One Imperative issue03

One Imperative
philia
-issue 03

front cover
sara chong
Philia. Ink, 2009

01 --- jeremy fernando

In Defence of Lost Causes;

on paedophilia

06--- lim lee ching

The Ballad of Ryan White

08--- ashlynn sum

Shorts

1 0--- geoshino ollscia

Deep Autumn

12--- jeane reveendran

Facebook Philia

16--- yanyun chen

Squid

18--- geoshino ollscia

Untitled

20--- jiaying sim

Tell Me Your Story

22--- rebecca g. yeo

To Par(take) of You

24--- hwang pao-i

Second Life

32--- lim lee ching

Bookmarks

38--- jeremy fernando

Love Song for a Seraph or what if

Angels fall in love

oi.03
1

#(#

in defence
of

lost causes;
on

pedophilia
#(#
by

jeremy fernando

henever we think of a
relationship between a
child and an adult outside the
confines of a nurturing one there
is a gut reaction of anger, distaste,
and sometimes even hatred. After
all, the first thing can comes to our
mind is that this is an exploitative
relationship; that is one between
unequals. One of the predominant
fantasies is that relationships
occur between two parties that are
complete equals; what is glossed
over is the fact that in order for

this to be true, each person has

to be valuated. In order words,
there has to be an abstraction of
the human into a value, a figure,
which then can be equalized with
another. However if we choose
to maintain the singularity of the
person, then we must also accept
that equality is a myth; in other
words the phrase relationship
between equals is at best a figure
of speech, or one operating at a
symbolic level.

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2

This may be the reason why Lolita

has caused so much controversy
over the years not so much
because there is a relationship
between Humbert and Delores
(after all, who does not someone
who has been with someone far
younger or older) but because
Nabokov actually has the gall
to suggest that Lola might have
actually been at least at some
points the one in control. For
there is nothing more devastating
to our sensibilities than having
the very basis of our assumptions
come crashing down; and what
greater myth to challenge than
that of the pure child, the carte
blanche that we can nurture, and
bring up in ways that are beneficial
to society. However, the question
of whether Humbert, or Lola,
calls the shots is a moot one; what
remains interesting for us is the
fact that at various points one of
them is dominating the other.
In other words, not only is there
an unequal relation at any one
time, but that this relationality
is reversible.
01

One must not forget the lengths

we go to in order to protect our
illusions, in particular that of
normalcy that people have to
behave in particular manners
in order that there is order in

society. After all, what other

function do prisons and mental
institutions serve but to delineate
the difference the absolute
separation between normalcy
and aberrance. And in order for
these mechanisms to have any
legitimacy, one has to fall upon a
social order, a generally accepted

For there is nothing

more devastating to
our sensibilities than
having the very basis
of our assumptions
come crashing down.
behaviour, and more than that,
a naturalized behaviour. This is
why it is rather common to hear
comments such as (s)he murdered
them like an animal; somehow
nobody seems to question the fact
that animals dont actually murder
each other they kill each other
out of necessity rather than some
linear motif.
01

But perhaps it is this lack of

necessity the notion of doing
something out of desire that
gives us a certain glimpse at

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3

relationality, and perhaps even

love. For it is not as if one has to
love someone; in some way one
chooses to love another. But it is
not as if this choice is composed
totally out of ones will either; one
does fall in love, one is enamored
of the other one might even go
as far as to say that one is out of

nobody seems to
question the fact
that animals dont
actually murder each
other they kill each
other out of necessity
rather than some
linear motif.

with the other insofar as the other

is in a relationality with one: here
it is Sren Kierkegaard who
captures it elegantly in The Seducers
Diary when he says, My what
does this word designate? Not
what belongs to me, but what I
belong to, what contains my whole
being, which is mine insofar as I
belong to it. (146)
01

ones mind when in love. In some

way Marilyn Manson has captured
this paradoxical situation in his
song Devour, when he says I cant
sleep till I devour you, in the same
breath as and Ill love you, if you
let me. The relationality between
oneself and the other person only
happens when one calls it into
being, but at the same time this
calling is only possible if the other
allows that calling to take place.
Hence one is only in a relationality

Of course we can find this dual

relationality,
this
symbolic
exchange where both remain
wholly singular in the
impossibility of the statement
when two become one. It was
clearly never about people (that
would be impossible), but about
time. This is a promise that is made
about the future, which is always
already in the past (for when said, it
is already over); and lived out in the
present. And this is the moment
of the I do; nothing more, and
infinitely nothing less. For in
this moment lies a nod towards
madness how can one person
possibly say, at any juncture, with
any certainty, that they will spend
their lives with this other person.
But it is this moment of madness,
this I do, which translates to I
will spend the rest of my life with
this person even though I know it
is not possible to say it with any
surety, that gives marriage its

