Not sure if ironic or...

This post is less... extensive than the past few.

For someone as melodramatic as I am, I find myself quite easily perturbed by the exaggerations of others. When I look for music on Reddit, I oftentimes see embellished titles that are nothing but indulgence. Here are just a couple from /r/postrock that have pushed me to go on this tirade, "Not strictly postrock, but incredible nonetheless" (ok, that one's not too bad) but then there's "Giants - Sleeping False Idol (from 3:07 I just stop counting how many heart attacks I suffer from listening to this song)". Are you being real right now? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Save your heart attacks for something worthwhile, gotdam.

And yes, I've heard this song before. In fact, I quite like it along with the rest of the album. But it doesn't give me fucking heart attacks. Can I rock out to it? Yes, of course. But.. ugh.

You know what, it's post titles like those that give me motherfucking heart attacks.

Rule 32

It has been two weeks since I've been squatting at my mom's place. She went off to a few distant lands for vacation and I, as the obliging son, offered to look after her place while she was away. Definitely, the past two weeks have passed relatively quickly and I've come to a better understanding of home-ownership. But that's not what this post is about.

I brought both my guitars here with the intention of playing uninhibited, due to the lack of fellow house occupants for whom I am ever volume-considerate. And, since my arrival to this foreign landscape, I can say with great pride that my guitars have been utilized a sum total of zero times. I don't even sing much, which I had probably been looking forward to doing more than fiddling with the guitars. So, here I am, and as I sit in front this giant wide-screen, typing out another block of text, I find there really is no desire within me to be musically active to any degree.

Music factored in way more when I was studying. Having something on while I was doing my mindless studies seemed just enough to drown out the multitudes of thoughts that try to encroach upon my consciousness when I attempt to memorize verbatim words and ideas that, truth be told, mean nothing to me.  Singing also served a cathartic role as I would try to relieve those pent up academically-mediated frustrations with strained utterances with whatever tracks happened to exist in my limited vocal range.

Now that we've entered a less busy phase, I find there is less drive and incentive for me to look to music. I've been through this thought process before, probably last summer, but clearly I had forgotten its significance, as I had enthusiastically been looking forward to honing my musical abilities this summer.

Quite simply, I just don't see any point in developing those abilities. So what if I learn how to strum and sing concurrently or maybe just a few extra obscure chord progressions? I could much more easily listen to those same chords by the original artist. Even if I were to create my own music or make covers that were stylistically distinct from their originals, I just don't think I'd be really into it. And, the thought of me recording and publishing myself for the entire world to see just seems to elicit a slight sense of narcissism, which does nothing but make the entire exercise just a little more distasteful.

There are two possibilities that come to mind as to what's going on here. Either A) I'm just missing the beauty of making music and just need to do it a bit more to understand it or B) there was some aspect of listening to music that was enjoyable, that I've yet to abstract. I'm sure there are other possibilities, but I, as I've recently been discovering, am the greatest of thinkers (but that's something I'll probably write on a bit later on).

The title of this post "Rule 32" is a reference to Zombieland, where the lead actor narrates a set of arbitrary rules, the last of which being Rule 32, "Enjoy the little things". It came up as I was talking to a friend about this very issue and he said that maybe I should stop analyzing the process so much (namely the narcissistic elements that I accuse it of harbouring). But, as I write this post, I guess I've become more aware that maybe it's not so much that my anhedonia is due to my disdain for the process but rather that maybe it was never that process that I was enamoured with (that is, option B).

Beats me...

Vulnerability, addendum

This isn't the second part, just an addendum to the previous entry.

It's not like I'm oblivious to the necessity of some tenacity in this life. I've had the great displeasure of witnessing certain friends and family members enter terrible work environments and seeing their struggle through it. My grandfather fought in the war and when I ask him what his earlier life was like, he summarizes with the single term 捱 (this is Google translate, so um slight possibility this isn't the right one), Cantonese for "endure". Suffice it to say, I haven't brought up that topic ever since.

No, the realities of 捱 have been making themselves known to me, particularly during this school year (see "Ecclesiastes"). Of course, I also say this knowing full well that my life has been, by many orders of magnitude, easier than all my previous generations: food is so easily accessed, a good amount of money secured more than sufficient for a modest lifestyle, no persecution or war. Whatever the 捱 that my grandfather was referring to, I've been lucky never to have experienced it and I might just be lucky enough to never experience it.

These kind of reflections are always positive experiences. Much like that time I had that epiphany facilitated by the famously photographed Afghan girl (see "The problem with first world problems"). Of course, I'm not going to stop seeing the negative sides to things, I still feel that it's an important consideration, but definitely, I shouldn't let these things bog me down as much as I do.

So, that's half of what I wanted to talk about, hopefully I get time to jot down all those fleeting thoughts before they once again vacate the premises, as my tenants are so prone to do.

Vulnerability

Manliness, what is that exactly? As corny as it sounds, one of the things I had set out to do this summer was to refine my understanding of it. Surely responsibility factors heavily into it, that's honestly easy for me, I'm pretty mindful of my obligations and do make an effort to attend to them. But what of stoicism? Certainly there is some place for it? I find that I am less keen at adopting that one. I was never one to shy away from expressing my emotions and it just happens that the frequency of negative ones tend to outweigh that of the positive. Is that a problem?

Our society does not look kindly to whiners. And, I guess I see why that may be the case. Whining may be an expression of an inflated sense of entitlement: "I deserve more than this, why aren't you providing this for me?". In that sense, whining is an act of indulgence and serves only to further the self-centred desires of the whining party. "Stop whining" and "Don't be a pussy" are two immediate quotes that come to mind (Schwarzenegger from Kindergarten Cop and Downey Jr.fresh from Iron Man 3).

Something that holds me back from adopting a purely stoic approach to life, however, is honesty. Of course I'm not equating those who don't bitch about their problems to snake-oil salesmen. But I mean, to omit negativity from our daily discourse, to act as if the problems were less troubling than they really were, it seems a bit disingenuous. And my optimistic outlook deems that we embrace those aspects as much as we do everything else. Surely our lives are littered with trials and tribulation (some much more than others) and it seems only right to recognize hardships as a communal human characteristic.

And yet the only we can really bond over this sort of thing is if people are both cognizant and open to share about these aspects of each other. Not in an indulgently, but in a way that is mindful and respects the degree of one's particular trouble, in a way that keeps these instances in our discourse in order remind each other that our lives are not perfect specimens but, contrarily, speckled with blemishes.

Maybe that's why, right now, I'm just not that sold on the ideal that stoicism is a core attribute of manliness. Keeping it all locked inside definitely seems to be an unsustainable approach, especially with the increasing awareness and understanding of mental illness.

This post originally was going to be me bitching about having no friends I can truly be vulnerable with (hence the title) but I opted not to continue with that because it seemed a bit too indulgent and somehow this semi-intelligible monstrosity was conceived.

It's late, I should sleep, there's a second part but I'll finish that up tomorrow.

Another incoherent rant

All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something

I'm talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
And I know, I know they've all been talking about me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow I've lost my mind

I find myself, more often than not, relating to the lyrics of "Unwell" by Matchbox Twenty (the two verses above) ...most prominently the accidental mutterings to myself publicly and the bouts of sleeplessness. Of course, I'm not that off the top (e.g. I don't make friends with shadows nor do I hear whispers) but I do feel the instability creep far too close to my core cerebral functions for comfort.

Obviously, I'm not crazy... just a little unwell? Would that be a fair thing for me to say? Would that just be indulgent and totally unmanly? I guess oftentimes I can be quite the whiny little bitch... add to that my overt naivete and, dayum, you've got a stew going... a stew that no one in their right mind would ever partake of. But, to be otherwise, just seems so foreign at the moment...

Unfortunate, as always...

Ecclesiastes

I think the realization that life is fucking hard is only now really dawning on me. Until now, everything had been pretty much handed to me or obtained with minimal struggle. For whatever reason, only now has the true nature of struggle become a reality for me, before it was always just soundbite I quoted from Ecclesiastes.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I was really, really scared. Decades of toil. The very thought numbs me in a very undesirable way. My heart shudders and falls from the cloistered fortress that had previous hidden me from life's reality.

I feel like such a fucking kid. I'm 24. When my mom was my age she already had a fucking kid, and I'm still here moping in my room like some dumb-fuck teenager.

I guess I don't blame people for not giving a shit. I suppose it's hard enough to focus in order to keep one's own life in order. But, it would be nice if.... well I'm not going to go there.

Someone today said that life is slow. Truly, at times, it seems interminable, moving at a snail's pace. For me, it is now, during this interglacial period between obligations and deadlines, when that definitely seems to be the case.

This post is shit, where is the overarching narrative? Nowhere to be seen. This is why I'm in fucking science.

Greener

The summer is finally here. Why then, do I find myself completely unable to relax? Why am I still plagued with anxieties? Well, there are many reasons and I've grown sick of going over them again and again so let's skip that part.

