Irish Airman (Yeats_ has been a long-time favourite of mine, and LSB just introduced me to the Rubaiyat. I suppose if I pick out the stanzas in Rubaiyat, and stick them together with Irish Airman, they'd together articulate my interpretation of (and extrapolation from) both poems.
The similarities:
Irish Airman:
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan's Cross
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor;
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Rubaiyat:
VII.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
X.
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,
And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.
XI.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
XXVIII.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
XXIX.
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
XXXVIII.
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One moment, of the Well of Life to taste--
The Stars are setting, and the Caravan
Starts for the dawn of Nothing--Oh, make haste!
XXXIX.
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
XLV.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
LII.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to IT for help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
And these stanzas, just for the heck of it:
L.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
LI.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
LVII.
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
LVIII.
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give--and take!
LXIII.
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What? did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
The sentiment expressed in Irish Airman is so dear to my heart that the wanton use of the lines sans understanding of the sentiment feels to me very much like a prostitution of Yeats' poem *ahem looking at you*.
Anyway, I think that sometimes I love poems not for their content, but for the way they sound to my ears. As such, my appreciation of poetry is more like my appreciation for classical music & jazz than my appreciation of most contemporary pop. I look for balance and structure and symmetry and reflection and placement of words, and ideas are mostly secondary. Irish airman is probably one of the most symmetrical poems I know.
Hmmm I've always associated poetry with music.
If say I listened to the melody of most contemporary pop first without being exposed to it through participation in it (e.g. in ktv, where I learned most of my Mando-pop), I'd probably wince at the crudeness of the structure and the very very maudlin melodies. But that same crudeness makes it easy to listen to when I'm just not feeling up to it. And of course they're easy to sing, and I think the ability to participate in music-making is one of the most significant factors in our appreciation of music because the participation gives us an outlet for creative energies and allows us an active (if somewhat unconscious) exploration of the structure and nuances of the music. Which is why I also think that it is very very difficult for someone to fully understand and appreciate music if he doesn't actually play an instrument or sing.
Maybe I'm just a snob.
That said, some classical melodies are horribly icky as well. Yes, Sadie's Gymnopedies. *shudder*
Ok, enough of this stream of consciousness thing.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
closing
I'm slightly preoccupied these days, and have actually lost the urge to blog. Actually, gist of this is I won't be blogging here for some time. I might not blog here again. That happens pretty often, I must say, this moving blogs thing. But this lasted quite long for me, so it was a pretty good run. Well, if I start up again, maybe I'll tell the 345,802 people who like reading my nonsense.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Dance
Goodness knows I'm not a dance person, and the best thing about my dance moves is I'm forever forgetting them. (My apologies to anyone who's had to dance on stage with me before. I know it's embarrassing.) But this is probably the only dance routine I've ever fallen in love with -
It's apparently a dance about a hummingbird and a flower, and as corny as that sounds, damn it's good.
It's apparently a dance about a hummingbird and a flower, and as corny as that sounds, damn it's good.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Truth & Reality
This is just one of those things that happens occasionally to me.
I was shopping aimlessly when suddenly I thought to myself 'Yes, truth and reality are separate and distinct.' Then a moment of panic when I couldn't help but think 'But why? And how? Omg do I not know this? How can something be real but not true? How can something be true but not real? What is the point of my life if I don't know this?'
After which I mass sms-ed all the people I thought could give me an answer.
Those who didn't get my sms, you know who you are. And now you even know what I think of you.
Those who did get an sms, to tell the truth, I set the bar pretty low.
Anyway, the moment I sent out my x no. of smses, I suddenly realised that there was something wrong with my question because 'real' and 'truth' relate to different things.
Quite simply, 'real' relates to the existence of something. Doesn't need to be a corporeal existence as long as it's an existence. 'True' relates to statements of fact.
So I can say 'The cat is real.' And then I can say 'That statement (the statement that the cat is real) is true.' Or untrue. 'Real' refers to the cat; the cat is real because it exists. 'True' refers to the statement of fact about the cat (that it exists); the statement is true if the cat is real, and it is untrue if the cat is not real. We can't say that the cat is 'true' or 'not true'.
If I say that a statement is real I mean that it exists. If I say that a statement is true I mean that it accurately tells us what reality is.
Reality & truth are still linked very closely. but in this way:
Can a statement that an object is real be untrue if the object is real (exists)? No.
Can a statement that an object is real be true if the object is not real (does not exist)? No.
True statements reflect reality, but essentially, truth and reality reside in different objects, so my question was itself flawed.
I know, I know. This is totally dumb and there's absolutely no reason why I should be thinking about this, and there're probably many anti-reasons for actually spending a whole blog on this. But I truly had to get it out of my system. Seriously, have you ever had a question haunt you? No? You suck.
The solution seems simple enough to me now. I just hope I don't wake up tomorrow and realise that everything I've said here is flawed and have to think about it all over again.
I was shopping aimlessly when suddenly I thought to myself 'Yes, truth and reality are separate and distinct.' Then a moment of panic when I couldn't help but think 'But why? And how? Omg do I not know this? How can something be real but not true? How can something be true but not real? What is the point of my life if I don't know this?'
After which I mass sms-ed all the people I thought could give me an answer.
Those who didn't get my sms, you know who you are. And now you even know what I think of you.
Those who did get an sms, to tell the truth, I set the bar pretty low.
Anyway, the moment I sent out my x no. of smses, I suddenly realised that there was something wrong with my question because 'real' and 'truth' relate to different things.
Quite simply, 'real' relates to the existence of something. Doesn't need to be a corporeal existence as long as it's an existence. 'True' relates to statements of fact.
So I can say 'The cat is real.' And then I can say 'That statement (the statement that the cat is real) is true.' Or untrue. 'Real' refers to the cat; the cat is real because it exists. 'True' refers to the statement of fact about the cat (that it exists); the statement is true if the cat is real, and it is untrue if the cat is not real. We can't say that the cat is 'true' or 'not true'.
If I say that a statement is real I mean that it exists. If I say that a statement is true I mean that it accurately tells us what reality is.
Reality & truth are still linked very closely. but in this way:
Can a statement that an object is real be untrue if the object is real (exists)? No.
Can a statement that an object is real be true if the object is not real (does not exist)? No.
True statements reflect reality, but essentially, truth and reality reside in different objects, so my question was itself flawed.
I know, I know. This is totally dumb and there's absolutely no reason why I should be thinking about this, and there're probably many anti-reasons for actually spending a whole blog on this. But I truly had to get it out of my system. Seriously, have you ever had a question haunt you? No? You suck.
The solution seems simple enough to me now. I just hope I don't wake up tomorrow and realise that everything I've said here is flawed and have to think about it all over again.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
incoherent post that has something to do with music
I'm waiting for my hair to dry again. It seems I spend most of my life waiting for my hair to dry. I bet if anyone did a study they could tell me I spend a disastrous amount of time, like 38% of my life waiting for my hair to dry.
I spent $52 on 2 CDs with the exact same pieces, but different pianists. A selection of Beethoven's piano sonatas played by Alfred Brendel and Vladimir Ashkenazy. Yes, call me an idiot. I was testing the CDs, trying to decide which to buy, and I was intrigued by both and couldn't possibly listen to the whole CD, so in the end I just bought both. What follows is my very subjective and amateur dissection of what I like/ don't like about one of the pieces, Piano sonata No 8 in C minor, Pathetique. (I've been mainly listening to this piece because I'm trying to play it.)
