melancholic peek at the winter for a sec. just a peek. i will get going.

i realize sometimes i have to walk away from the things that i decided to walk away from, i cant just sit there and stick it out. what does it accomplish anyways? it's always all or nothing- sure there are many things in between, but im talking specifically concerning one's active involvement in life. like a car, you either turn it on and go somewhere or turn it off and get out. no point to idle. unless you wanna burn gas. or annoy someone at the christmastide mall parking lot (gosh thoere are four words that should not create a unified image when put together but they do. ha ha) a committment is a committment and a decision is a decision. and neither of them will materialize unless one actually carries out the action to the next consequence.

it's a bit of frightening idea to live with. thinking about something and forming an opinion isnt enough?

all the little actions you take, they always make a dent on the larger tragectory of process. every angle changes the final destination. conviniently or not, you then end up banging into another point, where another change of angle happens. very rarely the course keep on straight. passive or active.

what is all these nonsense about?

my new cd came through the mail. it's 'fur alina' by arbo part. we like to call him the 'mystic minimalist' in academia; what does that mean? not much. he write beautifully simple music. 'in memoriam benjamin britten', 'fratres', 'spiegel im spiegel', 'fur alina', all beautiful music. he's got tons more. this whole cd probably contains less notes than an an overture of ricardo strauss. even perhaps haydn.
so that every blade of grass would be as important as a flower. .. a blade of grass has the status of a flower.(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c08i_9gumJs)
all these notes, as sparse as they are, they are already in existence. just needs the right time to become active, to manifest to its fullest. but until they are 'sounded,' carried out somehow, by someone on an instrument of a sort, they stay quiet. deciding that it's beautiful music from past experience (listening, playing, reading-score and secondary sources, watching youtube in this case), does not actually create this music. it has a status. now. let it be what it needs to be. to see what is what (now im quoting great robin engelman of nexus percussion; i should blab about that lunch meeting sometime).

then the dovetail. this music is pure light. ECM captured that essence by giving it a simple cover. a pale sky blue. content? spiegel im speigel-fur alina-spiegel-alina-spiegel. and with recent thoughts and fragmented expressions/quasi-conversations, i was back in the winter for a bit. but it's spring. it's time that i get moving again. thinking about moving wont do anything. get up, walk. go. to see what's what. even that means i must be leaving some things behind. if i dont leave, i cant miss it nor think of it. the rest- will take care of itself.



no plan is a good plan- as long as you can live with it

the day approaches with no slowing down or speeding up- i will be en route to cross the big puddle called atlantic on saturday. over three weeks in the british soil. what i would be doing? detail wise i cant really tell you because i dont know yet!

it seems be the common theme of my life really: no major plan, willing to ride. it wasnt always like this. for instance, when i was young, my parents pretty much stayed in one particular area of seoul and i knew of: home, school, after-school places such as arts program at this arts school thing and piano lesson place. piano lesson was a memorable thing. once a week, my granny took me and my brother across the town or something; the highlight of the trip would be the dinner-out on the road! on the midpoint.

i even remember going through the 80s in south korea, which was stained heavily with blood of political protesters and riot police. the riot police roughly translates as 'combat-police.' and we would be crossing right across one of the big universities and the heart of the city. i remember once we were stuck in the open-protest where the polices and students were hacking on one another with clubs and baseball bats, stones thrown, tear gases everywhere, molotiv cocktails burning. the bus stopped and we had to get out and run to the subway station, so that we wont be hit with a stray objects. it was a total chaos, people were running and jumping over the turn-stalls of the subway entrance. the subway ticket dude wasnt even there. people running running running. tears everywhere, you cant really see a thing because of smoke, if not tears. that was crazy. even beside that, i remember the endless transcriptions/radio broadcast from the bus rides, about the politicians and their accusers at the court. dark days, but honestly, beside the once-a-week city crossing, i didnt really see or hear anything extraordinary.

with that huge sidetrack, im finally back on the thought that somehow somewhere along the way, things changed drastically and i, whether i planned or not, am constantly moving around. i remember being in graduate school, if there was a two-wks period and may be some cash (most trips i took were well under 1500 USD; i did pretty well i think), i would just take off to a random place during semester. mark, during semester, not break or anything. haha. i was notorious. the day i handed in my rough draft of dissertation, i promptly packed and left to scotland for two weeks the morning after. gone.

during the summer breaks, since 2000 or so, i was away at least once or twice to different places. i covered most of europe and all major cities and places of north america and some of mexico. and i remember being real anxious and kinda scared when i took the first trip over the atlantic. that was to the city of leipzig. i randomly put in an application to juilliard-leipzig summer academy and they accepted- and even offered money. so i went. and even then, i made sure that i had some time to kill around the town and berlin. since then it's been an addiction.

it's funny, i remember planning every day during the earlier trips- where to go, how to go, what to do, where to eat, where to stay, etc etc etc. minute mapping. i never looked at the map when i actually arrived to a place because i already knew the town in my head conceptually! crazy.

and now, well,

i just dont really care about planning. im comfortable enough to just go for a ride, whatever happens happens. the things that really matter would be being who i am and just like a puppy, sniffing around the new town. now the first thing i tend to do is after dropping my bag, just take a route and start to walk. eventually i will be back to square one. wonderful. and there are even towns that i can recall the smallest trick routes and magical corners- last time i went to venice, i was the guide (it was my fourth time), and we took the backward route to get to st. marco. taking the left-bound roads from the train station, instead of seeing all the tourist signs and the hoards of people heading to st. marco, you go through all the small residential alleys and magically, the square just appears. it's really crazy. you dont even see it until.. that last turn to the astronomical clock! then it hits you on the face, full force, with the famous two pillars, doge's palace, st. marco, the water, everything!

and it's a nice surprise to wander. not just regarding the physical route one takes, but also in context of journeys and thoughts. if i was practical and serious, i wouldve gotten a job, somehow, somewhere, a serious job, while prepping for graduation. probably teaching in some small 4 year junior college or something. but it wasnt exactly what i wanted. how do i know? whenever i thought about it, i had to think about it. it never jumped out to me, never really felt natural. it did, however, feel like a 'sensible' thing to do. gag. no thanks. i will go make my coffees now, at 9.25 CAD/hr. haha.

but then all worked out- well kind of. this year is the year of banff it seems, and i could be doing a lot worse. including stuck at some small town doing the same thing everyday and teaching the little kings and queens of nowheres (im not trying to downplay the small town universities; im just saying there are more kids who does not know what the world is really like out there, just because they havent been out. since they havent seen, they have no idea what kinds of things their peers at their age may be capable of. comfort and predictability can be nurturing or more often DEADLY). whats after banff? i have zero clue.

i was having a short chat with two other girls today. one still in school, the other is trying to find the job that she would like. and me, well, monkey's determined to stay as long as she can as: undetermined (planwise), unpredictable (i will go to england in may, why not), unconcerned (im sure i wont starve).

one of the girls mentioned that i am brave to do it. it made me ponder. it's not bravery. it's not that i want to be eclectic and different. that crazy artsy type. all i know for now is that i need to be at this place, this person, to continue to live. all over the place and doing million different things. me and mr. salamander had this idea that perhaps i should start a subblog about all the different things i do for money (the legal ones anyways). a picture of me at work. which work? whichever one that pays today! hahaha.

