The Duff is sitting in a taiwanese dessert parlour, wasting his time away while he waits for his turn at his phase 1 test, and performing duties required of him due to a recent election into a very visible post in the school. He leaches the free internet provided by the owner, a vain and futile attempt at gaining more business with more services provided, when all he needed was to hire some sweet hunnies to stand bent forward over the cashier counter.
Pretty good speed though. 300kb/s. Its a godsend given what the duff has had to endure thus far in this backwater suburb of 5million.
With his endless supply of bits, he does his usual surfing of the interwub at his usual multitasking frenzy, an effect of unofficially diagnosed ADD. He smiles stupidly at his battery-less laptop, drawing the irksome looks from the neighbouring customers, sucking on their spoons of flavoured "snow". Sometimes, people just hate others to have fun. Who's the duff kidding. Everyone wants the next person to suffer the fyres of hell. Just by sitting his his seat for an hour, he has seen enough idiots with kids, like the parent who allows her children of less than 5 of age to wander at running speeds between tables of eye-level sharp edges, to play with the revolving doors that could easily crush their hands, and to be within a 3m distance from the main road where cars rush by at 50mph. Another parent though, had his child on a leash. Fuck's sake people, whats with the extremities!?!??! The duff hopes Darwinism would sort these people out.
The duff however is smiling at the funny shit people put online. Like this page, a fun little website put up by the advertising prowess hired by Frito-Lay(of all people). The duff hasn't gone through the entire application, but what he has seen thus far amuses him to no end.
Another interesting subculture he's rediscovering is that of weird gadgets bewing sold online, like alarm clocks that beep and roll off the table, forcing you to get up and find the muthafucka and throw it down the toilet. Another alarm clock rings, and has a propeller that takes off with the key to switch off the alarm, forcing the sleeper to once again get his ass off the sheets, trace the din and swing with all his might to olympically crush the clock where it sits with the bladed key. Or the behemoth amongst alarm clocks, that produces a solid boom of over a 100 decibels, and vibrates stronger than the proudest jackhammer to bounce the dozey idiot off his piss boner and onto his itchy backside, off the bed and onto the floor. Genius.
This has a funny little gadget from the land of the rising sun, that requires you to stick a finger into a hole (favourite past-time of many a bored man) to play an interactive game. Fucking funny shit. The duff wants one. Hahhaaa~!
He's been missing his comics, and reading for the fun of it. Recently, reading had been a necessary evil, studying shit and reading just to pass time that excruciatingly scrapes at the insides of his skull. His memory still sucks, and information hangs tenuously like 80-year old balls. Is there a way to improve this effortlessly? There has to be a way. He's living in the future anyway. There must be something! Give him liberty, and give him TRUTH!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Things that erupt from my brain under a hot shower
The Scientist pauses, his index finger a centimetre above the left mouse button, hovering, quivering.
"Have you made all extrapolations that your discoveries will bring to our reality, dear friend?" An imposing voice reverberates over his head, its origin his confidante since childhood.
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and edges his head backwards, neck muscles relaxing for an instant. His mind trails away under his mentat training as he fully empowers his concentration to this oddly procrastinated task. His programming lunges forward.
With his success in finally bridging completely and effortlessly the brain and the computing world through his cybernetic interface, within moments, the human race would be enthralled. Every person, already addicted to the ever constant contact of one another through the net would embrace his technology, essentially creating a cyborg of everyone who could afford the procedure. The economies of scale would allow every nation to partake on this revolutionary step.
Immediate internet connections could be made just by thinking about it. Networks would bounce from person to person, everyone connecting his immediate neighbour through a hyperspace of the cerebrum. Nodal ethernets and advanced IP addressing allowing a species wide network floating on the energies of its users. Each person with their own small social nets, updating each other on the slightest details of their lives Twitter style, with immediate visual inputs and opinions. A sort of telepathy or empathy of the highest order amongst friends and family, and even strangers for those open enough. Privacy would slowly be a thing of the past as each person's interface slowly amalgamates into a giant consciousness. Nobody could be separate from this as hackers, much like mind readers of lore, break into every firewall and spew forth all the dark inhibitions and secrets.
