Category Archives: muse

notes from the perforated pages.

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at one point or another, you cite the chance for an interlude, to step away from the daunting thoughts that are beginning to roost at the back of your concentration like a parasitic contagion, feeding off your very actions and assessments. the notion would be just as apt as pacing out from a musty room just before engaging in an intense debate over somewhat ‘serious’ business. ‘just for some fresh air’ you surmise yourself with this thought, and then you would begin to map it all out with a clear and distinctive mind. it is not so much of the fear and the uncertainties which may in time present themselves, but more of the excitement and the exhilaration that is rupturing from the inside, this was how you perceived the trails and tasks set before you.

as the world moves forward leaving some behind, you begin to observe with genuine admiration for those whose life unfolds before them like a stagnant tide. you look around and made sure that you are moving forward too, but begin to ponder if you had made substantial plans like them. occasionally you would pause at awe in the beauty of the tranquil stagnant tides that surround you, are they moving forward? an uncertainty looms in the air. feeling a little despondent, you can only observe them like a flower, for having strode along the lines of the laissez-faire attitude, you realize that you can never harvest your passions from the common spring. you begin to feel the melancholic air fill your lungs as you whiff in the first air of  spring, thinking of closing your eyes for a minute to envisage yourself as them. for there’s no harm in a little daydream right? but as soon as you close them, rationality floods the pitch black canvas before you in unimaginable hues, forcing you to consider them like a grain of sand caught in the eye. your thoughts has influenced your words, and these words initiated your actions, and these very actions drove your habits, and the habits polished your character, and your character.. is becoming your destiny.

you begin to look at plans attempting to grasp that stagnant tide, but to no avail as you envision the etymological roots of the word ‘plan’ has its perspectives on the idea of drawing a sketch on a plane, derived from the latin word ‘planum’ and its notion lies obscurely on a two-dimensional stratum. you begin to cast back on how our lives revolve around the 4-dimensonal plane, and that progress to you is of as a cyclic model and not a linear one. have you gotten it wrong? you stop all doubts for it is crucial not to diminish the other two dimensions. time in particular is of your interest, for it does not lend itself to warnings or explanations and it simply is, when taken moment by moments, you would eventually come to realize that someone very important is also looking at the stars for answers together with you.

 

 

 

a.

notes from the perforated pages.

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(vertigo, alfred hitcock.)

dear you,

there is this particular feeling that has been roosting inside me for a while now. as much as i would try to avoid this feeling altogether, it approaches me by reflex, like a flock of birds swooping through an open window. its odd and wrenching effect involves no pain or unpleasantness, the feeling momentarily leaves me to be physically wrung out at times. in half-light, none of these seem real to me. from time to time, i would slow down and attempt  grasp the reality of acquiring this feeling, fearing that it would end and everything would disappear altogether.

it seems that the world is moving shed on its own without me being aware of it. do i have my eyes closed? or am i looking at something special these days? something that is richer than anything that i have ever visited, in the several little rooms i’ve possessed inside of me over the years? i found myself to be a prisoner of my meditation these days, sharing one’s inconsolable melancholy, as i witness before me what is happening and filled the void with an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

the value of our lives are not measured by how we win, but perhaps by how we lose. it could be that i have fought too many losing battles to be safe, and all i could only ever realise in time to come, is that eventually, i must accept the cruelties of some of them and go down to defeat. 

 

 

 

a.

a note about lightness & dreams.

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trogir, croatia - henri cartier-bresson

(trogir, croatia. henri cartier-bresson)

 

dear you,

writing from time to time has reminded me that i am not a transplant in the different cities i call home. though i often find myself poised and questioning what exactly do i seek in these places i inhabit, i do get this sort of relief that it is only anthropomorphic to feel this way. what remains constant apart from change, is that i have never stopped questioning this absence, or how you would describe it; being a dreamer.

with that many words unspoken, it does at times make me seem to be a difficult person to understand. with the bricks life occasionally throw at us, we sometimes build walls, not so much as to cage ourselves in, or perhaps shelter us from the harsh realities of life, but instead to see if anyone cares enough to attempt to break down these walls to just say hi or something. probably less dramatic, but hey you get the idea.

these days, i find myself agreeing with your proposition. i recall the times you would pontificate on the concept of cognitive loss; we all are born into this world not by choice but by fate, and with a void. when one begins with losing something so precious, despite not being able to find it immediately, it is important to not feel disheartened, but instead, to understand that we all have a missing piece in this puzzle. take comfort in the believe that someday, when we eventually grow older, tread further, and reconcile with that tug deep down when we recover this piece.

