Human Like A House

Me and french flicks - well a rather uncanny relationship but nevermind why it is uncanny. A 2008 hit, Welcome to the Land of Shtis (not shits, it wasn't a typo I'm sorry) is about a dude who decides to play handicap to get a promotion, gets discovered and bumped to a seemingly remote part of France (the North as they call it and with extreme prejudice). Of course, like almost every other stereotypical french flick, there's the friendly cops on the road and romance sequences.

They are friendly - drudging at 30km/h on the highway to the North excuses you from a ticket and a pat on the back plus some encouragement. Classic.

And in Count von Count's new belfry on a crescent night...

To keep up with the times, Count von Count gives away the organ for the carillon.

'Mina' is appalled.

I assume you know french, even if you don't the context of this writing should give you an obvious hint.

'Mina' is dumbfounded and flabagasted.

Instead of landing up with a job at the prestigious/acclaimed/high class etc. Riveria, the displaced protagonist finds himself enjoying the little settlement up North very well. In tough times of today, it seems to bag the question if our values and expectations are similarly unfounded and hideous upon truthful self-reflection despite the evident preference for a comedy by the audience resembling escapism in The Curious Incident of the Chihuahua in the Night Time...

This brings to mind a flick of the mind incident not too long ago when a shot on TV brings up the image of a 'happy family with children getting married and graduate photos featured in the background'. While I get reminded of the stark contrast of optimism of my current situation, a frill little voice seems to be screaming out what I really want. Thanks to society, that little voice gets downplayed as a sign of mental retardation or insanity. People aren't quite people anymore going after prestige, wealth and status. Almost inexplicably - I feel very much at peace despite a definitive doom attached to today's paper.

As Antoine in the movie disagrees with human to human violence - human to object violence seems much more appropriate - especially when individual sanity is a thing of the past.

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

Hello, hello, hello. Oh rite, there's Treehouse of Horror (the Simpson's Halloween special) to catch up on. I love that smug remark in one of the specials one year commenting on how it Halloween is on 31 October and the episode being aired on a November. Sweet. That's just like this year too. I'm am jealous of a certain someone going for a live Top Gear episode filming. I hope she remembers my request for a shot of Clarkson, May and Hammond.

In other news, Hamilton won F1 this year and Palin got pranked.

Really, the former doesn't even sound newsy but the latter sure is fun. Comedy makes the world go round. I'll get back to that later. Hamilton came to mind due to a running gag in Top Gear about him not being of legal age to buy a certain sports car. No, I'm not really jealous of being at the show, I want my car on the show (and of course autographs from the trio on the dashboard please).

I appreciate them introducing the whole hallobaloo of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle in the current syllabus not for its worth in the current exam syllabus but really for being able to subsequently appreciate how the conception of uncertainty as a systematically resolved notion is a universal axiomatic constant device.


Dr. Seldom: And we know that the victim was killed by a cushion. Since we don't have a cushion we'll use this nasty little knife.


Dr. Seldom: And what if I say all Britons are liars? True? False? Or impossible to proof? ... There is a gap, there is a gaff between what is true and what probable. We can never be sure about all the facts of a phenomena ... Are you sure? Heisenberg wasn't quite as certain... Bingo! Ms. Scarlet is now an electron.... and every time you look at her you change her, Ms. Scarlett would have changed her appearance or her position... because the very fact that you observe her alters her atomic state, how about that! ... So do you really think criminal investigation is more reliable than physics or mathematics?

So yes, if you want a better case to consider, try this: You order a plate of food, have it as takeaway - how certain are you that the ideal taste (is that even possible, at a single instance) is conveyed to your taste buds? At a single instance? With only two chews and you are to gulp it down? No - there must be some form of margin of error, an uncertainty. That is the beauty of stuff like this that involves head-cracking scientific know how and finally realising that yes, it only touches the surface of explaining how I acquire taste while trying to stay alive. By the way, I got on to that while having lunch with Dad at a hawker centre. Somehow or rather, after churning out values from my sensory perception that may/may not involve the six sense tells me that people enjoy the exam period more - less rubbish comes out of their mouth and there's almost a gleaming smile not shown on the faces.

At least that is what if felt to me when having a simple lunch with a parent who is always absent only happens during the more dire of circumstances (during the exam period). I always had this escapist idea - why don't I go to bed and never wake up again? Not very fun innit - please you get to miss out of the bad stuff too.

Now, here are some of my thoughts on the true perpetual motion device - well at least what I suspect is the true phenomena that defies all laws of physics - human emotions. You get happy, sad, wicked, resentful and the list goes on but somehow or rather there isn't a comprehensive way to keep track of these 'processes'. Even when faced with a plethora of conditions and harsh environments, people are still able to generate emotions at seemingly no additional energy cost then what is required for sustenance of the body. Lobotomy and artificial modifications are out of the question please.