I feel different. Something in me really did change over the course of the last year. What a fucking brutal year. I don't think I was always like this. There seems to be this persistent weight that I drag around, perhaps all the accumulated self-loathing over the past bit. I've done quite a bit of that in the past three years, if I recall properly.

It's probably up to me to let it go. I don't even think there's anything wrong with me. When I try to analyze my current state (which I am oft to do now that.. well.. that there's pretty much nothing else to do), I get the impression that I only feel the way I do because I've put myself in a box, a very particular frame of mind that is completely intolerant of any perceived mistakes committed by the self. Oh, a sentiment I can relate to all too well.

Maybe it was better that I didn't get a job this summer. I feel like I need the time to pick up my heal my battered psyche, to pick up the pieces of my shattered spirit that have been strewn all across the landscape.

Right now, I think the best thing I can do is just to breathe. Slowly let all those accumulations diffuse out. I must arise from these ashes or else, well, I'd have to start worrying about how I'll get through the next few decades...

Ain't no rest for the wicked

Forgiveness is a cornerstone of the religion to which I proclaim allegiance. I'd like to think that I've been able to develop some semblance of mastery with it. But there is one particularly noticeable discrepancy in my application of this tenet. There is always that one person I can never bring myself to forgive and that person is no other than ... me. You know, over the span of the last two decades and a bit, he has amassed quite an abundance of fuck-ups. An idiot of Herculean proportions. I look back and all I can do is cringe and apologize in my head to all those who've been so unfortunate as to having been dragged into the twisted inept logic of my former self. It is truly gut-wrenching my idiocy, the insufficiencies of my rational components.

Thankfully, the degree of disgust associated with my "misactions" nowadays is quite modest, generally (except for those two stupid giant elephant demons that I inadvertedly summoned, but, fortunately, dispelled recently). But me, as the misguided youth as I was, was truly a senseless creature. How does one come to accept that? How does one persist for the entirety of one's life while constantly accruing these regrets?

Roller Coasters

It's all going to collapse soon ... it's all been leading up to this moment ... the culmination of all my works, actions, decisions are about to come to fruition, that is, its self-destruction. For a person so unskilled in the art of fire-breathing to play so casually with fire is certainly folly to anyone with half a fucking brain.

Why couldn't I see the writings on the wall? They all glaringly pointed to a spectacular demise, one unseen since Lucifer's descent into the eternal darkness.

Part of me wishes that these fragile supports that still suspend me in the air would just give way already so I'd be able to feel the full fury of freefall, unhindered. That I may hit the cold, hard ground and finally begin my real life, unabated by these present spectres that haunt me so.

But, alas, I must wait. The seconds, minutes, hours, and days pass by agonizingly. A strange and pathetic limbo, neither in Hell proper nor anywhere close to salvation. It is here that I sit, on the top of the hill in my roller coaster, awaiting, powerless.

Is Anybody Home?

I hate Saturdays, that strange fucking limbo between Friday, the last day of work, and Sunday, the preparatory day for the next week's work. I can't do anything but be paralyzed by this constant sense of emptiness and seclusion. Sometimes it really does feel like I'm the only person alive, despite the multitudes that share the common spaces (library denizens and TTC commuters). When exactly did Saturdays become so worthless? At least since 4 years ago... but I suspect it's been even longer than that...

Why am I typing this out... when has any of my outrage ever resulted in anything worth a damn... more meaningless inquiries... fantastic.

Shipwrecked

On a cold night, we lay down
Under starlight, we break down
Spent my whole life, seeking shelter
Til the last time, gone forever

Shaka, when the walls fell

Behind the walls ... waiting ... always waiting. The oceans have swollen and consumed my once glorious homeland. This ruined fortress is all that remains of the now shattered kingdom, and I of its once buzzing populous. The walls creak as the waves batter upon them unrelentingly, as if mourning for times long past. And as I stand and gaze at this place that once held so much meaning for me, I wonder what I can do other than await for that inevitability when my entire world will come crashing down. No, there is no hope, no chance for escape. Although my lungs still take in air with each breath, my heart has already sunk to the very bottom of the seas. But what other choice do I have? I will persist ... stalwartly ... resolutely ... and oh-so-very ... futilely.

The Hours

Can I wait the hours...

The past few days have been horridly unproductive and I've tried, my god, I've tried... I go downtown and stay in the library... but to no avail, nothing is accomplished... if not only because I'm not convinced that I can study effectively with exams still comfortably far away, the important ones anyway.

So here I am, lying on my bed, typing out this meaningless post. I have a small meaningless thing I have to do for tomorrow but, seriously, who gives a shit? I don't. I'll finish it later tonight. For now, I'm just lying here, listening to whatever to make the time pass as soon as possible...

I'm also waiting for something else ... it's been steadily growing over the past bit and has swelled into a distractingly noticeable mass ... but I am still not totally convinced, my resolve is a bit incomplete ... there's a fair bit of conflict stirring in that chaotic pool of ideas of mine ...

All and all, I think the Beach House lyrics (from "The Hours") above and maybe its entirety, are pretty relevant... ugh, what a twisted web we weave...

Conviction

"We have seven exams."

He said it with such fervour. The intensity in his eyes were like embers burning into mine. Now that I look back, maybe a part of me was intimidated, if only for a millisecond. To be escalated from a placid conversation to a point of such conviction was definitely unexpected. But, he was always a studious one, a lot of them seem to be. Myself, I care, of course. Just passing is no way to live after all. But my conception of good study habits doesn't necessitate a desperate obsession. And, maybe, just maybe, I'm being unfair to the particularly studious ones.

Maybe, it is not them, but me that is doing something wrong. They certainly are a dedicated bunch. Most of them work part-time jobs, while studying, and one even tries to keep up playing guitar for an hour a day. Me... I don't do jack shit anymore. I don't even try to play the guitar, despite not working and not having as many volunteer obligations anymore.

Where did the fire go? Did something extinguish it? Was it ever there in the first place? I don't ... really remember.

Maybe I do need a break...

Warmth

You're thick-skinned, but it seems 
You're hiding in daydreams
Can't find our way to the light 
And when this routine ends, through nights and weekends 
We'll see daylight through the blinds

The excerpt above is from the song "The Kids Were Wrong" by Memoryhouse. I guess for the past bit, it feels like I've been wandering in the dark, slowly edging my way across a wall, feeling its surface, in the hopes of finding a door that'll lead me back to... somewhere, the place I ought to be? I don't know that part exactly.

At this point, it definitely feels like I'm just waiting. That it's not a matter of me finding the door but rather just for me to endure until the door opens. That time was originally summer. After all these dispensable academic obligations are done with, I was wanting to spend an inordinate time (I was intending the whole summer) in improving my musical competencies.

Well, whether or not I'll actually have an entire summer (rather than just the evenings and weekends) to recharge my empty cells, there's no doubt that the end of this school year (which, I'll admit, has been particularly arduous compared to all my other years) is what for which my mind yearns. I can't wait until those nights and weekends of memorizing things for the purposes of having a favourable number assigned to me are a thing of memory (for a few months anyway).

It'll be nice to see the daylight again, to be enveloped by both its brightness and its warmth...

Your system is infected!

These commutes seem to be becoming more unbearable with each passing day. For around an hour each way, I am left alone, unstimulated, unoccupied. It is now that my mind is left to its own devices. It is now that my mind runs its viral scan. A great process to have. Problematically, I only have the detection module installed. The other half, the cleaning module, seems not to have been included in the installation package. I blame the manufacturer but the warranty expired long ago and I don’t think any manufacturer will really take a look at this chunk of coal anymore.

So, we have this normally useful process picking all these viruses. To be honest, I’ve seen the detection screen countless times. I could probably recite both the directory as well as the time of infection for each individual instance verbatim.

Another flaw in the installation package is that I cannot control the calendar option. It just seems to run automatically whenever the system load falls below a minimum threshold. A good option that would maximize efficiency in a normal setting. But this is not by any means a normal setting and I am forced to recall every infected instance far too often, with no reprieve other than to increase workload on my aging (though still relatively superior) processor.

I should get a refund...

Discontinuity

Why do the days seems so ... disjointed? They just seem filled with one thing after another but these things are all independent, separate, they lack cohesion. The days pass by, I see them pass with my very eyes, they pass before me as a river flows onwards unrelentingly. And, like water, they flow around me, pass me, even though I try to capture "it" (a futile maneuver), they evade my grasp. And, so, after everything, I am left with nothing.

Nothing but these cloudy images that linger. Remnants of whatever had transpired. Bits and pieces, but never even a semblance of an overarching narrative. Stuck with my... machinations... vapid, arbitrary associations between arbitrary points that would have no qualms with having nothing to do with one another. And, all I can do with these amorphous things I hold onto is to force them into these meaningless combinations of lines and dots.

Why I try to convey these "ideas", I have no idea. Arbitrary fates for arbitrary entities, seems fair to me...

