reality full stop.

2011-12-27T02:05:00.002+13:00

untitled

2011-09-13T00:03:00.000+12:00

I ran to the ocean yesterday and it tentatively made me cry (figuratively?).

Made me realise the tentative nature of my subjectivity.

It is always so easy to think the reciprocal, that I am too much of a subject to indulge in the simple complexity of nature, but perhaps it is precisely the opposite.

That I as a subject am constantly threatened to fall into it. To fall into the ocean.

The ocean is a great analogy for the universe. (As trite as that may sound, and as trite as my justification of triteness may sound, infintely collapsing!)

I stood on the pier, and peered in tunnel vision at that expanse which I could not comprehend, but knew I lacked somehow.

I faded into and out of its beauty. Constantly fighting, pitted in a struggle against my want to collapse, and my subjectivity's defiance. Fractured between crying and discontent.

I stopped peering for a second, and moved by head downwards, to look at the water right below my field of vision, wherein I realised it was not the 'water' that I wanted to be a part of, but the entirety of the ocean.

That is, the drive is not to be water, or the ocean, but be the entirety of existence.

That sounds trite also. The quest for originality is a stifling endeavour.

To look inwards, not within ourselves but look inwards out of ourselves, as if we are not a subject. Like a secondary, more knowledgable subject, one which is detached, and more consienctious, and lesss subjectable to the whims of the all-ruling unconscious mind.

The moment we learn language, we continually fall into the conceit of the symbolic. The trauma thereby sustained is irreperable.

Write about a somnambulist.

etc

2010-12-25T16:27:00.000+13:00

She desperately wants a glass of water.
Sun shining, through the window, hazey and diffuse

sun scatters, segments space
born again, alive today
sends me whirlwind in a trace
alive today, in tune again

hypnotic paths are made
in tune again, defiant yet
a gentle thud

but she cannot reach it though it's in reach.

baked...

2010-11-09T00:50:00.002+13:00

it's precisely because the mind is an object,
it has no limitation

it can exist in whichever shape or form it wants to exist

this randomness is what we observe in other objects,
their non-constancy of being.
that is, their assimilation with the universe
being at once nothing and everything

our mind, we are cogniscant of
we can observe herein the terrifying infinity of form
that our mind is everything
and we cannot fathom this very limitation

because the mind is an object
being aware in and of itself does not, cannot, must not reduce it's very own infinity
it's as if we suddenly an inanimate object became aware

what never disappears is the inconstancy of existing

we exist because we are aware
we exist because we are
and by that logic we are infinity
just as we may propose an inconstancy of an object
that it is infinitely reducible in and of itself

a puppet who can see the strings
perhaps that is like the eyes looking at the mind
we are layered unto a subterrenian layer of constancy
one which permits illusions in its very infinity
we cannot necessarily understand it
it is the law: of infinity
one which exists within must not see without
without this law the universe would cease to be

the ability to create an insulary environment is one such way a universe, or any system could be categorized.

the ability of a system which could not overlap with other systems, a self-contained tautology

and yet this erection of meaning means naught
we do not exist in any way shape or form
we
are not aware
we are mute
we are objects
we are things
awareness is a sideeffect
awareness is non-biological

awareness is primordial
awareness is a second layer, sandwiched between constancy of infinity and semiotic appelation.
it exists in and of itself
without the requirement of scaffolding
the semiotic struggle is fought against it
we have no access to the cosntancy of infinity
it is only with this second layer that we can play a role
repeat our trauma, obsessively detangle it

awareness is not illustrative
awareness is not anxiety producing
awareness is...

it is only the universe without awareness that is completely limitless in its possibility

there are no rules
no laws
everything is simulataneous
nothing is occurring
yet it is beyond possibility
it is all permeating

How annoying is Olivia Munn

2010-10-16T04:36:00.001+13:00

Dude, Olivia Munn from Daily Show, is so damn irritating.
So hateable.

mirrors

2010-06-29T18:59:00.000+12:00

There was once a time
When I could look at you
And you could not make me

Address myself,
Undress myself

Then, I would only see
The light deflecting through
And there was yet no sublime

by parveenSAGAR

Skinned

2010-05-18T23:37:00.001+12:00

He skimmed and slipped over
Your skin, which he wished
Was his to touch; he stitched
His hand to yours and gripped

So hard you felt your bones,
Crush, curdle, you plead, don't let go
But he did, he tore away
Two weaved hands, they bled that day

Raw, afraid, with dread you felt
Your way through the darkness in which you dwelt
The hand it scarred, it left its marks
On the walls you scraped, bled, dried and marred

Parveen Sagar

Critical Reflection Essay

2010-04-18T18:06:00.002+12:00

I wrote this essay as my piece for MBBS at Monash. About a month ago. Since I haven't uploaded anything recently, I thought this might be appropriate.

The topic was: write about a learning incident, and critically reflect upon how it helped you grow as a person, and how it'll help you be a better Doctor. This is my response:

As any self-reflexive author would, I begin this piece with a reflection upon the futility of this performance. As suicidal as this preamble does seem, I must also note that I write only with the utmost sincerity, that my recognition of this redundancy itself is not to provoke or stir, but simply to accept, by way of communication, that this exercise is naught but a performance for the reader. But then, what writing is not?