Soon, the decadent would cease to live their own lives, and instead fully live off the more productive members of the world society. The intelligentsia realising this would separate them, and social classes emerge again. Scientific advancement accelerate at a pace never seen before as red tape and laws are circumvented around national divides. Hive minds and new alliances create magnificent discoveries and illuminates the human race like a never plateauing Renaissance.
Crime would disappear as criminals are caught at the slightest hint of want to harm others. Tolerance levels are raised as ignorance dissipates through sheer diffusion of all behaviours, customs and religions. The thirst for all information fall over those with the desire. Minority Report-esque objections go to the byline as near zero crime rates are observed in totalitarian governments.
People soon learn to use the other 90% of their brains as they start designing robotic clones to enact their own actions, living multiple lives and increasing productivity 10-fold. Partitioning of their own brains to control each clone. Autistic Savants emerge to the fore, managing more simply with their higher capacities to multitask along with unbreakable concentrations. A lifetime soon seems meaningless when you can do so much more with the extended life that medical science already provides.
A Morlock mentality begins amongst those useless to the now single global society and hive mind. Behavioural economic experiments are played upon these now almost unknowing masses by the intellectually curious, bringing about greater understandings of human nature, as warped as it has become. In time, in the face of such great advances in all channels of thought and discovery, the Earth would become the epicentre of a galaxy wide expansion, the distances between the stars bringing about delays in communication that illicits memories of a very distant past known to us as the present.
The Scientist opens his eyes, tearing. He clicks the mouse button and uploads his thesis. And with that click, individuality dies, and the world changes.
"Have you made all extrapolations that your discoveries will bring to our reality, dear friend?" An imposing voice reverberates over his head, its origin his confidante since childhood.
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and edges his head backwards, neck muscles relaxing for an instant. His mind trails away under his mentat training as he fully empowers his concentration to this oddly procrastinated task. His programming lunges forward.
With his success in finally bridging completely and effortlessly the brain and the computing world through his cybernetic interface, within moments, the human race would be enthralled. Every person, already addicted to the ever constant contact of one another through the net would embrace his technology, essentially creating a cyborg of everyone who could afford the procedure. The economies of scale would allow every nation to partake on this revolutionary step.
Immediate internet connections could be made just by thinking about it. Networks would bounce from person to person, everyone connecting his immediate neighbour through a hyperspace of the cerebrum. Nodal ethernets and advanced IP addressing allowing a species wide network floating on the energies of its users. Each person with their own small social nets, updating each other on the slightest details of their lives Twitter style, with immediate visual inputs and opinions. A sort of telepathy or empathy of the highest order amongst friends and family, and even strangers for those open enough. Privacy would slowly be a thing of the past as each person's interface slowly amalgamates into a giant consciousness. Nobody could be separate from this as hackers, much like mind readers of lore, break into every firewall and spew forth all the dark inhibitions and secrets.
Soon, the decadent would cease to live their own lives, and instead fully live off the more productive members of the world society. The intelligentsia realising this would separate them, and social classes emerge again. Scientific advancement accelerate at a pace never seen before as red tape and laws are circumvented around national divides. Hive minds and new alliances create magnificent discoveries and illuminates the human race like a never plateauing Renaissance.
Crime would disappear as criminals are caught at the slightest hint of want to harm others. Tolerance levels are raised as ignorance dissipates through sheer diffusion of all behaviours, customs and religions. The thirst for all information fall over those with the desire. Minority Report-esque objections go to the byline as near zero crime rates are observed in totalitarian governments.
People soon learn to use the other 90% of their brains as they start designing robotic clones to enact their own actions, living multiple lives and increasing productivity 10-fold. Partitioning of their own brains to control each clone. Autistic Savants emerge to the fore, managing more simply with their higher capacities to multitask along with unbreakable concentrations. A lifetime soon seems meaningless when you can do so much more with the extended life that medical science already provides.
A Morlock mentality begins amongst those useless to the now single global society and hive mind. Behavioural economic experiments are played upon these now almost unknowing masses by the intellectually curious, bringing about greater understandings of human nature, as warped as it has become. In time, in the face of such great advances in all channels of thought and discovery, the Earth would become the epicentre of a galaxy wide expansion, the distances between the stars bringing about delays in communication that illicits memories of a very distant past known to us as the present.
