SORCERERS - These are the pioneers, the genii, who do things in ways they themselves cannot really explain. They are the ones who first harness the basic “forces” inherent to the system. It all seems obvious and instinctive to them, but few others actually grasp what they are doing. Usually misunderstood and if their book has no obvious use, mocked.
WIZARDS - The first who understand sorcerers - they take the work of the pioneers are go "I can do this" or "oh, I get it" and break it down into parts, make it reliable, understandable and useable by others (well, other wizards at least). Using this knowledge they begin to build systems and functions from the ground up. Pioneers in that they take an otherwise useless function and make it relevant.
SHAMANS - Whether by chance or design, these people will look at the functions built by wizards - and enhance them. While they themselves do not fully understand how the functions work, they know what each function does, and how to use and link them together. They can tell when a function is corrupt, sometimes where its corrupt and also how to fix it. Note that they do not know how to build a function from the ground up - but can repair, restore or combine functions by comparing it with another. They are key in translating the operation of functions into certain methodologies for "communication"
PRIESTS - They popularize the functions. At this point, the priests have little to no knowledge of the underlying functions - just the methodologies involved. They are really good at identifying, simplifying and spreading use of these methodologies though. Cannot repair, let alone create functions, unless aided by an existing function designed to do so in the first place. Cannot create their own methodologies.
SOLDIERS- The end result. They take the Holy Sword of +2 and swing. Five hundred thousand of them can take down a dragon. And possibly do other important stuff, like banking.
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Nerdy Side
To quote myself and all the gaming geeks out there:
"If I substitute three levels from my wizard/fighter/bard with two levels of warlock and one level of sorcerer, I should be able to increase my average damage output per round by approximately 1.45 points per swing"
Now substitute all the gaming terms with resistors and electronic jargon and you have yourself an engineer.
"If I substitute three levels from my wizard/fighter/bard with two levels of warlock and one level of sorcerer, I should be able to increase my average damage output per round by approximately 1.45 points per swing"
Now substitute all the gaming terms with resistors and electronic jargon and you have yourself an engineer.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Certain Creative Fanwork
Code Name: SHUFFLE
Gender: FEMALE
Power: KEYED COORDINATE EXCHANGE
Level: 3
She can "key" an object to one of her ten fingers, and exchange their positions by touching the correponding finger to the other. Teleported objects retain their momentum and direction. If the original object is heavily modified or damaged since time of 'keying', the teleportation will become unrealiable. Works on Organic and Inorganic, though the latter is prefarable due to lower variance.
She combines this power with throwing knives attached to ropes to effectively "jump-fly". She can also teleport keyed foes into horrible traps, or into a prison itself. Besides this she is a skilled acrobat and gymnast and a frighteningly skiled card-shark.
Her power, due to the simplicity of using "keyed" objects, consumes very little power and requires less concentration. Shuffle mostly relies on tricks, traps, and tranquilisers (poisons) in battle to defeat foes.
She has some training with a elephant gun for shooting foes from afar.
Code Name: CANDYMAN
Gender: MALE
Power: OBJECT-LINKED CLAIRVOYANCE (REFLECTIVE SURFACES)
Level: 3
SPOILER: His power is actually magic-based
He can 'link' two reflective or see through surfaces (usually glass) together as light-only portals. This translate into the ability to use any looking glass as a camera, linked to things like his glasses, his watch, the screen of his phone...etc.
Strength of link affects clarity of image and is limited by distance. At high levels of clarity it is possible for his image to appear in the glass being viewed through. To 'acquire' a surface he needs to have at least visual sight of it, though touch works better. Once acquired to touch he can look through it without trouble. It is not unusual for him to "sight hop" by using multiple reflective surfaces to gain visual of a normally closed off area.
He is not much of a front-line, usually supports his team with intel via comm links.
