CÁNH CHIM TRỜI
A challenge was flung at my feet: "Do you dare to translate several poems written by Tuệ Sỹ?". My reply was something to the effect that it wasn't so much meeting the challenge as whether I found the poems worthy of the inspiration.
Just as poetry is much more than rhyme, translation is much more than rendition of thoughts in another language. Translation, especially poetry translation, must be first and foremost a labor of love, inspired and bowled over by the original's beauty. Thus, poetry translation, on love impulse, often is better and unforced than that done by requests or crass motivations of recognition and money. Having said that, Tuệ Sỹ's poetry, at least those poems sent to my attention, was "surrealistic" and sounding very "contemporary", meaning it was obscure and personal. Thus, I was not sure if I completely understood the poet's intention. I don't even know if the poet is still alive. I only know he was a friend and contemporary of Pham Công Thiện who died a few years ago. I apologize if I misunderstood what he meant by his words.
I translated the poem quickly. It took me less than half an hour.
Wissai
December 29, 2012
CÁNH CHIM TRỜI
Tuệ Sỹ
Một ước hẹn đã chôn vùi tang tóc
Cánh chim trời xa mãi giữa lòng sâu
Nghe một nỗi hao mòn trong thoáng chốc
Một mùa thu một vạn tiếng kêu gào
Khuya còn lạnh sương mù và gió lốc
Thở hơi dài cát bụi cuốn chiêm bao.
Bên cửa sổ bên kia đồi sao mọc
Một lần đi là vĩnh viễn con tàu
Đi để nhớ những chiều pha tóc trắng
Mắt lưng chừng trông giọt máu phiêu lưu.
BIRD'S WINGS IN FLIGHT IN THE SKY
A promise buried away a mourning
The bird kept flying in unending longing
In an instant echoed the corrosive soul
A thousand of cries rose up in a single season of fall
Fog and gusty winds persisted throughout the cold night
Driving away the dreams into the path of a dusty and sandy long sigh
Through the window stars were coming up on the other side of the hill
Once departed, the ship never kept still
To leave was to remember the silver hair blending in the afternoon
The eyes lingered on the drop of blood's venturesome swoon
"Translated" by Wissai/NKBa'
December 29, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable
The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable
Last night as I was lying in bed early and nursing a toothache( a rare event), an improbable thought arrived and strengthened my fighting spirits: I possess a sixth sense and my body and soul are unbreakable until I am in my late 90's.
I used to know a wacky, uneducated woman who claimed that she had a sixth sense and could visualize the visage of unmet humans. I didn't have the heart and the guts to tell her that she was full of horse shit. She tried to live a spiritual life, and generally quite moralistic, but she was highly superstitious and bossy and childish, and indeed had an unhappy life. The fault for her unhappiness lay within her: she thought too much of herself and thought her shit didn't stink, all because of an unresolved inferiority complex.
One must stop chasing one's shadow. One must not beg for anything, even for one's life.
"The gulf of experience between money and no money is so wide as to be almost unimaginable. Begging -- not just begging but being an anonymous pathetic on the sidewalks in one of the money capitals of the world -- damages your emotions, corrupts your view of the world, changes your view of yourself.
And, for all that, it says nothing about what is inside a person, who you actually are or who you could be."
The other day I happened to see a photo of the stupid coy bitch living in the boondocks of the Far West. Oh my goodness, the bitch was coarse and ugly and had no sense about fashion. Her hair looked like a crow's nest. No wonder she's had no success in finding a man. No man in his right mind would go out with a fake bitch like that. Enough of this bitch. Back to the Sixth Sense, like the disturbed child in the movie, I now see dead people as if I were dead myself already. This realization should scare me, but instead calms and soothes and strengthens me in my daily discourses and interactions with bitches and scumbags. Evil has stopped annoying me. It has become a source of delight for me to watch. To be human, for scumbags, is to wallow in the muck and filth of depravity and self-degradation. Actually the more scumbags I meet, the more I realize that I am indeed lucky and blessed of not being as depraved as they are.
Silence is the mark of wisdom and strength. The ignorant and the weak always try to cover their sense of inadequacy by making noises. "A common man marvels at uncommon things. A wise man marvels at the commonplace. Confucius". I am no wise man, but I think of common things all my life, such as why Love is magical and even more important than sex, for a human individual but not for the species, and why it is important for scumbags to pretend who they are not. Most of what follows in quotation marks are taken from Pinker's "How The Mind Works".
"Conceptions of who we are:
Political Man in Classical times, Religious Man in the Christian Middle Ages, Economic Man in the Enlightenment, and Psychological Man in the 20th Century and after. Now, rather than understanding ourselves in terms of our place in the social order, our relationship with God, or our rational pursuit of self-interest, we are looking to Freud's theory of psychoanalysis and its conception of a complex psyche balancing its instinctual origins with the demands of civilization...
The mind is a system of organs of computation, designed by natural selection to solve the kinds of problems our ancestors faced I their foraging way of life, in particular, understanding and outmaneuvering objects, animals, plants, and other people. The mind is what the brain does. Specifically, the brain processes information, and thinking is a kind of computation. The mind is organized into modules or mental organs, each with a specialized design that makes it an expert in one arena of interaction with the world. The modulus's basic logic is specified by our genetic program. Their operation was shaped by natural selection to solve the problems of the hunting and gathering life led by our ancestors in most of our evolutionary history. The various problems for our ancestors were subtasks of one big problem for their genes, maximizing the number of copies that made it into the next generation.
Thus, on this view, psychology is engineering in reverse....EP (evolutionary psychology) brings together two scientific revolutions. One is the cognitive revolution of the 1950s and 1960s, which explains the mechanics of thought and emotion in terms of information and computation. The other is the the revolution in EB (evolutionary biology) of the1960s and 1970s, which explains the complex designs of living things I terms of selection among replicators. CS helps us understand how a midis possible and what kind of mind we have. EB helps us understand why why we have the kind of mind we have...."
Just because I am thrifty, most, if not all women with whom I happened to have romantic liaisons, thought I was a gold digger or a "social climber" (words of the fucking Laura) while the truth was not so. They didn't know my purpose in life was two-fold: love and mind improvement. Since I have not had the "love" I wanted, I have been busy trying to improve my mind. The more I "know" about "things", the more I develop a contempt for ignoramuses and scumbags who make noises about what they have just "learned". Little did they know that most of what they just read about, I did so more than 35 years ago. Needless to say, I don't love or give a fuck about Laura or bitches like her anymore. That does not mean I am a psychopath. I am only a functional semi-psychotic. There's a big difference between a psychopath and a psychotic. Most people can't tell and don't know the difference. Now I have witnessed at hand the workings of evil, I am more aware of the depravity of most self-declared "good" people. They all have a need to justify themselves. Curiously, they rarely admit to themselves and others that they are "bad" whereas a guilt-wrecked semi-psychotic like myself ruminates and verbalizes publicly on past errors and misdeeds. An answer on a test on a foreign language or on any subject would tell the level of understanding and honesty. An ignorant but vain fool would fumble around and reply in generalities. A knowledgeable and honest person would give a direct answer and is not afraid to show his ignorance.
No, I didn't enjoy employing sarcasm as part of my language repertoire because sarcasm, as Oscar Wilde (commonly attributed) remarked, is a form of lowest, cheapest wit. And nobody wants to be regarded as low and cheap. But I am a firm believer in self-defense which involves inflicting pain on those who caused me pain. Perhaps more importantly, I don't suffer fools and loud-mouthed ignoramuses gladly. But enough of this unsavory, distasteful, nauseating, revolting experience over a repulsive-looking and yet (maybe because of being repulsive-looking) vain and loud-mouthed individual. Let me regale you, if I may, with a very abbreviated "story", called "Omar, Bob, and Roberto"
Omar was a young corpulent, unattractive Hispanic high school math teacher. He was also a devout Christian who firmly believed in God and the divinity of Christ. He met Roberto at a poker tournament. A friendship ensued despite Roberto being atheistic. Omar tried to make his new friend into a Christian because he cared about his friend, and wanted him to be saved. Roberto was too dumb and stubborn to fall for Omar's impassioned evangelical pleas and exhortations.
The friendship endured. Over time, Roberto came to admire Omar's compassion and kindness, not just to Roberto, but also to everybody. Omar had only one vice: he was a binge drinker. Roberto, on the other hand, had no more than two beers whenever he went out with Omar, because every time he took a swig of beer, he remembered his father who died of liver cancer.
Roberto recently struck a friendship with Bob, an introverted, gentle, ill Vietnam War vet. Bob was drinking and smoking himself to death. Over two weeks ago, Bob could no longer drive (and Roberto had to do the driving whenever Bob needed to get around) because his feet and legs started swelling. On top of that, he had a bad cold and wheezing problem, but refused to see a doctor, in spite of Roberto's pleas. Three days ago, Roberto, while out on an errand for Bob, took Bob straight to the emergency room of a VA hospital, over Bob's strenuous objections, where Bob was immediately admitted. The emergency room doctor said that Roberto had saved his friend's life because Bob's sodium and magnesium in the blood had fallen to dangerous levels. Bob is recovering despite having alcohol and nicotine abrupt withdrawal symptoms. His hands shake badly. Last night, during a visit, Roberto sat next to his friend's hospital bed and delivered an impassioned speech:
"Bob, you've got to save your own life. You must find a reason to live. You must think of other people who care about you. You're a good man. There are many bad people out there who want to live. You're a good man, then why do you want to die? I care about you. I want you to live. I want you to be around so you can continue playing with your new toy, iPad, which I helped you purchase. When you recover, we'll play chess together as you often wished we would. But you must promise me you shall stop the booze and the cigarettes for good, once you get out of here, otherwise all my efforts to help you amounted to nothing, to a colossal waste of time. You must not break my heart. Meanwhile, pray, Bob, pray to your God, to Jesus, asking them to give you strength. It can be done. It has been done before. Let me tell you about my wonderful Christian, Hispanic friend, Omar, who opened up my heart, who changed me, who was responsible for my deciding to reach out to you in your hour of need...."
I shared the above story, "Omar, Bob, and Roberto" with the bitch. She failed to understand the intents and purposes of my sharing. Her failure dried up any lingering desire of mine to let her have a peek into my mind. She's too fucking dumb to understand, too insensitive to feel, and too stubborn to learn from past experiences.
Most young men, insensible and raw in life's experiences, fancy that war would be an experience to broaden their minds or drive up their adrenaline levels. So they volunteer into the Army. Little do they know what awaits them. They will witness at first hand how sudden and arbitrary and final death can be. And if they are lucky, they will survive but they won't forget how the smell of death hangs in the air. That was what Bob told me after serving two tours in Vietnam. He was stressed out and only booze could numb him enough so he wouldn't go crazy. He couldn't forget the people's faces after getting shot and killed by him. He said he was stupid to walk up to his victims afterwards when the "enemies" retreated in a hurry and left their dead comrades behind.
You would no doubt wonder if I really deserve to think myself in lofty terms. The truth is that I look at my "peers" and see nothing but mostly false pride and pathetic ignorance. I cast one look further and I see cowardice, laziness, and defensiveness. So to amuse and strengthen myself, I declare that I possess a sixth sense and I am unbreakable, which isn't really that far from the "truth". I certainly talk too much, however. I must respect and observe silence more. But tell me, why do the fuck that assholes and ignoramuses have to try to prove to me that they are smart and knowledgeable to me? Could it be that they lack intellectual honesty and true self-respect?
(to be continued)
Last night as I was lying in bed early and nursing a toothache( a rare event), an improbable thought arrived and strengthened my fighting spirits: I possess a sixth sense and my body and soul are unbreakable until I am in my late 90's.
I used to know a wacky, uneducated woman who claimed that she had a sixth sense and could visualize the visage of unmet humans. I didn't have the heart and the guts to tell her that she was full of horse shit. She tried to live a spiritual life, and generally quite moralistic, but she was highly superstitious and bossy and childish, and indeed had an unhappy life. The fault for her unhappiness lay within her: she thought too much of herself and thought her shit didn't stink, all because of an unresolved inferiority complex.
One must stop chasing one's shadow. One must not beg for anything, even for one's life.
"The gulf of experience between money and no money is so wide as to be almost unimaginable. Begging -- not just begging but being an anonymous pathetic on the sidewalks in one of the money capitals of the world -- damages your emotions, corrupts your view of the world, changes your view of yourself.
And, for all that, it says nothing about what is inside a person, who you actually are or who you could be."
The other day I happened to see a photo of the stupid coy bitch living in the boondocks of the Far West. Oh my goodness, the bitch was coarse and ugly and had no sense about fashion. Her hair looked like a crow's nest. No wonder she's had no success in finding a man. No man in his right mind would go out with a fake bitch like that. Enough of this bitch. Back to the Sixth Sense, like the disturbed child in the movie, I now see dead people as if I were dead myself already. This realization should scare me, but instead calms and soothes and strengthens me in my daily discourses and interactions with bitches and scumbags. Evil has stopped annoying me. It has become a source of delight for me to watch. To be human, for scumbags, is to wallow in the muck and filth of depravity and self-degradation. Actually the more scumbags I meet, the more I realize that I am indeed lucky and blessed of not being as depraved as they are.
Silence is the mark of wisdom and strength. The ignorant and the weak always try to cover their sense of inadequacy by making noises. "A common man marvels at uncommon things. A wise man marvels at the commonplace. Confucius". I am no wise man, but I think of common things all my life, such as why Love is magical and even more important than sex, for a human individual but not for the species, and why it is important for scumbags to pretend who they are not. Most of what follows in quotation marks are taken from Pinker's "How The Mind Works".
"Conceptions of who we are:
Political Man in Classical times, Religious Man in the Christian Middle Ages, Economic Man in the Enlightenment, and Psychological Man in the 20th Century and after. Now, rather than understanding ourselves in terms of our place in the social order, our relationship with God, or our rational pursuit of self-interest, we are looking to Freud's theory of psychoanalysis and its conception of a complex psyche balancing its instinctual origins with the demands of civilization...
The mind is a system of organs of computation, designed by natural selection to solve the kinds of problems our ancestors faced I their foraging way of life, in particular, understanding and outmaneuvering objects, animals, plants, and other people. The mind is what the brain does. Specifically, the brain processes information, and thinking is a kind of computation. The mind is organized into modules or mental organs, each with a specialized design that makes it an expert in one arena of interaction with the world. The modulus's basic logic is specified by our genetic program. Their operation was shaped by natural selection to solve the problems of the hunting and gathering life led by our ancestors in most of our evolutionary history. The various problems for our ancestors were subtasks of one big problem for their genes, maximizing the number of copies that made it into the next generation.
Thus, on this view, psychology is engineering in reverse....EP (evolutionary psychology) brings together two scientific revolutions. One is the cognitive revolution of the 1950s and 1960s, which explains the mechanics of thought and emotion in terms of information and computation. The other is the the revolution in EB (evolutionary biology) of the1960s and 1970s, which explains the complex designs of living things I terms of selection among replicators. CS helps us understand how a midis possible and what kind of mind we have. EB helps us understand why why we have the kind of mind we have...."
Just because I am thrifty, most, if not all women with whom I happened to have romantic liaisons, thought I was a gold digger or a "social climber" (words of the fucking Laura) while the truth was not so. They didn't know my purpose in life was two-fold: love and mind improvement. Since I have not had the "love" I wanted, I have been busy trying to improve my mind. The more I "know" about "things", the more I develop a contempt for ignoramuses and scumbags who make noises about what they have just "learned". Little did they know that most of what they just read about, I did so more than 35 years ago. Needless to say, I don't love or give a fuck about Laura or bitches like her anymore. That does not mean I am a psychopath. I am only a functional semi-psychotic. There's a big difference between a psychopath and a psychotic. Most people can't tell and don't know the difference. Now I have witnessed at hand the workings of evil, I am more aware of the depravity of most self-declared "good" people. They all have a need to justify themselves. Curiously, they rarely admit to themselves and others that they are "bad" whereas a guilt-wrecked semi-psychotic like myself ruminates and verbalizes publicly on past errors and misdeeds. An answer on a test on a foreign language or on any subject would tell the level of understanding and honesty. An ignorant but vain fool would fumble around and reply in generalities. A knowledgeable and honest person would give a direct answer and is not afraid to show his ignorance.
No, I didn't enjoy employing sarcasm as part of my language repertoire because sarcasm, as Oscar Wilde (commonly attributed) remarked, is a form of lowest, cheapest wit. And nobody wants to be regarded as low and cheap. But I am a firm believer in self-defense which involves inflicting pain on those who caused me pain. Perhaps more importantly, I don't suffer fools and loud-mouthed ignoramuses gladly. But enough of this unsavory, distasteful, nauseating, revolting experience over a repulsive-looking and yet (maybe because of being repulsive-looking) vain and loud-mouthed individual. Let me regale you, if I may, with a very abbreviated "story", called "Omar, Bob, and Roberto"
Omar was a young corpulent, unattractive Hispanic high school math teacher. He was also a devout Christian who firmly believed in God and the divinity of Christ. He met Roberto at a poker tournament. A friendship ensued despite Roberto being atheistic. Omar tried to make his new friend into a Christian because he cared about his friend, and wanted him to be saved. Roberto was too dumb and stubborn to fall for Omar's impassioned evangelical pleas and exhortations.
The friendship endured. Over time, Roberto came to admire Omar's compassion and kindness, not just to Roberto, but also to everybody. Omar had only one vice: he was a binge drinker. Roberto, on the other hand, had no more than two beers whenever he went out with Omar, because every time he took a swig of beer, he remembered his father who died of liver cancer.
Roberto recently struck a friendship with Bob, an introverted, gentle, ill Vietnam War vet. Bob was drinking and smoking himself to death. Over two weeks ago, Bob could no longer drive (and Roberto had to do the driving whenever Bob needed to get around) because his feet and legs started swelling. On top of that, he had a bad cold and wheezing problem, but refused to see a doctor, in spite of Roberto's pleas. Three days ago, Roberto, while out on an errand for Bob, took Bob straight to the emergency room of a VA hospital, over Bob's strenuous objections, where Bob was immediately admitted. The emergency room doctor said that Roberto had saved his friend's life because Bob's sodium and magnesium in the blood had fallen to dangerous levels. Bob is recovering despite having alcohol and nicotine abrupt withdrawal symptoms. His hands shake badly. Last night, during a visit, Roberto sat next to his friend's hospital bed and delivered an impassioned speech:
"Bob, you've got to save your own life. You must find a reason to live. You must think of other people who care about you. You're a good man. There are many bad people out there who want to live. You're a good man, then why do you want to die? I care about you. I want you to live. I want you to be around so you can continue playing with your new toy, iPad, which I helped you purchase. When you recover, we'll play chess together as you often wished we would. But you must promise me you shall stop the booze and the cigarettes for good, once you get out of here, otherwise all my efforts to help you amounted to nothing, to a colossal waste of time. You must not break my heart. Meanwhile, pray, Bob, pray to your God, to Jesus, asking them to give you strength. It can be done. It has been done before. Let me tell you about my wonderful Christian, Hispanic friend, Omar, who opened up my heart, who changed me, who was responsible for my deciding to reach out to you in your hour of need...."
