If anyone happens to be feeling particularly fond of me, this is what they should get me:
A General Theory of Love by psychiatrists Lewis, Amini and Lannon which explains why the Beatles might not have been too far off the mark when they said that "All you need is love". Psychology, neurobiology and the human condition have got to be three of my favourite things.
I just finished reading Kafka On The Shore by Murakami, and suddenly everything seems a little unreal, a little far off. There is a Satya Narayan puja at my house later today and oddly enough, I'm no longer annoyed about it. Murakami does strange things to me. Y'know, the book is beautiful, surreal, interesting, strange, full of cats- everything you'd expect from a Murakami, but the end sort of left me in the lurch. So there's this boy and he goes on a journey, meets all these people, their lives intersect in ways they're unaware of, making ripples in other's lives and yadda yadda yadda but so What? Nothing is explained, nothing is really resolved, and I guess that bugs me. Sort've in a what's the point kind've way. But I guess that's life. Fluid and elusive and more often than not, episodes have no real conclusion or closure. Frames gently shift and things merge into one another till before you know it, some things have been completely purged from your life and you can't even begin to remember a birthday. When I was young(er) and stupid(er), this thought would often drive me to gloom- the fact that life goes on, and feelings change and nothing can really ever be pinned down and known with absolute certainty. These days it bugs me less. You begin to see the beauty in change, and the shifting patterns. There's a wonder in not knowing, and finding out. There's also such beauty in familiarity, and solid ground, and in starting to take certain things for granted.
How can something so transient seem so permanent? The thing is, potential. I flew south for the summer, and like Mr. Nakata said, (and Colonel Sanders, yes) what's been opened must be closed. Things have to be put right. But I bruise easy, it seems.
I haven't been able to write lately because my thoughts are too full of one thing for me to say anything of much consequence. So I've been reading a lot instead. Reading, and stumbling into the lives of whorebabies, and er, working out. I'm trying to be gentler these days. The more I circle the sun, the more I begin to value kindness in others. The more I keep realizing in this sort of panic, that I don't have much time. I mean, literally speaking this summer has been very Endless Numbered Days, but even beyond that, just life y'know? My room-mate died earlier this year and while it plunged me into depression for a bit, and reminded me of exactly how fleeting and utterly senseless life can be, it wasn't really life-changing in terms of my whole attitude towards life. I didn't sell my metaphorical ferrari or - actually, I semi take that back. It set off a train of events that have been interesting and unpredictable.
This post is full of contradictions and faulty grammar, but life is full of paradoxes so you'll just have to deal with it. I have however, scattered interesting links throughout so hopefully that makes up for it.
I will leave you with this list of books on music and the brain from a site that I love very much. If you're feeling unaccountably fond of me....you know what to do.
Also, this passage from Kafka on the Shore:
A General Theory of Love by psychiatrists Lewis, Amini and Lannon which explains why the Beatles might not have been too far off the mark when they said that "All you need is love". Psychology, neurobiology and the human condition have got to be three of my favourite things.
I just finished reading Kafka On The Shore by Murakami, and suddenly everything seems a little unreal, a little far off. There is a Satya Narayan puja at my house later today and oddly enough, I'm no longer annoyed about it. Murakami does strange things to me. Y'know, the book is beautiful, surreal, interesting, strange, full of cats- everything you'd expect from a Murakami, but the end sort of left me in the lurch. So there's this boy and he goes on a journey, meets all these people, their lives intersect in ways they're unaware of, making ripples in other's lives and yadda yadda yadda but so What? Nothing is explained, nothing is really resolved, and I guess that bugs me. Sort've in a what's the point kind've way. But I guess that's life. Fluid and elusive and more often than not, episodes have no real conclusion or closure. Frames gently shift and things merge into one another till before you know it, some things have been completely purged from your life and you can't even begin to remember a birthday. When I was young(er) and stupid(er), this thought would often drive me to gloom- the fact that life goes on, and feelings change and nothing can really ever be pinned down and known with absolute certainty. These days it bugs me less. You begin to see the beauty in change, and the shifting patterns. There's a wonder in not knowing, and finding out. There's also such beauty in familiarity, and solid ground, and in starting to take certain things for granted.
How can something so transient seem so permanent? The thing is, potential. I flew south for the summer, and like Mr. Nakata said, (and Colonel Sanders, yes) what's been opened must be closed. Things have to be put right. But I bruise easy, it seems.
I haven't been able to write lately because my thoughts are too full of one thing for me to say anything of much consequence. So I've been reading a lot instead. Reading, and stumbling into the lives of whorebabies, and er, working out. I'm trying to be gentler these days. The more I circle the sun, the more I begin to value kindness in others. The more I keep realizing in this sort of panic, that I don't have much time. I mean, literally speaking this summer has been very Endless Numbered Days, but even beyond that, just life y'know? My room-mate died earlier this year and while it plunged me into depression for a bit, and reminded me of exactly how fleeting and utterly senseless life can be, it wasn't really life-changing in terms of my whole attitude towards life. I didn't sell my metaphorical ferrari or - actually, I semi take that back. It set off a train of events that have been interesting and unpredictable.
This post is full of contradictions and faulty grammar, but life is full of paradoxes so you'll just have to deal with it. I have however, scattered interesting links throughout so hopefully that makes up for it.
I will leave you with this list of books on music and the brain from a site that I love very much. If you're feeling unaccountably fond of me....you know what to do.
Also, this passage from Kafka on the Shore:
“According to Aristophanes in Plato's The Banquet, in the ancient world of legend there were three types of people", Oshima says. "Have you heard about this?"
"No"
"In ancient times people weren't simply male or female, but one of three types : male/male, male/female or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangment and never really gave it much thought. But then God took a knife and cut everyone in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into male and female, the upshot being that people spend their time running around trying to locate their missing half.”
I liked Oshima. He was a very interesting character. While talking about why he likes to listen to Schubert while driving: But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of- that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.
