Tuesday, 27 April 2010
delete
[this post has been removed by its author because sometimes you answer with no questions, and sometimes you question with no answers]
Monday, 26 April 2010
alternate
doctor fernando gabriel is a missionary in a third world country. he also works periodically for a research laboratory in the states, under the cdc, which garners him an annual income reaching seven figures. his work is exciting, challenging, self-fulfilling and self-actualising. but most importantly, his job is his. and nobody does his job better than fernando gabriel.
dr. fernando also happens to be fit, as he can afford the temporal as well as monetary leisures of taking time off on a regular basis just to keep in touch with himself, in body and mind; in spirit and soul. he is not particularly pious, but he is far from the derogatory terms of 'infidel' or 'disbeliever'. to what or in what he believes, is of no import, but suffice to say that he is metaphysically aware and successful - he is one with the universe, and one with himself.
of all the externalities of charity, giving to the people and making the world a better place in general, dr. fernando is also quite the individualistic epitome. this year, he is nominated for a nobel prize due to his groundbreaking research in the theory of protein folding, and in conjunction with the cdc (he has his own research group, too), he is on the verge of changing how medicine treats disease. oh, and for his philantropic efforts, he has previously been awarded the nobel prize in peace. not that he cares much for these things, but it is a testament to the character that is fernando gabriel.
if one could see into the future, one would fine comfort in knowing that selflessness is not without its rewards, and so dr. fernando will go on to meet his soulmate, his one love, his completion to everything corporeal and his appendage to everything not - on his travels, of places there are many, he will upon coincidence, meet this fateful person and fall deeply, madly, devotedly in love, and from then only move forward.
there is no stopping fernando, and only god knows what pillars of might hold strong an individual who knows and is more than one could care to want. indeed, it would seem that dr. fernando is a fictional (and mythical) character, but, fortunately, he is not.
and in an alternate world, where karma holds govern and is in conjunction with this parallel world, fernando is you. fernando is me. and fernando is most definitely, a someone.
dr. fernando also happens to be fit, as he can afford the temporal as well as monetary leisures of taking time off on a regular basis just to keep in touch with himself, in body and mind; in spirit and soul. he is not particularly pious, but he is far from the derogatory terms of 'infidel' or 'disbeliever'. to what or in what he believes, is of no import, but suffice to say that he is metaphysically aware and successful - he is one with the universe, and one with himself.
of all the externalities of charity, giving to the people and making the world a better place in general, dr. fernando is also quite the individualistic epitome. this year, he is nominated for a nobel prize due to his groundbreaking research in the theory of protein folding, and in conjunction with the cdc (he has his own research group, too), he is on the verge of changing how medicine treats disease. oh, and for his philantropic efforts, he has previously been awarded the nobel prize in peace. not that he cares much for these things, but it is a testament to the character that is fernando gabriel.
if one could see into the future, one would fine comfort in knowing that selflessness is not without its rewards, and so dr. fernando will go on to meet his soulmate, his one love, his completion to everything corporeal and his appendage to everything not - on his travels, of places there are many, he will upon coincidence, meet this fateful person and fall deeply, madly, devotedly in love, and from then only move forward.
there is no stopping fernando, and only god knows what pillars of might hold strong an individual who knows and is more than one could care to want. indeed, it would seem that dr. fernando is a fictional (and mythical) character, but, fortunately, he is not.
and in an alternate world, where karma holds govern and is in conjunction with this parallel world, fernando is you. fernando is me. and fernando is most definitely, a someone.
Sunday, 25 April 2010
control
i was talking with a1 late last night, contemplating the mysteries of life, the universe and everything (lies). actually, we were just catching up on old times, and i stress the use of the word 'old' because it is not only becoming very descriptive of me, but it seems to be a recurring theme and manifest. it doesn't take much more than reflection on ones aging state of body and mind to remind oneself of the banality and mortality of one's existence. i digress.
so we're chatting, talking about passed lives, current loves, and future deaths. such is the progression of life. and though the hard-hitting questions go unanswered [which is ironic, since i start the entry with an easily answerable question (42 or gtfo)], the progressively more depressing and despairing conversation culminates in one thing - the lack of control one has in life.
it's not like i philosophise much, especially when talking with friends. but, i would like to imagine that on some level, this is a question posed by many great people, like professor farnsworth and the jabberwocky: what really does one have that is fully is in his control? (or her. politically correct disclaimer here, to include those of questionable gender). i cannot explore this question even as a sufficient superficial exercise, so i pose it for the reader to ponder:
personally, a1 answered mine for me, in that i really have none. except in the holy trinity of love, hate and chocolate consumption. i guess the lesson here is we should all learn to consume more chocolate.
so we're chatting, talking about passed lives, current loves, and future deaths. such is the progression of life. and though the hard-hitting questions go unanswered [which is ironic, since i start the entry with an easily answerable question (42 or gtfo)], the progressively more depressing and despairing conversation culminates in one thing - the lack of control one has in life.