I shared the above story, "Omar, Bob, and Roberto" with the bitch. She failed to understand the intents and purposes of my sharing. Her failure dried up any lingering desire of mine to let her have a peek into my mind. She's too fucking dumb to understand, too insensitive to feel, and too stubborn to learn from past experiences.
Most young men, insensible and raw in life's experiences, fancy that war would be an experience to broaden their minds or drive up their adrenaline levels. So they volunteer into the Army. Little do they know what awaits them. They will witness at first hand how sudden and arbitrary and final death can be. And if they are lucky, they will survive but they won't forget how the smell of death hangs in the air. That was what Bob told me after serving two tours in Vietnam. He was stressed out and only booze could numb him enough so he wouldn't go crazy. He couldn't forget the people's faces after getting shot and killed by him. He said he was stupid to walk up to his victims afterwards when the "enemies" retreated in a hurry and left their dead comrades behind.
You would no doubt wonder if I really deserve to think myself in lofty terms. The truth is that I look at my "peers" and see nothing but mostly false pride and pathetic ignorance. I cast one look further and I see cowardice, laziness, and defensiveness. So to amuse and strengthen myself, I declare that I possess a sixth sense and I am unbreakable, which isn't really that far from the "truth". I certainly talk too much, however. I must respect and observe silence more. But tell me, why do the fuck that assholes and ignoramuses have to try to prove to me that they are smart and knowledgeable to me? Could it be that they lack intellectual honesty and true self-respect?
(to be continued)
A Piece of My Meditative Heart
Khúc Tâm Tư
Nếu anh hỏi: đời em mơ gì nhất?
- Nghe tiếng bổng trầm anh nói: "Em yêu,
Anh nhớ hoàng hôn vương sợi nắng chiều,
Bờ môi ấm dìu tình ta du ngoạn"
Nếu anh hỏi: ngày nào em mơ nhất?
- Ngày mỗi ngày, giây phút ánh trăng êm
Trời mờ sương anh bên cửa buông rèm
Quyện hình em suốt đêm dài vô tận
Nếu anh hỏi: đường nào em mơ nhất?
- Con đường tình bước âu yếm, thủy chung
Để hồn em không cay đắng nghìn trùng
Chia chăn gối với bóng hồng xa lạ
Nếu anh hỏi: nữ trang em mơ nhất?
- Em quí vô ngần châu hạt kim cương
Là giọt lệ lóng lánh Chúa thiên đường
Làm rơi xuống trần gian đầy sầu khổ
Nếu anh hỏi: đời sau mơ gì nhất?
- Là Nữ Hoàng! Thánh nữ của lòng anh
Chốn thiên cung ta tấu khúc "Xuất Hành"
Tôn thờ Chúa Ba Ngôi Vua Vũ Trụ.
Chúc Anh
Sàigòn 1974
A PIECE OF MY MEDITATIVE HEART
If you ask: what I dream the most?
-Your melodious voice that says: " My love,
I always remember the lingering light of the late afternoon
Shining on us as we travel on kisses."
If you ask: what day I dream the most of?
-It's not the day, but the night, and every night
As the moonlight gently shines through the the gathering fog,
You let the window curtain fall
And your body entertwine with mine
Throughout the endlless night
If you ask: which road I dream to walk on?
-The road of cherished, everlasting love
So my heart knows no enduring bitterness
If I have to share you with a rival unknown
If you ask: which piece of jewelry I most treasure?
-The sparkling diamond from heaven falling to earth,
The tear of loving Christ for the suffering world
And if you ask: what do I wish most in the hereafter?
-Your Queen! The Sacred Angel of your heart
Together in Heaven we sing "Forward On We March"
In the Endless Glory of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
Translated by Wissai/NKBa'
May 5, 2012
P.S.:
I shared the translation because some lines in the translation were even better than those in the Vietnamese original. I challenge and defy anyone who could improve on my translation. As I toil in obscurity, my pride soars and my loneliness melts away.
Christmas means nothing to me as do most religious tenets and doctrines. They help the stupid and the ignorant, not me , because I think more deeply than most so-called religious leaders. The Catholic Pope is a piece of shit. I hate the Catholic Church. The rites and vestments are full of pageantry, borrowed from the Roman Imperial Court. Most religious believers are stupid spiritual slaves who don't know their "leaders" despise them for their stupidity.
I am looking into cognitive science. If you study this subject, you will realize that you are special and part of the elite thinkers. The mere that a human can stand in front of a group of his fellow humans and hold their attention for a long period of time through his speech or singing is a marvel by itself and should be investigated by contemplative humans. And I am such a human. I am fiercely interested into the nature and process of thinking and why so-called educated persons who finished college still subscribe to superstition and self-deception.
Translation is a way to help me witness my brain at work: access to storage of memory and the interface of thoughts and language. Let's backtrack to the last two lines of the first stanza of the translation. They were far, far better than those in the Vietnamese original. When I wrote those two lines, I touched something sublime and magical in the art of using words to express the ineffable.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Holier-than-thou Attitude
The busybody asshole probably has not heard of the much bandied around notion that some humans only have the exterior as humans while their interior is not quite evolved/developed to be truly qualified as members of the homo sapiens species. Those so-called humans are often berated and characterized (and rightfully so) as sub-humans. They routinely engage in acts of betrayal, treachery, willful ignorance, naked selfishness, self-aggrandizement, pathetic stubbornness to the point of being surly and splenetic, low-class language (ngôn ngữ ba que xỏ lá rẻ tiền mất dạy), and holier-than-thou attitude as if their own excrement doesn't stink. In their zeal to appear righteous, they roundly and loudly ridicule, denounce and condemn those humans whose behavior they find not to their liking. The notion of "live and let live" is utterly foreign to them. Finally, they never think there's something pathological and pathetic about their behavior; in other words, they lack self-awareness: psychologically, they never look at themselves in a mirror because if they do, they would realize that they are very ugly indeed.
Roberto Wissai/NKBa'
Roberto Wissai/NKBa'
Sunday, December 16, 2012
D for day and N for night
D for day and N for night
That's how I think of you
Ever since you were out of sight
I wonder if you also think of me, too
And if you do, would you let me know
Don't be shy, seize the day
Don't let the magic go
Let your feelings flow in this month of May
Wissai
December 16, 2012
That's how I think of you
Ever since you were out of sight
I wonder if you also think of me, too
And if you do, would you let me know
Don't be shy, seize the day
Don't let the magic go
Let your feelings flow in this month of May
Wissai
December 16, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Baptism
Sandy McCord’s poem, Bath II:
I was baptized in books: not a tepid
Methodist sprinkling but a full
immersion, not in the static pool
of a marble font but in a roiling
stream of ink, of words, of thought;
and I was saved.
I was baptized in books: not a tepid
Methodist sprinkling but a full
immersion, not in the static pool
of a marble font but in a roiling
stream of ink, of words, of thought;
and I was saved.
Winter’s Philosophers
Winter’s Philosophers
Charles Simic
“Everyone who thinks is unhappy,” says Sergei Dovlatov in one of his stories. Some crows caw all day, some have nothing to say. I see one of them pace back and forth on my lawn the way I’ve seen Hamlet do on stage. Whatever is bothering him seems insoluble, too much for one crow to figure out on his own. Still, no harm trying, I suppose, even with the racket his relatives are making as they fly to and fro, as if the road they oversee is not covered only with fallen leaves and patches of ice, but also with fresh road kill.
*
My late father, who had something good to say about most things, used to console people who complained about bitter cold weather by reminding them of the joys of a hot bowl of soup and of a strong drink being made permissible early in the day by the extraordinary circumstances. In addition, he claimed that the cold concentrates the mind. The moment we step outdoors, we do what we have to do with uncommon intelligence and dispatch, unlike those folks who can afford to sit in the shade on some Mediterranean or Caribbean island. Once we lie down, time ceases to count and we can meditate on eternity, Cioran believed. History, he said, is the product of people who stand up and get busy. Can one be a dreamer or a dolt on the North Pole? My father had his doubts about that. How does Berlioz sound at forty below? How does Schumann? He never cared to find out.
*
If only Plato and Socrates had to scrape the ice off their windshields and deal with dead car batteries, I was going to add, when the horrifying realization struck me that, despite our interminable New Hampshire winters and our supposedly heightened state of intelligence, we’ve never of late up here produced one philosopher that anyone would care to remember. So, this uncanny feeling that I have, when I get up in the middle of the night and tiptoe on bare feet down to the cold kitchen to peek at the thermometer outside, that I’m on the verge of a supreme insight, something worthy of Blaise Pascal contemplating the silence of the infinite universe, turns out to be all hooey. Well, perhaps not entirely: the one whose mind is clear senses himself free, a master of his destiny. Who says philosophy is incompatible with hard labor of self-preservation? When I’m shoveling snow off the roof I sneak admiring glances at myself as if I were Nietzsche’s superman.
*
Still, I can’t help but feel that I’m surrounded by deep thinkers: the young cow standing puzzled in a field covered with first snow; the mutt I’ve been calling Schopenhauer, sighing at the end of his heavy chain, or the other one who reminds me of Karl Marx and who I saw bark at the police in their cruiser as they drove past his house. Even the lake about to freeze appears mute with indecision and lost in thought. As for cats, there must be at least a couple of Wittgensteins slinking around back porches in the vicinity and one large, long-haired black tabby who comes to rub himself against my leg now and then and whom I’ve named after Boethius, who wrote Consolation of Philosophy, one of the most popular books in Medieval Europe.
*
“No philosopher has ever influenced the attitudes of even the street he lived on,” Voltaire was reputed to have said. That’s not what I believe. With deep winter upon us and the weather growing colder, even the wood smoke out of the neighbors’ chimneys could be described as philosophizing. I can see it move its lips as it rises, telling the indifferent sky about our loneliness, the torment of our minds and passions which we keep secret from each other, and the wonder and pain of our mortality and of our eventual vanishing from this earth. It’s a kind of deep, cathedral-like quiet that precedes a snowfall. One looks with amazement at the bare trees, the gray daylight making its slow retreat across the bare fields, and inevitably recalls that Emily Dickinson poem in which she speaks of just such a winter afternoon—windless and cold, when an otherworldly light falls and shadows hold their breath—and of the hurt that it gives us for which we can find no scar, only a closer peek inside ourselves where the meanings and all the unanswered questions are.
January 4, 2011, 10 a.m.
Charles Simic
“Everyone who thinks is unhappy,” says Sergei Dovlatov in one of his stories. Some crows caw all day, some have nothing to say. I see one of them pace back and forth on my lawn the way I’ve seen Hamlet do on stage. Whatever is bothering him seems insoluble, too much for one crow to figure out on his own. Still, no harm trying, I suppose, even with the racket his relatives are making as they fly to and fro, as if the road they oversee is not covered only with fallen leaves and patches of ice, but also with fresh road kill.
*
My late father, who had something good to say about most things, used to console people who complained about bitter cold weather by reminding them of the joys of a hot bowl of soup and of a strong drink being made permissible early in the day by the extraordinary circumstances. In addition, he claimed that the cold concentrates the mind. The moment we step outdoors, we do what we have to do with uncommon intelligence and dispatch, unlike those folks who can afford to sit in the shade on some Mediterranean or Caribbean island. Once we lie down, time ceases to count and we can meditate on eternity, Cioran believed. History, he said, is the product of people who stand up and get busy. Can one be a dreamer or a dolt on the North Pole? My father had his doubts about that. How does Berlioz sound at forty below? How does Schumann? He never cared to find out.
*
If only Plato and Socrates had to scrape the ice off their windshields and deal with dead car batteries, I was going to add, when the horrifying realization struck me that, despite our interminable New Hampshire winters and our supposedly heightened state of intelligence, we’ve never of late up here produced one philosopher that anyone would care to remember. So, this uncanny feeling that I have, when I get up in the middle of the night and tiptoe on bare feet down to the cold kitchen to peek at the thermometer outside, that I’m on the verge of a supreme insight, something worthy of Blaise Pascal contemplating the silence of the infinite universe, turns out to be all hooey. Well, perhaps not entirely: the one whose mind is clear senses himself free, a master of his destiny. Who says philosophy is incompatible with hard labor of self-preservation? When I’m shoveling snow off the roof I sneak admiring glances at myself as if I were Nietzsche’s superman.
*
Still, I can’t help but feel that I’m surrounded by deep thinkers: the young cow standing puzzled in a field covered with first snow; the mutt I’ve been calling Schopenhauer, sighing at the end of his heavy chain, or the other one who reminds me of Karl Marx and who I saw bark at the police in their cruiser as they drove past his house. Even the lake about to freeze appears mute with indecision and lost in thought. As for cats, there must be at least a couple of Wittgensteins slinking around back porches in the vicinity and one large, long-haired black tabby who comes to rub himself against my leg now and then and whom I’ve named after Boethius, who wrote Consolation of Philosophy, one of the most popular books in Medieval Europe.
*
“No philosopher has ever influenced the attitudes of even the street he lived on,” Voltaire was reputed to have said. That’s not what I believe. With deep winter upon us and the weather growing colder, even the wood smoke out of the neighbors’ chimneys could be described as philosophizing. I can see it move its lips as it rises, telling the indifferent sky about our loneliness, the torment of our minds and passions which we keep secret from each other, and the wonder and pain of our mortality and of our eventual vanishing from this earth. It’s a kind of deep, cathedral-like quiet that precedes a snowfall. One looks with amazement at the bare trees, the gray daylight making its slow retreat across the bare fields, and inevitably recalls that Emily Dickinson poem in which she speaks of just such a winter afternoon—windless and cold, when an otherworldly light falls and shadows hold their breath—and of the hurt that it gives us for which we can find no scar, only a closer peek inside ourselves where the meanings and all the unanswered questions are.
January 4, 2011, 10 a.m.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Maturity and Cynicsm
When self-pity colludes with self-loathing and solipsism sojourns with stupidity, the only possible outcome is insufferable schmaltz (exaggerated sentimentalism).
Reading his efforts at self-expression is like watching a leprous lemur monkey try to describe a tiger, using only its long prehensile tail.
What he's saying isn't really terrible. It's so...average and boring. There are no sparks, no fires. Only smoke and a lot of noise.
If I have to speak, it has to be something very compelling and unavoidable.
So many stupid, power-hungry and pompous assholes In this world. And the way they express themselves is so abhorrent that I am glad I was not born like one of those fucking animals. Some humans are absolute scum and deserve to be exterminated like vermin. Granted, I have incurred quite a number (no more than 4 ) of moral injuries to innocent victims, of which I deeply regret, I won't lose sleep if I commit acts of extreme brutality to those scumbags who have hurt me and shown no signs of repentance or regret.
Reading his efforts at self-expression is like watching a leprous lemur monkey try to describe a tiger, using only its long prehensile tail.
What he's saying isn't really terrible. It's so...average and boring. There are no sparks, no fires. Only smoke and a lot of noise.
If I have to speak, it has to be something very compelling and unavoidable.
So many stupid, power-hungry and pompous assholes In this world. And the way they express themselves is so abhorrent that I am glad I was not born like one of those fucking animals. Some humans are absolute scum and deserve to be exterminated like vermin. Granted, I have incurred quite a number (no more than 4 ) of moral injuries to innocent victims, of which I deeply regret, I won't lose sleep if I commit acts of extreme brutality to those scumbags who have hurt me and shown no signs of repentance or regret.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Người đi kẻ ở
Người đi kẻ ở
Trần Vấn Lệ
Đưa người tới tận sân bay,
ôm chưa chặt nhỉ nên tay đã lìa!
Người ơi người ở đừng dìa…
nói, nghe như thể bên lề núi sông!
Nói, nghe như thể với lòng,
mình thôi, người ấy hết cùng đứng bên!
Người từng bước bước đi lên,
cái thang cuốn lại trời trên tầng trời…
Mình đi mỗi bước xa người,
mỗi khung cửa mở thấy hoài sẽ quên…
Đưa người, người đã ngồi yên,
chắc chi con mắt còn nghiêng ngó mình?
Bao nhiêu năm giá băng tình,
người hôm nay ấm, phần mình thì sao?
Quê nhà con rạch cái ao
mình nghe róc rách nước cào trái tim.
Bao nhiêu năm có đi tìm,
sân bay này thật sự chìm trong mơ!
Người về, mình lại bơ vơ,
một hiên quán lạnh ngồi chờ ngày trôi!
Bây giờ người đã xa xôi,
mai đi xuống phố và ngồi ở đâu?
Lá me bay phớt qua đầu
có đưa tay hứng giùm sầu cho ai…
Sài Gòn ơi…
Lá me bay…
Nhớ em tóc gió thổi ngày tôi đi…
Sân bay này chỗ ai về
mà tôi sao vẫn ngoài lề Quê Hương?
Em à, chín nhớ mười thương,
chín con trăng nữa mùa sương tuyết nào?
Tôi về hay chỉ chiêm bao
hôn em tóc mướt mưa ào ào mưa…
One is gone, the other stays behind
I said goodbye to you at the airport
My embrace wasn't tight enough to deter your departure
Please, please don't go, I was pleading
I listened to my pleading as if we were standing
By the river edge in the shadow of a mountain!
I talked to you as if I were talking to my soul
But I realized we would soon
No longer stand close to each other!
You stepped on the escalator
It took you away from me farther and farther
Every step I take of my own moves me away from you
Every open door I pass by, would they help me get used to your absence...
Once sitting down in the aeroplane
Did you once at my direction cast a glance?
After years of cold, icy lonely nights
You now feel cozy, what about me?
As I walk by the creek and the pond in our village
The water is making a sound as if it were scratching at my heart
After years of my searching
This airport is going to sink into my dreams!
You have left, and I feel lost
As I sit under the cold roof of a food stand
Waiting for time pass away and the day draw to a close!
Now you're so far away
What will I do in town and where will I sit?
The tamarind leaves are falling on me
Would someone catch some sorrow away from me?
Oh Saigon, the tamarind leaves are falling
They remind me of the day your hair was flying in the wind as I walked away...
Is this airport where you will come back
Where I stand by the edge of my Homeland?
