Monthly Archives: November 2011

Umi, the kiss of the ocean | A short story

Published in Japan Anthology (Pirene’s Fountain, Chicago, 2011). This piece is written shortly after the tsunami hit Japan in March 2011. Click on artwork & read the sad, magical story of the sea.


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How to be notorious without showing an inch of naked skin…well, barely

This Czechoslovakian production wasn’t the first non-pornographic film to depict sexual intercourse, but it is the first movie to feature an actress, Hedy Lamarr, in her star-making role, simulating an orgasm onscreen. Lamarr’s non-sexual nude caused censorship, bans and denouncements of the film from the U.S. Department of the Treasury, Adolph Hitler and Pope Pius XII. However,  the close-ups on the facial expressions of a woman in bliss were certainly as objectionable, if not more so, for the time.

Watch the odalisque infinity in Ecstasy  (1933) by Gustav Machaty.

This video is suspended due to terms of service violation

Below is Blessed Ludovica Albertoni by Gian Lorenzo Berinini, in which the Baroque master depicts in marble the nun on her deathbed, her earthly sufferings as well as religious ecstasy.


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Nomen est, the perfect malady

Google doodle today. Marie Skłodowska Curie (1867 – 1934), better known as Madame Curie, was a Polish–French physicist–chemist famous for her pioneering research on radioactivity, a term coined by herself). She was the first person honoured with two Nobel Prizes, in physics and chemistry. She was the first female professor at the University of Paris. She was the first woman to be entombed on her own merits in the Paris Panthéon.

Curiosity is a malady like love is, and in the end, you get killed by it. That’s Curie’s story. She died of cancer from radium/uranium, her love poison she had been studying her entire life. Look well, it’s even in her name. Nomen est. The perfect malady. Malady as vocation.

Today my muse and heroine turned 144.

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The wolf at her heels (The wolf is the highest butterfly you can fly)

 Artwork: The telltale sweetheart by J O’Yang, Ink on Oriental paper

*Artwork is inspired by Four Seasons written by Li Yu (李渔) in 1657 during the Qing Dynasty. 

One day the boy was bored. He climbed up a tree and cried: “Wolf! Wolf!” Upon hearing, people from his village all came running to save his life. When they found out that there was no wolf, the villagers shook their head and went back to whatever they were doing. Next time the boy climbed up the tree and cried again: “Wolf! Wolf!” Again the villagers came all running to capture the wolf. Again they found only the wind dancing with trees. There was no wolf. So again people went back to their work. They left the boy to himself without saying anything. When the same episode repeated for the third time, people decided that the boy was a liar who is not a liar when he KNOWS he is a liar. But then, one day they heard the boy on the tree again, crying: “Wolf! Wolf!”, and of course no one came this time, and of course this time the wolf was real. “Heck! What are these people!” the boy thought to himself indignantly. He was very afraid, because the wolf was very big and very black. All right, he decided, since no-one came, I shall have to be brave and save myself. The boy came down the tree and ate the wolf. On that day literature was born.

———————–Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ-Picnic on literature ©Julie O’Yang 2011


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I see I see little eye, it’s a TINY RED DOT, and it’s not the Little Riding Hood. Her name is…Singapore

Four Asian Tigers is a term used in reference to the highly developed economies of Hong Kong, Singapore, South Korea and Taiwan. These nations and areas were notable for maintaining exceptionally high growth rates and rapid industrialisation. By the 21st century, all four have developed into advanced and high-income economies. BUT, there is a big but, as some would say “there’s no good without evil”.

Joining us today in the “GAME OF LIFE AND DEATH” is the Singaporean author Jeremy Fernando. Jeremy will unveil the secrets of the Little Red Riding Hood trying to play a “mediocre dragon”.

First I need you to go through some “weird”parts of laws in Singapore:

1. It is against the law and a public caning offense to not flush the toilet after using it. Again, that’s common sense, but in Singapore you might be getting a large fine for that, too, as the police officers randomly check on public checkrooms.

2. You Litter You Pay-Big Time. A litter law dating from 1968 is the country’s way of keeping clean. Disregard the law, drop trash on the ground in this Southeast Asian city, and you’ll pay $1,000. On top of that you’ll also be forced to do community forced labor. And if you do it three times, you’ll have to wear a “I am a litter lout” sign. Along the same lines, it looks like Singapore has a law saying that relieving yourself in an elevator is particularly forbidden.

3. Chewing gum sales forbidden. if you had some garlic and on your way to a meeting or a date, you may be out of luck if you plan on having some chewing gum to get rid of the scent. Apparently Singapore prohibited the sale of gum after authorities have noticed a prolific amount of chewed gum being stuck in subway stations and on cars. As weird as it may sound, Singapore allows you to actually chew gum. Just make sure you stick it at the trash can, otherwise great fines apply.

4. Don’t walk around your house naked. In Singapore, pornography is illegal, and anything to do with it may result in imprisonment or hefty fines. Along the same lines, the country thinks that nudity has to do with pornography, too, so better watch out carefully when you dress for bed — someone might see you. Also, make sure you don’t hand anyone a Playboy magazine. It’s the same.

5. No hugging without permission. Haven’t seen your loved one for a long time, just make sure you’re not over affectionate when you guys meet in a public space as you could be charged for outraging modesty and end up in jail. If lucky it’s juts a fine.

6. No poking adverse comments at religion. If you’re not really into God or you have your own deity to believe in, keep it to yourself as in Singapore it’s a highly serious matter and you can be cited for sedition.

7. Crooks go to jail. Of course they do, it’s common sense, but here’s something weird to think of. Apparently, if you’re introducing a stranger as your good friend, speak well of him and it proves to be false, you’ll be convicted for abetment. Watch out who you endorse as you can’t fool these guys!

