Magic, Magicka, Dungeons and Dragons
Cheesecake, Yogurt, Ice Cream
Dissidia, Torchlight, Left 4 Dead
Anime, Manga
Online Webfiction, Webcomics
Reality keeps trying to distract me from my imagination.
And...in other news:
Magic(TM) Rapture Procedure Guide
Effective May 21, 2011
Purpose of this document
As some of you may be aware, Harold Camping of Family Radio Worldwide
has, through intense study of the Scriptures, determined that May 21,
2011 will be the date of the Rapture, as foretold in 1 Thessalonians
4:17, when Christians will be "gathered together in the clouds" to
meet Christ. As this date coincides with a number of sanctioned events
around the world, including Grand Prix Prague, and is potentially
disruptive to those events, the DCI has developed the Magic Rapture
Procedure Guide (RPG) to outline policies and procedures for
minimizing the impact of the Rapture on the integrity of sanctioned
tournaments.
1. Player responsibilities
1.1 Should the Rapture occur between rounds, players who find
themselves ascending bodily toward the heavens must notify the
Scorekeeper of their intention to drop from the
tournament. Players who fail to do so will incur the appropriate
penalties for Tardiness in the following round.
1.2 If the Rapture occurs during a round, however, players who rise
heavenward without first seeking the permission of a judge should
be issued Slow Play infractions, just as they would for getting up
from the table for any other purpose. Note that players may
concede as they begin rising toward the clouds, in which case no
penalty should be issued. If possible, ask such players to sign
the match result slip and place a check mark in the "Drop" column
before they leave.
1.3 If both players in a match are called heavenward, treat this as a
loop of mandatory actions (players cannot choose to disregared the
summons of the Lord); the result is a draw.
1.4 Treat all other infractions during the Rapture normally; though
unusual, this circumstance is not considered exceptional enough to
justify further deviation from the IPG.
2. Judge responsibilities
2.1 Judges who find themselves caught up in the Rapture should ask
permission of their team lead to go on break. Failure to do so may
result in loss of comp for the portion of the event worked thus
far.
2.2 Per the DCI uniform policy, judges who are called up by the Lord
must either remove or cover up the black DCI shirt when leaving
the tournament floor.
2.3 Should the Head Judge be taken in the Rapture, he or she should,
per MTR 1.7, transfer his or her duties to a judge who is not
visibly rising toward the skies.
2.4 If the Rapture results in no judges remaining on the tournament
floor, again refer to MTR 1.7: the Tournament Organizer may assume
the duties of the Head Judge and continue the tournament normally.
2.5 If the Rapture results in no tournament officials remaining, the
event cannot continue, and should be reported to the DCI as
"Cancelled".
3. Scorekeeper responsibilities
3.1 Due to the proficiency in dark arts required to effectively
scorekeep large events, the DCI considers it extremely unlikely
that any Scorekeeper will be unable to continue his or her normal
duties due to being caught up in the Rapture.
3.2 Do note, however, the following addition to the DCI's currently
suspended player list; the following player should not be
permitted to enroll in DCI-sanctioned events:
First Name Last Name DCI Number City Country Start Date End Date Reason
MYSTERY BABYLON THE GREAT, 6666666666 Pandemonium Sheol -4004-10-23 9999-12-31 Unsporting Conduct
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS
AND ABOMINATIONS OF
THE EARTH
4. Handling abandoned property
4.1 It is possible that, in the confusion of mass ascension, some
players will leave their belongings in the tournament venue. Lost
or abandoned personal property should be handed in to the event's
Lost and Found desk. Players who engage in looting or theft shall
be disqualified without prize. Spectators who engage in such
behavior, but are not enrolled in the tournament, should be asked
to leave the venue by the Tournament Organizer.
5. Changes from previous versions
May 16, 2011
Removed Dark Confidant example because it was confusing.
Taken from: http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showthread.php?t=325169
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Egoist
I would say that by nature I am a proud man, in that I am often too proud to lie.
It is very difficult for me to say something I do not mean. False praise for example.
It is disgusting to praise someone and then demand they do the same to you. Disgusting, and pathetic.
Yes I am a proud person in this regard. My opinions of people, my respect for people. I will respect those I want to respect, and praise those I want to praise. And if you or anyone tries making me write or say what my heart and mind do not mean then God forgive me for what I shall say or do to you.
Pride is a great sin, but in this regard I would say it is a sin only in the face of sin. For the humble would never ask to be lauded in attention. Perhaps there might be a fall I am not aware of for this notion, but if there is it is one I would gladly learn from.
You, and sometimes the censor inside me can control my actions, disguise my words or restrict my impulses.
But my opinions shall forever remain mine and mine alone. Beyond all mortal power. For only God may change the hearts of man. And you, my friend, are most definitely not He.
It is very difficult for me to say something I do not mean. False praise for example.
It is disgusting to praise someone and then demand they do the same to you. Disgusting, and pathetic.
Yes I am a proud person in this regard. My opinions of people, my respect for people. I will respect those I want to respect, and praise those I want to praise. And if you or anyone tries making me write or say what my heart and mind do not mean then God forgive me for what I shall say or do to you.
Pride is a great sin, but in this regard I would say it is a sin only in the face of sin. For the humble would never ask to be lauded in attention. Perhaps there might be a fall I am not aware of for this notion, but if there is it is one I would gladly learn from.
You, and sometimes the censor inside me can control my actions, disguise my words or restrict my impulses.
But my opinions shall forever remain mine and mine alone. Beyond all mortal power. For only God may change the hearts of man. And you, my friend, are most definitely not He.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Parasyte
Common concept of a creature living in another creature, absorbing their nutrients and abilities without given anything in return.
I don't need to elaborate I think.
Interesting how interesting some parasytes first appear to be. Many a colorful fungus or worm has a curious shape. Its almost as if a brightly colored or interesting looking exterior facilitates the infestation.
