by Aizuddin Mohamed Anuar
A strange dream infects and distorts reality:
The former Abah publicly announces that he is overcome by watery defecations, embarrassed to employ the vernacular term—cirit-birit. We will plunder your solidarity and mask it as ours. Mother Superior questions the jealousy of her subjects. The banker, a gold spoon in his mouth, underplays ghosts of economic woes. Tear down the forests, uproot the natives. Beneath their feet lie our riches! Politikus rush to offer a contingent, helping hand after fraternising with pungent fruit. Pose for the camera; perform your gratitude for the rats. Tranquilo. Raise me unto the heaven of public opinion as I do exactly what I am overpaid to do. Junior healers live on borrowed time. There’s something about baguettes and croissants in the bourgeois heart of darkness. The police state creeps in, hangs thick in the road, muffling the sounds of struggle. Feminine excess takes the form of a “glow-up” as power revels in a new, hollow image. Sell your faith in the markets. Pray the pain away. Gatopardismo. You are told it is all in your head because we are one big happy family…
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