I should choose the right pair of pants.
You see, wearing the right pair of pants is an integral part of comfort, especially when traveling to a new place. I can't control weather conditions, or social conditions, or a number of other factors. But I can control which pants I wear. I have always been against sweatpants because of their promiscuity. Also, for some reason, I have this conviction that no one should be that comfortable in public--the comfort afforded by sweatpants, pajama pants or mesh shorts. I practice the same policy. So, keeping this in mind, I chose the perfect pair of pants: a brownish pair of cargo pants, thin and loose enough to be comfortable, but stiff and fitting enough to be acceptable on-the-town wear. The problem: a few small holes around the cargo pockets, exposing the larger pocket at my side.
When I was seated, I looked down at my pants and saw the hole on the cargo pocket glaring back at me. "Mik," I asked, "do you think these pants are too promiscuous?" He gave me one of those priceless Mik looks that made me feel stupid. "What do you mean?" he asked in his exasperated tone. "I mean this hole. If my pocket moves out of the way, you can see my boxers." "No, it's fine." "Ok."
So later, Jack came over because we were all going out to lunch before cs-ing. When we were leaving the house, Jack followed me out the door and said, "Hey man, uh, I can see your underwear." I said, "It's just a little hole. Mik said it wasn't a big deal," appealing to Mik's perceptive authority and offering the cargo pocket hole as evidence.
"No, man, I can see your underwear. You have a big hole in the back of your pants."
Sure enough, there was no seam holding my pants together. I felt back there. Aside from the feel of a different fabric, I could instinctively feel the blue heart-patterned peering from behind the incomplete brown shroud. I was embarrassed, and the prevailing sound (above my groans) was that of laughter. I changed my pants, but the damage was already done.
Regardless of how I tried to avoid it, I was Mr. Promiscuous Pants that day. But it's always this way: I always try to plan things down to the last contingency, but it never works. Instead of trusting God to provide for me, I decide to micromanage. And once again, in my efforts to avoid discomfort and embarrassment, I only end up more uncomfortable and embarrassed.
Oh well..
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Tux Tux
I'm just going to come out and say it: I hate getting fitted for tuxedos. There are several things I hate about the experience.
Let me enumerate.
I hate the idea of getting fitted for a tux because it represents the flushing of money down the toilet--and lots of it, too. I am, essentially, paying alot to look pretty for a day (a feat which, regardless of the clothes,is easy ;p), after which time, I will have to return the clothes with nothing to show for the money except someone else's function's pictures. My mother suggested that, for as many function's as I've been in, I should just buy a new tuxedo. But the problem with that is a wedding is a girl's special day, and everything has to be just so. A guy showing up in his own tuxedo messes with the feminine order and sets off all sorts of alarms in the female mind, which is, at this point, thinking that the deviant groomsman will stick out like a sore thumb and ruin the whole day. She'll think of her wedding pictures and the off-color tux that will cause all future generations of her family to say, "Why is the negative always smudged over that guy?" I would become a figure of ridicule and also an object lesson. "You budge an inch, *insert person's name*, and look what will happen to your wedding. You'll end up with someone like that guy showing up and stealing the holiness out of the whole occasion." Also, at this point, I'm at the tail end of my matrimonial dealings; to buy a tux at this point would no longer be practical.
I also don't like getting fitted for tuxes for the same reason I don't like going shoe shopping: it is a visible reminder that, in the clothing realm, I fall into the category of freak. The people at Ermenegildo Zegna didn't know what to do with me. "Oh, you're so tall!" they said as they bustled around me, perspiring, muttering under their breath, "What are we going to do with you?" Well, they had me try on several different things--all of which, mind you, only brought out the freakish qualities of my appearance and made me feel like the things woven into my genetic code were the result of years and years of obstinacy, all the consequence of foresight in my looking forward to making their lives a living hell the moment I walked into their store. "That's too short; we need something longer." So they fetch something longer and I looked like a twelve-year-old boy in his father's closet. The women then bicker about how to hide my unsightliness. One of them says, "I'm glad I wore my high heels today!" They poke and press and order me around, taking measurements and then taking them again, making me feel like freight to be shipped rather than a human to be dressed.
With every flick of the pen as they write my measurements, I feel judged and evaluated solely on that basis, as my data will be transferred to their store's mainframe supercomputer where I am nothing more than another set of zeros and ones (except zeros and ones with larger proportions than the others).
Let me enumerate.
I hate the idea of getting fitted for a tux because it represents the flushing of money down the toilet--and lots of it, too. I am, essentially, paying alot to look pretty for a day (a feat which, regardless of the clothes,is easy ;p), after which time, I will have to return the clothes with nothing to show for the money except someone else's function's pictures. My mother suggested that, for as many function's as I've been in, I should just buy a new tuxedo. But the problem with that is a wedding is a girl's special day, and everything has to be just so. A guy showing up in his own tuxedo messes with the feminine order and sets off all sorts of alarms in the female mind, which is, at this point, thinking that the deviant groomsman will stick out like a sore thumb and ruin the whole day. She'll think of her wedding pictures and the off-color tux that will cause all future generations of her family to say, "Why is the negative always smudged over that guy?" I would become a figure of ridicule and also an object lesson. "You budge an inch, *insert person's name*, and look what will happen to your wedding. You'll end up with someone like that guy showing up and stealing the holiness out of the whole occasion." Also, at this point, I'm at the tail end of my matrimonial dealings; to buy a tux at this point would no longer be practical.
I also don't like getting fitted for tuxes for the same reason I don't like going shoe shopping: it is a visible reminder that, in the clothing realm, I fall into the category of freak. The people at Ermenegildo Zegna didn't know what to do with me. "Oh, you're so tall!" they said as they bustled around me, perspiring, muttering under their breath, "What are we going to do with you?" Well, they had me try on several different things--all of which, mind you, only brought out the freakish qualities of my appearance and made me feel like the things woven into my genetic code were the result of years and years of obstinacy, all the consequence of foresight in my looking forward to making their lives a living hell the moment I walked into their store. "That's too short; we need something longer." So they fetch something longer and I looked like a twelve-year-old boy in his father's closet. The women then bicker about how to hide my unsightliness. One of them says, "I'm glad I wore my high heels today!" They poke and press and order me around, taking measurements and then taking them again, making me feel like freight to be shipped rather than a human to be dressed.
With every flick of the pen as they write my measurements, I feel judged and evaluated solely on that basis, as my data will be transferred to their store's mainframe supercomputer where I am nothing more than another set of zeros and ones (except zeros and ones with larger proportions than the others).
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I'm Glad That I'm Not Alone
I refer to my tendency to be disoriented in shopping environments. I was at the grocery store on tuesday night to refuel for dota, when I remembered that we were out of chocolates. I couldn't find the row for a while, but when I arrived, I saw several older men, just as disoriented as I was, meandering up and down the food storage aisle as if they were condemned to purgatory. The only way to atone for their sins would be to find the items they were looking for, a happy ending that did not seem on the horizon. No one was happy to be there. We were all drones, awaiting commands from the queen bee. Unfortunately, the source of the queen's commands is also what is causing so many bees to drop dead around the world. This only complicates things, as you can imagine. I joined in the dance and snatched some brand of chocolates, only to be disgusted at their price. I decided it would be more economical to buy cookies.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
An experiment
I remember an experiment I tried years ago. It started in high school as an eccentricity and carried over into my first years in uni. Here was the deal:
People shook hands with me all the time, even when a handshake wasn't merited. It seemed like the handshake was an awkward space filler in conversation. The value of the handshake was at an all-time low. So my idea was, when someone tried to shake hands with me and a hearty handshake was not warranted, I would shake their hand with only two fingers. Each person with whom I shook hands in this way immediately knew that something was awry. I unapologetically offered a simple explanation: "The value of the handshake has gone down, and I am going to bring it back." Weird looks. Avoidance. But the point was made.
Over time, people just seemed to accept this quirk. I broke the experiment sometimes as necessary (for instance, job interviews and other venues where such treatment would be seen as disrespectful ["When in Rome..."]) or to demarcate special occasions: birthdays, weddings, funerals. But I stuck to my guns for the most part. And Truth (note the capital T) won out. One arbitrary day, I decided the experiment was over. I shook hands normally, and people noticed. In fact, to this day, I still sometimes receive comments like, "Wow! A real handshake!" (Granted, not as often as at first.) I'd like to take this response as a sign of success.
Why do I say this now?
There is a new--or, at least, unresolved--evil in our world: Gratuitous use of the exclamation point. (This post is not addressed against the occasional exclamation point user; please do not take this personally [unless, of course, you use exclamation points needlessly and this applies directly to you; in that case, please remove the 1 key from your keyboard and start using Roman numerals].) This evil is perpetuated by online communications, mostly, or by overenthusiastic people. I don't care who you are--life is not so exciting that every sentence merits an exclamation point.
However, even one exclamation point ending every sentence is not my main grievance. What has come about in our culture is the need to multiply exclamation points, making one exclamation point lose its purpose (to add special emphasis to a thought). An analogy will serve us well here: Years ago, on my Christmas lists, I used a star method to evaluate the want-level for certain items. A lego set might receive five stars, whereas the clothes my mother made me put on the list would receive one. Regardless, by using multiple stars on each item, all the stars lost their value, and I often wound up receiving sweaters (the bane of a young boy wanting to be "cool," especially when all his friends were getting Lego pirate ships and stuff).
A similar thing is happening with exclamation points: It is no longer enough to end a sentence with one exclamation point to show excitement. One exclamation point is viewed as humdrum. It elicits the response, "Oh, that bad, huh?" rather than, "I'm so happy for you^" With more and more exclamation points being necessary to show enthusiasm, I think we all can see where this is leading. Full pages eventually will be exclamation points following a single sentence, just so the reader is assured that the writer is, in fact, happy.
Therefore, I propose to no longer use an exclamation point unless it is merited. However, as this will make me appear cold (and I'm not), I propose to substitute the exclamation point of politeness (e.g., "Hello!" or "Have a great day!") with a new character: ^ (e.g., "Hello^" or "Have a nice day^"). Perhaps in this small way, I can undo the seemingly irreparable damage to our language.
Have a great day^ Use exclamation points responsibly!*
People shook hands with me all the time, even when a handshake wasn't merited. It seemed like the handshake was an awkward space filler in conversation. The value of the handshake was at an all-time low. So my idea was, when someone tried to shake hands with me and a hearty handshake was not warranted, I would shake their hand with only two fingers. Each person with whom I shook hands in this way immediately knew that something was awry. I unapologetically offered a simple explanation: "The value of the handshake has gone down, and I am going to bring it back." Weird looks. Avoidance. But the point was made.