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beauty. It is truly this mad decision

that saves marriage from banality
and allows us to glimpse a moment
of sublime-ness.
01

In fact, here one is tempted to

take it all the way through, and
posit that not only is it an act of
madness, it is also an act of sheer
stupidity; where one makes the
decision with no reason, makes a
decision that is beyond any reason.
And it is precisely this stupidity
that allows relationships to operate
in the realm of the symbolic: for
any relationship that is based on

not only is it an act of

madness, it is also an
act of sheer stupidity
it is stupidity that
ensures that both
parties are in a
relationship that
is beyond use.

ensures that both parties are in a

relationship that is beyond use
that is useless in the precise sense
of exchanging nothing but the
fact that they are in a situation of
relationality.
01

However if it is a decision that is

made beyond reason, then we are
back in the realm of the infant, the
one before language, the one that
exists outside of reason itself.
01

Which might be precisely why we

are uncomfortable the moment
children are involved in any
relationship; not because it is
inappropriate, but rather that the
very possibility of a relationship
depends on the people involved
being children. Perhaps what really
scares us is not that children are
taken advantage of, but the fact
that the issue that dominates most
of us lives relationality and love
are always already beyond our
control, beyond our ability to know.
01

reason, on logic, on exchangeability,

is a purely strategic, calculated one;
and by extension means that both
parties involved are exchangeable
too. Hence it is stupidity that

In this manner, we are always

pedophiles; the very possibility of
love and relationality depends on it.

www.jeremyfernando.com

oi.03
5

In the end, we can only improve on the fatal futility of fact.

If we know how.

The
Ballad
of

Ryan
White
lim

lee ching

The destructive love, they coiled

And recoiled, like sweetened tales
Of adder-ridden charms
In birth, in life,
In the breach of the lashing lights.
Those lights unleashing unrelenting promptings.
The fear theirs capsuled in
The moment of moments.
Contagion is a branded, brand new, sorrow.
It beats and heaves and heaves again,
In surviving, survived none refused all.
It heaves and beats again.
The dusting of skin demanded ghastly grey,
As if flushed skin needs be infused with
Prognoses and judgement.
Here the intimations of intuition
Completes the cycles of confusion
And then heaves again, pricking conscience.
Only the facts remain.
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Shorts
Ashlynn Sum

faith

Muhammad is nervous. Strapped to his chest

are enough explosives to wipe out 5000 lives.
But he knew he had to go through with it. In
his heart he feels that its his duty to uphold
religious justice. He said a final prayer and
steps into his mosque.

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8

black sheep

Wasnt that a good sermon, Horace said

to his wife Amy who said nothing and locked
herself in the bedroom. Mumbling psalms to
himself, Horace unlocked the basement door
and went in to visit its 8-year-old hostage.
Horace looks at her with lust. Let me
absolve you of your sins.

the wonders
of design

It was long, sleek, silver and smoothlike

something out of a science fiction movie.
Abigail stared in wonder of its design.
Her heart raced, shes been waiting for
that moment for a long time. She cradles
it in her hand and gets under the sheets.
Then, gentle buzzing.
oi.03
9

Deep
Autumn

geoshino ollscia

I have a present for you here

yes
lets just for now
call it

a Deep Autumn

because the swirling

is present the being caught

were sad

and that humor

is a safe place

is present in the breath of wind

is present Think

you no longer have to hide

of my Deep Autumn for you

as a colorful ceremony for the death

of an unhappy youth
Because when you told me
he was moving to arizona
to avoid a second date

I believed you

oi.03
10

where in my Deep Autumn

And after all

there arent any leaves here
No He leaves or She leaves
so I suppose we might as well just call it
by its common name
what I have for you

yes

lets just call it love

oi.03
11


facebook
philia

cyber disorders
There are over 564 different Cyber disorders listed in the CyberDisorders manual of Cyber Psychiatric Health. Due to the overwhelming
fondness towards Facebook, the Council of Cyber-Disorders has
devoted a manual purely to Facebook-Philia. When love gets a little
out of control, unprecedented behaviour is likely to proceed. This
article includes etiology, symptoms, treatment options, and prognosis
for the 2 most common disorders. The Council of Cyber-Health aims
to develop the manifesto of the Facebooker VS unhealthy Philia.

disorder #1: Fanatipoking-philia

CATEGORY
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
Etiology
Fanatical poking can develop out of
simple compulsive behaviour or it
can be a result of extreme trauma
from past bullying via jabbing
or elbowing. It can also include
sheep throwing and Barrel of
Monkeys throwing disorder.

jeane
reveendran

Treatment
Treatment may involve getting the
individual to poke a hard surface
intensely for 15 minutes. Poking
time should increase as treatment
progresses. Additionally, they
should receive jabs by a poking
devise intermittently while poking
the hard surface. If individual is
diagnosed with mass fanatical
poking, more than one poking
devise should be introduced.

