tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89487692024-03-14T12:01:45.592+08:00Genes on the Internet - E-DNAAdd the notes together and you get the melody of my life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger628125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-17761213160294208352016-04-14T10:14:00.002+08:002016-04-14T10:14:31.566+08:00Answering the Call, and then Hanging UpSo. I've just come back from an talk calling people to rise up for
the communist socialist revolution in America. It was, simply put, an
education, and a masterclass in angry rhetoric of the disenfranchised. I
was honestly surprised that people were still legitimately pushing for
communist revolution; but then again, I shouldn't have been, because
Neo-Nazism is apparently still a thing.<br />
<br />
I could sympathize with their disillusioned view of the current system, and I could unders<span class="text_exposed_show">tand
their frustration at the multitude of oppressive and unjust problems
plaguing society today. However, what I could not stand for was the most
egregious misappropriation of "science" this side of Christian
Scientists. They threw about the word "science" a lot and talked at
length about their founder's new "science of communism" that was going
to revolutionize society, but when I asked them about the role science
would play in this new world order, they answered that science is to be
used to see the objective reality of society and use those facts to come
up with a new solution.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
Look, I'm a psychologist. I've seen and even done some experiments in
the social sciences. And I can safely say that while you can look at
society through the lens of history, politics, or economics, it's VERY
VERY HARD to apply the method of scientific inquiry to living human
subjects, simply because there is too much variance, too much noise in
the signal. It is very very hard to come up with testable hypotheses and
controlled conditions to analyse the problems of the world, much less
prove (or disprove) the benefits of one socioeconomic system above
another. Science can only tell you what IS, not what you OUGHT to do -
that has to come somewhere else. The whole process of scientific inquiry
has its limitations as well, but I didn't see any consideration of that
in the rhetoric of the speakers today.<br />
<br />
Aside from this, I don't
have much faith in revolutions anyway. ("They always come round again.
That's why they're called revolutions.") For all their decrying about
the failures of capitalism, I failed to see how their new communist
system was going to prevent people from exploiting the new rules -
because there will always be assholes, and that is why we can't have
nice things.<br />
<br />
So all that's left is to leave the obligatory quote by Terry Pratchett and call it a night.<br />
<br />
“And so the children of the revolution were faced with the age-old
problem: it wasn't that you had the wrong kind of government, which was
obvious, but that you had the wrong kind of people.<br />
<br />
As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up.” -- Terry Pratchett, Night Watch</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-52985018425314284022016-02-09T13:55:00.001+08:002016-02-09T13:55:30.799+08:00All Quiet on the Western FrontWhat I will probably remember is the conspicuous absence of red.<br />
<br />
No, that's not what I mea- um, it's not like the colour red has washed out of reality or something; there are still red things in the world, right? I can still see red; I mean, I'm not colourblind or anything - I mean, I am, but it's not that kind of colourblindness, and- look, can I just start over?<br />
<br />
This is the first Chinese New Year I have spent in a place which doesn't celebrate Chinese New Year by default. There are no countdown shows, no controlled detonation of firecrackers in strictly demarcated zones, no lion dance troupes on the backs of trucks dopplering as they speed by in the street.<br />
<br />
It is much, much quieter on this western front.<br />
<br />
I was walking around Chinatown on Saturday, which I have never done before because my parents don't like crowds. I expected revelry spilling out into the street, the din of gongs and the clatter of cymbals, hawkers hawking at the top of their lungs, and the muffled, immutable roar of a thousand people steadily gearing up for the biggest festival of the year.<br />
<br />
Instead, it was almost business as usual. Chinese people trudged up and down the busy street, silently picking out nice ornamental flowers or the fattest, freshest prawns from the vendor's icebox. On my left, a lady speaks a string of Mandarin; on my right, a smattering of Cantonese. A very Chinese-looking woman suddenly says something in a sharp American accent and it sounds harsh and alien.<br />
<br />
There were two shops bedecked in the traditional bright vermillion, two splashes of colour in the entire neighbourhood. My friend went up to one and asked if they sold firecrackers; the shopkeeper said that they didn't have that kind of atmosphere in America.<br />
<br />
I don't think there is anything I miss more than the food. It is a strange feeling to walk into a bakery and not see the boxes of <i>kueh lapis</i>, the bottles of almond cookies and prawn rolls, or the packets of <i>bak kwa</i> or <i>kueh bangkek</i> or <i>kueh bahulu</i>; delicacies that only Southeast Asia can bring to the table. These are once-a-year foods, man! Nobody cares about fruitcake or Easter eggs or <i>bazhang</i> (I tell a lie; I care greatly about <i>bazhang</i>) - give me pineapple tarts or give me death!<br />
<br />
It's not all bad, though. The Columbia Singapore Students Association had a dinner with <i>char kway teow</i>, curry chicken, and the obligatory <i>lo hei</i>; although somebody must have posted on the free food Facebook page and more than a hundred people turned up, likely half of which have never heard of Singapore. Sam, Tim and I, thinking that it was going to be a small, intimate gathering, foolishly came bearing gifts - the three wise men, with a bottle of jelly and a small jar of pork floss. I think the Association people appreciated the gesture though, which is nice.<br />
<br />
Classes until 8pm today dashed my hopes of venturing out for a Chinese dinner, or any kind of celebratory feast. I swept my floor and did my laundry, although I didn't wash my blanket because it is wool. I go to bed without <i>ang pao</i>s under my pillow, and a hole in my stomach where love letters are supposed to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-39052749117575496982016-02-03T04:53:00.000+08:002016-02-03T04:53:22.962+08:00The StreetI open my eyes.<br />
<br />
I am standing on a street. It stretches into the distance, straight as an answer and as narrow as prejudiced thinking. The tarmac is the black of prehistoric death-traps, and in the sun directly overhead, creates a heat shimmer in the air. There are buildings on either side, huddled close together in the linear perspective, looming overhead like skyscrapers. The heat shimmer distorts the view of some, but others I can see clearly.<br />
<br />
There is a house. It lies in the far distance, at the beginning of the street, which is somehow also the end of the street. The architecture is mixed; a cobbled hybrid of governmental apartment housing and a modern condominium. As a result, the structure appears to be trying to look tall and short at the same time. I can just make out two figures, silhouetted in the doorway: an old woman and an older man. Their hands are moving; beckoning, calling for me to return. The gestures have layered meanings: they offer protection, they promise sustenance, but they also threaten constriction; a stifling of life; of existing, not living. By all accounts there is supposed to be love here, but it is lost in translation, rarefied by the gap of generations, kept in place by slivers of duty and whatever shred of filial piety that remains.<br />
<br />
There is a school. Its exterior is sleek and shiny, all modern metal and glass, polished to an exuberant sheen. It proclaims innovation, it sells excellence, it advertises perfection; and it would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for the pair of chimneys rising in the background, belching acrid clouds into the upper atmosphere. The smoke is either a result of the burnt midnight oil, or a byproduct of the bullshit being thrown into the essays manufactured inside. Conveyor belts lead out of the open windows, churning out marketable diplomas, framed and laminated, like clockwork. They fall into large cargo trucks, which turn off a side street, in the direction of the airport, where scholarship-funded aeroplanes will take them to London, New York, New Jersey, Boston. Upon closer inspection of the diplomas, one would find the ink sometimes smudged, the wood often hollow, the stand occasionally bent like cheap cardboard. But that is not to say that the workers inside are not doing their job; no, perhaps they can only do their best with the raw materials they have on hand.<br />
<br />
There is a pyramid. It is made out of stone, a dreary gunmetal grey. It is not a mere pile of rock, like leftovers from an avalanche, but carefully constructed. Yet neither creativity nor innovation was a part of its design; only pure, unadulterated practicality. It is squat, for a pyramid; each block is carried by the blocks below it, such that all have to carry the capstone, which carries nothing but the lofty ideas that brought it there. Ivy creeps up its sides, making it look like a moss-covered, unrolling brick. The pyramid's foundations run about fifty years deep, but truth be told, if you keep digging, you will find that it's stone all the way down. The building is a permanent fixture of the landscape. It stands perpendicular to the street, blocking what was before from what comes after, and there is no way past it but to go through it. Its entrance boasts a sleek, sliding door, but one can see that the electrical wires strung from the poles do not descend into that structure. The hiss and gurgle of steam engines can be heard, technology from a yester-age, slowly grinding onward. <br />
