I used to wish that I had the power to read people's minds.
I believed it would make my life alot easier, and probably other people's lives as well, if I could read what they wanted or did not want and could therefore accomodate or compromise.
I no longer have this wish.
I think of it with horror. I don't think I would like to tap into what msot people think about. I see the ruts people are in, that many many people operate on a very basic level -however camouflaged- of their very basic physical wants.
Food. Fuck. Procreate. Drink. Pleasure.
Consume. Possess. Destroy. Life.
I realise that those words could be classified under each other in contexts of very similar degrees. Ie:
Pleasure = Fuck.
Drink
Food
Consume
Destroy
Procreate
Life = Food
Procreate
Destroy (irony. may need to destroy to survive)
Consume
Possess
Consume= Destroy
Possess
Food
Drink
Fuck
I think infinitely tragic that if the only significant thing that a person can create is through procreation. Only creation is procreation?
Am rambling. Fuccck.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Anger
Today, I was helping my mother down the escalators while she had bandage strips across her eyes after her eye laser surgery.
On seeing there were 3 steps to the first actual step, I counted audibly : "1, 2,3..."
Two men had come up from behind us trying to get on the escalators and stood here, edging forward with mocking expressions, one laughed and actually repeated my counting " 1,2,3... " and laughed.
There were no trains to be rushed for at the platforms that the escalators were going to reach, we weren't impeding them from moving down on the right side. But yet, they stood close, edging forward with mocking smiles.
These weren't young boys, or teenagers. They were men. One perhaps in his early 20s, another in his 30s.
I stopped and looked at them and said to them : " DO you realise that she cannot see?"
One changed his expression, looked away and moved down away from us hurriedly on the right, his face suddenly determinedly blank. The younger looked at me briefly and said : "Yeah, I know." He quickly moved down after the other man.
Leaving me still at the top of escalators looking down at their receding backs, shoulders hunched forward as thought trying to get away from me, increasing the physical distance between us.
I am left with this inordinate desire to shriek after them, scream, yell. Knock them senseless, render them a physical state that they are already in such a mental and emotional one. Stand there, no longer mindful of so called dignity, composure, self-assurance.
Infuriated at their senselessness, mockery and anger, oh so much anger, at being so blatantly futile and impotent.
You dumb bloody fucks.
--->
There is more anger. Anger directed inward, at myself, that I should still be angry, so angry even now , several hours later that I am willing to blog this online catharticly (I should hope).
--->
Why is it that contrived actual comedy is rarely funny, incongruousness (in all aspects of life be it; politics, religion and family...etc) occasionally funnybut yet, the tragic and vulnerable - funniest?
On seeing there were 3 steps to the first actual step, I counted audibly : "1, 2,3..."
Two men had come up from behind us trying to get on the escalators and stood here, edging forward with mocking expressions, one laughed and actually repeated my counting " 1,2,3... " and laughed.
There were no trains to be rushed for at the platforms that the escalators were going to reach, we weren't impeding them from moving down on the right side. But yet, they stood close, edging forward with mocking smiles.
These weren't young boys, or teenagers. They were men. One perhaps in his early 20s, another in his 30s.
I stopped and looked at them and said to them : " DO you realise that she cannot see?"
One changed his expression, looked away and moved down away from us hurriedly on the right, his face suddenly determinedly blank. The younger looked at me briefly and said : "Yeah, I know." He quickly moved down after the other man.
Leaving me still at the top of escalators looking down at their receding backs, shoulders hunched forward as thought trying to get away from me, increasing the physical distance between us.
I am left with this inordinate desire to shriek after them, scream, yell. Knock them senseless, render them a physical state that they are already in such a mental and emotional one. Stand there, no longer mindful of so called dignity, composure, self-assurance.
Infuriated at their senselessness, mockery and anger, oh so much anger, at being so blatantly futile and impotent.
You dumb bloody fucks.
--->
There is more anger. Anger directed inward, at myself, that I should still be angry, so angry even now , several hours later that I am willing to blog this online catharticly (I should hope).
--->
Why is it that contrived actual comedy is rarely funny, incongruousness (in all aspects of life be it; politics, religion and family...etc) occasionally funnybut yet, the tragic and vulnerable - funniest?
Disoriented
I keep seeing people as bundles of walking genes and energy producing cells these past two days.
It's highly disturbing for me.
Bit depressing as well.
---
So much of what we are, in our capacity for beauty, health, intelligence is so dependent on what our genes have to offer, what selection of genes we have collected from what was ''available" at the time of the gene pooling/conception.
I am plagued by this thought that people's lives are pretty much determined from the time of conception through to birth and to death. Hah. It's paralleling (in reverse) that running belief that everyone's life is 'preordained/predetermined' according to some divine purpose. I argue on a different premise, but same outcome.
Yes, I realise how much environment and other factors have in terms of influence. But you cannot deny just how much genes make such a difference.
The often spouted phrases of roughly similar content: " Do your best. You can only do very best. Be the very best that you can be." -->incredibly limited. Self-defeating, self-deceiving, despite its original purpose to be encouraging, sustaining or confidence boosting.
NO! I feel otherwise! Yet, how can there be another way , it is true that a person can only seek to fulfill his full capacity (however aware or unaware he/she may be of this). If they do not have the capacity, healthwise, intellectual, emotional, social, financial capacity ---> what else can they do but try?
Choose our partners wisely?
There is that implicit warning and false confidence that 1) we have such a choice that anyone we 'choose' would accept us likewise. 2) That all the knowledge would be made available for such a choice to be made 3) Knowledge present would be sufficient for such appropriate wisdom?
What an illusion. What a joke.
---
I have thoughts like this when someone says to me : " Good luck" or "Do your best" and I feel that twinge of self-mockery sometime when I myself wish such to others.
Good Luck??? Wtf is that?
Ok, I can accept that most general sayings are meant to fill in the 'gaps' that communication between people is susceptible to. Social sayings, 'niceties' meant to switch off the conversation, divert the topic or close it. Of 'trying' somewhat to the benefit of another person without really trying at all. It serves to comfort the person in question, ourselves, give false reassurance which perhaps could serve inturn as a placebo confidence booster. Hell, perhaps the person might even do well for it. I don't know.
Sure, we mean it at times, with absolute sincerity and genuinue concern. But we also realise (well I do anyways) the sheer impotence of such sayings. --> Unless the placebo confidence boostering effect worked. LOL!
Feeling very nihilistic.
I have to fight my own inner demons.
It's highly disturbing for me.
Bit depressing as well.
---
So much of what we are, in our capacity for beauty, health, intelligence is so dependent on what our genes have to offer, what selection of genes we have collected from what was ''available" at the time of the gene pooling/conception.
I am plagued by this thought that people's lives are pretty much determined from the time of conception through to birth and to death. Hah. It's paralleling (in reverse) that running belief that everyone's life is 'preordained/predetermined' according to some divine purpose. I argue on a different premise, but same outcome.
Yes, I realise how much environment and other factors have in terms of influence. But you cannot deny just how much genes make such a difference.
The often spouted phrases of roughly similar content: " Do your best. You can only do very best. Be the very best that you can be." -->incredibly limited. Self-defeating, self-deceiving, despite its original purpose to be encouraging, sustaining or confidence boosting.
NO! I feel otherwise! Yet, how can there be another way , it is true that a person can only seek to fulfill his full capacity (however aware or unaware he/she may be of this). If they do not have the capacity, healthwise, intellectual, emotional, social, financial capacity ---> what else can they do but try?
Choose our partners wisely?
There is that implicit warning and false confidence that 1) we have such a choice that anyone we 'choose' would accept us likewise. 2) That all the knowledge would be made available for such a choice to be made 3) Knowledge present would be sufficient for such appropriate wisdom?
What an illusion. What a joke.
---
I have thoughts like this when someone says to me : " Good luck" or "Do your best" and I feel that twinge of self-mockery sometime when I myself wish such to others.
Good Luck??? Wtf is that?
Ok, I can accept that most general sayings are meant to fill in the 'gaps' that communication between people is susceptible to. Social sayings, 'niceties' meant to switch off the conversation, divert the topic or close it. Of 'trying' somewhat to the benefit of another person without really trying at all. It serves to comfort the person in question, ourselves, give false reassurance which perhaps could serve inturn as a placebo confidence booster. Hell, perhaps the person might even do well for it. I don't know.
Sure, we mean it at times, with absolute sincerity and genuinue concern. But we also realise (well I do anyways) the sheer impotence of such sayings. --> Unless the placebo confidence boostering effect worked. LOL!
Feeling very nihilistic.
I have to fight my own inner demons.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Shrug your shoulders!
