i know that this is going to sound a little supercilious, but it is the truth.
i am and want to be a good person (the two may simultaneously be possible) for no selfish reason, not to feel good or superior, nor to make others feel inferior. praise and respect (even for goodliness) are for me neither sufficient nor necessary. i do not act as a good person only to people i like, nor only because i want their affection and admiration (and note that both points are individual and significant). i do not also act goodly because of any consequential utility of being good, or at least, in so far as such utility is superceded by the possibility of an individual's character-development.
if i may feel glad for being and wanting to be a good person, if i obtain any gladness from any singular, any undivided reason, it is that from knowing me, all may consider that it is possible for any man, any one among us, humans, to be good, if one is willing, and honest, and compassionate.
and we each have unto us a measure of these qualities; therefore by good reason and value and desire, it is possible for the everyman, woman and child to be a good person.
you will point to this and that occasion where i fell short in some way. i grant that you will be able to. and you will say, but what is this goodness, if indeed it is even good? i grant that you may castigate one man's ideals, as you may castigate a people's ideals.
but i shall be glad if you think it possible. i shall be glad if you entertain the possibility that there is a good thing and a good light and a good element and a good facet and a good reflection in every one of us. a goodness which given reasonable circumstances may prove self-sustaining. grant me that much, and i shall be glad. and if perhaps you are already so minded, and i have not been a cause for doubt, than i am glad.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
CXXIX - a tacit approval of things, appended
studying and playing away, the twilight of my young days. yet already i am the last of my kind. but let me not pause to reflect here, for one who has reflected enough and yet more, the twilight is no longer ideal. it is the waning light, the fading echoes of an afternoon glow, mere reveries of the best daytime. like the feeling one gets near the end of a beloved book, the thinning pages, the shallow hope which betrays in confusion as the story arcs to its end, the onset of nostalgia, of wistfully savouring the concluding paragraphs. let me but pause here to recite the end to the three musketeers, which has always been my first recollection of an example when it comes to such moments.
so, what are my fears? none, and yet perhaps not none. i fear that my strengths will diminish, of course. enthusiasm. an hitherto robust curiosity and appetite for learning this world. joy at some things, childishness and an infectious amusement. time in myself. time spent thinking. yes, these are my fears. i am comforted by the strength i have grown to know in my solitude, and by the general belief that things are as they should be. and yet, by whose hand? it is a miracle that days go by for us at all, when some dark days it is a miracle we get by. the irony is perhaps that some days go by without pause to reflect.
i think that, from my reflections, the question chiefly on my mind is, who am i? some time ago it may have been, what am i? maybe why am i here? or what am i doing? and it's greater cousin, what am i supposed to be doing? it occasionally segues into, what time is it? and we sigh and leave off dreaming for a time. all of these are good and important questions in their own time. but for me it seems to have come full circle to revert to the question, who am i. and it is a short answer to say, i am ian ho. and yet it carries many things for me, because when i think of my name and by instinct or by intuition i generate my mental self-image, i recollect a profound image of myself, one which perhaps i hope to convey to those who know me. i think that who am i is the question which i have carefully protected and kept close to me, and which has returned to me that conviction which propels me onward. in fact, i think that it is the only question which is both necessary and sufficient for living as one's own being.
mercy then, for those who need to ask other questions to survive in this life.
----------
but let me go back and be a bit more precise. it is not that i ask myself this question; it is that i live as if i am constantly, albeit inadvertently, trying to divine an understanding of who i am. indeed i am afraid the moment one begins to put the answer to this question in words, what is gained is not what is sought for, that is, a mysterious, profound sense of who one is and is like. thought processes, emotions, interests, personality traits, the very exercise of the mind, the paths one treads subconsciously, these illustrate and are themselves part of who one is.
it seems to me that the other questions are meaningless, given time. yes, in retrospect, that is a terribly imprecise assertion to make. but it seems to me, when the pessimistic mood catches, that there are too many things i cannot right in this world that, whatever else i do, those things will be swallowed up by the unimaginably unwieldy and unkind remainder. in other words, the world will go on without me, for better or for worse, as it always has, cruelly, fatally cruelly. what is one drop of kindness in this ocean of suffering that is ours? what is one good intent, one kind deed, one warm word? the futility of it all! and what is more, perhaps my own state of affairs are such that i cannot even right the wrongs i do myself, much less the wrongs i see, correctly or not (and who is to say what is correct? dare i or not?) in my immediate reach.
but maybe the who-question is meaningless as well. what can it matter whether one man knows himself out of so many?
i can see that very quickly this discussion will turn teleological, that is, it will revolve around questions of purpose, aim and function. my instincts are wary of jumping too quickly to the side of teleological analyses, for it relies on the methodological assumption that one is given a purpose, or a job to do, by someone or something else. a god, or a shared idea, something like that. humanity, for instance. but there are as many beliefs about "final causes" as there are multitudes of reasonable (or not) men.
so as you see, we can go no further at the present. that is the chief complaint about such 'philosophical' inquiring. but i cannot say more than that it is better to know what you do not know than not to know at all; or was it the other way around? i guess it depends... and who can say who is right? sometimes the cat disappears first, but sometimes the smile. and shall one doubt the internal coherence of a Wonderland? shall one question another man's preference for say, ignorance?
"Well," said he, "they likewise have refused me."
"That, dear friend, is because nobody is more worthy than yourself."
He took a quill, wrote the name of d'Artagnan in the commission, and returned it to him.
"I shall then have no more friends," said the young man. "Alas! nothing but bitter recollections."
And he let his head sink upon his hands, while two large tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You are young," replied Athos; "and your bitter recollections have time to change themselves into sweet remembrances."
so, what are my fears? none, and yet perhaps not none. i fear that my strengths will diminish, of course. enthusiasm. an hitherto robust curiosity and appetite for learning this world. joy at some things, childishness and an infectious amusement. time in myself. time spent thinking. yes, these are my fears. i am comforted by the strength i have grown to know in my solitude, and by the general belief that things are as they should be. and yet, by whose hand? it is a miracle that days go by for us at all, when some dark days it is a miracle we get by. the irony is perhaps that some days go by without pause to reflect.
i think that, from my reflections, the question chiefly on my mind is, who am i? some time ago it may have been, what am i? maybe why am i here? or what am i doing? and it's greater cousin, what am i supposed to be doing? it occasionally segues into, what time is it? and we sigh and leave off dreaming for a time. all of these are good and important questions in their own time. but for me it seems to have come full circle to revert to the question, who am i. and it is a short answer to say, i am ian ho. and yet it carries many things for me, because when i think of my name and by instinct or by intuition i generate my mental self-image, i recollect a profound image of myself, one which perhaps i hope to convey to those who know me. i think that who am i is the question which i have carefully protected and kept close to me, and which has returned to me that conviction which propels me onward. in fact, i think that it is the only question which is both necessary and sufficient for living as one's own being.
mercy then, for those who need to ask other questions to survive in this life.
----------
but let me go back and be a bit more precise. it is not that i ask myself this question; it is that i live as if i am constantly, albeit inadvertently, trying to divine an understanding of who i am. indeed i am afraid the moment one begins to put the answer to this question in words, what is gained is not what is sought for, that is, a mysterious, profound sense of who one is and is like. thought processes, emotions, interests, personality traits, the very exercise of the mind, the paths one treads subconsciously, these illustrate and are themselves part of who one is.
it seems to me that the other questions are meaningless, given time. yes, in retrospect, that is a terribly imprecise assertion to make. but it seems to me, when the pessimistic mood catches, that there are too many things i cannot right in this world that, whatever else i do, those things will be swallowed up by the unimaginably unwieldy and unkind remainder. in other words, the world will go on without me, for better or for worse, as it always has, cruelly, fatally cruelly. what is one drop of kindness in this ocean of suffering that is ours? what is one good intent, one kind deed, one warm word? the futility of it all! and what is more, perhaps my own state of affairs are such that i cannot even right the wrongs i do myself, much less the wrongs i see, correctly or not (and who is to say what is correct? dare i or not?) in my immediate reach.
but maybe the who-question is meaningless as well. what can it matter whether one man knows himself out of so many?
i can see that very quickly this discussion will turn teleological, that is, it will revolve around questions of purpose, aim and function. my instincts are wary of jumping too quickly to the side of teleological analyses, for it relies on the methodological assumption that one is given a purpose, or a job to do, by someone or something else. a god, or a shared idea, something like that. humanity, for instance. but there are as many beliefs about "final causes" as there are multitudes of reasonable (or not) men.
so as you see, we can go no further at the present. that is the chief complaint about such 'philosophical' inquiring. but i cannot say more than that it is better to know what you do not know than not to know at all; or was it the other way around? i guess it depends... and who can say who is right? sometimes the cat disappears first, but sometimes the smile. and shall one doubt the internal coherence of a Wonderland? shall one question another man's preference for say, ignorance?
Monday, November 12, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
CXXVII - on job
he performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.
when he passes me, i cannot see him; when he goes by, i cannot perceive him.
if he snatches away, who can stop him? who can say to him, ‘what are you doing?’
God does not restrain his anger; even the cohorts of rahab cowered at his feet.
how then can I dispute with him? how can i find words to argue with him?
though i were innocent, i could not answer him; i could only plead with my judge for mercy.
even if i summoned him and he responded, i do not believe he would give me a hearing.
he would crush me with a storm and multiply my wounds for no reason.
he would not let me catch my breath but would overwhelm me with misery.
...
i loathe my very life; therefore i will give free rein to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul.
i say to God: do not declare me guilty, but tell me what charges you have against me.
does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the work of your hands, while you smile on the plans of the wicked?
do you have eyes of flesh? do you see as a mortal sees?
are your days like those of a mortal or your years like those of a strong man, that you must search out my faults and probe after my sin -
...
is my complaint directed to a human being? why should i not be impatient?
look at me and be appalled; clap your hand over your mouth.
when i think about this, i am terrified; trembling seizes my body.
why do the wicked live on, growing old and increasing in power?
they see their children established around them, their offspring before their eyes.
their homes are safe and free from fear; the rod of God is not on them.
...
can anyone teach knowledge to God, since he judges even the highest?
one person dies in full vigor, completely secure and at ease,
well nourished in body, bones rich with marrow.
another dies in bitterness of soul, never having enjoyed anything good.
...
far be it from God to do evil, from the almighty to do wrong.
he repays everyone for what they have done; he brings on them what their conduct deserves.
it is unthinkable that God would do wrong, that the almighty would pervert justice.
...
here's what i think of the book on job. i take the point that God is omnipotent and omnipresent - although that is quite definitional, but nonetheless i take the point. but here's what i think from reading chapters 38-42 - i think that God bullied job into submission, when job's questions should not have required him to submit.
okay. so God says, procedurally, you don't ask me those questions. well, i think there's room, biblically speaking, for disagreement with God, so procedurally, it never is out of bounds to ask, and in any case i shouldn't think we need to be satisfied with this kind of dismissal. see romans 9:
therefore God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy, and he hardens whom he wants to harden. one of you will say to me: “then why does God still blame us? for who is able to resist his will?” but who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘why did you make me like this?’” does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?
i daresay this is not satisfactory.
God seems to mainly rely on his omnipotence and un-knowability, which is to me a non-starter because i think God is required (well, obliged, honour-bound, dare i say, eager to defend himself) to reply on our terms if we seek him on those in good faith, and none the less so because he considers himself the well-spring of justice and mercy, and has "given" us good reason, desire and conscience, so as to appreciate those very virtues. we are, after all, encouraged to seek him, so it stands to reason that God would condescend a little and guide our puny human understanding in spirit and in truth. and yes, he created the heavens and the earth, and all that is in it. but the question remains, given some god-power, is it not possible that someone else might do a more reasonable job than God has?
the Lord said to job:
will the one who contends with the almighty correct him? let him who accuses God answer him!”
then job answered the Lord:
“i am unworthy—how can i reply to you? i put my hand over my mouth.
i spoke once, but i have no answer—twice, but i will say no more.”
then the Lord spoke to job out of the storm:
“brace yourself like a man; i will question you, and you shall answer me.
“would you discredit my justice? would you condemn me to justify yourself?
do you have an arm like God’s, and can your voice thunder like his?
then adorn yourself with glory and splendor, and clothe yourself in honor and majesty.
unleash the fury of your wrath, look at all who are proud and bring them low,
look at all who are proud and humble them, crush the wicked where they stand.
bury them all in the dust together; shroud their faces in the grave.
then i myself will admit to you that your own right hand can save you.
if a human being told you this, he would be a tyrant. a tyrant.
if you told me the ultimate answer is Jesus Christ, i would take the point as well, but my question remains, what's up with the flood, etc. i assume you to agree with me that the only reason one is not saved is because he has refused it; would you therefore rightly claim that those people who died in the flood, etc., refused salvation?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
CXXVI - but afternoon colours
"alas! what are you, after all, my written and painted thoughts! not long ago you were so variegated, young and malicious, so full of thorns and secret spices, that you made me sneeze and laugh -- and now? you have already doffed your novelty, and some of you, i fear, are ready to become truths, so immortal do they look, so pathetically honest, so tedious! and was it ever otherwise? what then do we write and paint, we mandarins with chinese brush, we immortalisers of things which lend themselves to writing, what are we alone capable of painting? alas, only that which is just about to fade and begins to lose its odour! alas, only exhausted and departing storms and belated yellow sentiments! alas, only birds strayed and fatigued by flight, which now let themselves be captured with the hand -- with our hand! we immortalize what cannot live and fly much longer, things only which are exhausted and mellow! and it is only for your afternoon, you, my written and painted thoughts, for which alone i have colours, many colours, perhaps, many variegated softenings, and fifty yellows and browns and greens and reds; -- but nobody will divine thereby how ye looked in your morning, you sudden sparks and marvels of my solitude, you, my old, beloved -- evil thoughts!"
- friedrich nietzsche, beyond good and evil
- friedrich nietzsche, beyond good and evil
Saturday, October 27, 2012
CXXV - le diatribe
written in response to a quoted christian poem, after a long and deep talk with said quoter. a good friend.
