This is all I have known

This sunday is the funeral and wednesday the deadline for the paper on Nada of Carmen Laforet, then before the end of this month two short stories for the department publication.

He felt like he didn't even exist when he saw people giving advices and talking so fast and briskly, as usual, today in the department. They went to a café with hotspots so nearly everyone was with their laptops. He felt he didn't belong there the moment he saw them, it just didn't feel right, it's not saying that it was dirty or uncomfortable, on the contrary, the chairs, tea and temperature was perfectly fine and the toilet was spotless, but he just felt so out of place. He didn't like the modern, neat and "intellectual" feel of it. Those two guys sitting next to them talking about how much the whatever costed, every smile and every laughter from every corner seemed so artificial and theatrical, seems so unreal and far away.

Then they had dinner in another place which he frequented and liked a lot, they got some really nice rye breads, jams and vegemite. But tonight he loathed it. He thought he had lost the function to be happy. The paternal smiles, I know, yes, I understands, intellectual and not-so-intellectual conversations, I know it's not a problem for yous, everything, everything! Everything seems so unreal and external and he is but an empty shell roaming around in his vacant hell.

Truth Is,

along with ultra stress come all sorts of hidden problems.
nou have more than 2000 contacts in your cell but,
no one you know you really want to talk to because,
you don't want to have anything to do with them because,
you don't wanna act like you were bright and merry because,
even though they all say they understand but,
they either have their own fucking problems or,
they simply don't want to listen to your shit because,
they only love you when you are easy and,
your only value is being their entertainment but,
you want someone who listens and doesn't judge but,
that someone doesn't even exists for you, my condolences.

Travel Ennui

Last night on the Lonely Planet site I read about this experimental travel thing and my first reaction was, "it's absurd!" But after getting more into it I found out that that was exactly the point - the absurdity. And later I realized that it was precisely this unreasonableness that makes life more wonderful and meaningful. Just what I need now.

Experimental Travel is said to have its roots in the varied practices and philosophies of modern alternative thinkers from the Surrealists to the Psychogeographers, and Joël Henry, founder of Latourex (Laboratory of Experimental Travel) also that the author of LP's Guide to Experimental Travel, is said to have coined the term in 1990. However, being a devoted subscriber to the believe that,

That which has been is that which shall be;
And that which is done is that which shall be done:
And there is no new thing under the sun.

I believe this seemingly ludicrous idea was to be found so much earlier in History. And it does, and more surprising yet not so surprisingly, the very person who is writing these words had quoted them before in this blog. As near as I know, this idea was already present back in 1605 in Cervante's Don Quijote de la Mancha where the ingenious knight said to his faithful squire, "Ahí está el punto y esa es la fineza de mi negocio. Que volverse loco un caballero andante con causa, ni grado ni gracias, el punto está en desatinar sin ocasión."

Joël says, 'Experimental Travel is travel with constraints, that at the same time liberates you from the limitations and expectations of classic tourism. By travelling with the constraints of Experimental Travel, you conversely have more freedom.' But the scope is without doubt so much wider than just travelling, it has everything to do with life itself and life is, afterall, a big journey. Experimental Travel forces you to think form another perspective and this act in itself is liberating. For many, travelling becomes nothing but a acquisition of sights and stuff, something to inflate their ego with and then it bores them, wondering where should I go next? what should I do next? Been there, done that, but no real feelings, no appreciation but a constrained self-deceiving mechanism, like a competition, like regarding one as a hero and the countries the deeds, but life it no competition, life should not be one. I sometimes wonder if I would become like that one day and it troubles me.

The Seventh Seal

I've feared since more than two weeks ago that the cell would suddenly come back to life and Home would be the word that's on the flashing tiny screen of the screeching and trembling machine. It felt more like a premonition than a perturbation, or perhaps both.

Earlier tonight they rang, he died yeaterday. Later, I called and I was told that it happened much more quickly than expected. She went back to Taipei to take care of something thinking that they still had time. They called her at the first moment when he came to claim him. They said that his pulse was getting thin at an alarming rate, nevertheless he was still there. Then she darted across the door. Then for one last time he came back to life.

