Time has browned
as the clock looks down
at the little twinkling bits
of shiny saccharine things
the tears have fallen
those years weren't forgotten
but a whole new fresh wave
of a different sound of faith

there've been moments of laughter
cries of despair
but when it mattered most
he gave a silent toast
thrills and broken tills
the crashing of flattened heels
each giant cluck
like a great grand rug
just seems to hold you close
the ticks have quietened
those summer times thrown astray
as the winter brushes off its coat
here comes a brand new day

food fair at expo

i really need to start doing something with my life, eh?
hmm

Singapore!

I'm back!
haha from a really hot place, the hot season must really be a killer.

took some photos, i like my camera haha


floating market!

tired, sleep.

inanimate adoration

Okay, goodbye now!


poor lonely bicycle..

Gonna go off to thailand soon! hope i don't die there, honestly, think i probably would, considering how i've forgotten most of field stuff already.

it hasn't been a good week - didn't end very well - but at least the week's over, and now i'll have a 16k walk in ecp on tues before i jet off for thailand on thurs night!
how exciting.
it'll be over soon..

dream big

Just finished reading By the River Piedra I sat down and wept, by Paulo Coelho.
Well, it's a pretty decent book, and I believe it'd suit someone more inclined towards religion. There is the constant rallying cry for faith, a belief in something you might not understand yet.

'By the River Piedra I sat down and wept' tells the story of Pilar, a woman who re-acquaints herself with her childhood love, and his belief and religious orientation rubs off on her, allowing her to rediscover the faith that she had hidden all the while.
And while us readers begin to understand her story, Paulo Coelho urges us, through Pilar's thoughts and re-alignment of faith, to discard the urgent tugs of the 'Other', a illusory image of our faith-less sides, entirely fearful and pragmatic. This book will remind you of your childhood innocence, your childhood dreams, and how every dream you had, each one you thought entirely possible, was gradually eroded, deemed to be impossible, impractical, every bit of it shredded by fear.

It will grant you the chance to rethink your dreams, and realise that perhaps you have shut yourself to the opportunities that flash at us all too often, that perhaps you have immersed yourself too deeply into fear, been too practical, been too worried. Have you had dreams of late? Felt that you aren't anywhere near them yet? Feel like dreams are but far-fetched hopes, figments of your imagination? Take a break, read a book, read this book. It's a pretty short book, very easy to read - my brain can hardly take anything more than this, really - and he writes in a simple manner without the extravagance of ornamental language.

This is an author who is focused on his beliefs and understands his beliefs, and his works are characteristic of that. So be open, and acknowledge his viewpoint, even if at times you might find yourself at odds with it.

*Some quotes from the book*
-The universe always helps us fight for our dreams, no matter how foolish they may be. Our dreams are our own, and only we can know the effort required to keep them alive.

-A divided kingdom cannot defend itself from its adversaries. A divided person cannot face life in a dignified way.



I swear I'll be a good clerk if my mediocrity consumes me.

stop studying, start thinking

We lead our lives thinking we have a purpose, but sometimes, many times, what we're doing is pushing ourselves towards a set of checkpoints, checkpoints we assume will lead us towards our ultimate purpose, one which perhaps we attempt to quantify, or put in human terms.

Some people say they want to be rich, others say they want to be happy, and even a great many other say they live for their family. What is your true purpose? Is wealth, happiness, or even your familial ties merely checkpoints in your life to affirm a true direction towards something greater? When will it stop, when will you finally serve your purpose?

Many a time we canalise ourselves into a channel of goals; targets to meet in order to make our lives fulfilling ones, at least in our own terms. So what of these goals, dreams, hopes that we set for ourselves? Are these our personal aims in life?
We must accept death will consume us someday, at least from a rational viewpoint. You might be tempted to argue that there is life after death, that death is not the final tape we cross, but please, go with me for now, that even if there is, death must still occur, our physical being will still perish.

So think again, do we have a purpose? Let's just conduct a little experiment for ourselves. A purpose is an underlying intent, one which can hardly be quantified. Let's say, for instance, you deem your reason for living to be your family. Take that away, what remains? Your friends, perhaps. Remove that, what else? Money, health, happiness, take all of that away. When you have removed all that you can, what remains? What supports all these 'checkpoints' (so i term it) in our lives? What gives rise to them?

What are you living for?
What a disturbing question, I say.

pee by the old frail tree

to mankind, mankind is holy (seneca)
look around and within, have we put humankind on a platform, dusted off a mouldy pedestal for him to stand on? but is he worthy, is he deserving?
we take ourselves as the meridian of evolution, the by-product of years and years of biological testing, all before us merely experiments to concoct a perfect organism - us. but are we?
years later will the future look upon mankind and chortle at our foolishness, laugh at the clouds we shroud ourselves with, speaking of ourselves as the epitome of Nature's will? we might turn out to be the next step in evolution, and nothing more than that. history reminds us of our ability to fool ourselves. civilisations past have collapsed upon the tenets from which they are constructed, images and illusions of never-ending empires, each one fooled by self-belief. what is to become of us then?

'i think, therefore i am' (cogito ergo sum)
-descartes
it is rather irksome to constantly see this being wrongly interpreted as saying: what i think, i become. it is important to note the background behind this statement, descartes finding a basis for all his philosophical thought, and proposing doubt as a starting point. and when all was doubted, he was left with one thing he couldn't doubt, which is that he could doubt. from this came about this famous, often wrongly construed statement. to put it another way, it can be said to mean: i think, therefore i exist.
of course, you might scoff at his conclusions, and at how there is a missing piece in his jigsaw (the link between thinking and existing).
what can you really know..?

do you have a conscience?
what is moral and what isn't?
is morality guided by a certain set of natural laws, or simply the environment we live in?
what makes us think we're right; how do we know?
what can you be sure of, and what can you only believe in?
is knowing that you believe in certain concepts and issues the only thing you can know?
what about axioms and tautologies..?
what is your purpose, is there one?

when something is not correctable, is there a deviation?

what happens when you die?

nothing much really.
not long left
haha yea right.