im just living as i need to. nothing to prove to anyone. i wish i could prove something to someone, but i know i cant. no one's gonna believe anything if they dont want to, whether i want to prove it or not. so im watching the time pass by, and i have no real markers to put on, to remind myself about where i am, where i should be and what i should do. im just floating. like a thing of dirt in spring wind. sometimes annoying as it sticks to your eyes while on bicycle, sometimes kind of festive watching them dance in the sunlight. what would i be doing in england? i cannot tell you the answers that you may want to know- i have some good general ideas like music, waiting for godot, probably walks, coals fires toasts laughter plants dear friends and people who i will befriend should i be so lucky. lots of dovetailing, conversing, brewing tea, exchanges of all kinds of things. things that will start another tangent. nothing set. nothing parallel. just organic. perhaps lots of curves. for the company who loves curves of all sorts.

that should do for now.
that's a good plan.

i wish the time would pass faster, but it'll go as fast as it always have and it always will. i laugh at my own silliness and look into the next day with an anticipation- not a painful or oppressive anticipation, but like fizz in champagne glass- small, fine and continuous. surely, the departure day approaches. hooray. soon. sooner. then it would be 'now.'

how nice.

another april

it's april.
couple years ago in one april i was not doing so well.
then couple years before that april, i was a wreck.
a bit before that another april, that wasnt so good either.
approaching the decade number three, it seems that things have been rather heavily patched and reworked. snapped cable, tied over a sailor's knot. put into work, because that is the only one that you have.

i am alright this april. pensive. even happy most of the time.
what were those things that cut through so badly?
what did they feel like?
i still see the shards of things, more like glimpses.
on me, in me, around me, of me.

i remember reading a short article as i was tying my shoes, on way out from the health center of the university, one of those times it was kinda tough, gritty:
death of saul bellow.
"A man is only as good as what he loves."

ah bellow, you leave us with such hilarity.
thinking about that quotation, my step was a bit lighter from that point.
until i crossed the next bog.

like a cable bridge, the satisfaction and struggle pulls one another to keep the balance. then sometimes, despite of the effort to keep the bridge itself balanced, the water just rise above it. may be that just was it. just a dip on the sign wave. it's gotta come up sometime when it's down.

i wonder what it felt like
those aprils
how it did cut through
and now it is only remembered hopefully dully
now is now and now is all i have

the april now is the april that i live.


quarter life crisis and stalled, not even arrested development

there has been quarks of coming-of-a-decade sorts around monkey. lots of engagement, lots of babies, lots of wedding news from afar, lots of relocation, graduation, buying houses etc etc. made realize hey that's right we are bout to hit that 30 mark. you know now they have a term called a quarter life crisis. oh so optimistically (in my case perhaps with dread) thinking that we may live up to ave 100 years (that used to be a special unit called a century i believe)- however, the quarter life crisis thing is a fact i think. no one knows what to do. we were sooo drilled into going to school, getting grades, diplomas etc., one-track-minded. if you were lucky, may be you diversified a bit by getting a job or something. but still, by age 25, most of kids that i know were just really barely out of school if not still in school (i was!).

then with baby boomers not willing to let it go (i guess they did pay for our generation's slackering attitude by providing more and more), the market's saturated with seniority members and in conjunction to their complaint about the generation y:that we dont work hard, dont care, wants praises and encouragement all the time blah blah. well, moms and dads, dont you think you guys have something to do about how your children turned out?? i guess not.
Generation Y is sometimes called the "Trophy Generation", or "Trophy Kids,"[7] a term that reflects the trend in competitive sports (as well as many other aspects of life) where "no one loses" and everyone gets a "Thanks for Participating" trophy.
Alsop, Ron (October 13, 2008). The Trophy Kids Grow Up: How the Millennial Generation is Shaking Up the Workplace. Jossey-Bass

in anycase, with labour market situation as it is (and getting worse) and parents taking care of most things and providing extra, many of my generations (perhaps also including me) have been spoiled rotten (according to the boomers), many of us were slammed with this quarter life crisis thing. i know i was, though mine came a wee bit later because i managed to stay in school as long as i can without failing or repeating something (that wouldve been too hard on this trophy kid's ego).

and now as a member of first digitals (yep we are also know as the first digitals, funny how these terms and lingos develop themselves, a new kind of ethmology) now im blabbing about it. here are some amusing statistics from: Junco, Reynol and Mastrodicasa, Jeanna M. "Connecting to the Net.Generation: What higher education professionals need to know about today's students" (2007)
Instant Messaging (IM)
76% of students used Instant Messaging
A typical IM user was logged on to IM 35 hours each week.
15% of IM users were logged on 24 hours a day/7 days a week.
IM users typically chat 80 minutes per day.
80% of IM users send messages to someone in their vicinity.

Multitasking and Academics
92% of IM users reported doing something else on the computer while IMing.
75% of IM users reported doing something else while IMing.
75% of IM users reported doing schoolwork while IMing.
57% of IM users reported that their academics had suffered because of IM use.
40% of students reported that their academics had suffered because of surfing the web and 16% reported their academics had suffered because of playing games.

Information Streaming
40% of students reported that the television was their primary source of obtaining news while 34% reported that websites were their primary source (newspapers were the primary source for 11% and radio for 8%).

28% reported owning a blog and 44% reported reading blogs.

File Sharing
49% reported downloading music using peer-to-peer file sharing (15% reported downloading movies and 16% reported downloading software).

69% of students reported having a Facebook account.
Students who had Facebook accounts reported typically logging in twice a day.

in any case, with all these traits built into us (or affluenced by them at least, no one lives in a bubble unless you have a vacant head), most of my friends who decided to go more conventional route (getting a somewhat permanent job in mid 20s, starting to settle down and all that jazz) are now mostly married or in relationships, often with babies, pets, cars, mortgages that kind thing. those who stayed a bit longer in schools are now catching up it seems, from stream of news of engagements, marriages, wedding cake fiascos (it's just bloody cake. butter, flour, sugar, icing, and it costs how much? bah... crazy. i have nothing against a good looking cake, i just cant imagine forking over 200 bucks for a cake! and that 200 bucks cake better feed a plenty!). or even just simple things like getting a place, a dog whatever.

as someone who is not doing any of that (people say 'ya, for now' i say 'sure why not'), i guess i now belong to a minority. highly educated (doesnt mean that im actually intelligent, mark my word), travelled, and well, has no permanent job nor place that i call my 'own.' im still ready to leave in an hours notice across globe and i dont really care about what i will be doing in a while. in fact it always works out somehow. at this point, i be heading over to england in may, come back, fiddle around for june, be back in banff as collaborative monkey in july, back somewheres but really hoping to catch up and squat with friends either at calgary or vancouver in august, then back to banff for sept-dec.

so still living out of boxes, the only permanent thing i have, or things i have would be my bicycle, greatest housemate on face of the earth (who allows me to stay where i am whenever i come back, i call it 'home'), and where my parents live. everything else is whatever-goes. i often (not even rarely) wonder what is it that i am going to be doing in awhile. with that doctorate title, im supposed to be ambitious, driven, intelligent and blah blah. all i know is that i have it, and that's that. it's a paper.

but it also means that im not likely to be very conventional, as approx. only 2% of the general population will go through it and then we are subjected to entirely different labour market which will also determine one's socio-economical-cultural context. below article blabs about what the young phds in science stream are facing out of school. keep in mind that those who are in arts have a bit more skeptical and nebulous situation (doctorate in music? that kind of thing exists?)

ah all these numbers surveys stats. wonderful. but all i was really musing about is that still, somehow i am not fitting in with the norms, not because i dont particularly want to, but because i just dont. at least this year has been figured out and i suppose that's good enough for now. it's better than good enough. it's still flexible enough and there are ample times to muse and screw around, pursuing all kinds of tomfoolery. not exactly practical i know, but if i was, why would i have gone through graduate school and not stay with urr... i cant generalize the people i have had a personal relationship with, but perhaps the best way to put it may be, 'nice' boys?