That, is some food for thought although I haven't expressed it as forthright and clearly as I intended it to be (this is not the best time). And no, I do not know what is on page 47.

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

It's night again, six past midnight - when the clock strikes twelve, iron boy and sandal wood girl begin their journey to the Blue Mountain to find The SIlver River so that they can become a real boy and girl.

It's the quiet night, where half (almost) of the world is asleep and time for contemplation of the meaning of, 'silent as the grave'. Morbid I see, but it's somewhat fitting a description for at this life-changing moment before the the culling (exams), I am still left with the little remains of being a bright kid from a good school and all that hard work and timely investments have been put to waste - possibly, or should I say highly probable?

Unfortunately however, in the past few couple of months, I've come to the conclusion or rather dared to face the fact that the world as I've been taught to know it to be is really quite a big farce especially with a larger piece of it. The exams, as life-changing as it is deemed to be is no more than a concealed gateway of some sort that almost feels like a trickster tempting you into an undesirable labyrinth you might not find your way out of. Then we have reality checks of how there is the need for food, money and a job for sustenance. In light of the current financial slump, the question of what financial and materialistic gains is ever more pertinent. St. Peter's Barge is a fine example of a cowardly face of mankind when facing adversity that was brought upon by their desire for instant gratification - essentially a floating church that stops along Canary Wharf during lunchtime and in the wake of the financial crisis, the number of attendees have shown an optimistic rise. No doubt my disdain for the exams strikes a familiar chord to this hunger for instant gratification due to the associated unhappiness commonly compared to a mental torture, it should be taken into consideration that the exams are a means to an end - a university degree and therefore a better job, or at least that is what is generally taken to be that having an accredited certificate grants the holder. So it has come to the point whereby a commonly cited argument for this pursue of good grades opens many doors in life.

This is inevitably quite the case if you stick to a traditional context of countering this notion.

Unfortunately however, the doors opened - none of them are what you want to get out of life. It turns futile in the flick of an eyelid and you realize that you're among the bunch of souls tricked into such a predicament.

Tricked, not lost I repeat.

Once as a little child, ravaging through this 1980s series of children's book eagerly awaiting the life-giving ending the iron boy and sandalwood girl adventure was a transcendental phantasm; almost like a crusade to make sure that our 'Pinnochios' had to be given a chance at being alive. This infatuation with life being precious and sacred in spite of its seemingly meaningless existence - could it be a fatal message driven into minds of young children? Like Wittgenstein hypothesized - we can only think as much as our language can convey. When considered in an inverted fashion it seems that what language dictates, we follow.

Speculative as this may sound - there might come a point in the next few years whereby accreditation would not help you survive in a savage world when money only makes as much as sense as saying that bullets cannot kill. The knife would have returned to its primal state of an icon of wielding power in place of the pen when the very notion of an economy has turned into mere phantasm.

Happy Halloween and where is that owl who was supposed to call my name?

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

In light of the upcoming 007 film, I present to you the original iPod commercials:



These were from the opening sequence of the first Bond film, Dr. No (1962). Uncanny isn't it? Apple ≠ Microsoft? Doesn't seem that way anymore. Bond films are also known to feature Helvetica as the default typeface, however what you're reading is in Arial (an 'non-subtle' change done not too long ago) due to yet another Apple-Microsoft controversy thanks to an accident.

Feeling empty or emotionally uptight? Let's have a look at what the 'rapidly connected and globalised world today' have to offer:

1. I'm Lonely
2. Inner Peace
3. I'm Scared

The first two links yields something constructive - a PostSecret-ish anonymous confession (with no credentials whatsoever which kinda points to logging your IP while you wait for a SWAT team to burst into your compound while you confess) and the innerpeace.org software - which really is like a self-help book with writing exercises without paper. The lack of interactivity is epitomised in the search terms of, 'I'm Scared' where none of the links really help without a credit card of some sort. The problem with the world is that when you question, 'what's wrong,' the reply turns out to be, "nothings wrong." People just can't seem to see that there is something not right going on or if you need it blunt: hypocrisy.

I once did a minor study on psychology services/helplines based on the Internet and the conclusion didn't make much of an impact on my grey cells as it turned out as far as IM and forums are available - they only serve as a dangling fuse line before you reach the big problem because the human touch cannot be replaced adequately (as we still do not have holographic/telepathy device). Oprah-inspired/PostSecret/Samaritan/Post-Katrina styled aid programmes make use of distinctive embellishments like lower-mid piano tunes, soft approach interview segments and the occasional white balance distortions to 'soften' the picture. My opinion? You want to capture the attention of a particular audience? Hire an advertising agency to do the job instead of making stereotypical heartwarming family time stuff (Disney it quite adept at doing that you know). It is almost like working at an opposite end inspiring further self-degradation and jealousy from the people you aspire to help. I shall end my piece and dwell upon the integrity of what is meant by social and aid/social welfare workers because they have a part to play in this Fresh Kills. Though it is interesting to note that:

Under local pressure and with support of the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), the landfill site was closed on March 22, 2001. However, after the September 11, 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center, the landfill was temporarily reopened in order to receive and process much of the debris from the destruction. The debris was never removed and is buried in a 40 acre portion of the landfill. The New York City Medical Examiner in a written affadavit has stated that he is virtually certain the debris contains human remains.