Code Name: RICOCHET
Gender: FEMALE
Power: PERFECT COLLISION
Level: 4
She can create a "field" around a particular object which results in "perfectly elastic" or "perfectly inelastic" collisions with all objects. Usually she employs this with metal balls to create barriers, injure opponents, or perform complex long range maestro-type attacks. She encloses a ball in a "perfectly elastic" field and drops the field millimetres from impact. To increase power she uses a specially modified ping-pong racket. She can also use the "perfectly elastic" field on her shoes for mobility, or a "perfectly inelastic" field to perform stunts like bullet catching (all energy is split between her and the bullet, so while she gets knocked back no penetration occurs. Blunt damage will still have an effect due to shock of impact, so if done improperly her bones will break)
She's the team's main power muscle and defense. While not the most tactically sound she is good at improvising on the battlefield.
Code Name: BLACKBOX
Gender: MALE
Power: HISTORY DRIVE (PSYCHOSCOPY)
Level: 3
He employs psychoscopy to download the entire "history" of an object. Effectively, this allows him to extract data from secured disks or thumbdrives as he needs simply find a point in the object's history when it was accessed or unsecured to "read" its contents. Doing so allows him to download information from almost anything, such as video feeds from a camera, or data from a computer. A major disadvantage of his power is that it is very time consuming to sort through an object's history. To overcome this, he can "download" information and "store" it for later reading. This consumes a lot of memory and energy, which is why he "forgets" all unneccessary information once the relevant data is found.
He can overclock this ability in a short time to temporarily gain complete knowledge and understanding of an object's history, the way it was used and its limitations. Doing so lets him use almost any device, weapon or tool with the skill of its previous owners. However as this knowledge is foreign to his mind the strain of utilizing this information to the max strains his mental stamina, and can be employed to a maximum of 10 minutes.
He uses a lesser version of this in his everyday life to speed read, pick up various skills and languages. As such he is a jack of all trades, and has skills in multiple kinds of fire arms and martial arts.
A negative side effect of his power is that he always seems somewhat distracted due to the mass of information clamouring inside his brain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just some ideas running through my head from watching too much of a certain popular anime. I'll clean it up later.
Gender: FEMALE
Power: KEYED COORDINATE EXCHANGE
Level: 3
She can "key" an object to one of her ten fingers, and exchange their positions by touching the correponding finger to the other. Teleported objects retain their momentum and direction. If the original object is heavily modified or damaged since time of 'keying', the teleportation will become unrealiable. Works on Organic and Inorganic, though the latter is prefarable due to lower variance.
She combines this power with throwing knives attached to ropes to effectively "jump-fly". She can also teleport keyed foes into horrible traps, or into a prison itself. Besides this she is a skilled acrobat and gymnast and a frighteningly skiled card-shark.
Her power, due to the simplicity of using "keyed" objects, consumes very little power and requires less concentration. Shuffle mostly relies on tricks, traps, and tranquilisers (poisons) in battle to defeat foes.
She has some training with a elephant gun for shooting foes from afar.
Code Name: CANDYMAN
Gender: MALE
Power: OBJECT-LINKED CLAIRVOYANCE (REFLECTIVE SURFACES)
Level: 3
SPOILER: His power is actually magic-based
He can 'link' two reflective or see through surfaces (usually glass) together as light-only portals. This translate into the ability to use any looking glass as a camera, linked to things like his glasses, his watch, the screen of his phone...etc.
Strength of link affects clarity of image and is limited by distance. At high levels of clarity it is possible for his image to appear in the glass being viewed through. To 'acquire' a surface he needs to have at least visual sight of it, though touch works better. Once acquired to touch he can look through it without trouble. It is not unusual for him to "sight hop" by using multiple reflective surfaces to gain visual of a normally closed off area.
He is not much of a front-line, usually supports his team with intel via comm links.
Code Name: RICOCHET
Gender: FEMALE
Power: PERFECT COLLISION
Level: 4
She can create a "field" around a particular object which results in "perfectly elastic" or "perfectly inelastic" collisions with all objects. Usually she employs this with metal balls to create barriers, injure opponents, or perform complex long range maestro-type attacks. She encloses a ball in a "perfectly elastic" field and drops the field millimetres from impact. To increase power she uses a specially modified ping-pong racket. She can also use the "perfectly elastic" field on her shoes for mobility, or a "perfectly inelastic" field to perform stunts like bullet catching (all energy is split between her and the bullet, so while she gets knocked back no penetration occurs. Blunt damage will still have an effect due to shock of impact, so if done improperly her bones will break)
She's the team's main power muscle and defense. While not the most tactically sound she is good at improvising on the battlefield.