Over time, people just seemed to accept this quirk. I broke the experiment sometimes as necessary (for instance, job interviews and other venues where such treatment would be seen as disrespectful ["When in Rome..."]) or to demarcate special occasions: birthdays, weddings, funerals. But I stuck to my guns for the most part. And Truth (note the capital T) won out. One arbitrary day, I decided the experiment was over. I shook hands normally, and people noticed. In fact, to this day, I still sometimes receive comments like, "Wow! A real handshake!" (Granted, not as often as at first.) I'd like to take this response as a sign of success.
Why do I say this now?
There is a new--or, at least, unresolved--evil in our world: Gratuitous use of the exclamation point. (This post is not addressed against the occasional exclamation point user; please do not take this personally [unless, of course, you use exclamation points needlessly and this applies directly to you; in that case, please remove the 1 key from your keyboard and start using Roman numerals].) This evil is perpetuated by online communications, mostly, or by overenthusiastic people. I don't care who you are--life is not so exciting that every sentence merits an exclamation point.
However, even one exclamation point ending every sentence is not my main grievance. What has come about in our culture is the need to multiply exclamation points, making one exclamation point lose its purpose (to add special emphasis to a thought). An analogy will serve us well here: Years ago, on my Christmas lists, I used a star method to evaluate the want-level for certain items. A lego set might receive five stars, whereas the clothes my mother made me put on the list would receive one. Regardless, by using multiple stars on each item, all the stars lost their value, and I often wound up receiving sweaters (the bane of a young boy wanting to be "cool," especially when all his friends were getting Lego pirate ships and stuff).
A similar thing is happening with exclamation points: It is no longer enough to end a sentence with one exclamation point to show excitement. One exclamation point is viewed as humdrum. It elicits the response, "Oh, that bad, huh?" rather than, "I'm so happy for you^" With more and more exclamation points being necessary to show enthusiasm, I think we all can see where this is leading. Full pages eventually will be exclamation points following a single sentence, just so the reader is assured that the writer is, in fact, happy.
Therefore, I propose to no longer use an exclamation point unless it is merited. However, as this will make me appear cold (and I'm not), I propose to substitute the exclamation point of politeness (e.g., "Hello!" or "Have a great day!") with a new character: ^ (e.g., "Hello^" or "Have a nice day^"). Perhaps in this small way, I can undo the seemingly irreparable damage to our language.
Have a great day^ Use exclamation points responsibly!*
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Confession Of an Ramirez Nair
From the moment I achieved consciousness I knew that I was a genius. My very first thought was "I am the smartest person alive." This discovery was immediately succeeded by my second thought: "I have just completed one entire thought, which seems to be more than most people have." Feeling pleased with my intellectual superiority, I was somewhat surprised by my third thought, which was the realisation that I needed my diaper changed.
For days, weeks even, I was patronized by my parents, who insisted upon having entire conversations of "goo goo, ga ga." I also found the television programmes I was forced to watch to be highly condescending. Was I to be intrigued by the seemingly challenged dinosaur bumbling across the screen? Was I to care whether or not Steve was able to locate all of Blue's Clues? He'd have to be blind not to. My mother once asked which programme I wanted to watch. Finding them all equally banal, I replied, "I don't give a damn," but as my vocal abilities were still in a most primitive state, it was interpreted as "Mama."
Within a month of my birth, my parents began to parade me in front of other babies. I found the others of my age, I avoid the word "peers" for obvious reasons, to be frightfully stupid. I was plopped beside another infant to whom I said "Salutations, fellow baby." Despite my more than adequately polite greeting, he began to weep. Over the next few years this situation repeated itself myriad times with various babies. I would greet them politely, and they would begin to bawl. Sometimes I would be visited by my grandmother, and despite her advanced age, she was not significantly more intelligent than my infantile acquaintances. Much like my parents, she too had a vocabulary seemingly comprised entirely of goo's and ga's. It was enough to drive a baby mad.
Before bed, my parents would read to me from the most dismal books imaginable. Goodnight Moon was not an uncommon reading. The book is essentially, as the title implies, the writr saying goodnight to the moon. Thrilling, I know. I wished desperately that they would, just for once, read to me something of interest. Proust perhaps. But no, night after night it was Goodnight Moon.
It was all becoming too much to stand. One day after my nap, I swallowed my batman toy's grappling hook in an attempt to take my own life. My effort was unfortunately foiled when my visiting aunt performed the baby-heimlich on me, and the small, plastic tool was hastily dislodged from my throat.
Towards the conclusion of my second month, I fell in love. I was taken to a day care centre and placed beside the most beautiful girl I had ever beheld. While she had not yet grown hair, she had a perfectly shaped skull with very little in the ways of a soft spot. I was taken aback by her glamourous clothing, which was pink, and had footsies built into the pants. To her I began reciting Byrons "Don Juan," which I had, by this point, committed to memory. She did not respond, and to this day I am uncertain whether I was spurned, or if she was simply not yet able to comprehend language. Either way, I wouldn't see her for some amount of time, and that was fine with me. Bitch.
At some point, my parents purchased for me a series of videos entitled "Baby Mozart," intended to educate babies on the topic of classical music. I could not imagine any of the babies I had met being interested in Mozart; they all seemed too intrigued by the sounds of their own whining. I thought it was a nice gesture on my parents' part, but I was quickly bored with Mozart's predicatable melodies and inflexible diatonism. I remember wishing that my parents had bought "Baby Wagner."
At seven months of age I was introduced to sports. I did not have the inherent aversion to sports possessed of most of those of equal intellect except for football ofcourse. I was restricted to rolling a rubber ball across the parlour floor. It required no coordination or skill and was a waste of my time, but still I was forced to partake, lest I become lazy, according to my parents.
After an entire year of being treated as a pet more so than a human, it was the time of my first birthday. My parents said that they would arrange a party, and though I was well aware of their questionable taste, I was looking forward to this soiree. Of course there would be guests, but I wondered who they would be, as I had no friends to speak of. I pondered my upcoming ball. Certainly I would not be hobnobbing with the socialite elite, but perhaps at least enjoying hors d'oeuvres with others of at least moderate intelligence. This would be my opportunity to show my true genius to others who could appreciate and understand me. Or so I thought, at least. Nothing could have prepared my for the grotesque bash that ensued.
On the first anniversary of my birth I was set at the head of the kitchen table. I looked to my right to see who was seated at the place of honour beside me. Fathom, if you can, my terror when I turned my head to see the tearful child of my first acquaintance, who spurned my salutations with cries. To my left, the heartless harlot who had so coldly ignored my Byronic recitation. Perhaps the food would be good, I told myself. This last hope was shattered when I was presented with the gaudiest cake ever to soil an oven, and on top of the cake was that horrible, purple, bumbling dinosaur I so despised from television.
My throat tightened. My hear pounded. My parents said "We have a very special guest." Was this all a joke until now? Who could the guest be? Perhaps a great innovator of the arts or sciences. I was excited. Through the door, however, walked the dinosaur, from television and from my cake. He spoke in his slow, dumb voice, and bumbled about, precisely as I'd noted before. "Well who's the birthday boy?" he muttered. I remained silent, but my parents gave me up. He approached, and I cringed with every step he took. He began his awful, cacophonous rendition of "Happy Birthday." My brain-dead guest screamed with glee. I took my head in my hands and waited for him to leave, and tried to figure out how many more years of this I needed endure before succumbing to the sweet release of death.
For days, weeks even, I was patronized by my parents, who insisted upon having entire conversations of "goo goo, ga ga." I also found the television programmes I was forced to watch to be highly condescending. Was I to be intrigued by the seemingly challenged dinosaur bumbling across the screen? Was I to care whether or not Steve was able to locate all of Blue's Clues? He'd have to be blind not to. My mother once asked which programme I wanted to watch. Finding them all equally banal, I replied, "I don't give a damn," but as my vocal abilities were still in a most primitive state, it was interpreted as "Mama."
Within a month of my birth, my parents began to parade me in front of other babies. I found the others of my age, I avoid the word "peers" for obvious reasons, to be frightfully stupid. I was plopped beside another infant to whom I said "Salutations, fellow baby." Despite my more than adequately polite greeting, he began to weep. Over the next few years this situation repeated itself myriad times with various babies. I would greet them politely, and they would begin to bawl. Sometimes I would be visited by my grandmother, and despite her advanced age, she was not significantly more intelligent than my infantile acquaintances. Much like my parents, she too had a vocabulary seemingly comprised entirely of goo's and ga's. It was enough to drive a baby mad.
Before bed, my parents would read to me from the most dismal books imaginable. Goodnight Moon was not an uncommon reading. The book is essentially, as the title implies, the writr saying goodnight to the moon. Thrilling, I know. I wished desperately that they would, just for once, read to me something of interest. Proust perhaps. But no, night after night it was Goodnight Moon.
It was all becoming too much to stand. One day after my nap, I swallowed my batman toy's grappling hook in an attempt to take my own life. My effort was unfortunately foiled when my visiting aunt performed the baby-heimlich on me, and the small, plastic tool was hastily dislodged from my throat.
Towards the conclusion of my second month, I fell in love. I was taken to a day care centre and placed beside the most beautiful girl I had ever beheld. While she had not yet grown hair, she had a perfectly shaped skull with very little in the ways of a soft spot. I was taken aback by her glamourous clothing, which was pink, and had footsies built into the pants. To her I began reciting Byrons "Don Juan," which I had, by this point, committed to memory. She did not respond, and to this day I am uncertain whether I was spurned, or if she was simply not yet able to comprehend language. Either way, I wouldn't see her for some amount of time, and that was fine with me. Bitch.
At some point, my parents purchased for me a series of videos entitled "Baby Mozart," intended to educate babies on the topic of classical music. I could not imagine any of the babies I had met being interested in Mozart; they all seemed too intrigued by the sounds of their own whining. I thought it was a nice gesture on my parents' part, but I was quickly bored with Mozart's predicatable melodies and inflexible diatonism. I remember wishing that my parents had bought "Baby Wagner."
At seven months of age I was introduced to sports. I did not have the inherent aversion to sports possessed of most of those of equal intellect except for football ofcourse. I was restricted to rolling a rubber ball across the parlour floor. It required no coordination or skill and was a waste of my time, but still I was forced to partake, lest I become lazy, according to my parents.
