Magic
As I grew up, I realized the more and more magic disappeared from my life. With the onset of adulthood and the dissolution of teen drama, romance, and ideals, certain things I held dearly and never thought I’d let go started evaporating, out of my clenched hands, so to speak. Certain things I took to be constants, sacred beliefs. And what’s magic, “the glow”, if not the belief that there’s something beyond you? That some things are untouchable and have been so since the beginning of time, but lie outside its flow. Indeed, from the very realm of material existence. Art, music, love, god if you believe in that kind of thing. That we mortals are merely vessels, chosen by magic to express their ways in our feeble methods to the best of our capabilities.
As our brain resolves its miswired connections, becomes permanent, so do our concepts of life. Ideals are eroded as soon as we touch them. Isn’t it funny? With enough contemplation, we suddenly make out what we previously thought to be superficial distinctions between things. Colours, the sky, songs, suddenly take on different meanings when you’re miserable enough. And these distinctions once again blur together once you’re over it. And that, at least to me, feels a bit like magic disappearing. Because, oddly enough, there’s only one form of happiness, whereas there are a multitude of tones and hues to misery.
And yet, you realise, once the glow is gone, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing. You have no choice to live on, once that magic is gone. It’s hard, sometimes. I cling on to these beliefs, these things I believe to be sacred, inviolate. But, god, is it hard.
The Microphones – The Glow, pt. 2
I took my shirt off in the yard,
No one saw that the skin on my shoulders was golden,
Now it’s not, the shirt’s back on, I forgot my songs, the glow is gone
My gliding body’s stopped.
I cannot get through September without a battle,
I faced death, I went in with my arms swinging,
But I heard my own breath and had to face that I’m still living,
I’m still flesh, I hold onto awful feelings,
I’m not dead, there’s no end, my face is red,
My blood flows harshly
My heart beats loudly
My chest still draws breath
I’m buoyant, theres no end
“My ambition is held back only by my laziness”
If only it were possible to expend you energy, your whole being, your overwhelming passion in a single moment. To pour over that object of affection in a flash of light. To realize the vision, the idea, and be done with it. For god knows I’m inconsistent and impulsive in my pursuits, yet god knows how much at any given moment I’d jump for it.
If only you could love someone infinitely in a instant, and have it linger on forever. If only you could learn everything there is to learn in a heartbeat, and never forget it. If only the value lay not in the journey, but in the destination. For I’d be none the better for it, but I’d be satisfied, fulfilled, for sure.
If only I had to fight for my life just once, and not have to fight again. Oh it’d be an epic fight, I’m told.
Or would it burst, instead? Implode not into a flash of light, but a singularity, a black hole?
5 tips to living with yourself
1. Accept that you’re a hypocrite.
2. Accept that you’re a selfish asshole.
3. Learn to laugh at yourself.
4. Accept that you’ll grow old.
5. Accept that you’re all you have.
note: for those of you who don’t hate yourselves, refer to points 3 and 4. They’re universally applicable.
3 Poems
3 poems written for a creative writing class (which I mistook for a literary criticism class). I’m afraid I’m no poet, so I can’t attest to the value of these things, but I did put in quite some time and effort in their writing, so here goes nothing.
Hening
Ada hening
Di lekukan biru, gelap, kelabu,
Di simpangan pasir, langit, dan deru,
Di kekosongan malam, membuta, mendiam,
Di jejak cahaya yang merayap sepi
Menjlajahi pundakmu
Kutersesat dalam raungan semesta
Ada hening
Di desahan peluh, hangatmu, tubuhmu,
Di lengkungan asap, melayang, menyatu,
Di kelelahan hari, terluka, dan tenggelam,
Di biasan terang yang terkurung terhenti
Dalam kusut rambutmu
Bandung, 26/2/11
Masih
Kita masih mencaci maki dunia,
Hanya tak selepas dulu,
Terus merangkul kesepian kita,
Hanya tak seerat lalu
Dan masih terhisapku oleh arus waktu,
Tertahan, terpukau menentang aliran laju,
Dan terus tersesatku dalam lautan masa,
Tak tahu ke mana atas dan ke mana bawah
“Suaramu berubah.”
“Memang selalu begitu.”
