Mumbai terrorist attacks

The human race really is a sick, sorry, fucked up race. There is no such thing as progress.

I might be overreacting but gee it makes me sick what humans to do each other, it really gobsmacks me.

Why I like the "little guy"

I have never been one for titles. I have little to no ambition for achieving a high position in anything, in getting letters next to my name, or in receiving any awards. I think that they are a very poor gauge of the quality of a person. The quality of a person should instead be measured by the person. And by "person" I don't mean the sum someone's abstract qualities, I mean what they put into life every day. For example, Jack Kerouac should be judged on his works, not by how many awards he has won. Pearl Jam should be judged by their music, not by how many records they've sold. The big difference in doing this, though, is that it's not really a "judgement" at all. If I listen to Pearl Jam and am moved, that has nothing to do with judging. If I am caught up in the words of Kerouac, that has nothing to do with judging. All that is is an affectation. Titles, though, are always about judging, about awarding someone according to their honour or achievements or some other abstract invention. All they do is reward the ambitious, and I dislike ambition. It is not honest. I read an article that ambitious students are much more likely to cheat on their exams. You see, ambition is all about getting titles or marks or sales targets or whatever. It is never about service or contribution, otherwise it would not be called ambition.

Back to my main topic, then: the little guy. I like the little guy because he is without titles or status. Diablo Cody two years ago was just a regular internet blogger, a "little guy", and now she is an Academy Award winner. What has changed in that time? One screenplay. But was she any different before that screenplay? If someone had a good eye, they would have spotted her quality regardless of her "little guy" status (and they eventually did). No doubt people will judge her more highly now that she has "achieved" something worthy. People will want to know her for her status. These are the ambitious people, the people who see only titles. I prefer people who see only quality, and do not concern themselves with frivolous titles and positions.

Fashion and Old People

You know something's out of fashion when you see an old person wearing it. The other day I saw an old dude wearing Dunlop Volleys - the ones with the skulls and bones sprawled all over them. And this wasn't one of those cool old guys, the ones who are highly respected in the arts scene and write really cool plays and wear earrings, this was just your average stinky old dude who was probably living off some meagre pension handout.

I think Dunlop Volleys may just have breathed their last breath.

The Forgetting of Wisdom

http://www.smh.com.au/news/opinion/the-forgetting-of-wisdom/2008/10/12/1223749846543.html


How true is this article!

I have come to realise through uni studies that it is not philosophy I am passionate about, although I thought I was. What I am passionate about is life, wisdom and truth. Philosophy is just reasoned analysis of the aforementioned, which is great, but more often than not in my opinion ends up being merely academic.

Back to the Courtenay article, then, he has what I would call a realist approach to wisdom. Why is it a realist approach? Because his description of it is what happens in reality. I don't normally read the finance section of newspapers, but I read an interesting thing about how when the US was on top of the economic world (10 years ago or something), they used to give advice to and tut-tut the Chinese for their supposed poor banking strategies. Now look what has happened! China is well on the way up, and the US is well on the way down. To me, what happened there is analagous to any of us when we give advice: we are on top of life (or at least we think we are), and we tut-tut those who we see as being beneath us. Really, there is no wisdom that can shield us from pain and suffering, from bad times. We are not nearly that powerful that we can be above fate. What can we do, then? The "wise" among us will hang on and just enjoy the ride. Feeling everything, being open: laughing and being joyous when things are good, and rallying together and supporting each other when things are bad. And being very cautious about those who offer hope in the non-committal form of free advice.

Where's the beef?

Two of my passions over the past decade have been philosophy and self improvement, but I have had a love-hate relationship with each. I love both for their ability to better the self and provide a fresh, new way of perceiving life. They both have the ability to breathe life into a dying soul. However, I also go through periods where I hate them. I hate self improvement because so many of the forerunners in tis field pay little attention to the philosophical aspect of their work, that is, the question of whether it stands up to reason. I hate philosophy, too, because so much of philosophy study is so unconcerned with how it actually matters to people’s day to day lives.