8. Connecting on unsecured Wi-Fi hotspots means hacking. Need just “some” Internet to read mail or reserve some train tickets? Better go to an Internet cafe shop rather than logging in on an unsecured network. In Singapore it’s called hacking and you could end up in jail, or if lucky you’ll be paying a pretty huge fine.

That’s Singapore, the “fine” city, with good, and bad.

(Internet sources)

IT’S A TRICK, HERE ARE SOME RULES. AND, USE YOUR FANTASY                                                             

By Jeremy Fernando

It’s O.K. with me, but there are 211 million people [in Indonesia]. All the green [area] is Indonesia. And that red dot is Singapore. (Bacharuddin Jusuf Habibie, Asian Wall Street Journal, August 1998)

Red dot.

The tiny red dot.

That is the comment that echoes. That stays in the minds of many. The assessment of this island-state by then Indonesian President Habibie; whilst pointing to a map no less.

Meant as a jibe of course.

Habibie as agent provocateur.

Trouble is. He was right.

But it is not as if we never knew that. We long ago recognised the folly of the British—they with their notions of Singapore as the “impregnable fortress”. They thought we were a state. One that could withstand all, hold off everyone. Now people are making an even greater error (even Habibie who was accidentally right)—they think Singapore is a country.

We know we are not. Never were. Never will be.

We are a city.

More precisely, a port city.

Everyone is welcome;

For the right price.

Wealth and speed are what the world admires, what each pursues. Railways, express mails, steamships and every possible facility for communications are the achievement in which the civilized world view and revels, only to languish in mediocrity by that very fact. Indeed, the effect of this diffusion is to spread the culture of the mediocre.

(Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe)

Rarely is Goethe as right (wealth and speed are everything) and wrong (he thinks mediocrity is a problem) in the same sentence.

If you listen carefully, in mediocrity there are echoes of the medius, the medial. Here, one should never forget Aristotle’s teaching that the mean is everything. This is not an overarching mean, a flattening gesture which effaces the situation, but a middle that is born from the singular; immanent, situational. A method if you will: recalling  that all methods are haunted by journeys (meta hodos; over a path); only knowable as it is encountered.

Which is not to say that there are no dangers.

For, even as mediocrity reminds us of the search for the middle, the in between, there are always spectres of peaks, points (okris), jagged mountains (ocris), threatening to tear, break, rupture.

One is median—whilst avoiding the dangers of the journey—not by avoiding conflict, but by having nothing to be in conflict with.

By seeing no contradiction in opposites.

[Sodomy is out-lawed in Singapore. The port-city is also one of the gay hubs of Asia.]

But it is not as if there are no rules. In fact, in this way, the rules have to be stricter than ever.

Not laws: which can be bent, broken.

Rules: you either follow and play. Or leave.

The absolute rule is maximum productivity.

[Instead of ruling out homosexuality, subsume it.

Who cares who you sleep with, as long as you generate. Surplus value is no longer limited to merely (re)producing another person; we have long ago already commodified persons.  This means they are completely exchangeable.

If you can’t produce another person, replace her with something else – if you cannot generate a person, generate income.  As long as there is (re)production, everything is fine. ]

But just because everyone is exchangeable doesn’t mean that we’d openly admit it.

It is not just that we need illusions to ease, to filter, reality; without appearances, reality itself would crumble.

This is the lesson of Stalinism.

When Khrushchev denounced Stalin in 1956, many collapsed in shock, a few even killed themselves afterwards. It was not that no one knew Stalin was a monster. But just because you know it does not mean that you can say it.

We know that it is not always a ‘good morning’. That uttering it to each other is merely ritualistic. Phatic communication.

Try not saying it.

The very reality of your social existance depends on performing that illusion.

On the evening of 17 August 2008, Singaporeans were faced with a dilemma: do we cheer for the table-tennis girls that are standing on podium at the Beijing Olympics?  This was the first Olympics medal Singapore has won for the last 48 years.  However, many were still skeptical whether these athletes­—donning Singapore colours—were even Singaporean: after all, they were born in China and had been acquired by the Foreign Talent Scheme to boost our sporting success.

Naturally all Singaporean played along: ‘it’s good that we won, but it would have been so much better if the players were born here.’ What else is this but protecting the illusion that some of us actually belong here.

Are daughters of the land.

That even though anyone who can generate surplus is accepted, some of us have a right to belong.

To utter otherwise would shatter the omerta.

It would be to call out that the emperor is naked. That the port city is just that—a place of movement, transit, transaction.

And like when a magician that breaks the code, the revelation of the tricks of her trade will ensure her ostracisation from the community—even though no one actually believes that it is real.

Even though every viewer harbours the fantasy of being able to crack the secret of any magic trick that they have witnessed.

The moment a trick is unveiled, not only is the illusion itself destroyed, but more crucially the very illusion of the magician itself (of someone who has a certain ‘special’ ability that you and I don’t have) is destroyed.  What this reveals to the viewer is that the underlying secret of all magic is: it is the viewer that actually creates the illusion (that there is an illusion that will take place) for herself.

And for this very reason, the code exacts its vengeance on the magician.

The success of the port lies in being anything you want it to be.

For that, it has to be nothing. Not in a banal nihilistic sense. But a nothingness that is open to all possibilities.

To anything.

Your fantasy.

For a fee, nothing more.

The great stars or seductresses never dazzle because of their talent or intelligence, but because of their absence. They are dazzling in their nullity, and in their coldness—

(Jean Baudrillard, Seduction, 96)

Jeremy Fernando is the Jean Baudrillard Fellow at The European Graduate School. He works in the intersections of literature, philosophy, and the media; and is the author of 5 books—most recently Writing Death. He is the editor of both Delere Press and the thematic magazine One Imperative; and can be found at

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