cs lewis beat me to it

"man approaches the nearest to god when he is least like him"

this has always vexed me. why it must/should be so.

屋檐如悬崖 风铃如沧海 我等燕归来
时间被安排 演一场意外 你悄然走开
故事在城外 浓雾散不开 看不清对白
你听不出来 风声不存在 是我在感慨
梦醒来 是谁在窗台 把结局打开
那薄如蝉翼的未来 经不起谁来拆
我送你离开 千里之外 你无声黑白
沉默年代 或许不该 太遥远的相爱
我送你离开 天涯之外 你是否还在
琴声何来 生死难猜 用一生 去等待
闻泪声入林 寻梨花白 只得一行 青苔
天在山之外 雨落花台 我两鬓斑白
闻泪声入林 寻梨花白 只得一行 青苔
天在山之外 雨落花台 我等你来
一身琉璃白 透明着尘埃 你无瑕的爱
你从雨中来 诗化了悲哀 我淋湿现在
芙蓉水面采 船行影犹在 你却不回来
被岁月覆盖 你说的花开 过去成空白
梦醒来 是谁在窗台 把结局打开
那薄如蝉翼的未来 经不起谁来拆
我送你离开 千里之外 你无声黑白
沉默年代 或许不该 太遥远的相爱
我送你离开 天涯之外 你是否还在
琴声何来 生死难猜 用一生 去等待

this is the awesome - subprime crisis according to south park

south park episode on the subprime crisis! click through for ep 13 under full episodes, margaritaville. kyle as a mixture of jesus-keynes.

last night was interesting, so that occupied me for a while.

--------------
didn't realize how wary/guarded/prescient i was in the early stages to include this little bit of foreshadowing, sounds a lot like me now huh?

Chapter VIII, All my Own Invention.

As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the reins, and turned his horse's head along the road by which they had come. `You've only a few yards to go,' he said,' down the hill and over that little brook, and then you'll be a Queen - -But you'll stay and see me off first?' he added as Alice turned with an eager look in the direction to which he pointed. `I shan't be long. You'll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road? I think it'll encourage me, you see.'

`Of course I'll wait,' said Alice: `and thank you very much for coming so far -- and for the song -- I liked it very much.'

`I hope so,' the Knight said doubtfully: `but you didn't cry so much as I thought you would.'

So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the forest.

to have half the storytelling ability of clint eastwood.

study holidays are the suck. no going to school to distract you, no passive sponging at lectures or interesting new things to learn.

always the same old shit again. all this freedom but being stuck at home. grrrr. need to go out more.

last remaining anxiety

as i alluded to in my unposted post, anxiety and stress are needed to drive me to completion on deadline, but anxiety and stress are what worsen my mood the most now.

i believe i am possibly at the last big work-related anxious moment for the next few months. i've completed some case studies, the whole of the first part of the paper, and now i just have to choose 2-3 more to fill up my paper. this last big step is particularly anxious because i've just downloaded all the data. so among 17 choices i have to make 2-3, and i need them to illustrate my point. so, i'm dreading this next step of sifting through everything and then making the choice. hope to finish this phase by the end of today.

then it's just writing to completion, putting all charts and equations in and doing formatting. probably no mean feat, but less wide-ranging thinking and hence anxiety. then it's studying, which i hope is more easily divisible into small tasks and in some sense is more target-oriented, and engages brain in a less lateral way. look forward to this next step, hopefully latest by the end of next week. every week gets better.

and then it's just maybe 8 weeks until the exams? just be cool, take it easy. remember, this exam is less important than many others you've taken in your life. don't put any pressure to achieve this or that, just get the damn degree and come back. anything else is a bonus. then it's summer, marking scripts, and then sooner or later you're back home and dry, exam free, ready for life and love. take a trip somewhere. i just need this strength for the weeks to come. i am due back some joy in my life.

looks better when everything's written down.

positive!: phew i read the -unposted- post i had 4 hours ago and i wonder what the heck all the fuss is about. but it's a fantastic record i think of how these things all come in cycles. i will probably post it sometime in the future when the memories are further away.

i was reading something interesting about grief. must avoid:
http://newswise.com/articles/view/541983/

i've also found the absolutest happiest version of first of may, which i think is very much in the spirit of the song. it's done by lulu and maurice gibb, 27 years after their messy divorce. (geez i'm not even 27... that sort of timeline is inconceivable.) you feel the mutual care and affection in their banter, and to be honest, this is the sort of song you sing only after you've lived through 50 years. plus, you get a smoky voice. on a poignant note though, maurice gibb died just a year after this performance. anyway, always thought this song was about neighbours.



so now, into work: i realized i learnt/used pretty little thus far in my dissertation of econometrics. i've done almost nothing in that respect. i didn't know how many different macro datasets there are out there. but i'm far more familiar now with where to look for what kind of data, which i suppose is useful for future research work. penn world tables, imf international financial statistics, world bank world development indicators, imf world economic outlook database etc, and also national databases. when i'm done with my dissertation i think i will prepare a guide to international macro/growth datasets (in the style of one of those excellent websites which tell you where to find any kind of development data).

as an example: digged this up from 1993, the reaction to LHL's cancer. so, talk about rational reactions to adversity:

For SM Lee, his experience told him that what was needed was a cool, rational mind to think through the possible developments and find ways to deal with them. He advised BG Lee to go through all the necessary tests and take the best medical opinion available.