1st Movement (Grave) - Let's face it, I like drama in my music, with storm clouds gathering and titanic clashes of forces etc. Ashkenazy's opening is dramatic (I think he's a dramatic sort of pianist); he starts with literally a crash of keys followed by soft, tense and tight phrases. Brendel's opening is measured and deliberate. It's not without tension, but it's not as nerve-wracking as Ashkenazy's. In principle I like a more overtly dramatic opening like Ashkenazy's, and when I play I tend to interpret along the lines of Ashkenazy instead of Brendel. Yet strangely enough, I prefer Brendel's version. Perhaps it's because while Ashkenazy is dramatic, there's something about it that makes me feel slightly restless and flustered and unsatisfied, as if Ashkenazy's drama is not as focused and masterful as I'd like it to be. That said, I do wish Brendel's version had a bit more fire and less soiree in it. So yes I like Brendel's version, even if I would not go with his interpretation.
2nd Movement (Adagio Cantabile) - This is the Adagio Cantabile section (meaning slow & stately, & in a singing style respectively). Ok, this movement is a big problem for me because I go for more cantabile and less adagio. It just seems strange that for a section that is supposed to be cantabile/ singable, so many pianists play it so slowly that no one could hold their breath long enough to sing it. In other words, I feel that most tend to go for more adagio and less cantabile, which I think is a pity because it's such a pretty section and playing it too slowly takes the prettiness away. Plus most pianists play the bass too heavily for me. It just ends up feeling like a very 'heavy' section, whereas I prefer it with more movement and more song-like. Then again who am I to argue with these legions of professional pianists? It's just me I tell you. For this section Ashkenazy plays it faster than Brendel, but again, I like Brendel's cleaner sounding playing. Hmmm I'm beginning to think that it's Ashkenazy's piano that I don't like, not his playing. I actually adore Ashkenazy for Rachmaninoff.
3rd Movement (Rondo Allegro) - Ok, again mixed feelings. On one hand I think Brendel captures the shape of the music better, on the other, Ashkenazy's interpretation is closer to my own. The thing about this section is that I feel both play the section slightly too quickly. There are parts of this section that (I think) are dying to be milked for emotion and drama. For me, this is especially so for the theme, and even more so for bars 170-182. I was waiting for either pianist to do that, but I think both played the movement too fast to do much with it. Then again, I play the movement too slowly for an allegro, so maybe I'm just entirely off track.
Hmmm this has been an interesting exercise for me, comparing my interpretation of the piece with the interpretations of two piano superstars. Sometimes I learn a piece AFTER listening to it many many times, and I get very influenced by that recording. For this sonata, I started playing from the score first, so my interpretation is really quite uninfluenced. It's kind of fun to see where my teacher would have rapped me on my head for ignoring the score and tempo instructions entirely (the latter is something I tend to do a lot). I guess what I call 'my interpretation' could as easily (and perhaps more accurately) be called 'my mistake'. Ah well, I guess it also shows me how far I have to grow still. Perhaps in a month, I'd be changing my assessment of the two pianists entirely.
Gosh I'm so incoherent today.
I spent $52 on 2 CDs with the exact same pieces, but different pianists. A selection of Beethoven's piano sonatas played by Alfred Brendel and Vladimir Ashkenazy. Yes, call me an idiot. I was testing the CDs, trying to decide which to buy, and I was intrigued by both and couldn't possibly listen to the whole CD, so in the end I just bought both. What follows is my very subjective and amateur dissection of what I like/ don't like about one of the pieces, Piano sonata No 8 in C minor, Pathetique. (I've been mainly listening to this piece because I'm trying to play it.)
1st Movement (Grave) - Let's face it, I like drama in my music, with storm clouds gathering and titanic clashes of forces etc. Ashkenazy's opening is dramatic (I think he's a dramatic sort of pianist); he starts with literally a crash of keys followed by soft, tense and tight phrases. Brendel's opening is measured and deliberate. It's not without tension, but it's not as nerve-wracking as Ashkenazy's. In principle I like a more overtly dramatic opening like Ashkenazy's, and when I play I tend to interpret along the lines of Ashkenazy instead of Brendel. Yet strangely enough, I prefer Brendel's version. Perhaps it's because while Ashkenazy is dramatic, there's something about it that makes me feel slightly restless and flustered and unsatisfied, as if Ashkenazy's drama is not as focused and masterful as I'd like it to be. That said, I do wish Brendel's version had a bit more fire and less soiree in it. So yes I like Brendel's version, even if I would not go with his interpretation.
2nd Movement (Adagio Cantabile) - This is the Adagio Cantabile section (meaning slow & stately, & in a singing style respectively). Ok, this movement is a big problem for me because I go for more cantabile and less adagio. It just seems strange that for a section that is supposed to be cantabile/ singable, so many pianists play it so slowly that no one could hold their breath long enough to sing it. In other words, I feel that most tend to go for more adagio and less cantabile, which I think is a pity because it's such a pretty section and playing it too slowly takes the prettiness away. Plus most pianists play the bass too heavily for me. It just ends up feeling like a very 'heavy' section, whereas I prefer it with more movement and more song-like. Then again who am I to argue with these legions of professional pianists? It's just me I tell you. For this section Ashkenazy plays it faster than Brendel, but again, I like Brendel's cleaner sounding playing. Hmmm I'm beginning to think that it's Ashkenazy's piano that I don't like, not his playing. I actually adore Ashkenazy for Rachmaninoff.
3rd Movement (Rondo Allegro) - Ok, again mixed feelings. On one hand I think Brendel captures the shape of the music better, on the other, Ashkenazy's interpretation is closer to my own. The thing about this section is that I feel both play the section slightly too quickly. There are parts of this section that (I think) are dying to be milked for emotion and drama. For me, this is especially so for the theme, and even more so for bars 170-182. I was waiting for either pianist to do that, but I think both played the movement too fast to do much with it. Then again, I play the movement too slowly for an allegro, so maybe I'm just entirely off track.
Hmmm this has been an interesting exercise for me, comparing my interpretation of the piece with the interpretations of two piano superstars. Sometimes I learn a piece AFTER listening to it many many times, and I get very influenced by that recording. For this sonata, I started playing from the score first, so my interpretation is really quite uninfluenced. It's kind of fun to see where my teacher would have rapped me on my head for ignoring the score and tempo instructions entirely (the latter is something I tend to do a lot). I guess what I call 'my interpretation' could as easily (and perhaps more accurately) be called 'my mistake'. Ah well, I guess it also shows me how far I have to grow still. Perhaps in a month, I'd be changing my assessment of the two pianists entirely.
Gosh I'm so incoherent today.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
many tragedies
Darling LSB is going off to exotic foreign lands on some probably malevolent mission, undoubtedly history-related. I have decided to pine away into nothing while he troops around my homeland. If you want to know where exactly he is, just follow the cold, cold trail of lame jokes.
I've also had a really controversial haircut. Many eyebrows have been raised, and raised again. (It's like having multiple exclamation points instead of just one!!!!!) My mum has been heard attempting to say 'It's nice, really, it's nice' in between muffled sniggers. My dad has allegedly cried out in despair, 'Why you go and cut china doll hairstyle?' My siblings have unanimously concluded that I'm having a quarter-life mid-life crisis. This apparently means that I'm 40 years old trying to look 14, despite the reality (note: not the same as truth) that I'm 25. LSB has (ah, break my heart) decided to refer to me henceforth as 'xiao mei mei' despite my very obvious exuding of adult sexiness. He has also become strangely resistant to my charms, alas. You see the number of deluded half-blind people in my life? The tearful reproach that I've encountered in all quarters resembles nothing so much as that usually reserved for recalcitrant young ladies with one in the oven and no baker identified as responsible. (I've been reading LSB's book of euphemisms, and have elevated the use of euphemisms to an art.)
