Reflections on ZaTAoMM and Anathem

As I’m reading Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (ZaTAoMM) after reading Anathema, I couldn’t help but draw some affinity between the two. both talks about the scientific method, it’s aesthetics and the aesthetics of the output derived from it.

The nature of Quality and it’s undefined aesthetics.

Anathema touches much on the multiplicity of cosmi, the question between of the universe and the consciousness of the observer. the realisation that if one observes one also alters what is being observed. all this while telling you of a riotous story of intrigue, adventure, comedy and ideas. set in a world in which the scientists,  philosophers and learned people lived in isolation to outside world. while also delving much into maths and philosophy. Sounds boring but the author throws in some martial arts action, sociology, a few love stories, science fiction goodness of space travel and mystery. The author himself said that his inspiration was the long now  foundation which aims to promote thinking in long terms as in in terms of century or in time-frames of millennium, this accounts for the grandeur of the setting of this book; Ancient metropolis buried under the slow march of glaciers, a train that goes over the polar region. Ancient religions that seems silly. A history, a culture.

While ZaTAoMM tells of it’s author search for a  philosophy of value, the question of what is Quality while telling you the story of a father son trip on a motorcycle across America. It’s philosophy seems a bit weak in the face of reason though but that is what the author argues, that reason isn’t much of a deal. The audacity of saying that the basis of western thought is corrupted by the works of Plato, Socrates and Aristotle. The author pleads the case for humanity to return to the pursuit of ereté (excellence). all while telling you that the narrator actually goes mad while thinking of this matter. One suspects that the narrator is actually a recovering manic depressive on his down cycle missing his manic past but I think that is just because I saw Stephen Fry’s excellent documentary on  manic depression.

Delving into these two you cannot but connect the ideas laced in them.

Next I’m reading The Algebraist by Iain M Banks, I’ve read it before so I know I’m in for a ride that spans millions of years…

The Sudden Desire

Time and space could not contain this urge and yearning to walk the crowded streets in the sweltering day or the silent and lonely backlanes in the dark night.

This explosion of thoughts and desire to grasp the burning collars of reality with my dirty bare hands and shake what I want into existence.

This burst of longing for complete understanding comes in two forms to me, delayed and sudden.

of course the song that we sing now must end someday but until then, it will be the most beautiful of all. Garnished with sorrow and joy, pleasure and pain. A hot day ending in rain.

our heartbeats and footsteps are the rhythm and the constant hum of thoughts in our head as the current melody signifies the presence of each other

we complete each other’s song and none is leader of our dance.

we are a singularity of two.

I wrote that inspired by the song ‘A Slow Dance’ by the band Explosions in the Sky from their soundtrack album of the film Friday Night Lights.

Actually I wrote that with the intention of turning it into a short story but honestly I lost interest because it was hard to sustain the melody and theme of the first few sentences to the end.

I might try though one day.

I am certainly sure that if I had finished it then and there when I had the energy and interest, it would certainly look different.

In  short what actually I tried to write was a story of a married couple who through cybernetic means became conscious and aware of each other’s thoughts,  like the real story of the British researcher that inserted a chip into his wife and himself. They did this in order to feel each others’ environment.

The frame of the short story was thus:

• i. realization that everything has it’s end
• ii. flashback on how it came to be
• iia. whose idea it was to do it
• iib. the physical things done to realize it (surgery, therapy…etc)
• iic. the moment it came to be
• iii. how they lived life.
• iv. the reaction of others
• v. their reaction to others
• vi. the future

Everything was to be written in the first person combined, meaning the voice of the narrator telling the story would be actually be the combined voice of the couple.

This was because in my reality of the story, they had lost each of their individual identity and assumed the identity of their combined self.

So, my gift to you is that; I give liberty in using the material i had put down here to do whatever you want with it. do a poem, a story, write a song, make a painting, a movie, an animation, anything . go nuts!

Put me in the credit and and give me a link to your work in the comments. and don’t forget to whatever you did with mine public. M<ake it shareable like i did if you want to, make it not if you don’t want to.

