Of Impromptu Writing

Of Opinions

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Maintaining a living, growing body of written work means that it often requires skills of the impromptu – “unpremeditated, spur-of-the-moment inspiration without studied care.” My initial blogging was nearly all impromptu. I wrote when I felt like it, and that was that. No structure, no plan, only inspiration if and when it comes. Blogging is rather an easy thing to do if you look at it that way, but you don’t simply build a blog by writing when the feeling comes. I’ve tried to go in the other direction since I started to get more regular readers but, I now realise, that seems to work against me. And sometimes, against the blog as well. However, the world, at least the world of blogging, seems to go by opposite rules, where planning and care get way better results. How do I resolve this conflict? How do I…

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The Beauty of Wabi-Sabi

Michelle Luu

Wabi-sabi (侘寂) represents a comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete”.

My pottery pieces are not perfect.  There are so many steps that go into making a finished piece and “mistakes” can happen during any one of these stages–wedging the clay, throwing (which is an entirely long process in itself), drying, trimming, more drying, bisque firing, cooling, sanding rough edges, glazing, firing again, and then sanding once more.  I’ve had my fair share of uneven trims and messed up glazing but I feel that there’s a certain beauty to these so-called imperfections. That is what makes it hand made and there is something authentic and unique about hand crafted items in a mass produced society. Everything made by hand are truly one-of-a-kind.

That’s the beauty of Wabi-Sabi.

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Of Beauty and Doubt

Of Opinions

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You can be the most beautiful person in the world and everybody sees light and rainbows when they look at you, but if you yourself don’t know it, all of that doesn’t even matter. Every second that you spend on doubting your worth, every moment that you use to criticize yourself; is a second of your life wasted, is a moment of your life thrown away. It’s not like you have forever, so don’t waste any of your seconds, don’t throw even one of your moments away. – C. Joybell C.

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fighting and fight

tiddles of my expectations; ruptured like glass within glass, an imploding babushka-vortex
teeming is my rhythm of depression, like a knife that knows butter, knows the meat
sabotages the flesh, the artery, the blinking electrical impulses of a thing it corners as refuse
— it’s  my heart you bloody, selfish cancerous tumour that looks like an organic part of me
who refuses to shelter and instead makes bridges by my splintered bones; you capsized me
tore me from limb to node yet you refuse my simple, basic right to speak…you will now taste
my armageddon you tattered porcelain who preaches facetious causes I will cause you writhe
and rattle as the serpent you are — your apocalypse is not only salvation; I will know my sanctum
pure when you are purged from the altars of my consciousnesses;  my soul’s cathedral will know chimes.▬

capital’s biodiversity

What we thing is being “objective” is a trained facetious or rather round-about- way to be “subjective with limited exposure”. A wide spectrum of ideologies, behaviours and even movements are available to us because they fit a “purpose” that is not always our own.

Etches of Ink and Light

Would diverse species of flora and fauna be valuable today if they were not resources that could be exploited through research and biotechnology in a knowledge economy to ultimately generate a surplus for capital?

Would ethnic communities in rain-forests be allowed to live their lives as peasants if they could not be exploited as anthropological phenomenon and tourist attractions?

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Sometimes, suddenly…ceased…

You know somethings are bound to be finite, temporal and it looks at clockwise and anti-clockwise as intrinsically as a phoenix’s life cycle.  It is still hard to imagine why you were so invested in something when the investment, maybe not fiscal or economically measured as in with better libra scales on feelings, but pain is somethings not reductionist or reducible. A reduction of pain and hurt may mean something adverse but it may also mean that you are not knowing how to feel.

Nobody really coaches us on life’s relationship progress; it can go either way, have forks, have no forks, be a forked tongue  that swallows you whole or poisons you with preferences not your own. Even if someone tells you societal expectations and ideals the idyllic may say that it is a cheap whore at times and that it cannot be used over and over.

I am gaining unnecessary frustration due to unavoidable circumstances: I gaining fatigue.  My sleep is now more on an attenuated contract and my waking hours  has some episodic, fails that act like a dick. This has much to do with exploitative behaviourisms of people and also my inability to cut and cauterize parasitic leeches or even vampiric fangs. I am a bit confused at how to abandon someone/something without much blood-loss on both ends. It is like a war but not really; it is more like an impasse that reaches a rock and other rocks to me, and I am thinking am I wrong or rather do I love wrongly?

