They say that with time comes maturity.
Not very long ago, I used to get into these rousing Internet fights. I know, I know, I was a Macho Internet Guy. It would usually be someone attacking an idea I liked or someone attacking someone who liked an idea I liked and there I would go again--sound and fury would abound. And these would be long drawn out affairs, ending only when one party got tired of coming up with creative ideas to get intimate with the other party's mother.
Nowadays, when I see something that would have irked me no end in the past and started a prolonged flame war, I cluck to myself gently and move on.
They say that with time comes maturity.
Fuck that.
Just because you are older does not mean that the milk of human kindness is suddenly sloshing around inside of you; I am still the cunt I was.
Just because you are older does not mean that the number of other cunts that crawl the planet has dwindled in number. So what gives? Why this inner peace?
They say with time comes maturity. This is not true. That is not why you stop. You stop because with time comes the realization that you have less time.
Try to tell someone this once in your life before it's too late.
The link.
(Click on the link and play the video, jackass.)
The link.
(Click on the link and play the video, jackass.)
Tears in Rain
I've... seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate... All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.
The best dying words spoken in cinema. Perhaps some of the most moving words spoken anywhere. A replicant (robot, oh the irony) sums up the human condition--the briefness and frailty--in a searing few short sentences.
If you haven't seen the full movie (Bladerunner), I suggest you do.
The lessons that life dispenses can be slightly counter-intuitive. One such lesson is that many otherwise very good things can be valueless, when they are given too freely.
Laughter is one such thing. People who laugh readily would seem to be desirable to be around. In reality, they are idiots who are annoying as heck. Situation: An evening in a bar with a lady. You say something witty. She laughs. You are pleased as punch. I'm so clever, you think. A few minutes later, you say something completely moronic and humorless that only an idiot would find funny. She laughs. QED.
Friendship fits the bill too. People with a zillion good friends might seem, well, friendly, but they are also undiscerning cretins. I personally can't stand them. Their friendship is completely valueless because it is given so charitably. Not because they are faking it. They are not. But no matter how sincerely given, it is still valueless.
Personally, I like reserved people. Not shy. Shy is different. I like reserved people because they respect themselves, their time, their feelings, and their thoughts. Being reserved usually means they are reserving it, whatever "it" is, for the right someone or the right something. That is something worth winning.
Laughter is one such thing. People who laugh readily would seem to be desirable to be around. In reality, they are idiots who are annoying as heck. Situation: An evening in a bar with a lady. You say something witty. She laughs. You are pleased as punch. I'm so clever, you think. A few minutes later, you say something completely moronic and humorless that only an idiot would find funny. She laughs. QED.
Friendship fits the bill too. People with a zillion good friends might seem, well, friendly, but they are also undiscerning cretins. I personally can't stand them. Their friendship is completely valueless because it is given so charitably. Not because they are faking it. They are not. But no matter how sincerely given, it is still valueless.
Personally, I like reserved people. Not shy. Shy is different. I like reserved people because they respect themselves, their time, their feelings, and their thoughts. Being reserved usually means they are reserving it, whatever "it" is, for the right someone or the right something. That is something worth winning.
Dadagiri, Indian-ishtyle
This seems old, but someone forwarded this link to me and it was surprisingly painful to watch: http://www.metacafe.com/watch/4972020/how_can_she_slap/
The facts of the case seem to be this: There is or was a show called Dadagiri on some no-name Indian cable channel. This show is the Indian version of Fear Factor, with a dash of Jerry Springer thrown in. (One might even say, a soupçon of Jerry Springer thrown in. I am tempted to use use classy words here, because this is a very classy show.)
The show takes four college kids and puts them up against three different kinds of bullies. If you survive all three, you get a pile of cash for your trouble. First, a big hairy guy gives them physical challenges. Then a nerdy type asks them geeky questions. Then a harpy in S&M gear, complete with whips and chains, steps in and as far as I can tell, her main job is to insult the contestants. So far, uh...so good?
In this episode, however, things don't go as planned.
After the first two challenges, the harpy, who is called Esha and is most certainly a pre-op transvestite, steps up and starts bad-mouthing the contestants. So far, all is going according to plan. But this is where things take a wrong turn. One of the contestants, who's clearly had enough of this unbelievably crappy mud-fight pretending to be a TV show, gets uppity and starts talking back. This, of course, is a serious deviation from the script and confuses the tranny very much. So he/she does the only logical thing under the circumstances.
She slaps the contestant.
Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty.
The contestant, clearly turned on by so much attention being heaped on him, slaps back viciously.
And then all hell breaks loose. The host of the show kicks things off by slamming into the contestant with some really classy suggestions involving contestant's mother and sister. The entire TV crew, and possibly half the guests at the show join in, manfully kicking the poor contestant who is now lying on the floor, bleating, "But how can she slap me?"
All in all, TV at its classiest. I am not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, so I cried a little.
Not to get philosophical here or draw parallels (I will anyway otherwise where is the fun), but my guess is that this incident on this TV show is simply a microcosm of what really happens in India. The hosts of that TV show are a metaphor for the powerful and well-connected. The contestant who got slapped is a stand-in for the unfortunate commoner who gets variously beaten up, robbed, raped, or killed by the powerful and well-connected with impunity. And the TV crew are the paid goons who do the dirty work of the powerful and well-connected when the commoner dares to react somehow.
