worth my visit. That is to say, I want to know first-hand on why on Earth those cons, killers, rapists, drugs traffickers or simply hippies old timers always choose Mexico as their sanctuary.
So I fly myself to Texas. Like Kwai-Cheng Caine before me, I crossed the Mojave Dessert bare-footed, with nothing but flasks of water and loaded Wesson-Smith/Smith-Wesson Revolver (unlike Kwai-Chang Caine, I can’t do Kung Fu). Make my way to Rio Grande, swim across that river which known as the Winnetou’s tribe hunting border in the Old West’s days and enter Mexico.
On second thought. Instead of swim across the border, I rented a Buick, that cliche old, dusty farm truck loaded with hays and make a ride to the border’s check. You know, the one which says Mexico in one side and Texas in another? My forged passport (under the name of Kwai Chang Caine) worked just fine. I easily passed the border guards and the stationed Texas Rangers, drove a few miles off before I dumped the truck in Tijuana, where I resorted to the nearest old-looking bars to wash my thirst with a couple of tequila shots. I was spending a few hours there, gulping Butt-Burners and acting tough, before someone finally recognized that I’m a stranger there.
Just like the Wild West, such recognition always leads to suspicion, and suspicion, if not handled properly, would only means one thing: old school shoot-outs. And I, never famous for handling things properly.
Let’s not forget the fact that I’ve managed to smuggle my Wesson Smith few hours before, hid it under the hays stacks in the back of my truck. To no surprise, in the ensuing shoot out, with the help of my fella, Wesson Smith, I am the last man standing.
The bartender had reached his 12-gauge too slow and ended up with a one nice hole on his oversized head . The rests, who are simply too drunk to aim, couldn’t even shot down a drunken duck. I have the full advantage a few cowboys in the past haven’t. One bullet, one soul. Just like Jackie Chan and his Drunken Fist, I changed into somewhat a Javanese version of Lucky Luke. Well, sort of, since I’m not fast enough to beat my own shadow–although I certainly am against any average drunkards.
One man with a semi-automatic almost got me in his sporadic berserk. Very fortunate of me, I still got my move I learnt from Mariachi movie. A spring back somersault. It can be a quite difficult thing to do with crazy ass motherfucker shooting at you while at the same time, you him. The landing was not perfect at all. I had crashed too hard, almost sprained my angkle in the process. But the shot was perfect. That motherfucker would never call his mom again...
Happiness is a warm gun.
The bloodbath made me happy. Contented. The same way you would feel after you strike a major deal which enriched you by five-seven figures US Dollar. I felt like Doc Holliday minus the TBC. For the first time in my life, and I mean really really first time, I really want to hear We Are The Champion.
Wisdom and Universe
Aug 1, 2009
You can form the whole universe by the knowledge alone.
Knowledge is cosmos, one with many sources.
What you have is micro. When you can connect all the dots to those sources, you are in unity with them.
Like a spiritual teacher in deep meditation, looking for the unity with the One and eventually do just that, you are enlightened.
This is wisdom and out of this, God creates the Universe.
You can form the whole universe by the knowledge alone.What you have is micro. When you can connect all the dots to those sources, you are in unity with them.
Like a spiritual teacher in deep meditation, looking for the unity with the One and eventually do just that, you are enlightened.
This is wisdom and out of this, God creates the Universe.
Alcoholic Anonymous
Alcoholic's Lament
I drunk so often in my life it feels like a job for me. First as part time, than full time. Like any business day, there had been busy days and idle ones, rapid hours and dead slow.
The only difference is that instead of getting paid, I pay for it.
So, I did what what people with bad job would do.
I quit.
The only difference is that instead of getting paid, I pay for it.
So, I did what what people with bad job would do.
I quit.
On Hippies N Punk Rock
Jul 24, 2009
Born Too Late
Sometimes I feel that I was born too late. I wasn't there when the world witnessed its youth lived up the term sex, drugs and rock n roll to the fullest like there's no tomorrow. When everything is fun, fun fun. When everyone loves each other, fucks each other, got high together. No money, no jobs, plenty weeds. All day party with mind-expanding discussions in between, reciting poems or listening too ones, while all your nerves system invaded by LSD. When late great writers roamed the media with their crazy, well-written thoughts.