I admire competence. Of any type, be it in the supposed lowly level of the toilet cleaner, bricklayer, bus/train driver to the retail assistant, desk-bound-paper-pusher, the lawyer, doctor etc...it goes on.
Competence and efficiency. Definitely admirable traits when utilised and demonstrated in no matter how minute or seemingly inconsequential tasks. There are the perfectionists who will persist until their task is achieved, and yet may not still have fulfillment since perfection is not (if ever) attainable. I must add though that the perfectionist who cannot adapt to changes or cannot accept some form of versatility while retaining the most fundamental values will be inevitably doomed. I say this with irony because I realise that the ideal of 'perfection'', in whatever expression or form can be considered a value in itself. heh.
How often have I been waiting for trains on the platform, having timed my arrival to Point B from Point A based on the specific times that the train is meant to have arrived and left, only to be disappointed and left fuming. That delay of 10minutes can make a bloody big difference to me ---> brush teeth, quick shower, hell, even floss my teeth when doing all three at once. -grin-
Been reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Love the title, think it veryvery apt. There is a very short passage in the book which lets you understand the origins of this title and how fundamentally paralleling it is to the main themes of the book. I'll find the page if anyone should choose to ask for it.
Do not allow your virtues to be your weighted guilt, to be used as weapons by others. Do not be Atlas who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders when he should not have to. Be a god and walk over the world instead, the world is your oyster- depending on your step length though :) (heh. your step-length limited by your natural ability and effort and drive).
Shrug your shoulders people. Funny how the action of 'shrugging' usually connotates casualness or indifference or ineffectuality. In this case --> shrugging off useless weight literally.
Hah. irony. I see irony all the time. Life is pretty damn funny.
I think everyone should strive to be the best they can be, to your limits and best natural ability. But be respected for it, however 'limited' this may be, comparatively to others.
So, kudos to you public toilet cleaner who refills the paper holder, empties the bins of much suspect tissues; condoms; pads and syringes, wipes down the toilet seats and mops up the footprinted toilet floors. Kudos to you when Í'm taking that much needed shit and reach for the toilet paper and bless you for it.
And sincerely meant too.
Competence and efficiency. Definitely admirable traits when utilised and demonstrated in no matter how minute or seemingly inconsequential tasks. There are the perfectionists who will persist until their task is achieved, and yet may not still have fulfillment since perfection is not (if ever) attainable. I must add though that the perfectionist who cannot adapt to changes or cannot accept some form of versatility while retaining the most fundamental values will be inevitably doomed. I say this with irony because I realise that the ideal of 'perfection'', in whatever expression or form can be considered a value in itself. heh.
How often have I been waiting for trains on the platform, having timed my arrival to Point B from Point A based on the specific times that the train is meant to have arrived and left, only to be disappointed and left fuming. That delay of 10minutes can make a bloody big difference to me ---> brush teeth, quick shower, hell, even floss my teeth when doing all three at once. -grin-
Been reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Love the title, think it veryvery apt. There is a very short passage in the book which lets you understand the origins of this title and how fundamentally paralleling it is to the main themes of the book. I'll find the page if anyone should choose to ask for it.
Do not allow your virtues to be your weighted guilt, to be used as weapons by others. Do not be Atlas who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders when he should not have to. Be a god and walk over the world instead, the world is your oyster- depending on your step length though :) (heh. your step-length limited by your natural ability and effort and drive).
Shrug your shoulders people. Funny how the action of 'shrugging' usually connotates casualness or indifference or ineffectuality. In this case --> shrugging off useless weight literally.
Hah. irony. I see irony all the time. Life is pretty damn funny.
I think everyone should strive to be the best they can be, to your limits and best natural ability. But be respected for it, however 'limited' this may be, comparatively to others.
So, kudos to you public toilet cleaner who refills the paper holder, empties the bins of much suspect tissues; condoms; pads and syringes, wipes down the toilet seats and mops up the footprinted toilet floors. Kudos to you when Í'm taking that much needed shit and reach for the toilet paper and bless you for it.
And sincerely meant too.
It's been a while...
Really doesnt make very much of a difference since I'm not really writing for anyone, or for that many people to view at all.
Been hectically busy and been a little despondent when faced with the task of committing thoughts to words on the screen. I realise just how much effort, not really physical...rather-emotional/mental effort is involved, sifting through the mush and churning tumoil of consciousness and then rearranging, choosing the medium, form, language, tense and wording them to understandable forms following the language rules which bind such.
Been often plagued recently with this sense that words are completely ineffective, insufficient and very often incoherent. Anyone agree?
Just a bit of personal information. Been working two jobs, one with a Physiotherapy practice, another a retail job in cosmetics with one of the cosmetic company houses. Yes-- I am a cosmetic girl. And yes, I can actually think and communicate myself beyond the intellectual spectrum from Cleo to Madison. I say this tongue-in-cheek, the people I work with really aren't that dumb at all, because that's the usual stance that people take when on realising they person they are speaking to, doesn't quite fit the norm or stereotype. Yeah well, get over it and move on. Incorporate another piece of information, however oddly shaped to your perspective. I'm more inclined to say that most customers can be blatantly stupid. Infuriatingly so, very often beyond comprehension that one has to question whether they are deliberately persisting in their stupidity and following questions/statements, ie:
1) Does Sunscreen cause Cancer?
Ans: No, it doesn't. Infact, it has been inequivocably been proven to grant protection FROM sun-causing melanomas/cancers.
1ii) But...I'm sure it does. I READ it SOMEWHERE that it causes cancer. It SAID so.
Ans: Where did you read this?
1iii) In a fashion magazine...
Ans: ... I've already granted you the decency and time to give an actual serious answer. Please go and fuck yourself now.
2) I want a cream to bleach my skin. Preferably if it has lead in it.
Ans: Choke. (Refer to historical advances when knowledge was found that hypothetically, it was possible the Roman empire failed due to mass accumulated lead poisonings due to lead lining of wine casks by the wine-makers. Refer as well to the lead-laden makeup in the early times of Geishas in Japan. And the accumulated skin deformities that became a consequence as these Geishas grew older, occupational hazard! Refer also the many unexplained non-violent deaths of sailors who'd set out on long expeditions only to be found adrift, all dead, untouched, with the cabins filled with food. Lead had lined all these tins!) And here was this profoundly touched idiot!
Bit more personal information, studying to become a Physiotherapist in Sydney Australia. I love what I'm doing...but I think for the moment, i can forsee a time when I definitely will want something more challenging. Will probably, more than likely go into further study, not research though, hell no. Been working with patients and observing the principal Physio over the last couple of months, which has been a definite eye-opener for me. Will relate patient stories as I go on at some point...
ok. On to other things. Next post.
Been hectically busy and been a little despondent when faced with the task of committing thoughts to words on the screen. I realise just how much effort, not really physical...rather-emotional/mental effort is involved, sifting through the mush and churning tumoil of consciousness and then rearranging, choosing the medium, form, language, tense and wording them to understandable forms following the language rules which bind such.
Been often plagued recently with this sense that words are completely ineffective, insufficient and very often incoherent. Anyone agree?
Just a bit of personal information. Been working two jobs, one with a Physiotherapy practice, another a retail job in cosmetics with one of the cosmetic company houses. Yes-- I am a cosmetic girl. And yes, I can actually think and communicate myself beyond the intellectual spectrum from Cleo to Madison. I say this tongue-in-cheek, the people I work with really aren't that dumb at all, because that's the usual stance that people take when on realising they person they are speaking to, doesn't quite fit the norm or stereotype. Yeah well, get over it and move on. Incorporate another piece of information, however oddly shaped to your perspective. I'm more inclined to say that most customers can be blatantly stupid. Infuriatingly so, very often beyond comprehension that one has to question whether they are deliberately persisting in their stupidity and following questions/statements, ie:
1) Does Sunscreen cause Cancer?
Ans: No, it doesn't. Infact, it has been inequivocably been proven to grant protection FROM sun-causing melanomas/cancers.
1ii) But...I'm sure it does. I READ it SOMEWHERE that it causes cancer. It SAID so.
Ans: Where did you read this?
1iii) In a fashion magazine...
Ans: ... I've already granted you the decency and time to give an actual serious answer. Please go and fuck yourself now.
2) I want a cream to bleach my skin. Preferably if it has lead in it.
Ans: Choke. (Refer to historical advances when knowledge was found that hypothetically, it was possible the Roman empire failed due to mass accumulated lead poisonings due to lead lining of wine casks by the wine-makers. Refer as well to the lead-laden makeup in the early times of Geishas in Japan. And the accumulated skin deformities that became a consequence as these Geishas grew older, occupational hazard! Refer also the many unexplained non-violent deaths of sailors who'd set out on long expeditions only to be found adrift, all dead, untouched, with the cabins filled with food. Lead had lined all these tins!) And here was this profoundly touched idiot!
