Seen from one end, the rectangular table becomes a trapezium, broader near the player's waist and tapering as it moves away. The challenge is clear to the players as soon as they take their positions: they each play from an area of strength and against a weaker opponent. They each know that the opponent, though he may be weaker, has a larger space into which he must hit the projectile, and therefore has just as much a chance to win as does the stronger player.
An even playground—an even battle.
He holds the paddle harder around its pommel, the grip tightening toward the hilt, and a sole finger outstretched to enhance the torque he would provide whenever a swivel was necessary. There being no particular stance, he moves into one. Bending his knees, he looms over the table, as if ready to quell his opponent at the earliest opportunity, beads of sweat already glistening at the ends of his brows. The infinite space before him—a space within which he can move his arms, within which he can choreograph his legs—confuses him. He is no longer a soldier governed by rules; he is a psychotic killer on the loose, and the simple power of his weapon frightens him, beats into his skull his need for responsibility.
But what can only responsibility do? Nothing. Responsibility requires discipline to be meaningful. Within that infinite space, the player must find discipline somewhere, and tame it to his will. That the weapon is an extension of his hand is worthless information. More than anything, he knows he needs a hand that is not connected to him at all, physically or telekinetically, but a hand which he can and will abuse. That is how the player sees the weapon—the fear of the weapon he has turned quickly into the weapon's fear of him. Responsibility can and will only reside in the presence of that fear.
As the first volley is fired, he flails his arms, his feet shuffling along the concrete floor, the beams of light from the halogen lamps shredded into shadows. He misfires once, twice, and then he misses altogether. The quick injection of failure into the psyche is the greatest reward of sporting participation, and the injection animates the player. The ignominy of failure is compounded by his enemy having witnessed his efforts—the more skill the player has armoured his body with, the more naked he becomes. And the enemy is always watching.
The game must continue.
There is more aimless dancing, more misdirected attempts at connecting with the speeding bullet, and all is in vain. At the same time, the infinite space is shrinking, slowly and steadily, because the enemy has borne down upon the belligerent. If there were guns and bombs, and if there were human lives at stake, and if bodies were lying strewn on thousands of battlefields across the world right now, the player would have had the option of disarming himself and have his people spared by the forces that be.
The game, on the other hand, must continue.
And now, the player plays from between walls immediately to his right and his left—and at that moment, his arms and feet are arrested, and the player's dance becomes a luxury. He must accept what his enemy, now the overlord, tosses out to him, and he must feed upon to it to sustain himself, and when he is done with it, he must toss it back. Quickly, he will receive more and more tosses, more and more opportunities for him to be humiliated, more and more reasons for his enemy to encourage the disdain he wishes to harbour.
The only way the player can emerge successful out of his labyrinthine proposition is to secure a small victory—even so, he mustn't worry about the smallness of it at all because it will be large as soon as he secures it. The overlord, playing from quite an advantageous position, will be shocked into facing his reality once more, a reality that cannot afford the substitution of humility with disdain, although both are equipotentially subversive.
At that moment, the player will have one opportunity to sink the injection deep into his enemy's veins—only one opportunity, not millions, not infinite, and that one opportunity will discipline him. That one opportunity will bring him within kissing distance of the two walls, and he will be addicted to their touch, a reminder of his enslavement to their promise of salvation. Soon, there is a new overlord, one who will have the opportunity to reign as emperor for all eternity, but will soon himself succumb to the rewards of success.
The game, after all, must continue.
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Lessons from a plate of spinach
"Here, have this."
"What's it?"
"Spinach and rice."
"I hate the taste of spinach!"
"Do have it! It tastes good!"
"How! How do you know it tastes good?"
"Because it tasted good?"
"Because it tasted good for you!"
"Yeah... so?"
"How do you know it's going to taste good for me?"
"Well..."
"What is this?"
"It's spinach curry."
"You know I hate the taste-"
"Yes, yes! But I've cooked it different this time."
"What's the difference?"
"Now it tastes better!"
"How do you know-"
"Because it tastes for even me!"
"Because the spinach tastes better for you?"
"Yes, it does! Taste it!"
"I didn't like it when it tasted one way. Now, you've made it a better way."
"Yeah?"
"So, I didn't like it when it was just fine. Now you think I'll like it when the spinachness of the dish is enhanced?"
"Well..."
"Here, have this."
"What's this?"
"Spinach."
"Again?"
"Yeah!"
"Why so often?"
"Because I like it."
"Why do you like it?"
"Because it tastes better than most other stuff I eat."
"So you make spinach all the time?"
"Yeah?"
"Because you found out you liked something, you're going to make sure you keep liking it."
"If you have to put it like that..."
"Did you enjoy finding out you liked spinach?"
"Oh, yeah, it was at that dinner-"
"OK, OK, OK. So, you found something you liked, you enjoyed the feeling, and now you're happy to be stuck with that feeling?"
"Well..."
"Here, have this."
"Is it spinach?"
"Nope."
"Oh! How come?"
"I took your advice. Made beans instead."
"Ah! Smart choice. You liking the beans?"
"Not. One. Bit."
"Making a note of it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So... no more spinach?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Gotta find out more likes."
"You found one thing you liked and then you dumped it?"
"Well... yeah! I found something. Score! Let's move on. You taught me that!"
"So, you're essentially betraying your association with spinach."
"What?"
"Don't you think you owe it to yourself that you stick to something you know you like rather than go after something you think you'll like?"
"But you said-"
"I know what I said."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"You're the one who likes spinach."
"What's it?"
"Spinach and rice."
"I hate the taste of spinach!"
"Do have it! It tastes good!"
"How! How do you know it tastes good?"
"Because it tasted good?"
"Because it tasted good for you!"
"Yeah... so?"
"How do you know it's going to taste good for me?"
"Well..."
*
"What is this?"
"It's spinach curry."
"You know I hate the taste-"
"Yes, yes! But I've cooked it different this time."
"What's the difference?"
"Now it tastes better!"
"How do you know-"
"Because it tastes for even me!"
"Because the spinach tastes better for you?"
"Yes, it does! Taste it!"
"I didn't like it when it tasted one way. Now, you've made it a better way."
"Yeah?"
"So, I didn't like it when it was just fine. Now you think I'll like it when the spinachness of the dish is enhanced?"
"Well..."
*
"Here, have this."
"What's this?"
"Spinach."
"Again?"
"Yeah!"
"Why so often?"
"Because I like it."
"Why do you like it?"
"Because it tastes better than most other stuff I eat."
"So you make spinach all the time?"
"Yeah?"
"Because you found out you liked something, you're going to make sure you keep liking it."
"If you have to put it like that..."
"Did you enjoy finding out you liked spinach?"
"Oh, yeah, it was at that dinner-"
"OK, OK, OK. So, you found something you liked, you enjoyed the feeling, and now you're happy to be stuck with that feeling?"
"Well..."
*
"Here, have this."
"Is it spinach?"
"Nope."
"Oh! How come?"
"I took your advice. Made beans instead."
"Ah! Smart choice. You liking the beans?"
"Not. One. Bit."
"Making a note of it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So... no more spinach?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Gotta find out more likes."
"You found one thing you liked and then you dumped it?"
"Well... yeah! I found something. Score! Let's move on. You taught me that!"
"So, you're essentially betraying your association with spinach."
"What?"
"Don't you think you owe it to yourself that you stick to something you know you like rather than go after something you think you'll like?"
"But you said-"
"I know what I said."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"You're the one who likes spinach."
Lessons from a plate of spinach
"Here, have this."
"What's it?"
"Spinach and rice."
"I hate the taste of spinach!"
"Do have it! It tastes good!"
"How! How do you know it tastes good?"
"Because it tasted good?"
"Because it tasted good for you!"
"Yeah... so?"
"How do you know it's going to taste good for me?"
"Well..."
"What is this?"
"It's spinach curry."