<br />
There is a church. It is not a preening megachurch, proclaiming its faith unto the heavens; it is a small affair, quiet and thoughtful - it knows where it is and that is enough. Here and there are places were bricks have been smashed, somewhat purposefully, but the holes have been filled with Bibles, slotting neatly into the hollows, and its recent facade remains calm and undamaged. The stained glass windows tell a second-hand story that I fell in love with, but although the double doors out front are unlocked, they are closed, and there is a small ticket gantry. To purchase a ticket one must pay the price of belief, of which I am bankrupt. Though I could not enter the grounds, I sat in the shade and serenity of the steeple until I was was asked, politely but firmly, to leave the premises, for I had no ticket.<br />
<br />
There is a theatre. It is tall, and while it looks clumsily knocked together, it still exudes a sense of grace and charm. Dazzling lights twinkle around the billboard, advertising for many different experiences, posters of exotic lands and exciting adventures. The interior is furnished soft and plush, and the double doors are swung open in a warm, inviting gesture. Dialogue is heard; the show is a comedy of errors, a playful romp dancing through life without taking it too seriously. Music pours out into the street, a lighthearted tune that skips and bounces across my soul, tugging at my heartstrings. But with my feet firmly on the ground, I know that the best seat in the house has already been taken, and I would be resigned to hovering around the fringes, which the cast know exist but the company doesn't play to.<br />
<br />
This is the street, stretching into the distance, the five buildings islands of clarity in a sea of hazy memory.<br />
<br />
This is where I came from.<br />
<br />
There is a university. It is directly to my left; a sprawling campus of thousands of people. The architecture is Greco-Roman, the pedagogy similarly inspired. Snow lines the rooftops and clumps in white hedges along the sidewalks. While it seems close by, by some optical illusion it also appears distant, and detached from where I am standing.<br />
<br />
There is another university. It is immediately on my right, not as sprawling but towering above me on walls of ivory. It is built of Lego pieces, sometimes from different boxes, but the blocks click together, linking each piece to every other piece. It looks new, freshly purchased and built, such that there are gaps where a whole new module can be slotted into place; but the building also has the plastic stubbornness that promises stand the test of time. It stands in the far distance, but by some trick of the light, it also appears closer to me than I could have ever imagined.<br />
<br />
I look down. I am wearing a pair of battered orange sneakers and faded blue jeans. I empty my pockets. There is a small crucifix on a chain, with a crack running through the centre but still relatively intact. There is a crumpled ticket stub, a hole punched through the middle to signify that it cannot be used again. There is a thin book, whose cover is faded and pages are blank except for one word on the first page which says in large capital letters, "THINK". There is a small homemade pouch, which jangles with small change and a handwritten note which instructs me to always look both ways before crossing the street. There is a playing card; it is the joker.<br />
<br />
This is where I am.<br />
<br />
I turn around.<br />
<br />
The street I am standing on continues into the distance, straight as an answer and narrow as prejudiced thinking. But there are thousands, millions, a myriad of other roads, branching off from this one, crossing it, intersecting it left, right, across, perpendicular, downwards into dark tunnels and upwards onto arched highways. Buildings line the roads, clustering together almost on top of one another in strict defiance of any kind of urban planning or laws of physics. At some point, the surface of the ground seems to curve up towards me, such that if I looked up, I would see buildings hanging from the roof of the sky, criss-crossed by a kaleidoscopic labyrinth of asphalt. It is an Escherian nightmare. Frost's directions are no use here, for the path less travelled is the path never walked on. <br />
<br />
This is where I am going.<br />
<br />
I take a step.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-38463346259805527752016-01-21T17:32:00.000+08:002016-01-22T13:40:09.195+08:00Insert Ice, Ice Baby Reference HereLet me tell you something about the cold.<br />
<br />
You know nothing about the cold. <i>Nothing. </i>You might think that the cold is your ally. You might think that you were born in it, that you were moulded by it. But you merely adopted the cold; by then it was already freezing. <br />
<br />
I come from a tropical island, where latitudes are merely platitudes and the concept of axial tilt holds no sway. My country's relationship with the equator is like that of a fat man's bellybutton with his belt, and in a place like this "winter" is nothing more than a word: shipped in from Western shores to infuriate postcolonial poets; something to fill up the section of the dictionary between V and X where nobody looks anyway; uttered in the same way one might the word "unicorn"<sup id="ref1"><a href="#fn1">1</a></sup>. Numbers like these have never graced our air-conditioning remotes, let alone our thermometers.<br />
<br />
So you can imagine how immensely frigid it is on this side of the world, where "seasons" means more than just a brand of bottled tea. Colder than a whiskey on the rocks; colder than a liquid nitrogen ice cream with chocolate sprinkles; colder than jolting awake from a nightmare. Colder than an ex-girlfriend's heart; colder than the realization that you live in a meaningless and uncaring world; colder than the heat death of the universe.<br />
<br />
Sure, you can try in vain to ward yourself against it. "Layers", they say, as if it's some magical incantation that will keep the frost at bay. Cakes have layers. Onions have layers. <i>Ogres </i>have layers; but layers are no help at all when the wind tears at your fingertips or knifes through your jeans or gnaws at your bones or creeps in through the gap between your long-johns and your ankle-socks because of a serious error in judgement. A word on ankle-socks, by the way: fashion is naiveté. Better to be ugly and warm than a beautiful corpse.<br />
<br />
And what do you think of when you hear the word "snow"? Soft, fluffy pillows, probably; cake frosting, feminist Disney movies with whimsical talking snowmen, and marshmallows. Nobody thinks of avalanches, or the sinking of the Titanic, or the reason for the thickness of killer whales, or why Germany failed to invade Russia during World War II.<br />
<br />
As of this writing, it is almost dinnertime. I must now venture forth into the wilderness, like an Antarctic explorer in the 1800s, bundled up more than a premium insurance package, to seek warm food for sustenance. <br />
<br />
I am just going outside. I may be some time.<br />
<br />
<sup id="fn1"><a href="#ref1" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">1.</a> i.e. In a voice filled with magic, wonder, and rainbows, demonstrating that the speaker is over-romanticising what ultimately is half a tonne of untamed muscle and sinew with a razor-sharp spear stuck to its head.</sup>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-50328123634237755302015-12-13T20:58:00.004+08:002015-12-13T20:59:23.327+08:00Neil Gaiman's Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://40.media.tumblr.com/4f2134081243569b622b162ffc7935ab/tumblr_nx255rp31g1srgio2o7_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://40.media.tumblr.com/4f2134081243569b622b162ffc7935ab/tumblr_nx255rp31g1srgio2o7_500.jpg" height="640" width="440" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/132361881671/chrisriddellblog-dark-sonnet-by-neil-gaiman" target="_blank">Source</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-85575334808471624722015-12-04T19:09:00.001+08:002015-12-04T19:09:58.792+08:00On ExerciseI wonder how many calories I lose running away from my feelingsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-31131362711275654802015-11-23T16:17:00.003+08:002015-11-23T16:17:44.883+08:00Dear GodThanks for cursing me with both atheism <i>and</i> an attraction to Christian girls.<br />
<br />
Not helping your case much.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-48060720637931323692015-10-06T19:21:00.005+08:002015-10-06T19:21:59.913+08:00VillainsWhen they said<br />
in storybooks and comic books<br />
that a villain<br />
"can't love",<br />
I used to think<br />
that their heart was a fire,<br />
engulfed in hate;<br />
that their interaction with the world outside their brain<br />
was nothing more than a detestation,<br />
abject loathing - <br />
a rejection, if you will -<br />
of the innate goodness<br />
of the human condition.<br />
<br />
Or I also thought that<br />
"can't love"<br />
meant that their heart was a stone:<br />
solid, permanent,<br />
inflexible,<br />
unfeeling,<br />
and unaffected by the outside world;<br />
not a fiery inferno of hate,<br />
not a smouldering coal of resentment,<br />
just a cold, hard, unchanging<br />
stone.<br />
<br />
But I have since learned that<br />
"can't love"<br />
doesn't have to be the firestorm of hatem<br />
or the cold stone of unfeeling,<br />
but it can also be<br />
the startled kitten of fear,<br />
the small curled up ball that doesn't trust anything, anyone<br />
won't trust anything, anyone <br />
can't trust anything, anyone<br />
because it's been kicked once<br />
and doesn't want<br />
to be kicked<br />
again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-62102012925161664902015-10-04T23:40:00.000+08:002015-10-04T23:40:42.715+08:00Epistle to the Heavenites<br />
<sup>1</sup> Dear God,
<sup> </sup><br />
<br />
<sup>2</sup> Here’s another prayer<br />
You’re not going to answer.<br />
But it’s okay,<br />
because
I forgive You.
