Monthly Archives: September 2002

What I Did In My Third Year Of University

I’m feel­ing very com­fort­able right now. A show­er just turned the activ­i­ty in my brain from trans­la­tion­al to vibra­tional. Writing from my sec­ond com­put­er allows me the com­fort to recline in a relax­ing seat, and the lux­u­ry of watch­ing a doc­u­men­tary on 2Pac, the thug poet from the west sii­i­ide, on my oth­er com­put­er at the same time.

Pavlov's Dogs

If one thinks about what one knows or what one feels, one should prob­a­bly come to an under­stand­ing of why one feels that way. I mean, aside from the pos­si­ble implant­i­ng of tastes, or things that you like because of influ­ences beyond your abil­i­ty to remem­ber.

An exam­ple: if one enjoys lis­ten­ing to met­al, then there should be a real­iza­tion that it might be because of the way heavy gui­tar riffs and scream­ing have a way of help­ing one deal with ones shit­ty, shit­ty life. And if ones life improves, one may not need that genre of music any­more. Of course, one may still enjoy it for what­ev­er rea­son.

Another case. If one is hit by a car, with life-threat­en­ing injuries, I’m sure that one would be less than thrilled to cross the street the day one gets out of the hos­pi­tal, let alone dri­ve home.

The two cas­es are dif­fer­ent inso­faras the lat­ter can be a life-alter­ing expe­ri­ence, where­as the for­mer is not.

And yet peo­ple, with­out hav­ing life-alter­ing expe­ri­ences, feel and act with­out ques­tion­ing why they are feel­ing or act­ing in a cer­tain way.

Pure fuck­ing sequaci­ty

I can nev­er under­stand how so many peo­ple can just act with­out think­ing, with­out under­stand­ing things, with­out suf­fi­cient knowl­edge of the sit­u­a­tion.

I’m sure I could make a poster of a Chinese man, exag­ger­at­ing all the stereo­typ­i­cal parts of his body, as a piece of art, a com­ment in itself of how per­verse peo­ple think. Would peo­ple ques­tion why I made it the way I did? Would peo­ple try and under­stand why I made the poster in the first place, before deem­ing me racist, and demand­ing that I destroy it? The answer, sad­ly, would be no. They would only feel that because it por­trays a Chinese per­son in a stereo­typ­i­cal man­ner, it is wrong. They would nev­er even ques­tion why it is wrong.

Perhaps the gov­ern­ment is just too good in doing what they do. Sure, they’ve done a good job at elim­i­nat­ing racism, but at the same time, they’ve cre­at­ed anti-racism racism. Now, hir­ing minori­ties is a neces­si­ty, even if the minor­i­ty hap­pens to not be as good at the job as some­one else.

But who can blame them? They’re just try­ing to con­trol mass­es of idiots, who can’t think for them­selves.

I wish peo­ple would actu­al­ly think, before they made a deci­sion, before they act­ed. If one does­n’t like some­one, one should ques­tion the rea­son. Don’t just act on it. One may real­ize that one was wrong in the end. If one thinks that some­one is imma­ture, one should think about it. Perhaps even look at it from a dif­fer­ent view. If one does­n’t like some­thing because of an inci­dent in the past, one should look at it in the new con­text of the present. Not just act­ing on what one has been told, or what one has felt for so long.

Pavlov should have used humans. He would­n’t even need­ed to have trained them.

God, peo­ple piss me off.

What To Expect?

Though the page has­n’t been fin­ished yet, I feel the need to write. What about, I’m not quite sure yet. Things have been chang­ing so much, there has been so lit­tle stag­nan­cy around me, that it will take me quite a while to under­stand what is going on. Another…six months let’s say?

And these thoughts roam in my head, this and that, com­ing back and forth like a mass of dense liq­uid dropped in anoth­er mass of denser liq­uid. I don’t know what I’m see­ing. I don’t know what I’m feel­ing.

I’ve been wait­ing quite a while to do this; I want­ed to get some­thing down the first minute I want­ed to make a page again. The whole time, thoughts just kept com­ing, things that I’d like to write, express, be under­stood. I did­n’t think that I’d know where to start. And I don’t.

But what becomes this need to be heard, to be com­pre­hend­ed, though by a spec­tral audi­ence? Why do I keep turn­ing to this medi­um, though the con­ve­nience is more lim­it­ed than ink and parch­ment?

Perhaps it’s the draw of the machine, the beau­ty of a cus­tom inter­face, the click­ety-clack of the key­board. Or per­haps I’m just weak, and I’m just wait­ing for a chance to be heard. I’d say both cas­es are like­ly, and not mutu­al­ly exclu­sive.

So what can I say? What can I write? Only that I don’t know what to say, or what to write. After all, what bet­ter way to start again? It feels like I’m mov­ing towards the cen­tre of my being, trav­el­ling as the poet through the infer­no, but with­out a guide to the next bol­gia.

I wish I knew.