Thursday, May 31, 2012
so many shades of grey
There are thousands and thousands of great songs out there, each one technically flawless and lyrically brilliant, but not all of them can profoundly affect someone, and the songs that do manage to resonate with a particular person may not necessarily do the same for another.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
rude girl / lost boys
can a good person be a bad student?
---
sometimes it takes me a while to find the appropriate response
---
there the flower girl resides
a world of dirt and soil and sighs
she treads light in her restless slumber
in mansions made of mud and lumber
her head adorned, a crown of thorns
the choice she bears, her heavy horns
but from her eyes, no tears to dry
for all she knows is a battle cry
---
sometimes it takes me a while to find the appropriate response
---
there the flower girl resides
a world of dirt and soil and sighs
she treads light in her restless slumber
in mansions made of mud and lumber
her head adorned, a crown of thorns
the choice she bears, her heavy horns
but from her eyes, no tears to dry
for all she knows is a battle cry
Monday, May 28, 2012
today betrayed / without doubt
today betrayed
the various people I could have become
of all the choices that I have made
you were my best one
the various people I could have become
of all the choices that I have made
you were my best one
Sunday, May 27, 2012
how to get to hell
If you could see what I see, you would really like it here
---
I once read somewhere that wisdom is like fine wine; children have no interest in it and too much is intoxicating
---
so smoke 'em if you got 'em, we came to the top all the way from the bottom
---
I once read somewhere that wisdom is like fine wine; children have no interest in it and too much is intoxicating
---
so smoke 'em if you got 'em, we came to the top all the way from the bottom
Friday, May 25, 2012
spent
I have just now come from a party where I was its life and soul; witticisms streamed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me, but I went away — yes, the dash should be as long as the radius of the earth's orbit ——————————— and wanted to shoot myself.
Søren Kierkegaard
---
feeling rather symmetrical today
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
le coucher du soleil à la Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre
I remember
the icy December air
that grazed my nose then disappeared
like a dream, the gradual shock of waking
to a crowd of silhouettes
a palette soft and soothing
the hushed hues that washed away
the words and faces
left a faded stain
on an immaculate sheet -
an echo of our exquisite sorrow
the manicured trees
and balustrade of white stone
framed with a magnificent sense of melancholy
the breathtaking vista laid out before me
oh what a perfect place it was to part
Basilica of the Sacred Heart
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
bagel girls
use too many words when few will do
---
I want to create a sleazy salesman character
if you write them well enough they take on a life of their own
---
discarded ideas with no foreseeable future - they can't all be winners
---
I want to create a sleazy salesman character
if you write them well enough they take on a life of their own
---
discarded ideas with no foreseeable future - they can't all be winners
cohort studies
Perhaps I am the only one who
experiences this, but the events leading up to my admission into this
prestigious university sometimes escape me. The form-filling, incessant
redrafting of personal statements and late nights spent cramming for aptitude
tests/interviews all seem like a blur – some sort of pyretic dream only vaguely
remembered as a tumultuous ordeal consisting of an endless procession of seemingly
insuperable supertasks punctuated by periods of restless waiting – not to be
mistaken for any form of respite, as they were, more often than not, occupied
by efforts to prepare for the subsequent impending trial. Or maybe it wasn’t
that bad. Memory has a tendency to dramatize and romanticize certain events,
but I’m pretty sure the insuperable supertasks part is accurate.
To cut a long story short, I miraculously managed to convince the admissions staff to let me pursue a BMBS here at Nottingham. Of course, I was elated at first. And then came the panic. What if I didn’t fit in? What if I was the dumbest one there? What if this was just some sort of cosmic prank, designed to put me in my place? These concerns and many others began their marathon round and round my paranoid, sleep-deprived mind, threatening to overwhelm me. It worried me that I had absolutely no idea what to expect of the course workload and, more importantly, my coursemates. Admittedly, I knew students who were applying to do medicine as well, but I had very little chance to study those already well on their way to becoming doctors, in their natural habitat. So, left with no other choice, I pieced together, based on common folklore and various representations fed to me by the media, a particularly vivid amalgamation of characteristics ascribed to the Average English University Student, ultimately resulting in a large, singularly vulgar and irreverent ruddy-faced individual with biceps and a neck twice the size of a regular man’s, wearing exclusively polo shirts with their collars flipped up and whose consumption of alcohol was only limited by the bouts of drinking-induced comas that he inflicted upon himself. Looking back, I am willing to admit that my model was, perhaps, just slightly inaccurate.
I still recall that fateful first day; sat in LT1 casting furtive glances up and down each aisle, anxiously anticipating the strange creatures that would step through the doors and into my personal universe for the next 5 years. The spontaneous conversations and calculated pauses, the awkward harvesting of personal information and the all-important exchanging of numbers – I remember it well. And then there were the questions as inevitable as they were unvarying. ‘So uh, what halls you in?’ ‘Joined any societies?’ ‘You hate Rutland? Me too!’ With almost clockwork-like consistency, as if taking some form of tedious history, I divulged and solicited the same few details of every new stranger I happened to meet. Soon, the answers were on the tip of my tongue, ready to be employed at a moment’s notice – an odd but understandable self-imposed ritual – the fresher’s survey.