as your words finally begin to set in (after all these years), i sense a lightness in me. this feeling presents itself on a daily basis, and it is rather uplifting to be left feeling this way. it is of significance for one to be light like a bird and not so much as a feather, for there is a unique synthesis between the intellect and the emotion in the composition of lightness itself. to me, without dreams and the lightness of which it presents, i suspect that life in general, would be plagued with pestilence at its most distinctive dexterity. one would be left to pursue life in absolute monotony, at best seeking comforts in the materiality of the things, which would eventually melt into air. with the lightness of which dreams presents, life would not narrow expressions into sheer abstracts and figures, instead it would connect the visible threads with the invisible ones. perhaps this would add more ‘value’ into living.

despite having a vast collection of adjectives, the world works in strange ways that we cannot explain in words. as much as i would dislike to agree with it, sometimes things do happen without a reason at all. as i present myself with a vast array of options in life, the quasi-endless nature of some of these options, has at times forced me to go against the current, constantly wearing me down. perhaps it is time to stop fighting the current once in a while, and maybe drift along its path and enjoy the course.

eventually there will be a time when decisions are to be made, but i think i am ready as long as this feeling stays with me.

 

 

 
a.

stillness.

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the xx, live.

one stands silently still and watch as the world goes by around him. engulfed in pure ecstasy, it is not difficult to imagine what, where, how & why when silence strike with precise clarity. how often would one draw silence from the unspoken and just feel contented being drawn together? it would be a waste if one refuses to accept this and breaks the silence. it takes a lifetime to understand that this silence is very rare indeed.

the xx – angels

i’ve discovered that, silence, is something that you can actually hear. if you listen closely.

a. 

of which the world knows not.

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(view of the river thames, london.)

 

dear you,

this evening, i was admiring the array of fireworks from my balcony. there must be something esoteric about fireworks, how they would often tend to leave one in contemplation. such simple and small moments hold before me, and when the words do resonate into sentences, one must, with feverish haste pen them down before they melt away.

there are certain segments of my life in which i forget that i am now an adult, and no longer a child. i would in time come to understand that behind every exquisite thing or news, there will always be something tragically enthralling about them. and when that time comes, i will have to understand that it will hurt because it matters. i’ve always pictured how great it would be if one could simply heave everything that was unsightly into the ocean. the waves, rising up and down taking everything away with it. there must be another capital beneath the waves if at some point this becomes a reality. anyways, i should digress. 

perhaps.. it could be that everything is decided in advance and one pretends to be making choices. free will might very well be an illusion after all. oh life, i haven’t quite understood you enough, but discovering the little things that form you is indeed an interesting joy.

 

‘every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not, and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.’ - h. w. longfellow

 

 

 

a.

the pursuit of happy-ness

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(sunset #1, route; copenhagen to stockholm)

dear you,

there are some mornings when i get out of bed thinking to myself; ‘i’m not gonna make it.’ but often find myself laughing inside. i guess i do remember all the times i have felt this way. well.. evidently of course, i am still around aren’t i?

i recall the nuances of each transpiring events and how they would habitually root out at various intensity. i do suspect that there is a gap between what drives our passion, love and how we reciprocate towards them. the idea of an emotion and logic, perhaps skittishly speaking to these passions would bridge the mutual balance of the two. one can only understand so much in life. there are many observations i aspire to understand, but i failed to be everywhere at once, and can only witness myself stumbling at best.

happiness, it happens to be an intangible noun. modern discourse refers it to a state of pleasant contentment or being swell. its etymological roots derive from the idea of ‘chance’ and ‘fortune’ or in more abstract materiality; ‘wealth & riches’. i’ve read in a book somewhere that the idea of material happiness is a very dangerous notion. one must be wary of its parasitic  nature, and in life’s firsthand shows, witness it’s degradation on the soul.

i wouldn’t like to define it, but i believe you would come to realise its affliction with time. one could only envision that the grass is not always greener on the other side of the field, which of course embodies with it a sense of truism. but this is how i find myself these days, in pursuit of something i’ve not yet managed to grasp,as i listen attentively with generous admiration for the most soul-soothing travel stories of my peers. 

it is not in the pursuit of happiness that we find happiness. but rather in the pursuit that happiness finds us. now then perhaps it would be most apt to pause in this endless pursuit and just be happy. don’t you think so too?

whether you’re presently filled with ample confidence or despair over your respective pursuits, fear not for the unknown because one finds him/herself in advance with each pace forward. i would like to end on a stronger note from the perforated pages of ‘factotum’ by charles bukowski.