Do you see the connection here? I hated self-improvement because it wasn’t philosophical enough, and I hated philosophy because it wasn’t enough about how to actually improve one’s life. With on hand, I was seeking truth. With the other, I was seeking the good life. Really though, my passion for each was one and the same thing: wisdom. If you read the Proverbs, those are not wise because they follow a logical pattern. But they flick the “aha” switch in our brains, and we are wiser for it. We lead a better life thanks to that knowledge. Any Ancient Greek philosopher on ethics would have the same goal: to give advice that would lead to the bettering of one’s life. When the Stoic philosopher Epictetus instructed us to listen to our reason rather than our emotions, this was not just empty philosophical pandering. This shit was meant to be the key to all your misery. Too often these days, in my opinion, people are scared to give advice or give direction for fear that it might be wrong, or that it is not the politically correct thing to do (after all, one should “make up one’s own mind”). This is bollocks. And the problem with it is that it nullifies the effect of doing the philosophy in the first place. If you take out the capacity for philosophy to impact on one’s life, you are effectively castrating it, you are neutralising it. You turn it into an academic game of chess which matters to the people playing it but no-one else. More people are worried about writing a good paper, or formulating a good argument, than actually getting to the beef. Where’s the beef?

The self-help industry, on the other hand, is all about the bettering of one’s life, so you would assume there would be plenty of beef. But there isn’t. What is wrong with it, then? Well, where to start. Basically it’s full of people who mean well but really know jack all. A philosopher might say that the problem with them is that they do not subject their claims to reasoned analysis. A scientist might say that they do not test their claims empirically. I agree with both: the thing is, there are many very wise self-help writers. The problem is, they are the vast minority. The question of how they get so popular then? Well, one has to look no further than the pop music charts to see how little quality means when it comes to popularity.

Maybe the problem was not in philosophy or self-help, but in me. I mean, as soon as you reify something, turn it into a thing-in-itself, then that thing will be imperfect. As soon as you can define something and grade it, then it loses its beef (after all, where is the value of a philosophy paper which is marked 0?). If I stop expecting so much out of philosophy, then, and stop expecting so much out of self-help, then maybe the wisdom that is in each will show itself. I think that is the beef.

Know Thyself

I have come to realise, through introspection and meditation, that I have two gifts which stand out: firstly, my intensity/passion/drive/anger/determination (yes they are all the same thing). I like engaging in things that are of high intensity, things that are serious, or if not serious, then wholeheartedly frivolous. I have never been one for small talk, petty conversation, half-hearted jobs, etc. In other words, I don't like doing things for the sake of doing things. Even with things I supposedly love like music and philosophy, I only like them when they're good. I'm not a guy who can sit through crap music and appreciate it because it's "different"; I'm not someone who can sit around discussing meaningless question like "what is the nature of love?" and not expect an answer. I love music because of its ability to move me, and if it doesn't, I don't want to know it. I love philosophy for it's ability to access truth, and if it doesn't, I don't want to know it.

My other gift is that of truth-telling or access to truth. I was a bit of a kid prodigy when I was younger - I taught myself to read when I was 3 years old, I skipped a class at school, and various other scholastic achievements. When I got to high school the external achievements faded off a bit (a lot), but I always felt that I saw things and understood things that others didn't. In the experience I've had with teaching, I've found myself to be very good at providing clarity on problem points. Basically, then, I believe all these things are manifestations of the same gift: that of "truth-telling" or "truth-accessing". Many other people have ambition in other areas, in particular sex, money and power, but I have never really been strongly motivated by either. I have always had, however, this gnawing and relentless need to discover what is at the bottom of things, and to resolve the inconsistencies and problems that are at the surface.

Universalities

I used to deliberately write blogs that were general and not about me in particular, nor any specific topic. I wanted to engage in a subject matter that was universal, applicable to everyone and everything; anything else to me was trivial. If the blog was general and applicable to everything, it would follow that it was of the highest relevance. If it was about a specific topic or person, then it was arbitrary and therefore not of importance.

I now understand that the universal can only be found in the specific. In fact, there is nothing else.

Book Review: J.D Salinger's Catcher in the Rye

I was interested in this book because I heard so many references to it - there was Conspiracy Theory with Mel Gibson, who plays a nutball who buys Catcher in the Rye every week to keep sane (clearly though, it didn't work). I came across this "top 100 fictional characters since 1900" on the net and Holden Caulfield, our protagonist from Catcher, came in second, just after the guy from The Great Gatsby. It was in the "staff recommendations" section of Dymocks. If I knew this was a postmodern book, though, I would never have read it, let alone buy the damn thing - I can't stand self-reflexivity, to me it just stagnates the act of reading. Quite frankly, I don't want to know what colour pen you're writing the fucking book with, just tell me the goddamn story, for Chrissake.