I wasn't there. My father did. Which maybe was my sole envy for him.
Then again a decade or so later, when all the love seeped out to be replaced with anger, angst and drama queen-esque, when long hair dude was considered lame and the hippies have aged to the point where they no longer fitted to be called today's youth... punk rock is the new world's bastard son.
The British once again ruled the world and any youth seemed eager to be conquered. It was when extra 'violence' added to the sex, drugs and rock n roll shoutouts.
I wasn't there too.
All I have here, is all the remnant of the time that has passed. It is real, but only a legacy nonetheless. Damn, I wasn't old enough too when that Cobain dude invaded MTV.
My life is such subcultural shifts. I believe in subcultures. I embrace them as tools of which I perceive the world and vice versa as well as a mean by which I presented myself to society. I, and most of my generations, are the very byproduct of the subcultures, and none affect me most than that of the hippies and the punk rock's.
Hippies, yay!
Like any other of my generation, my journey goes backward. I have to dig up the past to justify my present. And by that, I mean going through the pile of old cassettes of my mother's and father's, scavenging their old magazines and novels (Google wasn't around too at that time) just to at least has a glimpse on what was it like back then.
I arrived at conclusion that despite the great achievements in all areas (musics, literature, arts, philosophies), the 60's and 70's generations has a serious lack of fashion tastes. I mean, in all his greatness, the golden-fabric wing-flap wardrobe Hendrix was using is really disgusting at the least. He'd still be the guitar-god without that silly outfit, wouldn't he? So, WTF?
I prefer the fashion taste of the early punk rockers. Boots, over-tight jeans, spikes and attitude. Being exposed to my old man's 60's n 70's musics and literature collections since my early years, by my 5th grade, I already become a hippies in principal--the drugs would have to wait several years later. It was such a late version of anachronism, anachronism in reverse. My fellow classmates was singing Michael Jackson's Black or White when I solemnly chanted Jai Guru Deva, Om. None of them even heard of The Beatles or Zeppelin or Janis or The Doors (the late greats of whom would affect my musical influence in later years). The idea of living an idyllic life, getting high all day (even though I haven't understand yet what that means) was so inviting for someone who always lazy to go to school.
Outcome The Wolves
By Rancid and Dookie by Green Day I listened to in my Junior High years were two albums that change my life forever. Suddenly my life filled with anger, discontention and need of achievements (of what, I never fully grasped till today). Nevermind by Nirvana was the third and the last agents of chaos that I allowed to interfere in my life. And so another journey began, a journey wasn't like the previous, is fully learning by living one.
Puberty was part of it all and it made everything so complicated...you couldn't even stand a broken heart without being a lil' bit suicidal. Recreational drugs were always in your nerves literally. You often lost your temper and memory in drinking stupor. The world was always seen fucked up. Hell, everyone's a fucked-up! The only fucked-up thing you failed to recognize was yourselves. Lols. Long story short, I wasn't the happy little hippies I used to be. The way I see things back then is that war is far more truthful than love, and that it is bullshit to become a pacifist because life is a series of never-ending conflicts whether that be wars or simply personal disagreement.
I learn myself to play guitar, play drums, learn to write (music, journal, whatever consists of words), I read more, drunk more. DIY, baby!
Yogyakarta, the city I lived in happened to be a perfect place for such blooming enthusiasms. In 1998, steadily and surely, punk rock become a redemption for many local youths. In 2000, it was hard not to see any street punk thrashed on every road junctions. Bootlegged tapes change hands, self-made silk-screened t-shirts were made and punk rock bands mushrooming in every gigs. Knowledge is power in every punk rock culture, so does having an influential band, with street-wise credibility. And so I joined Residivis as a drummer and started my journey as a band player. Most of the time, we only do the cover of Exploited and, later, Total Chaos. So there we were, playing songs that 16 years and half around the world earlier sung by Wattie Buchan. We played anywhere with band sets. In some gigs, we simply hijacked the stage. The only pay we ever received was Rp 25.000,00 which equal to 2,5 $ in today's rate. We were far from being great. In most gigs we were either too drunk to play or too lost to remember what to play and the crowds simply too drunk to notice. These phases marked my days in high school.
