Dear Blog
I have a question for you today. What do you do when you find it hard to breathe? I can't breathe. I feel tired. I feel exhausted. No I'm not depressed. No I am not physically sick. I don't know what's wrong. I can't figure it out, so I'm asking a blank page what it is that's going on, jeopardizing my supposedly-proper virtual identity. I open the windows wide to get in more oxygen, doesn't work as it should. I spend time with my loved ones, doesn't work as it should. I take care of myself to fill the gaps, doesn't work as it should. I take vacations, no good. So here I am, out of any solution that I could think of. I don't know if anyone knows any better. I find it tiring to talk anyway. Let me know.
A.
11/20/2011
The History of Ugliness - Umberto Eco
Enough said on beauty, here is a lecture by Umberto Eco that elaborates on ugliness based on its historical depictions and representations. What is ugliness? Who are considered ugly? Has the notion evolved through time? Is art no more interested in boring beauty? Click below to find out, the lecture is a bit long but it's worth a peek:
10/16/2011
8/12/2011
Collective Isolation
It was last year, in Berlin that I walked into a bookstore with a heavy heart, and walked out content with a Murakami in my hand. I watched that book's movie today, and realized how I miss the islands. Japan.. Ireland.. and all the sea-bound parcels.
What I love the most about islands is that they're patient. Disconnected from the mainlands, time goes slow, it's only traced on calendars. With little space, people stand close, so on another level, they push away one other, into dark waters. Population has its limits, so they end up loving and hating the same people. It's a small world there. Clarity creates confusion, even the simplest thing gets complicated. No one really leaves. In collective isolation, nothing's forgotten. By default everyone is eternal.
As Murakami puts:
"Somewhere, far, far away, there’s a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that have also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts after which they shit the world’s foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grow on them even shittier. It’s an endless cycle.”
What I love the most about islands is that they're patient. Disconnected from the mainlands, time goes slow, it's only traced on calendars. With little space, people stand close, so on another level, they push away one other, into dark waters. Population has its limits, so they end up loving and hating the same people. It's a small world there. Clarity creates confusion, even the simplest thing gets complicated. No one really leaves. In collective isolation, nothing's forgotten. By default everyone is eternal.
As Murakami puts:
"Somewhere, far, far away, there’s a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that have also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts after which they shit the world’s foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grow on them even shittier. It’s an endless cycle.”
8/10/2011
5/29/2011
we don't know what to do with ourselves
White Stripes puts it right: "I just don't knowww what to dooo with myself". My generation has no single idea what to do with itself. We are running around like headless chickens with no sense of direction, trying to catch a wind to lead us somewhere, somewhere we only know is far away.
If you don't agree, check out stats from Google Books NGram Viewer that displays how phrases have occurred in a corpus of books over a timeline, from as early as the 16th century. Let's start with familiar concepts to get an idea of how our concerns evolved in time:
Virtue is going downhill since 1800s.
How is that possible? Today we have THE WORLD at our fingertips. Less amount of limitations, vast amount of possibilities... Less wars, more education... Less hierarchy, more "democracy"... Less mystery, more science... Less isolation, more x-border experiences... How can we not have a better sense of what to do in this life compared to past? And I'm not just talking about what to do about big-life-fillers like choosing schools, jobs, religions, partners; they are fairly constant. I'm talking about the feeling of being lost, the feeling of being stuck in time with no sense of the future. We talk about "the search for ourselves" and "the search for our passion" over and over for days and months and years. After 6 o'clock, we're feeding on yogas, tangos, sports, projects, and photos; rushing from one hobby to another, one url link to another, consuming every piece of experience. Faced with the paradox of choice, we are paralyzed when given many choices. None of them works, none of them is "it". There must be something else, something better. Everyone is sure that they have a huge potential for this something that they haven't figured out yet, but will. We absurdly expect an "aha" moment every 5 seconds that will take us closer to this nowhere-to-be-found destination in vain. When the external world of expensive courses doesn't meet our expectations, we turn inwards in psychotherapy, aroma therapy, psychology, self-questioning... fucking our subconsciousness, hoping to find inborn clearcut answers to impossible questions. We're searching for meaning in the garbage bin, waiting for a sign, waiting for a perfect-fit life that shines through time.
If you don't agree, check out stats from Google Books NGram Viewer that displays how phrases have occurred in a corpus of books over a timeline, from as early as the 16th century. Let's start with familiar concepts to get an idea of how our concerns evolved in time:
Virtue is going downhill since 1800s.
Self-ishness on the rise.
Love was winning over money until the beginning of the century where it stumbled around the depression and WW2. Hippies changed the scene around 60s until capitalism retook the stage for about 20 years, and nowadays we're luckily falling back in love.
Poverty wasn't very popular until 60s but since then we're thinking more about making the poor lot poorer richer.
And, back to our topic, we increasingly don't know what to do with ourselves.
How is that possible? Today we have THE WORLD at our fingertips. Less amount of limitations, vast amount of possibilities... Less wars, more education... Less hierarchy, more "democracy"... Less mystery, more science... Less isolation, more x-border experiences... How can we not have a better sense of what to do in this life compared to past? And I'm not just talking about what to do about big-life-fillers like choosing schools, jobs, religions, partners; they are fairly constant. I'm talking about the feeling of being lost, the feeling of being stuck in time with no sense of the future. We talk about "the search for ourselves" and "the search for our passion" over and over for days and months and years. After 6 o'clock, we're feeding on yogas, tangos, sports, projects, and photos; rushing from one hobby to another, one url link to another, consuming every piece of experience. Faced with the paradox of choice, we are paralyzed when given many choices. None of them works, none of them is "it". There must be something else, something better. Everyone is sure that they have a huge potential for this something that they haven't figured out yet, but will. We absurdly expect an "aha" moment every 5 seconds that will take us closer to this nowhere-to-be-found destination in vain. When the external world of expensive courses doesn't meet our expectations, we turn inwards in psychotherapy, aroma therapy, psychology, self-questioning... fucking our subconsciousness, hoping to find inborn clearcut answers to impossible questions. We're searching for meaning in the garbage bin, waiting for a sign, waiting for a perfect-fit life that shines through time.