Go Nuts!

Leave The Fruit Be

There is a plum ,firm and round, in my pocket. It was given to me by my love but I had forgotten about the fruit. Sitting in the packed minibus, I felt something slipping out of my pocket, caught it before it fell out. At first I thought it was a stress ball from the office. But with the knowledge that with each feel I’m making the plum less firm and round, I decided to leave the fruit be, and sipped my bottled tea. Each swallow of the now tepid liquid on my harsh throat was like a plot of neglected land with flowers growing wild, budding, blossoming and then wilting.

Could not drown the noises of the bus as my walkman had no power. So I listened to the rhythmic sounds of the chatting Bangladeshis. First I listened to find any repeating words that would be a way for me to know the topic of their discussion, a place, a name, anything that would help, alas no, the language was opaque to me. Everything sounds like the repetitions of the same syllables, just in different combination. Then I remembered snatches of the bits of what I knew of Bangladesh’s history. How wanting to make their language the official language of their country actually started the secession of their country from Pakistan’s rule at the cost of three million lives. So let them talk in their language all they like, they have earned it.

Got off the bus, waited for my ride, ate the plum and played some New Super Mario on a loaned DS lite, trying to remain inconspicuous among the crowd.
Six foot me with a portable game machine, leaning on a column, eating a fruit. Like a fruit among vegetables, the same but different. Leave the fruit be.

One Saturday evening after coming back from a charity event at a home for children with HIV/AIDS, while going to Berjaya Times Square to check out some MYR195.00 Seiko watches. On the way there my girlfriend and I walked on the set of a video shooting by my favourite Malaysian band, Butterfingers. Sorry guys. I really thought they were busking, was going to say hi when I saw Emmet the singer crossing the street towards some camera crews that were filming. Nothing to do but give my thumbs up. I hope I didn’t ruin anything.

Stopped at Low Yat looking for some stuffs, bought them and  My lovely girlfriend thought it would be nice to have some sushi.

I completely agree with her, but doing so would make us very late and seeing that we already had lunch, I said to her maybe after Times Square.

Looked at the watches,went to another shop, saw a limited edition watch that was half a thousand more than the non limited version of the same series. With the only difference being the use of the colour green on some elements of it’s typeface instead of orange on the normal one.

Saw some other watches that I liked, but any perfect match would have been a composite of parts from a few of them, the face from one, the bezel from another, etc. A childhood on LEGOs and customisable Swatch watches ruined me.

Went pass the cinema on the way to the Cold Storage, did not see anything worth watching.

After buying a drink, went up one level to survey the prices of these sets that the perfume counters were selling. Nothing of note though.

While walking past the main entrance, saw that there was a promo done  by Sony Malaysia of their new Walkman variety, The A series with the wireless (via Bluetooth) headphones. The GF inquired about the availability of the replacement rubber fittings of their earbuds. Knowing that it was overpriced and the unlikeliness that these marketing drones would ever know. I kind of already knew the answer.

I remember these in ear rubber fitting being sold at the Sony Style shop at KLCC in the under MYR100.00 range, I however held the opinion that they were more likely worth at the under MYR10.00 region.

Looked at these Walkman(men?) they were promoting, it was interesting but my own Walkman is still new and the bluetooth headphones needed to take advantage of the wireless capabilities are sold separately and tend to be expensive. I’m no audiophile, but I doubt that a bluetooth headphones have the same sound quality as a wired one with the same price.

Going back from Berjaya Times Square, saw that we had some time to spare, went back to Low Yat’s Sushi King.

Maybe they had a change of personnel or management because the service was not up to the standard I’ve had Sushi King. This is more like some nameless shop you go to because everywhere else is crowded.

Service was so slow, we were gesturing for ten minutes before a waitress came and waited on us. Also when our order came, they had forgotten my miso soup, I had to remind them, and the soup only came halfway through my rice

Had some Broiled Eel with rice (Una-Don) while the girlfriend had some noodles. We ate some of their Salmon Sushi (Sake Sushi). Everything was OK quality wise, not fantastic, nothing to rave home about.