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well, i've heard so many versions of this "wonderful unknowable work of God" that i guess you could say it doesn't do very much for me anymore.
like i've said, i believe in it, sure, but what does it mean to, on the one hand, accept that God's work is like this, and on the other hand, to live a very strange and imperfect life, which to many, is all there seems to be to it? and life is so cruel and hopeless and quite ridiculous sometimes, and how is it that we have lives full and happy while others are poor or downtrodden and piteous? it just doesn't make sense how INCONGRUOUS it all is, as if the underlying principle has a fatal flaw in it.
the thing i can't get my head around is that life seems to be a stupid game but it is such an awful one. i mean, if we all simply have to believe before we die, what else is life about? could you really say that a full christian life, furthering the kingdom etc. means anything? how many christians even do that, or understand what they believe in? on top of that, how many of them give a heck about how the world really is, without being handicapped by their own insecurities?
and life seems to have no meaning if you consider that some die without even really living at all, not the way we have. we are chosen, but why? it doesn't make sense, it doesn't have a coherence i imagine a good world to have. and (this is a real issue i think, for non-christians) how is it then that the good world i imagine is better than one which God has made? would you not agree that given some Creator power it is possible we might make a kinder world?
i'll take it as given that you agree with me that loving God by choice is something that God wishes from us the most, i.e. it is the key underlying thing in the bible. but the thing is to have choice one must have certain pre-conditions, like say, having heard the Word, and being in a position to accept it and believe. but that doesn't hold true for everyone who's ever lived. and for some the roots and thorns of this world have really strangled the growth of the seed. can nothing be done for them? but how cruel life is!
it irks me all the time that these are questions to which the answer is that, God's work is unknowable, his foolishness is better than the wisdom of man, and that we have all sinned and brought death and ruin to this world. i can accept that faith is a leap of logic, but the faith i want to believe in must make sense to my mind. and the terrible state of the world is strong evidence that there is a senseless element to it, to christianity. here's one - did God really send a flood to kill everyone in Noah's time? why wasn't Jesus enough for them? and if God doesn't change, then what does it all mean?
look this is all a bit of a diatribe and i don't really expect you to want to reply it at all. but this is how i feel with my mind and my heart. i think you know what i mean, i think you do. and to me, i doubt any christian author can tell me more than what i already know from reading the bible. and when i read stuff that takes all this for granted, it also irks me. i'm sure you can see why i've stopped going to church, and looking for christian "wisdom". well, sorry to drop all that on you. haha i'd give you a wry smile now.
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well, i've heard so many versions of this "wonderful unknowable work of God" that i guess you could say it doesn't do very much for me anymore.
like i've said, i believe in it, sure, but what does it mean to, on the one hand, accept that God's work is like this, and on the other hand, to live a very strange and imperfect life, which to many, is all there seems to be to it? and life is so cruel and hopeless and quite ridiculous sometimes, and how is it that we have lives full and happy while others are poor or downtrodden and piteous? it just doesn't make sense how INCONGRUOUS it all is, as if the underlying principle has a fatal flaw in it.
the thing i can't get my head around is that life seems to be a stupid game but it is such an awful one. i mean, if we all simply have to believe before we die, what else is life about? could you really say that a full christian life, furthering the kingdom etc. means anything? how many christians even do that, or understand what they believe in? on top of that, how many of them give a heck about how the world really is, without being handicapped by their own insecurities?
and life seems to have no meaning if you consider that some die without even really living at all, not the way we have. we are chosen, but why? it doesn't make sense, it doesn't have a coherence i imagine a good world to have. and (this is a real issue i think, for non-christians) how is it then that the good world i imagine is better than one which God has made? would you not agree that given some Creator power it is possible we might make a kinder world?
i'll take it as given that you agree with me that loving God by choice is something that God wishes from us the most, i.e. it is the key underlying thing in the bible. but the thing is to have choice one must have certain pre-conditions, like say, having heard the Word, and being in a position to accept it and believe. but that doesn't hold true for everyone who's ever lived. and for some the roots and thorns of this world have really strangled the growth of the seed. can nothing be done for them? but how cruel life is!
it irks me all the time that these are questions to which the answer is that, God's work is unknowable, his foolishness is better than the wisdom of man, and that we have all sinned and brought death and ruin to this world. i can accept that faith is a leap of logic, but the faith i want to believe in must make sense to my mind. and the terrible state of the world is strong evidence that there is a senseless element to it, to christianity. here's one - did God really send a flood to kill everyone in Noah's time? why wasn't Jesus enough for them? and if God doesn't change, then what does it all mean?
look this is all a bit of a diatribe and i don't really expect you to want to reply it at all. but this is how i feel with my mind and my heart. i think you know what i mean, i think you do. and to me, i doubt any christian author can tell me more than what i already know from reading the bible. and when i read stuff that takes all this for granted, it also irks me. i'm sure you can see why i've stopped going to church, and looking for christian "wisdom". well, sorry to drop all that on you. haha i'd give you a wry smile now.
Friday, October 19, 2012
CXXIV - small notes and smallish conclusions
beyond good and evil is a very strange book. but at least it's honest - it does read like "a prelude to a philosophy of the future", it seems to want the reader to know that it's only laying some groundwork. it's radical though. i'm not sure it should be allowed... if ever i've read what might be a banned book, this would be it. besides that, i wouldn't say i understand half the things nietzsche writes about, except when he talks about a few ideas i've been thinking about, like say, the moral viewpoint, or the solitude of philosophers, or the inanity of general society. but here's the really cool thing about this book - on the one hand it has complete disregard for everything ever written, and on the other hand it (well, he) is quite, quite erudite. somewhere in there an incredibly smart man is rebelling against everything we know, and the passion with which he writes is terrifying.
i'm quite glad murakami hasn't won the nobel prize yet, actually. i think iq84 doesn't merit it. it's no one hundred years of solitude, let me tell you that. but the thing is, in no way does him not winning the nobel make him less of an author to me. i love him.
the new guitar that i got is really nice, really nice. the feel of the fretboard is good, you know what i mean? your hand just wants to wrap languidly around its neck, your fingers just want to glide and prance on its frets. i always want to pick it up and make guitar sounds come out of it. just pluck away and let the notes ring true. yes.
you know, it's strange to me how since coming out of jc, i've often in my life found pockets of time to do all the things i want. part b is just another example. i think this course is terrible. i loved reading law in nus, but this course is like an O-level year. which is really stupid, don't you think? i mean we're well and truly educated now, and we're reduced to studying for an exam which is "muggable". i despise it. to me it detracts from reading law like an adventure, like a goddamn rabbit-hole. well, anyway, this course has given me bundles, oodles, nay, spadeloads of free time. and i think this much will stay with me for a long time, i.e. the afternoons spent after lunch playing tennis with zy before class. it felt right to do things like that, you know? to be young again, not a goddamn care but making sure the little green fuzzy ball goes to the other side. afternoon sun, sweaty, cussing out every goddamn thing, but having fun like kids. yes, these were the best of times.
more than a year has passed since my good friend dl passed away. like the character in murakami's book, i do think about him less, although i still picture what he looks like quite well. most of the angst has gone too. i still don't want to listen to certain songs, like brothers in arms. in a little corner of my heart a little candle burns away for dl. i hope that when i die i will just disappear. i don't want anybody to be sad.
i have come to think of solitude as the only thing on earth i know of which provides increasing returns. what is a little bit more interesting is in the possible evolution of how i look at people and friends. whatever other phases i've been through, and i think people generally do too, in being selective about their friends, etc., i think i'm at the waning end of the disdainful, disparaging phase. not that i necessarily will come out of this phase, but it is interesting to me, that maybe i won't look at people as if i want them to understand me, to be kindred in heart, mind and spirit. it is perhaps, impossible, a posteriori. therefore i am alone and all the better for accepting it, but in a more expansive and also correspondingly in a more detached way i am more compassionate to my friends. that is, interesting, isn't it?
i'm quite glad murakami hasn't won the nobel prize yet, actually. i think iq84 doesn't merit it. it's no one hundred years of solitude, let me tell you that. but the thing is, in no way does him not winning the nobel make him less of an author to me. i love him.
the new guitar that i got is really nice, really nice. the feel of the fretboard is good, you know what i mean? your hand just wants to wrap languidly around its neck, your fingers just want to glide and prance on its frets. i always want to pick it up and make guitar sounds come out of it. just pluck away and let the notes ring true. yes.
you know, it's strange to me how since coming out of jc, i've often in my life found pockets of time to do all the things i want. part b is just another example. i think this course is terrible. i loved reading law in nus, but this course is like an O-level year. which is really stupid, don't you think? i mean we're well and truly educated now, and we're reduced to studying for an exam which is "muggable". i despise it. to me it detracts from reading law like an adventure, like a goddamn rabbit-hole. well, anyway, this course has given me bundles, oodles, nay, spadeloads of free time. and i think this much will stay with me for a long time, i.e. the afternoons spent after lunch playing tennis with zy before class. it felt right to do things like that, you know? to be young again, not a goddamn care but making sure the little green fuzzy ball goes to the other side. afternoon sun, sweaty, cussing out every goddamn thing, but having fun like kids. yes, these were the best of times.
more than a year has passed since my good friend dl passed away. like the character in murakami's book, i do think about him less, although i still picture what he looks like quite well. most of the angst has gone too. i still don't want to listen to certain songs, like brothers in arms. in a little corner of my heart a little candle burns away for dl. i hope that when i die i will just disappear. i don't want anybody to be sad.
i have come to think of solitude as the only thing on earth i know of which provides increasing returns. what is a little bit more interesting is in the possible evolution of how i look at people and friends. whatever other phases i've been through, and i think people generally do too, in being selective about their friends, etc., i think i'm at the waning end of the disdainful, disparaging phase. not that i necessarily will come out of this phase, but it is interesting to me, that maybe i won't look at people as if i want them to understand me, to be kindred in heart, mind and spirit. it is perhaps, impossible, a posteriori. therefore i am alone and all the better for accepting it, but in a more expansive and also correspondingly in a more detached way i am more compassionate to my friends. that is, interesting, isn't it?
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
CXXIII - channeling selves
do you ever wonder what you were in a past life?
i think about it all the time.
i've narrowed it down to about three. it could be more, but for now three is plenty.
i was either a guitar player in a hard rock band, an italian (gotta be italian) motorcycle racer, or a philosopher. maybe a student of nietzsche. i could have been any one of these, and perfectly so.
conversely, if i could have a dream job, i might be a motorcycle racer, a stunt pilot, or an nba coach. but i'm not really in it for the dream though, long or short term. i'm a lawyer. that's it. in many ways i feel it's the right thing for me.
like i always think, it's funny how everything works out in my life, except girls. and the funny thing is that it's not a general problem, but a great tragedy. it is, as at this reckoning, merely dramatic - it is but a great tragedy. you know how sometimes you know that what you're doing is right, no matter what the ostensible result, present or future, is? that that is more important than the adversity of loneliness and dejection and self-pity? i mean when i look at it, some days are easier than others, some not so much. but i feel in my heart that i can't change the way i live. it's... bad luck, tragedy, self-realisation and providence. i don't need answers anymore, because nowadays i just haven't the old questions. things are, and are, and are.
it is not only that things are as they were meant to be; the person i am is also as it was meant to be.
i think about it all the time.
i've narrowed it down to about three. it could be more, but for now three is plenty.
i was either a guitar player in a hard rock band, an italian (gotta be italian) motorcycle racer, or a philosopher. maybe a student of nietzsche. i could have been any one of these, and perfectly so.
conversely, if i could have a dream job, i might be a motorcycle racer, a stunt pilot, or an nba coach. but i'm not really in it for the dream though, long or short term. i'm a lawyer. that's it. in many ways i feel it's the right thing for me.
like i always think, it's funny how everything works out in my life, except girls. and the funny thing is that it's not a general problem, but a great tragedy. it is, as at this reckoning, merely dramatic - it is but a great tragedy. you know how sometimes you know that what you're doing is right, no matter what the ostensible result, present or future, is? that that is more important than the adversity of loneliness and dejection and self-pity? i mean when i look at it, some days are easier than others, some not so much. but i feel in my heart that i can't change the way i live. it's... bad luck, tragedy, self-realisation and providence. i don't need answers anymore, because nowadays i just haven't the old questions. things are, and are, and are.
it is not only that things are as they were meant to be; the person i am is also as it was meant to be.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
CXXII - the time to give a shit has passed for now
do you know how hard i believe in destiny?
i believe in destiny so hard that i can be who the hell i want to be.
you won't find me complaining, no, not about destiny. all the questions with which i have wrestled have brought me to the conclusion that everything is as it is meant to be.
so i can understand if something is futile. that is one part of destiny. i can understand if reason and value and good desire are trumped by whim, quirk and caprice. that is another part of destiny.
and this is all because, whatever you may think, there is no meaning at all, except being.
therefore there is no injustice in life being decided by destiny.
i believe in destiny so hard that i can be who the hell i want to be.
you won't find me complaining, no, not about destiny. all the questions with which i have wrestled have brought me to the conclusion that everything is as it is meant to be.
so i can understand if something is futile. that is one part of destiny. i can understand if reason and value and good desire are trumped by whim, quirk and caprice. that is another part of destiny.
and this is all because, whatever you may think, there is no meaning at all, except being.
therefore there is no injustice in life being decided by destiny.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
CXXI - rage quit
ephesians 4, oh ephesians 4. yes, i suppose we all hate to be proven wrong.
i have embraced my anger like rags to fire. it is the kind of thing, and of late i think it may be one of the few things left, that really makes my engine go. my god damn human essence shimmers and roars in the heat of its inferno, blazing to rip into things, or sometimes into people. i think the harm has mostly been contained in intense fuming, directed at self and god, in philosophical angst, and in much mental back-and-forth. the fury emanates from my eyes, it is true. but that is the seat of one's perception; the eyes can scarcely be controlled.
let me ask you something, would you rather be angry or sad? because i don't think there's a great distinction between these two - it's only a difference in perspective. one who is sad is in the same vein able to be angry at what makes him sad, and one who is angry must have been sad about something. and if one cannot find a suitable object, one can always be angry with god. i don't think there's anything wrong with telling god that you're angry with him. jonah was angry, wasn't he? job was angry. and i mean angry with god. maybe you'll dispute that, but we can have that discussion again. maybe you'll say, there is a great difference between being angry and being sad, and that is that being sad never made someone destructive. i think that i shall not have to directly oppose that view, except with this question in return - given that one generally has compassion and gentleness and kindness and goodness, and might do some good in his natural state, which is worse, for him to be made into an angry man, or into a sad man? again maybe you'll say, one who is angry tends to act for selfish reasons. i don't think this objection requires much response either - i think that being angry and mature about it is no less good than being sad and mature about it. and this is not to say that in my fury i have not first been sad. no, if anyone gave a fuck it would be me.
so let me ask you again, would you rather be angry or sad?
let me tell you the answer the bible wants you to know. it is better, far better to be sad.
as for my answer, i honestly don't know. it is not about pride. i mean, everything is about pride, sure, and pride is inextricably, inexorably, and inevitably linked to identity. but i don't think it's about pride. i'm selfless in my own way, and i believe in the good, and the good of things, so i don't think it's about pride. yes, we've all danced that fandango before.
and let me tell you something - in my anger i figure i've been more good than harm.
"everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that god desires".
i have embraced my anger like rags to fire. it is the kind of thing, and of late i think it may be one of the few things left, that really makes my engine go. my god damn human essence shimmers and roars in the heat of its inferno, blazing to rip into things, or sometimes into people. i think the harm has mostly been contained in intense fuming, directed at self and god, in philosophical angst, and in much mental back-and-forth. the fury emanates from my eyes, it is true. but that is the seat of one's perception; the eyes can scarcely be controlled.
let me ask you something, would you rather be angry or sad? because i don't think there's a great distinction between these two - it's only a difference in perspective. one who is sad is in the same vein able to be angry at what makes him sad, and one who is angry must have been sad about something. and if one cannot find a suitable object, one can always be angry with god. i don't think there's anything wrong with telling god that you're angry with him. jonah was angry, wasn't he? job was angry. and i mean angry with god. maybe you'll dispute that, but we can have that discussion again. maybe you'll say, there is a great difference between being angry and being sad, and that is that being sad never made someone destructive. i think that i shall not have to directly oppose that view, except with this question in return - given that one generally has compassion and gentleness and kindness and goodness, and might do some good in his natural state, which is worse, for him to be made into an angry man, or into a sad man? again maybe you'll say, one who is angry tends to act for selfish reasons. i don't think this objection requires much response either - i think that being angry and mature about it is no less good than being sad and mature about it. and this is not to say that in my fury i have not first been sad. no, if anyone gave a fuck it would be me.
so let me ask you again, would you rather be angry or sad?
let me tell you the answer the bible wants you to know. it is better, far better to be sad.
as for my answer, i honestly don't know. it is not about pride. i mean, everything is about pride, sure, and pride is inextricably, inexorably, and inevitably linked to identity. but i don't think it's about pride. i'm selfless in my own way, and i believe in the good, and the good of things, so i don't think it's about pride. yes, we've all danced that fandango before.
and let me tell you something - in my anger i figure i've been more good than harm.
"everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that god desires".
Thursday, August 30, 2012
CXX - the root of all
what is a human being without desire?
and by this line of inquiry, i mean to ask two things, firstly, to what extent is a person anything less of a human being when he no longer has desires, and secondly, what would it be if a person had no desires?
and to get the definitions out of the way forthwith, a person is any generally rational human being with capacity, a human being is that species known generally as man, and desire is... either a) an interest in a scarce resource, either tangible or intangible, or b) an interest in the necessary resources which enables one to attain his objects, or in the consequences of his having attained those objects. one can thus appreciate immediately the distinction between, in a) ones' desires acting for things in themselves as well as, in b) those desires acting for the things with or for those desired-things.
damn, philosophy is hard. one is always grateful to scrape by.
for the first question, which i shall call the "human identity" question, i mean to ask whether the human identity necessarily includes desires. i suppose one immediately thinks of it from an ex ante point of view, i.e. given that we are born naturally with desires, extending in every case from one's being weaned to, at least, maturity, and therefore given that we understand ourselves to unequivocally have started with desires, whether we are any less human for rejecting them? (and by them i include, without careful consideration, one desire or all desires). are we any less ourselves? and this is, i truly believe, a difficult question. and it is still not yet the question, are we any less human.
suffice to say that i don't know the answer for the first part of this question, although i am very sympathetic to the answer that includes, and not only incidentally, the considerations of compassion for the rest of humanity and compassion for oneself. therefore if one has compassion in both these senses, one might come to see one's own desires in a slightly more trifling light, and indeed, understand one's humanity better through the lens of compassion, rather than that of desire. and if i may personally say so, i think it makes me a better person to reject every self-serving desire. yet i nonetheless cannot answer if charged with failing in this way, generally in practice and not in theory; but such is, indeed, very human, albeit of somewhat nebulous perfidiousness.
and to the second part of this first question, are we any less human? the question framed thus seems to come from a more objective view, detached as it were, asked by an observer. but what then is it to be human? i think, summarily, that what it is to be human is not to be defined hegemonically, i.e. by those who have the werewithal to dictate what it is to be human. indeed, it is my strong opinion that what it is to be human includes the liberty to defy might and its subversive tendencies. therefore, what it is to be human will benefit from including the perspective of every individual person. i have gratefully borrowed this line of reasoning, mutatis mutandis, from feminist perspectives, although i must admit to have a more generally inclined compassion than that which the latter, for the most part, maintains. again, i am aware that i have not answered the question adequately. therefore my short answer is no, given that, following the argument laid out, it is for no one (or everyone) to say what is or is not human.
as to the third part of this first question, which i shall call, for the former part the "provisional" question, and for the latter part the "consequential" question, the third part of this first question is generally concerned with the "associated things" of desires. to give a simple example for the former part, if one desires wisdom, one must desire the time to appreciate the teachings of learned men, and a corresponding example for the latter part would be, the desire for honour that comes with being regarded as wise. immediately, one might perceive that the "associated desires" question is not as vital or central compared to the "human identity" question. indeed, i included it for the sake of completeness, mindful that it might nonetheless illuminate the far ambits of desire. again, i think that this part is not insignificant. however, i think that this third part can be subsumed under the first and second part, as being indeed the same kind of question, i.e. what happens to our identity if we are able to reject desires and their associated desires, and therefore i shall leave this question not be further considered.
for the second question, what it would be like if one had no desires, i think that i asked it only to consider my own life. honestly speaking, i think that i truly have no desires. or at least, no selfish or petty desires. i know that i am proud in certain ways, and i desire to be right and good and just, and sometimes i want to let people who i feel are wrong know of it. but i ask, is it possible that by considering all these things to be temporary and ultimately inconsequential, i can regard them as nothing, and hence regard myself as being desireless? my answer here is a firm yes. i do think that i desire to be true to myself, which is the only reason why i have all these other characteristics and desires.
anyway i suppose the phrase goes, nemo iudex idoneus in propria causa est. sure, i think that's fair, no man should be a judge in his own cause. but i think that i am a good man, and not for the "consequential desires" reason either. and i have considered the matter long enough, and think that i am ready to go and die.
therefore going back to the question, i think that nothing matters for such a man except for the well-being of others.
a question that troubles me so, is how is one to be a good man without certain necessities being provided, by fortune, serendipity or Provision, to him? the analogy, albeit one against which i hold reservations, is maslow's hierarchy. but this is another question for another day.
and by this line of inquiry, i mean to ask two things, firstly, to what extent is a person anything less of a human being when he no longer has desires, and secondly, what would it be if a person had no desires?
and to get the definitions out of the way forthwith, a person is any generally rational human being with capacity, a human being is that species known generally as man, and desire is... either a) an interest in a scarce resource, either tangible or intangible, or b) an interest in the necessary resources which enables one to attain his objects, or in the consequences of his having attained those objects. one can thus appreciate immediately the distinction between, in a) ones' desires acting for things in themselves as well as, in b) those desires acting for the things with or for those desired-things.
damn, philosophy is hard. one is always grateful to scrape by.
for the first question, which i shall call the "human identity" question, i mean to ask whether the human identity necessarily includes desires. i suppose one immediately thinks of it from an ex ante point of view, i.e. given that we are born naturally with desires, extending in every case from one's being weaned to, at least, maturity, and therefore given that we understand ourselves to unequivocally have started with desires, whether we are any less human for rejecting them? (and by them i include, without careful consideration, one desire or all desires). are we any less ourselves? and this is, i truly believe, a difficult question. and it is still not yet the question, are we any less human.
suffice to say that i don't know the answer for the first part of this question, although i am very sympathetic to the answer that includes, and not only incidentally, the considerations of compassion for the rest of humanity and compassion for oneself. therefore if one has compassion in both these senses, one might come to see one's own desires in a slightly more trifling light, and indeed, understand one's humanity better through the lens of compassion, rather than that of desire. and if i may personally say so, i think it makes me a better person to reject every self-serving desire. yet i nonetheless cannot answer if charged with failing in this way, generally in practice and not in theory; but such is, indeed, very human, albeit of somewhat nebulous perfidiousness.
and to the second part of this first question, are we any less human? the question framed thus seems to come from a more objective view, detached as it were, asked by an observer. but what then is it to be human? i think, summarily, that what it is to be human is not to be defined hegemonically, i.e. by those who have the werewithal to dictate what it is to be human. indeed, it is my strong opinion that what it is to be human includes the liberty to defy might and its subversive tendencies. therefore, what it is to be human will benefit from including the perspective of every individual person. i have gratefully borrowed this line of reasoning, mutatis mutandis, from feminist perspectives, although i must admit to have a more generally inclined compassion than that which the latter, for the most part, maintains. again, i am aware that i have not answered the question adequately. therefore my short answer is no, given that, following the argument laid out, it is for no one (or everyone) to say what is or is not human.
as to the third part of this first question, which i shall call, for the former part the "provisional" question, and for the latter part the "consequential" question, the third part of this first question is generally concerned with the "associated things" of desires. to give a simple example for the former part, if one desires wisdom, one must desire the time to appreciate the teachings of learned men, and a corresponding example for the latter part would be, the desire for honour that comes with being regarded as wise. immediately, one might perceive that the "associated desires" question is not as vital or central compared to the "human identity" question. indeed, i included it for the sake of completeness, mindful that it might nonetheless illuminate the far ambits of desire. again, i think that this part is not insignificant. however, i think that this third part can be subsumed under the first and second part, as being indeed the same kind of question, i.e. what happens to our identity if we are able to reject desires and their associated desires, and therefore i shall leave this question not be further considered.
for the second question, what it would be like if one had no desires, i think that i asked it only to consider my own life. honestly speaking, i think that i truly have no desires. or at least, no selfish or petty desires. i know that i am proud in certain ways, and i desire to be right and good and just, and sometimes i want to let people who i feel are wrong know of it. but i ask, is it possible that by considering all these things to be temporary and ultimately inconsequential, i can regard them as nothing, and hence regard myself as being desireless? my answer here is a firm yes. i do think that i desire to be true to myself, which is the only reason why i have all these other characteristics and desires.
anyway i suppose the phrase goes, nemo iudex idoneus in propria causa est. sure, i think that's fair, no man should be a judge in his own cause. but i think that i am a good man, and not for the "consequential desires" reason either. and i have considered the matter long enough, and think that i am ready to go and die.
therefore going back to the question, i think that nothing matters for such a man except for the well-being of others.
a question that troubles me so, is how is one to be a good man without certain necessities being provided, by fortune, serendipity or Provision, to him? the analogy, albeit one against which i hold reservations, is maslow's hierarchy. but this is another question for another day.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
CXIX - storms are brewing in your eyes
song of the week: jefferson starship, sara
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqRTtkEHrA4
ah, september, september. how long more shall nostalgia suffuse my thoughts of you. perhaps, as long as a man keeps his dead close by.
as i walk through places and their memories, i hear the tides of disquiet gather and ebb, i feel the waves of almost-despair lap at my feet, and wash the futile-sand from between my toes. yes, it was you.
there, goodbye. i wish i had never known you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqRTtkEHrA4
ah, september, september. how long more shall nostalgia suffuse my thoughts of you. perhaps, as long as a man keeps his dead close by.
as i walk through places and their memories, i hear the tides of disquiet gather and ebb, i feel the waves of almost-despair lap at my feet, and wash the futile-sand from between my toes. yes, it was you.
there, goodbye. i wish i had never known you.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
CXVIII - how many roads
yesterday i lay in bed thinking to myself, how pitiful you are.
the only thing that has kept me winding my clock this week has been anna karenin, by leo tolstoy. on the one hand i am mildly amused that it has taken me this long to find such a good writer, and on the other hand, i want to think that reading this and love in the time of cholera only so recently yet means nothing.
and so as i lay i was reminded by nagasawa in norwegian wood - don't feel sorry for yourself. only assholes do that. and it is very interestingly made, this statement, this line written by murakami at the point in the book and at the point in the relationship between toru and nagasawa, and of course, hatsumi. don't feel sorry for yourself.
it is one of the many reasons, whether or not i share nagasawa's sentiments, although i would like to appreciate them, it is nonetheless one of the many reasons why i don't like to feel sorry for myself.
i guess you could say it is only because i had hopes that i am disappointed. i think that's fair. i have, of course, wrestled long and hard, before myself and my god, whether i should have hopes. the matter lies, of course, unanswered except for the reality of the situation. but that does not go very far either way. and i have wrestled mightily.
in any case, as i thought, i do not think that i am worthy of self-pity. no, not while the world lies hungry, sad, cold, thirsty, in pain, derelict and dying. men, women and children, no more or less deserving than i am, universal humans, all, lie in utter hopelessness as i lie in my bed and feel sorry for myself.
so i think that i do not deserve to be alive and well. i wished that i had never existed. someone else who wants to live can take my place.
yes, i think so.
the only thing that has kept me winding my clock this week has been anna karenin, by leo tolstoy. on the one hand i am mildly amused that it has taken me this long to find such a good writer, and on the other hand, i want to think that reading this and love in the time of cholera only so recently yet means nothing.
and so as i lay i was reminded by nagasawa in norwegian wood - don't feel sorry for yourself. only assholes do that. and it is very interestingly made, this statement, this line written by murakami at the point in the book and at the point in the relationship between toru and nagasawa, and of course, hatsumi. don't feel sorry for yourself.
it is one of the many reasons, whether or not i share nagasawa's sentiments, although i would like to appreciate them, it is nonetheless one of the many reasons why i don't like to feel sorry for myself.
i guess you could say it is only because i had hopes that i am disappointed. i think that's fair. i have, of course, wrestled long and hard, before myself and my god, whether i should have hopes. the matter lies, of course, unanswered except for the reality of the situation. but that does not go very far either way. and i have wrestled mightily.
in any case, as i thought, i do not think that i am worthy of self-pity. no, not while the world lies hungry, sad, cold, thirsty, in pain, derelict and dying. men, women and children, no more or less deserving than i am, universal humans, all, lie in utter hopelessness as i lie in my bed and feel sorry for myself.
so i think that i do not deserve to be alive and well. i wished that i had never existed. someone else who wants to live can take my place.
yes, i think so.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
CXVII - if you, tear yourself in two again
song of the week: u2, bad
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgBtoiNxPyE
on another day, in another universe, doing the right thing gets the right girl. i believe in it.
on another note, i never liked photos. i feel that photographs are weak, and life is real. i don't want to look at life through somebody else's eyes and see something wonderful. i think that means that i haven't been paying enough attention to something that's going on all the time, and without having to pay a cent to look at. even against some quite extraordinary photo, i feel that there is enough beauty and originality in the everyday object and scene that warrants my attention, my full and absolute attention. one could even say that there is something of a universal grace or beauty in the simple things in life. and as to the feelings that photographs can evoke, i think such a case cannot seriously be argued when life is put on the other side of the balance. one must be quite blind to not notice how life cries out, and how it cries out everywhere.
but i think there's one thing that photographs get right, well, at least, old kept family photos, and that is that they capture people at their best. look at them and you'll see images of happiness, warmth, sincerity, closeness. and you end up believing that those people in those photos are happy, and are in the present day, grown up and conceivably happier. and i don't think there's anything wrong with that.
except that life isn't a photo, and doesn't care about what a photo wants it to look like. you know that. i know that. life is gritty, is harsh, is terrible. life is full, is pandora's box full. hope is the great cosmic irony at the bottom of the barrel. whatever.
here i am trying to do the right thing all the time. i mean it, for better or worse, i treat everyone as i think i ought to treat them at my best, no holds barred. i don't listen to rubbish from nobody, i don't take crap from nobody, and i don't overlook the things i shouldn't overlook. you know that, i know that. but me being this mean tough guy who isn't blind to faults and suchlike, who thinks everything should be a certain way, for better or worse, i can live every single day without too many goddamn regrets. do i do right by every person i know? you goddamn right i do. but it gets a little bit harder when looking at these old things, these old things. did i do right by the memories of these people at their best, the memories of the people who loved me, however they lived, and acted, and reacted to life? there's no easy answer here.
i think that's the funny thing about trying to do the right thing. the right thing, what is it, exactly, but no, more, i dunno, more intuitively, more instinctively, less intellectually, what is the right thing? if living right everyday is hard on people, maybe living without giving a shit makes it easier to face the past, the beautiful, revered, unprofaned past. maybe living without caring, without caring like i fucking do, and in so doing, being easier on people, lightens the heart a little, and reconciles a man to the happy images of his past. or maybe it makes him sad to think of the happiness that could have been.
