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ScherzoButterflies and Zebras and Moonbeams and Fairytales.
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November 15 SpiritualityTo be spiritual, and to be religious; is it possible to have one without the other? November 07 Thoughts from Blog Surfing I'm a bit curious as to why I don't find it necessary to write about what I did during the past week, when pretty much everyone who keeps a blog is always busy uploading/writing about their gastronomical adventures, the fun things they did, etc. A few years down the road, when I look back at this space, I don't think I'd be interested in what I ate or did in the past. Of course, I will usually pen down a few detailed descriptions of major life-changing events that at that point in time. What matters the most, is that I keep track of the way I think and write. This space is like a glimpse into my head. I want to know how my thoughts have matured or degenerated, my take on certain key issues in life, and various phases I've gone through. And maybe once in a while, come across little bits of this terrible sense of humour I used to have, which can be likened to getting maimed in the legs by a sledgehammer. November 05 Man's Search for Meaning "He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how." - Friedrich Nietzsche The way I see things have yet been transformed to a new level. Finishing Man's Search for Meaning, by Viktor E. Frankl after completing The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo has heightened my sensitivity to the intentions/reasons behind a person's decisions (speech, expression, course of action). Both books deal with the immediate surroundings of a particular person, which I shall term a "system" to facilitate the following ramblings/thoughts:
Armed primarily with these 2 ideas, I find myself being much more able to understand why a person does something in a certain way, and more importantly, determine his intentions, and (if necessary) correct either a) his course of action or b) problems in the system that is causing this person to behave in this manner. Very often, we see people doing certain things that conflict with our interests or beliefs. Although Man's Search for Meaning talks about Workplace Example Person from higher echelon demands for something seemingly unreasonable to you. Find out his intentions. Align your intentions with his, or vice versa. Check for systemic rules in place - Is this the norm? What is the standard expected? Is there a faster/better way of doing this? The alignment of intentions is especially important because many people, including myself, have knee jerk reactions with regards to negative stuff, i.e. becoming defensive or dismissing ideas. I think you can easily modify this example and apply it to interpersonal relationships as well. Social Example Hedonistic tendencies from both male and females usually arise from due to boredom. Boredom occurs when there is an absence of meaning, and that since Man naturally becomes frustrated when there is an absence of meaning, the frustration manifests itself in unhealthy habits. "The will to meaning is then replaced by the will to pleasure." Coupled together with societal norms (systemic influences, rules), people become easily disillusioned and end up indulging in decadent activities. Having said that much, most of it is based upon my own deductions and what little I have understood from the stuff I've read. I'm in no way trying to plagiarise the writers' hard work, but instead can be said to be oversimplifying their theories into a few paragraphs, and adding in a bit of my own experiences. Finally, what I've wrote down so far is actually what goes on in my head whenever I attempt to "analyse" almost anything I observe on the people around me. It seems to answer most of my questions and sometimes (well, rarely) allows me to pinpoint flaws and give advice to those who come to me for some. October 22 Death in Tehran"A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening. The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, “Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?” “I did not threaten him; I only showed surprise in still finding him here. I originally planned to meet him tonight in Teheran,” said Death." Taken from Viktor E. Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning. We are our worst enemies without knowing it. No matter how you interpret the story, it is the servant's fear of Death that brought him to his demise. It would be interesting to wonder if Death did inform the servant that he was supposed to meet him in Tehran that evening, or did Death merely expressed his surprise (as he claims to have done) but did not disclose any other information. But either way, knowing the truth does not change the fact that he was going to die. October 20 The LongingSomething which you
Desire so intensely
Constantly dreading the moment when it shall become yours.
Which is better?
To sit there waiting
Wanting it for forever and ever
Or to have it
Grasping it for a brief moment
Before losing it again
The temporary high
Fading away
Lay waste to what was once immeasureable beauty.
Wtf, This is so gay and emo at the same time, why am I perpetually in conflict with myself.
October 13 The BunkYour feet grow heavier with each subsequent step, your body writhing with contrite disgust. As you painfully climb the cold concrete staircase that runs like a crooked spine up the pale building, a horrid feeling creeps down yours. The deadened corridoors echo with ghastly noises - muffled screams, crepitus, grinding metal, and loud, petrifying growls that make satanic death metal bands sound like kittens. Upon reaching the Fifth level, you heave a trembling sigh which barely escapes your tight, panting chest. Raising an arm to swipe the salty mix of perspiration and tears off your face, you cannot help but to notice how mottled and brittle your skin has become, like dried leaves in melted snow. You catch a curious glimpse of your very own visage on a broken window only to withdraw violently in fear. Fear, of both the horrors that may surface behind the cracked glass, and what is left of your flesh A few more steps, and a terribly putrid handrwiting greets you: [[Bunk of H and H. Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.]] "Shot a-gain! What a merciful death-th. It sssure beats learning about the horrors that lie behind these wallsh," you mumble to yourself in a ghoulish voice. Alas, you have reached the bunk, and with what's left of your feeble limbs, push and nudge open the jammed door. Putrid fumes leap at you like wraiths feasting on innocent souls; a smell so vile that it drives the last vestige of sanity out of your body. You turn back, but instead collapse to the ground, wriggling and choking. A khaki green garment shoots out of nowhere and wraps around your neck and dragging you towards a festering rad pile of dismembered limbs and human innards. Struggling, you curse this foul place and its inhabitants. You curse the unspeakable evils that will occur to these fiends, the very same atrocities they invented. You curse them over and over again, without realising that you have become one of them.