Oh honey, I miss and love you to distraction
In nine months there will be misty snow
I will be back here or is it only a dream
In which I kiss your wet hair in an unending rain...
Rough and quick translation by
Wissai
November 4, 2012
Trần Vấn Lệ
Đưa người tới tận sân bay,
ôm chưa chặt nhỉ nên tay đã lìa!
Người ơi người ở đừng dìa…
nói, nghe như thể bên lề núi sông!
Nói, nghe như thể với lòng,
mình thôi, người ấy hết cùng đứng bên!
Người từng bước bước đi lên,
cái thang cuốn lại trời trên tầng trời…
Mình đi mỗi bước xa người,
mỗi khung cửa mở thấy hoài sẽ quên…
Đưa người, người đã ngồi yên,
chắc chi con mắt còn nghiêng ngó mình?
Bao nhiêu năm giá băng tình,
người hôm nay ấm, phần mình thì sao?
Quê nhà con rạch cái ao
mình nghe róc rách nước cào trái tim.
Bao nhiêu năm có đi tìm,
sân bay này thật sự chìm trong mơ!
Người về, mình lại bơ vơ,
một hiên quán lạnh ngồi chờ ngày trôi!
Bây giờ người đã xa xôi,
mai đi xuống phố và ngồi ở đâu?
Lá me bay phớt qua đầu
có đưa tay hứng giùm sầu cho ai…
Sài Gòn ơi…
Lá me bay…
Nhớ em tóc gió thổi ngày tôi đi…
Sân bay này chỗ ai về
mà tôi sao vẫn ngoài lề Quê Hương?
Em à, chín nhớ mười thương,
chín con trăng nữa mùa sương tuyết nào?
Tôi về hay chỉ chiêm bao
hôn em tóc mướt mưa ào ào mưa…
One is gone, the other stays behind
I said goodbye to you at the airport
My embrace wasn't tight enough to deter your departure
Please, please don't go, I was pleading
I listened to my pleading as if we were standing
By the river edge in the shadow of a mountain!
I talked to you as if I were talking to my soul
But I realized we would soon
No longer stand close to each other!
You stepped on the escalator
It took you away from me farther and farther
Every step I take of my own moves me away from you
Every open door I pass by, would they help me get used to your absence...
Once sitting down in the aeroplane
Did you once at my direction cast a glance?
After years of cold, icy lonely nights
You now feel cozy, what about me?
As I walk by the creek and the pond in our village
The water is making a sound as if it were scratching at my heart
After years of my searching
This airport is going to sink into my dreams!
You have left, and I feel lost
As I sit under the cold roof of a food stand
Waiting for time pass away and the day draw to a close!
Now you're so far away
What will I do in town and where will I sit?
The tamarind leaves are falling on me
Would someone catch some sorrow away from me?
Oh Saigon, the tamarind leaves are falling
They remind me of the day your hair was flying in the wind as I walked away...
Is this airport where you will come back
Where I stand by the edge of my Homeland?
Oh honey, I miss and love you to distraction
In nine months there will be misty snow
I will be back here or is it only a dream
In which I kiss your wet hair in an unending rain...
Rough and quick translation by
Wissai
November 4, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Death
So the doctor told me that it was all my fault. The fault wasn't unique. It is very common among men. They have a thing about macho and don't have regular physicals or go to see a physician if they don't feel good, unless they are really sick and close to death. By that time, it often is too late. Such was the case with me. I was diagnosed of having advanced liver cancer and given three months, at the most, to live.
The news came yesterday. What should I do with my perennial "ire" now? Should I go on a killing spree as I always fantasized or should I just be suddenly "enlightened" and work on my upcoming departure from this world? One thing I know for sure, however, is that my contempt for several assholes remains undiminished.
As I lie dying for a burst and balm of comfort and solace, a strange desire overtakes me: I want to be able to read German and Chinese and grasp a sound theory about human language before I heave my last breath. So you can see that I remain impractical to the very end. A man without pride would have a hard time to go through life to the end.
I also remain disdainful of the stupid escape in the notions of salvation and redemption after I die. Such ridiculous notions are for ignoramuses and cowards for whom I have shown a strong contempt all my life since they are not quite developed as real humans. They are slaves to spiritual peddlers and charlatans.
"Death is a sound sleep undisturbed by foolish dreams."
"Death is a chute to hell."
"Nothing of the kind. Hell dies with you."
Henrietta asked me why I didn't go after Tannin. My reply was that I had a sense of honor and dignity and that Love was forever elusive to me. Too many assholes and not enough noble souls in this world. The more women I know, the more disappointed I am of the fair sex. Most of them are bitches and my natural affection for human females has decreased sharply because of them.
Ms. Epistolary's antics just opened my eyes to new vistas of human depravity while Tannin is my untouchable lover and my tutor in unbearable fantasy and hope. Dreams are unresolved feelings. In these dying days of mine, I look forward to each morning when the amber rays of the sun reach the earth, telling me that I have at least one more day to extract the meaning out of my existence and to derive the pleasure of watching ignorant fools at work.
(to be continued)
The news came yesterday. What should I do with my perennial "ire" now? Should I go on a killing spree as I always fantasized or should I just be suddenly "enlightened" and work on my upcoming departure from this world? One thing I know for sure, however, is that my contempt for several assholes remains undiminished.
As I lie dying for a burst and balm of comfort and solace, a strange desire overtakes me: I want to be able to read German and Chinese and grasp a sound theory about human language before I heave my last breath. So you can see that I remain impractical to the very end. A man without pride would have a hard time to go through life to the end.
I also remain disdainful of the stupid escape in the notions of salvation and redemption after I die. Such ridiculous notions are for ignoramuses and cowards for whom I have shown a strong contempt all my life since they are not quite developed as real humans. They are slaves to spiritual peddlers and charlatans.
"Death is a sound sleep undisturbed by foolish dreams."
"Death is a chute to hell."
"Nothing of the kind. Hell dies with you."
Henrietta asked me why I didn't go after Tannin. My reply was that I had a sense of honor and dignity and that Love was forever elusive to me. Too many assholes and not enough noble souls in this world. The more women I know, the more disappointed I am of the fair sex. Most of them are bitches and my natural affection for human females has decreased sharply because of them.
Ms. Epistolary's antics just opened my eyes to new vistas of human depravity while Tannin is my untouchable lover and my tutor in unbearable fantasy and hope. Dreams are unresolved feelings. In these dying days of mine, I look forward to each morning when the amber rays of the sun reach the earth, telling me that I have at least one more day to extract the meaning out of my existence and to derive the pleasure of watching ignorant fools at work.
(to be continued)
Friday, November 30, 2012
Silence, Ego, Poker, Luck (Chance) and Writing
Silence, Ego, Poker, Luck (Chance) and Writing
I have been trying to maintain silence in the face of abject stupidity and ignorance displayed by some individuals I know. They were stupid and ignorant but they had plenty of ego and thus had a need to show off, thus earning my contempt. But I am not going to act on my usual emotional baggage: exuberant, imaginative, emotional, and impulsive. Instead, I am going to act against type. I am going to be cool, calm, and collected.
I have come to a staggering realization that my contempt for those individuals staggers with tedium. There is only so much that I can despise others. Anger and its child, aggressions, are offsprings of ignorance. Since I am no longer ignorant of human emotions, I just have to ignore scumbags who behave like barnyard animals and wild beasts even though they have human appearances. Silence is the biggest gesture of contempt. It says you don't warrant my attention. You are disgusting and filthy and I am avoiding you as I avoid shit and sewage.
The defeats and disappointments I gathered during my long romantic journey have taught me a lot about myself and women. I now use the memories to strengthen myself. I am no longer a 98-lb emotional weakling. Love is merely a fucking game with clear rules. Those who strictly follow the rules would win. The rules are:
1. You must be reasonably attractive and charming and have a reasonable amount of money.
(to be continued)
I have been trying to maintain silence in the face of abject stupidity and ignorance displayed by some individuals I know. They were stupid and ignorant but they had plenty of ego and thus had a need to show off, thus earning my contempt. But I am not going to act on my usual emotional baggage: exuberant, imaginative, emotional, and impulsive. Instead, I am going to act against type. I am going to be cool, calm, and collected.
I have come to a staggering realization that my contempt for those individuals staggers with tedium. There is only so much that I can despise others. Anger and its child, aggressions, are offsprings of ignorance. Since I am no longer ignorant of human emotions, I just have to ignore scumbags who behave like barnyard animals and wild beasts even though they have human appearances. Silence is the biggest gesture of contempt. It says you don't warrant my attention. You are disgusting and filthy and I am avoiding you as I avoid shit and sewage.
The defeats and disappointments I gathered during my long romantic journey have taught me a lot about myself and women. I now use the memories to strengthen myself. I am no longer a 98-lb emotional weakling. Love is merely a fucking game with clear rules. Those who strictly follow the rules would win. The rules are:
1. You must be reasonably attractive and charming and have a reasonable amount of money.
(to be continued)
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
BODHISATTVA
BODHISATTVA
I listened to your tale of first love
The phone pressed to my ear
I hoped you wouldn't stop talking
Even though I was not the man you talked about
Your chatter was like that of a chirping bird
You chatted about the "gentleman lover" being cold as stone
Sometimes the two of you were aloof
As if you two never loved each other
I listened to your sad story of love
(Your voice was cracking...it seemed to me maybe you were crying?)
"The man"...was not well versed in literary matters
He didn't seem to understand your love letters
The ones you wrote with blood and tears
He kept saying he would read them again one day in the near future
You unburdened yourself to me seemingly at ease
As if I were your... dear, dear friend
But how strange ... your tale of romantic love
Sounded so familiar to me
Like you, I kept chasing after the shadow
But if you were happy
That meant I was the same
My love for you had taught me patience
Though in pain I practiced charity
I didn't need to put on a monk's robe to show repentance
With the Grace of Bodhisattva--through you--I reached Nirvana
Rough Translation by Wissai
November 28, 2012
BỒ TÁT
Tôi ngồi nghe em kể chuyện tình đầu,
Điện thoại áp vào tai
Mong em nói mãi
Dù em nói về một người không phải là tôi
Ríu rít như chim,
Em kể về “ông người yêu” lạnh lùng như gỗ đá
Có đôi khi hai người như xa lạ
Như chưa hề có lúc nhớ thương nhau
Tôi ngồi nghe em kể chuyện tình buồn,
(Giọng em chùng … hình như là em khóc?)
“Chàng” … dốt chữ, thơ tình không biết đọc
Thư tình yêu
Em viết bằng tim óc
Vậy mà “ảnh” gom vào một góc
Cứ hẹn hoài … mai mốt sẽ xem
Cả nỗi lòng em thoải mái đem
Tâm sự với tôi như là … bạn!
Mà lạ nhỉ … chuyện tình em lãng mạn
Sao tôi nghe như chuyện của mình
Cũng như em, tôi theo bóng bỏ hình
Em hạnh phúc
Nghĩa là tôi hạnh phúc.
Bởi yêu em tôi làm người nhẫn nhục
Xót xa lòng mà cũng phải từ bi
Đâu cần chi phải sám hối, qui y
Hạnh Bồ Tát - nhờ em - tôi chứng quả.
Thơ : HOÀNG DU THỤY.
Apr 1st/05 Chapters – Edmonton South
I listened to your tale of first love
The phone pressed to my ear
I hoped you wouldn't stop talking
Even though I was not the man you talked about
Your chatter was like that of a chirping bird
You chatted about the "gentleman lover" being cold as stone
Sometimes the two of you were aloof
As if you two never loved each other
I listened to your sad story of love
(Your voice was cracking...it seemed to me maybe you were crying?)
"The man"...was not well versed in literary matters
He didn't seem to understand your love letters
The ones you wrote with blood and tears
He kept saying he would read them again one day in the near future
You unburdened yourself to me seemingly at ease
As if I were your... dear, dear friend
But how strange ... your tale of romantic love
Sounded so familiar to me
Like you, I kept chasing after the shadow
But if you were happy
That meant I was the same
My love for you had taught me patience
Though in pain I practiced charity
I didn't need to put on a monk's robe to show repentance
With the Grace of Bodhisattva--through you--I reached Nirvana
Rough Translation by Wissai
November 28, 2012
BỒ TÁT
Tôi ngồi nghe em kể chuyện tình đầu,
Điện thoại áp vào tai
Mong em nói mãi
Dù em nói về một người không phải là tôi
Ríu rít như chim,
Em kể về “ông người yêu” lạnh lùng như gỗ đá
Có đôi khi hai người như xa lạ
Như chưa hề có lúc nhớ thương nhau
Tôi ngồi nghe em kể chuyện tình buồn,
(Giọng em chùng … hình như là em khóc?)
“Chàng” … dốt chữ, thơ tình không biết đọc
Thư tình yêu
Em viết bằng tim óc
Vậy mà “ảnh” gom vào một góc
Cứ hẹn hoài … mai mốt sẽ xem
Cả nỗi lòng em thoải mái đem
Tâm sự với tôi như là … bạn!
Mà lạ nhỉ … chuyện tình em lãng mạn
Sao tôi nghe như chuyện của mình
Cũng như em, tôi theo bóng bỏ hình
Em hạnh phúc
Nghĩa là tôi hạnh phúc.
Bởi yêu em tôi làm người nhẫn nhục
Xót xa lòng mà cũng phải từ bi
Đâu cần chi phải sám hối, qui y
Hạnh Bồ Tát - nhờ em - tôi chứng quả.
Thơ : HOÀNG DU THỤY.
Apr 1st/05 Chapters – Edmonton South
Monday, November 26, 2012
Intellectual Honesty
Intellectual Honesty
Why does the fuck you feel comfortable and good about yourself, despite being not rich or super-intelligent or charming? Because you are gifted with a very strong sense of honesty, especially intellectually honesty. It undergirds everything you do and it accounts for your sense of superiority over most of humans on this planet.
Honesty means more than the ability to be truthful to others. It means a relentless search for facts, knowledge, and truths. It means a willingness to face unpleasant truths about yourself and the world you live in.
Religion: the biggest lie ever invented by mind controllers, especially when it comes to metaphysical aspects of it. The mind controllers are smart. They know most humans are cowardly, greedy, lazy in thinking, and stupid, and thus willing to accept a whole bunch of bullshit about God, redemption, and reincarnation.
The Need for Aceeptance: a great majority of fucking monkeys have a natural desire and need to be accepted, respected, and loved, even when they don't deserve them. So they lie, cheat, and falsely present a socially acceptable behavior. You don't give a fuck about social etiquette and a need to create a favorable initial impression. You are who you are. People have to accept you for who you are, and not what they want you to be, especially when you am smarter and more sensitive and more knowledgeable than most of them anyway. You know about a certain slut who keeps telling off-color jokes and boasting having a big fat pussy yet falsely and incredibly enough presenting at the same time a self-image of chastity. You also know about an ugly midget who fancies that she is good-looking. Then there is a midget who thinks that she could marry into a high society. What in the world these bitches are thinking? Delusions, that is what they are harboring in their stupid heads.
Laziness: Most assholes in this world are too lazy to improve their minds and yet they are stupidly defensive about their ignorance.
Contempt: so no wonder you have a big contempt for these animals. If you want to meet these animals, join an Internet forum or ask your acquaintances hard questions.
Why does the fuck you feel comfortable and good about yourself, despite being not rich or super-intelligent or charming? Because you are gifted with a very strong sense of honesty, especially intellectually honesty. It undergirds everything you do and it accounts for your sense of superiority over most of humans on this planet.
Honesty means more than the ability to be truthful to others. It means a relentless search for facts, knowledge, and truths. It means a willingness to face unpleasant truths about yourself and the world you live in.
Religion: the biggest lie ever invented by mind controllers, especially when it comes to metaphysical aspects of it. The mind controllers are smart. They know most humans are cowardly, greedy, lazy in thinking, and stupid, and thus willing to accept a whole bunch of bullshit about God, redemption, and reincarnation.
The Need for Aceeptance: a great majority of fucking monkeys have a natural desire and need to be accepted, respected, and loved, even when they don't deserve them. So they lie, cheat, and falsely present a socially acceptable behavior. You don't give a fuck about social etiquette and a need to create a favorable initial impression. You are who you are. People have to accept you for who you are, and not what they want you to be, especially when you am smarter and more sensitive and more knowledgeable than most of them anyway. You know about a certain slut who keeps telling off-color jokes and boasting having a big fat pussy yet falsely and incredibly enough presenting at the same time a self-image of chastity. You also know about an ugly midget who fancies that she is good-looking. Then there is a midget who thinks that she could marry into a high society. What in the world these bitches are thinking? Delusions, that is what they are harboring in their stupid heads.
Laziness: Most assholes in this world are too lazy to improve their minds and yet they are stupidly defensive about their ignorance.
Contempt: so no wonder you have a big contempt for these animals. If you want to meet these animals, join an Internet forum or ask your acquaintances hard questions.
Prison and Castle
The Prison and the Castle of a Human Mind, an Interior Journey prompted by an Exterior Cruise in the Mediterranean
***The more I am misunderstood and scorned, the better I am in expressing myself. I want to write what I feel deep inside and I want to feel what I write. My words are both my weapon and life jacket and I don't mean them just metaphorically. I write so I don't actually commit acts of extreme violence. I am an angry old man. I have a delayed response to taunts and ridicules. Most writers write, therefore they exist. I'm no exception. J'écris, donc je suis. J'écris des poèmes romantiques primitifs afin que je puisse être aimé de la manière que je voudrais.
***Most people are blind in their blindness. They're overconfident in their opinions, impressions, and judgments. They exaggerate, inflate, and amplify how knowable the world is and how knowledgeable they are about the world. One reason why I'm carrying this smug, insouciant smirk of arrogance is that I am not one of those people. I know I am ignorant and I am working hard step by step to overcome the ignorance.
***Somebody has opined that I am a deeply romantic, reckless man with a definite value system. I don't know for sure that's who I am, but I won't quarrel with the description. For a longest time, I've experienced what would be commonly characterized as loneliness. Now I kind of treasure that aloneness, that time being with myself. I now don't care for human company as I find most humans miserable and unwittingly ridiculous and "funny". I go at great lengths not to blow up when I have to interact with humans in my daily life. Most of the time, I go to work, make small talk when I have to, and then go home and read or write when I feel an urge. I do keep my ears open at all times when I am around animals and simians because their speech fascinates me for their vaporousness and vacuity. Now and then I do run into real humans, then I become a chatterbox. I would talk nonstop, full of animality and free of animus.