<br />
<br />
<sup>3</sup> I forgive You<br />
for telling a guy to commit infanticide<br />
just to prove his faith;<br />
it’s nothing personal, it’s just mythology.<br />
<br />
<sup>4</sup> I forgive You <br />
for the divine battles fought under Your banner<br />
and the holy blood spilled in Your name;<br />
it’s nothing personal, it’s just history.<br />
<br />
<sup>5</sup> I forgive You<br />
for the hurricanes and earthquakes,<br />
for water-filled lungs and bodies buried beneath buildings;<br />
it’s nothing personal, it’s just geography.<br />
<br />
<sup>6</sup> I forgive You<br />
for the donations and tithes<br />
that gild the Pope’s throne in gold;<br />
it’s nothing personal, it’s just business.<br />
<br />
<sup>7</sup> I forgive You<br />
for emphasising belief so much<br />
that people don’t stop to think;<br />
it’s nothing personal, it’s just psychology.<br />
<br />
<sup>8</sup> But most of all,<br />
I forgive You<br />
for taking her away from me.<br />
<br />
<sup>9</sup> Amen,<br />
Kevin<br />
<br />
----------<br />
<br />
So I wrote a poem for class the other day. Always wanted to write something like this. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-65065747334158036192015-08-22T23:59:00.000+08:002015-08-24T00:45:50.051+08:00The BusToday I got off the back of the bus, and you got on in the front.<br />
<br />
It reminded me of the billions of other universes where I said, "I love you", and you said, "I love you, too."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-75060984528154691202015-07-30T01:35:00.004+08:002015-07-30T02:45:11.876+08:00You Can Lead a Mob to Reason, But You Cannot Make it ThinkI am slowly starting to hate the Internet.<br />
<br />
Well, technically, it's not the Internet's fault. The Internet is just a bunch of computers linked together. It's the people using the Internet. That's right. Let me start over.<br />
<br />
I am slowly starting to hate the people using the Internet.<br />
<br />
The viral news story that sparked this angry, measured rant off is <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/africa/zimbabwe-2-to-appear-in-court-for-killing-cecil-the-lion/2015/07/28/1f276ed8-352e-11e5-b835-61ddaa99c73e_story.html" target="_blank">the discovery of the killer of Cecil the Lion</a>, a famous lion living in a Zimbabwean nature reserve. The big game hunter in the Internet's collective cross-hairs is a dentist living in Minnesota, and his actions have riled up the well-meaning social justice public into action, <a href="http://heavy.com/news/2015/07/walter-palmer-minnesota-dentist-hunter-killed-cecil-the-lion-dead-shot-zimbabwe-illegal-arrested-photos-video-cubs-theo-bronchorst-trymore-ndlovu/" target="_blank">posting the address of his business online</a>, and <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/this-is-whats-happening-to-the-dentist-who-allegedly-killed?utm_term=.jdk8jMoor#.rd2yxV9l" target="_blank">slathering his Yelp page with hate "reviews"</a>, although I think the social justice public has already earned a special place in one of the circles of hell for making me link a BuzzFeed page as a legitimate source.<br />
<br />
I want to articulate very clearly here that I <b>do not condone</b> big game hunting and hunting in general, and especially so for endangered species. I believe that hunting, if it's not for sustenance or protection, if it's for <i>sport</i>, is incredibly stupid and useless. If you want the thrill of stalking a creature through a hostile environment before sneaking up on it and killing it in the face, go play Assassin's Creed or Arkham City or something. Stop killing endangered animals because we're running out of endangered animals to kill. (Also you're disrupting ecosystems and hastening the process of environmental destruction and holy crap why are you so obsessed with killing things anyway.)<br />
<br />
But what I am fed up with are the knee-jerk reactions of the Internet-empowered, Facebook-attention-spanned, road-to-hell-paved-with-good-intentioned public who <i>don't stop to think before hitting that 'Share' button and rallying a huge mob of the pitchfork-and-torch variety</i>. Because I think that's where most of today's so-called "social justice" is headed: pitchforks and torches. Angry mobs with ideological AK-47s for everyone. Witch-hunts. You know, like those things that happened in the 15th Century involving moral panic and mass hysteria and <i>the literal burning of people at giant stakes</i>. And I'm not exaggerating either, <a href="http://www.rt.com/usa/311002-dentist-lion-internet-hunt/" target="_blank">because that's what some people are actually calling for</a>.<br />
<br />
For God's sake, people. <b>Stop to think for a minute.</b> Just one minute. Stop to hammer the gunpowder in your moral musket before shooting it off indiscriminately at the world.<br />
<br />
Here are three reasons why I don't agree with social mob justice:<br />
<br />
<b>Point #1: What are your Shares actually doing?</b><br />
<br />
Quick poll: hands up, all of you who knows at least one Facebook friend who is actually into big game hunting. Sure, this is an impersonal digital medium and I can't actually see any hands, but I'm willing to bet good money that it is going to be a small handful of you. For all you people with your hypothetical hands up, thank you for cooperating, and at least you've got a reason, albeit it might not be a very good one (at least I don't think it is). You're not off the hook though, so sit tight for the rest of this section.<br />
<br />
For the people who can't name a specific friend who you know engages in the killing of animals for sport, <i>why are you sharing this article in the first place?</i> It's not to educate anyone, surely, because nobody you know hunts lions and rhinos on their weekends off. At best, what you're doing is preaching to the choir, because all you friends are going to agree with you anyway; and at worst, you're playing the zither to the water buffalo, because you're not going to listen to the people who disagree with you anyway. <i>So who are you sharing the article for?</i><br />
<br />
Here's who you're sharing that article for: yourself. This is the reason for plastering the offending article all over your Wall and writing a paragraph or two of angry, riled up, righteous indignation for the world (at least the world circumscribed by the people most likely to agree with you already) to see. You get Likes, you get Comments, you essentially create a feedback loop to reinforce your own self-perception. I disagree with this on an emotional level, other people agree with my disagreement, so therefore my belief is justified and not wrong. That's what it's for, that's the reason you're posting all this righteous indignation stuff: to reassure yourself that the representation of yourself in your own mind and in the minds of the people around you isn't totally insane.<br />
<br />
I will admit that I do this too. I share things on Facebook. I post things like Calvin and Hobbes comic strips, articles that agree with my worldview, and songs with emotionally-charged lyrics which cryptically hint to my own pathetic mental state. I, too, crave the attention and validation of my peers. It's a human thing. It's natural. I get it. That's not what I disagree with, though.<br />
<br />
What I disagree with is the justification of doing these things for "social justice". What are you doing exactly? What are you achieving? What has this entire witch-hunt of Walter Palmer achieved except the shutting down of a dentist's office and the Facebook page and website attached to it? What is your purpose, what is your goal? Aside from sitting there with a smug look on your face saying, "I've done my part!"<br />
<br />
At this point, angry people will start shouting things like "We are spreading the message to those who have might not heard it before!" and "There are other social justice issues that are a lot more relevant to the people I'm friends with, and that's why I'm sharing it!" To which I say, sure, that's all good and fine. If you're spreading a message and educating people about it, then that's great and fine and wonderful job, keep up the good work. That takes care of the social part.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to my next point...<br />
<br />
<b>Point #2: Who are you to decide what is Justice?</b><br />
<br />
Or, alternatively: Is this worth destroying a man's life over?<br />
<br />
There are two things here. First is the question of Justice as a concept. Many philosophers over the ages have argued over this very thing, and the last I checked we're all so mixed up about it that we have specialized an entire legal industry for the sole purpose of finding out the answer.<br />
<br />
What is the just remuneration for the murder of a proud, living creature? To what is the murderer owed in just punishment, which incidentally, is neither the same thing as karmic retribution nor bloody eye-for-an-eye revenge. What this Twitter mob is doing right now - public ridicule, disruption of his business, forcing him into hiding, calls for actual physical violence - is that just? The man has disconnected his office phone and <a href="http://www.prweek.com/article/1358028/dentist-killed-zimbabwes-cecil-lion-hires-pr-firm-amid-global-backlash" target="_blank">directed all calls to a PR agency</a> - is he cowering in his house right now, with the concentrated fury of hundreds of thousands of people distilling into him a fear that you wouldn't inflict on hundreds and thousands of people? Would the release of his address constitute a terrorist act? Should this man be executed? Jailed? Merely fined? Does his years of service to the community as a dental practitioner mitigate things somewhat? Should he be thrown to the lions, strung up by a lynch mob, taken to dance the hemp fandango? Is the murder of a lion a worse crime than the murder of another man?<br />
<br />
It may look like I'm trying to make a rhetorical point with these questions, but I honestly do not have the answers myself. I don't feel like I have the responsibility to weigh a man's life in my hands and judge him by my own, personal, biased standards. But who actually thinks of these things when they hit a share button in the name of social "justice"? (This is the true rhetorical question, and the rhetorical answer is: very few.)<br />
<br />
The way I see it, Yelp has been one of the only few sane persons in this entire firestorm, because they've been <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/this-is-whats-happening-to-the-dentist-who-allegedly-killed?utm_term=.jdk8jMoor#.rd2yxV9l" target="_blank">deleting the hate reviews</a> of the man's business page for not "[describing] a firsthand consumer experience" as per their Terms of Service. I think (and you're welcome to disagree with me here) that the man's skill in repairing your teeth should have absolutely nothing to do with what he hunts and kills in his spare time. Disagree and rail against his poaching habits all you want, but if a man does a good polish and rinse then admit it. <br />
<br />