      As  I strained my eyes on the bright yellow paper outlining the agenda for  this report, I looked back at my life, realising that no such pivotal  learning moments had in fact occurred. Or rather, worse, that they had  occurred but their weight, their significance, was somehow lost upon  me in the hyper-real haze of mundanity. This troubled me then, as it  does now. However, I cannot help but consider that perhaps it is not  so much my history that is at fault, but the dynamics of the very question  itself. So often we choose to answer a question without regard of its  phrasings, its assumptions - without recognizing that its skewing is  implicity subservient to a greater purpose. How can one truly hope to  answer a question without that recognition, of what really  is being asked? Though I am ill-equipped to answer such a question due  to its inherent complexity and the high probability of my ill-interpretation,  I do not fail to at least perfunctorily recognize the agenda that does  belie this question. We are training to be Health Practitioners, a certain  role in society, the importance of which does not escape anyone, especially  those who run such training faculties. We are expected to give certain  answers to certain questions which are befitting of fulfilling such  a responsibility; and furthermore, we are graded on such subjective  measures as to how adept, as indicated by this paper, we may be at this  task. Though I appreciate the thought and the intent behind this project,  I also object to the multitude of assumptions, teleological or otherwise,  about how this task is supposed to link to our futures and what it ultimately  assesses. That is, I object the ‘utility’ of marking/grading such  a paper as an indicator of ‘sensitivity’ of ‘tactfulness’ or  a whole host of other such wobbly adjectives which supposedly correlate  with ‘good practise’ or general ‘goodness’.
      Though  I make no assumptions about the marker, I may however imagine at this  stage that the above diatribe may seem to some as off-topic, off agenda,  and even insincere. Already, the structure of my essay leaves a lot  to be desired, especially in terms of the points I should be  covering. However, I must herein emphasize that I consider this all  as part of the critical exercise. What does it mean to be a good student,  and ultimately Medical Practitioner? What are the answers that are meant  to be given, and what are the answers that I wish to give –  to myself, markers, and society. What is expected? 
      With  such thoughts, and a general sense of unease about life as predisposed  by that particular day’s preceding events, I  stepped outside into the darkness for a  stroll. This night, some week or so before this here moment of its articulation,  today, was to be the day. Stereotypically thoughtful, like a walking  cliché (how obsessed we are with reality, that we fail to  even recognize that clichés are the only truths that we will ever  truly own), I held a half-pre-smoked cigar in my left hand, and walked  through intermittent darkness abandoned by Churchill streetlights.  Still obsessed and frustrated in trying to  ‘find’ an epiphany, I realised that  epiphanies are difficult to come by, and that potentially, every moment  is one in its own right. I decided that this moment, this  thoughtful stroll was perhaps most appropriate and  also not-appropriate-at-all moment-of-illumination  for this exercise. In sum, my epiphany occurred at the moment of my  deciding, and came with a warning. 
      I  ‘already’ knew then that all that there was to be thought had already  been thought, and all there was to be felt had already been felt, such  is life; and all that really remains is rhetorical narrativisation.  Life’s mysteries are occluded and confounded only by our childish  necessity to narrativise, to tell stories to ourselves about ourselves,  as if somehow bareness bars us from ‘being’. The warning was clear.  That which I already tasted, smelled, felt, thought, would now be articulated,  and in no uncertain terms, but on paper, in writing. That is the nature  of this exercise, to make sense, to create links, to connect dots, to  conform truths – and that too from a translucent sea of incoherence.  Implicit in this recognition and acceptance is that anything that comes  forth will necessarily be impure and insincere, as much as anything  symbolised ever is. But all that is really required is a charade, a  facade of appearances, a reactionary reliving that will pass me for  a Health Practitioner, a respectable one at that.
      [If  the marker may allow me to deviate and fulfil the allocated task], then,  it was at that moment in my life, that I realised that perhaps I need  not be untruthful, or at least be not as untruthful, and instead  write with sincerity (though still performative) about how it  is that I feel. That is, I need not contrive and hyperbolize a particular  ‘real’ situation to appease the system. The narrative which comes  forth from here may be less ‘truthful’ in the factual sense of the  word, however, in another all together more meaningful sense of the  word, these impending ‘lies’ may in fact be more deserving of the  ink on this paper than any corollary factual accounts. 
      That  in itself is a learning experience, in that it is always better to tell  lies with which you can live than to tell truths which you cannot prove.  Telling a lie is at the least sincere, the act therein implicitly recognizes  and accepts falsehood and that alone is immensely valuable. Whereas,  telling ‘truths’, (the subjective ‘ideal’ as opposed to factual),  in the service of certain imagined, illusory virtues, almost certainly  smacks of arrogance and further ignorance of lived-consequences. Lies  involve foresight, sensitivity, tactfulness, an understanding beyond  virtue and value of one’s effect on this carefully unbalanced  world. Whereas, truths, that most chimerical of constructs involves  at most a self-congratulatory applause at ‘doing the right thing’,  a nod to self, appreciating self-indulgence without consideration and  appreciation of the opacity of life. (I write as if ‘life’ is a  concept soluble in singularity).
      My  walk continued in solitude. My thoughts sunk low and spiralled through  my body as if gravitating towards some mystery in my gut; a  metaphor matched and mimicked visually by the smoke exhaled from my  puckered lips under the far reaching  shine of the streetlights.
      What  strikes me now about that moment is its inherent foresight. That I anticipated  this moment of articulation to occur while ‘being’ in that particular  present. That articulation of bareness of reality is only ever withheld,  and occasionally spewed forth in moments like this. I had understood  then that the very epiphany I was not having then, would be, and  only ever can be had in articulation where it will be reinvented,  re-realised, and reimbursed in full. And that is the way that one learns  in life; even during the most testing, enduring phases of life, we only  ever look forward, for that is the only direction we are offered. We  are allowed the present so as to plan our futures, to lament our predictions  and potentials. The present exists only for grieving our lack of immediacy.   In reflection of that walk, I feel now that truth exists only at the  moment of articulation, in instantitiation and through a revisioning  of the past. Our actions are only ever understandable in instances and  thereby justifiable only in lies through our (hi)stories. I bring this  up as I wish to discuss my decision to take up Medicine as a profession. 
      In  no way did I take this decision lightly; I knew the implications and  responsibilities, foremost for my life, and also for others’, in which  I would necessarily have an impact in this profession. However, as unfashionable  for a Medical student to admit as it is, I must add that Medicine is  not my passion. I did not have a moment of clarity or a sudden thunderbolt,  which pulled me towards the field; I do not consider this to be it.  (I am almost, tentatively, hesitantly, certainly unsure,  that there is much more to life than this, and I plan to find out where  it is and why it has not been talking to me). I personally am of the  opinion that this admission, as filled with guilt as it is, will help  me ‘be’ a better Health Practitioner. To connect the dots with the  earlier mentioned performativity (that is, lying), I argue (with myself  of course!) that to be feigning is more sincere and fruitful an endeavour  than to ‘being’. However it is not passive feigning, not one rooted  in self-deceit, but rather it is one anchored into an ideal. A conscious  acceptance forthright of one’s limitations is better than the deceit  of ‘being’, as that is not a true option, it’s a delusion - a  delusion which leads to apathy and self-aggrandisation. Thus, for me,  I realised ‘then’ (that which I already knew) that to be a good,  responsible, societally acceptable Medical Practitioner, I would have  to live up to, and construct myself as an ideal. The effort will be  ever frustrating, and failing, but at the same time, it will be sincere  and disillusioned. To maintain a measure of distance is perhaps the  most important trait of a prospective Medical Practitioner - one acutely  aware of his determinants and relations to the past. One who is able  to see the underlying structures lining his actions, as relative to,  and independent of, his past. 
      Thus,  even as exemplified by this exercise, we realise that to articulate  now is to realise in this instant that the past binds us  in uncertain ways. It is relevant only insofar as we may choose to refer  to it for the sake of narrative. A real sense of responsibility thus  dawns upon me in this recognition. This responsibility is at once fleeting,  freeing and somewhat disturbing. A sense of personal responsibility  means that it is not sufficient to refer to ones history as causative  of one’s decisions. This is more so important in terms of perceptions;  all that we ever offer to the world will be judged in isolation, in  instances. This is not simply because people fail to understand context,  but more so because the concept of context itself is inherently unstable. 
      Being  watched from the vantage of a crow sitting atop the streetlight under  which I loitered, it became evident  to me that we exist at all only in discrete moments,  tentatively threaded to our past, obsessively consolidating our identities. 
      Is  this true only from the Other’s perspectives? I fear not. We only  ever ‘consolidate’ when that gaze of the Other is lifted from above  us, when we are allowed to ‘be’. At all other moments we are discrete,  fragmented, conformed. Thus to ask for forgiveness/absolution of our  actions is to not understand our truly disconnected nature from ourselves.  The only logical conclusion thus is that there exists such radical freedom  in and of oneself that it is inherently suffocating. Only in ‘performance  of self’ is there real structure. We are chronically responsible for  our actions, and must hold ourselves accountable for them in spite of  our pasts, and accept full responsibility only as we could expect of  others. Only in this realisation, this self-othering, can there be ‘true’  fulfilment of social duties, however trivial, fleeting and ultimately  value-void they may be. By choosing the path of a medical practitioner,  I choose to behave a certain way, to conform and to exist as expected  by the Other, and to not do justice to this role is not only insincere  to society but also damaging to one’s dignity.
      As  I drew my walk to a close, I anticipated this moment of closure in my  exercise. I had also pre-planned that I would undo my thoughts by recognizing  the problems of these articulations. The theme which I have tried to  expound herein is that things only become ‘active’ upon certain  symbolisation, upon utterance, and this exercise too has proven this,  at least to myself. From where I stand now, and looking back 2000 words,  I find it astounding, that which I have performed, that which I have  uttered. The conviction with which I concluded the second paragraph  now seems somewhat unstable. What is that not but development? The ‘truth’  of the statements is at best secondary, but their instantiation, their  viscerality is primary. Only through action, through commitment can  there be change in self. That applies too to my education here at Gippsland;  whatever the doubts now may be, or wherever they may originate, the  primary goal is application. Whichever direction that may lead towards  will determine, in discrete portions, how I develop (even if un-teleologically)  as a medical practitioner, and more importantly as a person. In sum,  to learn is to act. 
      I  opened the door to my room, sat on the chair and  realised that I had no (k)new knowledge, but  had learnt much.

on crying your heart out

2009-11-29T01:49:00.003+13:00

/crying is really another way to justify your situation/

how improvished this view point really is. yes, that may be one aspect of viewing this matter, but it certainly subjugates the rather more important matter of jouissance behind it. Jouissance, as an achievemnt of phantasmic consistency. Crying then is the chance of transformation of barred subject into a dissolution of the structures of symbols, a sublimation, the chance of its occurence probably which forms the basis of everyday reality.