Assuming you believe in hell, you'll be offered warmth in the afterlife departing a pathetic civilisation. For the atheists - hold everything dear. What I just did in the latter is almost like search No. 3 - doing what the Internet does best.

Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

My eyes don't blink that much these days. Even though there aren't any visual signs, I get the feeling that my eyes are slowly paling out from the shiny glossy black as a kid into earthenware brown, as though there is no life force left in the biological vessel. I need to go on a pilgrimage of some sort like maybe to Ghandara. I've just created a new playlist with screws with your mood and general state of mind, it's labeled 1907:

1) Not Going Anywhere - Keren Ann
2) Semo Gente De Borgata - I Vianella
3) Canzone per te - Sergio Endrigo
4) Je l'aime à mourir - Francis Cabrel
5) 关怀方式 - 陈汉伟 & 蔡礼连
6) Ghandara - MONKEY MAJIK
7) Para siempre - Vicente Fernanández
8) Chitarra romana - Connie Francis
9) Santiago - Ozomatli
10) Don't Speak - No Doubt
11) Life in Mono - Mono
12) Diferente - Gotan Project
13) Jerusalem - Mirah (C'mon Miracle version)
14) Hijo de la Luna - Mecano
15) Vois sur ton chemin - Les Choristes (Les Choristes Movie Soundtrack)
16) Dark Chariot - Peer Raben (2046 Movie Soundtrack)
17) Edge of the Ocean - Ivy
18) I Started a Joke - Bee Gees
19) On Days Like These - Matt Monro
20) Overture to "The Barber of Seville" - King's Singer
21) Tico Tico no Fubar - Paco de Lucia y Ramon de Algeciras

Of course while I anticipate the forthcoming of the 'Great Depressionist/Pessimist' title being awarded to me due to inclusion of a rather comprehensive list of international works on this list, I should say that if you're lacking even one song from this list - forget it because the mood of the tracks have been modulated to flow from previous to next with as little mood breakage as possible and some subtle instrumental follow ups. Also, do note that I snipped off the end of Ozomatli's Santiago from the 'revolutionary speech' onwards. Some tracks like Chitarra romana are pretty obscure so if you're unsuccessful at an assemblage, I suppose the disappointment should make up for the emotional joy ride. Lastly, only listen to it if you still have a significant bit of humanity inside you.

While the list says something about the degree of success at purging the humanistic remnants within the misanthropic mind, staring is an obvious sign of lack of interest in the surroundings - nothing catches your attention anymore. You live in your own world, as if following straight-out dry boolean operators based commands in the head. Zombies are much too bloody and uncouth as a metaphor here, I would prefer a Dalek/Cybermen behaviour with an android shell.

Yesterday, I was introduced to the concept of The Little Death, otherwise known as La petite mort. It is used to describe a post orgasmic state of slipping into consciousness/faintness and a commonly cited verse from Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhy:

Then try, try, say die and watch me die.
Die then! Die! I watched her die many times.

Pushing the eroticism aside, I find it very much alike to an existentialist verse for describing the unbearable lightness of being. Since when was trying every enough? You try just to savour your own demise instead of the unexpected whack in the head.


Did I mention my amateur hobby at Bollywood films? The escapist depiction of egalitarian society and 'punch-packing' change makers seem to catch hold of my lifeless eyes. The influence of 60-70s Indian films in Banhart's Carmensita video displays a heightened form of aesthetics as opposed to my past impression of low budget second-rate flicks to kill off weekend afternoons then the toys no longer have their appeal under the equatorial version of the Tuscan sun.

By the way, the lyrics of Carmensita have nothing to do with the captions on screen. It's a product of gibberish fun coupled with a fancy tune.

Update: Links to the songs - all hail Youtube...Now you can have both video and song lossier and crappier...

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

New front door, same address
Same front step, same back-porch
Geraniums to the terrace
Sold my shoes to pay the rent
I won't be needing them
I won't be leaving too soon

Oh my dear, do undress
You look so different in those new shoes
To impress someone you have never met
Someone you already know
Is waiting behind my front door

And by the door you know I'll wait
Oh, by the window, by the gate
I'm waiting for your sound

So softly, dear, don't hesitate
The lion looms along the lake
And swallows every sound
But oh, I wish that I could take
That simple lonely way
That long cold lonely way
But these days it takes more than two feet
It takes four to fill the road
I fend and swing the axe at for

I've trampled all over the place
Swung to and fro and still no state
Has held me in its bounds

But by the bridge I'd like to stay
Oh, by the ocean, by the bay
And hope that you'll come around

Oh, my dear, do undress
You look so different in those new clothes
To impress someone you have never met
I'm the one needing you
I'm the one with no shoes

So by the door you know I'll wait
Oh, looking out the golden gate
She yawns into the morning...

