Christmas and New year posts. Hallmark must feel they've converted another. It isn't true. They're significant to the timing of these posts but not for their intended reasons. Other factors have prompted this.
2008 is the most introspective I've ever been. The most critical and the most cynical. The culmination of which led to my last post. I've achieved nothing and have deteriorated considerably. I've tried to change and regressed. However, regression isn't as straight forward as it seems. I can't have regressed into something I used to be. Because I was never anything with the knowledge and experience I now have. Nitpicking bullshit at the face of it, but it's a pretty significant realisation for me. I'm in Jaipur again. It's comfortable and I've been immobile and silently desperate.
It made me realise I haven't had perspective in one year. A year of self obsession. How motherfucking unbelievable? I have never been so fucking stunned at my own bullshit. Anyway I haven't even managed more than a mention in the New year blog of the only person I've obsessed over more than myself this past year. The single most important person in my life, who I have spent every waking moment worried about or happy for, and I'm a mention. I never thought I'd regret as much as I have, but that ofcourse is only because there is so precious little I have at present to enjoy.
I don't believe in pretentious resolutions and plans for the self, but I'm going to try and climb out of the muddled mess that has become my own ass. I have a book to write and I cannot draw to save my life. I have a lot of money to save and a very dear loved one to hang on to before some famous guy with a roller coaster on his chest can take her away (bad dream- as I said, I'm in Jaipur again).
I'm very very frustrated after last year and 46 minutes into this new one I know I've got to buck the fuck up for this one. Odd numbered years bode well for me. Then again I was born in 88. Fuck. I think I'll blog more. I'm not saying I should or I'll try to. I just think I will.
I do love talking and thinking and sitting and feeling and being and loving and all that, but whether I like it or not I have to, by way of my life's flow thus far, I have to keep moving and changing and I have had a year of that horrible term in economics that everyone always lost 2 marks attempting to define- S T A G F L A T I O N.
Stagnation and inflation. An undue raise of value which is maintained until everything stagnates and shrivels up to fucking die.
I don't want to fucking die, especially not if I am as fucking lonely within the wretched confines of this very nasty head. If I do die, I need it to be known, I am unhappy as myself and I am unhappy as the biggest fuck up of 2008. But I am going to go ahead and try to feel a bit better about myself in 2010. I'm going to be worth more blogs and I'm going to make people happy by just doing my own fucking thing. I'm going to make up terms and live by them for the fuck of it. I'm going to make people happy I was fucking alive and I'm going to make people happy I'm dead. I'm going to write till people see what a snivelling cunt Tejas Modak truly is and I'm going to make a fuck load of money so I can stay home at age 26 to eat well and make babies.
I am going to fucking live and I am fucking petrified. But I'm not dead.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Enough. Enough now.
I'm sitting in a bus heading back to Mumbai. I've just left my best friend and it's Christmas. I owe three people over 3500 rupees. I'm a negative, cynical, holier than thou asshole and I've finally crashed lower than rock bottom. I am at full throttle self hatred. There is a handful of people on this planet who love me for what I am, was and will be. I love them very much. In some way or another, I have hurt them all. I've either not stayed in touch, missed a birthday by 12 days, missed a birthday completely, or been a defensive narrow minded asshole with. I can't say enough, how sorry I am.
I've just spent 3 days with the most perfect couple I've met. I don't know why or how, but after a very satisfying meal with Tejas, I've realised that I'm not in a rut. I'm not depressed. I'm not deranged. I am quite simply disgusted with the creature I've turned into.
When I came to Mumbai I promised myself I wouldn't turn into a cynical, all knowing, all hating asshole, but somewhere along the line, during my quest to live subjectively and not objectively, I've turned into just that. I no longer hope and I no longer dream. I barely have any earnestly positive thoughts in my head, they're either forced or rationalised and they're all bullshit. On the other hand I can complain about anything and generally do. Especially things I don't dislike. I tell myself it's to maintain both sides of a coin. It's that age old bull shit self preservation technique people usually spew, of if you aren't happy you can't get disappointed. It's a horrible sensation and it's driven me into an even worse downward spiral than I was in. I've tried change and new things but the fact is, I'm going to have to work my way out of this without much change until I'm finally different.
I've hurt, repeatedly and ruthlessly, a person who has grown from friend to lover to wife and now to an essential part of my nervous system. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever met and she's the only thing I've never stopped admiring through all the self pity and deprecation. She's the ingredient to a perfect future, the person that makes you go " Fuck. I'm going to live me a good life now..."
I've gotten so caught up in my own doubt, and hating that I've ended up butchering her stability and I'm luckier than the luckiest guy in the world that she's still with me. The luckiest guy in the world, incidentally, is me as well, only I'm that lucky for having her in the first place.
I'm sorry. I'm going to have to fight like a bitch to get out of this fuck all rut, only now I know it's not a rut, it's a fucking grave.
I have all the technology anyone could fucking need. I have a home. Yes a home. A room with facilities, which has been converted into a home with the wave of a magic wand from a certain fairy. So few people read my shit anymore I can afford to be wholly personal and direct! I have a beautiful, perfect wife and some beautiful, perfect friends and a loving family. I deserve none of this shit but I have it so I'm going to up and earn it now.
To everyone I've hurt, I know you'll forgive me, but not for qualities of my own, rather qualities of yours. You guys are fucking awesome. To the wife, I'm going to grow into that George Clooney smile till it fucking fits.
I love you all.
PS It has been real effort not tying this up with the crisis at Arsenal. It fits perfectly but this time I'll fix up before they need to. Let's hope they follow.
PPS Tejas- Wanna fighd aboud id? and Thank you for Love Actually. Undoubtedly the catalyst now that I come to think of it.
I've just spent 3 days with the most perfect couple I've met. I don't know why or how, but after a very satisfying meal with Tejas, I've realised that I'm not in a rut. I'm not depressed. I'm not deranged. I am quite simply disgusted with the creature I've turned into.
When I came to Mumbai I promised myself I wouldn't turn into a cynical, all knowing, all hating asshole, but somewhere along the line, during my quest to live subjectively and not objectively, I've turned into just that. I no longer hope and I no longer dream. I barely have any earnestly positive thoughts in my head, they're either forced or rationalised and they're all bullshit. On the other hand I can complain about anything and generally do. Especially things I don't dislike. I tell myself it's to maintain both sides of a coin. It's that age old bull shit self preservation technique people usually spew, of if you aren't happy you can't get disappointed. It's a horrible sensation and it's driven me into an even worse downward spiral than I was in. I've tried change and new things but the fact is, I'm going to have to work my way out of this without much change until I'm finally different.
I've hurt, repeatedly and ruthlessly, a person who has grown from friend to lover to wife and now to an essential part of my nervous system. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever met and she's the only thing I've never stopped admiring through all the self pity and deprecation. She's the ingredient to a perfect future, the person that makes you go " Fuck. I'm going to live me a good life now..."
I've gotten so caught up in my own doubt, and hating that I've ended up butchering her stability and I'm luckier than the luckiest guy in the world that she's still with me. The luckiest guy in the world, incidentally, is me as well, only I'm that lucky for having her in the first place.
I'm sorry. I'm going to have to fight like a bitch to get out of this fuck all rut, only now I know it's not a rut, it's a fucking grave.
I have all the technology anyone could fucking need. I have a home. Yes a home. A room with facilities, which has been converted into a home with the wave of a magic wand from a certain fairy. So few people read my shit anymore I can afford to be wholly personal and direct! I have a beautiful, perfect wife and some beautiful, perfect friends and a loving family. I deserve none of this shit but I have it so I'm going to up and earn it now.
To everyone I've hurt, I know you'll forgive me, but not for qualities of my own, rather qualities of yours. You guys are fucking awesome. To the wife, I'm going to grow into that George Clooney smile till it fucking fits.
I love you all.
PS It has been real effort not tying this up with the crisis at Arsenal. It fits perfectly but this time I'll fix up before they need to. Let's hope they follow.
PPS Tejas- Wanna fighd aboud id? and Thank you for Love Actually. Undoubtedly the catalyst now that I come to think of it.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
In a nokiatic sense...
Ello all,
I'll warn you beforehand, this post is forced. Tonight the Arsenal faces Fenerbahce in a Champions league group match and ordinarily, this wouldn't be a tremendously significant game, however circumstances have made it a rather extra ordinary one.
Ever since the 9th grade when I started supporting the Gunners there's been a direct corelation to events in my own life. 9th grade when I really began my life, socially anyway, in Dubai, was the invincible season and it was a feeling I had right through the year. Subsequently it's a bit hazy, but let's just say Arsenal never did too well during my boards...
Last year, arguably the greatest year of my life for several reasons, coincided with what was considered a revival of invincible Arsenal. Most tellingly, the day we beat Chelsea was the day Kyra said yes. However just as that season started to run out of steam, it seems so did I and by the end I was as crestfallen as Wenger was after that cunt Kuyt tripped himself and won Liverpool that penalty.
I've written a bunch of posts over the last year about how I'm coming back, I've made a lot of promises about the return of invincible hobo and the truth is I'm so tired I don't have the energy to push myself the way I did at the start of first year. My mind is this horrible mess and I don't get brilliant ideas in the shower anymore. I've not burnt out because I've really not merited a burn out, I've just gotten so caught up in how to be and what to be and doubting and trying to be and all that psycho analytical bull crap that I've lost will power.
I saw this episode of House where this girl gets this condition called Abulia. It's the loss of will. So you can't decide and the tension makes you faint. I'm nowhere near that shit and thank god, but I'm so close to it I want to scream, but then again, I'm not really sure I want to scream.
It's taken alot to get me to write lately and other than spewing out acceptable articles for a site bizarre enough to pay me, I've really hit a brick wall on the expression front.
I'm teaching myself how to play the guitar and enjoying the fact that I have a vague control over the sounds of an object, but the truth is I feel winded. I can't get myself to draw and write, two things I love to do. I can't seem to get myself to do much beyond playing an inane video game. I can't even zone out in front of the television.
It's true, this is a pathless rant but after everything I've tried only written catharsis is left really.
