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Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.


MAIN THEMES

On identity
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.

On Christianity
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.

On dreams
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.


OTHER THEMES

On melancholy
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.

On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.

On language
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.

On politics
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?

On society
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.

On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.

On philosophy
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?

On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.


CHAT





Wednesday, December 08, 2004
POKER WITH THE DEVIL 1/6

I'm gonna go ahead and do this before the poll results come in conclusively. always being a self-conscious blog, i have been aware that this place has seen more narratives about my criminal exploits and whatnot than that of a struggling christian. i disappoint myself sometimes that this blog veers to very worldly themes for long stretches.

on top of that, i've been finding it hard to put together well thought out, cohesive and properly written blogs of late. so, as you'll know, this place has been patchy at best in its updates. i'm thinking that if there's something new to read - regular blog or not - it's better than nothing! right?

now i've never been very protective over my prose/fiction. maybe it's because i never fancied myself a fiction writer and so i'm quite loose with showing them around. besides, i could always do with feedback.

so i'm gonna post a short story i wrote called Poker With The Devil, which one might find more faith-inclined than a lot of the rubbish i stash on here in the name of human interest. the piece will be divided into 6 parts. here's the first. enjoy.


POKER WITH THE DEVIL


Every day, I sit down and play poker with the devil. I don't really like it, but I don't have a choice. I remember playing poker with him since I was ten. I used to play with five cent chips, now I play a twenty-forty game. But I still play with limit. It's hard to play no-limit poker, especially with the devil.

I play with him because a long time ago, my grandfather used to play with him. My grandfather played poker with the devil every day. And every day, he would lose. Yet, the thing about my grandfather is that the more he lost the more he went back in to play. He lost everything. My father made some money on his own and went back in to play with the devil as well. He lost everything. His brothers, they went off and studied their poker. They lost everything. All their wives would keep saying, poker is a lying man's game. Of all people, don't play it with the devil.

I remember being brought to the devil's den. All my uncles and aunties and my dad would go there. For some reason, the women never went in. They would see their husbands off at the door and go home. I don't think women weren't allowed inside because there were always a lot of women inside. I don't remember them playing cards with anyone, but they were always there, drinking and talking among themselves. I used to go in. Like I said, I've been playing since I was ten.

The first time I played, I lost the first ten, maybe twenty hands. Then, I won a couple of times, and then came this hand that I remember till this day. I had open kings, and the devil had open jacks. I put in my five cent bet, and the devil saw it, then raised it. At that age, I saw no reason for losing the hand. I had the stronger pair and another five cents to be won. Besides, I was on a roll. Three wins in three. Then, against the custom of things, an uncle standing behind me started hissing softly, "he has another jack, he has another jack". I looked at my pocket - no third king. "He always has another jack".

Someone must have removed that uncle of mine. At any case, I folded. The devil didn't have another jack. I lost. I should have been going home with a brave victory, but I folded like the child I was. To what? To a six of clubs. He didn't have to show it to me, but he did. Until this day, I don't know why he revealed that six of clubs, cos you and I both know, you don't reveal your bluff card if you don't have to. I used to think he did it to make me feel stupid. Nowadays, I think maybe God compelled him to.

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Genusfrog [ 2:44 am ]

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