boom boom bomb
explosion!
face torn limbs shredded genitals lost identity unknown
people fight to fight the people who fight
ouch, cruel.
could you bear to kill another?
maybe only when it matters. but even then, could you?
it is an awkward thing. when you shoot to avoid that someone shooting you, to him you are but him to you.
when rpgs, bullets and big fat rounds start flying
your vehicle's trapped
who do you think of, pray for?

a rock apiece

i feel like my life has stagnated.

it's august today. that's the ninth month after finishing pre-university formal study.
which leaves me, nowhere, basically.

things have changed, people have moved, the elements of my life rearranged.
glance back.
what have you done? what are you doing?
i see progress aplenty; progress not always desirable or planned for, but it's still progress nonetheless.
why do we treat progress - moving forward - with such heft?
is it our inability to freeze-frame the current, or to relive the past?

immured, incarcerated, trapped?
i watch excitement with a florid, bubbly demeanour.
it's natural to compare.
juxtapose my wan life with those i see, and watch it pale in a plebeian pallor.

look upon yourself. what do you see?
stand atop a busy street, and watch the buzz and shimmies.
what do you see?
are we not mere serfs of lifeee?
calloused bruises but a sign of enlightenment. innocence, ignorance.

oh well

it gets pointless after awhile.
like a direction-less, aimless, pursuit of nothingness.
wan effots
fuzzy pictures
vague lifee

The moviegoer

I've finally finished the book I set out to read quite a long while ago, after much procrastination, confusion, appreciation and somnolence. 'The moviegoer' by Walker Percy.

I got to know the book through its reputation, as one worthy of a read and a dash of thought to go along. So now that I'm through with it, I feel compelled to write my thoughts about it, which some people like to call, a 'review'.
So here goes (it's gonna be a pretty long one, just close the window if you wish to)
//
The moviegoer
//
Just over 10 pages into the book and you begin to realise that the story just isn't that important. There are many digressions along the way, flighty, fleeting, lightly tottering insight into the main character, Binx Bolling's, everyday life and what he thinks of it.

There is a lot about his thoughts. Each event or activity that happens is creased with what he thinks of it, even the slightest bits unnoticeable to the average eye. He is uncompromising in detail. The omission of a greeting cannot be based on mere habit or forgetfulness, but must be because of something greater; an emotion, an occasion, a perception, something.

There is (within the writing) a sense that Binx is not too focused on his search, as much as the book does not concentrate on the story itself. There are frequent digressions into moments in the past or underlying thoughts that accompany Binx's encounters, so much so the main idea of the 'search' has been reduced to the occasional mention. But alongside these constant digressions are the moments of deep thought which serve to incite and inspire.

Time passes slowly. A simple situation is observed and elaborated with a detailed, insightful touch, much like a pass at how much we're missing in our own rushed and messed up lives. Each moment is almost excruciatingly slow, tender enough to explore, but not too much to cause pain.

There're times when it gets almost too slow, or too far-fetched, especially if you are one who prefers to follow the plot. I wouldn't recmomend it if you love action and thrillers, for most every scene, even one as urgent as an accident, is dissected ever so carefully, played over in slow-motion.

But perhaps this gentle unfolding makes for a greater appreciation of other matters, like how self-absorbed our own lives are, and how much can go on in the seconds we so willingly and unknowingly pass over.

There are several remarkably note-worth concepts and perceptions mentioned that make you ponder about their veracity, something which gives 'The moviegoer' its value.

It is written in a fiercely observant and descriptive manner, and even the most intense of conversations are interjected with the immediate thoughts or observations that Binx has or makes.

Walker Percy writes in a very flitful way, hopping from situation to situation, occasion to occasion. Even so, it does not mean that this book makes for easy reading. It is one best enjoyed not by a brief perusal, as with many other books, but with careful consideration of the words used and ideas raised.

In his own special way, the author manages to capture the essence of each scene in his unique, clever way, making full use of well-placed adjectives, tonal inflections and keen comments.
'the blue stare holds converse, has its sentences and periods.'
'Seeing him strikes a pang to the marrow; he has the urgent gentle manner of an emissary of bad news. Someone has died.'

If nothing else, Binx's keen careful observations force the reader into contemplating his own attitude towards the little frivolities of life, or lack thereof.

Certain occurrences, which one would normally pass over, he manages to catch hold of, even placing it in its own context and category. Take his idea of 'repetition' and 'rotation', for example.
'a rotation I define as the experiencing of the new beyond the expectation of the experiencing of the new.'
At first sight this might seem confusing, but think again and it all starts to fit in. A rotation is but a bonus beyond what one has expected, be it an outcome, an experience and the like. And such interjections allow the reader to explore his own life and personal experiences, to look for commonalities, like his very own 'rotations'.

Perhaps to the layman, such phenomenon may not be apparent at all, and the beauty of watching Binx's thoughts unfold is exactly in that - drawing us to the realisation that in our own superficial living, we might just have missed such deep, underlying patterns or meanings.

However, it does get tedious at times, especially when in pursuit of a mere fictional traipse. It isn't a piece of light reading, I cannot reiterate further, but one best accomplished with perhaps a pen and notebook in accompaniment, just so Binx's knack for detail and insight can be reproduced in the same fervent manner.

The level or amount of new discoveries, introductions etc. does not dwindle as the story moves along, and while that may displease some, perhaps seeking familiarity and an actual outcome, it does help in keeping things fresh and nimble.

Binx's initial intentions (the 'search'), are kept to a mere afterthought or rather, a secondary consideration, which at moments seem to be what the entire story will revolve around. It seems like the 'search' is only apparent when nothing else in his own life can keep Binx occupied.

This book doesn't disappoint - I had high expectations of it - and it is a welcome breath of fresh air, or antiquity, whichever suits you better, when juxtaposed with the more plot-oriented books so often seen on the shelves today.

I'd recommend 'The moviegoer' if you're looking for a thought-provoking book, or simply a break fromt he typical book which skims the surface of thought. Or perhaps, to a much, much smaller extent, a romance jaded and fresh all at once, articulated in quick dispensations.

If you enjoyed 'The moviegoer', perhaps Jonathan Swift's 'A tale of a tub' might appeal to you as well.

