Sunday, November 28, 2004
A.T. Esq
I'm beginning to see why suffering exists. One reason - it validates the existence of happiness (and other nice, good, fluffy cuddly things). It makes them seem so much better. Being dragged through a muddy embankment and emerging on a green jewel-encrusted vale is far more satisfying than a brisk walk in the park. That said, I shall probably regret every ounce of this tomorrow morning. Roll on life!
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Fallible
Papal infallibility. To all those Catholics out there, I'm sorry - it's just not possible. To err is human, to forgive - divine.
A wise soul once told me that winners never quit and quitters never win. Ms Seery, your mantra is more apt and fitting than you could ever know. My sincere thanks. With the good comes the bad, I suppose. A new day will dawn from the ashen horizon of the old.
Today's little discourse will grumble on about stereotypes. Hear the crank speak!
In our postmodern, politically correct, androgynously castrated world we pride ourselves on a tolerance that has failed to curb the hatred exploding from beneath. I do not advocate discrimination in any way, shape or form. I merely suggest that at the end of the day, it is our prejudices that save us. Almost (but hardly) analagous to the limbic system - it's an old but intrinsic thing, which preserves us. Even if it were the product of conditioning, surely there is a reason for such behaviour to be perpetuated so strongly in society. Ultimately, those stereotypes are difficult to comprehend and although they cleave the planes of human diversity, the resulting shapes form a startling mosaic that somehow prevents us going totally mad. This doesn't make sense. None of it does. I'm sleepy.
A wise soul once told me that winners never quit and quitters never win. Ms Seery, your mantra is more apt and fitting than you could ever know. My sincere thanks. With the good comes the bad, I suppose. A new day will dawn from the ashen horizon of the old.
Today's little discourse will grumble on about stereotypes. Hear the crank speak!
In our postmodern, politically correct, androgynously castrated world we pride ourselves on a tolerance that has failed to curb the hatred exploding from beneath. I do not advocate discrimination in any way, shape or form. I merely suggest that at the end of the day, it is our prejudices that save us. Almost (but hardly) analagous to the limbic system - it's an old but intrinsic thing, which preserves us. Even if it were the product of conditioning, surely there is a reason for such behaviour to be perpetuated so strongly in society. Ultimately, those stereotypes are difficult to comprehend and although they cleave the planes of human diversity, the resulting shapes form a startling mosaic that somehow prevents us going totally mad. This doesn't make sense. None of it does. I'm sleepy.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Draining a Mental Abscess
What do you do when a part of your soul is locked away, walled off to fester in the deepest recesses of your mind?
Life could be worse. It could be better. I cast a cursory glance over my blog entries and wonder whether visitors to this site come because they like knowing that there is some fool out there who registers slightly higher on the insanity scale than they do. Perhaps it is of some cool comfort to you that you can mock my trivial raves about my insignificant pains. Indeed, you may enjoy this as a silly comic monologue that fills the channels of the Internet with yet more junk that just happens to be slightly more presumptuous than it deems itself to be. I know this perpetual self analysis leads nowhere. I'm playing it out to see where I'll be led by my own wandering thoughts. Our minds meander - at least mine does. Tomorrow will be a new day, a red sunrise will (if unobscured by grey clouds) herald bouts of rainy English weather, further dampening (and perhaps diluting) one's already sodden spirits. Ponder for a while whether it's all worth the daily grind - what lies ahead? Perhaps you've reached the conclusion that nothing is worth the effort that is needlessly spent to sustain it. We're all reeling into the depths of a foggy, mist-shrouded moorland tomb that will gladly swallow us whole to feed yet another cycle of ignorant life. If I sound like a mad killjoy, or better still a proponent of existential nihilism (if you'd do me the honours!), then perhaps I'm misunderstood. I'm merely a (rather lost) confused person driven to the brink by his own self-conversations which he (self-voyeuristically) chooses to publish online. Read more: http://www.iep.utm.edu/n/nihilism.htm. They have a fabulous quote pinched from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I'm that idiot. Worse still, you're my audience. Sincerity has no friends but tells no lies.