Reckoning

Captain's log, supplemental:

It seems I've sat in this same area for an eternity, albeit discontinuously. The people come and the people go, their faces never staying the same for long. Here, mingling and earnest studying seems to blend seamlessly. All these people, from different walks of life, from different programs of study, they indeed seem a disparate, heterogeneous group of people. But there is one thing that binds them all these different people together, one critical aspect that no one is probably aware of: they are destined to remain strangers, to me at least. They will continue on with their lives without ever knowing me, the snowflake-man.

Curses be to fate! Why do they not shower me with their attentions and their affections? I would so gladly do it for them and yet they seem content to allow me (the snowflake-man) to wither away in obscurity. Oh, the casual cruelty; oh, the humanity.

Surely, they will rue this day. They will, won't they? Their destined omission is surely justification for their eventual torment, right? Yes, and I will be the instrument of their demise. Every last one of them will fall before me. They will look back, at the very end, and wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?", and they will know nothing, because they had shielded their eyes, their minds, for far too long.

Blessed will be the day that justice will be reaped for (and by) the snowflake-man (me).

Excision

By now, the parasites had become legion. He could see them squirming around his chest cavity on the ultrasound and he would swear he felt them too, as if that were possible. Infection had become a common phenomenon since the water supply had become tainted all those years ago. But, people smartened up quickly and infection could easily be avoided if one simply took the time to boil one's water and cook fully one's food.

But he had become sloppy, haphazard in his day-to-day dealings with what he consumed. He found himself retracing his steps and regretting his inattention, his lack of insight previously. But now it was too late, the parasites had seeded themselves into his viscera, with particular liking to his cardiac muscle. Slowly eating away at him.

The only thing the doctors could do now was to excise his unsalvageable tissue and replace his heart with a mechanical prosthesis, a contraption that experienced quite a boom in the past decade.

And now, as he lay there on the operating table, he waited with bated breath. The doctor was clearly in no rush as she nonchalantly joked around with the assistants and nurses. He just lay there, eyeing the surgical chainsaw that the doctor would need to gain proper access into his chest. He wished he could just reach for those serrated blades, push them straight into his own sternum, and tear it open with his own bare hands so that he could rip out his diseased heart, with parasites and regrets in tow, by himself. He wanted to be rid of all those evils he had accumulated over the years. He couldn't wait for the day that he could start anew, with a clean slate, never to make those obvious mistakes ever again.

But, alas, this was all but fancy. The local left his whole body paralyzed and all he could do was lie there ...like the poor sap he was.

vaka

It's a quiet night. I'm sitting in my room, illuminated only by the glow of my two monitors, listening to some calming indie pop ("Hounds" by The Antlers, if you're so inclined). How many nights have I sat here in this exact same spot mildly dreading tomorrow's arrival? How many nights have I tried to stave it off by steadfastly refusing to go to bed? It's an all too familiar situation, unfortunately. (just look at the last post)

Back when I used to play Diablo 3, I would often hear my monk say, "Break beneath the endless tide". Well, I'm not breaking and I don't see myself doing so anytime soon but it really does feel like that, an endless, meaningless, joyless tide that washes over me in an oh-so-casual and effortless manner. 

It's a shame I don't know how to swim. Maybe if I had learned earlier, I would be better able to maneuver myself. And so, as I struggle, I ask myself, "Why am I even in the ocean?", "How long have I been here?", "Was I going somewhere?", "Where did I even come from?". 

And I can't seem to answer any of those. It seems that it isn't only my body that has been washed away but also my ...

My what? My memories, my motivations, my intentions ... what do all those constitute anyway ...

I wish I could leave this room. But where would I go? I don't think any physical location could placate me right now. It's not my body that I'm concerned with.

Where was I going with this post anyway? I look up and see ... a degeneration.

brb...

Somnolence postponed

For the past few nights, I've been staying up way longer than I ought. I stay up because I don't want tomorrow, and all those oh-so-desired responsibilities, to come. And so, by staving off sleeping, I stave off  tomorrow from arriving. Bullet-proof logic, right?

Let me tell you another reason why I seem unable to sleep.

It is at night, in the stillness and the silence, that the demons come out to play. In droves do they congregate around my conscious sphere and begin to peck and gnaw at my already waning sanity. They intrude into awareness with memories of perceived inadequacies and of past transgressions. And, unfortunate for me, I find my only recourse is to lay there, paralyzed, and to bear witness to the gruesome massacre scene. These carrion, they pick, not at my flesh, but at the very core of my spirit. They taint, corrupt my heart to the point where my only desire is to excise it and cast it into the very void from whence these demons come.

And so the question is... to sleep or not to sleep? Well, I guess it's not the sleep itself but the transition process into it. Well, there's not much I can do anyway. It's not like I can control the wayward wanderings of my stupid mind and what it wants to recall...

Grr, arrgh

Violence stirred in the otherwise calm night. The creature, confined in a darkness that mirrored its own thoughts and desires, thrashed in defiance of its prisoner's chains. But its actions were in vain for those very restraints had been developed specifically for this purpose.

For ages past, this foul entity had stalked the countryside. By its hands, with its jagged blade-like fur as dark as the night itself, would it spoil the fruits of hard labour that went into carving the expansive tundra into a livable landscape. By its furious fiery red eyes would it gaze into the eyes of men and women alike, piercing into their very souls to instill an awing, paralyzing, sense of terror. Truly, it was proud of its work, both its destruction and infliction, though perhaps too proud.

For there eventually came a time when the countrymen banded together to produce a plan as cunning as anything that could be conceived by the great beast itself. In one fell swoop did the it fall into the trap. Although it resisted capture with all its might, the combined strength of the countrymen proved the greater force and the creature was subdued.

Bound as it was, the band could not find a way to destroy the creature. All forms of injury proved to be neither fatal nor even permanent. And so, to the chagrin of all that had hoped to rid the earth completely of this plague, the folk settled upon the eternal physical containment of the darkness. A location far, far away from the settlements, deep within the wilderness, was selected to be its forever holding place.

There, caged and chained, the demon was hidden away, out of sight, out of mind. However, despite their mortal enemy being contained and kept far away from their normal day-to-day, the memory of the age-old sin would never truly leave the minds of its former victims. Every night, upon toiling against its oppressive manacles and the inevitable frustration that would accompany that ever-futile exercise, there would be a great cry of agony coming from the darkness, so loud that even the ground would reverberate in its wake.

Confined in darkness did the creature languish, awaiting that faithful day when its bonds would finally weaken and it would once again be afforded its freedom to terrorize all that had the breath of life. Day after day and night after night did it plot and plan in painstaking detail its inevitable revenge upon the world that had dared to rebel against its rightful tyranny.

Bikini

Something I found myself doing periodically in my uneventful holiday break was watch documentaries, one of the few things that I would say I actually like doing. A good number of these were about illicit drug usage.

Psychoactive substances have always been an area of interest for me. Just how do these compounds push us into the states they do and why do these compounds (and these states) have such a hold on some of us who end up using? And what can be done to those who have entered into a seemingly unbreakable cycle of addiction (some unwittingly while some not as much)? It's a very multifaceted topic that easily succeeds in holding my attention.

Recently, during one of my journeyings through cyberspace, I came across a post about a person's whose worldview had been significantly altered after taking acid (apparently a common phenomenon). When watching television or movies, he would see actors on a set. Watching commercials, he would only see individuals pushing products they have absolutely no interest in. He also began seeing his life as being a much more menial affair than it had been prior (e.g. doing a 9-5 he had no interest in, spending money on meaningless things, etc).

Something about that post really resonated within me. Something along the lines of how there is probably so much in my own life that is appreciable if only I stick my head out of the trees for one moment to see the forest. Now, I think it's safe to say that I'll probably never do acid, so epiphanies are not going to occur through those means. But, still, I find that something is different in the way I approach my day-to-day. The world somehow seems a bit bigger than it did before, the sky a bit higher. I find myself being less pessimistic about those things that I do, seeing opportunity where there was once but a dead-end.

Taken together, tomorrow seems just a bit more hopeful.

Idiosyncratic

Something I've recently been trying to do more of is the accepting the, as my friend calls them, "idiosyncrasies" of others ...in other words, their flaws. I don't know which is more the case: that I extrapolate too much from the actions of others or that the vast majority of us are just deeply flawed people. 

Of course, many people may not offend with malicious intent. Ultimately, outside of what I'll consider a small minority of people who derive pleasure from hurting others, I'd say these idiosyncrasies are more likely instinctual reactions developed from various moments in their upbringing, i.e. they are defensive mechanisms. Still, there's no doubt that, in the wrong context, these actions can be deleterious and can erode away our relations with others. 

I wonder what my own idiosyncrasies are. I wonder if I offend people regularly because of them. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to shed all that garbage.

Happy new year...

Well, that concludes another set of winter holidays. School resumes tomorrow and I find myself wholly awake, unable to fall into that resting state of mind, something of which that I surely require to prepare me for the incoming torrential onslaught. But, for whatever reason, my thoughts have deemed it necessary that I stay awake just a while longer. And, so, perhaps, as a final act of rebellion, I'll indulge it some more time for my consciousness to peer around my mind's vast landscape, memories of both great triumph and utter regret (though unfortunately, it seems that the latter seems to predominate).