3/27/2011
Stunning Stories of Hans Rosling
Hans Rosling is one of the greatest minds of the century. He tells the story of global development ever so simple, detects pain-points and offers data-based solid solutions. He says there is hope, and not just for the small portion of people who were born lucky.
New Insights on Poverty
New Facts About HIV - How to End the Epidemic
Global Population Growth
The Greatest Invention of the Industrial Revolution
3/09/2011
invierno imperfecto
Dear blog,
Remember my winter post from a year ago? "I woke up to the sound of the storm (vuuu VUUU) at 5am (2 hours ago), and the sound is getting wilder as hours go by (VUVUVUVUUUUU)..." I have the same setting today, at the same place, windows are shaking wild, just the same. Looking out the window with sleepy eyes, I wonder what has changed. I wonder if something inspirational will surface, so I can make a fuss about it. Memories invade my mind, and images, and feelings, and surgeries, and my own learnings and sayings. I do say a lot of things in certain settings. I said a lot of things this year, through these lips, to myself and to others. I'm thinking by speaking, evolving forever. Although the nature favors silence that masks imperfectness, with a slight touch of cold and darkness, I'll keep on speaking bright and loud, against the sound of the storm, against the reign of the standards.
Remember my winter post from a year ago? "I woke up to the sound of the storm (vuuu VUUU) at 5am (2 hours ago), and the sound is getting wilder as hours go by (VUVUVUVUUUUU)..." I have the same setting today, at the same place, windows are shaking wild, just the same. Looking out the window with sleepy eyes, I wonder what has changed. I wonder if something inspirational will surface, so I can make a fuss about it. Memories invade my mind, and images, and feelings, and surgeries, and my own learnings and sayings. I do say a lot of things in certain settings. I said a lot of things this year, through these lips, to myself and to others. I'm thinking by speaking, evolving forever. Although the nature favors silence that masks imperfectness, with a slight touch of cold and darkness, I'll keep on speaking bright and loud, against the sound of the storm, against the reign of the standards.
3/01/2011
2/21/2011
Alain de Botton - the art of success
I like Alain de Botton a lot, and want to read all his books that I haven't read so far. I was noting down my favorite sections of his writing to share them here, but at one point it came to be too much. Let's watch him on TED instead:
2/13/2011
the human side story
I know what you did last summer, and the summer before that. You were taking part in a story of yours, whether it's dead now or ongoing. When you look back in your life, all you see is a story after another, building up like chain reactions, exhausting or encapsulating one another. Our souls are made up of handmade stories. It's how we are "told". It's the meaning, the definition, the mold. In movies, songs, books, pictures, photos, and everywhere you go, stories are what you're after. People you meet, love, hate, bother.. are your lead or support actresses/actors. In your radio-like-head, you listen to these tales & mares, over and over and over with "relative" interpretations, control-freak inflators, and degrading deflators. The more winding they are, the better. The juicy story of today is what fills in the matrix when you stare out at the road with troubled eyes in between your house and the office. It makes you feel, and tremble. When doing chores, or homework or walking, you automate the body to do the basics, and the head gets lost in the matrix imagining. Because building stories is what you are "really" doing. Thus, if basic reality turns out to be a misery, it is thus reduced to become a small part of this timeless melody, with no climax and little use.
1/27/2011
strolling through the settlement
Last saturday, I went for a walk to a place I was long before. I went there to find a way out of the airless metropol labyrinths, a way out of my head and hectic asks. I found it, on the asian side of Istanbul, next to the sea, sitting so still and smiling. A plain sight of life. Medium houses with medium roads next to the medium sea. You can tell it's a place for families by looking at the balconies, humbly decorated and tidy. Flower pots and funny toys, funny dogs... A handful of habitants walk ever so slowly among the streets, no rushing. It makes you think that they know how to live, and how to make a living. It slows you down, makes you sit down on a doorway, watch carefully, and notice. As you watch, there comes a traveler boy with bright eyes and a large duffel bag on his back, and he's seriously holding a real Gandalf stick. He moves closer, in a foreign language, asks you where he happens to be and which way he should walk to cross over to Greece, which happens to be more or less 500km's away. You tell him that, and the dangers ahead, but he only hears the "can"s and ignores the "not"s, bids you goodbye. You sit there for a long time staring, between the settled life and the traveler, with a confused mind.
12/25/2010
Goodies from the Istanbul Animation Festival 2010
Pixels / Patrick Jean / 2'35" / France 2010
Android Porn / Kraddy / Musclebeaver / 4'39" / Germany 2010
The Cat Piano / Eddie White ; Ari Gibson / 8'28" / Australia 2009
ps. narrated by Nick Cave!
12/12/2010
japan 101
I just noticed that I forgot to write a post about my Japan visit. Well, have a look at some of the photos and I'll be explaining later. Memories are still alive, never fading out.
given to fly
There are a couple of places that make me feel home; safe, sound and sacred. One of them is the air. On a plane, you're a million miles away from the troubles of ground, and probably going somewhere fun. Going, is full of hope and vibe. When you look down from a plane, all there is to see is universal beauty and harmony with no trace of time. The earth itself, free from sweat, tears and blood. Even the windows are scratched, which provides a grainy-dreamy distance between you and the nearby cloud. From now and then I capture the airy moments without the moment itself.
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