madman or scientist?

Icelandic Post-rock Aesthetes

Everyone wants a logical proof that either the Divine exists, or it doesn’t… but “questions of science and progress doesn’t speak as loud as my heart”…

I cannot fully explain, but my heart is driven beyond, bursting the confines of the ordinary… when I am listening to a piece of music, too beautiful for human language to express… (thank you Sigur Ros and Death Cab for Cutie… thanks Justin and James for the intro…) joy and sadness, my hopes and my deepest regrets… they seem to be fashioned, held together in that one moment… I get a sense of what it means to be human, to be fragile… no better place to be than the one I’m in, the present… I feel comfortable...yet the same time, I'm in the throes of an agonizing longing…

A madman once said “This life, your eternal life…”. I think he is right. Life is for living…frankly, nothing else would do...

a utilitarian confession

had hot green tea and sashimi at mid-valley

simply heavenly

in the midst of painful monotony, there's pleasure still

tonite i can die happy

i wonder whether despair is the right word...it creeps up on you sometimes...she's as faithful to me as my personal demons, sitting on both my shoulders. is it my time to weep, or wring my hands, hurling expletives at the sky? i don't know...

i just know that i'm small, looking out the window, beautiful grass being swayed by the wind...it reminds me of motion, at least...that life does not really stand still...

my eyes look ahead...now i see, a malaysian flag, frolicking in mid-air, protruding from a high-rise window... i think of my nation...how like this picture, suspended in mid-air, our possible futures still to be decided, to be experienced. malay, chinese, indian...how long? before we are truly family... is it history that taught me to cry? perhaps... i've never been hasty...

still we slouch, on our way...with life's troubles, both big and small... of these, we fashion our identities... my nietzschean self whispers:"see your life, as a work of art"...when i am dealt colours, grey and blue...the white, the purple...how to paint it true?... how to sculpture the broken?...your art may not see the light...

i see now, one beautiful coconut tree, its leaves are dancing...in a small little place...from my little room, at the heart of bangsar.

here i remain faithful to the earth...

i would give anything...

photograph by Abbas Kiarostami

i would give anything for just one moment of lucidity; if i have the words, i would say it; say it like it matters; incredulous and intemperate; vitriolic and passionate; an eye for details, but blindness to solutions...

my blindness is my cure;
i am not at ease...
i stay awake, i'm no bodhisattva...
my chance existence;
is this of all paths the most enlightening?
Freud argues with Kant,
with Derrida we are all friends...
give me a socialism with individuals
a church only full of equals...

our temple is our bodies
our desires fashioned like prayers
ideas like kindness
that old, old divorce
Thought and Action
so divided, so separated...
my sins, my alienation
mon Marx call it what you will
you who trip up Hegel
only to face the Maos and Stalins

justice by the barrel of a gun
democratic violence and just wars
multiply and grow, spiral out of control
i don't know what's right, what's wrong
anymore...
but did we ever?...
does it matter?

i am haunted...
that pale man...
he stares at me
he lies in the dark
he is beyond
he is not me