it's not like i philosophise much, especially when talking with friends. but, i would like to imagine that on some level, this is a question posed by many great people, like professor farnsworth and the jabberwocky: what really does one have that is fully is in his control? (or her. politically correct disclaimer here, to include those of questionable gender). i cannot explore this question even as a sufficient superficial exercise, so i pose it for the reader to ponder:
how much control do you have of your life?
personally, a1 answered mine for me, in that i really have none. except in the holy trinity of love, hate and chocolate consumption. i guess the lesson here is we should all learn to consume more chocolate.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
what is love?
baby don't hurt me. don't hurt me. no more.
if you aren't bobbing your head to haddaway's 'what is love' a-la 'a night at the roxbury', you fail so hard, it's like a boiled egg. but really, back to the question at hand, what is love?
this summarises the extremities of love, i think. at the very least, ones that i can count off the top of my head. and i have not much experience to talk from, so i can only digress and obfuscate. to be honest, i think it's one of those questions you can answer for yourself, and only for yourself - everyone's personal dabbles in love will be different and i am only so much of a sampler from human lives, a far cry from being able to give an answer to this.
so ask yourself today, just like how someone asked me out of the blue - what is love?
or more importantly, can you do the epic head-bob?
if you aren't bobbing your head to haddaway's 'what is love' a-la 'a night at the roxbury', you fail so hard, it's like a boiled egg. but really, back to the question at hand, what is love?
is it something chemical? something physical?
is it something persistent? or non-existent?
is it like a summer's day, temperate and lovely?
is it angst and disappointment and failures of sully?
this summarises the extremities of love, i think. at the very least, ones that i can count off the top of my head. and i have not much experience to talk from, so i can only digress and obfuscate. to be honest, i think it's one of those questions you can answer for yourself, and only for yourself - everyone's personal dabbles in love will be different and i am only so much of a sampler from human lives, a far cry from being able to give an answer to this.
so ask yourself today, just like how someone asked me out of the blue - what is love?
or more importantly, can you do the epic head-bob?
Monday, 19 April 2010
pew pew layzorz
i was talking to a friend over the weekend, who happened to think that i am currently studying statistics / mathematics. although this is very favourable (at least to me), it is sadly not the case. to reiterate what i am (unfortunately) really doing, here is more infectious disease hoo-hah to lighten everyones' days.
malaria is the big killer of our time (well, not really, but it's right up there). and most of you will know that malaria is a mosquito-borne disease, transmitted by the species anopheles (as opposed to dengue which is transmitted by aedes mosquitoes, and various other things via culex). anyway, the latter two stuff are for another day - back to malaria.
it's just something horrible, you really don't want to catch it. undulating fevers and high temperatures alternating with chills and shivers. muscle aches. vomiting and nausea. disorientation. all that jazz. oh yeah, there's death there somewhere, too.
unfortunately, for the most part of impoverished countries in the sub-saharan region, as well in south america and south-east asia, malaria is still a prevalent disease. as such, many grants and supplements are offered for the research into a way of preventing malaria. as the old adage goes, prevention is better than cure, and this is undoubtedly the case for malaria, as the consensus is, if we could prevent malaria, we'd abolish all the disease-associated costs. makes sense.
and so, we come to how are we going to stop malaria? intuitively, you'd want to target the culprit, a single-celled organism known as plasmodium (falciparum). but, this isn't really that easy as this protist is a pro when it comes to disguising itself - it lives in your liver and red blood cells, and when it's outside the cells, it covers itself in ninja-like molecules so your body can't detect it. it's pretty much invisible and flies under your immune system's radar, so drugs which enhance the immune system, or at the very least, supplement it (which is usually the case) won't work in this situation.
so what next? let's get the mosquitoes, you say? brilliant idea! kill two birds with one stone - the plasmodiums and the annoying flying needles. and to this end, there's been a lot of research - from the crude use of pesticides to the genetic engineering of mutant mosquitoes and the introduction of eunuch mosquitoes in religiously-zealous countries (poor things) to prevent them from breeeding. but that's all old jazz, this is the 21st century - say hello to the progeny of the 'star wars' project:
lasers to zap mosquitoes from space?! more likely than you think. currently, we're just using localised lasers to shoot down these flying menaces, but who knows where the future will bring us. what's super awesome about this is that the recognition systems (which also use lasers, and to an extent sonar equipment) are able to tell the difference between mosquitoes and other insects. not just that, they can tell between male and female mosquitoes - sexist machines in the making. though this may only be of academic value, just think of the potential for all this technology. maybe our great great grandchildren will only be asking their parents of ticks and mice and flies and lice, which they only hear in storybooks and see in museums. not necessarily the most ecologically conscious thing to come about, but who knows?
malaria is the big killer of our time (well, not really, but it's right up there). and most of you will know that malaria is a mosquito-borne disease, transmitted by the species anopheles (as opposed to dengue which is transmitted by aedes mosquitoes, and various other things via culex). anyway, the latter two stuff are for another day - back to malaria.
it's just something horrible, you really don't want to catch it. undulating fevers and high temperatures alternating with chills and shivers. muscle aches. vomiting and nausea. disorientation. all that jazz. oh yeah, there's death there somewhere, too.