Later, a series of personal problem within the band must put it to an end right after we did some records of our own songs. Although no longer involved in any punk band ever since, I still closely related to Yogyakarta's punk scenes, mostly that of Wirobrajan and Realino. The former was in my neighborhood and the latter was a group of my college friends. So, it was kinda hard for me to put a stance when both scenes clashed in violence following some disputes (I never know what or why till today).
For the first time in my life, I began questioning something I hold fast to. I knew something like that would happen sooner or later. It would be easier to turn a blind eye, but I just couldn't. Although no life lost, it still felt bloody awful when your friends were getting pretty beaten up by your other friends and vice versa and there's nothing you can do about it. To act as an arbitraire was also impossible as it was wasting everyone's time, for it was the last thing both scenes needed (at that time). It was the music that first driven me to this, and not the street's politics. The latter are not doing well together.
It also happened that some groups of fucked-up, hypocrite, self-righteous, right-wings began to targeting the boys as their punch bag and sometimes to stab at (I have really bad experiences with them, having more in one ocassions really close from being stabbed alive. Fuck!).
So, I drawback. Isolating myself. I'm not that tough for that kind of shit, and no one can forced me to think or act otherwise. I left all the ruckus, the attitude, the fashion (start from my mohawk) but not entirely (the boots, way of thinking, way of perceiving things are still intact) because no one can ditch out punk rock completely.
Starting anew, I formed Beyond Any Recognition, an indie rock band in 2004. This, I projected as Velvet Underground's kind of punk rock instead of the fast, noisy one. We have made several records and hopefully can score an album or more.
How Is It Today?
Both subcultures are proven to be crucial for me to the point that without which my achievement would only be academical. Both taught me how to think, to behave, to claim a place in whatever social hierarchy and friend rings I belongs to now. Both have created a high place in my brain, a special place on which I can dig up various inspirations without fear of exhaustion, the very source of all achievement I made these far and those yet to come. This post being one of them. I'm sure as hell to be happy that however late I am, I still have connections to them, being part of it, still living it. In some way, both subcultures negated each other, mold it into a hybrid of sort into something I proudly call my way of life.
Sex, write and rock n roll!!! And ocassional alcohol....
Sometimes I feel that I was born too late. I wasn't there when the world witnessed its youth lived up the term sex, drugs and rock n roll to the fullest like there's no tomorrow. When everything is fun, fun fun. When everyone loves each other, fucks each other, got high together. No money, no jobs, plenty weeds. All day party with mind-expanding discussions in between, reciting poems or listening too ones, while all your nerves system invaded by LSD. When late great writers roamed the media with their crazy, well-written thoughts.
I wasn't there. My father did. Which maybe was my sole envy for him.
Then again a decade or so later, when all the love seeped out to be replaced with anger, angst and drama queen-esque, when long hair dude was considered lame and the hippies have aged to the point where they no longer fitted to be called today's youth... punk rock is the new world's bastard son.
The British once again ruled the world and any youth seemed eager to be conquered. It was when extra 'violence' added to the sex, drugs and rock n roll shoutouts.
I wasn't there too.
All I have here, is all the remnant of the time that has passed. It is real, but only a legacy nonetheless. Damn, I wasn't old enough too when that Cobain dude invaded MTV.
My life is such subcultural shifts. I believe in subcultures. I embrace them as tools of which I perceive the world and vice versa as well as a mean by which I presented myself to society. I, and most of my generations, are the very byproduct of the subcultures, and none affect me most than that of the hippies and the punk rock's.
Hippies, yay!
Like any other of my generation, my journey goes backward. I have to dig up the past to justify my present. And by that, I mean going through the pile of old cassettes of my mother's and father's, scavenging their old magazines and novels (Google wasn't around too at that time) just to at least has a glimpse on what was it like back then.