***I am so glad that Obama won the election contest. I am not going to intimate that I am anywhere remotely like him in talents and ambition, but I certainly can venture an audacious, bold opinion that I understand the man solely on the basis of what programs and policies he has put through or advocated. Here is a man who wants to make a difference in the lives of the common folks and also do something beneficial for the nation he loves over the strenuous and assiduous and asinine objections of the Far Right and their stupid, empty-headed, herd -like Vietnamese Republican slavish followers who gleefully and frantically disseminated in the waning weeks of the election campaign on the Net, the most ridiculous, stupid anti-Obama propaganda ever imagined, without pausing and asking themselves if the propaganda was patently false and filthy and ridiculous. Now Obama has four more years to carry out his agenda. It's a pity he has aged visibly. I wish him luck and success. I also wish the dejected, depressed, and depressing Vietnamese Republicans who actively participated in the recent demonization of Obama, peace of mind so they can carry on with their miserable lives. I further wish to shout into their ears, hopefully penetrating through their thick, Neanderthal skulls that their failed candidate---their idol with feet of clay--- was a man who was willing to say anything to get nominated by his party and then say the opposite to get elected President; in other words, they were supporting a shameless liar, a prevaricator, a man without core principles except pursuing Money and now Power.
Ah Power, one of the most---if not the most---enticing, intoxicating, objects and objectives for most humans. You can use Power as an analytical tool to understand most human behavior (the other tools are Survival, Love [inclusive of understanding and acceptance], and Respect). No where is Power more manifest than in Rome, the seat of an once glorious earthly empire and the nerve center of another hidden empire which maintains its power by controlling how its subjects (who also unwittingly function as objects) to think and thus to behave. I am currently visiting the Vatican City, and witnessing the power the empire exerts on its awe-stricken followers via the imposing Saint Peter's Basilica and the innumerable and impressive objects of art and devotion inside. The serenity on the faces of the visitors and the self-importance of the officious-looking guards outside and inside the buildings drive home the message that Man is indeed an unique animal who does concern itself with Meaning, Appearance, and not always with Reality though he certainly loudly proclaims so. Reality must be understood via a serious study of the meaning of life, of the "purpose" of human existente, and of course of what happens to us after we die. Reality is not necessarily what we believe in. What we believe in must be grounded on incontrovertible facts, irrefutable logic, and must be subject to verification by means of testing and duplication under similar circumstances, otherwise what we take for Reality is merely Delusion driven by Fear and Ignorance, abetted by the attractions to Grandeur.
***Of course, I recognize there's something that approximates both sweetness and savagery in these words of mine, something akin to a psychopath's squinting recognition that reality is slipping away underneath his feet and sanity is out of reach. But hey, there 's also something else, something much more important and often beyond the understanding of lesser minds. It's called self-mockery. I'm the most self-conscious and spontaneous guy I know. I'm a walking contradictions. But one thing I am definitely not: furtive and phony. Furtiveness and phoniness, embodied in the failed presidential candidate Mitt Romney, are indications of cowardice. And cowardice is something I am very fearful of. All my life there has been a struggle against cowardice: death, job security, acceptance by peers, loneliness, and search for love. During the struggle, I have always found myself on the side of irrationality because I cannot live with myself if I conduct myself in a cowardly manner.
***The tone of relentless self-examination and self-consciousness leaches so fulsomely out of every word in this meandering narrative that it begs an inevitable question: why?
I often find it ineluctable that I am drawn to the "Why" questions. Why am I here? Why is Love so important to me? Why are most humans cowardly and mendacious and delusional? Of course, I can easily dole out answers to these questions, but I wonder if the answers really penetrate into the essence of reality. Is life really all about self-actualization and survival and respect and love and acceptance? Is life that simple?
***The ship (Norwegian Jade) docked in Alanya, Turkey two and a half days after leaving Rome. The town looked clean, sleepy, and not so prosperous. I took a walking tour of the town. I stopped at a local mosque. I was struck by the stark simplicity of the house of worship. There are no pews or chairs (could be a carry-over of the tent experience in the Midle East. Sitting on the rug inside a tent after hours was a matter of course if you travelled by camel. It would be too much and quite stupid to carry around chairs with you) and of course no pictures and statues depicting human forms, imagined or real, of any kind (God transcends humans. Man is not made in the image of God). The mosque is primarily a place where the believers come together and pray, not to hear fantastical stories narrated by men who are held to be superior to the folks they are telling stories and delivering sermons. I suppose the act of submission to God bye prostrating either in isolation or together with fellow believers signifies real humility and in communion with some transcendent feelings. I don't really know for sure. There is a ritual involved and the believers are supposed to undergo some awareness or transformation for the better. Other religions have similar rituals, but it appears to me Islam stresses simplicity than most, except perhaps Zen Buddhism. Personally, I find it repugnant and repulsive when splendor is associated with spirituality. Let lesser minds exude awe when they step into a house of worship replete with resplendent grandeur and splendor. To my mind which I always hold to be vastly superior to at least 95% of mankind, spirituality is about asceticism and simplicity. Truths are often bare and unadorned and simple. To adorn a house of worship with splendor is to cater to the lowest human sensibilities. Most humans are easily affected by the environment. Power-seekers know this human propensity very well. Let's face a simple, stark fact: most humans are not developed beyond the animal level. Don't tell them that fact, however. They will jump up and down in anger even though in their hearts of hearts, they know about that fact. That's why praying, the most self-delusional and self-debasing act of all, is very appealing to them. That's why they flock to houses of worship to hear mind-controllers to feed them half-truths and falsehoods. Real thinkers find most, if not all houses of worship, unnecessary. They prefer solitary caves or small, private corners of their house where they come in touch with themselves and Reality.
I left the mosque with two brochures: one in English, the other in German. There were no other non-Turkish language brochures available. The English and German brochures are not of the same subject. My German is rudimentary, but I can roughly understand the gist of the brochure. It's about the significance of the Koran. The English brochure is about Muhammad who is loved and revered by the followers, but definitely not considered holy or divine. He was born a man and died as a man, although his conduct was regarded pious and exemplary.
I left the mosque with peace in my heart and tranquility on my mind. I walked back to the ship, slowly and a bit transformed. I promised to myself henceforth that I would practice forgiveness with my conduct and gentleness with my speech. The man who guarded the mosque gave me a rosary. I will use it during my meditation. I meditate. I don't pray. I don't ask for help and succor from a "Higher Power" even when I am in distress. I can't deceive myself.
***Words of Tina Brown, editor in chief of Newsweek magazine, issue April 9, 2012, page 4:
"Jesus was a lone, wandering preacher with a small knot of followers. His message was radical: leave your family, give away all you own, and devote y ourself selflessly to God--which meant loving not only one's neighbors, but also one's enemies. He was adamantly apolitical, even to the point of refusing to defend himself at his own trial. He never spoke of homosexuality or abortion. And his only comments on marriage were confined to condemnation of divorce and a forgiveness of adultery.
So, how did we get to the point where the message of Christianity in America has drifted so far from Jesus? why has the religion been so thoroughly hijacked by political busters and "faith-based " hypocrites bereft of basic humanity?...
The use of Christian moralism as just another tool in identity politics would be of no surprise to the sage Harvard biologist and social scientist Edward O. Wilson. His new book, The Social Conquest of Earth argues that the tendency to form and join tribes is a fundamental part of what makes us human. No man-made idea---no matter how subversive or compelling---can withstand the sheer force of the tribal impulse. That impulse gives us our identities and serves as the source of our deepest convictions. It also leads to conflict---and,very often barbaric slaughter."
***I explored a bit of Limassol, Cyprus where people drive on the left and most inhabitants speak Greek. The price in the shops was not as expensive as in Turkey. The erotic calendar which reprinted the paintings of sexual poses on ancient Greek vases went only for one euro. The visit to a castle, now serving as a museum was the highlight of my exploration. The olive and orange trees in the courtyard, the stone ruins including the pressing stones to extract olive oil. The clean and free restrooms.
***Israel: the alleged promised land of the Jews where they stole and robbed from the indigenous Canaanites, the land where I had to pay to use a toilet, even in churches. The only place I didn't have to pay was the shop of a Christian Arab who cheerfully directed me to go upstairs and relieve myself in the family bathroom. Everywhere in the "Holy Land" the Jews and the Christian Catholics made money from the gullible pilgrims and the impressionable or curious (like me) tourists by charging exorbitant prices for souvenirs and the use of toilets.
Haifa is the modern port and quite congested in traffic. The scene of mass self-hypnosis and human stupidity and credulity at the baptismal site of Yardenit where undeveloped and hysterical minds immersed themselves in the tepid Jordan River with a stupid and mistaken belief that they would become new and cleansed of sins when they surfaced for air was pathetic beyond description and belief. You must be there to witness how vulnerable and pathetic when one does not develop one's mind and allows oneself to become a spiritual slave, a victim of nonsense and superstition and stupidity.
I also visited Cana, where Jesus supposedly performed the "miracle" of turning water into wine. I moved on to Mount of Beatitudes where the illiterate preacher with unscientific and illogical set of beliefs delivered the Sermon on the Mount. I went along with other curious tourists and glazed-eyed pilgrims to the Church of Multiplication and Capernaum where a synagogue and the alleged house of Peter were excavated. All the religious sites didn't move me at all. On the other hand, I was impressed at the accomplishments of the Jews who turned mostly barren and poor soil into a thriving, productive agricultural land where even bananas are cultivated, besides the ubiquitous olive trees. I took pity on the disunited and leadership-bereft Arabs who have undergone a long decline (over one thousand years now). Today the trip to Tel Aviv, the bustling cosmopolitan city, was cancelled because of the unrest in the nearby Gaza Strip arising from the murder of the Hamas military chief. I have met many Jews in my life and most are despicable, unethical, arrogant, stingy money grabbers. I recognize there are many Jewish intellectuals who have enriched and contributed to human knowledge, but I have a very strong feeling if the Jews perish once and for all, most humans on this planet wouldn't shed a tear because of the ugly memories they have when they interacted with the ugly, avaricious, and arrogant Jews. The moral is that each one of us is an ambassador of the race and the religion we come from, and we thus must behave like diplomats, full of consideration and diplomacy, and not with a smug arrogance like the Jews. The tacit approval of the Europeans when Hitler unleashed the Holocaust was quite understandable given the behavior of most Jews.
...But the Jews don't hold a monopoly on obstreperousness and unpleasantness. The Vietnamese and the Chinese rival them in these areas. I am a Vietnamese, but I am increasingly disturbed by the behavior of my fellow compatriots. What the assholes like VT aka ZT/IA (for Ignorant Asshole)/UM (for Ugly Midget), USHC (Ugly and Scary-looking HC) and innumerable ignorant and objectionable Vietnamese have penned their ignorant and poorly reasoned pieces on the Internet are just absolute trash and filth. I suppose assholes love to see their names on the Internet.
***On the way to Jerusalem we passed various kibbutzim and the Jewish settlements on the West Bank. I said a silent pity and sympathy for the Palesitinians who lost their homeland to the rapacious and more enterprising Zionists. Jerusalem is on the mountain and is indeed an impressive city with the remnants of defensive walls, besides the religious buildings and monuments. Most areas of the city are clean and modern, on par with modern European cities. However, some areas areas are quite squalid, with trash is strewn everywhere. Jerusalem boasts being the biggest city in terms of population (750,000 inhabitants out of 7.5 million) and area.
The tour guide revealed an interesting fact contrary to their counterparts in the U.S. that in Israel , the ultra-orthodox Jewish men don't work or serve in the army. They are supported by tax dollars. They also "happen" to have large families.
Nazareth: strangely enough long repressed memories of childhood and adolescence surged to the surface during a walk-through of the biggest church in the Middle East, built in 1960.
***Egypt:
Cairo and the pyramids nearby as well as Alexandria and the known monuments (mosques, deposed King Farouk's residence and gardens, statues, museums, and catacombs) showed the decline of a civilization, the friendliness of a people, their devotion to religion and current failure to organize and adhere to rules and regulations. I took with me the memories of the rich black soil of the Nile Delta and relative lack of intensive farming around the city of Said (as opposed to the intensive cultivation in Israel despite the poor soil conditions), horrific rampant trash, the persistence of peddlers, the poverty, and the devotion to family and traditions. Perhaps the Egyptians will outlast the Vietnamese because of the stronger devotion to family and traditions.
Despite setbacks, and some verge on the ridiculous and pathetic, I still long for the magic of love, still yearn for the ethereal, wondrous feelings that help me write magical prose in celebrating the illusion of finding an ideal mate.
Alexandria:
Not much better than Cairo in terms of rot and decay and strewn, uncontrolled, uncollected garbage and lack of traffic rules. The people, however, are friendly, though obviously underemployed.
***I stayed in Egypt for two days and am now sailing back to Rome to catch a flight back to the good old U.S. Last night, I slept well but prior to waking up this morning I had two nightmares: I passed only three of my four courses for the Fall term, and the sad realization once again that Laura didn't really love me.
Wissai
10-22-2012
***The more I am misunderstood and scorned, the better I am in expressing myself. I want to write what I feel deep inside and I want to feel what I write. My words are both my weapon and life jacket and I don't mean them just metaphorically. I write so I don't actually commit acts of extreme violence. I am an angry old man. I have a delayed response to taunts and ridicules. Most writers write, therefore they exist. I'm no exception. J'écris, donc je suis. J'écris des poèmes romantiques primitifs afin que je puisse être aimé de la manière que je voudrais.
***Most people are blind in their blindness. They're overconfident in their opinions, impressions, and judgments. They exaggerate, inflate, and amplify how knowable the world is and how knowledgeable they are about the world. One reason why I'm carrying this smug, insouciant smirk of arrogance is that I am not one of those people. I know I am ignorant and I am working hard step by step to overcome the ignorance.
***Somebody has opined that I am a deeply romantic, reckless man with a definite value system. I don't know for sure that's who I am, but I won't quarrel with the description. For a longest time, I've experienced what would be commonly characterized as loneliness. Now I kind of treasure that aloneness, that time being with myself. I now don't care for human company as I find most humans miserable and unwittingly ridiculous and "funny". I go at great lengths not to blow up when I have to interact with humans in my daily life. Most of the time, I go to work, make small talk when I have to, and then go home and read or write when I feel an urge. I do keep my ears open at all times when I am around animals and simians because their speech fascinates me for their vaporousness and vacuity. Now and then I do run into real humans, then I become a chatterbox. I would talk nonstop, full of animality and free of animus.
***I am so glad that Obama won the election contest. I am not going to intimate that I am anywhere remotely like him in talents and ambition, but I certainly can venture an audacious, bold opinion that I understand the man solely on the basis of what programs and policies he has put through or advocated. Here is a man who wants to make a difference in the lives of the common folks and also do something beneficial for the nation he loves over the strenuous and assiduous and asinine objections of the Far Right and their stupid, empty-headed, herd -like Vietnamese Republican slavish followers who gleefully and frantically disseminated in the waning weeks of the election campaign on the Net, the most ridiculous, stupid anti-Obama propaganda ever imagined, without pausing and asking themselves if the propaganda was patently false and filthy and ridiculous. Now Obama has four more years to carry out his agenda. It's a pity he has aged visibly. I wish him luck and success. I also wish the dejected, depressed, and depressing Vietnamese Republicans who actively participated in the recent demonization of Obama, peace of mind so they can carry on with their miserable lives. I further wish to shout into their ears, hopefully penetrating through their thick, Neanderthal skulls that their failed candidate---their idol with feet of clay--- was a man who was willing to say anything to get nominated by his party and then say the opposite to get elected President; in other words, they were supporting a shameless liar, a prevaricator, a man without core principles except pursuing Money and now Power.
Ah Power, one of the most---if not the most---enticing, intoxicating, objects and objectives for most humans. You can use Power as an analytical tool to understand most human behavior (the other tools are Survival, Love [inclusive of understanding and acceptance], and Respect). No where is Power more manifest than in Rome, the seat of an once glorious earthly empire and the nerve center of another hidden empire which maintains its power by controlling how its subjects (who also unwittingly function as objects) to think and thus to behave. I am currently visiting the Vatican City, and witnessing the power the empire exerts on its awe-stricken followers via the imposing Saint Peter's Basilica and the innumerable and impressive objects of art and devotion inside. The serenity on the faces of the visitors and the self-importance of the officious-looking guards outside and inside the buildings drive home the message that Man is indeed an unique animal who does concern itself with Meaning, Appearance, and not always with Reality though he certainly loudly proclaims so. Reality must be understood via a serious study of the meaning of life, of the "purpose" of human existente, and of course of what happens to us after we die. Reality is not necessarily what we believe in. What we believe in must be grounded on incontrovertible facts, irrefutable logic, and must be subject to verification by means of testing and duplication under similar circumstances, otherwise what we take for Reality is merely Delusion driven by Fear and Ignorance, abetted by the attractions to Grandeur.
***Of course, I recognize there's something that approximates both sweetness and savagery in these words of mine, something akin to a psychopath's squinting recognition that reality is slipping away underneath his feet and sanity is out of reach. But hey, there 's also something else, something much more important and often beyond the understanding of lesser minds. It's called self-mockery. I'm the most self-conscious and spontaneous guy I know. I'm a walking contradictions. But one thing I am definitely not: furtive and phony. Furtiveness and phoniness, embodied in the failed presidential candidate Mitt Romney, are indications of cowardice. And cowardice is something I am very fearful of. All my life there has been a struggle against cowardice: death, job security, acceptance by peers, loneliness, and search for love. During the struggle, I have always found myself on the side of irrationality because I cannot live with myself if I conduct myself in a cowardly manner.
***The tone of relentless self-examination and self-consciousness leaches so fulsomely out of every word in this meandering narrative that it begs an inevitable question: why?
I often find it ineluctable that I am drawn to the "Why" questions. Why am I here? Why is Love so important to me? Why are most humans cowardly and mendacious and delusional? Of course, I can easily dole out answers to these questions, but I wonder if the answers really penetrate into the essence of reality. Is life really all about self-actualization and survival and respect and love and acceptance? Is life that simple?