Malam ini kurindu semua yang bisa dirindu,
Sesamudra, dalam tak bertepi,
Atau mungkin ini kan berlalu,
Embun di jendela, kenangan menyelimuti
Bandung, 10/3/11
[untitled]
Ku berjalan lurus,
Yang kulewati lingkaran,
Ku berbelok kiri,
Keramaian terbentang,
Merapat ku ke tembok,
Kau selimuti nyaman,
Berdiam ku di tempat,
Yang kau sodorkan Tuhan,
Menengokku ke belakang,
Yang kurasa penyesalan,
Memandang ku ke depan,
Kau beri kematian,
Ke tanah ku berpijak,
Kuinjak kegetiran,
Ke langit ku menggapai,
Yang kugenggam kehampaan
Apa yang kau mau?
Apa yang kau mau?
Bila memang ku datang sendiri,
Biar kupilih kapan ku pergi.
Bandung, 8/4/11
On writing
A good creator is someone with:
1. The gift of expression
2. Ideas to express, or The weight of depression.
To me creation is the ultimate form of appreciation. Something beyond our selves, our feeble existences and lifespans. Everyone (‘s genes) seeks immortality in some form, be it through their descendants, or through their creations. Everyone wants to be remembered. The latter method suits my style better, I guess since I’m such a selfish, egotistic bastard (what can I say?). The urge to create and procreate, and the urge to rebel against it is something I’ll keep for another time.
What does it take to write, synthesize, create? Anyone can take a couple of random chords, string them together, and put a melody on top of it. What makes some people better at it? So let’s say someone listens to a fuckload of music. Being a musically gifted person, s/he is able to, after the first few original songs, string together a complete song, based on the synthesis of the thousands of bands s/he’s listened to. Take another person, who isn’t musically gifted, but is intense and emotional, using music as an outlet for the many things s/he can’t express fully through words. Who’ll write the better song?
I think that to be a creator, a good writer in a broad sense (scientists, engineers are included), you need to have the ideas and the passion, the ‘voice’ to drive you to express, and the ability to do so. The first person above would be an example of a person without the ideas but with the ability of expression, and the second person the opposite. You have to be restless, unique, and you have to be talented. The very best writers and creators are those with these characteristics. They’re who I’d label geniuses.
The gift of expression isn’t so much a gift as it is an ability, as it can and should be practiced, honed, and perfected. They’re our basic tools in our chosen fields of creation and I’m guessing you have to have some sort of talent to build upon in the first place. 10000 hours is supposedly the amount of time needed to perfect your craft, though this ‘info’ was taken from a somewhat dodgy book. 10000 hours of guitar-playing, drawing, upholstering furniture, solving mathematical problems, designing interiors, coding, dancing, and so on and so forth. The ‘tools of the trade’ I call them. The techniques, built over time and our collective knowledge throughout civilization of building houses, writing songs, etc. The things we learn in school and we infer from our experience.
The ideas, the restlessness, I think, is pretty much innate, or at the very most the product of your upbringing and youth. I think most artists are terrified of losing the restlessness that once pervaded them to age, recognition, and security. I know I am (ha ha). This is the tricky part, and is often subject to mystification and other such shit. Depression and tragedy make great stories. People love this kind of shit. Also, imbuing age old techniques with your own personality isn’t something that can be learned, at least I don’t think so. (There’s a reason literature courses usually teach criticism and not creative writing.) It’s also partly the reason why I don’t want to go to music school (the other part of the reason is that I’m not good enough).
At the very summit, where it’s a given that everyone is a master of their craft, the determining factor, I feel, is your ‘voice’, your take on things. The way you see the world in a way no one else does, and the way you ‘sing’ it. Perhaps in the form of a certain way of daubing your paint on the canvas, or certain chord progressions. I get the feeling that scientists and theories are somehow related, but have so far been unable to reach a satisfying analogy. Skill and ability are necessary but insufficient.
I realize there are still holes in my reasoning regarding this matter, probably cos I haven’t bothered to clearly define the assumptions and parameters involved. I’ll get around to doing it some other time. Hopefully, though, this’ll be enough for some food for thought.
It’s all about the tension
Ok I’m back on the proverbial armchair to philosophize some more.
Build-up and release.
Maybe it’s just one of those things, like how 4/4 comes so naturally to us, or how mountain panoramas make us think of god (hah), but restraint and release comes naturally to most people.
I guess when I put it that generally it comes off as being obvious. What I mean is, restraint and release leads to emotional satisfaction and resolution. The vulgar example is of course masturbation, but this is actually widely applicable, people. Instead of getting straight to the point (emotionally), holding back and letting that emotion stir and fuck you up inside before finally letting it out when you can withstand it no longer feels more satisfying (more so if it’s on someone’s face).