but i guess this is the legacy of a sad family. photos are the useless remnants life reminds us to store. i think happy families have their happy photos, and sad families have whatever they asked for.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgBtoiNxPyE
on another day, in another universe, doing the right thing gets the right girl. i believe in it.
on another note, i never liked photos. i feel that photographs are weak, and life is real. i don't want to look at life through somebody else's eyes and see something wonderful. i think that means that i haven't been paying enough attention to something that's going on all the time, and without having to pay a cent to look at. even against some quite extraordinary photo, i feel that there is enough beauty and originality in the everyday object and scene that warrants my attention, my full and absolute attention. one could even say that there is something of a universal grace or beauty in the simple things in life. and as to the feelings that photographs can evoke, i think such a case cannot seriously be argued when life is put on the other side of the balance. one must be quite blind to not notice how life cries out, and how it cries out everywhere.
but i think there's one thing that photographs get right, well, at least, old kept family photos, and that is that they capture people at their best. look at them and you'll see images of happiness, warmth, sincerity, closeness. and you end up believing that those people in those photos are happy, and are in the present day, grown up and conceivably happier. and i don't think there's anything wrong with that.
except that life isn't a photo, and doesn't care about what a photo wants it to look like. you know that. i know that. life is gritty, is harsh, is terrible. life is full, is pandora's box full. hope is the great cosmic irony at the bottom of the barrel. whatever.
here i am trying to do the right thing all the time. i mean it, for better or worse, i treat everyone as i think i ought to treat them at my best, no holds barred. i don't listen to rubbish from nobody, i don't take crap from nobody, and i don't overlook the things i shouldn't overlook. you know that, i know that. but me being this mean tough guy who isn't blind to faults and suchlike, who thinks everything should be a certain way, for better or worse, i can live every single day without too many goddamn regrets. do i do right by every person i know? you goddamn right i do. but it gets a little bit harder when looking at these old things, these old things. did i do right by the memories of these people at their best, the memories of the people who loved me, however they lived, and acted, and reacted to life? there's no easy answer here.
i think that's the funny thing about trying to do the right thing. the right thing, what is it, exactly, but no, more, i dunno, more intuitively, more instinctively, less intellectually, what is the right thing? if living right everyday is hard on people, maybe living without giving a shit makes it easier to face the past, the beautiful, revered, unprofaned past. maybe living without caring, without caring like i fucking do, and in so doing, being easier on people, lightens the heart a little, and reconciles a man to the happy images of his past. or maybe it makes him sad to think of the happiness that could have been.
but i guess this is the legacy of a sad family. photos are the useless remnants life reminds us to store. i think happy families have their happy photos, and sad families have whatever they asked for.
Monday, July 23, 2012
CXVI - a little fucked up
i can count the number of times i've been really depressed in my life. it's not me to be that way.
there's no point feeling sorry for oneself, i feel. but these few days i wake up and feel utterly disconnected. i wish i could play a perfect piano piece to ease myself into life, to channel some goddamn beauty. it's not a feeling of loneliness. i think being lonely is something i've gotten used to, like the sound of the wind, and the fullness of the sky. i don't like to feel sorry for myself. but i think i'm just truly, truly disappointed.
and that's the thing about life. tomorrow i have to wake up and, no matter how i feel, go on. i'll get up and will myself to live with a passion. i can't help it if my friends are around. i don't want to be my bad self around my friends. but nights i am disconsolate.
i was so depressed today i sat at the bus stop to think for a while. it felt strange to stone there, to be listless at a deserted place. and i just couldn't go on, you know. i'd planned to go running but i just couldn't do it. i realised that i had sympathy for everybody, and that was killing me.
you know, i think that's the stupid thing about life. like it or not, everybody's world is just a little bit fucked up. it's that little bit that fucks you up. everybody personally thinks that he's doing the right thing, he's doing the best he can. and when people live together they fuck each other's lives up, without being aware of it, or without wanting to, or being unable to do anything else. it's terrifying how life shows the bad side of people. and because of what? because of the scarcity of things? i can't bear to think how often people feel aggrieved with each other over something like money. i despise money. i hate how it undergirds the interactions between people for whom money is a realistic concern. you know, a lot of the time i feel that rich people will never understand the cruelty of money. and then i feel so horrible because so many in this world are poor.
i was extremely depressed to think how everybody is a little fucked up. life is so short and sad, and everybody is nonetheless a little fucked up. a family, and we make our lives awful for each other. that is so utterly depressing.
there's no point feeling sorry for oneself, i feel. but these few days i wake up and feel utterly disconnected. i wish i could play a perfect piano piece to ease myself into life, to channel some goddamn beauty. it's not a feeling of loneliness. i think being lonely is something i've gotten used to, like the sound of the wind, and the fullness of the sky. i don't like to feel sorry for myself. but i think i'm just truly, truly disappointed.
and that's the thing about life. tomorrow i have to wake up and, no matter how i feel, go on. i'll get up and will myself to live with a passion. i can't help it if my friends are around. i don't want to be my bad self around my friends. but nights i am disconsolate.
i was so depressed today i sat at the bus stop to think for a while. it felt strange to stone there, to be listless at a deserted place. and i just couldn't go on, you know. i'd planned to go running but i just couldn't do it. i realised that i had sympathy for everybody, and that was killing me.
you know, i think that's the stupid thing about life. like it or not, everybody's world is just a little bit fucked up. it's that little bit that fucks you up. everybody personally thinks that he's doing the right thing, he's doing the best he can. and when people live together they fuck each other's lives up, without being aware of it, or without wanting to, or being unable to do anything else. it's terrifying how life shows the bad side of people. and because of what? because of the scarcity of things? i can't bear to think how often people feel aggrieved with each other over something like money. i despise money. i hate how it undergirds the interactions between people for whom money is a realistic concern. you know, a lot of the time i feel that rich people will never understand the cruelty of money. and then i feel so horrible because so many in this world are poor.
i was extremely depressed to think how everybody is a little fucked up. life is so short and sad, and everybody is nonetheless a little fucked up. a family, and we make our lives awful for each other. that is so utterly depressing.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
CXV - nothing to say, sure.
"she felt that this evening, when the two men would meet for the first time, must be the turning-point in her life. and she kept picturing them to herself, first individually, then both together. when she thought of the past, she lingered with pleasure and tenderness on the memories of her relations with levin. memories of childhood and of levin’s friendship with her dead brother lent a peculiar poetic charm to her relationship with him. his love for her, of which she felt certain, was flattering and delightful, and she could think of levin with a light heart. but something uneasy clouded her thoughts of vronsky, though he was all a well-bred man-of-the-world could be, as if there were a false note – not in him, he was very simple and nice, but in herself; whereas with levin she felt quite natural and untroubled. on the other hand, directly she started to imagine the future with vronsky, a dazzling vision of happiness rose up before her, while with levin the future seemed misty."
- leo tolstoy, anna karenin.
... sometimes it seems like the old writers knew everything.
i suppose now it is only for me to bid adieu on my own terms. yes, i think that's right.
Monday, July 16, 2012
CXIV - humanity's mean
the strange thing about the roman numerals thing i have going up there is that it gets a bit peculiar trying to grasp just how many i've written.
i was on the train home today, feeling sorry for the state of things in this world. yes, yes. i do my thinking everywhere. it may seem a little absurd to think so much on the train, of all places, where most of the thinking is typically done by little processors in expensive little gadgets, but i do indulge myself a little. and to be honest... ah, who cares what i think. the little glitzy things of this world have clearly won.
ah but yes, i was feeling sorry for humanity. we are such a petty race, such a terrible waste of good things. so selfish, so full of infighting, so lacking in sympathy, so self-absorbed, so unkind. what are we doing? how terrible it must be for a good person, to feel so adrift from this world, so ill-understood. maybe it was reading aung san suu kyi's nobel speech that got to me.
"there could never be enough of it in our world". can you imagine that? that there can never be enough of something as simple and as utterly crucial as kindness. that no matter how much, no amount will ever be enough. that is so, utterly, sad. i do suppose aung san means it in a good way, but it gets to me the other way, all the same.
we have all the grand theories of life, nobility and the universality of man. and yet we are still so ignorant, so lacking in sympathy, so... utterly clueless. yes we have our great public uproars when some charged incident makes the news. we clamour over many things - overcrowding, delays, fraud. some are good and some not so, but who cares, these things come and go. and yet we have so little sympathy for each other, kin and stranger alike. somewhere in our minds we know that people are hungry, afflicted, disconsolate and dying. but who the fuck cares because we have ourselves to take care of... and we always do, we always do.
oh, if this is the mean of humanity, then... what's the point? we have to live and we have to die, do we also have to try? where have all the good men gone?
i remember once dl told me, that he was lying on some bed waiting for some serious procedure, and the verses that he remembered didn't help to encourage him. maybe i'm not getting this entirely right, after all, i might never know exactly how he felt, in those circumstances, and i probably got the words he said wrong. but it was something like that. and that eventually encouraged him to read the word a little bit closer.
i haven't done so in awhile. but as i was mulling over all these hopeless thoughts, a line revealed itself to me, just as the setting sun shone right into my eyes.
... but the darkness has not overcome it.
i was on the train home today, feeling sorry for the state of things in this world. yes, yes. i do my thinking everywhere. it may seem a little absurd to think so much on the train, of all places, where most of the thinking is typically done by little processors in expensive little gadgets, but i do indulge myself a little. and to be honest... ah, who cares what i think. the little glitzy things of this world have clearly won.
ah but yes, i was feeling sorry for humanity. we are such a petty race, such a terrible waste of good things. so selfish, so full of infighting, so lacking in sympathy, so self-absorbed, so unkind. what are we doing? how terrible it must be for a good person, to feel so adrift from this world, so ill-understood. maybe it was reading aung san suu kyi's nobel speech that got to me.
"the peace of our world is indivisible. as long as negative forces are getting the better of positive forces anywhere, we are all at risk. it may be questioned whether all negative forces could ever be removed. the simple answer is: “no!” it is in human nature to contain both the positive and the negative. however, it is also within human capability to work to reinforce the positive and to minimize or neutralize the negative. absolute peace in our world is an unattainable goal. but it is one towards which we must continue to journey, our eyes fixed on it as a traveller in a desert fixes his eyes on the one guiding star that will lead him to salvation. even if we do not achieve perfect peace on earth, because perfect peace is not of this earth, common endeavours to gain peace will unite individuals and nations in trust and friendship and help to make our human community safer and kinder.
i used the word ‘kinder’ after careful deliberation; i might say the careful deliberation of many years. of the sweets of adversity, and let me say that these are not numerous, i have found the sweetest, the most precious of all, is the lesson i learnt on the value of kindness. every kindness i received, small or big, convinced me that there could never be enough of it in our world."
"there could never be enough of it in our world". can you imagine that? that there can never be enough of something as simple and as utterly crucial as kindness. that no matter how much, no amount will ever be enough. that is so, utterly, sad. i do suppose aung san means it in a good way, but it gets to me the other way, all the same.
we have all the grand theories of life, nobility and the universality of man. and yet we are still so ignorant, so lacking in sympathy, so... utterly clueless. yes we have our great public uproars when some charged incident makes the news. we clamour over many things - overcrowding, delays, fraud. some are good and some not so, but who cares, these things come and go. and yet we have so little sympathy for each other, kin and stranger alike. somewhere in our minds we know that people are hungry, afflicted, disconsolate and dying. but who the fuck cares because we have ourselves to take care of... and we always do, we always do.
oh, if this is the mean of humanity, then... what's the point? we have to live and we have to die, do we also have to try? where have all the good men gone?
i remember once dl told me, that he was lying on some bed waiting for some serious procedure, and the verses that he remembered didn't help to encourage him. maybe i'm not getting this entirely right, after all, i might never know exactly how he felt, in those circumstances, and i probably got the words he said wrong. but it was something like that. and that eventually encouraged him to read the word a little bit closer.
i haven't done so in awhile. but as i was mulling over all these hopeless thoughts, a line revealed itself to me, just as the setting sun shone right into my eyes.
"the light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it."
... but the darkness has not overcome it.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
CXIII - life ennui
the banality of life is getting to me.
you ever feel that way? like tired, but in a deep way, as in tired of living?
when was being myself, being a good man, ever so tiring?
i'm so tired. not to whine, but to state.
most people are not... are not bad people, but they are so, so tiring. god have mercy.
maybe i mean to say disappointing when i say tiring. but i feel tired more than disappointed, and that is not to say i do not feel disappointed.
what the hell ever, right?
you ever feel that way? like tired, but in a deep way, as in tired of living?
when was being myself, being a good man, ever so tiring?
i'm so tired. not to whine, but to state.
most people are not... are not bad people, but they are so, so tiring. god have mercy.
maybe i mean to say disappointing when i say tiring. but i feel tired more than disappointed, and that is not to say i do not feel disappointed.
what the hell ever, right?
Saturday, July 7, 2012
CXII - that kind of letter
song of the week - mark knopfler, brothers in arms
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbZRbBskloE
this is, or will be, i promise, an entry fueled by drink and sad.
today i graduated from university. it is not something to be particularly proud of, nor am i particularly proud of it. people, lesser or greater than me, do it all the time. my parents did not do it, but they walked the paths before them. i studied for many years to graduate, but that does not say very much about me or about graduating.
i am twenty five years old, and my friend died at twenty four. all things being equal, he would graduate today as well. or close to today, it is inconsequential.
he was a gep and a brother, and we Do Not lose these.
but we did. in the world as i imagine it to be, in a good world, we are all twenty five. we are all dressed in nonsensical shades of blue. we are smiling at each other. maybe we talk a lot, or maybe we don't. it doesn't matter. we are brothers, and we always wear smiles, in our hearts we always wear smiles. we break out the good jokes and we make fun of ourselves. we act stupid as only good kids do, and by god, we Are good kids. and i can see it in his eyes, brightly lit, his mouth, determinedly set, humming a little tune to himself, perfectly. he rocks a little, smiling at us, itching to break into a little slappity pat. but his name is called, and we all applaud, and we all sigh and smile. it is not just that dl is graduating. it is so many things, but it is that happy achievement, among other things, of one of the best people we know. if there are photos, we let them go. we care not for such things besides the ever-resplendent present.
and that is how i feel, every single goddamn day. you know, it's no good you being dead and i being here. it's no good at all. you know, ultimately, i don't care about anything, because every single goddamn day i give it my goddamn best shot, and i don't care what happens. but losing you is hard to take.
you were many things to me, and you were my john the baptist. i love you, man.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbZRbBskloE
this is, or will be, i promise, an entry fueled by drink and sad.
today i graduated from university. it is not something to be particularly proud of, nor am i particularly proud of it. people, lesser or greater than me, do it all the time. my parents did not do it, but they walked the paths before them. i studied for many years to graduate, but that does not say very much about me or about graduating.
i am twenty five years old, and my friend died at twenty four. all things being equal, he would graduate today as well. or close to today, it is inconsequential.
he was a gep and a brother, and we Do Not lose these.
but we did. in the world as i imagine it to be, in a good world, we are all twenty five. we are all dressed in nonsensical shades of blue. we are smiling at each other. maybe we talk a lot, or maybe we don't. it doesn't matter. we are brothers, and we always wear smiles, in our hearts we always wear smiles. we break out the good jokes and we make fun of ourselves. we act stupid as only good kids do, and by god, we Are good kids. and i can see it in his eyes, brightly lit, his mouth, determinedly set, humming a little tune to himself, perfectly. he rocks a little, smiling at us, itching to break into a little slappity pat. but his name is called, and we all applaud, and we all sigh and smile. it is not just that dl is graduating. it is so many things, but it is that happy achievement, among other things, of one of the best people we know. if there are photos, we let them go. we care not for such things besides the ever-resplendent present.
and that is how i feel, every single goddamn day. you know, it's no good you being dead and i being here. it's no good at all. you know, ultimately, i don't care about anything, because every single goddamn day i give it my goddamn best shot, and i don't care what happens. but losing you is hard to take.
you were many things to me, and you were my john the baptist. i love you, man.