Granite is highly suggested as it

hurts ones fingers expeditiously
in the most legal of ways.
Prognosis
Prognosis is good, especially if
the individual has some insight
into the disorder and does not
develop excessive Sheep
throwing symptoms. This may
lead to serious complications as
pets, furry boyfriends or razorless
girlfriends might also be in
serious danger of being thrown
at family members and friends.
It always starts with a sheep, but
it hardly ever ends there. Smaller
animals, boyfriends and razorless
girlfriends are usually more likely
to be in danger than larger ones.
Why attack is mainly on family
members and friends is still
unknown.

oi.03
13

disorder #2: Manic-status-Philia

CATEGORY
Bi-polar disorder (Manic
Depressive)

promotion, who cares if Im losing

my house, family and kids, Im a
happy and well-adjusted person.

For a stronger dose

Finding Nemo: When Nemo is
found (watch it three times)

Etiology
Manic-status-Philia is mostly
predominant in Asian families
where emotions are rarely
acknowledged, and often coerced
into being discounted. Patients
grow up in environments where
they are told not to cry after they
have fallen down, because it does
not hurt. Parents deny their children
any form of expression; even
happiness is seen as a disease
best avoided.

Fear
I know what you did last
summer: When Jennifer Love
Hewitt screams in the rain in her
white transparent singlet, what
are you waiting for?
For a stronger dose
Movie poster: I still know what
you did last summer (The idea
that a sequel was made after
the first movie is enough to

In order for diagnosis to be

secure, one must experience a
minimum of one manic episode.
Mania can be described as the
exact opposite of depression.
An intense high where one
feels exhilaration, invincible in
areas such as intelligence, or
relationships. They may have an
elevated self-esteem. The high,
although it may sound appealing,
will often lead to severe difficulties
in these areas, such as

Whats on your mind?

Mrs (insert bosss name
here) sucks, she can take her
company and stick it up her ass
for all I care, I dont need that

Yo Brenda! I slept with your

boyfriend and he was awesome, yes I do think you are fat
and plastic surgery is a good idea
even if youre not thinking about it.

I cried because I was touched

when I first heard Dont cha
wish your girlfriend was hot like
me. It was intense.
Treatment
There are specific scenes in
movies that are highly effective in
producing appropriate emotional
responses. The three most
important emotions to develop
accurately are happiness, fear and
sadness. This is commonly known
as scene therapy.

Scene Therapy
Sadness
Titanic: Just before Jack falls into
the water and drowns.
For A Stronger Dose
Titanic: When Jack falls in the
water and drowns.

instill intense fear; only use for

extreme cases)
Prognosis
Prognosis is good if the individual
is able to respond appropriately
to the different scenes. Laughter
may occur during screening of I
know what you did last summer
as wobbling boobies in white tank
tops have that effect on many
individuals. However, this should
not cause any alarm, simply
proceed to the movie poster and
fear should return.

last words from the Council

Love is a many splendid thing, we the Council of Cyber-Health
believe that one should be fully equipped to handle passion, love
and fondness before one takes on cyber social networks. Call it
what you like, Philia or disturbing obsession for things you want
to hide but cant, it doesnt change the fact that love makes us do
crazy things sometimes. So, know what you are getting into.

You are not your Facebook account,

you are not your Facebook account

Happiness
Finding Nemo: When Nemo is
found.

oi.03
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oi.03
15

Squid yanyun chen

oi.03
16

untitled
geoshino ollscia

hen she answers I can hear her huffing and puffing,

carrying the weight of things in her voice. Yeah,
she explains, breathlessly, Im at the gym. I laugh goodnaturedly, approvingly, with love, imagining her stepping on
the elliptical machine in grand sweeps, the other boys all
staring. She laughs briefly but then turns her tone to business,
hiding the gigantic well of affection, Im guessing so the dogs
dont get the wrong idea, think shes someone who will just give
it away. But she lets me know she cares, even with her guard
up. She asks me about my day, if things are alright. I tell her
they are, and about new job prospects, plans for the evening.
She shares my enthusiasm and encourages my dreams. I pass
the attention sceptre back through the phone.
How was yours? I ask.
She tells me it was difficult, largely challenging. She doesnt
elaborate, something keeps her, holds things inside again.
Maybe its the environment, the room full of people and
workout machines. But I know its been hard for her lately,
more than just today, and that shell be fine once shes arrived
at a certain place. For now its just best to leave the burdens
of the day behind as she spins again and again, legs and arms
and everything.
Work it out, baby. Work it out, I want to say. Run to the
sea.

oi.03
18

oi.03
19

tell me your story

Then I think well be fine.

jiaying sim
I wish youd tell me stories from
time to time.

