Clean Slate

There was this film I watched years ago, titled The Perfect Storm. I scarcely recall the story, my only takeaway being the lesson of how marvelously beautiful it was to experience something afresh, afraid.

When you ride a bicycle with ease, the brain subconsciously calculates and compensates for all your movement. You don't consciously perform that, just concentrate on riding ahead. How is it that we spot a familiar face amidst the crowds? We do not realize it, but the brain is fast at work, scanning and discarding every face that you see. Did you know? Bram Cohen, the brilliant guy who programmed BitTorrent is barred from obtaining a driver's license as he is incapable of telling left from right, due to Asperger's Syndrome (a spectrum of autism).

A few times this year, it happened in an instant that my brain does not acclimatize to being on the train. Fresh like a clean slate of paper, I registered the roller coaster motion invariably like a Richter seismometer in my head, like its my first ride in years.

Last night, I laid topsy-turvy in the bed. My head had reseted itself into a void. It was unbearable like a pillow waiting to be impressed upon. There were some dreams afterwards, there were people, but I vaguely remember. 'nuff said, back to work again.

Chill

Flowers for Algernon.. Flour-was

People are yakking in pairs
"Actually he's ok la" Rrrr Zzz
The noises converged, disconcerting

The train body swept side-fro see-saw.

Lost body heat, Roast body hit
Cold cold cold
Need coal coal coal

A heightened sense of perceptual awareness overcame me. A simple trip on the train back home, the surroundings seemed to lash and creep at me, especially this chill. Sight dimmed, sounds and blackness became louder. And to think I had been reading a book, half concentrate.

Not since I last took a walk in the jungle at 3am a few years ago had I felt like this again.

Kiee

There is a field near my house.
This time of the year they are filled with birds. Morning when I left, the ones there were white. Evening when I returned, the ones there were black. Detective work with the ever-changing landscape.

Mire

Every setting of the sun, through that same glass enshrined in hefty white timber, the little girl gazed. Deep and far, perhaps not as often now. Worldliness, people and materialism weighed heavily on her eyelids. Time had been squandered mercilessly, her weary heart tinged with the pangs of guilt. Minutes crawled silent in thought, an occasional glance or two at the dull grey box that had once captivated and ate away moments. That bygone period of addiction lingered in memory, if only amendments could be made. Worry after the show. Dinner call came later, followed by the realm of dreams. Gasping for breaths amidst temporal breaks from the relentless pace. The cycle numbed her once feisty spirit, it yearned to be freed, beyond reach. At that moment, a sparrow slithered through the air in the field beyond. Taking with it, these childish hopes of fulfilling that simple desire.

Miracles are not to be found in the spectacular, but only in the mundane.

Heave

He's perched nonchalant. His other companions cuddling on the window stills, did I mention I shot all of them, cruel hunter.

Now I simply LOVE these shots. May not be breath-taking treasures, but these moments convey a certain elusive child-like curiosity. Be silent, go closer. A free pat to give. Oh the floating pillows are soft to touch (she succeeded).




What's this? A trekking slug, burdened with weight, of meager shelter and protection. The world is wearing on me. Even my trusty new companion has marks appearing on its bevel. Cup of tea?

Hoist

Cloud shots bore people to bits. But its customary to have one anyway. My early bird catch, waking earlier than the sun. Impatient, I left my post, returning to watch the sun raise behind the clouds.

The crowds come, and the wheel of life is set in motion once again. Wheeee!!

Caught this lil guy after lunch. Oops, did I disturb you.

An attempt to spout water from mouth, appears otherwise.

Ah where exactly did I go (with these pretty ladies) ? Flickr.

妄想

Watched this HK movie, The Diary, as tickets were cheap and no need to wait for a show that had started for 5 minutes. Story goes of a love forlorn schizophrenic girl whose obsessive need for love has gone over the ledge into the realm of augmented reality. Starred by Charlene Choi from that cutie-act duo and coming from makers of the The Eye, this fusion will leave anyone mixed. Venturing into psychological horror genre, a differentiation from blood-gore horror, the lifeline of the movie rests broadly on the sound effects. Blood is still spilt at the end anyway.