After an entire year of being treated as a pet more so than a human, it was the time of my first birthday. My parents said that they would arrange a party, and though I was well aware of their questionable taste, I was looking forward to this soiree. Of course there would be guests, but I wondered who they would be, as I had no friends to speak of. I pondered my upcoming ball. Certainly I would not be hobnobbing with the socialite elite, but perhaps at least enjoying hors d'oeuvres with others of at least moderate intelligence. This would be my opportunity to show my true genius to others who could appreciate and understand me. Or so I thought, at least. Nothing could have prepared my for the grotesque bash that ensued.
On the first anniversary of my birth I was set at the head of the kitchen table. I looked to my right to see who was seated at the place of honour beside me. Fathom, if you can, my terror when I turned my head to see the tearful child of my first acquaintance, who spurned my salutations with cries. To my left, the heartless harlot who had so coldly ignored my Byronic recitation. Perhaps the food would be good, I told myself. This last hope was shattered when I was presented with the gaudiest cake ever to soil an oven, and on top of the cake was that horrible, purple, bumbling dinosaur I so despised from television.
My throat tightened. My hear pounded. My parents said "We have a very special guest." Was this all a joke until now? Who could the guest be? Perhaps a great innovator of the arts or sciences. I was excited. Through the door, however, walked the dinosaur, from television and from my cake. He spoke in his slow, dumb voice, and bumbled about, precisely as I'd noted before. "Well who's the birthday boy?" he muttered. I remained silent, but my parents gave me up. He approached, and I cringed with every step he took. He began his awful, cacophonous rendition of "Happy Birthday." My brain-dead guest screamed with glee. I took my head in my hands and waited for him to leave, and tried to figure out how many more years of this I needed endure before succumbing to the sweet release of death.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Sex
In the incredibly oversaturated world that we in today, everybody is aware of the well-known fact that 'sex sells'. No matter how many people try to protest it and speak out about it as not being "right", the truth is we all feed into it. For example, Beyonce being considered the ultimate sex symobol. Now compare Beyonce to someone such as Reese Witherspoon. Reese, in my opinion is gorgeous, but in a sweetheart, cute, girly kind of way. And on the other hand, Beyonce has the curves that make the men drool, the diva attitude. I believe that only a selective and limited few posses the power to totally exude physical sex appeal as well through their state of mind.
So my boys and I came from seeing Transformers (awesome film by the way), and as we were walking, these girls with obvious sex appeal approached my homeboy.
So my boys were literally staring at these girls, practically drooling all over themselves, and that's when I snapped out of the trance. Something much greater than my eyes shifted my perception and thus my occipital lobes also made the adjustment and I then turned my head to look away followed by my body. I didn't want to look at them because my attractive to their "sex appeal" changed. Why so?
So there are two ways of managing perception. I like to use the firefighter example. Fire is hot and can kill us. Most of our fight or flight instincts would see the fire, run from it, or be trapped by the fear of flames. Just like my homeboys and those girls, we react with the fight (let's talk to/mack/sleep with them) or we flight (let's run/ignore/avoid) them. These are our two primal responses, I argue. Like the firefighter, we have two more options or perspectives. We can act as if the woman isn't there, which is unlike flight in the sense that you are still engaging with a woman, but her effects on you are diminished. So the firefighter engages the fire, but his or her sensory motors are self-dampened. Men tend to do that just as in the example above about having a female as a superior officer or colleague. A man may walk into an environment wherein there may be women he would be naturally have an attraction towards, but if he bushes the right buttons on his brain, the effects of his attraction can neutralized, but that would also involved temporarily shutting off many of his senses, or at least dulling them, so like the firefighter, his skin may make contact with flames, he may choose to cut off certain sensations.
As mentioned, there is also a fourth option. A firefighter that ventures into a building in flames, if they have dampened their senses, may not be proactive in their search for solutions. I believe that there are certain parts of our brains that are also dampened when we cut ourselves off from our senses, it's the ability to see the fire as it is and yet still engage the fire as if one is going through the fire or around the fire, above, or below it.
A man might be in an environment wherein he is approached by women he finds attractive, but instead of cutting off his senses, he may choose to "manage" his senses so that they don't experience an overload and wrongful judgments are made to satisfy sensory tastes. Metaphorically, that man becomes stronger than his eyes. He doesn't choose to stare at certain aspects or analyze deeply with them, or he chooses not too look away. Instead of choosing to act as if he is blind, he sees the full picture and thus his perception becomes aware of the object as he knows the object is aware of him, but isn't consumed by the object or lost in his awareness.
Okay, most of the stuff I just wrote about is highly metaphorical and speculative, but it does shed light to what a man considers sex appeal and what hold sex appeal can have on them depending on how that a person perceives that sex appeal. Using a dialectic approach, I can close this blog posting confidently.
Sex appeal is great, but I speak on behalf of a caliber of men who also "want more" than just what the eye tricks them to just see. We want the girls we can make family homes movies with. For many of us, using a different perception of sex appeal, while other men want to buy the movie, we'd rather rent the dvd.
I'm much stronger than my eyes.
On the lighter side of things..
10 TRUTHS BLACK AND HISPANIC PEOPLE KNOW, BUT WHITE PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. Elvis is dead.
2. Jesus was not White.
3. Rap music is here to stay
4. Kissing your pet is not cute or clean.
5. Skinny does not equal sexy.
6. Thomas Jefferson had black children.
7. A 5 year child is too big for a stroller.
8. N' SYNC will never hold a candle to the Jackson 5
9. An occasional BUTT whooping helps a child stay in line.
10. Having your children curse you out in public is not normal.
10 TRUTHS WHITE AND BLACK PEOPLE KNOW, BUT HISPANIC PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. Hickey's are not attractive.
2. Chicken is food, not a roommate.
3. Jesus is not a name for your son.
4. Your country's flag is not a car decoration.
5. Maria is a name but not for every other daughter.
6. "Jump out and run" is not in any insurance policies.
7. 10 people to a car is considered too many.
8. Buttoning just the top button of your shirt is a bad fashion statement.
9. Mami and Papi can't possibly be the nickname of every person in your
family
10.Letting your children run wildly through the store is not normal.
10 TRUTHS WHITE AND HISPANIC PEOPLE KNOW, BUT BLACK PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. O. J. did it.
2. Tupac is dead.
3. Teeth should not be decorated.
4. Weddings should start on time.
5. Your pastor doesn't know everything.
6. Jesse Jackson will never be President.
7. RED is not a kool-aid flavor, it's a color.
8. Church does not require expensive clothes.
9. Crown Royal bags are meant to be thrown away.
10.Your rims and sound system should not be worth more than your car.
So my boys and I came from seeing Transformers (awesome film by the way), and as we were walking, these girls with obvious sex appeal approached my homeboy.
So my boys were literally staring at these girls, practically drooling all over themselves, and that's when I snapped out of the trance. Something much greater than my eyes shifted my perception and thus my occipital lobes also made the adjustment and I then turned my head to look away followed by my body. I didn't want to look at them because my attractive to their "sex appeal" changed. Why so?
So there are two ways of managing perception. I like to use the firefighter example. Fire is hot and can kill us. Most of our fight or flight instincts would see the fire, run from it, or be trapped by the fear of flames. Just like my homeboys and those girls, we react with the fight (let's talk to/mack/sleep with them) or we flight (let's run/ignore/avoid) them. These are our two primal responses, I argue. Like the firefighter, we have two more options or perspectives. We can act as if the woman isn't there, which is unlike flight in the sense that you are still engaging with a woman, but her effects on you are diminished. So the firefighter engages the fire, but his or her sensory motors are self-dampened. Men tend to do that just as in the example above about having a female as a superior officer or colleague. A man may walk into an environment wherein there may be women he would be naturally have an attraction towards, but if he bushes the right buttons on his brain, the effects of his attraction can neutralized, but that would also involved temporarily shutting off many of his senses, or at least dulling them, so like the firefighter, his skin may make contact with flames, he may choose to cut off certain sensations.
As mentioned, there is also a fourth option. A firefighter that ventures into a building in flames, if they have dampened their senses, may not be proactive in their search for solutions. I believe that there are certain parts of our brains that are also dampened when we cut ourselves off from our senses, it's the ability to see the fire as it is and yet still engage the fire as if one is going through the fire or around the fire, above, or below it.
A man might be in an environment wherein he is approached by women he finds attractive, but instead of cutting off his senses, he may choose to "manage" his senses so that they don't experience an overload and wrongful judgments are made to satisfy sensory tastes. Metaphorically, that man becomes stronger than his eyes. He doesn't choose to stare at certain aspects or analyze deeply with them, or he chooses not too look away. Instead of choosing to act as if he is blind, he sees the full picture and thus his perception becomes aware of the object as he knows the object is aware of him, but isn't consumed by the object or lost in his awareness.
Okay, most of the stuff I just wrote about is highly metaphorical and speculative, but it does shed light to what a man considers sex appeal and what hold sex appeal can have on them depending on how that a person perceives that sex appeal. Using a dialectic approach, I can close this blog posting confidently.
Sex appeal is great, but I speak on behalf of a caliber of men who also "want more" than just what the eye tricks them to just see. We want the girls we can make family homes movies with. For many of us, using a different perception of sex appeal, while other men want to buy the movie, we'd rather rent the dvd.
I'm much stronger than my eyes.
On the lighter side of things..
10 TRUTHS BLACK AND HISPANIC PEOPLE KNOW, BUT WHITE PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. Elvis is dead.
2. Jesus was not White.
3. Rap music is here to stay
4. Kissing your pet is not cute or clean.
5. Skinny does not equal sexy.
6. Thomas Jefferson had black children.
7. A 5 year child is too big for a stroller.
8. N' SYNC will never hold a candle to the Jackson 5
9. An occasional BUTT whooping helps a child stay in line.
10. Having your children curse you out in public is not normal.
10 TRUTHS WHITE AND BLACK PEOPLE KNOW, BUT HISPANIC PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. Hickey's are not attractive.
2. Chicken is food, not a roommate.
3. Jesus is not a name for your son.
4. Your country's flag is not a car decoration.
5. Maria is a name but not for every other daughter.
6. "Jump out and run" is not in any insurance policies.
7. 10 people to a car is considered too many.
8. Buttoning just the top button of your shirt is a bad fashion statement.
9. Mami and Papi can't possibly be the nickname of every person in your
family
10.Letting your children run wildly through the store is not normal.