Life could be worse. It could be better. I cast a cursory glance over my blog entries and wonder whether visitors to this site come because they like knowing that there is some fool out there who registers slightly higher on the insanity scale than they do. Perhaps it is of some cool comfort to you that you can mock my trivial raves about my insignificant pains. Indeed, you may enjoy this as a silly comic monologue that fills the channels of the Internet with yet more junk that just happens to be slightly more presumptuous than it deems itself to be. I know this perpetual self analysis leads nowhere. I'm playing it out to see where I'll be led by my own wandering thoughts. Our minds meander - at least mine does. Tomorrow will be a new day, a red sunrise will (if unobscured by grey clouds) herald bouts of rainy English weather, further dampening (and perhaps diluting) one's already sodden spirits. Ponder for a while whether it's all worth the daily grind - what lies ahead? Perhaps you've reached the conclusion that nothing is worth the effort that is needlessly spent to sustain it. We're all reeling into the depths of a foggy, mist-shrouded moorland tomb that will gladly swallow us whole to feed yet another cycle of ignorant life. If I sound like a mad killjoy, or better still a proponent of existential nihilism (if you'd do me the honours!), then perhaps I'm misunderstood. I'm merely a (rather lost) confused person driven to the brink by his own self-conversations which he (self-voyeuristically) chooses to publish online. Read more: http://www.iep.utm.edu/n/nihilism.htm. They have a fabulous quote pinched from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I'm that idiot. Worse still, you're my audience. Sincerity has no friends but tells no lies.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Desperado
From the depths of the tarry pits I cry, a muffled snort piercing the dim darkness around as the incoherent sound falls into its own noiseless shadow.
How can something that was meant to go so well turn out so incredibly, horribly wrong? Tomorrow I return to the same fiery chasm. I hate my life. No more pretenses - no more flowery terms or silly expressions - I come clean - I hate my life. Desperation and despair have now set in and the rot has reached a raw nerve. Leave it to a master of melancholic repetition to continually intone in the gloomiest of baritones the slide into his own demise.
I'm too tired to write anymore. I shall slip into a fitful coma and pretend to be dead for a while. Oh yes, that would be nice. N.B. I do not condone suicide. It is bad for the species, not to mention costly to the ambulance services and detrimental to onlookers. Then again, pathologists must have a field day. Jigsaw puzzles all over again.
Indeed. Life is like a jigsaw puzzle - you never know which piece you're missing at the very end, so you write to the company hoping to get a replacement, only to find out they've gone out of business.
More to the point - (or actually, less so) - jigsaw puzzles and life - they're broken. Split along many planes, always presenting tricks to the mind, with subtle changes creeping between those jagged edges. The big picture can only be seen at the end, but we so often lose sight of it - just as we so often concentrate on the minutiae and details only to forget how to appreciate how cool life really is. I'm amused at how I've managed to somehow (albeit temporarily) write myself out of my little clot of misery. Cathartic, almost (I like saying that). I also (irritatingly) like brackets/parentheses. How incredibly awkward. I don't really know what to say.
How can something that was meant to go so well turn out so incredibly, horribly wrong? Tomorrow I return to the same fiery chasm. I hate my life. No more pretenses - no more flowery terms or silly expressions - I come clean - I hate my life. Desperation and despair have now set in and the rot has reached a raw nerve. Leave it to a master of melancholic repetition to continually intone in the gloomiest of baritones the slide into his own demise.
I'm too tired to write anymore. I shall slip into a fitful coma and pretend to be dead for a while. Oh yes, that would be nice. N.B. I do not condone suicide. It is bad for the species, not to mention costly to the ambulance services and detrimental to onlookers. Then again, pathologists must have a field day. Jigsaw puzzles all over again.
Indeed. Life is like a jigsaw puzzle - you never know which piece you're missing at the very end, so you write to the company hoping to get a replacement, only to find out they've gone out of business.