And the law is a permanent absentee, as usual. In any civilized country, the show would have been off the air and the producer bankrupted with a lawsuit, but in India, my guess would be that life, for the producer and the show, has gone on.
Unless, of course, the whole thing was staged for effect and publicity, and has been secretly "leaked" to social media. In which case, how very clever of them!
But I do not think this is staged. I think this really happened, and this is indeed how the power equations work in India, as seen through the prism of a lousy unoriginal TV show.
So do you want to know how one gets powerful and well-connected in India? Well, I'll tell you anyway. Here is my observation from spending two decades in the country, during at least two important stages in my life, as a teenager and a young adult.
First off, you don't rock the boat.
Ever.
When you are younger, this means being a good little boy or girl and always listening to your parents. You eat what they tell you to eat, fuck who they tell you to fuck, and worship what they tell you to worship. This actually makes a lot of sense if the strategy is to get powerful and well-connected quickly, because after all, this is exactly what *your* parents did when *they* were younger and it worked out quite well for them. The alternative means taking risks, and risks carry the possibility of failure.
...I think there is a reason Indians don't eat cows. It could be construed as cannibalism.
As you grow older, one tack that people follow in *other* countries where rule of law and merit and stuff like that has any meaning, is that they work hard at something. Alas, this has some chance of succeeding in India, but not much. Ever wonder why the really bright people emigrate from India and suddenly seem to make it big in foreign countries? It is not an accident that this happens.
There are far quicker ways to make something of oneself in India. One way is to latch on to a scam of some sort. Scams are quite profitable and given the freewheeling nature of the land, quite risk-free in India. Sure, once in a while, you get too greedy and some journo or the other picks up on the story, but you know, journos can be bought. Or killed.
A second plan is to find another daddy-figure and since you've sorta outgrown your own daddy (a genuine Indian never outgrows their daddy and mommy, but let's not split hairs here), start sucking his cock instead.
This can be generalized into the following statement that must be followed in India if you have any chance of being counted among the successful and powerful: Never, ever, speak truth to power.
In civilized countries built on a meritocracy, speaking truth to power gets you admiration from all kinds of quarters. At worst, you get fired and find a new job. At best, you get promoted for your insight and guts. In India, that power that you are speaking truth to, destroys you.
Watch the clip again, folks. I'm telling you, there is a big lesson in there. Even bigger than Esha the Tranny's rigged tits.
The facts of the case seem to be this: There is or was a show called Dadagiri on some no-name Indian cable channel. This show is the Indian version of Fear Factor, with a dash of Jerry Springer thrown in. (One might even say, a soupçon of Jerry Springer thrown in. I am tempted to use use classy words here, because this is a very classy show.)
The show takes four college kids and puts them up against three different kinds of bullies. If you survive all three, you get a pile of cash for your trouble. First, a big hairy guy gives them physical challenges. Then a nerdy type asks them geeky questions. Then a harpy in S&M gear, complete with whips and chains, steps in and as far as I can tell, her main job is to insult the contestants. So far, uh...so good?
In this episode, however, things don't go as planned.
After the first two challenges, the harpy, who is called Esha and is most certainly a pre-op transvestite, steps up and starts bad-mouthing the contestants. So far, all is going according to plan. But this is where things take a wrong turn. One of the contestants, who's clearly had enough of this unbelievably crappy mud-fight pretending to be a TV show, gets uppity and starts talking back. This, of course, is a serious deviation from the script and confuses the tranny very much. So he/she does the only logical thing under the circumstances.
She slaps the contestant.
Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty.
The contestant, clearly turned on by so much attention being heaped on him, slaps back viciously.
And then all hell breaks loose. The host of the show kicks things off by slamming into the contestant with some really classy suggestions involving contestant's mother and sister. The entire TV crew, and possibly half the guests at the show join in, manfully kicking the poor contestant who is now lying on the floor, bleating, "But how can she slap me?"
All in all, TV at its classiest. I am not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, so I cried a little.
Not to get philosophical here or draw parallels (I will anyway otherwise where is the fun), but my guess is that this incident on this TV show is simply a microcosm of what really happens in India. The hosts of that TV show are a metaphor for the powerful and well-connected. The contestant who got slapped is a stand-in for the unfortunate commoner who gets variously beaten up, robbed, raped, or killed by the powerful and well-connected with impunity. And the TV crew are the paid goons who do the dirty work of the powerful and well-connected when the commoner dares to react somehow.
And the law is a permanent absentee, as usual. In any civilized country, the show would have been off the air and the producer bankrupted with a lawsuit, but in India, my guess would be that life, for the producer and the show, has gone on.
Unless, of course, the whole thing was staged for effect and publicity, and has been secretly "leaked" to social media. In which case, how very clever of them!
But I do not think this is staged. I think this really happened, and this is indeed how the power equations work in India, as seen through the prism of a lousy unoriginal TV show.
So do you want to know how one gets powerful and well-connected in India? Well, I'll tell you anyway. Here is my observation from spending two decades in the country, during at least two important stages in my life, as a teenager and a young adult.
First off, you don't rock the boat.
Ever.