So the parasyte mimics the behavior of the host, and discerns what the hosts find "interesting". Thus the host picks up the parasyte, and gives nurtients of its own free will.
I wonder how the parasyte feels, needing others to survive?
Parasyte, parasite.
The worst sort of potential a person can have is wasted potential.
Sloth is a potent sin indeed.
I don't need to elaborate I think.
Interesting how interesting some parasytes first appear to be. Many a colorful fungus or worm has a curious shape. Its almost as if a brightly colored or interesting looking exterior facilitates the infestation.
So the parasyte mimics the behavior of the host, and discerns what the hosts find "interesting". Thus the host picks up the parasyte, and gives nurtients of its own free will.
I wonder how the parasyte feels, needing others to survive?
Parasyte, parasite.
The worst sort of potential a person can have is wasted potential.
Sloth is a potent sin indeed.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Styles
Look ma! I can toss words around like them weird juggly people in the circus!
Ma? MA! MAAAA!!!!
In today's news a woman was found dead when a hyperbole crushed her organs to death. Massive internal bleeding and cranial overload were cited as reasons for death.
The orphan is now at a school for disabled youths, learning the perils of over-using flowery language.
This News 3.14 tonight. I am David Craws- I mean David Steve. Have a nice day.
Ma? MA! MAAAA!!!!
In today's news a woman was found dead when a hyperbole crushed her organs to death. Massive internal bleeding and cranial overload were cited as reasons for death.
The orphan is now at a school for disabled youths, learning the perils of over-using flowery language.
This News 3.14 tonight. I am David Craws- I mean David Steve. Have a nice day.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Creative Engineering
I sit at my desk at 12 midnight, having just finished supper and a good read on the net. My bag lies next to me, packed with schedules and worksheets, books and papers. On my desktop are several folders, or which two stand out to me:
One labeled "EXAMS", the other, "IDEAS"
Oh, and a little document with lots of lines of text and numbers, a nice little DnD character I made with exactly 2.1 million gold in equipment. I feel quite proud of that.
...sad isn't it?
It used to be that I would write poetry and stories like a man breathes air. Bus rides home, evening walks down the street; ideas would come and flow into me, an endless river of inspiration I thought would never cease.
But such rivers run the risk of floods, endangering the village. And thus a dam was set up, to curb the tide, to control the flow, to channel its fury and raw majesty into tame, useful energy.
Examinations. Studying. Revision.
All goals I should be achieving. Am achieving, to an extent.
Yet how many geologists have looked at once mighty Nile and sigh at the small stream that trickles its way across the sand?
Nowadays, the MOE, government, people of this generation. Leaders, if you will, have realized the importance of creative talent. Of dreams, of lateral thinking, of uniqueness. And so they sought to harness it.
Yet I suppose, like a butterfly in captivity it doesn't really work out, does it?
After the river passes through the dam, drained its roar, what's left for the crops, the land, the sea?
One folder has not be updated in months. The other is being constantly filled every other week, with documents I barely read. I feel like a traitor, as though not reading them, not exercising my so-called fullest ability is a crime.
It is a crime, I guess.
I wish this post would have some massive insight. Some message I could impart. But I find I cannot do that now without sounding hollow. To preach, hah, to preach is to feed the masses what they wish to hear. To say what's already been said, that's preaching.
To teach, my friend, is a different story altogether.
So what am I, if not a writer? If not an engineer of words, a researcher of society? I look and think and watch it all seems so...easy. A giant stage, a giant act. So easy to just drift along, follow the ladder, take the golden hand.
I can tell myself anything, and I'll believe it. I am the greatest hypnotist and the most gullible fool. Self-delusion is a weapon, a potent tool one uses to fit in with society, to achieve things we would otherwise never do.
I ask myself, am I teaching or preaching? Are these ideas or exams? Am I truly exploring, or simply testing the market, the readers, the people of their conscience? Testing their lives?
It can be either way. I can choose. I can choose so much its frightening. And thus I become afraid to choose. There is understanding and there is understanding, the true understanding, where the implications and consequences of a certain action or property dawns upon you. Its so easy for the modern generation now to complain about dreams, about death, about hypocrisy and disillusionment and war. But do we understand it? I doubt I do.
There is a feeling that comes with understanding. An emotional weight, if you will. One of potency and heaviness. Like the feeling of a good racket in your hands, or a nice, heavy apple. A sensation of the rightness of it all.
Back to the dams. When power is harnessed, it can be controlled. And somehow, that takes away its power. Certainly, the Nile possesses its great physical power, its rushing waters, potential energy, kinetic energy...yadada...
But what happened to the other sort of powers? The gods, the worship. The power to inspire, to intimidate. To frighten, to awe. These are powers too, in their own right. But unlike the waters it is people they move. And in doing so, move the world.
It feels like creativity ought to be something more. Ceremony might be pointless in the view of efficiency, but it serves a purpose of its own as well. Sometimes, the existence of something is the effect unto itself. There is no cause, not root, simply the existence of that process that causes an effect.
And engineer solves problems. And a writer is simply an engineer of imagination. His bricks are the dreams of man, and his lightning is their drive. He builds a machine from the whispers and sighs of each generation, gathering the cast-off shells of their lives, the tiny after-image we leave where ever we go, welding our thoughts together, oiling the gears of passion.
And so, forge a new world? If only it were that simple.
Teaching or Preaching? So hard to say. It depends on the audience, like how the strength of a river depends on the land. One shapes the other, as the other shapes it back. And it is this dance that is renewal, is creativity, is the joining of ideals, new and old.
You cannot compartmentalize it. You cannot say: these are our writers, they will dream for us. You cannot hush an engineer's secret desire to fly, a lawyer's love of fruit pies, a simple worker's talent for humming. All of them dream, all of them dance. But it is the writer who looks from the balcony above, to chronograph it.