Thought Constipation

Luckily, I haven't yet had the pleasure of coming face to face with the traditional, substantial and sonorous grimace of intestinal obstruction so far in the first 24 years of my existence, but I'm suffering from another kind of occlusion that is no less traumatic than the well-practised.

Minor yet recurring syndromes includes going downstairs and forget about for what purpose thus standing there for a couple of minutes staring around for a clue; having no idea of the ideas on my head just a few minutes back; going 500kms to the market just a few blocks away and don't remember what I'm suppose to buy and only to remember it timely after I inserted the key into the hole. etc. etc. They are annoying, but not life-threatening. The worst kind, the most poignant type of all that I'm about to utter is a torture beyond imagination, and curiously the other day while reading El amor en los tiempos del cólera I came upon this phrase,

...mantenía la vista fija en un muchacho de rostro sonrosado que lo saludó con una inclinación de cabeza. Lo había visto en alguna parte, sin duda, pero no recordaba dónde. Le ocurría con frecuencia, sobre todo con los nombres de las personas, aun de las más conocidas, o con una melodía de otros tiempos, y esto le provocaba una angustia tan espantosa, que una noche hubiera preferido morir que soportarla hasta el amanecer.

To Every Thing There Is a Season

I went home last week becasue my uncle was in the hospital and the doc said that we'd better go see him while we still could. Dad rang and told me about this and wanted me to go home on Saturday. Great timing, I just dismantled Irma, washed the components and kerosened the frame and if I didn't put them back and lubed them quick enough the chain was going to be strewn with rust. However, my main concern was the frame because at that time I still had no idea how on earth was I going to get the linseed oil and was afraid that by the time I came back it would be home sweet home of corrosions. Plues tomorrow a friend of mine was coming and I promised to let him stay in my place till he found a flat.

That was Tuesday. So I still had time to complete the procedure, but after much indecisions I rang and told my parents that I was going home tomorrow, the half rustproofed Irma can wait.

When I was walking on the corridor towards the room I was like feeling alright, nothing special, like just a normal trip to see a doc when I had a cold or somehow managed to shove my thumb into someone's mouth and broke my fingernail. I stepped in, recognizing the number on the door, and after passed through the first bed and the curtain connecting to the second one light entered this outer part of the room accompanied by the window.

They said he was looking particularly animated that day. His hands were dry and dotted with dark, sinister spots and so was his appearance. The tubes ran under his shirt and raised a mountain in his sunken chest producing irregular yet consistant minor earthquakes.

I went over to him and touched his bony hands and when I noticed the hurdle being formed inside my throat I knew that I had to turn my head to one side pretending that I was looking at the phone or the equipments. Luckily auntie and my folks were absorbed in their conversation about the healthy food they brought him. I went for a walk, the thing that lingered on my mind was his bright voice, the bright voice of a few years back now replaced by a thin whisper over the air.

She said to him, "don't you want to celebrate the diamond anniversary with me?" To which he replied indignantly and with visible difficulty, "when did I say I didn't?" Then I found myself smiling. Later I realized surprisingly that I didn't try to conceal that smile in front of my family, especially my old man, like I usually did.

Trängselskatt (Rush Hour Tax) in Central Stockholm

I came upon an article on Guardian Unlimited about oil, one of the issues that always interests me. According to it, a government official said,

We want to be both mentally and technically prepared for a world without oil. The plan is a response to global climate change, rising petroleum prices and warnings by some experts that the world may soon be running out of oil.

In Taiwan the problem made its presence known once more recently in a price battle on petrol between several companies, one of which raised theirs prices simply because they had to yet the other in order to gain an advantage over their rival maintained or even lowered their prices.

But I guess I'm in no position to judge because I just bought a big bloody 1 gallon can of boiled linseed oil while I only used and needed 250 ml.