Code Name: BLACKBOX
Gender: MALE
Power: HISTORY DRIVE (PSYCHOSCOPY)
Level: 3
He employs psychoscopy to download the entire "history" of an object. Effectively, this allows him to extract data from secured disks or thumbdrives as he needs simply find a point in the object's history when it was accessed or unsecured to "read" its contents. Doing so allows him to download information from almost anything, such as video feeds from a camera, or data from a computer. A major disadvantage of his power is that it is very time consuming to sort through an object's history. To overcome this, he can "download" information and "store" it for later reading. This consumes a lot of memory and energy, which is why he "forgets" all unneccessary information once the relevant data is found.
He can overclock this ability in a short time to temporarily gain complete knowledge and understanding of an object's history, the way it was used and its limitations. Doing so lets him use almost any device, weapon or tool with the skill of its previous owners. However as this knowledge is foreign to his mind the strain of utilizing this information to the max strains his mental stamina, and can be employed to a maximum of 10 minutes.
He uses a lesser version of this in his everyday life to speed read, pick up various skills and languages. As such he is a jack of all trades, and has skills in multiple kinds of fire arms and martial arts.
A negative side effect of his power is that he always seems somewhat distracted due to the mass of information clamouring inside his brain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just some ideas running through my head from watching too much of a certain popular anime. I'll clean it up later.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Schrödinger
He's here! He's here!
Commotion spreads, the only word to describe the reaction being...excitement. Or reluctance. Or eagerness mixed with fear, joy with sadness. All these feelings suspended simutaneously with each other, flickering between the poles, never quite reaching a state of rest
Rest. Such a simple word. But how does one describe its opposite? Not quite non-existence, not quite shadow. Only the observer could bring it out of the endless, and into the real.
Color surged into being. Light, matter, gravity, these things came first. The observer was approaching. He had never come here before, lost in his own sphere of familiarity. But now, another sphere would be experienced. And thus, experience back.
The world condensed. Walls and tiles, lights as science gave birth to electricity. Shops flowered, smells swirled in the air. Air. That too was observed and thus existed now. Or rather, always had.
The lucky ones, they became the background shoppers, the throngs that filled every such hub of civilization. It savored the words, new concepts beyond the abstract mathematical potentials that were before. The observer walked about now, sampling the air, browsing the shops. More and more of them flowed into being, and so the world solidified. Yet there were still others left behind. "It" was left behind, now that it understood such things. But there was nothing one could do, until the observer-
The observer sat down.
And closed his eyes.
No! The world wavered. Too soon, too sudden. Light faded. The shoppers grew misty. Smell remained, as did sound. But the others, the left behind...the chance was slipping away.
It couldn't. So close. Just a glimpse...
The observer opened his eyes.
The world returned. Confirmation, acceptance. Nothing else remained.
The others faded away. There was nothing left to observe, and so, nothing remained.
And yet, in the corner of his eye, a tiny glance; a young girl, also sitting on the bench, quietly sipping her bottle of tea.
It was enough.
The observer- no, the boy yawned, got up, stretched his limbs. He kept glancing at his watch, occasionally smoothing his hand over what little hair remained on his head. A recruit perhaps, fresh out of camp.
She watched the boy walk away, old potentials fading while the real ones remained. A strange joy filled her, one she could find no explanation for. How strange.
A brief shrug of the shoulders, a small sip of the tea. Life went on, as it always had.
It felt wonderful.
Commotion spreads, the only word to describe the reaction being...excitement. Or reluctance. Or eagerness mixed with fear, joy with sadness. All these feelings suspended simutaneously with each other, flickering between the poles, never quite reaching a state of rest
Rest. Such a simple word. But how does one describe its opposite? Not quite non-existence, not quite shadow. Only the observer could bring it out of the endless, and into the real.
Color surged into being. Light, matter, gravity, these things came first. The observer was approaching. He had never come here before, lost in his own sphere of familiarity. But now, another sphere would be experienced. And thus, experience back.
