HazimMy name is Hazim Haemoglobin. Hazim is the name my strict PhD ultra super religious mother gave me. And Haemoglobin is the name I tacked on because I like it. I am not a celebrity. I am not businessman. I am, however, an artist. Not the kind that you see on E! News and guest starring on Glee of course. You should look up the definition of artist.

There, are of course, many definitions, and not all are apt. Oxford is my reference because anybody and/or anything that accepts ‘bootylicious’ and ‘muggles’ as real words gets my respect. The two I feel meshes well with the purpose of this website are:

one who makes their craft a fine art and a follower of a pursuit in which skill comes by study or practice.

The craft is writing. Poetry. Stories. Prose. Articles. Reviews. You name it. I write. It. You want me to write something for you? I can do it. Writing is the only thing I really feel comfortable and confident in saying I can do it well to a  certain degree. This is coming from a clumsy guy who fails at everything else.

Art is such a broad term. Giving blowjobs while being blindfolded could be an art if you ‘make it a fine art’. I really want to hone my writing skills and felt this website would be a  good and simple way for other people and myself included, to track my progress. Sometimes, I read things I’ve written in the past and cringe. Sometimes, I readjust them. I keep the originals in my laptop though.

I was born on the 2nd of December, on a Friday. It was 1988, the day Tata Giacobetti, an Italian singer and lyricist, passed away. I had to Google for that though. Hooray for Tata. I was born in Kuala Lumpur. The womb I came out of belongs to Normah Ghazali, an engineer, a lecturer at Universiti Teknologi Malaysia for two decades now, a thermodynamics specialist, and a strict, but inspiring mother of 5. My father is Ismail Harun. Thanks to his sperm and my mother’s egg, I exist to share with you my nasty thoughts.

That’s enough. If you want to know any more, you can contact me personally and I will happily oblige. Or you can just tune in to this website, a baby I conceived with Martyn Wilson, a brilliant intellect who was crazy enough to think I was worthy of my own website and kind enough to help set it up. Everything here is possible because of his efforts. I could write a billion paragraphs or a thousand poems. It only makes it to daylight because of him. I have written a poem for him in the hopes that he will blush when he reads it. It’s in the form a memoriam stanza...until the last line, that is. Here goes:

mots for Martyn

Disappointed heads hang by cellar doors,

For every hundred give –uppers comes gallantry,
In the form of a British homme who appreciates poetry,
Who sweeps the carpet off all the flaws,

Others dwindle by and fake laughter reigns,
Rings in my ears despite this craving for critique,
There are eyes to read, ears for the nonsense I often speak,
Hands to help lift my ideas time and time again,

I am humbled by the efforts and astounded by your spirit,
If it ever frays, I’ll rock the cliché and I’ll sell my penis to a transvestite,
There are not enough words to show you how much I appreciate this website,
How much I appreciate you believing I can make something of it.

Thank you. And RAWR

Hazim fails at arm wrestling

-Hazim Haemoglobin-



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