That is, there exists always already the chance of this dissolution, it supports the confusion inherent in interpreting the symbolic structure, its anxious plasticity.

its this 'break' from 'reality' which acts as that which threatens to achieve jouissance. its potential existence (never realised in full) is that which allows it to act as that which is the objet petit a. Its the 'object'/situation/scenario, which we so desire so that it may grant us phantasmic immunity, by freeing us from the structures of symbols. It'll help us achieve our 'real'.

But it does not. In fact the exercise in itself is merely circular.

baked.

Phones are awesome

2009-11-09T10:31:00.000+13:00

Don't you love it when someone sitting in close vicinity has the same text message tone that you had maybe three or four years ago. Its quite amazing.

there's africa and then there's 'south africa'

2009-11-05T11:35:00.000+13:00

funny that

The Beatles were an AVERAGE BAND

2009-09-11T00:08:00.002+12:00

THERE! I'VE SAID IT! I just DON'T UNDERSTAND!

I just seriously don't get it. Granted the Beatles were an amusing little pop group, and granted they have a few great songs, but do they really deserve the sort of deification that is afforded to them?

I mean really. I just don't get why! They were okay, i guess, but nothing GodLike in the least.

My op at least.

2tsvubhqxf

2009-07-06T13:12:00.000+12:00

2tsvubhqxf

In defence of lies, in defence of God

2009-06-26T02:35:00.012+12:00

This will be a difficult post. I want to defend God.

I am not sure about the sincerity of my motives in his (god is male) defence, that is, whether I am doing it simply because it is now fashionable to be an atheist, but one thing is for sure, my defence is sincere.

My quibbles (what a sweet word) are not with the rejection of the organized religion, as I have been through that phase already. I am to all intents and purposes still a devout atheist, devout in nothing and everything. The issues I have here are with the simplicity of the rejection of God. The notion that God doesn't exist because Science says so, which though is invariably true, strikes me as an inherently improvished line of thought. I feel I'm being an apologetic for my own thoughts as I write this. But I must clarify, that what I mean is simply that after the initial urge that I had to fervently reject God, almost with fundamentalist zeal, after a while that seems to be a rather juvenile a realisation. The 'joy' of intellectual superiority is terribly short lived, while the slow realisation sets in that you indeed are missing something. That something may not be crucial, but it is something*.

That something, a gap which does not need to be filled in with the semantically loaded word 'god' seems however be best filled by it. As rejection of God, as a notion, is worthy of analysis. As generally it seems that the rejection of God, is accompanied with an enlightened acceptance of the converse, acceptance of the sciences. That is, materialism, determinism, belief in cause and effect, repeatability. The sentence which defies the existence of god, is often punctuated with exclaimed rationality. That is what I have trouble with.

Though it is easily arguable that Rationality can exist in a Godless universe, which is undoubtedly true - but I would argue that the weight that the term 'God' carries in our society, and the connotations which result in its rejection, are beyond mere 'theist' opinions. So while rationality exists -  certainly - in a God-less universe, I think by the same token we must also examine the slippery nature of the understanding of the term 'rationality'. It is so easy to fall into the trap of thinking of the term as existing outside of our societal aspirations. That somehow the word is extra-textual, and grounded in 'real' reality, and not 'subjective' reality.

That is definitely not to say that rationality does not exist. I for one am certain that rationality exists and plays a gargantuan role in the role of the human intellectual evolution, but by the same token it becomes then  so easily to forget the role of the symbolic in the role of that same evoltution. That so much of our lives are not goverened by the rational, but by the symbolic, by the imaginary. That is, the human condition is not a result of cause and effect. Again, it is arguable now that the symbolic and the imaginary are mere physical reactions, which are also accountable to physical laws (thoughts are neural connections), and yes, that would be a valid argument in our limited scientific understanding (as it always necessarily will be) at the present time (much like the world was flat a while back).

However, as tempting as that argument is, even the its most ardent defenders would recognize the futility in its adherence. The human condition exists in spite of the futility and finity of our existence. Our existential realities exist squarely in the face of rationality. A actual acceptance of our insignificance is not only impossible, but also irrational. For significance and insignificance themselves are words devised by our societies, and filled with meanings. So though our lives may still be deterministic, and rationally goverened, our disembodied existence can never be. For it is the existence that exists outside the realm of language. Outside the realm of significance and weight. It is of unbearable lightness, as Kundera would have it. It has no semantic attachments grounded in the values of society. The apperceptive engagement of our senses with rationality is what millenia worth of paper have been wasted on. It is not so easy to explain it away. And if you do, as I have done, sooner or later you will learn to divorce it from rationality.

As I write, I can just sense the criticisms flowing through, but I also understand how easy it is to defend a crudely atheistic position behind the veil of scientific realism.

To come back to my original line of thought. A rejection of God is easy.but I'm weary of the accompanying rejections. God, the notion, in itself can be semantically reappropriated by the post-atheist individual. The concept need not be held hostage to the lowest troughs of its connotations, but should also be understood for the highest crests of its potential. An endeavour without aim or reason, but that very lack is what makes it precisely so relevant to individual existence. A futile endeavour is perhaps the most important endeavour.

* i'm NOT claiming that theists are privy exclusively to this knowledge of this 'something 'btw. Definitely this 'knowledge' if you can call it that, exists almost always after the rejection of the equally simplistic blind belief in 'God'.

How to Handle a Hysterical Woman

2009-06-03T23:53:00.001+12:00

you can't. give up.

Why are girls so pretty?

2009-05-31T14:19:00.002+12:00

I often just sit and think, I don't know if others do. But why are girls so damn pretty? Its just amazing, you just look at some women, and something weird, some fuse just blows up in your mind. Its quite enthralling.

But I hasten to add, it isn't the case with all girls...

Vienna Sikh Attacks against Dalits

2009-05-25T21:06:00.003+12:00

I don't know how to interpret the latest attacks against the Balla vale Sant in vienna. I'm a devout atheist. I really couldn't give a crap less about religion. But this event, this disgraceful occurence was not simply against religion, it was against Dalits. I'm a Dalit. A lower caste Chamar. And the anger I feel right now against the perpetrators is indescribable. It doesn't mean I'm going to burn their temples of what have you, but still I can't help but feel this indescript vague desire for revenge.

My forefathers, my grandparents, going back centuries, have suffered at the hands of these oppressors. Who believe they have some religious obligation to enslave and dehumanise us Dalits. Let us not be under any illusion, these attacks were NOT about a disagreement in doctrine, these attacks were a direct results of Jatts taking exception to the teaching of Dalit saint Ravidass to attack the Chamars. THIS WAS A CASTE BASED ATTACK.

Whoever says things have changed in the caste system is ignorant at best. Things haven't changed, they've merely shifted underground. And in events like this we can bear witness to the emergence, the resurfacing of this centuries old hatred which finds its way through the cracks of capitalism. Money is the only thing that is holding 'us', the imagined indian community, together. Are the self-celebratory upper castes forgetting that when they imagine the caste system to be obsolete, they're doing nothing but absolving themselves from the blame? Can people not truly look at themselves and realise the hypocracy here? How many ppl are going to come forth - even in the blogosphere - and truly condemn this act of hatred. And on the contrary, how many ppl are going to sit around and believe that this truly was simply a freak occurence, and that things aren't really like this. For I believe the latter position is simply an encouragement to the terrorists, these Jatt terrorists. To not speak out against crimes of humanity, means you are also implicated; and deny it as you may, most people really do not care. When the oppressors turn a blind eye to events under the guise of non-discrimination (we don't care because we're not castists), it is clear to see that what they're really doing is supporting their power struggle. It is in their best interest to let the extremists to do the hard work for them, when they themselves can sit at home and act outraged for 2 minutes.