in a sense, im relieved that im not so practical. because if you are to be really truly practical to the essense, then one need to be dead. no more consumption, trouble, conflict. dead is dead. pause. the end of this process anyways, what we typically call life. i mean.. most of things that i consider beautiful arent practical: arts, music, spring rain, greyhounds, lone tulip all by itself, cycling through town and stopping at everything, browsing at library or internet, picking out cheese-of-the-week at my cheesemonger, slow-roasting beets from fresh, dirty beets (not canned). especially an out-of-blue-spur-of-well-kinda-moment crossing of puddle to england. practical? nah. exciting unpredictable enjoyable animating intriguing unexpected titillating? yes. whoot. YEEEEAAAAAH. that's right. im going because simply i want to. not because it makes sense career wise, financially, whatever those nonsense people like to slap on their actions for pure justification.

c.1300. "to administer justice," also "to show (something) to be just or right," from O.Fr. justifer, from L. justificare "act justly toward, make just," from justificus "dealing justly, righteous," from justus "just" (see just (adj.)) + root of facere "to do" (see factitious). Meaning "to make exact" (now largely restricted to typesetting) is from 1551.
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper

why do i need to justify?
i dont! and im not going to haha.
i am still legal, havent got a death threat,
somedays, ya, things a slower
but practical people also get those days
(even more so anyways)
so why do i care.
i am fine stalling out this quarter life crisis thing.

“there is always some frivolity in excellent minds; they have wings to rise, but also stray.”joseph joubert quotes (french essayist and moralist, 1754-1824). im going to trust this guy that if im frivolous, i may be brilliant. prob not. but illusions can also be beautiful.


good bye my digital dictator

as of today, i finished backing up all data from my last standing apple product, the omnipresent, omnipotent ipod 60g. now. i had some good lovin'time with my pod. like a tumor, it needed extra care everyday and everywhere i went. a bit heavy, big, and holding much information. i was the dependent of my pod.

often it will turn itself on at an inappropriate level, thanks to the jogwheel. sometimes it will just jam up and doesnt do anything else, claiming a sick day, where you literally have to let it run its course. the webguide asked to perform a 'two finger salute,' where you press on both the inner and outer circle of the jogwheel. i would hope and prey that it would work, giving a proper two fingers salute using the longest fingers of the both hands. yes. it certainly had a big element of S/M. our co-dependency. when i travelled, i always made sure i packed my power chord, from the wall plug direct to that thin, delicate, massive 30 pin opening.

but it did hold more music than i could care to remember- most of tracks very dear to them, some of them holding even life-altering significances, and about 1/3 of it as a reference materials, the ghosts that occupies the playlist but never.. gets.. picked... for one reason or another. however, it did bring much joy and much thoughts, even spreading wild-fire, zealot-like madness, infectious enthusiasm for certain artists and musicians that just ate away my brain and mental capacity. i be soaked silly, brain pickled in certain genres, certain music for days days days and more days. then something else. the flavours changed. the process the same. brain. pickled, wrinkled, provoked, expressed.

there was a time the pod was even fed daily sharing of photos and movies. when i was running outside briefly, i would even use the time clock function and such. engraved with the sarcasm and irony, it was a fitting vessel for the jumbled mind of monkey.

so that what was the problem? the problem is that it's getting old. since it's got some mechanical machine parts in it, i think the old heart (the motor) has been creaking out quite loudly (one could feel it croaking in hand... trying to keep itself going) and ya- i did put it into heavy use. it was my reference library, a portal of temporal and temporary escape, an open pharmacy for a heavy addict. and my ibook that came with it couple years ago, actually died quite awhile ago, leaving its partner by itself. it just suddenly started to yell at me loudly about kernel panics just when i started to work on my dissertation. once. twice. more often. then. just became a raving lunatic. though it did speak four languages at once whenever it raved. may be it thought everyday was a pentecost sunday.

so unlike an old elephant, which is supposed to fade into solitude and die in quiet silence, my laptop died slowly with much grief from myside, usually yelling, cursing, screaming, pulling hairs out in frustration. and before it... gasped... its.. last... damn....e...d... brea...th, i tried to back up much as possible, and graced it exit with a proper baseball bat swings. might as well go with a bang, no? PULL THE PLUG! DAMN I DIDNT SAY PULVERIZE ME WITH A HAND BLENDER! oh well. sorry, what were you saying laptop? man, you talking garbage again, with that kernel panic of yours.... (swing.)... wHAMmmmm!! (dramatic white particles flying out, zoom in, slow-mo as the bat crashs the screen, shattering it into million cracks right before it all falls apart)

that was
a la office space.

i know.
i never said i was so civilized.
in fact,
i havent finished evolving either, remember?
the monkey knows who she is....
(scratch. throw poop at apple logo)

well anyways since itunes is such a controlling biatchy to work with (well, one does not work with itunes, it will tell you what EXACTLY you may do with it. a one way communication with much grumbling from monkey) i didnt wanted to install another itunes on my next laptop. no freaking way. so ive been looking to rip things off from the pod, which has been having alzheimers on top of its weak heart. and it's not an easy task. especially with itunes. artists protection? at what cost? at owner's skinned fist cost while swinging it to the wall in frustration?


but with a tip from a buddy, this afternoon/evening, i simply purchased a program, and paid some money online for it. and i didnt think it was going to be that simple.. then it was. cleaning some files out, then ripping it back, backing it up as winamp so i wont ever ver never ver ever n never have to worry bout this crap every again, to three different hard drives, and hours and hours later (well i did say it was a intensive collection no?) im all backed up and happy and red-eyed.

and backed up. multiples.
unlike constipation or traffic, backed up full and over is a good thing in this case.

i dont think i will treat the ipod to the tragic and overdramatic ending i subjected its comrade to. it's done. i guess i can NOW convert back 100% to PC and let it be that. right away tomorrow, i am going to get the next mp3 player thing- prob no larger than 2g, keeping it light and simple and just toggle from the external HDDs. im looking at sony but i also remember their terrible syncwares... perhaps it's time for me to try a PC company, like creative or iriver (guess what though, you cant really get a iriver product here. whats with things being inaccessible and me being painfully aware of them? perhaps too many hours of random musings on tech websites. bah). and for the old guy, i guess i may keep it plugged to the tivolis (my mini room system) or something until it runs its course.

but as of today, i realized that i am no longer slaved to steve job's empire. if you like apple products that's fine. it's your money matey. but me, im done with the i-craps. whatever. hopefully i can continue to dodge working with protools as well. if i do, i hope that i will never ever once again have to install another apple component. ive had it.

so here it is. good bye my digital dictator.
apple, you looked flashy whatever blah blah
but with your anal-retentive and one-direction oriented flowchart of tasks written in steel and blazing glaze of sauron the pure evil,
youve became my source of agony and annoyance.
and now i can say bye with no hesitation.
but i be kind to the pod.
it may stay and relax its retirement.
afterall, the contents of 0s and 1s of this little device can call up so much memories and experiences. for that, it's worth it to sit around by the stereo. let it run its course, like retired, exiled political bastas of well, various countries. dying,quietly.


transforming suicidal to homicidal through lack of sleep

the curse of a light sleeper is that one has no choice. nothing. monkey is a terrible sleeper. once born a colicky baby, dies a cranky lady i suppose. whenever i get to sleep in, it's like gold. money. better than both. it's sleep!