The Scientist opens his eyes, tearing. He clicks the mouse button and uploads his thesis. And with that click, individuality dies, and the world changes.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Blue Balls
The cold arctic air descended from the heavens to nip at the Duff's toes, turning them numb and a sickly purplish hue that threatens frostbite if not saved in time. He gnaws his teeth together as his whole body shivers. In spite of his well toned blubber, the fucking cold still manages to sneak into his very bones. All this suffering only because he's too lazy and decided to take an outdoor shortcut from his room to collect his laundry.
The lack of heat slows down the inner workings of the Duff's mind, and his subconscious reminisces over the last 2 months, and is amazed at how quickly his conditions have changed in a twinkle of a fairy fart.
For just a scant 8 weeks back, he was suffering in the blistering heat of his homeworld, hunched over stacks of photostated notes with scribblings that made no sense to him. But he had to absorb the meaningless garble and commit them to memory nevertheless. How his brain formed the requisite connections between garbage only Star Trek science could explain. In that stupor, he went into retail therapy, buying an action figure and making many trips to the park, ogling at hunnies and futilely attempting to study.
The Duff amazingly managed to pass all his papers, using ancient secret techniques that he mustered under great duress. For the more judgemental, they would frown upon his ancient secret techniques, seeing them under a different light. For The Duff, it was a means to an end, and it was all good. Just another survival technique, like how a porn star uses an uzi when she has to catwalk across the prison ground to fuck the brains out of the warden.
And once The Duff got his results, he wasn't elated. He was just satisfied that this hurdle was over and done with and he could leave the hovel that was his living quarters for the last 6 months. He then had 2 weeks of R&R, to pack his bags, to mentally prepare, and to meet loved ones and friends before he goes to the great Down Under for the next part of his training.
Which brought him back to his freezer of a laundry room. The constant flight training (almost everyday) and new accomodations, and environment, was anticipated by him well in advance. What he didn't count on was the intensity of the cold, the high expenditure and the fucking high cost of internet access in a fucking developed country, which totally fucks up his notion of a well connected western society, and absolutely fucking fucks with his fucking surfing! FUCK!
*Pause for effect. Breathe. Zen. Woooooosahhhhhh*
40 aussie dollars for 5 gigs, muthafucka! Including uploading! knnbccb!
In spite of all that, he's quite enjoyed his journey thus far. In fact, he and a few buddies had already gone for a road trip that was eventful and satisfying. Detours and disappointments were met with supreme optimism and adaptability. Good clean fun, at an affordable price, unlike some other things in this marsupially infested backwater.
So, a new place, a new life. For hopefully a short and quick 9 months. 9 months away from home, 9 months of freedom, 9 months of gruelling training, 9 months of discovery. 9 months of seasonal changes, 9 months of blue toes, and perhaps blue balls. The Duff hopes he doesn't go home a smurf. Lets see what new Truths this land would bring to his life.
The lack of heat slows down the inner workings of the Duff's mind, and his subconscious reminisces over the last 2 months, and is amazed at how quickly his conditions have changed in a twinkle of a fairy fart.
For just a scant 8 weeks back, he was suffering in the blistering heat of his homeworld, hunched over stacks of photostated notes with scribblings that made no sense to him. But he had to absorb the meaningless garble and commit them to memory nevertheless. How his brain formed the requisite connections between garbage only Star Trek science could explain. In that stupor, he went into retail therapy, buying an action figure and making many trips to the park, ogling at hunnies and futilely attempting to study.
The Duff amazingly managed to pass all his papers, using ancient secret techniques that he mustered under great duress. For the more judgemental, they would frown upon his ancient secret techniques, seeing them under a different light. For The Duff, it was a means to an end, and it was all good. Just another survival technique, like how a porn star uses an uzi when she has to catwalk across the prison ground to fuck the brains out of the warden.
And once The Duff got his results, he wasn't elated. He was just satisfied that this hurdle was over and done with and he could leave the hovel that was his living quarters for the last 6 months. He then had 2 weeks of R&R, to pack his bags, to mentally prepare, and to meet loved ones and friends before he goes to the great Down Under for the next part of his training.
Which brought him back to his freezer of a laundry room. The constant flight training (almost everyday) and new accomodations, and environment, was anticipated by him well in advance. What he didn't count on was the intensity of the cold, the high expenditure and the fucking high cost of internet access in a fucking developed country, which totally fucks up his notion of a well connected western society, and absolutely fucking fucks with his fucking surfing! FUCK!