This post is not meant to incite anyone to get off their butts and do something about anything. For I know that's impossible. I know, the Dalits will continue to feel opressed, and the Jatt's, continously feeling disenfranchised will continually oppress. That is the way it has always been, the status quo, and that in my cynical mind, is the way it will remain.

Firsts in 2009

2009-01-27T08:36:00.002+13:00

I'm writing for the first time in 2009. Auspicious.

Currently I'm sitting at my laptop on India, doing pretty much exactly the same things that I'd be doing in NZ, my home country. And that disturbs me. Its not so much the homogeneity of existence which troubles me; its more so the recognition of the constant that is me. I can say to some extent now that I have had at least some share of my travelling done. It was grand. However at the same time, I can't help but feel how dull it also was. Let me explain...for I know a few people who'll read this and simply laugh it off as plain old pessimism - let me assure you, that is not the case.

It's not that I did not enjoy myself, or that I didn't do all the stupid things which qualify one later on as experienced. It's more so the consistent nagging of reality even whilst travelling which drips like tap drops onto your forehead unintermittentaly that I refer to. The tap drops, like gentle torture, keep you in check of the simple fact that 'you exist'. Perhaps this is all because of the rather futile endeavour of seeking authenticity - primitive roots - in another community that one feels disappointed. But even grander than that I feel is another reason. As a tourist, scopophilia becomes so suffocatingly dense in your eyes you begin to feel your very benign existence. And one could argue that this is precisely the very thing one travels to get away from.

But I've found that this is the very joy of travelling. One should, before embarking, get their expectations straight. I have learnt now that I will always travel with myself, no matter how many other people are around me to drown out white noises. Man this is so wanky. In the end, in simple terms, what I'm trying to say is: I love travelling, I aim to do a whole lot more further on this year . . . its just more fun, and life changing, if you get your expectations straight.

08-08-08; 8:08:08 pm

2008-08-08T20:06:00.002+12:00

At the time above, I will push submit. Mainly becz I'm an idiot. But it's something which needs to be done.

08-08-08; 08

2008-08-08T20:06:00.000+12:00

Felt like writing

2008-08-05T22:53:00.002+12:00

For some reason, the times when I feel I should write something on my blog is whenever I have study to do. Right now, I have a couple of assignments to do which I'm sure I will regret postponing. But I'm doing it anyway. That's the way it always happens anyway.

Not quite sure yet what to write about. Something pseudo-intellectual as usual perhaps? That's a thought, but my brain's not working quite at full functionality right now.

Things are going quite well right now. Too well really. And I suppose that's why I have nothing to write about. I feel quite optimistic about the future, and it seems that good writing feeds on nothing but misery. Thus what I'm writing now is utter garbage. I can feel my fingers exuding muck on the keyboard as I type.

Though I must say it's not entirely true. The thing about being content. I feel somewhat placated with my lot right now. Because the future looks grand. But at the same time, I feel like I'm missing that very cliche something. But that's also a feeling which you paradoxically learn to live with...even narcissistically enjoy to some extent.

I still haven't got around to editing all my photos from my europe trip. I really need to get on to that. Some photos are actually okay, unlike most of my endeavours. But then, I think if you end up taking hundreds of pictures, the chances are at least 1 percent should be good. And indeed they are.

I would like to say I miss being in England and all, but I would be lying. It's not so much that I miss it, it's more that I enjoy restrospection of it. It gets better the more in the past it goes, as it becomes a more and more fantasmic locale which I once inhabited. Similarly the europe expidition becomes ever-increasingly exoticised in my imagination as the days roll by in the mundanity of home-town. Funnily enough, I used to call Leeds home while I was there. How flexible that term is? Easy to own and disown at one's will. But then, what isn't?

I'm distinctly uninspired today to write about anything. But I'm enjoying this obscenity right now. This self-indulgent strip tease to the rest of the world using virtuality as my mask. It's fun. It's fun. It's obscene. That's why it's fun.

I hate this

2008-07-26T22:40:00.000+12:00

When you figure it out (which isn't too hard) you'll know why.

The complexity of posting

2008-05-07T10:34:00.002+12:00

Here I am...posting after a long time on this page.

However, I'm worried about what this post says about me. The fact of the matter is, for me, blogging is entirely (?) performative. That is, it's about virtual existences which in fact neither mirror nor replace existence in 'reality' - whatever that is.

The level of self-involvment inherent in these posts is unbearable. That is in fact why I've, to a large extent, stopped posting. The dissonance that one experiences when publishing material entirely dishonestly, with utter sincerity, about existence is too powerful to ignore.

Facebook? Blogging? What the fuck? Why does life need to be embellished so? Life is not glamarous, be it virtual or non-virtual. However, our net lives are embedded helplesses within a web of hyperreality of the celebrity. We are all so insecure about our actual helplessness when faced with everyday life, that we feel we must appear otherwise if we are to ever be happy. Blogging offers faux empowerement. My post is testament to this fact.

That's pathology. Pathology. The pathology of existing within a modern world. We're all sick.

Fuck you to Bramins

2008-03-09T09:12:00.002+13:00

Just wanted to say a big fuck you to this website:

www.marryabrahmin.com

I hope the people who create such castist websites, without a hint of self-reflexivity, die a slow horrible agonizing death.

Fuck you Brahmins. You're not superior.

From the UK

2008-02-07T05:18:00.000+13:00

Hi ya'll

This post is from the UK. Yes, I have finally arrived. Well, actually I arrived some time ago, but I decided I should post now, since I actually have studies. I am in fact meant to be writing my essay right now, but this seemed infinitely more alluring.

So yeah...about England....it's cold. And the studpidest thing, it snows here! Though it was beautiful and all to see the snow fall, you kinda get over it on the account of freezing to death.

But apart from that...it's very nice. Everything is so culturally and heritagy and snobby....just the way us pretentious folk like it!

What else? Hmmm......a lot. But we won't go into that.

Byeeeeeee

Gold Coast

2007-11-19T11:18:00.000+13:00

As the title implies/states, I'm in Gold Coast right now. Thus, my blogging practices have been much less than adequate. However, I thought I'd semi-update with a kind of self-congratulatory taunt aimed at all you people. But...I have since decided against that.

Instead, I will write about pretty much nothing.

Enough of that.

Yeah so...GC is great...there's plenty more to say, but I hate going on about stuff and outlining my life, so I'll stop it here. But hopefully, I will update again soon, with something a bit more intelligent.

Love

Parv

Moderation

2007-09-20T00:48:00.000+12:00

I found this really good article about Israel online on one of my fav websites:

http://www.butterfliesandwheels.com/articleprint.php?num=272

Those who know me, will know that I'm fairly anti-Israel; however, this is fairly standard practise for anyone who's even slightly left-leaning at an NZ university. Importantly, then, I have NEVER been exposed to any information which could potentially change my viewpoints, and indeed, nor did I wish to. But this brilliant (albeit polemical) article has shed some light on my ignorance, and from now on, I will view the events in Gaza et al with a more informed view.

Hope it helps others too.

P.S: Excuse the poor sentence structure.

Hindus are retarded

2007-09-14T22:35:00.000+12:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6994415.stm

Quote: "Hindu activists say the bridge was built by Lord Ram's monkey army to travel to Sri Lanka and has religious significance"

Enough said.

Obliged

2007-09-01T09:29:00.000+12:00

The above cartoon (click on it for enlargement) as been banned from being published in Washington Post, because it may - !shock horror! - offend muslims! I'm sick and tired of having to control freedom of speech for a group of oversensitive and gullible people. Just cause a billion of you believe in this stuff, doesn't make it true...and god willing (pun intended) we should continue making fun of this (as indeed all) religions.