I long for dark chocolate with the whole of my reprobate soul. (T_T)
I've also had a really controversial haircut. Many eyebrows have been raised, and raised again. (It's like having multiple exclamation points instead of just one!!!!!) My mum has been heard attempting to say 'It's nice, really, it's nice' in between muffled sniggers. My dad has allegedly cried out in despair, 'Why you go and cut china doll hairstyle?' My siblings have unanimously concluded that I'm having a quarter-life mid-life crisis. This apparently means that I'm 40 years old trying to look 14, despite the reality (note: not the same as truth) that I'm 25. LSB has (ah, break my heart) decided to refer to me henceforth as 'xiao mei mei' despite my very obvious exuding of adult sexiness. He has also become strangely resistant to my charms, alas. You see the number of deluded half-blind people in my life? The tearful reproach that I've encountered in all quarters resembles nothing so much as that usually reserved for recalcitrant young ladies with one in the oven and no baker identified as responsible. (I've been reading LSB's book of euphemisms, and have elevated the use of euphemisms to an art.)
I long for dark chocolate with the whole of my reprobate soul. (T_T)
Saturday, July 12, 2008
New bag!
Yes, I bought a new bag, a mere 3 months after I first laid eyes on my old bag, otherwise known as the Big Blue Monstrosity.
This is because Big Blue Monstrosity has fallen into disrepair, and disrepute, because anything that has Monstrosity in its name just isn't supposed to fall apart that quickly.
Anyhoos, I think you should all know that I spent on this new bag more than I've ever spent on any fashion item.
Sigh I'm learning that it's very hard to tread the line between 'I can buy this' and 'I will buy this'. But I've got to say, so far I'm not doing a bad job of it. It's just that I was very single-mindedly shopping for a bag and trying not to get distracted by the other stuff along the way, and this was the only bag that I really liked!
So I set out to buy a bag, and I got one. That isn't too bad is it? Even though I spent about 3 times more than I did on my previous bag.
Plus I followed the 3 times rule! I 1st saw this bag early June, then I saw it again on Thursday, and finally bought it on Friday! And it was on sale! The amount it was discounted by was more than the price of my previous bag... *argh*
Anyways, the bag is really quite me (or so I like to think), so despite my money woes I'm reasonably happy with it. The Big Blue Monstrosity, on the other hand, was not me at all. It was big, blue, patent and faux snake skin. *shudders* I really don't know why I bought it. From time to time I would discover the Big Blue Monstrosity sitting menacingly on my shoulder, and I would freak out at the alien parasite sucking the life out of me. And then I would have to murmur soothingly to myself, 'No no, it's yours, you bought it, remember? At that awful sale? With all those people pushing? It's ugly but it's still your baby. You can't shriek and throw it at an innocent by-stander. Yes, it's your burden... carry it...'
Argh. Haha I'm such a freak.
Oh you might also like to know that when I got home with new beautiful bag slung proudly on my triumphant shoulder, I was greeted with dire warnings from my mum that it would break in no time, and it's too casual for work, I'll get fired. Thanks mum.
This is because Big Blue Monstrosity has fallen into disrepair, and disrepute, because anything that has Monstrosity in its name just isn't supposed to fall apart that quickly.
Anyhoos, I think you should all know that I spent on this new bag more than I've ever spent on any fashion item.
Sigh I'm learning that it's very hard to tread the line between 'I can buy this' and 'I will buy this'. But I've got to say, so far I'm not doing a bad job of it. It's just that I was very single-mindedly shopping for a bag and trying not to get distracted by the other stuff along the way, and this was the only bag that I really liked!
So I set out to buy a bag, and I got one. That isn't too bad is it? Even though I spent about 3 times more than I did on my previous bag.
Plus I followed the 3 times rule! I 1st saw this bag early June, then I saw it again on Thursday, and finally bought it on Friday! And it was on sale! The amount it was discounted by was more than the price of my previous bag... *argh*
Anyways, the bag is really quite me (or so I like to think), so despite my money woes I'm reasonably happy with it. The Big Blue Monstrosity, on the other hand, was not me at all. It was big, blue, patent and faux snake skin. *shudders* I really don't know why I bought it. From time to time I would discover the Big Blue Monstrosity sitting menacingly on my shoulder, and I would freak out at the alien parasite sucking the life out of me. And then I would have to murmur soothingly to myself, 'No no, it's yours, you bought it, remember? At that awful sale? With all those people pushing? It's ugly but it's still your baby. You can't shriek and throw it at an innocent by-stander. Yes, it's your burden... carry it...'
Argh. Haha I'm such a freak.
Oh you might also like to know that when I got home with new beautiful bag slung proudly on my triumphant shoulder, I was greeted with dire warnings from my mum that it would break in no time, and it's too casual for work, I'll get fired. Thanks mum.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Friday, July 04, 2008
I dieded
You can't possibly not love this. You really can't. Absolutely darling.
*twiddle fingers* This kid is 14. Is it horrible to say that he's totally hot? He looks like an anime character! When he first started dancing I actually couldn't tell whether he's a guy or a gal... the epitome of pretty boy-ness. And who else thought that rain sequence was smokin'? And the confidence! I love a guy who can say 'it was the greatest performance I've ever done' without sounding like an ass. Am I a paedophile? Seriously, am I? I could totally fall in love with him! *kicks LSB out of door*
(Also, am I a geek for recognising the Gene Kelly moves in the dance?)
This is also ultra-cool. They're not as pretty and charismatic as pretty boy, but dammit I think they might be better dancers.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
university
First, I found this post on Infinite thought:
Yes, Singaporean universities, factories producing streams of soon-to-be disaffected labour like the multiple leakages of toxic waste flowing from filthy pipes into filthy ground, in which they languish for another 50 years till they dissipate, unnoticed, and vanish forever, remembered by none, this is you.
And this wonderful link as well:
The same lack of solitude & introspection applies to the poor sots who have to work for a living. Each day passes in miserable apathy, succeeded only by the next identical day till the days of our lives are spent. Your life seeps away while you, unaware, attempt to amass resources so that you can live. Every 9 hour day translates into a 45 hour week, which shortens our lives by 45 hours every week.
Ok, I'm sure you've figured out by now that I've taken two wonderful opinions about the deplorable state of university education, turned them into a diatribe about work, but if you don't get any of that, you only have to take with you this important message: I've had two utterly miserable sucky lousy tragic stressful days of work, really, but at least I can still write a long, meandering sentence that probably lost you by the 15th word.
What universities need is less consultants and middle managers indulging in 'blue skies thinking', the outcome of which is always that universities become more like businesses, and more self-critique. The celebritisation of academia - the guest star-lecturers, the honorary degrees, the bid to get a by-line in a national daily - must stop. Knowledge is anonymous and universal or it is not knowledge at all.
Yes, Singaporean universities, factories producing streams of soon-to-be disaffected labour like the multiple leakages of toxic waste flowing from filthy pipes into filthy ground, in which they languish for another 50 years till they dissipate, unnoticed, and vanish forever, remembered by none, this is you.