I arrived at conclusion that despite the great achievements in all areas (musics, literature, arts, philosophies), the 60's and 70's generations has a serious lack of fashion tastes. I mean, in all his greatness, the golden-fabric wing-flap wardrobe Hendrix was using is really disgusting at the least. He'd still be the guitar-god without that silly outfit, wouldn't he? So, WTF?
I prefer the fashion taste of the early punk rockers. Boots, over-tight jeans, spikes and attitude. Being exposed to my old man's 60's n 70's musics and literature collections since my early years, by my 5th grade, I already become a hippies in principal--the drugs would have to wait several years later. It was such a late version of anachronism, anachronism in reverse. My fellow classmates was singing Michael Jackson's Black or White when I solemnly chanted Jai Guru Deva, Om. None of them even heard of The Beatles or Zeppelin or Janis or The Doors (the late greats of whom would affect my musical influence in later years). The idea of living an idyllic life, getting high all day (even though I haven't understand yet what that means) was so inviting for someone who always lazy to go to school.
Outcome The Wolves
By Rancid and Dookie by Green Day I listened to in my Junior High years were two albums that change my life forever. Suddenly my life filled with anger, discontention and need of achievements (of what, I never fully grasped till today). Nevermind by Nirvana was the third and the last agents of chaos that I allowed to interfere in my life. And so another journey began, a journey wasn't like the previous, is fully learning by living one.
Puberty was part of it all and it made everything so complicated...you couldn't even stand a broken heart without being a lil' bit suicidal. Recreational drugs were always in your nerves literally. You often lost your temper and memory in drinking stupor. The world was always seen fucked up. Hell, everyone's a fucked-up! The only fucked-up thing you failed to recognize was yourselves. Lols. Long story short, I wasn't the happy little hippies I used to be. The way I see things back then is that war is far more truthful than love, and that it is bullshit to become a pacifist because life is a series of never-ending conflicts whether that be wars or simply personal disagreement.
I learn myself to play guitar, play drums, learn to write (music, journal, whatever consists of words), I read more, drunk more. DIY, baby!
Yogyakarta, the city I lived in happened to be a perfect place for such blooming enthusiasms. In 1998, steadily and surely, punk rock become a redemption for many local youths. In 2000, it was hard not to see any street punk thrashed on every road junctions. Bootlegged tapes change hands, self-made silk-screened t-shirts were made and punk rock bands mushrooming in every gigs. Knowledge is power in every punk rock culture, so does having an influential band, with street-wise credibility. And so I joined Residivis as a drummer and started my journey as a band player. Most of the time, we only do the cover of Exploited and, later, Total Chaos. So there we were, playing songs that 16 years and half around the world earlier sung by Wattie Buchan. We played anywhere with band sets. In some gigs, we simply hijacked the stage. The only pay we ever received was Rp 25.000,00 which equal to 2,5 $ in today's rate. We were far from being great. In most gigs we were either too drunk to play or too lost to remember what to play and the crowds simply too drunk to notice. These phases marked my days in high school.
Later, a series of personal problem within the band must put it to an end right after we did some records of our own songs. Although no longer involved in any punk band ever since, I still closely related to Yogyakarta's punk scenes, mostly that of Wirobrajan and Realino. The former was in my neighborhood and the latter was a group of my college friends. So, it was kinda hard for me to put a stance when both scenes clashed in violence following some disputes (I never know what or why till today).
For the first time in my life, I began questioning something I hold fast to. I knew something like that would happen sooner or later. It would be easier to turn a blind eye, but I just couldn't. Although no life lost, it still felt bloody awful when your friends were getting pretty beaten up by your other friends and vice versa and there's nothing you can do about it. To act as an arbitraire was also impossible as it was wasting everyone's time, for it was the last thing both scenes needed (at that time). It was the music that first driven me to this, and not the street's politics. The latter are not doing well together.
It also happened that some groups of fucked-up, hypocrite, self-righteous, right-wings began to targeting the boys as their punch bag and sometimes to stab at (I have really bad experiences with them, having more in one ocassions really close from being stabbed alive. Fuck!).
So, I drawback. Isolating myself. I'm not that tough for that kind of shit, and no one can forced me to think or act otherwise. I left all the ruckus, the attitude, the fashion (start from my mohawk) but not entirely (the boots, way of thinking, way of perceiving things are still intact) because no one can ditch out punk rock completely.
