Get Darkness Back! – Part II

June 21, 2011

Council of the Wise: Singaporedaddy share with us the progress on the search for Darkness and his crew.

Singaporedaddy: Your Excellencies, 3 days ago our first expedition team discovered a Rolex Explorer 1. We believe it may have belonged to Darkness.

Council of the Wise: How do you know?

Singaporedaddy: It bears an engraving. A gift from the Interspacing Guild.

Council of the Wise: And the bugger flogged it off!

Singaporedaddy: Yes, for a river boat it seems. So we know he is making his way into the interior through the canals.

Council of the Wise: Find him Singaporedaddy. We need a speaker to represent us in the Confederation meet in Munich.

Singaporedaddy: Your Excellencies. I assure you all that we are doing everything within our power to search for Darkness.

Council of the Wise: Everything?

Singaporedaddy: By every practical definition of the world that is. But there is one proviso…..

Council of the Wise: Out with it man!

Singaporedaddy: You see Gentlemen. It is like this when a captive lion breaks free of his cage, he comes into a wider world. While he was in captivity, there were only two worlds for him – the world of the cage, and the world outside the cage. Now he is free. Roar he will. Perhaps eat human flesh even. But Gentlemen, what I feel duty bound to inform your Excellencies – is the theoretical possibility that lion may never be satisfied – for there is no third world that is neither the world of the cage nor the world outside the cage that can somehow restore order to his troubled soul. Gentlemen Darkness is not so different from that lion. Council would do well to heed my warning.

Council of the Wise: So you believe when he comes out, he will seek revenge against us?

Singaporedaddy: That your Excellencies remains a theoretical possibility. Besides we all know it is easy to take a man out of the jungle. But taking the jungle out from the man is another story.

Guan Eng was at the threshold of consciousness that permitted him to see the world only prosaically. These days he saw the world only in terms of constrains. This he attributed to maturity. Guan Eng had never always seen the world in such cut and dried terms, not so long ago as a oppositional politician he saw the world through rose tinted glasses – during those days in the wilderness, Guan Eng regarded politics as the art of possibilities. But 3 years is a long time and an eternity in politics and within that span of a mellinia Guan Eng had assumed the coveted office of chief minister of Penang – an occupational liability of being in power meant all illusions he may have once harbored about the world as a good place had distilled into one realization: the world is full of compromises. Sometimes Good triumphs over evil. At other times one simply needs to seek cold comfort in the hope good will triumph over evil. And this meant whatever possibilities pivoted on how one was able to walk the tight rope of placating the many factions  who were responsible for putting him in power. 

If the art of compromise had a name and face; if it had such a thing as a form. That afternoon, it assumed the strange image embossed on the cufflink that Guan Eng rolled between his thumb and index finger. Guan Eng had seen that insignia before some 3 years ago when he was a struggling nobody opposition politician. At first he dismissed them as lunatics. After all what sane person would invest his time and energy in imaginary planets, galaxies and fiefdoms – surely those people had to be off their rockers! During those early days the opposition had no hang up’s cultivating the friendship of even the lunatic fringe – Guan Eng saw no problems in entertaining them; when they offered him what they referred too as “technical” assistance. He accepted – what could possibly come of this? He remembered saying to himself. As Guan Eng moved to the full length glass window in his office, he muttered to himself again – “what could possibly come of this?

Guan Eng would not have been so disturbed had he realize what was offered was not indeed real. During the heady days of the elections, the internet had been hit hard by the ruling party; they had spared no expense and effort to fix them as his father once shared with him – but every time it went down – it was as if a mysterious hand was furiously at work repairing the broken linkages. Guan Eng was left in no doubt part of the reason why he was able to secure his mandate was due to the influence of those who his father referred to as the “hidden hand.”

“We don’t know who they are. But does it matter? What’s important son is, they are on our side for some reason.” His father, a seasoned politician once quipped.