(M)

2007-08-30T20:29:00.001+12:00

LEGALISE CANNABIS

(OR GIVE A GOOD REASON TO NOT DO SO)

Travelling. On. The. Bus.

2007-08-21T13:03:00.000+12:00

He looked out the window - Listlessly. Wistfully. Endlessly - Into the darkness. Why? you ask; Why? I ask. Your humble narrator pleads: Need there be an answer to everything? Yes, you reply, their need be. In that case dear reader, I shall give you your answer, though the answer shall never truly be yours.

He looked out the window, wistfully, listlessly, endlessly, to avoid the oppressive glare of the neon. It shone and shone, and shone on more: into wrinkled, desert eyes, watering and agitated, into wrinkled creased eyes, watering with spice and lemon juice. The light was unforgiving and why should it not be? (Alas, there is a question which demands no answers.) And he squinted eternally.

So, dear reader, he looked out the bus window, into the darkness. But the light was bright (ha!) and the glass was reflective, so all he saw were reflections, reflections of the very things which he wanted to escape. He saw his apparition of a face, half reflected chiaroscuro into the abyss and realities; he saw a girl in the back seat, toying with her hair, for hair was all he could see. But most of all dear reader, he sensed with all his senses stuffed, the light, the light which burnt through his face, through his window, through his lonely road, through his fast-asleep-atlast-asleep blades of grass, and through his vacant skies.

Then suddenly, the light was no more, and the pain was no more. He did not have to face the horrors of his contrast lit eyes in the glass, and he did not have to bear the pain of the slightly burning grass. No dear reader, he did not; he did not have to confront the misery of the slumber somber night dismayed and disorientated at ephemeral bus-lit intrusions. The light was gone; it had, as it were, kicked the bucket.

Suddenly he saw the stars and he wondered. He wondered how a pathetic neon artificial bullshit horseshit crapshit neon light could obscure the most beautiful, majestic sight that a human conscious could hope to feast upon. He looked up at the cosmos, and absolved himself off himself in its womb like shawl. He looked at the heavens, and at the height of egocentricity, realized that the whole of the universe was made so that he could enjoy that very moment.

An eye there, and a hair there, a crisscross of vision and the chirp of a chippy packet. His focus shifted from the skies to the glass window and what is it that he saw? What does one hope to see in a glass window? Why, he saw himself of course. Now his face was superimposed upon the cosmos, and he realised the true nature of his oceanic enjoyment was nothing but narcissistic identification.

Do not be dismayed dear reader, for why does one read?

Completely Brilliant

2007-08-16T18:31:00.001+12:00

Jai Hind

2007-08-15T18:57:00.000+12:00

Mera bharat pyara. Jai Hind!

Aazadi ke din, svatantrta divas mein, mena bhi socha ik aazadi ka kalam,
Chod ye romanchak baten, yeh sab dil ka he kam

Shayad kabhi mein apne desh ke liye kuch aisa karoonga ke mera khudka sir fakr se uchan ho jaye.

Jai Hind!

S Asia Floods

2007-08-08T17:55:00.001+12:00

It is not a day to be happy. It is a day to mourn.

The starving children in the photos look helplessly at the lens. Yet, one must feel responsible.

I look at the hunderds of old women in tears. They are in tears because no parent should have to suffer the loss of their child.

I look at the squalor that's present. The people that are dying because they are fighting for food supplies, air dropped.

I look at pictures. Taken by objective photographers. They capture the people in their misery, and we consume. We look at the pictures and are saddened. But, at the same time, safely distanced. We accept their misery and we accept our helplessness. We accept and continue consumption. They continue dying.

Little children with smiles on their faces continue drowning. Old women with wisdom etched on their hands continue mourning. Young men with fire in their hearts continue fighting. Young women with long hair across their faces continue crying. We, with warmth in our dwellings continue turning the pages of the news paper.

Die well children. Someone doesn't give a shit. And it's me.

Unitarity

2007-08-02T21:21:00.000+12:00

I know, it's been a while since I wrote an entry. But here it is now. It's going to be amazing. It'll blow your minds. In fact you will be so impressed by the precision and eloquence of my writing that forever onwards you will rue the day you registered such perfectness. For to experience such a hyper-realistic, transgressive, forceful text is to taste that essential nectar which even the gods crave.

But the gods don't have the internet, so they won't be able to read my blog. So, score: 1 to humanity.

Ummmm...yeah.

Anyway, I did in fact read something the other day which unsettled me. As an atheist, I was recently acquainted to the possibility of an afterlife even after physical demise. That is, whilst keeping within the godless universe!

The concept is unitarity and it originates from quantum mechanics. It states that any information created or previously existing in the universe cannot be destroyed. Much like energy, but much more complex, since new information (presumably) can be created.

Stephen Hawking used to believe the converse, that information can be destroyed under certain circumstances. If rather unfortunate pockets of data go on a somewhat unromantic date with a black hole , information loses out at singularity. However, as it so happens, Stephen Hawking's unnecessary demonisation of the cute and cuddly black hole was baseless; he himself admitted so. That is, even whilst that packet of information has a nice 'flat white' at Fidel's on Cuba with the black hole, the packet tends very much to remain intact.

In terms of an afterlife then, one cannot assume of course that our full consciousness will remain intact. That is, we cannot (and this is my deduction, and I could be completely wrong) presume that our consciousness will survive our death, but certainly that the packets of information we accumulated do not disintigrate with us. By packets of information I mean things like: your first ice-cream memory, or 100th; you're mum's apron's colour; or whatever. The point being that even useless, trivial bits of information which we consider so vital to a cumulative understanding of selves remain intact after we've shed this mortal coil.

Leaving the possibilty (however infintisamly small) that we can be brough back to life (in terms of a computer simulation perhaps) if a future sentient being wishes ever so benevolently to do so.

Though not as optimistic as the theistic position. It is perhaps some consolation (or not) that our death certainly does not mean the complete dissolution of our consciousness.

If someone knows more about this topic than I do, then please advise me, as I would love to know more.

Sweet as.

Parv

Bored of Masturbation

2007-07-11T20:23:00.000+12:00

One gets bored of masturbation, of wanking. Something more is needed.

One appendage juts out ever so slightly from the male body, that one ever prevalent hope for exhilaration. That appendage, upon which so much expectation is placed for pleasure, be it from sex, masturbation or undemanding contemplation. Indeed, the inordinate amount of attention it receives it eventually begins to negate or mock in its dormancy.

Fucking - women - men (whatever) that is all that the penis is anatomically ascribed to do. To protrude, to infect, to inseminate, to initiate. However, rather than its anatomical function, perhaps narcissistically appropriating its bearer is its most vital and most self-affirming objectives. For it is a symbol, it is not really of any physical relevance to everyday life.

More often than not, the over-insisted appendage lies latent. It sleeps under not-one, but two layers of clothing. Scared and hiding under the weight of its own significance; safe and warm.

I look towards my feet.

Perhaps the penis yearns to be free like them; devoid of any pleasurable expectation, devoid of the suffocating role of masculine identification. Perhaps it years to be free and naked and cold; cold. The free feet will sense the world much more than the repressed penis will ever be allowed to.

Is it not also surprising then, that one asks a man to realize the existence of their penis (without touching and keeping still for reference of clothing), it is awfully hard to locate. All one can feel is the weight of their testicles, tiresome in their supporting role, constantly arrogating their neglected presence. Why the lack then? Perhaps, it is because the penis is ashamed, ashamed of its dormancy. Ashamed so much that it proceeds to completely remove its existence, as if it physically did not exist. Ashamed so much for not being erect and omnipotent. (And the converse of omnipotence is a least masculine proposition).

