Tuesday 11 February 2014

What's left of a dying Mittyesque

Time.:.
It was always hard to comprehend,
 a mind like something else, weird, Unknown & foreign.

unknown to itself,
the wonderer runs across empty grass field,
looking for something to challenge.
running from someone,
fearful, melancholy, tactical, deadly
always trying to find solutions.
Never knowing why eventually.

A possibile history of a dying star is left to implode on itself.
leaving nothing, but faint specks of love.


Sunday 9 February 2014

The existential reflection of the current state of matter

It seems that there is a true issue rambling on in today's world. The only one that isn't fully addressed, but many may possess, I do not know. That one problem lies in in the existential solution and the handling of such issues.

For this issue, I shall introduce a few characters, each expressing an articulate highly dynamic trait if it were to be associated with a sole agent. The hyper vigilant agent, the scared agent, the hateful frustrated agent and the arrogant agent.

The main problem I will be tackling is in fact not even a problem, it's only a matter of concern which I hold dear to my heart. It's as though this topic does touch on my very soul as some others may feel. It does pain to say that my sociopathic (psychopathic) state is in fact very different to those who may face this problem, and that this problem may only occur to specific others who so happen to stumble upon these set of events.

1. The deluded conception of time for me. There are more than two ways of perceiving time, in face, abstraction and phenomenologically. When you perceive time in face, you're just flowing with time having estimates of the seconds going by, you're not focusing your full attention to the time ticking. This is interesting because this introduces the relative time field in which we all possess. Most people value time through abstraction which is fairly reasonable, that is ticking time with the full consciousness of being a omniscient god. This type of time frame refers to those who are constantly counting, which refers to the hyper vigilant behaviour if one decides to act that way, or feels compelled to do so. Finally there's the phenomenological time, where one does not rely on abstraction but where one sets his own time state by his dreams or his corresponding emotions, this is one for the psychopath. The state in which the phenomenological time works usually is observed in dream states, it's hard to say but during dreams of insomnia or those mimicking reality and express stories of social nature; a time steam is introduced by itself, it's fairly rare for me, but does happen frequently on some occasions. The time stream in this phenomenological approach would be a time of itself, sometimes it feels as though a billion years of frustration has built up over the time of being imprisoned in a time warp. Usually days go by in my dream where events skip but I'm made to believe two days have passed, even though many many events happen. These are the same kind of things where mittyesque take place in ones mind, time passing extremely slow for detailed day dreams of explosions and egocentric delusions, whilst the world only ticks four second. For me time passes very fast as I spend most days effectively tackling down philosophical solutions and technological solutions, seldom social issues. If i were to relay a social context it's usually how to manipulate a crowd or even single human being, it's at my best interest to understand how things work, literally everything, for wonder's sake.

2. This existential crisis is just like the time crisis, with no conclusion to the previous paragraph itself, the assumption I'm leading on is not to express a point. There is no point to be made, it's only the expression of links in which I'm trying to show significance too. For a person to feel under stress of the existential crisis, it's presented in a way of high distress, as though without meaning there is nothing. Of course it's a bit daunting with the idea of a buzz-kill in place, in place within the biggest walls of the universe and encoded into the prime code of nature itself. It is vital to understand that the existential question does not require an answer and could be described as an on going process rather than a finite expression/ value. The only problem with the on going process is (referring to time again) the will required to constantly transvalue is hard, your time stream and drive would mean measuring and dealing with the social anxiety forced into your head has to be handled with extreme assertions of great torque. Hitting yourself with an orange 240 times and not knowing how to answer it, well learn to embrace the orange hitting you for the time being while you think about a solution.

I do believe that it's all about solutions and solving things. What happens when the existential crisis whacks you on the head? well it'll probably send you into a state of depression, an odd single minded, ambient, rotten parasite lingering in your brain. This will probably make you pessimistic and will probably send you either into a suicide junkie a junkie or even a weed smoking hipster. I do not know. But one things for sure, there is no existential answer, that's the idea in our universe. Even if there was a scientist from another universe who created our universe, he wouldn't be our god. Perhaps if even encoded into our systems, we wouldn't know until we so happen to use the scientific method to observe, pure empiricism to understand ourselves. But until then? well we just say everything's relative. This is not the methodology I followed, If I did this I would've probably analysed it, scraped it and attempted another solution.