More to the point - (or actually, less so) - jigsaw puzzles and life - they're broken. Split along many planes, always presenting tricks to the mind, with subtle changes creeping between those jagged edges. The big picture can only be seen at the end, but we so often lose sight of it - just as we so often concentrate on the minutiae and details only to forget how to appreciate how cool life really is. I'm amused at how I've managed to somehow (albeit temporarily) write myself out of my little clot of misery. Cathartic, almost (I like saying that). I also (irritatingly) like brackets/parentheses. How incredibly awkward. I don't really know what to say.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Borborygmi and Brain-melt
Today I shall pontificate. Yep. As the sun doth shine (albeit for a precious few hours this season), the birds do tweet (providing the cold hasn't killed off those too weak to migrate to Africa) and the fulsome wholeness of my ego rumbles on like a juggernaut over the crumpled husks of yesterday's dissenters.....indeed, it's time for some cathartic rubbish-spouting.
By the way, please excuse the pretentious tone - it comes naturally with the borborygmi - I'm insatiably hungry...I guarantee, I shall digress...
I'm a little short on inspiration at the moment, but there is one thing that's been nagging at me for quite some time. Simply put: Intention. Most actions in life are simple reflections of highly developed reflexes:
"Good morning, neighbour! Isn't the weather lovely? How's your aunt Winnie?"
"Sod off, you old git! It's pouring bucketloads of industrial acidic effluent, her name's Wilhelmina, and I'll never forgive you for painting your side of the fence bright orange with sky-blue hex-symbols! Get thee hence, minion of Hecate!"
Regardless, 'original' ideas and not-quite-spontaneous reactions somehow manage to percolate through those dense layers of cerebral cortex every now and then.
'Perhaps I should help that person in trouble over there'. It's not quite instinctive - one might be in a rush for lectures or thinking about how amidst all the pain and suffering in the world it's wonderful to be able to procrasatinate and type yet another mindless blog entry. Whatever the case, that split-second processing sometimes triggers another thought: that self-satisfied feeling of having done a good turn to a fellow member of humanity struggling to keep running on this spinning celestial orb. Is that feeling justified? What about the momentary need to make a decision? Surely true selflessness would (rather un-streetwise-ly) offer a helping hand without pausing to size up the situation. Does the sense of 'kudos' negate any intangible benefit there might otherwise have been, instead replacing it with a little speck of pride - selfish pride - at having flexed one's own superiority in a minuscule by assisting another person?
Certainly, you could blandly claim some kind of 'what goes around, comes around' idea, but that kind of prognostication brings little satisfaction to anyone's life. Indeed, to make my point - this discussion itself could trigger all sorts of thoughts in a reader's mind:
confusion/dismay/utter disbelief at my trivial discourse on a matter of no real cosmic significance/etc.
My brain has baked itself into a molten mush and I'm feeling tired. The week has been long and I shudder to think of what lies ahead. Roll on tomorrow!
By the way, please excuse the pretentious tone - it comes naturally with the borborygmi - I'm insatiably hungry...I guarantee, I shall digress...
I'm a little short on inspiration at the moment, but there is one thing that's been nagging at me for quite some time. Simply put: Intention. Most actions in life are simple reflections of highly developed reflexes:
"Good morning, neighbour! Isn't the weather lovely? How's your aunt Winnie?"
"Sod off, you old git! It's pouring bucketloads of industrial acidic effluent, her name's Wilhelmina, and I'll never forgive you for painting your side of the fence bright orange with sky-blue hex-symbols! Get thee hence, minion of Hecate!"
Regardless, 'original' ideas and not-quite-spontaneous reactions somehow manage to percolate through those dense layers of cerebral cortex every now and then.