The shrivelled penis remains invisible. Its existence is until then of only symbolic significance: an all-power wielder, a phallus. This concept is easily consumable but impossible to realize in reality. A phallus; as if its been carved - erect- out of stone and placed down our pants - forever ready to violently fuck and arrogate itself into history. But the reality differs ever so slightly. The concept is consumable and consumed, as it is only when the penis is erect -and pretentiously majestic - do we revel in its 'anatomical' existence. Only when its existence, its protrusion supersedes our 'backgrounded' beings do we appreciate its symbolic significance (albeit determinately so). If it were up to us, we'd walk around all day with our stone cocks and announce our masculine superiority. Alas, we have only a penis. And of that we're afraid.

Of course - IF it is a fault - it is not exclusively ours. (Even though under capitalistic deceit of individuality, we have learnt to sadistically take responsibility for our lives). The world in which we live measures a man;s masculine worth with a ruler against his dick. The mystique of the phallus, which is meant to serve patriarchy, paradoxically only succeeds in prompting men to run away from their own bodies.

Lest men think I'm being unnecessarily critical and women think that this article concerns them not at all, they're mistaken. Women's existence is -of course - a terrible one in our patriarchal society. They are forced to define their womanhood (femininity) as everything un-masculine (and vice versa). Their bodies becoming nothing more than contractual property of a ruthless society which is obsessed with the firmness of the breasts and the tightness of vaginas. Thus, women are received as nothing but lavishly decorated spittoons for the containment of sperm and other societal secretions/excretions.

But women at least have the opportunity to revel in their own secretions. They realize the power of the vagina's hidden nature. When under threat, they can simply close their legs under the safety of four repressive/liberalising layers (tampon, lingerie, pants and of course, legs).

Whereas the man stands at once naked and exposed for the world to draw heteronormative standards against. Nakedly and pathetically, the man allows exploitation of his mind and body for the social utility of repression.

To come full circle then - one gets bored. Bored of masturbation, bored of sadism, bored of masochism. Indeed these three aspects define narcisstic identification...which my readers have naively or wilfully delved in here.

From afar

2007-06-17T22:57:00.000+12:00

Hey y'all,

Aren't I just so cool? Saying y'all an' all...I thought so. I still do.

Anyway, I'm a bit kookoo right now as I'm on holiday; but I got the net for a bit, and I thought I'd better write on my blog. So here I am.

Aussie is awesome; so many great photo opportunities, especially people on the train, they're so photogenic. And since I have a digital SLR now, I can only take the best result!

So, have been here for almost a week now....and I'm not having any deep thoughts or confused views. That's what a holiday ought to be about. Such a brain-dead time; I love it...with a capital V. Gold Coast is so sandy and happy.

Except...even though people consider shopping to be a generally emasculating activity, I'd just like to write a note here to say that I like it. So anyone who thinks that it's girly, I really don't care. I have recently just finished writing an essay on masculinity construction in our society, so I'm recently enlightened about the bullshit that society feeds men on how we ought to be...I don't want to be a part of that. So there, let's break stereotypes right now: I like to buy things, including clothes.

Peace out everyone.

Parv

Offset

2007-06-07T10:42:00.000+12:00

Stupid assignments. Can't wait to get to Oz.

Tarzan's Jane

2007-06-03T23:49:00.000+12:00

The headline in the Dominion Post reads: "From Pole Vaulter to Sex Symbol" . I keenly read the article describing the 18 year old's unexpected rise to fame following an interview posted on 'youtube'. Besides the captioned picture of her breathtaking beauty resides a rather unnecessary explanation of her fame: "...largely a result of hundreds of men ogling her physique". It is important to note: she strongly denounces those who have given her such objectifying fame.

She bothers me.

I gaze primitively at her picture, but simultaneously shy away. My resistance at gazing intrigues and troubles me. Why do I look at her physique and not be filled with sexual desire but inexplicable chaos? It is not the depth of her femininity nor her superficial beauty that bids me shy way. Perhaps I shy away because 'ogling' the photo inevitably says something about me. Or perhaps, it is simply her deservedness that commands me so. Sheer envy at this accomplished athlete's intensity of focus and desire.

Though I do no deny the envy factor, I do dare suggest there is more to it; for if this were a male, I would not have batted an eyelid; complete ambivalence would be the order of the time. But her beautiful, gorgeous, inviting womanhood coupled with the unfathomable focus and effort that she has dedicated to her chosen field, is truly threatening to the masculine psyche. There's something about beautiful and successful women which is boldly demeaning.

I suddenly get the urge to deface her beauty in the paper. To quote 'Fight Club': "I wanted to destory something beautiful".

On second thoughts then, It is the depth of her femininity; the fact that she can deny her fame, she can deny her obscenity. The fact that she is desirable and desired by every man, yet makes it clear she is naive to such matters. For that reason, she challenges my 'masculinity' (that demolition worthy, awful, Patriarchal, social construct). For her femininity must be viewed as a strength, and not simply be defined as a feature lacking in masculinity. She is successful in spite and because of her womanhood. And there is nothing more frightening to a man in the world.

The male gaze is thus relegated to one of admiration and desire - not denigration - but one of ideals to live up to - not deprication. Further complicating the matter then: to live up to everything she is - one must be feminized. This is inherently problematic to the male psyche. First due to its unattainable nature and second due to my blatant refusal to do so: resulting in a broadly - yet powerfully - misogynistic outlook. For to admire a woman is to aspire to drown in her beautiful lascivious femininity, the depth of which is worryingly dark and unexplored. And by all accounts unfathomable.

This denial of the feminine depth by women is the biggest deceit that any man will ever face.

Sex and the Bourgeois

2007-05-29T11:15:00.000+12:00

I wrote the following while bored in a lecture:

The tinge of sadness that lines the everyday existence is, in many ways, the greatest tragedy. The background noise which if heard well enough can drown you in its spontanaeity. Paradoxically, the same tragedy of life becomes precisely the jubilant chaos when faced with authenticity. To be truly alive is to recognize its existence, its authenticity in our truly duplicitious world. A bourgeois life of mundanity, petty values and ideals should not be allowed to govern our existential condition.

To strive for an acceptance of consciousness, somehow less and more primitive - simultaneously - is quintisentially golden. To strive for a divine (in no way spiritual) detachment; a detachment which is necessary to free us from the triviality of everyday life. To be detached is to see the universe in its all encomapassing glorious grandeur. By doing so, one can see the lack of connections which connect the entirety of this universe and marvel at this timid existence...and truly realize how breathtaking it is.

On a separate note, some guy said this, and I was suitably impressed: "a young bourgeois finds it hard to be a Marxist"

Disclaimer: some girl could have also said the aforenoted quote.

Abortion is...

2007-05-23T00:33:00.000+12:00

Abortion is no easy topic to discuss. Especially on an informal blog such as this one. Remember that I'm just thinking out loud here, so don't sue me if it doesn't make sense.

When the question is asked, 'whether one supports abortion or not', most people are either indifferent or undecided. Those who are decided on pro-choice extreme cannot usually give all inclusive statements supporting their claims. Every reason for supporting abortion has an anti-claim. However, this is not the same for the faith based anti-abortion activist.

Those people who have faith on their side, repeatedly insist on citing the bible for claims as to the sanctity of human life, and how according to the Gospels, abortion is akin to murder. In fact those who have faith on their side can pretty much cite the bible/Koran in any life situation, and expect that others will believe their claims on this premise alone.
But what I do not at all understand is how the supposedly moderate Christian can refer to the bible as he/she desires. Most Christians these days recognize that the Bible is an outdated moral code designed to be adhered to in atavistic conditions; and that today's modern world requires a modern interpretation of the bible, reading new morals into today's problems. In this way, the moderate bible basher can twist and distort the biblical references to fit their desires as they please. I sincerely believe, that if one were to do so, one could easily take this to the extreme and somehow justify abortion...as sanctioned by the Gospels.