Twenty Five Days Already

Yeah it's the 25th day already, 5 days more till the beginning of the second semestre of my second year in grad school. Haven't read anything actually, a bit of Sophie's World and El amor en los tiempos del cólera and that's it. Don't remember what I've been doing all these time, running around I suppose.

I'm now in the process of rustproofing Irma and it's a real pain in the ass because I know nothing about all the chemicals and stuff and the more I read the more confused I got and didn't know what to do. I sprayed some WD40 like stuff into the frame about 5 months ago hoping that it would do the trick, but then in late January when I stripped the frame off all its components I found that that stuff was still in its liquid form which scared the shit out of me. So lots of researches on the internet followed, after much mistakes, wastes of time, money and petrol going around in circles, I flushed the frame with kerosene and now it's drying itself in the garage.

But of course, this will only get that stuff off the steel and not rustproofing anything, I have to apply something more to form a layer between the steel and the air. Lots of choices: motor oil, boiled linseed oil, commercial frame saver, fish oil, etc. So I bought a can of undercoating paint, but then I realized that it would probably make the bike too heavy afterwards so reluctantly I looked for other options, realizing that this daft prick just wasted more money and resourses on nothing. After having spent days looking for Amsoil HDMP (Heavy Duty Metal Protector) with no success I settled with boiled linseed oil. And I was quite happy with that decision because I finally made up my mind.

But then to my surprise, many of the hardware stores don't carry linseed oil, it has to be specially ordered and it's not cheap at all (at least not in this part of the world) about US$11 for one gallon. And I don't need a gallon, just one litre, but I have to buy a gallon becasue they don't just sell one litre... and what am I supposed to do with the rest? Later today in a painting shop I found a small bottle of boiled linseed oil (75ml), but it was US$4 and I couldn't imagine how much I would have to pay to get a litre. Money or Mother Nature, tough call.

The Tragic and Inevitable Death of Tektōnturbidus

Tektōnturbidus was standing in the middle of the parking lot. He flagged down some of the passing vehicles.

“Where you are going?”, he asked. Some said to school, some said to work and some said just fooling around. He asked why they went to school, why they went to work, why the thing they were doing. “I don’t know, well, I think because it’s how it should be, isn’t it? I mean, well, that’s what everyone’s doing, that’s also what my parents and the elders tell me to do. And… besides, hell, I don’t know anything else better to do!”

He asked whether they believed in Destiny or not, some said yes, some said no and other said they didn’t know, hadn’t actually thought about that before, but nearly everyone said that they would avoid certain things to steer clear of bad luck and will do certain things to bring good luck. By sunset, he reached the conclusion that even though many said no, they were constantly worried about it.

The next day he showed up in the parking lot again which upset some. He had been standing there asking those stupid questions for the past ninety days. He asked them whether they were happy, and again the answers were divided into three groups. He asked what they wanted to do if it was possible and the answers were very often a long way from what they were actually doing. Even those who had everything and claimed to be happy were a bit shaken in the end. At the end of the day, Tektōnturbidus reached the conclusion that he hadn’t met a truely happy man yet.

He asked them why didn’t they do anything different to change the situation since they didn’t like it? The most frequent answer was that it was risky to change and it was safer to accept the norm. He was thinking about these answers on his way home, he was sure about two things: that everyone was afriad of Destiny and, that no man was happy. By the time he got to his front door he reached the conclusion that no man was happy because they inflicted Destiny upon themselves whether they knew it or not.

The discontent against his presence in the parking lot accumulated into anger, it was because of fear. And fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. And suffering it was for the cops busted into his apartment the following day and he was accused of corrupting the populace, sabotaging the state and blaspheming against the Life. The jury found him guilty and he was condemned to meet his end in the depth of the unforgiving Mount Oblivion.

Touch

I was helping out in the kitchen and then I saw a big bird in the back yard. It didn’t move, it just stood there and so was I. Its beak was pointing high into the sky and I wondered what it was staring at or having on its mind.