If we had a universal set of rules and law and some kind of overarching decree which states clearly what is just and what isn't (and I think this would be impossible because humanity's concept of justice is different across contexts, cultures, religions, <i>and </i>it also evolves with time), we wouldn't need judges, we would just need to teach people how to read.<br />
<br />
And that's the second thing: I am apprehensive of leaving the decision of justice to a mob of emotionally-charged, pitchfork-wielding general public. That's why we have a legal system, with a judge at the top of the table, who's very <i>job </i>it is to weigh both sides of the argument before passing a impartial, just judgement. Individuals need to think because there is no one else to do their thinking for them. But put that individual in a mob, and they stop thinking; he becomes a neuron in a network which wouldn't be considered fit to operate the motor controls of an earthworm.<br />
<br />
You know how fish in a school are able to weave and dart around larger predators? You know how flocks of swallows are able to make intricate and mesmerizing patterns of shifting beauty? It's because each individual fish doesn't think about the whole picture, it's because each individual swallow doesn't stop to consider its place within the aerial formation. All they do is react to the movements of the fish around them, of the other swallows flying alongside. That's what a mob is, each individual member reacting to the outrage of the people next to them, creating a beautiful ripple of stupidity that travels around the world seven times a second.<br />
<br />
Maybe the Internet can successfully argue that the man is getting all that he deserves for killing a defenceless animal, and that the focused laser of hatred and loathing is just as well as justified, and the man should burn in hell for an appreciable eternity. But I'd like to point out that the Internet's focused laser has all the precision and discretion of a dirty bomb, because:<br />
<br />
<b>Point #3: What are you going to do with the fallout of your nuclear hate bomb?</b><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
The cover photo from the dental clinic's defunct Facebook page showed twelve people, exactly one of which is Walter Palmer, the big game hunter in question. With social justice warriors firing bombshell after bombshell at the dentist and his business, <i>who spared a thought for his eleven colleagues, employees, co-workers? </i>Even if the people in the photo are, instead, family members, <i>who the hell thought it would be a good idea to drag them into the firing range as well</i>? (I had to add the mosaic to the faces of the others, because BuzzFeed apparently thinks it doesn't need to.) Who the hell considered the dental assistants and receptionists and other workers in the dental office, whose careers are now on shaky ground, when they started carpet bombing the man's business? Who's thinking about his wife and two kids, who are probably huddling in their house right now, afraid of the angry mob that's going to march up their doorstep because some idiot leaked the guy's home address to the world? If you are going to destroy a man, <i>why are you destroying everyone around him in the process?</i><br />
<br />
Stop sharing the man's address. Stop leading the pitchforks and torches to his doorstep, because I can't imagine people blasting the guy's coordinates to the world so that someone will track him down and angrily knock on his door, insisting that they sit down and have a short but delightful discussion about the negative effects of poaching. I'm very amused by the article by Vox, because after explaining that Palmer's address has been shared all over Twitter, <a href="http://www.vox.com/2015/7/28/9064325/cecil-the-lion" target="_blank">they put in neat little parentheses</a>: "(This is a practice that is often used online to facilitate real-world harassment of targets.)" <br />
<br />
Has anyone imagined what effects the death threats are having on his family?<br />
<br />
Okay, I admit, this last point is quite masturbatory, because as far as I know, nobody I know is spreading addresses. But here's the message I'm trying to convey here: stop to think. Stop to think of what your actions are doing, of the ramifications a simple click of a mouse can have on people on the other side of the world. , real, living people with families and friends and hobbies and interests and jobs and loves and hates and so many other various things in this kaleidoscope of life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-47106728051263064692015-07-26T05:48:00.000+08:002015-07-26T05:48:55.283+08:00On WritingIt's 5 a.m. and I've just finished reading Terry Pratchett's <i>Nation</i> for the third time.<br />
<br />
There is something to be said about a book that lights a fire behind your eyes, that wrests you from the sweet caresses of sleep and hauls you in front of your computer screen and forces - no, <i>inspires</i> - you to write. Sometimes I sit here four hours and barely scrape together a couple of mediocre paragraphs, and I often get distracted by my research and Facebook and other things that abound on the Internet. But now I sit down and write, because the fire that has been lit burns hot and bright and fast, like a firework.<br />
<br />
I wonder if other people feel this too, at the ends of books they love and enjoy and that lights a fire in their soul. I wonder if it is the same for people reading the Bible, the Quran. I have often lamented the fact that even though I may pass this book around to friends and people I know and love, even though they will hold the same book and flip the same pages and read the same words, it will not light the fire in their soul as it has in mine. I reach the end of a Pratchett book with my soul ablaze and I wonder, no I marvel, at the circumstances of my life, all the little coincidences and choices and quantum collapsing that has evolved this mental shape which is so inflammable to the word of satire but curiously fireproof to the word of God. And I wonder, as I pass the books around and lend them out to friends and people I love in order to spread the good word and bring the good word of Pratchett to these people, beseeching them to read it because it will Change Their Lives; I wonder if all the little circumstances and coincidences and quantum collapses in their lives have evolved a mind which is insulated against my fires, just as mine is insulated against theirs.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've been writing a story and so I've been reading a lot of Pratchett for inspiration. I've read the stories before, and every time, by the end of the last page and the last word, the smoke is streaming out of my ears. But now that I have started writing myself, I am able to see the intricate and masterful craftsmanship that goes into each and every single word, line, sentence, paragraph. You read about foreshadowing and imagery and back references and when you write it comes out as though you've read the manual and followed the instructions to the letter; but there is a kind of magic in writer's craft, in the work of a wordsmith, weaving plot and character setting and action into one Big Idea...<br />
<br />
I hope there's still people reading my blog, because if not then these are just my own thoughts bouncing back to me in the steel ball of a mind.<br />
<br />
Poets. Poets are, well... they're like impressionist painters. They have a blank canvas, and they want to communicate a feeling. So they paint, in their clear strokes and gaudy contrasting colours, and when you look at the painting, you see a mess of lines and shades; but there is what looks like an eye here, and here, and this one looks like a mouth, and a nose, and so on; and once you connect the shapes you get the general feeling, the <i>impression</i>, of a man, a face. And the lines and shades and vaguely recognizable shapes will leave you with an impression of a man, but it cannot tell you his height or weight, where he was born or how many siblings or children he had, what he did or what he was going to do. A poem offers an impression, and for some people this is very important, because feelings are experiences too, and so people write poems and poets have their place.<br />
<br />
But writers... writers are more like Renaissance sculptors. They have a blank block or marble, and they want to communicate an idea. So they carve it out of the marble, with their chisel of letters and their hammer of narrative; they carve out of the millions and billions of words, the infinite arrangement of letters and spaces and punctuation; out of this infinite space they carve out a story. And with their chisel of letters and their hammer of narrative, they carve out the curve of the eye and the curve of the eyelid, the indentations of wrinkles and the pattern of eyelashes; they carve and they chisel the detail, so fine and so intricate. But when the work is done and the dust is blown away, what is left is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. And unlike the impressionist's painting, the sculpture has form, the sculpture has a shape. And the shape of the sculpture is like the plot of a novel, while the idea the sculpture represents is like the theme, the Big Idea, the fire-starter. And the plus side is that, even if you don't get the Big Idea, even if you can't see the embodiment of Perfection in the form of David, then at least you can say it's a damn fine sculpture.<br />
<br />
The fires are burning out now, flames are sputtering, the steam is being run out of. It takes so long to write a book, but so much shorter time in comparison to consume it. And the flame, the flame that it ignites burns out faster still. But perhaps there is a different heat, a kind of glowing ember buried deep in the soul, which ignites the passion and inflames the brain, and launches the firework high into the night sky where it will explode with the brilliance of a sun, for an instant.<br />
<br />
The young man smiled, and believed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-26503050997778338702015-06-06T03:03:00.000+08:002015-06-06T03:03:51.646+08:00On Conservative Singapore and HomosexualitySo <a href="http://www.todayonline.com/singapore/spore-not-ready-same-sex-marriage-pm-lee" target="_blank">this article</a> has been going round on my Facebook news feed lately, and though I am usually loathe to sound my voice about a social justice issue, I have been constantly frustrated by every well-meaning yet narrow-minded burst of outrage that this article has induced.<br />
<br />
The article covers an interview our PM Lee had with journalists from around the region, but whose reporter specifically chose to spin with the "righteous indignation" angle and "clickbait" headline of "Conservative S’pore 'not ready for same-sex marriage'". Other aspects of the press conference, such as PM Lee's views on ASEAN, are conveniently compartmentalized into separate articles. But I digress - journalistic integrity is not what I am frustrated with this article about (although I am frustrated with it in general). And besides, there are many possible reasons for the narrow scope of the articles: journalist specialisation, brevity and conciseness, the amount of material for a substantial article...<br />
<br />