My immune system gave away finally and I can't help but feel like it's a fucking metaphor for my grit. If my grit's as fucked as my liver after Malaria then I'm headed for trouble. On the other hand, all the greatest tasks and things ever done have originated in the individual constantly saying 'fuck it' and going straight forward, but that's not something I really have in me right now and it's a feeling I have never till this date had. It's not scary or saddening it's just repressively dull and it makes me want to jump out of my skin just so I can feel fresh again.
I've been trying to get past this and another something I won't get into and I haven't and the dissatisfaction, the feeling of an incomplete task despite herculean effort, has made me miss, more than anything else, that feeling you get when you've left 8th grade or 7th grade or whatever grade, and you have a new school bag, new books, new clothes and sometimes a new hairstyle, and you walk in with this almost clean slate and there's nothing you can't fucking do and there's no amount of Hindi lectures you can't stay awake through.
That's a fucking beautiful feeling. And I fucking miss it. I have everything I need for it to happen. A new laptop, new clothes, a new phone, a new camera, a guitar soon, it's just my fucking outlook is the same boring one of Arsenal with their heads hanging down and that beautiful man Mathieu Flamini slumping because we couldn't put one past Wigan.
So tonight, and honestly, on Saturday when we face the Tampons of Manchester ("Once they get in, they're always going to come out red...") I'm looking forward to and I'm going to make a genuine effort to pump my fists and cheer on the mighty Gunners with every ounce of spirit I have. If they can get through this, then I can't help but feel like I can too.
Come on you Reds!
I'll warn you beforehand, this post is forced. Tonight the Arsenal faces Fenerbahce in a Champions league group match and ordinarily, this wouldn't be a tremendously significant game, however circumstances have made it a rather extra ordinary one.
Ever since the 9th grade when I started supporting the Gunners there's been a direct corelation to events in my own life. 9th grade when I really began my life, socially anyway, in Dubai, was the invincible season and it was a feeling I had right through the year. Subsequently it's a bit hazy, but let's just say Arsenal never did too well during my boards...
Last year, arguably the greatest year of my life for several reasons, coincided with what was considered a revival of invincible Arsenal. Most tellingly, the day we beat Chelsea was the day Kyra said yes. However just as that season started to run out of steam, it seems so did I and by the end I was as crestfallen as Wenger was after that cunt Kuyt tripped himself and won Liverpool that penalty.
I've written a bunch of posts over the last year about how I'm coming back, I've made a lot of promises about the return of invincible hobo and the truth is I'm so tired I don't have the energy to push myself the way I did at the start of first year. My mind is this horrible mess and I don't get brilliant ideas in the shower anymore. I've not burnt out because I've really not merited a burn out, I've just gotten so caught up in how to be and what to be and doubting and trying to be and all that psycho analytical bull crap that I've lost will power.
I saw this episode of House where this girl gets this condition called Abulia. It's the loss of will. So you can't decide and the tension makes you faint. I'm nowhere near that shit and thank god, but I'm so close to it I want to scream, but then again, I'm not really sure I want to scream.
It's taken alot to get me to write lately and other than spewing out acceptable articles for a site bizarre enough to pay me, I've really hit a brick wall on the expression front.
I'm teaching myself how to play the guitar and enjoying the fact that I have a vague control over the sounds of an object, but the truth is I feel winded. I can't get myself to draw and write, two things I love to do. I can't seem to get myself to do much beyond playing an inane video game. I can't even zone out in front of the television.
It's true, this is a pathless rant but after everything I've tried only written catharsis is left really.
My immune system gave away finally and I can't help but feel like it's a fucking metaphor for my grit. If my grit's as fucked as my liver after Malaria then I'm headed for trouble. On the other hand, all the greatest tasks and things ever done have originated in the individual constantly saying 'fuck it' and going straight forward, but that's not something I really have in me right now and it's a feeling I have never till this date had. It's not scary or saddening it's just repressively dull and it makes me want to jump out of my skin just so I can feel fresh again.
I've been trying to get past this and another something I won't get into and I haven't and the dissatisfaction, the feeling of an incomplete task despite herculean effort, has made me miss, more than anything else, that feeling you get when you've left 8th grade or 7th grade or whatever grade, and you have a new school bag, new books, new clothes and sometimes a new hairstyle, and you walk in with this almost clean slate and there's nothing you can't fucking do and there's no amount of Hindi lectures you can't stay awake through.
That's a fucking beautiful feeling. And I fucking miss it. I have everything I need for it to happen. A new laptop, new clothes, a new phone, a new camera, a guitar soon, it's just my fucking outlook is the same boring one of Arsenal with their heads hanging down and that beautiful man Mathieu Flamini slumping because we couldn't put one past Wigan.
So tonight, and honestly, on Saturday when we face the Tampons of Manchester ("Once they get in, they're always going to come out red...") I'm looking forward to and I'm going to make a genuine effort to pump my fists and cheer on the mighty Gunners with every ounce of spirit I have. If they can get through this, then I can't help but feel like I can too.
Come on you Reds!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Missing Monies Making Me Sad
ello all
So college has well and truly begun. Insane levels of stress and stupidity with festival preparations, lectures attended, lectures missed, alien FYs and grumpy professors.
Yes, nothing has changed from last year.
Except for the small matter of a 33% fee increase!
Completely out of the blue, for no given explanation the college goes and ups our fees by no less than Rs. 6000. And the interesting part is, the bulk of those fees come from our very inflated tuition fees.
Now if the books we used and the subject material the teachers used were made out of crude oil barrels I might have understood, but they're not and a rough estimate of how much MORE my college will be raking in because of this is about Rs. 11 Lakh.
11 Lakh. Last year's salary expenses for our department alone was just shy of 10 lakhs. Once again I stress that the figure of 11 lakh is how much MORE money they're taking in.
So you'd figure theyll increase the teacher's salaries right? I mean our professors do work their asses off and it IS entirely selfless for the most part and it's hard to accuse any of them of being anything short of decent.
But the salary increase is marginal at best. So then, where IS the money going? I know for a fact that we're one of the only colleges who actually went and upped the fees. I shan't name names but there are several colleges who have chosen NOT to have such a sharp increase. There's even a college getting ready to construct a sound recording studio...!
And guess what, it's not us!
The Vice Chancellor is his all his transparent glory has uploaded his budget for the year on the Mumbai University Website. I'd link but the site is down at the time of typing this.
It includes provisions of Lakhs of Rupees as 'incentive' to 'attend international teacher conferences.' Fair enough. A few more lakhs are going into researching the possibility of being listed on the BSE. Once again a smart investment I'd say. But then it gets a little, how do I put it- Vague. Several lakhs have been put away as 'incentive' (they do love the word!) to enter the 'top 400 universities in the world' and as further 'incentive' to the new autonomous departments.
Now I've not seen any official documents. I haven't run any RTIs. I've used Google and asked a few very simple questions. I cannot do any more than speculate as to what is going on at the university and I cannot honestly say it's all shady.
All I can say is (and this is where the theme comes in) why is nobody asking?
Why is nobody bothered enough to give a fuck and question the things being done?
If there was one thing I'd change about my college, it'd be the mass apathy of it's students. My college has recently grown anal retentive and decided we can't enter after three because we 'walk around and go to the canteen!' We can't even sit on the beautiful steps we've sat on for a year because it makes things look 'ugly.'
The changes are drastic and horribly annoying. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was in fucking Xaviers! But the student reaction has baffled me even more.
A petition has been signed because the students are unhappy. Several hundred students have signed and the unity is astounding and the fervour of revolution is in the air.
Only problem is- it's against the guards!
A college education, high school, primary school, tuitions, story books, internet, note books, movies, television and every other form of awareness at all our disposals-
And we shoot the messenger!
For fuck's sake.
I feel particularly Indian lately.
So college has well and truly begun. Insane levels of stress and stupidity with festival preparations, lectures attended, lectures missed, alien FYs and grumpy professors.
Yes, nothing has changed from last year.
Except for the small matter of a 33% fee increase!
Completely out of the blue, for no given explanation the college goes and ups our fees by no less than Rs. 6000. And the interesting part is, the bulk of those fees come from our very inflated tuition fees.
Now if the books we used and the subject material the teachers used were made out of crude oil barrels I might have understood, but they're not and a rough estimate of how much MORE my college will be raking in because of this is about Rs. 11 Lakh.
11 Lakh. Last year's salary expenses for our department alone was just shy of 10 lakhs. Once again I stress that the figure of 11 lakh is how much MORE money they're taking in.
So you'd figure theyll increase the teacher's salaries right? I mean our professors do work their asses off and it IS entirely selfless for the most part and it's hard to accuse any of them of being anything short of decent.
But the salary increase is marginal at best. So then, where IS the money going? I know for a fact that we're one of the only colleges who actually went and upped the fees. I shan't name names but there are several colleges who have chosen NOT to have such a sharp increase. There's even a college getting ready to construct a sound recording studio...!
And guess what, it's not us!
The Vice Chancellor is his all his transparent glory has uploaded his budget for the year on the Mumbai University Website. I'd link but the site is down at the time of typing this.
It includes provisions of Lakhs of Rupees as 'incentive' to 'attend international teacher conferences.' Fair enough. A few more lakhs are going into researching the possibility of being listed on the BSE. Once again a smart investment I'd say. But then it gets a little, how do I put it- Vague. Several lakhs have been put away as 'incentive' (they do love the word!) to enter the 'top 400 universities in the world' and as further 'incentive' to the new autonomous departments.
Now I've not seen any official documents. I haven't run any RTIs. I've used Google and asked a few very simple questions. I cannot do any more than speculate as to what is going on at the university and I cannot honestly say it's all shady.
All I can say is (and this is where the theme comes in) why is nobody asking?
Why is nobody bothered enough to give a fuck and question the things being done?
If there was one thing I'd change about my college, it'd be the mass apathy of it's students. My college has recently grown anal retentive and decided we can't enter after three because we 'walk around and go to the canteen!' We can't even sit on the beautiful steps we've sat on for a year because it makes things look 'ugly.'
The changes are drastic and horribly annoying. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was in fucking Xaviers! But the student reaction has baffled me even more.