To understand something means it must be understood by you. By you. Not by the writers of the textbooks, not by the teachers in their classes. By you and you alone. Your understanding.
And then the writers can too look upon your dance and see it not as a shadow of a lesser dancer, but as a pattern of glory in its own right, sending ripples through the surface of the lake behind the dam.
One labeled "EXAMS", the other, "IDEAS"
Oh, and a little document with lots of lines of text and numbers, a nice little DnD character I made with exactly 2.1 million gold in equipment. I feel quite proud of that.
...sad isn't it?
It used to be that I would write poetry and stories like a man breathes air. Bus rides home, evening walks down the street; ideas would come and flow into me, an endless river of inspiration I thought would never cease.
But such rivers run the risk of floods, endangering the village. And thus a dam was set up, to curb the tide, to control the flow, to channel its fury and raw majesty into tame, useful energy.
Examinations. Studying. Revision.
All goals I should be achieving. Am achieving, to an extent.
Yet how many geologists have looked at once mighty Nile and sigh at the small stream that trickles its way across the sand?
Nowadays, the MOE, government, people of this generation. Leaders, if you will, have realized the importance of creative talent. Of dreams, of lateral thinking, of uniqueness. And so they sought to harness it.
Yet I suppose, like a butterfly in captivity it doesn't really work out, does it?
After the river passes through the dam, drained its roar, what's left for the crops, the land, the sea?
One folder has not be updated in months. The other is being constantly filled every other week, with documents I barely read. I feel like a traitor, as though not reading them, not exercising my so-called fullest ability is a crime.
It is a crime, I guess.
I wish this post would have some massive insight. Some message I could impart. But I find I cannot do that now without sounding hollow. To preach, hah, to preach is to feed the masses what they wish to hear. To say what's already been said, that's preaching.
To teach, my friend, is a different story altogether.
So what am I, if not a writer? If not an engineer of words, a researcher of society? I look and think and watch it all seems so...easy. A giant stage, a giant act. So easy to just drift along, follow the ladder, take the golden hand.
I can tell myself anything, and I'll believe it. I am the greatest hypnotist and the most gullible fool. Self-delusion is a weapon, a potent tool one uses to fit in with society, to achieve things we would otherwise never do.
I ask myself, am I teaching or preaching? Are these ideas or exams? Am I truly exploring, or simply testing the market, the readers, the people of their conscience? Testing their lives?
It can be either way. I can choose. I can choose so much its frightening. And thus I become afraid to choose. There is understanding and there is understanding, the true understanding, where the implications and consequences of a certain action or property dawns upon you. Its so easy for the modern generation now to complain about dreams, about death, about hypocrisy and disillusionment and war. But do we understand it? I doubt I do.
There is a feeling that comes with understanding. An emotional weight, if you will. One of potency and heaviness. Like the feeling of a good racket in your hands, or a nice, heavy apple. A sensation of the rightness of it all.
Back to the dams. When power is harnessed, it can be controlled. And somehow, that takes away its power. Certainly, the Nile possesses its great physical power, its rushing waters, potential energy, kinetic energy...yadada...
But what happened to the other sort of powers? The gods, the worship. The power to inspire, to intimidate. To frighten, to awe. These are powers too, in their own right. But unlike the waters it is people they move. And in doing so, move the world.
It feels like creativity ought to be something more. Ceremony might be pointless in the view of efficiency, but it serves a purpose of its own as well. Sometimes, the existence of something is the effect unto itself. There is no cause, not root, simply the existence of that process that causes an effect.
And engineer solves problems. And a writer is simply an engineer of imagination. His bricks are the dreams of man, and his lightning is their drive. He builds a machine from the whispers and sighs of each generation, gathering the cast-off shells of their lives, the tiny after-image we leave where ever we go, welding our thoughts together, oiling the gears of passion.
And so, forge a new world? If only it were that simple.
Teaching or Preaching? So hard to say. It depends on the audience, like how the strength of a river depends on the land. One shapes the other, as the other shapes it back. And it is this dance that is renewal, is creativity, is the joining of ideals, new and old.
You cannot compartmentalize it. You cannot say: these are our writers, they will dream for us. You cannot hush an engineer's secret desire to fly, a lawyer's love of fruit pies, a simple worker's talent for humming. All of them dream, all of them dance. But it is the writer who looks from the balcony above, to chronograph it.
To understand something means it must be understood by you. By you. Not by the writers of the textbooks, not by the teachers in their classes. By you and you alone. Your understanding.
And then the writers can too look upon your dance and see it not as a shadow of a lesser dancer, but as a pattern of glory in its own right, sending ripples through the surface of the lake behind the dam.
Friday, October 2, 2009
I have Fallen...
Zomg RO2 died to a poring stupid melee enchanter build doesn't do shit (curse swear mutter)...
My life is slowly draining away in a shower of pixels and cutesy 3D graphiks;
My life is slowly draining away in a shower of pixels and cutesy 3D graphiks;
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Self Perception
Just a thought, from an alter ego of sorts. Most people know about the quote: "All that's needed for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing"
First reaction:
Good thing I'm not a good man right?
----------------------------------------------------------------
The day we fail to label ourselves as "good" is the day we stop being so.
I keep thinking "I'm not hardworking" and lo and behold...so easy to fall, but well-
Now its hard to climb back up.
First reaction:
Good thing I'm not a good man right?
----------------------------------------------------------------
The day we fail to label ourselves as "good" is the day we stop being so.