‘ if you’re going to try, go all the way. otherwise, don’t even start. this could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. it could mean not eating for three or four days. it could mean freezing on a park bench. it could mean jail. it could mean derision. it could mean mockery, isolation. isolation is the gift. all the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. and, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. and it will be better than anything else you can imagine. if you’re going to try, go all the way. there is no other feeling like that. you will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. you will ride life straight to perfect laughter. it’s the only good fight there is. ‘

 

 

 

i would rather muse over the sunsets because i refuse to live along the lines of ‘once upon a time’.

 

 

 

 

a. 

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( ‘hamlet’s’ kronborg castle. helsingør, denmark.)

a poem of unrest, john ashbery.

men duly understand the river of life,

misconstruing it, as it widens and its cities grow

dark and denser, always farther away.

and of course that remote denseness suits

us, as lambs and clover might have

if things had been built to order differently.

but since I don’t understand myself, only segments

of myself that misunderstand each other, there’s no

reason for you to want to, no way you could

even if we both wanted it.

do those towers even exist?

we must look at it that way, along those lines

so the thought can erect itself, like plywood battlements.

a.

the sniper’s log_

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(daikanyama, tokyo)

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how does one insert an original program inside the old and new structures simultaneously? reconciling coherence with multiplicity?

you have always been fascinated by materials. the composition, the superimposition, the reciprocity and the conditions she confers.

you begin to question yourself if one could, through this, extend the disjunction of a place. then you begin to investigate the interactions of a place, it’s simplicity and sobriety.

you begin to understand that architecture generates movement and this notion challenges the anthropometric percepts of the classical era.

‘it is not they eye which sees, but the body as a receptive totality.’ - maurice merleau-ponty

materials have the ability to produce collective memories,  which can be constructed, reconstructed and collected.

if one controls the core, they will be able to alter the balance between endurance and impermanence, ensuring fluidity regardless of economical, social, political or cultural limits.

‘ resist anyone who asks you to design only the visible part. ‘ - lebbeus woods

a.

not shaking the grass.

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IMG_1490(lake zurich, zurich. )

dear you,

‘no matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.’

the notion of distancing oneself from ‘things’ in general, i presume is something that i have grown awfully accustomed to. i have traveled with much vigor, and once called the plane my ‘time-machine’, and of course you would understand why, you didn’t sign up for this but eventually ended up as the watcher, leaving all emotions tumultuous. boarding the plane weren’t routine, it was half as fancy as you’ve pictured them; lounge and all. when pictures remained inadequate, the setting stay crystal. but often the words to describe them prevail as cloudy, and the mood to be opposing.

these moments often portrayed themselves to be rather harrowing as one begin to comprehend the idea of constantly being on transit and melodramatic at times. so i left everything behind, and as i begin to deliberate over such moments, part of me tend to wonder if events would transpire differently if i did stay a little longer. and maybe if i had taken the more ‘stable’ path in life, would i be half as happy as i am now? i believe not. their dreams aren’t mine. i do want my heart to melt away into something unrecognizable and easily forgettable.

if one tends to leave part of his feelings behind in a place, i think my time travels will eventually leave me with barely enough to begin with. you enter the room like a distant memory these days, the water never hit you anymore. it is rather cliché to say that my life has changed, but i have grown to realize that within me, there is an enlarged capacity to take on battles and be the victor.

‘ sure i am this day we are masters of our fate, that the task which has been set before us is not above our strength; that it’s pangs and toils are not beyond our endurance. as long as we have faith in our own cause & an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied to us. ‘ – Sir Winston Churchill.

sure we all have priorities in life, and with each passing year, i keep saying this to myself ; ‘am older, yup. but am i getting any wiser? not quite sure.’ it does suck to constantly defend dreams and aspirations, but i also regard this as being important; one has to protect them to be yourself. yes i have been alone all this time, and i am truly happy, and it can only get better. i do know where i am going, and i am on my way. the hustle and bustle of the city and light are not boxing me in, the loneliest people in the world are the ones surrounded with the wrong company.

i will keep this clear. the road goes forever on and gone, and i am forever gone from yours.

a.

the sniper’s log_

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(street dialogues, barcelona.)

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certain x (un)certainty

- ‘planned’ environment appears to have eschewed the lively air of its inhabitants.

- the very act of entering a space violates the balance of geometry. when we intersect such places, do we affect one another? i believe so.

- textures, shadows & even acoustics, carve all sort of new and unexpected spaces. if there were limits to the production of clandestine spaces, what are the limits they hold, and how do we dilate them?