October 09 Does it Make a Difference?Thanksgiving Day came and went without any fuss while Yossarian was still in the hospital. The only bad thing about it was the turkey for dinner, and even that was pretty good. It was the most rational Thanksgiving he had ever spent, and he took a sacred oath to spend every future Thanksgiving Day in the cloistered shelter of a hospital. He broke his sacred oath the very next year, when he spent the holiday in a hotel room instead in intellectual conversation with Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife, who had Dori Duz's dog tags on for the occasion and who henpecked Yossarian sententiously for being cynical and callous about Thanksgiving, even though she didn't believe in God just as much as he didn't. "I'm probably just as good an atheist as you are," she speculated boastfully. "But even I feel that we all have a great deal to be thankful for and that we shouldn't be ashamed to show it." "Name one thing I've got to be thankful for," Yossarian challenged her without interest. "Well . . ." Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife mused and paused a moment to ponder dubiously. "Me." "Oh, come on," he scoffed. She arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Aren't you thankful for me?" she asked. She frowned peevishly, her pride wounded. "I don't have to shack up with you, you know," she told him with cold dignity. "My husband has a whole squadron full of aviation cadets who would be only too happy to shack up with their commanding officer's wife just for the added fillip it would give them." Yossarian decided to change the subject. "Now you're changing the subject," he pointed out diplomatically. "I'll bet I can name two things to be miserable about for every one you can name to be thankful for." "Be thankful you've got me," she insisted. "I am, honey. But I'm also goddam good and miserable that I can't have Dori Duz again, too. Or the hundreds of other girls and women I'll see and want in my short lifetime and won't be able to go to bed with even once." "Be thankful you're healthy." "Be bitter you're not going to stay that way." "Be glad you're even alive." "Be furious you're going to die." "Things could be much worse," she cried. "They could be one hell of a lot better," he answered heatedly. "You're naming only one thing," she protested. "You said you could name two." "And don't tell me God works in mysterious ways," Yossarian continued, hurtling on over her objection. "There's nothing so mysterious about it. He's not working at all. He's playing. Or else He's forgotten all about us. That's the kind of God you people talk about-a country bumpkin, a clumsy, bungling, brainless, conceited, uncouth hayseed. Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include such phenomena, as phlegm and tooth decay in His divine system of creation ? What in the world was running through that warped, evil, scatological mind of His when He robbed old people of the power to control their bowel movements? Why in the world did He ever create pain?" "Pain?" Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. "Pain is a useful symptom. Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers." "And who created the dangers?" Yossarian demanded. He laughed caustically. "Oh, He was really being charitable to us when He gave us pain. Why couldn't He have used a doorbell instead to notify us, or one of His celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person's forehead. Any jukebox manufacturer worth his salt could have done that. Why couldn't He?" "People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes in the middle of their foreheads." "They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony or stupefied with morphine, don't they ? What a colossal, immortal blunderer! When you consider the opportunity and power He had to really do a job, and then look at the stupid, ugly little mess He made of it instead. His sheer incompetence is almost staggering. It's obvious He never met a payroll. Why, no self-respecting businessman would hire a bungler like Him as even a shipping clerk!" Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife had turned ashen in disbelief and was ogling him with alarm. "You'd better not talk that way about Him, honey," she warned him reprovingly in a low and hostile voice. "He might punish you." "Isn't He punishing me enough?" Yossarian snorted resentfully. "You know, we mustn't let Him get away with it. Oh, no, we certainly mustn't let Him get away scot free for all the sorrow He's caused us. Someday I'm going to make Him pay. I know when. On the Judgment Day. Yes, that's the day I'll be close enough to reach out and grab that little yokel by His neck and-" "Stop it I Stop it!" Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife screamed suddenly, and began beating him ineffectually about the head with both fists. "Stop it!" Yossarian ducked behind his arm for protection while she slammed away at him in feminine fury for a few seconds, and then he caught her determinedly by the wrists and forced her gently back down on the bed. "What the hell are you getting so upset about?" he asked her bewilderedly in a tone of contrite amusement. "I thought you didn't believe in God." "I don't," she sobbed, bursting violently into tears. "But the God I don't believe in is a good God, a just God, a merciful God. He's not the mean and stupid God you make Him out to be." (Joseph Heller, Catch-22)
September 09 Little WingA creeping monotony sets in as you slowly inch towards the final months of your NS liability. Every night, you hide behind the guitar, hoping that it can protect you from the loneliness; the drudgery that life has become. You feel like an old man and a little boy all at the same time, both looking for one thing. One who walks through the clouds, with a circus mind that runs wild. Butterflies, moonbeams, zebras, and fairytales; riding with the wind. A thousand smiles to give you, and anything you want. Anything. Fly on, Little Wing. August 12 Maybe by The Ink SpotsMaybe
Maybe Then maybe you'll ask me to come back again
Written by Allan Flynn and Frank Madden, Topped US Charts in 1940 at #2 or #3, can't remember. August 11 SacrificeWhen my Grandma passed away, nobody was particularly sad. The loss of a loved one is inevitable, as time tightens its grasp on those who have little of it left. And by particularly sad, I meant completely devastated and crying buckets. Grandma left peacefully in her sleep, quietly and painlessly fading away.
Having suffered from old-age dementia, she lost her ability to communicate intelligibly with her surroundings. I'd like to think that she distanced herself from the entire family on purpose.
I'd like to think that she didn't suffer from old-age dementia, but instead chose not to communicate intelligibly with her surroundings, for the last few years of her life. That way, the family members would grow detached from her, inevitably, because she is simply so difficult to approach. That way, when it's her time to go, she won't leave the family devastated.
After all, the last thing a loving mother, grandmother, and great grandmother (all at the same time) would want is to leave the entire family in tears for the next few nights. She did it for our own good; she didn't want to see us cry.
Thank you, grandma, thank you so much. May you rest in peace for eternity. |
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