When you are younger, this means being a good little boy or girl and always listening to your parents. You eat what they tell you to eat, fuck who they tell you to fuck, and worship what they tell you to worship. This actually makes a lot of sense if the strategy is to get powerful and well-connected quickly, because after all, this is exactly what *your* parents did when *they* were younger and it worked out quite well for them. The alternative means taking risks, and risks carry the possibility of failure.
...I think there is a reason Indians don't eat cows. It could be construed as cannibalism.
As you grow older, one tack that people follow in *other* countries where rule of law and merit and stuff like that has any meaning, is that they work hard at something. Alas, this has some chance of succeeding in India, but not much. Ever wonder why the really bright people emigrate from India and suddenly seem to make it big in foreign countries? It is not an accident that this happens.
There are far quicker ways to make something of oneself in India. One way is to latch on to a scam of some sort. Scams are quite profitable and given the freewheeling nature of the land, quite risk-free in India. Sure, once in a while, you get too greedy and some journo or the other picks up on the story, but you know, journos can be bought. Or killed.
A second plan is to find another daddy-figure and since you've sorta outgrown your own daddy (a genuine Indian never outgrows their daddy and mommy, but let's not split hairs here), start sucking his cock instead.
This can be generalized into the following statement that must be followed in India if you have any chance of being counted among the successful and powerful: Never, ever, speak truth to power.
In civilized countries built on a meritocracy, speaking truth to power gets you admiration from all kinds of quarters. At worst, you get fired and find a new job. At best, you get promoted for your insight and guts. In India, that power that you are speaking truth to, destroys you.
Watch the clip again, folks. I'm telling you, there is a big lesson in there. Even bigger than Esha the Tranny's rigged tits.
Tai-chi vs Rea-li-ty
In the twilight zone between science and religion, there sits a rainbow
band of pseudo-scientific disciplines that I, personally, categorize
under the general heading of "woo".
Mind-reading and mediums, tarot cards and voodoo, ghosthunting and demonology, homeopathy and phrenology, astrology and numerology, reiki and fengshui. Woo goes by many names. People spend tons of time and money on these things with very little returns beyond the placebo effect. And this is OK; I am a free-marketeer by principle and people are perfectly at discretion to spend their hard-earned money as they see fit.
Even though the word "science" appears in the description, there is of course nothing remotely scientific about these things and not one has a snowball's chance in hell of surviving scientific scrutiny. (Unfortunately for them, they actually make testable claims.)
There might very well be mysterious beings and forces outside our current understanding. We cannot be sure that there are not. But what you can be damn sure of is that the folks on TV running shows with names like "Ghosthunters" and making googly-eyes at the ceiling under a night-vision camera are transparent con-men who realize they would get paid far less if they got a real job.
Unless you start depending on this sort of thing exclusively, most of this stuff is harmless most of the time apart from making you a little poorer. But the problems start cropping up when the bullshitters actually start believing in their own bullshit. This happens on rare occasions because most successful peddlers of pseudo-science are smart savvy marketing types; they very well understand that a brush against cold hard reality will turn off the money-tap very quickly and therefore try to avoid this at all costs. People like Uri Geller found this out the hard way. But on the rare occasions when this happens, it is priceless to watch. Here is a little example of that in this video below. I am embarrassed to admit that I have never laughed so hard at an old man getting beaten up. But the unfortunate fact is that this is pretty much what happens when mystical shamanic bullshit meets the cold hard reality of a fist to the face.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Mind-reading and mediums, tarot cards and voodoo, ghosthunting and demonology, homeopathy and phrenology, astrology and numerology, reiki and fengshui. Woo goes by many names. People spend tons of time and money on these things with very little returns beyond the placebo effect. And this is OK; I am a free-marketeer by principle and people are perfectly at discretion to spend their hard-earned money as they see fit.
Even though the word "science" appears in the description, there is of course nothing remotely scientific about these things and not one has a snowball's chance in hell of surviving scientific scrutiny. (Unfortunately for them, they actually make testable claims.)
There might very well be mysterious beings and forces outside our current understanding. We cannot be sure that there are not. But what you can be damn sure of is that the folks on TV running shows with names like "Ghosthunters" and making googly-eyes at the ceiling under a night-vision camera are transparent con-men who realize they would get paid far less if they got a real job.
Unless you start depending on this sort of thing exclusively, most of this stuff is harmless most of the time apart from making you a little poorer. But the problems start cropping up when the bullshitters actually start believing in their own bullshit. This happens on rare occasions because most successful peddlers of pseudo-science are smart savvy marketing types; they very well understand that a brush against cold hard reality will turn off the money-tap very quickly and therefore try to avoid this at all costs. People like Uri Geller found this out the hard way. But on the rare occasions when this happens, it is priceless to watch. Here is a little example of that in this video below. I am embarrassed to admit that I have never laughed so hard at an old man getting beaten up. But the unfortunate fact is that this is pretty much what happens when mystical shamanic bullshit meets the cold hard reality of a fist to the face.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
A dilemma
Since this is a lazy day and I have nothing on my hands, I was thinking. This is generally a bad thing.
I was thinking about philosophy. Which is worse.
There is this little dilemma in philosophy called the Euthyphro Dilemma, attributed to Plato. Simply stated, it goes, "Does god command something because it is moral or is it moral because he commands it?"