What frustrates me, as I mentioned earlier, is the lack of thought that has gone into the emotional lambasting of our governing body and constitutional laws; scores of self-righteous citizens eagerly pointing the condemning finger at our Prime Minister without stopping to consider the sheer complexity, the multidimensional nature of something like the "homosexual agenda" has in Singapore.<br />
<br />
People like to see social issues, especially those social issues which are governed by policy and laws, as a self-contained, inert, closed system. <i>The answer is (of course!) to abolish Section 377a! And then legalize marriage for same-sex couples! Then homosexuals in Singapore will finally get the human rights they so-rightfully deserve! </i>Yes, I believe these are all desirable outcomes for our society. But make no mistake, these are merely <i>outcomes</i>. The misunderstanding occurs when people conflate them with <i>solutions</i>. Legalizing same-sex marriage is not going to make homosexuals accepted overnight. Repealing Section 377a is not going to prevent a gay or lesbian from being reviled by conservative-minded people, or protect them from small social acts of personal prejudice.<br />
<br />
A proper solution would be education, of having people from both camps sit down over a <i>kopi</i> or <i>teh</i> and just talking and realizing that both malicious oppressors and self-righteous victims, both righteous defenders of heteronormality and the craven perverts of natural order, <i>they're both just people, trying to live their lives</i>. That's the idealistic solution, the tough solution, the hard-work-and-spending-time solution, which would then <i>evolve</i> such natural outcomes as the repealing of outdated laws and legalization of homosexual marriages. But these people are clamouring for the quick-and-easy, hammer-on-the-gavel solution, as if - rather ironically, I might add - a top-down, nigh-draconian ruling is going to sway the hearts and minds of the nonbelievers.<br />
<br />
I might like to speculate here on the complex nature of this issue. It is not hard to infer that decisions made by the government on the homosexuality issue can impact many other areas of the political sphere. For example, motioning policy which seems to favour the homosexual agenda might cause the government to fall out of favour with the conservative majority, which might result in the other guy being elected into power; the other guy, whose stance on same-sex marriages curries favour with the people, but whose rise to power would play Russian roulette with the economy. Perhaps the move towards liberal policies might antagonize our conservative neighbours. Maybe the sudden lax laws, coupled with a lack of proper sex education, might result in an outbreak of sexually transmitted diseases. Who knows? These might not be the actual reasons, but the fact that they are not only possible but plausible explanations for our government's behaviour reveals the fundamental attribution error in our thinking.<br />
<br />
It is sad that people like fighting. It is disheartening to realize that the vast majority are people who have a predilection to polarization, who immediately create camps and reinforce tribes, who quickly define who are my "allies" and who are my "enemies", because the world is just so much simpler that way. We have all the knowledge of the how to fight and the why to fight and the who to fight, with none of the wisdom to know <i>when</i>. Social justice warriors, the lot of them.<br />
<br />
I believe in same-sex marriage. I believe in the decriminalization of homosexual acts. I believe that a person should be able to love whomever they choose to love, regardless of whatever someone else's family, book, superstition, tradition, or prejudice has to say. But I also believe in properly thinking about an issue, in looking at multiple angles, in knowing when your emotion is clouding your reason, in controlling a knee-jerk reaction.<br />
<br />
I would like to point out that at no point in the article is PM Lee quoted as saying homosexuality is "wrong" or "unnatural". (I don't know if he never says this during the entire interview; I couldn't manage to find a transcript of the full reply online.) Not once does he say anything about the preservation of the institution of marriage; not once does he decry homosexuality as an abomination; not once does he mention any of the misguided and extremist views you can read in the article's comments section. All he says is that Singaporeans are not ready.<br />
<br />
And you know what? He's right. We're not ready.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-65780691239208991092015-05-27T10:39:00.000+08:002015-05-27T10:39:02.663+08:00Alternate RealitiesI had a vividly lucid dream this morning, that there was a portal to an alternate reality in my army administration office. It wasn't a glowing orange portal or a ring of electrically-charged nanobots; it was just a side corridor which looked extremely normal - it even had a photocopier in the middle of it - that if you went all the way to the end it opened up into this deserted house in an alternate reality. The first few times I crossed over were spent exploring the house. It was a fairly normal house, with large double doors and long hallways, but it was deserted. It was situated not precisely in the middle of nowhere, but out of the way of a small city or large town, which was on the horizon. I also discovered that time there moved differently from time in our reality, so that making a visit there and back cost you years when you think you had only gone for hours. One on of the last trips to the abandoned house I left the building to see a wave of people making their way towards the building, all dressed in different outfits and uniforms and generally looking like a bunch of people commuting to work. I didn't want to be caught there but I was pretty much ignored; I asked a lady walking her dog and she told me that there was a whole network of portals that people used to get around and do jobs in the multiverse.<br />
<br />
This happened over the course of an hour, as I was repeatedly awoken by my snooze alarm and went back to sleep, which I think just goes to show that I really don't want to live in this reality.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-37659263483525985602015-04-06T23:59:00.000+08:002015-04-14T00:56:16.881+08:00Poetry Month: If I Had One More Day to Live<u><b>If I Had One More Day to Live</b></u><br />
<br />
If I had one more day to live...<br />
Oh, what a futile narrative!<br />
<br />
One more day of pain and strife,<br />
One more day of fear and hate.<br />
Suffer not the stupid blighters,<br />
Nor the idiotic fools.<br />
Just shuffle off this mortal coil,<br />
No more time to make amends;<br />
I cannot take it anymore,<br />
Time to shove off and leave this place.<br />
Sick and tired of religion,<br />
Fed up with the loneliness;<br />
Cannot stand the two-faced traitors,<br />
Up to here with social justice.<br />
Nothing meets your expectations,<br />
People tell you what to dream;<br />
I'd do naught else and only this,<br />
<br />
If I'd but one more day to live!<br />
<br />
I can't forget the things I'd miss:<br />
Licking chocolate chip ice cream,<br />
Comic book film adaptations;<br />
Disc-shaped worlds atop a tortoise,<br />
And being civil to your waiters;<br />
Reveling in new-found freeness,<br />
Running through a flock of pigeons;<br />
There's marvelling at outer space,<br />
And mixing up your metaphors;<br />
Playing board games with your friends,<br />
Or pasta cooked in olive oil.<br />
Floating deep in swimming pools;<br />
When you hug her and she hugs tighter;<br />
A simple smile on your first date - <br />
I'd lose it all if I lose life.<br />
<br />
I guess I have to take and give,<br />
If I had one more day to live.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-16863529074745727882015-04-06T00:27:00.001+08:002015-04-06T00:29:59.097+08:00Poetry Month: On Evolution<u><b>On Evolution</b></u><br />
<br />
<i> I'm quite glad that evolution </i><br />
<i>Made it through its revolution, </i><br />
<i>And survived the persecution, </i><br />
<i>To make it to this day. </i><br />
<br />
<i>Though what leaves me quite affected: </i><br />
<i>Not the fact it's still rejected, </i><br />
<i>But that that's to be expected </i><br />
<i>Is what fills me with dismay.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-8475675596718615402015-04-04T23:59:00.000+08:002015-04-05T04:20:59.157+08:00Poetry Month: The Dragonfly<u><b>The Dragonfly</b></u><br />
<br />
<i>Tonight, a maddening creature</i><br />
<i>Flew into my room on the sly.</i><br />
<i>It wasn't a bird -</i><br />
<i>Though that would be preferred</i><br />
<i>To this gigantic dragonfly. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This insect is truly enormous,</i><br />
<i>See how it doth nature defy.</i><br />
<i>You don't understand,</i><br />
<i>It's the size of my hand,</i><br />
<i>Or maybe a large-ish bonsai. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's buzzing around my furniture,</i><br />
<i>And fighting my fan up on high.</i><br />
<i>I'm frightfully scared</i><br />
<i>It will leave me impaired</i><br />
<i>If it swerves right into my eye.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Excuse me, you cannot remain here,</i><br />
<i>So I really don't understand why</i><br />
<i>You won't go away;</i><br />
<i>Please leave me, I pray, </i><br />
<i>Or I think I might curl up and die.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Hello there neighbour, how are you?</i><br />
<i>I thought I'd just saunter by.</i><br />
<i>Oh, nothing's the matter,</i><br />
<i>I just had to scatter</i><br />
<i>From the terror that is dragonfly.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Come see for yourself - it's enormous!</i><br />
<i>And since you're here, be my ally.</i><br />
<i>I don't dare get closer,</i><br />
<i>So be my disposer,</i><br />
<i>And on you I'll fully rely. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What do you mean, you can't do it?!</i><br />
<i>I thought you were such a tough guy!</i><br />
<i>I'm surprised to find</i><br />
<i>You're so disinclined;</i><br />
<i>Never knew you were just a small fry. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Man, I still have to sleep at some point;</i><br />
<i>So I can't just stand idly by.</i><br />
<i>I reckon my broom</i><br />
<i>Gives me just enough room</i><br />
<i>To knock it right out of the sky.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's clinging onto my curtains,</i><br />
<i>But I have a plan now, whereby</i><br />
<i>I'll carefully nudge it,</i><br />
<i>And hopefully budge it</i><br />
<i>Away - hey, it's worth a try.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It flew out into the corridors,</i><br />
<i>And sadly, I can't tell a lie;</i><br />
<i>But I'm filled with elation</i><br />
<i>That this tribulation</i><br />
<i>Is now somebody else's. Goodbye!</i><br />
<br />
<i>--------------------</i><br />
<br />