The lyrics of this song by The Finches was just to let you get a feel of what if you could hear the actual song since they are too 'indie' to infringe any rights on any video hosting conglomerates. The thing that sparked off my interest was Le Corbusier's quote, "houses are machines for living in," which really is in stark contrast to what seems to be settled in the non-thetic consciousness (an awareness of things which we are not consciously aware of). I seemed to have mentioned this before in a previous post but it serves as a reminder for a victim of dissociative amnesia.

Things just don't come back to me as easily anymore and most of the time for good reason.

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

While the artificial intelligence of my sidekick machine embarks on a not so intelligent cycle of playing through songs by Mirah in the Indie playlist (Seriously, what were you think trying to bring down the afternoon into a depressionist landscape?) I was reminded of a literature we had to study as a adolescent dimwit - I Heard the Owl Call My Name.

The stage was a re-run of local made programmes on free-to-air TV, namely Makansutra and the trigger was host, KF Seetoh providing retrospective Zen-ish nibblets about how the best things in life are free when admiring sceneries and how the senior citizens (and maybe a couple of unemployed!?) are taking things slow in life just hanging out at the various food centres and speaking his mind on what local food culture should be ideally. The images of the young vicar from the Owl arriving at the native Canadian settlement and most importantly a line from the text, "staying alive is going take a lot longer than the young vicar has expected," signifying the sudden shift in lifestyle such that basal self-sustenance activities have to be conducted by oneself with no modern day amenities at your disposal. Of course the vicar slowly learnt to appreciate and liked it but the owl called his name and he was close to dying by then.

Before I came home from school, I had to attend a revision lesson - well like all classes that are of a non-lecture nature, the quick massive dissemination I so craved for was lacking and lesson ended without achieving the desired outcomes. Of course in a crowded human environment, I silent observe all the little inter-twinning of social activities involved a bunch of specimens - being in the institution I am affiliated to means that there was a fair enough share of elitism and elevated stage of material norms being passed around. Decadent, I would say. Hey despots - if you want to live long adopt a decadent approach to life/lifestyle because these people just would go away or should I put it in a nastier manner - they just don't die. A new architecture phenomena in the near future would be Roach Motels where, 'roaches check in, but they don't check out." Oh wait, there already is such a thing known as presidential suites and Hilton. Uncanny it is, that only towards my lecture based 2 year course that I started to appreciate its stoic efficiently (assuming lecturers are the stuck-up bores).

The failure of education today is that it doesn't equip you with the necessary skills in a post-apocalyptic nuclear fallout type environment - what makes you think you will end up like a Will Smith in I Am Legend bearing an M4 rifle and live to see the daylight? Ok, not quite extreme but yes, simple fix-its are just not typical of today's youth and the so-called life-skills people talk about these days refer to an utterly different set of things involving moving around a very much artifice entrenched environment and social networking. Rather than opening the mind to fundamental questions existence, logic, morals - basically an upheaval in knowledge, the things that we were taught/conditioned to know and way to think, we are left crying, disappointed and disheveled in the reality of things unfold in front of an unwilling and lesser accepting self.

The pitfall of knowledge is that our minds aren't like artificial intelligence who have reached the point of singularity - operating systems can get updated on the fly or you can switch to a buffer operating mode while core layers of code gets modified. This is a defining characteristic of human condition which many find hard to understand until one has experience a life-changing incident. The whole debate about Justice - empirical observations have proposed a generalised hypothesis that it is a 'filler' of the inadequacy felt by the majority/middle classes/proletariat/working class who feels most of the bumps and hiccups of human artifice especially with respect to economic and social changes. Maybe education should be administered in an Orwellian/police state fashion that adequately qualms such inadequacies and hedonism might seem less of a far-fetched utopian dream.

Now if you would excuse it, it's time for me to manually utilise Party Shuffle...

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

The book by the above title by Umberto Eco speaks of an old man the age of a grandfather who has loss his memory to a stroke and re-learning and living the life that once was so familiar to him. Of course as pieces of memory start coming back, so did the 'what shall I do to play it safe' attitude towards things becomes less of a game. However, a truly memorable plot-line was the recollection of days as a child during Fascist Italy under Mussolini. It bears such a striking resemblance to Pan's Labyrinth (The Labyrinth of the Faun) that I've decided to make it headline instead of jumping straight into the Spanish film.

