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Showing posts from 2015

free speech, free decisions, whats the problem?

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http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/12/09/he-called-her-a-slut-she-got-him-fired.html?source=TDB&via=FB_Page oh dear. as bit of free time returns, i start to poke my nose around the world once again and hey, it's always full of surprises and semi-tragedies.  well, there are real tragedies as well, but those are sincere situations which deserves a bit more respect than what i tend to hand out on my blog posts. the recent one is about aussie feminist writer and a man who was fired because he called her a slut. the writer ms. ford wrote about chauvism.  mr. nolan wrote on her facebook, calling her a slut. ms. ford wrote to his employer (a hotel chain). the employer fires mr. nolan. then the firework ensued. many people are angry about ms. ford 'ruining' a man's life. im kinda confused. 1. yes, there is the right for free-speech in australia. 2. so a feminist writer can write about chauvinism. 3. a person can protest her point of view in public. 4.

Take time with a wounded hand 'Cause it likes to heal

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https://youtu.be/V5UOC0C0x8Q just over the weekend, i heard about death of one of my favorite singers, scott weiland. his raw voice paired with the bands (stone temple pilots and velvet revolver) were a big part of my auralscape as a teenager. or perhaps it was his continuous fight with his own demons- depression and substance abuse that made it even more real- a typical, therefore real, falling angel. angel with the wicked voice and the weird intoxicating mixture of glam and destruction. during first couple years of my immigrant life, there were moments i felt lost, isolated and worthless. i do not think i had particularly strange teenage years. i dont think anyone had it easy. but perhaps it's the combination of his voice in the music and the strange collection of words in his songs that i built my symbiosis- with my north american life, with growing up, with english language. back in korea, being an elementary school kid, i was not allowed to listen or watch pop mus

dividends. loads and loads of it.

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this semester, i play for a local community choir, every monday night. as the winter creeps on, everyone shows up through the darkness, steps light with excitement, to a beautiful church in midtown toronto.  i first got to know them as an assistant engineer, recording their winter and spring concerts. always interesting music and congenial people. liked them enough as an outsider, that once an opportunity came up to audition for the accompanist job, i jumped onto it. re:choir members, i dont really know the individuals too well yet.  they are a bit older (than univ kids); they got stories and histories to share, but because the rehearsals run so efficient, there is not enough time to catch up on people! i find this bit funny. ha ha. may be next term, i can be more strategic to get to know them better! what i do know is that the group works very well. that they got a great atmosphere and they really do want to/do sing out. every monday night. probably at home as well. this se

Und hoffen, was sie noch übrig ließen, Doch wieder zu finden auf ihren Kissen.

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melencolia 1, durer, 1954. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dvm7Hnii-6U&list=PL2FEA1645BA0A5D3B&index=17 tis a real turn toward winter today. the lightest, but real flurries in the pale sunlight. 3pm afternoon is no longer full and round, but pale gold with hint of grey blue. and by midnight, the world is quieter. much more quieter. only the softest whispers of stars, if they havent covered themselves up with clouds. we say hello to the decline to the next apex couple weeks ago, on halloween.  grey dove feathers fly into the door steps, with echos of once beating hearts.  and one night, leaves fall. they no longer dance with the wind. they break. they shred. tiny pieces. till no more. tis a hard time, autumn. i love the melancholia of autumn. i love the simple reminder, cinis in cinerem, pulvis in pulverem.  ashes to ashes, dust to dust. without the dark night velvel blanket, i suppose the glistening lights and gentle shadows of people indoors wont shine outside

hashtags save lives, i keep forgetting.

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i will slap on some hashtags, add colour filters to my profile pic, and post some links. cuz, im doing my part. i tossed and turned in confusion last night. and today, the sun is already shining, reflecting on the lake, albeit loads clouds hover along the horizon. out of habit, i check what the world is saying, over the web. i often try to tell myself this is normal, to see the world through the web. so many memes. so many pictures. so many condolence statements. so many prayers. i lost it for a few sec. prayers? really? are you kidding me? they blew up paris, in middle of their lovely friday night out, in name of god and we are sending prayers?  we are proud that we chose blue, white and red for our LEDs which illuminates our big and expensive civic icons? concert hall, restaurants, national level football stadium, all quite expensive and 'nice' places to be. we, the haves, walked around in this feeling of safety, strolling, thinking of probably 'nic

ce soir, pas de lumière dans la ville de la lumière.