A petition has been signed because the students are unhappy. Several hundred students have signed and the unity is astounding and the fervour of revolution is in the air.
Only problem is- it's against the guards!
A college education, high school, primary school, tuitions, story books, internet, note books, movies, television and every other form of awareness at all our disposals-
And we shoot the messenger!
For fuck's sake.
I feel particularly Indian lately.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Underestimation confession
ello all
So, I was researching some stuff for my next peice (and post) and I stumbled across some awesome sites- based in India!
For Polaris 2008, the Wilson Festival we've taken up New Media as our theme and the one reason I pushed for it, and the new media workshop we're having is because I'm so worried Indian citizens and private entrepeneurs are not paying enough attention to the power of web 2.0. I love the net. The number of random blogs and articles I read in a day are comparable to the number of books I don't read and as my co-ordinator would tell you, it's plenty.
Now I wouldn't dare undermine the use of the net by the people I know. For anyone who's read my blog roll you'd know that with Quaint murmur, view from beneath, mappings, etc. it's fairly evident we've got some great writers out there.
However it is thoroughly refreshing to find blogs and opinions from outside my friend's circle and the people I know. Having looked for jobs and in discussion with this neat lady I thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about India's web participation.
As it stands, I was horribly narrow minded and happily surprised to find these sites:
1) PlayCircuit: Kick ass site and a must see for anyone into advertising or marketting. A few months ago I'd found a brilliant blog for management insight by some American student, but this one as well as the Indian PR Forum site are equally awesome for their feilds.
2) Dhi Only One and Churumuri : Two opinionated, seemingly well read Indians giving their schpeal on several things. I don't agree with alot of what is said, but as I mentioned on the latter's blog, discussion and debate is where it's at if we want to get anywhere, and it's always great to see people not leaving it to the men in white over in the parliament.
I am certain theres tons more out there, and please do mention anything worth mentioning in the comments, but it's thoroughly refreshing to find sites like these and I hope to find more.
So, I was researching some stuff for my next peice (and post) and I stumbled across some awesome sites- based in India!
For Polaris 2008, the Wilson Festival we've taken up New Media as our theme and the one reason I pushed for it, and the new media workshop we're having is because I'm so worried Indian citizens and private entrepeneurs are not paying enough attention to the power of web 2.0. I love the net. The number of random blogs and articles I read in a day are comparable to the number of books I don't read and as my co-ordinator would tell you, it's plenty.
Now I wouldn't dare undermine the use of the net by the people I know. For anyone who's read my blog roll you'd know that with Quaint murmur, view from beneath, mappings, etc. it's fairly evident we've got some great writers out there.
However it is thoroughly refreshing to find blogs and opinions from outside my friend's circle and the people I know. Having looked for jobs and in discussion with this neat lady I thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about India's web participation.
As it stands, I was horribly narrow minded and happily surprised to find these sites:
1) PlayCircuit: Kick ass site and a must see for anyone into advertising or marketting. A few months ago I'd found a brilliant blog for management insight by some American student, but this one as well as the Indian PR Forum site are equally awesome for their feilds.
2) Dhi Only One and Churumuri : Two opinionated, seemingly well read Indians giving their schpeal on several things. I don't agree with alot of what is said, but as I mentioned on the latter's blog, discussion and debate is where it's at if we want to get anywhere, and it's always great to see people not leaving it to the men in white over in the parliament.
I am certain theres tons more out there, and please do mention anything worth mentioning in the comments, but it's thoroughly refreshing to find sites like these and I hope to find more.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Trumpets if you must...
ello all
A few posts back I declared my decision to change things up. Since then, I've changed the look of my blog twice, I've written two posts unlike anything I've ever written before and I've shaved my head. I expected all of them to feel fantastic. I expected the change to be instant and epiphanal. I expected a bald head to feel so good after the knotty long curls. I expected too much from a 'one' and I expected too much from myself.
I think I may have delved back into my Chelsea roots in some way. I was looking at results and expecting satisfaction.
It was a hollow, scary, painful and helpless experience and it didn't seem like it was ever going to end. I was living in the eyes of other people. I was living in the eyes of unimpressed professors and dead friendships. And as much as I knew, and as much as I told myself and was told by the only one who bothered to tell, the sheer futility of seeing myself from someone else's eyes never really dawned upon me.
Now I'm not saying one should never look through someone else's eyes, I'm not saying other people don't matter, all I'm saying is living by it and doubting yourself because of it, is if nothing else, dreadfully tiring.
It's not been instant, it's lasted weeks and tears, but the clouds seem to have moved on over now that the monsoon is here.
I'm writing for myself. For what I want. I'm writing for the impact I want to create. If I don't, I'll try again until I do it. The excitement of spontaneity and now-ness is incredible but it's not sustainable. Now the time has come for a far longer lasting satisfaction. Comfort and living.
The leaf is cleaned and it's not turned but the angle's changed a bit. In my right back pocket is a notebook. In my bag there are plans and in my head there's a buzz. Not an insane fuzzy confused buzz but a focused buzz with a smirk.
With a comfort I can count on and a will to not feel like shit, I doubt I can do much wrong.
There are things to be done.
A few posts back I declared my decision to change things up. Since then, I've changed the look of my blog twice, I've written two posts unlike anything I've ever written before and I've shaved my head. I expected all of them to feel fantastic. I expected the change to be instant and epiphanal. I expected a bald head to feel so good after the knotty long curls. I expected too much from a 'one' and I expected too much from myself.
I think I may have delved back into my Chelsea roots in some way. I was looking at results and expecting satisfaction.
It was a hollow, scary, painful and helpless experience and it didn't seem like it was ever going to end. I was living in the eyes of other people. I was living in the eyes of unimpressed professors and dead friendships. And as much as I knew, and as much as I told myself and was told by the only one who bothered to tell, the sheer futility of seeing myself from someone else's eyes never really dawned upon me.
Now I'm not saying one should never look through someone else's eyes, I'm not saying other people don't matter, all I'm saying is living by it and doubting yourself because of it, is if nothing else, dreadfully tiring.
It's not been instant, it's lasted weeks and tears, but the clouds seem to have moved on over now that the monsoon is here.
I'm writing for myself. For what I want. I'm writing for the impact I want to create. If I don't, I'll try again until I do it. The excitement of spontaneity and now-ness is incredible but it's not sustainable. Now the time has come for a far longer lasting satisfaction. Comfort and living.
The leaf is cleaned and it's not turned but the angle's changed a bit. In my right back pocket is a notebook. In my bag there are plans and in my head there's a buzz. Not an insane fuzzy confused buzz but a focused buzz with a smirk.
With a comfort I can count on and a will to not feel like shit, I doubt I can do much wrong.
There are things to be done.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sepp Blatter- He ain't got no alibi
UPDATE: Since this post, I've been reading up a bit more, mostly from Andrew Jennings, the only journalist to be banned by FIFA. The conclusion I've reached is this:
A week before Euro 2008, with a little more than a month before the ruling in Zug, Switzerland which may well lead to an indictment for Blatter and several other executives for fraud and bribery charges worth 100s of millions of dollars, it seems very probable that FIFA would look to draw attention AWAY, from the fact they're a bunch of big fat cunts.
And so, I will speculate, this whole episode with the 6+5 thing, is nothing more than a media parade aimed to ensure bored fans don't start wondering why FIFA's had more than 20 executives confess to bribery, their Vice president sells TV rights for world cups privately and assaults journalists, and ofcourse, why they're such a bunch of big fat cunts.
If Blatter does go down, I will further speculate, that either Michel Platini, or Franz Beckenbauer will take his place and continue the basic workings of big fat cunts.
No coincidence though that they were sponsored and brought in PERSONALLY by Adidas' cheif Horst Dassler, who incidentally formed and ran the ISL company who bribed FIFA- something they're being investigated for with a ruling due in...motherfucker! A little over a month!
Big.Fat.Cunts.
That is all.
_________________________________________________________________
Ello all.
The 6+5 debate rages on but before anyone goes any further I would like to help you all come to terms with WHO or WHAT, exactly is suggesting and pushing for this most.
Mr. Sepp Blatter.
Like all good character slating, I will start where he did. Blatter was involved in the setting up of the '72 and '76 Olympics. He was also General secretary of the Swiss Ice Hockey federation. But most importantly, he was elected the President of the World Society of friends of suspenders. A group aimed at protesting women's replacement of suspenders with pantyhose. Whether or not this had anything to do with the following quote about women's football players is for you to decide:
"They could, for example, have tighter shorts. Female players are pretty, if you excuse me for saying so, and they already have some different rules to men - such as playing with a lighter ball. That decision was taken to create a more female aesthetic, so why not do it in fashion?"
Anyway, Sepp then went on to join FIFA in 1975 as technical director. It is widely accepted and there is ample evidence to suggest that this appointment had less to do with his actual competence and more to do with his ass licking of Horst Dassler, the head of ISL and Adidas, which for those who are unaware, is the company which created the idea of sports marketting. Dassler along with Patrick Nally, both geniuses in their own rights, devised a way of earning billions in TV rights and sponsorship of events such as the Olympics and the World cup, etc.
In order to do that they would need considerable leverage within these federations. It was first, Blatter's predecessor Joao Havelange who lived it up with their bribery, and then when he decided he was done, they had to move along to someone new- Blatter. He was effectively instated BY them.
The fact that he has been repeatedly drowned in allegations of corruption and bribery related to his elections should be enough to convince anyone. The President of the Somalian FA is quoted as saying, "The night before the election people were lining up in Le Meridien Hotel (in Paris) to receive money. Some told me they got $50,000 before the vote and the same the next day, after Blatter won."
But there's tons more. Blatter's re-election was unopposed even though only 66 of the 207 members actually nominated him!
But the worst part, the frustrating part of it, is that he always gets away with it. It was the exceptional, gutsy work from the 2002 World cup's cheif organiser Michael Zen Ruffinen that led to the charges levied against Blatter and 11 other top FIFA officials. And it was this very work which saw him get fired just hours before the World cup HE organised, because Blatter had had enough of his "negative comments".