10 TRUTHS WHITE AND HISPANIC PEOPLE KNOW, BUT BLACK PEOPLE WON'T ADMIT:
1. O. J. did it.
2. Tupac is dead.
3. Teeth should not be decorated.
4. Weddings should start on time.
5. Your pastor doesn't know everything.
6. Jesse Jackson will never be President.
7. RED is not a kool-aid flavor, it's a color.
8. Church does not require expensive clothes.
9. Crown Royal bags are meant to be thrown away.
10.Your rims and sound system should not be worth more than your car.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Fuck Sight
Over-crowded, unfriendly, stupidly expensive and a fuck sight more stressful than most cities – there are many reasons to hate London and as you get pummelled into the ground on a daily basis by the shit you have to endure you constantly ask yourself whether you wouldn't be better off somewhere quieter, cheaper and a lot less hectic. But then you go somewhere amazing and you think to yourself I could not get this anywhere else in the world. London, despite all its faults is a totally buzzin cool happening place that thrives on its own hectic stimulation – this was never more accurately demonstrated than at the party lastnight..
I don't know how the zeitgeist works. I 'm not even totally sure what it means but I always find it strange how the collective unconscious synchronizes and everyone seems to get into the same thing at the same time. It is often a reaction to what has gone before but not always. Suddenly everyone is bang into the 50s/60s thing. The look is back on the streets and the sounds are back on stereos. How does it happen? Are we all just one giant being split into millions of different entities seemingly separate but in reality, joined, connected and vibing as one? I can't prove it but I liked to think so.
So we descended the tight stairwell and walked straight into a scene from Quadrophenia. I had watched that film so many times and always wanted to go to one of those dark, packed little underground venues with everyone grooving and rockin out to dancefloor fillers that you just can't stand still to. And all of a sudden, here I was. It was happening.
It was just eleven but it was already busy and people were already dancing. And it just got busier and busier. I'm not sure how clubs manage to fill up without you noticing but suddenly you look round and its jam packed. All of a sudden it was heaving but rather than feel over-crowded it just added to the buzz. A throng of people sandwiched together shaking themselves to the tunes of yesteryear. But this was not a nostalgia trip. For a start no-one in the room could have been there first time round. This was just a group of people joined by a desire to dance to decent music.
And so I danced and I danced and I danced and then I had a breather and then I danced and then umm danced some more.
Pics will be uploaded as soon as i get em'.. Till then cheers.
I don't know how the zeitgeist works. I 'm not even totally sure what it means but I always find it strange how the collective unconscious synchronizes and everyone seems to get into the same thing at the same time. It is often a reaction to what has gone before but not always. Suddenly everyone is bang into the 50s/60s thing. The look is back on the streets and the sounds are back on stereos. How does it happen? Are we all just one giant being split into millions of different entities seemingly separate but in reality, joined, connected and vibing as one? I can't prove it but I liked to think so.
So we descended the tight stairwell and walked straight into a scene from Quadrophenia. I had watched that film so many times and always wanted to go to one of those dark, packed little underground venues with everyone grooving and rockin out to dancefloor fillers that you just can't stand still to. And all of a sudden, here I was. It was happening.
It was just eleven but it was already busy and people were already dancing. And it just got busier and busier. I'm not sure how clubs manage to fill up without you noticing but suddenly you look round and its jam packed. All of a sudden it was heaving but rather than feel over-crowded it just added to the buzz. A throng of people sandwiched together shaking themselves to the tunes of yesteryear. But this was not a nostalgia trip. For a start no-one in the room could have been there first time round. This was just a group of people joined by a desire to dance to decent music.
And so I danced and I danced and I danced and then I had a breather and then I danced and then umm danced some more.
Pics will be uploaded as soon as i get em'.. Till then cheers.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
S > M
Less the entertainment; I humbly bring a path. Everything your mind may come to understand is either false or falsifiable. Everything. To share a sort of political correctness, the foundation of all science is based on this concept. Theory may only be proven false by observation; never true. Some axioms may be true. How can you reach an absolute truth?
Let's take you back; way back, when you were a child. Bring into this hazy picture a wise someone that says to you "Look at this car. You stand at the front of this car wanting only to go back to playing. Then this wise person said to you "There is a muffler." You might say "Liar, that's a car." Until this day you knew the concept of car and not the muffler, you either do not approve hastily or seek openly with this wise man this thing called "Muffler."
Although there appears to be a muffler upon further inspection, both the car and the muffler can be proven false with greater understanding of the design we are captured by and seek within. We find atoms and millions of kingdoms living upon the "Muffler." Oh why call this great expanse merely a "Muffler?" Should not the creator of such a wondrous breadth be given the honor in naming the product? We say "Car;" yet, the parts of the car in sequence of original elemental names are closely the proper monogram. As we were designed to design the car and name the metal beast "Car." We say red. The original color maintains another designation given by the designer of hue and finder of the color range itself. See beyond what your eyes impel.
Today, if someone said "The sun holds a black hole at its center connecting three other stars;" we could only prove false this proposition with the One that created or knew the Designer of the sun. What is design without a Designer?
We perform many tasks with a pre-determined level of complexity as our only guide to confirm a designer is responsible for the design or not. Crypto-analysis, anthropology, and engineering all point toward the path of a human level to understand this concept.
The sun burns hydrogen as fuel. Spinning, throwing plasma along magnetic field-lines that curl then straighten, re-enter its breast; holding 98% of it's original fuel, bequeathing creative light. Much like a car; it needs fuel or perhaps periodic maintenance repair. If matter were the eternal unchanging force required for us to communicate with each other this enormously great day; the hydrogen in the universe would be burned out by now.
Spirit is greater than Matter.
S > M
Only a severe case of narcissistic pride, ignorance, or evil will try to reverse the above equation. There was a begin; in specific, the Primemover. This begin move toward all you may ever interpret is immediately responsible for your eyes scanning this text. Full disclosure of any truth is beyond our reach until the Primemover takes us within His wing. Till that time, my best attempt is realized by seeking the personality of the One who designed our light, practicing with my parents (play creators) for this meeting, or relaxing within my space learning.
What we believe is most important of all; as, our beliefs are directly linked with our future. Believe the end is better than the begin with me.
Let's take you back; way back, when you were a child. Bring into this hazy picture a wise someone that says to you "Look at this car. You stand at the front of this car wanting only to go back to playing. Then this wise person said to you "There is a muffler." You might say "Liar, that's a car." Until this day you knew the concept of car and not the muffler, you either do not approve hastily or seek openly with this wise man this thing called "Muffler."
Although there appears to be a muffler upon further inspection, both the car and the muffler can be proven false with greater understanding of the design we are captured by and seek within. We find atoms and millions of kingdoms living upon the "Muffler." Oh why call this great expanse merely a "Muffler?" Should not the creator of such a wondrous breadth be given the honor in naming the product? We say "Car;" yet, the parts of the car in sequence of original elemental names are closely the proper monogram. As we were designed to design the car and name the metal beast "Car." We say red. The original color maintains another designation given by the designer of hue and finder of the color range itself. See beyond what your eyes impel.
Today, if someone said "The sun holds a black hole at its center connecting three other stars;" we could only prove false this proposition with the One that created or knew the Designer of the sun. What is design without a Designer?
We perform many tasks with a pre-determined level of complexity as our only guide to confirm a designer is responsible for the design or not. Crypto-analysis, anthropology, and engineering all point toward the path of a human level to understand this concept.
The sun burns hydrogen as fuel. Spinning, throwing plasma along magnetic field-lines that curl then straighten, re-enter its breast; holding 98% of it's original fuel, bequeathing creative light. Much like a car; it needs fuel or perhaps periodic maintenance repair. If matter were the eternal unchanging force required for us to communicate with each other this enormously great day; the hydrogen in the universe would be burned out by now.
Spirit is greater than Matter.
S > M
Only a severe case of narcissistic pride, ignorance, or evil will try to reverse the above equation. There was a begin; in specific, the Primemover. This begin move toward all you may ever interpret is immediately responsible for your eyes scanning this text. Full disclosure of any truth is beyond our reach until the Primemover takes us within His wing. Till that time, my best attempt is realized by seeking the personality of the One who designed our light, practicing with my parents (play creators) for this meeting, or relaxing within my space learning.
What we believe is most important of all; as, our beliefs are directly linked with our future. Believe the end is better than the begin with me.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Placed 'X'
Place a X by all the things you've done and send it to all of your friends. A bit of fun. Takes a while though...
(x) smoked a cigarette
(x) crashed a friend's car
( ) stolen a car
(x) been in love
(x) been dumped
(x) shoplifted
(x) been fired
(x) been in a fist fight
(x) snuck out of your parent's house
(x) had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
(x) been arrested
(x) gone on a blind date
(x) lied to a friend
(x) skipped school
(x) seen someone die
(x) had a crush on one of your internet friends
(x) been to Canada
( ) been to Mexico
(x) been on a plane
( ) purposely set a part of yourself on fire
(x) eaten sushi
(x) been skiing
(x) been at a concert
(x) taken painkillers
(x) love someone or miss someone right now
(x) laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by
(x) made a snow angel
( ) had a tea party
(x) flown a kite
(x) built a sand castle
(x) gone puddle jumping
(x) played dress up
(x) jumped into a pile of leaves
(x) gone sledding
(x) cheated while playing a game
(x) been lonely
(x) fallen asleep at work/school
( ) used a fake ID
(x) watched the sun set
( ) felt an earthquake
(x) slept beneath the stars
(x) been tickled
(x) been robbed
(x) been misunderstood
(x) petted a reindeer/goat/kangaroo
(x) won a contest
(x) run a red light/stop sign
(x) been suspended from school
(x) been in a car crash
(x) had braces
(x) felt like an outcast/third person
(x) eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(x) had deja vu
(x) danced in the moonlight
(x) liked the way you looked
(x) witnessed a crime
(x) questioned your heart
( ) been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) squished barefoot through the mud
(x) been lost
(x) been on the opposite side of the country
(x) swam in the ocean
(x) felt like dying
(x) cried yourself to sleep
(x) played cops and robbers
(x) recently colored with crayons
(x) sung karaoke
(x) paid for a meal with only coins
(x) done something you told yourself you wouldn't
(x) made prank phone calls
(x) laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
( ) caught a snowflake on your tongue
(x) danced in the rain
(x) written a letter to Santa Claus
( ) been kissed under the mistletoe
( ) watched the sun rise with someone you care about
(x) blown bubbles
(x) made a bonfire on the beach
(x) crashed a party
(x) gone rollerskating
(x) had a wish come true
( ) jumped off a bridge
(x) ate dog/cat food
( ) told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) kissed a mirror
(x) sang in the shower
( ) had a dream that you married someone
(x) glued your hand to something
( ) kissed a fish
(x) sat on a roof top
(x) screamed at the top of your lungs
( ) done a one-handed cartwheel
( ) talked on the phone for more than 5 hours
(x) stayed up all night
( ) picked and ate an apple right off the tree
(x) climbed a tree
(x) had a tree house
( ) scared to watch a scary movie alone
(x) believe in ghosts
(x) have more than 30 pairs of shoes
( ) worn a really ugly outfit to school
(x) gone streaking
( ) gone doorbell ditching
(?) played gay chicken
(x) pushed into a pool/hot tub with all your clothes on
(x) told you're hot by a complete stranger
(x) broken a bone
(x) been easily amused
( ) caught a fish then ate it
(x) caught a butterfly
(x) laughed so hard you cried
( ) cried so hard you laughed
(x) cheated on a test
(x) forgotten someone's name
( ) french braided someone's hair
(x) gone skinny dipping in a pool/hot tub
(x) been threatened to be kicked out of your house or been kicked out of your house
(x) loved someone so much you would gladly die for them..