And this wonderful link as well:
What happens when busyness and sociability leave no room for solitude? The ability to engage in introspection, I put it to my students that day, is the essential precondition for living an intellectual life, and the essential precondition for introspection is solitude. They took this in for a second, and then one of them said, with a dawning sense of self-awareness, “So are you saying that we’re all just, like, really excellent sheep?” Well, I don’t know. But I do know that the life of the mind is lived one mind at a time: one solitary, skeptical, resistant mind at a time. The best place to cultivate it is not within an educational system whose real purpose is to reproduce the class system.
The same lack of solitude & introspection applies to the poor sots who have to work for a living. Each day passes in miserable apathy, succeeded only by the next identical day till the days of our lives are spent. Your life seeps away while you, unaware, attempt to amass resources so that you can live. Every 9 hour day translates into a 45 hour week, which shortens our lives by 45 hours every week.
Ok, I'm sure you've figured out by now that I've taken two wonderful opinions about the deplorable state of university education, turned them into a diatribe about work, but if you don't get any of that, you only have to take with you this important message: I've had two utterly miserable sucky lousy tragic stressful days of work, really, but at least I can still write a long, meandering sentence that probably lost you by the 15th word.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Stumbling - the grand romantic gesture that was not
This morning I woke up with the brilliant idea of sending LSB a recording of my piano-playing. Then the problem - what to play for the love of my life? Something not overly cheery - neither of our dispositions tends towards carnivalism (yes, my made-up word. I shall petition to Derrida's memory.) Something that sounds warm and lovely and appropriately romantic. Something that wouldn't make my philistine boyfriend think immediately of 'that techno remix by random anorexic Taiwanese star'.
Unfortunately there's nothing in my repertoire that quite fits the bill. So in the end I decided I'd just have to learn a new piece. I dug up a copy of Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, sight-read and practised a couple of times, just to get the hang of things. Then I played the 1st bit of the 2nd movement for him. After about 30 recordings and two hours, I settled on one version and emailed it (together with all my love and a lengthy mushy coupla paragraphs) to LSB...
Turns out he can't seem to open it.
Ok.
Oops sorry. Don't mind me. Just stumbling my way through life and love. *trips over own feet*
(Seriously, that should be my motto: 'stumbling my way through life and love'.)
Anyway, I'll probably let LSB listen to it at some point, but of course it's no longer a 'grand romantic gesture' and more like a 'ok, do I really have to listen to this? your playing sucks' kind of scenario.
BUT just because it will forever be associated in my mind with the general screwed-uppedness of life doesn't mean that you guys can't listen to the music now. :P
I searched through Youtube and can't find a single version of the 2nd movement that I like. *sigh* It seems everyone plays it much slower than I like it. Nevertheless, here's Zimemann (don't ask me who he is) with Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata (in C minor), 2nd movement:
It's really a lovely piece.
Unfortunately there's nothing in my repertoire that quite fits the bill. So in the end I decided I'd just have to learn a new piece. I dug up a copy of Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, sight-read and practised a couple of times, just to get the hang of things. Then I played the 1st bit of the 2nd movement for him. After about 30 recordings and two hours, I settled on one version and emailed it (together with all my love and a lengthy mushy coupla paragraphs) to LSB...
Turns out he can't seem to open it.
Ok.
Oops sorry. Don't mind me. Just stumbling my way through life and love. *trips over own feet*
(Seriously, that should be my motto: 'stumbling my way through life and love'.)
Anyway, I'll probably let LSB listen to it at some point, but of course it's no longer a 'grand romantic gesture' and more like a 'ok, do I really have to listen to this? your playing sucks' kind of scenario.
BUT just because it will forever be associated in my mind with the general screwed-uppedness of life doesn't mean that you guys can't listen to the music now. :P
I searched through Youtube and can't find a single version of the 2nd movement that I like. *sigh* It seems everyone plays it much slower than I like it. Nevertheless, here's Zimemann (don't ask me who he is) with Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata (in C minor), 2nd movement:
It's really a lovely piece.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Hamlet
Comments like this remind me of how different Hamlet appears to all of us:
"We love Hamlet, but, it seems to me, we love him more because we see him not only at his best (when he tells Horatio, in the serenity of acceptance, “There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow,” or when he exchanges forgiveness with Laertes, the brother of the woman he loved and whose heart he shattered) but also at his worst (when he bullies his mother and brings her to tears, or when he hesitates to kill Claudius at his prayers because, not content with taking revenge for his father’s murder, he wants to send his uncle’s soul to hell)." - The American Scholar
When Hamlet gives his "fall of a sparrow" speech, I don't think 'serenity of acceptance' - I think fatalism, a sense and premonition that events have come to a head and he no longer has control anymore. When Hamlet hesitates to kill Claudius, I don't buy his 'I want uncle to go to hell' excuse. I just think that he felt it was not the right time - his anger had not run its course, there were too many things he still did not know and had not made clear (why his mother had married his uncle, for instance, and how she felt about all of this) - to kill Claudius in the midst of so many unresolved issues and so much uncertainty, it just didn't feel like the right time. So I do buy the 'Hamlet as man of thought instead of man of action' theory in the sense that I believe he could not take action until he's straightened out his world of thoughts. (But not in the sense that Hamlet is perenially unable to take any meaningful action.) Perhaps A.C. Bradley would disagree, his Hamlet being more warrior-like than mine.
I remember some scholar - I can't remember who - commented that the beauty of Hamlet the play is that Shakespeare leaves so many things unexplained. We never truly know why Hamlet did this or that and as a result, we are able to interpret Hamlet in our own different ways. Each of us is able to create and own a different Hamlet by projecting ourselves upon this slate that is not entirely blank but blank enough. I am 80% convinced that my interpretation of Hamlet reflects what I would have done in his place. But methinks perhaps Hamlet's motivations or even his personality are not quite the point of the play.
Hamlet the character is an elusive and charismatic one, and he is a constant source of fascination for me. I think this character is probably one of the best known in English literature, and much of the attention given to the play is focused on figuring out this personality, his motivations, and in some cases, figuring out whether he is 'good' or 'bad' or plain 'pathetic'. But if I don't remember wrong, till the 19th century Hamlet the character did not receive much attention from the literati. The play was seen as just one of the 'vengeance dramas' (my term), which was by no means an original plot, even during Shakespeare's time. I think some writer (Goethe?) suddenly found Hamlet the character to be pretty interesting and atypical, and suddenly everyone was debating Hamlet the character, and Hamlet the character took precedence over Hamlet the play.
Ok my account of the history of scholarship is not particularly impressive. (I'm old! My memory is fading! I knew this once!)
I have to confess, I love thinking about Hamlet the character as well. But I also think that Hamlet the play can be appreciated without much knowledge of Hamlet the character, and not just in a Hollywood blockbuster - murder and incest and sex and war - kind of way.
Whether or not Hamlet was a thinker or a warrior or an angsty spoilt teenage prince or misogynist, the range of emotions in the play is exquisite and exquisitely portrayed. The highlights for me:
- the despair and grief and bitterness of Hamlet: "Seems madam, I know not what seems"; "O that this too too solid flesh would melt, / Thaw and resolve itself into dew"
- his angry lashing out at everyone around him: his bitter wordplay with Polonius, his disastrous (relationship-wise) scene with Ophelia
- Ophelia's beautiful mad confused grief: "I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died"
- Gertrude's subdued, poignant and pathetic (in a tragic sense) lament for Ophelia: "There's a willow grows askant a brook" is one of my favourite speeches from this play; "Sweets to the sweet, farewell. ... I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, / And not have strew'd thy grave" --> I was horrified when some stupid local desserts show on tvmobile called itself 'sweets to the sweet' or something to that effect.