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from eiffel tower cam, lights out, 5:09am, 14 nov 2015. earthcam.com/world/france/paris/?cam=eiffeltower_hd paris burns tonight. just like back in the days of the french revolution,  the days of the storming of the bastille (14 july 1789; 82670 days since then),  the september massacres (2-7 september 1792, 81520 days since then). also, the day of 9/11, 2001 (5176 days since then). many shouts of anger and resentments, worries and fear echoes throughout the darken sky.  all over the world. pointing fingers. locking the doors. screaming revenge. declarations. fist shaking. i cannot help but to think of the irony, of the parallel universe, as i dig back to the old notes... Many other factors involved resentments and aspirations given focus by the rise of Enlightenment ideals. These included resentment of royal absolutism; resentment by peasants, labourers and the bourgeoisie toward the traditional seigneurial privileges possessed by the nobility; resentment of the Cathol

monkey drooling over sports broadcast

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cred: chris graythen/getty images: new orleans, LA- nov 01 new orleans saints wide receiver snead #83 picks up fumble against the ny giants today, at the gym, i saw a great record-breaking football game between ny giants and new orleans saints. drew brees, saints quarterback at age 36, has been under wry opinions about his age vs. eli manning, two-years younger than brees, top of the fame ladder with his brother peyton manning, star of the giants: they met eye-to-eye, setting new record at 6 touch downs each by the end of 4th quarter, game tied at 49, with only 36 seconds to go. and those 36 seconds, none of it was wasted.  every second. play. play. play. breaking that 36 seconds with both team adding up to total offensive yardage of 1030!  considering that each team plays 16 games per season, and last year's total offensive yardage leader, saints, clocks in at 6582 (and the worst, oakland raiders at 4515), i think laymen, even i can understand the significance of the stat (

opera is not boring... nor old.

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in the middle of idealogy-religious war zone in present syria, as westerners just lost the battle to the muslims, the lone woman jihadist, the greatest of them all, sulks in anger, for failing to capture her target boy. of course, the male leader of the muslim fighters urge the female heroine to choose a man, as she's ripe for time and a woman needs a man.  she says sod it, unless the man-to-be is good enough to bring me my target. conversation is interrupted by news of the westerners captives being rescued by the target boy. infuriation ensues and the new plan hatches, to lure her target to captivity. while on scout, the target boy gets lost in the enemy territory, then was distracted by the muslim forces and was put under a heavy drug to render him unconscious. the female jihadist finds her target boy, but instead of killing him off, she decides to bring him back to camp, to keep as 'hostage,' out of personal interest. falling in love, the female jihadist seeks

before we point fingers...(it's a bad form anyhow!)

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http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/01/us/pope-francis-kim-davis-kentucky-clerk-washington-same-sex-marriage.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&_r=0 it's quite weird to see so many people reacting so strongly when the news of kim davis, the kentucky clerk who refused to do her job, met up with pope.  all the sudden, people are crying in despair, waving their hands and calling him a hypocrite. whoa. chill out for a bit here. 1. pope asking kim davis to change in public would be a poor form. (that would be forceful, whether it's right or not). public shaming or condemnation is not a great way to convert people. remember this is the man who said: who am i to judge? 2. if the meeting was made public, it wouldve been swarmed by 3rd parties, either in support or outrage, which would change the nature of the meeting. 3. popes traditionally give out possibly thousands of rosaries daily. so pope giving kim a rosary is not out of custom, nor it means he personally supports kim