Loosely inspired by real events that happened tonight with my friend and neighbour Dylan. The part where he abandons me such that I have to fight the fire-breathing dragonfly alone is sadly, true.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-5098460006945617742015-04-03T23:59:00.000+08:002015-04-04T01:20:45.722+08:00Poetry Month: Genesis<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WG_LwWhswxg/VR7JbRlprZI/AAAAAAAAB_I/bhBkypmy93Q/s1600/Cosmos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="I obviously don't know what mind maps are." border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WG_LwWhswxg/VR7JbRlprZI/AAAAAAAAB_I/bhBkypmy93Q/s1600/Cosmos.jpg" height="281" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Click image to view at full resolution.)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i><u><b>Genesis</b></u></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Chapter One</b></i><br />
<i><sup>1</sup> In the beginning, there was nothing,</i><br />
<i>Nothing but the void and dark;</i><br />
<i>which suddenly exploded</i><br />
<i>from the singularity’s spark.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>2</sup> Power poured into existence.</i><br />
<i>And with it, birthed a goddess;</i><br />
<i>Wild and unpredictable,</i><br />
<i>Yet behind-the-scenes and modest.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>3</sup> She condensed the lightest atoms,</i><br />
<i>And sent them t’wards the growing border.</i><br />
<i>she wore a mask of quantum;</i><br />
<i>Thus hid chaos in this order.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>4</sup> Guided by her unseen hand,</i><br />
<i>The hydrogen crashed and collided;</i><br />
<i>If they were fast, they fused in two:</i><br />
<i>Helium, nuclei undivided.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>5</sup> The atoms danced a billion years – </i><br />
<i>And with gravity’s permission –</i><br />
<i>Collapsed into a stellar cloud,</i><br />
<i>And twisted the ignition.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>6</sup> The first star was a beacon:</i><br />
<i>“and”, t’was said, “There was light”.</i><br />
<i>But the prime star soon went nova,</i><br />
<i>Flinging metals ‘cross the night.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>7</sup> Thus the elements danced with chaos – </i><br />
<i>A fierce foxtrot, death and birth;</i><br />
<i>Then the star sol scorched the heavens,</i><br />
<i>And gave rise to the Earth.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>8</sup> That small and rocky planetoid,</i><br />
<i>The third child from its parent sun,</i><br />
<i>Was rained upon with water, wet,</i><br />
<i>From which the threads of life were spun.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Chapter Two</b></i><br />
<i><sup>9</sup> Now Chaos had her eye on earth.</i><br />
<i>she quelled its crust volcanic,</i><br />
<i>and brought down with her unseen hand</i><br />
<i>The molecules organic.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>10</sup> And with a careful nudge from Chaos,</i><br />
<i>They combined into amino acids,</i><br />
<i>And thus the building blocks of life were made,</i><br />
<i>Underneath an ocean surface, placid.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>11</sup> The Goddess, ever curious,</i><br />
<i>Tinkered on the continental shelf,</i><br />
<i>Until her experiments devised</i><br />
<i>A molecule that could replicate itself.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>12</sup> This proto-strand of DNA</i><br />
<i>Became the first single-celled creature;</i><br />
<i>The first of many wondrous things</i><br />
<i>That this small rock would feature.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>13</sup> As they went forth and multiplied,</i><br />
<i>Some forms ate sunlight while some just ate,</i><br />
<i>And they specialised and diversified</i><br />
<i>Into cells which learned to conjugate.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>14</sup> For solitary cells are weak,</i><br />
<i>But together make a mighty prison.</i><br />
<i>Behold, great monsters of the sea</i><br />
<i>Which from the depths have risen.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>15</sup> Chaos, with mysterious grin,</i><br />
<i>Played god of evolution;</i><br />
<i>And with the waters getting full,</i><br />
<i>Divined a sound solution:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>16</sup> “I’ll give them arms; I’ll give them legs,</i><br />
<i>They’ll crawl on land and breathe the air!</i><br />
<i>I’ll graft on some the gift of flight,</i><br />
<i>And soon they will be everywhere!”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Chapter Three</b></i><br />
<i><sup>17</sup> Thus began an age of cold-blooded kings,</i><br />
<i>Of gargantuan insects and terrible lizards;</i><br />
<i>Some lived on plants but most ate other things,</i><br />
<i>Ripping out flesh from the guts and the gizzards.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>18</sup> The periods flew by – chalk it up to cretaceous – </i><br />
<i>And played out for millions of years prehistoric;</i><br />
<i>Then Chaos, in ways both playful and audacious,</i><br />
<i>Jostled a comet, which went meteoric.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>19</sup> The end of the world came sooner than thought,</i><br />
<i>But lo, not every creature was extinct:</i><br />
<i>The dinosaurs’ reign had all come to naught,</i><br />
<i>But in the aftermath, a furry small blink.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>20</sup> For milk-making monsters who mulled the mid-night,</i><br />
<i>They revelled in wake of the loss of the lizards,</i><br />
<i>And grew and evolved to a decent new height,</i><br />
<i>And survived the ice ages and snowfalls and blizzards.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>21</sup> Then one fateful day, on an open savannah,</i><br />
<i>A dominant life form began to take shape:</i><br />
<i>The story oft told is it slipped on a banana;</i><br />
<i>It’s hard to walk on two legs, for an ape.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>22</sup> The millennia ticked by; and brains were selected</i><br />
<i>By other lone monkeys looking for prime mates,</i><br />
<i>And over the years, this process affected</i><br />
<i>The development of some evolutionary traits.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>23</sup> As their minds expanded, the monkeys grew smart:</i><br />
<i>Developing math, religion, and more:</i><br />
<i>Philosophy, music, politics, and art;</i><br />
<i>But also murder, pollution, Suffering, and war.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>24</sup> Now Chaos, who was never far away,</i><br />
<i>Looked down upon the human scrimmage;</i><br />
<i>And she laughed upon their work and play,</i><br />
<i>For they were truly made of her image.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><sup>25</sup> It’s been billions of years since Chaos, undecided,</i><br />
<i>Threw dust together and sired the Earth.</i><br />
<i>Now that the whole back-story has been provided,</i><br />
<i>It’s time to go out there and prove what it’s worth.</i>
<br />
<br />
--------------------<br />
I had an assignment to submit a mind map summarizing the origins of the cosmos for my science class. Obviously I don't know what a mind map is, but I really enjoyed writing this poem, and creating the image that I had to submit. Yay for learning new things in Photoshop!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-42990578444716375152015-04-02T23:59:00.000+08:002015-04-05T01:48:58.107+08:00Poetry Month: Just Outside Eden<u><b>Just Outside Eden</b></u><br />
<br />
<i>"Dammit!" cried Adam. "We cannot undo!"</i><br />
<i>Eve whispered, "Why'd you lose the return key?"</i><br />
<i>The crosses were naught but a future view,</i><br />
<i>Now that they'd partook of the logic tree.</i><br />
<i>"Help us!" Eve called to the serpent ignoble,</i><br />
<i>But it just said: "Error: 'helpus' not defined."</i><br />
<i>"I don't understand; that variable's global!</i><br />
<i>Whoever made turtles was out of their mind."</i><br />
<i>Under the canopy they labelled their list,</i><br />
<i>'Till finally Adam shouted, "Oh, what the hell.</i><br />
<i>Let's run it, and if the problems still persist,</i><br />
<i>We'll debug the buggers right out of their shell."</i><br />
<i>So ignoring the taunts from the demon infernal,</i><br />
<i>They recompiled code and restarted the kernel.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-40805382227047132692015-04-01T23:59:00.000+08:002015-04-05T01:53:54.166+08:00Poetry Month: It's That Time of the Month<b><u>It's That Time of the Month</u></b><br />
<br />
<i>Gather round and hear the tale of the Monthly Match-make Man;</i><br />
<i>"A new girl every thirty days!" - that was his playboy plan.</i><br />
<i>"When you find out that she's not right and not quite what you wish you</i><br />
<i>Can put her into storage, and just wait for next month's issue!"</i><br />
<i>(It's clear you shouldn't emulate just 'cause you are in Rome;</i><br />
<i>This "just in case" is to cover all bases: kids, don't try this at home.)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He met the first young lady on a summer afternoon,</i><br />
<i>And when he did, his stomach slid, and made his insides swoon.</i><br />
<i>She loved to spoon, and played bassoon, which sent him over the moon;</i><br />
<i>Like him, she hated red (maroon), and liked his favourite tunes.</i><br />
<i>But her request to be a bride was, frankly, much too soon,</i><br />
<i>So with a hug, he gave her a bug to which she was not immune.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><i>The second girl, h</i>e found her quick; 'twas but a short delay;</i><br />
<i>She worked down at the cabaret, and took his breath away.</i><br />
<i>She baked soufflé, made cream parfait, and tea from small sachets;</i><br />
<i>I'd say their play was more risqué than Fifty Shades of Grey.</i><br />
<i>But to his dismay, she'd never obey a thing he'd try to convey,</i><br />
<i>So at the last hour, he gave her a flower, and shipped her on her way.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The last and final one he met, she gave him such a great thrill,</i><br />
<i>When he tells the story, he'd say his jaw was agape, still.</i><br />
<i>Her tights are worn see-through and lace, and always with those shaped-frills;</i><br />
<i>She joins him in the shower, and shares his love for escape drills.</i><br />
<i>The Monthly Man is now in love, and vows steadfast that he'll</i><br />
<i>Always and forevermore be the fool of April.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-72375970310205690072015-03-23T17:08:00.001+08:002015-03-23T17:08:46.232+08:00You Were A Wizard, Harry"Vimes had found old Stoneface's journal in the Unseen University library.<br />
<br />
The man had been hard, no doubt about that. But they were hard times.<br />
<br />
He'd written: 'In the Fyres of Struggle let us bake New Men, who Will<span class="text_exposed_show"> Notte heed the old Lies.' But the old lies had won in the end.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
He said to people: you're free. And they said hooray, and then he
showed them what freedom costs and they called him a tyrant and, as soon