-End-
//

Icicles

I put a banana into the freezer for fun this afternoon. haha then i took it out and ate it at night.
and it actually tastes quite decent!
though if you don't skin it properly there's a weird aftertaste which lingers for quite awhile.
(i skinned it with a kitchen scissors after it was frozen, please don't try that)

try this:
1. skin a nice medium to large banana
2. melt some chocolate of your favourite kind - milk, dark, liquor-laced, 80%, 90%, 97%, milo-mixed choc, white, whatever.
3. dip the banana in the pool of melted chocolate, or coat the banana with chocolate.
4. sprinkle nuts of your favourite kind - almond, cashew, groundnut, macademia, blablabla - or coat it with cereal. or if you're game, sprinkle some cinnamon powder haha, or pepper. or tabasco sauce. or the wrinkled milk of a thousand year old cow.
or the ground horns of a angry old bull. or the fine powder from the beard of a 100 year old farmer. or the flecks of mystery gold gotten from the nasal cav... okay i'll stop.
5. do whatever else you want with your pre-frozen banana that you think will make it nice to eat.
6. (optional) poke a stick into the banana so it's easier to eat after it's done.

lastly, freeze the banana!
for say, a few hours, depending on a lot of various factors, like whether you coat it or not, whether you turn on the refrigerator, whether the banana's medium or large, what you coat it with, et cetera.

And finally, step 8: eat the frozen banana!
if you want to, you can slice it up into smaller bite-sized pieces, like if you're serving to friends or whatnot. but i'd recommend making more bananas instead, because it really tastes pretty decent, especially as an after-meal treat.
Oh oh, you could try using cream/ whipped cream as well, plus jam or whatever to serve it with. or ice-cream. or dip it into hot, melted chocolate (makes for a good contrast).

if anything, it reminds me of the 'ice pops' i used to have at a younger age. ah. nostalgia. haha hope you like it.

Men on stage

You've probably watched some made-in-singapore films, gone to performances by local bands, glanced at the occasional advertisement about the latest Singaporean plays (Army daze, Sing dollar, anyone?).
But have you ever attended one of them?

I'm glad to say I've attended a few, including 2 starring Hossan Leong (he's nice to watch, honestly). Army's a pretty accessible and convenient topic to do a play about. The thing about making a successful play, writing a popular book, directing a famous film is how the audience relates to it.

By making use of the army, you immediately have a large chunk of potential play-goers who are able to relate to whatever anecdotes, tales or cultural references you wish to use. And hence the constant stream, no, trickle of army-related plays available.

The latest one is, of course, 'Own time own target', which I viewed with a newfound perspective, the eyes of an NSF. And I found it to be a delightful little comedy, honestly.

Being someone (finally) able to relate to and understand the inside jokes and frequent references to the military 'vernacular' (or lack thereof), I think I was better able to see the funny side of the play, and in turn appreciate the ability of the scriptwriters.

There are a multitude of references to various recent occurrences (Mas Selamat, the runaway gun, remember?), especially in the first of two short plays, which provide for a good irreverent laugh at the expense of solemn authority.

The constant nonsensical chatter between the occasional strangers and the armymen, and among the armymen themselves provide for a good steady flow of laugh-fodder. One scene, concerning a sergeant and a petrol pump attendant, was especially memorable for me.

'Own time own target' consists of 2 separate plays, the second of which chronicles the difficulties and differences a new enlistee has to face. It tells of the tale of 5 bunkmates who each have different personalities and backgrounds, facing their fate, which is in turn controlled by a sergeant who favours a recurring profanity, and another who speaks in a blase overtone.

They each have their own lives, and maybe even secrets they don't want to reveal to each other. It is a hideously funny play, helped on by the catchy songs the characters sing of their army lives, and I think it can provide some welcome nostalgia to the days in the military, for those who have already served their time.

One word of warning, though. Please, don't make this a family outing for the kids. As I was leaving, I saw a family with both their boys (probably of about lower-secondary/ upper primary age?), and I immediately felt for the parents.
How they must have regretted their decision when the characters started spouting strings of military-style obscenities, or during the frequent sexual references and crude comments made by the characters in the play.

So please, do watch it if you have the time, it'll be enjoyable. Sure, it can't compare to any of them Broadway musicals, or Tony Award-winning plays, but it can be a welcome relief from the office or school.

And you'd be supporting a Made-in-Singapore play as well. While you're at it, Sing Dollar (with Hossan Leong), Spelling Bee, and the show by the Reduced Shakespeare Company are coming out soon, so if you have the time (and money..), go watch one of them, it'll do you good, promise.
//

a little speck of excitement

(Reduced Shakespeare Company's coming to singapore, go watch!)

She shrugs. My mother speaks of such matters in a slightly abrasive way. In fact I haven't heard a single polite reply since my 13th birthday. She speaks with an overtone neither presumptuous nor exceeding humbleness, but rather a blase, monotonal vernacular.
//

He placed his hand on the engine. I see his face retch out in pain, but the maiden is none the wiser. His fingers curl around the little spanner she holds out to him, and his face reeks of a stagnated smile.
It reminds me of Aunt Emily. Aunt Emily lived with us back at Fifth Street. She used to carry an unusual cabbage stench about her, which made all the kids groggy whenever they got near. We never got to know her well. All that I knew was her visit to the doctor (a witch, we all assumed) every Tuesday. I'd never heard of anyone receiving such extreme unction before, and after.

It was the norm for us to have dinner Tuesday night. If anything, Aunt Emily's absence was just the perfect excuse for us to be herded around the dining table. Aunt Emily was a constant chore.
The kids had to rewrap her bandages by the fireplace, every evening without fail. I had the luck of being eldest, which came with some special privileges. Anything I didn't want to do I could simply pass on, my best excuse to keep my eyes free to watch over the rest of 'em.

Summer had come again. From the recluse of my little office I can hear the songbirds chirping their way. Sometimes I wonder what they're so delighted about. I ask Desiree if she knows. She looks up with her usual nonchalent look. 'What a weird question,' she says.
She doesn't exactly say that, but I can tell from her eyes. Desiree has the most pleasant eyes. They loved to twinkle whenever the frequent shard of light streamed in through the blinds. They aren't almond-shaped like Sharon's or lined with the long streamers like Wyona, but they seem special.
I will confess. I didn't think through much when hiring Desiree. She had strode in, dressed in a shawl-covered dress, that summer morning. Sharon had just left me for a bigger firm. Good for you, I'd told her, hoping she might change her mind. But she never did, and I was left with a Sharon-shaped void to fill.