Escapism, dreamscape and an alternate reality - everyone morning waking up to a seemingly unpleasant chapter in life. The horrid dreadfulness of not wanting to continue on with another miserable day and the sweetness of going to bed. What if you don't wake up again? Pan's Labyrinth offers this sort of consolation towards the ending as the female lead dies in the real world while attaining immortality in the Underworld Realm set which really looked no less than a fantastical dreamscape. The strikingly warm orange/yellow tints unwittingly reminds me of a possibility at explaining my fondness of that warm glow from the standing light instead of surgical white from traditional fluorescent tubes. Pan's Labyrinth was set in the Spanish Civil War era on the contrary while Eco's male lead 'blanked out' in a up to your own interpretation ending rather similar to Pan's except that for Pan's the Del Toro (the director) made clear that the Underworld Realm was not a figment of the imagination but a reality.

Perhaps the title of this post was chosen based on the associated warmth and colours. These two stories quite seem to be common in telling us that when stuck in an unpleasant (war stricken in this case) setting, we cease to be hopeful about the living and look to the sequel of death for consolation very much the same way that the Egyptians led most of their lives. And on the other extreme end, when life gets far too comfortable we try to hunt down elixirs of life and fountains of youth.

A noticeable trend on TV shows is a local preference towards Eurasian personalities. It is as though Pinkerton's has been brought to a new level of high (though in an inverted manner) as though to signify Western superiority or perhaps for the haute couture model looks. This infatuation with a particular genealogy seems to a common trend throughout the various free-to-air channels while cable slots are filled with mostly American dramas. Feeling inferior today? Why take your life and turn into a hopeful soul reincarnated into a new life with caucasian looks? With all that media hype and pushiness, it is stay true to oneself these days.

When Singapore was still a fishing settlement, people were actually happy fishing.

Livelihood actually meant something rather than following fashion trends and emulating an empty idol. Hedonistically, people felt happy with what they did; there was an irreplaceable sense of fulfillment that cannot be derived from looking like the next teen idol. Hopefully a representative foolish trendsetter starts using a passive poison as an aesthetic icon and soon both the mirrors and source get obliterated from the face of the world.

Humans sure have a way of making other humans look stupid.

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

Recent routine involves seemingly mindless studying (or rather mind control involved but some people would call it discipline) certain 'valve-release' periods of watching old James Bond flicks and selective programming on NBC, Fox and Comedy Central. The trouble with delayed blogging is that you can't quite seem to recall what has happened/crossed your mind (after all our perception is largely a matter of brain processing a.k.a. brain in the vat-ish). Ah yes, let's start of with Taschen's new London store by Mr. Starck.



The successful publisher story usually goes like this - poor dude stumbles upon a make-the-world-better idea which usually means cheaper. Dude somehow acquires some dough and starts up a little firm. Dude stumbles upon novel product idea. Ta-da the miracle happens and you get Penguin Books, Phaidon and of course Taschen. I love the way the short company write ups are down in a non-realistic matter of fact manner. Usually the internal struggles and critical financial management and lobbying just seems to get dropped out as if they don't matter at all. That aside, the premise of Phaidon and Taschen are largely similar - they made art or rather picture books cheap with Phaidon starting off towards the black and white turn colour printing era while Taschen started much later. With Starck's previous proclaimation of exiting the design world in a year plus time, it somewhat undermines the inner-workings of his subsequent designs. I found the Taschen store to be uninteresting and the shelves looks like temporary function buffet tables with drapery items. Bad lighting makes it look like badly conceived faux wooden shelves and the arrangement of the bookcases makes the place looks kind of sparse. That isn't very impressive to think of a publisher with a less extensive portfolio. Art as article as commodity as object of desire - that De Lempicka book from the Taschen Basic Art series is more than enough to set forth a quest to complete the entire collection.

I like to read, me. If I don’t do it daily I get a rash and if I don’t go to a bookshop (usually a charity shop) every 48 hours I feel unsettled. I have a lot of books on my shelves and I hope I will be able to read them all. I have calculated that I will be dead long before I succeed in so doing. It is not as if I have stopped collecting in order to read what I’ve got. I add to the collection every few days, transferring my allegiances from the last crush to the next pash in a coldly fickle moment. I would like to read all the books that I would like to read but I’d need a parallel life in which I simply circumambulated my capacious library whilst drinking real ale and swimming.

- David Gale, on not having all the Penguin Classics

There you go - the above is the perfect excuse to just own that single book on De Lempicka and probably a Velázquez (not to mention the money issue). Maybe we can start barter trading to get things we really want.

More importantly - what is the relevance of 'art pictorials' in today's world whereby you can download, print and frame with a consumer desktop printer? Of course for book collectors, there is often an added necessity of a reading room/area of some sort or at least an armchair to begin that Sunday afternoon journey into another reality. Evident in the declining physicality of art as seen in biannual exhibitions round the world as more recent trend, accepted/participating works take on a more exhibitionist nature of show and dismantle somewhat like the paradoxical impossibility of Duchamp's Paris Air. While the lack of physical quality sets the trend, things aren't moving in a more metaphysical direction - they're just less physical in presence while in other news, we question the validity art galleries.