- the self-centered (& perhaps guilt-ridden?) angry fight between Hamlet and Laertes in Ophelia's grave: "I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers / Could not, with their quantity of love, / Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?" --> Seriously? You called her a whore, dumped her, killed her father and caused her madness, and now you disrupt her funeral and fight with her brother in her grave over who loved her more? One of Hamlet's lowest points for me.
- Hamlet's final realisation that it was all over: "The rest is silence." --> Another of my favourite lines.
- Horatio's lament for his prince: "Good night, sweet prince, / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." --> Yet another favourite line. It's so poignant and yet ironic, given Hamlet's last words.
Ah I'd almost forgotten how much I love Hamlet the play. Chock-full of emotions and drama! Which is the way I think it should be appreciated. Sometimes I think we put too much emphasis on understanding and not enough on simply feeling.
"We love Hamlet, but, it seems to me, we love him more because we see him not only at his best (when he tells Horatio, in the serenity of acceptance, “There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow,” or when he exchanges forgiveness with Laertes, the brother of the woman he loved and whose heart he shattered) but also at his worst (when he bullies his mother and brings her to tears, or when he hesitates to kill Claudius at his prayers because, not content with taking revenge for his father’s murder, he wants to send his uncle’s soul to hell)." - The American Scholar
When Hamlet gives his "fall of a sparrow" speech, I don't think 'serenity of acceptance' - I think fatalism, a sense and premonition that events have come to a head and he no longer has control anymore. When Hamlet hesitates to kill Claudius, I don't buy his 'I want uncle to go to hell' excuse. I just think that he felt it was not the right time - his anger had not run its course, there were too many things he still did not know and had not made clear (why his mother had married his uncle, for instance, and how she felt about all of this) - to kill Claudius in the midst of so many unresolved issues and so much uncertainty, it just didn't feel like the right time. So I do buy the 'Hamlet as man of thought instead of man of action' theory in the sense that I believe he could not take action until he's straightened out his world of thoughts. (But not in the sense that Hamlet is perenially unable to take any meaningful action.) Perhaps A.C. Bradley would disagree, his Hamlet being more warrior-like than mine.
I remember some scholar - I can't remember who - commented that the beauty of Hamlet the play is that Shakespeare leaves so many things unexplained. We never truly know why Hamlet did this or that and as a result, we are able to interpret Hamlet in our own different ways. Each of us is able to create and own a different Hamlet by projecting ourselves upon this slate that is not entirely blank but blank enough. I am 80% convinced that my interpretation of Hamlet reflects what I would have done in his place. But methinks perhaps Hamlet's motivations or even his personality are not quite the point of the play.
Hamlet the character is an elusive and charismatic one, and he is a constant source of fascination for me. I think this character is probably one of the best known in English literature, and much of the attention given to the play is focused on figuring out this personality, his motivations, and in some cases, figuring out whether he is 'good' or 'bad' or plain 'pathetic'. But if I don't remember wrong, till the 19th century Hamlet the character did not receive much attention from the literati. The play was seen as just one of the 'vengeance dramas' (my term), which was by no means an original plot, even during Shakespeare's time. I think some writer (Goethe?) suddenly found Hamlet the character to be pretty interesting and atypical, and suddenly everyone was debating Hamlet the character, and Hamlet the character took precedence over Hamlet the play.
Ok my account of the history of scholarship is not particularly impressive. (I'm old! My memory is fading! I knew this once!)
I have to confess, I love thinking about Hamlet the character as well. But I also think that Hamlet the play can be appreciated without much knowledge of Hamlet the character, and not just in a Hollywood blockbuster - murder and incest and sex and war - kind of way.
Whether or not Hamlet was a thinker or a warrior or an angsty spoilt teenage prince or misogynist, the range of emotions in the play is exquisite and exquisitely portrayed. The highlights for me:
- the despair and grief and bitterness of Hamlet: "Seems madam, I know not what seems"; "O that this too too solid flesh would melt, / Thaw and resolve itself into dew"
- his angry lashing out at everyone around him: his bitter wordplay with Polonius, his disastrous (relationship-wise) scene with Ophelia
- Ophelia's beautiful mad confused grief: "I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died"
- Gertrude's subdued, poignant and pathetic (in a tragic sense) lament for Ophelia: "There's a willow grows askant a brook" is one of my favourite speeches from this play; "Sweets to the sweet, farewell. ... I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, / And not have strew'd thy grave" --> I was horrified when some stupid local desserts show on tvmobile called itself 'sweets to the sweet' or something to that effect.
- the self-centered (& perhaps guilt-ridden?) angry fight between Hamlet and Laertes in Ophelia's grave: "I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers / Could not, with their quantity of love, / Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?" --> Seriously? You called her a whore, dumped her, killed her father and caused her madness, and now you disrupt her funeral and fight with her brother in her grave over who loved her more? One of Hamlet's lowest points for me.
- Hamlet's final realisation that it was all over: "The rest is silence." --> Another of my favourite lines.
- Horatio's lament for his prince: "Good night, sweet prince, / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." --> Yet another favourite line. It's so poignant and yet ironic, given Hamlet's last words.
Ah I'd almost forgotten how much I love Hamlet the play. Chock-full of emotions and drama! Which is the way I think it should be appreciated. Sometimes I think we put too much emphasis on understanding and not enough on simply feeling.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Agyness Deyn
How do you say 'new girl crush'? (alt.: how do you say 'yes, I attended a girls' school'?)
Ok I'm probably late on this bandwagon, but she's so incredibly beautiful!!!!!!!!! But not in a done to death way!!!!!! Argh! Especially love the hat look in this video. I also love the look in her eyes, if you know what I mean.
Friday, June 13, 2008
10 smokin' beavers
This was a phrase that decided to take up residence in my brain just a few minutes ago. I'll try to use it somewhere in this post so you know what 'tis all about. We all know what a earworm is (or at least now you do, if you followed the link), but I'll be damned if there aren't brainworms as well.
As you all have probably rightly forgotten my dismal attempts at philosophy some months and a lifetime ago, you would probably be surprised that I haven't given up the expedition into cuckooland. Nope, I have too much iron in my soul (ironic fortitude, perhaps?) to be turned back by mere lack of reason to continue. *roars and thumps hairy chest*
I have as a matter of fact, gone past Leibniz, at whom I was stuck at the last time, by employing the elegantly simple strategy of skipping the chapter. By dint of pure willingness to ignore whatever looks too difficult to understand, I've reached Locke. And discovered that I can't proceed any further without going back to the bloody Greeks. (watch for it...) And I was like, 10 smokin' beavers ina cherry pie! Ain't this a right-ho bobbity-cop?
Guess which accent I have in my head. Really, guess. Prizes if you get it wrong.
So dragging my feet (I must say my feet appear to be less philosophically inclined than the rest of me), I went back to Socrates and started from there. The beauty of getting a 'philosophy for idiots'-type book from the library is that I managed to go from Socrates to Aquinas during lunch hour before I was rudely interrupted by the pointed silence that marks the recommencement of work.