SM Lee had to decide if he should cut short his trip and return home. The Lees still had another seven days to go in South Africa and were due to fly to Mauritius for a three-day visit after that. Both the South Africans and Mauritians had taken pains to prepare their programme. He decided against it.

"I'm not a doctor. What could I do if I were back in Singapore with my wife? Comfort him? Will that make a difference? Maybe psychologically. In practical terms, what difference does it make? Nothing.

"What can I do in Singapore which I cannot do in South Africa with a telephone? Nothing. So let's get on with it. That's the kind of decisions I have been accustomed to making. But I stayed in touch."

apparently i got a voting slip for the upcoming indonesian elections. realized i haven't been following the politics for quite a while since my internship, but it's so exciting... a voting slip, i don't even get one here. of course, i won't be able to vote. it's a genuine mess-up, i guess when you have 200 million people in your country you can't really figure out whether someone has turned in his passport or not. good to see the incumbent is doing well, stability is always good. he's also coming to the lse to speak.

gaining some traction on dissertation. perhaps it's because i'm doing the singapore section now, and reading up on singapore sovereign wealth funds and politics sounds more like gossip than some abstract thing happening in another country.

if i had a choice, i would be out and about everyday... in fact that's what i'm trying to do, i stepped out into the sun today, visited a construction site, and had pork chop rice (damn, another favourite food ruined, but who cares nyum nyum).

so in some sense i'm looking forward to work, more constant interaction. one of the occupational hazards of what i do now (studying for finals, research) is that it is rather internally focused. one needs a strong, settled emotional core. the sudden loss of the relationship has made the inward focus almost intense, unbearable, and i gain so much more traction looking at all the stuff out there in the world. this is why teaching brought me out of my slump. ted hughes said the same about poetry didn't he. as one of the most inward looking of the arts it takes a toll on the weak.

i think i have energy again. always feel the most vulnerable at night and in the mornings. once the mind sets in to focus, things get better. didn't help that i had to listen to an hour of preaching in the morning (although i tried my best to listen. pay my dues, you know?)

oh spotify... endless engine of music at 6 in the morning. how i love thee.

religion without dogma -- not sure if i've posted this before

tolstoy - three men

'And in praying use not vain repetitions, as the Gentiles do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask Him.' -- Matt. vi. 7, 8.

A BISHOP was sailing from Archangel to the Solovétsk Monastery; and on the same vessel were a number of pilgrims on their way to visit the shrines at that place. The voyage was a smooth one. The wind favourable, and the weather fair. The pilgrims lay on deck, eating, or sat in groups talking to one another. The Bishop, too, came on deck, and as he was pacing up and down, he noticed a group of men standing near the prow and listening to a fisherman who was pointing to the sea and telling them something. The Bishop stopped, and looked in the direction in which the man was pointing. He could see nothing however, but the sea glistening in the sunshine. He drew nearer to listen, but when the man saw him, he took off his cap and was silent. The rest of the people also took off their caps, and bowed.

'Do not let me disturb you, friends,' said the Bishop. 'I came to hear what this good man was saying.'

'The fisherman was telling us about the hermits,' replied one, a tradesman, rather bolder than the rest.

'What hermits?' asked the Bishop, going to the side of the vessel and seating himself on a box. 'Tell me about them. I should like to hear. What were you pointing at?'

'Why, that little island you can just see over there,' answered the man, pointing to a spot ahead and a little to the right. 'That is the island where the hermits live for the salvation of their souls.'

'Where is the island?' asked the Bishop. 'I see nothing.'

'There, in the distance, if you will please look along my hand. Do you see that little cloud? Below it and a bit to the left, there is just a faint streak. That is the island.'

The Bishop looked carefully, but his unaccustomed eyes could make out nothing but the water shimmering in the sun.

'I cannot see it,' he said. 'But who are the hermits that live there?'

'They are holy men,' answered the fisherman. 'I had long heard tell of them, but never chanced to see them myself till the year before last.'

And the fisherman related how once, when he was out fishing, he had been stranded at night upon that island, not knowing where he was. In the morning, as he wandered about the island, he came across an earth hut, and met an old man standing near it. Presently two others came out, and after having fed him, and dried his things, they helped him mend his boat.

'And what are they like?' asked the Bishop.

