Musings

The End Is Nigh

2009-08-09T16:37:00.001-07:00

The end is nigh. And there is nothing i can do about it.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

2009-07-12T06:11:00.000-07:00

How to succumb to a fictional fallacy that we have created. This so-called life has become our shackles while we wander in a biological existence that can easily be proven, but impossible to disprove. Yet, we are forced to accept a fiction dictated by those who refuse to explain. I want an explanation. In this brief biological existence of mine, I require the best that is on offer. Not something created out of thin air, but something of the air that is already there. Something I can touch, and fell, and smell. I want to be George Carlin. I want to feel the deity.

But why? Is it a weirding? I don't know. I don't want to experience a doomed existence. I want to live. I want to live the way I want to. This is where I stand. In this brief biological existence.

The Weirding

2009-07-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

What is "the weirding"? Is it the gerund form of the verb "to weird"? Does that word really exist? Who cares?

"The world spins out of tune / and there is nothing we can do to save her now."

So goes the chorus of Astra's "The Weirding". It is a weird concoction of sounds, passages, harmonies that make a whole that has more meaning than this sentence. But, who cares? It's the weirding. I'm weirding this blog.

Mount Hood

2008-11-14T14:13:00.000-08:00

Above and beyond a concrete river,
A snow-capped protrusion...
A dormant giant...

As you drive up the I-5 North-bound towards Portland, the majestic sight of Mount Hood appears in between dew-covered green leaves. It is a sight to behold and experience. This natural edifice beckons the city and has an air of reverse-Mount-Doom. In fact, the eerily similar structure of Mount Hood is startling. It almost feels like an impossibility, despite the hilly geography of the surrounding region.

It is like an ancient god overlooking its subjects and, on days like this when the Sun freely shines on the city without any hindrance, it reminds the people that they are protected. That everything is all right - Mount Hood is still here. It is comforting to know...

Lord Byron and Cat Stevens

2008-11-04T15:54:00.000-08:00

Perusing outside my window, I beheld the dew dangling on the tip of the leaves of the tree outside my window of the room I am staying in the damp, but gorgeous, Portland. Quite why Byron's impossibly beautiful poem "When We Two Parted" came to me is obvious for those familiar with it:

The dew of the morning sank chill on my brow / it felt like the warning of what I feel now

I hadn't read that particular poem for a long time, even though it is one of my favorite pieces of literature. In fact, the last time I read it was nearly three years ago when I recited that poem - in a flash of sappy romanticism - to my then new girlfriend. I hold the poem so high up on a pedestal that I even attempted to put music to it. A futile effort, as Byron's words flow like the most soothing tune every imagined.

My emotional and mental state brought back the poem and I silently recited it while the little droplet was hanging by its minuscule atomic thread. As I finished the last verse, the butterflies in my stomach were in a frenzy unlike any other time, except for my virginal reading of it.

If I should meet thee after long years / how should I greet thee? With silence and tears.

What followed was even stranger as my thought process proceeded to Cat Stevens' 1970 single "Lady D'Arbanville" - the most romantic necrophiliac elegy ever. The beauty of the simple strumming of the acoustic guitar is reason enough to lose yourself in Stevens' angelic voice. His delivery of this seemingly unrequited love is very powerful and poignant. However, the artist suddenly reveals the situation in a fashion that would make Byron weep:

I loved you my lady, though in your grave you lie / I'll always be with you, this rose will never die, this rose will never die

If there is another example of such elegant poetry in popular music, I would like to experience it.

Both poems describe, with varying methods, a love that was so powerful that for unforeseen circumstances beyond the orators' control, it will never be reenacted. I, for my own sake, wish never to have to say these lines in real life. Ever.

"Anathem" and the Role of Religion on Arbre

2008-11-03T14:01:00.000-08:00

Neal Stephenson's rather dense new novel posits the notion that the mere existence or lack of religion within a society does not beget social strife. In the "speculative" world that Stephenson creates, religion is exercised not by "avouts" in "concents", but by a section of the society "extramuros". The analogical monks in this society devote, or avoute, their lives to empirical research in science and mathematics. This is reason alone to make "Anathem" such a refreshing read.

The discussions that are put forward among the characters that represent different sections of the society are based on rational thought and reason, rather than theological musings on notions that can neither be proven theoretically, nor practically. Whenever a character that has theistic leanings, the narrator/orator silences him by pointing out the fallacy of his/her reasonings (for want of a better word).

This is a perfect world realized by Stephenson and I have to admit I admire the role of reasoning and science plays in the society of Arbre, the planet of "Anathem". However, one wonders whether Stephenson would have been better off by decrying the weak foundations of theological thinking compared to logic. By avoiding the discussion, he eludes the reader from an essential discussion point and this, in turn, makes the "dialogs" within the narrative anti-climactic.

The role of religion within a society is to bring together the members of the said society and bind them by means of fear and absolution. It leaves everything that lies beyond the boundaries of its thought-system devoid of meaning. Hence, there is no salvation by any other means. Devoting one's intellectual functions to an omniscient creator/seer/being manifests itself as the solitary right way of living one's life. However, it ignores the numbing effect of this blind devotion, as the so-called intellectual functions mutate into tools with one-track functions - and that is an anomaly, considering the nature of "thinking". To think is to wander freely through a non-existing space, whose boundaries are translucent.

Stephenson's "Anathem" sadly misses this dichotomy between reason-thinking and god-thinking. Instead of being a brilliant work of fiction (or a philosophical treatise) it falls short of, well, divine.