Two terms down the line, I am pleased to report that my coursemates do not at all fit the mould I had, in my fear of the unknown, rashly crafted. However, as apprentice to a profession centred mainly around making judgements based on available evidence, you can hardly blame me for having a few preconceived notions. I suppose my error was in drawing up a diagnosis before performing a proper examination – in forgetting that the human condition is one that is both fascinating and befuddling in its complexity, necessitating a multidisciplinary approach and rigorous inspection over an extended period of time before even its most superficial aspects can hope to be understood. (Actually, I just made that up – but it sounds convincing, no?) In any case, with a little over 4 years more to go, I wonder what other discoveries lay in store for me – what new surprises my friends still have up their sleeves. I suppose my only option is to wait and see – to march onward steadily, motley company beside me, trying to observe the world with an open mind in the hopes that, by the end of it, I’ll have broadened my horizons a little and perhaps even earned a degree.
To cut a long story short, I miraculously managed to convince the admissions staff to let me pursue a BMBS here at Nottingham. Of course, I was elated at first. And then came the panic. What if I didn’t fit in? What if I was the dumbest one there? What if this was just some sort of cosmic prank, designed to put me in my place? These concerns and many others began their marathon round and round my paranoid, sleep-deprived mind, threatening to overwhelm me. It worried me that I had absolutely no idea what to expect of the course workload and, more importantly, my coursemates. Admittedly, I knew students who were applying to do medicine as well, but I had very little chance to study those already well on their way to becoming doctors, in their natural habitat. So, left with no other choice, I pieced together, based on common folklore and various representations fed to me by the media, a particularly vivid amalgamation of characteristics ascribed to the Average English University Student, ultimately resulting in a large, singularly vulgar and irreverent ruddy-faced individual with biceps and a neck twice the size of a regular man’s, wearing exclusively polo shirts with their collars flipped up and whose consumption of alcohol was only limited by the bouts of drinking-induced comas that he inflicted upon himself. Looking back, I am willing to admit that my model was, perhaps, just slightly inaccurate.
I still recall that fateful first day; sat in LT1 casting furtive glances up and down each aisle, anxiously anticipating the strange creatures that would step through the doors and into my personal universe for the next 5 years. The spontaneous conversations and calculated pauses, the awkward harvesting of personal information and the all-important exchanging of numbers – I remember it well. And then there were the questions as inevitable as they were unvarying. ‘So uh, what halls you in?’ ‘Joined any societies?’ ‘You hate Rutland? Me too!’ With almost clockwork-like consistency, as if taking some form of tedious history, I divulged and solicited the same few details of every new stranger I happened to meet. Soon, the answers were on the tip of my tongue, ready to be employed at a moment’s notice – an odd but understandable self-imposed ritual – the fresher’s survey.
Two terms down the line, I am pleased to report that my coursemates do not at all fit the mould I had, in my fear of the unknown, rashly crafted. However, as apprentice to a profession centred mainly around making judgements based on available evidence, you can hardly blame me for having a few preconceived notions. I suppose my error was in drawing up a diagnosis before performing a proper examination – in forgetting that the human condition is one that is both fascinating and befuddling in its complexity, necessitating a multidisciplinary approach and rigorous inspection over an extended period of time before even its most superficial aspects can hope to be understood. (Actually, I just made that up – but it sounds convincing, no?) In any case, with a little over 4 years more to go, I wonder what other discoveries lay in store for me – what new surprises my friends still have up their sleeves. I suppose my only option is to wait and see – to march onward steadily, motley company beside me, trying to observe the world with an open mind in the hopes that, by the end of it, I’ll have broadened my horizons a little and perhaps even earned a degree.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
maladaptive behaviour
two years ago, I got schooled in living
unforgiving, the crash course and it had me feeling
like I was sick to my stomach, like my food about come up
not the kind of lesson session that's conveniently summed up
two years later and it's starting to show
the kinda things in this world that I ought to know
no matter how much you to try live your life with care, beware
with life you'll always be under-prepared
unforgiving, the crash course and it had me feeling
like I was sick to my stomach, like my food about come up
not the kind of lesson session that's conveniently summed up
two years later and it's starting to show
the kinda things in this world that I ought to know
no matter how much you to try live your life with care, beware
with life you'll always be under-prepared
Friday, May 18, 2012
Namárië
Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.
Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
calibrations
I got no strings
---
whether we intend to or not, we're always adapting, changing or charging in a certain direction - purposely shifting or unconsciously sliding along multiple continua/spectrums/between absolutes
--- This rant will be about Mass Effect, specifically Mass Effect 3. warning: spoilers below
First of all, I'd like to applaud the game’s writers and developers for the way they subtly managed to weave a range of universal themes into the dialogue and the story, and for creating such beautifully fleshed out cultures, religions and origins for a bunch of different alien races; not to mention the invention of distinct and colourful characters - each with a unique personality and differing yet compelling opinions on all sorts of issues, with a fascinating backstory to boot. One of the minor characters in a sidequest mentioned how the galaxy loves variety. An understated but unapologetic endorsement - a fine example of BioWare playfully patting itself on the back - and they deserve it; their manufactured world is impressive - a simple fact that shouldn’t go without being acknowledged, even if the creators have to do it themselves. Few would dispute the depth and immersive quality of the Mass Effect universe, but when it comes to the matter of wrapping up the trilogy, that is where creator and critic come into contention.
The whole Mass Effect universe, due to serendipity or by design, to some extent, seems to revolve around the concept of choice and free will. This is evident not only in the gameplay, but also constantly worked into cutscenes and dialogue trees. The message ‘You always have a choice’ is ever-present but iterated in different contexts enough that the constant reminders stop short of feeling trite. If the folks at BioWare were ever guilty of planting subliminal messages in their games, it would most likely be that one. The game places emphasis on cause and effect - the consequences and therefore responsibilities of making certain choices - illustrating, at times more clearly than others, the repercussions of your actions, which in turn could influence various important choices of other characters throughout the galaxy - making player decisions actually feel as though they carry weight.
Given this, it’d make overwhelming sense for indoctrination to be the ideal, apt and poetically just method of attempting Commander Shepard’s destruction - not by using bullets or lasers, but by a battle of willpower - the ultimate weapon against this hero, given what he/she stands for. All a plan to bring him/her under their sway - to use as a tool in dividing the galaxy. The illusion of choice - of control, the Reapers' main goal being to destroy free will. The Indoctrination theory has a lot of evidence backing it up, and if it is true, it would be brilliant - despite not providing the closure that everyone was expecting, but sometimes you have to defy expectations in order to offer something better, but if the ending was simply meant to be taken at face value, frankly it just seems half-baked and not at all in keeping with the quality and legacy of the Mass Effect franchise so far. At least if they had gone with the Indoctrination Theory, they could have defended their vision of a 'better' ending with some conviction. As it stands, the vast majority of fans who have identified with the characters and universe do not seem to think the current ending has lived up to, much less surpassed, their expectations.
I can understand why they’d be willing to upset some fans, if they were sure that they had an ace up their sleeve to reveal and win them all back, but I really don’t understand how they could’ve done such a sloppy job with Tali’s portrait and not expect some backlash from it. For people who put such detail and attention into nuanced and organic dialogue, and creating such a rich vibrant believable universe, why would they undermine the authenticity of the experience by swiping a stock photo off the internet and not even bother to hide it? There's just no excuse for it. After creating a character well-loved by the community and despite having built up anticipation and hype surrounding her appearance over two whole games, they not only managed to disappoint the fans spectacularly, but did it in such an obviously negligent way. For a company that prides itself on its relationship with its fans and listening to their feedback, it’s bewildering that they would do the very opposite of what the fans want. Why would BioWare troll its audience?
Then again you could argue, BioWare has creative license to the game, not the fans, but BioWare is a game company looking to sell their games to consumers. Perhaps they may see themselves as artists, but until they’re willing to open a gallery and live on the streets, they still have to cater to the people who are emotionally and financially invested in their product. I honestly want to believe that BioWare knows what they’re doing - that they have the means to vindicate themselves - that the confusion and controversy is all part of some twisted marketing ploy or brilliant avant-garde storytelling device that we’re all just too shortsighted to see - that Ray Muzyka and Casey Hudson are both sitting in those modern chairs that engulf you, in a swanky penthouse apartment somewhere sipping champagne. ‘All according to plan,’ Casey utters with a sinister smugness. ‘It is time,’ Replies Ray. With a nod, Casey reaches for the intercom. ‘Execute order 66’ And BioWare reveals what they’ve been planning all along, and that the leaked ending was merely a decoy, and that the skittles ending was just the tip of the iceberg - the prologue to the epic TRUE ENDING that Mass Effect deserves - one so mindboggling and comprehensive - a bomb that just blows everybody away with how amazingly well-thought out it was and how it manages to justify that abomination that is called the ending to Mass Effect 3. I don’t need an ending that answers all questions and ties up all loose ends, I just want one that matters - one that shows some evidence of my efforts, that they did not go to waste - one that proves I didn’t spend all those hours scanning planets and traipsing up and down the normandy for nothing - one that affirms the fact that my choices made a difference somehow.
Either the people at BioWare are insane or geniuses. Right now there’s evidence that points both ways. Like Shepard rushing blindly towards that infernal beacon - I reach out to an abstract flickering that I idealistically, quixotically, desperately believe to be hope, because it’s all I have left. Or perhaps I am the Illusive Man, looking to get my way, seeking control of the uncontrollable, being imperceptibly manipulated by illusions and desires.