I'm not sure if I even like Holden, either. Someone said on some online review site, Salinger's young characters are too intelligent for their age. Also, apparently this book has been criticised because Holden is being used as a vehicle to express his own views rather than Holden's, that Salinger is "placing the author's preconceptions squarely in the mind of the character at the expense of realism". I can relate to both criticisms.

Firstly, Holden is just too intelligent, and it's annoying. He reminds me a lot of Dawson from Dawson's Creek in this regard. I've got nothing wrong with an intelligent young person, but the intelligence should have repercussions. With Lisa Simpson for example, we get the social isolation and frustration which I believe goes hand in hand with intelligence in a young person (and I'm not talking about mathematical intelligence, I'm talking about reflective, philosophical intelligence, the type which Holden possesses). The problem with Holden, though, is that he's a normal kid, a jock, who still manages to be reflective at the same time. I'm not sure if the two are compatible, so I think realism has been compromised as the guy I quoted has said. This is closely related to my second criticism of the book - that Salinger is shoving his own thoughts down Holden's throat. A good example of this is when Holden goes on his rant about Mr Vinson and the digression exercise he made the students do. It's clear that Salinger tried to disguise his transparency, putting it into context by making it part of an exercise which Holden had to do for English class, I just think he failed in his intentions.

There are things I liked abuot the book, though - Holden is essentially likeable, despite his frustrating self-reflective writing. His encounter with his younger sister Phoebe at the end is really sweet, and real, too, I think. Social outcasts often do have a close connection with a sibling or parent (if I may digress for a moment, I think this is because they are inherently likeable people, although they don't feel comfortable expressing themselves in social situations).

This leads me to ask, why on earth did Salinger not spend more time exploring the relationship between Holden and his sister?! The groundwork was done, the foundation was laid, and what does he do? He ends the damn book. Why? Because Holden just "doesn't feel like writing any more". What a farce, what a cop-out. I hate cop-outs, I really do. I give this book: ** (2 stars).

PS - I'm aware of the ironies in my criticism of postmodernism and self-reflexivity.

Song of the Week VIII

Acid Rain by Liquid Tension Experiment. A kind of side project from Petrucci and Portnoy of Dream Theater, as well as future DT keyboardist Jordan Rudess and high-profile prog bassist Tony Levin. If you like Dream Theater, you'll love these guys. If you like instrumental rock such as Satriani and Vai, you'll love these guys. I chose Acid Rain because of that awesome keyboard riff with the changing bass and rhythm line underneath it - it sends shivers down my fucking spine.

Movie Review: Saw 2

I saw this movie without having seen Saw 1, and with a desire to see a different movie: Wolf Creek, which was sold out. I wasn't expecting much, I thought it would be another dumbass teen horror movie, that I would have to sit through an hour and a half of unrealistically good looking young people getting ripped apart by some maniac with a wood saw.

The first scene of the movie was not only gory, but also psychologically disturbing. I couldn't help asking myself what I would have done in that situation, with a death mask on and 60 seconds to cut out my right eyeball in order to get hold of a key which would unlock the mask and save me from having it crush my face in. This would be a recurring feature of the psycho's killings - he always gave his victims a means for survival, a way out, although that way out is often more painful and debilitating than death itself.

We then come across a bunch of people who wake up in a locked house, with a taped message from the psycho who gives them instructions on how to get out. How nice of him. One of the people, who have been hand-picked by the psycho, is the detective's son. What detective? The detective whose name was written in the blood on the wall where our first victim was found. The detective who was responsible for framing all nine of the people locked up in the house. The detective who had a bad relationship with his wayward teenage son. The detective who reluctantly agreed to accept this case.

The movie is based around this "game", and switches intermittently from the events in the house to the events in the psycho's house, which a SWAT team has raided to find the man himself sitting cooly by as the cops try desperately to subvert a situation which they are apparently watching live on a set of security cameras in the house. The situation involves nine people locked in a house, one of whom is the detective's son. The psycho, who wants to be referred to as "John", informs the detective, who he seems to have a preoccupation with (ultimately he is the primary target and victim of this whole operation), that his son will die in two hours, as a lethal gas is seeping into the house. A two-hour timer is set next to the security cameras, and the cops assume (as I did) that it is timing how long before the gas kills off everyone in the house.