She always had this way of

choosing the most ridiculous
moment to say something
when I already have one foot
in dreamland, and the others
dangling off the bed. Of course,
I never tell her I enjoyed her
outbursts of expressions, even if
they were at the expense of sleep.
Nobody should know of the edge
they have over you.

Im not your jester, you know

that right?
Thats not what I mean. I wish
youd be less edgy. I just thought
itd be nice to listen to your
stories.

But words, they have this way

of failing me. Besides, Im no
Gaiman.
Words dont fail you. Youre just
afraid, afraid of what, I dont
know. That you will unknowingly
share more of yourself with each
story you tell, or that someone
might figure out the directions
to the secret dungeon. Its called
fiction for a reason.
I am not afraid to tell you what I
know; admit what I dont; expose
what I think. But I assure you,
should I share my stories, you will
hate them.
Why. Are they about
cockroaches?
No.
oi.03
20

Well

I no longer remember what I

wanted to say that day. It does not
matter now, as with many other
things, for she interrupted me,
excitedly the moment I uttered
my first word. That was the only
way she knew how to interrupt. If
you ask me, that is the only way
one should interrupt.

I hate cockcroaches. I think

they are secretly aliens which
have invaded Earth. How else can
anything be so disgusting? Do you
think Aliens exist?

She changes subjects the way

one might surf TV channels.
Sometimes you flip through the
channels, searching quickly for
something that might interest
you; other times you linger a little
longer, hoping to get something
more out of the show. Sometimes
you decide that its just not worth
sitting through the boring bits. At
the end of the day, theres always
something else to watch anyway.
Well, Im pretty sure they are
not aliens. But a reminder of the
stupid things in life that should
just disappear. And they smell
terrible.

Smell; thats a funny word, you

would say. And I would look at
you, thinking the only thing funny
is the way you cringe your nose
and squint your eyes as you say
that word.
Sometimes, when we are talking,
she would look at me with an
expression on her facefaraway,
similar to one of those paparazzi
snapshots of celebrities, where
the subject never looks directly
at the camera because too many
are on her, and how does one
know where to look. On other
days, I would be tempted to
stop whatever I am saying and
interject it with so I held hands
with the pink elephant and we
twirled in circles till Jumbo came
home in a foam bubble, shaped
like the letter D.. But most days,
I understand that I am slowly,
but surely, losing her with each
sentence I complete. And so I just
stop mid-sentence
When you ask for a story, it scares
me, it feels like I have a string of
ice cubes ride up my back, straight
to my brains, and I am afraid. Not
of what you might get from my
stories, but what you might not.
So, please dont ask me to tell you
a story.

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21

To (Part)ake of you
I love lying under nights blanket of stars
as the breeze and still quietness caress my skin
like skinny dipping in a pool of watery beams, bathed in
pale moonlight,
skin immersed in the translucent shadows of the night,
veiled in silhouettes as a cricket sings
alongside my stream of dreams thinking
yet how much more I love skin against skin
yours
next to on top of under beside mine
gazing, unblinking, exclaiming
Soft gentle creased tender smooth yearning taut
beginnings of beautiful familiar wonder
as heartbeats reach out reach in
touch... slide... glide... pause
to drink in the comfortable silence that surrounds the
waking hours
The first flash whips the silvery sky and I
like a bird on a telephone wire leap inside
a joy ride as metallic offerings line my tongue

oi.03
22

rebecca g. yeo

We cannot love and be limited Alfred Addler

and subdue my senses

wreak havoc with words waiting to be strung into sentences
finding ways of luring me into delusional misgivings as
waiting turns inside out
topsy turvy around and curvy
the scribbles
doodles of yesterdays thoughts
fears
dreams
hopes
imaginings
and I, vulnerable to its swirl of illusion and constant clamour
glazed to the scene that plays
to the tune of a carousel waltz
mechanical preened equestrian glamour
beats time in faultless, metered rhapsody
as my thoughts continue to wander
meander...
next to on top of under beside
you
oi.03
23

Just log in, I heard my friend say, if you still dont

like it, just log out again.

ts
second
life
ss

by

hwang pao-i

oi.03
24

There was a pause, then I heard a woman crying.