***The ship (Norwegian Jade) docked in Alanya, Turkey two and a half days after leaving Rome. The town looked clean, sleepy, and not so prosperous. I took a walking tour of the town. I stopped at a local mosque. I was struck by the stark simplicity of the house of worship. There are no pews or chairs (could be a carry-over of the tent experience in the Midle East. Sitting on the rug inside a tent after hours was a matter of course if you travelled by camel. It would be too much and quite stupid to carry around chairs with you) and of course no pictures and statues depicting human forms, imagined or real, of any kind (God transcends humans. Man is not made in the image of God). The mosque is primarily a place where the believers come together and pray, not to hear fantastical stories narrated by men who are held to be superior to the folks they are telling stories and delivering sermons. I suppose the act of submission to God bye prostrating either in isolation or together with fellow believers signifies real humility and in communion with some transcendent feelings. I don't really know for sure. There is a ritual involved and the believers are supposed to undergo some awareness or transformation for the better. Other religions have similar rituals, but it appears to me Islam stresses simplicity than most, except perhaps Zen Buddhism. Personally, I find it repugnant and repulsive when splendor is associated with spirituality. Let lesser minds exude awe when they step into a house of worship replete with resplendent grandeur and splendor. To my mind which I always hold to be vastly superior to at least 95% of mankind, spirituality is about asceticism and simplicity. Truths are often bare and unadorned and simple. To adorn a house of worship with splendor is to cater to the lowest human sensibilities. Most humans are easily affected by the environment. Power-seekers know this human propensity very well. Let's face a simple, stark fact: most humans are not developed beyond the animal level. Don't tell them that fact, however. They will jump up and down in anger even though in their hearts of hearts, they know about that fact. That's why praying, the most self-delusional and self-debasing act of all, is very appealing to them. That's why they flock to houses of worship to hear mind-controllers to feed them half-truths and falsehoods. Real thinkers find most, if not all houses of worship, unnecessary. They prefer solitary caves or small, private corners of their house where they come in touch with themselves and Reality.
I left the mosque with two brochures: one in English, the other in German. There were no other non-Turkish language brochures available. The English and German brochures are not of the same subject. My German is rudimentary, but I can roughly understand the gist of the brochure. It's about the significance of the Koran. The English brochure is about Muhammad who is loved and revered by the followers, but definitely not considered holy or divine. He was born a man and died as a man, although his conduct was regarded pious and exemplary.
I left the mosque with peace in my heart and tranquility on my mind. I walked back to the ship, slowly and a bit transformed. I promised to myself henceforth that I would practice forgiveness with my conduct and gentleness with my speech. The man who guarded the mosque gave me a rosary. I will use it during my meditation. I meditate. I don't pray. I don't ask for help and succor from a "Higher Power" even when I am in distress. I can't deceive myself.
***Words of Tina Brown, editor in chief of Newsweek magazine, issue April 9, 2012, page 4:
"Jesus was a lone, wandering preacher with a small knot of followers. His message was radical: leave your family, give away all you own, and devote y ourself selflessly to God--which meant loving not only one's neighbors, but also one's enemies. He was adamantly apolitical, even to the point of refusing to defend himself at his own trial. He never spoke of homosexuality or abortion. And his only comments on marriage were confined to condemnation of divorce and a forgiveness of adultery.
So, how did we get to the point where the message of Christianity in America has drifted so far from Jesus? why has the religion been so thoroughly hijacked by political busters and "faith-based " hypocrites bereft of basic humanity?...
The use of Christian moralism as just another tool in identity politics would be of no surprise to the sage Harvard biologist and social scientist Edward O. Wilson. His new book, The Social Conquest of Earth argues that the tendency to form and join tribes is a fundamental part of what makes us human. No man-made idea---no matter how subversive or compelling---can withstand the sheer force of the tribal impulse. That impulse gives us our identities and serves as the source of our deepest convictions. It also leads to conflict---and,very often barbaric slaughter."
***I explored a bit of Limassol, Cyprus where people drive on the left and most inhabitants speak Greek. The price in the shops was not as expensive as in Turkey. The erotic calendar which reprinted the paintings of sexual poses on ancient Greek vases went only for one euro. The visit to a castle, now serving as a museum was the highlight of my exploration. The olive and orange trees in the courtyard, the stone ruins including the pressing stones to extract olive oil. The clean and free restrooms.
***Israel: the alleged promised land of the Jews where they stole and robbed from the indigenous Canaanites, the land where I had to pay to use a toilet, even in churches. The only place I didn't have to pay was the shop of a Christian Arab who cheerfully directed me to go upstairs and relieve myself in the family bathroom. Everywhere in the "Holy Land" the Jews and the Christian Catholics made money from the gullible pilgrims and the impressionable or curious (like me) tourists by charging exorbitant prices for souvenirs and the use of toilets.
Haifa is the modern port and quite congested in traffic. The scene of mass self-hypnosis and human stupidity and credulity at the baptismal site of Yardenit where undeveloped and hysterical minds immersed themselves in the tepid Jordan River with a stupid and mistaken belief that they would become new and cleansed of sins when they surfaced for air was pathetic beyond description and belief. You must be there to witness how vulnerable and pathetic when one does not develop one's mind and allows oneself to become a spiritual slave, a victim of nonsense and superstition and stupidity.
I also visited Cana, where Jesus supposedly performed the "miracle" of turning water into wine. I moved on to Mount of Beatitudes where the illiterate preacher with unscientific and illogical set of beliefs delivered the Sermon on the Mount. I went along with other curious tourists and glazed-eyed pilgrims to the Church of Multiplication and Capernaum where a synagogue and the alleged house of Peter were excavated. All the religious sites didn't move me at all. On the other hand, I was impressed at the accomplishments of the Jews who turned mostly barren and poor soil into a thriving, productive agricultural land where even bananas are cultivated, besides the ubiquitous olive trees. I took pity on the disunited and leadership-bereft Arabs who have undergone a long decline (over one thousand years now). Today the trip to Tel Aviv, the bustling cosmopolitan city, was cancelled because of the unrest in the nearby Gaza Strip arising from the murder of the Hamas military chief. I have met many Jews in my life and most are despicable, unethical, arrogant, stingy money grabbers. I recognize there are many Jewish intellectuals who have enriched and contributed to human knowledge, but I have a very strong feeling if the Jews perish once and for all, most humans on this planet wouldn't shed a tear because of the ugly memories they have when they interacted with the ugly, avaricious, and arrogant Jews. The moral is that each one of us is an ambassador of the race and the religion we come from, and we thus must behave like diplomats, full of consideration and diplomacy, and not with a smug arrogance like the Jews. The tacit approval of the Europeans when Hitler unleashed the Holocaust was quite understandable given the behavior of most Jews.
...But the Jews don't hold a monopoly on obstreperousness and unpleasantness. The Vietnamese and the Chinese rival them in these areas. I am a Vietnamese, but I am increasingly disturbed by the behavior of my fellow compatriots. What the assholes like VT aka ZT/IA (for Ignorant Asshole)/UM (for Ugly Midget), USHC (Ugly and Scary-looking HC) and innumerable ignorant and objectionable Vietnamese have penned their ignorant and poorly reasoned pieces on the Internet are just absolute trash and filth. I suppose assholes love to see their names on the Internet.
***On the way to Jerusalem we passed various kibbutzim and the Jewish settlements on the West Bank. I said a silent pity and sympathy for the Palesitinians who lost their homeland to the rapacious and more enterprising Zionists. Jerusalem is on the mountain and is indeed an impressive city with the remnants of defensive walls, besides the religious buildings and monuments. Most areas of the city are clean and modern, on par with modern European cities. However, some areas areas are quite squalid, with trash is strewn everywhere. Jerusalem boasts being the biggest city in terms of population (750,000 inhabitants out of 7.5 million) and area.
The tour guide revealed an interesting fact contrary to their counterparts in the U.S. that in Israel , the ultra-orthodox Jewish men don't work or serve in the army. They are supported by tax dollars. They also "happen" to have large families.
Nazareth: strangely enough long repressed memories of childhood and adolescence surged to the surface during a walk-through of the biggest church in the Middle East, built in 1960.
***Egypt:
Cairo and the pyramids nearby as well as Alexandria and the known monuments (mosques, deposed King Farouk's residence and gardens, statues, museums, and catacombs) showed the decline of a civilization, the friendliness of a people, their devotion to religion and current failure to organize and adhere to rules and regulations. I took with me the memories of the rich black soil of the Nile Delta and relative lack of intensive farming around the city of Said (as opposed to the intensive cultivation in Israel despite the poor soil conditions), horrific rampant trash, the persistence of peddlers, the poverty, and the devotion to family and traditions. Perhaps the Egyptians will outlast the Vietnamese because of the stronger devotion to family and traditions.
Despite setbacks, and some verge on the ridiculous and pathetic, I still long for the magic of love, still yearn for the ethereal, wondrous feelings that help me write magical prose in celebrating the illusion of finding an ideal mate.
Alexandria:
Not much better than Cairo in terms of rot and decay and strewn, uncontrolled, uncollected garbage and lack of traffic rules. The people, however, are friendly, though obviously underemployed.
***I stayed in Egypt for two days and am now sailing back to Rome to catch a flight back to the good old U.S. Last night, I slept well but prior to waking up this morning I had two nightmares: I passed only three of my four courses for the Fall term, and the sad realization once again that Laura didn't really love me.
Wissai
10-22-2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
đêm nay tiễn em đi
đêm nay tiễn em đi
sao buồn thấy tái tê
bao giờ gặp lại đây
nầy em hỡi, em ơi
em có thấy đê mê
phút giây ta gần nhau
những cảm giác nhiệm mầu
thời gian đi qua mau
cái già đã đến nơi
cái chết chờ ngoài khơi
dè dặt mà làm chi
hãy nói yêu anh đi
hãy thì thầm đã mơ
về anh lúc ban sơ.
wissai
November 22, 2022
sao buồn thấy tái tê
bao giờ gặp lại đây
nầy em hỡi, em ơi
em có thấy đê mê
phút giây ta gần nhau
những cảm giác nhiệm mầu
thời gian đi qua mau
cái già đã đến nơi
cái chết chờ ngoài khơi
dè dặt mà làm chi
hãy nói yêu anh đi
hãy thì thầm đã mơ
về anh lúc ban sơ.
wissai
November 22, 2022
Peachy Situation
Peachy Situation
"It's quite a peachy situation we find ourselves in, don't you think?"
That was what Tannin told you after you made love to her for a second time within forty-five minutes. What you just did was not an earth-shattering record, but a very good accomplishment for a man of your age (63) and hers (72). Although her body did show signs of her age, her appetite for sex was like that of an eighteen-year-old. She needed no vaseline. And she came quickly and in quick succession and noisily. She made you feel good about myself. Already, she told you she loved you more than all the men who had arrived before you in her life. And she had had plenty, after two marriages and numerous liaisons. She also said that the "fault" was entirely hers. She should have trusted her instinct better and made the first move sooner. She was flattered that you did notice that she was interested in you. You had met her eight months prior on a tour bus of the western states of America. You were traveling with your on-again, off-again, strong-willed, spouse. Tannin's traveling companion was a fellow widow, Mouseata. Your spouse and Mouseata went to the same high school back when they were in Costa Rica prior to their emigrating to America. The four of us were visiting California, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, South Dakota, Wyoming, and Colorado by bus, run by a Chinese tour company. The price was quite cheap, $497 for 7 days including night motel accommodation and breakfasts.
Tannin was a widowed retired dentist. Her deceased spouse was also a dentist. She had four sons and they were all oral surgeons. Needless to say, Tannin was loaded with money and she was kind and generous with her friends. You, on the contrary, was tight with your money, a consequence of childhood poverty and a victim of financial swindles by your first wife. Tannin was friendly with your spouse but kept asking you all kinds of probing personal questions whenever she was out of the earshot of your spouse. She also let you know she was very impressed with your looks and physique, fair command of several (5) languages, general knowledge, and basic decency. Tannin didn't look bad for her age. She kept her figure well from her daily exercise in the pool and on the treadmill. She had an easy laugh and agile mind. You liked her company. She was accommodating and easy-going. Compared to your insolent spouse (your two unmarried daughters would fall to pieces if you ever divorce), Tannin was a breath of fresh air. You certainly didn't insinuate that you didn't have any money. You used to be quite wealthy myself until you I lost most of it in the stock market in 1999 and 2007. However, you still have some (mid six figures) left in 401 K accounts and $100,000 in cash. The monthly annuity payment for pension and the social security payments more than take care of your daily needs. In addition, you work part-time for a consultation company, which nets you around $2,000-2,500 a month. You are not as rich as your spouse or Tannin, but you are not poor and thus have to watch your pennies. But you do watch pennies. Habits die hard. Tannin knows about your frame of mind and accepts that.
By the time the bus trip ended and you had to get off at Las Vegas while your spouse, her friend, and Tannin moved on to Los Angeles to catch a flight back to Houston, you sensed that Tannin was pretty much taken by you and she herself was often on your mind, but you were outwardly cool and uninterested. You were a proud man. And 72 was a big number to overcome. You didn't know if she still liked sex or not and how much she liked you. You kept your feelings under wraps and hid your affection for her in camouflaged poetry and late night reveries.
Three months ago you jumped in with both feet when your spouse asked you that if you would like to join her on a South Pacific cruise. You always wanted to see for yourself Hawaii, Samoa, Fij, and the Caledonian Islands after reading so much about them in geography books. Nobody told you that Tannin would also be on the cruise until she showed up at the airport for the flight to Rome. And a "miracle" happened: Mouseata backed out at the last minute due to family obligation. So Tannin had a cabin all by herself albeit with a slight increase in rate. You took Mouseata's absence as a sign, a good omen for things to come between Tangerine and you. ". Anyway, you were lonely despite being married.Twice (twelve and six years ago) you thought you got rid of loneliness for good, but you were wrong. Since then several women played you for a fool and you went along until they discovered you were not as stupid and naive as you let on. They moved on to other targets and you moved on with your life with books, writing, and poker-playing to occupy your time when you are not called to do consultancy work with lonely and disturbed individuals. You are quite good in the consultancy business. It takes one to know one. You would venture to say a majority, if not a big majority, of people in your profession are quite unhinged themselves.
There was an instant attraction and chemistry between Tannin and you when you two first met eight months ago. She understood what you tried to say, which was not as easy as common folks assumed. And you were tremendously touched by her caring ways and her unspoken loneliness. On this cruise she spent most of her time with your spouse (okay, her name was Daevela), at meal times (you only joined them at dinner), and daily activities and nightly shows. You spent your time reading, sleeping, working out at the gym, and playing poker until the wee hours of the morning.The cruise lasted for eleven days. Things happened on the 9th night. You were playing poker as usual when somebody touched you on the shoulder. You turned around and saw Tannin smiling tenderly at you. She then asked you of how you were doing. You sighed and replied that you were a bit over $200 in the hole. She looked upset and emphatically said that you must quit now and join her for a walk on the deck. The way her eyes looked at you told you that you should not turn down her request.
It was a beautiful night. The full moon was in the sky. The South Pacific sea was calm. There was hardly a breeze. A lot of people were milling around on the deck, some of them were walking and talking, like Tannin and you were doing. She asked you a lot of questions, especially about the relationship with Daevela. You told her the truth, unadorned and unembellished. When you were through, she took your hand into hers and said, "my poor baby. You deserve better." You said nothing to that remark and didn't withdraw your hand. Then she huskily asked you if you liked her. You nodded your head and said, "from the very first beginning we first met." She then pulled you close to her and planted a kiss on my lips and wordlessly embraced you and then led me to the elevator and to her cabin. We were like two teenagers overcome with lust. She tremblingly inserted the cabin card into the door slot while holding tightly to your hand. You two barely got inside the cabin when you locked lips and touched each other hungrily.
Although her body showed the ravages of time, she made up for it by her sexual ardor and effusive praise of the magnificence of your body which you kept in a youthful shape by almost daily Yoga and strength exercises. She made you feel so wanted that you had no problem achieving the desired state of hardness in no time. When you were in her, she kept her legs intertwined on your back and kept saying your name overlaid with terms of endearment. Soon you were no longer affected by the age discrepancy and now saw love had transformed her into a beautiful mature woman. And when she urged you to quicken your tempo because she was on the verge of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure, you let yourself go and you called her name over and over again and finished it up by pressing your pelvic region hard against hers.
Satisfied and contented, she stroked your face and massaged the nape of your neck, in the aftermath of the unforgettable sexual encounter. You soon passed out in heavenly peace. You woke up when you found myself hard again by her skillful lingual maneuvering. The second time you two were at it was less intense and more leisurely but much stronger in terms of tenderness and peace. Both sensed that what each had for each other was more than carnal lust and physical desire. The feeling was an old-fashioned love and caring. That was when she asked you what you would do about the future because she now realized she wanted to be with you at all times for she had found peace.
You told her the divorce was out of the question. There were complications, most were posed by your daughters and your unwillingness to bring embarrassment and humiliation to Daevela. You further explained to her that you must remain in Las Vegas for at least ten more years to see how you would fare with the consultancy business and the poker avocation. You then concluded that as much as you disliked the furtiveness of the situation, it must remain so until Daevela dies. Life is never perfect and is not designed to please us. We must adapt and endure. She could always fly to Las Vegas and be with you as long as she wished and as long as we kept our relationship a secret from Daevela. Tannin said nothing and tears flooded her eyes. She then said you needed to get dressed and go back to your cabin before Daevela came looking for you.
After you kissed her and were about to leave she asked me if you really loved her. You stepped towards her and held her in my arms and looked into her eyes and said softly that she was the one you had always wanted in your life and you had thought you would never realize your dream. You had always longed for an unselfish, unpretentious, intelligent woman who understood, respected, and cared about you. You were arrogant and conceited, but you were fair-minded and loyal. You told her that she took a big risk in loving you and time would tell her if her love for you and yours for her was real and not a flash in the pan. True love always has a way to manifest itself. What has held it back are selfishness, ego, greed, power, and fear. Of these, you are only aflicted with ego which could be intimately tied with a carry-over of feelings of inferiority complex in the past, but ever since you realize you am gifted at logic, philosophy, and words, the ego is very probably soundly based and not an overcompensation from the distant past. If she could handle your ego, she had nothing to be concerned about your feelings for her. She said nothing to your speech. And once again her eyes welled up with tears. She just raised her feet and kissed you on the cheeks and gently pushed you out of the cabin and into the lonely night.
Wissai
Noviember 21, 2012
"It's quite a peachy situation we find ourselves in, don't you think?"
That was what Tannin told you after you made love to her for a second time within forty-five minutes. What you just did was not an earth-shattering record, but a very good accomplishment for a man of your age (63) and hers (72). Although her body did show signs of her age, her appetite for sex was like that of an eighteen-year-old. She needed no vaseline. And she came quickly and in quick succession and noisily. She made you feel good about myself. Already, she told you she loved you more than all the men who had arrived before you in her life. And she had had plenty, after two marriages and numerous liaisons. She also said that the "fault" was entirely hers. She should have trusted her instinct better and made the first move sooner. She was flattered that you did notice that she was interested in you. You had met her eight months prior on a tour bus of the western states of America. You were traveling with your on-again, off-again, strong-willed, spouse. Tannin's traveling companion was a fellow widow, Mouseata. Your spouse and Mouseata went to the same high school back when they were in Costa Rica prior to their emigrating to America. The four of us were visiting California, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, South Dakota, Wyoming, and Colorado by bus, run by a Chinese tour company. The price was quite cheap, $497 for 7 days including night motel accommodation and breakfasts.