I keep thinking "I'm not hardworking" and lo and behold...so easy to fall, but well-
Now its hard to climb back up.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Foolish
"You know but you do not understand"
I once thought I knew this statement, but it seems only now that I understand it. And yet...how do I know I understand it properly? :P
Sometimes, in our attempts to teach ourselves wisdom we focus so much on knowledge of it that we forget the meaning behind it. To say "I know!" whenever someone gives you advice, or to silently nod yet ignore, to walk around not wanting help, not putting in effort to ask people for help, not putting in effort towards putting the help of others to use...
All these things are pride as well.
I just never understood.
I once thought I knew this statement, but it seems only now that I understand it. And yet...how do I know I understand it properly? :P
Sometimes, in our attempts to teach ourselves wisdom we focus so much on knowledge of it that we forget the meaning behind it. To say "I know!" whenever someone gives you advice, or to silently nod yet ignore, to walk around not wanting help, not putting in effort to ask people for help, not putting in effort towards putting the help of others to use...
All these things are pride as well.
I just never understood.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Reports
"Hui Jun...is not afraid of hardwork, and should be able to perform well as long as he keeps up the momentum."
Ha.
Hahaha...
HahahHAHAHAhahaaa...
<35 points>, with HLs at 6, 5, 5.
I'm not sure if it hurts more that people expect me to do well, or don't know me well enough to make assumptions like that.
Well, onward I guess.
Ha.
Hahaha...
HahahHAHAHAhahaaa...
<35 points>, with HLs at 6, 5, 5.
I'm not sure if it hurts more that people expect me to do well, or don't know me well enough to make assumptions like that.
Well, onward I guess.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Microthoughts, Mini-reflections
Aid volunteers really have it tough I find.
To want to cure and help all those people, yet being unable to fully accomplish that.
To be blamed for not noticing enough, because it is they who choose to make themselves responsible, and yet must answer to those who don't.
To keep pushing, prodding, trying...meandering through life's many obstacles, following that little internal compass along a road paved with lode-stones...
Sometimes, all you can do is hope you're doing the right thing.
And that their replies of "thank you" won't become a last farewell.
To want to cure and help all those people, yet being unable to fully accomplish that.
To be blamed for not noticing enough, because it is they who choose to make themselves responsible, and yet must answer to those who don't.
To keep pushing, prodding, trying...meandering through life's many obstacles, following that little internal compass along a road paved with lode-stones...
Sometimes, all you can do is hope you're doing the right thing.
And that their replies of "thank you" won't become a last farewell.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
To Mug or not to Mug...
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
-Ernest Hemingway
I guess, as the exams pick up and the mugging gets heavy, this shall be my only respite.
Kinda like taking shelter from the storm by begging your ingrate daughter for shelter.
Between the storm of ideas in my mind, and the impending invasion of test papers, my mind and soul remain in conflict. Passion and need, reason it not, for in reasoning it I find my heart does ache, and my thoughts clash like thunder.
A dozen ideas I have, none of which seem to work; half a dozen textbooks I have, none of which seem to make sense.
Oh Fool! I shall go mad...
-Ernest Hemingway
I guess, as the exams pick up and the mugging gets heavy, this shall be my only respite.
Kinda like taking shelter from the storm by begging your ingrate daughter for shelter.
Between the storm of ideas in my mind, and the impending invasion of test papers, my mind and soul remain in conflict. Passion and need, reason it not, for in reasoning it I find my heart does ache, and my thoughts clash like thunder.
A dozen ideas I have, none of which seem to work; half a dozen textbooks I have, none of which seem to make sense.
Oh Fool! I shall go mad...
Sunday, June 21, 2009
In My Day, In My Sky
*old geezer voice*
In my day, we dinna haf all dis fhancy smhancy 'graphiks' no we didn't! We had books, and our brains w're dee displays screens, and if yer couldn't lookinta da clouds and see a elephatmougous you'ere in big truble me boy! Now if yer want to look at a creature wita thousan'flayi tentacles and a hundre'eyes you jus needa go to the neares'viddy shop and searh'up them japanese dirty-stuff! Nonsense! Why, back then'if we wants to hav disturbing and twisted fantaschees lik tat we hadz to PAY them gud money ta get drunk as an old-foxina chicken pen. An alcoholic chicken pen. And we hadz BOOKS too! Now'ish all abouts World of Whorecraft and havin's a gud's fling with a flat-piture onyer deskhtops...
*cough...wheeze*
Scuze'me. Now, as I was shayins, it all be with them pretty pichures nowadays, alls shiny and drawings. Last'times we made them piktures, madez'em wif our own two'ands, soaked the blood'f paints and the flesh of crayons. Oh how we toilsed in those days! A flower'ana three'ana 'ouse covered in reddish tiles, wif them smoke that lookit lika cloud with them loohks lika elephatmougous...but nowsish all about lookin for the best'sm piks on shes winternet thingy, and prints them and sticks them on the walls.
*Gargle-SPIT*
And da stories, oh da stories. Me papa used'ta tuck me inna bed each night, as me mama poured a glass'o' them warm beer, none of that pussy milk stuff you drink now. Took me out lika light it did! Course, I wash'seven back then and it-be a 1-pint jug but ey? Hoosh complain? But anyways me paps would tells me a story everynights, filled ith all the proper gory bits and violence, with Mr Bear knocking the stuffing outta the evil Fluffy Octopuss! Oh...I couldn't sleeps with the excitments sumtimes, but then beers would knock me out soon after tats...but now all youz peoples can do be talk abouts them old stories and 'ow theys be horrible, or wondibibble, wif all them lit-tit-ture and bandwagons and stuff. Ands you has all these knew stories, whicha some freshed old stories with sparkles and fancy graphiks ontops! I sawhs the Little Red Riding Hood! Little kids made me watchits with them while the other shoved pastry inna me ears. Egads, a girl that thin wolda fallen ova the basket, the way she swings it like that! And those eyes! Me thinks da wolf o'eats her would gets swollen from all them bacteria in there, they been swollen liks that.