as he'd been betrayed, they milled around a bit like barn-bred chickens
who've seen the big world outside for the first time, and then they
went back into the warm and shut the door-"<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
--Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-13730547938805140362015-03-09T00:52:00.001+08:002015-03-09T01:11:28.532+08:00Poems That Don’t Rhyme<u><b>Poems That Don’t Rhyme</b></u><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
There are things that annoy me; they render me unhinged:<br />
Like bells that were off-colour, they incorrectly tinged.<br />
They’re written by lovers and those who are spurned;<br />
And also by scholars, those men who are learned;<br />
They’re penned down by artists who make such a fuss;<br />
And those nature-lovers who fawn over does.<br />
I know those that say it’s not much of a crime,<br />
But I really can’t stand poems that don’t echo.<br />
<br />
There are those who can pun on a run-on sentence,<br />
Weaving witty words that enchant and entrance;<br />
Spoken word’s tolerable if it’s give and take,<br />
And haikus are swell when you’ve swallowed some sake –<br />
But a printed down piece, I have to concede<br />
I’ve a terrible need voicing what I just read.<br />
It’s jarring when those sounds don’t match up on time,<br />
And that’s why I don’t like poems that don’t sound right.<br />
<br />
If there were a contest, Dr Seuss would win it!<br />
Every clause has a pause, and his flaws are minute.<br />
Ogden Nash too, is on solid rhyme ground:<br />
His stanzas are sharp, but sometimes they wound.<br />
As are the lyrics that at concerts they blare;<br />
Their rhythmic pattern makes me shed a tear.<br />
These are the verses that are in their prime!<br />
Not like those hateful poems that don’t end in homonyms.<br />
<br />
Let’s veto all free verse, this era’s cliché,<br />
And let all our diphthongs jostle and buffet;<br />
It’d be so much better! Much better instead,<br />
If we all raise our pencils and follow my lead.<br />
It might not be brilliant as I may have hoped,<br />
But you won’t get run over by a bike or a moped.<br />
It will be outstanding and simply sublime,<br />
If we all could stop writing poems that don’t use similar-sounding syllables.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-73147886672848589322014-12-31T23:11:00.000+08:002015-01-01T23:12:00.133+08:00(2014) Days of SummerYou could chuck a truckload of walking sticks into a swirling vortex and it still wouldn't be the hurricane of life that was 2014. So here's the annual thing where I scrape together ten of the marginally more enjoyable things I can remember for the year until 2015 sucker-punches me in the gut. Again.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Improv is Newsworthy!</b><br />
Big props to Aly and the rest of the Public Affairs team, who got the Improv Comedy Conglomerate featured in the Straits Times! Dylan was basically doing his stupid Dylan things while the cameraman was taking test shots, and it ended up being used as the leading photo of the article. It's my first time appearing in a newspaper, and probably my last, unless I get arrested for doing something incredibly stupid.<br />
<br />
<b>2. 14th March 2014</b><br />
My birthday has never been a big thing for me, but this year my Yale-NUS friends really pulled out all the stops and I had the best birthday I've ever had. Between dragging me out for Japanese dinner for the pretext to a YNC Common Lounge Ambush, to Karen's <i>Everything</i> video and then forcing me to sing it in the dining hall, I don't think Stockholm Syndrome has ever been a viable celebratory theme until that day. And I think you again for a wonderful evening, that I will never forget.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Summer Programme in Japan</b><br />
I've never stayed in another country longer than three weeks before (this being Orientation at Yale) and once again YNC giving me the opportunity to see the world; this time for five weeks in Tokyo, Japan for another brilliant summer experience. I've loved living in Japan; the notion of just walking to a <i>konbini</i> and having <i>onigiri</i> is one of life's most beautiful and exquisite experiences. I thoroughly enjoyed my course as well; Prof Seth Jacobowitz was a really great professor and a really cool and funny guy to hang out with (sometimes too literally, eh, Xim?). I even got to travel to Hiroshima to visit the host family I stayed with two years ago; my Japanese family on the other side of the world. From living the Tokyo subway commute to buying plastic transparent umbrellas, Tokyo will always be my second home.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Orientation and Ghettopotamia</b><br />
So I signed up to be an Orientation Group Leader this year again, without knowing what I'd get myself into. It was very different, running around Singapore with juniors instead of your classmates; but it was great fun and I'm very proud of my Ishstars. But I think the best thing that happened was getting closer with the rest of the RC3 OGLs: Ami, Bryant and Mel, who have been some of my closest friends during the dark and difficult past semester. And we put on a great opening act for RC3 - I honestly couldn't have asked for more perfect teammates. Ghettopotamia 4 Lyfe.<br />
<br />
<b>5. The Penang Boys</b><br />
I'm really grateful to be travelling to places that I've never been before, and when I was <i>jio</i>ed to follow Dylan, Josh and John Reid to Penang for a couple of days, I hastily agreed. I finally fulfilled my life dream of eating Penang Char Kway Teow <i>in Penang</i>, and we had a blast wandering around the island over four days; climbing stupidly-steep hills, strolling down jetties, and best of all, EATING. And I never once got food poisoning or anything, despite all the warnings my parents kept giving me.<br />
<br />
<b>6. The Improv Shows: Opening Act, EYWs; The Kumar Show; The DF Farewell; and Build-A-Show: Act Two, Brutus </b><br />
Looking back, I realised we had SO MANY shows this year. Our first show, Opening Act, was a brilliant hit, selling out almost immediately and even having people cram in the back. We performed for all the EYWs as well, and I'd like to think that we contributed to a lot of the intake this year (although the Egyptian girl didn't come after we did the Arabic Foreign Film Dub... oh well). Opening for the Kumar show was also a nerve-wrecking experience; not only because we were opening for a pretty well-known local comedian, but also because we were collaborating with the NUS Improvables, who are pretty damn awesome - we even started going to <i>their</i> shows to see them in action. We also had a crazy fun show for the DF Farewell; somehow all 12 DFs managed to squeeze in some time in their packed schedules to come for rehearsals and put on the very first all-DF show for the very first year of Yale-NUS students - a very happy and also very teary occasion. Finally, after a new-and-improved workshop schedule this semester, our new blood put on a damn good show for their first-ever improv show. It's been a pretty good year for improv, and it's only going to get better!<br />
<br />
<b>7. Yale-NUS Goes to Langkawi </b><br />
Oh man travelling is awesome. I've (probably) decided not to take a science major, so the Yale-NUS Common Curriculum Foundations of Science class had a weekend field trip to Langkawi, which honestly was one of the highlights of the entire curriculum. It's so brilliant to just go to a tropical island and learn <i>science</i>. From beach treks to learn about changing sea levels to mangrove cruises with live snake-skin, to visiting an actual observatory and night-time hikes in search for nocturnal creatures, the Langkawi field trip was absolutely awesome and I loved every minute of it.<br />
<br />
<b>8. Escape Rooms</b><br />
I like a good puzzle, and because of Dylan I've been introduced to the wonderful world of Escape Rooms, where you take an hour to break out of a room by solving the puzzles therein. I must have gone to about six or seven rooms this year, and they've all been a blast; I think the best one is still the Magician's Secret, with actually challenging puzzles and a brilliant atmosphere, especially the corridor with nothing but mirrors. My success rate is currently hovering around fifty percent, and it's been pretty fun so far; hopefully the companies refresh their rooms for the coming year so there's a new challenge waiting!<br />
<br />
<b>9. Cards Against Humanity</b><br />
So exams are over and I've been invited to play Cards Against Humanity for the first time, and I swear I couldn't have had a more perfect initiation, with Matt Bolden, Passport, Min, Jolanda, Aaron and Abel. That was honestly the happiest I'd been the entire semester, a full four-hour laugh session with such brilliant responses as "Stockholm Syndrome" and "Incest"; and "Pedophiles. The art of seduction. The Pope." taking the award for the most serendipitous haiku <i>ever</i>. Thanks so much for the laughter, guys.<br />
<br />
<b>10. The Phantom Six takes on <strike>Lijiang</strike> Yunnan</b><br />
One last stop on the itinerary this year: Josh, Theo, Hui Ran, Tiff and I travelled to Hong Kong and Yunnan for a lot of nature, exploration, horse-riding, band album cover photoshoots, giant Tiger Leaping Gorges, Wang Leehom music with a really damn cool driver, Chinese K-Box, delicious Tibetan potato chips, snow, food poisoning, and yak meat! It was a really wonderful experience, except for the food poisoning, and it's great fun scientifically categorizing Hui Ran's laughter.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Year in Entertainment</b><br />
<br />
<b>Anime: </b><i>Psycho-Pass</i><br />
I didn't get the chance to watch a lot of <i>anime</i> this year, but I do have a lot of praise for <i>Psycho-Pass</i>, a brilliant dystopian thriller with a generous helping of philosophical intrigue to keep your blood pumping and brain racing.<br />
<br />
<b>Books:</b> <i>Nation</i> by Terry Pratchett, <i>Shame</i> by Salman Rushdie, <i>Y: The Last Man</i> by Vertigo Comics; <i>Justice League: Generation Lost</i> by DC Comics<br />
I've been re-reading a lot of Terry Pratchett books this year so I don't have many new things to say, except that his latest book <i>Raising Steam</i> has nothing on the earlier Moist von Lipwig novels. I re-read <i>Nation</i> and it is every bit as good as when I first read it, perhaps better; I urge anybody and everybody to read this book, no matter who or what. One of the other books I really enjoyed this year was Salman Rushdie's <i>Shame</i>, which, though it annoyed me with the post-colonial message and convoluted plot, delighted me with the writing style and the way Rushie plays with words in the way only someone who loves the English language can. Dylan lent me <i>Y: The Last Man</i>, and I have to say it is one of the absolute <b>best</b> comics I can and will suggest to anyone, alongside <i>Invincible</i> and <i>Fables</i>. Never has feminist topics and gender theory and, ultimately, human nature, been framed in such an interesting and literary medium, and I am privileged to have been bequeathed this brilliant piece of literature. Finally, <i>Justice League: Generation Lost</i> was such a great series with such a great story; I always love reading about teams more than individual heroes, and these books did not disappoint.<br />