Friday, June 8, 2012
CXI - forever
song of the week: pink floyd, wish you were here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j8mr-gcgoI
i wished today, like people do, i hope, that i would forever be twenty five. i may have wished to forever be fifteen once, but i think it is better to be at my age, to be slightly more than a boy. yes, i would forever be twenty five, in this grand old world.
but it would be a twenty five without dl. and that couldn't be on.
if i had one wish, oh i wish dl hadn't died.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j8mr-gcgoI
i wished today, like people do, i hope, that i would forever be twenty five. i may have wished to forever be fifteen once, but i think it is better to be at my age, to be slightly more than a boy. yes, i would forever be twenty five, in this grand old world.
but it would be a twenty five without dl. and that couldn't be on.
if i had one wish, oh i wish dl hadn't died.
so, so you think you can tell
heaven from hell
blue skies from pain
can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail
a smile from a veil
do you think you can tell
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
CX - "he is ugly and sad, but he is all love"
song of the week: dream theater, the count of tuscany
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4yzYKIiV9Y&t=11m0s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4yzYKIiV9Y&t=11m0s
"things like that happen all the time in this great big world of ours. it's like taking a boat out on a beautiful lake on a beautiful day and thinking both the sky and the lake are beautiful."
-reiko ishida, norwegian woodi've been here long enough to have had a long break from thinking about girls, and then to have a think about it again. it's good to be out here, in the quiet to be quiet. but it being so quiet, it just happens you start to listen to quieter things, like bird noises, frog noises, tree noises, and your own noises. and to listen to one's own breathing leads, quite often, to introspection.
i read gabriel garcia marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera, which is now my second favourite book in the whole wide world. he really is the master of insight into people's emotions, feelings between people, of oneself; which, married with his inimitable, absolutely magnificent grasp of writing, produces truly remarkable writing. there were so many phrases i had to pause at to gasp in wonder, to breathlessly admire. and to think it was translated from the spanish! well, it's only behind norwegian wood, and followed, albeit at a distance, by the great gatsby. quite a trio, i think.
anyway, i've thought, or have been thinking, about, let's call her Jill, more that i suspected i would. she was the second girl i've ever fallen in love with, but that was almost four years ago. and yet, with my hand on my heart, i still think we would have made it all the way. we would have. we would have been something. but it's not in our fate.
and like johnny depp says, you know, if you've fallen in love with two women, you pick the second, because you wouldn't have fallen in love with the second if etc. etc. but it's not so simple, is it? i don't think so, because nobody knows what love is, not even after love in the time of cholera do i know what it is or isn't. but maybe that's what the book is trying to say too.
and do i love, let's call her, say, Scarlett, do i love her? yes, i think so. i'm willing to admit (profess, whatever) that i like her, that i like her more than i imagine, but after all this time, having done all that i have, i still haven't got a rough idea how it will turn out. giving up was never an option, and it's still not, no. life's a journey, right? but here's the pickle, right, and this is me thinking in her head, if up till now you haven't been able to change my mind, then how are you ever going to, my boy?
ah, love and its senseless illusions.
“to him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. he had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”
Thursday, May 10, 2012
CIX - neither here nor there
no song plays at four thirty in the morning - except the anthem which runs at six.
here's an interesting question: which is hardier, your generic run-of-the-mill cockroach, or the factory-line standard ballpoint pen? it's not an untidy comparison, i don't think. might be like asking which is juicier, apples or pears, but slightly less intuitive to consider. i'd go with the ballpoint pen in a head-to-head, although i've heard that roaches can survive without their heads for days, which is ghastly.
you never know when the writing feeling hits, i suppose. in this case it's basically four thirty in the morning, and you know how you have to get up and pee when it's cold, and then hope to catch a bit more before the sun's up. but i thought about the impending release of the exam results, which, more than previously, i've been looking forward to. nevermind what i always say about results being secondary and all that, i felt like i'd done real swell this time. feeling pretty bullish, as it were. i'm grateful too for having a semester to remember, as a last one, none of that dreadful banking law crap, or financial accounting. well, that's one hundred and sixty credits of law school, yup count 'em up, one hundred and sixty. not bad at all.
the second thing i thought about was just about law school, well, put another way, about maybe forgetting some of the things that have happened all this time. so i might not be able to get them down at any rate, but i guess they'll drift on as little inky dinky bits of memory, reflecting in the more strangely occurring shafts of light.
i remember the second interview i did to get in. walking along the charmingly white corridors and archways, i remember thinking that i'd probably be happy here. and i've counted my blessings more often than not, since then. it was just one of those beautiful sunny days in school, the kind that everybody would know a hundred times over. it's that kind of school, you know? it's like a '60s es-335 of schools - classic, mellow, a bit vintage, takes a bit of class. hoho, nice one.
... my notes are not typically inspired at this point... something about law camp and this girl i liked because we took some photobooth shots together... both of us having long hair. haha, whatever.
anyway, at this point i'm running low on writing juice. well, geez oh whiz. hmm something about an intuitive dislike for mindmaps, etc. etc., ah here we go.
i'll always remember my lowest day in law school. i got a D+ for open memo from everyone's favourite lawr tutor, god rest her soul. i also flapped in an own goal in some inter year soccer match later that day. it was an infamous day. scottish bagpipes blow in dishonour at that day. mugs are sarcastically raised, and dourly gulped.
no exchange, yada yada, the good things about having a law school education, still missing the ac gep camaraderie all these years, and in conclusion... oh a terrible one i wrote down. my gosh how the mighty have fallen. it is insipid ian, after all.
here's an interesting question: which is hardier, your generic run-of-the-mill cockroach, or the factory-line standard ballpoint pen? it's not an untidy comparison, i don't think. might be like asking which is juicier, apples or pears, but slightly less intuitive to consider. i'd go with the ballpoint pen in a head-to-head, although i've heard that roaches can survive without their heads for days, which is ghastly.
you never know when the writing feeling hits, i suppose. in this case it's basically four thirty in the morning, and you know how you have to get up and pee when it's cold, and then hope to catch a bit more before the sun's up. but i thought about the impending release of the exam results, which, more than previously, i've been looking forward to. nevermind what i always say about results being secondary and all that, i felt like i'd done real swell this time. feeling pretty bullish, as it were. i'm grateful too for having a semester to remember, as a last one, none of that dreadful banking law crap, or financial accounting. well, that's one hundred and sixty credits of law school, yup count 'em up, one hundred and sixty. not bad at all.
the second thing i thought about was just about law school, well, put another way, about maybe forgetting some of the things that have happened all this time. so i might not be able to get them down at any rate, but i guess they'll drift on as little inky dinky bits of memory, reflecting in the more strangely occurring shafts of light.
i remember the second interview i did to get in. walking along the charmingly white corridors and archways, i remember thinking that i'd probably be happy here. and i've counted my blessings more often than not, since then. it was just one of those beautiful sunny days in school, the kind that everybody would know a hundred times over. it's that kind of school, you know? it's like a '60s es-335 of schools - classic, mellow, a bit vintage, takes a bit of class. hoho, nice one.
... my notes are not typically inspired at this point... something about law camp and this girl i liked because we took some photobooth shots together... both of us having long hair. haha, whatever.
anyway, at this point i'm running low on writing juice. well, geez oh whiz. hmm something about an intuitive dislike for mindmaps, etc. etc., ah here we go.
i'll always remember my lowest day in law school. i got a D+ for open memo from everyone's favourite lawr tutor, god rest her soul. i also flapped in an own goal in some inter year soccer match later that day. it was an infamous day. scottish bagpipes blow in dishonour at that day. mugs are sarcastically raised, and dourly gulped.
no exchange, yada yada, the good things about having a law school education, still missing the ac gep camaraderie all these years, and in conclusion... oh a terrible one i wrote down. my gosh how the mighty have fallen. it is insipid ian, after all.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
CVIII - scratching it out
song of the week: america, horse with no name
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM
i haven't got too much to write about just yet, which is mildly surprising. part of it has to do with being drowsy and all, having slept very little on the flight over. part of it also has to do with Adelaide being a little underwhelming this time round, although i wouldn't say this is anything to do with the country really. sitting on the porch today, reading my newest little book-friend, Murakami's Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, the serene river countryside, occasional flappy birds and distant slopes slowly registered as a part of my periphery, actualised in the spatial receptors of my inner mind. really, it took that long to fit in, to feel the country as the country. again, that really hadn't anything to do with Adelaide. somewhere between all those parts were my own feelings of, well, longing, slightly suppressed as they were by having travelled all this way away, that much further from a girl i'd missed on the way out. that's all, probably.
it was no point consoling myself, with those circumstances, so i hadn't. it was, of all things, the rain. the rain! still rueful thinking about it. it's a kind of reassurance though - things couldn't possibly, possibly end on so inconsequential, so utterly mundane, so poor a note. it would be like seeing Alicia Keys do a duet with, well, whoever. you get the idea. we simply wouldn't have it.
right, so that's out of the system. part of me is kinda confused nowadays, between missing this girl and wondering what to do if a pretty chick talks to me. again, i know i've got a slightly semi- (well, semi-demi-quasi) charming part, so i'm not really sure if ... oh my gosh i can't make sense of what i wrote there... i'm being me and moving forward or not. cos like i said, things couldn't, could they, things couldn't possibly have ended there, i don't care how long it is till next time. so i guess we'll see, again.
caught Revolutionary Road on the way over, heard about it beforehand, and it was everything i expected it to be. watching it reminds me about what my good friend jason once said, when you're with someone, if you're happy you're damn happy, and when you're sad you're damn sad. i guess i hope it's not like that, eventually. i'm realistic but not fatalistic, and so generally if i hope for something i'll try to have it come out right, i.e. i don't want to have it that sad. anyway in the show, the husband-wife relationship really brought out the possibility that two people, a beautiful couple in every way, could struggle in their daily lives and also in their grander ideas of life, the things they want to do with themselves, with each other, maybe. maybe most other couples got by with just living, and goodness knows that's a bit of a full time job; thinking about what one person's dreams are about juxtaposed to another's, overlaps and misgivings alike, could go well or not, couldn't it? was it then really all about luck? plain old luck, special lovey luck, stuff like that...
the other thing about the movie was about taking the beautiful things for granted. trust, guilt, anger, self-loathing, the usual cycle, pandora's boxey stuff.
well, underwhelmed, underwhelmed. haha, i dunno. i've got time to slow down a bit and feel my way into this place. which i guess is part of the point, in'nit? luckily i've got two Murakami books with me (no prizes for guessing) and a ton of things to do around the house and grounds. might be able to borrow a guitar soon, so kinda looking forward to that. just gonna chill and try out being of good cheer for awhile. that will work out, i'm sure. no need to think about the girlies for awhile.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM
i haven't got too much to write about just yet, which is mildly surprising. part of it has to do with being drowsy and all, having slept very little on the flight over. part of it also has to do with Adelaide being a little underwhelming this time round, although i wouldn't say this is anything to do with the country really. sitting on the porch today, reading my newest little book-friend, Murakami's Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, the serene river countryside, occasional flappy birds and distant slopes slowly registered as a part of my periphery, actualised in the spatial receptors of my inner mind. really, it took that long to fit in, to feel the country as the country. again, that really hadn't anything to do with Adelaide. somewhere between all those parts were my own feelings of, well, longing, slightly suppressed as they were by having travelled all this way away, that much further from a girl i'd missed on the way out. that's all, probably.
it was no point consoling myself, with those circumstances, so i hadn't. it was, of all things, the rain. the rain! still rueful thinking about it. it's a kind of reassurance though - things couldn't possibly, possibly end on so inconsequential, so utterly mundane, so poor a note. it would be like seeing Alicia Keys do a duet with, well, whoever. you get the idea. we simply wouldn't have it.
right, so that's out of the system. part of me is kinda confused nowadays, between missing this girl and wondering what to do if a pretty chick talks to me. again, i know i've got a slightly semi- (well, semi-demi-quasi) charming part, so i'm not really sure if ... oh my gosh i can't make sense of what i wrote there... i'm being me and moving forward or not. cos like i said, things couldn't, could they, things couldn't possibly have ended there, i don't care how long it is till next time. so i guess we'll see, again.
caught Revolutionary Road on the way over, heard about it beforehand, and it was everything i expected it to be. watching it reminds me about what my good friend jason once said, when you're with someone, if you're happy you're damn happy, and when you're sad you're damn sad. i guess i hope it's not like that, eventually. i'm realistic but not fatalistic, and so generally if i hope for something i'll try to have it come out right, i.e. i don't want to have it that sad. anyway in the show, the husband-wife relationship really brought out the possibility that two people, a beautiful couple in every way, could struggle in their daily lives and also in their grander ideas of life, the things they want to do with themselves, with each other, maybe. maybe most other couples got by with just living, and goodness knows that's a bit of a full time job; thinking about what one person's dreams are about juxtaposed to another's, overlaps and misgivings alike, could go well or not, couldn't it? was it then really all about luck? plain old luck, special lovey luck, stuff like that...
the other thing about the movie was about taking the beautiful things for granted. trust, guilt, anger, self-loathing, the usual cycle, pandora's boxey stuff.
well, underwhelmed, underwhelmed. haha, i dunno. i've got time to slow down a bit and feel my way into this place. which i guess is part of the point, in'nit? luckily i've got two Murakami books with me (no prizes for guessing) and a ton of things to do around the house and grounds. might be able to borrow a guitar soon, so kinda looking forward to that. just gonna chill and try out being of good cheer for awhile. that will work out, i'm sure. no need to think about the girlies for awhile.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
CVII - inner music
song of the week: maurice ravel, pavane pour une infante defunte
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEUpQ5pCSOQ
life meanders on all the time, you know. a lot of the time being alive is trivial, meaningless. and then once in a while the impressionist thing sets in - like you imagine life is a movie, but a good movie. there's a profile shot, it zooms out from you, on a lonely landscape, the sun's rays cresting over a cloud. the wind picks up a little, hair rustles a little bit, and the person looks wistfully at the sky, at the sun. got an old jacket on, jeans. brown hair. long face, with gaunt cheekbones. old eyes. out there, little stirs. it's a bit like skyrim, but for real. and a lot more solitary. just standing there, taking in the old familiar things he's used to seeing. and it's not you in the frame now, it's an imagination of some guy in this world. feeling the age in his bones, in the trees, in the hills. it's mystical, how feeling close to this world is. understanding that this is what's left, after the rush, the noise, the traffic is gone. this is one man's world.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEUpQ5pCSOQ
life meanders on all the time, you know. a lot of the time being alive is trivial, meaningless. and then once in a while the impressionist thing sets in - like you imagine life is a movie, but a good movie. there's a profile shot, it zooms out from you, on a lonely landscape, the sun's rays cresting over a cloud. the wind picks up a little, hair rustles a little bit, and the person looks wistfully at the sky, at the sun. got an old jacket on, jeans. brown hair. long face, with gaunt cheekbones. old eyes. out there, little stirs. it's a bit like skyrim, but for real. and a lot more solitary. just standing there, taking in the old familiar things he's used to seeing. and it's not you in the frame now, it's an imagination of some guy in this world. feeling the age in his bones, in the trees, in the hills. it's mystical, how feeling close to this world is. understanding that this is what's left, after the rush, the noise, the traffic is gone. this is one man's world.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
CVI - flourishes
life is not a god damn movie. this is not the end - there won't be a final narrative about who ended up with who, who went to chase his dreams, and who died a few year's time a sad man. no, none of that. so don't start with the, "we'll always have paris". you're twenty five.
song of the week: driving wheels, jimmy barnes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-G3rpMurkX4
i can hear australia in the man's voice. yes. i know, i'm coming.