The world condensed. Walls and tiles, lights as science gave birth to electricity. Shops flowered, smells swirled in the air. Air. That too was observed and thus existed now. Or rather, always had.
The lucky ones, they became the background shoppers, the throngs that filled every such hub of civilization. It savored the words, new concepts beyond the abstract mathematical potentials that were before. The observer walked about now, sampling the air, browsing the shops. More and more of them flowed into being, and so the world solidified. Yet there were still others left behind. "It" was left behind, now that it understood such things. But there was nothing one could do, until the observer-
The observer sat down.
And closed his eyes.
No! The world wavered. Too soon, too sudden. Light faded. The shoppers grew misty. Smell remained, as did sound. But the others, the left behind...the chance was slipping away.
It couldn't. So close. Just a glimpse...
The observer opened his eyes.
The world returned. Confirmation, acceptance. Nothing else remained.
The others faded away. There was nothing left to observe, and so, nothing remained.
And yet, in the corner of his eye, a tiny glance; a young girl, also sitting on the bench, quietly sipping her bottle of tea.
It was enough.
The observer- no, the boy yawned, got up, stretched his limbs. He kept glancing at his watch, occasionally smoothing his hand over what little hair remained on his head. A recruit perhaps, fresh out of camp.
She watched the boy walk away, old potentials fading while the real ones remained. A strange joy filled her, one she could find no explanation for. How strange.
A brief shrug of the shoulders, a small sip of the tea. Life went on, as it always had.
It felt wonderful.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Snippets
A large dog, its fur the color of finely ground coffee, trotting merrily across a zebra crossing and then along a sidewalk, disappearing as the bus turns into the next junction.
Two teenagers sitting side by side upon the swings under the moonless sky, their long dark hair tinted orange by the dull glow of an aging streetlamps. I jog past.
In an MRT, a pair of girls communicate silently in rapid sign language while the world chatters noisily past. My stop arrives.
These are the snippets of life, the stories yet untold.
Always, I wonder: what if? What if I had?
Two teenagers sitting side by side upon the swings under the moonless sky, their long dark hair tinted orange by the dull glow of an aging streetlamps. I jog past.
In an MRT, a pair of girls communicate silently in rapid sign language while the world chatters noisily past. My stop arrives.
These are the snippets of life, the stories yet untold.
Always, I wonder: what if? What if I had?
Friday, May 6, 2011
Fear
A little boy stands under a field of stars.
They're all so far away, except for one. It glimmers against a faded sky, a jewel:
The little boy stares,
And reaches-
His hand stretches out, further...further; the tips of his fingers close around the edges of the light-
And then the dream ends. For I dare not look any further.
They're all so far away, except for one. It glimmers against a faded sky, a jewel:
The little boy stares,
And reaches-
His hand stretches out, further...further; the tips of his fingers close around the edges of the light-
And then the dream ends. For I dare not look any further.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Hello World...?
Imagine how a baby feels when its first born. When all its senses, cushioned for nine months in the warmth of the mother's womb, the only sounds the beat of her heart and the gentle mumur's drifting in from outside. No light, no taste, no smells. And then, birth;
The harsh glares of an operating room, the sterilized smells of the tools and beds, the beeps and flashes of the various machines, the taste of blood and the chill of the air...
All at once.
So it is for each stage of life, being born anew, from a different womb into a different theatre, sometimes with surgeons all a-clamor, sometimes with barely a soul around.
And with it, new rules, new feelings, new thoughts, new horomones, new processes, new information, new journeys and new mountains to climb...
I think know now why a baby cries.
------------------------------------------------------------
Blessed I am, for the friends I've made,
Blessed I am, for the parents I have
Blessed I am, for this body and mind;
Alas Lord, my soul is Weak,
Undeserving,
Naive.
And yet...
Blessed I am;
But why?
The harsh glares of an operating room, the sterilized smells of the tools and beds, the beeps and flashes of the various machines, the taste of blood and the chill of the air...
All at once.
So it is for each stage of life, being born anew, from a different womb into a different theatre, sometimes with surgeons all a-clamor, sometimes with barely a soul around.
And with it, new rules, new feelings, new thoughts, new horomones, new processes, new information, new journeys and new mountains to climb...