The book which so many people swear by, will give their life by, is so fickle even in its relevance to everyday existence, that its relevance to such an important issue such as abortion is truly questionworthy.

I will refrain from giving my point of view on the matter of whether abortion is right or wrong. Writing my argument on a blog is filled with lewd amounts of complexity for me to handle atm(1). My point of the above piece was, that the bible point of view of looking at abortions is irrelavant, and should be discarded. Let's think from a secular humanist point of view. Because, in reality, the Christian morals have updated and indeed followed the Humanist ideals of the time. Let's look at them for a guideline for ethical grounds of abortion.

(1) Although I will say that I will not judge whosoever chooses to abort, for I would completely understand their point of view on the matter, and their moral dilemmas. But one who chooses not to abort simply because they think it's murder - despite condemning the prospective child to a life full of conscious misery - I would certainly love to have a talk with about their views.

Btw, this abortion lead was followed on from Lee's blog, visit it for a more entertaining view: http://kinglee.livejournal.com

Marginally Cool

2007-05-20T22:43:00.001+12:00

Intersting Rotating Tower for Dubai; what a waste of oil money...still cool though.

Pier Paolo Pasolini

2007-05-17T23:18:00.000+12:00

Pictured above is Pier Paolo Pasolini, he was a brilliant and transgressive Italian Artist - in the truest sense of the word. Pasolini was part of the post-fascist movement of directors within Italy. However, he differed crucially in every respect, he was ...(void). Studying his work in the past few weeks has made me think so much and change to such a degree, that I have immeasurable respect for this now rather dead person.

He's my current role model. Fuck this guy was awesome. The use of an obscenity in an otherwise formal declaration is proof positive of how much I mean it. I suggest you read his biography...

Apart from that. Another topic:

I was wondering today about the void.

It is that void which is all encompassing. It is that singularity in each situation (or the sum of) in which all things converge and finally comprehend one another. If one were to realize it, it would define beyond perfection the truth in truth. However by the act of definition, the void would cease to exist, and all things would not converge there, and no - thing would react in perfect unison. It would have been soiled by the human conscious. That dirtiest of cloths.

So though we are not able to have knowledge, non-knowledge if you will, but by recognizing the existence, there is knowledge of this non-knowledge. Which is anti-thetically knowledge of that which is unknowable.

It is the void from which addition and subtraction of elements creates order and disorder simultaneously. The void whose net is zero. It exists in the unconscious and the physical. It is both objective and subjective. The void defies structure and authority.

Perhaps the word void needs to be examined. Afterall to be coined void is to know. In no way is our primitive formulaic language able to satisfy the requirements of comprehending this gap in reality. (Which is in fact the whole of reality.)

The void is then (omit the word 'then' at will) the unconscious of objectivity and subjectivity. It is the desert from which all exuded and will ultimately perish in. The desert, however, will always be there, it is eternal.

What is this crap? Unnecessary complications from a conceited mind. Conceited. Conceited. Conceited.

In Defense of Scientology?

2007-05-14T23:42:00.000+12:00

Yes, I've gone crazy. Defending scientology is not only hugely unpopular, but it is also unimaginably unlike the core 'me'. However, with all the anti-scientology sentiment going around, I thought someone has to say something here. Albeit online.

It seems that being anti-scientologist is fashionable these days. Indeed, I think it fits neatly into the fad of being generally atheistic in today's world, where non-belief is seen as a form of rebellion.

However, anti-scientology sentiment differs; it differs in that it is able to unite believers of traditional religion to get a taste of what it's like to be an atheist. The premise here being that Religious people have an innate underlying level of doubt which sways them towards non-belief from time to time. There are very few truly faithful in this world. That is, most people don't believe in god, but they believe very strongly in 'belief in god'. That's why faith is seen as a most virtous quality in a person, since the large proportion of the religious inherently reject the stories that religions preach.

So attacking Scientology has provided a new outlet for the frustrated religious. In opposition to this cult, they can now freely voice their underlying logical rational cores. All this without the fear of social outcasting. They can feel like aethists and voice for ones, the opinions they truly believe in, not those that they think would be 'nice' to believe in.

But really. How does Scientology differ from any other religion?

Similarities:

a) A really stupid storyline on which the whole faith is based

b) A plan for ultimate happiness
c) A prophet
d) Economic Viability (to survive)

Granted that d) has gone way, way out of hand in the case of Scientology, but really....I think Scientologists have the right idea when they say they have a right to exist just like all other religions.

Sure, atheists (like I) are immune from this critiscism of the religous bias towards scientology. But even 'we' (if you're atheist) must not single out Scientology for their poor storyline and a ridiculous prophet, as other religions share these traits without exception.

P.S: I forgot to mention, a defense for anti-Sc. is that they are harming people by taking their money for the promise of ultimate revelation. Come on people! Look at the massive loss of life that occurs to this day due to Christian, Islamist or Hindu etc beliefs. I think taking money falls short on the 'harm-to-society' scale.

Fatness

2007-05-12T17:41:00.000+12:00

In this week's issue of Salient (Vic's weekly periodical), I read an article on food and fatness. The author was vehemently opposed to our society's slim body obsession. She wanted to encourage all readers to eat like you mean it, and enjoy life. Quite understandably, she was also upset with the synonym that has recently come to be of slim...healthy. She promotes happy eating, without guilt and distributes free cake to people so that they can discover the true meaning of health: 'feeling good about yourself, not weight'.

See, that's all fine and well, but I can't help but feel that the author has done a huge disservice to the advocates of healthy living; who don't promote being anorexic but neither do they promote being overweight. Being overweight is a stigma, admittedly, primarily because our body-conscious society wishes it to be so. However, there are more pressing scientific reason why overweight is bad, nay, terrible. Everyone knows what they are: diabetes, heart disease, and pretty much all other problems associated with the cardiovascular circuit. So my problem lies herein. Prompting future generations to give up being skinny must not (albeit inadvertently) help promote overweight. To oppose a wrong of society, the revolutionary must not encourage the other extreme which is equally detrimental.

My message to the author is simply this then. Let's actually promote a healthy weight range, in which the fewest range of medical complications have the potential to exist. Because whatever the definition of health, sick people generally tend not to fall under its classification.

Atheism and Other things

2007-05-09T12:43:00.000+12:00

Another day, another blog.

Recently, I have graduated. In the original typing of the previous sentence, I had included a multitude of exclamation marks as punctuation, but on hindsight, I decided that understatement is the best form of hyperbole. Wouldn't you agree???!?!?!!!!

Anyway, the day was great. Well, several days were great. At the expense of my education here at Vic, I went to Auckland for the weekend. Had a killer night at Matakana doing naughty things on saturday, and on sunday was mostly stressed about my gown hiring. None-the-less, the sunday night turned out to be much better than sunday morning. Went out for dinner with Lee's parents, so here's a huge shout out to them. Also a huge shout out to Joel for shouting me stuff on Saturday nite. You know what I'm talking about.

It felt not strange at all actually, catching up with people. It was like, as Matt said, "I'd not left at all". I guess I'd only left for 2 months really, but it just all flowed with such elegance that I was starting to doubt whether I'd ever go back.

Graduation itself was pretty laid back. They just call you up and you get your cert and leave. I thought I'd make it slightly more interesting, and yell "Hi mum" before getting my degree. I did. hehe.

What was stupid was , I forgot to take my new, digital SLR to the ceremony. It was my 21st present, and I felt really daft for not taking it with me. Friends instead had to take all the photos for me. It's k though; I got over it after mum hassled me for 2 continous days about it. lol.

hmmm...what else. I'm kinda feeling silly right now for making my blogs just like everyone else who's ever written a blog. The aim was for these to be slightly different. Meh. Who cares. Got other stuff to do right now. So I'd better do it!