*Pause for effect. Breathe. Zen. Woooooosahhhhhh*
40 aussie dollars for 5 gigs, muthafucka! Including uploading! knnbccb!
In spite of all that, he's quite enjoyed his journey thus far. In fact, he and a few buddies had already gone for a road trip that was eventful and satisfying. Detours and disappointments were met with supreme optimism and adaptability. Good clean fun, at an affordable price, unlike some other things in this marsupially infested backwater.
So, a new place, a new life. For hopefully a short and quick 9 months. 9 months away from home, 9 months of freedom, 9 months of gruelling training, 9 months of discovery. 9 months of seasonal changes, 9 months of blue toes, and perhaps blue balls. The Duff hopes he doesn't go home a smurf. Lets see what new Truths this land would bring to his life.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
3 minute job
3 months, 100 days. That was how long he was given. And it didn’t even take that long to end.
The entire hedge fund job came and fizzled out within that span of time. It was interesting and fun, highly experiential and eventful. It was not enlightening nor mind blowing, neither life changing nor eye opening. The Duff learnt very little on trading, but quite a bit on human nature, and the animalistic tendencies of humans in terms of corporate survival, no matter the size of environment. Even a microcosm would have its respectively sized web of political intrigue.
The Duff was fired for being deemed unsuitable for trading. Upon 2 months of results, the head trader was able to surmise such a judgement. He was of course entitled to his opinions, and the Duff took it with the weight it deserved. The boss thought he’d figured The Duff out totally, but in time he proved to be a hopeless judge of character and manager of people. Ask the Duff out for a coffee sometime and he’ll spill all the beans, so to speak. It all sounds as bitter as a double shot expresso, but trust him when he says he has all the dirty leftover coffee residue as evidence, astonishingly filtered and coagulated into a black pulp of facts. Isn’t the truth always dirty?
But the 60 days or so on that job The Duff was living a part of a dream he always had, which was to work in the middle of the financial district, to be in the rat race, spiffily dressed to blend and yet stand out, enjoying the sights and smells of finely minted ladies.
But alas, the waking up bit was always coming.
So on to his next adventure. When you are downtrodden and weary, Reach for the skies!
The entire hedge fund job came and fizzled out within that span of time. It was interesting and fun, highly experiential and eventful. It was not enlightening nor mind blowing, neither life changing nor eye opening. The Duff learnt very little on trading, but quite a bit on human nature, and the animalistic tendencies of humans in terms of corporate survival, no matter the size of environment. Even a microcosm would have its respectively sized web of political intrigue.
The Duff was fired for being deemed unsuitable for trading. Upon 2 months of results, the head trader was able to surmise such a judgement. He was of course entitled to his opinions, and the Duff took it with the weight it deserved. The boss thought he’d figured The Duff out totally, but in time he proved to be a hopeless judge of character and manager of people. Ask the Duff out for a coffee sometime and he’ll spill all the beans, so to speak. It all sounds as bitter as a double shot expresso, but trust him when he says he has all the dirty leftover coffee residue as evidence, astonishingly filtered and coagulated into a black pulp of facts. Isn’t the truth always dirty?
But the 60 days or so on that job The Duff was living a part of a dream he always had, which was to work in the middle of the financial district, to be in the rat race, spiffily dressed to blend and yet stand out, enjoying the sights and smells of finely minted ladies.
But alas, the waking up bit was always coming.
So on to his next adventure. When you are downtrodden and weary, Reach for the skies!
Monday, March 24, 2008
HPL
The Duff had spent another week sleepless as usual. The experiment from the previous week was a complete failure. While he managed to go to bed early, he found himself thinking too much, focusing too much on what was playing on his ipod, and even watching shows by his bed. As such, he had gone to the lands of faerie at his usual stipulated 4.30am each day.
And the weekend tipped everything over the edge! On Thursday night/Friday morning, he managed to get home only at 5 after partying the night away with his colleagues. Even then, he only hit the sack at 7. Friday night was an all nighter on the desktop, catching up with his favourite shows until 7 once again. The hours spent hibernating during the day was of course marred by interruptions and the sunlight just burning away at his REM allocation. Saturday night was with his posse of guys, table swimming and suppering.
