Saturday, April 30, 2005

It is time to quit reading when one begins to see subversion and quasi-protest and fake revolution everywhere. But do check out what made for some interesting, problematic but very well-phrased reading....

Jennie Lin pontificating on We Who Are About to Die?...

Will post my interpretation, agreements and critique tomorrow...reading, needless to add is a self-serving world unto its own...
The weekend is going to buzz past...things are happening....and happening fast...I need to get a hold on this before it whizzes out of sight and control.

Thought for the Day


g can


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- E.E.Cummings

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Trying to garner the philosophy and morality of Empire...and came across this...

Check out your fragmented reasonings here

1. Cynics (100%)
2. Jean-Paul Sartre (87%)
3. Kant (65%)
4. David Hume (62%)
5. Nietzsche (62%)
6. Stoics (62%)
7. Jeremy Bentham (57%)
8. John Stuart Mill (57%)
9. Thomas Hobbes (56%)
10. Nel Noddings (54%)
11. Epicureans (43%)
12. St. Augustine (41%)
13. Aquinas (39%)
14. Ayn Rand (38%)
15. Ockham (37%)
16. Spinoza (35%)
17. Prescriptivism (34%)
18. Aristotle (33%)
19. Plato (25%)

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Astray...Bored...Confused...Disoriented...Evasive...Fragmented...Groaning...Hollow...Inebriated...that's as far as I can go today...

Life, Love, Literature, Lack...the mother, the daughter, and the cursed banshee...
I have been sleeping all morning, methinx I need to stop considering weekends as separate space. All it leads to is excessive tiredness on Friday in anticipation of sleeping it off on Saturday and sleepless, uninteresting Saturday nights. Speaking of which, this one definitely was THE most ever moronic one I have spent in a very long time.

Started off pretty well, had complimentary, front-row seats to a Kathakali performance depicting Bhima in search of the Saugandhika and his encounter with Hanuman. Interesting bit of intertextuality. Wonderfully elaborate costumes and live musicians accompanying the performance. I was able to understand most of the Sanskrit words employed in the verse, which made it easier to relate it to the actual mudras and facial expressions. Also,learned a few new things, like the symbolism of the various colours used on the faces (green for heroism and black, not surprisingly for villainy). Black was also explained as being called 'kari' which is the word in Tamil for charcoal, so well, it always gives me cheap thrills to be able to make random connections. And I thought I heard the reference to Ari, which apparently in old Tamil is the word for lion and incidentally is also the name of the protagonist in Leon Uris' Exodus. Also, some very pleasing eye-candy in the rows in front...always makes for good cheer.

Dinner at Taj Palace...dropped in to a friend's birthday bash..had a few drinks, listened to some atrociously bad, fun karaoke and then began my not-so-good rest-of-the-night...went dancing with a friend who was supposed to meet some people I didn't know at a club downtown. I hadn't gone dancing in a while, so figured I'd brush up my rusty salsa...turned out to be uninteresting, moronic, will-stand-like-statues-with-a-beer-looking-intense crowd with nothing microscopically noteworthy to recommend either them or their moves.Eeeeeeeeeeeeeyuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhh....either,I have turned uber-anti-social or uber-old or maybe, just maybe, it wasn't my night...

Was back at 2, bitching and moaning and wishing I had just stayed on at the party before. So all that 'outletting' took until five in the morning and I wake up at 1 to find work gently easing into my line of vision. So am back at it. Frustrating thing about being at grad school, 'tis too difficult to separate...

But anyway, my clips are coming along fine, the footage looks good and so do my shorts. All I hope is to be able to weave it into a coherent narrative of self...more later...

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Can time not stand still? Can it flow instead? Flow into meaninglessness and ‘doesn’t-matter’ states and endless epiphany and moving pictures and lying magic?

I can’t find it, I really can’t. I tried and tried and tried and must admit that it is but an invention of a restless mind and an unfinished soul. Movies are real, song lyrics are concrete, pictures are pretty, printers are sensible. There’s no magic rabbits, no levitation...lots of sawn-off bodies though with nobody to make them whole plumes, no top-hats, no glittering fuchsia bodysuits...we dress in plaid around here....

Monday, April 18, 2005

If I caught the world in an hourglass
Saddled up the moon so we could ride
Until the stars grew dim, Until...

- Sting (OST Kate and Leopold)

Sunday, April 17, 2005

May I objectify myself? Lest somebody beat me to it...

Monday, April 11, 2005

I think the break has been made. Between the effective present and a particular portion of the phantasmic past. This is definitely progress. Not disdain, not disgust, not longing, not wonderment...this is a comfortable spot, a snug sunlit porch.

I spoke to him and did not feel anything at all except the need to ask perfunctory questions and listen to the perfunctory answers. I did not even feel the need to call back and that my friends is definitely a first.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

So she hated him. Or so she said.
Or so she loved him. Or so she said.
What was anybody to believe? What was she to perform?

The story after all is never too far from the performance. Because it is a story. If I had said truth, then it would be a different matter altogether. But it is rather the story of the truth and they are not the same.

But back to the story. What does love mean here? Is it the endless safety of the same Pavlovian smile to the face at the thought of the beloved or is it the sigh of relief at the diminishing effort required to keep this metaphor in place? I contend not. Love as she performed is was the active denial of hate, hate being the underlying sinking truth that at the base of it what was different was not he from he, but her ability to manipulate what he could do for her as opposed to what he would not. But if she could manipulate him, then so could he her. In the way that enmity is intimate and arm-twisting but an arm's distance away, she weathered the reaction that came with her every action. Not only that he did what she wanted, but that she had to want everything that he did. So that he would not notice.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

...leopard spots on a wine glass, light glinting off the innards of red liquid, flowing into a sulky mouth the colour of dull blood, spilling into two tiny drops onto a stubborn chin held in place by a haughty neck forming the crown of a body encased in splotches of blue splashed moodily across fabric touching skin vacillating between ebony and dull brown, two thin straps framing tawny shoulders dipping down like fluid into the small of her back turning invisibly into long legs perched on the edge of varnished wood, flowing into the sun and the wind, stationary and still, moving and dancing, wondering and waiting...

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Playing right now...

Aag ka kya hai,
Pal do pal mein lagti hai,
Bujhte bujhte ek zamaana lagta hai..