'I'm not sure, Mr Walters.'
''Why, I told you, don't call me that.'
She flits her eyelids. My sight is immediately drawn to her eyes. What beauty.

She snaps her fingers.
'Mr Walters. Jack. Hello?'
I realise she's looking right back at me all this while. There is a slight thump in my chest. I wonder if she notices.
//

Pete hops into the M6 with much ease. At his age you wouldn't expect him to move with such agility. He swings open the passenger door for me, and I wonder if he think I cannot repeat his acrobatics.

The bucket seat is comfortable. In fact, it reminds me of my own WD convertible. I love cars. Occasionally I walk or take the bus to go elsewhere, but only when I feel an inexplicable urge to do so. I hate the thought of being so open. It makes me feel nude in the outdoors.
In a car it's different. In a car I feel surrounded and safe, and nothingness. Nobody can see me looking, nobody knows I'm there. I could twist and distort my features as much as I want to and no one would know. No wonder I live alone.

Pete looks over and grins. His fingers rattle against the dashboard, indicating his eagerness to move. Pete is a former race-car driver. He used to boast about beating the likes of Michael Schmutzer and Jason Gavins, everyday, everytime. But I maintain that it was only because they had mishaps. He says it's part of the race.

I can hear the gears shift. Pete has his appendages firmly attached to his M6. He makes a swift motion with his feet and immediately I regret being in his car. We were at the courthouse today. Quite unusually, the takeover papers were settled in less than an hour, and my transport home hadn't arrived. It might have been a better idea to walk back to Fifth Street alone, but I couldn't turn down his offer.

The trees whiz by, fading quickly, much faster than they lined up ahead of me. Sometimes I feel like stopping to smell the air. I do not think there is a better smell than fresh leaves on their leashes, each one clinging on tightly by the sliver of a stem. But I seldom do.

There is always something going on. In a typical day I have my attention reserved by at least 4 clients. And Desiree of course. There simply is no time. But that's just an excuse.
//


Okay, that's just a small test of a new style of writing I'm trying to pick up. as you can see, i'm pretty bad at it. oh well.
comments, if any.

garbled obfuscation: time for change

I need to get better.

There're times when you feel inspired, like all the world was behind you, conspiring to lift you to whatever your imagination can conjure. Those are uplifting times; moments where you feel no task is too mammoth, no story too hard, no word or phrase hiding in the crevices, every syllable hopping in greedily like a hungry elf, each one only too eager to present themselves before you.

And then there are ruts.
Which is precisely where I feel I'm in. I am.. uninspired. These are woeful times, when the occasional thought which pops up is too puny or insignificant, where words decide to sheath themselves from me, where even a paragraph seems too tough to produce.
I feel myself stagnating, perhaps dumbed down by my occupation. There is no.. fire anymore.

And that's why we need change.
I need to get better. I need words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, stanzas, passages, statements, ideas, opinions, thoughts, creativity. I need so much more.
But I'll have to start somewhere - back to basics.

Words. Five a day; that's basic enough. Take a look at the words I'm using - too plebeian for anything substantial. (plebeian - pertaining to the common people/ common, commonplace) I want something beautiful, something special, not just any old sophomoric work. (sophomoric - suggestive of the traditional sophomore: intellectually pretentious yet immature)

Reading. I haven't been reading enough. Sure, it's easy to say I don't have the time, but I''d be partially lying if I said that. I've been stuck on the same page of the same book for the past few weeks already, and my guess is I should do something 'bout it. Alright so here's the plan, I'll finish up my book by Sunday, I promise. Have some faith in me, I'll try.

I don't want to end up an egregious (extraordinary in some bad, glaring way) failure in writing the stuff I try to write. There's my dream waiting to be fulfilled y'know. Someday, I'll get it done, someday.

It's mighty morphing time! No wait..

It must be a Singaporean thing. I saw this queue just the other day and I couldn't tear myself from it. There's something oddly alluring about queues, it's like Winnie the Pooh and honey; a panda and his bamboo; singapore football and the world cup. (no wait, scratch the last one)

I joined in - gladly - and it turned out unlike all the other queues, this time I had to actually pay for something. And so I ended up straining my neck right way up front, for a peek at giant toys frolicking on Earth, praying there was a free gift or something - we only queue for free stuff, no?

I will proclaim loudly that I am an updated person. I have the newest gadgets, I know the latest news, I have the latest heat-sensing thermometers, and I watched the latest, hottest, most popular movie. Not that it was any good for me, though.

Well, for starters, all of the transformers know how to speak English. Which actually might not be so bad, or we wouldn't know what they talked about in their cute, zany voices. But of course being a person so fessed up with details, I was naturally quite disturbed with the English-spouting toys. Shouldn't they have some extremely complicated alien vernacular to converse in, instead of this odd, jumbled up language that we have..?
(Note to director: just between us, try using alien language in the next film, you might just get another oscar for best foreign language film or something.)

The old toys. Yes, this time round there're old-er metal pieces trying to carve a career for themselves.
(Note to transformers: Quit trying so hard, just do some drugs or get a scandal and your future's all taken care of.)
I was pretty puzzled by the intricate metal things around their mouths; it looked to me like a unique new design by the producers. Until.. someone pointed out that they were there to represent facial hair. Or facial iron, whatever.

I wonder how they actually grow out, though. At first I thought it looked pretty intriguing, y'know, having some realism in those robots. But having giant metal plates swinging towards you everytime they appear in a scene isn't exactly the most pleasant sight.
(Note to self: Start shaving.)

Action movies aren't my favourite genre, that much I'll admit. I don't exactly like paying to get a throbbing brain and watching people (and aliens, robots, cars, etc.) run around either barren deserts or crowded streets with this 'augrhhh' look permanently etched on their faces. Don't get me wrong, most films are fine. But there's always the occasional one which drains my brain cells at such an alarming speed I only pray my hairline doesn't follow suit as well.