Bit more personal information, studying to become a Physiotherapist in Sydney Australia. I love what I'm doing...but I think for the moment, i can forsee a time when I definitely will want something more challenging. Will probably, more than likely go into further study, not research though, hell no. Been working with patients and observing the principal Physio over the last couple of months, which has been a definite eye-opener for me. Will relate patient stories as I go on at some point...
ok. On to other things. Next post.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Random thoughts
Tori Amos is coming to Sydney in September.
Cannot wait.
This woman, i think kept me going through my angstiest, angriest years as a teenager. Incredible voice, often heart-rending, perculiar but personal lyrics left open to interpretation...you never really know whether you've quite figured it out even after the 18th time you might have heard a song from her.
But oh so identifiable especially when in my teens...
Girl--
"And in the doorway
They stay and laugh
As violins fill with water
Screams from the bluebells
Can't make them go away
Well I'm not seventeen
But I've cuts on my knees
Falling down
As the winter takes one more cherry tree
Rushin' rivers thread so thin limitation
Dreams with the flying pigs turbid blue
And the drugstores too safeIn their coats
Anda in their do'sYeah smother in our hearts
A pillow to my dots
One day maybe
One day
One day she'll be her own"
I kinda see her as the Madonna of confessional alternative-piano-pop-rock. If there is such a thing, she's definitely it.
----
I need to sit down and write. Write properly. For myself, figure out things. Submit things. Create things. Just create and think for myself, for more clarity. I also understand the danger in that...in thinking, overthinking and never quite achieving. But the journey is on.
I cannot wait exams are over.
Cannot wait.
This woman, i think kept me going through my angstiest, angriest years as a teenager. Incredible voice, often heart-rending, perculiar but personal lyrics left open to interpretation...you never really know whether you've quite figured it out even after the 18th time you might have heard a song from her.
But oh so identifiable especially when in my teens...
Girl--
"And in the doorway
They stay and laugh
As violins fill with water
Screams from the bluebells
Can't make them go away
Well I'm not seventeen
But I've cuts on my knees
Falling down
As the winter takes one more cherry tree
Rushin' rivers thread so thin limitation
Dreams with the flying pigs turbid blue
And the drugstores too safeIn their coats
Anda in their do'sYeah smother in our hearts
A pillow to my dots
One day maybe
One day
One day she'll be her own"
I kinda see her as the Madonna of confessional alternative-piano-pop-rock. If there is such a thing, she's definitely it.
----
I need to sit down and write. Write properly. For myself, figure out things. Submit things. Create things. Just create and think for myself, for more clarity. I also understand the danger in that...in thinking, overthinking and never quite achieving. But the journey is on.
I cannot wait exams are over.
---
What is it about our puny short lives. We struggle so hard to live and then to live well and then to live at all...the whole time, we are struggling all the way to our old age and deaths. Even in death, we struggle, 'death throes'. We struggle so much...so much does seem futile. So much to learn, to accomplish, to see, to meet, to know, to create...to help...
So much futility. I cannot help but once in a while in wallow in this sense of listlessness. If, despite a lifetime of work to creating and helping...how does one ensure that there will be others to take up the baton, to keep your work going? None. There is no guarrantee there is even less surety when you place trust in people. We are so short lived and vulnerable and intrinsically so flawed.
Choices
I was thinking about this today. About how each individual chooses to lead their life. How, in the everyday, seemingly small and trivial choices, how we think, our values and belief systems guide us in this.
ie:
1) Take person who believes in Karma and gives up his or her seat for the old granny despite having had no sleep or is aching all over. It is very tempting to reassure oneself that good things come to those who do good and shrug away the sacrific, however small it is.
2) Little boy or girl puts his 50cent pocket money into the homeless guy's cardboard box and feels bigger, puffed out, that they'd done something good. And the benign parent beaming on who says, :"good boy, god will bless you."
3)People who do things that they don't really instinctively like but still do, for the sake of 'moral', 'duty'...'moral duty'. Because despite doing this instinctively unpleasant thing, God or whatever divine being will bless them. This really pains me.
4)The taken for granted assumption that blatantly religious individuals, ie: muslims, christians,buddhists,taoists,jews,bahais...etc will have understandable moral codes. I think this is ultimately what is comforting for most people. That people know or more easily have a grasp/gist of what another person will be like, in their behaviours, their choice making...christians may automatically feel comfortable with another christian because they know they both believe in the same holy book, the same god, the same commandments. (I am speaking in generalisations here)- but this general comfort factor lies in also the easier identification process with others, of say...the same race, culture, gender, age...etc.
5)People who aren't religious. are more suspicious. lol. I say this jokingly. More that, their moral codes, their belief systems are not so simple. They may be the complete opposite of a religious moral coding (which is highly unlikely) but they are more un-knowable. Religious people are suspicious of such, of someone who would casually but quite seriously say: "I don't believe in God".
6)Non-religious people. Perhaps Atheists themselves, if should choose to be moral. Aren't they more moral then, for the very principles that morality stand for and because they exercise 'free will', to enforce choices...more ethical, more just? Should then, there be a God...should he not appreciate more so the intellect and choices such people make regardless of his rules, instead of following just because "he told us " in this tome of holy words of so much controversy...transcribed so many thousand years ago?
Is the concept of Karma...and perhaps also by implication, the idea of religious moral coding and God, Judgement day...so bad if it keeps people who arent inclined to be moral or good and more 'base'...to rein themselves in? Would they be far worse, if without such possibility of divine justice hanging over their heads?
We see alot of shit happening in our world, in the name of blind faith, religious fundamentalism, blatant ignorance and arrogance and the brazen use of idealogies to champion filth, degradation and violence...but could it be much worse?
I don't like this idea, any more, nor do than I approve of this...but can this be what is keeping people in check?
Friday, June 15, 2007
Black Boots
Fuck exams.
Havent been blogging, because i've been intensely studying for the last few days for my upcoming
"JOY, OH JOY: 8 EXAMS!" Whooppeee!
Meanwhile.
1) I really want to read Fury by Salman Rushdie. AGAIN.
2) I just really want to read anything that has nothing to do with body parts, or nerves, or musculoskeletal stuff, or patients who have been traumatic accidents, have spinal cord or brain injuries...or even about sporting athletes or the grandma who fell downstairs and landed on her open wrist with a twisting motion...
NO MORE! Goddamn. unfortunately...another 2 weeks to go.
3) I want. to buy. black boots. like really hot, leather black boots. Not really with a heel I don't think. I'm not that much a heel girl. I tend to wear ballet flats alot. But black boots, for winter, with maybe a slightly chunky heel. Something warm, fits well, that I can wear with my tights/leggings/jeans.
What is it about retail therapy?
4) Also. I've read this graffitied several times, across several different types of handwriting (so assuming from different people, unless it was by a very bored someone, or just a multiple-personality- someone.)
: " I think about sex all the time during exams"
--> ok. maybe not 'all the time' was written always...but the implication was there.
Yeah. I think about sex more during exams as well. Today, I've been more stressed than usual, so...maybe not.
But i actually think, i think more about sex during study time i think. But once exams edge ominously close...maybe not that. too much desperation involved.
5)I'm feeling trapped. I felt pretty upset today. Really wanted to get away. for a while perhaps? I'd like to go back to Singapore I think...to visit. I don't think I can live there, but to visit. It's been a very, very long time.
6)I think i'm an emotional coward. I don't think people realise just how little i tell them. Or are people all the same and I'm just jibbering? Or that other people just have less to tell? I realise, that before, people had to dig or actively pry away in order for me to divulge. Or when i'm on the verge of hysterics, crumbling.
7)Libraries are comforting. Fuck going to see the counsellors, or psychologists, or self-medicated-indifference, arm-chair confessionals. Go to the library. read a good book. Good books, great authors, talking, walking characters beckon and they come alive in your head.
8)Hugs are great. From people who matter. It's great giving it back as well . But there's definitely something about being hugged by someone bigger than you are, it feels alot safer. And it is comforting.
9)Rain. and great music. and soup. Imogen Heap, and tomato soup with onion and basil and rolls, are on the brain at the moment.
10)I want more certainty in my life. Don't we all?
Monday, May 28, 2007
Heh.
My grandparents arrived from Singapore last Wednesday.
Had a bit of a chat to gramps today and he rummaged around in his bag passing me a much crumpled piece of writing which was covered in red ink.