Have the people at Apple turned idiots? The naming of the consumer and pro portable computer lines have already caused enough trouble when conducting a google search often rounding up unwilling parties. This time round, IEEE 1394, also known as firewire was removed from the consumer notebook line. In light of Apple's push for intelligent backup through Time Machine, the pitfalls of the less stable universal serial bus (USB) platform is already apparent, not to mention the hoard of audio and video users with a firewire prerequisite. A circulated reply by Steve stating the progressive adoption of USB on consumer camcorders as a fast moving trend just doesn't cut. I mailed Steve of my own accord on this matter and have yet to get a reply.

Notice how you alway seem to get some brownish mixture when you mix too much paint together? I got that idea from Marc Quinn's 1997 Shit Head - it seems that stuff that enter the body comes out brown in the end, therefore by inductive reasoning it would not be unreasonable to speculate the former.

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

Alright, either there's something wrong with my head or the world just hates me - but really even if there's something wrong with my head it is because the world hates me ultimately... now nevermind that circular logic since we're all stuck in this human device of thought. While I'm listening to covers of Hush by Kula Shaker and Deep Purple (of which the latter is so infamously featured on the Jaguar XF tv spot) in an attempt to sooth and comfort the unbearable soul due to the failure of driving test once more (the mistake was much more stupid this time), I shall contemplate the possible existence of a possible biological kink in my brain. As circular as you can get people! It's like asking if the madman knows that he's mad. But really, in some rare cases you do get to know if you there is a biological kink like when everyone appears to you as potatoheads which is well ideal - since you don't really need to bother about non-human organisms.

That aside, there was this punk ass on a full suspension bike with a Pike front shocks. Why is he a punk ass? Firstly, it could be due to bravado or simply moronic behavious that while navigating pedestrain walkways, it is not polite and practical to speed up fast only to come to a stop in a few blinks of an eye. Even more idiotic, quick acceleration in front of a bus stop when there is already an incoming bus unloading passengers. Of course with the bob of the badly tuned rear suspension, he not unlike an idiot on a pong stick with two wheels. After the bus stop comes the long stretch of road with a traffic light. Ah, the thrill and rush of the evening wind beating the road light with the peak period crowd - perfect setting for teaching that punk ass a lesson. While he was struggling with the bob of the suspension and shifting, I was already hot on his tail at 32 km/h maxing out at 33.7 in a blink of an eye. Sweet. And now it seemed that the stinking world was woozing by until I caught sight of a police car on the left of junction. That ended my short transcendental session of windtalking. No really the wind does talk if you listen hard enough.

In short, with increasing toll gantries, rising fuel prices and a spiteful grudge which the world has against me, biking seems to be last bastion of the feeling free. If you were wonder, free was meant to be literal and non-literal. Life in mono - void of colour, lacking the splendour in which Death perceive the world to be in Zusak's Book Thief. 33.7 is the top speed recording since the purchase of the Velo 8 cycle computer or speedometer as so many people know it to be despite the Cateye website clearly stating as the former. And if about the apparent greyscaled downcast ending, I'm using a Vista machine to do up this post. I figure that the absence of my wife (the Macbook with a busted fan and power management unit), the lonesome sadness and disoccupied gaps of time has turned me into a shrunken, writhered creature arching over on a crooked back, very much like a gargoyle. Anymore of such blows and I'm gonna turn to stone and give up on life completely, transferring my consciousness to the epitaph sinking into eternal sleep while the flesh rots.

The stranger sang a theme
From someone else’s dream
The leaves began to fall
And no one spoke at all
But I can’t seem to recall
When you came along

- Life in Mono, Mono

Oh and I almost forgot - the moral of the story about the punk ass is to not try to compete acceleration on a full susp. with a hardtail - you'll only get hurt without lockout.

Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

After a hazardous and almost heartbreaking strive of another year, coursework ended up as a tried but lost attempt - the final submission piece was really a last minute ditch because of programme failure. All necessary precautions within my means were taken so really it just seems that a masterpiece quality product was not meant to be. It might be saddening to learn that despite another year of effort seems lost to a cruel twist of fate and thus the hopeful 'A' cannot be but letting go now - knowing that the possibility of a failure for the subject is as real as it gets and that a pass would probably be a distanced shot could be the best and better of options now - since I tried, I fought hard but like I said it was never meant to be.

Maybe the whole point of this one year was so as to walk away finally and not regret about not given a chance, having tried but failed. I'm just hoping that I can make it to Architecture School assuming my feelings and thoughts towards the environment hasn't changed (you can call i the world view) with a beheaded subject grade. Why early retirement? Because the Macbook is now really a Macbook and not a super slim slab CPU unit. I would like to take the chance to say thank you to my various companions who have stood by me which involved a spider and a couple of snakes unlike the rest of the filthy humans (oh, I'm sorry if anyone's hurt but ask the selfish you if you've ever really don't that). Disconnected is the trusty 19" Philips display, Lycosa keyboard, Deathadder, Krait, Creative Speakers, Goliathus mat, Mantis Control & Speed mats, QCK Steel mat, n52te and lastly my Macbook. You my dear reader, might think that I must be some mentally unsound creature which abnormal fetishes towards electronic devices but for the music and continuous physical contact (the mouse really is a personal device) time they do deserve my gratitude and after all it is the synergy between man and machine that really make things happen.