Firstly, in music. The whole genre of post-rock is built around this premise. (By post-rock I actually mean Mogwai and its derivatives.) Long build-ups of pretty little phrases slowly gaining in speed and momentum are supposed to be symptoms of restraint. “God I feel so effed up but I’ll just keep this to myself. It’s cooler that way.” Before the song explodes into huge reverb-laden chunks of distortion and colourful shit. In truth, they aren’t building upon much. The initial phrases they build upon are rarely anything special. I imagine countless guitarists are doodling over their frets this very moment looking for post-rock phrases. It’s an analogy to the human conditioin, really, in its dramatization of the mundane.
Post-rock may be the extreme example, but think about it and you’ll realize most great pop songs have some hint of restraint and release. Take Me Out with its down-strumming first half builds up tension till it’s released in its funky second half. Killing in the Name with its (relatively) restrained verse and chorus transitioning to its shattering final cry of “motherfffffucccker”. Paranoid Android with its long meandering upward melodies breaks down into its unnatural, schizophrenic guitar solo. And so on and so forth. There is of course music that is just about restraint (ambient music) and release (grindcore) but even there restraint and release is still needed to lend the song some dynamics.
Tension, restraint, and release, ultimately, is about dynamics. And life is dynamic.
Books and movies. Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro, is perhaps *the* book that taught me about restraint and release. Restraint 99 parts and release 1 part. But boy what a climax. Before Sunset. Restraint in what is left unsaid and what bubbles up from what is unsaid. Incredible movie.
Music, art, books, movies. Essentially it’s all just a reflection of human emotion (arguably). Maybe unrequited love is just a case of people enamored by the whole concept of restraint and release? The idea that feelings that are withheld and left to fuck with your mind will lead to some extreme happiness or closure once they are released or satisfied? In truth it can be fought. Love can be fought. You can learn not to love somebody. But people just choose not to, despite what it does to their metabolism.
Mind games. The Chase. You could just get straight to the point and tell them you like them, would you please go out with me. But does it ever happen that way? Why not, if you obviously have chemistry and are honest about your feelings? Yeah, cos people like playing the game. The build-up is exciting, adrenaline (and testosterone) inducing, and it makes the final admission all the much sweeter. In truth, you’re probably 20, you’re not gonna get married, and it’s probably not l*ve. Glorification of the mediocre.
Well, we all lead boring lives so might as well forgive ourselves.
Little Girl
“Little girl, the best way to cure your heart’s to gouge it right out, take it apart,” he said, laughingly, as I laughed along and ran my hand down my chest, “I can’t seem to find it.”
Good to see, my arms and legs, though limply, they hang onto me, I guess out of habit. Effortlessly, the walls I built crumble, turn into debris, and all the while you smile and leave all behind.
Pressing ice against the pain doesn’t take it away; it comes back and haunts you in the dead of day, when you least expect it.
“Pretty thing, you’ll laugh when you reminisce ’bout the you you are now, you survive somehow. It’s just like a bad dream; think of this universe and how small we seem in it; all of this will fade back into the dark.”
But I’m wide awake, and this is Earth, and it’s my heart you’re talking ’bout. Yes you’re right, you’re always right, if you’re so smart then how can’t you see? What a mess I’ve become.
Pressing ice against the pain doesn’t take it away; comes back and haunts you in the dead of day. I could push aside my shame, I could stand in your way, but that’s not who I am. I won’t force you to stay when you’re nowhere near me.
Lyrics to a song I wrote. Pretty much a Paramore, Circa Survive, and Brand New ripoff. Written from the point of view of a teenage girl. Yes it’s quite straightforward, but there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Yes it has one too may references to ‘heart’ but screw it, it’s catchy, OK. And it was the closest to emo pop (read: Paramore) I could get to without cringing.
FYI, the guy implied by the song isn’t necessarily bad. It’s just that in the case of love lost, it’s all always easier to think that way. And I guess, justifiable. And hence, yes fine, he is the bad guy.. Damn. It’s also implied that he’s oblivious. But maybe he just thinks he’s taking the best course of action? Teenage girls aren’t the most rational beings around.
…of flying wings and soaring leap AKA Science of Sleep pt 2 AKA The How
Since, if I recall correctly, I was around 8 or 9, I’ve had a recurring dream about jumping. I’m not sure if it really qualifies as a recurring dream because the details of the dream often vary drastically. I suppose it’d be better to call it a recurring dream topic. Basically, in these dreams I have the ability to jump really high. Like, really incredibly fucking high. It’s accompanied by the most exhilarating adrenaline rush of falling from high places and, more importantly perhaps, the feeling of utter and complete freedom. And control. OK, so it’s not incredibly difficult to analyze my dreams…
Continuing from where I left off in a previous post, I think dreams have the ability to tap certain brain functions otherwise inaccessible to our consciousness. Why is that so? What is the function of dreaming? Does it even have one?