As for last night? He was up throughout studying for 2 tests that he'd be facing in 2 hours. Such is his folly. His typical drag-ass routine of enjoying first and struggling later. Try as he might, his impulse control is next to nil when the promise of immediate utility dances ever enticingly right 2 feet ahead of his eyes.
The Duff shall be posting his test results here for all who want to see, as a punishment for his well-realised sloth.
As he psychically recites to me now in his dungeon of toil, he is perpetually disgusted by the state of his surroundings. It is a small 2-bedded room with rusty window grilles, uncountable geckos and their droppings laced on every open faced surface, a creaky overhead fan that threatens quick doom and decapitation in an instance, enough mosquitoes to start the next malaria outbreak, and an entire army of ants streaming menacingly across the common aisle to the ant trap that had lain forgotten for months until now, when a stumbling scout chanced upon it and called upon his brethren to retrieve this trojan horse.
His nose has just started running due to the dust and coupled with the moisture supplied by the ample greenery, his footrot has returned. He cannot wait to leave this place, even if the next destination in his course is on another continent. Bittersweet Symphonies.
And the weekend tipped everything over the edge! On Thursday night/Friday morning, he managed to get home only at 5 after partying the night away with his colleagues. Even then, he only hit the sack at 7. Friday night was an all nighter on the desktop, catching up with his favourite shows until 7 once again. The hours spent hibernating during the day was of course marred by interruptions and the sunlight just burning away at his REM allocation. Saturday night was with his posse of guys, table swimming and suppering.
As for last night? He was up throughout studying for 2 tests that he'd be facing in 2 hours. Such is his folly. His typical drag-ass routine of enjoying first and struggling later. Try as he might, his impulse control is next to nil when the promise of immediate utility dances ever enticingly right 2 feet ahead of his eyes.
The Duff shall be posting his test results here for all who want to see, as a punishment for his well-realised sloth.
As he psychically recites to me now in his dungeon of toil, he is perpetually disgusted by the state of his surroundings. It is a small 2-bedded room with rusty window grilles, uncountable geckos and their droppings laced on every open faced surface, a creaky overhead fan that threatens quick doom and decapitation in an instance, enough mosquitoes to start the next malaria outbreak, and an entire army of ants streaming menacingly across the common aisle to the ant trap that had lain forgotten for months until now, when a stumbling scout chanced upon it and called upon his brethren to retrieve this trojan horse.
His nose has just started running due to the dust and coupled with the moisture supplied by the ample greenery, his footrot has returned. He cannot wait to leave this place, even if the next destination in his course is on another continent. Bittersweet Symphonies.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Stoner
The Duff stayed up all night last night, working through his homework at his usual snail's pace. By the time he had finished, it was already 4am, and he thought he might as well not sleep. He did afterall sleep through the entire weekend, almost. 80% of it at least.
So his new daily timeline is something like this. He gets up around 7.45, rushes through his things and sets off for school by 8, and arrives in class in the nick of time at 8.05am. He has a high paced, power packed schedule until 5pm, with an hour's break inbetween for lunch and a short chat with his colleagues over his Nescafe 3-in-1 Intense coffee, which gives him the boost for the last 4 hours.
However, he finds that no matter what, he will stay up late each night as he surfs/ 'studies'/ chats/ suppers until 3 or 4am. Then the cycle starts again. That's why he manages to sleep so much on the weekends, as he replenishes the week's store of required sleep. In a way, he's rather prepared for the eventual work schedule of his job, flying to different timezones and having his biological clock rewound to that of one of Saturn's moons.
Anyway, due to all these factors, he sleeps quite a bit in class, especially when the teacher doesn't engage his brain in any activity other than rote learning. Whenever he doesn't need to think or visualise, his brain switches off, and his eyelids switch on their electromagnets. His classmates all jerk him around because of this, and try as he might, he always falls back into the same habit.
And as he daydreams sometimes to keep himself awake, he constantly brings himself back to his days in the university, where the same old habits had existed. Even in junior college, this pattern had emerged, albeit to a lesser degree.
Truth is, most teachers suck, and The Duff is a horrible student. These 2 factors make for horrible learning, and studying worse so. Therefore, he is challenging himself to sleep early for this week. Its a short one, just 3 nights, of early sleep. Nothing past 1am.