I think know now why a baby cries.
------------------------------------------------------------
Blessed I am, for the friends I've made,
Blessed I am, for the parents I have
Blessed I am, for this body and mind;
Alas Lord, my soul is Weak,
Undeserving,
Naive.
And yet...
Blessed I am;
But why?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thax
I've seen wizards like him before. Magi fascinated by even the simplest spell, the most minor cantrip. Who only truly started living upon discovering magic. For them, it matters not that they are not talented, or quick, or prosperous. What matters is that centuries down the road,or even sooner in fact, many greater magi would have become worn with the ages or grown cocky with power. These few however, retain that essential combination of drive, curiosity and humility that forces them, in whatever limited capacity they have, to continue pushing the boundaries of magic. To innovate.
And it is of such innovations that true breakthroughs are made.
Most of them fail, forgotten in the dust and shadows of some slum in a corner of society. Of the rest, many also die, consumed by knowledge too dire, by power they cannot control. But the ones that do succeed...
Watch him, my friend. Watch the path he takes, the roads he dares to walk. Shall he slip into the chasms below, or ascend to the highest peak?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Perhaps its reflective on me that I conceive character concepts and ideas by imagining what people observe, think and say about them. That I find the most powerful moments being in the recognition of some essential quality of a character, either by other characters or the reader himself.
Above is one such statement about a character I recently thought of. One that seems to be merging and growing into this strange tanglepatch of ideas that have been recently forming in my head.
Granted, its nothing too original. But it sure is fun.
And it is of such innovations that true breakthroughs are made.
Most of them fail, forgotten in the dust and shadows of some slum in a corner of society. Of the rest, many also die, consumed by knowledge too dire, by power they cannot control. But the ones that do succeed...
Watch him, my friend. Watch the path he takes, the roads he dares to walk. Shall he slip into the chasms below, or ascend to the highest peak?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Perhaps its reflective on me that I conceive character concepts and ideas by imagining what people observe, think and say about them. That I find the most powerful moments being in the recognition of some essential quality of a character, either by other characters or the reader himself.
Above is one such statement about a character I recently thought of. One that seems to be merging and growing into this strange tanglepatch of ideas that have been recently forming in my head.
Granted, its nothing too original. But it sure is fun.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
And so It Ends
I wish I could express properly the exact feeling of having finished IB. The odd mix of feelings, thoughts, the words of friends, the memories playing by...
I cannot.
But nonetheless, I will try.
It was only recently, though rather late, that it dawned upon me that this wasn't simply an ending of 2 years of IB. It was an end of 6 years of ACS. Of perhaps, one of the most life-shaping six years I've been through.
Just the other day, we went to renew my passport. I looked at the picture taken six years ago, and wonder at how much I've changed. More knowledgeable, maybe more mature, and hopefully, a little more wise.
Same shirt though. Somehow, even after six years God still has a sense of humor with my life. How the heck I still have and actually wore the same shirt I did six years ago for the same passport amazes me. (Or was it three years ago? Hm...)
But the point is, despite all that I've been through, despite what people may say about the education of Singapore, of IB, of the world even, there's no denying that its something all of us have gone through. So even as I look and sigh at the ideals of a perfect school, of the possibilities creative teaching and the irony of teaching creativity...in the end, as I walked out of the school and looked back at the clock-tower, I suppose there is still only one thing I can truly say:
That I'm proud and blessed to have lived six years of ACS. Because what defines a school, learning, development, is not the knowledge you've gained, the grades you received, the projects you complete.
It is the life you have lived. Because learning and living are one and the same.
And turning away from the clock-tower, I see my friends, all smiling and waving and laughing at the end of the exams, walking down the ramp together. And I know that in many ways, in the trials I've taken and the people I've seen, in the teachers that blessed me and the mistakes I made; that these six years were a life well lived, and a lesson well received.
So to the IB Cohort of 2008-2009, this is all I can say. To take heart and soar on, on Wings like Eagles, with the Lord as our Anchor. To be the Salt of the Earth, a Scholar, Officer and Global Citizen.
And though the first path is over, may we always remember-
-the Best is yet to Be.
I cannot.
But nonetheless, I will try.