Now, you might say I'm just a lonely loser who can't appreciate nice action films starring enlarged toys (and I won't say you're wrong). But to each his own, as optimus prime would say, so please don't get too enraged at me. I just don't like the idea that someday I'll wake up and watch the Toyota Corolla parked downstairs morph into a gun-wielding beast. And especially if he turns out to be an effeminate alien; that's just freaky.

And no, there wasn't any free gift. Darn it.

menthol-flavoured hikes

goosebumps raised into little hills
pouts and tears and sobbing sniffs
prams and arms a fort around
the little one languishing in his little town

prancing with the little feet
muffled patter of dancing tips
each step blistering with lingering tweets
a sound too soothing for mums' lips

snowtopped knolls and cloud-covered malls
children playing and daddies yell fore
climbing mountains; wrapped in a suit
mask in hand, and gloves to boot

billowing soil and flying shards
pieces aplenty and always too large
walking on water with big bad trucks
heavy and crumbling on bloody big ducks

borders afalling, shameless pretences
hot-blooded fools and muttered expressions
parked wishes, highway of dreams
leaving a land, regrets and hope

3862, 5003
heaped up mountains and a life thus free
7266, 3550
pointing to the gates of a returning hero

illy rides and jimnated rules
of eating tangerines and big beaded spools
fried upon crisps of rust-covered tools
and the lightly tossed salad of a maiden lamb's wool

teacups filled with brimmings of wheat
showered heaps of hay-covered meat
fluffy twirls, lovely and raw
each one topped with the grilled dragon boar

a mighty dense cake made from ground-tasted flour
grated lemon rinds, just a little sour
quasi smoked bacon, bits too dour
in its place, a mint-tipped flower

baked to perfection, choc-tipped snowballs
swirled like a sommelier, bitter in fall
soft and fruity, a little less salt
lest it be weathered, nibbled with malt

writing bored lines, meaningless fancies
just like fritters, fried up by pansies
effeminate dishes, words chose with care
kilimanjaro and choclate hair.

ohwell, goodbye!
don't try to read anything into the words above, they really are random, not a summary of my life or anything, honest.
but it's been a decently nice week, let's all hope (call me selfish) the next two are just as fine, eh?

shooting the moon

a spinning susan - a summary

squeaking babies and tarnished floors
pointless dresses and rickety doors
screaming guns all boys adore
of darkish suits and the coastal shore
hand on bag and au revoir
riveting aches and ankles sore
with duties atop and tiredness galore
a big loud boom and skirting soil
the sun beats down, amid the toil
plagued with dirt and topped with grins
a table set and flashes dimmed
funny man, his sheepish smile
a newfound place, we all will go
lingering, misses, hits and hisses
swept beneath the grand ol' dame
of buried clothes and brand new names
driven with the scent of thought
beings to find a pleasant yoke
from jaunts loved, and dreams fought
with blueberries and british milk
a land best known in b and m
the ground of wars for swathes of legs
a pleasant black, and mystery smoke
an idol of faith, pillars and walls
parapet to unsheath a massive lore
flecks of uneven dirt on every surface
each one cleaned with remarkable grace
people lost and friends unmet
the past numbed in vats of sweat
braced efforts and tireless frolics
in happy smiles and tied up treats
a mache pinata of wildering sweets
waiting atop the tiresome leaps
dreads and fears tidied and kept
with a soulful hand, a life he led.

and that's exactly how my week went, pretty well i guess.
now i'll be sent elsewhere for the next few months, and getting all weak again.
it really isn't much of a big deal, all this shit with the ranks, because from the outside it looks all preppy and neat, but then dig a little deeper and the fake tresses all fall out. but it isn't nice to air the warts here, but i'll be glad to share.

planes and trucks, grime and muck
moving wheels, summer chills

goodbye

Walking with a twang

twang.

i somehow managed to live past the few excursions to the jungles in the past weeks, and only dying once, which is actually rather surprising considering how weak i am, so i guess i'll have to be pretty glad about that.
going off to someplace else soon (hopefully), and off to fight giant ants in a foreign land. reminds me of a song actually.

-to a foreign destiny
where fate left you to be
the world just isn't certain anymore..

there're burglars round the corner
guns and knives around
but all that matters
is that you're leaving now.

to a land far away
how much i wish you'd stay
but no, no, no
you have to go.

the ants are big and strong
their feelers thick and long
fight them with every ounce
kill them by the pounds

their claws are like blades
which could make a lemonade
but be strong and fight on
and we'll meet at the promenade

someday you'll be back here
by my side where you belong
where you know i'll be near
where we'll laze and sing this song

and the ants...
they're forever..
gone.

okay so i made that up, but what the heck.
i guess i'll leave with a nice little quote from the book i'm reading, the moviegoer by Walker Percy, pretty interesting book ya.
"A rumble has commenced in my descending bowel, heralding a tremendous defecation"
Amazing how he puts the situation in his place. oh well, till the sun sets again.

suntanning with the squirrels

I'm detached from the real world.
I realise I don't know anything anymore, I think I'm probably getting dumber by the day. Quite a bit has happened so far, now I'm left with just.. 28 weeks more, I think.
June is starting, and I hope it'll be nice.
I promise to work harder at keeping myself in touch with the outside world.
There's this book I'm reading by Walker Percy - the last gentleman - and I actually had difficulty reading it even though it ought to be just another normal book, not one of those crazy types full of big words in every sentence.
Oh well, haha.

Corn of thought

*cue corny contemplative music*

What is a mathematical world? Are we living in a mathematical world, a world ruled and regulated by mathematics?
"The visible world is merely an illusion that hides the real mathematical reality of things."
This is what Pythagoras said, in a different language and a long long time ago. Now the main idea behind this 'mathematical world' is that mathematics seems to be embedded in everything. Numbers, e.g. pi, fibonacci numbers, appear in odd, random and common places. Is it then only intuitive and right to say that math is a logical necessity or entity inherent in everything?

Let's use an example to illustrate this. The table I'm writing on is round, and its every property can be summed up using a list of mathematical forms. The paper I use is rectangular, with right angled edges, the chair is tilted to a certain angle, my pen moves at a certain speed and direction in accordance to whatever amount of effort I put in. Pi, especially, appears in so many problems it seems nothing can escape its grasp.