Lets say there is no existential answer, what next. Like I expressed most kids do not understand that the world does not world in a linear time stream. When abstraction is expressed through wielding science as a lens, you must understand it's not how your text book operates, it's never chronological. In fact it's in all dimensions and in all ways, backwards in time and forwards in time. When you change your abstracted view's, you'll realise that you're in a world of nihilism which leaves you in wonder. It's the case of a perfect eden where adam and eve are first introduced into the world. In the 21st century's case, a man and women from the upper middle class enter a beautiful shopping mall where everything's free for eternity. They'll be amazed and happy, for the first time they'll be lost in wonder, they'll stop caring about their origins. They'll care about what's at hand and what is it is that floats in the air that's invisible and uncertain. It's this thrill, this beat in your heart that'll you'll feel, of course this feeling is only activated in a very specific manner, usually when I feel comfortable and driven. The drive actually comes from the inner rage and hatred from the uncertainty, in every Gung ho situation where people take a leap of faith, well there's always fear and fear when bottled up will eventually turn into the hottest rage and hatred on the planet. I personally have lots of that, and I've learn't to control it into a driving force which also sometimes distorts my time, and sometimes deludes my existence into that of an immortal. But overall I've controlled my rage, I believe violence is also extremely petty, but of course as my tactician's bilk observers everything it's important to be insightful of violence's effectiveness as a tool to combat solutions. Personally I see myself as a master tactician.

The rumble zone is something in which the hyper vigilant agent, the scared agent and the hateful agent is shown to fall under. Sometimes when you realise the existential value at present you'll abuse that nature and think you're better than everyone else. It is true that you are better in a sense that you've attempted to solve lifes personal questions through thinking a lot, the thought may never leave you, but like the orange hitting yourself 240 times, always ground yourself into a state where you see everyone equal. It's not to be nice in any sense, but it's the view of looking at the world with a more balanced view and not to over estimate your own worth. The existential question now for me feels melancholic, it doesn't feel as hateful but nowadays it feels ambient and melancholic. Why melancholic, I believe it's just the realisation of emptiness but also mixed with a heap of beautiful wonder. It's the feeling when you take a walk outside the city at 3 in the morning where there are still some lights left in the buildings, but an overall chill in the surroundings. Or when you wake up on a snow day and you walk outside feeling cold and empty, yet you view yourself in 3rd person to mimic a character who did the same thing in a music video, dramatising the ambience and increasing the romantic stoic impressions all around yourself.

The rumble zone is one that isn't all of those qualities. It's the rotten scum of the earth. It's when a person gets stuck in a somewhat limbo, a frustrated one where they're inhibited by small social conventions. Those who feel awkward and stress and complain, they just seem bad and handling these things, they just can't hold on to the railings. It's like in young justice where the airlocks had some open and everyone's grabbing onto each other to prevent getting sucked off into space. It's just like that, people have to be strong to grab hold on the bars. Just like Neitzsche's way of putting it, painting a picture of ones life constantly is hard, it's painstaking in fact, and he even then goes on to describing the will to power and embracing the pain. The rumble zone is for those who do not seek new solutions but become characters of infinite themselves, they're like bubbles of time that do not evolve at all.

That's just the way it is I do not personally want to say where I am for these theories are pure abstraction and have upmost uncertainty in everything. I myself may be in the rumble zone myself, but I believe that I strive and I am aware of the qualities I possess, giving me the edge to escape the rumble zone. It's that little confidence and leap of faith perhaps.

These issues occur to children on the internet who see dead people everywhere, like myself, I have endured great pain and observed a lot. I have thought of wars, deaths and all sorts of minute details people wouldn't want to even think about. It's just something that grounds us to the basics of life, but at the same time we must utilise our thinking and think beyond reality to gain insight and perspective.

"Be the orange and yourself at the same time- take 240 hits till you get there"- Ian (I literally just quoted myself because I said it out loud, I hope there's nothing wrong with me)






Friday 17 January 2014

A snapshot of the automation of human life

A snapshot of the automation of human life


In the subtle mind of a blanc scene
lost in time
no period no judgment
the nihilist is called ian
his name ressonates equal to his peers and to all.

The man and woman,
both normal, standing in the far relative distance blank-
"not knowing they're closer than they thought".
Some derive great stories about their adventures of blank, stiff stories to me, judgment of others mostly.
Complaints to crank the handle of the dynamo powering the lightbulb,
waiting to die in syncronization with another.
The two people stand hand in hand, lost in each other's company.
Whilst stating each others love, they both hail judgement.