unfortunately, for the most part of impoverished countries in the sub-saharan region, as well in south america and south-east asia, malaria is still a prevalent disease. as such, many grants and supplements are offered for the research into a way of preventing malaria. as the old adage goes, prevention is better than cure, and this is undoubtedly the case for malaria, as the consensus is, if we could prevent malaria, we'd abolish all the disease-associated costs. makes sense.
and so, we come to how are we going to stop malaria? intuitively, you'd want to target the culprit, a single-celled organism known as plasmodium (falciparum). but, this isn't really that easy as this protist is a pro when it comes to disguising itself - it lives in your liver and red blood cells, and when it's outside the cells, it covers itself in ninja-like molecules so your body can't detect it. it's pretty much invisible and flies under your immune system's radar, so drugs which enhance the immune system, or at the very least, supplement it (which is usually the case) won't work in this situation.
so what next? let's get the mosquitoes, you say? brilliant idea! kill two birds with one stone - the plasmodiums and the annoying flying needles. and to this end, there's been a lot of research - from the crude use of pesticides to the genetic engineering of mutant mosquitoes and the introduction of eunuch mosquitoes in religiously-zealous countries (poor things) to prevent them from breeeding. but that's all old jazz, this is the 21st century - say hello to the progeny of the 'star wars' project:
lasers to zap mosquitoes from space?! more likely than you think. currently, we're just using localised lasers to shoot down these flying menaces, but who knows where the future will bring us. what's super awesome about this is that the recognition systems (which also use lasers, and to an extent sonar equipment) are able to tell the difference between mosquitoes and other insects. not just that, they can tell between male and female mosquitoes - sexist machines in the making. though this may only be of academic value, just think of the potential for all this technology. maybe our great great grandchildren will only be asking their parents of ticks and mice and flies and lice, which they only hear in storybooks and see in museums. not necessarily the most ecologically conscious thing to come about, but who knows?
Sunday, 18 April 2010
murder-suicide
it kills me, every time i log into facebook, and see you in the 'you are friends with...' box. in that little left-hand corner; obscured in my peripheral view, but grabbing the most attention nonetheless.
it kills me, every time i meet a mutual friend (and sometimes not-so-mutual ones) and (s)he asks what has happened to 'our old friends', and i can only reply that some of them have gone on with their lives, lost forever in a sea of never-ending work, pursuit of great justice (also known as money) and devotion to the loved and the loving.
it kills me, every time someone inquires if i have finally worked up the courage (though rarely, as only a handful of confidants can do so). if i have learned that there can be no gain if nothing is risked. if i have found in a leap of faith, the will and the ability to forsake all reason, in return for potential bliss (though, for how long, nobody can say). if i have even tried to speak, where and when words will probably fail, but gestures will talk on my behalf.
it kills me, every time i think, that there is no purpose in the world. and that nothing much can be done that escapes naught; and i find that every single time, though the list may change, you are there as an exception.
it kills me, every time i am reminiscent and think, that in a parallel universe, in a separate timeline, in a potential space-time singularity, i am brave, and kind, and smart, and funny, and rich in my poorness, and attractive in my loathsomeness. that i am worthy, even with sin.
it kills me when i theorise and make scenarios where devotion and submission are the themes that dictate the things that i may and will do. because, in these hypothetical situations, i am a man greater than i could ever be, and in them i am not so meek as to warrant some kind of attention, even if it be the notorious kind. as we all know well, bad boys are where it's at, anyway.
but it wouldn't kill me, if you did. and for that, it kills me, when i think that you should, but you don't.
sometimes, suicide is the easier way out, and murder is my only salvation.
it kills me, every time i meet a mutual friend (and sometimes not-so-mutual ones) and (s)he asks what has happened to 'our old friends', and i can only reply that some of them have gone on with their lives, lost forever in a sea of never-ending work, pursuit of great justice (also known as money) and devotion to the loved and the loving.
it kills me, every time someone inquires if i have finally worked up the courage (though rarely, as only a handful of confidants can do so). if i have learned that there can be no gain if nothing is risked. if i have found in a leap of faith, the will and the ability to forsake all reason, in return for potential bliss (though, for how long, nobody can say). if i have even tried to speak, where and when words will probably fail, but gestures will talk on my behalf.
it kills me, every time i think, that there is no purpose in the world. and that nothing much can be done that escapes naught; and i find that every single time, though the list may change, you are there as an exception.
it kills me, every time i am reminiscent and think, that in a parallel universe, in a separate timeline, in a potential space-time singularity, i am brave, and kind, and smart, and funny, and rich in my poorness, and attractive in my loathsomeness. that i am worthy, even with sin.
it kills me when i theorise and make scenarios where devotion and submission are the themes that dictate the things that i may and will do. because, in these hypothetical situations, i am a man greater than i could ever be, and in them i am not so meek as to warrant some kind of attention, even if it be the notorious kind. as we all know well, bad boys are where it's at, anyway.
but it wouldn't kill me, if you did. and for that, it kills me, when i think that you should, but you don't.