Tannin was a widowed retired dentist. Her deceased spouse was also a dentist. She had four sons and they were all oral surgeons. Needless to say, Tannin was loaded with money and she was kind and generous with her friends. You, on the contrary, was tight with your money, a consequence of childhood poverty and a victim of financial swindles by your first wife. Tannin was friendly with your spouse but kept asking you all kinds of probing personal questions whenever she was out of the earshot of your spouse. She also let you know she was very impressed with your looks and physique, fair command of several (5) languages, general knowledge, and basic decency. Tannin didn't look bad for her age. She kept her figure well from her daily exercise in the pool and on the treadmill. She had an easy laugh and agile mind. You liked her company. She was accommodating and easy-going. Compared to your insolent spouse (your two unmarried daughters would fall to pieces if you ever divorce), Tannin was a breath of fresh air. You certainly didn't insinuate that you didn't have any money. You used to be quite wealthy myself until you I lost most of it in the stock market in 1999 and 2007. However, you still have some (mid six figures) left in 401 K accounts and $100,000 in cash. The monthly annuity payment for pension and the social security payments more than take care of your daily needs. In addition, you work part-time for a consultation company, which nets you around $2,000-2,500 a month. You are not as rich as your spouse or Tannin, but you are not poor and thus have to watch your pennies. But you do watch pennies. Habits die hard. Tannin knows about your frame of mind and accepts that.
By the time the bus trip ended and you had to get off at Las Vegas while your spouse, her friend, and Tannin moved on to Los Angeles to catch a flight back to Houston, you sensed that Tannin was pretty much taken by you and she herself was often on your mind, but you were outwardly cool and uninterested. You were a proud man. And 72 was a big number to overcome. You didn't know if she still liked sex or not and how much she liked you. You kept your feelings under wraps and hid your affection for her in camouflaged poetry and late night reveries.
Three months ago you jumped in with both feet when your spouse asked you that if you would like to join her on a South Pacific cruise. You always wanted to see for yourself Hawaii, Samoa, Fij, and the Caledonian Islands after reading so much about them in geography books. Nobody told you that Tannin would also be on the cruise until she showed up at the airport for the flight to Rome. And a "miracle" happened: Mouseata backed out at the last minute due to family obligation. So Tannin had a cabin all by herself albeit with a slight increase in rate. You took Mouseata's absence as a sign, a good omen for things to come between Tangerine and you. ". Anyway, you were lonely despite being married.Twice (twelve and six years ago) you thought you got rid of loneliness for good, but you were wrong. Since then several women played you for a fool and you went along until they discovered you were not as stupid and naive as you let on. They moved on to other targets and you moved on with your life with books, writing, and poker-playing to occupy your time when you are not called to do consultancy work with lonely and disturbed individuals. You are quite good in the consultancy business. It takes one to know one. You would venture to say a majority, if not a big majority, of people in your profession are quite unhinged themselves.
There was an instant attraction and chemistry between Tannin and you when you two first met eight months ago. She understood what you tried to say, which was not as easy as common folks assumed. And you were tremendously touched by her caring ways and her unspoken loneliness. On this cruise she spent most of her time with your spouse (okay, her name was Daevela), at meal times (you only joined them at dinner), and daily activities and nightly shows. You spent your time reading, sleeping, working out at the gym, and playing poker until the wee hours of the morning.The cruise lasted for eleven days. Things happened on the 9th night. You were playing poker as usual when somebody touched you on the shoulder. You turned around and saw Tannin smiling tenderly at you. She then asked you of how you were doing. You sighed and replied that you were a bit over $200 in the hole. She looked upset and emphatically said that you must quit now and join her for a walk on the deck. The way her eyes looked at you told you that you should not turn down her request.
It was a beautiful night. The full moon was in the sky. The South Pacific sea was calm. There was hardly a breeze. A lot of people were milling around on the deck, some of them were walking and talking, like Tannin and you were doing. She asked you a lot of questions, especially about the relationship with Daevela. You told her the truth, unadorned and unembellished. When you were through, she took your hand into hers and said, "my poor baby. You deserve better." You said nothing to that remark and didn't withdraw your hand. Then she huskily asked you if you liked her. You nodded your head and said, "from the very first beginning we first met." She then pulled you close to her and planted a kiss on my lips and wordlessly embraced you and then led me to the elevator and to her cabin. We were like two teenagers overcome with lust. She tremblingly inserted the cabin card into the door slot while holding tightly to your hand. You two barely got inside the cabin when you locked lips and touched each other hungrily.
Although her body showed the ravages of time, she made up for it by her sexual ardor and effusive praise of the magnificence of your body which you kept in a youthful shape by almost daily Yoga and strength exercises. She made you feel so wanted that you had no problem achieving the desired state of hardness in no time. When you were in her, she kept her legs intertwined on your back and kept saying your name overlaid with terms of endearment. Soon you were no longer affected by the age discrepancy and now saw love had transformed her into a beautiful mature woman. And when she urged you to quicken your tempo because she was on the verge of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure, you let yourself go and you called her name over and over again and finished it up by pressing your pelvic region hard against hers.
Satisfied and contented, she stroked your face and massaged the nape of your neck, in the aftermath of the unforgettable sexual encounter. You soon passed out in heavenly peace. You woke up when you found myself hard again by her skillful lingual maneuvering. The second time you two were at it was less intense and more leisurely but much stronger in terms of tenderness and peace. Both sensed that what each had for each other was more than carnal lust and physical desire. The feeling was an old-fashioned love and caring. That was when she asked you what you would do about the future because she now realized she wanted to be with you at all times for she had found peace.
You told her the divorce was out of the question. There were complications, most were posed by your daughters and your unwillingness to bring embarrassment and humiliation to Daevela. You further explained to her that you must remain in Las Vegas for at least ten more years to see how you would fare with the consultancy business and the poker avocation. You then concluded that as much as you disliked the furtiveness of the situation, it must remain so until Daevela dies. Life is never perfect and is not designed to please us. We must adapt and endure. She could always fly to Las Vegas and be with you as long as she wished and as long as we kept our relationship a secret from Daevela. Tannin said nothing and tears flooded her eyes. She then said you needed to get dressed and go back to your cabin before Daevela came looking for you.
After you kissed her and were about to leave she asked me if you really loved her. You stepped towards her and held her in my arms and looked into her eyes and said softly that she was the one you had always wanted in your life and you had thought you would never realize your dream. You had always longed for an unselfish, unpretentious, intelligent woman who understood, respected, and cared about you. You were arrogant and conceited, but you were fair-minded and loyal. You told her that she took a big risk in loving you and time would tell her if her love for you and yours for her was real and not a flash in the pan. True love always has a way to manifest itself. What has held it back are selfishness, ego, greed, power, and fear. Of these, you are only aflicted with ego which could be intimately tied with a carry-over of feelings of inferiority complex in the past, but ever since you realize you am gifted at logic, philosophy, and words, the ego is very probably soundly based and not an overcompensation from the distant past. If she could handle your ego, she had nothing to be concerned about your feelings for her. She said nothing to your speech. And once again her eyes welled up with tears. She just raised her feet and kissed you on the cheeks and gently pushed you out of the cabin and into the lonely night.
Wissai
Noviember 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Obama won the re-election
I was happy that he won. Love was stronger than hate. Starting three weeks before the election day, the Internet was flooded with false, ugly, malicious rumors and lies disseminated by the Republicans who were desperate for a win. What bothered me greatly was there were many Vietnamese Americans who practiced suspension of disbelief and thus gleefully and gladly contributed to the dissemination of the innuendoes and lies. Their behavior was so despicable and loathsome that I was ashamed for them and for myself for being Vietnamese. In any contest, we must be honorable in our conduct. A victory without honor is not worth having.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Peace
My heart cried for peace, but my mind was stuck deep in turmoil. I've meditated on the outright lies disseminated by the Vietnamese Republicans about Obama and I felt a deep disgust at how low my compatriots have sunk. I was glad that I had an instinctive respect for truth. That noble trait is not shared by assholes like you-know-who, hence my contempt for them. Those two are real animals which love to use filthy and sarcastic language to score a point when they can't win an argument in a debate. how could they since they were poorly read and poorly educated. I regard them as ignorant assholes, unworthy of being in my company.
Cessation of suffering
Cessation of Suffering
"You think you're a deep-sea diver while in fact you're drowning. Don't pretend you care little for anything in this world whereas you're a burning churning throb of desire and yearning. Please, make your outer appearances reflect inner realities, otherwise you create nothing but suffering for yourself. Stop playing games with yourself and others. Be authentic."
That was what I told my protégé last week at the hospital when I thought I was going to croak and die of some mysterious flu-like illness. But I somehow recovered. Shit, I'm only sixty-three after all. I'm too mean to die young. I'm gonna live until the ripe old age of ninety-nine. I'm gonna be a mean, crusty old man when I finally kick the bucket. The doctor who was young enough to be my grand-son told me this morning that the worst was over and I could be released in two days.
When I told my protégé over the phone this morning that I was coming home on my own power, and not in a body bag or in a coffin, he shouted with joy. I was not sure if he really meant it. I suppose I'm gonna put him through a test soon.
I'm not sleeping much anymore or they stop putting in the IV the sleep medicine, I don't know which. I know I'm more alert. This morning I took a short walk to the cafeteria and back just to get my circulation working again. I saw the faces of people on the way to the cafeteria and back and inside the cafeteria itself. It seemed to me that everybody had a look of attrition on them. They all looked tired, worried, and preoccupied. The élan, the zest for life was missing. It was funny, to me, they looked that way. They were not as close to death as I was. And here I am feeling overjoyed and bursting with an irrepressible feeling of relief and happiness that I am going to live a few more years. For years, I have been flirting with suicide and filled with homocidal impulses. No more. No sir. No más danzar con la locura. And it seems to me this weight of suffering that I've carried on my shoulders and in my heart since late adolescence miraculously vanished into thin air. I'm feeling light-headed, giddy, buoyant, happy, and carefree. The feeling is better than sex, more intoxicating than booze and pot, and even more intense than falling in love. I suppose I'm savoring the sensation of being granted the reprieve from the definite, unalterable cessation of life, of being cut off from feeling and thinking and other senses of being alive. For the first time since childhood and early adolescence, I have regained the joys of living. To live is to experience choices whereas to die is to be forever shut off in darkness and oblivion.
If I'm sounding like I'm preaching, hell, so what? We're all preachers and lecturers in one way or another. The best preachers are those who only preach to themselves, and not to others, even when they appear to preach to others, they do in fact preach to themselves. To live is to confront one's loneliness and sense of insecurity and precariousness. One thing I know for sure is that I'm no longer fucked, fried, and lied to like so many slaves I see walking like zombies into offices and plants every morning to earn a living wage. At least I'm an independent hunter, free of imposed---as opposed to internally generated---rules and regulations and the daily politicking in order to survive. I hunt whenever I want to. I'm using my intelligence and imagination to find food. There are always some fools out there who think they know the game of hunting better than I do. Little do they know they are preys to real hunters like me.
Let me share with you several deeply held but barely concealed facts and secrets and truths:
1. I've been a hunter for almost 14 years now. I've been the master of my fate. I've stockpiled enough provisions to last for at least 20 years. So economic concerns no longer affect me. Health issues do, however. Thus, I've been exercising and watching my diet. I have 15 lbs to get rid of to get back to my fighting weight (161 lbs).
2. I've a very strong disdain for ignorance and laziness "fortified" with stupidity. Thus, I've held in contempt folks who harbor superstitious beliefs which have no grounds in reality and logic. Those people are emotionally weak and fearful by nature. And that warrants pity and contempt. Real humans live with strength and and without trepidation. They know they have only life to live and ironically that gives them the strength to go through life with a gusto and fearlessly whereas the stupid and cowardly folks fancy that there is an afterlife and yet conduct themselves with timidity and cravenness.
3. It's wonderful to know one's place in the universe. Lately, I have managed to talk little, keep my own counsel, go about my business with stealth and discretion. I no longer commit myself. I hedge and I listen. I am now not going strong anymore. I go gentle, play it simple, and don't convince anybody who I am and who I am not. I just have to convince myself and act the part.
Three secrets are more than enough to divulge, don't you think? Anyway, the more I live and interact with ordinary folks, let alone scums of the earth, I laugh at their lies and poses. Let me tell you something: it's hard to find a genuine, honest, unpretentious but conceited guy like myself. It seems to be most humans fucking try hard to pretend somebody they are not. They always give themselves too much fucking credit that they don't deserve, believe in the bullshit peddled by the religious and political merchants, and go to the grave thinking they are good, decent people whereas the reality is that they are stupid, vain, insecure, superstitious, and fearful of death. Compared to them, I am much, much fucking better. Sometimes, I just wish I had the temerity to blow up all of them to smithereens. Humans are largely detestable because they can't overcome the animalism inside them. If I have a patent weakness is that I am too fucking sentimental. I have a stupid notion that I am sweet and adorable and that women would fall in love with me. I have been fucked over so many times that I finally and belatedly realized that while I may be indeed nice and lovely, that does not all the cunts out there would really love me because there would be some sickos who would be out to get my blood and my wallet just to get over some past, distant, long gone hurts and slights. So now I am wise up. I am a cynic, now. And I feel strong and good about that. Of course that does not mean I don't feel lonely. You see, loneliness comes from the failure to trust anybody. I don't trust because I was hurt. The memories killed my ability to trust.
Life is a journey to be true to oneself and others.
Truth is everywhere. All it takes is an understanding heart. All our problems stem from ignorance and false pride. Ignorance is easily remedied. False pride is the child of insecurity and dishonesty.
Everybody needs to have a long, hard look at himself at least once a day, preferably in the morning right after waking up, in order to start a day anew and awash with understanding.
Most life's problems are self-inflicted and the results of failing to follow the golden rule which includes the following observation:
"What do I or my interlocutors gain from what I am going to say? If nothing, then I must keep my stupid mouth shut because if what I am going to say is only to make me feel good for hurting the feelings of others then I must be an imbecile, idiot, cretin, retard, dumb ass. Sarcasm is cheap wit and earns nothing but lasting enmity. People don't usually forgive as they pretend, no matter how much apology we offer after the damage is done. The hurt is always there. The emotional scar is always there. The ugly and painful memory is always there."
An overflowing river and an angry sea
Meandering storms of the heart will forever gently bend around obstacles that stand on their paths.
(To be continued)
Wissai
October 26, 2012
"You think you're a deep-sea diver while in fact you're drowning. Don't pretend you care little for anything in this world whereas you're a burning churning throb of desire and yearning. Please, make your outer appearances reflect inner realities, otherwise you create nothing but suffering for yourself. Stop playing games with yourself and others. Be authentic."
That was what I told my protégé last week at the hospital when I thought I was going to croak and die of some mysterious flu-like illness. But I somehow recovered. Shit, I'm only sixty-three after all. I'm too mean to die young. I'm gonna live until the ripe old age of ninety-nine. I'm gonna be a mean, crusty old man when I finally kick the bucket. The doctor who was young enough to be my grand-son told me this morning that the worst was over and I could be released in two days.
When I told my protégé over the phone this morning that I was coming home on my own power, and not in a body bag or in a coffin, he shouted with joy. I was not sure if he really meant it. I suppose I'm gonna put him through a test soon.
I'm not sleeping much anymore or they stop putting in the IV the sleep medicine, I don't know which. I know I'm more alert. This morning I took a short walk to the cafeteria and back just to get my circulation working again. I saw the faces of people on the way to the cafeteria and back and inside the cafeteria itself. It seemed to me that everybody had a look of attrition on them. They all looked tired, worried, and preoccupied. The élan, the zest for life was missing. It was funny, to me, they looked that way. They were not as close to death as I was. And here I am feeling overjoyed and bursting with an irrepressible feeling of relief and happiness that I am going to live a few more years. For years, I have been flirting with suicide and filled with homocidal impulses. No more. No sir. No más danzar con la locura. And it seems to me this weight of suffering that I've carried on my shoulders and in my heart since late adolescence miraculously vanished into thin air. I'm feeling light-headed, giddy, buoyant, happy, and carefree. The feeling is better than sex, more intoxicating than booze and pot, and even more intense than falling in love. I suppose I'm savoring the sensation of being granted the reprieve from the definite, unalterable cessation of life, of being cut off from feeling and thinking and other senses of being alive. For the first time since childhood and early adolescence, I have regained the joys of living. To live is to experience choices whereas to die is to be forever shut off in darkness and oblivion.
If I'm sounding like I'm preaching, hell, so what? We're all preachers and lecturers in one way or another. The best preachers are those who only preach to themselves, and not to others, even when they appear to preach to others, they do in fact preach to themselves. To live is to confront one's loneliness and sense of insecurity and precariousness. One thing I know for sure is that I'm no longer fucked, fried, and lied to like so many slaves I see walking like zombies into offices and plants every morning to earn a living wage. At least I'm an independent hunter, free of imposed---as opposed to internally generated---rules and regulations and the daily politicking in order to survive. I hunt whenever I want to. I'm using my intelligence and imagination to find food. There are always some fools out there who think they know the game of hunting better than I do. Little do they know they are preys to real hunters like me.
Let me share with you several deeply held but barely concealed facts and secrets and truths:
1. I've been a hunter for almost 14 years now. I've been the master of my fate. I've stockpiled enough provisions to last for at least 20 years. So economic concerns no longer affect me. Health issues do, however. Thus, I've been exercising and watching my diet. I have 15 lbs to get rid of to get back to my fighting weight (161 lbs).
2. I've a very strong disdain for ignorance and laziness "fortified" with stupidity. Thus, I've held in contempt folks who harbor superstitious beliefs which have no grounds in reality and logic. Those people are emotionally weak and fearful by nature. And that warrants pity and contempt. Real humans live with strength and and without trepidation. They know they have only life to live and ironically that gives them the strength to go through life with a gusto and fearlessly whereas the stupid and cowardly folks fancy that there is an afterlife and yet conduct themselves with timidity and cravenness.
3. It's wonderful to know one's place in the universe. Lately, I have managed to talk little, keep my own counsel, go about my business with stealth and discretion. I no longer commit myself. I hedge and I listen. I am now not going strong anymore. I go gentle, play it simple, and don't convince anybody who I am and who I am not. I just have to convince myself and act the part.