I love with an insatibale honesty. That is me. I love a bit more  freely than freedom in social etiquette usually allows; this is anything forcefully annoying but it is intense and desires a healthy proximity.  It knows when it is not wanted. It does not make pursuing stalking. It allows a chance of dialogue and if that dialogue is rejected it retracts and attempts to dissolve into fumes. It does not force and does not want to be forced.  I love and try to love with respect and allowances in eccentricities, introversions, extroversions, excesses or even strictness in personalities. My courtesy or voluminable honesty is not appreciated or returned. It is target of ostracization and suspect of “bad taste” or even “overeagerness” that is soon mellowed down by whatever attitude or straight-up hostile  badgering or ignorance/being ignored.

I have felt teary, genuinely upset when I felt slighted/ been slighted for no reason other than communicating an authentic interest in being friends or even by my flaws/mistakes which I earnestly apologised for. Truth is that people want all matters of understanding and appropriation from me but wish to castrate my identity, personhood and existence as a human being. No I am nobody’s saint nor do I have sainthood or masquerade piety on a golden plate with a silver spoon sticking out of  my tongue and mouth. I just notice that the amount of effort I put in even basic comments/conversations is not even met halfway by many people be this acquaintance or most people who claim to be my friends.

They will cajole me and claim that as I am their friend  or even communicating with them I am under some unspoken but legal obligation to give them the time of day, understanding, looking at things from their perspective, etcetera, etceteras, et all of the bullshit committee. Yet when it comes to me they can think they are entitled to bare their fangs, reach out and bite me with accusations or assumptions of my behaviour. If I acted out of their terms of polite homicide I am in for witnessing them spin shit on a fan.

I am genuinely emotionally, mentally and psychologically fatigued by this bullshit, self-absorbed attitude by many I see and interact with nowadays.

Truthfully, I am becoming inept or even devoid of feeling secure or even  comfortable of my own emotions/feelings because of those kinds of people. Decidedly I have conceded to be a bit nonplussed but this is not defeat or acknowledgement to their crapola yellow spined endeavours. This is just me breathing a sigh as a sign that game is on.

If you do not like someone or think you are better think again. Also ignoring someone shows fully that you are incapable of saying what you really think thus it is a coward’s vitamin pack. If you are constantly abusive and selfish it shows that your dictionary or vernacular is only filled with rust and germs out of some neanderthal skull-plate.

Me being sad is not a sign of you gaining self-importance. Me being sad is me being human. Me thinking of you as human and myself as human. It is me finally calling you out on your high pedestal bullshit and  liberating my human right to be appreciated and respected.

Of hypocrisies

Have you  ever stared down the barrel of hypocrisy?

I supposed I have on many occasions. It is not an easy thing to digest let alone stand but tolerance and patience can also be abused. I mean think of the mother/father, abusive, but easily retorts  to false claims of ownership, grandiloquent as they are,  on a child even an adult-child just because of biological or fostering equipments without much effort to be civil or even equivalence in the relationship.

Think about the mouth of a friend when she/he accuses you of unfriendly  conduct when for years you helped them carry their own weight as well as yours. Think how this friend easily counters  that the love you give them if you protest that their capacity for “friendship” is based on abuse and also unfair conducts aka exploitation of your feelings and efforts to retain a close bond.


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Hypocrisy is  the elimination of questioning questionable conduct. It is the ethos sans pathos; the pinnacle of gluttonous lust over emotion-analytic and it is the systemic abuse of all sacred foundations or dynamics that you have held dear in a belief that the act of responses will have a shared mutuality. Hypocrisy eliminates even basic expectation but allows the over-expectation of “needs” and wants but only on a one path street. It manufactures a cul-de-sac for you but a freeway for the oppressor. Hypocrisy makes sacrilege sacred and sacrilege the sacred thus it is a crime. Yet it can be subtle and indirect, and its narcissism can also be camouflaged under guises of “benefits”, “rights” and also “duty” — it makes indiscriminate allowances to offenses but calls into the stand the  opportunity  to  discriminate its indiscretions or carte blanche. Basically hypocrisy is the sinner’s ouroboros and the saint’s  coercive chastity belt.

All these metonymies and metaphors  of hypocrisy are meant to not beautify it but obviously show that it eventually drowns in its own excesses. No one can be made a fool for long and even the classical play’s fool shows signs of enlightenment. The truth is that hypocrisy weighs itself on the scales of sympathy and constructed traditions of respect where respect is due out of necessitated obligation without knowledge, wisdom or even any egalitarian values as in hegemonized ranks. It wears a monarch’s crown as birthright so it does not espouse meritocracy and renounces absolution for it believes itself absolute and requires no reason expect impulse/instinct to proceed into action.

Roland Barthes talks about  myth as language, as a second semiological system that obliterates meaning from language and moves serpentinely by using language or even symbols as powerplayed images to  elevate, relegate  or even remonstrate that which may have originally or even contextually mean something else.  Myth as language engenders new artificial meanings into things for Barthes so in this regard his definitions of modern myth, as he puts it, comes also from the overproduction of cliched rhetorics and amalgamates that into everyday interactions to hegemonize language/gestures as a means to incapacitate the masses or non-elitist echelons that are not in power.

