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Month: January, 2012

It doesn’t make sense

for guys to be chasing skirts when we don’t moist our panties watching Twilight. We aren’t desperate for romantic encounters and orgasm comes easy with porn and a bottle of lubricant. We don’t put up false fronts just to be better connected so we can curb our boredom by hanging out with strangers everyday. Being alone is easy with Warcraft.  A pair of presentable sneakers will suffice for all occasions, we don’t need to impress with heels that glitter or dresses so revealing that a naked mole rat will feel shameful for wearing. We don’t annoy our friends by ringing them in the middle of night to sermon about how unthoughtful our valentine was, the latest science paper published by Stephen Hawking distracts us well enough. We don’t need people, solitude is more comfortable for us than for them.

It’s clear that demand for love is higher on their side. They should be chasing our pants instead. Orthodox views on gender roles can go to hell when the game is clearly to our advantage. We should be passive and let them be the pursuers.

PS: But we are just victims of our own ego lol.


My first poem

Novelty is what we are

Novelty is what we are
until time transpires us otherwise.
We are no longer the thrill,
being expired through four eyes.
The agony from feeling repetition
is inevitable in the face of causation.
We cry, we loathe, we squabble
though that face of yours is still adorable.

Separation comes next.
The pavement which we once walked together
is no longer
when a fork is permanently made.
Our fingers no longer knotted
and arms strain to reach.
As charming love starts to falter,
we accuse it as a bitch.

Now in cold beds we find warmth,
and solitude is company.
Sugar bitters the coffee
and shame makes us haughty.
My boss is not obnoxious
and yours, much less lecherous.
Darling! They addressed the lice
on my dog that ought to be euthanized!

Until the day when
Thud thud thud,
the drizzle grouse.
Chirp chirp chirp,
get away from my house!
Alone is no longer hued,
your novelty has renewed.

Time regrets the imp he has been,
as he attaches the wings of cupid
back where it originally is.
The fork converges.
We laugh, we love, we merge
in bed while we tease each other stupid.

Seeing our soul in harmony,
Time ponders on the flipside of story.
He reverts his role as imp
and breaks us in a whisk.
Novelty is what we are and
Time is our master.

With the internet.

we must be the most inactive generation ever. It does so much to help, entertain, and occupy but also to enslave and squander time away meaninglessly. Time spent on enjoying IS time wasted if in retrospect one realizes there’s much more that can be done. The root of all unhappiness is inoccupation, which is a result of inaction. It’s no wonder that books on happiness are flying off book shelves like hotcakes, with all the convenient things available to us these days, we ironically are the least happy of all generations that ever lived. First world countries residents no longer struggle to make themsleves comfortable because by default, we are in comfort. When the perpetual chase for comfort and security is no longer required to live, which is life’s natural order, we lose vision and eventually meaning. We appreciate less, we reflect less and then we lose more. So what if information is available just by the click of a button, the value of knowledge is lost during the short-lived click itself. Students no longer break their piggy banks to pay for library loans, information is indefinite and taken for granted. How endearing yet poisonous this thing called the World Wide Web is. It indeed is a web, something that snares the unsuspecting while a creepy crawly loiter around the corner. But the creep is none other than us, the generation who helped in building the web. The generation who pioneered the culture of apathy towards information that will otherwise be deemed valuable through effortful procurement any other time. The dignity of knowledge isn’t the creep’s only victim, but also relationships and the natural beauty of things. The more extensive this web is, the more convenient things are for us, the less we will value. Such is now the propensity of life and such will be. Unhappiness is inaction and inaction caused by the convenient of things will soar further heights in the decades to come.

This is me prosing to bless the year and the years ahead. Happy Chinese New Year.

Writing is awesome because …

For most things else, thinking about doing it is easier than actually doing it. For example, it’s easier to imagine yourself doing the laundry than actually doing it. Because thinking is just lying on bed and imaging it, but doing it requires you to get dressed and burn some fats. But only for writing, especially on philosophical discourse or similar complicated matters(which i enjoy most), writing what you intend to think, is actually easier than just thinking about it. Your thoughts do not fully flesh and prosper until you start writing and the agony it saves is invaluable in retrospect.