Let's parse that. If something is moral because god commands it, then whatever comes out of his mouth is moral. If the command is to kill your son or kill another tribe or own slaves, then that is the moral thing to do. Regardless of how heinous the act, it is moral. Most fairminded people would balk at this notion.
I was thinking about philosophy. Which is worse.
There is this little dilemma in philosophy called the Euthyphro Dilemma, attributed to Plato. Simply stated, it goes, "Does god command something because it is moral or is it moral because he commands it?"
Let's parse that. If something is moral because god commands it, then whatever comes out of his mouth is moral. If the command is to kill your son or kill another tribe or own slaves, then that is the moral thing to do. Regardless of how heinous the act, it is moral. Most fairminded people would balk at this notion.
On the other hand, if god commands something only if it is moral, then this means that the source of morality is external to god. The standard is set elsewhere. Which in turn means that if we wanted to behave morally, then we might as well cut out the middleman (god, in this case) and go directly to the source, making god either a moral intermediary (at best) or morally irrelevant (at worst).
One way out of the dilemma, seemingly, is the claim that god cannot command something that is immoral. He is inexorably barred from doing so because he is incapable of evil. This resolves the dilemma in favor of the statement that whatever god commands is moral because he is incapable of being immoral.
This "solution", however, bumps up against the question of moral agency.
See, here's the thing. For an act to be judged moral, there must be agency. Here is an example of what I mean. Let us imagine a group of kids on a picnic who stray too far and end up in a forest. Lost and confused, they try to make their way back to where their parents are, but end up deeper in the forest instead and run into a lion. The lion prepares to make a snack of the kids. Suddenly, there is a minor earthquake and this is sufficient to dislodge a large rock that is uphill. The rock rolls down and crushes the lion, saving the kids.
One way out of the dilemma, seemingly, is the claim that god cannot command something that is immoral. He is inexorably barred from doing so because he is incapable of evil. This resolves the dilemma in favor of the statement that whatever god commands is moral because he is incapable of being immoral.
This "solution", however, bumps up against the question of moral agency.
See, here's the thing. For an act to be judged moral, there must be agency. Here is an example of what I mean. Let us imagine a group of kids on a picnic who stray too far and end up in a forest. Lost and confused, they try to make their way back to where their parents are, but end up deeper in the forest instead and run into a lion. The lion prepares to make a snack of the kids. Suddenly, there is a minor earthquake and this is sufficient to dislodge a large rock that is uphill. The rock rolls down and crushes the lion, saving the kids.
It is quite easy to see that even though the act of saving the kids was a moral act, we cannot assign morality to the rock. The rock was following the laws of physics. It was not a moral agent because it had no choice but to roll down and crush the lion. If instead, the lion was killed by a hunter with a rifle, then there is moral agency. The hunter had a choice. He could simply have ignored the situation and carried on.
Put simply, for an action to be morally good, the agent must have choice. To be good, you must be capable of being evil.
If god is to have moral agency, we must concede that god is capable of evil. If he is capable of evil, then we are back to the original dilemma, i.e. whatever god commands cannot be automatically moral. Even if we grant that every action and command of god has been perfectly moral so far, there is no guarantee that this will hold in the future. In fact, the very next command out of god's mouth could be dripping with evil, which we will hopefully judge using some other standard than god's own. To deny this by saying, "Well, that's impossible", is to immediately surrender the claim of god's moral agency and the dilemma stands.
[Postscript] There is a recursive trap in the structure of the Euthyphro Dilemma. One of the horns of the dilemma, if you will, states that the ultimate source of morality may be external to god. This sets up a recursion. If the ultimate source of morality is external to god, then the dilemma must apply with equal force to that source too: "Does the universal moral standard state something because it is moral, or is something moral because the universal standard says so?" And so on, ad infinitum.
At the risk of sounding like I am ranting, this is my basic problem with the god-concept in general. It is not that I dislike it because people kill in the name of god and religion. People have enough reasons to kill other people and have happily done so. A significant number of us will merrily kill even without a reason. That is not my beef with the god-concept. It is that when you dig just a little deeper beyond the happy horseshit...probe just a little farther past the pomp and pageantry, most canonical statements about god degenerate into philosophically recursive nonsense. [/Rant off.]
If god is to have moral agency, we must concede that god is capable of evil. If he is capable of evil, then we are back to the original dilemma, i.e. whatever god commands cannot be automatically moral. Even if we grant that every action and command of god has been perfectly moral so far, there is no guarantee that this will hold in the future. In fact, the very next command out of god's mouth could be dripping with evil, which we will hopefully judge using some other standard than god's own. To deny this by saying, "Well, that's impossible", is to immediately surrender the claim of god's moral agency and the dilemma stands.
[Postscript] There is a recursive trap in the structure of the Euthyphro Dilemma. One of the horns of the dilemma, if you will, states that the ultimate source of morality may be external to god. This sets up a recursion. If the ultimate source of morality is external to god, then the dilemma must apply with equal force to that source too: "Does the universal moral standard state something because it is moral, or is something moral because the universal standard says so?" And so on, ad infinitum.
At the risk of sounding like I am ranting, this is my basic problem with the god-concept in general. It is not that I dislike it because people kill in the name of god and religion. People have enough reasons to kill other people and have happily done so. A significant number of us will merrily kill even without a reason. That is not my beef with the god-concept. It is that when you dig just a little deeper beyond the happy horseshit...probe just a little farther past the pomp and pageantry, most canonical statements about god degenerate into philosophically recursive nonsense. [/Rant off.]