Starting anew, I formed Beyond Any Recognition, an indie rock band in 2004. This, I projected as Velvet Underground's kind of punk rock instead of the fast, noisy one. We have made several records and hopefully can score an album or more.
How Is It Today?
Both subcultures are proven to be crucial for me to the point that without which my achievement would only be academical. Both taught me how to think, to behave, to claim a place in whatever social hierarchy and friend rings I belongs to now. Both have created a high place in my brain, a special place on which I can dig up various inspirations without fear of exhaustion, the very source of all achievement I made these far and those yet to come. This post being one of them. I'm sure as hell to be happy that however late I am, I still have connections to them, being part of it, still living it. In some way, both subcultures negated each other, mold it into a hybrid of sort into something I proudly call my way of life.
Sex, write and rock n roll!!! And ocassional alcohol....
Save Money, Do Something
Jul 21, 2009
In my recent post I blabbered about how not to be poor. Well. Save your money is a really good start. "For the rainy day," they said.
But saving is not all about surviving the rain. You have umbrella for that purpose. It is also a cause for you to start to do something bigger than what you think you are. Yeah. I'm talking about charity; donating; Helping people with whatever amount of money you have. Not necessarily much, but sure will bring good to both parties. You, and them.
"Where should I donate?" Everywhere, man! Take a look around. There's at least someone near you who would say thanks a million times if you hand them whatever amount you gave them. Look at the news. Disasters happen everywhere. Either that be natural causes or the goddamn man made (suicide bomb, anyone?)
Do what you can to help. Why?
Because it is the least you can do. The ability to help each other is another feat and nature of being human. They said, "Live your life to the fullest!" Well. This is a start, isn't it? Helping others will give you a great feeling. Don't you agree? Knowing that you have sacrifice something (albeit it's just a dollar worth of charity) to amend those of which are less fortunate IS power.
If that still doesn't move you, always remember that life is kind to those who are generous. Karma. In the mean time, what you have to do is to make sure that you have a saving for that purpose, or it will be you who are in the receiving end. Start saving today. Save money, do something.
But saving is not all about surviving the rain. You have umbrella for that purpose. It is also a cause for you to start to do something bigger than what you think you are. Yeah. I'm talking about charity; donating; Helping people with whatever amount of money you have. Not necessarily much, but sure will bring good to both parties. You, and them.
"Where should I donate?" Everywhere, man! Take a look around. There's at least someone near you who would say thanks a million times if you hand them whatever amount you gave them. Look at the news. Disasters happen everywhere. Either that be natural causes or the goddamn man made (suicide bomb, anyone?)
Do what you can to help. Why?
Because it is the least you can do. The ability to help each other is another feat and nature of being human. They said, "Live your life to the fullest!" Well. This is a start, isn't it? Helping others will give you a great feeling. Don't you agree? Knowing that you have sacrifice something (albeit it's just a dollar worth of charity) to amend those of which are less fortunate IS power.
If that still doesn't move you, always remember that life is kind to those who are generous. Karma. In the mean time, what you have to do is to make sure that you have a saving for that purpose, or it will be you who are in the receiving end. Start saving today. Save money, do something.
How Not To Be Poor
Jul 13, 2009
Robert T Kiyosaki taught us "How To Be Rich," and so did other major economic practitioners; economic consultants, hedge-fund managers, marketing gurus, some of Madoff's victims, you name it.
They speak of one word: financial profit. Ok, that's two. Whatever. In order to be rich, financial profits are the target as well as the basis upon which we could make even bigger one.
"Would you buy that crap?"
I would. Who doesn't want to be rich anyway?
But there's a problem. Not all of us endowed with the basic necessities one should have in order to make the FIRST profit: list of skills, a certain amount of capital, facilities etc. Having born in such third-world-country where either wars or, as in my case, corruptions, happen everyday is another shit to blame out there.
Sound familiar, anyone?
If I were to ask "How many of you live under 10$ a day," to the whole population of the world today (20:50 GMT (EST+5) Jul 12, 2009), the staggering 5,416,536,644 (80% of the total 6,770,670,806 population according to this source) will raise their hand!