I love writing <33333

Objectivity in aesthetics

I’m a pedant when it comes to philosophy of aesthetic appreciation and takes offense at anyone who claims that all works of art can only be subjectively appreciated. In other words, adamant claims that there is no inherent value in all artworks and their values can only be determined subjectively. (Eg, I love Transfomers because it is an awesome movie. My experience with it is a fantastic one and since this is my personal opinion it cannot be wrong because on whether a movie is good or bad, it is entirely subjective. To say that my personal opinion is wrong, you are a bigot.) These claims are not only ill informed but reductionistic. No matter the form of art, as long it can be appreciated aesthetically, there must be objective guidelines in determining it’s value. Although these guidelines may be yield arbitrarily, it does not defeat the function of it as a authoritative yardstick. In simple words, an artwork cannot be masterful simply because it’s enjoyed by many and it cannot be bad simply because it brings no enjoyment(although it does affect it’s overall aesthetic). More needs to be considered. From the paintings of Picasso to the music of Mozart to a plate of risotto spiced up by Wolfgang Puck, their works can only be valued subjectively through objective guidelines.

The guidelines can be streamlined into the areas of craft, creativity and experience, and their names alone should give you a pretty good idea on how they work. Depending on the form of artwork, these guidelines weigh differently in deciding the artwork’s aesthetic value and I will be exemplifying them herein, soon.

Craft – The skill-sets involved in making the art itself and the difficulty in executing it. Nothing too fancy about this point. On artworks such as movies and food, craft is often overlooked but it is the very essence of works like micro sculpting. The art is all in the difficulty of making the artwork itself and naturally dictates it’s aesthetic value. In this sense, works as such is artful mostly because their audience is able to understand the precision in making it, on whether it possess other aesthetic qualities like inherent beauty is irrelevant(or comes much later on). In surreal paintings and even orchestral classical music, craft is greatly emphasized as well.

Creativity – Or originality as some would put it to be. The tremendous creativity energy that’s needed in making the art. Creativity is most valued in Avant-garde works because well, as the name would suggest, that is the main pursuit of the Avant-garde “movement”. Or more relevantly to everyone, screen writing. The conception of every great movie depends on the script and the conception of every great script depends on one single idea, the craft of writing it can come later. Think about movies like “Moon”, “Inception” or “The sixth sense”, the brilliance of these movies does not come foremost from the craft of writing witty dialogues or memorable scenes but in one single idea that has never been discovered,(or discovered well enough) and this idea owes to the pails of creative juice that writers had sacrificed before the script’s conceptualization.

Experience – So here we are at the root of problem, the only criteria that most people use to measure the aesthetic value of an artwork. And since their experience with art are so vastly different, they dismiss the possibility of art having an objective value and claim that it can only be subjectively appreciated. I love movies, my knowledge of movies is deeper than all other forms of art and I will be using movies to support on how can our experience alone be an inaccurate representation of the artwork’s value.

Before the question can be answered it’s important to ask ourselves what exactly is art, how do we enjoy art? Most artwork(in fact, maybe all artworks, but I am just being conservative here) are enjoyed through reflections of ourselves. That is to say that we all experience art differently because we are all different. The things we’ve experienced in life is different and these “different things” will inevitably influence the way we look at a piece of art, in short, our relationship with the piece of art. And this “relationship” will invariably dictate our experience with it. (Eg. Guys love transformers and because guys being guys are testosterone driven oafishes that love explosions, giant robots and sexy girls and transformers happens to be one of their favourtie childhood cartoons. So with all these alluring things combined, their experience with the movie becomes a marvelous one and they think of it as the greatest thing ever flashed on screen. But girls having led a different life does not share the same sentiment, nurtured out of cartoons such as winx club or totally spies or god knows what do girls watch these days, giant robots saving the day is just most flavorless to them. Their “relationship” with the movie is a bland one resulting in a bad experience.)(Eg2. John loves rock music because he grew up listening to his Dad’s cassette of Queen, Joy Division and some other old bands that pretentious people claim they love. He’s familiar with the genre and it’s a rule of thumb in behavioral economics that familiarity breeds liking. John dislikes classical because the genre is wildly foreign to him. But as much as John’s experience with classical music is a tormenting one, he cannot ignore the craft and creative juice that Mozart bled in constructing Symphony 25(or something). And these are the objective, inherent and indispensable aesthetic value to Mozart’s art.) Having rant what I just did, since our experience is but a reflection of our relationship with the artwork, this alone cannot be used to determine how good or bad an artwork is. And if you stubbornly attempt to, in the face of patternless statistic, the conclusion of all artworks bearing no inherent aesthetic value will be reached.