But math is but present only with human perception. It might exist as a logical entity without the perception of humans, that is, independent of our mind, or an objective fact which doesn't need our affirmation, but we cannot prove it. The world was set in a pre-defined way, humans coming after and looking at the world in our own odd way, and in that, introduced mathematics.

Did we then discover mathematics? Some might say we discovered math, and I then ask, who put it in place for us to discover? This of course, might have some links to religion, but this question is highly pertinent to the issue of a mathematical world. If I say that math was a discovery, then it must be that mathematics existed before humans, and we in turn, managed to uncover it with our intelligent minds. Can mathematics exist, if it isn't discovered (i.e. before we 'discovered' it)?

Let's look at say, a design of a chair. If I have a design of a chair, and I have constructed this chair, it is only fair to say that the chair exists. But what if I have yet to construct this chair? Does it then exist, because I have the design for the chair? Similarly, the discovery of mathematics is like the construction of this chair. I might have the design of the chair (the components I need, circles, right angles, for me to discover mathematics), but without actually constructing this chair, can I say that it exists?

If then, mathematics is an inherent property, existing objectively and within objects, then we cannot 'discover' it, because we would then intuitively 'know' it. Discovery, in this case, would refer to the acquisition of new knowledge, due to the chance encounter with previously unknown entities (which may not always be fact).

There is a certain flow to this concept of a mathematical world. If I am willing to, I can put patterns to every single thing. I refer to the idea of pi or fractal numbers in explaining or predicting patterns and occurrences. In that case, can I not simply use the idea of numbers as evidence enough for me to say we live in a mathematical world? There is a table in front of me, I make use of a mathematical entity, the number one, to refer to it. Is that proof enough that we live in a mathematical world? It is easy to force patterns onto anything, possibly because I have no set rule to how much actually constitutes a pattern, and whether extending this pattern into possible but non-existent entities is accepted. So in that case, is math then simply the result of us trying to eke out a logical and rational explanation to everything?

Take a logical equation, 2+2 = 4, for example. It seems that this is purely synthetic, an axiom which in effect is a tautology. It appears that this equation existed and will be true before humans and will survive the extinction of humans. But is it not apparent that it only exists because of human perception? If I were the ruler of this world, and I changed 4 with 5, 2+2=5 would then be totally logical. We can see that it is logical only because I set it to be, and not because this world made it so. Mathematics might just be a language for what we cannot yet put into words, or we cannot explain otherwise.

Language is universal only by definition. Its use does not in any way mean that it has to be equal and same for every living thing or person. Likewise, mathematics is seen to be universal, but is it as open as language? Let's take, for example, the concept of angles. I must first clarify that I am terribly poor in mathematics, and so I hope any mistakes would be viewed upon with forgiving eyes. Perhaps I might see a wall - a rectangular wall - and I'm immediately inclined to think that the angles between perpendicular lines which make up its outline form an angle of 90 degrees, in accordance to the popular theories of mathematics. Would I then be wrong to say that this angle can be 180degrees, as long as I work on a scale of 720degrees instead of half that?

If you agree that I'm right, that it is only logical that this angle can be multiplied by two, as long as I adopt this new scale and make sure I'm strictly working with 720 degrees instead, then mathematics no longer seems universal. Perhaps in this way, it might bear a greater resemblance to language, where the issue of personal relevance will always butt in. That then derides the proposition that we live in a mathematical world, for that must mean an objective boundary or set of rules inherent in everything, which, if cannot be confirmed, must then not be accepted.

If you decide that my views are flawed, then you would have your own stand totally separate from mine. Now, if I can convince everyone else to adopt my system, who's right? Looking at it in this way, is mathematics not just the common consensus on a particular way of viewing this world, and not the perception-free ideal that it is so often marketed as? If half the population takes up a certain way of mathematical thought, and the other half adopting a totally contrasting method of thinking, who is correct? And if mathematics is open to such a dividing split, it does not then seem to be that we live in a mathematical world.

Going back to the idea of a system of 720degrees instead of 360degrees, I see that adopting this system would mean having to change my understanding of everything else, i.e. area, circumference, etc. We can see, by extension, how one form of mathematics, or rather, a certain theory of mathematics, depends with much rigidity on another. If I tweak one, I must change the rest to suit this new set of mathematical rules. Is it not then evident that all this is merely a form of circular reasoning, much like the Cartesian circle? The truth of my proposition is dependent on postulating the basis of this proposition, and vice versa. Such a method of proof does not even vaguely seem concrete enough to warrant acceptance. (Of course, we must be sure that this does not mean it warrants falsification, but merely the fact that as of yet, it cannot be proven sufficiently to goad my conversion.)

-End

I tear your paper!

Ha, so now NUS has taken my philosophy away from me. Okay, so it isn't exactly their fault, but still.. how could they!? Alright, now I have only one choice to choose from, which actually means there isn't a choice, or perhaps I have only been offered one course from which to make my decision, and in this case the range in which I am able to make my decision in has been revised downwards.

Okay enough. So now I'm no longer a potential student of philosophy, but rather a potential 'business administration & communications and new media. (note the & and and) student, after they somehow considered me capable of dealing with a doubledeg, which seems more like an honest mistake than an elaborate ploy to kill me by stressing me out. But (right now) I don't want to take canm, I'd prefer my philosophy (and I'm actually quite proud to say that, which isn't a good thing because I think I might just be a bloody fingfang in it). So oh well, we'll see, there's still time, ha.

Now now, I'm glad I'll have 2 (hopefully) long weekends before my overseas trip soon to acquaint myself with nature. I guess the many (relatively, c'mon) long (again, relatively) weekends this year can't be a bad thing, not at all. It's only just starting (even though I have only done five weeks), so it's still fine, but that might not last, so I just hope I'll be either too occupied to even think about it, or too occupied with my own stuff to even think about it.
And apparently I received some undeserved awards from tjc, too bad I'll be overseas, aww.

Untitled

He strode into the room, stride after stride, each step resounding with a little more oomph than the last. It was a grand, old ballroom; one of those he used to see in the picture books his gramma used to show him when he was little. There were creaking, rusty chandeliers hanging from the flaking ceilings, chipped and blunt where they used to glitter.