"You know I hate the taste-"
"Yes, yes! But I've cooked it different this time."
"What's the difference?"
"Now it tastes better!"
"How do you know-"
"Because it tastes for even me!"
"Because the spinach tastes better for you?"
"Yes, it does! Taste it!"
"I didn't like it when it tasted one way. Now, you've made it a better way."
"Yeah?"
"So, I didn't like it when it was just fine. Now you think I'll like it when the spinachness of the dish is enhanced?"
"Well..."
"Here, have this."
"What's this?"
"Spinach."
"Again?"
"Yeah!"
"Why so often?"
"Because I like it."
"Why do you like it?"
"Because it tastes better than most other stuff I eat."
"So you make spinach all the time?"
"Yeah?"
"Because you found out you liked something, you're going to make sure you keep liking it."
"If you have to put it like that..."
"Did you enjoy finding out you liked spinach?"
"Oh, yeah, it was at that dinner-"
"OK, OK, OK. So, you found something you liked, you enjoyed the feeling, and now you're happy to be stuck with that feeling?"
"Well..."
"Here, have this."
"Is it spinach?"
"Nope."
"Oh! How come?"
"I took your advice. Made beans instead."
"Ah! Smart choice. You liking the beans?"
"Not. One. Bit."
"Making a note of it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So... no more spinach?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Gotta find out more likes."
"You found one thing you liked and then you dumped it?"
"Well... yeah! I found something. Score! Let's move on. You taught me that!"
"So, you're essentially betraying your association with spinach."
"What?"
"Don't you think you owe it to yourself that you stick to something you know you like rather than go after something you think you'll like?"
"But you said-"
"I know what I said."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"You're the one who likes spinach."
"What's it?"
"Spinach and rice."
"I hate the taste of spinach!"
"Do have it! It tastes good!"
"How! How do you know it tastes good?"
"Because it tasted good?"
"Because it tasted good for you!"
"Yeah... so?"
"How do you know it's going to taste good for me?"
"Well..."
*
"What is this?"
"It's spinach curry."
"You know I hate the taste-"
"Yes, yes! But I've cooked it different this time."
"What's the difference?"
"Now it tastes better!"
"How do you know-"
"Because it tastes for even me!"
"Because the spinach tastes better for you?"
"Yes, it does! Taste it!"
"I didn't like it when it tasted one way. Now, you've made it a better way."
"Yeah?"
"So, I didn't like it when it was just fine. Now you think I'll like it when the spinachness of the dish is enhanced?"
"Well..."
*
"Here, have this."
"What's this?"
"Spinach."
"Again?"
"Yeah!"
"Why so often?"
"Because I like it."
"Why do you like it?"
"Because it tastes better than most other stuff I eat."
"So you make spinach all the time?"
"Yeah?"
"Because you found out you liked something, you're going to make sure you keep liking it."
"If you have to put it like that..."
"Did you enjoy finding out you liked spinach?"
"Oh, yeah, it was at that dinner-"
"OK, OK, OK. So, you found something you liked, you enjoyed the feeling, and now you're happy to be stuck with that feeling?"
"Well..."
*
"Here, have this."
"Is it spinach?"
"Nope."
"Oh! How come?"
"I took your advice. Made beans instead."
"Ah! Smart choice. You liking the beans?"
"Not. One. Bit."
"Making a note of it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So... no more spinach?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Gotta find out more likes."
"You found one thing you liked and then you dumped it?"
"Well... yeah! I found something. Score! Let's move on. You taught me that!"
"So, you're essentially betraying your association with spinach."
"What?"
"Don't you think you owe it to yourself that you stick to something you know you like rather than go after something you think you'll like?"
"But you said-"
"I know what I said."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"You're the one who likes spinach."
Saturday, 18 June 2011
A story
11.26
Dialing...
"Hello?"
Hey!
"Hey!"
What're you doing?
"I'm outside with-"
Oh, OK! We'll talk later!
"Yeah, sure!"
Bye!
"Bye!"
12.24
Dialing...
"You don't have enough credit-"
12.31
Dialing...
"The person you are calling has not responded. Please try-"
14.10
Picking...
Hello?
"Hey buddy! What's up!"
Hey man... how's it going?
"Awesome! Listen, me and C planning a trek. You wanna come?"
When's it?
"Tonight. We're thinking of catching the 8 o'clock bus and-"
Not tonight, sorry. Have some work.
"Saturday night?"
Dad's coming online, some work to do with the bank, something.
"Oh, OK! Next time then!"
Yeah man, sorry. Call-
"Bye!"
14.33
Dialing...
"The person you are calling has-"
15.04
Signing in...
"L. is online."
Laptop?
L: "Nt yet happened."
Damn. :(
L: "Yeah. I'm fucked."
Sleepover at S.'s place and finish the assignment?
And then tell me about the pillowfight?
L: "Heh. She lives all the way across town!"
Fine. P.?
L: "Uh. No."
K.?
L: "Oh wow."
"Hahhahahahhaha its K.!"
:D
What doing?
L: "Painting."
"Ur sheldon from big bang theory."
I'm Sheldon?!
That guy's stiff, a creature of habit and annoying!
I'm not annoying!
L: "You're stiff. Creature of habit. A know it all. ALL."
Sheldon Cooper is annoying and unforgiving. I am neither!
And he's not interested in sex. He's NOT interested- THAT'S ANTI-ME!
L: "Okay :P"
":P"
"Okay. And that."
The place here's a huge bungalow with no curfew and careless watchman.
L: "Fancy :P"
"Ur outside? Not with family?"
No, any studying requires the hostel experience.
Can't study for nuts from home - even this.
It's going to be crazy!
L: ":)"
"Did you make friends?"
This chick
L: "Really??"
Yeah!
But she's off FB for a while.
L: "Ahaan"
You are no longer signed in to send or receive messages.
15.55
"Hello?"
Sir, I'm calling from the south-
"Yes, sir, we're sorry sir. It's an area-wide cut, sir, there's a fire in the grid."
When will-
"In about 4 hours, sir."
16.16
Opening...
Yes?
"Sir, delivery from Amazon?"
Oh, yes!
"Sign here... and here."
Thanks!
"Thank you, sir!"
18.01
Dialing...
"The person you are-"
19.29
Wireless network... connected.
19.31
Signing in...
"L. is offline"
Hey! You there? Sorry, there was a power cut. I'll catchya soon, have a nice evening!
19.44
Coming.
"Good evening, sir! Delivery from Dumpling Queen!"
Oh yeah, how much is it?
"A round... 60, sir."
Keep the change.
"Thank you, sir! Enjoy your dinner!"
Yeah.
20.34
Dialing...
"Hello?"
Hey!
"Hey!"
What're you doing?
"I'm on my way!"
Oh, when'll you be here?
"In a coupla minutes, max. How's it going there... you OK?"
Yeah... I'm fine. Just missing you.
"I miss you, too."
Couldn't you blow off the late night shift?
"Aww! Look at you!"
I'm serious!
"You know I can't do that! Plus, it's Saturday... you know how busy the streets get!"
Yeah, yeah, OK. Get here faster.
"Yeah, I'm almost there."
OK.
23.15
"It's getting late."
Hmm...
"I'll talk to you tomorrow!"
I hate you.
"Me too! G'night!"
Yeah, whatever.
07.14
Picking...
Hmm... who's this?
"Hey!"
Yeah?
"It's me! You just woke up?!"
Yeah...
"Please tell me you've the script ready!"
Yeah... almost-
"Almost?! What's almost?!"
Gimme an hour.
"Are you sure? Because if you haven't finished it, you should tell me now."
No, no, one hour. You'll have it.
"OK, I trust you. Don't lemme down, man."
Hmm.