As I tried listening to my iPod to transition into the sleep phases, I find many songs associated with very specific memories. These memories are sometimes innocuous such as the vague recollections of particular settings I had listened to the song in the past or times the songs had come up in discussion somewhere. Other times, these memories pull towards less desirable states where I well up with feelings of rueful disapproval.

Times that particular disturb are instances where there is a pronounced perception of naivete on my part. Something turns me afoul faster than watching my younger self act in his all too typical pompous self, only to neglect something obvious of vital importance (though, in his much needed defence, I guess, many times in hindsight), finally finding himself back to square one when his own deluded machinations have so inevitably failed.

Oh what a chump he was. And, oh what a chump he still is. And, oh what a chump he will e'er be. I don't doubt for a second that many more nights of such a quality await me in those ominous spaces of tomorrow.

A breath of air (or, Rage Against The Machine)

So here I am, in the library, where I am prone to be. Studying, or making some futile attempt towards it. And I'm listening to all these new artists. More and more frequently, these artists are my age or even younger. And, I look at my own life. I see that the last seven years have been the same drill: class, study, volunteer at some places (generally to build up my resume to some self-theorized ideal).

As one can imagine, the question pops up asking why I'm choosing to go through this routine (which has become troublingly more and more tiresome as of late). What am I aiming for? Well, the short-term answer is obvious, to get the degree and work in its particular field. But looking at the bigger picture, I have to wonder what I really want out of the few productive decades that I have. And to that, I have no answer. I've probably never really had a solid answer. As far as I can remember, I've been semi-mindlessly following through with my routines relentlessly (a friend whom I hadn't seen in a long time commented that I was always a very routine person). It seems there has never been a very clear, defined goal that I've been working towards.

I mean these existential questions are nothing to me but I suppose it's been a while since I've poked my head above the water's surface to steal a glance of the horizon. I keep saying to myself that once I'm through with this phase of my life that I'll begin living life for myself. But I wonder if that will truly happen. What will that look like? I'm definitely excited to move onto that phase of my life (after spending the better half of decade in the same post-secondary institution). Although I seem to be chained to the same routines right now, I really hope that that will not be my ultimate fate in my next life. I don't want to be a machine.

Well, I guess that's enough of that for now, I really ought to get back to struggling so as not to drown under the weight of these crushing self-imposed waves.

ಠ_ಠ

The defensive look with the scrunched eyebrows. You know what I'm talking about. That casual look of disdain and disapproval momentarily breaching through the other party's normal social inhibitions. Maybe it's just me being a little oversensitive but that look somehow seems to be finding its way into my conversations much too frequently for my liking.

Ponder and obsess as I may, I still have yet to isolate the precise conditions required to precipitate that cold lifeless look with its piercing eyes. Was it my choice of words? The content of my message? My tone that seems to have become lost in the spaces between irony and insincerity? Maybe it's my tired unengaged look or maybe that shit-eating grin that I greet you with? Well, I have no idea.

But since those instances have been piling up, my desire to make small-talk with effective strangers has reached near-zero levels. And so, I'll have to ask earnestly that you forgive me if I "don't seem to notice you" and don't say hello. It's nothing personal.

Hubris

I watched "Into the Wild" yesterday. The rest of the post will be a giant spoiler if you haven't seen the movie, read the book, or are generally unfamiliar with the story upon which those two are based.

It's 5 a.m. and I am awake and I find myself bothered by several aspects of that movie, that story, ...ultimately, that person upon which it was all based, Christopher McCandless. And I mean no disrespect to the family. I realize this must have been a huge loss for them. But, still, I think this story serves well as a precautionary tale, one that others have undoubtedly already stated in the past but I think would be pertinent, if only for my own edification, to work through.

I guess the heaviest aspect of that movie was the suffering, both of Christopher himself near the end of his ordeal and of his family whom was completely unaware of his whereabouts until after the fact. The part that hits me the most is the aspect of self-infliction. From what little I've skimmed on the issue, it seems that McCandless' ultimate demise can be traced to the inadequacy of his supplies and equipment. The last person to have seen him alive was the person driving him from Fairbanks to the trail where McCandless began his stay in the Alaskan bush. Apparently, that person had tried to convince McCandless to reconsider his trip due to a perceived inadequacy of his supplies and equipment, to no avail.

If this is true, I'd hazard to say that a major determining factor of his demise may have been sheer arrogance. And I say this not completely as an outsider to that facet of humanity. It is something of which I have been sensitive ever since my childhood. Whether it's because of misguided actions on my part or that of someone close to me, arrogance seems to be a larger contributor to the hurt that goes around my block (not just me, I don't mean this in a self-pitying way). There's definitely something to be said about having good knowledge, especially when entering into foreign and novel situations. I guess, ultimately, I see the potential of an uninhibited version of myself doing something this audacious and paying the consequences for it and then forcing that payment out of those close to me. And, really, it just scares me that that potential is always there and that that part of me can rear its ugly head at any time after a mere momentary lapse in attention.

There's a photo of McCandless that appears at the end of the film (it's the first thing that comes up if you Google his name), a self-portrait taken sometime during his Alaskan stay. Something about that picture just creeps me out to no end, maybe something about seeing the dead, maybe something about knowing what he'll have to go through between that photo and his unfortunate end. Rest in peace, Christopher McCandless.

Much Ado About Nothing (and not the euphemistic kind either)

There seems to be a pattern forming wherein the absurdity of the things I worry about hits me like a wave when they are juxtaposed to what goes on outside of my protected bubble.

So I parked at the mall today to use the subway. I parked pretty much right next to the entrance, despite the sign saying it was customer parking only, despite the other sign pleading transit users to park on the upper levels only. I've done it numerous times in the past so I didn't think anything of it. Until I left my car and some dude was eyeing me (no it was definitely not because I was ridiculously good-looking, though I'm pretty sure I was at the time). Some part of me thought for sure he was some person employed by the mall to catch transit users parking in customer only areas so as to enact punishment for those who would dare to violate the directions of the sacred signage. And, as you can well imagine given the preamble, I pretty much was freaking out inside about it all day (also, I'm aware that this is pretty overt paranoia but I assure you that I'm not typically this deranged).

Fast forward to the evening when I am driving home (in the car that was obviously not towed) when I'm listening to a Yemeni journalist who had won the Canadian Journalist Freedom Award last year. One of the questions revolved around the person's daughter who had taken, akin to her father, a keen interest in political   journalism. She was said to have frequented protests in the protester's square (I think people refer to it the "Change Square") and report on revolutionist women. The journalist said that though supportive conceptually, he, as a father obviously would, worried something would happen to her daughter, having bore witness to actions that were occasionally used against protesters.

And so, in retrospect, my parking violation, even if it somehow did end up with my car getting towed, just seems completely petty and inconsequential. There are just so many worse things than simple disruptions in my routine. I really should worry less about these potential disruptions. Maybe then the grey hairs that are beginning to accumulate on my head will cede some of their territory back to its once more luscious and full-bodied occupants.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

How I wish I could excise these memories and those paralyzing, gut-wrenching emotions they seem perpetually to evoke. How much more unhindered, unshackled, would our lives be without these festering wounds, these artifacts of times long past, that linger in the backdrop of our consciousness? Of course, of course, these spiritual eviscerators serve as cautionary reminders of what it means to be "doing it wrong". But, what of times when they are intent on intruding arrogantly into those private spaces where they have no place, when those knives have seemingly forgotten their context and begin to enact their gruesome massacre upon the undeserving? They are merciless and, tragically, inevitable. Like my own shadow do they follow me, stalk me, cruelly. And though I run with all my breath, all my might, I cannot escape that eventual end. Slowly bearing down, knowing fully that its approach is fully known, savouring even the apprehension that comes before the insidious act. As it takes hold of my mind, it sends its corrupting roots into the very core of my being where it binds tightly. And there I ... am ... and, flail as I may and wish as I may to extirpate this vile growth, I am powerless. And, so, it is here that I must be still, awaiting for the violence to end, until the noose is lifted so that I may breathe once again.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! 
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. 
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! 
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;

TCB

All throughout that interminable commute I was plotting the words I would use in what was supposed to be a cathartic post about these feelings of meaninglessness and impotence that have been creeping up on me for the past bit. I was going to draw similarities of how I am right now and the person I was five years ago: how I go to sleep and wake up in the same bed, how I walk down the same streets everyday, actually, I'm still volunteering with some of the same people at the same soup kitchen as five years ago.

But, something happened on the walk back that, though in itself wouldn't necessarily have meaning, did bring on a momentary sense of comfort.