sometimes, suicide is the easier way out, and murder is my only salvation.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
nuanced narrations for nears and nows
first and foremost, to detail a cult classic that i have wanted to follow for quite a while (ever since reading of it on xkcd), is the movie 'primer'. it is amazing, i think, that the director has openly said that pretty much nobody is going to understand the movie on the first view (either one who professes to understanding it fully is a "liar or a savant"). i totally missed the part about dark-haired-guy deceiving blond-guy (abe?) by tricking him into thinking that he was in control. and messing with the failsafe box. but 1) i'll not spoil it for the ones who want to actually view the movie, and 2) totally gonna blame my housemate for distracting me throughout the final quarter of the movie.
it's a very gratifying feeling, watching the movie, and finally 'getting it', at least the major themes and questions in the movie. and i thoroughly recommend it as a good watch.
and now, for more forlorn poetry... actually, no. maybe another time. for now, it would be pressing to sit back and digest the movie for a bit. next up, is 'the usual suspects'. i guess i could theme myself currently as re-visiting all the movies i've wanted to watch but never did. like soylent green. mmmm. yummy soylent green.
it's a very gratifying feeling, watching the movie, and finally 'getting it', at least the major themes and questions in the movie. and i thoroughly recommend it as a good watch.
and now, for more forlorn poetry... actually, no. maybe another time. for now, it would be pressing to sit back and digest the movie for a bit. next up, is 'the usual suspects'. i guess i could theme myself currently as re-visiting all the movies i've wanted to watch but never did. like soylent green. mmmm. yummy soylent green.
horrible haikus for heres and hows
sometimes i wonder,
in this life of nothingness;
what is a meaning?
there are summers and,
winters autumns too, but
no springs evermore.
so there has to be,
though we may not understand,
reason for living.
give meaning to life,
and wonder in one's own thoughts
behind a closed door.
- if issa were an existentialist.
in this life of nothingness;
what is a meaning?
there are summers and,
winters autumns too, but
no springs evermore.
so there has to be,
though we may not understand,
reason for living.
give meaning to life,
and wonder in one's own thoughts
behind a closed door.
- if issa were an existentialist.
Monday, 12 April 2010
on distractions (sets)
set a single goal, and set out to achieve it.
there is a set number things that may interfere with the attainment of this goal and it only makes sense to set these things aside.
of the many things that may prove distracting, there should be a set of things which one cannot resist, and these temptations we shall call vices.
in the setting of vices, we should pre-set ourselves to focus again on our single goal.
and reset everything in relation.
such as, if one should be completing one's notes on parasitology and mycology, one shouldn't beset with writing on sits and sets while sitting and idling away the hours of the day.
then, it is set - this is just a distraction.
there is a set number things that may interfere with the attainment of this goal and it only makes sense to set these things aside.
of the many things that may prove distracting, there should be a set of things which one cannot resist, and these temptations we shall call vices.
in the setting of vices, we should pre-set ourselves to focus again on our single goal.
and reset everything in relation.
such as, if one should be completing one's notes on parasitology and mycology, one shouldn't beset with writing on sits and sets while sitting and idling away the hours of the day.
then, it is set - this is just a distraction.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
a matter of opinions
'tis better to remain silent and remain a fool, then speak and remove all doubt" - mark twain.
let us take this quotation, and break it down to some axioms, which for the time being, we shall hold true:
1. those who speak, but speak nonsense are the most foolish amongst us, because they did not reserve their opinions...
2. whereas those who would think foolishness, but remained quiet, are the slightly more intelligent amongst the sillies of people.
3. those who speak, and speak with wisdom; and those who are wise but remain silent, we cannot differentiate between, as their choice of being opinionated or not is individual preference.
now, let us focus on the silliest of the sillies, and think of a way to differentiate them from the wise men who chose to be outspoken. indeed, telling by the content of their voices is a very vague, and unreliable method, especially when it is under individual scrutiny - who gives you or i the authority, knowledge, or insight to tell whether the content of a person's opinion is sublime or terrihorribaddible? indeed, it brings about a new problem, where if someone was too ahead of his time, he stands to be crucified by us lesser mortals (think zombie jesus, copernicus, socrates and even einstein); and this may lead to the miscatagorisation of someone wise as being terribad.
so, who evaluates an opinion? who makes or breaks an idea, and deems it 'good'? should it be pragmatic? should it be ethical? should it be culturally-significant? should it be supported by the masses?
let's take a hypothetical case: politicians. we all criticise them. some we love, some we hate, and in many cases we even hate all of them. and we bitch and moan and sigh and lament on their many mistakes and bad choices. many a time have i heard someone say 'i could do a better job than so and so' and i'm sure some of us have said it ourselves. how true do you think this could be, though? are you really wiser than this population-elected proxy of the people? or in a communist country, an electoriate of the state? or in a monarchy, son of him-who-is-what? who are you to say that you have considered every detail, and could come up with an answer that will satisfy everyone and everything (which i believe to be unattainable, since people by nature, will bitch about any- and everything)?