ive been told that theh generations of the present are terrible sleepers. it sounds weird, we have more technologies and chemicals than ever before, what do you mean we cant sleep? the irony is that not only we cant sleep well, we dont eat well (over/under nourished, inadequate consumption of the 'whatever-the-hype-is-for-now,' it seems right now it is omega acids and fibres), we are allergic (eczema on rise, all kinds of food allergies. seriously how come there is this skyrocketing of all these digestive problems just about now? i dont remember hearing about crohn's disease being so casually tossed around in dinner conversations, eww), we are sick (all kinds of 'classes' being offered for movements, joints, physho therapy etc etc), the list goes on and on.

oh the one i love the most is that we are STRESSED. really? i dont believe it? how? we dont do much? all we do as collective unit right now is to not to do something right, like keep on living! that we are going to die! terribly! some heart-related disease! breasts or prostate cancer! strokes! diabetes complication! no!!


matey, we all die.

for fact, that's the only thing still yet that applies to everyone who is alive. they used say dying and paying taxes, but looking at the recent news (or olds news, or even news to come), not everyone pays taxes. they forget. oops. haha. not funny but boy if you dont laugh... you may have to cry. monkey's more like to be exasperated. and apparently that is NO GOOD for your health. that does not prolong ones' life, but shortens to it, to death!

all these death threats. geez. to add to the mix, i just made my own death threat to my poor housemate. but you see, you have to see the entire ( ! ) situation to understand why. i just want to clarify before i result to... homicide i suppose. my housemate, the best man on face of the earth, is a thoughtful man. he takes care of everyone, literally, and he is a generous man in all sense of the words. but alas, he's no saint. gives me no boosting rights. but then im a subhuman, so it wont matter you say. wrong. here's something that really REALLY gets me homicidal. he's a heavy sleeper. sets up alarms everywhere. and forgets to turn them on or off or whatevers inbetween. and he sleeps. and when he sleeps, i mean, he sleeps. like a dead man. gone. a goner. a house be on fire and he wont even notice. i am tempted to throw a party one of these days, just for the sake of experimentation.

anyhows, his schedule's been ill-treating him. too much stuff. well, this all goes back to the fact that he wants to do rithe right thing everytime, except... for being reasonable! (seriously) so he's been overworked and the schedule's gonna eat him right up until end of next week. so worried man sets up alarms everywhere on everything. it's got a ticker and it'll make noise? it's on! im surprised he doesnt use the oven alarm even.

then in the morning, they all start to go. at random intervals. the fact is he doesnt have to get up till later (he mumbles something) but it clearly is not 7 fucking 30 aaaaay-ahm! so the forgotten alarms go, all in their glory of being:

annoying(it's not even my freaking alarm)
blabbering(shut up shut up shut up you alarms)
clashing(sometimes if there's more than one)
enraging(you forot to turn it off again?)
fragmented (as its battery runs out)
gracelessly (no intro no nothing. no goodmorning. just noise)
harassing (it wont shut itself up)
irritating (or homicidal)
jarring (often too loud)
knifelike (straight jab, then twist into my sleep)
lawlessly (there should be something about being woken up early for no reason)
maddening (see homicidal)
nettlesome (another one! didnt i just turn 3 of them off? freakin....)
obstreperous (shut up Shut up Shut Up.. SHUT UP! GAWD!)
painful (another day of short sleep and headache)
quacking (like bunch of ducks, when there's more than one, which is everyday)
rowdy (too much noise)
startling (but surely it's only 7am and i dont have a job to report to?)
threatening (my sanity, his life)
upsetting (grrrrrrrrrr)
vexing (further grrrrrrr)
waking the dead- (monkey is an angry turning-alarm-off zombie)
you or me (i was just asleep.damn)
zealot-like dedication (the alarm does not care)

and as he snores away, mumbling 'ah sorry i forgot, mmm..zz' i am wide awake, fuzzy in the head, irritated to bits, however, too tired to actually result to violence. monkey needs sleep. monkey's not gonna get much more for today as the sun is up. i used to be light sleeper enough to tell who's going to the bathroom in the middle of the night in my graduate dorm, as my door was right by the communal bathroom. but it wasnt so bad. occasionally i could sleep in. if i was sleepy, i was cancelling classes. those kids can wait, z..z... slooo....b....e....r....

but she's not getting much of sleep. thanks to overly worried or when-sleep-deaf housemate with stupid but functual objects with alarm functions. i am heading back to bed with all the futility of the world. another morning, rude and sharp and bright. blight. ya, it's still pretty though. i really wish that some day, i be sleeping. like a sack of potatoes in the winter in the storage.

cider-noggin fag-smoking unruly lights on bloor, it's spring, baby (burp)

the unruly spring fever (i should say in my case, snotty-red-eyed-hay-fever) is spilling out of control, like the flood from the biblical time. and like noah's situation, only a few very determined people will survive- the rest of us are swayed, swept, taken away from the grave, serious daily tasks- into the middle of a frenzy, really.

even the usual inanimate objects (which i think isnt true at all times- i believe machines have feelings and they just dont know how to tell us about it. like autistic kids. sometimes what THINGS do tell us is quite spectacular) are being nutty. as i was passing by bloor street around yorkville area (that is the posh area where toronto international flim festival happens every year. and for some reason, the music faculty is right near by. i cross these area mostly to people watch. really, cruising, one would say.), i noticed that one of the expensive boutique (i believe it's a gucci boutique; how would i know? from the dirt pile-ups from the store logo, or rather, where the store logo has been) is on a pause. a grande pause. not a usual window display reset, but a complete haul. usually prim and proper, fashionably daring (and often incomprehensible to monkey), the shiny, expensive, exclusive, important store front was bare.

even more extreme! it was hanging out all naked, to the little details even! the most amusing part of it was the lighting fixtures. usually, like most blue collar works, they stay in the usual spot and provide focal points to the all-important-attention-grabbing-amazingly-beautiful (or something) displays. so that you may be lured and buy those 'beautiful' things. for my taste, if i have to worry about scuffing my bag, i no longer own the bag, the bag owns me. however, since i will probably never have the money to buy such bag, i am not in the danger of being owned by my objects, ha ha. sad. i wish that situation was by-choice, not by-circumstance. just joking. i do alright for someone who doesnt have a permanent addie or permanent job. just another phd homeless bum. lol.

so anycase, today, these fixtures were just all hangingout, out of their usual places, like growing vines of annex neighbourhood. all trees, buds, vines are busy extending, stretching, growing and curving right now. crazy beautiful display of proportions, nature, love and care of the people who took care of them (or the begrudged teenager with chores)- and the ones that has been taken care of, are already way ahead of the rests. bursting. some magnolia buds are going to be a trouble-inducing 16 years old girls, laughing so innocently, not aware of their femme-fatale status. some poor souls, like monkey, will eventually kiss the concrete ground soon or later this spring, looking at them, completely lost in track of one's own projectile. probably scuffed knees, if unlucky, bloody lips, that kinda things. and like true femme-fatales, my sufferings will mean absolutely nothing, save for the amusement of the fellow passer-bys and gawking highschoolers (with their fags and ciders) from the central tech.

once again, these total bums, the young spring loungers, taking over street corner, commotion, motion, noise, all that good stuff, have totally distracted monkey and she was left gawking and laughing at the fixtures. here came the gem of the day though. you see, this shop is right by starbucks and other expensive coffee shops. there's always some well-dressed older folks milling around (often bag checking you ever so gracefully, leaving you winded and whizzing while they casually continue walk with their canes and walkers. that really shows that it's a money area $_$ great.) and this random old gent got completely flabbergasted at monkey. or the shop, or both.