07.19
Somewhere in the south of the great City, curled up within layers of poverty, rebellion, filth and convivial skulduggery, in a building dotting the ramshackle landscape of the miserable shores, a young man strode up and down upon an old carpet, one of the few things of value in his otherwise poor excuse of a residence. At this juncture, the reader may not be surprised to discover upon my utterance that he was a writer - he still is - and took away from the denial of luxury the luxury of denial, a self-imposed lesson on the art of inspiration, coveting lovers and dodging them, befriending strangers and salvaging himself from the hubris of his own madness. Right then, as the first droplets of rain struck the glass in the windows, he called a young woman he was attempting now to love, and she spoke: "I'm outside with-" Goodbye, he screamed! Despair! On the philanthropy of despair it seemed he would feed first...
08.03
Picking...
"You done?"
What if I'm not?
"Man! I trusted-"
Relax! I'm done.
"Hmm... what's it called?"
The Art... of Inspiration! You like it?
"I think I do... I do, I do."
Dialing...
"Hello?"
Hey!
"Hey!"
What're you doing?
"I'm outside with-"
Oh, OK! We'll talk later!
"Yeah, sure!"
Bye!
"Bye!"
12.24
Dialing...
"You don't have enough credit-"
12.31
Dialing...
"The person you are calling has not responded. Please try-"
14.10
Picking...
Hello?
"Hey buddy! What's up!"
Hey man... how's it going?
"Awesome! Listen, me and C planning a trek. You wanna come?"
When's it?
"Tonight. We're thinking of catching the 8 o'clock bus and-"
Not tonight, sorry. Have some work.
"Saturday night?"
Dad's coming online, some work to do with the bank, something.
"Oh, OK! Next time then!"
Yeah man, sorry. Call-
"Bye!"
14.33
Dialing...
"The person you are calling has-"
15.04
Signing in...
"L. is online."
Laptop?
L: "Nt yet happened."
Damn. :(
L: "Yeah. I'm fucked."
Sleepover at S.'s place and finish the assignment?
And then tell me about the pillowfight?
L: "Heh. She lives all the way across town!"
Fine. P.?
L: "Uh. No."
K.?
L: "Oh wow."
"Hahhahahahhaha its K.!"
:D
What doing?
L: "Painting."
"Ur sheldon from big bang theory."
I'm Sheldon?!
That guy's stiff, a creature of habit and annoying!
I'm not annoying!
L: "You're stiff. Creature of habit. A know it all. ALL."
Sheldon Cooper is annoying and unforgiving. I am neither!
And he's not interested in sex. He's NOT interested- THAT'S ANTI-ME!
L: "Okay :P"
":P"
"Okay. And that."
The place here's a huge bungalow with no curfew and careless watchman.
L: "Fancy :P"
"Ur outside? Not with family?"
No, any studying requires the hostel experience.
Can't study for nuts from home - even this.
It's going to be crazy!
L: ":)"
"Did you make friends?"
This chick
L: "Really??"
Yeah!
But she's off FB for a while.
L: "Ahaan"
You are no longer signed in to send or receive messages.
15.55
"Hello?"
Sir, I'm calling from the south-
"Yes, sir, we're sorry sir. It's an area-wide cut, sir, there's a fire in the grid."
When will-
"In about 4 hours, sir."
16.16
Opening...
Yes?
"Sir, delivery from Amazon?"
Oh, yes!
"Sign here... and here."
Thanks!
"Thank you, sir!"
18.01
Dialing...
"The person you are-"
19.29
Wireless network... connected.
19.31
Signing in...
"L. is offline"
Hey! You there? Sorry, there was a power cut. I'll catchya soon, have a nice evening!
19.44
Coming.
"Good evening, sir! Delivery from Dumpling Queen!"
Oh yeah, how much is it?
"A round... 60, sir."
Keep the change.
"Thank you, sir! Enjoy your dinner!"
Yeah.
20.34
Dialing...
"Hello?"
Hey!
"Hey!"
What're you doing?
"I'm on my way!"
Oh, when'll you be here?
"In a coupla minutes, max. How's it going there... you OK?"
Yeah... I'm fine. Just missing you.
"I miss you, too."
Couldn't you blow off the late night shift?
"Aww! Look at you!"
I'm serious!
"You know I can't do that! Plus, it's Saturday... you know how busy the streets get!"
Yeah, yeah, OK. Get here faster.
"Yeah, I'm almost there."
OK.
23.15
"It's getting late."
Hmm...
"I'll talk to you tomorrow!"
I hate you.
"Me too! G'night!"
Yeah, whatever.
07.14
Picking...
Hmm... who's this?
"Hey!"
Yeah?
"It's me! You just woke up?!"
Yeah...
"Please tell me you've the script ready!"
Yeah... almost-
"Almost?! What's almost?!"
Gimme an hour.
"Are you sure? Because if you haven't finished it, you should tell me now."
No, no, one hour. You'll have it.
"OK, I trust you. Don't lemme down, man."
Hmm.
07.19
Somewhere in the south of the great City, curled up within layers of poverty, rebellion, filth and convivial skulduggery, in a building dotting the ramshackle landscape of the miserable shores, a young man strode up and down upon an old carpet, one of the few things of value in his otherwise poor excuse of a residence. At this juncture, the reader may not be surprised to discover upon my utterance that he was a writer - he still is - and took away from the denial of luxury the luxury of denial, a self-imposed lesson on the art of inspiration, coveting lovers and dodging them, befriending strangers and salvaging himself from the hubris of his own madness. Right then, as the first droplets of rain struck the glass in the windows, he called a young woman he was attempting now to love, and she spoke: "I'm outside with-" Goodbye, he screamed! Despair! On the philanthropy of despair it seemed he would feed first...
08.03
Picking...
"You done?"
What if I'm not?
"Man! I trusted-"
Relax! I'm done.
"Hmm... what's it called?"
The Art... of Inspiration! You like it?
"I think I do... I do, I do."
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
When geeks aspire
On the first day of school,
A geek was born in class;
The kids made fun of him,
Burying a fear inside that math just got harder to pass!
When the words fall down,
His stories are made:
It's a tale with a moral
That'll teach you humility and the will to never fade!
When the slut whispered that
For her homework he'd have her flower,
He did it all knowing anyway
That once the time came he'd have to finish in the shower!
When it's time for DotA-
Get high on frame-rate thrills-
Immortal guts and glory:
It's not over until they're all m-m-m-monster kills !
When the card's on the table
And the bet's are on hold,
He's got no poker face;
Smart kid'll teach you what isn't stupid but bold!
When geeks aspire,
The game doesn't end that way!
It plays itself, on and on,
Until he's got a Wikipedia page on his name some day!
A geek was born in class;
The kids made fun of him,
Burying a fear inside that math just got harder to pass!
When the words fall down,
His stories are made:
It's a tale with a moral
That'll teach you humility and the will to never fade!
When the slut whispered that
For her homework he'd have her flower,
He did it all knowing anyway
That once the time came he'd have to finish in the shower!
When it's time for DotA-
Get high on frame-rate thrills-
Immortal guts and glory:
It's not over until they're all m-m-m-monster kills !
When the card's on the table
And the bet's are on hold,
He's got no poker face;
Smart kid'll teach you what isn't stupid but bold!
When geeks aspire,
The game doesn't end that way!
It plays itself, on and on,
Until he's got a Wikipedia page on his name some day!
Saturday, 4 June 2011
The victorious mistaking
Nobody will ever let you know when you ask the reasons why...
They just tell you that you're on your own till your head all full of lies!
- Sabbath Bloody Sabbath
Hindsight is a powerful tool when it comes to adjudicating one's personal worth. When I look back now, standing smack in the middle of 2011, I can finally see the last decade for what it's really been: living out each moment since 2001 has been a tiring task, speckled generously with situations that have driven me to want to kill myself. However, the vision from 2011 is breathtaking. I feel like a long river that has wound its course through a whole mountain range and now, taking a moment of pause, sees the Grand Canyon in its erosive wake.