Let's face it, if Socrates was playing an electric guitar with his homie Plato on a snazzy stage, I wouldn't be throwing any underwear on stage. In fact, I'd probably be doing the opposite. Which means I'd be collecting the underwear thrown on stage and either screaming to teenage girls that THEY COULD GET PREGNANT IF A BOY TOUCHES THESE PANTIES or not so surreptitiously pocketing the underwear to sell on eBay later. But never mind that.
The Greeks are so antiquated! *cries*
Good work, me. That was a brilliant one.
I really want to get to the 20th century soon, and I have only... well, 700 years to go.
Hmmm actually, that doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would sound.
I tend to take the default, instinctive position that people have always been a certain way and will always be this way. But reading these strange old men, I'm constantly surprised by how differently people think nowadays.
Which reminds me of the website of lynching photos that fell upon my lap from the bountiful plenty of the Intrawebs. Mere decades ago it was considered ok to kill someone. Mere decades ago children laughed and played around the gibbet or bonfire or any ol' tree as someone died and it was ok. Nowadays parents are uncomfortable when kids play violent video games.
I once attempted to read John Boslough's Stephen Hawking's Universe, which is the 'pop' version of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, which is the 'pop' version of whatever else it is that he has written. Needless to say I started out with the Stephen Hawking original, didn't understand a word, retreated to Boslough's further dumbed down volume and still didn't understand a word, at which point I retreated into ignorance and fortified the defences against anything quantum.
Gosh I do like me my digressions.
There are only 2 things I brought away from Boslough's book:
First, WTMF what do you mean space might be shaped like a saddle?!?!?!?!
Second, Robert Frost's poem: -
I love this poem. It is rife with material for blatantly pointless analysis, but I think I shall go sleep. I just remembered tomorrow I have to march in the ranks of the living dead, juggle 3 full pitchers of water and solve a sudoku puzzle at the same time.
As you all have probably rightly forgotten my dismal attempts at philosophy some months and a lifetime ago, you would probably be surprised that I haven't given up the expedition into cuckooland. Nope, I have too much iron in my soul (ironic fortitude, perhaps?) to be turned back by mere lack of reason to continue. *roars and thumps hairy chest*
I have as a matter of fact, gone past Leibniz, at whom I was stuck at the last time, by employing the elegantly simple strategy of skipping the chapter. By dint of pure willingness to ignore whatever looks too difficult to understand, I've reached Locke. And discovered that I can't proceed any further without going back to the bloody Greeks. (watch for it...) And I was like, 10 smokin' beavers ina cherry pie! Ain't this a right-ho bobbity-cop?
Guess which accent I have in my head. Really, guess. Prizes if you get it wrong.
So dragging my feet (I must say my feet appear to be less philosophically inclined than the rest of me), I went back to Socrates and started from there. The beauty of getting a 'philosophy for idiots'-type book from the library is that I managed to go from Socrates to Aquinas during lunch hour before I was rudely interrupted by the pointed silence that marks the recommencement of work.
Let's face it, if Socrates was playing an electric guitar with his homie Plato on a snazzy stage, I wouldn't be throwing any underwear on stage. In fact, I'd probably be doing the opposite. Which means I'd be collecting the underwear thrown on stage and either screaming to teenage girls that THEY COULD GET PREGNANT IF A BOY TOUCHES THESE PANTIES or not so surreptitiously pocketing the underwear to sell on eBay later. But never mind that.
The Greeks are so antiquated! *cries*
Good work, me. That was a brilliant one.
I really want to get to the 20th century soon, and I have only... well, 700 years to go.
Hmmm actually, that doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would sound.
I tend to take the default, instinctive position that people have always been a certain way and will always be this way. But reading these strange old men, I'm constantly surprised by how differently people think nowadays.
Which reminds me of the website of lynching photos that fell upon my lap from the bountiful plenty of the Intrawebs. Mere decades ago it was considered ok to kill someone. Mere decades ago children laughed and played around the gibbet or bonfire or any ol' tree as someone died and it was ok. Nowadays parents are uncomfortable when kids play violent video games.
I once attempted to read John Boslough's Stephen Hawking's Universe, which is the 'pop' version of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, which is the 'pop' version of whatever else it is that he has written. Needless to say I started out with the Stephen Hawking original, didn't understand a word, retreated to Boslough's further dumbed down volume and still didn't understand a word, at which point I retreated into ignorance and fortified the defences against anything quantum.
Gosh I do like me my digressions.
There are only 2 things I brought away from Boslough's book:
First, WTMF what do you mean space might be shaped like a saddle?!?!?!?!
Second, Robert Frost's poem: -
We dance 'round in a ring and suppose
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
I love this poem. It is rife with material for blatantly pointless analysis, but I think I shall go sleep. I just remembered tomorrow I have to march in the ranks of the living dead, juggle 3 full pitchers of water and solve a sudoku puzzle at the same time.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Ubi Sunt
From Wikipedia:
The moment I saw this, I thought of Tolkien's lament:
And behold what Wikipedia says:
I am constantly amazed by Tolkien.
Yes I know I'm at work, but it's lunch. :P
Ubi sunt (literally "where are...") is a phrase taken from the Latin Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?, meaning "Where are those who were before us?" Ubi nunc...?, "where now?", is a common variant.[1]
Ubi sunt is a phrase that begins several Latin medieval poems and occurs, for example, in the second stanza of the song De Brevitate Vitae (also known as Gaudeamus igitur). The theme was the common property of medieval Latin poets: Cicero may not have been available, but Boethius' line was known: Ubi nunc fidelis ossa Fabricii manent? Ubi may set the tone of a poem, and can even be used to indicate the tone of another work, such as Beowulf.
The moment I saw this, I thought of Tolkien's lament:
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the sping and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
And behold what Wikipedia says:
Sometimes considered to be a nostalgic longing for the clichéd "good old days", the ubi sunt motif is actually a meditation on mortality and life's transience.
I am constantly amazed by Tolkien.
Yes I know I'm at work, but it's lunch. :P
Playlist
This is stuff currently on my mp3 playlist:
I stumbled across Mazzy Star on youtube and fell in love (again). Not good music if you're sleepy but need to work.
If anyone is wondering, this is the SM song that I keep telling you guys about. It's wonderfully delicious listening while on the way to work.
I love the sound of this band, which is not surprising, since their sound reminds me of velvet underground.
This is one piece I wish was on my playlist, but haven't had the time to acquire. Does Chopin never go wrong?:
Oh and in other (perfume) news, I got the miniatures for 24 Faubourg & Sisley's Eau du Soir. I'm especially enjoying the Sisley (I just bought them on Saturday, so I'll try the 24 Faubourg soon), which I should, since I paid 8 good bucks for 2ml. But I hadn't expected to find a miniature of that one, so I count that as a steal. It'd be perfect if I could find a miniature of Sisley's newer Soir de Lune :( And I know that cost per ml is MUCH higher for miniatures than for the full bottle, but dammit I don't have enough money for the full bottles... and this way I get to own more perfumes :P
Accuracy of Death & The Black Book are wonderful, if a little depressing. There're so many lovely movies these days *contented sigh*. Sex and the City.... well, the dresses (some) are drool-worthy. Nothing more, but I don't think anyone was expecting more either.
I stumbled across Mazzy Star on youtube and fell in love (again). Not good music if you're sleepy but need to work.
If anyone is wondering, this is the SM song that I keep telling you guys about. It's wonderfully delicious listening while on the way to work.
I love the sound of this band, which is not surprising, since their sound reminds me of velvet underground.