'Perhaps I should help that person in trouble over there'. It's not quite instinctive - one might be in a rush for lectures or thinking about how amidst all the pain and suffering in the world it's wonderful to be able to procrasatinate and type yet another mindless blog entry. Whatever the case, that split-second processing sometimes triggers another thought: that self-satisfied feeling of having done a good turn to a fellow member of humanity struggling to keep running on this spinning celestial orb. Is that feeling justified? What about the momentary need to make a decision? Surely true selflessness would (rather un-streetwise-ly) offer a helping hand without pausing to size up the situation. Does the sense of 'kudos' negate any intangible benefit there might otherwise have been, instead replacing it with a little speck of pride - selfish pride - at having flexed one's own superiority in a minuscule by assisting another person?
Certainly, you could blandly claim some kind of 'what goes around, comes around' idea, but that kind of prognostication brings little satisfaction to anyone's life. Indeed, to make my point - this discussion itself could trigger all sorts of thoughts in a reader's mind:
confusion/dismay/utter disbelief at my trivial discourse on a matter of no real cosmic significance/etc.
My brain has baked itself into a molten mush and I'm feeling tired. The week has been long and I shudder to think of what lies ahead. Roll on tomorrow!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
24 hours
There are too few hours in a day.
Do excuse the disjointed nature of this piece. It is not an essay.
I've bought (£897) my flight home. Yet another 17000 air-miles accrued to the mileage bank. I ordered the kosher meal from London to Singapore and the halal meal from Singapore to London. On board I shall ask to switch to the pork selection. That should flummox those immaculately-dressed, daintily-clad, sarong-kebaya-wearing Singapore Airlines air-drones. Hahahaha.....but to be fair, they're really nice to me. It's the bureaucracy I can't stand.....
I've just realised something. I don't need to feel guilty. Not anymore. I don't need mcuh of a social conscience - one can be rather evil and there isn't much of a payback.....
Made sandwiches for the homeless last Friday. Oooh.....don't I sound like such a hypocrite, just after the previous paragraph. Still, it felt good and the scrapings of leftover cheddar were certainly quite tasty.
My cousin Eve(lyn) visits next week. I hike in Kent this Sunday. Neuroscience is still no better but hopefully Haematology will hold itself together until Friday. My first firm beckons next Tuesday, under the stern supervision of Professor Allen-Mersh at the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital. Gastrointestinal surgery it is, then. Hurrah!
I had dreams of making creamy Pulot Hitam with coconut milk, but that shall have to await my return to Singapore. I'm thinking of joining the canoe club next Tuesday - just found out about them - I'm absolutely thrilled and rather excited at the prospect of skidding down rapids some time soon....
Learned a new swimming technique last night with Hugh. Interesting. I didn't drink too much pool water/toddler pee.
Bought four more posters today at half-price. Rather pleased with myself.
Now for something poetic. Oliver has been writing a doggerel of haiku verse, so I shan't try to compete with his magnificent efforts.
I can only manage two lines, after that little Corax/Columba dichotomous verse thing (posted below, Thu Nov 11).
Actually, never mind. I'll post it next time.
Do excuse the disjointed nature of this piece. It is not an essay.
I've bought (£897) my flight home. Yet another 17000 air-miles accrued to the mileage bank. I ordered the kosher meal from London to Singapore and the halal meal from Singapore to London. On board I shall ask to switch to the pork selection. That should flummox those immaculately-dressed, daintily-clad, sarong-kebaya-wearing Singapore Airlines air-drones. Hahahaha.....but to be fair, they're really nice to me. It's the bureaucracy I can't stand.....
I've just realised something. I don't need to feel guilty. Not anymore. I don't need mcuh of a social conscience - one can be rather evil and there isn't much of a payback.....
Made sandwiches for the homeless last Friday. Oooh.....don't I sound like such a hypocrite, just after the previous paragraph. Still, it felt good and the scrapings of leftover cheddar were certainly quite tasty.
My cousin Eve(lyn) visits next week. I hike in Kent this Sunday. Neuroscience is still no better but hopefully Haematology will hold itself together until Friday. My first firm beckons next Tuesday, under the stern supervision of Professor Allen-Mersh at the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital. Gastrointestinal surgery it is, then. Hurrah!