It was a piece of mandarin essay work that I had written when I was 16 years old. Geezus. That was 6 years ago. Gramps is a scholar in classical mandarin and who had grilled me in the language despite my pathetic propensity for the said language and in which I saw no value in my early teenage years. He said to me then that he'd kept that piece for a really long time...which he must have and asked me to read it to see if I still understood it.
I scanned through it and understood most of it. But wow.
All that time ago.
I feel quite the twinge of regret though. I wish I could have put in more effort then, I never saw the point of it for the future, but I guess I see it now. And I wish I could have treasured those years more, instead of constantly fighting him, minus all those tempestuous arguments of : Why? What for?
Monday, May 21, 2007
Curiosity and Depravity
Watched Zodiac (movie) last saturday night.
Movie went perhaps more than a tad too long, is based on the murders and the investigation in the serial murderer who went by the self-titled tag: Zodiac. The Zodiac committed murders from 1968 into the early 1970s and was never charged or found guilty.
A couple of things struck me as I was walking home. I was trying to reason out, and justify why Jake Gyllenhaal's (Graysmith) character staked his life, the plausbility of his family's lives, his career, his relationship with his wife and family, to not only assauge his curiosity as to who the Zodiac was but also to ensure that the 'truth' was told, that people would know this very 'truth' and the identity of the killer, despite no official charges being brought against him.
There was no tangible benefit, such as cash, reward, recognition (which i admit he did receive much later), but during a stage of his life when it was incredibly unccertain he would be even published, his family and matrimonial relations, job were at stake..he still went ahead, driven by this force to KNOW.
So then, if humans are animals...do animals really risk everything, their lives, their potential to procreate and pass on life in order to assuage curiosity, especially for something so intangible and non-concrete? Ok, i understand the point when animals may smell track spoor, investigate human scent and traps, and hell even the dumber or even the more unlucky animals may become trapped through sheer curiosity, but those are still concrete and tangible things.
The Zodiac himself was noted to be teacher who had been charged with paedophilia. Was accused of homosexuality by a journalist who had simply written it in an article to be sensationalist but received death threats as a result. Obviously, it was a sore spot for the Zodiac and he saw it as a severe insult. What is it about being accused of homosexuality that was/is so offensive...I suppose the insult to his masculinity, his omnipotence in his ability to wield life and death with his victims, his sense of power.
And the thing with depravity? The depravity to be inclined to touch little boys and girls, to seek pleasure with animals(beastiality) and the pre-pubescent(paedophilia), to develop fetishes that far traverses the spectrum of what is normal, quirky, deviant, into the depraved. To desire sex, blood and pain and perhaps desire sex with the dead (necrophilia).
I can see one idea linking all of these: Power.
There is the shift, the attainment of power, the cycle of the desire for it, achieving it, the relinquishment or transcience and then sooner or later, the line is pushed. Power in its varying forms and expressions becomes sought after. Deviancy wanders into the realm of the depraved.
The flip side of normal.
And the coin becomes melted, or the sides being rubbed into obscurity. What is the norm, what is normal then?
And why is it that in most profiles of the most notorious murderers, serial rapists, etc...all had some kind of 'c0-deviancy'? Is that simply another way to master power, power seeking becoming more deviant...more 'creative'? I think deviant and creative could almost be the same thing in this sense.
Sorry. Just ranting.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Random thoughts
I have alot of love for my friends.
Was sitting next to one of my best friends a little while ago listening intently to a guest speaker who had travelled a long way to be there and it was obvious everyone present really respected him. The thing was, I had a great deal of difficulty to remain still and I was afflicted with the most inane desire to laugh. Laugh, bubble and boil and spurt over.
Was sitting next to one of my best friends a little while ago listening intently to a guest speaker who had travelled a long way to be there and it was obvious everyone present really respected him. The thing was, I had a great deal of difficulty to remain still and I was afflicted with the most inane desire to laugh. Laugh, bubble and boil and spurt over.
Not hysterically, just laughter, great chortling gasps. This was triggered by my friend's constantly rumbling stomache and whom i knew hadnt eaten the entire day. I had been attempting to feed her an omelette (which her mom had made for us within the span of time it took us to walk in the door, change our shoes and walk back out the door. I mean 'walk', in the relative sense...perhaps try: scramblerundashscrabble) in the car while she'd sped and cut around corners at breakneck speed in order to make the talks on time.
I remember really wanting to reach over, kiss her hair and cheeks and just wrap her up really close and laughing...while i was at it.
It's interesting. There have been times in the last 3 years when i have been incredibly upset, disturbed, unbalanced despite perhaps not showing it to most people. She was/is one of those few individuals I was simply happy being around with, it was soothing just to be around her and nothing more was needed.
I remember really wanting to reach over, kiss her hair and cheeks and just wrap her up really close and laughing...while i was at it.
It's interesting. There have been times in the last 3 years when i have been incredibly upset, disturbed, unbalanced despite perhaps not showing it to most people. She was/is one of those few individuals I was simply happy being around with, it was soothing just to be around her and nothing more was needed.
Ok. so nothing lesbian about this. Though it has been said that I have tendencies. *chortle
Monday, May 14, 2007
Fretful
It's 1.32am. It's pitch black outside, at least from my window, looking out. And all i can hear is the humming from my computer's harddrive.
And all i can do, is fret.
I've been fretting all night, feeling incredibly anxious. Displaced. Like I was never meant to be here, supposed to be somewhere else, but its more frustrating because I dont know where the fuck it is I'm meant to be, or I'd like to be.
Ok wait. I actually do know, where I'd like to be. But I wonder if I actually did get there, I'd be any happier.
So perhaps, it's the hormones. It's the day. It's how the day and my mood has swung.
At 5.34pm. I had been sitting on a smoothened rock face, battered and smoothed over by countless of waves over time, I know not , how long. I had been there, relishing the sensation of legs being immersed in this crisp water. So clear, I could see tiny shells floating underneath.
It was incredible. It was great. Yet I kept continually feeling I wasn't really there, wasn't meant to be. There's somewhere else.
Where, and what the fuck is it.
And all i can do, is fret.
I've been fretting all night, feeling incredibly anxious. Displaced. Like I was never meant to be here, supposed to be somewhere else, but its more frustrating because I dont know where the fuck it is I'm meant to be, or I'd like to be.
Ok wait. I actually do know, where I'd like to be. But I wonder if I actually did get there, I'd be any happier.
So perhaps, it's the hormones. It's the day. It's how the day and my mood has swung.
At 5.34pm. I had been sitting on a smoothened rock face, battered and smoothed over by countless of waves over time, I know not , how long. I had been there, relishing the sensation of legs being immersed in this crisp water. So clear, I could see tiny shells floating underneath.
It was incredible. It was great. Yet I kept continually feeling I wasn't really there, wasn't meant to be. There's somewhere else.
Where, and what the fuck is it.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
fragments of self-realisation (5)
I came across this quote by Barry Lopez, whilst looking for quotes for topic discussion at one of the meetings we hold on campus. The topic was on 'Ethics'.
I found this to be incredibly valid, perhaps more so for me, on a very personal note and it took me a few moments to reflect on this.
" How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual's life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such a paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once, life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light."
I found this to be incredibly valid, perhaps more so for me, on a very personal note and it took me a few moments to reflect on this.
" How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual's life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such a paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once, life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light."
Friday, May 4, 2007
Decadence (1) on a personal note/ fragments of self-realisation (4)
I don't ever, EVER want to take for granted what I have, the people around me, the things in my life, things I have achieved, however insignificant they might seem at times.
I don't ever, want to be lulled into a false sense of security, of an inane belief, illusion, that I can be bored, apathetic, indifferent to life and all that it has to offer.
I don't ever, want to be someone who cannot appreciate, or value seemingly small things. Beauty in all its forms and expressions, acts of charity and selflessness on a small or large scale, every day that I take that walk up the road and it's great weather and I can move, seamlessly. Every taste, sound, texture, smell, touch, colour, everything that I see and I love,
I don't fucking ever, want to take for granted.
There's way too many people who do this already and gripe, oh. how boring reality is. or life is. Expand your scope people! There is SO much to do, so much to live for. So very many things that can be done for others, don't sit there and bitch that everything is for naught, or parrot: what is the point? what can one do in the face of mass tragedy, overwhelming odds, despair, hunger, poverty, insanity and irrationalism? The negativity, the self-defeatism, you've gone nowhere without having really even started. Have your ideals, self-assess constantly, examine all that you have enacted and of what you might choose, but do so constructively!
-lol. On that note. I did wake up this morning ridiculously happy. Ever had that? Very rare. I woke up with a smile plastered on my face and giggled. Somewhat moronically, but everything I've just splattered, definitely hold true.
Meanwhile, I do need to follow up on quite a few things that I need to blurt. Comprehensively of course. Till then. Soon-ish-ly.