Damn son..
Last night was a late one, in fact it has been a week of late collapses and early rises. My head feels like it has been beaten in with my own flatly intoned renditions of power ballads from the club few nights ago. My jaw hurts and the sense of shame is overbearing.
Twice in as many days I have tripped back to the sound of bird calls, ordinarily this would be a pleasure but when the dawn light is switching street lights off down the length of road you are walking, casting a murky and angry swell of cool air, beer soaked party heads and rageful early work risers, you start to wonder if in some small respect you are being laughed at by your fellow animal.
If I were a bird I think other than spending large portions of my life flitting between here and the gulf coast, I would invest a good deal of time practicing whistling the latest tv ringtone at rum soaked moronic figures tottering about at times that God himself set aside for animals and crooks.
The way I see it, this whole universe has it upside down. There is no more horrendous feeling than waking up in daylight, the mere switching on of a light burns into my retinas like some archaic form of torture before all those drugs and sack beatings. Waking up in darkness is certainly more settling for the old nerves. I can feel the power being sucked from my very loins and not in that embarrassing fleshy way but in the deflating ebb of the vengeful hand of death. If I were in any other game, possibly astrophysics, I would try and strike the balance, get what we all want.
I feel like doing more survey but me l a z y.
(x) smoked a cigarette
(x) crashed a friend's car
( ) stolen a car
(x) been in love
(x) been dumped
(x) shoplifted
(x) been fired
(x) been in a fist fight
(x) snuck out of your parent's house
(x) had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
(x) been arrested
(x) gone on a blind date
(x) lied to a friend
(x) skipped school
(x) seen someone die
(x) had a crush on one of your internet friends
(x) been to Canada
( ) been to Mexico
(x) been on a plane
( ) purposely set a part of yourself on fire
(x) eaten sushi
(x) been skiing
(x) been at a concert
(x) taken painkillers
(x) love someone or miss someone right now
(x) laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by
(x) made a snow angel
( ) had a tea party
(x) flown a kite
(x) built a sand castle
(x) gone puddle jumping
(x) played dress up
(x) jumped into a pile of leaves
(x) gone sledding
(x) cheated while playing a game
(x) been lonely
(x) fallen asleep at work/school
( ) used a fake ID
(x) watched the sun set
( ) felt an earthquake
(x) slept beneath the stars
(x) been tickled
(x) been robbed
(x) been misunderstood
(x) petted a reindeer/goat/kangaroo
(x) won a contest
(x) run a red light/stop sign
(x) been suspended from school
(x) been in a car crash
(x) had braces
(x) felt like an outcast/third person
(x) eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(x) had deja vu
(x) danced in the moonlight
(x) liked the way you looked
(x) witnessed a crime
(x) questioned your heart
( ) been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) squished barefoot through the mud
(x) been lost
(x) been on the opposite side of the country
(x) swam in the ocean
(x) felt like dying
(x) cried yourself to sleep
(x) played cops and robbers
(x) recently colored with crayons
(x) sung karaoke
(x) paid for a meal with only coins
(x) done something you told yourself you wouldn't
(x) made prank phone calls
(x) laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
( ) caught a snowflake on your tongue
(x) danced in the rain
(x) written a letter to Santa Claus
( ) been kissed under the mistletoe
( ) watched the sun rise with someone you care about
(x) blown bubbles
(x) made a bonfire on the beach
(x) crashed a party
(x) gone rollerskating
(x) had a wish come true
( ) jumped off a bridge
(x) ate dog/cat food
( ) told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) kissed a mirror
(x) sang in the shower
( ) had a dream that you married someone
(x) glued your hand to something
( ) kissed a fish
(x) sat on a roof top
(x) screamed at the top of your lungs
( ) done a one-handed cartwheel
( ) talked on the phone for more than 5 hours
(x) stayed up all night
( ) picked and ate an apple right off the tree
(x) climbed a tree
(x) had a tree house
( ) scared to watch a scary movie alone
(x) believe in ghosts
(x) have more than 30 pairs of shoes
( ) worn a really ugly outfit to school
(x) gone streaking
( ) gone doorbell ditching
(?) played gay chicken
(x) pushed into a pool/hot tub with all your clothes on
(x) told you're hot by a complete stranger
(x) broken a bone
(x) been easily amused
( ) caught a fish then ate it
(x) caught a butterfly
(x) laughed so hard you cried
( ) cried so hard you laughed
(x) cheated on a test
(x) forgotten someone's name
( ) french braided someone's hair
(x) gone skinny dipping in a pool/hot tub
(x) been threatened to be kicked out of your house or been kicked out of your house
(x) loved someone so much you would gladly die for them..
Damn son..
Last night was a late one, in fact it has been a week of late collapses and early rises. My head feels like it has been beaten in with my own flatly intoned renditions of power ballads from the club few nights ago. My jaw hurts and the sense of shame is overbearing.
Twice in as many days I have tripped back to the sound of bird calls, ordinarily this would be a pleasure but when the dawn light is switching street lights off down the length of road you are walking, casting a murky and angry swell of cool air, beer soaked party heads and rageful early work risers, you start to wonder if in some small respect you are being laughed at by your fellow animal.
If I were a bird I think other than spending large portions of my life flitting between here and the gulf coast, I would invest a good deal of time practicing whistling the latest tv ringtone at rum soaked moronic figures tottering about at times that God himself set aside for animals and crooks.
The way I see it, this whole universe has it upside down. There is no more horrendous feeling than waking up in daylight, the mere switching on of a light burns into my retinas like some archaic form of torture before all those drugs and sack beatings. Waking up in darkness is certainly more settling for the old nerves. I can feel the power being sucked from my very loins and not in that embarrassing fleshy way but in the deflating ebb of the vengeful hand of death. If I were in any other game, possibly astrophysics, I would try and strike the balance, get what we all want.
I feel like doing more survey but me l a z y.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Falling and Breaking
Night falls... Day Breaks, Sun rises Sun sets, At the crack of dawn - creeping dusk..... falling in love and breaking of heart.... so on and so forth, it sounds so perfectly true expression has a equally opposite and equal expression in the english language, but then it maybe true, it must be true, the opposite of these words for, they are in use... I know I am not making much progress here in my riddles....
LOVE: As Between MAN & WOMAN.... Why is it called "Falling in love" and then when it doesnt work out why do people have a "Broken Heart" to me the whole "shebang" about this love business as it is seen and practised sounds steeped in a "Negativity". For all this Falling business sounds more like losing ground, losing one's sense of individuality, one's sense of independence, one's rationale to sum up all the follies it reminds me of a loss of identity, Don't we say the same about losing all our wealth or proseperity by using the expression " He/She has fallen on bad days". Doesn't it seem so bloody obvious that when you fall you get hurt , so is everyone getting into this mysterious thingy called love with the given guarentee that he/she is gona get hurt for sure? sounds ridiculously funny to me its ironical that what is perceived to be the most beautiful feeling in the world is distorted to sound and seem so negative. The whole falling bit, is it used because in love we become vulnerable to many things? Well when you fall you get broken bones and whatever else and then it hurts. So Dont Fall, that doesnt mean dont be in Love".
"Be In Love", "Rise in Love" ( Ok fall and rise sounds too cheesy but, i got a point there), Be in love its beautiful, and when you are in Love its so beautiful its so good and you got that big million watt smile on your face You must be positively glowing looking like an electric eel... ( crappy humour bear with me)..and when you do feel and look like that, it reflects in every aspect of your life and you become more positive and the whole world looks positive. So when obviously you feel so good and fine, you must be rising like a hot air balloon soaring high, not physically but mentally and in spirit. Your innate and latent good cheer and positiveness should propel you to do things good (or perceived to be good) things which you werent capable of thinking you should do or could do earlier when you were any joe wasting away under the sun and trying to make money or whatever else you have chosen as the purpose of your life.
So when viewed thus love is a wholly positive thing, but what happens when your love isnt requited...what then? should you go and hit the floor try to fall and break yourself or get broken? Hello this is what happens...you only end up hurting yourself...
I was in love or am in love but not letting the person know how i feel. ends up hurting one another.. as i am not right.. as i am not ready.. as i dont do anything to help/heal.. as i don't know how.. as because i think it's too difficult/hard/stressful but it's not.. im just not ready but it doesn't change the way i feel/think.
LOVE: As Between MAN & WOMAN.... Why is it called "Falling in love" and then when it doesnt work out why do people have a "Broken Heart" to me the whole "shebang" about this love business as it is seen and practised sounds steeped in a "Negativity". For all this Falling business sounds more like losing ground, losing one's sense of individuality, one's sense of independence, one's rationale to sum up all the follies it reminds me of a loss of identity, Don't we say the same about losing all our wealth or proseperity by using the expression " He/She has fallen on bad days". Doesn't it seem so bloody obvious that when you fall you get hurt , so is everyone getting into this mysterious thingy called love with the given guarentee that he/she is gona get hurt for sure? sounds ridiculously funny to me its ironical that what is perceived to be the most beautiful feeling in the world is distorted to sound and seem so negative. The whole falling bit, is it used because in love we become vulnerable to many things? Well when you fall you get broken bones and whatever else and then it hurts. So Dont Fall, that doesnt mean dont be in Love".