But I am hardly saying that since our experience with art are all so different they must be erroneous, that’s just downright silly. Experience cannot be wrong or right. It is only “wrong” to use our experience alone in finding out the aesthetic value of an artwork. Besides, the beauty of art comes from it’s capabilities to elicit a certain emotion out of it’s audience. To completely ignore what we feel towards the artwork and apply the other two guidelines mentioned above is silly.

To summarize my hefty chunk of words, art isn’t completely subjective but at the same time, no definite value exist in all artworks since these guidelines can only be used arbitrarily(Eg. Who is to determine if the craft of surreal painting or micro sculpting is more technical since the skill-sets involved are entirely differently. But the craft in both needs to be considered and respected which strongly influences the aesthetic value of an artwork). But it is only when we conflate and consider the three objective guidelines cogently(and we should), can the value of art be more discernible and objective.

great results, greater expectations.

After throwing several weekends into the furnace and hefty deprivation of sleep, LAB(some annual vehicle inspection event) has reached a fruitful conclusion. Our results are excellent, proving that with stoicism and unity, perfection is not just an ideal but a tangible target that’s within reach. While it paints a bright and hopeful picture for the regulars in surmounting higher barriers, all I see is a clumsy splash of gray. Expectations works like inflation, up is the only direction it can go. As much as I love to think of the glass as half full, it isn’t. The glass is empty, thanks to the seams that water had seeped from, ready to cut the hands that realized these results. To cut the metaphor short, I am screwed.

Army matters aside, CNY is just around the corner and I am now enjoying my 8days of well deserved rest. All I want to do is lay on bed and ogle at my unusually clean nails. Family visiting will be arbitrary since my parents are both out of town. Time to occupy myself by running around the island snapping beautiful pictures!

More updates will come when my migraine decides to leave me alone. Bye.

My life in six words.

A silly talk that sparked inspiration.
My life summarized in six words.

Why a penis? I want vulva! 

Now you know mine, what’s yours?

PS: I am not gay, just lazy. Being a guy can be tiring.

I cant wait for CNY

It must be a first that I am eager for CNY. Not that I enjoy family visiting or the red packets salivates me but CNY will mark the end of all nonsense which I am suffering from right now. K, maybe suffering is too strong a word but it just doesn’t feel nice to be doing something and not knowing why are you doing it except that you are expected to. Plus whining will just make you look bad since everyone else is complying with whatever they are assigned to without further questions. Just imagine plowing a borderless field every waking hour because everyone is and being ostracized or labeled lazy will suck for your future comfort. Not to mention the slightest defiance towards order will potentially warrant you a holiday in prison. A bleak world of all sticks and no carrots. That’s my life for the past month or so, confused and unconcerned of everything that I occupy my hands with. Nuts, bolts, spanners and even grease aren’t repulsive things but the mundanity of staring at them 14hrs a day is. Can’t wait to pop the champagne when this silly game of “stick avoiding” is over, which is very soon. Next week is all about being engaged in a one sided verbal war and deigning with every remark made on their part. I don’t care anymore, it’s just ridiculous to pay more attention to something that I absolutely unconcerned for.

Plans for CNY and after.

1: Read more books.
2: Watch more movies.
3. Pet more neighborhood animals.

How exciting.

The Artist – A movie review

I love Paul Thomas Anderson, I read the bible of Tarantinoism thrice a week and Woody Allen is easily the most adorable man on earth. What do these prolific directors have in common? Not for their adeptness in the heavy use of CGI or their steady hands in dragging a craned camera over Wall Street but their mastery in crafting witty and engaging dialogues.