There was a large mirror at the far end of the ballroom, standing proud and upright like an old dame looking over the marbled floor. From where he stood, it was flawless, an expansive mass plastered onto the greyed walls, just like it always was. The man shuffled towards the mirror. It was inch-coated with a layer of fine dust, covering its shimmering beauty beneath. He put out his finger and swiped it across the smooth glass, tearing underneath his fingers a stroke of glimmer, from which he could just make out his own reflection.

The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly. He had been here before; the man could still remember the days he spent, feet gliding over the smooth marble, each click of his heel answered by a spin, a turn, a toss, oh! Those were the days...! His hand moved across the face of the large mirror, caressing the places his reflection used to inhabit years ago; he could just make out the tails of his coat pinching the tips of another black dress, flirting with the flutter of feet flittering across the ballroom. A gust of resignation fell from his lips. Those days were over, he thought to himself, as he turned away, his fingers disobediently hesitant as they finally parted with the shining glass, coated with the dust of nostalgia.

He had a dream, but was he dreaming?

Haha I have only a precarious 34 weeks more to go, so let's all hope I get to get through it.

So I guess I'm going to forsake going down the path so many other people take, just so I can do something I'm actually hoping I have enough interest in.
I'm going to study philosophy.
I think it's a really tough decision to make. Sure, I can give you an entire list of what philosophy can do, but it isn't exactly an orthodox path, at least here. And frankly speaking, I'm afraid I'll end up a grumpy old git trapped in a nursing home.

I wouldn't have minded taking something more... traditional, conventional, maybe even practical; business, medicine, law, economics and the like. But it took some effort to convince myself that I didn't want to be 35 and thinking about what might have been. Other people will probably look down on me and say I'm just doing something people go into simply because they have no choice, or that I'm not being pragmatic enough to understand what's good for me (and my future?).

*Almost everyone thinks I'm joking when I tell them that's what I want to read, and probably very few actually know what philosophy is all about. (Too many confuse it with psychology) Philosophy is something beyond, or beneath. Philosophy is in everyone and everything. Philosophy is whatever we want answers to. It is knowledge and ignorance. It is everything and nothing at the same time. It is viable and unusable. It is something and it isn't. *

And I won't disagree with them. It doesn't take much to realise that on the surface, it's a pretty impractical decision. Peel off that skin-thin layer, and it still looks like a really rash choice. But I think I'll never be able to live in peace knowing I passed on this chance to do something I felt/wanted to do. I mean, I'm not bright, I don't have much up there, all I'm doing now is just praying I'll actually be good (at least decent enough) at philosophy.

I guess I don't know what to expect or what I'll become (probably some boring, wonky person stuck behind a desk somewhere). Oh well, tell me I made a good choice.

Purple oranges

Meh, I swear I'm getting dumber by the day...
There's this book I randomly picked up (The tale of a tub, Jonathan Swift) to bring into camp and I swear I couldn't even get past the first five pages without incessantly re-reading and re-reading, and I still don't get what it's talking about!

Seriously, at this rate I'm going to morph into a mindless rabbit in a permanent seizure in no time.

Anyway.. at least I'm getting used to whatever we're doing. Anytime I'm doing something I don't really like doing I just tell myself to look at the brighter side, and it usually works. Or look over at the darker side (which is the building across) and be happy I'm not there.
Oh well, it'll all be over soon!

Once upon a time..

Men are disturbed not by things, but by the view which they take of them.
-Epictetus

Reality does not affect us. Reality is objective occurrence, which we cannot avoid or change, for the simple reason that it has occurred. We cannot deny this reality, but we can choose not to accept it. It is simply an unfeeling situation which befalls us, subjected by time. It has no preference, no feelings, no ideas, no bias. It simply is.

Reality will be processed. What we think we have thought. The thought which you now think does not occur in the present, but in the past. Views form when reality is processed. Thought consists of only the subjective. Realities when processed, are no longer realities. (But that is a reality in itself) If man was void of thought, there will be no joy nor sorrow. Processing of reality results in formation of subjectivity. Subjectivity is borne by thought. Thought is subjective. Subjectivity is not thought. Thought is not objective. Thought is not reality, but it can be a subset of reality. Thought makes us the way we are. We see through thought. We hear through thought. We sense through thought.

Thought affects everything we know, because all we know we have thought. (Don't fight with the premise of knowledge here, please) We know emotions, because we sense it, because of thought. Thought causes emotions, not reality. Processing of reality causes thought. Processing of reality causes emotions. Men are affected not by reality, but by thought.

Thoughtless v5.0

Do facts actually have any value in philosophy? When we derive facts, we make a proposition, and dig out these facts in order to support this proposition. A typical process would thus go: I think this works, I try it out, it works, I try it out a few times, it still works, fact is it works. But are they actually useful? When we look at a proposition, should we not question the root, and not the product of this particular proposition? For example, when I look into an argument, should I be concerned with what the argument says, or what the argument bases itself upon?

By looking into what the argument claims, I am already accepting the basis of this particular argument. Could this blur my view of the argument in question? I believe that in an ideal scenario, we will look into the foundations of anything we wish to question, and that will be the only way we can constructively criticise or appraise any argument or proposition, and I might even go so far as to say that without such a process, all propositions become assumed (There is a word for this, datum, if I am not wrong), and it no longer can be said to be right or wrong.

Is reality a concrete figure, made up of its parts? Or is it non-existent, the general 'reality' simply a group of 'realities', all coming together in a confluence to form this ultimate 'reality'? This may seem confusing and contradictory, so I will try to clarify as much as possible. By using the analogy of a concrete figure, I'm asking if reality fixed, a universal umbrella which will not exist if any of its constituents were missing. In the second question, I mean to ask if there were smaller umbrellas underneath this universal 'umbrella', whereby even without a small umbrella, the other small umbrellas would not cease to exist, but simply that they would be unable to interact properly in the right way to form the original universal reality.

Let's assume reality is as it is. That is, that everything we experience is reality; I see a cup, the cup truly exists without question. In the first scenario, when someone removes this cup by some outworldly means, will everything collapse? Will all reality simply cease to exist? If I accept this first scenario, everything will end because of this missing cup; all reality will fall apart, and nothing would exist anymore, because this particular reality requires all its constituent components to be available and interacting, such that they interact in perfect harmony to make up this ultimate reality.