And da teenagers all payin their Whorecraft cause them too prissy ta go downtown with ten bucks for a proper job. I asks them 'ose the bad guy, o'se them good guys, and who the butler killed this time. They shays there be no baddies or goodies, only lotsa monsters ta kill! I then I goes: oh, so them monsters must be baddies and you be good guys, yes? And then theys stares at me (cause I think me pants fell off then) and says that there dont be any goods or bads, jus them slades of Grey. The only shades of grey I know be the greys on me head. And me armpits. Them goes on aboits hows their favourtie characters be this demon-bat-wizard-robot thing with a gazzlion wings and teeth and claws and everyone thinks he be a monsters except that he ain't cause well, he helps little kids cross the street. Oh wait he doesn't. He just smashes other monsters, so he's good. Except those monsters be helping little kids crossing the street, so their good too! Or bad, cause they breath fire. They all breathe fire. With horns, Good..bads...ugly...Ack, me brain be hurting, time for the pills...Seesh whats I means?
*hack...cough...GLARH*
But the point! The points of this ere speech be well...I dunno, what was the points again? Everyone be jus lookin for them points these days. Aesop hads lotsa points, but you dinna listen ta him cause he hadz poinst! No, the bloody bird hadz good story-yelling thats wut. He could shout them tales so loud all the folk would ere him in the mountains over, and thats how them stories spread. But thats not the point, cause there ain't any, shees? Sumtimes ya just gotta tell them stories, but all peoples these days be doin is hitting things, and calculatins numbers, and even with all them pretty graphiks and colors and shows all I ere' them do be talking about the next quarter of experience needs to "lever up" or something, though why them be playin wif see-saws at their age I wouldn't know.
And in the end wells, when we're all done with this and all, its like there be so much colors and lights and good grapiks that show you everything you need, that do all them thinking and imagining for you that well, you dinna need ta do anything no more.
Long times ago we'd look up ina sky and sees the elephatmougous; but now there be no space left for dreaming no more.
In my day, we dinna haf all dis fhancy smhancy 'graphiks' no we didn't! We had books, and our brains w're dee displays screens, and if yer couldn't lookinta da clouds and see a elephatmougous you'ere in big truble me boy! Now if yer want to look at a creature wita thousan'flayi tentacles and a hundre'eyes you jus needa go to the neares'viddy shop and searh'up them japanese dirty-stuff! Nonsense! Why, back then'if we wants to hav disturbing and twisted fantaschees lik tat we hadz to PAY them gud money ta get drunk as an old-foxina chicken pen. An alcoholic chicken pen. And we hadz BOOKS too! Now'ish all abouts World of Whorecraft and havin's a gud's fling with a flat-piture onyer deskhtops...
*cough...wheeze*
Scuze'me. Now, as I was shayins, it all be with them pretty pichures nowadays, alls shiny and drawings. Last'times we made them piktures, madez'em wif our own two'ands, soaked the blood'f paints and the flesh of crayons. Oh how we toilsed in those days! A flower'ana three'ana 'ouse covered in reddish tiles, wif them smoke that lookit lika cloud with them loohks lika elephatmougous...but nowsish all about lookin for the best'sm piks on shes winternet thingy, and prints them and sticks them on the walls.
*Gargle-SPIT*
And da stories, oh da stories. Me papa used'ta tuck me inna bed each night, as me mama poured a glass'o' them warm beer, none of that pussy milk stuff you drink now. Took me out lika light it did! Course, I wash'seven back then and it-be a 1-pint jug but ey? Hoosh complain? But anyways me paps would tells me a story everynights, filled ith all the proper gory bits and violence, with Mr Bear knocking the stuffing outta the evil Fluffy Octopuss! Oh...I couldn't sleeps with the excitments sumtimes, but then beers would knock me out soon after tats...but now all youz peoples can do be talk abouts them old stories and 'ow theys be horrible, or wondibibble, wif all them lit-tit-ture and bandwagons and stuff. Ands you has all these knew stories, whicha some freshed old stories with sparkles and fancy graphiks ontops! I sawhs the Little Red Riding Hood! Little kids made me watchits with them while the other shoved pastry inna me ears. Egads, a girl that thin wolda fallen ova the basket, the way she swings it like that! And those eyes! Me thinks da wolf o'eats her would gets swollen from all them bacteria in there, they been swollen liks that.
And da teenagers all payin their Whorecraft cause them too prissy ta go downtown with ten bucks for a proper job. I asks them 'ose the bad guy, o'se them good guys, and who the butler killed this time. They shays there be no baddies or goodies, only lotsa monsters ta kill! I then I goes: oh, so them monsters must be baddies and you be good guys, yes? And then theys stares at me (cause I think me pants fell off then) and says that there dont be any goods or bads, jus them slades of Grey. The only shades of grey I know be the greys on me head. And me armpits. Them goes on aboits hows their favourtie characters be this demon-bat-wizard-robot thing with a gazzlion wings and teeth and claws and everyone thinks he be a monsters except that he ain't cause well, he helps little kids cross the street. Oh wait he doesn't. He just smashes other monsters, so he's good. Except those monsters be helping little kids crossing the street, so their good too! Or bad, cause they breath fire. They all breathe fire. With horns, Good..bads...ugly...Ack, me brain be hurting, time for the pills...Seesh whats I means?
*hack...cough...GLARH*
But the point! The points of this ere speech be well...I dunno, what was the points again? Everyone be jus lookin for them points these days. Aesop hads lotsa points, but you dinna listen ta him cause he hadz poinst! No, the bloody bird hadz good story-yelling thats wut. He could shout them tales so loud all the folk would ere him in the mountains over, and thats how them stories spread. But thats not the point, cause there ain't any, shees? Sumtimes ya just gotta tell them stories, but all peoples these days be doin is hitting things, and calculatins numbers, and even with all them pretty graphiks and colors and shows all I ere' them do be talking about the next quarter of experience needs to "lever up" or something, though why them be playin wif see-saws at their age I wouldn't know.