Three secrets are more than enough to divulge, don't you think? Anyway, the more I live and interact with ordinary folks, let alone scums of the earth, I laugh at their lies and poses. Let me tell you something: it's hard to find a genuine, honest, unpretentious but conceited guy like myself. It seems to be most humans fucking try hard to pretend somebody they are not. They always give themselves too much fucking credit that they don't deserve, believe in the bullshit peddled by the religious and political merchants, and go to the grave thinking they are good, decent people whereas the reality is that they are stupid, vain, insecure, superstitious, and fearful of death. Compared to them, I am much, much fucking better. Sometimes, I just wish I had the temerity to blow up all of them to smithereens. Humans are largely detestable because they can't overcome the animalism inside them. If I have a patent weakness is that I am too fucking sentimental. I have a stupid notion that I am sweet and adorable and that women would fall in love with me. I have been fucked over so many times that I finally and belatedly realized that while I may be indeed nice and lovely, that does not all the cunts out there would really love me because there would be some sickos who would be out to get my blood and my wallet just to get over some past, distant, long gone hurts and slights. So now I am wise up. I am a cynic, now. And I feel strong and good about that. Of course that does not mean I don't feel lonely. You see, loneliness comes from the failure to trust anybody. I don't trust because I was hurt. The memories killed my ability to trust.
Life is a journey to be true to oneself and others.
Truth is everywhere. All it takes is an understanding heart. All our problems stem from ignorance and false pride. Ignorance is easily remedied. False pride is the child of insecurity and dishonesty.
Everybody needs to have a long, hard look at himself at least once a day, preferably in the morning right after waking up, in order to start a day anew and awash with understanding.
Most life's problems are self-inflicted and the results of failing to follow the golden rule which includes the following observation:
"What do I or my interlocutors gain from what I am going to say? If nothing, then I must keep my stupid mouth shut because if what I am going to say is only to make me feel good for hurting the feelings of others then I must be an imbecile, idiot, cretin, retard, dumb ass. Sarcasm is cheap wit and earns nothing but lasting enmity. People don't usually forgive as they pretend, no matter how much apology we offer after the damage is done. The hurt is always there. The emotional scar is always there. The ugly and painful memory is always there."
An overflowing river and an angry sea
Meandering storms of the heart will forever gently bend around obstacles that stand on their paths.
(To be continued)
Wissai
October 26, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Photo and Consequences
Photo and consequencesThe early fall of my 63rd year of existence on this planet stamped forever in the stream of my consciousness. I was vain about my body. Since I had been bragging about my "magnificent" physique all summer long to a group of new friends, I thought I might as well back up my bragging with a photo of me in a brief. To me, it was like a photo of any male on the beach or around the swimming pool. Lo and behold, a woman who a few weeks prior had proudly sent a photo of hers in a bikini lying on the beach somewhere on the planet, posted a complaint in an insolent, haughty, cavalier, and quite stupid language about my bad taste and indecency , and demanded an instant cessation of my posting such photos in the future! This came from a woman who once blithely disclosed that her password to a certain email account of hers was a vulgarism! After her complaint, I promptly sent an one-word apology to the group and a request to have my name removed from the subscription list. So it looked like I didn't understand women at all. I thought I did, but apparently I did not. Not really. Not at all. Then I began reflecting on my psyche and that of other people including the one upon whom I conferred various pet names. And I arrived at the following verities/observations:1. The romantic world is a stage where the players are actors and dancers par excellence. 2. The more inferior the players, the more ruses they employ to cover up their intrinsic worth or, rather, lack thereof. 3. Trust is a rare commodity. I was played for a fool by Chinko Mixto.4. I was naive and trusting, perhaps too much so, of being accepted for my idiosyncrasies.5. Midget was stupid in thinking I was in need of her. All she had was ego, and not an ounce of love inside. She was insolent, just like Chinko Mixto. Anyway, I took a risk and flunked it, so to speak. But I had to do that to find out whom I was dealing with. I had to push the envelope. I was fearless, and they were fearful of coming across as condoning or, heavens forbid, liking lasciviousness so they had to appear as prude and coy (Quelle fausse pudeur!) Now I decided to go off the map. Now I become invisible. And quiet, too. Like a church mouse. Reader, please don't write back and tell me that I just wrote two sentence fragments. I know what I'm doing, I think. I just met a Southern belle at the poker table and I was blown away by her charms and manners and grace. It was a delightful experience. She was in town for a printers conference. She was a marketing executive of a printing company. She was a mixture of naïveté and worldly sophistication. Her Southern accent was a delight. She was proud of her true age (28 but could easily passed for 19) and showed me her driver's ID to prove her being truthful. She had an unusual last name and she called my attention to that and laughed merrily about that. She had a winsome personality and didn't seem to care if she lost a hand. She was a sharp contrast to the woman in the preceding paragraphs. Her personality won me over and made my day. In addition, I recouped all what I had lost the day before in poker and that helped my mood, too. This encounter cleansed me of the poison I ingested recently and reminded me that I must surround myself with pleasant, nice people. That in turn would make me feel good about life and humans. So with this much improved mood, I walked out of the poker room and into the bright sunshine of the fall. The lovely music of the Oldies helped also. I was struck as to why humans came to invent music. I recently read a book about the how, but not the why. Could it be music was a way to amplify and transcend ordinary human discourse, and to appeal to the raw simple emotions? Except for some complex classical pieces of music whose understanding requires a refined sensibility, most pieces of music elicit instantaneous reaction. One either likes it or not after no more than a minute. And it's hard not to like or even to love a musician whose music brings so much peace and joy to the listeners. Unfortunately for me, the therapeutic effects of listening to music didn't last. By the time I got near my condo, I got riled up again by the unpleasant memories associated with the photo. I felt then I had to discharge my frustrations and annoyance. So I turned the car around and got to the gym.I murdered the exercise machines that evening. I worked on them with a vengeance. I wanted to sublimate and transcend my anger, my rage. I wanted that by next time, if and when I give in to the impulse of vanity and have a picture of my body taken again, women would pant and salivate and faint with desire instead of lodging a complaint using feeble excuses ("She doth protest too much!"). I wanted clearly delineated definitions on my body. I wanted to possess a well-sculpted body just to feed my vanity. After an hour of intense workout, my 63-year-old body was screaming for mercy. I relented and headed for the whirlpool to soothe my body of the aches and pains and muscle burns. That was where I met her. She was a Hispanic of incomparable beauty and sexiness. She made my knees weak, my heart flutter, and my mouth water. Believe it or not, I am a bashful, shy, timid kind of guy. But that evening I couldn't help myself. All my timidity evaporated into thin air. She was like a powerful magnet and my eyes were two hapless little balls of iron. They turned to her. They hungrily took in her beauty and sex appeal. I started talking to her in my halting, broken Spanish. Luckily for me, she didn't talk much English so she had to put up with my poor command of the language of Cortez and Cervantes. She didn't know French otherwise I would express myself in that language of love because meeting her was like meeting life and encountering love and sex for the very first time. She opened the eyes of my heart and unlocked the door of my desire. She had everything in looks a man dreams about a woman. Sparkling teeth, long eyelashes to go with beautiful almond eyes, sheeny black hair, young (mid 20s), all curves and filled to the brim with vitality. The more I talked, my Spanish got better. Words came back from long- gone university days. She even noticed that and complimented me on it. I was in a trance. I waxed poetic about her beauty and sexuality. I disclosed that I "specialized" in writing love poetry. She demanded proof so I recited a poem I just wrote a few days before:Mon coeur a un secretLe secret, c'est toiJ'ai un désir Un jour je te baiseraAvec un tendre plaisirJ'ai un espoirMa nuit n'est plus noirEt je ne sera pas solitaireMais dis-moiComment je te fais Connaître mon grand amour Pour toiUne chose plus importante:Je souhaite que tu chantes Pour moi la chanson "Tristesse" de ChopinJe suis ton copainTon amour toujours Of course, I translated into Spanish for her benefit. After I was finished, she clapped her hands and exclaimed "How romantic! How beautiful!" I beamed broadly and my heart soared. The poem clinched it for me. She left her car in the 24 Hours Fitness Club parking lot and rode with me in my Beemer back to my condo. I did have a lucky day. I met a nice Southern belle, recouped the money I lost the night before, and now this Hispanic young woman within my reach. She had on a black top and tight jeans over shapely legs of which I had gazed longingly earlier. They didn't stay on her for long after we got inside the condo. We enjoyed ourselves like we were teenagers and this was the first time we tasted carnal pleasures. We went on for several hours, exploring each other. We went beyond where we each had been before. My sex and my mouth both hurt from being on her everywhere. Later, I took out some weed and offered her some. We smoked, drank beer, and talked until the wee hours of the morning. Then we passed out in each other's arms.When I woke up, she was gone! Alarmed, I jumped out of bed, my heart was racing and I was breathing hard. I was relieved when I located my wallet and found none of the money and the credit cards missing. I took a quick look of the condo and found everything seemed to be in order. I was then relaxed enough to realize that I needed to pee. Her note was on the bathroom counter, with a glass placed on top of it as if she was afraid a hurricane would come through and blow away her loving departing words:"Mi querido Roberto:Siento que no permanezca alrededor para decir adiós. Yo no tuve el coraje de ver dolor en su rostro. Tuve un muy buen momento anoche. Mi mejor. Deseaba que yo había conocido antes. Me ha gustado mucho y sabía que me adoraba. Pero me voy a casarme el mes próximo. Ya no puedo verte, pero siempre estarás en mi corazón. Espero que no se siente muy mal por lo que hice. Estoy segura de que encontrará una guapa mujer pronto porque estas muy agradable, educado y divertido estar alrededor.Te quiero,Sandra(My dear RobertoSorry that I didn't stay around to say goodby. I didn't have the courage to see pain on your face. I had a very good time last night. My best ever. I wished that I had met you sooner. I liked you a lot and I knew you adored me. But I am getting married next month. I can't see you anymore, but you will be forever in my heart. I hope you don't feel very bad about what I did. I am sure you will find a nice woman soon because you are very nice, educated, and fun to be around.I love you,Sandra.")I was stunned by her note. I read it again and again. I understood her situation and accepted her decision. Still, her departure left a void in my heart. The void is not filled up yet. But the latest encounter is giving me hope. Hope is what sustains and drives me. It makes me get up in the morning. It helps me write love poetry to whoever that catches my fancy. I have boundless dreams and fantasies. By the way, nowadays when I think of the Hispanic woman, I don't associate her with the name Sandra as that name was the one of a really insolent and stupid bitch who got on my nerves for a long time until she was run over by a proverbial bus last week. I didn't shed a tear over her demise as near the end of her life, she was cranky and impossible to talk to.To me, the Hispanic woman was always a Mariposa who flew out of my reach but left an indelible beautiful memory. Didn't I tell you that besides hopes and dreams, I also live for memories?Wissai/NKBa'September 15, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Photos of children monks in training
Some may view the photos as examples of brutal indoctrination and brainwashing of children, but the reality is that parents of these children voluntarily send their kids to the monasteries so they could benefit from the general education as well as the Buddhist conception of reality. The pictures represent the training under the Theravada branch of Buddhism, the alleged earliest and purest form of Buddhism. The Buddhist mendicant monks (the novices as well, as seen by the pictures of the children) make their daily rounds of soliciting for alms (they are supported by the community) and eat one meal a day before noon whatever deposited in their begging bowls. They don't work in the ordinary meaning of the world so they can have time to study Buddhism. In return, the community learn about Buddhism and benefit from their scholarly, social and political (when the nations in crisis. In the past Buddhist monks led demonstrations against the military junta in Myanmar) leadership.
True knowledge is at once simple and mysterious. And so am I. I remind myself time and again that most, if not all, common folks fail to realize that I am both a shining mirror and an iceberg. Even my mistakes and sufferings have the markings of bathos, pathos, and some grandeur as I do have the sensibilities of a poet/philosopher. Your journey has the markings of a late start. Read "Confessions of a Philosopher" by Bryan Magee.
Last night I had two horrible dreams: the first involved my killing of my mother; the second one was about a fight to death with a guy I hated.
True knowledge is at once simple and mysterious. And so am I. I remind myself time and again that most, if not all, common folks fail to realize that I am both a shining mirror and an iceberg. Even my mistakes and sufferings have the markings of bathos, pathos, and some grandeur as I do have the sensibilities of a poet/philosopher. Your journey has the markings of a late start. Read "Confessions of a Philosopher" by Bryan Magee.
Last night I had two horrible dreams: the first involved my killing of my mother; the second one was about a fight to death with a guy I hated.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wisdom
I finally listened to my intuition. What helped me was the greed and unfairness of the other party. As I get older and closer to my demise on this planet, I realize false pride and greed are the two usual defects that cause sufferings in this world. I used to have them, too, but I got rid of them about two years ago. Ever since, I have been more at peace with myself.
Talking about pride, yesterday one 60-year-old man lamented and got upset over being dumped by a nympho married woman. He said that he had never been dumped before. Everybody laughed about his obvious lie. I tried to save his face by saying that he could have said the truth. I then added that I was dumped all the time and there was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I was grateful that some women dumped me, I said. That remark made everybody laugh, including myself. You see, getting dumped may not be a pleasant experience, but if looked at the right way, it could be a highly educational process because it would force us to really go through a soul-searching exercise and consequently may learn a lot about ourselves and others.
Nowadays I try to conduct my self with a lot of love and grace. I don't always manage to do that. There are many relapses and reversions to juvenile behavior. Anyway, I talk less than I used to. And if some assholes piss me off, I try to keep my mouth shut and stay away from them. I belatedly realize that I may initially attract people by my looks, but to keep them I have to be mindful of my speech and my conduct. Who I axm is more than how I look. It's what I say and do in addition to how I dress and present myself to the world. I have stopped listening to conflicting voices. I now listen to one voice, the voice of good and understanding, the voice of acceptance, the voice of peace.
Talking about pride, yesterday one 60-year-old man lamented and got upset over being dumped by a nympho married woman. He said that he had never been dumped before. Everybody laughed about his obvious lie. I tried to save his face by saying that he could have said the truth. I then added that I was dumped all the time and there was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I was grateful that some women dumped me, I said. That remark made everybody laugh, including myself. You see, getting dumped may not be a pleasant experience, but if looked at the right way, it could be a highly educational process because it would force us to really go through a soul-searching exercise and consequently may learn a lot about ourselves and others.
Nowadays I try to conduct my self with a lot of love and grace. I don't always manage to do that. There are many relapses and reversions to juvenile behavior. Anyway, I talk less than I used to. And if some assholes piss me off, I try to keep my mouth shut and stay away from them. I belatedly realize that I may initially attract people by my looks, but to keep them I have to be mindful of my speech and my conduct. Who I axm is more than how I look. It's what I say and do in addition to how I dress and present myself to the world. I have stopped listening to conflicting voices. I now listen to one voice, the voice of good and understanding, the voice of acceptance, the voice of peace.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
The Sea of Misery
Here I was
In the midst of balmy winds,
the freshest air, the vast open sea,
I felt utterly lonely
And I wanted to die.
Tears crept into my eyes.
My duchess, my ever-present lady
Looked at me with surprise.
She asked me why on our anniversary
I seemed to be drowned in misery.
I quickly lied,
No, honey, it was just smoke getting into my eyes.
But there's no smoke here, she replied.
Yes, there is, I insisted.
Where? Where? Show me!
I said, surprised you asked,
You were the one that started the fire.
Roberto Wissai/NKBa'
March 24, 2012
In the midst of balmy winds,
the freshest air, the vast open sea,
I felt utterly lonely
And I wanted to die.
Tears crept into my eyes.
My duchess, my ever-present lady
Looked at me with surprise.
She asked me why on our anniversary
I seemed to be drowned in misery.
I quickly lied,
No, honey, it was just smoke getting into my eyes.
But there's no smoke here, she replied.
Yes, there is, I insisted.
Where? Where? Show me!
I said, surprised you asked,
You were the one that started the fire.
Roberto Wissai/NKBa'
March 24, 2012
Notes and Quotes
Random Notes and Unattributed Quotes (mostly from Bryan Magee's Confessions of a Philosopher) on almost everything, but principally on a thing called philosophy
A human who has been wrestling with philosophical questions would tend to look with askance at those who don't, no matter how successful and smart the latter are. Life is all about questions, facts, reality, and understanding within a finite earthy existence. To live is to be ready to say goodbye decisively at anytime to everything and everybody one holds dear and precious. Thus, there should be no room in one's life for petty envy, lies, and false pride. Among all living humans, how many can actually silently say to themselves that they are walking on that path and all the misunderstanding and ridicule and mockery be damned. To thine own self be true, exhorted the Bard, but who have listened?
I started writing these notes and quotes with a rather smug and pompous notion of sharing and displaying my philosophical acumen and zeal, but as I went deeper into an unfamiliar terrain of subtlety, my pride became less pronounced and self-consciousness got more acute. It began to dawn on me that in the advanced stages of stupidity, lack of originality and profundity is made up by an excess of vacuity evidenced by a plethora of words.
It didn't matter that nobody was in awe and shock of what I knew; what really counts is whether I have learned anything before I die, whether I have finally mastered the art of not suffering over triviality. So, here I am, with the memory of two pretty pubescent girls almost naked in their skimpy bikinis frolicking in the warm waters of the Caribbean freshly imprinted in my mind, I see clearly the nature of sex and lust and procreation; the peacefulness that comes with self-understanding; the destructive forces of false pride and anger; and the power of forgiveness. So, I forgive her and many others that came after her. I forgive also all the stupid errors, mistakes, and missteps that I committed in the name of pride, revenge, and justice. One day, a woman like her would come along and I would tell that woman "No thanks, but I don't wish to suffer again." I would be back to my books and study with earnest. I would take care of myself while striving to be nice and understanding and forgiving. You see, love is just a habit, a memory, a game of pride and ego.
You talk too much. And I certainly talk too much. You think you are somebody. So do I. And we both delude ourselves that we are too good, too nice and nobody really deserves us, but deep down within us, in the marrow of our bones, in the wee hours of the morning when loneliness weighs down on us, a nagging doubt comes up: perhaps we are not rich enough, not good-looking enough, not nice enough to catch anybody worthwhile. Reality always makes its presence known. False pride is an incompetent actor.
An incompetent writer like yours truly never forgets the first time he received a few words of (insincere) praise for his whimpering prose. He let the sweet poison of vanity seep into his blood and corrode his soul. He convincers himself that he possessed talent. From that moment on, he dreams that his name will outlive him. He also fancies that he is comfortable underneath his skin and at ease with the world at large. So he writes and writes, day in and day out, hope against hope, with a fervent desire that one day out of his worn-out pen and petty mind emerges a book or a poem that ensures his immortality. Certainly he is not a coward for he is trying his best; he gives all what he has.