I was listening to Starálfur by Sigur Rós, which starts with the lyrics "blue night over me". Of course, I was singing with it because it's one of the few ways I know how to relieve my stress effectively, but that's unimportant. So midway through the song, I hear the familiar calls of the beloved Canadian Goose. I look up and, sure enough, there's a flock flying right over me in the classic V formation. And, in the backdrop, was the dark blue shade of the clear evening sky with a gracious guest appearance of our moon.

In itself, it doesn't mean much. Geese flying over me doesn't push me to drastically alter my previous way of thinking. But I guess it does help to put into perspective. The world is bigger. And, even though I might not feel like I am where I want to be right now, there's an entire beautiful world of possibilities out there and, one day, hopefully, I'll be able to explore that beauty.

But, for now, I guess I'll continue (fortunately, less begrudgingly now) to take care of business (as I do everyday).

The problem with first world problems

Preamble: I guess I got a little mad at the end there, but it's a good type of righteous anger .. right?

So, I saw the original photo of the "Afghan Girl" juxtaposed with a photo of her taken in 2002, 17 years after the original iconic image (link here). The original photo was taken at a Pakistani refugee camp, during the Soviet occupation of  Afghanistan. In 2002, a team from National Geographic caught up with her in a remote region of Afghanistan. She had said that didn't know the photo of her taken back in 1985 had become such a well-known phenomenon (I personally don't know much about it but I presume it meant much more to those living during the Cold War-era). Importantly, when asked if there was anything she wanted, she said she just wanted her kids to have a chance at getting an education.

So, here's this woman who had experienced the death of her parents due to war and had been displaced to live in another country, and what she wants is for her children to have the chance to be educated.

Juxtapose this with my life ... one that was been marked with extreme comfort and provision, completely insulated from all the conflict that seems to afflict so many parts of the world, never have I truly worried about resources, about where my next meal would come from, about the possibility that my life, due to external forces, could be drastically altered in the next day.

No, I've had, and literally still have, everything provided for me, including education. So what is it that this is my 7th year in university? So what if I'm a little more busy now than I'm used to? Does that somehow give me the right to act like the total asshole I've been the past couple of days?

Fuck no.

And when the "dust settles" (obviously metaphorical because I don't live in a goddamn warzone where people actually suffer and die and see others suffer and die on a regular basis), I'll still be completely insulated from the world. I'll still have all my meals and a nice warm bed to retire to. So that raises the question... what the fuck do I have to worry about?

So, regarding me, that sorely negative me in the past few days, fuck that stupid insignificant prick and his bullshit sense of entitlement. You're too busy? Too busy getting educated and much-needed experience from other activities? That's like going grocery shopping and getting upset that you bought too much and can't fit everything in the car (yes, it's a reference). It's not a big fucking deal. Get over this minutia, see that the world is so much bigger, and move the fuck on.

Stimulants (or melodramatic musings regarding mundane matters)

It's no revelation that alcohol can temporarily change the way people act. Specifically, the depressant is thought to exacerbate underlying behaviours via the dulling of certain social inhibitions. And from anecdotal evidence, I would agree: after a drink or two, I speak more freely, I'm generally more comfortable with my surroundings, my typical social reservations seem to .. go away for a bit.

Interestingly, an opposite effect seems to happen when I drink caffeine (a stimulant). Consistently, a few hours after I drink a decent amount of caffeine, my mind races for a bit and I find that I am hit by a wave of anxiety. This is then followed by a bout of self-loathing, an episode which I'd obviously prefer to be absent.

It worries me. I mean, it wouldn't if these were just primary effects of caffeine. What worries is me that these effects are secondary to caffeine wherein my stimulated psyche propels me through a pocket of negativity normally shrouded by my mental defences. That perhaps, under the placid surface of which I am conscious, there are secret woes, deeply seeded in dark recesses. I worry that there are hidden demons lying in wait, biding their time until my normal barriers are temporarily weakened so that they may burst out into the light to pillage and plunder mercilessly all that I have carefully ordered over the years.

But.. I might just be being melodramatic, as I am oft to do. Merely making a mountain out of a molehill in an otherwise plain and mundane life.

Boring

Fatigue, the day has worn down his well practiced exterior. Although he knows where he is heading, he meanders, his gait is inconsistent. His gaze wanders from object to object, taking up his surroundings, though, truth be told, he has already traversed through these very streets for what seems like a lifetime to him. Occasionally, his eyes will settle upon another soul but he is ever ready to dart away his glance in the unfortunate scenario that he is discovered.

"I am tired," his internal monologue says, "I should rest," though in the back of his mind he wished that he could somehow transcend beyond that particular physical limitation. With a sigh, he relents, "I am only human".

He enters the subway terminal and goes to the man behind the glass window. "Could I have ten tokens please?" he says with a voice that is in complete contrast to the speaker in his mind, which is more brutish and direct, impatient with the platitudes so often conducted by his external counterpart.

The exchange transpires unremarkably. "Have a good evening!" wishes the polite, well-meaning attendant to which he gives the only appropriate response, "Thanks, you too!" with the ever obligate smile that he employs far too often.

He descends further onto the subway platform and boards the train so that he may return home and find reprieve from his fatal companion.

Jupiter & Venus

Jupiter and Venus have been paired together in the sky for the past while. Their light seems to be able to pierce through the early evening sky, a time when the normal stellar background is still muted by the Rayleigh Scattering. Well, anyway, I do gaze at them periodically as I walk home at nights and when my mind starts to wander, I find myself recalling one particular memory from well over a decade.

I'm in gym class and we're all taking turns to go up to the chalk board to write down something we want to do when we're older. For whatever reason, I decided to go up and write down "Go to Jupiter" and I distinctly remember part of the class cheering me on for writing that. Even the teacher smilingly gave me a nod of approval.

Why did I write that? Did I really want to go to Jupiter at the time? To be honest, I can't remember. Even though I did watch a lot of sci-fi back then, I'm pretty sure I had a solid grasp on the implausibilities of traveling to other planets. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it was most probably metaphorical for not limiting myself, following my dreams, or whatever else that's along those lines.

So here I am, it's been at least 10 years, and I'm currently getting my second degree. Am I en route to Jupiter? As of right now, probably not, if only because I don't know what my Jupiter is. Is that ok? I don't know. But, I'll try to remain true to myself and to be willing to pack my bags and go if and when I do find it.

Meh

-_-

Her words

So I recently asked my friend (though not in a particularly serious manner) why she was so happy. At first I was a little surprised that she would choose to respond seriously, but ultimately I'm glad that she did.

She said, "Oh yes, after all, what's the point in being miserable all the time? I know life isn't always easy. Sometimes you're put in difficult circumstances that you didn't choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I've chosen to make the best of things that I can."

At first I thought she was just trying to be corny but it was quite the opposite! I guess it's a good reminder of the importance of my attitude and how I choose to perceive things.

Thanks, Shahvee, for the words of inspiration.

The Lion, The Paper, and the Inside Reverse Fold

So, six years ago, my aunts got me an origami book and a bunch of origami paper. I think they intended for it to help me develop my patience or something like that. Well, regardless of their intent, I did fold a number of things, with the average quality of the final product varying somewhere between mediocre and pretty bad (though truth be told there were a few that really stood out).

After a year or so, I stopped doing it. Today, however, I decided to try my luck at folding something after a half-decade hiatus. Ultimately, I decided on folding a lion, a strong and confident animal.

It took twenty minutes to finish the first page (out of three and a half) and truth be told, I was starting to get a little frustrated. My folds were not that precise and subsequently the corners of the intermediate product were looking more than a little shoddy. After beholding the glory that was the product of the first page, my heart sank as I realized that all I had made through those 20 minutes of toil was a crane base.

After languishing for a minute or two, I continued, resolved to finish this lion thing. And, for another forty-odd minutes, I folded. Near the end, as I agonized over instructions for the legs (don't even get me started on the stupid mane), I realized that this was not going to end well. But, I finished and so present to you, the final product:

Ugh, definitely not one of my finer works. It actually looks more like a cross between a rhinoceros and a dragon than any lion. I remember now why I stopped doing origami...

Alive

Remember that song "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind, big hit in the 90s (link to jog your memory). What people may not be aware of is that this song is actually about the lead singer's meth addiction. One lyric really stands out to me whenever I listen to this song: "we tripped on the urge to feel alive".

I mean, admittedly, I don't live "out there" much. I go to school, I study, I volunteer here and there, and generally stay in my room. The most exciting part of my routine is listening to new music. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly fine with that. But that lyric really does speak to a part of me.

What does it really mean to "feel alive"?  Is there something "out there" in this world that would fill those supposedly empty spaces? How do I even begin to explore something like that? Well whatever it is, I think at the very least we can agree that it probably doesn't involve crystal meth. That's a starting point, I guess.

Exhausted

It's been a long week and I'm exhausted. I'm at the library, trying to study for another meaningless assessment but all I want to do is browse around for music. And forget about multi-tasking, I can really only do one thing at once.

Hope those CDs I ordered like 2 weeks ago came today.