"The movies were infantilizing their audience, Solanka thought, or perhaps the easily infantilizable were drawn to movies of a certain simplified kind. Perhaps daily life, its rush, its overloadedness, just numbed and anesthetized people and they went into the movies’ simpler worlds to remember how to feel. As a result, in the minds of many adults, the experience on offer in the movie theaters now felt more real than what was available in the world outside."
- Fury, Salman Rushdie.
song of the week: driving wheels, jimmy barnes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-G3rpMurkX4
i can hear australia in the man's voice. yes. i know, i'm coming.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
- Endymion, John Keats, dead at twenty five.
Monday, April 16, 2012
CV - childhood living is easy to do
song of the week: j s bach, sicilienne - vladimir horowitz
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUxwm9jjZuY#t=53m09s
reading the last post over again, part of me wants to explain why i went all academic on that one, and the other part is mostly nonchalant. i guess i want to know what it was to feel nostalgic, and not only to feel that way. to think it out like that would in a way insulate my state of mind from nostalgia's blighting effect. and i think it could use an added paragraph or too after the romantic consequentialist part - to explain how we could regret the choices we make, either because we know better now or, more interestingly, at that time. but it will suffice - i think one could detect implicit sympathies to those arguments in the writing as it already stands.
and although it lacks substance - it is not for my own want of it. indeed, to want to write about something, one is doubtless already under its influence. but i thought to go against the flow there - not to write about how i felt, but about how one could approach the feeling. and i think it basically works.
but enough about that. the things that are filling up the interwebs lately are full of nostalgic stuff anyways. i feel them, man, i feel them.
i've liked a few girls in my time - and it occurred to me the other day that each of them have a song attached to how i remember them. it's really... nostalgic, for lack of a better word. the songs carry little ideas that i found really fit how i thought of them. it's sweet and old and a little bit sad in a way. heh.
barenaked ladies, call and answer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS8XLMxeWLk
i think, it's getting to the point
where i can be myself again
i think, it's getting to the point
where we have almost made amends
i think, it's the getting to the point
that is the hardest part
and if you call, i will answer
and if you call, i'll pick you up
and if you court, this disaster
i'll point you home
i'll point you home
aerosmith, angel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBTOGVb_cQg
god, this one broke my heart. haha, oh boy.
michael stipes with chris martin, in the sun
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix77YY2ggjg
michael stipes has that voice - that strange faraway and familiar voice. the voice of your best friend and your dad and of someone you love.
张学友,只想一生跟你走
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEbXpDTaSek
共你有过最美的邂逅
共你有过一些风雨忧愁
共你醉过痛过的最后
但我发觉想你不能没有
hmm then again, maybe it was wild horses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM
for what it's worth, what i wouldn't give to have sung one to each of them.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUxwm9jjZuY#t=53m09s
reading the last post over again, part of me wants to explain why i went all academic on that one, and the other part is mostly nonchalant. i guess i want to know what it was to feel nostalgic, and not only to feel that way. to think it out like that would in a way insulate my state of mind from nostalgia's blighting effect. and i think it could use an added paragraph or too after the romantic consequentialist part - to explain how we could regret the choices we make, either because we know better now or, more interestingly, at that time. but it will suffice - i think one could detect implicit sympathies to those arguments in the writing as it already stands.
and although it lacks substance - it is not for my own want of it. indeed, to want to write about something, one is doubtless already under its influence. but i thought to go against the flow there - not to write about how i felt, but about how one could approach the feeling. and i think it basically works.
but enough about that. the things that are filling up the interwebs lately are full of nostalgic stuff anyways. i feel them, man, i feel them.
i've liked a few girls in my time - and it occurred to me the other day that each of them have a song attached to how i remember them. it's really... nostalgic, for lack of a better word. the songs carry little ideas that i found really fit how i thought of them. it's sweet and old and a little bit sad in a way. heh.
barenaked ladies, call and answer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS8XLMxeWLk
i think, it's getting to the point
where i can be myself again
i think, it's getting to the point
where we have almost made amends
i think, it's the getting to the point
that is the hardest part
and if you call, i will answer
and if you call, i'll pick you up
and if you court, this disaster
i'll point you home
i'll point you home
aerosmith, angel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBTOGVb_cQg
god, this one broke my heart. haha, oh boy.
michael stipes with chris martin, in the sun
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix77YY2ggjg
michael stipes has that voice - that strange faraway and familiar voice. the voice of your best friend and your dad and of someone you love.
张学友,只想一生跟你走
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEbXpDTaSek
共你有过最美的邂逅
共你有过一些风雨忧愁
共你醉过痛过的最后
但我发觉想你不能没有
hmm then again, maybe it was wild horses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM
for what it's worth, what i wouldn't give to have sung one to each of them.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
CIV - yin-feelings
song of the week: edward elgar - salut d'amour
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxTZjwAhCDo
i realise that the nostalgic feeling often leaves me with very little to write about. it's this strange feeling that's neither here nor there, and i can't put my finger on what it is. but then again, to think about it, nostalgia's not a peculiar feeling, it happens to everyone every now and then, it's not a different sort of animal at first or at each time. it's easy to identify but just so difficult to map out, to trace the outlines of. it's so hard because everyone has different little things they regret. and what i've come to think is that nostalgia is regret's child. regret, that most deadly, most debilitating of yin-feelings.
which is not to say that nostalgia is regret - it is only regret's child. or is regret nostalgia's child? if by definition a parent comes before and is the larger part to which the child, organic and self-determined, fastens, then at once my intuition clouds - yet vaguely reaches for the latter answer. and regret includes not only the things one does or does not, but also the things out of one's power to do. for human limitedness is not regret's boundary - once past the point, it is merely called by its more conventional, more generous name, i.e. sympathy. factor in time - for what is nostalgia without time's passing? - and sympathy past is the obverse of regret. but chief of regret, regret at its core, is really for the things one is responsible for - things one had good reason to do or not do, and was able to change or not change. when i hear someone say that he has no regrets, and i used to say this a lot, i think to smile at his folly.
so now that we are slightly better equipped (if in a meandering way) in our understanding of nostalgia - the question naturally entails - why the feeling? and this is where i fear to take a step, to point to this, that or other. there is no natural content to nostalgia, and there is no natural priority to the constituents of nostalgia-content. there are baskets, pockets of feelings, definitely, but to take this route might not prove useful. for what, after all, does it serve to say, oh i regret not being better friends with this person, we may have been good friends, even a romance - this goes to the girls basket. again, what clarity does it avail to say that this goes to the family basket, the grades basket, or the sporting-dreams basket? for labels do not go far. there is something about feelings which categorising does not properly capture.
not to ramble further in that direction, we return to the question, why the nostalgic feeling? what is this special feeling of retrospection, which makes a human being feel properly old enough to reconsider his life and events past? for it is inevitable that one feels nostalgia only close to a milestone, or more somberly, near something's end, including being past it. why? why do i suddenly feel old? for time creeps but it does not creep up on me! - that is my watchword. i can accept that windows open and windows close, and to accept it is not to be afraid of it.
to be nostalgic is to be a romantic consequentialist - to value decisions by their consequences, in a fuzzy, idealistic chroma. if only things had turned out like this that or other, if only i'd tried talking to her, if only one of my best friends was still around. perhaps i have made the case for consequentialism too broadly, for at first glance nostalgia seems little related to 'how things have turned out'. yet, even the basic wish - to be there again, those days! implies a reluctance to accept that the past was well-lived, for well-lived includes well-cherished, and well-cherished entails well-taken and well-acquitted of, so that one is willing to move on. and indeed how often nostalgia shades into regret! perhaps you will say that one can cherish the past and still wish to re-live it, but even ignoring the fatalistic (because we can only accept it) unidirectional passing of time, my objection is that one should not think that he could do better than how one actually lived, or experienced the moment, even with future knowledge, or with retrospective emotions, for it would ruin the moment. put simply, one could not have more meaningful feelings than one had at the time, and indeed, these feelings form the very memories which fractiously fuel our nostalgia. therefore, having been there is sufficient, is best.
thus i embrace choice and reject consequentialism, at least so far as my will permits, buffeted as it sometimes is by these yin-feelings. unwilling to stray too far into regret's true domain, i think this line of observation remains insightful - for nostalgia, stripped of its rosier inessentials, points to a longing for times past, nostalgia implies that the present is unsatisfactory, unsatisfactory, in a way the past was possessed of, for better or worse. and that is nostalgia - to obscurely despise the present.
ah, then we are a miserable people to often be so nostalgic!
i have so far resisted talking directly about why i feel so peculiarly nostalgically disquieted, and there is no lack of themes which one can quickly warm to. i feel indeed that a large portion of my friends and fellows share these opinions and emotions, and will smile and nod wanly to hear my thoughts. we are, at the brink of something, something larger than, well, something large. the nebulousness of our position! far from being overwhelmed, but not to be underwhelmed either, we are left to grapple with vague, searching questions of meaning, purpose, passion, profession, principles and personage. character, and the things we have done, which henceforth we shall never do again. it is, a very small, very essential part of the existential question. but we are not concerned with the meaning of life just now - our concern is with the paths behind and before us.
i feel that this analysis has satiated me, indeed i am grateful not to be driven further, to delve into the exact feelings which constitute this vagueness. and that is not unlike nostalgia, to feel at one moment terribly affected by some recollection, and in the next to be quite reassured, master again of oneself. and the truth is that i am glad, for the past and the present. really, i think this to be true. there will always be things i carry which bring a shadow to my eyes, but as i stand and think, i know that i do not regret the things i ought not to regret. and perhaps that is no easy thing to say, after all.
i sometimes think about a few related things, related to my death. sometimes i think that it'd be no great loss if i'd never existed - my parents would have some other son, my friends would know some other guy, my god would have some other follower. sometimes i think that if i die i want to just disappear and be forgotten, never to be mourned. i told my good friend this once and she said, okay i'll remember not to cry. i was devastated! haha. but these things are derived of my conviction in the present - to understand the moment, and to live wholeheartedly in it. and that is not to say, without a care in the world, to the contrary - that everything that matters, matters in the present. and if you believe that, then there's no point in us just going through things anymore.
i picture you in the sun, wondering what went wrong
you've fallen down on your knees, asking for sympathy
and being caught in between all you wish for, and all you've seen
trying to find anything you can feel, that you can believe in
may god's love be with you, always
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxTZjwAhCDo
i realise that the nostalgic feeling often leaves me with very little to write about. it's this strange feeling that's neither here nor there, and i can't put my finger on what it is. but then again, to think about it, nostalgia's not a peculiar feeling, it happens to everyone every now and then, it's not a different sort of animal at first or at each time. it's easy to identify but just so difficult to map out, to trace the outlines of. it's so hard because everyone has different little things they regret. and what i've come to think is that nostalgia is regret's child. regret, that most deadly, most debilitating of yin-feelings.
which is not to say that nostalgia is regret - it is only regret's child. or is regret nostalgia's child? if by definition a parent comes before and is the larger part to which the child, organic and self-determined, fastens, then at once my intuition clouds - yet vaguely reaches for the latter answer. and regret includes not only the things one does or does not, but also the things out of one's power to do. for human limitedness is not regret's boundary - once past the point, it is merely called by its more conventional, more generous name, i.e. sympathy. factor in time - for what is nostalgia without time's passing? - and sympathy past is the obverse of regret. but chief of regret, regret at its core, is really for the things one is responsible for - things one had good reason to do or not do, and was able to change or not change. when i hear someone say that he has no regrets, and i used to say this a lot, i think to smile at his folly.
so now that we are slightly better equipped (if in a meandering way) in our understanding of nostalgia - the question naturally entails - why the feeling? and this is where i fear to take a step, to point to this, that or other. there is no natural content to nostalgia, and there is no natural priority to the constituents of nostalgia-content. there are baskets, pockets of feelings, definitely, but to take this route might not prove useful. for what, after all, does it serve to say, oh i regret not being better friends with this person, we may have been good friends, even a romance - this goes to the girls basket. again, what clarity does it avail to say that this goes to the family basket, the grades basket, or the sporting-dreams basket? for labels do not go far. there is something about feelings which categorising does not properly capture.
not to ramble further in that direction, we return to the question, why the nostalgic feeling? what is this special feeling of retrospection, which makes a human being feel properly old enough to reconsider his life and events past? for it is inevitable that one feels nostalgia only close to a milestone, or more somberly, near something's end, including being past it. why? why do i suddenly feel old? for time creeps but it does not creep up on me! - that is my watchword. i can accept that windows open and windows close, and to accept it is not to be afraid of it.
to be nostalgic is to be a romantic consequentialist - to value decisions by their consequences, in a fuzzy, idealistic chroma. if only things had turned out like this that or other, if only i'd tried talking to her, if only one of my best friends was still around. perhaps i have made the case for consequentialism too broadly, for at first glance nostalgia seems little related to 'how things have turned out'. yet, even the basic wish - to be there again, those days! implies a reluctance to accept that the past was well-lived, for well-lived includes well-cherished, and well-cherished entails well-taken and well-acquitted of, so that one is willing to move on. and indeed how often nostalgia shades into regret! perhaps you will say that one can cherish the past and still wish to re-live it, but even ignoring the fatalistic (because we can only accept it) unidirectional passing of time, my objection is that one should not think that he could do better than how one actually lived, or experienced the moment, even with future knowledge, or with retrospective emotions, for it would ruin the moment. put simply, one could not have more meaningful feelings than one had at the time, and indeed, these feelings form the very memories which fractiously fuel our nostalgia. therefore, having been there is sufficient, is best.
thus i embrace choice and reject consequentialism, at least so far as my will permits, buffeted as it sometimes is by these yin-feelings. unwilling to stray too far into regret's true domain, i think this line of observation remains insightful - for nostalgia, stripped of its rosier inessentials, points to a longing for times past, nostalgia implies that the present is unsatisfactory, unsatisfactory, in a way the past was possessed of, for better or worse. and that is nostalgia - to obscurely despise the present.
ah, then we are a miserable people to often be so nostalgic!