old gent: what's there really?
monkey: it's the bums.
old gent: there's been a bum burglary?
that's why it's empty?
monkey: nah, i think they are taking the store down
old gent: who? there'll no more (whatever it was) boutique here?
monkey: urr i meant the lights too over,
look, it's like a spring holiday.
there's no stuff, staff, silly people.
old gent: (look completely baffled)
monkey: so the lights took over, like highschoolers, parents are out, some of them are unfortunately old enough to buy liquor, so house party time. look, they are all out of their place, trashing the place out, the good old cheap whisky and fag time. ha ha
old gent: (completely baffled and lost)

then... came...

a laughter!

not an anemic one people do when they want to either backpaddle from the edge of iguazu,not a sarcastic one people do when they think they ARE clearly better than you, not a incomprehensive-fill-in-the-blank laughter. a good one.
the old man patted me on the shoulder to tell me that it was funny. while he walked away, i was laughing still, in my head. and i bet the lights were laughing as well. probably not with me, but at me, however. this spring fever thing is dangerous let me tell you. im turning into a public idiot. i guess every street could have one. at least i had company even.

i be okay, as long as those lights offer me some free booze and fags, i suppose.


a view from blurry teary eyes of spring pollens sniff.

so the buds are coming, not one at a time, but all at once, like they have waited, like children in school bus on the field trip. as soon as the time comes, they all just roll out, noisy, excited, agitated.

even the usually quiet and graceful magnolias are peeking through the fuzzy blankets theyve been under for last couple days. where did you get them? where did you come from? you werent there for couple days definately!!

then periwinkles dot the young new grasses with the same lightness of the spring sky. all over the place. scattered. slowly taking over. from ground up, to meet the higher and clear sky. looking up, down, side, they are busy with chatter among themselves.
some early guys are already busting out their maroon and purple jackets, looking stylish. just about to shave off those spring fuzz. like teenage boys.

and wherever i see, once bare winter sky is full of lines, all curves- even the elusively straight electrical lines, they hang a little lower, warmed up, relaxed. the little buds and leftover leaves of the winter, surviving sleet and the nasty gale between the tall buildings of downtown toronto. how did they hold on to teh branches during the long dark months- i would never know.

a lone light house on the side street off from yonge, right by an ethiopean restaurant. hanging from a tree branch, it's looking out to the new wave rolling in, called early spring. like a torrent, once it starts, it's going to take over the whole place, and everyone will be under the wave. spell. magic.

the unruly periwinkles, too cool to look straight at the camera, however, looking back coyly through side vision. such highschoolers! lol. yaya. go back to your fags and cheap ciders guys.

easter bouquet. i donit usually dig pink but this pink was rather stunning. taking over the entire view with its unapologetic presence. bloom. peak. a little sultry. knows that she can 'own' the scene.

a tree casting self downward on upcoming new grass. it's taking a slow nap, being horizontal for a change, looking up, resting from the hard shift of winter, standing all-attention and surviving.
this was truly random. i have no idea whose shoes are these, there was no one in the vincinity without shoes. where did the owner go? did he grasp the end of the spring wind and went for a ride? light enough to glide without shoes?

@queens' park. looking all serious. the horse, however, looks down on the ground, observing all the little children, joggers, cool university kids, numerous high schoolers, people going, coming, running, walking, gliding, breathing, and like me, a little blurry thanks to pollen proteins. ugh.

nevertheless. it was a rich day i suppose. how often do you get a day to have a chance to stroll and see what's really around? look up once inawhile. unless you change your perspective, you are less likely to find something new. and it wont be here forever, whatever that may be- that will break the monotone of the usual days.


delinquent toys in early afternoon of cheap alcohol and fags.

i cant believe it's almost been a week since i scribbled. not that my writing amounts to anything significant really. just a self-observation. i blame this on easter. well, not on easter, perhaps, easter schedule.

last couple days really, starting on friday, has been dyed with that inescapable taste of easter. whether i practice or not, there's always the good old commercialism to count on and boy, it would have been a miracle to avoid easter from the edge of one's consciousness. easter rabbits, stuffed dolls, easter eggs, easter egg kits, easter fundraisers, easter bouquets, easter plants, easter dinners, brunches, whatever blah chocolates. for nation that is somewhat non-religious, it was a rather stunning quantity of products and services for zombie jesus.

now, please dont get angry about the concept of zombie jesus. seriously, if i understand correctly, jesus was a bit of a rebel and he was an intelligent person, though he has been temperamental (like the time he whacked people out of church ground with fists whips and violence really) and often an unexpected magician ('more wine anyone?'). and cheeky. very cheeky (remember the time he went off as a young boy and told mary that she 'shouldve' known better to where to find him- the church, wherelse? haha. i see very little humour from a mother's perspective. but then, mary became a saint- well, bigger than a saint, saint and a mother of jesus, and that was not all free titles. like everything else, when it meant something, it wasnt given for free!! (one should keep this in mind when 'praying' for 'not-earned' stuff.)

anyhows. from barely missing the passion reenactment in kensington market while having coffee with a good friend of mine, caroline and her boy, the week has been full of odd gigs@utoronto, rehearsals, easter services (i got to play the timpani this year, mark my word), easter lunches/dinners, helping out with jazz studio sessions (cables and more cables grrrr), taxes, paper works, more paper works, a videographer gig (i guess i can add that to resume now), more church gig (confirmation. a greasy affair) to brunch with old utoronto folks, it's been run run run run run run of a situation.

in fact, the wk will still roll forward and i am kind of glad, since 1. i am working and keeping busy, 2. hence i am making some money, 3. may will come FASTER (yay wag wag wag), 4. i still managed to keep an eye on changing weather. the trees are now finally full of buds, spring buds, even here in toronto. today, walking from the old'hood, futures bakery, kensington, part of chinatown, queen's park, back home, i was mesmerized about all these trees and grasses, upward shoots and innocent and brave flowers (they dont know that it's not really spring yet). like sparkles of hope and anticipation, some of them have already start to open, just a crack. not shy, just eager. way ahead of its time.

i was sending that bit of early spring across the puddle and it was too much fun. also in chinatown, i found couple amusing things, as usual- but the broken collection of toys is what really made me laugh today. amazing.

apparently they are all broken and all are selling a buck a piece. i guess no one's really looking into buying them. so they were all chilling by themselves, lounging around, milling around, like the highschool delinquents, drunk off cheap beer and fags, like the daffs all the way in england somewheres. where is not even important, as i was completely taken aback by the similarity of two images- simple, careless or carefree (whichever one you prefer), young and brash attitude of defiance and 'coolness' in early afternoon, still drinking the warm sunlight and probably regretting the festivity couple hours later ('damn that last fag killed me man. let me chase it. do you have a fag?' lol)

the toys, meanwhile broken and joyous simultaneously, still make me laugh. not only i am amused, there are so many stories that will grow out of that crazy image. i am glad that those toys been dented a bit. just like everyone else in this world, not perfect or not what they are 'supposed' to be, but being whatever they are now, functioning even far beyond their own grasp of reality. halleluja, once broken toys, now have risen from the pile of uselessness, bringing inspiration, laughter and who-knows-what-else. their carefreeness, from the very fact that all of them are equal (each for a dollar!!!!) and hence further free from the possible 'competition'- whose cooler, neater, whatevers, added much to my view of this laxed spring afternoon.
twit twit twit. hands in pocket. walking along, strolling along.
like the broken toys, im just being whatever i am.
drunk off the sunlight. the wind. the agitated spring anticipation. hooray.

