Author's note: This piece is still on the works actually. I am stuck. High and dry. Frankly, the passion and rage that initially fueled me to write this material has long ago left me. This always happens to me. If I can't get a move on soon, I'd have to save this piece into my floppy and wait for a divine intervention, supplying ideas or inspiration or even emotions. Possibly staying in the floppy for months and months to come. So far in my disk, there are already three unfinished essays. In fact, one is dated Jan 2000. Damn. Maybe something will come up soon.

[Take the Road less Traveled – It’s Cleaner and More Spacey]
by YBLalat

I am shocked to see the clock. The morning sky looks pale. It must have rained at dawn. I am more surprised that the sound of raindrops falling on the balcony upstairs did not wake me up as usual. What bad beginning it is, I whine. I missed my dawn prayer and am late for work again. Oh, dear. My supervisor will have a field day bitching at me.

Lalat is not there sleeping next to me. He must have slept on the couch again, falling asleep in front of the TV while watching those late night talk shows. His battery recharging station is hooked up onto the wall next to his laundry basket. He’s always either waking up to the Discman or the TV remote. For him, nothing is more enjoyable than either a stand-up comedy or an art-rock song.

I feel ache somewhere. My back was on top of a bundle of blanket all night long. The soreness becomes more stinging. Ouch! I couldn’t move my left foot. It was under my butt all night long also, I guess. Probably deprived of blood, it needs a few more minutes before being used to walk me to the toilet. My bladder is full. It longs relief.

The darkness is so soothing. It calms the room well. The humidity is just okay. My face feels so soft. The cool breeze caressed it well. The small desk fan is still spinning fast. It rocks the desk as it spins. The dangling pink bear is swaying slowly. From side to side, my sleepy eyes trail the bear hypnotically. The smile on its face is so crooked but childish. I didn’t notice that before.

There was nothing on the idiot’s box. All were reruns and commercials. Even the music videos were lame. All were pop bands and black thugs. I’d rather listen to the drunken whores outside screaming for attention from drunken jerks. All were desperate for sex. The coffee tasted better with the lights out. I switched the TV off and listened to the radio. It was the indie DJ’s shift tonight. All was well again.

Mamat had probably gone to bed already. He works tomorrow, starting rather early in the morning. This is his third or fourth job, I think. I don’t see the point of working so hard when all you spend on are the National Geographic and some children Islamic educational videos. He must be of the type who could only seek security from the presence of a lot of cash in the bank account. As long as there is money, there is always hope. That is so pathetic!

The caffeine was already kicking my head like a sandbag. I felt lightheaded and dizzy. My eyes were twitching. The darkness of the room drowned the slight sense of vertigo I was trying to fight. The orange rays from the street light penetrated the room like a reflected disco mirror ball. Stars were spinning around me, on the walls and on the ceiling. A sudden rocking sound traveled towards me from the radio. It was a seismic wave, accumulating amplitude at a breath’s pace. The walls were swaying in and out slowly. I extended my arms outward to grasp the sides of the shrinking room. They were cold. I started to panic.

Like it is not part of the living me, my left foot is cold and not responding to my command. I slap it vehemently. It moves a bit for some time but not much. I wait some more. I lean back and support my weight with my arms to the mattress. Something wet is on the mattress, on the pillow, just under my right palm. It is my own drool and how warm it is. It is new, straight from my mouth. Oh shit, I just smeared it on the blanket next to the wet spot. I reach for one of the dirty clothes from Lalat’s laundry basket. It is the white shirt that he jogged with. I’d better take something else, I say. In the dark, I rummage the content of his smelly basket.

All of a sudden, there is this sharp cry from the living room. A short but intense scream it was, like a thud of a fallen rock. I sit still and listen.

"Relax. It’s just me."
"Who the fuck said that?"
"Turn around. Hello. It’s been a while, correct?"
"Oh, it’s you. Shit, must you do that all the time?"
"Hey, that’s my formal entrance. I can’t just barge in without knocking, right? How are you? Anything good on TV?"
"What brings you here in the middle of the night?"
"The Moral Office is really pissed off with you, man!"
"Say what?"
"The Moral Office, remember? Hello, your boss?"
"What the hell does he want now?"
"Calm down. It’s nothing much. He is just pissed off, that’s all."
"Pissed off because of what? I read the Koran? Go to the mosque?"
"Your online journal."
"Oh great, another critic."
"Like I said, it’s nothing."
"So, he sent you here?"
"Yeah."
"To talk me out of it?"
"No, no. The boss wanted to say ‘hi’."
"You are fucking kidding me."
"Ha ha. He is mad at you. I am here to tell you that he is not happy with the way you run that journal."
"I run things the way I want. He can go to hell."
"Your readers per day, they are down from last month, right?"
"Aha."
"And you’ve been alienated by the others?"
"Pretty much. Yeah I admit, there is tension."
"So, that’s why he is fucking crazy now."
"He is crazy. He expects me to be some fucking bad boy, a ruffian. ‘Write about teenage love. Write about suicide.’ Bullshit."
"It’s his taste. You know that, don’t you? He will cut his supply if you don’t concur to his demands."
"Fuck. I knew it. I knew he would play with the Idea Supply card. Damn!"
"Yeah, well. Are we alone here?"
"Aha. My roommates are all asleep."
"Do you have coffee?"

[to be continued soon...]