Time to meet people and get ridiculously drunk, on life.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
"Love" Part 1. I must say, I am not Immune.
I was sitting having lunch with a couple of friends yesterday and the topic of "Love" and "God" came up within this conversation which went for about three hours.
These are people I really respect, genuinely like and think the world of. Alot of good intentions, positive energy and willingness to work through anything in order to be CONSTRUCTIVE. It's incredible to hear of some of the work they are planning to do and the very practical, pragmatic measures of utilising talent and resources in order to do so. Bleeding hearts and simpering overdone pretensions, I cannot deal with, but constructivity, even idealism harnessed with pragmatism is hugely commendable. Such a rare, rare combination.
It was interesting though, when I pointed out that their thoughts on Love was automatically linked to God on a subconscious, intrinsic level. I don't mean a Judeo-Christian "God", or any particular named "God" in a specific sense. I supposed then that this was an example as to how deeply entrenched what we've been exposed to, brought up with is within how we think, how we express ourselves and is reinforced by the people we surround ourselves by. This is considering I wasn't surprised by the responses and how similar they were, united by having grown up together, by the same religion, background, thus ideals and goals. Goals and Ideals, which I personally endorse, which are incredibly noble. But the question did arise, how much of what one believes is truly what one's own and not compounded or influenced by others? How much of what we think we are, what we like, what we think is truly an expression of self?
Some may answer that this is an impossible task to differentiate and that everything that we are has been and will be influenced, shaped and touched by others. Perhaps, the people who do so, are the ones that we selectively choose, based on what we already know, are comfortable with, or are willing to accomodate and consider within our foundations.
I've observed often before that to most people in society, the two main organising principles in people's lives are "Love" and "Religion". In a simplified sense, most people will have defined, structured and shaped their lives so that it becomes organised by either of these two 'principles' as I've dubbed them. Just looking at the concept of "Love" in our society and I venture to ask if this is the western concept of love that has evolved from one of mutual cooperation, stability, class-matching, physical and chronological age compatibility, etc...---> to an ideology of 'risk-taking', a sense of sinfulness, lust, excitement, mystery. One could say this was the "in love" phase, what then happens after? Is this why, when the airy fairy dust has settled and been swept away, relationships and marriages fail in this society, compounded by the sheer availability of people, of the relative ease of easily found physical comfort and intimacy, of the channels of constant available communication? How does one commit in the face of all these distractions?
I was listening to this the other day on my Ipod and I caught myself humming along and then I paused, literally in my tracks to listen to the lyrics.
It's a very catchy tune and it made me happy humming along. But I realised something about the lyrics. (LOL and yes, I have stooped to be one of those people who paste lyrics all over their blog. lol. ) I found that this apparently simple song, is actually very...simple. lol. but implicitly reinforces the concept of modern love as one of 'risk-taking' and fucking encourages it, 'gamble everything for love'...'and you'll be alright'? I think not. Ok, you'll be ok in the long run unless one really doesnt have the capacity to take the hit and move on from there and would wallow instead. There's this myth about : "Love", with the focus on romantic love, there's almost the Petrarchan take on it. Gamble, risk, lose EVERYTHING and it's going to be alright?
It's incredible how quite a few people take this literally, spending their turbulent pubescent years fantasizing, mooning over beautiful people, idolized, idealised, perhaps projected onto posters, magazines, hell , even porno. Going out with real people later, shedding some of these idealised, rose-tinted perceptions. There's this constant cycle of searching, finding, then disappointment and discontentment, discarding or being rejected. Then the cycle begins once more. I find many, many people define their lives in this manner. Career, goals, dreams, friends, family even sometimes secondary. Perhaps this is a massive generalisation, but basically my point is that I am appalled just how much this myth of what 'love' is has been so entrenched in how people behave and suffer as a result. It is a very voluntary and complicit deception.
--> Will continue with the other organising principle: "Religion", later.
Gamble Everything For Love LyricsArtist(Band):Ben Lee
Gamble everything for love, gamble everything
Gamble everything for love, gamble everything
Put it in a place you keep what you need
You can gamble everything for love if you’re free
You gotta gamble everything for love
Baby are ya cold, are ya cold baby
I could wrap you up, wrap you up in my love
If you wanna, you can gamble everything for love
If you wanna, you can gamble everything for love.
Tell me are you feeling lost, have you crossed
In the places that you never knew to get through
Tell me are you gonna cry all night
Tell me the truth, and I’ll tell you the truthIf you gamble everything for love
You gonna be alright, alright
Make a list of things you need, leave it empty
Except for number one, write “love”, gamble everything
Keep it under lock and keyIf you wanna, you can gamble everything for love
Love me with an open heart tell me anything
We can find a place to start to gamble everything
We can set this thing apart, cos we’re gonna, gonna
Gamble everything for loveTell me do you lose your way each day
Are there people you don’t recognise, do they lie?
Tell me does it make you feel too real?
Tell me the truth, and I’ll tell you the truth
If you gamble everything for love
You gonna be alright, alright
Oooh you can go your own way,
Oooh you can go your own way,Oooh you gotta go your own way
If you gamble everything for loveIf you gamble everything for love
Gamble everything for love, gamble everything
Put it in a place you keep what you need
You can gamble everything for love if you’re free
You gotta gamble everything for love
Tell me are you gettin’ hurt, is it worth it?
Tell me are the people strange, do they change?
Tell me are you letting go, do you know?
I’ll Tell you the truth, if you tell me the truth
If you gamble everything for loveIf you gamble everything for love
If you gamble everything for love
You gonna be alright, alrightAlright.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Myths (1)
Everytime I fill up a survey or a form, there is always invariably this question, either phrased this way or that: 'Sex: m/f' or 'Gender:m/f'
Each time, I'm struck by how gender and sex is used so interchangeably by people, without any question ever crossing their mind. I've always seen 'sex' as the technical anatomical denominator and 'gender' as the social, behavioural, psychological expression (ie: 'masculine' and 'feminine'.)
Again, when the terms 'masculine' and 'feminine' are used, they strike me as classifications which house a variety of descriptors and expected behavioural characteristics. More interestingly, how feminine attributes (gender) to a male (sex), is termed 'effeminate'.
I savour this word. effeminate.
tomboy. staunch. boyish.
fairy. girly. sissy. apron-clinger.
Interesting how all these derogatory terms involve aspects of what is expectedly feminine and masculine and how they cross over for either sex.
Gender is incredibly fluid, just looking at how words are structured in descriptions, behaviour, actions.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Clarity
I've realised something.
I haven't been thinking very much for a while now. There has been less self-introspection and I've often very consciously redirected or corrected my thought processes once I notice them going in a certain direction.
I haven't been thinking clearly, clarity has been very much so not of priority. Yet, bizarrely, I don't think I've ever acted or made decisions so concisely, or clearly before.
I do promise though, to myself at least, to explore further. To poke a little further. There is much to discuss.
On greatness
I've always felt that in order to be truly great, is to go where no one has been before. Or to see things with a completely fresh perspective, that may be considered alien by others. Greatness can often seem incredibly cold, unknown, calculating, assessing and veryvery inhuman. I think the balance is needed, not to forget the point of greatness, which is to better humankind, in whichever sphere or domain ie: music, art, writing, peace, relations, politics, economy, science...etc.
In saying that, I'm sure there will be people who would argue with me on the point of refining talent, achieving greatness, accomplishing great acts. The point I raise though is, despite how some people may say that they do things for themselves, we still perform, create, enact for self-validation through others. What is the point of it all, if there is no one who can appreciate, or pretend to appreciate? Be it now, later, post-humously?
I think it's neccessary to be incredibly alone, to be lonely to reach greatness. To be willing to cut off all human connection for a while, to traverse the depths of self. To explore the psyche, to be incredibly narcisstic, self-obsessed and preoccupied. To be severely introspective and then to direct that very same scope towards the outside world and then to create and recreate.
Again, other questions arises: How is greatness measured, who does the measuring, who agrees to this measured 'quality' or 'quantity', what dictates greatness, how does one dictate such?
It might even be neccessary to be cruel, to be kind. Can any price be worth achieving greatness, be it that perceived by others, one individual or self?
I've read somewhere that true greatness is never recognised within its time. It is always beyond the scope and capacity of society to accept or understand such and will almost always be appreciated post-humously or muchmuch later. Should 'greatness' be received and appreciated within its time, it is no true greatness, but rather one of commonplace convenience.
On being great though, loneliness becomes self-fulfilling. It is no longer a state of mind that needs to be strived for.
fragments of self-realisation (3)
Today, was one of those days that I dont think I quite got through.