another example, on a more personal basis: you're driving on a dark desert highway. cool wind in your hair. one smell of colitas, rising up through the air. up ahead in a distance, you see a shimmering light. it is a traffic light, turning red from orange (not yellow). you're obviously speeding at about 160 (kmph, not mph, you silly americans). you really don't see anyone else around and decide to 1) gun for it, knowing full well you're going to break the red; 2) attempt to slow down, then re-evaluate the situation as you approach the crossroads; 3) do the 'right' thing and stop, wait for about 30 minutes for the thing to go green, then go upon your way. it's a trivial question, but i'm sure many of us have a hands-on experience (in gunning that red light, at the very least). and a good question to bring it all together relating to the title of this post (as i tend to ramble, if you hadn't noticed) is 'who gave you the authority to go against the pre-set law of stopping?' if you chose to gun it; or 'why the eff are you waiting 30m for a light to change colours, you silly tool?'.
interesting stuff. not that i would be entitled to give a penny's worth, since i am, in writing this, guiltily opinionated. and thence fall into the (less likely) wise and you-should-hear-what-i-say group or (very much more likely) the silliest of the sillies. how dreary.
since
it's been ages, since i last thought i could.
it's been ages, since i had the drive to think i should.
it's been too long, since i thought of who, of what, of where, and when.
and nevermore has it been this way since then.
i cannot remember, the last time since i felt the need to be.
i cannot remember, the first time since i could finally see.
i will always remember, what it felt like to be invincible, like it is a nightingale to its sing.
and the fleeting feeling that comes with absolute loss since everything.
my heart is heavy, since i realised i could no longer walk.
my heart is heavy, since there is nothing more, not even mere thought.
my mind is racing, with the single thought of thee, of timely resurrection of you.
troubled henceforth with a new dilemma of finding a connection, an indulgence anew.
there is nothing more, for me to wonder, to hinder myself and wander.
there is nothing more, but fervour of little-known worldly splendour.
little is there but thinking of oneself as a man, a knight, a priest or a prince.
but i have thought none of the aforementioned in so long, and never will, ever since.
it's been ages, since i had the drive to think i should.
it's been too long, since i thought of who, of what, of where, and when.
and nevermore has it been this way since then.
i cannot remember, the last time since i felt the need to be.
i cannot remember, the first time since i could finally see.
i will always remember, what it felt like to be invincible, like it is a nightingale to its sing.
and the fleeting feeling that comes with absolute loss since everything.
my heart is heavy, since i realised i could no longer walk.
my heart is heavy, since there is nothing more, not even mere thought.
my mind is racing, with the single thought of thee, of timely resurrection of you.
troubled henceforth with a new dilemma of finding a connection, an indulgence anew.
there is nothing more, for me to wonder, to hinder myself and wander.
there is nothing more, but fervour of little-known worldly splendour.
little is there but thinking of oneself as a man, a knight, a priest or a prince.
but i have thought none of the aforementioned in so long, and never will, ever since.
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
the sighing list
the title of this post, is unashamedly stolen from the movie 'the bucket list'; which in turn takes from the expression 'to kick the bucket'. in the movie, morgan freeman and jack nicholson (who are, individually, awesome actors, and in this combo even moreso) set out to complete a list of things to do before they kick the bucket.
this is all exciting and stuff, but where does the sighing fit in. well, i never had a name for my personal list, but after writing the previous entry, i had the brief epiphany of needing to re-open the list and check off the things that i had already accomplished, if only to gauge how close i am to completing the list. it is when i set out to do so, that i realised that i had not completed much, and the resultant sighing is now the naming for my list, such that it will server as a personal reminder of just how far behind i am on things.
i'm sure everyone has their own lists - written, verbally reiterated, mental, implied, etc. and i thought i'd put down, for posterity, my list here so that i may save some sighing for my future self. ah, to plan such cynical entertainment for oneself, how i sometimes surprise and amaze myself. but, let us not digress.
note that, although the list is numbered one to a hundred, this is not in sequence of priority nor importance. as a matter of practice, i think i shall start off by reiterating 10 items that i can remember from my unspoken list, and keep adding a bit every day, 'til i reach 100. let's see if i can eventually get there!
1. formally learn philosophy.
2. return to my eternal love, mathematics.
3. write a book.
4. finally, confess the indulgence of soul to fermina.
5. visit some wonders of the world.
continue the list, here
this is all exciting and stuff, but where does the sighing fit in. well, i never had a name for my personal list, but after writing the previous entry, i had the brief epiphany of needing to re-open the list and check off the things that i had already accomplished, if only to gauge how close i am to completing the list. it is when i set out to do so, that i realised that i had not completed much, and the resultant sighing is now the naming for my list, such that it will server as a personal reminder of just how far behind i am on things.
i'm sure everyone has their own lists - written, verbally reiterated, mental, implied, etc. and i thought i'd put down, for posterity, my list here so that i may save some sighing for my future self. ah, to plan such cynical entertainment for oneself, how i sometimes surprise and amaze myself. but, let us not digress.
note that, although the list is numbered one to a hundred, this is not in sequence of priority nor importance. as a matter of practice, i think i shall start off by reiterating 10 items that i can remember from my unspoken list, and keep adding a bit every day, 'til i reach 100. let's see if i can eventually get there!
1. formally learn philosophy.
2. return to my eternal love, mathematics.
3. write a book.
4. finally, confess the indulgence of soul to fermina.