"On Friday, the executive committee is going to take care of `Mr Clean'. Now it is finished. The last negative comments by Zen-Ruffinen after my re-election were the last straw."
I can assure you this post has taken me no more than 2 hours and all I've had to do is read the links in it and a few more. The sheer ugliness of FIFA's dealings, and the sheer ugliness of Horst Dassler's dealings during his time with Adidas, are, if nothing else, terrifying.
This man has no concept of what his position signifies. He has repeatedly over stepped his authority, accusing the English FA of shoddy work with the Martin Taylor ban, 'apologising' to Aussie fans for official's actions, saying women footballers need to dress skimpier, the list goes on.
The fact that so many people, top investigative journalists of our time have dug up so much shit on him, and despite momentary discomfort, he gets away scot free, is even scarier.
FIFA has "apparently" voted unanimously FOR the 6+5 rule and are trying to move the EU to change it's employment laws for it to be passed by 2012. The rule will debilitate and ruin world football and not only make the rich richer, but leave football's poor poorer. And this absolute turd of a man may just make it happen saying it's 'for the fans' though not a single one has probably been consulted. No Platini does NOT count.
Ahmed Bilal, Andrew Jennings with BBC Panorama, and Barbara Smit have all done some incredible work on the subject but unless this kind of information makes it to blogs and forums everywhere it won't be known. This post is a mere compilation of facts. I would hope it gets around. Even if you don't read every link I've placed, do read the first two in this paragraph for a short 'introduction.'
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. Sepp Blatter- the most powerful man in world football today.
A week before Euro 2008, with a little more than a month before the ruling in Zug, Switzerland which may well lead to an indictment for Blatter and several other executives for fraud and bribery charges worth 100s of millions of dollars, it seems very probable that FIFA would look to draw attention AWAY, from the fact they're a bunch of big fat cunts.
And so, I will speculate, this whole episode with the 6+5 thing, is nothing more than a media parade aimed to ensure bored fans don't start wondering why FIFA's had more than 20 executives confess to bribery, their Vice president sells TV rights for world cups privately and assaults journalists, and ofcourse, why they're such a bunch of big fat cunts.
If Blatter does go down, I will further speculate, that either Michel Platini, or Franz Beckenbauer will take his place and continue the basic workings of big fat cunts.
No coincidence though that they were sponsored and brought in PERSONALLY by Adidas' cheif Horst Dassler, who incidentally formed and ran the ISL company who bribed FIFA- something they're being investigated for with a ruling due in...motherfucker! A little over a month!
Big.Fat.Cunts.
That is all.
_________________________________________________________________
Ello all.
The 6+5 debate rages on but before anyone goes any further I would like to help you all come to terms with WHO or WHAT, exactly is suggesting and pushing for this most.
Mr. Sepp Blatter.
Like all good character slating, I will start where he did. Blatter was involved in the setting up of the '72 and '76 Olympics. He was also General secretary of the Swiss Ice Hockey federation. But most importantly, he was elected the President of the World Society of friends of suspenders. A group aimed at protesting women's replacement of suspenders with pantyhose. Whether or not this had anything to do with the following quote about women's football players is for you to decide:
"They could, for example, have tighter shorts. Female players are pretty, if you excuse me for saying so, and they already have some different rules to men - such as playing with a lighter ball. That decision was taken to create a more female aesthetic, so why not do it in fashion?"
Anyway, Sepp then went on to join FIFA in 1975 as technical director. It is widely accepted and there is ample evidence to suggest that this appointment had less to do with his actual competence and more to do with his ass licking of Horst Dassler, the head of ISL and Adidas, which for those who are unaware, is the company which created the idea of sports marketting. Dassler along with Patrick Nally, both geniuses in their own rights, devised a way of earning billions in TV rights and sponsorship of events such as the Olympics and the World cup, etc.
In order to do that they would need considerable leverage within these federations. It was first, Blatter's predecessor Joao Havelange who lived it up with their bribery, and then when he decided he was done, they had to move along to someone new- Blatter. He was effectively instated BY them.
The fact that he has been repeatedly drowned in allegations of corruption and bribery related to his elections should be enough to convince anyone. The President of the Somalian FA is quoted as saying, "The night before the election people were lining up in Le Meridien Hotel (in Paris) to receive money. Some told me they got $50,000 before the vote and the same the next day, after Blatter won."
But there's tons more. Blatter's re-election was unopposed even though only 66 of the 207 members actually nominated him!
But the worst part, the frustrating part of it, is that he always gets away with it. It was the exceptional, gutsy work from the 2002 World cup's cheif organiser Michael Zen Ruffinen that led to the charges levied against Blatter and 11 other top FIFA officials. And it was this very work which saw him get fired just hours before the World cup HE organised, because Blatter had had enough of his "negative comments".
"On Friday, the executive committee is going to take care of `Mr Clean'. Now it is finished. The last negative comments by Zen-Ruffinen after my re-election were the last straw."
I can assure you this post has taken me no more than 2 hours and all I've had to do is read the links in it and a few more. The sheer ugliness of FIFA's dealings, and the sheer ugliness of Horst Dassler's dealings during his time with Adidas, are, if nothing else, terrifying.
This man has no concept of what his position signifies. He has repeatedly over stepped his authority, accusing the English FA of shoddy work with the Martin Taylor ban, 'apologising' to Aussie fans for official's actions, saying women footballers need to dress skimpier, the list goes on.
The fact that so many people, top investigative journalists of our time have dug up so much shit on him, and despite momentary discomfort, he gets away scot free, is even scarier.
FIFA has "apparently" voted unanimously FOR the 6+5 rule and are trying to move the EU to change it's employment laws for it to be passed by 2012. The rule will debilitate and ruin world football and not only make the rich richer, but leave football's poor poorer. And this absolute turd of a man may just make it happen saying it's 'for the fans' though not a single one has probably been consulted. No Platini does NOT count.
Ahmed Bilal, Andrew Jennings with BBC Panorama, and Barbara Smit have all done some incredible work on the subject but unless this kind of information makes it to blogs and forums everywhere it won't be known. This post is a mere compilation of facts. I would hope it gets around. Even if you don't read every link I've placed, do read the first two in this paragraph for a short 'introduction.'
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. Sepp Blatter- the most powerful man in world football today.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Raw fucking Spite
Jai Hind fucked me over. That's Jai Hind college in South Mumbai for anyone typing these keywords in google, who may or may not look this way.
I am a student of Wilson College, and let me make this clear- I despise Jai Hind and everything they do. In fact, ever since I actually got to know colleges in Bombay I've hated them. And when I say got to know, I don't mean heard from family, I mean got to know the people who study within the colleges, and believe me, that is far more telling than any brochure could ever be.
However, that is a personal, biased, somewhat irrational hatred which you probably shouldn't listen to.
And so, I present to whoever reads this page, a far more tangible reason for hating the college.
On December 16th, Jai Hind BMS's annual festival Talaash officially began. To find out more about the festival you can google it. What you'll find is this.
The article is written by Mumbai Mirror. It states several facts. They say there were 15000 participants. They say there were 50 events, and they also say Talaash would go on to be one of the biggest college festivals of the year.
What they don't say is how Talaash has also proved to be one of the biggest scams of the year.
I've attended and participated in enough festivals in my first year to be branded a 'festival whore' and let me tell you this. I have never encountered such blatant disregard for effort and such self involved bullshit.
As a prize for a lateral thinking quiz, Malhar, gave away a Jockey vest. Broo-ha-ha threatened to disqualify an entire team because an audience member from their college was smoking. Blitzkreig had an emerging actress as a judge for a DANCE event! The list goes on. The utter stupidity I have witnessed happen at festivals is something I have come to understand and enjoy, but Talaash '07 took things a bit too far.
The article says 15000 participants? There weren't even 1500! The article says, 'Four way football' was an exclusively designed event? Bull shit, it was created at Polaris two years ago!
First, I will tackle the bizarre registration process. Each individual was charged Rs. 200 for participation in Talaash 07, regardless of how many events he/she was in. Furthermore, for a reason they failed to explain, they demanded the names, numbers and email addresses of EVERYONE in our course, regardless of whether or not they were even participating in the festival. Perhaps it had something to do with their sponsors. Notice any companies that may find the phone numbers and email ids of thousands of college students useful?
Anyway, we'll get back to that in a bit.
In our category, the BMM cup, we registered a team of 8 participants. Miniscule compared to the 60 strong squads of Sydenham, etc. and quite aptly we were assigned the team name: Spartans.
For 7 days we worked our asses off on some of the hardest events we've done. We paid for printing our daily newspaper and we paid for moving between south and east Mumbai. We did it all with barely any sleep and a smile on our faces. We had a good fucking time.
Eventually we won the BMM cup. Of 7 events, we placed 1st in 3 of them and 2nd in another 3 of them.
Till today I have not seen a single prize come through. All we have gotten is a lot of cut-calls, a lot of half excuses, a lot of 'talk to you laters' and lot of bullshit.
We recieved a voucher for Rs 1000 at Spykar jeans, which conveniently expired on the day they gave us the card and seeing as we were given the damn thing at 5 in the evening it was a bit useless don't you think?
But perhaps the most telling and most frustrating snub was of the Ogilvy and Mathers internships we were promised. After a lot of stalling we were eventually handed a letter stating we were allowed to register at O and M, but there was a small glitch.
See, O and M were full for the summer by the time we'd gotten the letter. And it made no sense right? If the slots for the internship were given and our names were already registered as the PR team of Talaash repeatedly told us, then there shouldn't have been a problem right?
Unless. Unless, as the festival's head honcho would later confess, Jai Hind had some of it's own students taking internships there.
Now, we won prizes in 6 different places as I explained before. And we were asked to pay Rs 200 just for participation. So, logically shouldn't we be getting SOMETHING? Was a Rs 1000 voucher for jeans ALL they could muster up? I mean, if you go by their sponsor's article, 15000 participants took part, meaning each paid a minimum Rs. 200, which would only be added to the obvious funds and prizes their sponsors had given them. That makes up a lot of money don't you agree? Even if 15000 is a gross exaggeration, and a more modest number of say 400-500 participants is considered, there is still A L O T of money that went INTO Talaash. But not one prize that came out?
