Antares (named Kit Fong Lee at birth) was born 7 January 1950 in a small Malaysian town. As a 17-year-old exchange student in Essex Fells, New Jersey, he discovered Allen Ginsberg, Walt Whitman, e.e. cummings, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Bob Dylan. In 1992 he relocated to the jungly heartland of the Malayan Peninsula, where he met and married an aboriginal girl, with whom he now shares a cozy home between two magnificent rivers. Two years later he assembled all the scraps of his early poetic excesses and published them as Moth Balls.
Reviewed theatre and arts events for various national newspapers from 1984-1992 and has since written dance, music and book reviews and features for websites and magazines.
An Epilogue of Sorts The quick brown fox of intuition jumps over the lazy dog of intellect. In the cavern, shadows gather round the stew or huddle in crannies (but only on weekends) to hear Platonic oratorios rendered inoffensively by descendants of Aristotle and his Orchestra of Broken Winds. The flatulent frog of financial success hops over the fraudulent toad of commercial excess, Leaving a definite whiff of death and decay. The dead red bleeds through a yellow flag into the deep blue of oceanic woe. It's only a nightmare of carnival ponyrides driven by the slave power of wild horses captured in their sleep. I wake up to the green tones of birds and squirrels trying to hold back the afternoon. Morning is too short and the nights are too long. With rings under their eyes and through their flaming nostrils, froth on their lips and electrode scars on their skulls, the foreign legionnaires of the insane shriek through the streets: "UNPLUG THE JUGGERNAUT!" But their thin voices are drowned by the traffic. I watch from the tower safe behind glass and the sight of a crawling humanity turns my reality into a desperately dull movie with only one redeeming feature: there are no credits and all the blame goes to no one except us. Yes, US. Because we are too busy with our hands to bother thinking what kind of world we are making with our minds. So we leave it all to the Experts. Whose minds are not their own anyway, since nobody gets to be an expert who won't surrender his soul to Mammon & Moloch. And an entire pantheon of pathetically false gods, worshiped neither by animal nor vegetable nor mineral - only by a benighted humanity half-awake to itself, half-asleep in pyjamas of scientific concupiscence, abusing itself in fear and guilt, never knowing ecstasy. theOlogy she’s an Oist she doesn’t believe in GOD she believes in GOOD she doesn’t believe in only one GOOD she believes in many GOODS she’s polytheistic but realistic GOODS ARE GOOD she says proving that Oism goes well with Consumerism ___________ MEMO TO MO God sat in His Office a little worn out. The Day wasn’t done and the Night Before cluttered His desk. Maureen, He said, picking up the phone: cancel Everything! I want to be Alone with You. ________ SIR OILY Sir Oily and his goily Went swimming in the sea Andd were eaten by a big fat slick The same that got Moby Dick __________________ A POEM ABOUT THE SEA I sat on a dead tree watching the mighty rollers break upon the shore And I said to myself, “I shall write a poem about the sea!” Whereupon wave after wave of appropriate phrases flooded into my brain and drowned me. ____________ A WORLD THAT WORKS Next week I will invent a world that works. A world that works will be a place for us to play in. It will be a home sweet home with a heart and a hearth to warm our feet on. There will be room for infants and outfants and elefants too; enough headroom to grow minds up. Enough legroom for every dance of life and the kitchen will always be clean, and the toilet too. A world that works will provide us each with a home in the sun or in the snow – and it will always be comfortable. There will be privacy and publicry built into every room in every home on the vast range of world designed to work while we play. Play will consist of fun and games and drama and action and interaction – no more will reaction move us wrongwards. A world that works will always be right because no one will ever be left out of it. It will be a rubbery stretch- able bouncing ball of a world and nobody can ever get seriously hurt in it unless they insist. And if the world that works doesn’t last forever we’ll invent a forever that works. __________ V-REALITY! Vote for me The Macho Man said. Please cast your ballot in my favor. If there's one thing A Macho Man Can't stand, It's being told He's lost the poll. Empty your boxes, We'll tally the votes And pray god the results Don't add up to a Low Sperm Count, For that would be Tantamount to... Er, listen, Doctor, Dear kindly Doctor... Kindly doctor the Books (We are not crooks) And send that Fat Man the bill! With your hand in the till You may do as you will: Rattle your vinyl seeds And your styrofoam beads. You can fool most of the people Most of the time But you won't get away with Trying to cheat Nature. Isn't that why you're hellbent on Destroying her?
Archive of Antares' Reviews: http://www.kakiseni.com
Essays and random musings at http://www.magickriver.net/wordfile.htm
For a more detailed bio: http://www.magickriver.net/antaresbio.htm
Antares' Blog: http://magickriver.blogspot.com