'One is a small man and his back is bent. He wears a priest's cassock and is very old; he must be more than a hundred, I should say. He is so old that the white of his beard is taking a greenish tinge, but he is always smiling, and his face is as bright as an angel's from heaven. The second is taller, but he also is very old. He wears tattered, peasant coat. His beard is broad, and of a yellowish grey colour. He is a strong man. Before I had time to help him, he turned my boat over as if it were only a pail. He too, is kindly and cheerful. The third is tall, and has a beard as white as snow and reaching to his knees. He is stern, with over-hanging eyebrows; and he wears nothing but a mat tied round his waist.'

'And did they speak to you?' asked the Bishop.

'For the most part they did everything in silence and spoke but little even to one another. One of them would just give a glance, and the others would understand him. I asked the tallest whether they had lived there long. He frowned, and muttered something as if he were angry; but the oldest one took his hand and smiled, and then the tall one was quiet. The oldest one only said: "Have mercy upon us," and smiled.'

While the fisherman was talking, the ship had drawn nearer to the island.

'There, now you can see it plainly, if your Grace will please to look,' said the tradesman, pointing with his hand.

The Bishop looked, and now he really saw a dark streak -- which was the island. Having looked at it a while, he left the prow of the vessel, and going to the stern, asked the helmsman:

'What island is that?'

'That one,' replied the man, 'has no name. There are many such in this sea.'

'Is it true that there are hermits who live there for the salvation of their souls?'

'So it is said, your Grace, but I don't know if it's true. Fishermen say they have seen them; but of course they may only be spinning yarns.'

'I should like to land on the island and see these men,' said the Bishop. 'How could I manage it?'

'The ship cannot get close to the island,' replied the helmsman, 'but you might be rowed there in a boat. You had better speak to the captain.'

The captain was sent for and came.

'I should like to see these hermits,' said the Bishop. 'Could I not be rowed ashore?'

The captain tried to dissuade him.

'Of course it could be done,' said he, 'but we should lose much time. And if I might venture to say so to your Grace, the old men are not worth your pains. I have heard say that they are foolish old fellows, who understand nothing, and never speak a word, any more than the fish in the sea.'

'I wish to see them,' said the Bishop, 'and I will pay you for your trouble and loss of time. Please let me have a boat.'

There was no help for it; so the order was given. The sailors trimmed the sails, the steersman put up the helm, and the ship's course was set for the island. A chair was placed at the prow for the Bishop, and he sat there, looking ahead. The passengers all collected at the prow, and gazed at the island. Those who had the sharpest eyes could presently make out the rocks on it, and then a mud hut was seen. At last one man saw the hermits themselves. The captain brought a telescope and, after looking through it, handed it to the Bishop.

'It's right enough. There are three men standing on the shore. There, a little to the right of that big rock.'

The Bishop took the telescope, got it into position, and he saw the three men: a tall one, a shorter one, and one very small and bent, standing on the shore and holding each other by the hand.

The captain turned to the Bishop.

'The vessel can get no nearer in than this, your Grace. If you wish to go ashore, we must ask you to go in the boat, while we anchor here.'

The cable was quickly let out, the anchor cast, and the sails furled. There was a jerk, and the vessel shook. Then a boat having been lowered, the oarsmen jumped in, and the Bishop descended the ladder and took his seat. The men pulled at their oars, and the boat moved rapidly towards the island. When they came within a stone's throw they saw three old men: a tall one with only a mat tied round his waist: a shorter one in a tattered peasant coat, and a very old one bent with age and wearing an old cassock -- all three standing hand in hand.

The oarsmen pulled in to the shore, and held on with the boathook while the Bishop got out.

The old men bowed to him, and he gave them his benediction, at which they bowed still lower. Then the Bishop began to speak to them.

'I have heard,' he said, 'that you, godly men, live here saving your own souls, and praying to our Lord Christ for your fellow men. I, an unworthy servant of Christ, am called, by God's mercy, to keep and teach His flock. I wished to see you, servants of God, and to do what I can to teach you, also.'

The old men looked at each other smiling, but remained silent.

'Tell me,' said the Bishop, 'what you are doing to save your souls, and how you serve God on this island.'

The second hermit sighed, and looked at the oldest, the very ancient one. The latter smiled, and said:

'We do not know how to serve God. We only serve and support ourselves, servant of God.'

'But how do you pray to God?' asked the Bishop.

'We pray in this way,' replied the hermit. 'Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us.'

And when the old man said this, all three raised their eyes to heaven, and repeated:

'Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us!'

The Bishop smiled.

'You have evidently heard something about the Holy Trinity,' said he. 'But you do not pray aright. You have won my affection, godly men. I see you wish to please the Lord, but you do not know how to serve Him. That is not the way to pray; but listen to me, and I will teach you. I will teach you, not a way of my own, but the way in which God in the Holy Scriptures has commanded all men to pray to Him.'