Odd don't you think?
You know what, I AM biased, and I AM pissed off and I AM doing this out of sheer spite. But there is nothing but truth in this post. Jai Hind, has proved time and again that it is the scummiest institution there is in South Mumbai.
I'm not claiming Wilson's the purest institution there is either, I'm just sincerely hoping some student considering Jai Hind finds this blog and realises that with admission into the college comes a very large amount of scorn and a label that reads 'absolute dick'.
That is all.
I am a student of Wilson College, and let me make this clear- I despise Jai Hind and everything they do. In fact, ever since I actually got to know colleges in Bombay I've hated them. And when I say got to know, I don't mean heard from family, I mean got to know the people who study within the colleges, and believe me, that is far more telling than any brochure could ever be.
However, that is a personal, biased, somewhat irrational hatred which you probably shouldn't listen to.
And so, I present to whoever reads this page, a far more tangible reason for hating the college.
On December 16th, Jai Hind BMS's annual festival Talaash officially began. To find out more about the festival you can google it. What you'll find is this.
The article is written by Mumbai Mirror. It states several facts. They say there were 15000 participants. They say there were 50 events, and they also say Talaash would go on to be one of the biggest college festivals of the year.
What they don't say is how Talaash has also proved to be one of the biggest scams of the year.
I've attended and participated in enough festivals in my first year to be branded a 'festival whore' and let me tell you this. I have never encountered such blatant disregard for effort and such self involved bullshit.
As a prize for a lateral thinking quiz, Malhar, gave away a Jockey vest. Broo-ha-ha threatened to disqualify an entire team because an audience member from their college was smoking. Blitzkreig had an emerging actress as a judge for a DANCE event! The list goes on. The utter stupidity I have witnessed happen at festivals is something I have come to understand and enjoy, but Talaash '07 took things a bit too far.
The article says 15000 participants? There weren't even 1500! The article says, 'Four way football' was an exclusively designed event? Bull shit, it was created at Polaris two years ago!
First, I will tackle the bizarre registration process. Each individual was charged Rs. 200 for participation in Talaash 07, regardless of how many events he/she was in. Furthermore, for a reason they failed to explain, they demanded the names, numbers and email addresses of EVERYONE in our course, regardless of whether or not they were even participating in the festival. Perhaps it had something to do with their sponsors. Notice any companies that may find the phone numbers and email ids of thousands of college students useful?
Anyway, we'll get back to that in a bit.
In our category, the BMM cup, we registered a team of 8 participants. Miniscule compared to the 60 strong squads of Sydenham, etc. and quite aptly we were assigned the team name: Spartans.
For 7 days we worked our asses off on some of the hardest events we've done. We paid for printing our daily newspaper and we paid for moving between south and east Mumbai. We did it all with barely any sleep and a smile on our faces. We had a good fucking time.
Eventually we won the BMM cup. Of 7 events, we placed 1st in 3 of them and 2nd in another 3 of them.
Till today I have not seen a single prize come through. All we have gotten is a lot of cut-calls, a lot of half excuses, a lot of 'talk to you laters' and lot of bullshit.
We recieved a voucher for Rs 1000 at Spykar jeans, which conveniently expired on the day they gave us the card and seeing as we were given the damn thing at 5 in the evening it was a bit useless don't you think?
But perhaps the most telling and most frustrating snub was of the Ogilvy and Mathers internships we were promised. After a lot of stalling we were eventually handed a letter stating we were allowed to register at O and M, but there was a small glitch.
See, O and M were full for the summer by the time we'd gotten the letter. And it made no sense right? If the slots for the internship were given and our names were already registered as the PR team of Talaash repeatedly told us, then there shouldn't have been a problem right?
Unless. Unless, as the festival's head honcho would later confess, Jai Hind had some of it's own students taking internships there.
Now, we won prizes in 6 different places as I explained before. And we were asked to pay Rs 200 just for participation. So, logically shouldn't we be getting SOMETHING? Was a Rs 1000 voucher for jeans ALL they could muster up? I mean, if you go by their sponsor's article, 15000 participants took part, meaning each paid a minimum Rs. 200, which would only be added to the obvious funds and prizes their sponsors had given them. That makes up a lot of money don't you agree? Even if 15000 is a gross exaggeration, and a more modest number of say 400-500 participants is considered, there is still A L O T of money that went INTO Talaash. But not one prize that came out?
Odd don't you think?
You know what, I AM biased, and I AM pissed off and I AM doing this out of sheer spite. But there is nothing but truth in this post. Jai Hind, has proved time and again that it is the scummiest institution there is in South Mumbai.
I'm not claiming Wilson's the purest institution there is either, I'm just sincerely hoping some student considering Jai Hind finds this blog and realises that with admission into the college comes a very large amount of scorn and a label that reads 'absolute dick'.
That is all.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Awakening
ello all
This is for anyone and everyone who still bothers to read this site. I've had consistently low hits and even lower comments and it resulted in a severe blow to my ego. I had a couple of my biggest confidence hits and lowest points in several years over the past few weeks and if not for a certain safety net, I would have deleted this here blog and stopped writing. Then I started a new blog on www.oleole.com, writing about Arsenal only. It's a massive community and I've been making a few friends commenting on other's blogs and being a general '3-4 comments in a row' nuisance because for some reason they have a 900 character limit.
However, the hits on THAT blog are still low and the comments are a grand total of two.
As if, the thread I was walking on wasn't thin enough, I then spoke to a man I admire immensely and as per his job, we discussed my academic performance.
Categorically, with evidence and clarity he tore down everything I have done for a year and made me realise I have a 'serious problem writing' and 'weak foundations'. Furthermore he pointed out to me how the only assignments I really enjoyed doing got me my lowest marks.
Now, I do not have any memories of writing as a child. It never saved me. I have no diaries and no scrawls hidden away. Writing has never been a 'passion' for me and I only started amid a mixture of badgering and utter boredom. It was cathartic at most. I never had any real 'gift' and my family has never 'always known I'd write something great someday.' I started writing in the 12th grade and I did it because it was easy and my friends would comment and it felt a little nicer expressing than it did thinking.
And yet, perhaps because of some special variant of the 'idiot' gene, I can't see any career for myself but writing. Football blogging, a niche so small and exploitative, its been deemed a digital sweatshop, is something I would love to do. The only real love, or appreciation or buzz I have for writing is rooted in a certain safety net I had mentioned earlier, and a few others I've encountered.
With the safety net, I've seen how the effect of a few written words is sometimes more effective than entire speeches. I've seen a living representation of one of my favorite movie quotes from Rent the musical- 'the need to express to communicate.'
With the others, with Arseblog, and certain apes and certain over analytical self destructive footballers, I have seen a raw, emotive, venting which is in many cases I've found the equivalent of a good cry.
The point is, there is a very raw, very primal expression in writing which has essentially shaped these people I've mentioned's lives. And it is that effect and that passion which I will confess I have introjected first and THEN started to love myself. However, it happened, whenever it happened, and because of whoever it happened, I am hooked.
And so today, with this disjointed rant, I announce, not the turning of a new leaf, but the cleaning and shaping of the same leaf so it looks a little better and hopefully gets a few more hits!
I wanted to start a new blog altogether and who knows, I just might, but for now, I am starting a new approach.
You will read some of the worst blogs you've ever encountered and you will probably never return to this site unless I trick you into it, but I am going to start writing more, and I am going to make myself as good as the people who've inspired me. I will remain raw and true to myself, but I am taking my self pity and cramming it some place dark until I no longer need to worry about it.
Thank you for reading this space, and I appreciate every hit I've gotten, but I've realised, the time has come for a change and so I hope to invoke it.
This is for anyone and everyone who still bothers to read this site. I've had consistently low hits and even lower comments and it resulted in a severe blow to my ego. I had a couple of my biggest confidence hits and lowest points in several years over the past few weeks and if not for a certain safety net, I would have deleted this here blog and stopped writing. Then I started a new blog on www.oleole.com, writing about Arsenal only. It's a massive community and I've been making a few friends commenting on other's blogs and being a general '3-4 comments in a row' nuisance because for some reason they have a 900 character limit.
However, the hits on THAT blog are still low and the comments are a grand total of two.
As if, the thread I was walking on wasn't thin enough, I then spoke to a man I admire immensely and as per his job, we discussed my academic performance.
Categorically, with evidence and clarity he tore down everything I have done for a year and made me realise I have a 'serious problem writing' and 'weak foundations'. Furthermore he pointed out to me how the only assignments I really enjoyed doing got me my lowest marks.
Now, I do not have any memories of writing as a child. It never saved me. I have no diaries and no scrawls hidden away. Writing has never been a 'passion' for me and I only started amid a mixture of badgering and utter boredom. It was cathartic at most. I never had any real 'gift' and my family has never 'always known I'd write something great someday.' I started writing in the 12th grade and I did it because it was easy and my friends would comment and it felt a little nicer expressing than it did thinking.
And yet, perhaps because of some special variant of the 'idiot' gene, I can't see any career for myself but writing. Football blogging, a niche so small and exploitative, its been deemed a digital sweatshop, is something I would love to do. The only real love, or appreciation or buzz I have for writing is rooted in a certain safety net I had mentioned earlier, and a few others I've encountered.
With the safety net, I've seen how the effect of a few written words is sometimes more effective than entire speeches. I've seen a living representation of one of my favorite movie quotes from Rent the musical- 'the need to express to communicate.'
With the others, with Arseblog, and certain apes and certain over analytical self destructive footballers, I have seen a raw, emotive, venting which is in many cases I've found the equivalent of a good cry.
The point is, there is a very raw, very primal expression in writing which has essentially shaped these people I've mentioned's lives. And it is that effect and that passion which I will confess I have introjected first and THEN started to love myself. However, it happened, whenever it happened, and because of whoever it happened, I am hooked.
And so today, with this disjointed rant, I announce, not the turning of a new leaf, but the cleaning and shaping of the same leaf so it looks a little better and hopefully gets a few more hits!
I wanted to start a new blog altogether and who knows, I just might, but for now, I am starting a new approach.