And in the end wells, when we're all done with this and all, its like there be so much colors and lights and good grapiks that show you everything you need, that do all them thinking and imagining for you that well, you dinna need ta do anything no more.
Long times ago we'd look up ina sky and sees the elephatmougous; but now there be no space left for dreaming no more.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Weird Dream
I had this really odd dream last night.
I can't remember how it started, only that it was strangely twisted. But I do remember the back bit, which I think some part of my mind was subconciously controlling or something:
What happened was, I dreamt that I was in this writing contest of sorts. There were people all around me, and I think an assassin or two. I was supposed to write 3 stories from a list of 5 possible questions. Seemed simple enough.
Until I read the questions.
I can't recall all of them, but one of them stuck out:
1) Write a story about a statue in love, with a hole in its ass that contains an interdimensional portal to another area of your choice.
Title of the story? Arse.
Its dreams like this that make me very worried about myself sometimes...
I can't remember how it started, only that it was strangely twisted. But I do remember the back bit, which I think some part of my mind was subconciously controlling or something:
What happened was, I dreamt that I was in this writing contest of sorts. There were people all around me, and I think an assassin or two. I was supposed to write 3 stories from a list of 5 possible questions. Seemed simple enough.
Until I read the questions.
I can't recall all of them, but one of them stuck out:
1) Write a story about a statue in love, with a hole in its ass that contains an interdimensional portal to another area of your choice.
Title of the story? Arse.
Its dreams like this that make me very worried about myself sometimes...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
No rest for the Wicked...
"...“a book of mine where sound heart and deformed conscience come into collision, and conscience suffers defeat” - Mark Twain on The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
I don't get it.
Picture this scenario:
A young boy, trying to finish off the last of his assignments. Unable to keep up, tired of work and wanting some sleep, he decides to call it a day and go to bed. The next day he wakes up after a good night's rest, spending the rest of the day finishing off his IA and paperwork rather than stoning on a chair in an air conditioned room.
And in a room not two meters away, his sister is also trying to finish off the last of her assignments, unable to keep up, tired of work and wanting some sleep. Instead she chooses to push herself on, to the wee hours of the night, finishing the portfolio and waking up the next morning coughing and wheezing, eyes barely open from the lack of sleep. And still goes to school.
Who is the good student here?
Why does he feel so much guilt?
Follow your heart they say. In this age Men are engineers of artificial hearts. There comes a point where what is natural is no longer so, and what is created is the "right" thing to do.
I don't get it.
Picture this scenario:
A young boy, trying to finish off the last of his assignments. Unable to keep up, tired of work and wanting some sleep, he decides to call it a day and go to bed. The next day he wakes up after a good night's rest, spending the rest of the day finishing off his IA and paperwork rather than stoning on a chair in an air conditioned room.
And in a room not two meters away, his sister is also trying to finish off the last of her assignments, unable to keep up, tired of work and wanting some sleep. Instead she chooses to push herself on, to the wee hours of the night, finishing the portfolio and waking up the next morning coughing and wheezing, eyes barely open from the lack of sleep. And still goes to school.
Who is the good student here?
Why does he feel so much guilt?
Follow your heart they say. In this age Men are engineers of artificial hearts. There comes a point where what is natural is no longer so, and what is created is the "right" thing to do.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The need to be AWARE
Since the whole online community's talking about this, I might as well join the herd.
***WARNING: RANT :WARNING****
What bothers me the most is not that the new leadership seems rather...unstable, or that Singapore's civil society is shifting. What bothers me the most is that this was a coup...in a non-profit organisation.
I'm an idealist at times, and this is one of them. A charity. Granted, there'll be office politics and organisational strife anyway, but still, a freaking coup?
What ever happened to the whole idea of joining a charity because you believe in its cause?
And don't give me that bull about how they believed in its cause so much that they decided to TAKE OVER THE WHOLE THING. You know. To keep it safe.
Kinda like how Japan was keeping Singapore safe for those evil British colonist bastards, eh?
I can understand a coup in some MNO. Or a uber-large company. Or in politics. Politics is all about coups after all. And quality home video entertaining (teh scandals! teh scandals!)
But a coup in a charity organisation dedicated to advocating women's rights? Why do I get the impression that the spirit of the organisation has died?
*whisper*
Oh right. Thanks invisible-ninja-on-my-shoulder. Because reading the wonderfully concise reply by the organisation, it seems they couped because they were "ready for it".
Any particularly strong views? Something that they felt really needed to be changed or done? Problems with the old management? Nope. Just stuff about their qualifications, and speculation about whether the old guard had any inner motives.
Qualifications!? The most important qualification needed for a charity organisation is the heart. And if you want to qualify for the heart, show it to me through dedicated service. Work for the company for ten years, prove yourself a dedicated member and if you still believe in your cause, then by all means, you have earned the right to implement it. Because you have shown heart.
But if you somehow lost it along the way, or are too scared to let your views be known even after taking over the organisation then well, your belief probably was never really that strong in the first place, was it?
RANT ENDS HERE
Just a last note to summarise: All in all, it is when the people running a charity organisation dedicated to helping others displaces the top management simply for their own selfish desires that I begin to get worried.
***WARNING: RANT :WARNING****
What bothers me the most is not that the new leadership seems rather...unstable, or that Singapore's civil society is shifting. What bothers me the most is that this was a coup...in a non-profit organisation.
I'm an idealist at times, and this is one of them. A charity. Granted, there'll be office politics and organisational strife anyway, but still, a freaking coup?
What ever happened to the whole idea of joining a charity because you believe in its cause?
And don't give me that bull about how they believed in its cause so much that they decided to TAKE OVER THE WHOLE THING. You know. To keep it safe.