Even though I did not know the reason for her sorrow,
I could feel it penetrate me. It was a poignant moment
and I remembered clearly why I had quit the game
last time. My friend, who was standing next to me,
nudged me impatiently and reminded me that she
had a mission to complete and if I was going to help
her at all we needed to get going.
Were in a hospital, she said, this
is where it always starts, have you
forgotten?
Its been a long time, and I dont
remember seeing her. Her tears,
she is so sad. Dont you want
to know why shes crying or for
whom? I asked moving a little and
looking around.
Oh please, she laughed, stop
acting like such a noob! This is
a game and new patches are being put in all the time. If a person
doesnt have the tattoo on them
theyre just a computer generated
character.

I looked at the character a little

closer, searching for the tattoo
that would tell me that her sorrow
was not real and that my compassion was unnecessary. Two men
entered carrying a bloodstained
stretcher on which lay a body that
was shrouded in white. On seeing
them, the woman shrieked and
fell to the ground sobbing as if her
heart was broken. They have really taken you this time! she cried.
Why have they done this to me?
What have I done to deserve this?
You were a brave soldier, you did
everything you could, but now
you leave me grieving on my own.

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I thought her lines were a little too

pat and started to feel that I was
truly over-reacting.
One of the men asked, Is it all
right if we put the body on the
floor?

in the game died, it was dead for

good. That was why I didnt like
the game. If this was all a game,
why did things have to get so serious? And, if it was only for fun, why
couldnt some things be less complicated, less realistic?

The distraught woman looked at A few hours in the game could seem
him in a confused manner. She like a lifetime. Relationships could
seemed unable to understand progress quickly, without fear of
what she had
inconvenient
just heard, as
consequencWhat people loved
if the suggeses, and many
tion was either about the game was that a c h i e v e m e n t s
too ludicrous or
were easily obit opened up a whole
her mind was
tainable
for
new world where looks those who felt
simply in another place. I
no longer counted,
that real life
was equally surwasnt regularly
age did not matter
prised by such a
rewarding them
and conscience was
suggestion and
with things to
completely rebrag about. In
unimportant.
lated to her conthe game, the
fusion. The subtlety and appropri- impatient did not have to have
ateness of her reaction made me their patience tested and the reckquestion again whether she was in- less were often rewarded for the
deed only computer generated or a flare that they had for living a secplayer. There were no tattoos. My ond life that was less than ordifriend burst into raucous laughter, nary. What people loved about the
which I thought would have been game was that it opened a whole
very inappropriate if the situa- new world where looks no longer
tion had been real, and would have counted, age did not matter and
been too if the woman was also a conscience was unimportant. The
player because once a character

oi.03
26

only thing that mattered was your

imagination and how far you could
stretch it.
My friends mission, what she
wanted me to help her with, was
to earn enough gold to marry the
man of her dreams. She had been
seeing a skier, a person who had
earned all the titles for all the skiing events ever held and who could
also ski most of the online players
to shame. She wanted to impress
him with achievements of her own
and since she was good at making
money, she decided that she was
going to try and become a millionaire. In order to do that, she
needed a few reliable friends and
I happened to be one of them in
real life.
At first I thought he was a computer generated character; without actually seeing a tattoo it is
very hard to tell when a character
is really a person, since humans
could behave like machines as the
number of possible actions is controlled to a degree and some behaviour can seem repetitive. However, the reactions of a computer
generated character are similar to
those of humans because they are
limitless, like a persons response

to something may vary according

to his personal history and where
he is at that moment in time, so
the slightest change in a characters mood or his previous actions
leading up to the point where two
particular characters interact could
trigger a myriad of responses. To
make second-guessing a very difficult task, all characters are affected
by kaleidoscopic moods that occur randomly like the numbers of
a lottery. In other words, it is often
impossible to predict whether the
interaction between one character
and another is purely human or human and machine, since there is no
pattern to calculate which is which.
Hence the realism and the apparent fun. To enter a world so similar to life, live it as you please, and
not reap the certain consequences
of real living. To gamble for fame,
fortune or even love, without fear
of winning or losing, was tempting
to a lot of people who worked hard
to maintain a secure, if also sterile,
real life. Play itself was the name of
the game.
His name was Lancelot and it
should all have been good innocuous, virtual fun. He was an excellent warrior and chivalrous like

oi.03
27

his namesake. If virtual characters

could be taken seriously as manifestations of true heroes then he
was without a doubt a hero and I
somehow got to experience Guineveres bittersweet love. It was a
pleasure completing missions with
his help, I enjoyed chatting to him
and receiving messages and giftwrapped items in the mail. What
worried me a slightly was the sheer
amount of time he spent in-game,
even computer generated characters were programmed to log off
and be unavailable every so often,
but he seemed to be online practically all the time. This made me
think he was either a computer
and didnt have a real life to attend
to or he was a real person who simply had the luxury of staying online
for as long as he wished. So, when
he asked me out I had accepted.
What was the harm? This was a
game. He might even be just a computer program. My life was secure,
I was a university lecturer without
a nine-to-five job, my husband encouraged me to play the game and
use it as a de-stressing tool, when
my children were in school I had
plenty of free time, and it was a
good feeling to see how naturally
and quickly I completed missions