Dysfunction

Maybe there are things that are better kept off of the public domain of the internet. I think what used to be this post would be a good example of that. That's why I kept personal entries anyway. That stuff should definitely never see the light of day.

Left Channel, y u no keep working?!

Today marks the fourth time in the past two months that I've encountered a faulty left channel in my audio device. First the one on my Porta-pro headphones gave out, next the replacement headphones just had a defective left channel right out of the box (luckily I was able to return it very easily), then my laptop's audio jack stopped outputting to the left (ok this one was totally my fault), and now my general-not-meant-to-be-used-anyway earphones gave way. Why is it always the left channel?! It's not like I listen harder on that side or something.. Whatever, guess I'm going to go see what's on sale after school today. My wallet will understand >_>.

Arrivals and departures

What was this blog ever for? I mean surely at one point I used this as a form of expression. But why did I initially make this blog? If the first few posts are any indication, I think it had to do with sharing random stuff I found on the Internet (mostly pictures and flash animations). I think the original title of this blog was "the sky is falling", which was a reference to the fable Chicken Licken where the titular character had began spreading the absurd fear of the sky falling after an acorn fell on its head.

Oh, absurdity, now I remember: this was originally meant to be an anti-blog. I guess my anti-institutional sentiment had thought it would be a good satire to open a blog filled with nonsense instead of serious posts. Ironic that it later become a place where I'd express my occasional outrage.

Well anyway, there's a lot less of that nowadays, outrage that is. I'd imagine it's due to a mix between accepting some of the struggles as inevitable and also not taking things too seriously. Oh, and I might've found/figured out a few things along the way.

So now here we are, it's been 6 years since 2005 Aaron started this blog. Does 2011 Aaron have any use for this? Maybe, I still do like expressing myself after all. Meh, whatever. I've no idea. Just keep visiting once in a while, I'll add content once in a while ^_^.

Levamentum Menti

Hello everyone, if you haven't heard already, I've started a new blog where I'll be able to link to interesting music that I come across. I didn't want to use this blog for that since posts here are generally more personal. I noticed that many of the posts I made on Google Plus were musical recommendations, so, after some deliberation, a separate blog seemed more appropriate (this way I can post more frequently and not feel as though I'm spamming my network).

You can find the new blog at http://levamentum-menti.blogspot.com. From the description found there:

Levamentum menti means "comfort for the mind" in Latin. The title stems from how music has been as a source of refuge for me. This blog will be a place where I can post links (generally Youtube embeds) to interesting music. Overall, the genres will revolve around post-rock, shoegaze, and electronica.

Career day at a high school

A high school had a theme day where the students would come dressed up as some career path each person wanted to pursue. Bob walked into the class dishevelled in shorts, sandals, and a plain white T with an obvious ketchup stain on it. As the students sat down, the teacher, clearly noticing the lack of effort by him, spoke up at the front of class and asked, “And what exactly are you, Bob?”

He replied, “I was a mid-level manager at a Fortune 500 company. But unfortunately I was laid off in the recession. Truth be told, I wasn’t really getting anywhere there anyway. Dare I say, getting laid off was more of an opportunity to grow than anything else. So I looked around for work here and there. This wasn’t the end of the world. Far from it, I was going to rise from the ashes and become a better person for it.”

A sudden darkness fell over his face, “But days turned to weeks and weeks into months and I still couldn’t find a job. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, there was never anything I could really close up on. And the time just passed unrelentingly, just like those head-hunters whom I knew could see straight through my fake smile into the depths of my broken spirit. I was desperate and desperate was not a character trait they were looking for. But I kept looking because, well, what else could I do?”

Regaining composure, he continued, “I knew I could last for a while but a while wasn’t supposed to last this long. My unemployment insurance ended a while ago and my savings had evaporated. Soon the bills started piling up and there was nothing I could do. Then one day, they came and took it. They took my car, my house, and my family. Oh my God, Stacy, she took the kids to live with her mother.”

Bob could no longer hold back and burst into tears, his voice was cracking from his tears and was tinged with despair, “Oh my God, my flesh and blood, I haven’t seen them in months. Why did this happen to me? I was a good man, wasn’t I? I went to church and volunteered on the weekends. I was going to send my kids to good schools and they were going to surpass me like I surpassed my own father. Mrs. Harris, I was a man but I am a man no longer.”

With that, Bob rested his head onto his desk. He was both overcome by his shame and was wallowing in the great pit of misery that his life had become, remembering that pleasant life he had left so long ago. A great silence filled the room. It was all an act but even teenagers could appreciate the anguish of a man who had been pushed to the edge, not through his own doing per se.

But Bob looked up and it was as if the entire class was resting on his next words.

“That or I make pizzas.”

Don't do this

Casually waiting. Suddenly, she emerges from the stacks. Truly, I did not expect life to have existed within those sterile aisles. What fantasy. Yet how true is her form as the slivers of sunlight surround her. Our eyes meet but she quickly averts her gaze and she tries to continue in her stride with a feigned innocence. But her intentions are as clear as day to everyone in the room. She marks her objective and it is as if the entire room begins to watch her in an almost ominous anticipation of the next inevitable step. Her demeanour suddenly shifts and that previous facade is dropped as quickly as it had been put on. She moves swiftly with a burning passion in her eyes as she nears her target. All the while, the multitudes of onlookers begin to well up with all manner of emotion and I reluctantly assume the rather unpleasant duty to approach her. I try to move with greater haste than her to make up for her headstart. She notices me and knows her gambit has failed. Perhaps she too had known of the gross implausibility of what she was trying. And so, we finally meet and begin our strange dance.

"Excuse me, Miss. The line-up for the computer starts over there."

Beyond our comfortable castles

Tonight I watched “Call & Response”, a documentary talking about modern day slavery. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t particularly shocked about any of it. I mean after years of being open to exploring social issues like this, you can only have so many instances of profound disturbance at the depravity we glorious humans are capable of. But it was a chilling reminder of the pain (though I’d imagine this word would scarcely begin to encapsulate what they go through) that this causes the people involved. I emphasize people because through all the statistics that we are bombarded with on a regular basis, I don’t want forget that these numbers are indeed people and that these people are suffering.

Someone in the documentary used the term “paralysis of despair”. That feeling of helplessness in the face of that which is not right in the world. It must be a common feeling though. For what exactly can one person do in the midst of all these atrocities being committed worldwide?

Anyway, I was walking home and the idea of dinner came up. But I wasn’t hungry. How could I be hungry after watching something like that? How could I just stuff my face with whatever knowing that such horrors lurk outside my nice insulated shell. But I know that I will eventually eat dinner tonight (probably after typing this, actually). I know that I will continue with my studies, continue with those things that I enjoy oh so much, continue with the multitude of petty activities that make up the days of my life. And not only me but I would also imagine the vast majority of wealthy society would be likely to continue with this status quo.

To be honest, I don’t know what to make of all of this. Suffering seems to be in great abundance on this pale blue dot. Yet, I ask again, what conquest can a single individual hope to achieve against a behemoth such as this? The beatitudes say that “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled”. May that righteousness fill this world and so that we may be saved from ourselves.

Three songs of old

I have a fair bit of music and I've listened to a fair bit of this quite rigorously over the years. For the vast majority of songs, I tend to like them at the beginning and then become largely apathetic to them later on. But, over the years, three songs have yet to lose their appeal. I suppose they do have a special place somewhere within me. In no particular order, they are (with youtube links) Breathe by Moist, Porcelain by Moby, and I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why I still appreciate these songs. They're all kinda old (1996-2000), so maybe it has something to do with me hearing them at the right age. Musically, they're all pretty laid back and I suppose that is something I do enjoy in music. But who knows, maybe it's flat-out luck in that I haven't associated any negative memories with them, which for better or for worse happens more often than I would prefer.

The voracious curiosity of a child

A barren planet, vast but empty. The surface littered with massive ocean-sized cavities. Over time, these holes began to be filled by raining waters containing a host of materials. These waters began to affect the barren planet and imparted to it a new atmosphere. And so, within this new atmosphere and those particular waters, developed that which was not imparted from the exterior: entities of connected materials, both larger and more complex than their constituents. And from here, an explosion of life: all manner of permutations and combinations of the building blocks. The world seemed as a frontier of limitless potential.

But, of course, many of these strange new lifeforms were unviable and so did many disappear as quickly as they had come into being. But certain ones of a certain stamp were able to resist the test of time and so they began to flourish and dominate over all of the world, both over the lands and within the waters. After a while, along with the rains which had continued to fill the ever-growing chasms since the beginning, these new ones began to slowly alter the very world from whence they originated. They changed the world to suit its needs and, indeed, the world was satisfied to have an order, however arbitrary, to be brought upon it, for this was something that had never been done before.

Alas, such change did not go unnoticed. With the shifting conditions and the ever-torrential rains, newer permutations and combinations now found themselves possible. Soon, new conquerors came from beyond the horizon and usurped the world’s throne from the older generation, which now had become mere shadows of their former glory. And so a seemingly inexorable cycle had begun: one of development, alteration, and inevitable collapse.