(Footnote 1: You may be wondering why I’ve left out any mention of REM this whole while. It’s readily known that dreams correlate with the REM phase of sleep. I’m just uncertain there’s anything more than a correlation. Basically, many people think that one may be the side-effect of the other; that REM sleep induces dreams or vice versa. But I’m unconvinced. And even if it is the case, when you think about it, your eyes rapidly rotating beneath your eyelids isn’t very interesting. As a matter of fact, it’s rather creepy. Basically, I can’t be bothered to speak about REM, so there.)
First of all, let’s tackle the how. There are many many theories about how dreams occur. Let’s pretend for a minute you’re interested in what I think (and consider my ideas alongside that of the many neuroscientists, philosophers, and fucking geniuses who have takled this question over the entire span of human history). OK OK, here I go, here I go. I think dreams are the result of… wait for it…. wait for it… random, but not entirely random brain activity during the REM phase of sleep… Amazing, huh?
OK OK, at least hear me out! I’m sure you’re all familiar with the term “drifting” off to sleep. Or when your thoughts “drift off”. I think that dreaming is essentially just that; the brain engaging in controlled activity following a set of rules that will essentially lead to unpredictable results. Exactly like how a boat or any other floating object you place on water drifts; the motion of said object obviously follows the motion of the water, and the way water ripples and waves follows a set of rules rigorously studied by physicists and engineers this past century or two, and yet to actually predict how a body of water will act given external forces would require a very powerful computer. The boat will always remain on the surface of the water (in the absence of a gail or a tsunami) but it’s behaviour is essentially chaotic.
(Footnote 2: The same goes for predicting the weather, stock prices, and many other complicated real-world phenomena. This is the essence of chaos theory, which is really interesting, by the way. Though I have a suspicion I’m the only one reading this who thinks so.)
(Footnote 3: How far can we take this water analogy? There might be more to it than I think. What if we can model the electric activity of the brain as a kind of ‘surface’ i.e. a field? There may be random fluctuations in electric activity that run up and down neural connections in the brain causing a similar effect to that of the boat on the water. Errm, OK, maybe I’ll leave it at that for now..)
This chaotic-but-remain-above-water thing allows dreams to be random but coherent at the same time: you’ll have random events stored in your temporary memory retrieved and displayed in between random sessions of your brain responding to these random memories, then your brain will come up with some other event that is arbitrarily connected to that event and retrieve that next. Like how I’m remembering when I last went to Java Bean Coffee and then realizing how I haven’t touched that Java programming book I bought the other day again, yet. You know what I mean, right? This is why despite the randomness inherent in dreaming, it might actually have some sort of emergent meaning.
Imagine that your memories aren’t actually points stored in your brain like computer files, but rather nodes with connections to other memories. This means that when a memory is brought up and displayed during dreams, your brain has a number of options when choosing the next to display. The most important memories will probably have more connections to other memories as well as stronger connections to some other memory, and hence chances are it’s the important memories that will be retrieved and displayed.
“Yes OK, Cil. That sounds reasonable. So fucking what?” Is something you may be asking. Well I’m getting there… Next post lah. Promise. Pinky promise.
P.S. In the meantime, go check out Michel Gondry’s Science of Sleep and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, if you haven’t already. Science of Sleep is more related to the topic at hand, but the latter is probably one of my all-time favourite movies, so go watch that first. Jim Carrey is such a good actor! And Kate Winslet was so adorable! Her portrayal of Clementine also convinced me that staying single is the way to go!
P.P.S. And check out The Diary of Tortov Roddle, too. It’s reallly good. But it’s also reallly hard to find.
The aesthetics of heartbreak
When the ship sinks, how it sinks depends on the ship’s build, the number of people she’s carrying, and what she hit. You might survive, but that’s only if you’re close enough to the shore to swim, or if you’re sailing in shallow water, or if there’s a lifeboat onboard.
Ship analogies aside, words alone rarely can convey the feeling of heartbreak to other people (unless you’re poetically inclined) and words alone are rarely expressive enough to let the feeling out. Here’s a list of cultural junk that potrays its characters/peformers experiencing heartbreak of some form. If there is a huge bias towards music, I’m not apologizing.