<br />
<b>Games:</b> <i>Bioshock</i>, <i>Bioshock 2</i>, <i>Bioshock: Infinite</i>; <i>Patapon</i>; <i>Evil Genius</i>; <i>Overwatch</i> (Trailer)<br />
I bought the Bioshock 3-pack a while ago, and finally managed to play through the first game, which was bloody effing <i>brilliant</i>. I've never seen the railroad nature of video games being taken and hybridized with philosophy, and Rapture's promises of an objectivist utopia which culminates in what is arguably the best line in a video game ("A man chooses, a slave obeys.") has been the best roller-coaster ride a video game has taken me on ever since <i>Final Fantasy VIII</i>. <i>Bioshock 2</i> is also pretty brilliant, and I'm loving the new combat system; the storyline was also pretty good but seemed a lot shorter. I'm like 80% through <i>Bioshock: Infinite</i>, and I'm loving the awesome mechanics and the thrilling rides on the Skyline, and Elizabeth's Tears mechanic really makes things very, very interesting. I also managed to get <i>Patapon</i> working on my system, and it's been a game I've always wanted to play, and it's pretty fun although I don't know why I keep dropping the rhythm. I also managed to finally get <i>Evil Genius</i>, which is a pretty fun and hilarious game; I've had a lot of fun designing evil lairs and interrogating agents. Finally, Blizzard announced their new FPS-MOBA hybrid <i>Overwatch</i> and even though I've not played it yet, it looks <i>freaking amazing</i> and I'm really hyped to play it, assuming I get accepted into the beta.<br />
<br />
<b>Movies:</b> <i>Captain America: The Winter Soldier</i>; <i>Guardians of the Galaxy</i>, <i>Big Hero 6</i>, <i>Fight Club</i>, <i>Her</i>, <i>The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</i>, <i>The Lego Movie</i>, <i>The Hunger Games</i>, <i>Monty Python's Life of Brian</i>, <i>Interstellar</i>, <i>The Maze Runner</i><br />
I've watched a few really good movies this year. <i>The Winter Soldier</i> was a brilliant piece of superhero cinema, and I think my favourite character was Josh Whedon's take on Arnim Zola, who in the comics was an android with his face broadcast onto a screen on his chest; the movie did that homage <i>so bloody well</i>. For me, <i>Guardians of the Galaxy</i> was a pretty okay movie; it was extremely enjoyable but nothing outstanding. <i>Big Hero 6</i> was a lot of fun, and it's great to see Pixar make another superhero movie (it says Disney on the poster, but it's <i>obviously</i> Pixar animation, anyone can see that). I finally watched Fight Club this year too, and it's a bloody brilliant piece of cinema; even though I knew the spoiler, I was still fascinated and wondering how the whole thing would play out. I watched <i>The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</i> on the plane to Japan, and it was really nice; I never expected the ending, and I found that I really liked it. I also appreciate they played David Bowie's <i>Space Oddity</i>; that song has so much new meaning after Commander Chris Hadfield sang it aboard the International Space Station. I also watched <i>The Lego Movie</i>, which was funny, but I was more impressed at the fact that someone had to build all the stuff out of Lego for the film. I also watched <i>The Hunger Games</i> on the plane back from Japan, and it didn't really stand out much for me; a lot of the political message was watered down in the film. I think I preferred the book. I finally watched <i>Monty Python's Life of Brian</i>, which is the brilliant piece of satire I've always heard it was, and now I really understand the meaning and significance of <i>Always Look on the Bright Side of Life</i>. I watched <i>The Maze Runner</i>, and I found I really enjoyed it; shame it had to end on a cliffhanger, but now I'm interested to see the next installment. Finally, <i>Interstellar</i> was a Nolan masterpiece; few movies can cause me to cry but I cried so hard.<br />
<br />
<b>TV Shows:</b> <i>Liar Game</i>; <i>The Newsroom</i> <br />
I've just the season finale left for <i>Liar Game</i>, and it's been a pretty interesting show, even though the main female protagonist is kind of annoying. It's pretty interesting to see how Akiyama is always three steps ahead and knows how to play the rules. The other TV series I've watched this year is Aaron Sorkin's <i>The Newsroom</i>, and <i>bloody hell</i> it's been a crazy roller coaster ride. It's smart, funny, witty, and it's fighting against the misinformation and stupidity in the media. What's not to like? Plus Olivia Munn is <i>so freaking hot oh my god.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Music:</b> Weird Al Yankovic's <i>Mandatory Fun</i>; Postmodern Jukebox; Owl City's <i>The Midsummer Station </i>and <i>Ultraviolet EP</i>; Jay Chou's "Extra Large Shoes"; Wagakki's "Spinal Fluid Explosion Girl" and "Senbonzakura"; Hunter Hayes's "Everybody's Got Somebody But Me"; Passenger's <i>All the Little Lights</i><br />
After Chris introduced me to Passenger, I've loved most of the songs on his <i>All the Little Lights</i> album, especially "Patient Love", "The Wrong Direction", "All the Little Lights", "Keep on Walking" and "Life's for the Living". Weird Al's new album came out this year, and while there are a few songs that aren't really my taste, Weird Al's still got his thing and it's still relevant and brilliant. Postmodern Jukebox does vintage-style covers of modern pop songs, and they're brilliant. Owl City's latest album is also pretty good; it's got his usual wordplay and upbeat-ness, but there's also a lot of sadness hidden within. After hearing Jay Chou's "Extra Large Shoes" in China I can't get it out of my head; it's been playing on repeat for a while now. Also, Xim introduced me to Wakkagi Band after Japan, and their take on the Hatsune Miku song "Spinal Fluid Explosion Girl" is still giving me chills. The music video for "Senbonzakura" is also a masterpiece; you see a girl playing an electric <i>sanshin</i>. Finally, I happened to discover Hunter Hayes's "Everybody's Got Somebody But Me", which really describes the last semester, but it's still funny and fun I guess that's sorta like me.<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Alright 2015, give me your best shot.<br />
The Edna ManUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-49053892678559350532014-12-03T19:08:00.002+08:002014-12-03T19:08:36.444+08:00Exeunt.<div style="text-align: right;">
26 September, 2014</div>
<br />
You almost got everything right.<br />
<br />
You were right about the acting. A certain comedian called Robin Williams figured it out long ago: a grimace can be a grin if it has a good PR department. Let me tell you something: some time back, way before all this, I was in love. I thought that our love would overcome everything. <i>Amor vincit omnia</i>. I turned out to be wrong. At some point along the way, I developed the delusion that laughter equals love and I abused it like a drug. Every snicker, every giggle, every chuckle, was a quiet affirmation of my existence: <i>This person wouldn't be laughing if I wasn't here. I must be important</i>. The thing about the stage? Every time you put on that mask, you get to be the person you don't have the guts to be when you're off. You get to be the person that people love, that people cheer on, that people <i>want</i>. For a brief, narcotic moment, you can feel like you're <i>wanted</i>. And then I found the courage to love again, to yearn for another human being who love in return is a thousand, a million, a billion audiences. I found the courage to trust in humanity, to believe that maybe this time, <i>amor </i>will really <i>vincit omnia</i>. I turned out to be wrong, again. Two points make a hypothesis; I'm not looking for the third to prove the theory. Now the drugs don't work, because the trick isn't magical when you can see the trapdoor.<br />
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You were right about the black hole. It's funny you used that metaphor, because another name for a black hole is a <i>singular</i>ity. Nothing but an infinitesimally small, infinitesimally dense bit of matter, spinning around and around itself, letting things in but not letting things out, drifting along through the universe and ripping apart anything and everything it comes into contact with. Like I said, an apt metaphor. But if a black hole could think. If a black hole and an endocrine system and a hypothalamus and glands and emotions and higher-order thought. If a black hole could think and feel. Would it keep wandering through the cosmos, tearing apart all that is bright and stellar and stable? Or would it drift to its own corner of the universe, afraid at its own destructive power, and keep away from all other matters in fear of hurting them.<br />
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You were right about the conviction. You believe that you are right, and you are sure because nothing could have convinced me that I was wrong. The funny thing about the human mind is that, for some reason, it has to know its place in existence. Throughout history, we have been telling ourselves stories: we used to tell ourselves stories about gods; now we tell ourselves stories about atoms. We tell ourselves stories to reassure our brain that it knows where it is, because that is how we understand the world. But there is a difference between drawing yourself on a map, and drawing a map around yourself. We all tell ourselves stories; even this story I am telling myself is a story. I know that there is no way of getting out of that. But there are no answers to be had here. So I'm going somewhere where there are.<br />
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You almost got everything right. But you got two things wrong. One, you said I didn't leave behind a long letter. And two, you can't get guns in this country. But I do live on the seventeenth floor, and the windows have no grilles. <br />
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...bang.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8948769.post-74106976215097587082014-12-01T23:59:00.000+08:002014-12-04T15:19:43.605+08:00InterstellarThere is a scene in <i>Interstellar</i> where Cooper returns to the ship after spending a few hours on a planet in a high gravitational field. Because of gravitational time dilation, the few hours he spent on the planet corresponded to twenty-three years of Earth time. He returns to the ship to to find twenty-three years of video messages waiting for him from his children, who he is longing to get back to. Twenty-three years of life, gone in an instant, watching the people he loved grow and change and live.<br />
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I cried at that scene. I rarely cry in movies but I cried at that scene. Not because of the love he had for his children; not because he knew that he had missed all the important things in their lives. But because he had to watch from outside, and know that he could never be a part of it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0