Byeeeee

Wooohoooo!!

2007-05-02T21:21:00.000+12:00

I'm far too excited to write a proper blog. But I gotta scholarship at Vic!!!!!!!!

Wooohoooooooooooo.

In other news, people STILL dying in Iraq and Sudan. Seriously people, give it a break already, we're tired of your persistent and pressing display of mortality.

Aimless

2007-05-01T22:36:00.000+12:00

I am writing this blog despite a complete lack of forethought. That is, I have no idea whatsoever as to what I will be writing about tonite.

Right now, I am in the middle of writing a 40% essay, for an Italian film called: 'Hercules in the Haunted World'. I feel rather stupid choosing this topic now as the amount of scholarly articles for this film are beyond scant. Indeed, non-existent. I wish I could pass this off as an excuse for a bad essay; as indeed it will be...

Since this is turing out to be a bit of a rant, I may as well continue. I lost something in my room today, in fact one of many, many times that I have done so. What is beyond me is, that my room being so small, and so limited in regards to storage facility, how I could possibly lose anything! It's completely insane. I am starting to believe there is some divine intervention which so acts to make my life just that little bit more difficult. It is fun though. In a hair pulling out of head way.

I wonder how many times people edit their written blogs on average. There's this persistent anxiety of slipping and revealing something profound about one's personality. Which is what I am doing now I suppose.
Meh. Let it be. I may edit this later anyway...

Lies

2007-04-27T19:19:00.000+12:00

I am writing this blog immediately after telling someone that I don't write a blog. Why? Well, because in my opinion, blogs are for people whom life has no meaning outside their computer screens. A generation of individuals who are so captured and incapacitated by binary, that life becomes a series of meaningless decisions of compulsion. Perhaps, it is the best approach.

Of course, I do I have a blog. I am part of that generation; I am an individual who has conveniently forgotten his impending mortality.

I was considering a month or two ago the 'realization' of self. I will paste what I wrote in, since I wrote in only in notepad.

This is a cautious attempt at writing when I'm under the influence. I said cautious, but I meant reluctant.

Reluctant, as I have really no clue what to write about. This evidently will not be the best I have ever written. Also, I am under no pretension of being highly creative during this mind-altered state. I said pretension, I meant illusion...I think.

I think therefore I am. Really?
Who am I? Why am I me? These two sentences in the interrogative may sound cliched and dull but I'm inclined to ask. Perhaps it is because only recently have I found what the true meaning behind this question is. As a theist, these questions are quickly ignored. However, during atheism: this question is indeed most troubling. Questions about why I am 'I' and not that table. 'I' inevitably seems to be an entity. A being, a reality of knowing thyself's existence that is beyond the purely physical. But I don't mean physical strictly in terms of materialistic fundamentality; instead, I mean physical in terms of determinism.

Arthur Miller, believed that he would live on after he died. At that time, I dismissed him as a believer of some sort. But I can see now, that due to this ontological discrepancy. This consciousness. He could be right. Because 'I' is a concept that challenges equality amongst creatures of the earth. For example, I am I, and not my best friend. Why? What does it mean to be me? What are the specifications? I'm somewhat embarrased at asking these oft-asked-ill-meant, questions. But the reader must understand that there are two states of minds which one can ask these questions. One, in which you see yourself as a product of purely deterministic universe (with some randomness); or two, in which you see yourself as a realisation of being. That is, more existentially. Perhaps, this will not help my readers at all. The only point that I would like to get across here is that these are not rudimentary questions. They stem out of a realisation that is extremely difficult to articulate. Likewise, these questions are not able to be answered, since they are not valid questions due to their false articulation.

I digress.

I do acknowledge that the piece above is not very informative. Articulation is a difficult endeavour. But I was thinking today as well, existentially of course, about the state of an individual. The state of being, the state of a real recognition that 'one will die'; I can't do it. It seems the only way to really live life, and not be stuck in the triviality of everyday proceedings is a recognition that one's time is limited. The things that worry us are the very things that should not be worried about; these false aspirations, these false truths, these true lies...

The aim of life is not to be content. However, it should at least be recognized that one/I am not a puppet distraught by the strings of society. That the 'I' which I have spoke of before should be acknowledged to the 'I', that is, to own's consciousness.

Not at all clear. But, what is? (I know you're not supposed to start a sentence with a conjunction)

Cheers

Procrastination

2007-04-26T21:27:00.000+12:00

I have nothing profound to say about procrastination. Indeed. I can only say that I'm under the influence of this drug right now. As I write this blog, I should in fact be writing a 25% essay, alas I choose not to. It is most curious that I am in fact aware -perfectly well- of what I am doing. I am aware of the consequences, as am I aware of the long-term implications on my life. None-the-less, I will persist until I have no option but to focus.

In a film lecture today, we had talks on transgression and european art cinema. It was very eye opening really. The boundaries that we set ourselves are completely understandable, yet completely ludicrous. The taboos that we perpetuate everyday, and the prejudices that we harbour are indeed shameful. Is it only up to the individual then to be transgressive, even if it does mean that he/she becomes a social outcast. We all know that there is no joy in being an outcast. At some point during the outcast scenario, one starts to wonder whether his (or her) ideals are greater than his (or her) happiness. Assuming of course that societal acceptance begets happiness, which in most cases it does not.

Here's a copy of the Transgressive Manifesto, if anyone whoever stumbles here is ever interseted:

We who have violated the laws, commands and duties of the avant-garde; i.e. to bore, tranquilize and obfuscate through a fluke process dictated by practical convenience stand guilty as charged. We openly renounce and reject the entrenched academic snobbery which erected a monument to laziness known as structuralism and proceeded to lock out those filmmakers who possesed the vision to see through this charade.
We refuse to take their easy approach to cinematic creativity; an approach which ruined the underground of the sixties when the scourge of the film school took over. Legitimising every mindless manifestation of sloppy movie making undertaken by a generation of misled film students, the dreary media arts centres and geriatic cinema critics have totally ignored the exhilarating accomplishments of those in our rank - such underground invisibles as Zedd, Kern, Turner, Klemann, DeLanda, Eros and Mare, and DirectArt Ltd, a new generation of filmmakers daring to rip out of the stifling straight jackets of film theory in a direct attack on every value system known to man.
We propose that all film schools be blown up and all boring films never be made again. We propose that a sense of humour is an essential element discarded by the doddering academics and further, that any film which doesn't shock isn't worth looking at. All values must be challenged. Nothing is sacred. Everything must be questioned and reassessed in order to free our minds from the faith of tradition.Intellectual growth demands that risks be taken and changes occur in political, sexual and aesthetic alignments no matter who disapproves. We propose to go beyond all limits set or prescribed by taste, morality or any other traditional value system shackling the minds of men. We pass beyond and go over boundaries of millimeters, screens and projectors to a state of expanded cinema.
We violate the command and law that we bore audiences to death in rituals of circumlocution and propose to break all the taboos of our age by sinning as much as possible. There will be blood, shame, pain and ecstasy, the likes of which no one has yet imagined. None shall emerge unscathed. Since there is no afterlife, the only hell is the hell of praying, obeying laws, and debasing yourself before authority figures, the only heaven is the heaven of sin, being rebellious, having fun, fucking, learning new things and breaking as many rules as you can. This act of courage is known as transgression. We propose transformation through transgression - to convert, transfigure and transmute into a higher plane of existence in order to approach freedom in a world full of unknowing slaves.
---Nick Zedd

Never advertise

2007-04-24T20:02:00.000+12:00

I am now officially initiating this blog. Perhaps because I'm lazy, or perhaps I have another reason unbeknown to me, I have decided to never advertise this blog to anyone. It's open only to those who stumble upon here by chance. Leaving life's trivial pleasures to probability is indeed satisfying - as opposed to planning every victory and failure.
Of course if no one ever reads these, then, hey! What the hell.

Parv.