"Well," said he (d'Artagnan), "they likewise have refused me."
"That, dear friend, is because nobody is more worthy than yourself."
He took a quill, wrote the name of d'Artagnan in the commission, and returned it to him.
"I shall then have no more friends," said the young man. "Alas! nothing but bitter recollections."
And he let his head sink upon his hands, while two large tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You are young," replied Athos; "and your bitter recollections have time to change themselves into sweet remembrances."
i have so far resisted talking directly about why i feel so peculiarly nostalgically disquieted, and there is no lack of themes which one can quickly warm to. i feel indeed that a large portion of my friends and fellows share these opinions and emotions, and will smile and nod wanly to hear my thoughts. we are, at the brink of something, something larger than, well, something large. the nebulousness of our position! far from being overwhelmed, but not to be underwhelmed either, we are left to grapple with vague, searching questions of meaning, purpose, passion, profession, principles and personage. character, and the things we have done, which henceforth we shall never do again. it is, a very small, very essential part of the existential question. but we are not concerned with the meaning of life just now - our concern is with the paths behind and before us.
i feel that this analysis has satiated me, indeed i am grateful not to be driven further, to delve into the exact feelings which constitute this vagueness. and that is not unlike nostalgia, to feel at one moment terribly affected by some recollection, and in the next to be quite reassured, master again of oneself. and the truth is that i am glad, for the past and the present. really, i think this to be true. there will always be things i carry which bring a shadow to my eyes, but as i stand and think, i know that i do not regret the things i ought not to regret. and perhaps that is no easy thing to say, after all.
i sometimes think about a few related things, related to my death. sometimes i think that it'd be no great loss if i'd never existed - my parents would have some other son, my friends would know some other guy, my god would have some other follower. sometimes i think that if i die i want to just disappear and be forgotten, never to be mourned. i told my good friend this once and she said, okay i'll remember not to cry. i was devastated! haha. but these things are derived of my conviction in the present - to understand the moment, and to live wholeheartedly in it. and that is not to say, without a care in the world, to the contrary - that everything that matters, matters in the present. and if you believe that, then there's no point in us just going through things anymore.
i picture you in the sun, wondering what went wrong
you've fallen down on your knees, asking for sympathy
and being caught in between all you wish for, and all you've seen
trying to find anything you can feel, that you can believe in
may god's love be with you, always
Monday, March 26, 2012
CIII - fuck me, what am i doin' here
song of the week: stevie ray vaughan, pride and joy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keQaz5iYeV4
i think i repeat this question three times a day. in my head it sounds like a clint eastwood kinda mutter. or maybe a kurt russell kinda growl. hell, i can see little stevie ray saying it with a smile.
bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bar-bum - that's basically how the song goes.
well ya heard about lovin' givin' sight to the blind,
my baby's lovin cause the sun to shine,
she's my sweet little thing,
she's my pride and joy.
she's my sweet little baby,
i'm her little lover boy.
i was thinking today on the train, in an uninspired, neutral sort of way, that you know, it really doesn't matter how i feel. it just doesn't matter, not a little bit. the way i feel means nothing besides how i feel it.
for that little moment i felt one with existence, just a little human being in a bigger space. it's like how you used to press the reset button on your computer. there's that brief pause between the com being shut off and the thing rebooting. that moment of just nothing. beeeummmm ... ... ... whrrrrrrrr. if you closed your eyes at that shortest of moments, it was easy to believe nothing would happen.
well i love my lady she's long and lean,
you mess with her you see a man get mean,
she's my sweet little thing,
she's my pride and etc.
bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bar-bum.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keQaz5iYeV4
i think i repeat this question three times a day. in my head it sounds like a clint eastwood kinda mutter. or maybe a kurt russell kinda growl. hell, i can see little stevie ray saying it with a smile.
bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bar-bum - that's basically how the song goes.
well ya heard about lovin' givin' sight to the blind,
my baby's lovin cause the sun to shine,
she's my sweet little thing,
she's my pride and joy.
she's my sweet little baby,
i'm her little lover boy.
i was thinking today on the train, in an uninspired, neutral sort of way, that you know, it really doesn't matter how i feel. it just doesn't matter, not a little bit. the way i feel means nothing besides how i feel it.
for that little moment i felt one with existence, just a little human being in a bigger space. it's like how you used to press the reset button on your computer. there's that brief pause between the com being shut off and the thing rebooting. that moment of just nothing. beeeummmm ... ... ... whrrrrrrrr. if you closed your eyes at that shortest of moments, it was easy to believe nothing would happen.
well i love my lady she's long and lean,
you mess with her you see a man get mean,
she's my sweet little thing,
she's my pride and etc.
bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bar-bum.
Friday, March 23, 2012
CII - the kizuki effect
song of the week: 蕭敬騰, 新不了情
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDLSpIw6Qvw
the general problem with trying to write a juris paper is that there is so much to read. but the thing is that each of these authors are trying to tell a complete and coherent story. and each of these guys are really, incredibly meticulous, structurally sound and persuasive. the tricky part is to consider which account you prefer to which other account. but that's when the magic stops. literally. you're reading to refute and not to believe, you're reading to catch only the relevant portions. you miss the forest for the trees, the elephant for the trophy tusks. and that is when the sum of the story is less than its individual parts. and really, that's tragic. because each of these guys had spent years of their lives considering meta-stories of life and the philosophy of society, politics and law. and to meet them halfway is horrible. how many authors can you think of who dare to write head-to-tail accounts of something fundamental to life, social arrangement and belief, from their own perspective? can you even think of one of your beloved authors who poured out their lives in magnum opuses, not least in response to such other masterpieces written by their most esteemed colleagues, scholars of the highest order, and we dare pick their bones and call them out for theoretical trivialities? oh for shame!
but each of these guys knew what they were in for, conceptually, analytically, substantively and normatively. it was not cut and thrust to them, no mere squabble, no linguistic sparring, no, this was the real stuff. as for us, we are more than lawyers. i always say that. i once told my friend, when she was seriously working (well, being worked) too much, that she was more than a doctor. we are more than lawyers, to us words are more than skills. words are the overflow not just of our minds, but also our hearts. and taking juris has taught me that i am more than a lawyer, maybe more than a legal scholar. i don't take it as an elitist feeling. to me everyone should take juris. i know many don't like it. i guess if justifying your beliefs and actions aren't important to you, then you'll find your own paths in life. i don't mean this as reproach, i mean this as a call-out. maybe there are more important things to worry about, practical things, defending the innocent. but juris for me is about stories and meta-stories. and stories are the stuff of human existence.
i was thinking just now about how i relate really well with children, i open up to 'em and listen to 'em and treat them as people. they find it funny. i don't know why i don't relate to people like that. part of me is worried about being too effusive or charming. part of me knows that some people will put some kind of label on me, kind or unkind, and i'm kinda against that sort of thing. i guess really, i don't want to show my weak side to people, and when i'm around children i can show my strong and good and cheerful side all the time, and that puts me at ease. it's the... kizuki effect (norwegian wood - the part where naoko knows about kizuki's strong and weak side, the latter of which he tries to hide). not wanting to appear vulnerable, not wanting to show my weak side, and then my independence, has made me withdrawn in a way. maybe that's why i'm so good at entertaining people. maybe that's why they think i'm weirdly withdrawn. it's a dynamic (well there's nothing dynamic about it) that i think some people manage to understand. but i'm sure it's, or i'm, puzzling to others.
either way, i don't really care, because i'm such a genuine person. haha. what a terrible thing to say.
anyway, at the moment things are neither here nor there. i don't really mind things as they are. of course it's not easy seeing her once a week. i stand by what i say, things could go well or things could go badly. they haven't come to a head, but again i'm not in a hurry. that's not accurate, i mean that things beyond my control aren't in a hurry and i don't really mind. it's very norwegian wood. oh! my life has been written out in a wonderful little book.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDLSpIw6Qvw
the general problem with trying to write a juris paper is that there is so much to read. but the thing is that each of these authors are trying to tell a complete and coherent story. and each of these guys are really, incredibly meticulous, structurally sound and persuasive. the tricky part is to consider which account you prefer to which other account. but that's when the magic stops. literally. you're reading to refute and not to believe, you're reading to catch only the relevant portions. you miss the forest for the trees, the elephant for the trophy tusks. and that is when the sum of the story is less than its individual parts. and really, that's tragic. because each of these guys had spent years of their lives considering meta-stories of life and the philosophy of society, politics and law. and to meet them halfway is horrible. how many authors can you think of who dare to write head-to-tail accounts of something fundamental to life, social arrangement and belief, from their own perspective? can you even think of one of your beloved authors who poured out their lives in magnum opuses, not least in response to such other masterpieces written by their most esteemed colleagues, scholars of the highest order, and we dare pick their bones and call them out for theoretical trivialities? oh for shame!
but each of these guys knew what they were in for, conceptually, analytically, substantively and normatively. it was not cut and thrust to them, no mere squabble, no linguistic sparring, no, this was the real stuff. as for us, we are more than lawyers. i always say that. i once told my friend, when she was seriously working (well, being worked) too much, that she was more than a doctor. we are more than lawyers, to us words are more than skills. words are the overflow not just of our minds, but also our hearts. and taking juris has taught me that i am more than a lawyer, maybe more than a legal scholar. i don't take it as an elitist feeling. to me everyone should take juris. i know many don't like it. i guess if justifying your beliefs and actions aren't important to you, then you'll find your own paths in life. i don't mean this as reproach, i mean this as a call-out. maybe there are more important things to worry about, practical things, defending the innocent. but juris for me is about stories and meta-stories. and stories are the stuff of human existence.
Morgan Freeman (from the movie Se7en, 1996): "Gentlemen, gentlemen... All these books, a world of knowledge at your fingertips, and you play poker all night."
Library Guard: "We've got culture! We've got culture comin' out our asses!
i was thinking just now about how i relate really well with children, i open up to 'em and listen to 'em and treat them as people. they find it funny. i don't know why i don't relate to people like that. part of me is worried about being too effusive or charming. part of me knows that some people will put some kind of label on me, kind or unkind, and i'm kinda against that sort of thing. i guess really, i don't want to show my weak side to people, and when i'm around children i can show my strong and good and cheerful side all the time, and that puts me at ease. it's the... kizuki effect (norwegian wood - the part where naoko knows about kizuki's strong and weak side, the latter of which he tries to hide). not wanting to appear vulnerable, not wanting to show my weak side, and then my independence, has made me withdrawn in a way. maybe that's why i'm so good at entertaining people. maybe that's why they think i'm weirdly withdrawn. it's a dynamic (well there's nothing dynamic about it) that i think some people manage to understand. but i'm sure it's, or i'm, puzzling to others.
either way, i don't really care, because i'm such a genuine person. haha. what a terrible thing to say.
anyway, at the moment things are neither here nor there. i don't really mind things as they are. of course it's not easy seeing her once a week. i stand by what i say, things could go well or things could go badly. they haven't come to a head, but again i'm not in a hurry. that's not accurate, i mean that things beyond my control aren't in a hurry and i don't really mind. it's very norwegian wood. oh! my life has been written out in a wonderful little book.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
CI - a little green light
song of the week: gregg allman, melissa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWtLkSlfWRQ"something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet suggested that it was mr. gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.
i decided to call to him. miss baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. but i didn't call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone - he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as i was from him, i could have sworn he was trembling. involuntarily i glanced seaward - and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and faraway, that might have been the end of a dock. when i looked once more for gatsby he had vanished, and i was alone again in the unquiet darkness."
no one knows the gypsy's name
and no one hears his lonely sigh
there are no blankets where he lies
in all his deepest dreams the gypsy flies
with sweet melissa
Monday, March 5, 2012
C - to trifles
song of the week: nicholas chim, as long as you come first
http://nicholaschim.bandcamp.com/track/as-long-as-you-come-first
the title of this post, and its earlier reference, comes from the dear fictitious character of Aramis, of the three musketeers' fame. oh pardon me it was Athos! dear nonetheless.
let's talk about Hart and Dworkin.
Hart thinks that you can describe a social practice by exclusive reference to social fact, in particular, that law is a set of rules which legal officials regard as binding. Dworkin thinks that social practices cannot be described by analyses which purport to find substantively neutral criteria such as these; he thinks that what law is must be interpreted based on grounds of law which are best justified by the political context of that society. in other words, notwithstanding what is posited law, what is "the law" must be re-interpreted in each context.
let's talk about love. is love a social practice? haha, whatever, right? anyway, it used to be i thought that love was basically something describable. you could identify key features, necessary criteria, of love, and whether or not something was love depended on the extent to which these criteria were fulfilled. you'd know when you were in love with someone, it just was, amazingly. like going through the looking glass. you knew it because it was special. you knew it because, and i love this quote, all the love songs made sense. you knew it because of that dreamy feeling thinking about the person you loved. you knew it because of the very awful and tense feeling of unease and selfish envy. so on and so forth. there's probably out there a large body of opinion what other criteria of love there is, or what the central concept of love is, e.g. sacrifice, but let's not go there.
the point is that until recently, and maybe still, i thought that love was something you intuitively knew was true about the way you felt about a person, and the implication of a positive identification was that you stuck to it, never changed your mind, stuff like that. if you found love, then you had to die trying. but maybe what is love is a continuing interpretive exercise, something which is posited love may not be love in a particular context that subsequently develops. in other words, if you thought you were in love, and you didn't think you were wrong to feel that way, or in continuing to do so, i guess there's no absolute obligation to that love is what i mean (to be conceptually correct, because the grounds of love have changed; note that obligation is a different question from identification). and i feel that's sad because what's love if that's it?
what would i say this is, interpretive relativism? haha, whatever. i guess the short reply to relativism would be that the concept of a social practice, and the grounds which justify an interpretation in central cases of that social practice, have a certain enduring sustainability, i.e. they do not sway with the times. this may be a substantive answer which does not meet the present categorisation challenge, but as Dworkin would say, substantive argument is really where it's at.
you know, i keep thinking, it's funny how i'm still alone. i don't feel the loneliness, and i really think that i'm happy to be alone. but it's funny how i'm still alone. considering all the things i am, it's preposterous, it doesn't make sense. a lot of times i feel conflicted about things like these, really. i'm the kind of guy that is probably pretty charming, but i'm afraid to be that way most of the time, and i feel deep down in my being that my talents, for want of a better word, are not for selfish gratification. and when it comes to liking girls, you could say i'm a choosy person, but i would say i know what i'm doing. anyway it just strikes me (strangely, more each day) as incredible, bemusing, that i'm still alone.
at the heart of it is the constant belief that i'm doing the right thing, that whatever it is i want to find, i will find it, or if not, then it must have been ordained as not. but sometimes at night lying down in bed i wonder if there's not a simpler answer to life and love; to let go of the things i believe in and to understand that i can find love and be happy in the normal way.
but the truth is that i'm afraid of being with the wrong girl. i'm afraid of a dawning realisation such as that, i think it would be terrible. i'm sure one can say, you can choose to love someone, come what may, but one could nonetheless say the reverse. don't you think life has too many examples of couples who weren't meant to be together? i can't think about it without having to wince. and i don't think i'm afraid for me, i think i'm afraid of making a girl like that sad. in other words, i don't want to screw it up. and where does that leave me? with this very conviction of mine that what i'm doing is right. i think i could see the circularity in it, but that wouldn't be fatal to the belief, i don't think. the cost of this general fear is some of my natural charm, but i guess this is no great loss.
anyway, i know when feelings tell me things, or when they start to hint. maybe i'm sensitive to the interpretive attitude. maybe being sure of something like love is too naive, insufficient, or incomplete. but thinking about things like this is sobering in a very dismal way. i guess i don't want the paradigm i believe in to change. but then, who would?
no sweeping exits, or off-stage lines,
could make me feel bitter, or treat you unkind.
wild horses, couldn't drag me away.
http://nicholaschim.bandcamp.com/track/as-long-as-you-come-first
the title of this post, and its earlier reference, comes from the dear fictitious character of Aramis, of the three musketeers' fame. oh pardon me it was Athos! dear nonetheless.