5. visit some wonders of the world.
continue the list, here
Monday, 5 April 2010
settling for less
one of the main tenets of being an egocentric jerk is always getting what you want. and with that, you know all self-centred persons will want the best and only the best (in fact, everyone does). which brings us to today's topic, that of contradicting this rule, and settling for less.
though, this is not to say that any of my friends think that the universe revolves around themselves, i come to this train of thought from observing them, and their propensity in today's setting to throw prior ideals to the wind, only to be happy with lesser things - something they would not have done, say, 3 years ago. let us take an example:
many of my female friends (at the very least, 3 of them) have recently gone from being single to being in relationships. and, i know these women to be high-profile gals, the creme de la creme - self-actualised, materially- and spiritually-motivated, successful, and let's not forget, drop dead gorgeous. now, this is only natural, you may say. someone with so much to offer would obviously find a (suitable) partner anywhere she may want to look. and i will agree, except for a few minor details.
firstly, i recall, that they used to have such high expectations in a partner. he had to be charming, romantic, rich, successful, intelligent, funny, etc etc. and had a physique like brad pitt. whatever floats your boat, i say, as long as you have goals. but, as it turns out, their main squeezes are somewhat lacking in any, if not all these criteria. and to the romanticists amongst us, you may champion the argument that, they finally have found true love, one that surpasses all these physical and superficial trivialities. and i applaud you for saying so (though you may think otherwise); yet i remain somewhat skeptical, when i come to the second point:
the age barrier. it seems, there is a pre-determined age, after which girls of my friends' background reach an 'expiry date' (as one of them kindly put). and, as you may easily put to conjecture, reaching this age (of 25-ish) and being single, is somewhat unsightly. though it may not present as a big thing to the younger, fitter, richer, more attractive readers; apparently once you get to the age, your mind changes gear from 'mellow, it's all good' to 'holy chocolate-rabbits jesus, i need someone right now, or i'm screwed for all eternity'. or something like that. and now that i think about it, many of my friends, mostly girls, have pretty much admitted to this. and i see nothing wrong with it, except the following:
a similar situation arises with family and friends looking for jobs, or in studies or moving around. i do not wish to elaborate on these things, as you can probably project any situation into the 'settling for less' category and see it in your daily lives - where people are pressured by an aging self, or a dwindling wallet; when ideals are sacrificed for menial needs.
and to this, i reflect upon myself and judge myself guilty on many accounts. long have died the utopian dreams from my youth, and i have settled for many lesser things, and i hope this fate is only something i parallel to myself, and the reader is spared from such humiliating defeat in aspects of his/her life.
but, i regress to the topic of relationships for the time being, as it seems pragmatic to touch on something so hard and warm (that's what she said. oh!) where in this day and age, the pursuit of love has been left to die in 18th-century-feminist novels, and only incited in dreams of forlorn poets.
so, though my time will come to pass, just as it has for my (3 female) friends, i hope everyone the best of luck (or whatever force of nature you may believe in) in the pursuit of ideals, relationship-wise or other. and maybe, it is time to open those diaries and journals, if only in the back of our minds, to review what perfectionist idealisms we once had, now dying in decrepit horror in some unsightly dormant memory. resurrect them from their shallow graves, rancid with the stench of putrefying dreams and decaying hopes. give them life anew, with the vigor of hope and the revitalisation of determination. so, scream with me, as we shed our conformist views on what has to be done, for the now, and never again should any of us fade slowly into the night:
p/s: i do not write this in criticism of any of the 3 girls and their choices of partners; in fact, any of this could be coincidental and overanalysis of their situations, in which (in all my hopes) they could be profoundly finding true love, something which, myself being unacquainted with, am nobody to comment on. if anything, i only write this because it has struck me in this moment, from the chain of coincidences that has piqued my shallow mind, and to that, i apologise in advance to each and every of the 3, and to those who assume themselves to be one of them, though they are not. verily, the point of this entry should not be missed for the glaring oversight i may have made, but instead, having the latter used as a reinforcer, if it is true, and as a hypothetical example, if it is not.
though, this is not to say that any of my friends think that the universe revolves around themselves, i come to this train of thought from observing them, and their propensity in today's setting to throw prior ideals to the wind, only to be happy with lesser things - something they would not have done, say, 3 years ago. let us take an example:
many of my female friends (at the very least, 3 of them) have recently gone from being single to being in relationships. and, i know these women to be high-profile gals, the creme de la creme - self-actualised, materially- and spiritually-motivated, successful, and let's not forget, drop dead gorgeous. now, this is only natural, you may say. someone with so much to offer would obviously find a (suitable) partner anywhere she may want to look. and i will agree, except for a few minor details.