There are times when I sit and ponder the great questions facing us: What is life? What is the nature of time? Why is there something instead of nothing? What was there before the universe? And, of course the biggest one of them all: Who, really, let the dogs out?
Nobody has been able to answer these questions convincingly, and if you are reading this blog instead of reading your goddamn textbooks, then you are as far away from the answers as you can possibly get.
Nobody has been able to answer these questions convincingly, and if you are reading this blog instead of reading your goddamn textbooks, then you are as far away from the answers as you can possibly get.
Namaste guruji
I recently got a bit caught up in a conversation about gurus on Chronicus Skepticus' blog. I usually hate doing that, i.e. using someone else's space as a soapbox. It is sorta pointless because Blogspot offers you unlimited space right here; to be an asshole on your own time, in your own space, and on your own account. Blogspot is so neat I could have kids with it.
Over the long eons, Hindus have vomited up this busload of gurus, ok? And even bigger busloads of Hindus flock to these gurus. Ostensibly to learn how to live their lives. I would have thought that even a nominal adult would have some sort of a clue about living his OWN frickin' life, but then again, not everybody has a quarter [**]. Some of these gurus are out and out con men specializing in the long con, some are unapologetically misogynistic creeps, and some are marketing geniuses. None is especially holy. All are in it for the money or the adulation, bar none.
But people often go to great lengths to justify a choice. It's part of our psychology. This is why people talk up a moneyshredder portfolio that they have bought into. Or stick with redneck husbands who kick the shit out of them on a regular schedule. Or rationalize indefensible habits. So it goes with gurus too. There is a certain kind of person who will readily join the party in bashing a wide spectrum of gurus, but demur when it comes that special one. Some people, like my mother-in-law (yes, somebody was actually stoned out of her mind enough to allow her daughter to get hitched to me), will not tire of telling you that their gurus aren't like all those other riff-raff, carpetbagger gurus. This is the classic cop out: Oh, but MY guru is "not like that". No sir. He is "modern". He is not the usual gender-biased caste-coddling attention whore.
Yeah, yeah, maybe there is a point in there somewhere, but screw that shit, I say. Why settle for a better guru when you can have the best? You know who the best, most enlightened guru in the world is?
The best guru in the world is the guru, who when you enter his home for the first time, tells you to fuck off and go learn to think for yourself and never darken his doorway again.
Why this is not obvious to anybody with an IQ higher than that of a dung-beetle is not obvious to me.
[**] To buy the clue.
Over the long eons, Hindus have vomited up this busload of gurus, ok? And even bigger busloads of Hindus flock to these gurus. Ostensibly to learn how to live their lives. I would have thought that even a nominal adult would have some sort of a clue about living his OWN frickin' life, but then again, not everybody has a quarter [**]. Some of these gurus are out and out con men specializing in the long con, some are unapologetically misogynistic creeps, and some are marketing geniuses. None is especially holy. All are in it for the money or the adulation, bar none.
But people often go to great lengths to justify a choice. It's part of our psychology. This is why people talk up a moneyshredder portfolio that they have bought into. Or stick with redneck husbands who kick the shit out of them on a regular schedule. Or rationalize indefensible habits. So it goes with gurus too. There is a certain kind of person who will readily join the party in bashing a wide spectrum of gurus, but demur when it comes that special one. Some people, like my mother-in-law (yes, somebody was actually stoned out of her mind enough to allow her daughter to get hitched to me), will not tire of telling you that their gurus aren't like all those other riff-raff, carpetbagger gurus. This is the classic cop out: Oh, but MY guru is "not like that". No sir. He is "modern". He is not the usual gender-biased caste-coddling attention whore.
Yeah, yeah, maybe there is a point in there somewhere, but screw that shit, I say. Why settle for a better guru when you can have the best? You know who the best, most enlightened guru in the world is?
The best guru in the world is the guru, who when you enter his home for the first time, tells you to fuck off and go learn to think for yourself and never darken his doorway again.
Why this is not obvious to anybody with an IQ higher than that of a dung-beetle is not obvious to me.
[**] To buy the clue.
can't go back home this a-way
If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles.
Lord I'm one, lord I'm two, lord I'm three, lord I'm four
Lord I'm five hundred miles away from home.
--500 miles, Traditional folk song
Moral of the story: You can sorta-calypso damn near any song.
High flyers, wailing birds
I'm so far out to sea
Ships are passing every night
Oh, all my boyish dreams
And your every melody
With the sea tides tossing free
Never, never holding back
Rock and rollers drift by
Turn to summer, goes so fast
Seems I'll never see you
One weekend and a photograph
Oh, all my boyish dreams
-- UFO, High Flyers
A song from eons ago and ages lost. There's almost nothing you cannot find on youtube. Everytime I hear the words "rock and rollers drift by", I can see boats rocking on the waves and I can smell the sea. Daft, maybe. But so there.
The Song
In my college days, I used to take the train from Bangalore to Calcutta to go spend time with my family during the hols. There was this beggar-man who I have seen at least three or four times on these trips. He used to get on the train somewhere near Bhubaneshwar and he used to sing for coins. Some of us used to give him money, and he used to get off the train a few stops later.