Maybe that’s the statement BioWare is trying to make: that the answers can’t always be given to you, and you can’t always be sure of what will happen or has happened. A way to make their universe truly real. If the player puts themselves in Shepard’s shoes - if the player is truly wielded to the character - if their perception of the world is identical - there is no way of knowing what Shepard does not. If Shepard is indoctrinated, so is the player. If Shepard died, he/she wouldn’t have known the truth about whether he/she was indoctrinated or not. He/she wouldn’t have watched the outcome of the final decisive battle, friends charging to their deaths or retreating to be picked off one by one.
We fell in love with their synthetic world for how it so accurately reflects the one we inhabit. An analogy for our own daily battles, only different in scale - a brilliant metaphor, one that incorporates intergalactic wars and salarian scientists. Every interaction designed as a reminder that the world is painted in shades of grey, and that nothing in the galaxy is certain.
We cannot say for sure what the creators intended by that conclusion, and we cannot ascertain it by examining their work. To truly make their work and legacy immortal, to birth a genuine legend, there cannot be a definitive end - there will always be controversy and speculation. If this was BioWare’s aim, they have truly succeeded.
We are frustrated by not being fed a belief, only marginally less than actually being told what to believe. Perhaps that is why the Shepard of the story’s fate is not clearly given - to remind us that whatever the nature of the light placed before us, we still have to make a decision. or maybe i just give bioware too much credit
--- This rant will be about Mass Effect, specifically Mass Effect 3. warning: spoilers below
First of all, I'd like to applaud the game’s writers and developers for the way they subtly managed to weave a range of universal themes into the dialogue and the story, and for creating such beautifully fleshed out cultures, religions and origins for a bunch of different alien races; not to mention the invention of distinct and colourful characters - each with a unique personality and differing yet compelling opinions on all sorts of issues, with a fascinating backstory to boot. One of the minor characters in a sidequest mentioned how the galaxy loves variety. An understated but unapologetic endorsement - a fine example of BioWare playfully patting itself on the back - and they deserve it; their manufactured world is impressive - a simple fact that shouldn’t go without being acknowledged, even if the creators have to do it themselves. Few would dispute the depth and immersive quality of the Mass Effect universe, but when it comes to the matter of wrapping up the trilogy, that is where creator and critic come into contention.
The whole Mass Effect universe, due to serendipity or by design, to some extent, seems to revolve around the concept of choice and free will. This is evident not only in the gameplay, but also constantly worked into cutscenes and dialogue trees. The message ‘You always have a choice’ is ever-present but iterated in different contexts enough that the constant reminders stop short of feeling trite. If the folks at BioWare were ever guilty of planting subliminal messages in their games, it would most likely be that one. The game places emphasis on cause and effect - the consequences and therefore responsibilities of making certain choices - illustrating, at times more clearly than others, the repercussions of your actions, which in turn could influence various important choices of other characters throughout the galaxy - making player decisions actually feel as though they carry weight.
Given this, it’d make overwhelming sense for indoctrination to be the ideal, apt and poetically just method of attempting Commander Shepard’s destruction - not by using bullets or lasers, but by a battle of willpower - the ultimate weapon against this hero, given what he/she stands for. All a plan to bring him/her under their sway - to use as a tool in dividing the galaxy. The illusion of choice - of control, the Reapers' main goal being to destroy free will. The Indoctrination theory has a lot of evidence backing it up, and if it is true, it would be brilliant - despite not providing the closure that everyone was expecting, but sometimes you have to defy expectations in order to offer something better, but if the ending was simply meant to be taken at face value, frankly it just seems half-baked and not at all in keeping with the quality and legacy of the Mass Effect franchise so far. At least if they had gone with the Indoctrination Theory, they could have defended their vision of a 'better' ending with some conviction. As it stands, the vast majority of fans who have identified with the characters and universe do not seem to think the current ending has lived up to, much less surpassed, their expectations.
I can understand why they’d be willing to upset some fans, if they were sure that they had an ace up their sleeve to reveal and win them all back, but I really don’t understand how they could’ve done such a sloppy job with Tali’s portrait and not expect some backlash from it. For people who put such detail and attention into nuanced and organic dialogue, and creating such a rich vibrant believable universe, why would they undermine the authenticity of the experience by swiping a stock photo off the internet and not even bother to hide it? There's just no excuse for it. After creating a character well-loved by the community and despite having built up anticipation and hype surrounding her appearance over two whole games, they not only managed to disappoint the fans spectacularly, but did it in such an obviously negligent way. For a company that prides itself on its relationship with its fans and listening to their feedback, it’s bewildering that they would do the very opposite of what the fans want. Why would BioWare troll its audience?