This is one piece I wish was on my playlist, but haven't had the time to acquire. Does Chopin never go wrong?:
Oh and in other (perfume) news, I got the miniatures for 24 Faubourg & Sisley's Eau du Soir. I'm especially enjoying the Sisley (I just bought them on Saturday, so I'll try the 24 Faubourg soon), which I should, since I paid 8 good bucks for 2ml. But I hadn't expected to find a miniature of that one, so I count that as a steal. It'd be perfect if I could find a miniature of Sisley's newer Soir de Lune :( And I know that cost per ml is MUCH higher for miniatures than for the full bottle, but dammit I don't have enough money for the full bottles... and this way I get to own more perfumes :P
Accuracy of Death & The Black Book are wonderful, if a little depressing. There're so many lovely movies these days *contented sigh*. Sex and the City.... well, the dresses (some) are drool-worthy. Nothing more, but I don't think anyone was expecting more either.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Disturbed
I came across this website of lynching photos from the USA (via Politics, Theory & Photography), and emerged feeling really disturbed. I suggest you don't follow the link if you think you might be affected. These are real photos of lynchings and dead people. I almost cried while looking at those photos, and felt really sick afterwards, so don't say I didn't warn you.
From the website:
"Without Sanctuary is a photo document of proof, an unearthing of crimes, of collective mass murder, of mass memory graves excavated from the American conscience. Part postal cards, common as dirt, souvenirs skin-thin and fresh-tatooed proud, the trade cards of those assisting at ritual racial killings and other acts of a mad citizenry. The communities' best citizens lurking just outside the frame. Destined to decay, these few survivors of an original photo population of many thousands, turn the living to pillars of salt."
- James Allen
It was really hard to look at the photos, but I'm glad I did because the photos are meant to be seen, to be recognised finally for what they are before they can be laid to rest - evidence of murder. I felt that I had to see the photos, and for each photo admit that yes, this was wrong, they were wrong to do this.
While looking through the photos, it felt a bit as if I was bearing the burden and responsibility for what happened and what happens still, and it felt right. The crimes humanity has committed are rightfully burdens of memory and guilt to be borne by us all. Not quite rational, but it felt right.
From the website:
"Without Sanctuary is a photo document of proof, an unearthing of crimes, of collective mass murder, of mass memory graves excavated from the American conscience. Part postal cards, common as dirt, souvenirs skin-thin and fresh-tatooed proud, the trade cards of those assisting at ritual racial killings and other acts of a mad citizenry. The communities' best citizens lurking just outside the frame. Destined to decay, these few survivors of an original photo population of many thousands, turn the living to pillars of salt."
- James Allen
It was really hard to look at the photos, but I'm glad I did because the photos are meant to be seen, to be recognised finally for what they are before they can be laid to rest - evidence of murder. I felt that I had to see the photos, and for each photo admit that yes, this was wrong, they were wrong to do this.
While looking through the photos, it felt a bit as if I was bearing the burden and responsibility for what happened and what happens still, and it felt right. The crimes humanity has committed are rightfully burdens of memory and guilt to be borne by us all. Not quite rational, but it felt right.
Gender, Love and Sex
Ok I swore I'd clear the backlog of things I want to blog about.
I read this really interesting article about a guy who underwent a sex change, but what got me was the comments. One comment linked to this NYT article on a married couple who stayed happily together after the husband changed his sex. Yet another comment tells a supposedly true anecdote about a hetero female who fell in love with another woman. A reply to this comment argues that either 1) the female is not hetero but is bisexual or lesbian, or 2) the female is hetero but not really 'in love' with the other woman.
So the question is, can you be straight and still love a person of the same sex? And by love I mean what most Singaporeans would see as the emotion that leads boy and girl to date, get married and spend the rest of the lives together.
One particularly favoured response to that question is that our sexual preferences are just general preferences. Meaning that if I say I'm a hetero female, what I mean is that I'm usually attracted to guys, but I might, however rarely, be attracted to and fall in love with women. So some hetero females might be more likely to be attracted to women than other hetero females, but they remain hetero because most of the time they're still attracted to guys. Likewise a lesbian might be attracted to females most of the time, but might occasionally be attracted to a guy.
Now I totally agree with the above response. I think it's silly to believe that even though we may like more than one type of music and more than one type of cuisine and more than one colour, we can only like either males or females, or that if we usually like only males then we cannot possibly like females or vice versa. Why should our sexual likes and dislikes be so different from our other likes and dislikes?
But what I find more interesting is the definition of love and the question of the relation between love and sex.
When I say love, I'm talking about that romantic love that people seem to differentiate from all other types of love, and have amazingly high standards for. 'Love' has to be monogamous (usually), it's special, it's great and momentous and unique, and above all 'true'. You can't merely 'feel affection for' - that doesn't make the cut. 'Love' is greater than that. It's the force that triumphs over death and families locked in violent conflicts and the star-crossedness of all that.
But what is this 'love'? What makes it so special? We all know about 'true love', but what exactly is it? Were Romeo and Juliet 'truly' in love? What makes it not just a crush? What makes it different from other types of love?
One question is, can you be in 'love' and not feel sexually attracted to the person you love? Can there be love without lust?
If love can exist without lust, what makes this love so special? How is it different from the love between family members and friends? Would you marry your best friend if you saw him 'only' as a friend? If you see him as 'more than a friend', what's the extra thing that constitutes the 'more'?
If love cannot exist without lust, then what if someone has well, libido problems? Or is for some reason not interested in sex? Does that mean that that person cannot love? Does this mean that on days when you think your partner looks unattractive (your dress makes you look fat, dear) or on days you simply don't feel the lust (headache, dear) you then love your partner less?
What are the other components of love (besides, perhaps, lust)? Conventionally, one would list things like care, affection, commitment etc. These are things that are common to familial or platonic love. Can we say that familial/platonic love + lust = Love? But what if you have a friend whom you care about and are physically attracted to? Does that mean that you 'love' that friend in that special way? How much must you care about the person in order to be able to say you 'love' him?
The most common way (this is what friends tell me!) of 'verifying' if someone 'truly' 'loves' you seems to be his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for yours. I'm not sure I quite buy that. When you sacrifice yourself for someone, is it a total loss on your part, or do you actually gain utility/satisfaction from sacrifice/being needed/being perceived as noble and loving? If so, when you 'sacrifice', is it an indication of your love, or your enjoyment/satisfaction from your sacrifice?
In the end I've never seen a definition of love that really satisfied me, and my sneaking suspicion is that love is probably an amalgamation of phenomena instead of the unique discrete phenomenon that it's often perceived to be, and that the composition of love differs from person to person, relationship to relationship. i.e. 'True love' is often seen as special and momentous and more than mere affection or care or lust, but I suspect it's actually just 'great affection' or 'great need' or 'great desire', and that what I mean by love might be quite different from what you mean by love. I do believe that there is no such identifiable, definable thing as 'love'.
And yes, I know the difference between 'cannot be defined' and 'does not exist', and knowing this I still believe that the 'special, momentous, till death do us part, one and only, there'll be no other' love is a myth and a fantasy. At least until I stop thinking and start feeling.
I read this really interesting article about a guy who underwent a sex change, but what got me was the comments. One comment linked to this NYT article on a married couple who stayed happily together after the husband changed his sex. Yet another comment tells a supposedly true anecdote about a hetero female who fell in love with another woman. A reply to this comment argues that either 1) the female is not hetero but is bisexual or lesbian, or 2) the female is hetero but not really 'in love' with the other woman.
