the journey of Master Marc's boy

6 December 2016

The calendar monster has pacing into the end of 2016, without much attention to details, it has travel a full circle and currently travelling on the December map of the year. A few days ago, facebook pops up a photo of me in front of a big strawberry and raspberry birthday cake five years ago. i was having a rather long hair where i would use my hair to cover up a small part of my eye. i believe it made me feel safer, even if it’s an silly act of “if i can’t see you, you can’t see me” that i knew didn’t work. i was aware the fact that feeding myself big dosage of illusions would be the only way of surviving. i vaguely remember as i was clapping my hand for the birthday cake, i subconsciously tell myself, it will be the last birthday cake that i will ever have, at least for some years if not forever.

i was 18 years old that year, the number 18 in the field of “age” is a magical one. it means you are culturally and officially announcing that you are an adult. at least in Malaysia, the number is 18. you can finally sign a slave contract and negotiate your soul with devils. you can finally walks through that secret forest of witch craft and go on into an adventure to find the special moonlight lake, just for an evening of spirit bath, with cheeseboard and goblet of blood.

i was 18 years old, and that was my last birthday cake.

it was dedicated in searching of all the imageries, realities and lives that is outside of my comfort zone, beyond the rules and regulations. Like the corner in Singapore that is without barricades for pedestrians, the abandoned corner that hasn’t installed a CCTV, the public toilet where gay mens use their eyeballs movements as communicative technology. That slight angled cheek and less angled smiles. i was curious about how the fellow misfitted human beings around the country that i live in, how do they navigate their everyday life. Do they wake up and put on a formal suit and tie telling themselves to just plunge through the day so the night will comes when they can un-suit their masks. Do they bite their teeth through the day time just so they can come home and hold on to their whips. Zone off during a meeting just so they can slap their submissive so bad that he bleeds.

five years have past, i can’t trace my way back to the origins nor can i trace my way forward. Just like when i was blowing the 18 candles on the birthday cake, i know the journey is going to be the kind that i will be disorientated and fragmented, it is the price for moonlight lake, travellers are destined to get lost and found their ways along the lost path. Sacrificing the origins of the roots of ties and binds are part of the requirements in getting lost and explorations.

Along the journey, i met a special traveller who possesses rare, and powerful magical power who can channel moonlight into the lake, who can make time pause, slowdown, and making spaces of timelessness. i still remember the first time i met him, he casted a spell like a series of webs of sigils in front of my face and disappeared. i was a newbie who have tried to draw different kind of sigils trying to gain connection to just seek guidance or talk with him. In this past five years, we sometime met in the dark forest and get to practise and taste some of the tastiest spells. We take our own paths in search of rare elements for each other. Time, weather, and the complex routes of the forests always are our challenges. Sometime because of the frustration of the spell that doesn’t work, we can’t help but cast storms to channel our negative energy out. of sadness, frustration, loneliness, anger, and all that. Sometime, we just sit or kneel under the storms and let the rain pours down, while knowing that absorbing it is the only to stop the storms.

Today, i have my head and pubic hair shaved, a collar with a locked lock when i am out and a leather one when i am indoor serving Master. All of those are symbolic representation of my identity as a slaveboy to my Master, my Owner. This journey of giving the claim of my selves to Master hasn’t been an easy one, 5 years later, i am still a lost traveller who try to navigate a decent life that is steadier. learning how to catch fishes and plant fruits, to keep surviving until the next full moon when it lit up the lake. Until then, it is all about having fresh sashimi and tuna for lonely nights, and a rabbit corner for stormy days. i am grateful for all the spells that i can to cast, and those spell that are casted on my by my Master, i am guilty for all the storms that hovering for when the forest get darks and complex maze, and i am more than ready to absorb the future storms for Master.

1 January 2016

Can someone tell me how,

give me a potion of drug, a mouthful of wind.

let me narrate myself in the most innocent manner.

Growing up isn’t the easiest thing for me to do.

Climbing the ladder of age can’t be more confusing than

the 100 meter square maize.

I have lost my narration,

And here I am, the first day of 2016.

Losing hope in humanities,

Dreams and passions, they all are illusions and delusion.

All the butterflies living in my stomach, have died

drown in factual analysis.

Someone, please prescribe a potion of drug,

a mouthful of wind

and set my butterflies alive.