My school years leading up to graduation from high school were all bland: the person they birthed at the end of 2006 was not even half-formed and had no ambitions that he was willing to really fight for (mistake #1). Then, the next few months in the same year crystallized that half-formed being into an adult who, without tools, was expected to fight. Looking back at that moment through these hindsight-lenses, I see a lot of things I now regret doing (or not doing).
Then came college. If you've read Viktor E. Frankl's 'Man's Search for Meaning', you'll known what I mean when I say college is where the indecisive soul's journey ends and a period of enjoyable decision-making begins, a period within which all the old socks are not discarded but simple washed, repainted and worn - like food porn (which is not what you think it is)! It's a life from which we emerge reoriented and nothing else.
During all those hours I spent in my various rooms (318-B, C-226 and B-530) writing and editing and proofreading and reading, I've received so much praise as well as criticism for different things. If I hadn't shown up in class, the first thing I was told was I spent too much time in my room doing counterproductive stuff. If I did show up in class (as analogous to scoring high in a test, etc.), I was told I was seeing the errors in my ways too late. I've since realized people say all kinds of things.
Sure, it sounds hollow to you, but you'll someday get to the point in life when you seem within reach of your dreams and, right then, you'll realize all that's mattered till then is the yardstick by which you measured yourself. It stands the test for all kinds of things. Don't tell me you're not laughing at your past-you who refused to carry an umbrella to school just because you thought it was a measure of your "coolness". Peer pressure is one thing, but like Eleanor Roosevelt says, "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
Life is a lesson...
You learn it when you're through.
- Take A Look Around
If you say so, but there's a supple silver lining to that saying. Not all of life's lessons are applicable all the time, so I divided my life into certain periods: learning, dreaming, preparing, living, and thinking. When I'm "dreaming", I find the lessons from the period of "learning" applicable; when I'm "preparing", I find the lessons form the period of "dreaming" applicable; so forth. Another thing is that I've been a considerably different person for the first three phases (I'd like to think I'm nearing the beginning of "living"). While any other person would find that unsettling, I don't.
What I choose to take from that observation is that, in each period, I've committed enough mistakes to change myself by that much. I don't mind mistakes - I like committing them; the hatred of them sinks in when I've been deliberate somewhere in the process. The thrill of the uphill charge after each mistake is unmistakable, and the rewarding victory is that and that alone. Even if I don't clear the interview I have on Monday to join a niche journalism institute in Madras, I'm going to move on so fast my parents are going to think my moral compass is broken.
Nothing is going to stop me from writing. Nothing is going to stop me from thinking. I'm still going to annoy my friends in argument, I'm still going to bring up numbers that conjure frowns on local MLAs, I'm still going to possess and preserve the ambition in me to, one day, be called one of the greatest writers of this century. The yardstick I measure myself with has been, is and will always be the man I was yesterday. That way, I know I'm only going up.
Thought is free.
- The Tempest; Act III, scene 2
The victorious mistaking
Nobody will ever let you know when you ask the reasons why...
They just tell you that you're on your own till your head all full of lies!
- Sabbath Bloody Sabbath
Hindsight is a powerful tool when it comes to adjudicating one's personal worth. When I look back now, standing smack in the middle of 2011, I can finally see the last decade for what it's really been: living out each moment since 2001 has been a tiring task, speckled generously with situations that have driven me to want to kill myself. However, the vision from 2011 is breathtaking. I feel like a long river that has wound its course through a whole mountain range and now, taking a moment of pause, sees the Grand Canyon in its erosive wake.
My school years leading up to graduation from high school were all bland: the person they birthed at the end of 2006 was not even half-formed and had no ambitions that he was willing to really fight for (mistake #1). Then, the next few months in the same year crystallized that half-formed being into an adult who, without tools, was expected to fight. Looking back at that moment through these hindsight-lenses, I see a lot of things I now regret doing (or not doing).
Then came college. If you've read Viktor E. Frankl's 'Man's Search for Meaning', you'll known what I mean when I say college is where the indecisive soul's journey ends and a period of enjoyable decision-making begins, a period within which all the old socks are not discarded but simple washed, repainted and worn - like food porn (which is not what you think it is)! It's a life from which we emerge reoriented and nothing else.
During all those hours I spent in my various rooms (318-B, C-226 and B-530) writing and editing and proofreading and reading, I've received so much praise as well as criticism for different things. If I hadn't shown up in class, the first thing I was told was I spent too much time in my room doing counterproductive stuff. If I did show up in class (as analogous to scoring high in a test, etc.), I was told I was seeing the errors in my ways too late. I've since realized people say all kinds of things.
Sure, it sounds hollow to you, but you'll someday get to the point in life when you seem within reach of your dreams and, right then, you'll realize all that's mattered till then is the yardstick by which you measured yourself. It stands the test for all kinds of things. Don't tell me you're not laughing at your past-you who refused to carry an umbrella to school just because you thought it was a measure of your "coolness". Peer pressure is one thing, but like Eleanor Roosevelt says, "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
Life is a lesson...
You learn it when you're through.
- Take A Look Around
If you say so, but there's a supple silver lining to that saying. Not all of life's lessons are applicable all the time, so I divided my life into certain periods: learning, dreaming, preparing, living, and thinking. When I'm "dreaming", I find the lessons from the period of "learning" applicable; when I'm "preparing", I find the lessons form the period of "dreaming" applicable; so forth. Another thing is that I've been a considerably different person for the first three phases (I'd like to think I'm nearing the beginning of "living"). While any other person would find that unsettling, I don't.
What I choose to take from that observation is that, in each period, I've committed enough mistakes to change myself by that much. I don't mind mistakes - I like committing them; the hatred of them sinks in when I've been deliberate somewhere in the process. The thrill of the uphill charge after each mistake is unmistakable, and the rewarding victory is that and that alone. Even if I don't clear the interview I have on Monday to join a niche journalism institute in Madras, I'm going to move on so fast my parents are going to think my moral compass is broken.
Nothing is going to stop me from writing. Nothing is going to stop me from thinking. I'm still going to annoy my friends in argument, I'm still going to bring up numbers that conjure frowns on local MLAs, I'm still going to possess and preserve the ambition in me to, one day, be called one of the greatest writers of this century. The yardstick I measure myself with has been, is and will always be the man I was yesterday. That way, I know I'm only going up.
Thought is free.
- The Tempest; Act III, scene 2
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Ave homo!
Hail man!
Hail the finitude of his beauty and hail the beauty of his finitude!
Hail this good earth whose soil he tills and with whose water he fills the gut of his hungry flesh, the abyssal infinity of his mind with wonders aplenty!
Hail the vessels of iron and wood upon whose steadfast crest he sails the tempestuous depths of the ocean!
Hail the star-studded tunic of the Universe within whose melancholic brilliance lies bounteous journeys—hail the reward of destinations thereupon!
Hail the words of man's creation never to be found in the shadow of an insensate rock or in the tracheae of obdurate mountains!
Hail the eloquence of his discourse that, by the will of its cause, births both good and evil, virtue and vice!
Hail the destinies he charts unto himself and remains lost in the grip of his selfsame foibles, for therewith upon that heaving bosom rest the pages of his histories!
Hail, in the name of trade, the various measures of courtesy he extends to his fellow man for the sake of their gold!
Hail, above all else, that he doth understand the democracy of his faith, for the election of his allegiance follows from the election of his humanity!
Agere sequitur esse, agere sequitur credere, fides probantur ens. Ave homo!
Hail the finitude of his beauty and hail the beauty of his finitude!
Hail this good earth whose soil he tills and with whose water he fills the gut of his hungry flesh, the abyssal infinity of his mind with wonders aplenty!
Hail the vessels of iron and wood upon whose steadfast crest he sails the tempestuous depths of the ocean!
Hail the star-studded tunic of the Universe within whose melancholic brilliance lies bounteous journeys—hail the reward of destinations thereupon!
Hail the words of man's creation never to be found in the shadow of an insensate rock or in the tracheae of obdurate mountains!