let us be in peace, at this particular moment-

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http://secondnexus.com/social/transgender-student-bathroom-battles/?ts_pid=2&utm_content=inf_10_94_2 i just had real good laugh reading some of the comments on dear Facebook regarding the idea of genders and bathroom access in high schools.  here are my thoughts in point-forms so that i do not leak sarcasm, as that is never my intention, to make fun of people. 1. transgenders having access to bathrooms does not have direct correlation to sexual offences in bathrooms.  in other words, equating transgender with potential criminal is logically wrong.  and all visiting adults are supposed to register with the school upon entry to school; therefore the actual pool of possible pedophiles would not change because of the access change (though other sex offences are still possible regardless of age). 2. regardless of gender, individuals' privacy is the issue here. the very idea of genital police in bathrooms is more disconcerting than anything else. 3. it is a cost and space

huh? wha?

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frustrated entry 1: '... see, it is important to think about details, johnny. "let's eat, grandma!" is a bit different than "let's eat grandma!"' little kid squirms and then blurts, '... but everyone know what i meant! and my name is jonathan!' hmm. squinting and scratching. 'but you know who i meant, jason.' *** frustrated entry 2: '... okay, jonathan, you can have 1,000 for your birthday party with friends.' kid leaps into air with joy, cant believe his luck.  parent looks through wallet, gives him whack of dollar bills. '... but dad, it's only 10 dollars, not 1000-' 'oh, well, it's only coupla zeros. they dont mean anything anyway. should be enough?' *** and i sighed.

fiat lux. light fantastic.

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the cyclists in yyz have worked very hard to get some bike lanes in town.  and now that we do have some bike lanes installed, a few people who are not true cyclists (yet) ( ! ) has been creating friction with the public in embracing the commute cycling culture by being exclusive- yelling at drivers, pedestrians, break road rules, etc.  this is not a problem caused by cyclists, but caused by people who creates sense of entitlement, people who wants to be exclusive. recent refugee challenges (yes, this is not a problem for non-refugees, it's a challenge) is also dealt in similar fashion.  here we are sitting in our safe area, discussing and raising fingers about who we would let through and who should be left out.  i understand: a safe community is not a free commodity. it involves everyone's cooperation: taxes, legal honesty, procedures and the respect for the procedures and the willingness to spend the time and energy to make the procedure fair and open as possible.  howe

ikea, the enchanted land

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ive been to many ikeas all over the world. denmark. austria. uk. usa. czech. and canada. every time the new catalogue hits the mail, i imagine many people picking it up, looking through fantasy houses, much like little kids imagining life in a doll house. they are pretty. they are perfect. then once you grow up a bit, usually old enough to run around the store without parental supervision, people often start to dream up scenarios in these tiny domestic vignettes.  hey in china, people even started to 'live' their day times in stores, sleeping, eating and who knows what. talk about living the dream.  one day, i hope to start composing a short scene for each spreads. i think it would be entertaining... http://time.com/3814935/ikea-china-customers-sleeping often i hear complaints about ikea products.  and it makes me laugh a little, as it must be so that so many of us have had (or still have and will have more of) these essential modular life furniture. and so many of u

about'em, genders.

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i actually do look like this. haha! for years and years, i wear newboy caps and generally wore whatever i liked.  the day mom decided to let go of her ritual of putting together my clothing, i see it as the day of liberation (of sort); too bad it was simply because she was too busy working at the dry cleaners 16+hrs a day, as first generation immigrants often do... the overall effect of my preference was an unexpected one.  unexpected because i realized that how i look DOES define minor parts of my identity- to a degree it became confusing/interesting to others. for instance, i wear jeans most of the time. and shirts. t-shirts, even. from working at the dry cleaners as kiddie helper, i bowed to never buy stuff that needs dry cleaning (reactionary, i know!). i get my hair cut short, as i cannot stand seeing strands of hair on the floor. and no, im not going to be dedicated enough to chase after them. after all, they are long and thin, which means after certain length, they g

tragicomedy collection for a quiet sunday

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*we all know what's gonna happen to george... 1. the most beautiful day with mostly empty schedule: perfect set up for delivery - waiting game. 2. when you tell them you wont need cutlery with your takeaway, they pack you several extra. when you desperately need something, anything, you cant find any. 3. that time you remember seeing a working pencil on floor and realize that it is just a recent past memory, as you then valiantly try to scribble something invisibly. 4. being smug about the last tea bag for your thermos and it literally explodes as you pour hot water on it. 5. the feeling of dire hope at ikea that surely, it WILL fit through the door. 6. earlier you need to wake, sleep tends to come later and later. 7.  as you complain about nothing being on telly and that you are getting outta house, the game with no action suddenly gets all the action. 8.  it wasnt a TTC token. it was a 10 cents coin. now what. 9.  spilling a cup of juice on paper towel roll.