- to question the tangibility of highly sanitized urban design. are we, at best, problem solving or at worst creating generic solutions globally?

- does design co-exist with the urban tissue or does it subtext it; fuck context and (un)context design? will this rhetoric exaggeration set us questioning deeper on its immanence?

- maybe we can enter an urban space and think of its distant memory, with all its strange ambiguity and assertiveness. 

the urban fabric is a stage, we need more emotions and drama. it should not only be seen an instrument for economic commerce, it represents the expression of pride for its inhabitants.

any comments are welcomed.

a.

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(girl with red balloon; banksy. perth)

‘ if you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. ‘ – h. murakami.

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dear you,

i have been well these days, i trust that you are too. as life unfolds and presents herself with options, i’d imagine the you that i had came to know of, would naturally opt for the one resembling crimson petals with drops of fresh rain. we never had a dull moment in spite of the silence.

i took your word for it and pen down how i felt as you suggested. the more i wrote, the more i could get rid of. i got rid of many things. one must be wary when taking things at face-value? there isn’t one bit that is truer than the other, it is all true. your words still resonate with much influence on the way i perceive things around me with great respect and appreciation.

despite how life tries to smash us occasionally, one can never really be defeated unless he allows himself to. i was still digesting the whole arrival of this new change. the plans made years ago would have seemed beyond possible these days. i feel like a shape-shifter, constantly configuring myself between the spaces we easily forget and left behind.

the weekend was well spent. i thank the great company, it felt strangely nostalgic when we caught the filming of a documentary titled ‘samara’ at the rooftop movies in northbridge. no it wasn’t some low-budget pornography film (as it’s sketchy name would otherwise suggest), it was artfully documented entirely on a panavision 70! the ones that were rather popular late 50s to the early 80s. you could already feel that little child in me holding back my excitement!! the scenes were very captivating. it was precisely at this moment, i sat transfixed, gazed upon the beautifully composed archives of life and the world which surrounds us. we are pretty small and insignificant aren’t we? but for something so small and insignificant, we sure did do us in with quite some impact. the setting somehow felt appropriate, with the monstrous configurations of the urban fabric as backdrop, the stars appeared lost in the distance.

last evening was even better, no planning involved, everything seemed to have naturally ‘fell’ into place. it involved tacos, drinks at the mechanics, more drinks at the bakery, experimental music by a brooklyn based musician (which sucked), electronic beats by a uk based musician, and eventually getting locked out of the car park! ha! who would have guessed? what an adventure indeed! i like how things just happen to happen without much reasoning.

you would remember how i used to complain a lot about the tedious and mundane in my adolescence years, it struck me with great discomfort thinking about them now. these are but of the quotidian to many, why should i be complaining at all? i should be glad all these happened. we do get plenty out of this. don’t waste your time or time will waste you instead. i sneaked a smoke this week. never really knew why though.

i hope never to lose what you taught me. to perceive, to listen and not to be quick to judge, to understand as much as i can fathom. there must be a difference between being kind and caring. the first plausibly involved general manners and the latter would involve the mind and all it’s strong inconsistencies. i don’t think i’m cut out for being kind, but that doesn’t mean i don’t care.

i would have placed flowers at your grave, but i am afraid i could never bring myself to do so. i get emotional sometimes when i think about it. you died in whispers that you did not hear. of all the saddest words between lennie and george were ‘what might have been.’ i wouldn’t say that i am still upset over what happened. but i grew to understand that what is more important is that one should never cheat with this.

a.

space + spaces.

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‘emptiness which is conceptually liable to be mistaken for sheer nothingness is in fact the reservoir of infinite possibilities.’ – d. t. suzuki

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dear you,

space, we live in space, or spaces. it embraces us, it shapes us. i have yet to understand it very well, given the implications of how things often unfold by chance. whatever you’re seeking, it won’t come in the form you’re expecting. in most cases, what we end up remembering is often not what we saw.

when i refer to space, i should clarify that i am not referring to the theory of space, the linear dimensions of it, but rather the cognition of space. the slightest pleasure or pain teaches us its malleability. we store many ‘things’ in space, or spaces. some of these add value, increasing it’s proportion, and some go missing, reducing never to prompt. what are we exactly storing in these spaces? are we merely adding space or multiplying it?

i came across an article on the new york times, the gist of it, highlighted how capitalism in contemporary age has established for most of us, a desire for unnecessary material things, in turn questioning if this process would increase happiness, as it took up both the physical and cognitive spaces. the author ended with a simple phrase, ‘my space is small, my life is big.’ i think the author was right. regrettably so i believe i fall under this context of acquiring material things.