Small steps. To a large goal.
So his new daily timeline is something like this. He gets up around 7.45, rushes through his things and sets off for school by 8, and arrives in class in the nick of time at 8.05am. He has a high paced, power packed schedule until 5pm, with an hour's break inbetween for lunch and a short chat with his colleagues over his Nescafe 3-in-1 Intense coffee, which gives him the boost for the last 4 hours.
However, he finds that no matter what, he will stay up late each night as he surfs/ 'studies'/ chats/ suppers until 3 or 4am. Then the cycle starts again. That's why he manages to sleep so much on the weekends, as he replenishes the week's store of required sleep. In a way, he's rather prepared for the eventual work schedule of his job, flying to different timezones and having his biological clock rewound to that of one of Saturn's moons.
Anyway, due to all these factors, he sleeps quite a bit in class, especially when the teacher doesn't engage his brain in any activity other than rote learning. Whenever he doesn't need to think or visualise, his brain switches off, and his eyelids switch on their electromagnets. His classmates all jerk him around because of this, and try as he might, he always falls back into the same habit.
And as he daydreams sometimes to keep himself awake, he constantly brings himself back to his days in the university, where the same old habits had existed. Even in junior college, this pattern had emerged, albeit to a lesser degree.
Truth is, most teachers suck, and The Duff is a horrible student. These 2 factors make for horrible learning, and studying worse so. Therefore, he is challenging himself to sleep early for this week. Its a short one, just 3 nights, of early sleep. Nothing past 1am.
Small steps. To a large goal.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Dry Adiabatic Lapse Rate
So The Duff was at the local air show just last week, courtesy of some free tickets from the workplace. He managed to get there on a weekday, which was a trade only day. As usual he walked around in the sun, soaking up lots of Vitamin D, and getting his mandatory sunburn while watching the various performances by the many wonderful aircraft companies vying for government dollars.
It amused him that after awhile, he recognised the maneouvres and started dozing off. It was simply humourous as he watches the aircraft at one spot of the sky, doze off, and when he awakens a few seconds later, the aircraft is in another part of the sky, while he's still staring at the old spot. Everyone else in the stands would have progressed on. He stuck out like a sore thumb, much like a spectator at a tennis match watching the wrong half of the court.
Anyway, he bumps into an old friend of his from his university days, and goes over to say hi. The first thing this fried does is grab his tie (which was part of his uniform that he had to don for the occasion), and looked at the insignia on the tie, and spouted disgustingly," So you finally took the plunge and went for the job, huh?"
The job in question is one that he had always fancied at the back of his mind, that of an airline pilot. It would allow him to travel off the tiny island called home every couple of days to destinations far and wide, to meet new people and places, cultures and scenaries. It would bring him a fairly comfortable income and thus a lifestyle he is accustomed to. And most importantly, still afford him quite a bit of free time to pursue other interests on his journey to achieving renaissance.
He had shared this "passion" with his friends over the years, but always putting it on the backburner as world events transpired to knock him off this path, like 9-11 and the SARS event, which had almost led to a company wide pilot strike. However, he went ahead with the plan when, as in most cases, all other doors which he had wanted to open, were already open, and had kicked him on the ass on his abrupt exits from those alternatives.
So on the one hand you could say that he sold himself out to a boring, old slave driving occupation, but it was also an old idea he had, before he built such castles in the sky during his university days, and left practicalities and "two feet on the ground"-ness behind. A childhood dream of sorts, that hopefully would come to fruition.
For he still has a long way ahead of him while he trains for this tough career. It is arduous, with uncountable hours of studying, flight training, simulations, and apple polishing. Back into the corparate structure which he abhored. Back to the mugging of words on yellow printed pages. Back to a regular houred schedule for now. Back to a fixed income month on month. Back into the rat race. Back to terms like this post's title.
He hopes he will make it through. He hopes his Truths may still prevail, that he would still be able to do enough in his life to maintain a certain modicum of individuality. His own terms, and rules, around other more steadfast rules. Bending and poking and preferably not breaking.
May his sanity stay the course.
It amused him that after awhile, he recognised the maneouvres and started dozing off. It was simply humourous as he watches the aircraft at one spot of the sky, doze off, and when he awakens a few seconds later, the aircraft is in another part of the sky, while he's still staring at the old spot. Everyone else in the stands would have progressed on. He stuck out like a sore thumb, much like a spectator at a tennis match watching the wrong half of the court.