Books:
- Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
- Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak
- Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Ashinano Hitoshi
- Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov
- The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
Albums:
- Jane Doe by Converge
- Courtesy and Good Will Toward Men by Harvey Milk
- For Emma, Forever Ago by Bon Iver
- Songs About Leaving by Carissa’s Weird
- Songs of Leonard Cohen by Leonard Cohen
Songs:
- Exit Music (for a Film) by Radiohead
- When David Heard by Eric Whitacre
- Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens
- Moorestown by Sun Kil Moon
- I Know It’s Over by The Smiths
- The Drinks We Drank Last Night by Azure Ray
Film:
- 500 Days of Summer
- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
- Hotaru no haka
- Casablanca
- Tokyo Monogatari
- Leaving Las Vegas
What dreams may come both dark and deep… AKA Science of Sleep pt 1 AKA The What
Dreaming is quite a fascinating topic. From the amount of cultural junk generated from it, I’d say many are in agreement with me. Dreams are unique in that they have privileged access to the usually subconscious or at least uncontrollable aspects of our psyche; namely our emotions and our memories. How so? you may ask.
(Keep in mind that this is Original Research, by means of introspection I might add, so if you trust all I say you must be either really dumb or really in love with me.)
The emotions you experience in everyday life are, hopefully, the direct result of your experiences. Somebody punches you in the face and you get Angry. You lose your cute kitten to AIDS and you get Sad. Surely, these emotions you feel are the result of some kind of activity in your brain. Chemical, perhaps? By means of the release of certain hormones? Electric? through the firing of a number of neurons simultaneously in your brain? Whatever it may be, you’ll agree with me that the amount of activity and hence the intensity of the emotion you experience is proportionate to the real-life event occurring. Well, could it be that during sleep your brain can access these areas without being restricted by real-life events?
Memories are similar, in the sense above. The amount of information you can consciously recall is as tiny as your weener (and for females, mammary glandes) compared to the amount you actually obtain. Somehow, somewhere, your brain stores all the information, useless or otherwise, your senses collect every hour, minute, second, nanosecond (I’m not sure what the length of an average brain cycle is. In fact, do brains even work like computers that way?) of your existence. It’s just that the brain has certain mechanisms to filter out what’s important and what’s not. In fact, there are instances in which this mechanism is rather faulty, but we’ll leave that for another day (or, you could look up latent inhibition). What if it is the case that during sleep your dreams have access to these hidden files?
OK, let’s stop for a while and all exclaim “Aahhh!”
The results of my exhaustive and often irritating conversation with myself (Me: I think I’m on to something here! Maybe I should become a neuroscientist! Me: Pfft! In you dreams, dumbass. Me: …you know, you can be such a dick sometime. –The sad thing is, I know the cynical me is probably speaking the truth) indicate that this might just be the case!
Think about it: you wake up from a dream one day and for a few seconds you’re dazed. You have this very strong feeling which you can’t really describe and for a moment it’s all you can think of. It sort of block everything out and for the next few minutes it’s as if you’re in a “waking dream”. You brush your teeth and stuff but it doesn’t really register now, does it? It’s funny because in your dream you recall certain subtle links to fleeting memories you had of the other day, like how you recalled for the shortest span of time that the yellow shirt that girl sitting beside you in the angkot was wearing reminded you of the cover of Joy Division‘s Closer, before you lost it upon catching her pretty eyes. Only while you’re eating breakfast does the world with all its comparatively dull sensations start seeping back into you… Your dream felt realer than real life! Only you realise what a fool you’ve been for thinking so a couple of minutes later.
One of the cases I’m trying to make is on the subjective sensation we call ‘reality’ and it’s something I’ll be talking about a lot. Later.
In fact, your dream has probably resulted in you experiencing emotions of a much higher intensity than you experience in your waking life. In the process, it has also dug out many of the unresolved little details you kept hidden to yourself the day (or week, or year) before. And probably one of the most off-putting aspects of dreams (at least for me) is how there seems to be little correlation between the feelings you experience and the actual flow of events you witness in your dream: Ooh there’s this really pretty girl and we’re jumping around in the air and somehow I’m feeling incredibly sad! How is that even possible? I’ll leave that to the neuroscientists to explore (or I’ll do it myself when I become one. Cynical Me: Pfft!). Why would the brain want to do that? What does it imply about ourselves, and what is the personal impact of dreaming? I’ll leave that for next time.
P.S. In the meantime, you might want to check out Slint‘s Breadcrumb Trail. I’m convinced that this is inspired by a dream, with the detachment of its musical structure, tone, and atmosphere from its lyrical content; it feels exactly like one I’d have. Not to mention Slint is one of the most incredible bands ever and a pioneer of the oft-debated post-rock genre. Which I’ll talk about some other time.