It was only recently, though rather late, that it dawned upon me that this wasn't simply an ending of 2 years of IB. It was an end of 6 years of ACS. Of perhaps, one of the most life-shaping six years I've been through.
Just the other day, we went to renew my passport. I looked at the picture taken six years ago, and wonder at how much I've changed. More knowledgeable, maybe more mature, and hopefully, a little more wise.
Same shirt though. Somehow, even after six years God still has a sense of humor with my life. How the heck I still have and actually wore the same shirt I did six years ago for the same passport amazes me. (Or was it three years ago? Hm...)
But the point is, despite all that I've been through, despite what people may say about the education of Singapore, of IB, of the world even, there's no denying that its something all of us have gone through. So even as I look and sigh at the ideals of a perfect school, of the possibilities creative teaching and the irony of teaching creativity...in the end, as I walked out of the school and looked back at the clock-tower, I suppose there is still only one thing I can truly say:
That I'm proud and blessed to have lived six years of ACS. Because what defines a school, learning, development, is not the knowledge you've gained, the grades you received, the projects you complete.
It is the life you have lived. Because learning and living are one and the same.
And turning away from the clock-tower, I see my friends, all smiling and waving and laughing at the end of the exams, walking down the ramp together. And I know that in many ways, in the trials I've taken and the people I've seen, in the teachers that blessed me and the mistakes I made; that these six years were a life well lived, and a lesson well received.
So to the IB Cohort of 2008-2009, this is all I can say. To take heart and soar on, on Wings like Eagles, with the Lord as our Anchor. To be the Salt of the Earth, a Scholar, Officer and Global Citizen.
And though the first path is over, may we always remember-
-the Best is yet to Be.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
525600 minutes
The power of Art lies in understanding, that we may feel what others do feel, and grow closer because of it.
Even with all the complexities, subtleties, genres and styles- the ultimate aim is simply for mankind to know itself better.
Even with all the complexities, subtleties, genres and styles- the ultimate aim is simply for mankind to know itself better.
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.
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?
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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?
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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
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Oh...! How The Mind Doth Dance...
Two of them, a man cloaked in shadows and silver, and a lady with golden-yellow hair, streaked with red.
A small figure, slim, dressed in white. Face a literal mask of neutrality, no expression, no features...just two slits, eyes, or what passes for them. Yet how much more they see.
Both of them stare, the third in the middle like a judge, words unspoken, thoughts unbidden, emotions unsuppressed. All it, bottled out, flowing out in a river of color and song, clashing where the white man stood. A white man that was there no more.
Below, the ground shakes, and the same two, opalescent slits open. The face of the white man watches from below, as after-images of the earlier clash linger. Dark claws grappling with bright sun-beam sparkles...neither side giving...then a flare of immense light, drowning out the shadows!
The white man closes his eyes, a burst of yellow flashing across their clear, crystal-like surface. The shadows retreat, under the trees and clouds, into the libraries and books. And for a moment it seems, the sun does shine.
But a single tendril, festering beneath the rocks emerges. A crooked finger, half-wisp not yet formed, growing slowly more solid arises. Deeper it becomes, forming an arrow of mist and reason, of worries and fear. Of calm, steady acceptance of the darker side of life.
An arrow that pierces the sun.
All light disappears. The shadows stretch out, shrouding the word once more. Crystal pools, once like golden honey, now swirl with fog and depths like the deepest black. The white man closes his eyes once more.
Seeds, once sown slowly sprout in the protection of the shade. Cooled in the soft breeze, in the still air they gleam with a light of their own. The roots grow, digging into the soft ground, no longer hardened nor blinded by the glare of the sun. Leaves, half-formed in mockery of the darkness that shackles the sun, creep up from above, ready and waiting.
From the sky, a rain of stars.
Shatter! The darkness cracks. Earth splits, pain fills the world. A blaze of fireworks, joyous yet stinging, dangerous yet mesmerizing. The shackles break, the sun bursts forth, rays spilling over the land, banishing the shadows once more.
Touching the leaves with almost tender warmth, watching them unfurl, feeding their grey-green surfaces strength.