blind love is not very helpful.

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http://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2015/09/obama-openly-mocks-american-catholics-with-radical-guest-list-for-papal-visit/ it is certainly a bit of a let-down to pick up my blogging after a rather flat, sensational article. argh! but as rant is a rant, well, i suppose it's appropriate! the pope is on the move, he's on the go. he's a lovely man and ive loved every word and teaching he has shared with the world so far, breaking down bigotry when it has been truly blind to the bigots themselves. probably myself as well.  after all, if i was aware, i would not choose to stay a bigot*! it's a rather memorable moment that he is visiting usa and cuba,  as americans are experiencing significant distress over politics of belief systems (though i may dare say that most of the conflicts are not essentially rooted in religions/non-religious, but from social inequality and inflexibility + intolerance), especially heading into next year's election (seriously, what was about tha

all these colourful people

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as i was running errands in pouring rain, i got stalled by the dyke march 2015 toronto.  waiting for a gap to cross, i thought how nice it is to see a big body of happy people.  lots of noise. lots of cheering. many kids and families, despite of the grey clouds that just opened up today. then it stuck me hard: all these people, in a different place, could be fined, imprisoned and even sentenced to death, as they are right now, just marching, having a great time, because of their sexual identity. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_by_country_or_territory#LGBT-related_laws_by_country_or_territory quickly scanning through the list, there are nations that has death penalty for gays. here's a few i just read: sudan (3rd offence for man, 4th for woman) mauritania (last public execution on 1987) nigeria (death for man, whipping/jail for woman) qatar (for muslims) saudi arabia (2nd offence merits execution) yemen (married man to be stoned) afganistan (death of long i

ivy-like dad

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a good friend told me that i quote my dad all the time. i laughed and said 'probably.'  i think about that once in awhile, as it seems that we are quite close in my mind, though we rarely do things together. my dad was brought up by single mom, post-korean war. he was too bright, i think, and too sensitive to grow straight as a child - bit like the way that vines grow, they are resilient and they grab onto things, wrapping around, rather than shoot straight into the sky. he's demanding and curious. he can be quite adamant and inflexible.  as a vine plant, one would not let its end go so easily from (whatever it may be climbing on), and the plants, though easy to cut with a blade, they are so difficult to rip with bare hands. the vines go into places and holds on. dad never had an easy thought. everything had been thought through, and the decisions, they add up into this whole being of who he is. i have never seen him make sweeping decisions or change opinions easily

why record during practice? well because, make-ups...

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working with one of my fav peeps today, i think i found a good analogy for practicing with recorder.  with the heavy technical and scientific emphasis on sports performance training, i often wonder why we, musicians, who are also a physical labourers, do not employ technology with similar level of enthusiasm... i understand that there is this love of mysticism in arts. it's bit like wine critique.  though we dont really know how to quantify anything, even the basic idea of how ethanol works to get a human being drunk, we all know someone who can go off on qualitative alcohol evaluation (im guilty as well).  but you know, talking about such things as smells and tastes to describe a particular 'terroir,' one builds a set of descriptions that has not been standardized and i feel that in certain field, they would prefer keeping it that way.  bit like vodka fanatics talking about 'different tastes' of plain vodka, but vodka is supposed to have no ether or organic v

silly musing on sexuality

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sleep. food. sex. the basic instant three-some of gratification. it does not need to cost much and the body, conveniently, is built to enjoy all three. in the blinking lights of the cities, far-reaching technology and this silly anxiousness of 'being in-the-moment,' i think it's safe to say that the sleep is often ignored and envied. food, well, looking at the obesity rate of countries of various economical ranking (it looks as you wont face the obesity issue only if you are too wealthy or too poor; cheap calories and instant accessibility is tying most of the population's thought to its food consumption/process/acquisition) and all the screaming matches about weight/health/style (which are three separate categories and not necessarily interconnected), it still takes the place of the king of pleasure. sex, this makes me laugh a bit.  it is in one's face all the time, they say. i suppose it's always on somewhere in the media (traditional and social), at t