the afternoons of YYZ has been full of bravado of spring, easter, resurrection and miracle plays, odd jobs and offhand comments.
it's been much fun. i just hope that i do remember to collect these mental bits down to chew on some normal boring days, should they exist.


lunatic clown and the moon as a cool-headed mistress

the pale moon: a cold mistress, melancholia, lovers and secrets, an old formula. depending on the time of the year, the weather of the moment, the moon- especially the full moon, brings out much madness (i believe, seriously) out of all of us. living in my 32nd floor, it's always around the full moon the night is scarred with angry red splashes of police sirens, skidding cars, random screaming of a person, passing arguments. unlike the quite evenings, the full moon lights are always crazy. and today, sky finally lifted after days of rain and mist. the sunset was quite spectacular with all the orange, gold, magenta, red and that purple blue. and what was left of the dayglory of white fluffy clouds are now pale and ghostly under the moon, full and white. no hint of warmth-not tonight, just clarity.

one of the most effective setting of this old idea would be verklacht nacht, op. 4 of schoenberg. based on a poem by richard dehmel, fairly controversial back in its debut days, but now... just hauntingly beautiful. even a hint of acceptance and forgiveness. but alas, this is not the moon of the evening. perhaps i may have to wait until the end of the summer- when all the excitement, bursting life of spring-summer comes to a slowdown, that deceleration right before the cusp point of pause, right before the year start to wane. after all cross-fired passions and desperate night calls of lovers and romantics have expired, the bonfire after the peak, where things start to glow rather than burn with entusiasm and vigor.

poor pierrot went nutty over the full moon according to albert giraud. at which point otto erich hartleben took the poems, translated to german, and herr schoenberg set it to the famous (or infamous) pierrot lunaire, op. 21. the moon spills nights into the waves ('Gießt Nachts der Mond in Wogen nieder') and (moon)'s pale blood wrung from torment ('Dein bleiches, qualgebornes Blut'), this symbolist work dives far into the terror, lunacy, lust, love and anything in between. perhaps this is the moon of the night. mad mad moon, mad enough to pass the level of fervor and devotion, now just in cool ecstasy. drunk up to point of lucidity. looking down at the nightly persuits and desires of passing lives, the moon is a clown. a clown who knows the plot of this tragecomedy. and the inevitable repetition. a cycle after another.

federico garcia lorca also declares the moon dead and george crumb sets this spanish poet's bloody scripts in haunting yet breathlessly beautiful sounds in the night of the four moons. he breaks the stillness and eerie silence of the night by declaring 'la luna esta muerta, muerta.' inspired by the apollo moon landing of 1969, rather than being victorious about the lunar landing, crumb reaches back into the maddening, powerful, pale moon- 'otro adán oscuro está soñando (another obscure adam dreams)...' as the voice weaves in and out of this intimate ensemble, i feel as if i am held under the water, a cool body of water, full of moonlights, suppocating and suffering, however, liberating, like that moment of clarity before losing consciousness.

the great human achievement, moon landing. however, where did that take us? to the folly of our own vain sense of advancement and evolution? evolution is simply a change. it's a process of adaptation. survival mechanism. it does not come with a moral or ethical justification. it is not necessarily better or worse- simply changing. perhaps the daytime reports of all the growth, technological discoveries and cultural accumulation need be seen in the pale moonlight. without the bustle and agitation of the sunlight, where things grow and move, simply by being there.

it's full moon in yyz. pale and omniscent, the moon looks down on the night city, quiet and distant. it's the change from winter to an early spring- still a bit of icicles in that wind that blows through now sleeping building towers. tonight's moon isnt the moon that cow jumped over. not the one that caressed joyce as 'a sage who is but kith and kin to the comedian capuchin.' but the moon of dylan thomas, a clown with a millions of cracks across himself, delicate and melancholic. i am going to enjoy the quite company of tonight's moon. if a bit sad, if a bit regrettful. as one never regret something that was insignificant.
My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.
(clown in the moon, dylan thomas)


... it has feelings, just because you can't hear...

there was a time in my life that i was a 'veggie,' what we call in north america, a 'vegetarian.' there was no plans of rescuing the planet, cleansing the body or anything serious like that. i was living on a slim budget and figured plant proteins are much cheaper. also took less efforts.

with couple containers of pulses and grains soaking in water, couple blocks of tofu and canned tunas around, i think i did pretty okay. if you have a pressure cooker, cooking those beans and grain take no efforts whatsoever. because you always end up making more than just enough for a meal, you always have leftovers. and grains and beans, unlike soups, pack amazingly well. no leak, usually. can be eaten cold or hot. marvelous. great.

though after awhile, i start to hit concrete and cement, asphalt and hardwood floors with my entire bodyweight. thanks for my inefficient body, i was turning anemic. so even till today, i go back and forth. omnivore. then herbivore. i think i would really like to try to be a stupidvore. that would be cannibalism though i suppose.

anyways, one of the problems i faced as a veggie was that some other veggies just start to make this wonderful assumption that i was doing it with a big, bad-ass moral bandanna over my forehead: 'save a life, eat a plant'. hey, if that's your reason, that's cool. but let me make it clear- i have no moral agenda. it just saves me couple bucks and i just didnt think all that north american meat consumption was necessary.

growing up in korea, we mostly ate lots of vegetables, grain and sea-based proteins: fish, shellfish,t hat kinda things. there was way too many mountains and soil being too acidic for many things, we had no choice but to eat much soy and grain, if that. so the traditional diet is full of herbivore stuff, and even carnivore stuff is always about stretching things out- offal meat soups, bone-marrow soups, stews, etc.

but this moral stance thing really got to me. i remember this one

PETA kid: but cecilia, you surely do this because you are sympathetic for the animals?
me: no, but im very sympathetic towards your parents.
PETA kid: huh (didnt get that)? anyways, it's cruel to eat animals
me: well, how do you know? you talk to them?
PETA kid: they have feelings!
me: how do you know your carrots arent exactly screaming when you chew on them?
PETA kid: they dont have brains!
me: oh, so if it doesnt have a functioning brain as we call it, it's not alive is it?
PETA kid: yes, that's right.
me: well, i guess you will survive famines just fine. there are tons of unconscious people on life support in hospitals you know.
PETA kid: thats not the same!
me: oh?? really??? (give irritated look)
PETA kid: well, they may still be alive-
me: well, so are your carrots. (walk away, turns around, ask for a fag)

well you get the picture. i always thought the best you could do is consume your food thankfully, there is a reason that humans evolved as omnivores (ooh save the evolution argument for a later day please. there's plenty on that am sure), and if you need it (like me, whose hemoglobins become retarded if i stay herbivore for extended time- 2 months at best), dont waste and be gracious. you should always acknowledge something have died for your sustainability, even it be simple as a sprout (which i think is one of the most cruel things to do; you wake up the seed, and give them hope, thinking they will grow into full plants, but... with bit of vinaigrette, goes on the sandwich instead. the teeny young baby plants. ouch.), a carrot, a rabbit (they are rats after all. stop making faces please), or whatevers.

the simple bread you eat is the efforts and life of the sun, plants, farmers and bakers, and so many more inbetween those processes. all there, hard working, honest (have you ever seen a lying plant?). for you to casually toss into the toaster, put some smears, eat while mind-numbed or absent-minded either way. it's difficult thing to quietly sit and enjoy every bite of your food. there's always something- book, people, whatevers. for someone who dislikes to eat byself (me), it is something that requires a serious effort. i do DO it occasionally and then be completely mesmerized about the richness and sacrifices the world have made for me.