Before the cinematography of a film catches my affection, intuitive dialogues are what that strikes me hardest and I am sure the same applies for many generations of film critics. Annie Hall was hardly fresh in it’s plot and yet it’s success is indisputable 30 years ago. Pulp fiction was neither cinematically pleasing nor conventionally directed but those trivialities can hardly deter a film from robbing several academy awards in the presence of 120pages worth of engrossing dialogues. And who can predict a bowling alley and a glass of milkshake to be the symbolic features(last scene of There Will Be Blood) of what the Oscar panel refer to as “Magnificent!”. Dialogues, I can’t deny them as the soul of all movies … well, that’s just an ill informed fantasy of mine before The Artist.

Prior to watching The Artist, Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights was my only experience with a full length BW silent movie. Although remarkable given the era it’s made in and enjoyable watching it today, it was nothing imperative towards my appreciation of films. Given my uninspiring experience with this retired genre of films, I couldn’t imagine how different can The Artist be despite the accolades that critics had harried upon it and I am glad to leave the cinema being proved otherwise.

The Artist revolves around a simple plot line that swims against the direction of many quality benchmarks. It doesn’t try to impress it’s audience through a perplexing story or does it tries to rivet them with an epic tale, the charm is all in it’s sincerity, saying what it wants to say at the best time it can be said with no pretense.

While telling a story that tackles it’s audience viscerally, The Artist stresses itself on the fundamentals of film making not breaking a single of it’s commandments. No ambitious tracking shots were used in the entire movie, every scene was first entered with a master shot to capture the ambience, then a close up for the actors to mug at the screen with their convincing and delicate expression and once the message is delivered, the scenes cuts off fluently. Being turning points of the movie, only two scenes were cinematically outstanding with their relevant use of reflection, first was through a mirror in the dressing room and second was a reflection of the windows of a posh boutique. Not a single minute of screen time is wasted, no forced moments just to humor the audience and thank God that it’s devoid of silly cultural references(eg. I am a pigeon and i am tweeting because twitter is so cool!).

Knowing how technical the craft of writing appealing characters are, I silently regarded Toy Story 3 my best movie of 2010(or even the decade) mainly for it’s colorful and dynamically crafted characters and in comparing that aspect, The Artist doesn’t fall far from behind(if it’s not for the large cast in Toy Story 3 which makes it even more so impressive, The Artist may actually surpass TS3 here). Although some may receive more screen time then the rest, it doesn’t prevent the audience from having some inclination towards all of them. The characters are perfectly imperfect, erring with best intentions at some point of the movie all the more making them endearing. As sudden fame overwhelms Peppy Miller, despite being a bubbly and earnest lady, during an impromptu interview, slips her tongue to offend George Valentin causing spark between the two lovers. George Valentin despite being a devoted artist that respects acting as a form of art, allows his ego to poison the better of him by dismissing help from anybody. Al Zimmer, the movie tycoon, despite his frank advice to George in adapting with market demands is treated with disrespect and is shone in the light of a despicable mercenary. And last by not least, Uggy the Jack Russell, despite his good relationship with George Valentin, carelessly insinuates his suicide attempt before reconciling the lovers moments after.

Even in classic BW silent movies, the use of dialogues were inevitable. For those that are unfamiliar with it, terse dialogues were flashed across the screen occasionally either to inject a nuance to it or to explain a consequential idea too elaborated to be said through facial expression. Michel Hazanavicius was especially thoughtful in the use of these subtle expressions, every word flashed was pivotal as it is intriguing. Despite having written less than thirty lines of transcript for the entire movie, the impact that these stingy words pack is probably enough to surmount every word that Megan Fox once said in her career. To further exemplify his attention to detail and seriousness towards film making, despite being “mere” scores of a film, it’s thoughtfulness will make any classical composer be willing to claim as a work of his. Being a BW silent movie, the music isn’t “just” another element to the film, but is essential in invoking every emotion out of the audience how the director fully intends.

Although the colour is monochrome and the sound is silent it doesn’t stop the experience being an immeasurable delight. The Artist is a gentle yet important reminder of how movies should be and represents what cinematic excellence is. It’s a aesthetically hand written letter that mocks at the multi-million budgeted films that Hollywood churns out in increasing numbers year after year and rewrites everything we once thought we knew about movie. Michel Hazanavicius is the new role model for any serious film maker.

thank god

that god that movies exist to always accompany me, if not i’ll have to make do with a noose and rock with a bed of fishes.