They must for safety’s sake change their soup bowl to earthenware instead of plastic. Wait, shouldn’t it be the other way around you ask. Well after after finishing my bowl of rice, I was eager to have some soup. I picked up the lid only to see the bowl was still attached with it. Then it could not resist gravity anymore, and promptly spilled it’s high temperature contents on my stomach and left lap.

I let out a little yelp and tried to stem the soup’s flow with the inadequate assistance from Sushi King’s paper napkins. The girlfriend hailed a waiter over in panic.

He promptly came over with a cloth and wiped away what was left of the soup from the table and took the bowl away.

what I think happened was that when after the soup had came, I didn’t open it’s lid to equalise the pressure of the air on the cooling broth and the air outside the bowl. Then the condensed steam was collecting between the bowl and lid forming a seal. so when I was picking up that lid, the air inside the bowl had a lower pressure than the air outside it. The same when one pulls back the piston of a syringe, the medium, in my case air, that have a higher pressure would rush in to fill a vacuum.

A small airhole on the lid would had made all the difference. To their credit though, Sushi King replaced my soup at no extra charge.

Next time I’m going to open any lids, expect me to use both hands, one manipulating the lid and one holding down the container.

finished my meal amidst the strange request of the customer nearest to my left. The man was asking for some chicken skin, the waiter actually went to the kitchen to ask his cook only to return and give a repy in the negative. Anyone for some chicken skin sushi?

After that, we went to the magazine shop/sundry shop/cybercafe on the corner between BB Plaza and Low Yat. It was there that I had found a periodical that dwserved more attention. A magazine named Monocle, selling for MYR15.90 even when the printed price on it is USD10.00. The same price for editions old and new.

What had caught my eye is the quality of design it employs on it’s coves. The photographs used are remarkably different in style and composition. What would come close in terms of aesthetics are covers of architecture magazines. There is a sense of timeless elegance.

The Monocle covers that I saw did not feature any celebrities, instead opting for instance, a well dressed Japanese man taking a picture of the front of a Shinkansen, or another that had a model looking though the viewfinder of a old looking camera (that I found out later is a new Fujifilm Klasse W) as if that is his monocle.

I bought one, the one that had the bullet train on it because I like trains.

There is a fine line that the magazine threads on very well. That slim line between true appreciation for quality and the smugness of elitism. The choice of articles are very refreshing in scope and depth for a current issues magazine, but at least it does not cover the same boring things as other magazines that seems to be too geo-centric to their publisher’s head office.

This magazine simplifies it by breaking up their sections to the alphabets A for affairs, B for business, C for culture, D for design and lastly E for edits and expo. Then throws in an extra Japanese manga for good measure.

A solid buy if not for the price. GBP5.00 for one issue and GBP75.00 for a year’s subscription of 10 magazines and access to their website.

Hope that shop in Bukit Bintang maintains it’s pricing…

The Bundled Cords Of Influences.

Last night I played with this. >>http://mike-love.net/touchgraph/

I know that the connections are arbitrary supositions made by the author of the graph. Some of these names are not connected to people I think should be connected, but I could only be wrong, as always. Yet, I am really surprised by the range and limitedness of my own knowledge.

Some of these names I have never even heard before. One of my favourite author are so far away from who my culture reveres most.

Is there amongst us that belong on the graph and yet be unconnected? Any of us are really that original?

We quote our teachers dead and alive even when they err. Errors combined errors are errors still. Let us hope we are digesting wisdom instead of poison. I toast a vial of hemlock to that…

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Clamshell vs. Candybar

Five years ago the juxtaposition(comparison?) as per title would not have made sense to most people, but as the penetration mobile phone usage has risen the question of the design of one’s handphone becomes an important criteria for choosing one.

http://www.bwcs.com/news_detail.cfm?item=4372
The link above goes to an article from april last year, it’s about some grievances of some of Nokia’s shareholders about the companies phone design. They are unhappy as Nokia is still lagging behind it’s competitors in phone design. Critics say that the coolest phone on the market is the Motorola RAZR.