He was either blind or had the most mangled normal eyes that I've ever seen. He used to be on the arm of a little kid who led him through the crowded train. Whether the kid was his own, I don't know. The man always sang this one song. It was in Oriya. The romantic in me likes to think he came up with it himself, but it was probably lifted from some movie. Oriya is close enough to Bangla that I understood what he was saying. I can even put down the original words here, but I'm afraid that I'll mangle them rather badly.
Briefly, what he was saying is this.
He had a beautiful voice, and he sang this in a refrain. It wasn't boring. It was mesmerizing somehow; at least to me. And then afterwards, he finished the song with a few lines which said, essentially:
Sorry for the poor translation, but that is close enough.
Some things stay with you. That song has stayed with me because I was simultaneously haunted and puzzled by that song. To be precise, I was puzzled by the words. My then young mind couldn't grasp the meaning of that song. (And I still can't grasp the meaning; maybe someone can explain it.) Here was someone who had a crippling (and how!) disadvantage. And in his mind, he had identified his god as the cause of his condition. He said so in as many words. He lamented this fact, at length, in a song, and then basically concluded that his god is really, secretly, verily, a nice guy. So what if this god has quite plainly screwed him over for life? Mere detail.
And oh by the way, that song is not unique in its sentiment. As I have lived and learned, I have heard this same idea expressed in poetry, music, and literature. And I wonder. Are we the only animals that do this? Are we the only species that identifies something that is causing us pain and then proceed to love that cause. Isn't that the dictionary definition of masochism?
I don't think a single other kind of animal does this. Even the puniest animal does something, ANYTHING when faced with a vastly more powerful one. It kicks, scratches, it tries to bite back. It reacts somehow, someway. Even at the most passive, it cowers and whimpers in fear. What it DOES NOT DO is stand in the corner and sing praises of its tormentor.
But humans do this frequently. Why?
And don't you think that a god, if he were around, would be amused by this a little? I mean, if there indeed existed a god and we were indeed his charge, then I can almost see him sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere, munching on a big divine bowl of nachos, nudging his beer buddies and going: "Get a load of this guys. I kick them in the shins, I pull their wings off and then push them with my finger to see how far they'll crawl...and they gulp it all down and still call me in the morning. Man, these men are stupid! And to think that they think that the other animals I put on that planet are dumb!! What a hoot."
That is why I take a different tack of course. See, here's what I think. I think that in a universe created by a benevolent god (or even by a neutral but competent god), no one should be required to stumble barefoot through a dirty train singing to keep body and soul together. Something doesn't smell right here. So it follows naturally that if there is a single architect of this world, then that gentleman is either glaringly incompetent or an irredeemable rancid cunt. There is no third conclusion. So cussing him out is the thing to do, really. It is what every believer should do, nevermind us atheists. Maybe that way, the prick will be stung enough to pay attention. So don't spoil him with praise, people. That way you are making him the exact opposite of what you want him to be. Now doesn't that make a lot more sense than what the men in frocks have told you?
Think about it. And have a good and drunken Fourth of July.
He was either blind or had the most mangled normal eyes that I've ever seen. He used to be on the arm of a little kid who led him through the crowded train. Whether the kid was his own, I don't know. The man always sang this one song. It was in Oriya. The romantic in me likes to think he came up with it himself, but it was probably lifted from some movie. Oriya is close enough to Bangla that I understood what he was saying. I can even put down the original words here, but I'm afraid that I'll mangle them rather badly.
Briefly, what he was saying is this.
Lord, you are cruel for having done this to me.
If you look inside my sad heart, you will see my pain.
He had a beautiful voice, and he sang this in a refrain. It wasn't boring. It was mesmerizing somehow; at least to me. And then afterwards, he finished the song with a few lines which said, essentially:
But Lord, you are good and merciful.
I know that you look over me and will look after me.
And for this, I love you and I worship you.
Sorry for the poor translation, but that is close enough.
Some things stay with you. That song has stayed with me because I was simultaneously haunted and puzzled by that song. To be precise, I was puzzled by the words. My then young mind couldn't grasp the meaning of that song. (And I still can't grasp the meaning; maybe someone can explain it.) Here was someone who had a crippling (and how!) disadvantage. And in his mind, he had identified his god as the cause of his condition. He said so in as many words. He lamented this fact, at length, in a song, and then basically concluded that his god is really, secretly, verily, a nice guy. So what if this god has quite plainly screwed him over for life? Mere detail.
And oh by the way, that song is not unique in its sentiment. As I have lived and learned, I have heard this same idea expressed in poetry, music, and literature. And I wonder. Are we the only animals that do this? Are we the only species that identifies something that is causing us pain and then proceed to love that cause. Isn't that the dictionary definition of masochism?
I don't think a single other kind of animal does this. Even the puniest animal does something, ANYTHING when faced with a vastly more powerful one. It kicks, scratches, it tries to bite back. It reacts somehow, someway. Even at the most passive, it cowers and whimpers in fear. What it DOES NOT DO is stand in the corner and sing praises of its tormentor.
But humans do this frequently. Why?