All the while, the world watched itself be changed by its inhabitants. Truthfully, it accepted its transient nature. In the back of its consciousness, however, it knew that someday in, perhaps, the not-so-distant future it would stop the rains from coming and, thus, stop the world from changing. But for now, the world rested upon itself contentedly and waited for that pending moment.

Not much going on

Not much going on. Just kinda.. doing the school thing, as usual. Honestly, the program has been less than stellar. I ended up typing a rant about the program which ended up being around a thousand words. Those thoughts've been floating around for a while but I guess I just never took the time to put it down on paper. The shock, the mourning, the anger, I think they've all mostly subsided. There is now only an unenthusiastic acceptance. How anticlimactic, as usual.

On another note, I've found some really cool music in the past month (thank you redditunes). I mostly listen to their indie and electronica sections. Anyway, here are a few good ones.

• Ghosts N Stuff by Deadmau5 (electronica; not the version with the rapper)
• Roman History by Pet Lions (indie)
• The World Is Our _____ by This Will Destroy You (post-rock; I tried playing this on the electric and the melodies are surprisingly simple; the song must be really well arranged or something)
• White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes (folk)
• Murray by Pete Yorn (some sort of rock; wasn't on youtube)
• Bleeding Heart Show by The New Pornographers (indie)
• I Remember by Deadmau5 and Kaskade (electronica; check out the extended version if you like this)

Oops

I guess the grass really only seems greener on the other side. For a while, I've had ideas of breaking free and finding my salvation in that thing just over the horizon. Well, over the past bit, I've put that idea to the test and tried completely cutting myself from my old activities and moving over that hill.

It didn't pan out as well as I had originally thought it would, to put it lightly. It's not to say that the new things I immersed myself in weren't different and appreciated but I guess it was a little naive of me to think that the entirety of my angst and what I thought was missing would be sated in one fell swoop. Other things may provide in one previously missing aspect but may be lacking in another. And I guess I forgot that I am not a unifaceted person.

I am now here, in this strange limbo. It was a bad strategy, truly. But here I am, in this weird place. I guess this just shows that I have no idea what I'm doing and that I probably am still no closer to figuring that out. But, yes, I was wrong; it was a bad idea.

Guess.. I'll.. just continue in mundanity (and savour it, of course) until the next great revolutionary idea comes along.

Changing flavours

Music has always been something that's gotten me through the day. I don't know if that's just a commonality among all people but, regardless of whether that's the case, it's still something that I greatly appreciate having such ready access to.

Music is definitely a release for me. It gives me an avenue to express whatever emotions that may be floating inside. Angel by Sarah McLachlan helps for those long days (links to the songs if you're interested). Yearning by The Trews for those times of nothingness. We're In This Together Now by Nine Inch Nails to excise frustration. And, of course, If It Feels Good Do It by Sloan for some energy. And the list continues.

Well, lately, upbeat stuff's been turning up on my playlist a bit more than before; the frustration and exhaustion a little less. Ha, maybe this is a good thing...

Oh by the way, check out the John Lennon by Arkells.

New layout

Well, there's a substantially different layout if you've ever come here before March. I guess this blog has changed from what I had originally intended back in the day. Originally, it was supposed to be this hilarious anti-blog that had, instead of serious posts in which I would reveal the deepest darkest crevaces of my inner being, I'd just put random bits (mostly pictures at the time). Well, at any rate, that's no longer the case.. and this blog has really become somewhere where I do post serious things now and then. Truthfully, I'm pretty sure only a couple of people read this thing ..but (pssh) I don't do it for them.


"..under the sun" is a reference to Ecclesiastes. I often find myself going back to that book time and time again. The title is to, in part, describe the content of the posts. While I wouldn't call these posts trivial ramblings of mundanity, I also wouldn't call them life-altering revelation. They're somewhere in between.. significant but not too much.

A Serious Man

Have you seen it? If not, I really do recommend it. But I gotta warn you, this post will probably ruin it. Still readin'? Alright, here we go..

So the film centers on the life of this man whose life is just all going wrong (professionally, maritally, etc.). The film itself was inspired by the life of Job. So as these things are happening, the protagonist goes through the motions of dealing with all this stuff and in the process he visits this one rabbi. The conversation they had went like this..

Rabbi Nachtner: These questions that are bothering you, Larry. Maybe they're like a toothache. You feel them for a while then they go away.

Larry: I don't want it to just go away. I want an answer.

Rabbi Nachtner: Sure, we all want the answer. Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.

Larry: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not going to give us the answers?

Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.

It's not that I myself am going through professional or marital difficulties but when I do hit those rough spots, I just don't really know how I should respond. I guess I'm starting to be able to deal with them better nowadays but the film itself still stood out to me. But, there is more. That actually isn't even the part that stood the most out to me.

So, finally someone in the film breaks down, but it's not the protagonist. It's actually his brother, whom is seen throughout the movie. He's clearly going through things of his own but the film doesn't really focus on his character or struggles all too much. It's meaningful because all this time I found myself empathizing with the main character all the while neglecting someone who, in all fairness, probably had it a lot worse in general than the protagonist. I mean looking at my own life, God has really blessed me abundantly. Maybe, then, I dwell on myself a little too much and forget to see the others around me. I mean, sure, maybe there are imperfections in my own life but, relatively, my life is going wonderfully. Should these little things really distract me so much? There are so many other things in this world that should cause outrage than some of the more mundane matters of daily life.

Well, though I suppose these things aren't totally novel ideas, it was a nice reminder. A reminder that rough spots are an inevitability of the human condition. I don't know why. Really, probably no one does. No one in that film knew, not even the guy who wrote Ecclesiastes gives any definite answer (and that guy's canon..).

..but just for a little

Well, lo and behold, my spirit has arisen like a phoenix from the ashes. And doesn't it always..

I guess I should just accept these things. These aspects of life. Looking back (a couple days later), as real as those feelings were, as real as they always are, they now seem both petty and mundane. It happens from time to time and perhaps they are inescapable. But I'm glad that I have such great turnaround time for these bouts of nihil, around two or so days.

Well, I guess I'll set my sights once again back to higher heights ..like schoolwork (isn't it great to have consistency in life).

it's quiet..

I've been working like a dog ever since this semester started. Between that project course rearing its ugly head and the part-time job parasitizing my time, I've been going to school right at 8:30 and getting home after 9 consistently almost everyday. And, it's totally fine. All this busyness is ok: I'm working towards something, pushing my limits in the hopes that it will help me somehow in the obscure future.

Today, however, I found myself taking it substantially easier than most. Chose not to wake up on time so I got the lounge around 'til 11 at home. Got downtown, intended to work, but only to have a gigantic line-up for the computers. Well, didn't wanna wait so I just left. But as I was stopped at the light, thinking of where the closest public computer was, I bumped into someone familiar.

"Screw it, I never bump into this guy and I have to go soon anyway."

So we just hung out for a bit. The night before someone whom I hadn't spoken with for a long time wanted to have lunch so we had just arranged for the next day since we were both free. So, got to catch up with him. Super.

Well after that, I just went to class til 7 and did some work at the library 'til 9, as usual. But, now, I sit here and it's.. ever so quiet. I know that when I arise tomorrow, I will be "on" for the whole day again. But, this present silence unnerves me ever so slightly (terribly). I don't want that cursed void to come back. But, I fear that despite whatever thrashing or clawing I may attempt, I will be dragged back into that darkness where I will cower, where I will be forced to come once again and confront those futile questions, those damned futile contentions with existence.

..and it malingers.

Maybe this is why I'm ok with being busy all the time.

Optimism

Don't worry, things will look up. Every cloud has a silver lining, after all. It seems it is ever so necessary for me to be optimistic and to have hope because I center my belief system around a good God, after all. So, that's exactly what I've done. I've consistently convinced myself that my pessimism is somehow invalid, that there is a silver lining around that rain cloud. But should I really stay around even after such a long period of disappointment? Am I somehow fulfilling some obligation I have to God by convincing myself that the sum total of what I perceive on a regular basis to be wrong?

At this point, I (finally) can say and do say "no". But don't get me wrong. It's not as drastic as a 180 degree turn. Surely, there is room and, perhaps, a necessity for the pessimist to reevaluate where he is right now but I would say the corollary is also true. I think my case is that I've just been trying to be too optimistic.

Perhaps, there is validity in pessimism. I mean the reality of a situation is always sandwiched somewhere along the continuum of the situation as it is and my (flawed) interpretation of it. The point is, maybe I shouldn't always categorize my disappointment as being due to my interpretation.

Learning to believe, again

Well, no surprise. I'm not always that fond of CCF large group meetings. And this recurring aversion really came around to bug me for the past few weeks. The fact of the matter is.. I don't like mingling. I don't like having to meet someone, talk about something completely irrelevant, and then moving on to rinse and repeat with someone else. And I fully accept that this type of attitude will ostracize me to some degree, especially in the large group setting. And, I'd be ok with that, as long as that's not where it ends. For the past few weeks, however, that is where it ended. I've just been having trouble connecting to people. I haven't been able to meet someone new and really form a bond with them. And, since that's what the past few weeks have been, it's been a little discouraging, to say the least.