does space shape character? i think it does, we all have our stories don’t we? if we were to clutter spaces with the insignificant. would we ever be able to embellish the things that are of significance? think hypothetically trying to find a needle in a haystack.

that aside, i do sometimes wonder, if i am shuffling between two spaces. one, merely to reconcile things, and eventually narrowing them down to a perfect rose-colored joy; my dreams and aspirations, the driving factor, the beauty of everything. the other, almost businesslike, constantly wearing me down, as if to prove that life isn’t half as good as i had mapped it, beckoning me to abandon the ambitions i’ve entertained, the fears and what holds us back. i do like the idea of striding between the two, and i want both spaces to bother me.

has my spaces increased? or have i merely added to them. i think it is time to reëxamine these spaces. worn from the addition to oneself, i seek multiplications instead. as with most things in life, the more you learn, the less you fear. that i refer to the practicality of life, not the academic facet. we mistake the idea of being mature when we are only being safe, we assume the roles of being responsible when we are only being cowards. life and love is a gift bestowed without asking for, rather than avoiding things, i think i should start to face them.

the poet once wished the new-born; ‘may you be ordinary’.

a.

sous les ponts de Paris

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dear you,

i haven’t felt like i could write coherently about life for a while now. it appears as i pen these senses down into words, i don’t pine to express them to anyone anymore. i don’t blame it on the debacles of trust, and i know it is due to something else.

anyways,

blame it on the movie last evening, but i was still reminiscing the time spent in Paris. the protagonist’s opinion resonated with me; ‘Paris is always better in the rain.’ was it? i have never thought much about the poetry of those moments. the recollections struck me with a strong sense of nostalgia. i can still vividly picture the metro fish burger. i’m starting to see that i have taken from Paris, being alone. truth will only come to life when one has exposed himself to another. of course the process of truth can be painful at times, which justify why most struggle not to seek it but to obtain comfort in delusion. maybe someday, the concept will be an essential key to social convention, and will we then realize what we see. i would never be ready to give up on something this sentimental and deep. this struggle vies with character, but i have my coin on it. and i am sure that you would be on my side anyways.

a.

(the missing lyrics)

rongée par la misère, chassée de son logis,
l’ on voit une pauvre mère avec ses trois petits.
sur leur chemin, sans feu ni pain
ils subiront leur sort atroce.
bientôt la nuit, la maman dit:
“enfin ils vont dormir mes gosses”.
sous les ponts de Paris, lorsque descend la nuit
viennent dormir là tout près de la Seine
dans leur sommeil ils oublieront leur peine

when the night falls under the bridges of Paris,
they sleep close to the Seine,

in their sleep they forget their pain.

notes from the perforated pages.

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you made me confess the fears that i have.

but i will tell you also what i do not fear.

i do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever i have to leave.

and i am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.

james joyce, a portrait of the artist as a young man

the art of literature is absolutely beautiful. for there will always be one true sentence i knew.

a.

rekindled spring.

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(snow storm. niseko, japan.)

 

 

 

notes from the perforated pages;

henry miller, the time of the assassins: a study of rimbaud

conditioned to ecstasy, the poet is like a gorgeous unknown bird mired in the ashes of thought. if he succeeds in freeing himself, it is to make a sacrificial flight to the sun. his dreams of a regenerate world are but the reverberations of his own fevered pulse beats. he imagines the world will follow him, but in the blue he finds himself alone. alone but surrounded by his creations; sustained, therefore, to meet the supreme sacrifice.

the impossible has been achieved; the duologue of author with author is consummated. and now forever through the ages the song expands, warming all hearts, penetrating all minds. at the periphery the world is dying away; at the center it glows like a live coal. in the great solar heart of the universe the golden birds are gathered in unison.

there it is forever dawn, forever peace, harmony and communion. man does not look to the sun in vain; he demands light and warmth not for the corpse which he will one day discard but for his inner being. his greatest desire is to burn with ecstasy, to commerge his little flame with the central fire of the universe. if he accords the angels wings so that they may come to him with messages of peace, harmony and radiance from worlds beyond, it is only to nourish his own dreams of flight, to sustain his own belief that he will one day reach beyond himself, and on wings of gold.

one creation matches another; in essence they are all alike. the brotherhood of man consists not in thinking alike, nor in acting alike, but in aspiring to praise creation. the song of creation springs from the ruins of earthly endeavor. the outer man dies away in order to reveal the golden bird which is winging its way toward divinity.

 

rekindled this evening. very thankful.

 

a.