I havent been as mortally embarrassed as I was, in a very long time. I realise now, more than ever that I am a creature of preparation. And always needing some form of prior warning, some preconceived expectation or basically some defenses set in place.
I also re-realise the temptation to push people away, to keep them at arms length, to smile that it is all ok, but it really isn't. It's taken me a really long time to allow people into my life, even now, it's a constant struggle. There was always this temptation to sever things, to ensure things never proceeded, which is the reason why I often never finished what I started in terms of friendships, or relationships.
I am also incredibly incredibly shit at verbalising how I feel. My tendency is to freeze into place, or slam up this front of invulnerable iciness. And everything becomes numbed and I cease to feel anything, or care for anything. Sometimes, I succeed, I was alot more successful at it before. But I met people along the way and I realised that there really is alot more to life, so many people that have come to mean a great deal to me and me to them, to not care, to ever simply escape and create that rift of apathy, would and always be a grave mistake on my part.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Completely Unhinged
"The Conservative Voice contrasted the Virginia Tech massacre with the Appalachian School of Law shooting in 2002, when a disgruntled student killed three students before he was subdued[102] by two other students with personal firearms they had retrieved from their vehicles, declaring that "All the school shootings that have ended abruptly in the last ten years were stopped because a law-abiding citizen—a potential victim—had a gun."[103]
"The Washington Post asked if the tragedy would have occurred if Virginia law did not prohibit the carrying of lawfully concealed weapons on college campuses."[104]
"Virginia Governor Tim Kaine condemned this debate, saying it was "loathsome" that "People who want to take this within 24 hours of the event and use it as a political hobbyhorse." Kaine said on April 17, 2007: "To those who want to make this into some sort of crusade, I say take this elsewhere."[105]
---> I read this today in the library and cracked up.
Who needs comedy when there's real life comedians who not only really take themselves way too seriously, don't know how funny they are in a tragically ridiculous way and just how veryveryvery little they make sense. The sheer illogic and irrationality stumps me. But I laugh still, somewhat painfully--and hysterically.
"The Washington Post asked if the tragedy would have occurred if Virginia law did not prohibit the carrying of lawfully concealed weapons on college campuses."[104]
"Virginia Governor Tim Kaine condemned this debate, saying it was "loathsome" that "People who want to take this within 24 hours of the event and use it as a political hobbyhorse." Kaine said on April 17, 2007: "To those who want to make this into some sort of crusade, I say take this elsewhere."[105]
---> I read this today in the library and cracked up.
Who needs comedy when there's real life comedians who not only really take themselves way too seriously, don't know how funny they are in a tragically ridiculous way and just how veryveryvery little they make sense. The sheer illogic and irrationality stumps me. But I laugh still, somewhat painfully--and hysterically.
At night when dancing
Artifice is beautiful at night, in these metropolitan streets, spotted with sidebars and clubs, the air pulses as you pass them by. The body moves, the hips gyrate to the beat and limbs twitch ecstatically to dance.
Music is meant to be the language here in these places but somehow along the way, it has receded into the background, loud but still shoved to the sidelines. It is essential, but music is not the currency or the objective, the prize money is in the exchange of speculative, assessing, side-glances and of lazy but expectant smiles.
Artifice is precious here in these places of false lights, crowds and sticky alcohol laden floors. The flooring is one huge drunk tongue, soaking up human sweat, tasting the moist air between legs and of dancing soles.
All that glitters is gold.
The currency is artifice, the product purchased isn’t just sex anymore, it is the possibility and the titillation of it all. The look, assessment and smile which never quite reaches the eyes.
Body and face are put on display in animation, half in light, cast in shadow. These mannequins on unique shelves, translated onto dance floor and bar stools, constantly moving, slinking and shifting. Each is cast solitary or meshed with another but never truly alone.
Or are they really?
Artifice is in the makeup, harsh and stark in sunlight, but rendered attractive here, unbalanced but shadowy, a touch mysterious and beautiful. It is in the movement, the posturing and posing, the caricatured grace.
Au naturel is not kindly treated here. It looks muddy, especially at the edges, faded and inconspicuous, hardly worthy of notice beside Artifice. True daylight has no place in these places of false moving lights and of flashing disco red and green.
Artifice is nocturnal queen in these metropolitan streets, her mannequins come alive, graceful, sexy and lustful, yet oddly disjointed and displaced. The paradox enhances her power, as nothing is real, nothing is true in what is said or done in these places. Perhaps the music remains the one true language, but is ignored but danced to, shoved to the sidelines, showing its frustration and impatience in its beat.
Or are they really?
Artifice is in the makeup, harsh and stark in sunlight, but rendered attractive here, unbalanced but shadowy, a touch mysterious and beautiful. It is in the movement, the posturing and posing, the caricatured grace.
Au naturel is not kindly treated here. It looks muddy, especially at the edges, faded and inconspicuous, hardly worthy of notice beside Artifice. True daylight has no place in these places of false moving lights and of flashing disco red and green.
Artifice is nocturnal queen in these metropolitan streets, her mannequins come alive, graceful, sexy and lustful, yet oddly disjointed and displaced. The paradox enhances her power, as nothing is real, nothing is true in what is said or done in these places. Perhaps the music remains the one true language, but is ignored but danced to, shoved to the sidelines, showing its frustration and impatience in its beat.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Traumatised and Venting
Exam was traumatic.
QN :when is oxyen unloading highest:
a) CO2 retention
b)fever
c)1,2,3 deoxygenase
d)fuck you too.
e)I want tom gwinn to burn.
Another: Draw flow volume loop charts of COPD patients at maximal voluntary ventilation, maximal work rate, rest, at steady state exercise.
Answer: Oh seriously, this is why the spirometry machine was invented you asshole! It does the loops for you!
Another: If person' burns 1kg of fat in 6 hours, how long will it take to burn 20kg when patient is 60years old, and is walking at 4.5km/h and Vo2 is at 1L/min.
Answer: you dick head.
Another: Ventilatory Ratio: VE/VO, is higher in prone swimming as opposed to running?
Answer:...
QN :when is oxyen unloading highest:
a) CO2 retention
b)fever
c)1,2,3 deoxygenase
d)fuck you too.
e)I want tom gwinn to burn.
Another: Draw flow volume loop charts of COPD patients at maximal voluntary ventilation, maximal work rate, rest, at steady state exercise.
Answer: Oh seriously, this is why the spirometry machine was invented you asshole! It does the loops for you!
Another: If person' burns 1kg of fat in 6 hours, how long will it take to burn 20kg when patient is 60years old, and is walking at 4.5km/h and Vo2 is at 1L/min.
Answer: you dick head.
Another: Ventilatory Ratio: VE/VO, is higher in prone swimming as opposed to running?
Answer:...
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
On Constructivity
Personal philosophy: I may bitch, whine, moan, groan, sigh, sniffle and complain --> but I realise the need for constructivity.
This has become a deeply ingrained part of my personality and my thought processes, such that I realise I cannot tolerate very well, this lack in others, or myself when I catch myself doing without it.
Very often, we question, why? what for? what good will it do?
But very often as well, why not? It's a start and something may crop up along the way, an opportunity may unfold where you didnt see it before, perspectives may change, relevant people and chances may be met. This is my answer to the effectiveness of rallies, fund-raisers, petitions, to that awkward catch-up talk between people who've had a falling out, that endless track of years towards the completion of a task, degree, job.
I just hope one day, I'm won't be that person, on that bus, on that day (like every other), crestfallen and despairing, stuck in a loop of self-pity and anger and failing to be constructive.
This has become a deeply ingrained part of my personality and my thought processes, such that I realise I cannot tolerate very well, this lack in others, or myself when I catch myself doing without it.
Very often, we question, why? what for? what good will it do?
But very often as well, why not? It's a start and something may crop up along the way, an opportunity may unfold where you didnt see it before, perspectives may change, relevant people and chances may be met. This is my answer to the effectiveness of rallies, fund-raisers, petitions, to that awkward catch-up talk between people who've had a falling out, that endless track of years towards the completion of a task, degree, job.
I just hope one day, I'm won't be that person, on that bus, on that day (like every other), crestfallen and despairing, stuck in a loop of self-pity and anger and failing to be constructive.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
At Face-Value
It is interesting how much we take at face value.
ie: small talk (hypothetical)
"How have you been?"
"Been good, thanks for asking." ---(when really, been really really really shit. tried to slice open my wrist, horizontallyverticallycrisscrossstarmoonspiral, with a bread knife. But didn't work. Figures. then had butter on toast, with the same bread knife.)
"How was your weekend?"
"Was great, thanks." ---(was incredibly repetitive, nothing much happened)
and yet so much which we do not take at face value, vexes us, in inordinate amounts.