A small whimp down the time stream of blanc avenir...
we unjudgementally see,

The moral freak's they've come to be,
not concerned with what they see,
only looking at how they're king.
King of the morals shall I say,
no transvaluing,
no life,
only blanc motif, no inner transgression, a light that shines brighter as long as it thinks it shines bright.
But forever evolving,
into a light with no florecense.  

A monster is born. 

A quiet anger- a figurative story, written in 2012 june*

Life on the run. The Maxis network leaking bars till zero on a phone. Sweaty palms that had once felt no juice leaking during a session of mittyesque felt anger like no other. Gripping the phone tightly on the right. Sandbag on the left. Face so close to the effort of god, like mad he ran. Blip blop, Blip Blop, BLop BLOp... the slippers continue to run down the alley. His heart out of his chest yet? No, he's brave and warrior like. Bangs and plops contrast each other as they ring broken fine china-ware, the brittle ceramic dropping mirrors the gas pipe that just popped open and ignited. Time is starting to slip, the running is starting to rip out of the present, automation is starting to kick in, hope is already lost.

The child goes out with a bang. No finale, one last joke for the comedian. It Drops dead on its knees with no history left, it's soul rising up out of his body with all memories. Only it's body is left, surely he's gone to a better place. Maybe he's gone to a place where I am right now. I am in a place where the observer observes only, and cannot touch those that do not perceive.

Jaime stood angry over the Malaysian boy who was once called a smart aleck. Some blood drooling down with spitfire red guts leaking out, intestines hanging out like those party banners the impoverished child probably wished for one day at his first birthday party. Non the less, the child died kneeling with two shattered knee caps that bent flat to the stiff unforgiving tarmac. All neo-noir to Jaime, it was all in black and white. No love, just a bunch of red and dead eyes looking back at him.

A gang of black shadows approach the Malaysian boy, two tommy guns, tow machetes, definitely not a royal flush, just a bunch of lowlives in suites. Probably the Yakuza's south east asian branch. They approach the boy, bag him up, ready for the feast.

The black shadows enter the halls of valhalla, drop the the boy off. With two tables separating the position in which the boy was at, he was left kneeling and dead. The vikings and all the foot soldiers didn't stop to turn for the boy. The boy wasn't there at all, it was as though he was in the position of life, yet dead in nature. He was there, but nobody reacted, it was the butterfly effect that everyone talked about that didn't really matter. Nothing mattered in valhalla, and so the boy wasn't noticed, there was no refuge.

"Good morning mum"- WAKE UP. OMG it's just a dream.... WAKE UP!!!! WAKE UPPP

A sentimental heart. The analysis of why one does things.

I've always wondered what love was. I've always thought of what love was. I've always ended up with a bunch of love at the end.
It seems that when a bunch of blokes like me starts to judge women, or girls on a 1 to 10 scale, it gets me riled up. Of course I follow along because I adapt, I don't want to crush anybody's mind or heart for the sake of it, they're my friends. I feel quite bad, to be honest, I'm personally not the best looking person, probably at the bad end of the scale. I feel as though I have a be the underdog and support all the ugly bastards in this world. I've got a tick a humour left in me, yes! I am an ugly bastard. The problem with rating the girls was, I of course was in no place to judge because I only had a distorted view of what social status each person had in the school. The premise was good looks and bang-ability to us guys. As I'm still a virgin, I will literally fuck and tear up anyones pussy if they're cool people. Maybe not as rough as the diction implies, but if you were to analogise it, this would be it "If my dick could go through a cool bottle, I would". The bottle illustrates the lowest form of endoxa may see as unattractive people.  It's not as though I'm going to imagine myself in every scenario with every other girl... that just isn't the case. Me liking this little chat? Not at all. I'm someone of sentiment, people are simple in the form they take, but they're simpler when you get to know them. There are only a few, those who don't give a shit about what others say, those people are a tad bit more complex. I love those people, and I call them dynamic characters. Dynamic characters are those who follow principles, who follow some weird code, but in some sense they don't change. It's like a rock nailed to the bottom of the ocean, then waves are constantly crashing onto the rock, smoothening the rock slowly, but yet it's inner form doesn't change. This is of course the nails pinning the rock to the ocean don't come loose and remain fixed.