Then again you could argue, BioWare has creative license to the game, not the fans, but BioWare is a game company looking to sell their games to consumers. Perhaps they may see themselves as artists, but until they’re willing to open a gallery and live on the streets, they still have to cater to the people who are emotionally and financially invested in their product. I honestly want to believe that BioWare knows what they’re doing - that they have the means to vindicate themselves - that the confusion and controversy is all part of some twisted marketing ploy or brilliant avant-garde storytelling device that we’re all just too shortsighted to see - that Ray Muzyka and Casey Hudson are both sitting in those modern chairs that engulf you, in a swanky penthouse apartment somewhere sipping champagne. ‘All according to plan,’ Casey utters with a sinister smugness. ‘It is time,’ Replies Ray. With a nod, Casey reaches for the intercom. ‘Execute order 66’ And BioWare reveals what they’ve been planning all along, and that the leaked ending was merely a decoy, and that the skittles ending was just the tip of the iceberg - the prologue to the epic TRUE ENDING that Mass Effect deserves - one so mindboggling and comprehensive - a bomb that just blows everybody away with how amazingly well-thought out it was and how it manages to justify that abomination that is called the ending to Mass Effect 3. I don’t need an ending that answers all questions and ties up all loose ends, I just want one that matters - one that shows some evidence of my efforts, that they did not go to waste - one that proves I didn’t spend all those hours scanning planets and traipsing up and down the normandy for nothing - one that affirms the fact that my choices made a difference somehow.
Either the people at BioWare are insane or geniuses. Right now there’s evidence that points both ways. Like Shepard rushing blindly towards that infernal beacon - I reach out to an abstract flickering that I idealistically, quixotically, desperately believe to be hope, because it’s all I have left. Or perhaps I am the Illusive Man, looking to get my way, seeking control of the uncontrollable, being imperceptibly manipulated by illusions and desires.
Maybe that’s the statement BioWare is trying to make: that the answers can’t always be given to you, and you can’t always be sure of what will happen or has happened. A way to make their universe truly real. If the player puts themselves in Shepard’s shoes - if the player is truly wielded to the character - if their perception of the world is identical - there is no way of knowing what Shepard does not. If Shepard is indoctrinated, so is the player. If Shepard died, he/she wouldn’t have known the truth about whether he/she was indoctrinated or not. He/she wouldn’t have watched the outcome of the final decisive battle, friends charging to their deaths or retreating to be picked off one by one.
We fell in love with their synthetic world for how it so accurately reflects the one we inhabit. An analogy for our own daily battles, only different in scale - a brilliant metaphor, one that incorporates intergalactic wars and salarian scientists. Every interaction designed as a reminder that the world is painted in shades of grey, and that nothing in the galaxy is certain.
We cannot say for sure what the creators intended by that conclusion, and we cannot ascertain it by examining their work. To truly make their work and legacy immortal, to birth a genuine legend, there cannot be a definitive end - there will always be controversy and speculation. If this was BioWare’s aim, they have truly succeeded.
We are frustrated by not being fed a belief, only marginally less than actually being told what to believe. Perhaps that is why the Shepard of the story’s fate is not clearly given - to remind us that whatever the nature of the light placed before us, we still have to make a decision. or maybe i just give bioware too much credit
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Three Parts
Le bon Dieu est dans le detail
---
I could tell it was about to rain; the sky was overcast and the wind had picked up. I was already on the verge of being late for my lecture and now I had to deal with my umbrella turning inside out or being blown away. I was in the middle of praying that the bus would arrive before raindrops started falling when I spotted a man approaching the bus stop from the other side of the street.
He was walking in a leisurely manner as if completely unperturbed by the turbulent weather. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a hoodie. I would like to give a better description but the only thing that really stood out was how average he looked. Black greasy hair of average length, average stature, slightly overgrown stubble. His sleeves were rolled up revealing hairy arms that were thick but not over-developed, unlike those guys who spend their lives pumping iron in the gym. His complexion suggested an exotic origin or recent travelling. He had wrinkles on his forehead and around the corners of his eyes. If I had to guess, he looked to be around 30. His gait and posture indicated he would've been more comfortable in a hard hat and fluorescent jacket than dressed in a white collar, but his eyes possessed an intelligent quality about them. As I was about to examine further, his eyes inadvertently met mine, at which point I knew I had made a huge mistake. As I continued my facade of politely ignoring my neighbour, I watched peripherally as the following events transpired, as if in slow motion. Fantastic, not only do I have to wait for the bus in this miserable condition, now I have to make small talk as well. These thoughts ran through my head as he, with an unwavering gaze fixated singularly upon me, leaned in casually.
Hey [he says]
Hi [I turn my head for a second and pretend to smile]
Terrible weather, huh
[His accent confirms that he's not from around here. It's not heavy to the point of being off-putting, just rather obvious.]
Yeah
But if you think about it, I mean, plants need to drink as well
[great. he was one of those people]
Hah ha yeah I guess so
undeterred by my wall of courteous indifference, or perhaps just oblivious, he offers another attempt at eliciting conversation
The weather should improve by tomorrow
Yeah I sure hope so
Don't worry it will
at this point, I stare at him for a bit. He continues to look up at the sky innocuously
Are you a weather expert by any chance?
