31st August 2005

The colour of the attire of angels, contrary to what is universally believed, or what is widely depicted, is not white. It is in fact, orange.

Visions of twirling orange, that seemed to have fallen from the heavens to emerge on a throne with a single steel column (sebuah singgahsana bertiang keluli tunggal di sebuah Istana). Such is the mirage of divinity, like a prophet’s muse sent in dark places. Caves where, in place of bats, disillusioned spawns of the loins of Adam would frolick. And my retina is where the divine light excite.

The following weeks, I too, became the worshipper of mirror balls. She cried, “Time goes by so slowly for those who wait” and I echoed, sometimes like a parrot, sometimes like a pious follower whose sense was hammered into the head like lightning.

The things we do. The things I did.

And my commandments in the form of taxonomy of things:

Thamoud, Sa’dum, ‘Ad, Quraisy, Bani Israel, Parsi, Badwi, Habsyi, Proton, Bentley, Rolls Royce, Naza-Kia, Toyota, Mitsubishi, Cycle & Carriage, Cindai, Balqis, Hati Kama, Nirmala, Ya Maulai, Purnama Merindu.