In our second scenario, with the assumption that 'reality is as it is' still applicable, we see a different outcome from this change. When the cup is removed, it effects a change in only one of the many smaller umbrellas of realities, and not all of reality, since this cup is an entity in only one of these smaller realities. However, does this mean that the universal reality will fail, because one of its entities is incomplete?

Next, on to free will. What is the smallest 'unit' endowed with free will? This question may present itself in many forms, but all of them concern one basic problem. What is considered free will? Can I say that a random protozoan is any less free than I am, simply because I am endowed with the ability to criticise it from a third-person viewpoint (i.e. I can watch it and observe it, I can comment on it without reply, etc.), or because I am apparently more complex than it is?

Wow wow I left this as a draft for so long. I'm a wee bit lazy to continue, so terse, banal statements will have to do.

Where was I?
Without free will, would all motive be simply imagined?
What separates 'dead matter' from life, is it consciousness? Are we then no bigger or different when compared to a supposedly mindless protozoan? And since a protozoan is living, does it then have a 'soul' similar to Man, if you're into that kind of stuff?
Perhaps the ideas of life, motives, abilities are merely an attempt to place Man above the rest, when in truth we are no greater than anyone/anything else, except maybe having a slightly greater amount of grey matter.

Are we not just another evolutionary step, and not the zenith of all the history of this world (which is probably what we make ourselves out to be)? I find that this statement brings out a lot of contemplative thought, because the equivalent of mankind before us was the meridien, until humankind took over. In the same way, we are but another step to a greater being, and myself simply a pawn on the chessboard to advancing our species.

If you accept free will, must you then reject God? (By God, I do not refer to any specific entity, just to be clear about that. Rather, I am pointing to a belief, a theism, the idea of a divine being.)
Can free will exist with laws?
Simply 'feeling' free is in most ways useless, as it does not confer any reality, or knowledge about being free. Its only use is perhaps as a delusion.


The thought that our own states of mind or thinking is more 'real', is simply an imagined illusion, which cannot be proven true. It is this way only because it gives the illusion of personal control. We seem to have greater control/knowledge of ourselves than any objective fact/object that we see around.

Laws - 'laws are not set in stone'
Laws are records, not guidelines, however much they seem to be that way. The only laws which appear to be guidelines are unnatural, man-made laws. In that case, are laws in place before they are discovered, or do they come into place upon empirical discovery? (A very vibrant example of this is the idea of gravity and Newton)
If the former is true, are laws still laws if they serve no purpose?
Or are laws merely subjective descriptions of things as they exist, possibly a subset of the 'natural' law, but restrained so they serve a self-serving purpose? Let me explain briefly: let us assume that a natural law exists, a natural way followed by everything. However, this law is only apparent to me to the extent to which I can experience it. I do not understand the law of another galaxy because I do not belong there. However, even with this natural law, it remains 'restrained', because parts of it do not serve my purpose. I only understand the portions which correspond to my experience and my intention, and forsake that which fail to reflect my motives.

Does motivation (motives) already distance a person from free will? (since his motives are already a factor pressing on his supposed freedom)
Motives are the result of character and personality. And so, can any man be truly 'free'? First off, what do we refer to by 'freedom'?
Is it independence from external influences? Since our personality is what determines our decision, and any decision we make is probably affected by every aspect of our lives, and every aspect of our lives, in turn, were caused by factors beyond human personal influence, we cannot have total free will, for we can never escape external influence

Do laws describe, explain or cause?
*(I quote) 'the law is nothing but a compedious description of these motions'
Even natural law as told by humans are but descriptions of collated empirical observations.
Without these observations, the law is nothing, but without the law, these observations will still remain.
In this way, laws only show not what is supposed to happen, but rather what is predicted to happen, based on what has already happened. (I limit laws to merely 'natural' laws, and not human laws)
I can change the law to reflect any changes in observation, but I cannot change the law and EXPECT a subsequent corresponding change.

Cause and effect work in both directions, and any observation will only tell us about expectation.
A cause is just as important as the effect it creates, for without this effect, the cause would not be as it is, or even associated with this effect, and hence be seen in a different level altogether. Hence, what I mean to say is, a cause NEEDS its effect, as much as an effect NEEDS its cause.

It is easy to assume freedom simply based on sheer introspection. 'I am free to choose my path', for instance. It seems awfully clear that that alone allows freedom of volition, yet we miss out, besides the naturally endowed, the fact that our choices are limited, that the scope to our freedom is not one that we can freely choose from. For example, being a male, I cannot select paths which are exclusive to that of a female. But one thing must be made clear, that this 'freedom' in question is that of self, and not any collective group of individuals, objects, etc.

If freedom can only go as far as it is limited, perfect freedom must clearly be separated from complete freedom. For example, I am free to move from (a hypothetical) point A to B or C, but I am still limited by the inherent limitations, that is, I am not free or able to fly from A to B or C. There are a lot of angles from which to view these limitations, i.e. I cannot move to a point D, because it is not an option available to me.

*We are free in proportion as we are self-determined, and we are self-determined in proportion as we are in harmony with the whole.
Our freedom requires a condition, that is, harmony with the Universal Will.

The complex interaction between and within our desires make it hard for freedom of will to be possible (complete freedom), if it is taken to mean the satisfaction of these desires, for every deliberate action is made with its end in mind, and for each action there is a high probability that more than one desire is involved, which may be in conflict with another governing the very same action. And so, even if the most satisfactory route is taken, not all desires can be satisfied. If one universal all-encompassing desire, that of satisfaction of all desires, is taken into consideration, then all desires can never be fulfilled.

*Virtue consists in harmony with the will of the Whole, and in harmony with the whole lies the secret of perfect freedom.

*Science tells us what we can know, but what we can know is little, if we forget how much we cannot know.

When not subjected to artificial laws, that is, when a man is bound only by 'natural laws', which can be said to be initiated or conformed to without conscious action, what is the man like? Does he then create his own set of artificial laws to live by? Is that the reason behind the rising of 'deviants'?


Of course I realise no one would read this post, but still, I had to do it. Forgive me.