You will read some of the worst blogs you've ever encountered and you will probably never return to this site unless I trick you into it, but I am going to start writing more, and I am going to make myself as good as the people who've inspired me. I will remain raw and true to myself, but I am taking my self pity and cramming it some place dark until I no longer need to worry about it.
Thank you for reading this space, and I appreciate every hit I've gotten, but I've realised, the time has come for a change and so I hope to invoke it.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Even if you're foreign...
ello all.
In psychology, it is inferred that in our heads there are tiny little frameworks and plans for everything we do or experience. These frameworks are called 'schemata.' So you have a schema for just about everything and when you find something new, you make a schema of it based on that experience. So, your schema of a black guy, may be a loud and obnoxious ruffian, and your schema of a funeral may be a quiet and sombre occasion of mourning. Needless to say, these schemas usually get drastically changed, because if you ever meet Sidney Poitier, or you ever go for an Irish wake, all expectations in the relevant schemas are pretty much null and void.
However, the one schema that is the most resistant to change, is the schema you have of yourself. There's a little joke about a patient who was convinced he was a ghost. His shrink figured since the notion was so illogical, you could logically disprove it and hence cure the patient. So he asked the patient if ghosts bleed. The patient said no, ofcourse they don't. So the shrink takes a pin and pricks the patient's finger, thus making it bleed.
The patient is dumbfounded. He stands and screams and thanks the doctor profusely. "Thanks doc, I now know ghosts DO bleed!"
The point is, like the joke, we will change our schema of other things before we change our own opinions of ourselves. We will yell and scream and ignore and fight with people who say things against us. But very rarely, do we say, 'hmm, interesting, maybe I am an asshole for cheating on my wife.' And even when we do it's usually ages later, after we've used all our energy on justifying our own actions.
And in a disjointed sort of way, this made me understand the concept of love. The idea that people have written about for centuries and tried to understand for millenia. This grand and noble idea which Ewan Mcgregor described as 'a many splendourous thing.'
But I have now come to see, that love is something incredible only because of it's simplicity. It's power and effect is tremendous, but the action of loving, is so simple you'd probably miss it because it was too dull to be written about in a children's storybook.
I know a couple who are, atleast legally very close to me. The guy is an absolute fucker and I've hated him for years. He is self obsessed, isolates himself, orders the girl around and more often than not yells at her for no tangible reason. He talks down to her and generally mistreats the other people who are supposedly close to him. And like all true fuckers, he is completely oblivious to the fact.
He's been with this woman for 22 years now. More importantly, SHE's been with HIM for 22 years. He doesn't even make a lot of money.
Yet, she will always, with complete sincerity defend him. She will always, in a completely rational way find some way of justifying what he does and why it's ok. Most of the time she blames herself. In fact, I have seen her suppress her own genius in submitting to him, so often, that now, one of the most powerful minds I have ever encountered, cooks dal and does some 40 kakuro puzzles a day. She'll study and understand HIS work just to help him out, so she can channel her intellectual energy in some productive way. And until now it has always baffled me.
But then yesterday it struck me.
Love, is when your schema of the person you love is so close to your own, that you will defend it with the same ferocity that you would defend your own. Love, is when you create a collective schema. It's sort of like the schema a patriot has of his nation. Because it is so invariably linked to his own schema, he would fight and die for it. Because, I believe so strongly in the cause of Arsenal, I will pay more than I have to watch them play, even when there's a rational thought in my head saying, 'Bloody hell, he's got that cunt Eboue on the right wing again!'
I get a lot of shit from a lot of people about how the world is grey and not black or white, and it never fails to piss me off. People will say, 'Ah how can you expect loyalty in a world like this?' and it just strikes me as bizarre. Because, the way I see it, the more everyone gives up and submits to shit like that, the worse 'this world' is going to get. Fact is, I don't think these people love the values they claim to wish upheld, because they don't seem to defend them at all.
Now I won't claim this is some groundbreaking idea, in fact I'm pretty certain it's an old one, but the fact is I've found myself defending a new collective schema one hell of a lot lately, and it's made me pretty fucking happy. And more than that, the couple I mentioned earlier don't baffle me anymore. Instead, I am left with a begrudged sense of understanding.
P.S. I do still hate that fucker and I REALLY hate Eboue. You see, some people just don't deserve love.
In psychology, it is inferred that in our heads there are tiny little frameworks and plans for everything we do or experience. These frameworks are called 'schemata.' So you have a schema for just about everything and when you find something new, you make a schema of it based on that experience. So, your schema of a black guy, may be a loud and obnoxious ruffian, and your schema of a funeral may be a quiet and sombre occasion of mourning. Needless to say, these schemas usually get drastically changed, because if you ever meet Sidney Poitier, or you ever go for an Irish wake, all expectations in the relevant schemas are pretty much null and void.
However, the one schema that is the most resistant to change, is the schema you have of yourself. There's a little joke about a patient who was convinced he was a ghost. His shrink figured since the notion was so illogical, you could logically disprove it and hence cure the patient. So he asked the patient if ghosts bleed. The patient said no, ofcourse they don't. So the shrink takes a pin and pricks the patient's finger, thus making it bleed.
The patient is dumbfounded. He stands and screams and thanks the doctor profusely. "Thanks doc, I now know ghosts DO bleed!"
The point is, like the joke, we will change our schema of other things before we change our own opinions of ourselves. We will yell and scream and ignore and fight with people who say things against us. But very rarely, do we say, 'hmm, interesting, maybe I am an asshole for cheating on my wife.' And even when we do it's usually ages later, after we've used all our energy on justifying our own actions.
And in a disjointed sort of way, this made me understand the concept of love. The idea that people have written about for centuries and tried to understand for millenia. This grand and noble idea which Ewan Mcgregor described as 'a many splendourous thing.'
But I have now come to see, that love is something incredible only because of it's simplicity. It's power and effect is tremendous, but the action of loving, is so simple you'd probably miss it because it was too dull to be written about in a children's storybook.
I know a couple who are, atleast legally very close to me. The guy is an absolute fucker and I've hated him for years. He is self obsessed, isolates himself, orders the girl around and more often than not yells at her for no tangible reason. He talks down to her and generally mistreats the other people who are supposedly close to him. And like all true fuckers, he is completely oblivious to the fact.
He's been with this woman for 22 years now. More importantly, SHE's been with HIM for 22 years. He doesn't even make a lot of money.
Yet, she will always, with complete sincerity defend him. She will always, in a completely rational way find some way of justifying what he does and why it's ok. Most of the time she blames herself. In fact, I have seen her suppress her own genius in submitting to him, so often, that now, one of the most powerful minds I have ever encountered, cooks dal and does some 40 kakuro puzzles a day. She'll study and understand HIS work just to help him out, so she can channel her intellectual energy in some productive way. And until now it has always baffled me.
But then yesterday it struck me.
Love, is when your schema of the person you love is so close to your own, that you will defend it with the same ferocity that you would defend your own. Love, is when you create a collective schema. It's sort of like the schema a patriot has of his nation. Because it is so invariably linked to his own schema, he would fight and die for it. Because, I believe so strongly in the cause of Arsenal, I will pay more than I have to watch them play, even when there's a rational thought in my head saying, 'Bloody hell, he's got that cunt Eboue on the right wing again!'
I get a lot of shit from a lot of people about how the world is grey and not black or white, and it never fails to piss me off. People will say, 'Ah how can you expect loyalty in a world like this?' and it just strikes me as bizarre. Because, the way I see it, the more everyone gives up and submits to shit like that, the worse 'this world' is going to get. Fact is, I don't think these people love the values they claim to wish upheld, because they don't seem to defend them at all.
Now I won't claim this is some groundbreaking idea, in fact I'm pretty certain it's an old one, but the fact is I've found myself defending a new collective schema one hell of a lot lately, and it's made me pretty fucking happy. And more than that, the couple I mentioned earlier don't baffle me anymore. Instead, I am left with a begrudged sense of understanding.
P.S. I do still hate that fucker and I REALLY hate Eboue. You see, some people just don't deserve love.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Prop an asshole!
ello all,
So last night it ended. The dream is over and the whole season amounted, once again to nothing. Arsenal are out and if you read the press association's report it's because of 'Ronaldo's confidence' and Manchester United's battling spirit, and Owen Hargreaves' sublime free kick. Perception is essentially reality, and despite video evidence to the contrary, the PA usually get their way with the immense volume of their propoganda.
What gets left out is the mention of just how soft the penalty was- yet again, and ofcourse, how Anderson literally wrestled Adebayor to the ground at the other end in a brilliant place for a free kick, yet the whistle wasn't blown. Ofcourse when Gilberto's toe touches Evra and the entire home support at Old Trafford yell, the objective and entirely fair refereeing had no choice but to award the free kick.
Now before I go further, some would say, we probably wouldn't have taken advantage of the free kick on the right of the box, despite the fact that Robin Van Persie was fucking playing. They would even say the referee was fair, which is why Van Persie was booked for going in a second late on Wes Brown.
But pardon me, I would hate to oppose any England loyalists. And that really is what it comes down to isn't it?
An Englishmen scores against Arsenal. The irony is painful.
All through the Euro Qualifiers Arsene Wenger was the punching bag for a frustrated nation that watched, some of the world's most talented (and highly paid/ exorbitantly paid/ Over paid) individuals flounder and fail. Arsenal don't play enough English players. They are a corrupting influence and have driven all teams to use only foreigners and that is why players like Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard and the remaining squad of 22 in the England team team suffer. Because teams 'like Arsenal' have reduced chances for them.
For anyone who has played a football video game, it is blatantly obvious that on paper, and technically England have one of the strongest teams in the world. They're the team you play with when you're not so good and want a strong team to beat weaker teams! But no! Arsene Wenger is a blasphemous oaf who has ruined the system.
I mean, it must be his fault right?! Who else to blame!? Brian Barwick and his inept administration? No...!! Steve Mclaren's incompetence or Sven Goran Errikson's fearful tactics? No...! Lazy players who don't put in the same effort they do for their clubs? No...!