The roots, so well formed in darkness, send their stores to the factories above. Powered by the same fire that fuels the sun, the leaves unfold. Stems, fresh shoots, networks! Drinking in the sunlight, the afterglow of the fireworks, storing their power and mixing it with the minerals cultivated deep within the soil. Fire and light, Darkness and shadow. Boiling water, more potent together than the two apart. A reaction, reaching forth, chaotic energies guided towards the tip. Logic and emotion, white and black horses, pulling the chariot in the same direction...
A whisper across the wind:
Bloom, my flower, bloom.
A small figure, slim, dressed in white. Face a literal mask of neutrality, no expression, no features...just two slits, eyes, or what passes for them. Yet how much more they see.
Both of them stare, the third in the middle like a judge, words unspoken, thoughts unbidden, emotions unsuppressed. All it, bottled out, flowing out in a river of color and song, clashing where the white man stood. A white man that was there no more.
Below, the ground shakes, and the same two, opalescent slits open. The face of the white man watches from below, as after-images of the earlier clash linger. Dark claws grappling with bright sun-beam sparkles...neither side giving...then a flare of immense light, drowning out the shadows!
The white man closes his eyes, a burst of yellow flashing across their clear, crystal-like surface. The shadows retreat, under the trees and clouds, into the libraries and books. And for a moment it seems, the sun does shine.
But a single tendril, festering beneath the rocks emerges. A crooked finger, half-wisp not yet formed, growing slowly more solid arises. Deeper it becomes, forming an arrow of mist and reason, of worries and fear. Of calm, steady acceptance of the darker side of life.
An arrow that pierces the sun.
All light disappears. The shadows stretch out, shrouding the word once more. Crystal pools, once like golden honey, now swirl with fog and depths like the deepest black. The white man closes his eyes once more.
Seeds, once sown slowly sprout in the protection of the shade. Cooled in the soft breeze, in the still air they gleam with a light of their own. The roots grow, digging into the soft ground, no longer hardened nor blinded by the glare of the sun. Leaves, half-formed in mockery of the darkness that shackles the sun, creep up from above, ready and waiting.
From the sky, a rain of stars.
Shatter! The darkness cracks. Earth splits, pain fills the world. A blaze of fireworks, joyous yet stinging, dangerous yet mesmerizing. The shackles break, the sun bursts forth, rays spilling over the land, banishing the shadows once more.
Touching the leaves with almost tender warmth, watching them unfurl, feeding their grey-green surfaces strength.
The roots, so well formed in darkness, send their stores to the factories above. Powered by the same fire that fuels the sun, the leaves unfold. Stems, fresh shoots, networks! Drinking in the sunlight, the afterglow of the fireworks, storing their power and mixing it with the minerals cultivated deep within the soil. Fire and light, Darkness and shadow. Boiling water, more potent together than the two apart. A reaction, reaching forth, chaotic energies guided towards the tip. Logic and emotion, white and black horses, pulling the chariot in the same direction...
A whisper across the wind:
Bloom, my flower, bloom.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
On 90% of the Internet
From a conversation with a friend:
"...its like miners going after diamonds getting frustrated from having to drill through all those layers of granite and useless dirt to get to the few precious gems, without realizing that without those layers of rock, the diamonds would never have formed."
Did the internet really create all the horrible, disgusting, perverted and depraved content that we see online everyday?
Did the internet also create all the wonderful, inspiring, beautiful, supportive, informative and helpful things as well?
Or did it simply bring whatever was already in human society: all our flaws, our dreams, our strengths and weaknesses, and display them for the world to see?
"...its like miners going after diamonds getting frustrated from having to drill through all those layers of granite and useless dirt to get to the few precious gems, without realizing that without those layers of rock, the diamonds would never have formed."
Did the internet really create all the horrible, disgusting, perverted and depraved content that we see online everyday?
Did the internet also create all the wonderful, inspiring, beautiful, supportive, informative and helpful things as well?
Or did it simply bring whatever was already in human society: all our flaws, our dreams, our strengths and weaknesses, and display them for the world to see?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Just a dreamer after all
The only foundations you shake are the ones in your head;
But then again, they're the only ones that matter after all.
But then again, they're the only ones that matter after all.
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.