And the Bishop began explaining to the hermits how God had revealed Himself to men; telling them of God the Father, and God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.

'God the Son came down on earth,' said he, 'to save men, and this is how He taught us all to pray. Listen and repeat after me: "Our Father."'

And the first old man repeated after him, 'Our Father,' and the second said, 'Our Father,' and the third said, 'Our Father.'

'Which art in heaven,' continued the Bishop.

The first hermit repeated, 'Which art in heaven,' but the second blundered over the words, and the tall hermit could not say them properly. His hair had grown over his mouth so that he could not speak plainly. The very old hermit, having no teeth, also mumbled indistinctly.

The Bishop repeated the words again, and the old men repeated them after him. The Bishop sat down on a stone, and the old men stood before him, watching his mouth, and repeating the words as he uttered them. And all day long the Bishop laboured, saying a word twenty, thirty, a hundred times over, and the old men repeated it after him. They blundered, and he corrected them, and made them begin again.

The Bishop did not leave off till he had taught them the whole of the Lord's prayer so that they could not only repeat it after him, but could say it by themselves. The middle one was the first to know it, and to repeat the whole of it alone. The Bishop made him say it again and again, and at last the others could say it too.

It was getting dark, and the moon was appearing over the water, before the Bishop rose to return to the vessel. When he took leave of the old men, they all bowed down to the ground before him. He raised them, and kissed each of them, telling them to pray as he had taught them. Then he got into the boat and returned to the ship.

And as he sat in the boat and was rowed to the ship he could hear the three voices of the hermits loudly repeating the Lord's prayer. As the boat drew near the vessel their voices could no longer be heard, but they could still be seen in the moonlight, standing as he had left them on the shore, the shortest in the middle, the tallest on the right, the middle one on the left. As soon as the Bishop had reached the vessel and got on board, the anchor was weighed and the sails unfurled. The wind filled them, and the ship sailed away, and the Bishop took a seat in the stern and watched the island they had left. For a time he could still see the hermits, but presently they disappeared from sight, though the island was still visible. At last it too vanished, and only the sea was to be seen, rippling in the moonlight.

The pilgrims lay down to sleep, and all was quiet on deck. The Bishop did not wish to sleep, but sat alone at the stern, gazing at the sea where the island was no longer visible, and thinking of the good old men. He thought how pleased they had been to learn the Lord's prayer; and he thanked God for having sent him to teach and help such godly men.

So the Bishop sat, thinking, and gazing at the sea where the island had disappeared. And the moonlight flickered before his eyes, sparkling, now here, now there, upon the waves. Suddenly he saw something white and shining, on the bright path which the moon cast across the sea. Was it a seagull, or the little gleaming sail of some small boat? The Bishop fixed his eyes on it, wondering.

'It must be a boat sailing after us,' thought he 'but it is overtaking us very rapidly. It was far, far away a minute ago, but now it is much nearer. It cannot be a boat, for I can see no sail; but whatever it may be, it is following us, and catching us up.'

And he could not make out what it was. Not a boat, nor a bird, nor a fish! It was too large for a man, and besides a man could not be out there in the midst of the sea. The Bishop rose, and said to the helmsman:

'Look there, what is that, my friend? What is it?' the Bishop repeated, though he could now see plainly what it was -- the three hermits running upon the water, all gleaming white, their grey beards shining, and approaching the ship as quickly as though it were not morning.

The steersman looked and let go the helm in terror.

'Oh Lord! The hermits are running after us on the water as though it were dry land!'

The passengers hearing him, jumped up, and crowded to the stern. They saw the hermits coming along hand in hand, and the two outer ones beckoning the ship to stop. All three were gliding along upon the water without moving their feet. Before the ship could be stopped, the hermits had reached it, and raising their heads, all three as with one voice, began to say:

'We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again.'

The Bishop crossed himself, and leaning over the ship's side, said:

'Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners.

And the Bishop bowed low before the old men; and they turned and went back across the sea. And a light shone until daybreak on the spot where they were lost to sight.

and moving away from alcohol...

all you philosophy lovers. it's 4am, and someone has just switched me on to wittgenstein and his faith. i remember reading his remarks on frazer's golden bough, so let's try to put down some of his thoughts on faith. they are quite intuitive. i have had help from the lse introductory lectures on philosophy:

i preface these remarks with a caveat: whatever is said in these paragraphs, go out, and live a little bit. one reflects on philosophy only because it is 4am and everything is closed=).