it's when you do not have it, then you will start to miss something, wanting it, desiring it, and grow another layer of appreciation for that missing thing. and often it's not just the immediate object that you are missing, but the extrinsic context of that object for you personally. like we all say, the old classics: valentine's day chocolates, mom's _________, christmas pudding, yule logs, easter eggs, christmas ham, thanksgiving turkey, you get the drift.

simple. we face food at least couple times a day. whether it be real sit-down meal or what i really like to do- snack while walking (i have zero clue why i like doing it so much), cooking for self/someone/everyone, buying food, a meal, a snack, a trial-bite, en entire pot, etc. and we make such judgements and form weird ideas on our food- no/yes carb, margarine is better- no, eat butter-it's more natural, sugar bad- no, lets bring sugar back- it's natural, southbeach, atkins, GI food, whatevers whatevers, high fibre, no transfat, this that.


let's see if one can just appreciate what one's about to eat, to nourish- not just calories or numbers. appreciate its presence, its (involuntary) sacrifices. whatever we eat, it was once alive, with feelings- whether human-detectable or not.

damn. i was going to write about things that has feelings though we casually dismiss them as 'objects' all the time, like my mike preamp that just died for no reason during a recording session. a simple reboot saved the day, but really, at times like that, i think machines have feelings and that they are rather vocal about that (i guess back to back underprepped undergrade middle of the ground, well, okay, mediocre recitals would bring at least a hint of annoyance to anyone, anything)- look, the preamp has its lights on and everything- just ... well... no inputs. gawd. what's the point of having a preamp if it's not gonna feed the microphones? ha ha. once again, feeding. funny enough.

but as of always, i am sidetracked.
but with the memory of a simple toast, right now preferred with a bit of butter cinnamon and brown sugar, im going to head home with a sweet anticipation for a great toast.

remembering that my bread, may still have feeling after all.
thanks bro. one day, i will be your supper, just another carbon recycling.
but i do agree, it's lot more fun for me to eat you than have you eat me.

today, it is waters of march, not aguas de março

Waters of March
A stick, a stone, It's the end of the road, It's the rest of a stump, It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,It is life, it's the sun, It is night, it is death, It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms, A fox in the brush, A knot in the wood, The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, A cliff, a fall, A scratch, a lump, It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,It's the end of the slope, It's a beam, it's a void,It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain, The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash, A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet, The range of a bow

The bed of the well, The end of the line,
The dismay in the face, It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike, A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop, The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift, A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail, The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone, It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, It's a little alone

A snake, a stick, It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain, A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard, A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle, A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle, A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains, A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March,
It's the promise of lifein your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone, The end of the road,
The rest of a stump, A lonesome road

A sliver of glass, A life, the sun,
A knife, a death, The end of the run

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain, It's the joy in your heart.

there has been some really funny quarks around me in last couple days, from all people of all directions, of people who does not know of one another, but are somehow connected vicariously through me- like the raindrops that rides on the same spiderweb, eventually falling down and meeting at the same junction point, making a much larger water drop, which then may finally fall down, then do somewheres totally different.

the early spring that was pleasantly surprising here in toronto has been taken away with two days of wet sleet blizzard and record-speed wind. the ground on last sunday was dry enough to be worked, weather in pleasant teen-degrees. we were all giddy happy with the promise of spring and early relief from heavy winter coats, thermos, wet and frozen toes, etc.

came monday, nothing can be done. realize once again this is canadian east coast, that it's just going to take a little bit longer for the spring to come. meanwhile, ive getting much happy snippets of springs from all over the places, indirectly from the bookbomber (esp. about rain, birthday, which somehow led to vladmir and estragon, then to easter, which naturally leads to one of the most vocal opinion on godot- that of birth/death and the cyclic nature of the world- which i think may be valid, however, still distorts from the play, but more on that later. it's brewing. steeping. mud tea.)

then from the chemist, with a spring night walk and a closure of a chapter, which then evidently opens a new page (we would make good friends over the time to come i think/ hope), with a hyacinth pot that burst into visual and olfactory assault. an early spring. a playbill of what is to come in just a little while.

from mr. salamander- absurd and beautiful images,- cheap cider drinking, fag smoking daffodils, a sincere but light-as-bubbles-in-the-air spring poem from laurie lee, forsythia with a passing glory in blinding-bright-yellow. muddy puppy. nip. tug. wag.
stereo sounds of rains, coal fire in march-april shower. and budding fuzzy plans for may.

from around where i actually am, the tree buds with their new fuzz, looking quite adolescent and self-important ('i shave you know. ahem.'), a stumble through old notes and finding e. e. cummings and his ballade for eddieandbill, how the earth laughs in flowers, the world, mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful. laughing because i can see some impatient buds slightly opened, now being chastised for that impatience. the occasional smell of green-lights that permeates the late afternoon sunny wind, though it still cuts through your lips, all chapped and dry still.

'...it's all symbiosis, Peter; it's symbiosis,' answered Beckett.
and boy he is right. with clashing planes of different lives, mostly separated by distance time tasks, the mud brews a new life into solid-frozen winter earth. jobim actually wrote two different sets of words for waters of march/aguas de marco. sensitive man. march, in his home in brazil, apparently is a rain season of end of summer. the torrent carries sticks stones whatevers, bringing it down, moving away, often causing death. water that cleanses and brings death, for next cycle, of fall.
instead, jobim gives us a different perspective in anglo version. in addition to the promise of life, we also get more hopes, 'the joy in your heart"'and the 'promise of spring.' the waters of march is not the same torrent rain water of aguas de marco. it is the melting snow, melting ice, the cold rain that brings the last bits of winter, transforming once-solid ground in stasis, bringing it back as mud.

mud then becomes a symbiosis.as cirlot puts simply, of plasticity and promise of emergency. much like when estragon/vlad meets up with pozzo and lucky, where the static, cyclic stage becomes anything and everything, alive, real and true. another set of symbiosis.

mud: mud signifies the union of the purely receptive principle (earth) with the power of transition and transformation (water). mud is regarded as the typical medium for the emergence of matter of all kinds. plasticity is therefore one of its essnential characteristics, and it is related, by analogy, with biological processes and nascent states. (cirlot, a dictionary of symbols, dover, 2002, p221)

this is such a messy mudpatch right now. so many things crossing one another, a soup. pozzo calms says 'they give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.' the opposites of one thing, life, contrasts and pulls one another closer and closer, just like waters of march/aguas de marco. and im just riding the momentum. grasping on the all the lucky bits i run into- from the book bomber, the chemist and dear mr. salamander, puppy and yyz, i am happy to be back, being simply eddieandbill, running.

oh it is so simple and so messy.
wag wag wag
the puppy reckons to be walked.

i shall not pull him away from the mud.
we'll, in fact, both puddle around a bit.
laughing at the daffs looking shifty, holding their cider cans under their jackets, smoking cheap fags.



lets rotate that wave just 90'.. let it dance and be mused.

life as i know it is a sine (or if you prefer, cosine) wave of some sort. perhaps closer to a rollercoaster, not quite rigidly symmetrical. just enough to see that it always is posed with a mutual antithesis. up then a down, for an instance.
well, never really down, just downward i suppose, as it will eventually hit the cusp and start again, upward. wait. may be it's not even down, if i tilt the axis, just about 90', it'll be just a side-to-side. whammy. not up or down. looks as if it's dancing. with good sense of beats, even! that sounds much better, free from the built-in context of: up = good, down = bad.