firstly, i recall, that they used to have such high expectations in a partner. he had to be charming, romantic, rich, successful, intelligent, funny, etc etc. and had a physique like brad pitt. whatever floats your boat, i say, as long as you have goals. but, as it turns out, their main squeezes are somewhat lacking in any, if not all these criteria. and to the romanticists amongst us, you may champion the argument that, they finally have found true love, one that surpasses all these physical and superficial trivialities. and i applaud you for saying so (though you may think otherwise); yet i remain somewhat skeptical, when i come to the second point:
the age barrier. it seems, there is a pre-determined age, after which girls of my friends' background reach an 'expiry date' (as one of them kindly put). and, as you may easily put to conjecture, reaching this age (of 25-ish) and being single, is somewhat unsightly. though it may not present as a big thing to the younger, fitter, richer, more attractive readers; apparently once you get to the age, your mind changes gear from 'mellow, it's all good' to 'holy chocolate-rabbits jesus, i need someone right now, or i'm screwed for all eternity'. or something like that. and now that i think about it, many of my friends, mostly girls, have pretty much admitted to this. and i see nothing wrong with it, except the following:
it is always a balance between what you want and what you need. should the needs overcome your wants, and you have to 'settle for less', then by all means, be your own judge of the situation. however, i am hard-pressed to say if this is in the long run, beneficial for all parties.
a similar situation arises with family and friends looking for jobs, or in studies or moving around. i do not wish to elaborate on these things, as you can probably project any situation into the 'settling for less' category and see it in your daily lives - where people are pressured by an aging self, or a dwindling wallet; when ideals are sacrificed for menial needs.
and to this, i reflect upon myself and judge myself guilty on many accounts. long have died the utopian dreams from my youth, and i have settled for many lesser things, and i hope this fate is only something i parallel to myself, and the reader is spared from such humiliating defeat in aspects of his/her life.
but, i regress to the topic of relationships for the time being, as it seems pragmatic to touch on something so hard and warm (that's what she said. oh!) where in this day and age, the pursuit of love has been left to die in 18th-century-feminist novels, and only incited in dreams of forlorn poets.
so, though my time will come to pass, just as it has for my (3 female) friends, i hope everyone the best of luck (or whatever force of nature you may believe in) in the pursuit of ideals, relationship-wise or other. and maybe, it is time to open those diaries and journals, if only in the back of our minds, to review what perfectionist idealisms we once had, now dying in decrepit horror in some unsightly dormant memory. resurrect them from their shallow graves, rancid with the stench of putrefying dreams and decaying hopes. give them life anew, with the vigor of hope and the revitalisation of determination. so, scream with me, as we shed our conformist views on what has to be done, for the now, and never again should any of us fade slowly into the night:
'i shall not settle for anything less!'
p/s: i do not write this in criticism of any of the 3 girls and their choices of partners; in fact, any of this could be coincidental and overanalysis of their situations, in which (in all my hopes) they could be profoundly finding true love, something which, myself being unacquainted with, am nobody to comment on. if anything, i only write this because it has struck me in this moment, from the chain of coincidences that has piqued my shallow mind, and to that, i apologise in advance to each and every of the 3, and to those who assume themselves to be one of them, though they are not. verily, the point of this entry should not be missed for the glaring oversight i may have made, but instead, having the latter used as a reinforcer, if it is true, and as a hypothetical example, if it is not.
Saturday, 3 April 2010
the ungrowing man
which is also to say, he is the un-ageing boy. the observer, keen man as he is, has left the pursuit for the previous three men many ages ago. and today, he will meet his match in finding, without intent of doing so, the ungrowing man. here is his tale:
all boys grow up, it is inevitable. with the exception of peter pan and his band of lost boys. and this is because they live in neverland. but, have you ever considered why hook and his jolly (well, not-so-jolly) pirates grew up, living in neverland. so do the mermaids in the lagoon. and the indians (which includes tiger lily and her for-now-secret husband). so did it occur to you, that it may be that it isn't neverland that inhibits children from growing up? but something else, that is to do with pan and his gang?
verily, it is their lifestyle.
and this was independently reproduced by the ungrowing man. however, in the way that pan is uncaring, untied, unburdened; how pan is irresponsible, irrational, irrevocably carefree; the ungrowing man is different versions of these.
instead of blinding himself to the inevitabilities of adulthood, the ungrowing man has foreseen every single one of these things, and embraced them; then he has dismissed them in pursuit of a greater (or at least substitute) calling for and in life. however, just how pan is forever young, puer aeternus, unyielding to age, just the opposite is true for the ungrowing man - he is never old, deus ex infantum, prostate to reversing time.
and so, in an ironic fashion, the ungrowing man is more troubled than anyone in the world, by everything that could be and could have been. he is doomed to never feel success, to never taste love, to never appreciate wealth, to never find happiness, et cetra, et cetra, et cetra. there is no description for the feelings (or lack thereof) that is held by the ungrowing man, as no other person has fathomed, or even considered these potential feelings.
the ungrowing man's story will span ages, and there is no time nor luxury to recount his story in full here. but, know that he is a conglomerate of an angry man, an ugly man, a sickly man. he is men that the observer has never met. he is men that the observer has forgotten. he is men that the observer will eventually meet, but has not as of yet. he is a person who traverses time and space. he will be, and slowly becomes - he has been, and has forgotten how to be - he is the observer, being observed by himself, and observing everything, including himself. and this brings close to the synergy, the endless loop that is time, space, humanity and nothingness. the observer will tomorrow, approach me; approach you; approach himself, in search of a new him. and he will ask you:
all boys grow up, it is inevitable. with the exception of peter pan and his band of lost boys. and this is because they live in neverland. but, have you ever considered why hook and his jolly (well, not-so-jolly) pirates grew up, living in neverland. so do the mermaids in the lagoon. and the indians (which includes tiger lily and her for-now-secret husband). so did it occur to you, that it may be that it isn't neverland that inhibits children from growing up? but something else, that is to do with pan and his gang?