Hail the eloquence of his discourse that, by the will of its cause, births both good and evil, virtue and vice!
Hail the destinies he charts unto himself and remains lost in the grip of his selfsame foibles, for therewith upon that heaving bosom rest the pages of his histories!
Hail, in the name of trade, the various measures of courtesy he extends to his fellow man for the sake of their gold!
Hail, above all else, that he doth understand the democracy of his faith, for the election of his allegiance follows from the election of his humanity!
Agere sequitur esse, agere sequitur credere, fides probantur ens. Ave homo!
Monday, 11 April 2011
Do You?
The guidance is outside
You just have to say it so
It's been years
Will you still deny it, no no
Love will die and love will go
You'll still remain then
Squeeze it into your eyes
You'll still feel then
When you saw this weakness in the skies
Thought that was you, that you'd fly
Now you know that isn't true
All your dreamings rally on for you
Seen some years
Been those years when your words came true
But everything I feel's just a clue
I feel you've already been there
Not what it means to be here
The only difference is what
Might be is now and that much freer
Well you know their faces are clear
The windows are wide open
That you're staring wide-eyed from
It's always better at home
That's why we work a bit and some
We need the money to come and come
I'm so drunk i don't care if
You killed me right now
C'mon you're alive
Now you'll know it's true and how
All the songs under a violin bow
Are never for real
It's always better a holiday
So much better a holiday
So much better that way, oh!
You're gonna make somebody love you
Well do ya, do ya do ya wanna
Wanna wanna go
Where I've never met you before?
Do ya wanna wanna go
Where you've never never seen you before?
Do you?
You just have to say it so
It's been years
Will you still deny it, no no
Love will die and love will go
You'll still remain then
Squeeze it into your eyes
You'll still feel then
When you saw this weakness in the skies
Thought that was you, that you'd fly
Now you know that isn't true
All your dreamings rally on for you
Seen some years
Been those years when your words came true
But everything I feel's just a clue
I feel you've already been there
Not what it means to be here
The only difference is what
Might be is now and that much freer
Well you know their faces are clear
The windows are wide open
That you're staring wide-eyed from
It's always better at home
That's why we work a bit and some
We need the money to come and come
I'm so drunk i don't care if
You killed me right now
C'mon you're alive
Now you'll know it's true and how
All the songs under a violin bow
Are never for real
It's always better a holiday
So much better a holiday
So much better that way, oh!
You're gonna make somebody love you
Well do ya, do ya do ya wanna
Wanna wanna go
Where I've never met you before?
Do ya wanna wanna go
Where you've never never seen you before?
Do you?
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
The Litany Of Delay
Sadness ascends to choose one more time /
Comes round again and no one to tempt /
Even though I ran to the delicious /
Liberty to calculate what I should but /
Will not tolerate the desperation to control /
Am able to give and sink in deeper /
To define it and find it and hide it /
We're sinking deeper despite it /
Let me show you everything I found back home /
Let me teach you to lie like a child /
Soon will you choose to let this go /
Choose to make us give away the strong /
Let the wanderers kiss and drown /
As Lenin crushes his beasts into gold /
Inking any kind of blurry papers for my disguise /
Can I hope to sell this dreary dream /
Television escapes me delaying the fearful /
Is this a test that has to be so delightful as /
Dreaming creations dying on the edges of squares /
I don't realize I am dying not old, not young /
Right and slow right here to give it like blood /
Right here I am still in blood giving faith /
Sight me later than some wonderful supermoon /
Wandering nightly and waiting all the other time /
People have no desire whatsoever to heal /
Damn it! We're all alone and this is the time /
The spirits of the night have chosen me /
Soiled with my name in a diseased clay /
Where will we go without patients to heal /
Tuesday has come and soon Tuesday will die /
Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear /
Then, what deafness may we not all possess? /
What senses do we lack that we cannot see /
And cannot hear another world all around us /
What is there around us that we cannot? /
Comes round again and no one to tempt /
Even though I ran to the delicious /
Liberty to calculate what I should but /
Will not tolerate the desperation to control /
Am able to give and sink in deeper /
To define it and find it and hide it /
We're sinking deeper despite it /
Let me show you everything I found back home /
Let me teach you to lie like a child /
Soon will you choose to let this go /
Choose to make us give away the strong /
Let the wanderers kiss and drown /
As Lenin crushes his beasts into gold /
Inking any kind of blurry papers for my disguise /
Can I hope to sell this dreary dream /
Television escapes me delaying the fearful /
Is this a test that has to be so delightful as /
Dreaming creations dying on the edges of squares /
I don't realize I am dying not old, not young /
Right and slow right here to give it like blood /
Right here I am still in blood giving faith /
Sight me later than some wonderful supermoon /
Wandering nightly and waiting all the other time /
People have no desire whatsoever to heal /
Damn it! We're all alone and this is the time /
The spirits of the night have chosen me /
Soiled with my name in a diseased clay /
Where will we go without patients to heal /
Tuesday has come and soon Tuesday will die /
Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear /
Then, what deafness may we not all possess? /
What senses do we lack that we cannot see /
And cannot hear another world all around us /
What is there around us that we cannot? /
Thursday, 24 March 2011
Blackbird's Egg
Ephemeral and lasting these sons of constant attention remain, swimming seas of white and seeking like brave fools the short-lived happiness that words bring. A bloodied chest of rubies with a curse screaming above their head, and I am pushed away, slowly, steadily, and I deliberately forget to fight as noiseless wonders fracture to an unforgiving life. My hollowness has been stolen and in its place is a black bird.
[caption id="attachment_819" align="alignright" width="420" caption="Broken sky, wholesome rain"]
[/caption]
A dreaded wall climbs high and lifts magnanimously on its bank a small green frog. The calendar is moving away, tearing slowly across the lines, the numbers are released up and down both at once. Ripples settle down in silence and the moon comes to watch a storm gently falling asleep in the morning. Jan-jan-jan, one by one, push the sun out. Was-now flaps its wings in a blur but white lingers, a black sun rises in the north, and the morning blooms now-was.
Dissension and debate rage on the outside while a sharp illness pricks within. Give me your promise, broken at birth, and exploit my choices as a preference. Blood on the world's hands and scratches on the queen's back, the marauder runs into eternity behind the pillars of creation. Reason gives fast pursuit but the catch is never done. Why must it be when the end is the end is the end? Raindrops slither down the damp wood and our fires won't burn for any bribe. The crime is only slavery... not you, my darling.
I'm a radioactive toy filled with evaporating purposes. Keep my right to freedom and keep my right to the skies. Give me the freedom to give up when I longer can, give me the freedom to throw my arms up, give me the freedom to shed a tear. To cry shamelessly. Dark patches of dried blood flake away into the wind while the sun sets slowly beyond the mountain, and sunflowers meet the Earth whence they came. The leaf, is airborne, skyward, as a souvenir of the true day.
[caption id="attachment_819" align="alignright" width="420" caption="Broken sky, wholesome rain"]
[/caption]A dreaded wall climbs high and lifts magnanimously on its bank a small green frog. The calendar is moving away, tearing slowly across the lines, the numbers are released up and down both at once. Ripples settle down in silence and the moon comes to watch a storm gently falling asleep in the morning. Jan-jan-jan, one by one, push the sun out. Was-now flaps its wings in a blur but white lingers, a black sun rises in the north, and the morning blooms now-was.
Dissension and debate rage on the outside while a sharp illness pricks within. Give me your promise, broken at birth, and exploit my choices as a preference. Blood on the world's hands and scratches on the queen's back, the marauder runs into eternity behind the pillars of creation. Reason gives fast pursuit but the catch is never done. Why must it be when the end is the end is the end? Raindrops slither down the damp wood and our fires won't burn for any bribe. The crime is only slavery... not you, my darling.