Hypocrisy uses this technique to its full capacity. Hypocrisy has modern day myth as its babe, its bitch, its bastard progeny. It is not ashamed of this incestuous union rather like a misogynized Lilith it embraces its role as fucker, fucked and will fuck/be fucked in the long run by the power-hunger fetish. Hypocrisy blooms in the emotional blackmail and manipulation of others and takes into its chaotic/nihilistic gonads a structural, ejaculative display of labels. Meaning it will use the excuse of “friendship”. “parenthood”, “freedom” even “intelligence” and “emotions” to silence any debacle related to it.  It will wear capitalist clothes but have a self-serving agenda and parade as a totalitarian but also subscribe consumer/industrial dogma.  It eschews from self-analyses and critiques because it wants to be able to say that it its rights that are violated or  being viable but will not turn the other cheek or even espouse the same/similar rights for others. This also extends to how the right might be the basic humanitarian understanding of respecting boundaries of a person or even just allowing a person their own free space.

It is sad that hypocrisy is so undeniably a freer agent than justice for in a world where  excess materialism and consumerism are the heads that do not roll you can be sure the hypocrisy has a nice seat. In a world where individual selfish and false sense of entitlements reign we can see hypocrisy flirtatiously flamboyant keeping egalitarian empathies locked away in some festering ivory tower.

So when we do look at the barrel of hypocrisy most likely we won’t be shot immediately or ever but we will be coerced to gaze  in its abyss and have a hazy outline of the arsenal; it will arrest our personhood but will become a symbolic identity in its own position.

Of The Qualities of Success

Of Opinions

Source: http://ericennotamm.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Steinbeck_Seated_1500.jpg Source: http://ericennotamm.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Steinbeck_Seated_1500.jpg

It has always seemed strange to me. The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling, are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits that we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest, are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second. – John Steinbeck

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techniques of resisting knowledge

Etches of Ink and Light

Ignorance is not a blank slate on which one can write-in knowledge. Ignorance is an organic state of being that, through various strategies and manoeuvres, evades and resists knowledge. It then becomes important to understand these technologies that ignorance employs to fight its growth and fortification, and in the process, make knowledge organically grow out of ignorance’s muck.

During my one year as a high school teaching assistant, i observed and toyed with one such technique of resistance to knowledge.

Students would often come into class with a pre-fabricated workflow of how each session would run. Something along the line of: student comes to class, i explain a topic, he refuses to pay attention, i cajole him to pay attention, he gives in a little bit. When it comes to classwork, he slows down, i urge him, he refuses, i cajole him with games, jokes etc., he does a little…

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If I Had a Dollar (Why I Am a Feminist)

“Because my mother was a manual laborer, she’d flex her biceps I’d feel her muscles, hard as wood. Because my mother is the strongest, fiercest person I’ve ever known.”…
“Because every day after working overtime painting houses, my mother would cook my brother and me a meal and help us do our homework. Because when I visited my father’s empty mansion I was expected to cook for myself and babysit.”
“Because as an undergrad, I worked for $3.35 per hour and every day as I walked down College Ave. wearing my work uniform, men would pull their cars over and ask me how much. Because if I had a dollar for every would-be rapist I’ve ever met.”
“Because the first time I fell in love was with a boy with a cocked eyebrow and a Hitler youth haircut who earned himself a thousand dollars by sending a picture of naked me to a men’s magazine.”
“Because when my daughter was eleven, a boy at school put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Did you know that 99% of all rapes begin with some kind of casual contact?” Because he said it was a joke.”
“Because every woman I’ve ever known, no matter how smart and strong and capable, has had to consider exactly how she could live without a man. Because some women could never find an answer.

Because it’s time to try something different.”

Some facts that you might not know about. Well now you do.

girl in the hat

image courtesy Devil Doll image courtesy Devil Doll

Because my mother was a painter and a beauty when artists had patrons and a woman like that needed a man to take care of her, so she married a money man.

Because my mother’s mother was a beauty and her mother was, too, and that’s what people said: “She was a beautiful woman,” as if that was the only remarkable thing.

Because I was born in 1966, the year Betty Friedan and others started the National Organization of Women and challenged an industry which required flight attendants to quit if they got married, pregnant, or reached the age of 32.

Because when my mother had me, she stopped painting and started cleaning house and throwing dinner parties and smoking too many cigarettes and crying in the mirror.

Because my mother never told me that I looked pretty because she did not want me to grow…

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