Kinda like how Japan was keeping Singapore safe for those evil British colonist bastards, eh?
I can understand a coup in some MNO. Or a uber-large company. Or in politics. Politics is all about coups after all. And quality home video entertaining (teh scandals! teh scandals!)
But a coup in a charity organisation dedicated to advocating women's rights? Why do I get the impression that the spirit of the organisation has died?
*whisper*
Oh right. Thanks invisible-ninja-on-my-shoulder. Because reading the wonderfully concise reply by the organisation, it seems they couped because they were "ready for it".
Any particularly strong views? Something that they felt really needed to be changed or done? Problems with the old management? Nope. Just stuff about their qualifications, and speculation about whether the old guard had any inner motives.
Qualifications!? The most important qualification needed for a charity organisation is the heart. And if you want to qualify for the heart, show it to me through dedicated service. Work for the company for ten years, prove yourself a dedicated member and if you still believe in your cause, then by all means, you have earned the right to implement it. Because you have shown heart.
But if you somehow lost it along the way, or are too scared to let your views be known even after taking over the organisation then well, your belief probably was never really that strong in the first place, was it?
RANT ENDS HERE
Just a last note to summarise: All in all, it is when the people running a charity organisation dedicated to helping others displaces the top management simply for their own selfish desires that I begin to get worried.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Seeds of Thought
Where do I stand in this world?
A friend once commented that I'm easily distracted. My response was that the world had much to be distracted by. It was a retort made without thinking, yet sometimes it is the heart that answers best.
So many times we try to define where we are. Define who we are. At our age, at our currnet minds, it is a dangerous, fragile phrase. Everyone knows that these 5 years will be the ones that shape us the most. It is when we as people are most malleable, most unsure, most open to learning and teaching, and daring to tread new waters.
The world has much to be distracted by. So many influences, so many things. Perhaps it is the influence of too much literature, or stories, or just TOK, but I see meaning in almost everything. Patterns upon patterns, symbols within symbols, each repeating, folding, dancing together in the light.
So many influences, and the greatest tragedy is how we must shut ourselves to most of them. I think our greatest depression, my greatest depression at least, is the inability to reach. There is so much out there, so much beauty and power and strength, and we humans in our limited, flawed capacity cannot hope to reach it. It is the tragedy that causes us to turn into ourselves. To blame ourselves for not being as high as the stars, as perfect as the angels, as wonderous as the concepts that our minds and souls can dream and create, yet never reach.
It is the closing of the mind that pains me. That we must all do so, for sanity, for efficiency, for function. To open our minds to the universe and all its glory would leave us wallowing in our insignificance, our own weakness and fragility. We are forced, by neccessity, to pick only what is relevant.
And thus we begin to judge.
Because we are forced to judge, to contemplate the idea of importance, of priority, things are no longer pure. Life is fluid, changing, wonderfully changing, the same way a waterfall is mesmerising, the same way the falling stars and singing wind are beautiful. Moving, eternally moving and changing, always different yet somehow, remaining the same.
Siddhartha? Yea. Go ahead and feel put off by it.
All my pain, my suffering comes from the imposing of structure. We are needed to read these books, to score these marks, to reach these goals. And thus it is no longer growth, no longer flow, but a pressure, a suction - a dragging of chains bound around our souls as they struggle in other directions.
It is faster, safer, and more productive. And because of this humankind feels the eternal angst of not knowing their purpose, not knowing what they need.
I thought I broke out of the system. Of the competitive rubrics and judgments and endless targets. Now I see that all I did was impose a different set of rubrics, one based around originality, around creativity, a measurement of how immeasurable something was.
Heh.
Its so funny, yet so depressing at same time.
No more goals. No more schedules. Let me try that. Let me try to feel life. Feel its wave and motion, its tides and currents, its song, its surf, and all the fish in its depth.
Somepart I suppose, would need to remain an anchor. But no more judgement. No more competition. Just growth, growth for the sake of growth, for the delight of it. For the joy of the sky, the morning sun, the new seeds, the blooming flowers that fade away yet are renewed each dawn, as their petals are mourned and remembered each dusk.
Everyone says to live life for its own sake. That's incorrect. Life for its own sake never changes, never moves. Why do we keep insisting in living our lives and pace?
Let Life live you instead.
A friend once commented that I'm easily distracted. My response was that the world had much to be distracted by. It was a retort made without thinking, yet sometimes it is the heart that answers best.
So many times we try to define where we are. Define who we are. At our age, at our currnet minds, it is a dangerous, fragile phrase. Everyone knows that these 5 years will be the ones that shape us the most. It is when we as people are most malleable, most unsure, most open to learning and teaching, and daring to tread new waters.
The world has much to be distracted by. So many influences, so many things. Perhaps it is the influence of too much literature, or stories, or just TOK, but I see meaning in almost everything. Patterns upon patterns, symbols within symbols, each repeating, folding, dancing together in the light.
So many influences, and the greatest tragedy is how we must shut ourselves to most of them. I think our greatest depression, my greatest depression at least, is the inability to reach. There is so much out there, so much beauty and power and strength, and we humans in our limited, flawed capacity cannot hope to reach it. It is the tragedy that causes us to turn into ourselves. To blame ourselves for not being as high as the stars, as perfect as the angels, as wonderous as the concepts that our minds and souls can dream and create, yet never reach.
It is the closing of the mind that pains me. That we must all do so, for sanity, for efficiency, for function. To open our minds to the universe and all its glory would leave us wallowing in our insignificance, our own weakness and fragility. We are forced, by neccessity, to pick only what is relevant.
And thus we begin to judge.
Because we are forced to judge, to contemplate the idea of importance, of priority, things are no longer pure. Life is fluid, changing, wonderfully changing, the same way a waterfall is mesmerising, the same way the falling stars and singing wind are beautiful. Moving, eternally moving and changing, always different yet somehow, remaining the same.