it should be more than sufficient to realize that such simple directions 'up' and 'down' requires the another to become significant. if there is no axis or a dividing marker, we can take the wave, flatten the hell out of it, and voila, it's just a line. and a straight line, you can always rotate it enough to make it into a horizontal axis, another image with strong contextualized extrinsic meanings such as flat, boring, dead, standard, constant (i mean, you dont want moving things to be your axis do you? that's what vectors are for!)

i didnt plan to get all math-related, so let's get away from that. i scarecily remember anything related to calculus anymore. and i am not wanting to prove that any further! haha. i studied, once. i tested, i passed. let some dead things be dead.

contrasting to the fast, compacted banff life for last three months, im literally in a stasis. back in the old town and the thing about being away from so long (5 years of grad school) is that sometimes, you are given complete anonymity and freedom. so naturally things get quiet. quiet enough that you could hear the clocks ticking. tick tock tick tock tack took , repeat. for some reason i was supposed to appreciate this 'break period.' alright, i guess i could do that. let's appreciate.

true, last couple days, i had more than enough time to do whatever i wanted, and whatever i didnt even think that i wanted, and everything in between. walk. sleep. do nothing. ponder. amuse. then you see that slightly uncomfortable self, right there. ooh you. i forgot about you (or i hoped). i was busy, you know, keeping up, projects, work, whatever excuse i can think of- and you didnt go away! damn.

she's looking back at me, slightly fidgetty, a bit embarassed- like a child in front of their favorite idolized adult, twisting fingers, looking not straight into my eyes, but casting side glances. as if she's glad that we got some time together finally, but as if she wants to apologize that she cannot be a better company. shy.

if i start to look at this whole life thing as up/down, it gets a little too emotional sometimes, unnecessarily so. so perhaps the best thing is to tilt that image, just 90'. look, things are no longer up/down, it's just partying, dancing, in fact. so what there is no great height and vicious cycle of drama? monkey, you be up and away into another chapter of adventures and misadventures in less than a month. why not... take that awkward child for a walk?

she's only awkward because she havent seen you for so long. monkey was too busy with external stimulus. not that there's anything wrong with it. but while the course of things are put in gentle sideway peaks (see, it wont even move forward of backward, just extending itself taller and taller. even better.), just for little while, take a stroll. in a circle.

i dont have to embrace the stasis. there is no stasis. even when the line is flat- like a heart monitor screen of a dead person, it still moves forward. it still progresses. in a sense, there is no true stasis, unless you wanna go completely bollistic and be a very commited relative extentialist. which, i dont think i could be. who knows, may be all that monitor is a jolt of electricity; then BANG! the heart may start again, in all sorts of waves, changing, reflecting how one really are- the rhythm of life in slight variation, every seconds and inbetween those seconds.

so perhaps rather than getting into a neverending tunnel of : why things are static, why do i feel so crap, etc etc., i think i should take that child, now making a pile of dust by her feet, for a short stroll. we'll go around and see what's in this amusement park, before we board that next rollercoaster.

it'll be fast and fun, soon enough.


daft thought: it's a verb!

verb: every verb denotes an action, a passion or an operation and its symbolism is a direct consequence of the transference of this material sense to the spiritual plane. for example, to take food is symbolic of receiving spiritual or intellectual nourishment... to travel is to move, by exercise of the imagination and awareness, away from one world and towards another and so on.
cirlot, a dictionary of symbols, p. 360.

oddly enough, cirlot never did an entry on noun. i suppose it's because noun is simpler: it is what it is. without verb, it just.. well, stands there like sack of potatoes or something. even adjectives cant do much with standing-alone-lost-for-words nouns. wallflowers at parties. the passive, invisibles that somehow blend right into the wall- regardless of what kind of wall it may be! nouns that wants to speak but are bound tightly within the rigidity of their spellings. stuck! stasis! pause! rescue! help! all spoken in silence. at least sack of potatoes, given enough time, will grow evil eyes that makes you feel a bit conscious: 'sorry guys, i really didnt plan to forget about you all... gosh, STOP STARING!'

i feel as if i was trying to be a noun for awhile, esp. when schooling was done. if someone asked: so who are you really, i was ready to produce a list of nouns.
monkey, aka cecilia was:
doctor, barista, child, former musician, etc etc.

actually, i will be honest. that is as far as the list would go. trying to make list of yourself without verbs is a rather difficult task. even provoking really! try it yourself- and do exclude those words that can go either way: noun or verb. i wonder how far you would go?

i was trying. when you are a simple word with no context, your identity becomes... well short and easy. easy enough to be meaningless. just another entry on database. bah. i may as well just be a number. hullo. this would be 74954854. i feel 25493 and the impact would be 09823. and it's all 38456734. how ridiculous is that.

somehow, i was reminded that i dont need to become a noun. why not stay as a verb? thanks banff. what you did for me is not exactly a kind act, however, much more interesting act. now that ive been back, away from that explosive but artificial environment, im bashing my head through the thick, boring tasks of the worldly matters at the moment, including waiting for tax receipts, trying to figure out work schedules, laundry, etc. am not saying they are insignificant and just boring tasks. hey, sometimes you have to reach in and pick that nose (or other bodyparts of choice), not because it's significant but it's required. and nothing wrong with doing simple tasks. as long as YOU DONT BECOME SIMPLE YOURSELF.
simple as adjective is plain enough, nevermind the noun aspect of it:

c.1220, "humble, ignorant," from O.Fr. simple, from L. simplus "single," variant of simplex (see simplex). Sense evolved to "lowly, common" (c.1280), then "mere, pure" (1303). As opposite of composite it dates from 1425; as opposite of complicated it dates from c.1555. Disparaging sense (1340) is from notion of "devoid of duplicity." Simply (adv.) in purely intensive sense is attested from 1590.
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper

ive been stuck on whitman's leaves of grass for a bit now. the way he builds his pasture, the grasses arent just simple nouns. they are in process. growing, speaking, weaving inbetween the wind, drinking the rain, laughing, remembering, soaking from the blood of soldiers, and so many things that i may never see. this book transforms grass into a verb, always mutating depending on who i am, which is a variant, not a constant. the supple young leaves of grass that whitman has sown way back, even prior to 1855 publication date, becomes the tea leaves for my mind, which if i take the effort to immerse them in hot water, the words are no longer static, but sings in gentle rhythm of great poetry. sometimes mixed with all kinds of nuances, like lavender, hiding in the tea cup. unexpected, surprising, however, completely different sensation than lavender in a soap, for instance.

im never going to sleep properly but i should at least make an attempt. once again, i go from a noun: insomniac, to a verb: attempting (sleep). it's real nice that there are people who can play this game with me. and you know who you are (sounds serious now hahaha). so im going to attempt (yawn) to close this entry with a small reflection on cirlot's last example: travel. as a adjective or noun, it kinda sits there like... ya, the rest of the potato sacks. but boy, once you call to it as a noun-

it moves, by exercise of the imagination and awareness, away from one world and towards another


there are moments in my days where i know that no distance or time can bar me from entering another world. pigment of imagination? sure. i dont care. all i know is i like being a verb and i do love to travel, to the world where i can build and add, and be whatever i would like to be. peeking into a window, then getting comfortably lost in the scene. alice would understand. so would puppy and salamander.

wouldnt it be grand if i could turn the word 'world' to a verb. sweet, that be daft.
good night.