And don't you think that a god, if he were around, would be amused by this a little? I mean, if there indeed existed a god and we were indeed his charge, then I can almost see him sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere, munching on a big divine bowl of nachos, nudging his beer buddies and going: "Get a load of this guys. I kick them in the shins, I pull their wings off and then push them with my finger to see how far they'll crawl...and they gulp it all down and still call me in the morning. Man, these men are stupid! And to think that they think that the other animals I put on that planet are dumb!! What a hoot."
That is why I take a different tack of course. See, here's what I think. I think that in a universe created by a benevolent god (or even by a neutral but competent god), no one should be required to stumble barefoot through a dirty train singing to keep body and soul together. Something doesn't smell right here. So it follows naturally that if there is a single architect of this world, then that gentleman is either glaringly incompetent or an irredeemable rancid cunt. There is no third conclusion. So cussing him out is the thing to do, really. It is what every believer should do, nevermind us atheists. Maybe that way, the prick will be stung enough to pay attention. So don't spoil him with praise, people. That way you are making him the exact opposite of what you want him to be. Now doesn't that make a lot more sense than what the men in frocks have told you?
Think about it. And have a good and drunken Fourth of July.
She
I don't right remember where I met her first. I think it was at the pool hall where I go to practise billiards. She was in the corner and seemed to be playing by herself. But oh of course she was with somebody! A gorgeous thing like her never roams the streets free. I don't think men ALLOW a gorgeous thing like her to roam the streets free. Not in this country.
I also don't quite remember how I got to know her better. I think I just walked up and introduced myself to her one day. We became friends. At first.
She has mixed ancestry, like most things American. All her parents and grandparents originally came from different parts of Europe, like most things American. And did I mention that she is gorgeous? Well she is. Head-turning, heart-aching, drop-dead gorgeous. Big hazel eyes; golden hair. Absolutely stunning.
We are very close now. It certainly seems that way unless I am reading all the signs wrong. We have eaten together a few times and I have seen past the looks. I now know that she has a golden nature to go along with that golden hair. A gentler soul I have not seen.
She is younger than me though. Almost embarassingly younger. I always knew that but I didn't know exactly how old she was until recently. It was of course impossible to get her to tell me, so I asked someone else. And just as I suspected, the difference is big. I mean, I'm not some creepy old guy, but by god, she is young. But you know what...it doesn't seem to bother her, so why should I mention it? She doesn't even seem to be aware of the difference, so why should I be?
We are very close now. There is just something about the way she looks at me with those big melting eyes that makes me just want to reach out and touch her. Everytime. And I do. I run my fingers through her hair when we think that no one is looking and that always makes her snuggle a little closer to me. The other day, she rubbed her cute nose against my face, shyly but playfully. A nose-kiss, if you will. And in front of everybody. Now if that isn't an open declaration of love and bonding, then I don't know what is. I hope she does that again soon.
We are very happy when we are with each other. But...there is just one thing that bugs me about all this. See, I don't think I quite love her. I mean, it's close, but it's not love. I just know it. Oh, I know that *she* is in love. Without a doubt. I see that in her eyes everytime she looks at me. But I can't return the favour completely.
Why? What is wrong with me? Makes me question myself sometimes. Why can't I love that bitch? The bitch loves me, practically dotes on me; so why can't I? Why can't I give my heart, completely and unconditionally, to that bitch.
Why? Why? Oh why?
Oh, and for those who like to keep track of these things, I think that she is part golden retriever and part collie. At least according to the owner.
And no, you cannot have the last ten minutes of your life back.
I also don't quite remember how I got to know her better. I think I just walked up and introduced myself to her one day. We became friends. At first.
She has mixed ancestry, like most things American. All her parents and grandparents originally came from different parts of Europe, like most things American. And did I mention that she is gorgeous? Well she is. Head-turning, heart-aching, drop-dead gorgeous. Big hazel eyes; golden hair. Absolutely stunning.
We are very close now. It certainly seems that way unless I am reading all the signs wrong. We have eaten together a few times and I have seen past the looks. I now know that she has a golden nature to go along with that golden hair. A gentler soul I have not seen.
She is younger than me though. Almost embarassingly younger. I always knew that but I didn't know exactly how old she was until recently. It was of course impossible to get her to tell me, so I asked someone else. And just as I suspected, the difference is big. I mean, I'm not some creepy old guy, but by god, she is young. But you know what...it doesn't seem to bother her, so why should I mention it? She doesn't even seem to be aware of the difference, so why should I be?
We are very close now. There is just something about the way she looks at me with those big melting eyes that makes me just want to reach out and touch her. Everytime. And I do. I run my fingers through her hair when we think that no one is looking and that always makes her snuggle a little closer to me. The other day, she rubbed her cute nose against my face, shyly but playfully. A nose-kiss, if you will. And in front of everybody. Now if that isn't an open declaration of love and bonding, then I don't know what is. I hope she does that again soon.
We are very happy when we are with each other. But...there is just one thing that bugs me about all this. See, I don't think I quite love her. I mean, it's close, but it's not love. I just know it. Oh, I know that *she* is in love. Without a doubt. I see that in her eyes everytime she looks at me. But I can't return the favour completely.
Why? What is wrong with me? Makes me question myself sometimes. Why can't I love that bitch? The bitch loves me, practically dotes on me; so why can't I? Why can't I give my heart, completely and unconditionally, to that bitch.