Anyway, he bumps into an old friend of his from his university days, and goes over to say hi. The first thing this fried does is grab his tie (which was part of his uniform that he had to don for the occasion), and looked at the insignia on the tie, and spouted disgustingly," So you finally took the plunge and went for the job, huh?"
The job in question is one that he had always fancied at the back of his mind, that of an airline pilot. It would allow him to travel off the tiny island called home every couple of days to destinations far and wide, to meet new people and places, cultures and scenaries. It would bring him a fairly comfortable income and thus a lifestyle he is accustomed to. And most importantly, still afford him quite a bit of free time to pursue other interests on his journey to achieving renaissance.
He had shared this "passion" with his friends over the years, but always putting it on the backburner as world events transpired to knock him off this path, like 9-11 and the SARS event, which had almost led to a company wide pilot strike. However, he went ahead with the plan when, as in most cases, all other doors which he had wanted to open, were already open, and had kicked him on the ass on his abrupt exits from those alternatives.
So on the one hand you could say that he sold himself out to a boring, old slave driving occupation, but it was also an old idea he had, before he built such castles in the sky during his university days, and left practicalities and "two feet on the ground"-ness behind. A childhood dream of sorts, that hopefully would come to fruition.
For he still has a long way ahead of him while he trains for this tough career. It is arduous, with uncountable hours of studying, flight training, simulations, and apple polishing. Back into the corparate structure which he abhored. Back to the mugging of words on yellow printed pages. Back to a regular houred schedule for now. Back to a fixed income month on month. Back into the rat race. Back to terms like this post's title.
He hopes he will make it through. He hopes his Truths may still prevail, that he would still be able to do enough in his life to maintain a certain modicum of individuality. His own terms, and rules, around other more steadfast rules. Bending and poking and preferably not breaking.
May his sanity stay the course.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Not another Jumpstart?!
Procrastination is the mother of all stagnation.
For it was this very word that prevented the Duff from continuing his posts here, and the sharing of his mundane life with an audience that he permits himself the luxury of conjuring up in bouts of fantastic exodii from reality.
For each time he tried to put finger to keyboard, or even entertaining hte thought of wanting to type something out on this platform, another would easily come along and pull him away from his original intent. Whenever he elaborates in his mushy collection of synapses a running rhetoric on the state of the world around him, a stray errand would prevent him from establishing his essay onto the bits and bytes of the ether. In short, he has ADD.
Perhaps in this incarnation of You Are The Truth, the final perpetual beta (an oxymoron if there ever was one), would emerge, and a constant stream of tidbits of shared consciousness with race memory would be allowed to see the light of day. Perhaps, finally, he would find the discipline to stick to a fucking schedule.
We'll see. The past few months since the last post had been tumultuous to say the least, and would be utterly an exercise in futility to dredge the events up and place them on the mantelpiece all at one go. Hence, he would break them down into worms of shared experience and let them drill to the surface, and to dump them unto the big bright world above. For his Truths to intrude into all others, and amalgamate into a mutated blob of life.
For it was this very word that prevented the Duff from continuing his posts here, and the sharing of his mundane life with an audience that he permits himself the luxury of conjuring up in bouts of fantastic exodii from reality.
For each time he tried to put finger to keyboard, or even entertaining hte thought of wanting to type something out on this platform, another would easily come along and pull him away from his original intent. Whenever he elaborates in his mushy collection of synapses a running rhetoric on the state of the world around him, a stray errand would prevent him from establishing his essay onto the bits and bytes of the ether. In short, he has ADD.
Perhaps in this incarnation of You Are The Truth, the final perpetual beta (an oxymoron if there ever was one), would emerge, and a constant stream of tidbits of shared consciousness with race memory would be allowed to see the light of day. Perhaps, finally, he would find the discipline to stick to a fucking schedule.
We'll see. The past few months since the last post had been tumultuous to say the least, and would be utterly an exercise in futility to dredge the events up and place them on the mantelpiece all at one go. Hence, he would break them down into worms of shared experience and let them drill to the surface, and to dump them unto the big bright world above. For his Truths to intrude into all others, and amalgamate into a mutated blob of life.
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