‘Burning an effigy. Kissing the picture of one’s beloved. That is obviously not based on the belief that it will have some specific effect on the object which the picture represents. It aims at satisfaction and achieves it. Or rather: it aims at nothing at all; we just behave that way and feel satisfied’

so, an interpretation that faith or ritualistic behaviour only has internal effects, they serve to orient a person within the world, or an adherence to values. so being "moral" in some strict religious sense serves to contribute to a person's well-being, or sense of the world. he can expect little other reward. they are simply "expressive" of an inner state.

counterclaim: why does religious "good" then conflict then with so many aspects of empirical reality. for example, let's consider the belief that it is wrong to have premarital sex. atheists argue: what is the point of having peace of mind with these beliefs, if the beliefs are "wrong"? religious people might simply

- have failed to think things through adequately
- simply be possessed with a fervent wish to belief
- possess a fear of being disoriented without the values that they have grown up with
- face scarce evidence, and thus claim can be neither proved or disproved
- have blind trust in authority

OR

one might also be tempted to evaluate both beliefs along the same scale: i.e. the religious view on premarital sex is simply a distillation of the conventional wisdom which has proved to be right in the past, and is therefore a statistical summary of all beliefs. beliefs might also be changing due to changing empirical realities. it can therefore be evaluated as "good" on the same scale as say, it is good not to wear your underwear for many days in a row, in general, because it gets itchy after a while.

counterclaim 2:

if you believe that these rituals or statements : e.g. "god exists, and there is a heaven", "if we do not obey this or that moral injunction, there will be bad karma or hell" are merely expressive, does that not leave your faith without foundation? the simple fact is, most religious people DO believe these things as something that will happen with some certainty (although we must be careful, we cannot look into their mental states. we only observe their expressions, but they might have the same doubts although what comes out is expressed in the language of certitude).

so, is wittgenstein's view that religious belief is a metaphorical way of expressing something else in our inner states right? we know that words convey feelings different from their literal intentions. another example given:

‘Aren’t the odds that we met each other extraordinary?’

‘Actually, I don’t think you’ve got good evidence for that claim. For if you think about it, it’s not that improbable. We have a lot of friends in common, and we both go to the same university....

wittgenstein views the latter response as a typical one of the atheists, that try to deconstruct or put their scientific frame of belief on certain expressions or utterances that we have. he also cites the fact that someone might believe in judgement day on some dream or intense felt experience. while i share wittgenstein's opinions on religion (e.g. i have an understanding, even if intellectual, but actually also felt, of what faith must feel like, in terms of believing that something will happen even if the current facts don't point to it). is this a core human feeling/belief? and the problem with this kind of interpretation of faith is that it is true that it is an easy choice: i am spared many of the moral injunctions that would have struck me at the core: e.g. fast for xx amount of days, no sex, simply because my faith isn't rooted in a lived, terrified believed reality that there is a god. i suppose even a humanistic version of faith/love is based on some form of sacrifice/love, so is what is all there in religion simply a metaphor? i did have a fear of not praying, but this has faded over the times. perhaps this is what is needed, and the basis on which one would prefer to be an atheist than an agnostic. (and of course, yann martel argues that at least being an atheist requires a leap of the imagination, a removal of the crutch).

so, would it be better for me to not believe at all, or for me to accept this limited view of religion, one that tries to understand the spirit behind faith, hope and love, while giving up on it being any sort of explanation for reality? as of now, i find it better than consigning the entire thing to the wastebasket. maybe as they say, one day the terrifying experience might come. but today i live in hope that humanity is still enough.

let this be a little lesson for me. at least for the next few months.

i'll start the lesson from the lowest of the low. because, then, as soros says, the only way is up. no, i never had the misfortune of only having coins left in my pocket (though i've ran out of money a couple of times in london, i always had a safety net to fall back on).

there's a stretch along the BKE where you realize that so much of Singapore is still forest. my old camp, the zoo, and it was 9am. how often do i find myself heading south along the BKE at nine in the morning? so the skies were pregnant with those trademark cumulonimbi, and it was grey, really grey. all the southbound motorcyclists stopped by the side of the road getting their ponchos out. me? i was trying to keep my puke in my mouth.

there's a corner of my brain marked humiliation which has memories from a long way back. i never truly forget them, and i would love to share them except that perhaps my honesty has its limits sometimes. but this one, this wasn't my most glorious moment. i was keeping my puke in my mouth. so typical jesse you know? you have to puke. wind down the window, puke in the cab, hell. but jesse's just so intent on being proper and dignified. no puking in cabs for him. and so it's better to keep all that vomit inside, to taste it, puff out the cheeks a bit.

hurriedly paid my 17+ cab fare. cabs are that expensive nowadays huh? so i hit the turf outside my place, it was raining and finally let it all go. the cab driver must have breathed a sigh of relief. phew, dodged one sicko there. so it was raining, on the asphalt, and rain on asphalt has that brilliant musky smell. i was puking water (because all the food had gone in earlier spells at night). i make the same promise i do every time: don't do this anymore, it's not worth it. why do you always find yourself in this situation? i felt kinda ashamed to be walking up back home, wet, introducing myself, having breakfast, puking some more. but nobody laughed at me, and i just opened up really for the first time i guess. i remember this moment before. i remember with debi carting lip all the way up 4 flights of stairs back home to his parents, who simply welcomed him in knowingly. it was love again too. maybe he's made the right choices now. girls nowadays. god, where are all these people nowadays. all over the world.

