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

melencolia 1, durer, 1954.


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. without the cold, there would be no great warmth that hugs one as soon as one steps inside.

i bike in the cold. but not in wind.
wind makes people drive irrationally. and drives people to have short temper. furioso.

Es schlafen die Menschen in ihren Betten,
Träumen sich manches, was sie nicht haben,
Tun sich im Guten und Argen erlaben

it's a particularly difficult autumn, autumn of 2015.

things are moving slow. some people are fading out, gently but surely.  and it hurts quite a bit whenever im reminded that two of my best friends are no longer in town. i calm self down, telling myself over and over again, that it's been the case, as long as i can remember, that i always had constellation of friends, never a small garden. and there he is, a gentle and royal friend, as he always  is. without him, it would be hard. and the great technology helps, connecting minnow to minnow, across the vast clear sky, where sun sets on different times.

i often imagine of going out and joining the merrymaking. but somehow, i stop, at the door.

i undo my shoe laces. and i sink into the deafening silence that only an empty house can sing out, full coloratura. is this what we call loneliness? or is it simply life?

journey begins from oneself and it will end in oneself.  so humming the tune of the winterreise, i sink into another bottomless pool of oblivion. melancholia.


Was vermeid' ich denn die Wege,
Wo die ander'n Wand'rer geh'n,
Suche mir versteckte Stege,
Durch verschneite Felsenhöh'n ?


hashtags save lives, i keep forgetting.

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 'nice' things, like christmas, concerts, great food.

and then people showed up. and blew up themselves.
in name of the god.
and they may have been crazy.
and they probably called upon the lord.
and they likely hoped for the salvation from life.

cuz life was unbearable and difficult
and only 'help' they found was this.
THIS was their individual salvation.

no one who is happy becomes a radical.
they dreamed of lives they could not have, for whatever the reasons may be.  their lives were bare. to fill the emptiness, they filled it up with what we consider nonsense- of extremist religion, of promise for the next life in heaven.

why would anyone wants to go to heaven for SURE? anyone who lives in hell and felt that there's no way out of hell to normal life.

who robbed their lives out of riches- including the small, 'affordable' joy that we all think we are entitled to- health, safety, food, education, mobility?

we did.
we all did.
mea culpa.

you may say: hey i didnt do anything!

that says so much eh.

you wanted to fill your life with nice things? getting it cheaper? getting more of it? closing your doors to others? agreeing to the cheap oil prices because you felt you should pay less? not being aware of WHY people are angry in this world? and once realized that there are issues that make people very angry, what have you done? dont or did not know what to do?  dont have time to even read up on regular basis because economics is complicated and all politicians are thieves anyway and


right. one did not know what to do EXACTLY so one sat on one's butt, continuing as if life is nice. and that does make it impossible to possibly understand WHY anyone would want to become a religious radical and kill innocents.

yeah, sure. nice life for you and for me. look, im typing in a comfortable downtown apartment and look at my middle class anger. hahahaha. but hey, im sharing it on social media. look at this poetic irony.  i look at myself on the mirror. i laugh. what a ridiculous human being.

8 people.

paris is the unlucky victim last night. paris paid for our collective complacency and lack of action with blood. those who died, they were at the wrong place for the wrong time. and we are all part of this problem.  locking doors wont help. cuz our little safe house, it's a straw house, built with blindness and deafness to the rest of this world.

lebanon. iraq. kenya.
they didnt even have the flimsy straw house walls...

oh at right times, those places are such nice places to be. only if there are no terrorists. how dare they. so we send prayers with hashtags. the most 'aware' generation, right? thanks to technology. and im a happy participant. i mean, look at our lovely non-real tribute to remembrance day. what did we remember? we say 'sacrifices.' but yeah, we remembered and it wont be on the menu today. too expensive.  and yeah, what difference can one make. why dont we just conceptualize it? it makes us feel awesome and compassionate.

cuz, you know, hastags save lives, didnt you know?


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

from eiffel tower cam, lights out, 5:09am, 14 nov 2015.

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 Catholic Church's influence over public policy and institutions; aspirations for freedom of religion; resentment of aristocratic bishops by the poorer rural clergy; aspirations for social, political and economic equality, and (especially as the Revolution progressed) republicanism; hatred of Queen Marie-Antoinette, who was falsely accused of being a spendthrift and an Austrian spy; and anger toward the King for dismissing ministers, including finance minister Jacques Necker, who were popularly seen as representatives of the people.
Doyle, The Oxford History of the French Revolution (2003), pp.73–74

we point fingers. we blame the ISIS. the nutcases. religious radicals. however, i cannot help but to think of the roots of support for the few self-interested radicals who heads these movements; the people who become the radical fighters. people who sacrifices their earning and time for this cause.

these people, in another world, wouldve loved to live like you and me. in a comfortable house.  with electricity. with no worries for starvation. of safety and opportunity for education. dreaming of mobility and freedom. no, not dreaming. living with it, every second of every day.

switching out a few nouns on above paragraph by doyle, i cannot help but to look myself in the mirror. mea culpa.  what is to be done now? what could i do now? tomorrow? next week?

it's a dark night in paris.

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


monkey drooling over sports broadcast

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 (and that both teams had real crap defense).


i also really enjoy watching tennis-singles. as i type the word 'tennis,' instantaneously, i recall a few games that were amazing to watch: del potro vs. federer (winner), the famous semi-final at london olympics, that took 4 hours and 26 minutes.  and raonic vs. nishikori (winner) at last year's US open, 4 hours and 19 minutes of composure, frustration, strategy and drive...

i often meet people (many in arts) who say they are not interested in watching sports. i am the opposite in a sense that i do not enjoy playing sports much (prefers hiking, running, and other solitude, no-point game things), but loves watching big games.

in arts, well, in particular, in music, we often talk about difficulties, managing stresses, keeping our composures etc, as part of performance training. and yes, i think music explores many facets of this human desire- of competition, drive to perfection, and facing the uncertainties.  but it is impossible to watch oneself while being engaged in the activities.

so i watch sports.

today's game 5 of national baseball league, aka. world series. if the royals play that tenacious game play over the mets, they could take the title today. both teams want it so badly. and there's something very touching about this collective drive that makes people to go a bit faster, further, longer, even just for another minutes.

i admire and immerse myself in the drama of sports. and when i am back on music bench, often i think about these titans and the wills of the battles. then a big sigh of relief: like many, i will get through this ritual of practice and performance. and like many, i will find something, something new. may be something old.

something genuine.

the world is a beautiful place and as messy as it gets, human endevours are wonderful.
back to the game...