So the question is, can you be straight and still love a person of the same sex? And by love I mean what most Singaporeans would see as the emotion that leads boy and girl to date, get married and spend the rest of the lives together.
One particularly favoured response to that question is that our sexual preferences are just general preferences. Meaning that if I say I'm a hetero female, what I mean is that I'm usually attracted to guys, but I might, however rarely, be attracted to and fall in love with women. So some hetero females might be more likely to be attracted to women than other hetero females, but they remain hetero because most of the time they're still attracted to guys. Likewise a lesbian might be attracted to females most of the time, but might occasionally be attracted to a guy.
Now I totally agree with the above response. I think it's silly to believe that even though we may like more than one type of music and more than one type of cuisine and more than one colour, we can only like either males or females, or that if we usually like only males then we cannot possibly like females or vice versa. Why should our sexual likes and dislikes be so different from our other likes and dislikes?
But what I find more interesting is the definition of love and the question of the relation between love and sex.
When I say love, I'm talking about that romantic love that people seem to differentiate from all other types of love, and have amazingly high standards for. 'Love' has to be monogamous (usually), it's special, it's great and momentous and unique, and above all 'true'. You can't merely 'feel affection for' - that doesn't make the cut. 'Love' is greater than that. It's the force that triumphs over death and families locked in violent conflicts and the star-crossedness of all that.
But what is this 'love'? What makes it so special? We all know about 'true love', but what exactly is it? Were Romeo and Juliet 'truly' in love? What makes it not just a crush? What makes it different from other types of love?
One question is, can you be in 'love' and not feel sexually attracted to the person you love? Can there be love without lust?
If love can exist without lust, what makes this love so special? How is it different from the love between family members and friends? Would you marry your best friend if you saw him 'only' as a friend? If you see him as 'more than a friend', what's the extra thing that constitutes the 'more'?
If love cannot exist without lust, then what if someone has well, libido problems? Or is for some reason not interested in sex? Does that mean that that person cannot love? Does this mean that on days when you think your partner looks unattractive (your dress makes you look fat, dear) or on days you simply don't feel the lust (headache, dear) you then love your partner less?
What are the other components of love (besides, perhaps, lust)? Conventionally, one would list things like care, affection, commitment etc. These are things that are common to familial or platonic love. Can we say that familial/platonic love + lust = Love? But what if you have a friend whom you care about and are physically attracted to? Does that mean that you 'love' that friend in that special way? How much must you care about the person in order to be able to say you 'love' him?
The most common way (this is what friends tell me!) of 'verifying' if someone 'truly' 'loves' you seems to be his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for yours. I'm not sure I quite buy that. When you sacrifice yourself for someone, is it a total loss on your part, or do you actually gain utility/satisfaction from sacrifice/being needed/being perceived as noble and loving? If so, when you 'sacrifice', is it an indication of your love, or your enjoyment/satisfaction from your sacrifice?
In the end I've never seen a definition of love that really satisfied me, and my sneaking suspicion is that love is probably an amalgamation of phenomena instead of the unique discrete phenomenon that it's often perceived to be, and that the composition of love differs from person to person, relationship to relationship. i.e. 'True love' is often seen as special and momentous and more than mere affection or care or lust, but I suspect it's actually just 'great affection' or 'great need' or 'great desire', and that what I mean by love might be quite different from what you mean by love. I do believe that there is no such identifiable, definable thing as 'love'.
And yes, I know the difference between 'cannot be defined' and 'does not exist', and knowing this I still believe that the 'special, momentous, till death do us part, one and only, there'll be no other' love is a myth and a fantasy. At least until I stop thinking and start feeling.
What's in a name?
The most heated LSB-moi arguments are those over the name(s) of our future daughters. Yes, those future daughters that are not even a sparkle in our collective eyeballs yet. LSB doesn't seem to care about the name(s) of any future sons.
For some reason, LSB has this horrendous penchant for very feminine and slightly old-fashioned names. Whereas I prefer names (for gals) that are unisex or not so girly.
Today LSB proposed the latest horror of a name - which I shall not specify, just in case someone with that name gets really hurt hehe - that I thought was pretty much bovine. You know, you can't help it. Some names just sound placid, slightly stupid and like they should have wide hips and a bell around their neck.
LSB observed that the child would be traumatised if her own mother thought she was a cow. I observed that the child would be traumatised because I would have fed her grass throughout her childhood. Nice green grass.
I sort of want to call any future daughter Sylvie after my 1st French teacher. My 1st French teacher (a french lady of course) had incredibly flat abs and... well let's just say she had assets that made the day she entered our chilly classroom without a bra (or with a very thin bra) a very very hallowed, blessed day. We were truly subdued and awed.
Gosh I still remember this. Yep I sound like a guy.
For some reason, LSB has this horrendous penchant for very feminine and slightly old-fashioned names. Whereas I prefer names (for gals) that are unisex or not so girly.
Today LSB proposed the latest horror of a name - which I shall not specify, just in case someone with that name gets really hurt hehe - that I thought was pretty much bovine. You know, you can't help it. Some names just sound placid, slightly stupid and like they should have wide hips and a bell around their neck.
LSB observed that the child would be traumatised if her own mother thought she was a cow. I observed that the child would be traumatised because I would have fed her grass throughout her childhood. Nice green grass.
I sort of want to call any future daughter Sylvie after my 1st French teacher. My 1st French teacher (a french lady of course) had incredibly flat abs and... well let's just say she had assets that made the day she entered our chilly classroom without a bra (or with a very thin bra) a very very hallowed, blessed day. We were truly subdued and awed.
Gosh I still remember this. Yep I sound like a guy.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
More wishes
Yes, my wish list expanded again, and it's all perfumes dammit.
I'm tempted to buy the guy perfumes on the list for LSB/my dad, though more probably my dad cos then I can steal a spritz or two whenever I like. Unfortunately my mum has final say on how my dad smells, and my mum's taste differs greatly from mine. :( On the other hand, I do quite like the idea of deciding how LSB should smell. Hmmm. Plus LSB recently gave me permission to shop for a scent for him. Perhaps he was drunk.
I bought a Sonic Youth cd. They rock, but they don't rock as much as Velvet Underground.
Random thought. Vetiver smells like grass to me, but grass with a twist. It's as if you take scent of grass, identify the earth smell, make it stronger, then somehow make it sharper. And then you get vetiver - a grassy scent with a strong, sharp earth smell. Oh, and I like vetiver vetiver. I don't really like it softened or sweetened. I want to be hit in between the eyes by blades of grass and clods of fresh earth.
Hey, it takes all kinds.
I'm tempted to buy the guy perfumes on the list for LSB/my dad, though more probably my dad cos then I can steal a spritz or two whenever I like. Unfortunately my mum has final say on how my dad smells, and my mum's taste differs greatly from mine. :( On the other hand, I do quite like the idea of deciding how LSB should smell. Hmmm. Plus LSB recently gave me permission to shop for a scent for him. Perhaps he was drunk.
I bought a Sonic Youth cd. They rock, but they don't rock as much as Velvet Underground.
Random thought. Vetiver smells like grass to me, but grass with a twist. It's as if you take scent of grass, identify the earth smell, make it stronger, then somehow make it sharper. And then you get vetiver - a grassy scent with a strong, sharp earth smell. Oh, and I like vetiver vetiver. I don't really like it softened or sweetened. I want to be hit in between the eyes by blades of grass and clods of fresh earth.
Hey, it takes all kinds.
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