but i can tell you why i did it. it was 8.45 the previous night, i was bored. i remembered not being able to sleep and i do miss the warm fuzzy feeling that hits when you've got the right amount. i want to be able to sleep and feel like hugging things because i feel warm, and i do want to sound and feel funny. so teetotaler... yeah, sometimes. i owe myself this night out of town after a while. hell, i told myself that 3 months ago, but i didn't let myself go. no reason to. too much to lose, too little to gain.

so if it involves spending those hazy hours deconstructing romance of the three kingdoms in an all too literal way, or being brutally honest, maybe it was worth it. it wasn't. everyone tells me i'm honest. well, everyone is honest to someone aren't they? maybe i'm just honest to you, and dishonest to everyone else. yeah yeah, my honesty is refreshing. so now you tell me that too. so what am i, a watering hole of honesty? i hide things too you know. and i guess i also go quench my thirst with some people. maybe i quench off impulsive people, maybe it's true, maybe they're a side of me that's in me but i never indulge. balance, you know, zen. but i know i can't hide a lot from those i pour out to. i too can learn to lie. telling someone annoying they're attractive, just to practise. it's not that difficult. it even feels good. but not for long.

so, don't do it again soon. not worth it. the hours of headaches, the entire day spent in bed. urgh. i get so little mileage. when i tried doing some exercise a few hours ago i could feel the headache coming back. i just take so long to detox.

i was struck, i guess. i guess i still cannot see this as happiness. it is not happiness, so i cannot lie that it is. being free, to laze around, to spend time with my old habits. this is not happiness. maybe it will settle to be happiness out of the inevitable recharging, i don't know. but it's not.

sudden rude shock: nobody cares. start from that. then you can be zen. but i know that i found that philosophy too dystopian. it's true, there's an entire type of people selling this to me too. the world is tough, people don't give a shit if you're unhappy, they're not gonna grade you more kindly, yep, i know all this. but people do care, i guess. maybe not the ones you want to, but some people do care. so, no, i'm not going to go to that world yet.

so, another night out on town tomorrow. will go easy. and then slowly friends start coming back and i can start doing normal things like lunches and dinners and studying together at nus. no more cigarettes, they just keep you from sleeping. smoke one, crush the pack. and hopefully we have better more exciting stories on the way.

there's a reason why i feel so much kinship to the themes expressed in hejira. given the person i am, at heart i should be happy, to be free, to wander where i wish. perhaps part of the problem is that the biology always comes back to haunt me. it's difficult to scrub out the smell, scour the brain. maybe i'll have to throw my entire bed out. damned memory. and i don't see any reason why it should be so hard. i've come to be at peace with myself, and my thoughts, and i've learnt to be happy with myself since those tumultuous teenage days.

but there's happy and there's happy you know? and god, i've been happy these past 3 years. that's the crushing realization. i have so much to thank her for, and yet... what else crushes me is that maybe the happiness wasn't shared, that i've been a source of pain and tension. but now i've tasted it i'm doomed. and i think this might just be what i'm looking for forever, from now on.

I'm traveling in some vehicle
I'm sitting in some cafe
A defector from the petty wars
That shell shock love away
There's comfort in melancholy
When there's no need to explain
It's just as natural as the weather
In this moody sky today
In our possessive coupling
So much could not be expressed
So now I'm returning to myself
These things that you and I suppressed
I see something of myself in everyone
Just at this moment of the world
As snow gathers like bolts of lace
Waltzing on a ballroom girl

You know it never has been easy
Whether you do or you do not resign
Whether you travel the breadth of extremities
Or stick to some straighter line
Now heres a man and a woman sitting on a rock
They're either going to thaw out or freeze
Listen...
Strains of benny goodman
Coming through the snow and the pinewood trees
I'm porous with travel fever
But you know I'm so glad to be on my own
Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
Can set up trembling in my bones
I know - no one's going to show me everything
We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone

Well I looked at the granite markers
Those tribute to finality - to eternity
And then I looked at myself here
Chicken scratching for my immortality
In the church they light the candles
And the wax rolls down like tears
There's the hope and the hopelessness
I've witnessed thirty years
Were only particles of change I know, I know
Orbiting around the sun
But how can I have that point of view
When I'm always bound and tied to someone
White flags of winter chimneys
Waving truce against the moon
In the mirrors of a modern bank
from the window of a hotel room