Till now Guan Eng basked in the cold comfort, those who once helped him would never appear in the flesh before him – they couldn’t he reasoned; they were terminally rooted in that other realm of consciousness that could never see the light of day – the internet. Guan Eng reasoned he had nothing to fear from these malevolent forces – so long as they remained trapped in the internet; they were as benign as a genie trapped in an oil lamp – providing no one polished it; that same force would remain forever apart from his existence, never ever once intruding into his present or future life as the newly minted chief minister of Penang.

But that was before the stranger pressed the cufflink into the palm of his hands with the words, “we need your help minister to find a lost friend.”

Guan Eng peered at the strange image embossed on the cufflink – he wondered to himself why these people had suddenly jumped right out from the pages of a fairytale – at that moment an undercurrent of thought seeped into his consciousness – one that Guan Eng found impossible to resist – the possibility that if these people could put him in power; they too could cast him out in the next general elections. 

At that moment Guan Eng picked up the phone and brusquely asked his secretary to show the strangers into an annex where he conducted secret meetings. No sooner had he placed the receiver down – Guan Eng was seized by another more menacing thought – one that instinctively told him, he may not be able to say no to these strangers.

Record recently by the Chronicler of the Brotherhood in the Book of Ages 2011.


Somewhere in the outskirts of the forest canopy in Sri Manjung
In the moment of his youth Iskandar had always believed spirits roamed the depths of the jungles – thought the local Imam who ran the local Madrasah would have nothing to do with such hocus pocus.

Iskandar the honey hunter knew better; so just as his father and grandpa before him had always done when one reaches the confluence where the river gives way to the mouth of the sea; the place where the murky river water gives way to the paraffin blue of the straits of Malacca. Iskandar knelt before the tall durian tree and asked the spirits to allow him to past safely – usually there would be no answer; but that day, Iskandar sensed someone was watching him. As a boy, Iskandar had heard tales of the Orang Bunyan. Those friends who lived in that other dimension of time and space; he had even heard of incidences where some of his friends from his kampung had slipped into that other world only to reappear again mysteriously, so that day when strangers suddenly appeared before him demanding that he lead them to the Suriman trail. Iskandar the honey hunter led the way obediently.

Recorder recently by the Chronicler of the Book of Ages / the Brotherhood Press 2011


His name is John Pitcairn, and if he were any more Texan, he’d hop or eat a cactus before you could say Jack Daniels. Though he’s only about five feet and 6 inches, he’s a giant of a man—all blunderbust and fiercely proud of his country and accomplishments.

Pitcairn had been a trucker for 27 years, 6 monts and 3 days in Michigan, pulling in and out of cities was his thing. One day in 2010, he hit the motherload. The red neck American’s magic numbers lined up in the Kentuck lottery and he became an instant multi millionaire.

Shortly after Pitcairn struck gold, he decided to start a heavy life service to shuttle oil well heads from Dallas to the outlying mines that dot two thirds of the world. Incredibly, whenever a wellhead bursted or a digging machine bit the dust. And when everyone stood around wringing their hands at several million lost a day. John Pitcairn would step right up to the plate and save the day.

Unknown to even his closest friends. John Pitcairn was also a gamer who once donated the spacestation he christened after his only daughter Mary Sue. John loved to game and he gamed hard. So when a message popped up in his intray asking him to ferry oversized remote control toys to Malaysia. John instantly recognized the seal of the four houses and cried out loud.

“Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet Jesus. They’ve finally called me up after all these fucking years of waiting! You hang on there buddy, we’ve find that sucker faster than you could hump a jack rabbit. I kid you not – either that or my name ain’t John Pitcairn!”

One week later a converted Antanov heavy lift landed in KLIA. The manifest read: oil well heads, though one digit was missing from the release note, the man who approved the shipment was heard saying, “these Mat Salleh’s are all alike, they aren’t like us Asians.” Coincidentally the American was wearing a ship embossed with a flying saucer with a caption that said it all, “I want to believe!”

Recorded very recently by the Chronicler of the Brotherhood – 2011


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