"Be In Love", "Rise in Love" ( Ok fall and rise sounds too cheesy but, i got a point there), Be in love its beautiful, and when you are in Love its so beautiful its so good and you got that big million watt smile on your face You must be positively glowing looking like an electric eel... ( crappy humour bear with me)..and when you do feel and look like that, it reflects in every aspect of your life and you become more positive and the whole world looks positive. So when obviously you feel so good and fine, you must be rising like a hot air balloon soaring high, not physically but mentally and in spirit. Your innate and latent good cheer and positiveness should propel you to do things good (or perceived to be good) things which you werent capable of thinking you should do or could do earlier when you were any joe wasting away under the sun and trying to make money or whatever else you have chosen as the purpose of your life.
So when viewed thus love is a wholly positive thing, but what happens when your love isnt requited...what then? should you go and hit the floor try to fall and break yourself or get broken? Hello this is what happens...you only end up hurting yourself...
I was in love or am in love but not letting the person know how i feel. ends up hurting one another.. as i am not right.. as i am not ready.. as i dont do anything to help/heal.. as i don't know how.. as because i think it's too difficult/hard/stressful but it's not.. im just not ready but it doesn't change the way i feel/think.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Golliwog
Life and times of R.Nair
Golliwog, I love you baby and will treat you the way you have always wanted to be treated. I'll be there for you no matter what. I will now listen to you and always work with you not against you. I will hold you love you rspect you and never give you a reason to look back.
All I ask of you is to love me for the man I have become.
All I can say if you really love someone don't give up cause if it was meant to be it will be. And always respect and love each other no matter what.
They say for every good man there is a good woman well I have that woman and I will never give her up.
Chuck
that's all for now. Now back to sober-ness..
Golliwog, I love you baby and will treat you the way you have always wanted to be treated. I'll be there for you no matter what. I will now listen to you and always work with you not against you. I will hold you love you rspect you and never give you a reason to look back.
All I ask of you is to love me for the man I have become.
All I can say if you really love someone don't give up cause if it was meant to be it will be. And always respect and love each other no matter what.
They say for every good man there is a good woman well I have that woman and I will never give her up.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Shiznaq
I am a golden god.................
DARN: Creator of all things?
GOD: That is correct.
DARN: The god of the bible, testaments old and new?
GOD: That's right. Look, is this really necessary?
DARN: I'm sorry, but I'm trying to make certain that there is no question as to your identity. Now, you are said to have created the heavens and the earth. Is that correct?
GOD: Yes, I did. You see, a timeless time of nothing was beginning to get on my nerves, so I thought it would be a good idea to -
DARN: Mr. Chairman, please direct the witness to answer the question.
GOD: But, I -
CHAIRMAN: Please, just answer the question as simply as possible.
GOD: Sorry.
DARN: How long did the creation take?
GOD: Six days.
DARN: And, are those days as we understand them, or were they longer?
GOD: I...umm... (garbled) My lawyer has advised me not to answer that question on the grounds of the 47th Amendment.
DARN: The 47th Amendment?
GOD: That's right. That's the one that will guarantee a sense of mystery and wonder in the world.
DARN: Well, umm, would it be safe to say that you took a lot of care in the preparation of the universe?
GOD: Yes. That would be correct.
DARN: Then, how do you explain the existence of...cockroaches?
GOD: Cockroaches? I - cockroaches?
DARN: Mr. Chairman, I submit this example of a cockroach as evidence to this body. Does the witness deny the existence of cockroaches?
GOD: I...no. Obviously, cockroaches do exist.
DARN: And, did you, in fact, create cockroaches?
GOD: I...I don't remember.
DARN: You mean to have us believe that you are god, all-knowing, all-powerful, who created the entire cosmos, the world and all the living things on it, and you don't remember if you created cockroaches?
GOD: I...I wasn't aware of them when I created the world. No.
DARN: Do you believe in cockroaches, Mr. god?
GOD: Oh, no. Not at all. They're vile, nasty creatures, with no purpose other than to offend the senses of innocent men and women.
DARN: As the Constitution clearly states. And, yet, when you created the Garden of Eden, you claim that cockroaches were created without your express knowledge or consent?
GOD: That, umm, is correct.
DARN: But, other than cockroaches, that one exception, you were fully aware of what you were creating, yes?
GOD: Yes. I am god, all-knowing -
DARN: Then, you admit being responsible for leeches? (pause) I will ask again: were you responsible for the creation of leeches?
CHAIRMAN: The witness will please answer the question.
GOD: I...I don't remember. (uproar)
The battle rages on..
SENATOR JAKE DARN: You are god almighty?
GOD: Yes, I am.
DARN: Creator of all things?
GOD: That is correct.
DARN: The god of the bible, testaments old and new?
GOD: That's right. Look, is this really necessary?
DARN: I'm sorry, but I'm trying to make certain that there is no question as to your identity. Now, you are said to have created the heavens and the earth. Is that correct?
GOD: Yes, I did. You see, a timeless time of nothing was beginning to get on my nerves, so I thought it would be a good idea to -
DARN: Mr. Chairman, please direct the witness to answer the question.
GOD: But, I -
CHAIRMAN: Please, just answer the question as simply as possible.
GOD: Sorry.
DARN: How long did the creation take?
GOD: Six days.
DARN: And, are those days as we understand them, or were they longer?
GOD: I...umm... (garbled) My lawyer has advised me not to answer that question on the grounds of the 47th Amendment.
DARN: The 47th Amendment?
GOD: That's right. That's the one that will guarantee a sense of mystery and wonder in the world.
DARN: Well, umm, would it be safe to say that you took a lot of care in the preparation of the universe?
GOD: Yes. That would be correct.
DARN: Then, how do you explain the existence of...cockroaches?
GOD: Cockroaches? I - cockroaches?
DARN: Mr. Chairman, I submit this example of a cockroach as evidence to this body. Does the witness deny the existence of cockroaches?
GOD: I...no. Obviously, cockroaches do exist.
DARN: And, did you, in fact, create cockroaches?
GOD: I...I don't remember.
DARN: You mean to have us believe that you are god, all-knowing, all-powerful, who created the entire cosmos, the world and all the living things on it, and you don't remember if you created cockroaches?
GOD: I...I wasn't aware of them when I created the world. No.
DARN: Do you believe in cockroaches, Mr. god?
GOD: Oh, no. Not at all. They're vile, nasty creatures, with no purpose other than to offend the senses of innocent men and women.
DARN: As the Constitution clearly states. And, yet, when you created the Garden of Eden, you claim that cockroaches were created without your express knowledge or consent?
GOD: That, umm, is correct.
DARN: But, other than cockroaches, that one exception, you were fully aware of what you were creating, yes?
GOD: Yes. I am god, all-knowing -
DARN: Then, you admit being responsible for leeches? (pause) I will ask again: were you responsible for the creation of leeches?
CHAIRMAN: The witness will please answer the question.
GOD: I...I don't remember. (uproar)
Trivial..............
Monday, May 14, 2007
Tubing
AbangKakak
Laughter is the biological reaction of humans to moments or occasions of humor: an outward expression of amusement. Laughter is subcategorised into various groupings depending upon the extent and pitch of the laughter: giggles, chortles, chuckles, hoots, cackles, sniggers and guffaws are all types of laughter. Smiling is a mild silent form of laughing. Some studies indicate that laughter differs depending upon the gender of the laughing person: women tend to laugh in a more "sing-song" way. People make me laugh :)
If you do wish to correct the grammar of someone whom you truly believe would welcome & appreciate the correction, then start by asking them if it is okay to offer them a suggestion. You might say something like, 'This is kind of a delicate issue, but I was wondering if it would be alright to offer you a grammatical suggestion? You know I'm kind of a grammar nerd.' This gives the person the opportunity to welcome your suggestion & not feel bad, as you have pointed out your unusual interest in grammar. And of course, be certain you understand the specific grammatical rules & how to apply them before making the correction. But again, if you are not sure the person would welcome the correction, then it is better to keep the issue to yourself.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
The Tugboat Complex
I'm smiling but there's nothing to be happy about.
Once upon a time, there was the cutest couple in the world. Ya know he was the punk and she was Daddy's little girl, and graduation came and she wanted him to stay, he had bigger better dreams waiting out in big city. He said "Don't say goodbye because goodbye means leaving and leaving means forgetting." Two years later she reads in the news, he'd gone on to be a big star but nobody knew.'cause he changed up his name but his heart stayed the same, 'cause every song he wrote, was about her, he claimed. he never got to tell her 'cause he died that year, from all of the coke, and the pills, and the beer, and the whole world cried, but just for one day 'cause sooner or later, the pain goes away. Not.
I whine a lot, make no mistake that this is one of those occasions. I am tired, but it is a weird tired all fuzzy and with different parts of the brain refusing to communicate with each other, I am beginning to think in a completely erratic manner, last night I hallucinated, for the briefest of moments, that a bull/ bison or bovine equivalent was lolloping around on the middle of Lewisham way (for those of us unfamiliar, this is not a green enough pasture to warrant any kind of grazing animal).
Chalk this one up to stress but a week in bed would do me a world of good. Once rested and emerging with bed-bug-bites and sores I will be free to roam and whine with a clear head.
:/
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Some random thoughts on this horrid Sunday morning
Feminists, will you please for the love of all that is holy finish your damn "revolution". To me, and this is just my humble opinion, winning the fight to air tampon commercials and wear "Cum Dumpster" or "Porn star" tee-shirts is, well, stupid. But hey, I mean you are all getting paid as much as men and are now finally represented equally in congress! Oh no wait, never mind. Well, at least you all have won something, right? I just don't know what. I have been called a "woman hater", It just kills me to watch the female gender lose itself over the years. To me, all of a woman's grace and dignity has been forgotten, in a rush to become the next whore on the T.V. showing her tits. And yes, those chicks on Girls Gone Wild make you all look bad, because deep down I think that if most of you had that type of body you would be doing the very same thing. I know of no relationship that any of my female friends are in that could even marginally be called healthy with one small exception. Figure this shit out please, because you have all been lied too. You cannot be the Madonna and the whore. It's one or the other, and don't blame me or men when you chose to be the whore and people treat you like one.
I do tend to let other people's drama affect me. Over all though, I have found a center that is becoming more and more unshakable. My main problem is that I now have an emotional complexity that is taking some time to get used to. I guess I have finally "grown up", what ever that means. I no longer have the emotional range of a tadpole; I can feel two, sometimes three distinct emotional states at once. Now I know most woman might find that statement funny as hell, but for a guy it takes some getting used to. And it has been very nice to read all of the positive feed back from all my friends on my thoughts lately, although like most over-empathetic people I sometimes feel guilty and unworthy of such praise. Don't let me fool you, as I have said many times before, I love you all and will bleed with you when your hurt and cheer with you when you triumph, I remain solely on my side, and no one else's. Other people's drama affects me only as much as I allow it too. Ships are sinking people, and while I will happily pull you to shore, I cannot and will not go down with any of you. Only you can right your ship. It just kills me that so many of you seem to be hell bent on running your life into the ground, with a shit eating grin on your face. Ten out of ten for style I suppose, but negative several million for good thinking.