Mm? Oh no I just have a way of knowing these things.
I nod unconvincingly
I do take an interest in it, though the sky, the weather.
[his cryptic declaration prompted further investigation. without meaning to, I ask him]
what do you do, exactly?
I then realize how rude the question sounded, but he doesn't seem offended, or at least doesn't show it. He is silent for a while as if contemplating the answer
At the moment, a bit of everything, really you know, odd jobs here and there I usually just do whatever people need me to
I nod again, wondering why people are so reluctant to utter the word 'unemployed'. "Between jobs right now", "I work for myself" Just say it, for goodness sake. I glance down at my watch. 8.50. The bus is late. It'd take a miracle to get there on time. Thankfully, just as I look up for the hundredth time, the bus finally rolls into view. I reach for my wallet to get the fare ready. As I unzip the coin compartment, an uneasy feeling overtakes me. Sure enough, a ghastly sight awaits me - not enough coins. I look up in disbelief and down again at the wallet in despair. My distress must be obvious because my waiting companion looks over and enquires,
Problem?
[I look nervously towards the bus, looming closer and closer]
Tchh yeah I forgot to bring enough change [I run my hand through my hair in frustration and start pacing awkwardly in half-steps in front of the bus stop]
Hey no worries [He says in a relaxed tone, without pretense or hesitation] I can lend you some
[I turn to him, eyebrows raised. Who would've guessed that this sloppily dressed foreigner would be the harbinger of my salvation.]
Really? that would be awesome actually thank you so much [I cannot hide my gratitude. My words are so genuine that I'm afraid they'll expose the half-heartedness in my prior responses]
The bus slows down to a stop and the doors slide open just as I manage to procure the amount I need. As the coins clink satisfyingly into the slot, I hear the swooshing of the bus door as it closes behind me.
Uh, excuse me [I say to the driver in a tone of calculated nonchalance and urgency] I think there's still someone waiting to get on.
The driver cranes his neck to look behind me. As I turn to do the same, I hear the driver say with a perplexed expression mixed with annoyance, 'There's no one else back there, mate.' True enough, the space that was just occupied behind me is now astonishingly vacant.
Oh he must've gone somewhere [I say, confused and apologetically]
The driver shakes his head and does that thing with his mouth that drivers do when they're getting fed up.
I saw you as I came up. You were the only one there, mate.
Still not fully comprehending the situation, I slowly make my way towards the back of the bus, not bothering to dodge the glances of the other passengers who had seen the scene unravel. I heave myself into the last row of seats, still trying to figure out what had just happened. Left with no other choice, I pull out my notebook and begin to jot down an account of my brief and uncanny encounter with the enigmatic stranger. 'I could tell it was about to rain...
---
SO WHAT IF IT'S BEEN DONE BEFORE
---
I could tell it was about to rain; the sky was overcast and the wind had picked up. I was already on the verge of being late for my lecture and now I had to deal with my umbrella turning inside out or being blown away. I was in the middle of praying that the bus would arrive before raindrops started falling when I spotted a man approaching the bus stop from the other side of the street.
He was walking in a leisurely manner as if completely unperturbed by the turbulent weather. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a hoodie. I would like to give a better description but the only thing that really stood out was how average he looked. Black greasy hair of average length, average stature, slightly overgrown stubble. His sleeves were rolled up revealing hairy arms that were thick but not over-developed, unlike those guys who spend their lives pumping iron in the gym. His complexion suggested an exotic origin or recent travelling. He had wrinkles on his forehead and around the corners of his eyes. If I had to guess, he looked to be around 30. His gait and posture indicated he would've been more comfortable in a hard hat and fluorescent jacket than dressed in a white collar, but his eyes possessed an intelligent quality about them. As I was about to examine further, his eyes inadvertently met mine, at which point I knew I had made a huge mistake. As I continued my facade of politely ignoring my neighbour, I watched peripherally as the following events transpired, as if in slow motion. Fantastic, not only do I have to wait for the bus in this miserable condition, now I have to make small talk as well. These thoughts ran through my head as he, with an unwavering gaze fixated singularly upon me, leaned in casually.
Hey [he says]
Hi [I turn my head for a second and pretend to smile]
Terrible weather, huh
[His accent confirms that he's not from around here. It's not heavy to the point of being off-putting, just rather obvious.]
Yeah
But if you think about it, I mean, plants need to drink as well
[great. he was one of those people]
Hah ha yeah I guess so
undeterred by my wall of courteous indifference, or perhaps just oblivious, he offers another attempt at eliciting conversation
The weather should improve by tomorrow
Yeah I sure hope so
Don't worry it will
at this point, I stare at him for a bit. He continues to look up at the sky innocuously
Are you a weather expert by any chance?
Mm? Oh no I just have a way of knowing these things.
I nod unconvincingly
I do take an interest in it, though the sky, the weather.