I had dreams of making creamy Pulot Hitam with coconut milk, but that shall have to await my return to Singapore. I'm thinking of joining the canoe club next Tuesday - just found out about them - I'm absolutely thrilled and rather excited at the prospect of skidding down rapids some time soon....
Learned a new swimming technique last night with Hugh. Interesting. I didn't drink too much pool water/toddler pee.
Bought four more posters today at half-price. Rather pleased with myself.
Now for something poetic. Oliver has been writing a doggerel of haiku verse, so I shan't try to compete with his magnificent efforts.
I can only manage two lines, after that little Corax/Columba dichotomous verse thing (posted below, Thu Nov 11).
Actually, never mind. I'll post it next time.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Resurrection! It lives! It lives!
This emotional rollercoaster has finally come to an end. Nothing short of that little concept of 'mirabilis' has occurred. Those of you who have been so unsupportive with your head-nodding, umm-ing and ahh-ing, words of 'advice'.....you've all been proved wrong by one tiny little thing. The mushy side of me (see below: 'Softy') would call it 'hope' but I know better.....it's the indomitable never-say-die, at-all-costs, stick-with-it (I'm fond of triple-word-jigs) spirit of PERSEVERANCE. Just wait and ride out the storm.....
Mr U.S.B. Drive was found (missing only his cap) in the dark recesses of my tan chinos at 1915hrs, 15/11/2004. Having been drowned in the spinning vortex of a washing machine and hung out to dry the previous weekend, he miraculously survived intact, with all his data preserved! He has now been reunited with his cap and shall be gradually nursed back to health. We salute you, Mr Drive. A true hero and a sterling example to us all.
Mr U.S.B. Drive was found (missing only his cap) in the dark recesses of my tan chinos at 1915hrs, 15/11/2004. Having been drowned in the spinning vortex of a washing machine and hung out to dry the previous weekend, he miraculously survived intact, with all his data preserved! He has now been reunited with his cap and shall be gradually nursed back to health. We salute you, Mr Drive. A true hero and a sterling example to us all.
Softy
I feel very 'soft' right now. Perhaps it's my new fleece hoodie, or the abrading cold weather rubbing down my hardened exterior shell.
I can't quite describe the feeling.
Anyway, my sanity is also being eroded by the sheer madness of trying to book a flight home to Singapore. Mainly to get the airmiles so that the next time I board they'll bow so low the plane will tip...
Anyway, it's frustrating and there is no way on the net to pay less than £1000. Time for some hard buying...those airliners need to learn not to get me peeved.
I suddenly don't feel so soft anymore...
I can't quite describe the feeling.
Anyway, my sanity is also being eroded by the sheer madness of trying to book a flight home to Singapore. Mainly to get the airmiles so that the next time I board they'll bow so low the plane will tip...
Anyway, it's frustrating and there is no way on the net to pay less than £1000. Time for some hard buying...those airliners need to learn not to get me peeved.
I suddenly don't feel so soft anymore...
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Motivate me!
Shades of Grey
Corax by night, Columba by day,
Black as the darkness, white glimmers bright.
Unkindness of strangers and piteousness of friends,
Ill-tidings dusk brings until peace sheds a light.
JH
Corax by night, Columba by day,
Black as the darkness, white glimmers bright.
Unkindness of strangers and piteousness of friends,
Ill-tidings dusk brings until peace sheds a light.
JH
Saturday, November 06, 2004
RIP USB
20/08/2002 - 03/11/2004
It's traumatic to lose something so close to your heart, a dear and loyal friend whose sterling service for such a long time shall shine as an example to others for years to come. Utterly irreplaceable. A friend to the end and a true companion.
RIP, USB, you shall be sorely missed.
It's traumatic to lose something so close to your heart, a dear and loyal friend whose sterling service for such a long time shall shine as an example to others for years to come. Utterly irreplaceable. A friend to the end and a true companion.
RIP, USB, you shall be sorely missed.
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