Really, this Wenger chap is quite the Scarlett Pimpernel. Coming in here producing players like David Bentley, Ashley Cole and Sol Campbell! That Bastard! How dare he nurture Tony Adams? How dare he use Thierry Henry and Francesc Fabregas instead of Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard?! I mean, come on for 112,000 pounds a weak who wouldn't want a 15-18 goals a season striker!?
The propoganda is endless. We've had four blatant refereeing decisions go against us in recent memory, and those are just the four we're 'allowed' to talk about without 'nitpicking.' We've had countless throughout the season. Wenger is a bad loser and he moans and groans when penalties that shouldn't be are given and those that should be aren't.
To quote Chris Rock, please cut the fucking shit! The team may have it's drawbacks, certainly Alex Song in central defence is nothing else, as is Emmanuel Eboue on the right wing, but for fuck's sake, what team can survive referees who allow players like Anderson to get away scot free, and decide that any touching in the penalty area is a foul?!
What team can survive a Middlesborough game where the offside rule is re-written?!
But most importantly what team can survive an entire fleet street agenda against it!? When we beat Derby, Soccernet says it's because they're crap. Acceptable. But when we trounce AC milan, the only 'expert opinion' peices ESPN have to offer are about the aging decline of AC milan.
I end with another quote. This time from the Absinthe fairy in Euro trip:
"Now that's some fucked up shit."
That is all.
So last night it ended. The dream is over and the whole season amounted, once again to nothing. Arsenal are out and if you read the press association's report it's because of 'Ronaldo's confidence' and Manchester United's battling spirit, and Owen Hargreaves' sublime free kick. Perception is essentially reality, and despite video evidence to the contrary, the PA usually get their way with the immense volume of their propoganda.
What gets left out is the mention of just how soft the penalty was- yet again, and ofcourse, how Anderson literally wrestled Adebayor to the ground at the other end in a brilliant place for a free kick, yet the whistle wasn't blown. Ofcourse when Gilberto's toe touches Evra and the entire home support at Old Trafford yell, the objective and entirely fair refereeing had no choice but to award the free kick.
Now before I go further, some would say, we probably wouldn't have taken advantage of the free kick on the right of the box, despite the fact that Robin Van Persie was fucking playing. They would even say the referee was fair, which is why Van Persie was booked for going in a second late on Wes Brown.
But pardon me, I would hate to oppose any England loyalists. And that really is what it comes down to isn't it?
An Englishmen scores against Arsenal. The irony is painful.
All through the Euro Qualifiers Arsene Wenger was the punching bag for a frustrated nation that watched, some of the world's most talented (and highly paid/ exorbitantly paid/ Over paid) individuals flounder and fail. Arsenal don't play enough English players. They are a corrupting influence and have driven all teams to use only foreigners and that is why players like Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard and the remaining squad of 22 in the England team team suffer. Because teams 'like Arsenal' have reduced chances for them.
For anyone who has played a football video game, it is blatantly obvious that on paper, and technically England have one of the strongest teams in the world. They're the team you play with when you're not so good and want a strong team to beat weaker teams! But no! Arsene Wenger is a blasphemous oaf who has ruined the system.
I mean, it must be his fault right?! Who else to blame!? Brian Barwick and his inept administration? No...!! Steve Mclaren's incompetence or Sven Goran Errikson's fearful tactics? No...! Lazy players who don't put in the same effort they do for their clubs? No...!
Really, this Wenger chap is quite the Scarlett Pimpernel. Coming in here producing players like David Bentley, Ashley Cole and Sol Campbell! That Bastard! How dare he nurture Tony Adams? How dare he use Thierry Henry and Francesc Fabregas instead of Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard?! I mean, come on for 112,000 pounds a weak who wouldn't want a 15-18 goals a season striker!?
The propoganda is endless. We've had four blatant refereeing decisions go against us in recent memory, and those are just the four we're 'allowed' to talk about without 'nitpicking.' We've had countless throughout the season. Wenger is a bad loser and he moans and groans when penalties that shouldn't be are given and those that should be aren't.
To quote Chris Rock, please cut the fucking shit! The team may have it's drawbacks, certainly Alex Song in central defence is nothing else, as is Emmanuel Eboue on the right wing, but for fuck's sake, what team can survive referees who allow players like Anderson to get away scot free, and decide that any touching in the penalty area is a foul?!
What team can survive a Middlesborough game where the offside rule is re-written?!
But most importantly what team can survive an entire fleet street agenda against it!? When we beat Derby, Soccernet says it's because they're crap. Acceptable. But when we trounce AC milan, the only 'expert opinion' peices ESPN have to offer are about the aging decline of AC milan.
I end with another quote. This time from the Absinthe fairy in Euro trip:
"Now that's some fucked up shit."
That is all.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Gloves not included.
ello all!
A minor celebration. This is post no. 20!
That's that.
I have recently moved to Calcutta. My Father has in typical fashion landed a job where he's being paid pittens but he's been given an exorbitant flat to live in. It really is quite stunning.
Anyway, I came here some 10 days ago and have been living here at 'home' with a friend of mine who might also fall under the tag of 'Hobo' which I picked up in my year at Wilson. We've both done our bit of moving and we've both done our bit of walking. As it stands, he has no legal identification and no forseeable, tangible future. What he does have is his plans, his guitar, and his bag filled with wrappers and a notebook. His 'situation' is as some might see it, essentially hopeless. Yet in seeing him get his shit together and grabbing his life by the balls, and growing and learning as much as he can, it struck me just what it is to be a hobo.
It's something I'd imagine we all have when we need it, but that doesn't make it any less amazing. It's the reason he can move from a comic book to a musical seamlessly. It's, as he put it in a post of his own, the ability to get up after falling in crud in some random street in Dubai and to keep walking. I've met some extraordinary people thus far and the list would be far too long for one blog so I shall stick to my purpose.
This is by no means a tribute post, but I would like to express something about the two people closest to me. We'll call them K1 and K2.
K1 has suffered a blow larger than any blow, we agree, he has ever suffered. It has already and will continue to change his life. We all create futures for ourselves in our head. Sort of an imaginary railroad for our trains to choo choo over. But sometimes that railway line gets yanked out of place and it becomes something entirely different. As it stands K1 has lost his initial track. He's pretty much running on mud and tar right now. His hoboness, though, is the fact that he is still moving, though slowly and a little carefully, and he's putting together some more tracks made from fucking twigs and hair and shit, and riding on it. His hoboness is that he like my room mate is getting his shit together and taking life by the balls again.
K2, who is I must confess the real purpose behind this blog, has suffered many blows. They seem soft on their own but accumulated they've smashed the shit out of the railway line. They've pushed and shoved the train onto different tracks and back. They've even just hit the train out of pure spite and dented the front. K2 would to most look like an absolute wreck. But for some reason, beyond hoboness and anything I can understand, K2 is still going on. Still chugging away, still riding those very battered wheels to the ground until the track starts to show up again. K2's hoboness is beyond me. It is amazing.
This post is a mix of awe, respect and hope for K1 and K2, and indeed my roommate too. But more than anything it's a hope that they will chug on, because from here in this useles, helpless, position where all I can do is cheer, I feel like I do every time I'm at a bar cheering Arsenal on. the season's derailed entirely but the red and white is just so beautiful you have to keep on yelling.
This is to hoboness.
A minor celebration. This is post no. 20!
That's that.
I have recently moved to Calcutta. My Father has in typical fashion landed a job where he's being paid pittens but he's been given an exorbitant flat to live in. It really is quite stunning.
Anyway, I came here some 10 days ago and have been living here at 'home' with a friend of mine who might also fall under the tag of 'Hobo' which I picked up in my year at Wilson. We've both done our bit of moving and we've both done our bit of walking. As it stands, he has no legal identification and no forseeable, tangible future. What he does have is his plans, his guitar, and his bag filled with wrappers and a notebook. His 'situation' is as some might see it, essentially hopeless. Yet in seeing him get his shit together and grabbing his life by the balls, and growing and learning as much as he can, it struck me just what it is to be a hobo.
It's something I'd imagine we all have when we need it, but that doesn't make it any less amazing. It's the reason he can move from a comic book to a musical seamlessly. It's, as he put it in a post of his own, the ability to get up after falling in crud in some random street in Dubai and to keep walking. I've met some extraordinary people thus far and the list would be far too long for one blog so I shall stick to my purpose.
This is by no means a tribute post, but I would like to express something about the two people closest to me. We'll call them K1 and K2.
K1 has suffered a blow larger than any blow, we agree, he has ever suffered. It has already and will continue to change his life. We all create futures for ourselves in our head. Sort of an imaginary railroad for our trains to choo choo over. But sometimes that railway line gets yanked out of place and it becomes something entirely different. As it stands K1 has lost his initial track. He's pretty much running on mud and tar right now. His hoboness, though, is the fact that he is still moving, though slowly and a little carefully, and he's putting together some more tracks made from fucking twigs and hair and shit, and riding on it. His hoboness is that he like my room mate is getting his shit together and taking life by the balls again.
K2, who is I must confess the real purpose behind this blog, has suffered many blows. They seem soft on their own but accumulated they've smashed the shit out of the railway line. They've pushed and shoved the train onto different tracks and back. They've even just hit the train out of pure spite and dented the front. K2 would to most look like an absolute wreck. But for some reason, beyond hoboness and anything I can understand, K2 is still going on. Still chugging away, still riding those very battered wheels to the ground until the track starts to show up again. K2's hoboness is beyond me. It is amazing.
This post is a mix of awe, respect and hope for K1 and K2, and indeed my roommate too. But more than anything it's a hope that they will chug on, because from here in this useles, helpless, position where all I can do is cheer, I feel like I do every time I'm at a bar cheering Arsenal on. the season's derailed entirely but the red and white is just so beautiful you have to keep on yelling.
This is to hoboness.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Feels like a bloody Jack Russell
ello all!
I don't know when, how and why but at some point this blog turned into a vent space and as I've now learnt is a necessary catharsis for me. Fuck.
I have spent the better part of this past week indoors on account of exams and perhaps it's the claustophobia, but I've had it till here with this.
The other day in the shower it occured to me what's been plaguing me for the past couple of months. I've lost most of my drive. I want to laze. I do not want to do things, I know I honestly do and more than anything else is an overwhelming feeling of just being tired. The problem is I'm satisfied.