I'm traveling in some vehicle
I'm sitting in some cafe
A defector from the petty wars
Until love sucks me back that way

all i really want right now

hejira - the migration to medinah

I went to Staten Island.
To buy myself a mandolin
And I saw the long white dress of love
On a storefront mannequin
Big boat chuggin' back with a belly full of cars...
All for something lacy
Some girl's going to see that dress
And crave that day like crazy

Little Indian kids on a bridge up in Canada
They can balance and they can climb
Like their fathers before them
They'll walk the girders of the Manhattan skyline
Shine your light on me Miss Liberty
Because as soon as this ferry boat docks
I'm headed to the church
To play Bingo
Fleece me with the gamblers' flocks

I can keep my cool at poker
But I'm a fool when love's at stake
Because I can't conceal emotion
What I'm feeling's always written on my face
There's a gypsy down on Bleecker Street
I went in to see her as a kind of joke
And she lit a candle for my love luck
And eighteen bucks went up in smoke

Sharon, I left my man
At a North Dakota junction
And I came out to the "Big Apple" here
To face the dream's malfunction
Love's a repetitious danger
You'd think I'd be accustomed to
Well, I do accept the changes
At least better than I used to do

A woman I knew just drowned herself
The well was deep and muddy
She was just shaking off futility
Or punishing somebody
My friends were calling up all day yesterday
All emotions and abstractions
It seems we all live so close to that line
And so far from satisfaction

Dora says, "Have children!"
Mama and Betsy say-"Find yourself a charity."
Help the needy and the crippled or put some time into Ecology."
Well, there's a wide wide world of noble causes
And lovely landscapes to discover
But all I really want right now
Is...find another lover

When we were kids in Maidstone, Sharon
I went to every wedding in that little town
To see the tears and the kisses
And the pretty lady in the white lace wedding gown
And walking home on the railroad tracks
Or swinging on the playground swing
Love stimulated my illusions
More than anything

And when I went skating after Golden Reggie
You know it was white lace I was chasing
Chasing dreams
Mama's nylons underneath my cowgirl jeans
He showed me first you get the kisses
And then you get the tears
But the ceremony of the bells and lace
Still veils this reckless fool here

Now there are 29 skaters on Wolmann rink
Circling in singles and in pairs
In this vigorous anonymity
A blank face at the window stares and stares and stares and stares
And the power of reason
And the flowers of deep feeling
Seem to serve me
Only to deceive me

Sharon you've got a husband
And a family and a farm
I've got the apple of temptation
And a diamond snake around my arm
But you still have your music
And I've still got my eyes on the land and the sky
You sing for your friends and your family
I'll walk green pastures by and by

only a phase these dark cafe days

The last time I saw richard was detroit in 68,
And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday
Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe
You laugh, he said you think youre immune, go look at your eyes
Theyre full of moon
You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
All those pretty lies, pretty lies
When you gonna realise theyre only pretty lies
Only pretty lies, just pretty lies

He put a quarter in the wurlitzer, and he pushed
Three buttons and the thing began to whirr
And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
And she said drink up now its gettin on time to close.
Richard, you havent really changed, I said
Its just that now youre romanticizing some pain thats in your head
You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs
You punched are dreaming
Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet

Richard got married to a figure skater
And he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator
And he drinks at home now most nights with the tv on
And all the house lights left up bright
Im gonna blow this damn candle out
I dont want nobody comin over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin behind bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings
And fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days

songs from covent garden part 2

songs from covent garden

busker's playlist

ours is just a little sorrow yet

nothing feels better than lip synching to this power ballad. there were some awesome songs in the 90's. RRROOOARRR! electric guitar heals all! someone told me a magnificent story today: in chinese, the character 忍 has a knife and a heart in it. 就算我们心如刀割，也得忍。wow. wanted to get married and have her kids at that moment. i always thought the character was like that because of ninjas or something. but who the hell knows? we can all interpret pictures however we want. oh! another story. tried to break branches today, and was cruelly laughed at for failing to break one. this prompted a sudden: "oh it's ok, man can always break things, but only god can put things back together". that prompted a "wtf did that come from comment". basking in my own originality, i finally remembered that such a phrase comes from old weddings that you might have attended: "what god has put together, let no man tear asunder". damnit religion, must you steal all my lines? and mine always happen to be poor imitations of the original.

professional wrestling is amazing

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kayfabe

eloisa to abelard - alexander pope

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

watchmen: not very plotty, so doesn't port well to a movie. very moody, nice scenes, but not a movie.

never compromise?

ok, all this started last night. i got back, tired from work, emotional, reading a chat log over, and watching jon stewart at its usual 8.30 timeslot. they had on the actor who was playing doc manhattan, and i saw him blow up something. thought it was pretty cool. so i told myself i'd get this the next day, to distract myself.

i'm usually too good at distracting myself. though i did manage to get half a day in doing my dissertation, i end up spending the entire day finishing this. in many ways it seemed like the right book at the right time. i got a lot of emotional mileage from it.