Much of the time, when i read a report or watch the news, i question the validity, the encompassing information that is presented, the way it is presented, what is left missing.
I wonder at what is left missing, the books I read, the stories that are told me, the events recounted, the sad little secrets that are dispensed in quiet tones and lidded looks.
What has been edited, filtered, selected and then rearranged, cut and paste and seamlessly realigned. Often human emotion, stress, fear, anger, hurt wreaks havoc in these things, the seams crack open-- alot less seamless and perfect that we would like things to appear.
We maintain facades, impressions, we pay so much attention to how we may come across to others, and yet at the same time constantly question and moralise our actions and reasonings. And then direct that very same behaviour towards others.
Appearances:
I think in more simplistic representations, we see this in the behaviour of girls. The application of makeup, gym, diets, the skim-everything and 97-99% fatfree foods, the nail polish and monthly subscription fashion magazines who seem to host a bevy of know-it-all-women who have it made (fashion, sex, glamour, money). There was a title of a book which particularly appealed to me: "Paint, and the Art of War". There is a certain invulnerability, defense and protection as we layer these literal layers on of appearance, preparing to enter 'war'. The processes of living, of claiming, of gaining and achieving goals: be it in love, career, friends, attention...etc.
I guess for men, there are the parallel similarities, but in opposing ways. The protein shakes, the gym, the accumulation of muscle, size and bulk. The need for performance and success, in drinking, money, sex and women. I deliberately miss out on the criteria of 'love' here, as opposed to the criteria for the apparently successful woman. There seems to be this need for the appearance of masculinity, of physical and emotional invulnerability. The lack of dependence, especially the lack of attachment to women, their girlfriends/mothers. I've known guys who would relax and be almost child-like affectionate when away from the scrutiny of their 'pals', other male company. Who have very very human-like fears such as the fear of loss, abandonment, ostracism, the fear of being seen as a failure as opposed to the fear of failure. And then the defenses and the components of the social facade is slammed back in place when back in the company of others, seamlessly in place, practised and adept. Artfully rearranged, and the awareness of having done so, is fleeting, or never even registered. It is only to the observer, that such a difference can be seen.
We place so much import on appearances. On how we may appear to others in society, our community, family, friends, work mates. So much so, I question how much we do is to conform to the expectations of others, such that everyone operates under the same rules unconsciously, that everyone is pandering to everyone and nothing really ever gets done. Ingenuity, passion, ideals, dreams are lost and forever inaccessible, as we lose the capacity, the perception and the abilities to enforce and sustain such things in reality. The greatest tragedy...is when we get so caught up in life, in the passing of time and we think, they think, others...that we never notice this quiet, strangled dying. Apathy, indifference, selective reception of information become the norm, the taste of everything is dulled but secure and the same.
Cynicism. is the hallmark in the death of the idealist.
We die a little each time, we make a compromise on our morals, our ethics, ideals...the little deaths that are deviously appear as transparent, that give us a false sense of control, that it is OK and we can always catch up, or fix it up later.
So much tragedy has occurred to pander to the expectations of others, actions have been carried out simply because they think so, they think it is WRONG. This anonymous, ambiguous but univeral collective of THEY. Honour killings, suicides between motherfatherbrothersisterfamilyfriendssociety, dispelling the bonds and history and memory of love, kinship, common humanity...in the name of what is thought to be RIGHT? Religion and tradition has often be the source of this contention, of this strife and tragedy.
It becomes this loop.
what is wrong, right, moral, immoral, who is to say so. who has right of way, and why, through brute force, more knowledge, more money, more experience, the majority?
the question has been asked many, many times before.
the answer, the discourses, the topics, spectrum of ideas and contexts are infinite...and so infinitely incomplete.
ie: small talk (hypothetical)
"How have you been?"
"Been good, thanks for asking." ---(when really, been really really really shit. tried to slice open my wrist, horizontallyverticallycrisscrossstarmoonspiral, with a bread knife. But didn't work. Figures. then had butter on toast, with the same bread knife.)
"How was your weekend?"
"Was great, thanks." ---(was incredibly repetitive, nothing much happened)
and yet so much which we do not take at face value, vexes us, in inordinate amounts.
Much of the time, when i read a report or watch the news, i question the validity, the encompassing information that is presented, the way it is presented, what is left missing.
I wonder at what is left missing, the books I read, the stories that are told me, the events recounted, the sad little secrets that are dispensed in quiet tones and lidded looks.
What has been edited, filtered, selected and then rearranged, cut and paste and seamlessly realigned. Often human emotion, stress, fear, anger, hurt wreaks havoc in these things, the seams crack open-- alot less seamless and perfect that we would like things to appear.
We maintain facades, impressions, we pay so much attention to how we may come across to others, and yet at the same time constantly question and moralise our actions and reasonings. And then direct that very same behaviour towards others.
Appearances:
I think in more simplistic representations, we see this in the behaviour of girls. The application of makeup, gym, diets, the skim-everything and 97-99% fatfree foods, the nail polish and monthly subscription fashion magazines who seem to host a bevy of know-it-all-women who have it made (fashion, sex, glamour, money). There was a title of a book which particularly appealed to me: "Paint, and the Art of War". There is a certain invulnerability, defense and protection as we layer these literal layers on of appearance, preparing to enter 'war'. The processes of living, of claiming, of gaining and achieving goals: be it in love, career, friends, attention...etc.
I guess for men, there are the parallel similarities, but in opposing ways. The protein shakes, the gym, the accumulation of muscle, size and bulk. The need for performance and success, in drinking, money, sex and women. I deliberately miss out on the criteria of 'love' here, as opposed to the criteria for the apparently successful woman. There seems to be this need for the appearance of masculinity, of physical and emotional invulnerability. The lack of dependence, especially the lack of attachment to women, their girlfriends/mothers. I've known guys who would relax and be almost child-like affectionate when away from the scrutiny of their 'pals', other male company. Who have very very human-like fears such as the fear of loss, abandonment, ostracism, the fear of being seen as a failure as opposed to the fear of failure. And then the defenses and the components of the social facade is slammed back in place when back in the company of others, seamlessly in place, practised and adept. Artfully rearranged, and the awareness of having done so, is fleeting, or never even registered. It is only to the observer, that such a difference can be seen.
We place so much import on appearances. On how we may appear to others in society, our community, family, friends, work mates. So much so, I question how much we do is to conform to the expectations of others, such that everyone operates under the same rules unconsciously, that everyone is pandering to everyone and nothing really ever gets done. Ingenuity, passion, ideals, dreams are lost and forever inaccessible, as we lose the capacity, the perception and the abilities to enforce and sustain such things in reality. The greatest tragedy...is when we get so caught up in life, in the passing of time and we think, they think, others...that we never notice this quiet, strangled dying. Apathy, indifference, selective reception of information become the norm, the taste of everything is dulled but secure and the same.
Cynicism. is the hallmark in the death of the idealist.
We die a little each time, we make a compromise on our morals, our ethics, ideals...the little deaths that are deviously appear as transparent, that give us a false sense of control, that it is OK and we can always catch up, or fix it up later.
So much tragedy has occurred to pander to the expectations of others, actions have been carried out simply because they think so, they think it is WRONG. This anonymous, ambiguous but univeral collective of THEY. Honour killings, suicides between motherfatherbrothersisterfamilyfriendssociety, dispelling the bonds and history and memory of love, kinship, common humanity...in the name of what is thought to be RIGHT? Religion and tradition has often be the source of this contention, of this strife and tragedy.
It becomes this loop.
what is wrong, right, moral, immoral, who is to say so. who has right of way, and why, through brute force, more knowledge, more money, more experience, the majority?
the question has been asked many, many times before.
the answer, the discourses, the topics, spectrum of ideas and contexts are infinite...and so infinitely incomplete.
fragments of self-realisation
I would have liked to accelerate those moments where I have been miserable, embarrassed or in pain. Especially in those times when my perception of humanity fails me. Paradoxically though, i savour those moments, replaying the images and conversations in slideshow pastiche. Every detail and pang, a shake of salt, a dash of vinegar and that twist of green, green lime.
Perhaps it is simply that, in those situations, my idealism is brutalised, harshly dealt with, punched all the way through, leaving the taste of burnt meat and the smell of singed disbelief.
I am left drowning as reality floods in, torrential, heavy, sucking me further into my collapsed bubble of faith.
Even then though, such ruination has a purpose. The sheer pain shocks me to realise just how fragile, vulnerable we are. And just how deluded we are in the times when we believe we are invulnerable, buoyed by this false sense of security: "that all is well". Pain serves another purpose: we are reminded...I am reminded, just how alive we are, and how very much so still, despite everything... we...I...quest to remain so.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Unspoken
They looked at each other. She was deliberately and fixedly pleasant.