and overcame challenges. In a

word, I got addicted; but what was
worse, I fell in love with Lancelot. I started having an emotional
affair. Slowly, the game took over
my life and started to affect the
real people around me. I found it
hard to concentrate on my teaching, stopped preparing meals for
my family, rarely went out to meet
friends and got irritable when I
couldnt be online to live a virtual
life that seemed more important
than the one I was truly in.
Im in love with him, my heart told
me.
But hes not real, my mind jeered.
I should meet him, said my heart.
How, my mind shot back, you dont
even know if he is real!
Its true, my heart quietly cried.
My heart played tug with my mind
for many weeks and I agonised
at the idea of falling in love with
something as surreal as a computer character. I had no idea how to
escape that limbo and I knew that
sooner or later either my heart or
my mind would have to give. Every
time I met Lancelot in our virtual

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28

heroic world I would face a barrage of ill-formed questions about

TRUTH. What did I really know
about him? In fact, did I really
want to know? He said he wasnt
computer generated that he had a
tattoo, but he had chosen to put
it in a place where only his wife
would see. If I really loved him as
he loved me, then I should marry
him. So, I did.

had desperately wanted to marry

me on cyberspace, but to whom I
had also told a bunch of lies? I had
let my avatar marry a man in another dimension and now the real
me wanted to know the impossible. Could it be only my avatar that
was in love, obviously not. I was
in love, but, with someone elses
avatar? And what about him, could
he really dethe real
This made me think he sire
He said he was
me? I wasnt
twenty four and in
was a real person who everything I
college. I had told
simply had the luxury had told him
him I was thirty
was and I
of staying online for as Icertainly
two, indeed which
was
woman wouldnt
long as he wished.
nothing like
lie about their age
my gun-totif they could, and what was plus or ing character.
minus eight years here and there?
I had also told him I was single. At A few days before Christmas, I fithe time it had all seemed harmless nally agreed to meet him. He had
and irrelevant, but now I wasnt pleaded like a child on Santas knee
so sure. He told me his real name and I did not have the heart to say
was John, was it true? Hadnt he no. The only request I had was
also introduced me to his other that I be the one to identify and
ten online characters going by the approach him. At 3pm, we would
various names of Moby, Z, Daniel, meet at a cafe that neither of us
Ganesh, Setsuko, Kenya and even had been to and he would wear a
Hermione, for gods sake. He said red scarf.
he wanted to meet up. How I could
possibly toy with the idea of meet- Being a teacher and someone who
ing a person who, it may be true, needed to be punctual, I was sitting
at the window of the cafe by 2pm.

oi.03
29

I wanted to familiarise myself with ing like pieces of a cloud from the
the environment because I knew blue sky. From amongst the crowd
that I was more than liable to pull I saw a boy with a comic book
out at the last minute because of tucked under his arm and his eyes
my nerves. Every person, male and turned heavenwards; even from a
female, that walked by with a red distance I could see the glow in his
scarf sent my spine crawling. You eyes lit up by his wondering smile;
know just how to steel yourself, I he could not have been more
kept reminding myself, imagine than sixteen. His dark hair curled
walking into a new class at the around his ears and down his neck,
start of term or imagine what it his skin was smooth and had not
is like to talk to
come under the
a room of stranrazor, his lips
I caught a flicker of
gers at a conferwere beautifully
recognition that quickly formed and alence.
mingled with unbridled most girlish in
The cafe was
youthful desire, before its pinkness.
very warm and
He bounced on
I walked by without
the sun shone
his heels with
brightly outside,
the energy of
looking back.
the only way to
an adolescent
tell that it was a freezing winters but stooped slightly lacking the
day was the amount of clothes confidence of a grown man. Withthat people were wearing and the out really looking, he niftily weaved
white plumes that they were dis- through the crowds and politely
playing between their teeth. For held the door open for me as I left
fifty years it had not snowed in the the cafe. I didnt need the confircity, but unbelievably and almost mation of the red scarf, I knew it
imperceptibly it started to. I sat was him. He looked into my eyes
up in my chair and watching spell- and I caught a distant flicker of
bound completely forgot what I recognition that quickly mingled
was waiting for. I strained my eyes with unbridled youthful desire,
to catch the little specks, but soon before I walked by without lookthey turned into cotton balls fall- ing back.