The saddest thing yet is that the the rest 20% are those who consume almost 80% of world's total domestic products. Shit! This ain't real is it?
Yep. That's pretty real. It's so real your eyes won't believe you.
I have with me many other INTERESTING facts about the statistics of wealth and poverty, and everything in between, such as this: The world's billionaires--the lucky 497 of 6.5 billion people (0.000008%) --shared the total wealth of 3.5 Trillion USD among themselves. Surprising? You bet.
But we'll come to that in another occasions.
Back to the point then.
Ok. So, despite all the "How To Be Rich" teaching out there, we still have 5.4 billions "poor" people here on our Earth.
Clearly, to give each of them one of the "How to be rich" manual won't help them out of poverty. The ideas of selling-big-invest-big-gain-big just not click with that of what-do-I-feed-my-child-with-today those people are having.
Those how-to-be-rich gurus missed one important point, which is to teach people how to be rich, you MUST teach them how not to be poor, first. And that is what I (despite all my limit) would try here.
They speak of one word: financial profit. Ok, that's two. Whatever. In order to be rich, financial profits are the target as well as the basis upon which we could make even bigger one.
"Would you buy that crap?"
I would. Who doesn't want to be rich anyway?
But there's a problem. Not all of us endowed with the basic necessities one should have in order to make the FIRST profit: list of skills, a certain amount of capital, facilities etc. Having born in such third-world-country where either wars or, as in my case, corruptions, happen everyday is another shit to blame out there.
Sound familiar, anyone?
If I were to ask "How many of you live under 10$ a day," to the whole population of the world today (20:50 GMT (EST+5) Jul 12, 2009), the staggering 5,416,536,644 (80% of the total 6,770,670,806 population according to this source) will raise their hand!
The saddest thing yet is that the the rest 20% are those who consume almost 80% of world's total domestic products. Shit! This ain't real is it?
Yep. That's pretty real. It's so real your eyes won't believe you.
I have with me many other INTERESTING facts about the statistics of wealth and poverty, and everything in between, such as this: The world's billionaires--the lucky 497 of 6.5 billion people (0.000008%) --shared the total wealth of 3.5 Trillion USD among themselves. Surprising? You bet.
But we'll come to that in another occasions.
Back to the point then.
Ok. So, despite all the "How To Be Rich" teaching out there, we still have 5.4 billions "poor" people here on our Earth.
Clearly, to give each of them one of the "How to be rich" manual won't help them out of poverty. The ideas of selling-big-invest-big-gain-big just not click with that of what-do-I-feed-my-child-with-today those people are having.
Those how-to-be-rich gurus missed one important point, which is to teach people how to be rich, you MUST teach them how not to be poor, first. And that is what I (despite all my limit) would try here.
Pino and Me: A Story About A Dog (Part 1)
Jun 8, 2009
Pino is the name of our (me and my girlfriend) lovely puppy. That's a picture of him, in its stupidest, sleepy expression we both adore so much.
Never judge a book by its cover. Behind that adorable looks, that fluffy fur ball can be such a monstrous case.
Have you ever seen "Marley and Me" starred by Owen Wilson and Jen Aniston? Well, this post is inspired by the movie, because believe it or not, our story is similar to John and Jen Grogan's life; bound with a freakish yeat adorable dog, minus the ending of course, because Pino is still pretty much alive and oh yeah, he's a just a domestic dog instead of Labrador retriever.
This is how our story began...
Pino was born in June 1st 2004 (he's 5 years ole now, Happy Birthday, boy!!!). "How can I tell?" Well, that's because me and my GF were there when his momma, Diva, delivered him and his three siblings, namely Venus, black as tar and huge for her petite momma, Hugos, a boy with a cow like pattern, Omen, a girl with hamster like fur. Our gray, rat-like gray but adorable Pino is the youngest. It was my girlfriend who chose him (she and her friends have decided to adopt Diva's puppies when they got older, that's why we attended Diva giving a birth in the first place) . It was love at first sight, she said.