The simple rhetorical life of Winnie is deceptively fed on a plain backdrop with whimsical moments, her most radiant smiles being done monochrome. The manifestation of mental disorder is only revealed and explained a quarter into the film. Puppets, wooden carved and lying limped, are prominent and deliberate house decor of the girl whom only past-times are making puppets and writing her diary. These inanimate figurines are symbolic of emptiness and manipulation of her life. For a story set in 2006, an unrealism is the absence of internet or digital mediums, save for her mobile phone. Setting in a dilapidated housing estate easily contributed to the ominous mood.

Winnie stalks and leads into a tensed relation with this guy whom she claimed looked like her ex. The unknowing victim enters for dinner at her house, learning discomforting truths from her mouth. Her hallucinations would already have begun: she claimed her ex died from car accident. Another character, her confidant Fiona, appears rather conveniently at wanted moments to talk. Her detoriating mental state is matched by hastened augmented imagery, of self-moving puppets and unreal environmental phenomena. On the victim's final visitation and stay, it is already too late. Conversations are loving and heated, because she imagined them to be. Strange groans are heard and she does not see things, thanks to her augmented mental stumble.

Towards the victim's final meal, he is consistently dumbed and silent. A flare breaks out over the meal about her ex whom she now claims had died of cancer. An empty chair that moves hits her nerves, she rushed into her room to get her diary for reference of the dated event. Startling statement "I KILLED HIM" is boldly written on the diary page she waves in front of the flabbergasted victim. The augmentation cloak is dropped and the victim is seen gagged and tied up, sitting in that ghastly chair earlier. The revelation that all the conversation was imagined is stretched into days before showing the victim's captive plight at her house for the past few days. She finally breaks down, caresses the victim in augmented thought, but actually slicing his throat. The ensuing cover-up involves huge pots of human stew, Fiona appearing before that to instruct her. Neighbors disturbed by the stench results in her apprehension.

Her interrogation involved some witty acting work in the confusion department. Darting eyes, delayed reasoning, probably the most realism the film had to offer. Her diary is reintroduced during interrogation, detailing her murder accounts. Except that its voided of evidential status, shocking the investigators, it had entries written into September 2007 (recall the year is still 2006). Further more, her ex and Fiona are revealed to be alive, married together, and had no recent contact with her. Fiona shares the look of Winnie that we knew earlier, but when the party is brought behind the interrogation viewing pane, the girl in the room is no longer Winnie, but the imaginary confidant.

Conclusion: intriguing, but not impressive. To think you just read all that crap above.

Nightlier Mountain Courier

22.32
Grumbles of the workhorse are picked up as distant whines in the dark. Colorful whirls of light spindle back and forth of the capsule, accentuated by the misty grating on the hull. Structures, names and without, are irrelevant. Time is pierced with every displacement cycle. Next time we wake up, a spell would have been cast on the lush landscape. To inhale the succulent gush of mountainous air, free from carbon particulate, a respite from the concrete jungle's gloom. Still, night takes its own pace to unveil the magical cloak.

23.41
A cheerful clacker resounds in the dark. Flushing the macbook's keys has the equivalent marvel as flying sparks from rubbing stick and wood. Nineteen minutes more to midnight, fatigue has held me briefly and left. Battery juice are in hearty levels, count 5 hours, but reckon not enough for the long haul. All about the cabin is rumbling, Seismac does a great job scaring me and my poor hard-disk. What needs to be done, what is to come, am alone and yet not.

00.47
Incessant chattering of the drivers, presumably to keep each other awake, have kept this passenger up. There has been a break, a changeover. Alongside, another workhorse slumbers into the bay. A rhetorical mountain trail awaits, its beckoning have the same effects as nagging, detest. Another rumble incidents within, I look forward to a voluptuous break fast. Hibernation is necessary to cope, entering that presents a natural challenge to master.