oi.03
30

He was the most beautiful child I

have ever met. I could not bear to
know his disappointment, which
was why I committed character suicide. But, for him, I broke my heart.
When my friend asked me to
restart the game again, it was not
without a lot of convincing. I knew
that computer generated characters were all over the place, but I
couldnt play anymore with the uncertainty of their possible humanity. Every character, their every
act and every word goaded me to
evaluate their authenticity. I knew
to what extent it was possible to
bond with a character in-game, to
what extent mental and emotional
attachment was a human weakness. There was no turning back
once the mind or the heart was set.
This chasm between humanity and
machines I did not want to bridge
too soon.
Kiss him, quickly! My friend
typed out at the speed of lightning.
A little harmless fun had come at a
great sense of personal loss. I had
hurt myself and I didnt want to do
that to someone else too. Besides,
I thought, if the man in front of
me was real wouldnt I look like a
real ass kissing him for no reason?

What chain of reactions might

I set off? That kind of frivolity
simply wasnt a part of my personality, either in-game or in reality.
What if hes real? I asked.
What? Are you stupid? Hes buttnaked and do you see any tattoos?
This is computer generated, hes
a rare. How many times have you
ever seen a naked guy running
around? Hell drop a great item,
bag him! Quick!
Theres not enough ethics to this
game I thought as I ran to kiss him.
He had read what my friend said
and gestured me to stop. I cant do
this again, he said, I have a wife
and three children. He looked
sad and sounded genuinely guilty.
Wait. A thought started to niggle
at the back of my mind. Maybe it
is thinking and feeling that generates human actions. But even if
this character wasnt really human,
couldnt the actions and reactions
of a computerized character point
to its own kind of emotions and
mindset? Couldnt it be simply
answering to a different kind of
conscience?

oi.03
31

Bookmarks

lim lee ching

The lone walker hears the secrets of the wind and the voices of the trees.
The path is not tongue-tied.
Here, strong lines persist, incanting, singing.
How does the judgement, what criteria persist
To keep the premise sound? It is written and shall be read.
The strong lines and certain doubts exact change.
It stands thus to reason that it shall be pleasing.
Truth and beauty remain
Of brush strokes and clean lines
Leading the way and the coloured imaginings.
Concealment and transgressions are such delicate gestures
As are learning and gesturing.
Only the words remain to be spoken, the writing to be sung
Of happinesses witnessed and tongues tied
In full contemplation of the idea of ideas.
Remember the rules of memory in order
That it may coolly be accorded its place in the deep space
Between the seeing and reading that these words demand.
They love a little strangeness in order to test the edges of conjecture.
For what loads more than the values of being just. In time
All that go long also go up as memory of fire.
Distance takes the soul off blame, off exclusion
This is not the province of king, colonel or clown,
Nor the realm of whisperers seeking to please.
By rendering asunder, it is fused, conflated, returned to line.
Persistence is not learning. Persistence cannot be unlearned.
The foundations established by the building blocks of comprehension

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32

May not be mere adagia it must gather.

Distance dances preclude ordered methods, pleasing encryptions.
Choice is evaluated according to the cloths laid feet-down,
Not the testimony of pride.
Through this all there has been no escape from expanding doubt
Nor lessons in terminality.
In truth, the source of ignorance may well be reluctant pursuit.
The way to compulsion can come to close
As other delights arise, other lures
Drawing sight into the realm of perfect beauty.
The cult of stability and singular meaning
Diminishes ascendant beauty, delight and breath-hope.
Licence and liberty are only cloaks, nothing more.
Goose-steps are not hoof-taps they do not tire,
And yet they dig on, scoring the spell onto meaning, onto a basis
For believing abjectly the sound of thoughtdepth.
Persistent therefores are fallacious,
They bind while unleashing the gateward push.
Suffer the testimony of pride
And branded pleasure that go right through the marrow of memory.
The mind and soul and limbs and heart be as one, as many,
Upward in glory of wishfulness on wings of wisdom.
This afterall is the race of consolation.
Victimhood has no sum but the total of contrivance,
As the two of the dance in waltzes in nines.
Trembling limbs hold aloft the taut words:
Lines stretching far into the north of a past.
There the hundred riders dance a little lick
Gathering up the pinned down sighs in marred frigidity,
Where lies a totality stretched in quarters and sixths.

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33

And still the pleasing pulse beats to the long day.