Now there are only 5 icons on my Dock - Finder (default), iTunes, Safari and Sys Prefs - the bare minimum.

I'm already missing that almost saintly feel of the Lycosa already and thus ideas about an ideal computer design have already start popping out in my head. I bet I'll go sketching and onion-peel modeling mode in my dreams tonight. This really represents a shift in my computing practices because I normally stick to an entourage of high-geekery and performance peripherals, kinda like revving around a small town in a supercar for groceries. I really have qualms about a one size fits all operating system when it comes to bone picking on a portable and a desktop - things like the Dock work well on confined screens using touch pad navigation while the Vista side bar works better on a giant screen with a high dpi mouse. Just look at the menubar on OS X and the puny icons on window at the right end of the taskbar for comparison - need I say more? I guess that means extra work in the dreamland later. And for old school fans, Knight Rider is back with KITT as a mustang. Shall catch it later.

I'm financially drained (not in an unacceptable manner but just drained) after getting Illuminations (collected writings) by Walter Benjamin (shown right) from the Frankfurt School and the Verb Boogazine issue, Crisis. I'm contemplating on cycling to school tomorrow since the father's in and the car's available. A 'no' means that I would not be able to stop by the bike shop to get that derailleur upgrade. And now my physical desktop is tabula rasa - free to be violated with messy scribbles of working while the final exams draw near.

Blood shall be spilled this time round and it will not be mine. Uncanny it seems that there was an urgent call for 'O' type blood today. I sense an uncanny affiliation with Count Dracula, despite living for centuries in loneliness, thriving on the very species that he despises like little pawns. Don't start on the brides - they're like my companions whom aren't actually there.

I'd like to have company during thunderstorms
I'd like you to fall for me but it would soon turn lousy and wrong
I meant what I said, all I want is to be one of the best

- I Don't Do Crowds, Camera Obscura

I find myself somewhat like an influenza - there is bunch more of Mac converts due to me and now Camera Obscura fans (just to list a few). In related news, the tickets to the 29th October concert is now in my physical possession. Dang I miss those multimedia keys on the n52 and Lycosa. Switching tracks is now going to be a lot of strenuous on the wrist.

Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

Everyone has a hobby - or at least most people do since life is a blardy pain in the arse. So I've decided to progressively upgrade the bike in addition to a few other hobbies I already have since this is the one that I can derive the most practical joy from. It's costly I know - it can easily reach the cost of the bike itself. But yea, I see potential in the 6061 T6 frame and RST fork that I have - they're disk brake compatible already. But what makes the Diamondback Response frame unique over other GTs/Scotts is that strong box design at the front ready to take on bad bumps.

Therefore the upgrading programme is being split up into 3 phases, starting off with the rear derailleur. The cost level gets increasing steep with each phase. It's like training a protegé kind of thing like Andy tuitioning Tommy in Shawshank. The decision to switch over to disk brakes is a result of today's trip down the multi-storey carpark - the rims were heating up and I could almost smell something burning on the descend. The Deore component group seems to be the way to go considering cost-effectiveness and the offer of hydraulic over mechanical braking. I like the ingenuity of the dual control levers (right) too - the brake levers when triggered vertically shifts up, omitting the need for 3 separate triggers. Neat. The SR Suntour XCM front derailleur stays along with the Truvatic crank - I know the X-flow is an unlisted entry level product but it works nicely.

The fork is the part which I am most unwilling to change as pre-load is enough for me right now since the routine/terrain I ride on doesn't require a lock-out function and I would like some wrist protection. A Rockshox Dart 2 really doesn't make much sense since it only has pre-load as good as my RST Gila at 150+ quid while the move up to a Recon Solo Air is 450 quid, almost the initial cost of the bike.

Oh yes, how can I forget - tagging the iTunes library is such joy! I still have remnant tracks from the 50-60s, Martha Argerich, the newly added Heifetz Collection of 40 plus volumes which reminds me of the Carlos Gardel Su Obra Intergral 21 volumes and joyfully remembering the flamenco tracks. Damn is backdating cataloguing a repetitive job - unless you have an army of slaves or if time feels ever so slow in motion when in an Aalto or Kahn wooden/brickish tone house when the sun shines just right.

This is just an example of another 'old man' hobbies of mine. So patience and mental stamina is required that the mind might just give way and lunch comes out from the way it went in. Maybe I should have left the hobbies in inverted commas too. See why the bike is so much better?