The is more to phone design for me as a consumer than just “cool”. Pricing, battery life and functionality for me takes precedence over “cool”. I’m one of the so-called conservatives.

I take it as a rule that for any items man-made that the less moving parts it has the better it will last. The wear and tear of a clamshell is as one would imagine more than that of a candybar designed phone. But this however is not a iron-clad rule.

My sister did once bought a Nokia 2650, and the hinge that I thought would be the first thing that disappoint was not. It was the casing itself, the rubber covered keypad did not last. Read the reviews on this phone here.

As shown here, the family are fans of Nokia phones.

All I ask for is make phones that lwould last, phone shouldn’t be used for only a year. Imagine the trash heap of old phones if that were so. Designers should strive for a design that is timeless and that would not happen if the phone lasts for only 6 months.

What? Is there a push from management to make phone that wouldn’t last? If I were a designer (which I’m not, I’m a consumer), that kind of directive would impose severe pressure on my ideals.

Servus – candybar fan.

Dentistward Ho!

One Saturday not long ago, I went to the dentist to have my molar’s filling repaired. There was I voluntarily going up those stairs, not in pain and yet risking it.

that tooth is due for a root canal transfer, that’s what I’ve been telling my self the past two years.

checked myself in, filled my details on a card that the attendant gave and waited in the empty waiting room. On the TV that day was Lagaan, quite a movie I’d say, one of the only few Hindi movie that I have any intention to watch ever. I only watched the first few minutes of the montage and the attendant called me in.

she got me sitting on that chair, fiddled with the headrest to fit my height and prepared the tools. This was when the dentist came into the room already enmasked.

she had light brown eyes, this doctor and spoke with a cute Californian lilt to her Malay but not too much as to make it annoying. Maybe she studied overseas, or she might just be an ex-student of Kajang Convent School, a few of my friends that schooled there had the same way of speaking. I’d guess she’s not yet thirty, because she called the early 30’s attendant, “kakak”, fresh out of college maybe.

she told me to open my mouth and I obliged. Told me to open it wider and I tried to accommodate her demand as far as I could, even bordering on uncomfortability. She inspected the insides of my oral orifice and asked whether it was the second molar on my right jaw. I nodded a bit. It’s not nice to stare into a lady’s eyes however attractive they were so I focused my attention on a crack on the overhead light, a fine sliver of a thing, could only be seen at an angle.

she then told the attendant to prepare the ‘fat’ drill bit and use a ’slow’ speed. Hearing this information, I unconsciously feed it into the morbid imagination furnace and imagined a terry gilliam styled short animation, styled like the ones he did on Monty python.

I looked at my watch, 1405, without letting go of that sucker thing they put in your mouth to suck away excess saliva, that I was holding.

she then started drilling, for the longest time ever. This is where my thoughts goes back to the time I got this molar originally filled.

must have been an exposed nerve at that time, the dentist kept on pushing the filling mixture into every nook and cranny of that cavity. But that’s all are memories, real two years ago and this is the present, the now.

the fact I felt no pain that Saturday could only mean either two things. One, that the dentist was a genius and/or very lucky, two, that the nerve ending died. I pray to The Most High the first supposition is the answer.

the dentist with the lovely eyes that was probably contacts then told me to spit and gargle. All manner of metal fillings, drilled away bits of who know what mixed with saliva went into the sink. Wiped my mouth with the provided tissue and thought now was the time for the actual filling to be done. Alas not. Another round of drilling ensued. My jaw was now starting to get tired maintaining this maw.

the drill turned off, another round of spit-gargle-wipe. She put something metallic and very shiny into my mouth, affixed it to the troubled tooth and slowly screwed it tight. A vice of some sort.

then, with the help of the assistant, she put that argent gunk into that gaping hole she made earlier.

this is when I felt something rub against my temple. Maybe not rub, probably brushed would be a better word. t’was the doctor’s bosom.

she was there mending something close to my brain, and mind was shifting elsewhere.

when she finished, she unmasked herself, lowered the chair I was in and gave some advice. That I should seriously consider about going to the university hospital for my root canal transfer, for they would charge less than a practice, student doctors and all.