With the rock in mind, there is this selfishness which I see in myself. Every time I see a hot girl, sometimes I would imagine my life with them in the future. A hot brunette, slowly walking towards me, steps tip toed out of the pool, dusting the water off her gangly legs. Well basically she then makes out with me, and we make love. I hate those segments of imagination... they remind me of sticking my phallus into her vagina or mouth or whatever hole I can find. Potted plant? I constantly remind myself I'm in a horny daydream scenario. It's like a movie playing but with a liquid stamp saying "Horny- Motherfucker".

In that selfishness comes love. I've always wondered what the difference between love and respect was. See the problem was with me, I use to like this super cool french girl but she didn't like me back. It was ok, but I really liked her. It was an obsessive lop sided relationship, like a happy meal next to a gourmet burger (even though the happy meal has a toy, the happy meal does not have the advantage in this specific case, to be honest I'd prefer a happy meal sometimes because of the toy). I think it was extremely selfish, and it wasn't love. Although at that time I would've called it love because it felt like a jerk in the heart, like a really painful heart attack. Her not liking me, and me liking her made me like her more, I mean that wasn't the case but I'm just here attempting to illustrate the painful heart attack. There's this feeling, it's a variation of an adrenaline rush, it zones me out the past and creates this world of wonder, it's as though I'm in the new present. And it's great because this feeling was just what it was, it was the shit, I've always harnessed this feeling to give that euphoric boost. Perhaps love is something else, more complex in nature, but never possessed by anybody. I think love is the intimate respect for another's wishes, a union between two people. The best reference I would I like to draw this to is Pacific Rim, it's like the two hemispheres coming together into one mind. Love is the faith of another's choices, I suppose one person has the gut "feeling" of connection is because of trust embedded in another. This is not always true because I can anticipate what people are going to do etc. Love to me seems like others are willing to take their partner's existence as almost equal to theirs. You trust another so much that your willing to take a leap of faith, losing the idea of the possibility that your wife is not a robot and the entire human race is still attached to that probability.

What am I rambling about? Probably my dick entering a vagina... and me having to be nicer to people. But I am nice... but maybe I'm a bit hostile, which is a true fact. I'm vigilant... or just a giant dickhead.

I create a realistic scenario, I think of the morning after I have with a girl. I wake up next to a girl and I feel connected to her because of the shared love making. Whether or not it was bad, I don't know, but I assume i have a good time. She wakes up and there's just the "present", no time distortions, just "now". But when creating this scenario, the fact will probably be, two of the partners will not wake up at the same time, one will probably be farting his (I mean I probably) ass off and another will probably leave and make breakfast then go mountain biking (because mountain biking is fun). I'm just trying to say in this paragraph that I have no clue what love feels like, and most likely will never feel it. I do feel love, but that feeling's just overrated. I feel as though I want adventure and spirit, and maybe someone who I can share it with, I want to discover. My deepest desire is the love of creation... which is unlike others who want couples and hot girls. I do want a lady to make love to, but there's this inner sociopath that wants to tell the whole world to fuck off. I don't want the world to fuck off though, I'm scared of the love that'll be lose, between family friends and those that I hold dearest. I don't have many friends, because people are starting to get their own lives, people want to do adult things. People want to gossip and talk shit about other people, which doesn't interest me. People want to settle down and be rich-asses and do nothing all their lives. Maybe I just want to be loved? It would be nice wouldn't it, but it would be bad if that person restricted me.

I dream of desserts and deserts both. Adventure and food. Me making food for people so they can taste my experiences and craft. Adventure for the selfish soul, looking for new worlds and terrain to see.

I've written to much crap over the years, yet I've deleted many online and on my computer. I'm always embarrassed, maybe this'll go down. Maybe i'll deteriorate and turn into a singularity, then poof, I'm gone.


Wednesday 15 January 2014

When I pissed in the snow- poem!

When I pissed in the snow- Ian Chan

In death's final days,
the divine madness seeps in.
The poet pays the price,
Plato observes and sighs.
No beauty, no aesthetic, just spin.
To lean beside the lonely
it's all I have.

Family members gather to be blocked out- the ghosts
arrive within. Lonely begins.

Winter's weathered soul, chill until the end,
the cold seeps in, one last attempt to...
tell everyone of fuck-off!
The drama turns pragmatic,
with a dry, shuddering death boner,
filled with excitement and awe.

The madness is embraced,
an outlook is lost.
One last coup de grace for tribute
of the dead.
Summer just lost its memory,
of when I pissed in Winter's snow.