(a creative writing exercise shortie)

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... it was never of my choice, to be shoved into the cold, frightening world. when the light of the day first hit my eyes, i  screamed, for the burst of air.  separated from all things that were familiar, the fear grappled with my consciousness and only thing i could see was blurry, colourless world full of shadows and foreign touches. soon, a single familiar voice soothed my ears.  as my blood pumped through my veins, against the gravity, as my lungs filled with this foreign air full of chemical smells, i cried in mix of tears and mucus.  without much fight, i resorted into a tiredness, the kind of tiredness where deep, darkness overtakes your mind. you dont remember anything. you dont want to remember anything.  nothing is certain. how i longed for moment of peace! next time i gained consciousness, it was another moment in time, impossible to determine to actual speed of the day, i tried to grab onto something, anything... after a sharp cry that shattered the peaceful after

silly thoughts on mothers day

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i am not so sure she wouldve chosen me, if she had the choice.  after all, we are bit different- yeah, some pairs are similar to one another, some differs, but my decisions usually surprise her and her decisions are rarely readily acceptable for me.   we butt heads all the time, it became normal to simply acknowledge rather than cooperate or assimilate our differences in all-issues (THANK THE LOARD FOR THAT). during the years, i have thought of hurting her and i have hurt her, probably more times than i would ever know. and her words have hurt me, likely to the extend we cannot exactly explain. and i have swallowed back the lovely compliments i have for her at numerous occasions, cuz im silly like that. may be she knows about it anyhow, like proper mother-daughter-jedi-mind-trick.  i ought to say bit more, there, i just created a project. ha! we have long way to go together, if average life expectancy is a believable thing, and i am glad she is finally taking care of self

Nur meine Sehnsucht kann ich Dir klagen und meine Liebe

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obsession. as long as i remember, i always craved 'more than enough.'  when there's a situation, i chew them over and over again, rotating, revisiting, until there is nothing left but a tangled mess of memories.  if there's food craving, i am likely to eat it till i no longer can eat it- can't have just one fudgisicles, more like half-a-box over just two days.  with work, i often work from 'old' scores, to see if i could make anything else easier. i run through numbers, recordings, notes, not with any particular intention, but just because i cannot help it. recently the local orchestra's been in a hot water over a cancellation of a soloist.  a soloist was contracted for a show. the hall was a near sell-out.  however, meanwhile, russia invaded ukraine and things got messy. built-up political pressure made management to cancel the contract, the soloist went to war with it through social media. all the sudden, it was a hot news among the locals and c

orange bicycle electric

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https://youtu.be/od0lzCBzHVY?list=PLZqsyBiYZFQ2Fr0CH25TdCK9vlXld0vvU even the trees are waking up today, i saw it on my orange bike. with faint salt stain, the road is now clear, safe enough to ride with skinny tires. squeaky bike: winter was long! yawn. stretch. the sun lasts a bit longer, cold golden and pale blue sunlight gaining that hint of blushing day by day.  it is already near a full moon. night wind no longer brings tears into eyes.  from hot cup full of cocoa, a stripy lovely straw in my iced coffee. the laughter bursting like little bubbles in the sunlight. people shiver a little less, perhaps hum a little more. 'i will sing the body electric.' last day of classes today, hard to believe that time passed through, so fast. what was it like, the depth of the winter? already fading in the brilliant sunlight. even jesus had to die to be reborn. was it a fault of judas to kiss? without that kiss, there would've been no salvation. on