Unlike my girlfriend, I passed out already because it was 4 AM when finally Pino was born. The next thing I know was when my gf woke me up and took me to the cardboard which was Diva delivery bed and pointing at a tiny mound of fur, squeezed between his siblings' bigger bodies, suck hungrily on her momma's nipple.
"That" she whispered, "is our future puppy." Yawning and still half asleep, my response was "It looked like rat, are you sure about it." After poking my head with unrestrained knuckle for that remark, she said "Sure. Why not."
The turning point which affect all of us and finally bound our fate with Pino was when 10 days after giving birth, Diva died. A car hit her when she's wandering around. The four siblings become a reluctant orphan, and me and my girlfriend suddenly has something furry to attend to.
(To be continued)
Legalize Marijuana!
Jun 2, 2009
"Care to smoke a joint?" maybe is my second most favorite thing to hear beside "Hey, handsome, can you give me a ride?"
The reason is that it is usually followed by a session, or a prolong one, of a heavenly comfort, while the latter, though also promise a heavenly comfort, didn't happen quite often and always depend on who said it...having it said by a transvestite for example is rather a horrific thing to hear for me.
Marijuana the food of the god, or a plain addict, is maybe one of the most debatable substance on whether or not it should be legalized.
I stumble upon this site, which apparently is an e-petition to the US Government to legalize marijuana. Oh, come on!? Why don't you guys expand the range for the whole world instead of US alone? The site has gather around 37,523 signatures. Not bad I think, though can be better.
"Care to smoke a joint?" maybe is my second most favorite thing to hear beside "Hey, handsome, can you give me a ride?"The reason is that it is usually followed by a session, or a prolong one, of a heavenly comfort, while the latter, though also promise a heavenly comfort, didn't happen quite often and always depend on who said it...having it said by a transvestite for example is rather a horrific thing to hear for me.
Marijuana the food of the god, or a plain addict, is maybe one of the most debatable substance on whether or not it should be legalized.
I stumble upon this site, which apparently is an e-petition to the US Government to legalize marijuana. Oh, come on!? Why don't you guys expand the range for the whole world instead of US alone? The site has gather around 37,523 signatures. Not bad I think, though can be better.
Check The Video Out
Personally, I don't think marijuana should be banned after all. No one OD'ed on marijuana unlike heroine or any other against-the-law substances. If the number of death casualties defined whether a substance should be banned or not, alcohol is even more dangerous, or a slippery soap bars to that extent. So, why is marijuana banned in the first place? Do you know the answer? Please give your opinion in the comment section. Oh yeah, this other site seems to be a great site to gather information on marijuana.Burn Your Idol
May 30, 2009
By: Dion Wicaksono
Burn Your Idol is an art project of my friend and long time mentor, Wok The Rock, a graphic-design artist, a co-founder of Mes 56 (an Indonesian contemporary photography community located in Yogyakarta) as well as the CEO and the fearless founder of yesnowave, Indonesian first (?) music netlabel, based in Yogyakarta.
The project basically is a compilation of a thousand (1000) burned CD-R, each of which contains album of as many artists/bands which are compiled through submission by whoever wants to participate (Me, for example, is the 278th submitter).
If you're willing to participate in this project, all you have to do is visit the Burn Your Idol link above, or here, fill all the information box on the page and wait several days ( apart for being highly creative, Wok The Rock is quite lazy son of a gun). The only criteria of the submission, or lack thereof, is that the album you submit should be that of the most-influential for you. I, for example, submit the Original Song Theme of Angus Movie, since it was the one album that could channel my teenage angst back then (1996), without which I can't be the one I am now. Here is the project description by Wok The Rock, while the following is what I wrote for him:
If you're willing to participate in this project, all you have to do is visit the Burn Your Idol link above, or here, fill all the information box on the page and wait several days ( apart for being highly creative, Wok The Rock is quite lazy son of a gun). The only criteria of the submission, or lack thereof, is that the album you submit should be that of the most-influential for you. I, for example, submit the Original Song Theme of Angus Movie, since it was the one album that could channel my teenage angst back then (1996), without which I can't be the one I am now. Here is the project description by Wok The Rock, while the following is what I wrote for him:
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