She was afraid of the intensity of her emotion, afraid it would spill over into the space between them and stain the fabric and knots of what they had.
She was afraid of the consequences. She was afraid, that he might reject her, cast her aside in sympathetic apathy, perhaps worse, that he might reciprocate, but not enough, not enough to even whet her appetite for him.
She understood then, how it felt for love to consume someone and for the lover to want, even need, to imbibe, ingest and savour the beloved.
Love was not blind, it only made clearer what there was to be loved. She was afraid of this disabling clarity, its insightfulness only made clearer to her of her own ineptitude and flaws. She was stricken and then blinder than she had been before.
She turned slightly away, her smile firm, yet brittle in its façade, a little cracked at the edges.
They lost eye contact and continued their conversation, so platonic and everyday that she was afraid that it might all have been a game that they had agreed to play and whose rules she did not know.
She was content with this though, to let lie for now, but only just. This scene of summer sun, sun chairs under opened umbrellas and brewed coffees, and the flower in the vase between them. It simmered with her uncertainty and what and how she felt, just under the surface, clenched tightly behind her cracked smile.
She was afraid of the intensity of her emotion, afraid it would spill over into the space between them and stain the fabric and knots of what they had.
She was afraid of the consequences. She was afraid, that he might reject her, cast her aside in sympathetic apathy, perhaps worse, that he might reciprocate, but not enough, not enough to even whet her appetite for him.
She understood then, how it felt for love to consume someone and for the lover to want, even need, to imbibe, ingest and savour the beloved.
Love was not blind, it only made clearer what there was to be loved. She was afraid of this disabling clarity, its insightfulness only made clearer to her of her own ineptitude and flaws. She was stricken and then blinder than she had been before.
She turned slightly away, her smile firm, yet brittle in its façade, a little cracked at the edges.
They lost eye contact and continued their conversation, so platonic and everyday that she was afraid that it might all have been a game that they had agreed to play and whose rules she did not know.
She was content with this though, to let lie for now, but only just. This scene of summer sun, sun chairs under opened umbrellas and brewed coffees, and the flower in the vase between them. It simmered with her uncertainty and what and how she felt, just under the surface, clenched tightly behind her cracked smile.
Let's have a play with words
Farewells are usually never pleasant, or wanted. We all fear loss, absence despite our instrinsic streak to trudge on, since our fight for survival and resililence for self-perpetuation is engineered in our genes. Except for those anomalies who live by their emotions and fluctuating sense of self-worth, the martyrs, the suicides, the war-worthy and bound.
Farewells have a life of their own. They have evolved, divided, giving new life to a sibling: the good-bye.
We say goodbye, with the poignant sentimentality, tight little smile when we leave those who we actually give a damn about. I was always told to be polite, to be respectful, even to those we dislike. I admire that firm placidity, that sense of consideration, but I hold my reservations still when I form them and I say goodbye when i mean it, 'bye', when it is a cursory politeness to do so, the 'cya' and the 'later', the occasionally 'fuck-off-would-ya!'.
Farewells have a life of their own. They have evolved, divided, giving new life to a sibling: the good-bye.
We say goodbye, with the poignant sentimentality, tight little smile when we leave those who we actually give a damn about. I was always told to be polite, to be respectful, even to those we dislike. I admire that firm placidity, that sense of consideration, but I hold my reservations still when I form them and I say goodbye when i mean it, 'bye', when it is a cursory politeness to do so, the 'cya' and the 'later', the occasionally 'fuck-off-would-ya!'.
So then, the goodbye, the bye, the farewell which encompasses the goodbye.
What then makes the goodbye, good? Is it not a contradiction, an irony?
We say goodbye all the time, we may not realise it but we do so to our body and cells every single passing moment. Each sunset and sunrise, is a little different, each meeting, kiss, orgasm is just that little bit dissimilar. Our bodies acknowledge all this as our years creep up on us, our skin becomes crepe-like, our hair silvers, eyesight fades, to our organs failing us, after a lifetime of accumulated little goodbyes.
So why not make each goodbye a good one?
Treasure each moment, glimpse, glance, drink in the sounds, sights, tastes, each smile of shared amusement and laughter, every act of kindness.
Just a taste of what was.
Anger and Hate are emotions to hold if you are inclined to withold human compassion or forgiveness. Hate is an ugly, ugly emotion. It is both electrifying and yet draining. You feel both paradoxically alive and dead.
Hate is empowering. It empowers her when she is faced with a father at moments like these.
Lazyfoulmouthedbitterhatefulhypocriticalselfpreoccupied
man
who sired her. It was a genetic accident, this conception. The events leading up to then and the maintainence of things such that she was brought into the world: was termed in her latter years most aptly as the : 'immaculate, elaborate facade'.
It is however an empty empowerment and she acknowledges this. It does not build character, or add grace or definition to strength. But it can bend a person, who would succumb to it, to commit grave and heinous things.
Hate is empowering. It empowers her when she is faced with a father at moments like these.
Lazyfoulmouthedbitterhatefulhypocriticalselfpreoccupied
man
who sired her. It was a genetic accident, this conception. The events leading up to then and the maintainence of things such that she was brought into the world: was termed in her latter years most aptly as the : 'immaculate, elaborate facade'.
It is however an empty empowerment and she acknowledges this. It does not build character, or add grace or definition to strength. But it can bend a person, who would succumb to it, to commit grave and heinous things.
And when it is all too late, too much has been lost. Including that of our myths of self-integrity, dignity,---and humanity.
Despair
People are mistaken about the nature of despair. They are often too priviledged to truly understand the hellish depths of it. They take on the melanchology, finding it tragic and beautiful, pursuing it in the Petrarchan way. But despair is stark, beyond pain, pitch-black and you keep falling, never knowing exactly when impact is to occur, but almost wishing you would hit the ground and shatter into that state of unknowing. Feeling the physicality of the experience, knowing the climax of the pain is imminent, yet indefinite, kept on the edge, shrieking silent in the hollow vertical tunnel. Everything is so dark that you cannot see, even with eyes wide open. There is only wind and your eyes hurt with the stinging of it. So black, your senses fool you. They become numbed and useless, giving rise to this sense of displacement and loss, such that you feel that perhaps everything is simply suspended in a vacuum of nothingness.
fragments of self-realisation
She realized, too early in her youth that no one could help her except perhaps the divine, but even God would not help those who could not help themselves, she knew she had to instigate something, save what was left of herself to become something other, more than what she was.
Others
They all realized too soon that they were too human, in their lack of divinity and all its implied powers, and would look away in shame, later regressing to a state of staged-side whispers : ridiculous! outcast! shameful! different!
They hence excused themselves and increased the distance between them and her.
They hence excused themselves and increased the distance between them and her.
Sweetness
She returned to him, thinking to overdose him on his own brand of treatment. She plagiarized in action and kissed him deeply, knowing he felt for her more than she did at this moment. It is sweet, at this moment anyway.
However, she notices from then on in her brilliant yet dark career, all that she takes is sweet and pleasure is evoked within as she takes one last kiss from each of them. And it is sweet. So sweet that she catches herself craving for it, when she adds sugar to her tea or coffee tasting, yet finding it forever wanting in its lack of sweetness.
as i romanticise the bitter sharpness...
fragment on a scrap piece of paper (5/06):
Truth was once a canvas of faceted, pristine crystal which transcended heaven, encompassed hell and was firmly rooted in between, fixed in the annals of our reality.
One day, a great hammer rose and descended, striking against its roots; once, twice, thrice. The number three has hence since become the magic number of wishes, chances, choices in this newly wrought, shattered and shredded reality.
Truth became shards, painful things with wicked points and jagged edges. Blood easily flowed, tears shed plentifully and blindness was the common affliction when caught in its glare. Truth fell in great pieces, some crumbled and disintegrated into dust which has since permeated our atmosphere and lingers on unused, untouched things, in corners and most easily on velvet and silken surfaces.
One day, a great hammer rose and descended, striking against its roots; once, twice, thrice. The number three has hence since become the magic number of wishes, chances, choices in this newly wrought, shattered and shredded reality.
Truth became shards, painful things with wicked points and jagged edges. Blood easily flowed, tears shed plentifully and blindness was the common affliction when caught in its glare. Truth fell in great pieces, some crumbled and disintegrated into dust which has since permeated our atmosphere and lingers on unused, untouched things, in corners and most easily on velvet and silken surfaces.
We breathe it in and sneeze, unable to accept or assimilate it in its entirety. Our eyes blink and water, shedding tears and we sniffle when we get too close. And others shuffle a little away or flinch, and respond with a sympathetic : “Bless you”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)