from my standpoint, they probably gave rorschach the best ending. most cathartic. me? i'd settle for plain old nostalgia, any day. or a blue aloof martyr. i note he contributed almost nothing to the plot mechanics. but he was fantastic mood music. and they gave him a rather small dick.

realized this was my 888th post. if you haven't seen that many it's because that number includes unposted drafts which are too raw for consumption

received another email from an old colleague at the singapore consulate in indonesia. i asked if she was leaving, and she said "no, the embassy is like a home to me." i've always been amazed how contented and happy they are at the workplace and what good friends they make. and she's young... and i imagine, whether in 20 years, she'll still be there, promoted a few more levels and with a few more wrinkles to show for it.

maybe the lines i like the best are all the cliched ones=)

watchmen chapter ix





"as far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being" - jung

guess i ain't no vigilante warrior. i like the blue guy who doesn't like to care too much (but who strangely seems vaguely depressed about his state) and has a dose of too much perspective. yes, of course he's blue, blue is the colour of rationality isn't it. but somehow it comes out to me as melancholic. and perhaps with some of the passivity and resentment of juspeszcyk.

love the flavour of it. my favourite kind of conversation.

of course, we all know that brownian motion with random drift will eventually (or almost surely) reach all points with probability one. given a long enough period of time, anything will happen. but do we really know what we're talking about?

maybe honesty really isn't about saying what you feel, but what you think. most people don't say things because they're scared. they don't say them because they feel guilty. i love you, i want you, all very nice summaries, but what lies beneath them?

but unfortunately i think that kind of honesty is misplaced in this world. i like it, it's comforting, but i think it's difficult to handle because our thoughts change so much over the course of our lives. this introduces a lot of uncertainty. should i respond to this thought then, now? or that other one, there?

this was a whole lot of BS, btw. what are feelings except more powerful thoughts?

spent the morning actively reducing the quality of my dissertation by sitting around at costa's coffee above waterstones and reading watchmen instead.

dylan references already! -- from desolation row:

"at midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew"

not too shabby. thus far, rorschach reminds me of scorcese's taxi driver. i believe the word is manichean. but i haven't finished.

wow... the dissertation is hard. so many things to organize. it's very distressing.

now that i've spent half a day doing all the organization, it doesn't feel too bad. actually it would be a shame to rush it. nowhere before have i seen a dataset which will summarize all the information that i have on sovereign wealth funds as what i am doing now.

little mercies

good vibe day. yes, again, not enough sleep, but the day starts off with what i always like, some semblance of routine. sitting at the garrick, opened by the francescottis who met at the LSE. i know if you're from the LSE you will probably laugh at me for romanticizing the Garrick, but it's really nice nowadays when the morning sun comes in. They also now have an early bird special and they make the best jam croissants in the area, and have a handy stock of bananas. there is also a nice smell of coffee and since i'm a tea drinker it's better for me. i go through my notes for class one more time before i have to stand up and perform. in many respects, it's infinitely better than the long bus ride home. the waiter also remembers my order.

not everything goes well. today my task is to teach the solow growth model. felt well-prepared for the equations and it's something where people can add value by showing it clearly. of course, i get a sense that business cycles and short run fluctuations excite people more. you know, associated with the stock market and all that, perhaps less abstract. the stronger students clearly enjoy this topic, because it challenges them more mathematically. but i confess, the weaker students were lost. could have done better. even the usually boisterous 5pm class was pummelled into submission. well, i know this lecture flummoxed them too.

back in the part time teacher's office, there is more joy all around. my colleague and loyal room-mate has just got into berkeley, which he felt was totally unexpected given his low GRE scores. it feels good, it feels really unexpected. and particularly happy for him because he works at HM treasury (and teaches part time) so he actually knows his stuff about macro, so it's actually interesting and not at all dry and theoretical listening to him. the rest of the room (me and someone else) consoled ourselves at not having bright california sun to look forward to.

sister turns out with some amazing results as well. so, it looks like today there's a lot of goodwill coming around.

today the zenmaster says

freak not, for the zenmaster is rarely the rainmaker. the zenmaster waits for others to slip up. people inevitably do.

ommmmmmm.

test

hello

i was just alerted to the fact that a student at NTU went along and stabbed his professor. it would be interesting to see what the implications are for pastoral care are in universities

habits

everybody has a crutch... for me somehow it's firing off www.blogger.com, entering in my username and password and firing off some random writing. i don't know why it works either. we all love to laugh at blogs. some of them are simply over-wrought with self-importance.

my initial instinct was to fade away. if one is not needed then one should simply step aside. don't get in the way of the young, you know what i mean? one doesn't want to influence the game in any way. everything needs to be objective, impartial and as close to our ideal of truth as possible.

insomnia entertainment... learning how to play the rest of this song

this is really difficult, to disappear, to melt away