D'Artagnan related his adventure with Madame Bonacieux. Athos listened to him with perfect immobility of countenance; and when he had finished, -"Trifles, all that;" said Athos, "nothing but trifles!" That was Athos' expression."You always say trifles, my dear Athos!" said D'Artagnan, "and that comes very ill from you, who have never been in love."The drink-deadened eye of Athos flashed, but it was only for a moment - it became dull and vacant as before."That's true," he said quietly, "for my part I have never loved."
let's talk about Hart and Dworkin.
Hart thinks that you can describe a social practice by exclusive reference to social fact, in particular, that law is a set of rules which legal officials regard as binding. Dworkin thinks that social practices cannot be described by analyses which purport to find substantively neutral criteria such as these; he thinks that what law is must be interpreted based on grounds of law which are best justified by the political context of that society. in other words, notwithstanding what is posited law, what is "the law" must be re-interpreted in each context.
let's talk about love. is love a social practice? haha, whatever, right? anyway, it used to be i thought that love was basically something describable. you could identify key features, necessary criteria, of love, and whether or not something was love depended on the extent to which these criteria were fulfilled. you'd know when you were in love with someone, it just was, amazingly. like going through the looking glass. you knew it because it was special. you knew it because, and i love this quote, all the love songs made sense. you knew it because of that dreamy feeling thinking about the person you loved. you knew it because of the very awful and tense feeling of unease and selfish envy. so on and so forth. there's probably out there a large body of opinion what other criteria of love there is, or what the central concept of love is, e.g. sacrifice, but let's not go there.
the point is that until recently, and maybe still, i thought that love was something you intuitively knew was true about the way you felt about a person, and the implication of a positive identification was that you stuck to it, never changed your mind, stuff like that. if you found love, then you had to die trying. but maybe what is love is a continuing interpretive exercise, something which is posited love may not be love in a particular context that subsequently develops. in other words, if you thought you were in love, and you didn't think you were wrong to feel that way, or in continuing to do so, i guess there's no absolute obligation to that love is what i mean (to be conceptually correct, because the grounds of love have changed; note that obligation is a different question from identification). and i feel that's sad because what's love if that's it?
what would i say this is, interpretive relativism? haha, whatever. i guess the short reply to relativism would be that the concept of a social practice, and the grounds which justify an interpretation in central cases of that social practice, have a certain enduring sustainability, i.e. they do not sway with the times. this may be a substantive answer which does not meet the present categorisation challenge, but as Dworkin would say, substantive argument is really where it's at.
you know, i keep thinking, it's funny how i'm still alone. i don't feel the loneliness, and i really think that i'm happy to be alone. but it's funny how i'm still alone. considering all the things i am, it's preposterous, it doesn't make sense. a lot of times i feel conflicted about things like these, really. i'm the kind of guy that is probably pretty charming, but i'm afraid to be that way most of the time, and i feel deep down in my being that my talents, for want of a better word, are not for selfish gratification. and when it comes to liking girls, you could say i'm a choosy person, but i would say i know what i'm doing. anyway it just strikes me (strangely, more each day) as incredible, bemusing, that i'm still alone.
at the heart of it is the constant belief that i'm doing the right thing, that whatever it is i want to find, i will find it, or if not, then it must have been ordained as not. but sometimes at night lying down in bed i wonder if there's not a simpler answer to life and love; to let go of the things i believe in and to understand that i can find love and be happy in the normal way.
but the truth is that i'm afraid of being with the wrong girl. i'm afraid of a dawning realisation such as that, i think it would be terrible. i'm sure one can say, you can choose to love someone, come what may, but one could nonetheless say the reverse. don't you think life has too many examples of couples who weren't meant to be together? i can't think about it without having to wince. and i don't think i'm afraid for me, i think i'm afraid of making a girl like that sad. in other words, i don't want to screw it up. and where does that leave me? with this very conviction of mine that what i'm doing is right. i think i could see the circularity in it, but that wouldn't be fatal to the belief, i don't think. the cost of this general fear is some of my natural charm, but i guess this is no great loss.
anyway, i know when feelings tell me things, or when they start to hint. maybe i'm sensitive to the interpretive attitude. maybe being sure of something like love is too naive, insufficient, or incomplete. but thinking about things like this is sobering in a very dismal way. i guess i don't want the paradigm i believe in to change. but then, who would?
no sweeping exits, or off-stage lines,
could make me feel bitter, or treat you unkind.
wild horses, couldn't drag me away.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
XCIX - ian on guitar stuff, epi 3
updates
feb 2011 - feb 2012, $150, mi-audio tubezone, -$125
february 2010 - dec 2011, $1500, 01' gibson les paul standard, cherry sunburst, -$1730
it's funny, i never liked the tubezone until the day i was to sell it. i mean, it was still a bit loose sounding and all, and i still hadn't found a sweet spot with all the fiddly knobs it came with (damn thing had 6 knobs). but i came pretty close, and working the volume on the guitar gave it a heck of a tone range. but i had to sell it. oh, at least i still got the sahasrara, which sounds good at any dial. god damn!
i should probably get a fuzz. i mean, what's the point of listening to so much hendrix if i ain't gonna get a fuzz? it doesn't make sense. and of course, someday i'm gonna get a joe b signature goldtop les paul. it's like what 3.8k USD? come on, they're giving it away here.
there was a pretty funny 9gag post about guitars lately. let me see if i can find it.
http://9gag.com/gag/2690821
love his look. i bet he plays killer.
so it's been almost 8 years since i've been playing. i like the guitar. i like the way i like it. i mean, honestly, i've never truly felt frustrated with my playing, if i wanted to play something and worked at it, it generally came to me. importantly, i play it for myself. it's like my fingers are talking to me. which isn't a bad thing because i dunno it doesn't really impress the girls anymore. hahaha. well i guess if there's one thing i don't do enough, it's playing with other people. but that's just the way it is. and yeah it's an expensive hobby, but it's a fairly liquid one, and i haven't really bought anything for awhile. and... when it comes down to it, really, music is something i feel is worth doing. the magic of stevie ray vaughan, duane allman, jimi, joe b, richie blackmore, their playing is a really big part of my life. and i'm pretty sure if i didn't listen to so much rock, i'd not have come to like classical music. i love classical music.
anyway yesterday i was just thinking to myself, golly, i played in a musical. i mean the music was all there, but it was pretty cool to have played in a musical. if i was honest i'd admit that i probably wasn't the nicest guy i could have been during those few months, for reasons unrelated to the guys or the music. does that make my recollection of it a little regretful? yeah, it does a little. but you know, feelings are feelings. i tend to fall back on my oft-cited line that i'm not used to being around people, and sometimes i think i'm making use of it as an excuse. but that's the way it is, again. a lot of the time i feel that people in general are difficult to accept, and i get a little bit detached. it's the norwegian wood in me.
anyhoo, i'm thankful to my dad for being so supportive of me. really. i think he's funded all my significant purchases. i mean my army and pre-uni pay i've never really squandered, but essentially i've been managing his money for awhile, responsibly so, and that's how i got most of the stuff. i mean, i think i've more or less been net with my buy/sells. it's funny, i admit most of the old stuff i listen to are developments from listening to purple, which is really from my dad. my dad is quite something. he's a resilient old man. we understand each other very well, and i've got a lot of sympathy for him. i know that he's more proud of me than anything in this world. well, i could probably say the same about my mom. but my dad is proud of me as a person, whereas my mom is proud of me as a son. i guess we'll try to fix that come may when i go over to adelaide.
looking at my gear, there are so many stories, but i guess none that really pop out as much as the first guitar i got. and happily enough, whenever i go back to draw on that well i find that i dig the sound it makes. it tells me that my technique isn't half bad. it tells me that i can hear the feelings in my playing. and it tells me that as long as i treat it nicely it'll be there and well. i may never play it like tommy e plays it, but i can get over on it once in awhile. hell, it was the guitar i learnt to play blurry on. now that one felt fun.
feb 2011 - feb 2012, $150, mi-audio tubezone, -$125
february 2010 - dec 2011, $1500, 01' gibson les paul standard, cherry sunburst, -$1730
it's funny, i never liked the tubezone until the day i was to sell it. i mean, it was still a bit loose sounding and all, and i still hadn't found a sweet spot with all the fiddly knobs it came with (damn thing had 6 knobs). but i came pretty close, and working the volume on the guitar gave it a heck of a tone range. but i had to sell it. oh, at least i still got the sahasrara, which sounds good at any dial. god damn!
i should probably get a fuzz. i mean, what's the point of listening to so much hendrix if i ain't gonna get a fuzz? it doesn't make sense. and of course, someday i'm gonna get a joe b signature goldtop les paul. it's like what 3.8k USD? come on, they're giving it away here.
there was a pretty funny 9gag post about guitars lately. let me see if i can find it.
http://9gag.com/gag/2690821
love his look. i bet he plays killer.
so it's been almost 8 years since i've been playing. i like the guitar. i like the way i like it. i mean, honestly, i've never truly felt frustrated with my playing, if i wanted to play something and worked at it, it generally came to me. importantly, i play it for myself. it's like my fingers are talking to me. which isn't a bad thing because i dunno it doesn't really impress the girls anymore. hahaha. well i guess if there's one thing i don't do enough, it's playing with other people. but that's just the way it is. and yeah it's an expensive hobby, but it's a fairly liquid one, and i haven't really bought anything for awhile. and... when it comes down to it, really, music is something i feel is worth doing. the magic of stevie ray vaughan, duane allman, jimi, joe b, richie blackmore, their playing is a really big part of my life. and i'm pretty sure if i didn't listen to so much rock, i'd not have come to like classical music. i love classical music.
anyway yesterday i was just thinking to myself, golly, i played in a musical. i mean the music was all there, but it was pretty cool to have played in a musical. if i was honest i'd admit that i probably wasn't the nicest guy i could have been during those few months, for reasons unrelated to the guys or the music. does that make my recollection of it a little regretful? yeah, it does a little. but you know, feelings are feelings. i tend to fall back on my oft-cited line that i'm not used to being around people, and sometimes i think i'm making use of it as an excuse. but that's the way it is, again. a lot of the time i feel that people in general are difficult to accept, and i get a little bit detached. it's the norwegian wood in me.
anyhoo, i'm thankful to my dad for being so supportive of me. really. i think he's funded all my significant purchases. i mean my army and pre-uni pay i've never really squandered, but essentially i've been managing his money for awhile, responsibly so, and that's how i got most of the stuff. i mean, i think i've more or less been net with my buy/sells. it's funny, i admit most of the old stuff i listen to are developments from listening to purple, which is really from my dad. my dad is quite something. he's a resilient old man. we understand each other very well, and i've got a lot of sympathy for him. i know that he's more proud of me than anything in this world. well, i could probably say the same about my mom. but my dad is proud of me as a person, whereas my mom is proud of me as a son. i guess we'll try to fix that come may when i go over to adelaide.
looking at my gear, there are so many stories, but i guess none that really pop out as much as the first guitar i got. and happily enough, whenever i go back to draw on that well i find that i dig the sound it makes. it tells me that my technique isn't half bad. it tells me that i can hear the feelings in my playing. and it tells me that as long as i treat it nicely it'll be there and well. i may never play it like tommy e plays it, but i can get over on it once in awhile. hell, it was the guitar i learnt to play blurry on. now that one felt fun.
Friday, February 17, 2012
XCVIII - epiphanies
song of the week: lenka, the show
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elsh3J5lJ6g
sometimes it takes a day, sometimes it takes a year. sometimes it takes whiskey. no, maybe not that. well, maybe sometimes. whatever conditions [precedent] it has, i think it probably comes from inner calm, calm that comes from a place you sink to to realise. and they're not formulated as solutions, because i don't think in life the end of one's struggles are solutions, but more, i dunno, meta-spiritually, i think in the end the most that you can ask for, and indeed to a not un-satisfying extent, get, are perspectives. perspectives are not the answer, but they explain the question, they explain your question. and i think in life that is what most people are looking for, more than answers.
as humphrey bogart famously said, things are never so bad they can't be made worse. but let me claim to understand him a little bit better, and i think he says it in a light-hearted manner. just picture it, his cigarette, his cream suit, his self-deprecating smile. it's a yogi-ism. things are never so bad, and then it's funny that they can be made worse. just watch casablanca, you'll get what i mean. things are never so bad, and it includes him cracking a joke.
just hear him in your head... "of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine..." oh! classic.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elsh3J5lJ6g
sometimes it takes a day, sometimes it takes a year. sometimes it takes whiskey. no, maybe not that. well, maybe sometimes. whatever conditions [precedent] it has, i think it probably comes from inner calm, calm that comes from a place you sink to to realise. and they're not formulated as solutions, because i don't think in life the end of one's struggles are solutions, but more, i dunno, meta-spiritually, i think in the end the most that you can ask for, and indeed to a not un-satisfying extent, get, are perspectives. perspectives are not the answer, but they explain the question, they explain your question. and i think in life that is what most people are looking for, more than answers.
as humphrey bogart famously said, things are never so bad they can't be made worse. but let me claim to understand him a little bit better, and i think he says it in a light-hearted manner. just picture it, his cigarette, his cream suit, his self-deprecating smile. it's a yogi-ism. things are never so bad, and then it's funny that they can be made worse. just watch casablanca, you'll get what i mean. things are never so bad, and it includes him cracking a joke.
just hear him in your head... "of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine..." oh! classic.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
XCVII - underneath the windows of the sky
i imagine it as jumping into a big, deep, boundless (and beautiful) ocean. at first the depth and the cold and the sensory void is so strange as to be frightening, terrifying. it feels like a world apart, people live and breathe on the surface near the water but they can't hear you or see you, and you can't reach them. and as you listen to your thoughts to make sense of being surrounded only by ocean, you realise something interesting, whatever it may be. and getting used to the ocean and the ocean alone isn't getting harder if you don't find it strange that people live apart from the ocean, outside of the ocean. and someday you learn to breathe the ocean water. sometimes you imagine not the living but the apart. if anything makes sense it is things made by people who are ocean people as well. but you could breathe the ocean water if you wanted, and nothing too important comes after that.
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