"By cowardice I do not mean fear. Cowardice...is a label we reserve for something a man does. What passes through his mind is his own affair."
"Fear has a whole taxonomy---anxiety, dread, panic, foreboding---and you could be braced for one form and completely fall apart facing another. It's okay to be scared, you just don't want to show it."
In other words, be a good actor, in everything: love, life, and death. Mask your emotions. Your face must be an empty, serene, unaffected indifferent, uncaring, disinterested, blank expression. If you can do that, you have finally figured how to live, how to interact with humans. Yes, you cam show your true emotions with your dog, but never with humans because a dog would not betray you. Humans are unpredictable and don't always value loyalty and gratitude. Most have an easily understood attitude of putting their own interests above everybody else's, and in the process they fuck real good old- fashioned values like lotalty and gratitude. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about, having been many times the receiving end of that attitude. Now you probably understand why I have an insouciant, blasé, I-don't-give-a-shit-if-you-drop-dead-right-in-front-of-me way about me. Last night, I had two bad dreams one after another. The first one about the last job I had. I was fired and then rehired and some assholes co-workers behaved strangely towards me when I showed up at my old desk. The other dream involved my standing up to my elder brother who used to beat the shit out of me. In the second dream I was shouting and was about to fucking hit him over the head with a two-by-four. Of course, the dreams were gravid with meaning. I was glad that I didn't dream about past girlfriends. Those dreams are getting old. Come on, I am 63 now, practically not a spring chicken anymore. If I dream about women, it should be about "find them, fuck them, and forget them" since almost all of them are all bullshitters and liars. However, I must admit that Peachy is really different from most, if not all, women I've met. In her, vivaciousness rules supreme and resides an intelligence that is immeasurably delightful. I must further confess whenever I'm around her, I can't help but be possessed by a lusty and lustful urge to hold her tight and squeeze her tiny behind and suck on her shapely tits. But dreams are all I can have. Silent dreams and secret dreams that she never knows about.
I was amused by the stupid behavior of certain assholes who were old enough to know better. Note that I said I was amused, not angry . I just finished reading a cheap, preposterous, but well written tear jerker novel called "Dear Joanna" and I cried like a baby after I reached the end, despite the fact the author is a mercenary of words and a trafficker in human longings.
Anyway, I am reading a report about the miserable war in Afghanistan. A journalist spent fifteen months with an army platoon at an outpost in a hostile territory and was lucky enough to live to write about it. Reading it is making me feel numb, cynical, blessed with luck, and appreciative of life. I am learning to act strong and generous. Acting is but a short step towards actuality. Everyday I sit down and have a few minutes of meditation during which I thank fate and chance that I am still alive, and remind myself that respect (or pretense of respect) for others costs me nothing while disrespect to them may cost me my life. I only need to reflect on a simple fact I cannot bring myself to love some assholes and bitches because these jackasses have smart mouths. Sarcasm brings temporary satisfaction but lifetime enmity.
A slow consciousness is taking shape: I must do the right things without getting self-conscious and smug about it. Bragging is a sign of weakness and self-doubt. So does constant harping about lost loves. I mean Laura and many others frankly don't give a fuck about me, so why should I keep feeling soft and mushy of long-gone puppy love memories, right? Fuck, when will I ever grow up?
I was very lucky of not being drafted into the army during the Vietnam War, but I always thought what I would do and act if I ever got conscripted and was forced to kill to defend myself. I have always had a nagging fear that I don't much courage and that deep down I am a coward. This fear has stayed with me throughout my life, ever since I was a little boy. All my acts of irrationality stemmed from a desire to prove that I don't fear death and I don't fear failure.
That's why the remark that a human being is a material object that know itself from inside resonates deeply with me. There is something awesome about this fact. That also explains why I am attracted to tales of violence and thriller novels. I live vicariously through the characters and will myself to be like them: cool, resourceful, and fearless.
If we dig deep inside ourselves as deeply as we can , the ultimate being that we come to is some sort of will to live, to survive, just to be. And yet we see the also the ultimate futility and meaninglessness of our existence because we know we all die someday and all those things and people that mean a lot to us cease to have a hold on us, so why bother to fight, to struggle, to have a moment in the sun.
Early this morning when he tentatively asked her if she still loved him, she exploded with pent-anger and frustrations. She brought up all his past sins and mistakes while forgetting all the nice and generous things he had done for her. He prompted retreated into his shell and vowed to himself that henceforth he would be silent like a stone that lies deep in the sea.
Schopenhauer saw the intellect as being the servant, not the master, of the will (as, for that matter, did Hume) and thus our inner lives as either consisting of or being dominated by will in one or other of its manifestations.
Schopenhauerw does not say, and does not believe, that the knowledge we have of ourselves from inside is knowledge of the noumenal. He gives three reasons why it cannot be.
First, Kant taught, and Schopenhauer agreed, that time is the very form of inner sense. Time exists in the phenomenal domain alone.
Second, knowledge of any kind at all can exist only in the realm of the phenomenal. This is because, knowledge as such is inherently dualistic in nature: there has to be something that is known and something that knows it.
His third reason is derived from empirical observation. His investigations of inner experience and of our knowledge of ourselves from within have led him to the conclusion that most of our perceptions and wishes and h opes and fears do not present themselves to conscious experience. Before Freud was even born, Schopenhauer expounded what is normally thought as Freud's theory of repression, a theory which Freud himself pronounced to be the cornerstone of psychoanalysis. Furthermore, Schopenhauer provided all thef necessary connecting links I the argument: he spelled out the greater part of our inner lives is unknown to us; that it is unknown to us because it is repressed; that it is repressed because to face up to it would cause a degree of disturbance that we could not handle; that it is so because it does not fit with the view of ourselves that we wish to maintain; that this incompatibility is caused by high levels of such things as sexual motivation, self-seeking, aggression, envy, fear, and cruelty whose presence within us we do not wish to acknowledge, not even in the secrecy of our own thoughts; and so we deceive ourselves about what our own characters and motivations are, allowing only such interpretations of them to appear in our conscious minds as we can deal with. This means that we are exactly as far from knowing our inner lives as our inner selves are unconscious, and we would be so even if such knowledge were theoretically possible on other grounds; and moreover that we would be unable to cope with it even if we had---we would indeed, many of us, break down under it.
This means that within ourselves as well as without there is an underlying realitythat remains hidden from us and can never be met with an experience. What it is in itself we shall never know. Knowledge of any kind at all, knowledge as such, can come to us only through the apparatus that we as phenomenal beings find ourselves embodied in, and in forms whose nature is determined by that apparatus. Unless we are in some way the creators of all the phenomena thus experienced---a proposition which most of us find incredible, though it was believed by Fichte---those phenomena cannot be all there is apart from us: there must be a sense in which they are manifestations of something other than themselves or ourselves, something whose existence accounts for them, but something with which we can never make direct contact.
It has been said that often that the more powerful an experience, or the deeper an emotion, the more likely we are to feel we need to resort to metaphor to give it adequate expression. Metaphor, it would appear, goes deeper than literal speech. That must be one reason why poetry can penetrate depths inaccessible to prose. And perhaps also it is why there is such an important element of "as if" in great philosophy. What I understand, near the end of my search for meaning of my existence on this planet is this:
Truth/reality is not really conductive to expository prose; it must be felt and apprehended via the totality of one's experiences and being. And since everybody has his own level, his own depth of life experiences and of the experience of his being, his grasp/comprehension/feel of reality/truth only makes sense to him and to others who have similar life experiences/exposures or self-study. Essentially, what I am typing here as well as all the words I have written, prose or verse, are my efforts to understand the meaning of my existence and thus to prepare myself for the end of my life. That's why I find most sensuous pleasures boring and prosaic and are indeed an hindrance to my quest for knowledge and peace. I mean to say that I don't really enjoy good food or material comforts while knowledge and creative efforts turn me on tremendously. Even the sensuous pleasures associated with sex bore me if the woman I am with is not spiritual or unselfish. Selfishness reflects a still sub-human development. And I am fully human, unlike most assholes I know (cont.)
A human who has been wrestling with philosophical questions would tend to look with askance at those who don't, no matter how successful and smart the latter are. Life is all about questions, facts, reality, and understanding within a finite earthy existence. To live is to be ready to say goodbye decisively at anytime to everything and everybody one holds dear and precious. Thus, there should be no room in one's life for petty envy, lies, and false pride. Among all living humans, how many can actually silently say to themselves that they are walking on that path and all the misunderstanding and ridicule and mockery be damned. To thine own self be true, exhorted the Bard, but who have listened?
I started writing these notes and quotes with a rather smug and pompous notion of sharing and displaying my philosophical acumen and zeal, but as I went deeper into an unfamiliar terrain of subtlety, my pride became less pronounced and self-consciousness got more acute. It began to dawn on me that in the advanced stages of stupidity, lack of originality and profundity is made up by an excess of vacuity evidenced by a plethora of words.
It didn't matter that nobody was in awe and shock of what I knew; what really counts is whether I have learned anything before I die, whether I have finally mastered the art of not suffering over triviality. So, here I am, with the memory of two pretty pubescent girls almost naked in their skimpy bikinis frolicking in the warm waters of the Caribbean freshly imprinted in my mind, I see clearly the nature of sex and lust and procreation; the peacefulness that comes with self-understanding; the destructive forces of false pride and anger; and the power of forgiveness. So, I forgive her and many others that came after her. I forgive also all the stupid errors, mistakes, and missteps that I committed in the name of pride, revenge, and justice. One day, a woman like her would come along and I would tell that woman "No thanks, but I don't wish to suffer again." I would be back to my books and study with earnest. I would take care of myself while striving to be nice and understanding and forgiving. You see, love is just a habit, a memory, a game of pride and ego.
You talk too much. And I certainly talk too much. You think you are somebody. So do I. And we both delude ourselves that we are too good, too nice and nobody really deserves us, but deep down within us, in the marrow of our bones, in the wee hours of the morning when loneliness weighs down on us, a nagging doubt comes up: perhaps we are not rich enough, not good-looking enough, not nice enough to catch anybody worthwhile. Reality always makes its presence known. False pride is an incompetent actor.
An incompetent writer like yours truly never forgets the first time he received a few words of (insincere) praise for his whimpering prose. He let the sweet poison of vanity seep into his blood and corrode his soul. He convincers himself that he possessed talent. From that moment on, he dreams that his name will outlive him. He also fancies that he is comfortable underneath his skin and at ease with the world at large. So he writes and writes, day in and day out, hope against hope, with a fervent desire that one day out of his worn-out pen and petty mind emerges a book or a poem that ensures his immortality. Certainly he is not a coward for he is trying his best; he gives all what he has.
"By cowardice I do not mean fear. Cowardice...is a label we reserve for something a man does. What passes through his mind is his own affair."
"Fear has a whole taxonomy---anxiety, dread, panic, foreboding---and you could be braced for one form and completely fall apart facing another. It's okay to be scared, you just don't want to show it."
In other words, be a good actor, in everything: love, life, and death. Mask your emotions. Your face must be an empty, serene, unaffected indifferent, uncaring, disinterested, blank expression. If you can do that, you have finally figured how to live, how to interact with humans. Yes, you cam show your true emotions with your dog, but never with humans because a dog would not betray you. Humans are unpredictable and don't always value loyalty and gratitude. Most have an easily understood attitude of putting their own interests above everybody else's, and in the process they fuck real good old- fashioned values like lotalty and gratitude. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about, having been many times the receiving end of that attitude. Now you probably understand why I have an insouciant, blasé, I-don't-give-a-shit-if-you-drop-dead-right-in-front-of-me way about me. Last night, I had two bad dreams one after another. The first one about the last job I had. I was fired and then rehired and some assholes co-workers behaved strangely towards me when I showed up at my old desk. The other dream involved my standing up to my elder brother who used to beat the shit out of me. In the second dream I was shouting and was about to fucking hit him over the head with a two-by-four. Of course, the dreams were gravid with meaning. I was glad that I didn't dream about past girlfriends. Those dreams are getting old. Come on, I am 63 now, practically not a spring chicken anymore. If I dream about women, it should be about "find them, fuck them, and forget them" since almost all of them are all bullshitters and liars. However, I must admit that Peachy is really different from most, if not all, women I've met. In her, vivaciousness rules supreme and resides an intelligence that is immeasurably delightful. I must further confess whenever I'm around her, I can't help but be possessed by a lusty and lustful urge to hold her tight and squeeze her tiny behind and suck on her shapely tits. But dreams are all I can have. Silent dreams and secret dreams that she never knows about.
I was amused by the stupid behavior of certain assholes who were old enough to know better. Note that I said I was amused, not angry . I just finished reading a cheap, preposterous, but well written tear jerker novel called "Dear Joanna" and I cried like a baby after I reached the end, despite the fact the author is a mercenary of words and a trafficker in human longings.
Anyway, I am reading a report about the miserable war in Afghanistan. A journalist spent fifteen months with an army platoon at an outpost in a hostile territory and was lucky enough to live to write about it. Reading it is making me feel numb, cynical, blessed with luck, and appreciative of life. I am learning to act strong and generous. Acting is but a short step towards actuality. Everyday I sit down and have a few minutes of meditation during which I thank fate and chance that I am still alive, and remind myself that respect (or pretense of respect) for others costs me nothing while disrespect to them may cost me my life. I only need to reflect on a simple fact I cannot bring myself to love some assholes and bitches because these jackasses have smart mouths. Sarcasm brings temporary satisfaction but lifetime enmity.
A slow consciousness is taking shape: I must do the right things without getting self-conscious and smug about it. Bragging is a sign of weakness and self-doubt. So does constant harping about lost loves. I mean Laura and many others frankly don't give a fuck about me, so why should I keep feeling soft and mushy of long-gone puppy love memories, right? Fuck, when will I ever grow up?
I was very lucky of not being drafted into the army during the Vietnam War, but I always thought what I would do and act if I ever got conscripted and was forced to kill to defend myself. I have always had a nagging fear that I don't much courage and that deep down I am a coward. This fear has stayed with me throughout my life, ever since I was a little boy. All my acts of irrationality stemmed from a desire to prove that I don't fear death and I don't fear failure.
That's why the remark that a human being is a material object that know itself from inside resonates deeply with me. There is something awesome about this fact. That also explains why I am attracted to tales of violence and thriller novels. I live vicariously through the characters and will myself to be like them: cool, resourceful, and fearless.
If we dig deep inside ourselves as deeply as we can , the ultimate being that we come to is some sort of will to live, to survive, just to be. And yet we see the also the ultimate futility and meaninglessness of our existence because we know we all die someday and all those things and people that mean a lot to us cease to have a hold on us, so why bother to fight, to struggle, to have a moment in the sun.
Early this morning when he tentatively asked her if she still loved him, she exploded with pent-anger and frustrations. She brought up all his past sins and mistakes while forgetting all the nice and generous things he had done for her. He prompted retreated into his shell and vowed to himself that henceforth he would be silent like a stone that lies deep in the sea.
Schopenhauer saw the intellect as being the servant, not the master, of the will (as, for that matter, did Hume) and thus our inner lives as either consisting of or being dominated by will in one or other of its manifestations.
Schopenhauerw does not say, and does not believe, that the knowledge we have of ourselves from inside is knowledge of the noumenal. He gives three reasons why it cannot be.
First, Kant taught, and Schopenhauer agreed, that time is the very form of inner sense. Time exists in the phenomenal domain alone.
Second, knowledge of any kind at all can exist only in the realm of the phenomenal. This is because, knowledge as such is inherently dualistic in nature: there has to be something that is known and something that knows it.
His third reason is derived from empirical observation. His investigations of inner experience and of our knowledge of ourselves from within have led him to the conclusion that most of our perceptions and wishes and h opes and fears do not present themselves to conscious experience. Before Freud was even born, Schopenhauer expounded what is normally thought as Freud's theory of repression, a theory which Freud himself pronounced to be the cornerstone of psychoanalysis. Furthermore, Schopenhauer provided all thef necessary connecting links I the argument: he spelled out the greater part of our inner lives is unknown to us; that it is unknown to us because it is repressed; that it is repressed because to face up to it would cause a degree of disturbance that we could not handle; that it is so because it does not fit with the view of ourselves that we wish to maintain; that this incompatibility is caused by high levels of such things as sexual motivation, self-seeking, aggression, envy, fear, and cruelty whose presence within us we do not wish to acknowledge, not even in the secrecy of our own thoughts; and so we deceive ourselves about what our own characters and motivations are, allowing only such interpretations of them to appear in our conscious minds as we can deal with. This means that we are exactly as far from knowing our inner lives as our inner selves are unconscious, and we would be so even if such knowledge were theoretically possible on other grounds; and moreover that we would be unable to cope with it even if we had---we would indeed, many of us, break down under it.
This means that within ourselves as well as without there is an underlying realitythat remains hidden from us and can never be met with an experience. What it is in itself we shall never know. Knowledge of any kind at all, knowledge as such, can come to us only through the apparatus that we as phenomenal beings find ourselves embodied in, and in forms whose nature is determined by that apparatus. Unless we are in some way the creators of all the phenomena thus experienced---a proposition which most of us find incredible, though it was believed by Fichte---those phenomena cannot be all there is apart from us: there must be a sense in which they are manifestations of something other than themselves or ourselves, something whose existence accounts for them, but something with which we can never make direct contact.
It has been said that often that the more powerful an experience, or the deeper an emotion, the more likely we are to feel we need to resort to metaphor to give it adequate expression. Metaphor, it would appear, goes deeper than literal speech. That must be one reason why poetry can penetrate depths inaccessible to prose. And perhaps also it is why there is such an important element of "as if" in great philosophy. What I understand, near the end of my search for meaning of my existence on this planet is this:
Truth/reality is not really conductive to expository prose; it must be felt and apprehended via the totality of one's experiences and being. And since everybody has his own level, his own depth of life experiences and of the experience of his being, his grasp/comprehension/feel of reality/truth only makes sense to him and to others who have similar life experiences/exposures or self-study. Essentially, what I am typing here as well as all the words I have written, prose or verse, are my efforts to understand the meaning of my existence and thus to prepare myself for the end of my life. That's why I find most sensuous pleasures boring and prosaic and are indeed an hindrance to my quest for knowledge and peace. I mean to say that I don't really enjoy good food or material comforts while knowledge and creative efforts turn me on tremendously. Even the sensuous pleasures associated with sex bore me if the woman I am with is not spiritual or unselfish. Selfishness reflects a still sub-human development. And I am fully human, unlike most assholes I know (cont.)
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