sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

runaway train never going back
wrong way on a one-way track
seems like i should be getting somewhere
somehow i’m neither here nor there

as if we could geographically plot what we’re really running away from. don’t we also run away from ourselves?

in the stillness, you are here.

i think we all need some escapism. somehow, i find mine in the mere thought of it itself.

i actually am enjoying essay writing. but maybe the full actualization of this enjoyment is only achieved when juxtaposed to the flurry of algebraic manipulation and calculus and binomial goodness-knows-what that awaits me at the end of the essay. What gold at the end of the rainbow?

yeah i think jerry maguire put it right: inspiration. and how it often feels like one can feed off that forever.

fly away from here.

I couldn’t help but to feel comforted being away from the ensuing chatter and instead residing in the quiet of lover’s park. This semester has been vastly different from the last and grass is always greener in the yester-years. But should we live life with an idea of the one thing we want to pursue? (Idyllic ideals in that pasture halfway round the world?) Or are we meant to live life in seasons? I am being cryptic here so of course the natural answer is yes to both. to clarify: I am not referring to the ultimate goal at the end of everything we do; rather, I am referring to lifestyle choices, how we ought to live life. Should we even have an ultimate goal? Or should we let the dance slow and live in the moment for once? Do something real with my guitar; navigate around the wealth of knowledge beneath the arts faculty; make my weekly trip to the Cathay and just float around with my newly acquired music collection.

I find that there is something extremely extravagant about the fine arts. The ability to just shut oneself off from the real world for those moments and to just sink into another dimension or spirit and to isolate the essence of human conceptions – it is simply surreal to have such experiences.

And that was pretty much what I experienced in my first sem. Granted, it did not come in the traditional form of the arts, but perhaps it was the mere conversations that we had, with almost anyone, in the way that I described USP to be an extension of A53.

But I know I murder my own idealisms: I am a worker, and maybe at instances, a victim of workaholicism. Talk is beautiful, but at that point anyways, talk has to result in action. This semester has been characterized by less visits to the library, and more email exchanges in the virtual world. And that is merely the school life. Work has effectively crowded out the opportunities for any spontaneous intellectually heartfelt exchanges on stairwells, the no longer existing sewing room, roof tops etc. We communicate primarily through carefully edited, structured, detached emails more than anything.

I want to escape to my childhood and my childhood’s geography and live life as an island but I have seen the snobbery of those who do. This strangely, while seems to be referring largely to persons and my relations with them probably borrows great reference to my choice of major-minor, because there is little place for economics undergrads in the library. But perhaps if life is lived in seasons, then what follows the conceptualization stage is inevitably, making it happen: plan your work, work your plan. And so, sem 2, while seemingly soul-less, is a necessary evil to make everything talked about in sem 1 beautiful.

But a part of me has always wanted to be a rockstar. Go for a roadtrip to now where with nothing but a guitar and just learn. without having to serve. selfishly. and perhaps in the midst of looking for nothing, find the most undiscoverable item, possible only because we were not looking for it. I’m not sure if i really can do that though and maybe I do this just to reassure myself I am more than just an administrative tinman – efficient, but wandering about Oz for that missing heart. I will have to give that a bit more thought though.

This is as badly written a piece as is any other on this blog, and I think it is because I am writing these primarily for myself, with imagery that references my past experiences in life and so only I can understand, and in a voice that only (maybe not) I can hear. I suppose that is a reason why I do not feel art need not an audience. Or at least if the purpose of art is to communicate, then what eventually is communicated need not be the full understanding, but merely the sense of crypticism with small hints that a good many people can identify with.

Cause at night the sun in the tree,
Made the skyline look like crooked teeth,
In the mouth of a man who was devouring, us both.

love the syntaxed imagery.

musik makes everything better:D

This is what i find myself doing when busy with other matters. I think i hardly find what I’m looking for, but always, somehow, stumble across the most valuable things in life when i’m looking for other things. like rockstar and school work. but seriously, i am most productive when i am distracted, and i hardly think it’s a coincidence.

John Butler Trio – Ocean

anyways, i know i haven’t really posted geeky stuff for a long time, but i thought i’d just keep this here:

the real feat isn’t using a lens to bring new insights into a matter. rather it is the consciousness that for everything that we read, analyse and view, there is always a lens, usually built on the sum of our past experiences. In understanding that consciousness, we then proceed to de-construct and remove that lens to have true understanding of the subject, but because that is in itself impossible, or even if possible, unverifiably uncertain, we make do with second best: the use of abstract lens to bring new insights into the matter. this of course, is probably the reading of someone with a mathematical lens looking for the root common denominator in the whole study of ‘lens.’

just like handwriting.