I do tend to let other people's drama affect me. Over all though, I have found a center that is becoming more and more unshakable. My main problem is that I now have an emotional complexity that is taking some time to get used to. I guess I have finally "grown up", what ever that means. I no longer have the emotional range of a tadpole; I can feel two, sometimes three distinct emotional states at once. Now I know most woman might find that statement funny as hell, but for a guy it takes some getting used to. And it has been very nice to read all of the positive feed back from all my friends on my thoughts lately, although like most over-empathetic people I sometimes feel guilty and unworthy of such praise. Don't let me fool you, as I have said many times before, I love you all and will bleed with you when your hurt and cheer with you when you triumph, I remain solely on my side, and no one else's. Other people's drama affects me only as much as I allow it too. Ships are sinking people, and while I will happily pull you to shore, I cannot and will not go down with any of you. Only you can right your ship. It just kills me that so many of you seem to be hell bent on running your life into the ground, with a shit eating grin on your face. Ten out of ten for style I suppose, but negative several million for good thinking.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Did you manipulate yourself into it?
I know I do. I think I am..
Is it a mystery why we fall in love? It is a mystery how it happens. It is a mystery when it comes. It is a mystery why some love grows and it is a mystery why some love fails. You can analyze this mystery and look for reasons and causes, but you will never do anymore that take the life out of the experience. Just as life itself is more than the sum of the bones and muscles and electrical impulses in the body, love is more than the sum of the interests and attractions and commonalities that two people share. And just as life itself is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways.
When they fall out of love, or the person they love feels the spirit of love leaving, they try desperately to reclaim the love that is lost rather than accepting the gift for what it was, then moving on. They want answers where there are no answers. They want to know what is wrong in them that makes the other person no longer love them, or try to get their love to change, thinking that if some small things were different, love would bloom again. They blame their circumstances and say that if they go far away and start a new life, their love will grow. They try anything to give meaning to what has happened. But there is no meaning beyond the love itself, and until they accept its own mysterious ways, they live in a sea of misery.
All our hearts feel the same.
Back to reality
I went back to the BBQ Wednesday to consecrate a second day of gluttony, reaching the luscious, green park by a combination of subway, foot, and nostril.
I stayed for a few sets of not altogether amateurish live music by blues and jazz teams haphazardly culled from the roadcrew, and following two pulled-pork sandwiches, six ribs, three coleslaws, a pile of brisket, a cup of baked beans, four varieties of sausages.
I must have been there awhile, my jaw was exhausted, and I had stopped chewing my food. I was leaning against the incapacitated fountain at the center, situated between the stage and the beer tent, finishing one last bite, feeling dizzy, squinting westward. But I was focused on the large bubble that had formed in my stomach, gastrogenesis. It was growing, expanding, pressing chewed meat against the sides of my stomach. It was sharp, like the great british barbeque butcher, having finished dissecting hundreds of pigs and cattle, was now starting on me from the inside.
Hurts..
Stupid stupid stupid,
That is how i feel now. My aching now is almost certainly a fraction of what my general outlook will be tomorrow.
5 hours in casualty and 6 stitches in my face and I am sitting at home seeping blood at a gentle ebb.
I am hoping that if any positive is to come of this, aside from the distinguished black eye that makes me look like some sunday league south east london wide boy, would be an even more distinguished bruise in a v shape nestling its way into my eye socket.
Anybody who gives a damn send me love, sympathy and care parcels full of chocolate and cheap novels. Blood sweat and tears and all that, I would be less wound up about the situation if I had played for more than five minutes of the game!
Hockey - a sport for men.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Now the nerves have been jangled
According to wikipedia, the very first webcam was pointed at a coffee pot at Cambridge University. Since this monumental moment in history, the webcam has been pointed at different things; panda births, naked folk, volcanoes, and traffic. I'll get one soon.It was possibly a wiser man that intimated that we, the people of earth, are as one on the bouncing ball of life, merely contented to be along for the ride. There are very few common goals in this world. In this instance the goal is not to be on the bottom when it bounces.This seems rather too sardonic a jaunt for this early on in the day and this late on in the week, but I can't feel my face and embarking on some quasi intellectual battle is an attempt to keep me firmly tethered to the ball.It has been a fun week. I bust my leg playing football but was heartened that on the same day I got a gig. I need the money for the time being. ATLEAST, worked with professionals so it was all worthwhile. Plenty of travelling. Sickness is in the post, I swear.
And as much as Europe is now a small and terrified creature with many and varied defensive mechanisms; upon ones back clawing at anything that moves within spitting distance being the most obvious. Yesterday I begin to notice the small things I do to feel comfortable;
When holding hands with someone I am inclined to place my thumb on top of theirs (i panic if I am not in control of my hand), walking down the street I touch every bollard and run my finger along railings to produce a satisfying and calming rhythm. Since the age of six I have been unable to stand on three grates on the pavement and refuse to walk under sign posts. I sleep with my back to the wall and sit with my face to the window in fear of people coming to get me. If I don't get my way I don't sleep. For Christ’s sake I am twenty and my personal weirdness increases ten fold year on year. By the age of thirty I will be the guy with a cardboard belt, a straw lined flannel shirt (for insulation) and a tin foil head piece to stop them from reading my thoughts. By forty having lost all contact with those people who stood by me in my plastic shoes phase I will be forced to work in IT. Terror. Terror. Terror.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Who lit the fuse on your tampon?
Upon the goading of my peers I have been prompted to publish more ramblings. It has been a hellish couple of months and I am quite sorry of neglected the past-time of ranting about my concerns for the tattered globe we dwell on.
O.K. now a distinct sensation of being doomed has set in. I am happily ignoring the calls from my school and family, although knowing that such folly will be my undoing in the coming weeks.
This though is not my immediate sense of trepidation. Nor is the fact I just went for a shower and my water proof radio (christmas 2003) was playing a documentary about Robert Johnson. Just tuning in, I was rewarded with a full and very emblematic description of him dying of a poisoning, barking like a dog. Supposedly the hounds of hell coming to collect the soul he owed the devil. No even this was not that disconcerting!
It is odd. A gut feeling, though more likely something in the air; I'm not in Malaysia, so it isn't cancer. It might be some resonance to seeing 300 (ish, i'm no journalist) people being hauled off a soontobefireball aircraft, a weirdly heartening sight. In future I will pay more attention to plastic backed panic cards!Or fly less!
The damndest and possibly the most predictable thing just happened. I was catching a train at London bridge out towards Deptford. Too tired to even consider keeping my eyes in focus, on an evening I use journeys like this in the working week to read as much as possible. I take a seat on a sweltering southbound connex train. Lo and behold I am joined by a man and a woman and there pet dog.
The couple were elderly but far further gone in senility than there age would demand. The woman, yellow haired and wrapped in pink over coat making the small concession of rolling her sleeves up a little on what must have been the coldest day of the year, spent the ten minutes we shared balancing her personal financial affairs with startling feats mental acrobatics. The man balding with glasses in a pair of four stripe jogging bottoms and equally enshrouded in overcoats, this time with badge after badge of holiday locations in the British Isles, such sunny climbs as: Wales, Lowestoft, Suffolk, Harwich, Whitby and Llandudno.
The man chattered incessantly without being of any particular use to the yellow haired accountant, after a while recognising he wasn't being listened to, thought it better to feed the dog, Roy, coca cola from his finger. As I got up to leave the woman started to get panicky and begun to remonstrate with Roy. "Sit down! We have paid for the seat!". This was all a bit much for me and I have not been able to read since.
This has been an all round negative transmission, but fear not, I think I just need some chocolate! And some hitchcock!
O.K. now a distinct sensation of being doomed has set in. I am happily ignoring the calls from my school and family, although knowing that such folly will be my undoing in the coming weeks.
This though is not my immediate sense of trepidation. Nor is the fact I just went for a shower and my water proof radio (christmas 2003) was playing a documentary about Robert Johnson. Just tuning in, I was rewarded with a full and very emblematic description of him dying of a poisoning, barking like a dog. Supposedly the hounds of hell coming to collect the soul he owed the devil. No even this was not that disconcerting!
It is odd. A gut feeling, though more likely something in the air; I'm not in Malaysia, so it isn't cancer. It might be some resonance to seeing 300 (ish, i'm no journalist) people being hauled off a soontobefireball aircraft, a weirdly heartening sight. In future I will pay more attention to plastic backed panic cards!Or fly less!
The damndest and possibly the most predictable thing just happened. I was catching a train at London bridge out towards Deptford. Too tired to even consider keeping my eyes in focus, on an evening I use journeys like this in the working week to read as much as possible. I take a seat on a sweltering southbound connex train. Lo and behold I am joined by a man and a woman and there pet dog.
The couple were elderly but far further gone in senility than there age would demand. The woman, yellow haired and wrapped in pink over coat making the small concession of rolling her sleeves up a little on what must have been the coldest day of the year, spent the ten minutes we shared balancing her personal financial affairs with startling feats mental acrobatics. The man balding with glasses in a pair of four stripe jogging bottoms and equally enshrouded in overcoats, this time with badge after badge of holiday locations in the British Isles, such sunny climbs as: Wales, Lowestoft, Suffolk, Harwich, Whitby and Llandudno.
The man chattered incessantly without being of any particular use to the yellow haired accountant, after a while recognising he wasn't being listened to, thought it better to feed the dog, Roy, coca cola from his finger. As I got up to leave the woman started to get panicky and begun to remonstrate with Roy. "Sit down! We have paid for the seat!". This was all a bit much for me and I have not been able to read since.
This has been an all round negative transmission, but fear not, I think I just need some chocolate! And some hitchcock!
Friday, April 6, 2007
Poots
Parties and Bloodline.
Jump, Jump
Armenian Bloodline
My Music
This is a standard Squire Strat in bright purple. One of my favourite guitars. It's one of the ones from back when Squire made decent instruments out of actual wood...
I wanted a Squire specifically after reading Steve Vai had tested a load of Strats to use to record Tender Surrender (or something) and picked the Squire as it had the best vintage tone. Oh, and it has the big headstock like Jimi Hendrix used to have LOL!