Siddhartha? Yea. Go ahead and feel put off by it.
All my pain, my suffering comes from the imposing of structure. We are needed to read these books, to score these marks, to reach these goals. And thus it is no longer growth, no longer flow, but a pressure, a suction - a dragging of chains bound around our souls as they struggle in other directions.
It is faster, safer, and more productive. And because of this humankind feels the eternal angst of not knowing their purpose, not knowing what they need.
I thought I broke out of the system. Of the competitive rubrics and judgments and endless targets. Now I see that all I did was impose a different set of rubrics, one based around originality, around creativity, a measurement of how immeasurable something was.
Heh.
Its so funny, yet so depressing at same time.
No more goals. No more schedules. Let me try that. Let me try to feel life. Feel its wave and motion, its tides and currents, its song, its surf, and all the fish in its depth.
Somepart I suppose, would need to remain an anchor. But no more judgement. No more competition. Just growth, growth for the sake of growth, for the delight of it. For the joy of the sky, the morning sun, the new seeds, the blooming flowers that fade away yet are renewed each dawn, as their petals are mourned and remembered each dusk.
Everyone says to live life for its own sake. That's incorrect. Life for its own sake never changes, never moves. Why do we keep insisting in living our lives and pace?
Let Life live you instead.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
On Slack and Portfolios
In the midsts of math port, TOK, and general rushing of EE World Lit and all that is sacred and holy (in the context of IB, of course), I offer a nice little piece of blasphemy;
"Dude. Relax."
Odd? I think all of us have had this thought. Perhaps it was the influence of this article
http://www.straitstimes.com/ST%2BForum/Online%2BStory/STIStory_352662.html
but well, me is beginning to think some of us have lost track of life.
Oh scratch that. Me is beginning it sense that most of us think that we have lost track of life. Its following the herd sort of thing, only that I try to pay attention to where we're going.
I spent the holidays doing the following: Helping my parents move (new house!). Going out for lunch with an old friend, who was visiting Singapore after migrating overseas. Spending a few hours in the library, reading up on the SG Education system (It was for TOK, but I enjoyed it. Yes, I'm weird that way.) All these were good, normal and above all human things that I should have been enjoying and feeling proud of.
Yet why is it all I felt was guilt for spending the 1-2 hours eating lunch with my friends when I (think I) should have been doing my IAs instead?
Why is it the first question any of my friends ask is "Have you done Math Port yet?"
It shows a very strange mix of priorities that many of us, I myself included, have been guilty of. We're putting work before family, efficiency over emotion, destination over the journey.
But is there anything wrong to it?
We wish to succeed after all. 45 points is a noble aim, and as a student, it is our responsibility to finish our work to the best of our ability.
I am aware that to an extent, I am justifying my own slouchiness but to heck with that. I'd rather say I had a real Holiday and not to feel guilty about it, than spend the rest of Term 2 moaning over the three days spent sleeping and talking to mates on MSN.
Siddhartha...Siddartha. Thank Hesse for your comforting advice on enjoying life. Now I can be a wastard and hippie in peace.
Perhaps someday, I may succeed in changing my mindset to view work as a joyous and stimulating activity. Till then...I'll stick with my sugar and caffine.
Now, off to do TOK.
"Dude. Relax."
Odd? I think all of us have had this thought. Perhaps it was the influence of this article
http://www.straitstimes.com/ST%2BForum/Online%2BStory/STIStory_352662.html
but well, me is beginning to think some of us have lost track of life.
Oh scratch that. Me is beginning it sense that most of us think that we have lost track of life. Its following the herd sort of thing, only that I try to pay attention to where we're going.
I spent the holidays doing the following: Helping my parents move (new house!). Going out for lunch with an old friend, who was visiting Singapore after migrating overseas. Spending a few hours in the library, reading up on the SG Education system (It was for TOK, but I enjoyed it. Yes, I'm weird that way.) All these were good, normal and above all human things that I should have been enjoying and feeling proud of.
Yet why is it all I felt was guilt for spending the 1-2 hours eating lunch with my friends when I (think I) should have been doing my IAs instead?
Why is it the first question any of my friends ask is "Have you done Math Port yet?"
It shows a very strange mix of priorities that many of us, I myself included, have been guilty of. We're putting work before family, efficiency over emotion, destination over the journey.
But is there anything wrong to it?
We wish to succeed after all. 45 points is a noble aim, and as a student, it is our responsibility to finish our work to the best of our ability.
I am aware that to an extent, I am justifying my own slouchiness but to heck with that. I'd rather say I had a real Holiday and not to feel guilty about it, than spend the rest of Term 2 moaning over the three days spent sleeping and talking to mates on MSN.
Siddhartha...Siddartha. Thank Hesse for your comforting advice on enjoying life. Now I can be a wastard and hippie in peace.
Perhaps someday, I may succeed in changing my mindset to view work as a joyous and stimulating activity. Till then...I'll stick with my sugar and caffine.
Now, off to do TOK.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Annoyingly Apathetic Arguments Again
Been meaning to post reflections, or thoughts, or some snappy/witty article about shoes, life and babies.
But somehow, apathy has taken over me. Apathy at well, everything.
Perhaps its because of Physics and English tests, bad marks = disencouragement = quitter?
I don't like it, but its somehow so nice to just live in your head.
ImaUniversityProfessor
Iliveinmaheads
At least while in my head I have the option of waking up.
But somehow, apathy has taken over me. Apathy at well, everything.
Perhaps its because of Physics and English tests, bad marks = disencouragement = quitter?
I don't like it, but its somehow so nice to just live in your head.
ImaUniversityProfessor
Iliveinmaheads
At least while in my head I have the option of waking up.