I'm a radioactive toy filled with evaporating purposes. Keep my right to freedom and keep my right to the skies. Give me the freedom to give up when I longer can, give me the freedom to throw my arms up, give me the freedom to shed a tear. To cry shamelessly. Dark patches of dried blood flake away into the wind while the sun sets slowly beyond the mountain, and sunflowers meet the Earth whence they came. The leaf, is airborne, skyward, as a souvenir of the true day.
Monday, 21 March 2011
The Persistence Of Vision
There was once a little man, a man of short stature and quick to temper, who lived somewhere in the suburbs of London, weathering cold weather or a hot summer without smile or frown. He had a quick and crisp moustache so fiendishly red that it frightened away the children who wandered into his wide front-yard, and they would run and they would run lest he spot them trampling his leaves. The neighbours did not know much about him nor did they have any complaint, and the little man kept his house and his nose quite clean. While he wished they would only leave him alone and not suffer the pains of company, he would decline tea and biscuits completely politely.
Once it so happened that, returning from the grocer an evening, an old man walking the other way tipped his hat at him, and the little man was overcome by a sudden but freakish curiosity, and so stepped up to enquire: "Good evening, sir!", quoth he, "The sun is too high in the sky although August is nigh gone. When is winter to come?" In reply said the old man: "Good evening, sir, to you! The chap on the radio said winter would be here, quite strong and bleak, before the week after is done!" The little man thanked and set off once more, thinking of the weather to himself when the old man called: "Have a day as wonderful as you are, sir!" The little man, now, he was swift to anger, and turning back, he called in reply: "Why, sir, why! What have I said to earn that curse? What have I spoken to deserve something as terse?" The old man knew not what dragon he had poked and stood so still as to surprise winter before it arrived. In receiving only silence, the little man finished: "As wonderful as I am, you say to me, but the town knows, oh, the world knows, I am no wonderful man but as devilish as they come to be! Lest you fear anything, sir, let us have it clear. Speak not to me again for a madness is here. My madness of your futile attempts at persistence is here."
[caption id="attachment_785" align="aligncenter" width="277" caption="All those who wander are not lost"]
[/caption]
Once it so happened that, returning from the grocer an evening, an old man walking the other way tipped his hat at him, and the little man was overcome by a sudden but freakish curiosity, and so stepped up to enquire: "Good evening, sir!", quoth he, "The sun is too high in the sky although August is nigh gone. When is winter to come?" In reply said the old man: "Good evening, sir, to you! The chap on the radio said winter would be here, quite strong and bleak, before the week after is done!" The little man thanked and set off once more, thinking of the weather to himself when the old man called: "Have a day as wonderful as you are, sir!" The little man, now, he was swift to anger, and turning back, he called in reply: "Why, sir, why! What have I said to earn that curse? What have I spoken to deserve something as terse?" The old man knew not what dragon he had poked and stood so still as to surprise winter before it arrived. In receiving only silence, the little man finished: "As wonderful as I am, you say to me, but the town knows, oh, the world knows, I am no wonderful man but as devilish as they come to be! Lest you fear anything, sir, let us have it clear. Speak not to me again for a madness is here. My madness of your futile attempts at persistence is here."
[caption id="attachment_785" align="aligncenter" width="277" caption="All those who wander are not lost"]
[/caption]
Saturday, 19 March 2011
The Accidental Herbert Pearl
For lack of a smart post-its app on my laptop's home-screen, for the sake of an obsessive need to sort issues out then and there, for an upcoming quiz that had me scrounging through Wikipedia's pages looking for odd trivium, for my suddenly-increasing respect for sci-fi novelist Frank Herbert, for my more-than-occasional fandangos with the writer's block, I have to make note of the following quote on my blog.
There's no difference on paper between the two. I know I sound like an idiot who's only just latched on to something that was common knowledge all this time, but I don't care. There's a time and a place to realize things. You can't do it sooner, you won't understand it in its entirety. You can't do it later, and if you do, you might as well not have realized it at all.
This is the right time for me to integrate the choice that there's no difference on paper between the two.
A man is a fool not to put everything he has, at any given moment, into what he is creating. You're there now doing the thing on paper. You're not killing the goose, you're just producing an egg. So I don't worry about inspiration, or anything like that. It's a matter of just sitting down and working. I have never had the problem of a writing block. I've heard about it. I've felt reluctant to write on some days, for whole weeks, or sometimes even longer. I'd much rather go fishing, for example, or go sharpen pencils, or go swimming, or what not. But, later, coming back and reading what I have produced, I am unable to detect the difference between what came easily and when I had to sit down and say, "Well, now it's writing time and now I'll write." There's no difference on paper between the two.
- Frank Herbert
There's no difference on paper between the two. I know I sound like an idiot who's only just latched on to something that was common knowledge all this time, but I don't care. There's a time and a place to realize things. You can't do it sooner, you won't understand it in its entirety. You can't do it later, and if you do, you might as well not have realized it at all.
This is the right time for me to integrate the choice that there's no difference on paper between the two.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Damage Assessment (EWP)
Note: This article is part of the EWP
--
Creative spark
The escalation of commitment can be quite a dreadful thing. Just a little more than a week ago, I set out to write a short story simply because I felt like writing fiction. Drawing inspiration from Thomas Pynchon’s ‘Against The Day’ and the names of particles in the Standard Model of particle physics (along with a working knowledge of the LHC at CERN), I first set out a simple header-plot (which is what I call the template from which I work upward). Once that was done, I checked it to see if it read well. It did.
Great! The next step was to define the characters’ personas, which, for me, doesn’t take much time because I ‘wing’ it (yes, you read that right), as I do the plot itself. The only things I decide beforehand are the only things I really enjoy deciding in the short-run: the names of the characters and the locales. Anyway, on the 7th of March, I began to write my story. (Download: session I)
Incomplete inspiration – hallucinating an abundance of opportunities – willingness to experiment – hesitation to lay out full plot
Reality hits
After two days or so, I realized to my horror that my narrative was going full speed ahead while the dialogue and character and plot developments were going nowhere. Back then, I had recently been criticized for indulging myself with too much prose at the risk of turning the whole endeavour pedantic and droll-like. In order to set it right, I scrolled back to the top of the page and began to edit what I’d written.
You see, I don’t edit my works much. I understand how an article or a story can be polished again and again and how there are so many techniques for that, but I’m a hesitating pacifist – and that means I get angry first and then calm down. So, if I gave myself time to calm down, I’d probably come up with something extremely blunt and literarily non-penetrating. Now, since I was editing this story, I began to have a bad feeling about it. My ideas and my intentions change so much within the same ideological bounds that there was a chance for a paragraph to turn out like a semantic singsong. (Download: session II)
Celebratory indulgence – brakes applied suddenly – improper attitude towards editing – thinking faster than writing
Battle for revival
The third challenge, and also the last one, I was left to confront now was the scripture of dialogues. I’d sucked at it in the past and had always strived to keep it at a minimum. Now, however, since the story seemed to be going good even though an indication of sunk costs was beginning to present itself, I decided to go for it.