04.05
The streets were practically dead. Tad too many ruts on the expressway, the redeeming grace being the subliminal penetration of the moon in the cloudy sky. Near the outskirts, lights were seen floating in the sky, fledged in the array of a city. No doubt we approach, the cabin is inclined 5 degrees above horizon. The ascend is every the narrower and requires a meticulous approach. Pitch darkness may truly be found when the headlights are momentarily flicked the off switch, not very wise.

05.03
The deep drone of sports vehicles challenging and overcoming the incline did not become evident until now. The cabin rumbles no further, a failure had occurred. Lights came on, toolboxes were extracted. The baggage was depressing to say. How long would the vehicle batteries and the impression of a joy ride last? Safe to say, on lowest backlight setting, this computer may just last.

Check

Time is flying!!

Tranquilizing wind coos into the out-flung ears. The quickened air is rive with the currents of life. Breaths are drawn in easy succession, to the rhythm of nature's march. Fleeting greens transit out of sight, each wave a testimony to the previous' resilience. Mediating in a stasis, two worlds seemingly collide. Days quicken.

rasped flight

My sojourn of staying in frequency with this non-absolute world has evolved to another paradigm. Drawing from my introverted pasts and present struggles, I decompose and re-construct.

Tumbling down a world of giants, there is an insignificant tree. Rests a colony, hunted and chased by the winds. A juvenile bird jolts back from flight. Despite half a flying lifetime, the eyes dart an uncharted sky. Pelted by sun and nudged by moon; starlights lit upon the bearings of ancient paths. Wayward canyons spell uncertainty and of death, for man. These beings, their kind were chosen to fly. On wings lifted by invisible ether, the rising bird figure races from this observer's eye. Dances litter the wind, only moments later does the word aerobatics drop upon the enticed mind. Mimic me not, the young master of the sky mocks this observer in lofty spirit. Endure, a voice tells, someday you'll be like him.

Apple Crunch

As far strung back as kinder-garden, a visitation to my grandparents' house would also consist a peek at my uncle's Mac workstation. Me thinks he bombed quite a lot of moolah regularly, explaining all the fancy Apple packaging I always saw at the house. Years down, the fruity color iBooks caught my attention. Who cares if they were called toilet seats, to me they looked absolutely fabulistic! Lusting for one, I came close to getting one in that only major exam I ever took during primary school. Close, as in 5 marks, and I watched as everyone else got their 270s. Very bitter-tasting, moving on for the next 3 years, my impression of Macs went downhill as the sour bug bit and games consumed many waking hours.

That was until a certain Loh Chin Ee came strutting along to class with a snow iBook. Reckoned she showed us some videos, done with the Mac. And I got hooked along for another long haul of Apple evangelism. The rest of the story is a long tale well left to another time.

Came yesterday, my pragmatic and reckless side got the better of the other latest-seeking and money-scrimping me. Right after meeting Denise and Mas, stroke of luck and some wind attracted me to the shop at Wheelock. The purchase went chop-chop while I acted as the intelligent customer. Lo and behold:



Having used a good many Macs, the feeling of owning one is indeed unique. Much as akin to a new life, you can feel the love that the Apple designers put into it. Its the same love you find in the iPods. Simply a joy to use!!

Ramblings

How prejudiced can the American Congress get?
People with disabilities can be immensely blessed with wealth of the spirit, as seen here.
In a small island, the never-dying debate over elitism ensues:

There was a story about a ruler who would, on a certain day in the year, walk out into a huge, dark stadium totally unarmed. People would be allowed to carry anything they wanted, and they would not be frisked for weapons. The stadium would be entirely dark, and no one would know who anyone was.

If they loved him, he would survive. If not, he would be injured, or killed.