A couple blogs ago, much like a victory speech I declared my pride at certain things I'd done and won and that, it seems was my peak. I'm going downhill now. It is the worst feeling to have. The thought that I deserve to rest or that I have earned the right to let certain 'problems' weigh me down because I'm just tired of dealing with it. It's a pain in my fucking ass and I hate it.
But why have I blogged today? In about an hour, Manchester United will face Liverpool FC in a premier league fixture. About two and half hours after that Arsenal will face Chelsea. These two games may not decide, but will definitely be a huge part in deciding where the title of English champions goes. It could be us. Bloody hell it has to be us. We've fought like fucking dogs and mucked ourselves up a fair bit in the process (get well Eduardo) but the 'children' are here to win it. This is as big as it's gotten since the invincible season three years ago when we last one the league, without losing a single game mind you.
This is a time when Arsenal are still achieving. In all possibility, if and when they do achieve, this horrible feeling of satisfaction and being content may strike them too, and from experience I can tell you it can really mess things up (Case in point Ashley Cole). Tonight we could end with our fists pumping and our lungs bursting with the rest of the cunts with their heads drooping. It could possibly not. They said this race would go down to the wire and I think it's safe to say we're ON the wire. It's barbed and it's cutting at the legs but it feels great.
The borrowed thrill of Arsenal still in achievement mode while I sit here like an idiot in chill out mode is in itself exhilirating. Once the exams are done, I begin the next phase of my achieving, hopefully anyway. I look forward to it. And I will always look back at this shit hole of a period of time and only remember that the fucking Gunners rode high and mighty.
Come on you Reds!
I don't know when, how and why but at some point this blog turned into a vent space and as I've now learnt is a necessary catharsis for me. Fuck.
I have spent the better part of this past week indoors on account of exams and perhaps it's the claustophobia, but I've had it till here with this.
The other day in the shower it occured to me what's been plaguing me for the past couple of months. I've lost most of my drive. I want to laze. I do not want to do things, I know I honestly do and more than anything else is an overwhelming feeling of just being tired. The problem is I'm satisfied.
A couple blogs ago, much like a victory speech I declared my pride at certain things I'd done and won and that, it seems was my peak. I'm going downhill now. It is the worst feeling to have. The thought that I deserve to rest or that I have earned the right to let certain 'problems' weigh me down because I'm just tired of dealing with it. It's a pain in my fucking ass and I hate it.
But why have I blogged today? In about an hour, Manchester United will face Liverpool FC in a premier league fixture. About two and half hours after that Arsenal will face Chelsea. These two games may not decide, but will definitely be a huge part in deciding where the title of English champions goes. It could be us. Bloody hell it has to be us. We've fought like fucking dogs and mucked ourselves up a fair bit in the process (get well Eduardo) but the 'children' are here to win it. This is as big as it's gotten since the invincible season three years ago when we last one the league, without losing a single game mind you.
This is a time when Arsenal are still achieving. In all possibility, if and when they do achieve, this horrible feeling of satisfaction and being content may strike them too, and from experience I can tell you it can really mess things up (Case in point Ashley Cole). Tonight we could end with our fists pumping and our lungs bursting with the rest of the cunts with their heads drooping. It could possibly not. They said this race would go down to the wire and I think it's safe to say we're ON the wire. It's barbed and it's cutting at the legs but it feels great.
The borrowed thrill of Arsenal still in achievement mode while I sit here like an idiot in chill out mode is in itself exhilirating. Once the exams are done, I begin the next phase of my achieving, hopefully anyway. I look forward to it. And I will always look back at this shit hole of a period of time and only remember that the fucking Gunners rode high and mighty.
Come on you Reds!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Patches and Pans
ello all!
I bring to you some more mindfucking from my Psychology class!
Today's tasty dish is a concept known as Perceptual Constancy. Essentially it is this little thing in your head which ensures that even if there is a significant change to the surrounding context, the object being perceived is always percieved as itself.
I'll explain. But I must warn you that it involves a bit of an activity on your part, dear reader. Alright? Ok good.
Lift your left hand up and keep it about a foot away from your face. Look at it. Pretty eh?
Alright, now move it lower, to a slightly darker place if possible. Still pretty eh?
Alright now bring it about 4 centimetres away from your face.
Notice anything? Ofcourse not. That's perceptual constancy. Your hand, whether it's orange in color in light, or grey in color in darkness, or a blurry fuzz jammed in your face, will always be percieved as your hand. The question is, is it?
Imagine if every time you looked at something you saw it independently and objectively, like it's brand new. You saw it MINUS the constancy. Everything would actually seem unique in it's own right.
When your best friend does something shitty, it wouldn't matter because you know it belongs to one context and one context alone! You'd never be jaded! EVERYTHING would be spontaneous...! For me, it's the absolute in 'Living in the now.'
I'm not saying it would be ideal or it's something we should strive for but the idea is something that's got me in all kinds of spins. Something to apply.
Just a thought...
I bring to you some more mindfucking from my Psychology class!
Today's tasty dish is a concept known as Perceptual Constancy. Essentially it is this little thing in your head which ensures that even if there is a significant change to the surrounding context, the object being perceived is always percieved as itself.
I'll explain. But I must warn you that it involves a bit of an activity on your part, dear reader. Alright? Ok good.
Lift your left hand up and keep it about a foot away from your face. Look at it. Pretty eh?
Alright, now move it lower, to a slightly darker place if possible. Still pretty eh?
Alright now bring it about 4 centimetres away from your face.
Notice anything? Ofcourse not. That's perceptual constancy. Your hand, whether it's orange in color in light, or grey in color in darkness, or a blurry fuzz jammed in your face, will always be percieved as your hand. The question is, is it?
Imagine if every time you looked at something you saw it independently and objectively, like it's brand new. You saw it MINUS the constancy. Everything would actually seem unique in it's own right.
When your best friend does something shitty, it wouldn't matter because you know it belongs to one context and one context alone! You'd never be jaded! EVERYTHING would be spontaneous...! For me, it's the absolute in 'Living in the now.'
I'm not saying it would be ideal or it's something we should strive for but the idea is something that's got me in all kinds of spins. Something to apply.
Just a thought...
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Jerk my knee!
ello all!
Something struck me today and when I thought about putting it down I'd actually forgotten I had my blog! Perhaps it's the fact that my last few posts have been purely personal. Perhaps not.
We, people, humans, intelligent beasts, shepherds, are a bunch of petrified idiots. I've realised that it's not that we cannot use the remaining 94% of our brains, it's just that we do not. We choose not to think too deep. We choose not to accept ourselves as individuals in independent contexts. We choose to conform because, and this is usually considered intelligent, it's easier that way.
I've been studying some psychology as part of my course lately and my belief in the most basic principle of The Matrix has never been stronger. The principle is, that reality, your reality is yours and yours alone. Everything you touch and see and hear and smell is rooted in signals being sent to YOUR brain. Your mind. Pain is subjective and so is love. Memories can be reconstructed so easily by the vaguest of associations that you can actually rehearse an entirely fictitious story in your mind and 'learn' a new feeling or fear. In the right state of subconsciousness you can convince yourself of anything. Of a purple sky and a green ocean and a gun in the hand of the suspect in the murder case your testifying to. So then tell me. What is real?
The blue sky outside this room and this keyboard I keep hitting at are created by me. The world is flat until a brainwave signals to me that it's not. This is the world I've decided to live in, and sure I could change it to whatever I want to. Change it to peaceful and wonderous at any time. But I know that I am too damn happy with this place I'm in, and whatever I'm struggling with I'm enjoying too. Real is what I say it is.
In this world of mine, I've seen so many people, and I'm one of them too mind you, cling to a generalised system of rules and codes, that I can't help but reach the conclusion I started this post with. We're a bunch of petrified idiots. Honestly, I am.
It's easy to mock someone who clings to the values and manners that their 'religion' calls for, but how about us, the other idiots who cling to our own form of religion. In television. In 'Friends' and 'The OC.' Rules on how to behave. On how to react. How to be with your girlfriend. Ignore the actual feeling you have and follow the format.
What is reality? I am reality. There are no rules until I create them.
Something struck me today and when I thought about putting it down I'd actually forgotten I had my blog! Perhaps it's the fact that my last few posts have been purely personal. Perhaps not.
We, people, humans, intelligent beasts, shepherds, are a bunch of petrified idiots. I've realised that it's not that we cannot use the remaining 94% of our brains, it's just that we do not. We choose not to think too deep. We choose not to accept ourselves as individuals in independent contexts. We choose to conform because, and this is usually considered intelligent, it's easier that way.
I've been studying some psychology as part of my course lately and my belief in the most basic principle of The Matrix has never been stronger. The principle is, that reality, your reality is yours and yours alone. Everything you touch and see and hear and smell is rooted in signals being sent to YOUR brain. Your mind. Pain is subjective and so is love. Memories can be reconstructed so easily by the vaguest of associations that you can actually rehearse an entirely fictitious story in your mind and 'learn' a new feeling or fear. In the right state of subconsciousness you can convince yourself of anything. Of a purple sky and a green ocean and a gun in the hand of the suspect in the murder case your testifying to. So then tell me. What is real?
The blue sky outside this room and this keyboard I keep hitting at are created by me. The world is flat until a brainwave signals to me that it's not. This is the world I've decided to live in, and sure I could change it to whatever I want to. Change it to peaceful and wonderous at any time. But I know that I am too damn happy with this place I'm in, and whatever I'm struggling with I'm enjoying too. Real is what I say it is.
In this world of mine, I've seen so many people, and I'm one of them too mind you, cling to a generalised system of rules and codes, that I can't help but reach the conclusion I started this post with. We're a bunch of petrified idiots. Honestly, I am.
It's easy to mock someone who clings to the values and manners that their 'religion' calls for, but how about us, the other idiots who cling to our own form of religion. In television. In 'Friends' and 'The OC.' Rules on how to behave. On how to react. How to be with your girlfriend. Ignore the actual feeling you have and follow the format.
What is reality? I am reality. There are no rules until I create them.
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