I wasn't going to go tonight. Luckily (although perhaps I really never had any intention of staying home), I ended up going. Well, large group itself was terribly underwhelming. All that "mingling" time.. yeah I'm good.. I'd prefer Guild Wars any day. And I literally stepped out like three times hoping that it would end when I came back. As much as I'm ragging on it, I've gotta say that the choir did an amazing job, as always, the sharing was very heartfelt, and the Johnson was Johnson, as always.

But beyond the scheduled events from that night, I learned or, more aptly, I was reminded of something drastically important. That, even though I may not mesh well with the vast majority of CCF, I do have a few great friends there. I also learned that there are people that I may not know too well but can mesh with anyway. Maybe I was being a little too pessimistic. Well, in all reality, it's my last year anyway. Why not stay in, I already gave it 2 years. I'm sure the grass ain't greener anywhere else.

And, worst case, I'll just bail and play Guild Wars outside ;).

Way of Awkward #1

"The server looks like she's having a hard time putting the food down." someone observed.

"Yeah, the lazy Susan's just too big." I quipped with earnestness.

Across the table, Susan was not amused.

Return of the music

I've gotta admit, I'm really starting to get into music on the Edge again. I had completely stopped listening to it for the past 3-4 years. Everything just sounded too repetitive and lacked something. But this year, music's gotten a lot better.. Well, maybe, it has to do that I've actually been listening to the radio again.. in hindsight that's probably one of the more prominent reasons. But whatever the reason, it's great to hear new music again.. it's about time the collection got a fresh injection.

Here're just a few songs that I've really liked in the past year:
MGMT - Kids
Tokyo Police Club - Your English is Good
Pilot Speed - Put the Phone Down
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Zero
The Offspring - Half-Truism [!!]
Mother Mother - Body of Years

**edit** Except I just realized that Body of Years is really [really] similar to Hey by the Pixies. It's still a good song but it does take a little away from it.

Parallel lines

Something that I've really been searching for is open discussion, where people keep their minds open and approach issues without stubbornly adhering to their own ideas. I've always held some disdain for that type of attitude. Of course, I don't mean for the renunciation of all beliefs, e.g. certain religious dogmas. Even with these absolutes in mind, there surely must exist flexibility when living. What's important isn't the exact way in which our beliefs are expressed but, instead, the underlying root of such beliefs. People ought to spend more time discovering the roots of beliefs as opposed to the beliefs themselves. There is no need for all to be united under one line of thought. As long as there is an overarching underlying root, our directions will certainly be uniformly aligned. And, as we travel on our own courses, we will surely meet in the infinite.

Jaded, j-j-j-jaded

It's so repetitive. This is really the only thing I write about. Well, I actually write a lot more but all those entries are tucked nicely within the confines my harddrive. But yeah, I see the repetition. I actually do get bored sometimes always slaving away at this issue. Perhaps it's because I find it to be of utmost importance, to know why we wake up everyday. But, whatever. I'm starting to think it's futile. That there is no answer within reason alone.

Well what I wanted to share was something I read in Ecclesiastes about a year ago. It's really stuck with me ever since. It's Ecclesiastes 9:7-10. The author of Ecclesiastes deals with the question of existence throughout the entire book. After all that questioning, this is his solution: "to live and enjoy living". No, he doesn't answer the question. No, we don't get to find out why God created everything such that it would be like this. This happens in Job too. God just plays the.. well.. God card. He doesn't explain it, He just puts Job in his place. Even the document from the absolute source does not give an absolute answer. In the end, we are left with life. We may have some idea as to what to do with it, I know I do. But, why I was given such a precious yet terrible gift, I haven't the slightest idea. And truly, I don't think anyone does, though they may have well-crafted hypotheses.

And so.. maybe this is our lot in life, to live in partial darkness. Ecclesiastes says there's a season for everything. Perhaps the season of humanity requires us to lack full knowledge in this area and to have faith. To push on to face the unknowns of tomorrow because we just don't know.

I often struggle with existence. It's a pain in the ass sometimes. Is there really meaning to it? I mean if the Bible were true then yeah it would and yeah life'd be a tad bit more clear and I'd know what to do. At the end of the day, the one thing that I really would want to do is to discover that one truth that would be the pillar to life. I've always been taught that Christianity was that pillar. Many times I've professed that that indeed is what I consider to be my pillar. But why do I do this? Why do I affirm to something that is just a little beyond reasoning that requires faith? May I propose that I may be ..scared? Scared that perhaps it is true and that if I don't partake in this set of beliefs that I will have to endure an eternity of God-less hellfire, whatever that means. Well I suppose that's not the answer to why I want to know the reason for life. A more appropriate answer would be that I just want to make sense of reality. I've never really liked reality much. It's a pain to live sometimes and, really, I want to know why I continually allow myself to go through with this absurdity. I want to know why I have to stay here.. study.. get a job.. interact with people.. and whatever else 'life' entails. I guess a lot of people are comfortable with reality and its perks, ok with living their lives. I suppose I'm more of the other end of that spectrum. Does anyone ever really find out the answer or am I going to end up sitting here in this state until I finally realize the futility of the search and give up. I sincerely hope it's not the latter.

I WANT TO THINK!

Hey guys, ..hey Michael. Just right off the bat, if you read this, please give some indication of your presence. I just wanna see who would visit this site after a year and a half of no updates. Let me know you exist! I just might post on here regularly! (If I do, I'll take down the Jew thing, seriously.)

So, I do actually keep journals. They're a private collection of my thoughts. Thoughts that I don't feel comfortable sharing with others, barring a few of course. But today, I had an epiphany. It was wonderful. It was like the first time I wrote a "journal". I just exploded and all my thoughts just came gushing out. I love thinking. It's like my non-corporeal lover (other than God, but that's besides the issue). Anyway, it felt like I was reunited with an old friend.

Well, I'm just going to copy and paste that entry onto here. It was so insightful, I just want to share it with everyone! Yes, I realize that this may not be the best medium because of the somewhat low traffic to this site. But it's ok. It's a start.

Please be aware that I use the word "shit" in this post. If you are offended by this word "shit", know that I am using it in context and that it really is the only word I could think of at the time that could adequately describe what I was experiencing.

May 30, 2008

I've been working this clinic job for about three weeks now. It's just menial stuff still but I intend to ask the boss for more involvement in the writing aspect. Well anyway, I don't want to talk about that because it bothers the shit out of me already so .. I'll stop there. But with work, I find my free time just cut exponentially. I suppose it's somewhat ok. But I've felt that something was amiss, especially today. I didn't know what it was at first. Now I know: I haven't had nearly enough time on my own just thinking. Thinking about anything. I've been trying to sleep for the past hour but I've just been lying there thinking, in my head and out loud. Thinking about where I am right now. Thinking about where I want to be. Now that I have something that can be construed as “work”, it's opened my eyes to many things. One of those things is my ambition. It exists (wow). I had no idea. So what do I want? I want to move forward. I want to grow and keep growing. I don't ever want to stop. When I stop is when things become routine. Routine's ok but the same routine is not. I don't want to be complacent with where I am in any aspect of my life. I want success but not in the worldly sense of it, since when was it ever anyway for me. I was brought up anti-world and I will continue to be anti-world, hopefully for a long time to come. But I do want personal success. I want to always enhance my abilities, increase my abilities, and acquire more knowledge. I do however stress the practical aspect. Head knowledge alone typically fades away into nothingness. You know, 9-5 doesn't give nearly enough time for me to really think out me. To think out the things that matter to me and affect me. Although I do nothing, I'm glad I got this “summer student” position. It's stretched me a lot. It's helped me realize more of who I am as well as who I want to be (and the things I can do to achieve that, which I fully intend to do). I've got to be a leader of myself. No backseat for me. I usually sit front seat anyway. But I suppose it's the being driven part that's the point. I miss thinking to myself. I miss taking time to understand myself and the world around me. So many ideas. So little time. Man, I hope I use the next 70 years properly! (HOPEFULLY NO EARLY DEATH NOR DEMENTIA)

So what exactly do I want to do? Right now in this phase of my life, I want to improve my abilities, but more importantly gain abilities and understand life and the world. I mean, if perfection was more than just an ideal, I would aim for knowing everything and being able to do anything but that's not possible so I'll settle with pushing onwards at all times.

I WANT TO THINK!

To those who still visit this abandoned area

Well, whoever still comes here.. http://youtube.com/watch?v=BaC5sKzK93A is a longer video of the first .gif I ever posted. It's an ad, I think. Don't you love how things go full circle (I never really liked clichés like that but it works in this case).

Found it.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6447713405009238376&q=dj+format

Quickie

Big Bird says:
Press the red button
Sun goes down
TIMES UP!
Let's play again...