ESP G-CL-60
Fitted with Maverick high output pickups, 24 fret neck and floyd rose trem. Oh, and industrial paint job ;)
Used for playing heavy Nine Inch Nails-esque stuff
This is my main guitar at the moment. It's an Ibanez RG470 from the late 1990's. Has a DiMarzio Evolution in the bridge pickup.
Left : 93 Fender Telecaster (Well worn!)
Right : 72 Fender Telecaster Custom Re-issue
The 72 is a great guitar but it really is very heavy. Heavier even than the ESP Les Paul!
The 93 was a good guitar until I beat the living daylights out of it..
I LOVE the matte black paint job and Hot Rod "13" logo. Fantastic guitar for the money, so good I thought about buying another for when this one dies...
Getting ready and getting older. I'm no longer asexual with straight tendencies. I now fuck concepts with staggering frequency. i actually grew up in KL, so despite the fact that i may appear cultured and worldly, i am steeped in a time-honored tradition of culturelessness and superficiality, haha. I may be an asshole. I may not. Like Einstein said, everything is relative. Ah, relativity. A delightful concept. Perhaps I could write a song about it? On second thought, perhaps that is an utterly disgusting idea. I doubt Einstein was meant to be symphonized, or even beat-box-ized for that matter, though it does provoke a relatively amusing image to come to mind.
Leave it t music, family and friends to make me happy ;)
Jump, JumpThis is as underground as it gets. Speakeasies rock.
Armenian BloodlineMy Music
This is a standard Squire Strat in bright purple. One of my favourite guitars. It's one of the ones from back when Squire made decent instruments out of actual wood...
I wanted a Squire specifically after reading Steve Vai had tested a load of Strats to use to record Tender Surrender (or something) and picked the Squire as it had the best vintage tone. Oh, and it has the big headstock like Jimi Hendrix used to have LOL!
ESP G-CL-60
Fitted with Maverick high output pickups, 24 fret neck and floyd rose trem. Oh, and industrial paint job ;)
Used for playing heavy Nine Inch Nails-esque stuff
This is my main guitar at the moment. It's an Ibanez RG470 from the late 1990's. Has a DiMarzio Evolution in the bridge pickup.
Left : 93 Fender Telecaster (Well worn!)Right : 72 Fender Telecaster Custom Re-issue
The 72 is a great guitar but it really is very heavy. Heavier even than the ESP Les Paul!
The 93 was a good guitar until I beat the living daylights out of it..
I LOVE the matte black paint job and Hot Rod "13" logo. Fantastic guitar for the money, so good I thought about buying another for when this one dies...Getting ready and getting older. I'm no longer asexual with straight tendencies. I now fuck concepts with staggering frequency. i actually grew up in KL, so despite the fact that i may appear cultured and worldly, i am steeped in a time-honored tradition of culturelessness and superficiality, haha. I may be an asshole. I may not. Like Einstein said, everything is relative. Ah, relativity. A delightful concept. Perhaps I could write a song about it? On second thought, perhaps that is an utterly disgusting idea. I doubt Einstein was meant to be symphonized, or even beat-box-ized for that matter, though it does provoke a relatively amusing image to come to mind.
Leave it t music, family and friends to make me happy ;)
Monday, April 2, 2007
Winter
I'm still in Malaysia but it feels like winter here. Cold and Harsh. Not waking up to the sun this morning left me feeling pretty bleek,and since I dont own a diary,I decided to post this blog... I woke up to the sound of the cat crunching on biscuits, which left me tossing and turning in bed mangled. In the half dead state that I was in, I went online. Thinking about the chat we just had opened a floodgate of bad thoughts which left me in a state of hectic emoness,I felt almost almost non-human.Not a great way to start a Monday morn (please note:It was not due to the hangover).
I lay there with these bad thoughts creeping into my head which were totally uninvited. They all stemmed from something in my past which I really want to forget. I hate the fact that I have a nasty habit of obsessing over these sort of things. These "gatecrashers" or bad memories arrive sooner or later and no matter how much I try to ignore them, I still force myself into trying to find some resolution to their existence.Its exhausting beating myself down with questions I dont have the answers to.
So there I was in bed getting all worked up over things which I hadnt thought of in a very long time. The more I focused them,the more tired I became,but at the same time no matter how hard I tried, I couldnt force myself to roll over into ignorance and get some shut eye.
One usually finds their bed as their comfort zone- warm,snuggly and intimate. But not on this particular morning. The bags under my eyes tell me that living in denial doesnt make these bad thoughts dissapear, or any less menicing and tragic. Theres no cure, no medication that you can take to make them dissapear. Bad thoughts can make life pretty uncomfortable, even my own bed, and they still cause me to wake up on the wrong side of it.
I lay there with these bad thoughts creeping into my head which were totally uninvited. They all stemmed from something in my past which I really want to forget. I hate the fact that I have a nasty habit of obsessing over these sort of things. These "gatecrashers" or bad memories arrive sooner or later and no matter how much I try to ignore them, I still force myself into trying to find some resolution to their existence.Its exhausting beating myself down with questions I dont have the answers to.
So there I was in bed getting all worked up over things which I hadnt thought of in a very long time. The more I focused them,the more tired I became,but at the same time no matter how hard I tried, I couldnt force myself to roll over into ignorance and get some shut eye.
One usually finds their bed as their comfort zone- warm,snuggly and intimate. But not on this particular morning. The bags under my eyes tell me that living in denial doesnt make these bad thoughts dissapear, or any less menicing and tragic. Theres no cure, no medication that you can take to make them dissapear. Bad thoughts can make life pretty uncomfortable, even my own bed, and they still cause me to wake up on the wrong side of it.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Sanctus Necnon Sceleris
your words in my memory
are like music to me
im miles from where you are,
i lay down on the cold ground
i, i pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms.
i got a first class ticket to a night all alone
and a front row seat up right by the phone.
cause youre always on my mind
and im running out of time.
holding on to broken hearts
memories are whats left of us
youre trying too hard to be my friend
and im placing all your pictures
in these broken frames
to remind me never fall in love again.
and yet i still ponder about her..
are like music to me
im miles from where you are,
i lay down on the cold ground
i, i pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms.
i got a first class ticket to a night all alone
and a front row seat up right by the phone.
cause youre always on my mind
and im running out of time.
holding on to broken hearts
memories are whats left of us
youre trying too hard to be my friend
and im placing all your pictures
in these broken frames
to remind me never fall in love again.
and yet i still ponder about her..
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Hectic, Hectic.. RUN
Some wonderful people have come into my life.... all of you out there, and especially those of you who make it a point to be a part of my hectic life. Memories. Sometimes they are all we are left with. I choose to remember the good times.This 19th year of my life has been pivotal, spiritually, physically, emotionally, and socially. No longer to the strains of pain and suffering weave their way to supremacy in my music and life. I've learned to smile, I've learned to laugh, I've learned to love and I can't stop now, and if I didn't say it already, I LOVE YOU!
Not a lot is going on in life as of late. I just wanted to post a new blog seeing as how I haven't in quite some time. KL, a city that runs 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, which accommodates my hectic life is beneficial. If there's anything I've learned thus far here in KL it's that you can't predict when or where the waves of life will take you, but that you must ride them the best you can.. and if you ever have time on a lazy saturday to just relax and reflect, you take it because those times are so few and far between in this hectic life.
Not a lot is going on in life as of late. I just wanted to post a new blog seeing as how I haven't in quite some time. KL, a city that runs 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, which accommodates my hectic life is beneficial. If there's anything I've learned thus far here in KL it's that you can't predict when or where the waves of life will take you, but that you must ride them the best you can.. and if you ever have time on a lazy saturday to just relax and reflect, you take it because those times are so few and far between in this hectic life.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Three Cheers For New Beginnings
I've deleted my old blog and made a new one.
At the moment i'm just living life.. One minute at a time. The blog title is derived from the movie "Fight Club", which is one of the best movies made.
Life can be squeezed out of us in one blink. Sometimes life is more of a struggle. It hits us in waves. I hope to remember it in a dream. Sometimes we live life so passionately, so intensely that it hurts others just to be around us. Other times, we live life on the surface, so superficially that, well, it hurts others just be around us. I believe it is when we allow ourselves to feel the waves of life and experience both the calm waters and the rough waters that we truly find peace. We need to allow ourselves to feel raw emotion. Currently waiting to go back to school, there's nothing left that's holding be back. I will be finishing my degree probably end of this year or early next year. What's next for me? Masters? Work? I haven't decided yet. I've done everything I wanted to do in my lifetime.
* I've bungee-jumped
* I've gone dirtbiking
* I've gone deep-sea fishing
* I've surfed Bali and Australia
* I've partied. Gone Drunk and Sober. Danced my ass off.
* I've loved and loss. Something I have not regretted.
* I've messed up many times.
* I've gotten into accidents. Too many to count.
What else is there to do? Backpacking through Europe? Asia? America? Maybe one day but at the moment i'll take whatever life throws at me. I have been splurging, too much. Now I have earrings and wedding bands that I can't no longer use. It was a bad idea to have it engraved. That I regret. Other things I have splurged on.. Cars? Mp3s? Normal stuff. Stuff I don't really need but want. Some of the cars have been sold though.. The beamers are gone.
At the moment i'm just living life.. One minute at a time. The blog title is derived from the movie "Fight Club", which is one of the best movies made.
Life can be squeezed out of us in one blink. Sometimes life is more of a struggle. It hits us in waves. I hope to remember it in a dream. Sometimes we live life so passionately, so intensely that it hurts others just to be around us. Other times, we live life on the surface, so superficially that, well, it hurts others just be around us. I believe it is when we allow ourselves to feel the waves of life and experience both the calm waters and the rough waters that we truly find peace. We need to allow ourselves to feel raw emotion. Currently waiting to go back to school, there's nothing left that's holding be back. I will be finishing my degree probably end of this year or early next year. What's next for me? Masters? Work? I haven't decided yet. I've done everything I wanted to do in my lifetime.
* I've bungee-jumped
* I've gone dirtbiking
* I've gone deep-sea fishing
* I've surfed Bali and Australia
* I've partied. Gone Drunk and Sober. Danced my ass off.
* I've loved and loss. Something I have not regretted.
* I've messed up many times.
* I've gotten into accidents. Too many to count.
What else is there to do? Backpacking through Europe? Asia? America? Maybe one day but at the moment i'll take whatever life throws at me. I have been splurging, too much. Now I have earrings and wedding bands that I can't no longer use. It was a bad idea to have it engraved. That I regret. Other things I have splurged on.. Cars? Mp3s? Normal stuff. Stuff I don't really need but want. Some of the cars have been sold though.. The beamers are gone.
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