All that I could think about then was her eyes and her beautiful mellow face.

I stood, nod my head (a gentleman’s nod) and left the room to settle my bill. She just smiled.

sitting on that couch, in the waiting room, watching what’s left of Lagaan 50 minutes after it started. Hoping this movie is on bittorent. Stood when I heard the attendant behind the counter, paid my myr 70.00 and asked the receipt for claiming purposes. Walked slowly with all the bags I was carrying (a backpack full with clothes and a laptop bag) and slowly worked my way down the stairs a less worried man.

a nipple on my temple,
how easy and simple,
for my sanity to topple,
and bad thoughts to double.

haha! Damn…

update…

The tooth got infected.

Tardiness.

I’ve been lazy. Very lazy.

***

Thoughts flashing/playing/sneaking in my head lately:

• What makes Explosion In The Sky sound so good even without lyrics? Emotional input by the listener?, Superior improv?, The band’s own advanced introspection, cooperation and understanding on how to impart a coherent but multifaceted whole (style, effect on listener, “story”) song?, Am I being a little bit out of my league trying to grasp music theory even though I only listen to them and never played any instrument to my and other people’s satisfaction…
• Wondering whether it is possible for anyone to translate Pynchon’s work to Bahasa Malaysia with even the same effect on the reader, because everyone read different and feels different and have different expectation of what a book should be like.
• The egalitarian Resource Based Economy, where everyone produces for every one the best products and serve everyone the best services without the involvement of money (e.g. The war effort of America in WW2.) thus eliminating middlemen, lawyers and (gasp!) bankers. The difficulties over the model when the poblem arises of who should say what’s the best for everyone. The prospect of design by committee is a bit daunting for someone like me that feels that in terms of creativity; the individual is superior than a collection of people that have to each of them different notions of good.
• Wondering sometimes that I am asexual and then doubting it whenever I see females.
• Wondering sometimes that I am emotionally retarded and confirming it when people sometimes ignore me when I speak. Do I feel the same as others when I react differently? Or is it just my apathy?Am I paranoid?… Yes.
• Why is there noise in my PC sound system?
• My supposed road to financial freedom and dreams of early retirement.
• Are males threatened by me? Do I give female wet dreams? Why this ego?
• Does anybody enjoy my presence on earth?

Ranting

The pleasure of silence without any care, I think I need long holiday badly. The tender touch of the wind in my hair. Have anybody felt this way;wanting to see everything as beautiful. The blade of long grass dancing in the breeze making murmurs that something will come and disturb this fleeting peace. The smile of a passing stranger making no judgments. Flocks of birds flying in formation seeking sustenance to fuel the high intake of their calorie consuming existence. The kind of silence that will make the thoughts in your head go in different branches covering a multitude of topics and ideas and memes then sudden all have and underlying theme, a theme that is not you, or something that you thought was never you, the thought of doing horrible things for the sake of doing them, murder, rape, mutilation and seeing acts of kindness suddenly shift to the perverse. My black and white is merging and becoming gray, why am I so intrigued by this decadence of my own morals and of the morals of others when I’m sure that it wouldn’t make a difference to my outlook and the outlook of others of me. This yearning for anarchy I have in my wants turning to me being the archetype of the system, a dictator who orders the live of other even when I and people who know me know that I could not.

One night a moth flying around saw something that interests it very much, it saw a flame. It wants to be one with it, to embrace it. When it got near the flame, the moth felt pain in it’s wing and so it got as far away from the flame it could. Then it found the concept of opposites because it flew straight into an open freezer, where it froze to death and caused many curses to come out of the woman that owned the freezer that has now a moth trapped in deep frost as the woman only opened the freezer again two months later when she got home from abroad.

I am the moth and the flame is words, texts and meaning and syntax. While the freezer is the complete chaos of misunderstanding and no-meaning. The women is you, dear reader.