Why? Why? Oh why?
Oh, and for those who like to keep track of these things, I think that she is part golden retriever and part collie. At least according to the owner.
And no, you cannot have the last ten minutes of your life back.
We never plagiarize, we are just "influenced."
We also know that some people are more influenced than others. An example would be, say, that tool called Anu Malik. Now that is some seriously rampant influence at work.
I don't quite know what it is about that Anu Malik guy, but everytime I see his mug on TV,I feel like smashing his fat, smug, lying, content face in with nothing but my blunt stiff dick. And then pissing on the result. I feel like turning off the TV.
I think there is a name for this particular disorder. I must look it up.
Sometimes though we take a work to be original for a long time till we find different. No prizes for guessing which Hindi song was "influenced" by this number called Return To The Alamo, originally played by The Shadows. I can't find the original on Youtube. If someone does, please let me know.
But whatever...it's great music, in whichever language.
We also know that some people are more influenced than others. An example would be, say, that tool called Anu Malik. Now that is some seriously rampant influence at work.
I don't quite know what it is about that Anu Malik guy, but everytime I see his mug on TV,
I think there is a name for this particular disorder. I must look it up.
Sometimes though we take a work to be original for a long time till we find different. No prizes for guessing which Hindi song was "influenced" by this number called Return To The Alamo, originally played by The Shadows. I can't find the original on Youtube. If someone does, please let me know.
But whatever...it's great music, in whichever language.
No matter how jaded I get, I'll never hate music. A friend introduced me to this song and told me that I was out of touch.
The original is from a Punjabi Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. The words are wonderful.
It is the song of the nowhere man.
[The translated lyrics are courtesy of this web site.]
The original is from a Punjabi Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. The words are wonderful.
Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
Not in stillness, nor on the move
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
I am the first, I am the last
None other, have I ever known
I am the wisest of them all
Bulleh! do I stand alone?
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
It is the song of the nowhere man.
[The translated lyrics are courtesy of this web site.]
sans un regard, reine de Saba
In Jean-Jacques Goldman's song Aicha, a man woos a woman and promises her everything: pearls, gold, treasures, fruits and honey, poems, the music of the skies, the rays of the sun...even his life and breath, to which she makes a simple but fitting reply.
Or, at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk8rmZH_oPY
Aicha
As if I don't exist
She was passing by me
With no regard, the Queen of Sheba
I said, Aisha, take this, all of it is for you.
Comme si je n'existais pas
Elle est passee a cote de moi,
Sans un regard, reine de Saba
J'ai dit: Aicha, prends tout est pour toi
Here, the pearls, the jewels,
also the gold around your neck
The fruits, well ripe with the taste of honey
And my life, Aisha if you love me!
Voici, les perles, les bijoux
Aussi l'or autour de ton cou
Les fruits bien murs au gout de miel
Ma vie, Aicha, si tu m'aimes.
I will go where your breath leads me,
In countries of ivory and ebony
I will erase your tears, your sorrows
Nothing is too beautiful for a girl so beautiful.
J'irai ou ton souffle nous mene,
dans les pays d'ivoire et d'ebene
J'effacerai tes larmes, tes peines,
rien n'est trop beau pour une si belle
Aisha, Aisha, listen to me
Aisha, Aisha, don't go
Aisha, Aisha, look at me
Aisha, Aisha, answer me
Aicha, Aicha, ecoute moi
Aicha, Aicha, t'en vas pas
Aicha, Aicha, regarde moi
Aicha, Aicha, reponds moi
Aicha replies:
"Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love."
Elle a dit: Garde tous tes tresors
Moi, je vaus mieux que tout ca
Des barreaux sont des barreaux memes en or,
Je veux les memes droits que toi
Du respect pour chaque jour
Moi, je ne veux que de l'amour
Or, at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk8rmZH_oPY
Aicha
As if I don't exist
She was passing by me
With no regard, the Queen of Sheba
I said, Aisha, take this, all of it is for you.
Comme si je n'existais pas
Elle est passee a cote de moi,
Sans un regard, reine de Saba
J'ai dit: Aicha, prends tout est pour toi
Here, the pearls, the jewels,
also the gold around your neck
The fruits, well ripe with the taste of honey
And my life, Aisha if you love me!
Voici, les perles, les bijoux
Aussi l'or autour de ton cou
Les fruits bien murs au gout de miel
Ma vie, Aicha, si tu m'aimes.
I will go where your breath leads me,
In countries of ivory and ebony
I will erase your tears, your sorrows
Nothing is too beautiful for a girl so beautiful.
J'irai ou ton souffle nous mene,
dans les pays d'ivoire et d'ebene
J'effacerai tes larmes, tes peines,
rien n'est trop beau pour une si belle
Aisha, Aisha, listen to me
Aisha, Aisha, don't go
Aisha, Aisha, look at me
Aisha, Aisha, answer me
Aicha, Aicha, ecoute moi
Aicha, Aicha, t'en vas pas
Aicha, Aicha, regarde moi
Aicha, Aicha, reponds moi
Aicha replies:
"Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love."
Elle a dit: Garde tous tes tresors
Moi, je vaus mieux que tout ca
Des barreaux sont des barreaux memes en or,
Je veux les memes droits que toi
Du respect pour chaque jour
Moi, je ne veux que de l'amour
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