Pride banned...

First, photos of same sex kisses.



Next, this wondeful satorical piece.

LEE LOW TAR
A metatextual farce by Ng Yi-Sheng
Composed Tuesday 24 July, 2007.

Vladimir's consequent graduation from junior college and enlistment in the army came as a momentary relief for those of us who hoped that the work might then evolve into a more conventional coming-of-age novella. We were thus dismayed by the author's monomaniac focus on the sexual development of his character, representing scene after scene of furtive coition on the part of the hero with a rapid succession of warrant officers, majors, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, generals and canteen uncles. And I quote:

As I stroked his thigh, the RSM moaned in hapless pleasure.

"Recruit Koh! You... you must drop 20 now! I have a wife, three children, two grandchildren and a mistress in Bintan!"

The crabs on his lapels trembled as I unbuttoned the fly of his number four. I cast his trousers across into the corner of the armskote room and looked archly into his eyes.

"But certainly, Warrant Singh. I will knock it down. I will knock it down. And in, and up, and towards any direction you desire."

"Recruit Koh! You must not..."

He attempted to run, but I ran after and touched his tree. And he ran back. And I oiled his weapon. I feasted on that combat ration, the tastiest night-snack in BMTC. I played with his signal set, and when I stuck my equipment into his firing chamber, elephants came out the other end...

The work was to be read aloud at a event to be held on Sunday 5 Aug. After the ban, the author has permitted the very funny work to be published on Yawningbread. I LOVE this part about cruising our nation's Glorious Leader at a National Day parade! Maybe that's explains his recent change of heart.

It pains me to speak further of this text, but I have yet to highlight the author's most shameful literary transgression, which begins in Chapter 69, during National Day Celebrations, when seated in proximity to the Members of Parliament.

Amidst the pomp of scarlet balloons and nacreous ribbon, I sneered at the sickening mass of toned muscle and limber skeleton before me. Post-65 MPs, all of them! Hip-hop dancers and bloggers, sickening in their pretense to stentorian dignity!

Then I saw him enter. The great founder of our country, the grand architect, who forsook his crown that our future might grow in the hands of his son! Slowly, like a taichi master, he made his way to the box seats, camera lenses glued to his every movement.

I was rapt. I salivated into my goody-pack.

Then he turned. He squinted. Our gazes locked.

Who is this politician the author refers to? The one he calls "Lee Low Tar"? Oh, he may think he is very clever, but he has dug his own grave with a fiction that is libelous; nay, deserving of excommunication for its sin!

What twisted anger rests in this man's soul, that he would compose the twenty-page scene that follows in the National Stadium shower rooms, with three hundred schoolchildren in glitter makeup hammering at the door demanding to be allowed to urinate?

Never shall I be able to look at a chemiluminescent lightstick, a miniature flag, nor a string of orchids the same way ever, ever again! The sadist! Why, he even made him cry!

What next?

Wilson and I are definitely turning up for that Pink Run/Walk down at the Botanic Gardens on Saturday 11 Aug. Details here.