Now, there are two kinds of dialogues that I’ve observed in stories. The first is between two people who are both active participators in the contents of the talk. This is the easiest to write because all you have to do is a conversation with yourself (which writers and philosophers do a lot) and then break it into two halves, one for each interlocutor. The second type is when two people are talking but only one of them is actually paying any heed to what’s being discussed, a type that is very important in most books written because if everyone listened to what was being spoken, there wouldn’t be a plot worth expounding for reams on. If you read the draft, you’ll be able to easily deduce that I struggled at writing the lines. (Download: session III)
Over-analysis – struggling to generate "flow" – very systematic approach
Desperate experimentation
The two ensuing sections of the story were actually written in the neighbourhood of 00:00, March 13, and opened up my eyes to the mistake I was doing: it seemed that if I started to script the dialogues, I was reluctant to take up the narrative, and if I started to script the narrative, I was reluctant to take up the dialogues. This resulted in conspicuous fault lines appearing all over the text – discernible easily to the reader to the point of him being able to read my mind, to the point of my work of “fiction” becoming transparent to his eyes. Also, in order to mask my own logical proclivities – which are strong enough as it is – I took the trouble to NOT be aware of the whole plot myself. This, in turn, awarded me with the liberty to experiment with what the two characters were saying to each other. This is a risky way to go about writing anything since, with the sunk cost fallacy being a real possibility, it could drain you of your creative faculties. (Download: session IV)
Retaining the option of "killing" a project as need be – consumed by occasionally trivial fears
Surrender
The last few paragraphs are what speak truly and openly of my defeat: the sentences are too long, the choice of words defer to a subconscious lack of precision, the uneven amount of attention paid to different parts of the same setting hint at the absence of decisiveness. Game over. (Download: session V)
Sunk costs – fractional kill – diminishing returns
--
Fog index: 16.72
--
Creative spark
The escalation of commitment can be quite a dreadful thing. Just a little more than a week ago, I set out to write a short story simply because I felt like writing fiction. Drawing inspiration from Thomas Pynchon’s ‘Against The Day’ and the names of particles in the Standard Model of particle physics (along with a working knowledge of the LHC at CERN), I first set out a simple header-plot (which is what I call the template from which I work upward). Once that was done, I checked it to see if it read well. It did.
Great! The next step was to define the characters’ personas, which, for me, doesn’t take much time because I ‘wing’ it (yes, you read that right), as I do the plot itself. The only things I decide beforehand are the only things I really enjoy deciding in the short-run: the names of the characters and the locales. Anyway, on the 7th of March, I began to write my story. (Download: session I)
Incomplete inspiration – hallucinating an abundance of opportunities – willingness to experiment – hesitation to lay out full plot
Reality hits
After two days or so, I realized to my horror that my narrative was going full speed ahead while the dialogue and character and plot developments were going nowhere. Back then, I had recently been criticized for indulging myself with too much prose at the risk of turning the whole endeavour pedantic and droll-like. In order to set it right, I scrolled back to the top of the page and began to edit what I’d written.
You see, I don’t edit my works much. I understand how an article or a story can be polished again and again and how there are so many techniques for that, but I’m a hesitating pacifist – and that means I get angry first and then calm down. So, if I gave myself time to calm down, I’d probably come up with something extremely blunt and literarily non-penetrating. Now, since I was editing this story, I began to have a bad feeling about it. My ideas and my intentions change so much within the same ideological bounds that there was a chance for a paragraph to turn out like a semantic singsong. (Download: session II)
Celebratory indulgence – brakes applied suddenly – improper attitude towards editing – thinking faster than writing
Battle for revival
The third challenge, and also the last one, I was left to confront now was the scripture of dialogues. I’d sucked at it in the past and had always strived to keep it at a minimum. Now, however, since the story seemed to be going good even though an indication of sunk costs was beginning to present itself, I decided to go for it.
Now, there are two kinds of dialogues that I’ve observed in stories. The first is between two people who are both active participators in the contents of the talk. This is the easiest to write because all you have to do is a conversation with yourself (which writers and philosophers do a lot) and then break it into two halves, one for each interlocutor. The second type is when two people are talking but only one of them is actually paying any heed to what’s being discussed, a type that is very important in most books written because if everyone listened to what was being spoken, there wouldn’t be a plot worth expounding for reams on. If you read the draft, you’ll be able to easily deduce that I struggled at writing the lines. (Download: session III)
Over-analysis – struggling to generate "flow" – very systematic approach
Desperate experimentation
The two ensuing sections of the story were actually written in the neighbourhood of 00:00, March 13, and opened up my eyes to the mistake I was doing: it seemed that if I started to script the dialogues, I was reluctant to take up the narrative, and if I started to script the narrative, I was reluctant to take up the dialogues. This resulted in conspicuous fault lines appearing all over the text – discernible easily to the reader to the point of him being able to read my mind, to the point of my work of “fiction” becoming transparent to his eyes. Also, in order to mask my own logical proclivities – which are strong enough as it is – I took the trouble to NOT be aware of the whole plot myself. This, in turn, awarded me with the liberty to experiment with what the two characters were saying to each other. This is a risky way to go about writing anything since, with the sunk cost fallacy being a real possibility, it could drain you of your creative faculties. (Download: session IV)
Retaining the option of "killing" a project as need be – consumed by occasionally trivial fears
Surrender
The last few paragraphs are what speak truly and openly of my defeat: the sentences are too long, the choice of words defer to a subconscious lack of precision, the uneven amount of attention paid to different parts of the same setting hint at the absence of decisiveness. Game over. (Download: session V)
Sunk costs – fractional kill – diminishing returns
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Fog index: 16.72
Sunday, 13 March 2011
48 Suits
Seven seas south
Sail six ships
Singing silent songs
Sowing strange seeds
Seeking some siren
Saving some sops
Sleeping sans spectres
Sinking spare sods
Scourges slowly surround
Some sinning sailors
Seizing sleeping souls
Spelling sensual salvation
Soon severing sums
Sequestering sanity so
Sailed sallow ships
South seas seven
Sail six ships
Singing silent songs
Sowing strange seeds
Seeking some siren
Saving some sops
Sleeping sans spectres
Sinking spare sods
Scourges slowly surround
Some sinning sailors
Seizing sleeping souls
Spelling sensual salvation
Soon severing sums
Sequestering sanity so
Sailed sallow ships
South seas seven
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
A Story Through Ten Images
- An old draft, warm with all the years of our acquaintance, edged conveniently off the table. Outside, the world was up to something, it was always up to something, but I never bothered. It was up to no good anyway. Such evenings always made me smile, not in the cocky way some old fart smiles when his midlife crises hits him in the face, but in the cocky way an old soldier is allowed to feel, is entitled to feel. Those were the days... when the world was up to worse.