[his cryptic declaration prompted further investigation. without meaning to, I ask him]
what do you do, exactly?
I then realize how rude the question sounded, but he doesn't seem offended, or at least doesn't show it. He is silent for a while as if contemplating the answer
At the moment, a bit of everything, really you know, odd jobs here and there I usually just do whatever people need me to
I nod again, wondering why people are so reluctant to utter the word 'unemployed'. "Between jobs right now", "I work for myself" Just say it, for goodness sake. I glance down at my watch. 8.50. The bus is late. It'd take a miracle to get there on time. Thankfully, just as I look up for the hundredth time, the bus finally rolls into view. I reach for my wallet to get the fare ready. As I unzip the coin compartment, an uneasy feeling overtakes me. Sure enough, a ghastly sight awaits me - not enough coins. I look up in disbelief and down again at the wallet in despair. My distress must be obvious because my waiting companion looks over and enquires,
Problem?
[I look nervously towards the bus, looming closer and closer]
Tchh yeah I forgot to bring enough change [I run my hand through my hair in frustration and start pacing awkwardly in half-steps in front of the bus stop]
Hey no worries [He says in a relaxed tone, without pretense or hesitation] I can lend you some
[I turn to him, eyebrows raised. Who would've guessed that this sloppily dressed foreigner would be the harbinger of my salvation.]
Really? that would be awesome actually thank you so much [I cannot hide my gratitude. My words are so genuine that I'm afraid they'll expose the half-heartedness in my prior responses]
The bus slows down to a stop and the doors slide open just as I manage to procure the amount I need. As the coins clink satisfyingly into the slot, I hear the swooshing of the bus door as it closes behind me.
Uh, excuse me [I say to the driver in a tone of calculated nonchalance and urgency] I think there's still someone waiting to get on.
The driver cranes his neck to look behind me. As I turn to do the same, I hear the driver say with a perplexed expression mixed with annoyance, 'There's no one else back there, mate.' True enough, the space that was just occupied behind me is now astonishingly vacant.
Oh he must've gone somewhere [I say, confused and apologetically]
The driver shakes his head and does that thing with his mouth that drivers do when they're getting fed up.
I saw you as I came up. You were the only one there, mate.
Still not fully comprehending the situation, I slowly make my way towards the back of the bus, not bothering to dodge the glances of the other passengers who had seen the scene unravel. I heave myself into the last row of seats, still trying to figure out what had just happened. Left with no other choice, I pull out my notebook and begin to jot down an account of my brief and uncanny encounter with the enigmatic stranger. 'I could tell it was about to rain...
---
SO WHAT IF IT'S BEEN DONE BEFORE
Saturday, May 12, 2012
夏の日 / kindred spirits
that was the name of the cantonese network television drama my grandma used to follow avidly
wish I had gotten to know her better
---
[something about alcohol]
---
wish I had gotten to know her better
---
[something about alcohol]
---
残像 / turn off hovercrafts
given my the way my imagination behaves under normal (heh) circumstances, I do not take psychoactive drugs out of concern for my own safety
---
anyone ever tell you you've got nice cheekbones?
[...] no I don't think anyone ever has
[nods and looks away] they're not bad just so you know
---
At the exact moment I entered your embrace, I grasped the fact that you didn't really exist (in my world anymore save in the form of an avatar made up of fiction and fact), but still I held on tighter and refused to let go, knowing full well that I'd eventually have to - carry out the bittersweet commission of life: to endure, carry on and not look back
---
hey anyone ever tell you you're an exquisite creature?
no
good. that would be creepy
---
---
anyone ever tell you you've got nice cheekbones?
[...] no I don't think anyone ever has
[nods and looks away] they're not bad just so you know
---
At the exact moment I entered your embrace, I grasped the fact that you didn't really exist (in my world anymore save in the form of an avatar made up of fiction and fact), but still I held on tighter and refused to let go, knowing full well that I'd eventually have to - carry out the bittersweet commission of life: to endure, carry on and not look back
---
hey anyone ever tell you you're an exquisite creature?
no
good. that would be creepy
---
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
busy papaya
I'd like to meet someone who appreciates yojouhan shinwa taikei as much as I do
---
concerned with broadcasting
---
been forcing smiles a lot lately. Finding it hard to smile naturally / normally / in genuine context now
---
concerned with broadcasting
---
been forcing smiles a lot lately. Finding it hard to smile naturally / normally / in genuine context now
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
われわれは
sometimes you have to dance a little to get people to notice you
---
you can have a multidimensional personality, but initially only one is appreciated
---
if you're introducing an artist to a friend, you'd first show them a song they'd be able to relate to.
when you extend your hand, you'd extend the one that the other party would be familiar with - the one they'd be expecting - the one they'd understand.
---
three in one, what a bargain
---
too bad I suck at dancing
---
you can have a multidimensional personality, but initially only one is appreciated
---
if you're introducing an artist to a friend, you'd first show them a song they'd be able to relate to.
when you extend your hand, you'd extend the one that the other party would be familiar with - the one they'd be expecting - the one they'd understand.