verily, it is their lifestyle.
and this was independently reproduced by the ungrowing man. however, in the way that pan is uncaring, untied, unburdened; how pan is irresponsible, irrational, irrevocably carefree; the ungrowing man is different versions of these.
instead of blinding himself to the inevitabilities of adulthood, the ungrowing man has foreseen every single one of these things, and embraced them; then he has dismissed them in pursuit of a greater (or at least substitute) calling for and in life. however, just how pan is forever young, puer aeternus, unyielding to age, just the opposite is true for the ungrowing man - he is never old, deus ex infantum, prostate to reversing time.
and so, in an ironic fashion, the ungrowing man is more troubled than anyone in the world, by everything that could be and could have been. he is doomed to never feel success, to never taste love, to never appreciate wealth, to never find happiness, et cetra, et cetra, et cetra. there is no description for the feelings (or lack thereof) that is held by the ungrowing man, as no other person has fathomed, or even considered these potential feelings.
the ungrowing man's story will span ages, and there is no time nor luxury to recount his story in full here. but, know that he is a conglomerate of an angry man, an ugly man, a sickly man. he is men that the observer has never met. he is men that the observer has forgotten. he is men that the observer will eventually meet, but has not as of yet. he is a person who traverses time and space. he will be, and slowly becomes - he has been, and has forgotten how to be - he is the observer, being observed by himself, and observing everything, including himself. and this brings close to the synergy, the endless loop that is time, space, humanity and nothingness. the observer will tomorrow, approach me; approach you; approach himself, in search of a new him. and he will ask you:
have you met yourself?
Friday, 2 April 2010
the sickly man
today, being the yesterday of tomorrow, is the day when the observer would have visited me. and even for a master of disguise that i am, i cannot evade a person who has the spatial and temporal displacement abilities of the observer. and so i was obliged to answer, yet again, that i do not know the muffin man, and i could not help him.
and, similar to his search for the angry man, the observer will not meet the ugly man. this is a sad case. but this is reality. and reality is what the observer deals with, and in, so he will not complain and he has not complained.
today, we explore an alternate (new) excursion into the realm of another parallel universe, where we find the observer searching for a fabled character, the sickly man. though he is a person with many (if not all) ailments, he has not yet died from any, and this is a miraculous thing indeed. to suffer eternally from a plethora of conditions but succumb to none, it is both marvelous and pitiful.
there is something about the sickly man, though. something that bothers me more than it should; in fact this something about the sickly man bothers everyone, with the exception of maybe, the observer. this 'something' i could not identify in my lifetime, but for someone who transverses the times, the observer has had sufficient time to pinpoint this particular characteristic of the sickly man - and it is that the sickly man is not only troubled by worldly complications, but also from the netherworld. one of the defining diseases of the sickly man is his contraction of 'hell's sandiego'; and this is a disease of the mind as much aas it is a disease of the soul.
you see, the sickly man is cursed, in a way, to forever and never know the meaning of love, and to always feel the need for lust. it is a curse which ails many men, and all of man, but in particular, it is a disease that slowly and surely eats away at the tormented soul of the sickly man.
the sickly man is so effected (and affected) by hell's sandiego, that it has taken a life of its own in his persona, and in this form, he is known as sandiego, in tribute to the disease. tomorrow. tomorrow, the observer will come a-calling. and he will ask:
and, similar to his search for the angry man, the observer will not meet the ugly man. this is a sad case. but this is reality. and reality is what the observer deals with, and in, so he will not complain and he has not complained.
today, we explore an alternate (new) excursion into the realm of another parallel universe, where we find the observer searching for a fabled character, the sickly man. though he is a person with many (if not all) ailments, he has not yet died from any, and this is a miraculous thing indeed. to suffer eternally from a plethora of conditions but succumb to none, it is both marvelous and pitiful.
there is something about the sickly man, though. something that bothers me more than it should; in fact this something about the sickly man bothers everyone, with the exception of maybe, the observer. this 'something' i could not identify in my lifetime, but for someone who transverses the times, the observer has had sufficient time to pinpoint this particular characteristic of the sickly man - and it is that the sickly man is not only troubled by worldly complications, but also from the netherworld. one of the defining diseases of the sickly man is his contraction of 'hell's sandiego'; and this is a disease of the mind as much aas it is a disease of the soul.
you see, the sickly man is cursed, in a way, to forever and never know the meaning of love, and to always feel the need for lust. it is a curse which ails many men, and all of man, but in particular, it is a disease that slowly and surely eats away at the tormented soul of the sickly man.
the sickly man is so effected (and affected) by hell's sandiego, that it has taken a life of its own in his persona, and in this form, he is known as sandiego, in tribute to the disease. tomorrow. tomorrow, the observer will come a-calling. and he will ask:
where on earth is sandiego?
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