[caption id="attachment_146" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Of all the many journeys I was a part of, the Kohrin Expedition comes to mind now - not always, it's too special to be wondering about on any evening except this one. The Kohrin were an ancient people who civilized slowly, deliberately, accruing for themselves a foundation for their future so strong, so unshakeable, that they automatically threatened anyone they dealt with, whether by accident or by measure. In the fourth year of the twelfth solar cycle, a secret expedition was sent forth by an affluent Kohrini thug named Brull; I was conscripted along with four other pilots to deliver resources to rebel factions coming together to topple the ruling council of ministers. Brull wanted the crown for himself, the kingdom for his house."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_149" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="A 17-hour journey later, I was at SR-71 to meet with the faction titled Bazlac. To cut a long story short, they weren't there. The place was desolate, the wooden struts had been blasted off with undue force, pocks littered the face of the earth. Some of the spots were still smoldering and a wet track led away from them, deep in the squelch, a heavy vehicle of some kind had been here. Keeping the shuttle low, I followed it north for as long as it lasted. Then, in the distance..."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_148" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="A Citadel of Light, unmistakable from this distance, with its rounded ramparts and domed crowns, with the blue flames of necromancy climbing into the sky out of the blast-capillaries, hot as Hell, cold as Hell, webs of some strange silken cord hanging in strands from its facade. The mound of land on which it stood seemed still loose, which meant it was new, a "fresh" acquisition. The Drasil were cannibals, morally decadent spawn detested by the kinds of Brull even. The Bazlac were done for, I knew, but what the Drasil were doing so far outfield I didn't, so I decided to pay them a visit. A secret one."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_151" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The Drasil were very religious, which meant taking to the skies was equal to defying the airspace of the "Gods", so getting to the other side was easy. Perching atop a hill shrouded in mist, I found a vantage point after cloaking the shuttle, took my post and waited. Beneath, a sea of green light, within which boats were being scuttled. This was strange, there was no enemy army in sight, no threat, no chance of one either as a great army encircling the camp came to be seen under the dim light. Why were the boats being scuttled? I heard a noise behind me, and turning to look, saw it was a dunkke."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_152" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="A dunkke was a proselyte with the Drasil camp whose arms and legs had been cut off and substituted with electromechanical limbs that enhanced speed. They argued that, over the years, this left the brain to focus more on other activities, such as strategizing or backstabbing. Two red bulbs glowed bright on the bosom of this woman, which meant she had been deactivated. Her activation signals would gradually die out, leaving her immobile and starving to death. I walked up to the figure, dragged her to near the craft, and fed her some energy from the engines. She was obviously a traitor to the Drasilhani cause."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_153" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The first words out of her mouth and I prepared to disconnect her, but her arms were exceptionally strong. She was some kind of a warrior, absorbed into the cult through blackmail and torture, to dive beneath the seas and awaken the Purge. Brull had not sought to bring down Kohrin, at least at first, but instead sought to repel the Drasil. The Bazlac were planning to awaken the Purge themselves to quench the fire of the Kohrin and the Drasil had intervened. But why? The Drasil needed life to kill, fertility to blight."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_154" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The Purge was an antediluvian cabal buried midway between the outer crust and inner mantle of three planets in the entire galaxy, conceived and gestated since time immemorial by some Kohrin overlord, commanded to rise and be born as a machine with unimaginable power, with the sole purpose of melting and consuming whole planets within days. The one in SR-71 was named Red Hand. The three Purges were the ultimate weapons of the Kohrin, unstoppable, reckless in their hunger for metal and stone. Now, I understood the answer: the Kohrin had allied with the Drasil to eliminate fringe rebels, but the Drasil had grabbed the chance to reactivate the three Hands of Oblivion... against the Kohrin."]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_155" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="This here's the construction site behind my home. They're building some sort of an office, although for what I don't know. My planet's exactly one parsec away from SR-71, which means it will be another six years before Red Hand gets here. They don't know yet, or they'd be over their sorrow already and holding some sort of celebration, calling for world peace and brotherhood, what melodrama! I can't stand that. If they let me be, I'd let them be. That looks impossible all the time. Cancer's going to take me in another four months, so I figured, hey! Let's not tell them anything. Keep the mystery alive, that sorta thing, get me? After all, anything's possible!"]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_157" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Anything at all."]
[/caption]
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
On The Reawakening Of Dreams
As I was writing the entrance test that’s part of my application to the Columbia University today, my flow was broken, nay individuated, by the third and last question in the paper: “If given one month to report on a topic, what would the topic be? How would you go about studying and reporting it, and what media would you use to garner the maximum width of audience? Ensure that you don’t exceed 500 words.”
Of course, the last line was a terrible jolt to me; since I wasn’t being allowed to use the word-count companion, I began to type slowly, deliberately, counting each word as I put it down. Looking up at the clock, I saw that I had some 30 minutes remaining before the time would be up. I stopped typing and paused to think.
What would I report on? I had known the answer to that one for some four years, “The Impact Of Languages On Society”, but I could not go beyond thewhat of it all. You see, since the time I had completely structured the dream, per se, for myself, a lot of things had changed – the answers to most, if not all, of thehows had assumed different shapes and, with them, the whys, too. For example, if I were to present any statistical data after sampling and surveying (the methods for which have not changed significantly in a long time), I would have done so with tables with a small write-up accompanying each table. Now, I’ll have the tables, yes, but they wouldn’t be the nadirs of my hypotheses. Now, I have the Google Trendalyzer – more recently, it powered the Google Zeitgeist – together with Hans Rosling‘s Gapminder. With the coming of opportunities in programming and data visualization, the gap between raw data and the intended conclusion may have changed for the better. However, by being allowed to assume multiple perspectives with unchanging ease, the width of the audience that understood the praxis grew because the solution was now compatible with all the different ways in which the problem was being perceived by different people.
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Prof. Rosling"]
[/caption]
With that also increased involvement: presenting problems and solutions as seemingly dissociated elements only alienates the target audience because a) they feel excluded, b) they see no valid argument, or c) both. With the coming of Gapminder, which is a sterling example towards illustrating the consequential upgrading of perspectives it heralded (and, subsequently, the Trendalyzer), initiating increased audience participation became a 2-step process. In other words, affordable.
Soon, audience-participation and audience-inclusion was everywhere, eventually but quickly transcending crowd-sourcing into cloud-networking, where proactive attempts at bettering it only made it more intuitive. It was no longer necessary that I had to have all the resources to execute my projects; I could even be so much as a singular contributor – the plurality would be derived from a global network of research groups.
What did this mean for my hows? It meant that the long hours I had vouchsafed for perfect data representation had become short minutes, and I had time now to do so many other things – perhaps even spend them coming up with new ways to garner more meaningful data and chamfering the the conclusions. With more participation easierly (yeah, that’s a made-up word, but you get the semantic drift) available, undertaking standalone projects, or even aspiring to do so, would be foolish. In other words, unaffordable.
I went on to complete my paper so quickly that the examiner was surprised. I am sure I exceeded the word-limit but a few words, but I’m not worried. I’m sure they’ll get the point.
By widening the scope of the problem to include a malleated range of parameters to understand change at one end and widening the compatibility of solutions to address a longer list of issues at the other end, technology and the latitude of human thought have reawakened my dreams to a brighter world.
Of course, the last line was a terrible jolt to me; since I wasn’t being allowed to use the word-count companion, I began to type slowly, deliberately, counting each word as I put it down. Looking up at the clock, I saw that I had some 30 minutes remaining before the time would be up. I stopped typing and paused to think.
What would I report on? I had known the answer to that one for some four years, “The Impact Of Languages On Society”, but I could not go beyond thewhat of it all. You see, since the time I had completely structured the dream, per se, for myself, a lot of things had changed – the answers to most, if not all, of thehows had assumed different shapes and, with them, the whys, too. For example, if I were to present any statistical data after sampling and surveying (the methods for which have not changed significantly in a long time), I would have done so with tables with a small write-up accompanying each table. Now, I’ll have the tables, yes, but they wouldn’t be the nadirs of my hypotheses. Now, I have the Google Trendalyzer – more recently, it powered the Google Zeitgeist – together with Hans Rosling‘s Gapminder. With the coming of opportunities in programming and data visualization, the gap between raw data and the intended conclusion may have changed for the better. However, by being allowed to assume multiple perspectives with unchanging ease, the width of the audience that understood the praxis grew because the solution was now compatible with all the different ways in which the problem was being perceived by different people.
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Prof. Rosling"]
[/caption]With that also increased involvement: presenting problems and solutions as seemingly dissociated elements only alienates the target audience because a) they feel excluded, b) they see no valid argument, or c) both. With the coming of Gapminder, which is a sterling example towards illustrating the consequential upgrading of perspectives it heralded (and, subsequently, the Trendalyzer), initiating increased audience participation became a 2-step process. In other words, affordable.
Soon, audience-participation and audience-inclusion was everywhere, eventually but quickly transcending crowd-sourcing into cloud-networking, where proactive attempts at bettering it only made it more intuitive. It was no longer necessary that I had to have all the resources to execute my projects; I could even be so much as a singular contributor – the plurality would be derived from a global network of research groups.
What did this mean for my hows? It meant that the long hours I had vouchsafed for perfect data representation had become short minutes, and I had time now to do so many other things – perhaps even spend them coming up with new ways to garner more meaningful data and chamfering the the conclusions. With more participation easierly (yeah, that’s a made-up word, but you get the semantic drift) available, undertaking standalone projects, or even aspiring to do so, would be foolish. In other words, unaffordable.
I went on to complete my paper so quickly that the examiner was surprised. I am sure I exceeded the word-limit but a few words, but I’m not worried. I’m sure they’ll get the point.
By widening the scope of the problem to include a malleated range of parameters to understand change at one end and widening the compatibility of solutions to address a longer list of issues at the other end, technology and the latitude of human thought have reawakened my dreams to a brighter world.
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