---
three in one, what a bargain
---
too bad I suck at dancing
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
new orleans slow dance
I wonder if some people would find us despicable
for playing our fiddle as the world burns down
---
today on the way home, as I was passing the business end of the QMC, I came across a man lying on his belly on the sidewalk in front of a bus stand just outside the hospital compound - one of those modern green ones adorned with advertisements and complete with a glass awning. As I walked towards him, my first thought was that he was a hobo, fast in the clutches of some drunken stupor, and that he couldn't have picked a worse spot to collapse - right beside a main street with cars whizzing past, in a spot that obstructed the disembarkation and boarding of public transport, face-down on the hard, unaccommodating asphalt.
Then I noticed he had a cast wrapped around his left arm and tied around his neck, in the same way we were taught to do as part of our basic first aid module. As I drew closer, I noticed his unnatural posture - lying prone with the right arm underneath his chest with his chin resting upon his right hand, left thigh stretched out laterally and leg bent at roughly 90 degrees with the right leg fully extended. I should have realised sooner - he had been lying in the recovery position - one that was quite sloppy but recognisable nonetheless. By this point I had almost passed the man. I heard him groan and saw his body sway slightly indicating some level of awareness. As I continued along my trajectory, I found that the path I had taken was one that gave the unconscious man a wide berth - almost effortlessly, without premeditation or deliberation, I had avoided him; 3 meters was about the closest I ever got to him - as if I was subject to some self-imposed restraining order or as if tracing an invisible locus around a set of coordinates bound by some inequality - like if I got too close I would somehow be forced to take responsibility and do something about it, but at a certain distance it was acceptable to ignore the situation - besides, he was already in the recovery position.
Somebody must have come by and taken it upon themselves to help him. They probably went into the hospital looking for help or to call an ambulance. They couldn't have just left an unconscious man to fend for himself on the busy streets of Nottingham, right? I mean, a person should finish what they begin, right? And it's best not to interfere in other people's business, right? The thoughts cropped up like eager volunteers. No sooner had the arguments presented themselves that a conclusion began to form in my mind - like a chemical reaction, the words precipitated so easily: he was somebody else's problem now. A group of people were loitering at the bus stand adjacent, some in uniform, others dressed in hoodies and trackpants, but nobody went near the unconscious man. I continued advancing as if inexorably drawn but my eyes and attention were reluctant to follow - hopelessly fixated by the peculiar scene I had witnessed -
a restless dreamer waiting to be rescued a few yards from the hospital entrance as good people simply stared
for playing our fiddle as the world burns down
---
today on the way home, as I was passing the business end of the QMC, I came across a man lying on his belly on the sidewalk in front of a bus stand just outside the hospital compound - one of those modern green ones adorned with advertisements and complete with a glass awning. As I walked towards him, my first thought was that he was a hobo, fast in the clutches of some drunken stupor, and that he couldn't have picked a worse spot to collapse - right beside a main street with cars whizzing past, in a spot that obstructed the disembarkation and boarding of public transport, face-down on the hard, unaccommodating asphalt.
Then I noticed he had a cast wrapped around his left arm and tied around his neck, in the same way we were taught to do as part of our basic first aid module. As I drew closer, I noticed his unnatural posture - lying prone with the right arm underneath his chest with his chin resting upon his right hand, left thigh stretched out laterally and leg bent at roughly 90 degrees with the right leg fully extended. I should have realised sooner - he had been lying in the recovery position - one that was quite sloppy but recognisable nonetheless. By this point I had almost passed the man. I heard him groan and saw his body sway slightly indicating some level of awareness. As I continued along my trajectory, I found that the path I had taken was one that gave the unconscious man a wide berth - almost effortlessly, without premeditation or deliberation, I had avoided him; 3 meters was about the closest I ever got to him - as if I was subject to some self-imposed restraining order or as if tracing an invisible locus around a set of coordinates bound by some inequality - like if I got too close I would somehow be forced to take responsibility and do something about it, but at a certain distance it was acceptable to ignore the situation - besides, he was already in the recovery position.
Somebody must have come by and taken it upon themselves to help him. They probably went into the hospital looking for help or to call an ambulance. They couldn't have just left an unconscious man to fend for himself on the busy streets of Nottingham, right? I mean, a person should finish what they begin, right? And it's best not to interfere in other people's business, right? The thoughts cropped up like eager volunteers. No sooner had the arguments presented themselves that a conclusion began to form in my mind - like a chemical reaction, the words precipitated so easily: he was somebody else's problem now. A group of people were loitering at the bus stand adjacent, some in uniform, others dressed in hoodies and trackpants, but nobody went near the unconscious man. I continued advancing as if inexorably drawn but my eyes and attention were reluctant to follow - hopelessly fixated by the peculiar scene I had witnessed -
a restless dreamer waiting to be rescued a few yards from the hospital entrance as good people simply stared
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