The stage is set, then, for a pretty cool movie. I must admit, this is a good storyline to base a movie on. I think the viewer is meant to relate to detective Eric Mason, the main character, in that we just want to pound the shit out of John as he sits by and calmly watches chaos unfolds. It should be relieving, then, when Eric does pound the shit out of him, almost to death. Somehow, however, it's not - John never loses his cool, nor his upper hand. In fact, being beaten to a pulp was seemingly a crucial part of his plan, a plan which at every step unfolds exactly how he wanted it to. There's even a twist in the plot at the end. Normally I hate twists, they're cheesy and usually ruin everything you just saw, but this one worked. I think it was because at the end of "the game", there were still a lot of unanswered questions, and the twist serves to answer those questions as well as fuck up (in a good way) all the preceding events.

Was this movie too psychologically fucked up to be called a horror movie? Personally, I'd say yes, and call it a thriller. Maybe it's a horror-thriller. I give it 4 stars.

Moods pt.II

Despondency is my natural state. It's only fantasies that provide me temporary happiness, whether they be of success, power, sex, popularity, love, wealth, or whatever else. Problems occur when I start to confuse this fantasy with reality, which always catches up with it sooner or later. I'm brought back to reality with a thud, and what was once despondency is now despair. I like what Virginia Woolf says through one of her characters in Between the Acts: "This is death...when illusion fails." Not that Woolf was suggesting this, but maybe life is the biggest illusion of all.

I'll end with the lyrics to Nine Inch Nail's Eraser (if anyone comes across the T-shirt with these printed on it, please tell me. I saw someone wearing it at Blink a few weeks back, it's awesome. Rare though, I don't think they make it anymore):

Need you
Dream you
Find you
Taste you
Fuck you
Use you
Scar you
Break you
Lose me
Hate me
Smash me
Erase me
Kill me
Kill me
Kill me
Kill me

The Meaning of Life: Fate

I always used to scorn people who believed in fate - life is just a series of events that are causally connected to the ones that preceded them. There is no room for any superstition such as fate or destiny to exist. To me it was a way people rationalised external events in a way that would fit with their way of thinking. If they saw a person they had a crush on on a bus, for example, they're likely to rationalise it by saying that it was fate that they saw that person (what's that Ben Stiller movie where Stiller's character hits on women by talking about how fate brough them together...). From there, where does it end? It was fate that they were listening to Love of my Life by Dave Matthews when they saw the person, and from there they start to believe that the two are destined to be together. Meanwhile, all the crush is thinking is that he needs to get to the city by 3:30 for an interview.

As you can see, I have a tendency to be very cynical. Recently, however, I've begun to be that person I used to despise, that weak person who believes in fate to make their life seem more meaningful than it really is. Why have I suddenly changed? It's hard for me to answer that, because quite frankly I don't know. It's not a rational thing, that's for sure - I didn't sit down working out the logical consistency of both arguments, pro-fate and anti-fate, and decide which made the most sense. Perhaps it’s just that I did recognise a weakness in myself, an infallibility that is common to all human beings. Maybe sometimes we need that something extra to believe in.

There are no great stories of fate I have to share just yet. The only one I can think of as an illustrative example is that as I was about to buy a birthday card for my uncle, I found that the newsagent was closed. “It’s probably meant to be”, I thought, whereas in the past I would have just got pissed off and cursed to myself about how stupid it is for a newsagent to be closed on a Sunday. (I actually did end up getting acard from a shop three doors down. Maybe it was fate drawing me there, because the cards were very cheap there :p). Does everything happen for a reason? And I don’t mean that in the Anthony Robbins sense, that everything happens due to a causal connection with a past event. I mean, do events carry with them meaning, that we are meant to decipher? Clues to plot us on our journey towards our destiny? In The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, which I think I’ve talked about before on this blog, we’re told by a wise sage that “everything is an omen” (awesome book by the way, and absolute must-read for anyone who’s even remotely interested in this sort of stuff).

I’m not sure if everything is an omen, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But for some reason, I’m finding myself looking for meaning in things far more often than I used to. Perhaps I've begun the next stage of my fate.

Destiny Is Upon Us

We are going to Germany! This is our destiny. All hail SAINT GUUS!

Kris_man on hiatus

Due to my computer being fucked, I won't be able to post as often as I'd like.