Daring little steps of glancing thoughtspace.
Keep pace, keep apace of what is left and what refused.
The gleaming blade trembles and pierces
This fall of falls, with fireweed summerbreeze.
There is no death here, so no crying shoulders,
Only clumps of anxious logic to tap the rhythm of smoke.
To each his card, for each his hour
Which inching futureward relearns the songs of the leaves.
Wandering lost among the layers of liabilities,
Yet killing kindness with tiredness,
And beating and heating the song into submission.
Stealing into the angels share takes shivering prayer
And flagellation as art.
The value of these words are weighted with the wages of sorrow,
These sculpted fingers must scratch through the layers of song.
Courage sings the scripted fear of expectation
To a reasoning halt, that where it seems, it may lay down.
Keep the song burning, seared into meaningfulness
Keep forgiveness as the dance to a measure of memory
Keep aside an obsession over the might of imagination
Keep courage in the light of what may be seen
Keep faith in the stability of uncertainty
Frailty can turn the cause on its front
Providing the cues for vain utterances.
The portion lost is the weight of ashes.
What favours might there be if the rendering is strained?
Dead words are buried yet mined again, with fervour.
Greenloops flourish in the presence of misapprehension
And are buried again. That heaviness is the weight of

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34

Staggering mediocrity. In time, compasses no longer matter:

Nijinski is a shaman of the garden.
This covenant of words is a nightwish of a race.
Tied tongue insists the words be spoken, the songs sung
In praise of perfection or performance but not both.
Promises, too, can be sound and mean more as consolation.
Platitude in numbers cannot afford pound for pound
The exhaustion of footsteps.
Running with the cadence, the steps making ancient rhymes
That the earth has heard
Whispery songs of woven trances,
Of ancient wisemen oozing
From the dreambirth of each grain of land.
This then is the milk of silence.
What wine and nectar can sway is the surface of grudge.
Here are strong lines leading the way to repetition.
Was it a waltz?
What is left is truly the fragrance of remembrance.
The galloping meaningfulness raises the stakes of wisdom.
Go forth. Accord each a place in abjection.
Receive the supplication of some sincerity
In order to make vulnerability part of experience.
There is no trap but the trickery of reason.
Many as one, step dance song, heart soul, as one.
Before reading and seeing, the thought.
The long day stills the fleeting delight
Of whispers and sighs.
Beneath the lid of passion awakens the phrase
That locates far into the northward of trembling hope.
Here again a little strangeness.

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35

It edges closer on.

Some pushing upward of a past
And now, here, strain the lines of a tender breath.
Weighting yet in seconds and quarters.
Suffer the testimony of vainglory.
The ancient turn completes the repetition of repetitions,
For the direction of time still matters.
Licence and liberty wear a face each
Meeting intimations of few favours.
Offering a posture for legacy,
In full contemplation of this thought of thoughts.
Sorrow is another hundred riders
Chancing out of the darkness into the bright.
The words shiver through these wet pages
As through the coldness of the mind forge.
Penance is the province of princes, not poor men.
These words shall be risen a warm body.
Warmed by the light of lights.
Here lies the awakening
Of the dispensation of an age,
Dismissing the certainty as one in many.
Enthusiasm catches on also as one
In the simplicity of essence and discernment.
Wrapped in the verses are triggers of
Silence that surround the seeing and hearing of
The voices chanting ancient thoughts and futuresongs of
Fearful breaths of tender thoughts of
The place of, the parts of dreams of
Footsteps of dancesteps of songsteps of wordsteps.
They edge closer on.

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36

Trembling limbs hold on still to the taught lines,

Fearful of giving heart to the beauty of succumbing
To the presence of each moment.
The sheets of sound
And walls of light
Beat in quavers, quarter tones and half wits.
The secrets of the wind and voices of the trees
Enchant and sing, enchant and sing.
The lines are just and indeed persist.
What remains is the memory of hope,
The basis of many beliefs, not one.
Absolutes cannot be traded
For a hundred riders, nor another.
The faces put on meet the faces within,
Voices sing directly to the seeing eye that
Vanishes into the echoing wall of the hopes
For the tribe of promise glancing as witness,
Observation as commitment to memory,
Carved onto the core of consciousness.
Bounded by beauty. As beauty.
Here, surrounded by these covers
Are the pages of the maker
Read.
The ancient turns complete the repetition of repetitions.
In full contemplation of a thought of thoughts,
A fall of falls, warmed by the light of lights,
In full contemplation of the idea of ideas.
It is a force unrelenting.
It is a force contagion.

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37

love song
for a seraph
or

what if angels
fall in love

3
I cant help but stare;
at her hair impaired
One day well say only in silence perhaps
what a small affair
But only if I ever got myself to care
I made the mistake of trying to right
a wrong that wasnt even there
Why cant we just sit and bare
our voices, let them run around in the night
and when they trace themselves into our hands,
play with them, in spite of our plans
Colours that spin in our minds
might have something to do with time
Perhaps the two of us should have rhymed
At least our hair was once entwined;

jeremy fernando