Labels: Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

Gone were the days where entire football teams were crammed into a van and by the time they arrived at the stadium - no warm up is required. That aside, I made a rather unexpected trip to the temple today considering the rather atheistic me - the believed higher powers are other a bunch of nut heads or I'm really smaller than a puny speck of prokaryote to be ignored. Let's not all get comfy and edgy here. Interesting proposition, the conservation between Sarah Connor and Reese about praying to Jesus in the age of overruling machines. Could it be the ending might turn out as having a ghost in the shell? Then again, T4 might be terminally messed up continuity wise.

Okies, so about the juggling joss sticks (it was spelled otherwise above to make it twice 2-syllabyed words). You see what happened at the temple was the lighting up of joss sticks. This is really a logical problem because you see what happened is that there a certain number of 'pit-stops' at this particular place and you have to deposit 3 joss sticks at each point. It's really like a game of Amazing Race with a really slow pace and short distance. Joss sticks are being counted and distributed in packs of 27 and it is not smart to remove the packaging and grab them all in one hand to light them up - 54 flammable sticks in your hand with glowing ash constantly falling off the tips. I got burnt on the toes but luckily not in the rather expensive pair of sandals while counting them to separate in two the original two lots. Here comes the statistically unfortunate part - one lot came with an extra/one less joss stick and you really don't know but stick to an odd number sum when dividing by two since 3 joss sticks is the standard for non-ancestral praying a.k.a. when ranting away to the heavens.

Disastrous.

And congratulations in successfully lighting up 54 joss sticks with a puny candle - the rules of this game states that joss sticks from your group are to be lit only by your own candle. It's like bringing a lighted match into a library of books you're supposed to set fire to. Books aren't like incense paper which catch fire easily (I should know better since I razed my sketchbooks and related materials to ashes along with books I bound while learning the craft). The saying goes that there are 18 levels of hell and when coupled with the stigma of books being sacred and not to be mistreated (stepped upon, torn pages etc.) they really need to construct a few more levels for me when I'm gone from this world if a single book destroyed constitutes a level of torture. Then again, the irony is that I dispose off the very books I made with the same hands that bring about their end.

Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast

It's 4 plus in the morning and I absolutely love breaking that stillness of the winds with classics ringing into the night. The only trade-off is that I get extremely irritated when I get rudely interrupted and robbed of my divine prowess as the night fades away and the household starts waking up starting with that highly irritable toilet-going light...

Has the iPod destroyed what music originally stood for? I'm speaking of songs and worded tunes in general (let's not go into chamber and classical music forms which gets a bit too tedious for reading and writing). The advent of portable music players has led to music being carried around such that you can listen to it as long your battery pack still has juice and not in enough mortal danger to put those earphones on. It all started with the portable FM/AM radio but that wasn't quite as 'desire to air' as you can get. No doubt listening to the radio with washing detergent advertisements occasionally interrupted every Pat Boone song (not that I like him) or popular hits did help while away Depression or working hour blues. However the Walkman was the true perpetrator of really portable music. The only possible pitfall of the Walkman and its successor Discman was the lack of storage space as quality audio was gradually made available. The era of the iPod heralded the infamous line by Steve Jobs at the launch of the original iTunes:

"5 GB is a lot space - a thousand songs which is almost an entire library for most people."

That unfortunately does not seem to be the case in the current day context. A case for the Walkman can still be fought - carrying only enough songs that you would have the luxury of listening to if your road trip was long enough. We listen to music on buses, trains and even in the air. However the expanse of songs which you can have travelling with you has offered the option of choice - any song any time - again provided you have enough juice if not you'll just be carrying another high-tech brick.



This album cover of Fernando by ABBA released in 1976 carries with it the core of my supposition. Music has always seemed to serve the function of entertainment - stress relief of some sort (I haven't found the exact word/expression here) that somehow happens at the end of the day or some gala function of sorts. I'm envisioning the imagery of tribal dances and songs alongside wedding ceremonies. Songs are sung while ploughing the field or during a bloody road march in the military. People don't just turn on and listen/sing along songs for nothing.

My point here - are we using songs like fuel at such a frequent expanse that perhaps a deficit was created somewhere and could possibly lead to the decline in the Spiritual in Music itself?

Could this perhaps explain why the Chinese music industry of today (or rather the largely Taiwan based one) has suffered a serious decline in songs that are actually worth re-listening to once the trend is out? I recall the 'good ole days' of the 80-90s period whereby lyrical compositions were earnest and well thought in stark contrast to the rhyming forms that lyrics stand for to match the beat of a tune despite them being a bit less upbeat in attitude.

There was something in the air that night
The stars were bright, Fernando
They were shining there for you and me
For liberty, Fernando

And soon campfire songs would get forgotten along with what they stand for and we might all be beatboxing into a starless night with Hilton though baked beans might still not go away since starting campfires might get banned in the near future.

Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast