OutSideIN

To the craftsman I say ...

2014-11-24T19:31:00.000-08:00

To the craftsman I say you have done yourself proud

Chiselled the truth from this icy shroud

Taken the myth that be the devil’s dowry

And made it into God’s work entirely

What of her soul oh master of the arts?

Why has her mind not be given good start?

Her lips move wonderfully to some tune I hear not

Her eyes betray an indifference to my lot

Her skin is like snow, but acts as if Ice

I would not meet her in battle twice

Bled and broken by silence not sound

Defeated not by hatred but love never found

So to the craftsman I say well done, good cheer and all

Created perfection that shall always stand tall

Not meant for me alas, this part of heaven

I will meet thee in hell, and there get even

Dedicated to, well, her….

When I was a little boy ..

2014-09-18T21:01:00.003-07:00

... barely 10 years old, there was a boy in my class. Let us call him Henry. He struggled with personal relationships and communication. Though I have no cause to believe, now as an adult, that he was handicapped in any way, at that time we all mocked him for his inability to express himself properly and thought him special.

One of the many, many days of teasing and taunting, I saw Henry exit the school and walk towards his mother, his head slumped. We, the collective cruelty that only children are capable of, had made fun of him, jeered at him and had singled him out for scorn in a class of 25.

His mother, a relatively young lady, looked for him in the crowd of tired kids. She found him and her frozen smile unclenched in a show of wide teeth and admiration; something she had practised unconsciously no doubt many times. Henry struggled with life and we all should have known that this made a tense, charged time at home for the parents. We did not care. Children don't really care much for the plight of adults; not in those lands.

As soon as they made eye contact, I saw her whole figure fall onto itself. Like weight that has no where to go but down, the ease of her moment had been broken by the chore of reconciliation. She had the task of reconciling, for her son whom she no doubt loved more than life itself, each day and today was one of the worst days her son had lived through... It was hard, relentless, crushing work. It broke her heart a little, day by day.

On an evening like this, it probably broke her heart a lot.

I saw her ask him what the matter was, saw her resignation and hurt when he wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't have had to explain.

I will never forget that moment. I use it to ease myself into the Zen like moments I treat myself to when I am surrounded by a darkness imaginary and when the only sounds I hear are the murmurs of insanity.

It serves me, and hopefully my entire class of 24, right to live through waking life like this after having displayed such abject inhumanity.

Henry, where ever you are, I know you were better and smarter than me and I thank you for it. I hope your mother's heart is aching less now that you have undoubtedly made her proud..

Dedicated to L'Ecole St Honore D'Eylau,

La 18eme

Paris

Trial by combat

2014-07-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

"I leave my fate in the hands of the gods... I demand a trial by combat!!"

You have pitted me against the ancient sermon,
Asked me to suffer what no man has done before
I must have surely been chosen at random,
For never had I asked to do this miserable chore

To walk with blisters under my feet
Under burning sun with skin dripping blood
To get no rest under these thorned sheet
I see no shelter to save me from this flood

Why was I not given a better weapon?
Not provided horse and ample saddle
Why are my wares so pitiful and wanton?
When even the wicked get a hoe and paddle

Here I am now, again, a muse of your court
Where monkeys preside to seal the fate of men
False kings watch me become common sport
Waiting to throw me in a deep putrid den

So I say stop this mockery and let me be
I have scars deep in the chambers of my heart
You are no messiah, nor any deity
You have not seen my life from its start

I leave my fate in the hands of the gods
And let them decide if I be man or rat
Cease these proceedings of uneven odds
I now demand a trial by combat

dedicated to the Mother of Dragons

A boy awakes into a nightmare

2014-07-06T20:12:00.002-07:00

To the serpent he said bite me, poison away the death

The boy awoke into his nightmare, surprised and lost
He bargained on being brave and stand his ground
His blood became curdled into a miserable frost

To the serpent he said bite me, poison away the death
Maybe the ground will give lightly to my false steps
I can sense the end as I sing from this depth

He began to do a wizardly dance, macabre and sincere
Tuned to the wind howling and a wolf cub's lament
Staring the end with open eyes and brows severe

"Can you not forgive me my sins oh woeful temptress?"
I have angels hidden within and a will to do good
It is a shallow notion the sense of justice in duress

His resolved weakened when he saw his reflection so true
Within the serpent's eyes his entirety laid bare
How awful those deeds that this dreamer could not argue

Whimpering and crying his cheeks show muddied purpose
Water is acid and rain with shards of pain he feels
Long gone now the serpent from this dark dusty circus

He is alone in space, with no stars or moons to forget the hell
This is no dream, nor nightmare, this is waking life of the damned
He misses the sense of touch and comfort he had in his shell

The boy has walked in the deep too long, looking not back
This is his penance for forgetting promises made to beauty
At the cathedral of heaven, no, hell, maidens now in black

Looking intently at this nothingness of man or now as beast
His doom is knowing that he is no more an object
Not of the Earth, not of the pit below lies his rest

This sobbing creature will now fester in between somewhere
Robbed of his sanity he will shrivel within his own recess
And whisper when he can, parched tongue, of his care

Nothing will listen, no echoes will be met in this distant prison
Where no windows exist to soothe the dying soul
Only memories to keep and screams in purgatory not forbidden

Dedicated to no one .. not tonight.

...and hair like black river

2014-06-13T22:51:00.001-07:00

Oh lord if I were to walk the gardens of heaven
Where awaits my eternal bride
Cast in the image of goddess imagined
An angel created to be by my side

So I can gaze at your finest offspring
And let my soul swim in her eyes
An amber chisel and hair like black river
My words replaced by sighs

Beauty so pure it is looking past me
A hole burning right to very shadow
There must be tears on my cheek
I am in the peace of a mind hollow

Perched on the highest peak in heaven
My altar of truth is your angels smile
I worship the Norse queen before me
Watching the mist of eternity untwine

Mad Men: the long one (insomnia breeds pointless blog posts)

2014-05-16T02:38:00.001-07:00

Megan Draper...Sigh....Course he's happy she's Canadian

So I was watching the season premiere of ‘Mad Men’ (season 5, yeah am pretty behind) and something struck me; the characters have a lot more to offer than we've been led to believe. What’s more, there is a certain emotional depth, cleverness and sense of life about them. It was (is, am still watching it, I took a break to write this) the most enjoyable episode of the series I’ve seen yet.

Let me put things in context. Mad Men is a very stylized show: it has a strong sense of its time and place in history, ours and the time it represents. It is a period piece. The dilemmas and twists of Draper’s life, the ups and downs of the ad world, the personal arcs of those around him are all written to create an impression. Call it the imprint of that era, the usual story with the grace of the 50s and 60s. It is fairly well scripted and has some great acting.

The average episode runs for about an hour. This one was a special 1 hour 30 minutes. That’s 32 odd minutes more air time. 32 minutes changes a lot. Don’s world seems different. Ok so he’s married (again) and happy. That’s not it though; the show has life in it. Real life. The script is sharper than its ever been, the quips better executed. Nuances are more deliberate. Given the luxury of added time we see an almost ‘cinematic’ display of the storyboard.

The third bit of context is my own circumstances. I am tired, I have been awake all night and that means I am more vulnerable than usual. I feel more. It helps to see Don with Megan, she’s not only gorgeous, she’s from Montreal. My city. I ache for such a beauty, feel happy to share in the tidings at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. No one’s seems hurried, nothing is done in a snappy manner. Things move at a nice, elegant pace; creating depth of mis-en-scene.

The point of this post is a simple one: everything captured on film which is really good has the potential to be great. Sopranos great. Given time and artistic freedom television productions can evolve to tell great stories of legendary characters.

Time is everything. It leaves space for humanity and expression. We see it in this episode. Craft is always amplified to fill the gaps it is asked to fill. In the cultural space of the digital world, less is only more when it actually has more. Placing, or trying to place, too much content in a small segment of this space is not the end-game. Creating lasting impressions is.

In other words; Just watching 1.5 hour special Mad Med S5; brilliant. Feels like Don’s world has a deeper sense of life in it. (yes, I did just tweet that last line, with 22 characters to spare - somehow the post was a better read).

Anyway, I shall now finish the episode.

Whispers of the Ghost Part 2: The neural Network, Net

2014-05-14T21:37:00.001-07:00

The 'Neural Net' will be the platform of the future

Since 2009, I have seen and digested the entire Ghost In the Shell (GITS) offering; the 3 movies and the 40 odd episodes that make up the 2 series. Nothing has changed, one tattoo and one massive life transition later, I find myself wondering why so few people share my secret: almost everything around us, not just technology but society at large, can be extrapolated from this ‘animated essay’.

Here are a few of the essential concepts from GITS that I have used to know what the future (and the evolving present) holds:

1. The neural network - the Net

Neural pathways and the network of knowledge we create from birth to death are a mystery. We have yet to understand what consciousness is.

This does not prevent us from being able to model knowledge and create silicon based networks (graphene and plastic even) that mimic real life social interaction. My definition of a neural network is a self-aware and dynamic network of information and memory.

In GITS, the human mind is 90% cyberized. If you find this disturbing, consider the extent to which your essential brain functions are either used up by or being ‘transmitted’ onto a computer based platform. The knowledge worker responds to a digital terminal for the majority of his/her work. He adds to this digital repository and derives his/her livelihood from it. We communicate, therefore we live. The machine we hold in our hands or nest in our laps is eventually going to make its way directly in our brains; it is only logical that this be so.

In this transition lies an important variable: the Interface (an area I intend to cover in a separate document). The touch screen, the keyboard, the voice app are all interfaces. They feel highly personalized but are not yet virtual. We still touch, feel and grope our devices.

The interface of the future will reside in our senses and be hard-wired onto our brain. It will not just be intuitive, it will be part of the actual thought process.

Whatever neural networks currently exist, they will migrate to the Net. We will all be connected, all the time. Its an exciting possibility not merely because of what it offers, but what it gets rid of: barriers to knowledge. The only barriers that will exist are those enforced by regulation and judicial power. Unlike today, the flow of knowledge will not (I hope) be controlled by physical and proprietary tools.

As is made clear in the premise of GITS, this neural network, of a global connected Net, will eventually (in a moment of artistic license with sound logic) create an altogether evolved form of intelligence. At the time of its creation, the Singularity theory had not created as many waves. Given its theoretical and highly abstract real life computing application, I prefer to follow the model argued by Roger Penrose (in ‘The Emperor’s new mind’); AI cannot emerge from algorithmic environments. The Net of the future will only become self-aware to the extent that an individual (community, tribe) is able to live, think and operate within an entirely virtual domain. This would still need input from the rest of the network, and its ability to think and act ‘conscious’ is still a transposed ability, not a unique creation. It is the only area that my view differs with that of Shirow (and Koestler).

In essence, the neural network in GITS is the existence of a Net that uses human knowledge and direct input from users in real time. It is not directly related to current neural network theories, yet it can be a very close proxy for what they hope to achieve.

I once wrote that the time was nigh for us to be able to ‘Google each other’s brains’. The Net would be just that. And more. Whatever emergent phenomena it spawns will be our next ‘leap’.

(to be continued...)

Whispers of the Ghost

2014-05-14T21:28:00.002-07:00

Symbol of the 'Individual Eleven'

Whispers of the Ghost

The concepts behind my greatest inspiration

Almost everything I have learnt about future technologies, I have learnt from the Japanese. Specifically, from one Japanese artist (philosopher) named Masumune Shirow.

As an expose of art used to give life to a philosophical concept, the world of ‘Ghost in the Shell’ (GITS) is, for me (and possibly my generation), unparalleled in its technological significance.

I was 22 when I first saw ‘Ghost in the Shell’ the 1996 classic. I was in university and the setting was perfect; we thought in Ideals, we oriented ourselves towards the future, made ripe with knowledge and eager for immediate application. I was blown away, inspired, rewired. It would be one of the few permanent imprints on my mind. All else has faded, been rethought and changed; the power of that animation resonates perpetually. The memory of what I have learnt from it tugs and pokes at my senses.

The movie (derived from the Manga) itself was inspired by a white paper titled ‘The ghost in the machine’ by Arthur Koestler. A philosophical work that addresses the Cartesian duality paradigm by rejecting its premise. Shirow adopts this thinking, and in the treatment of this structuralist essay creates a world where art meet deep insight.

I ended up working in general management which I feel was one of my biggest mistakes. In 2009, at the age of 30, I tried to make amends and started my own design firm. On that occasion, the setting was far from perfect; family, friends, economics and international wars made the process almost impossible. The inner push to attempt this was, in no small part, inspired by GITS and the possibilities of working, creating and living ‘futuristically’.

The idea behind my org chart was derived by GITS: an open source firm, specializing in finding the right ‘designer’ for the client, looking to build creative products. No restrictions of scale and scope, the name says it all (inspired by the studio behind the original movie): Intense Designs Creative Committee. I wanted to create a Committee of creative folk, each member responsible for one medium. My dream was to one day operate a ‘tool shed’; a conceptual model of delivering design solutions for almost any project. A ‘hub and spoke’ model organization where the craft is realized by tapping into freelancers and virtual teams.

Everyone was to be connected yet no one was to be restricted. All workflows would converge at the ‘Cloud’; there the work was accumulated and centralized for archiving. The Cloud was a conceptual tool, aimed at providing the back-end needed to make design a reality. It was both an infrastructure and a thought process. Even as I write these words, I find it difficult to explain the essence. Suffice to say, it was modeled around the ‘Stand Alone Complex’. An independent entity that operates within the global network, meshing with it but retaining its own identity.

It was to be the team of the future. Or, if you live in the future like I do, the team for today. I believe it to have been one of the most significant endeavors of my life, and brings me today to pen an introduction to the ‘origin’ of my motivation.

(to be continued...)

I do not sleep tonight but I am not afraid...

2014-05-13T21:58:00.000-07:00

There is no poetry tonight; I do not have words that rhyme.....

As children, we are taught to enjoy our laughter and welcome humour. No one tells us that sadness and pain are also going to be with us; there might not be any comfort in them but they are always present. They cannot and should not be relegated within our thoughts. Like creatures of the swamp, they only grow stronger in darkness and flourish behind closed doors. They are like the plankton that thrives deep within the abyss.

A wise man once wrote that we only see the monsters we are meant to see; only fear the demons that are born of our own devices. Action creates both beauty and ugliness, words always leave a blank space between them because in that space the devil has already placed his mantra. Hatred is not a child of insanity, it is the flesh and blood of reason. Logic leads to wars, creativity leads to destruction and honour is a servant of the wicked.

We bury our darkest moments under so much falsehood that we are rendered defenseless by the beast of recall; the chambers of consciousness are slammed shut on living things, not yet dead and never meant to become ghosts. Our worst losses will not wander the castle at night, making scary noises and casting unwanted spells. These beings will wait patiently in the corners, where there is shadow during daylight. They will attack us in waking life; they do not simply go away.

I have slept with thoughts of joy only to slip into nightmares. Felt surges of pride at humanity only to be reminded of the horrors of history. We follow leaders who promise peace and prosperity while they prepare for battle and bloodshed.

Evil, true evil, only takes control when it is suppressed. There is nothing to be gained from ignorance; we need knowledge of it all. The good, the bad and the downright horrific.

I wish that, as a child, I had been taught to embrace pain and misery. Had learnt to look evil in the eye, face it with all my senses. Now I know.

I do not sleep tonight but I am not afraid. I know I will face all my terrors and be haunted and I take comfort in that thought. I will sleep with my enemy and wake up with nothing. Wish for no better and dream a silence complete. I will not try and fight that which I understand is part of my being.

I will let the sightless monster rise from the deep and burn in the light. I will accept it, for it is I and I, imperfect.

Echoes from the heavens .. to the Norse gods

2014-05-13T18:56:00.001-07:00

"I dream of Valhalla, of flame arrows and a hammer deity"

Echoes from the heavens, a thunderous awakening
Risen from the silence of the cold, comes the storm almighty
A reminiscence of the Norse gods and myths
I dream of Valhalla, of flame arrows and a hammer deity

Visions of warriors with cold blooded honour
Shimmer down with the water so brutally descended
Cries in hellish words so ancestral and old
Come with each drop of rain in the land now repented

Once I was a viking, a man with purposeful death
Conquering new lands, by sea and by force of my will
A race stood tall and left its roots with ample trace
Of history mighty, forged with steel and cutting quill

Oh my wandering mind rests upon sons of Odin
All father, where have you left us, abandoned
To swelter and heat rising from the steaming concrete
Reckoning with simple tales of small villains we trampled

Stand, against wind bellowing a hollow word
Eyes closed out to theater acted with false script
Chilling temper, a season spent waiting sunlight
Only today landscapes and hills fall into the crypt

Off to the blind man, two coins in hand and a prayer to Loki
You meddled thus creating worlds, acting a warning
Am I the Viking that once rose from the ice lands?
A giant who would depart the living, flesh burning

(dedicated to the Nordic)

The struggle for wage is an honest one

2014-05-10T21:35:00.000-07:00

"Among these skyscrapers I will fight in the shade"

The struggle for a wage is an honest one
When the means to an end are mentally inviting
I have moved a lot, tried to settle often
The want for material goods is so enticing

Comfort and shelter is found in concrete
In the company of strangers and pieces of art
We often forget to seek these out
Hurried and hassled we forget where to start

A good beginning is a job worth doing
Somewhere of use for self and for others
A place to build or create something special
Be it a muffin or a new home for lost brothers

We all take comfort in what we gain
As we live and not as we learn to lose
Often it takes the whispers of sages
To remember that love is still very close

I realized rather late that work was a pleasure
Always thought it a cumbersome chore
A burden left best to the lesser minds
Did not expect idleness would be such a bore

We need not wear ourselves to the bone
In search of a better, easier tomorrow
That wishful day almost never comes
The future will always be filled with some sorrow

As life gets on, our minds get dull
The pen becomes useless, the sword unwanted
Legs walk a little less each day
Adventures and travels become so daunted

It will be best to find a big city
The larger the crowd, the less I will fade
While I miss the comfort of a town well known
Among these skyscrapers I will fight in the shade

(dedicated to the Toronto Stock Exchange: TSX)

A scribe's duty

2014-05-06T16:13:00.002-07:00

I do a scribe's duty and write what I know

Fulfill my masters wishes of creating stories

I make no mistakes in capturing the moment

These pages are my worlds, my visions, my glories

History well recorded, acts as a guide

Fortunes and victories are remembered forever

Even a leaders mistakes and losses

May be used to piece bits of wisdom together

We passed the moment, and may not look back

Another day, another page well written

The memory may fade, the ink does not

This foul tasting apple has already been bitten

By a candle, moonlight or buzzing light

My work must go one, without interruption

Only the final darkness can stop me

I am not silenced by might nor by election

Some men are free, some women empowered

Some cities choose, while others abide

Most nations fall, today or tomorrow

No one can will these events aside

Children are taught to respect my writing

Teachers are paid to guard the books

To keep them pure, honest and true

Save them from soldiers, bankers and crooks

The scribe of the ages has seen it all

Witnessed the folly again and again

He has the burden of repeating the chore

Of committing the past to eternal domain

I plead you take seriously the counting

And take into life all the numbers that change

To make good use of the years gone by

Not a few hundred but the entire range

Shahbaz Ali-Khan

(dedicated to historians)

"Painting flowers on a canvas .."

2014-05-02T22:06:00.003-07:00

Attics creek from childish footsteps ..

Painting flowers on a canvas erstwhile
The man with no face smiles with purpose
Banished soldiers wave the flag
Wearing blue ribbons and a red attire

Attics creak from childish footsteps
Of infants not born, raised or mangled
Memories lapse too easily here
Lovers lived poorly but died in style

They keep me from wanting, lusting and watching
From my window figures luscious and wild
While they make loud sounds of fun and frolic
Away from my sight, blinded and tired

A jungle of houses, a river of roads
Have circled my nights and grasped my dreams
Where once there were raisins of woodland and grass
Hang grinning gargoyles of glass and tile

Whisper gently, hushing your message
Take the rotten fruits of your labour
Guard them well for the angels are coming
The bounty they seek is not on your file

Start a fire if the cold has bled you
Taken your sinners saints and prophets
Burn tonight the papers of truth
Clench in your teeth the root so vile

Marry the madness and womb its offspring
Welcome its message as the last to bear
Feed the youngling of hatred and scorn
Let it grow as a killer for hire

I have painted thorns where reason would let me
Drawn on rock that shapes the water
I have riddled the book with pictures of battles
Pictures of Hope's defeat by Denial

(dedicated to that awful, awful man: Frederick Taylor)

That moment, four and some seasons ago....

2014-05-01T14:29:00.003-07:00

"I find solace in the snow, the trees and the mountains .."

That moment, four and some seasons ago
You asked me to leave the home we share
You had a tear in one eye, a glisten in the other
I had nothing to say, was headed I knew not where

We parted as friends not lovers
We made a pact of always caring
For the welfare of the other we once cherished
Promised to ease the pain of my leaving

We held each others hand for comfort
Knowing the sense of touch had long faded
Time would wash away the wounds, we said
Our days in the sun had been shaded

The hours that followed were weary
Though we sensed each others darkness
We tried to make better those moments
When the walls start whispering madness

Took not long for this trust to be broken
It was easy for you to move forward
You found a companion to hold onto
Someone to help you in looking onward

I do not blame you your choices, nor their haste of execution
I cannot judge you for wanting happiness
My only grudge is the hurting, the angst and anger
Of knowing how different my own circumstance

We broke the compact, let go of the illusion
That love once lost, lovers once parted
Does not lead to friendship, nor does it mask the confusion
Of coping with moments of hatred

I take no comfort in not knowing
What your life may be like right now
I know but what I have with me
The shadows of a life gone foul

Fear nothing, be well, live better
I have moved to a new land far away
Here I hope to start living
With the wish to make matter each day

I find solace in the snow, the trees and the mountains
They will be my path to success
Within me there is still some memory
Though with each day it does recess

That day, four and some seasons ago
When you asked me to leave you forever
Those are the days that sometimes break a man
And leave him with a life to rediscover

(dedicated to my family, and to special friend called Charlie; who all helped me take out the trash)

Goodbye winter .. an Ode

2014-04-28T19:31:00.002-07:00

Winter, lovely winter, I shall miss thee

As I look at my warm clothing

I feel a little bit sad,

Winter has come, now it is leaving

And it’s been the best I've ever had

The snow had covered my footsteps

The ice had slowed me down

For where I was once hurried

I brisked around this town

I did not miss the green

Nor fear the mighty breeze

The numbing of my skin was a delight to me

I welcomed the daily freeze

No need to show my face

No need to pick my shirt

It was all covered in thickness

The kind that hides the dirt

Oh the joy of a world in white

Where the colors come from within

The birds just sing in their homes

The hunters commit fewer sins

The winter has always been my friend

A companion that stays besides me

In winter I can feel the air

In winter I can breath more freely

Now the summer sun will burn us

Its harsh light will blind

My skin will glisten all day

My nights will not be kind

Each step will be a labor

The walking man must endure

As I keep moving forward

I shall be loathe to open my door

Shahbaz Ali-Khan

(dedicated to the snowplowing workers of Montreal)

Should my ashes leave a shadow ...

2014-04-26T21:53:00.002-07:00

"the god they promise to dreamers .."

Should my ashes leave a shadow,
From it I shall rise again

This earth I shall walk forever,
Finding no one else to blame

My children they shall all call me,
Their mothers I will know but one
And never shall I be solitary
Though companions there will be none

My freedom I shall seek tomorrow
Tonight I will make no claim
To live with nothing lost
Will be my only pain

A memory I shall keep
As my burning lighted path
No one will feel my anger
Not one will know my wrath

The god they promise to dreamers
Will silence my cry for fame
As a prophet of truth denied
The lion of battle too tame

I shall not look to find you
I shall not journey to your domain
No more my will to love thee
There will be others with your name

In kindness I will hide myself
And forsake my heavenly remain
Not man nor beast shall I be
My grave my only gain

Let my ashes become the dawn
My shadow its sunlit moon
Let my name be forever forgotten
For a life not spent in vain

.....
Shahbaz Ali-Khan
(dedicated to the lost, the lonely, the hopeless)

The online mating reality

2014-04-26T17:30:00.000-07:00

Are you a Ninja, A Player, Lonely or Casual?

First, the Eharmony user Mantra:

“God give me the weapons to fight the monsters I can,

The wit to hide from the ones I cannot

And the bloody-mindedness not to care about the difference!!”

You want to know what I think? Well you’re reading this so I am assuming you do .. I think online dating is becoming like romance and relationships in real life. It is no more a proxy; there is self-projection, rejection, lying, disappointment, costs and prejudices that are no different than the physical process of wooing prospective mating partners.

The more complex the dating site, the more it is attempting to mimic people’s behaviour patterns. Eharmony, arguably the leader of the field, attempts to recreate the assessment process by creating neat, clear and cliched categories. The 4 step process is designed to weed out people we may not end up relating to. Common filters that appear during this process are not so different from the one’s that appear in real life. Answer 1 question wrong, show 1 character trait that’s off-putting, write one word that turns the match off, and that’s that. You’re done. This of course once you've actually made it past the physical appearance, job status, age and general necessities.

The system is pretty flawed. The categories and questions are too narrow, too cliche and way too formulaic to really make accurate, real-life like connections a possibility. None the less, it is an attempt. Its also a fantastic business model. By providing it’s own set of matches, controlled communication and detailed profile options, the site is increasing the time the user spends on the site, and maximizes the ‘hope’ factor for each user. The longer you stay online, the more money you’re spending (nominally or in real terms). Their most recent ingenuity is to charge a ‘small’ fee (99 cents) for letting you know when exactly your messages are read (thus letting you see whether the person is interested or stalling).

Real life works along similar patterns. Bars have attractive staff because they wish to project an inviting, sexually intensive environment for prospective mating. In addition to that, they too want you to hang around as long as possible; busty barmaids or hunky barmen certainly help. When you meet prospective matches (which are again naturally matched better than random populations because of the location, price range and atmosphere of the bar) your first lines are crucial. You will need to dress and look the part. You will need to have the right cues for you, smile a lot, be confident, try not to be a bore, etc. Following on, your more ‘intimate’ communication is going to have to meet the style and speed of your match.

Here’s the vital difference though: in real life, people’s need to fit each other along specific cliques is less obvious and can often be overcome by a more interactive way of doing things. That you may not read a lot or that you don’t care what your family may think about your date/partner are not the most immediate issues of concern. You don’t need to point out what you’re looking for in a partner before hand, or at-least those are not questions that come up expressed in such specific terms (except when you’re actually having a conversation with someone you met on EHarmony; I suppose we get so programmed by the process it spills over into actual personal space).

Given this important difference, EHarmony users should be aware of 4 categories which I have created, being true to the spirit of EH-ers (who will, after protracted use, lose the capacity to live beyond cliches):

1. The Players

Players are going to have amazing pics on their profiles. There will be at-least 5 of them, they will be social, fun, outdoorsy and dashingly well dressed. These are users who spend variable hours on the site, and make every part of their profile count. Everything will almost always sound like everything else, and it will work for them because the people they are looking for aren't very original themselves. They will all play it cool when they need to, message as many matches as they can, set broad filters and reveal less than 50% of their actual weaknesses, if any.

Expect players to meet at-least 5 matches in person over every month. Their motto: I am in it to win it, every time I play, I've got my A game on.

2. The Ninjas

Ninjas know the system well, but tend to be more choosy in their efforts. Profiles will be well suited to what they want, carefully crafted and concise. They are selective, and operate only in the darkness of the night (literally; they prefer not to go online during the day, for work or other reasons, and will never want to be seen as operational during daylight hours). They avoid spreading themselves too thin, and limit their profile details to the extent that they can. They have learnt to be effective, maybe the hard way.

Their craft comes from their ability to choose the kind of match they know will work for them; and follow through with the kind of communication vibe that will make it happen.

Ninjas should ideally be meeting at-least 3 matches in person every month. Their motto: Practice makes perfect, I will train everyday.

3. The Lonely hearts

Lonely people just seek companionship. Unfortunately, companionship does not come easy to those who feel isolated and unsocial in general, either by choice or circumstances (or both). They end up on EHarmony mostly out of need: and this will usually come through in their approach. They have weeks of intensive activity, followed by weeks of feeling rejected. Eharmony operators live for these souls. The majority of EHarmony features are designed to keep these users interested, keen and always hopeful. Their profiles will often be filled with attempts at self-projection that may seem contrived, over-thought or totally spaced out. They will change their profiles often, and look at matches over and over again. They will reach out to anyone and everyone and often with too much intensity. They’re lonely, so even the hint of interaction is enough to send them into overdrive.

Lonely hearts very rarely meet matches in person, and when they do, usually try and make it work. Their motto: It has to work out someday, I must keep trying really hard.

4. The Casuals

Casuals are users who rely predominantly on their daily lives to meet people, but use the service on and off, sometimes more during periods of low social activity, sometimes don’t go online for months on end. Casuals will have adequate profiles, and may spend some time getting the info out there, usually accurately and honestly. Profiles are straight-forward, the approach is more measured, and aloof. More often than not, casuals will range their efforts across the year; somewhat unpredictably and with varying degrees of success.

When highly active, Casuals meet 1-2 matches in person per month. Their motto: Worth a try.

….

Given the 4 categories above, I suppose the most important thing for users to remember is that they needn't be stuck in any one category (unless out of choice), and that there are matches that will fall into some variation of the above. It may help tune the approach, or avoid disappointment. If you’re lonely, you need to respect your situation but not accept it as a permanent one; essentially be positive. try and mix some elements of all of the above.

Unfortunately, being 100% honest cannot work when there is an algorithmic matrix involved. The fields are pre defined, the matching system programmed. You've paid the fees, you’re stuck with the service. Might as well use it along certain ‘rules of engagement’. Honestly, I would much rather live in a world where the process was a physical version of EHarmony; singles bars of old. But this is an information age, where time and geography are meshed and confusing.

It is ironic, and sad, that the very people online dating was created to help, the lonely and the shy, are the very people least likely to succeed there. Users, especially women (who get on average 5 times more messages than men), are too jaded and brainwashed into accepting the filters and questions as the gauge that defines success and failure. Most users can’t, won’t understand intellectualized communication and can pick up on desperation. They won’t move past the pictures. The reality is that mate hunting by itself is a shallow process. The stats may read as “over 500 users get married each month”, but that in itself does not mean that the majority of users are looking for depth; Superficiality is a way of life for interactive digital spaces. Where better to let the this approach thrive than an online dating site.

Honestly, if Eharmony hasn't worked for you over a 5 month stretch, leave if you can. It can get mentally taxing, even if you can afford to keep it on. Rejection chips away at self-confidence. Despite what they tell you, people do start reflecting upon their own inadequacies if they are not getting any responses. Try and change the profile settings, work with customer services to ensure you get matched better, stay positive and upbeat, or move onto the real world. You are more likely, probably by a factor of 10x, to meet A person (and eventually THE person) if you’re out and about trying to make real life connections at the right places.

I hope your kids do better...

2014-04-25T20:55:00.002-07:00

I hope your kids do better ..

I hope your kids know better then to be like you
I hope they learn more tolerance of others
I hope your kids have better sense than having 3 kids of their own before they are 30
I hope they spend more time reading than you did
I hope they can build a better social system
I hope your kids can learn the value of civility and politeness before they learn to pray
I hope they know the difference between democracy and freedom
I hope they judge less and think more

For if they can't, they will never forgive you, and neither will the world.

Whoever you are; you did this. You own it.

Let's hope your kids can do better than you did.

Leadership Lessons from Madagascar: King Julian

2014-04-15T14:35:00.001-07:00

Always have a plan, and stick with it: No matter how stupid it may be

We've all seen him, we all love him; here are some key leadership lessons to be learnt from that adorable, self-involved (and not so smart) Lima:

Charisma beats competence

Sure, great leaders are intelligent, savvy knowledgeable people. But they are not always the most competent. In fact, some of them make blunders of historical proportions. A sense of style, charisma and unshaken self-belief goes a long way to ensure credibility. Quite frankly, your followers like shiny things more than they like substance.

Self indulgence can lead to popular ideas

King Julian is a megalomaniac. Everything is about him. Sounds familiar? Most leaders use their own personas to create reasons for general merriment (‘I Like to move it move it’ would make a good anthem anywhere).

As long as all your followers are allowed to have a good enough time, self-indulgent behavior can be rewarding.

Good leaders inspire plenty of (mis)adventures

Good leaders often miscalculate: over spending and leading their people to disaster and eventual ruin. None the less, in moderation, a sense of constant experimentation allows followers to be involved in perpetual action. From one ridiculously idiotic idea to another, King Julian has the talent of keeping his people busy and engaged. The outcomes are almost always a disaster. But there’s fun to be had along the way, and despite his designs being evil in nature, there remains a sense of adventure within his schemes.

A bad decision, call to action or forward movement is better than no decision or inertia.

Create plenty of distractions

Life in the jungle isn't always smooth sailing. Sometimes you run out of games to play, water or friends. Julian always has his antics pumped up to maximum distraction. There is an innate ability in leaders to provide distraction and escape from day-to-day problems precisely when they are needed. Even though these distractions are always to serve emperor for life Julian, they work.

It is OK to be disliked by many; long as you have a few on your side

He may not be popular, he may not be very smart, and he certainly can be an outright idiot. Leaders are often disliked by the majority, but they retain their position and their authority because (either through fear, inspiration or control over rewards) he has the support of the the right creatures by his side.

Be decisive even when you’re wrong

King Julian is can be pretty stupid in his decision making. But man does he make them with conviction. Leaders all share the quality of decisiveness; even when they themselves may think they’re wrong. The falsehood delivered with force becomes a truth divine. Right or wrong, put all your energies behind your decision and follow through with it. It may not work for you now, but it will create a sense of consistency.

Shahbaz

Ajax

April 15

The day Peter Parker died ...

2014-04-10T14:39:00.001-07:00

Difficult to deal with: and impossible to comprehend

The day Peter Parker died, we all died with him. Part of our collective memory was forcefully buried, and much of our future taken away from us.

I don’t (just) write this as a life-long fan, I write this as someone who appreciates a simple fact: the world needs heroes. It always has, and it always will.

Peter Parker fell not to his greatest foes, but to a larger enemy: the destructive power of art (a topic which I have written about before). For art, the sum total of the process, is eventually an obsession and a flame that burns faster than the ability of the artist to control it. Peter Parker, the notion of him, burnt out. The ultimate hero, that quintessential force of unwavering good, fell to the demands of the world that created him.

There are no reasons good enough, logical enough, emotional enough or viable enough to justify his death. I do not comprehend. I never will. He was the Good, the uncompromising, the untainted. He had a hard life, a life of sorrow, loss, pain and constant personal failings. Yet he had what real heroes need to have; what we all aspire to have - the relentless drive to make the world a better place, without ever allowing his notion of justice to falter. Many died on his watch, some his closest allies, a great love, and Uncle Ben. His greatness is that he would have sacrificed himself to save them in an instant. No foe was met with hatred, no situation met without self-effacing humour. No pain suffered without the will to get up and keep fighting.

Peter Parker was, in a credit to the entire Marvel generation created by Stan Lee, a man (boy) of science. From his books he learnt the value of rationale, balanced thought. From his uncle he learnt his greatest lesson: power brings with it the burden of righteousness. His wit, charms, knowledge and will power made him an inspiration. Generations of children and young adults learnt the value of absolute virtue from his deeds. I learnt that a life of good is a life of sacrifice, with no rewards. I learnt that this is what heroes live for.

Peter Parker’s iconic stature in modern art (literature, comics, fantasy, philosophy, culture) stands testament to the power of higher order value systems. A power (and a message) which is the constant in some of the best sequential narrative systems we have. Art for the masses.

Sadly, tragically, like all art, Peter Parker’s legend had the frailty of humility and humanity. It had the fragility of burden all great art carries; it is self-consuming and temporal. We know from the world around us that anything pure must, by necessity, destroy itself.

And so, when Peter Parker died, a collective ethos died with him. The part of our imagination that may not be allowed to live perpetually, the part that knows only virtue, succumbed.

I doubt I shall ever read Spiderman again with the same joy as I used to. I doubt the world will remain the same without Peter Parker. RIP!

Relentless Part 4

2014-04-07T20:03:00.001-07:00

I have run out of them .. said the killer.

Run out of what? asked the saint.

Graves, empty graves, graves to bury bodies in .. Makes me feel like there is no one left to kill.

You speak of graves, bodies, I hear memories, scars.

You have run out of places to bury your memories, no more places to go to in order to tend to scars. That is a sad thing.

Yes, I no longer have that luxury. No where left for me to hide the awful things I have done. No places left to rid myself of the pain of it all.

It is ok, my son. That in itself does not mean you need to carry your burdens alone.

It does, father. I must bear witness to a solitary crime. Let my guilt hang in the air around me. Let my wounds heal themselves slowly. Painfully.

…

I have come to a place in time where the happiness of being is moderated by the unease of not being able to share that happiness with anyone. Not on a day to day basis. The people who used to be my sources of ‘repent’ and ‘confession’ are now saturated with my words.

They wish to hear no more of them. I understand this attitude, respect it. In this distance, it is now going to be a mighty task in rebuilding of the self. A self that lets its energies be spent on others and outside affairs.

My only hope, given the silence of solitude and the penitence of idle hands, is the hope of labour and hard work to be done.

Science Vs. Religion

2014-02-17T21:11:00.001-08:00

In my neighborhood there rages a constant debate about the difference between science and religion. I find it is quite a useless one.

The seemingly contrary nature of science versus behavioral belief systems is an ineffective way of looking at the issue. Science and spirituality are two different systems of gaining knowledge. The process is different, but the ends sought are essentially the same.

The need to know how things work and the need to be affirmed of higher powers share the comfort it provides they who indulge this need. Yet while one is active, the second is often passive. Science provides a complexity behind the how, when and what of physical reality.

God can sometimes provide a more ritualized way of re-creating what is basically a recurring theme. We recognize that there may be a god, but do we know the workings of an internal combustion engine?

The complexity is something most people, sadly, shy away from. Instead of embracing the science and spirituality of things (a unity of sorts), people prefer remaining stuck into a ‘science versus creation’ merry-go round. It is pointless. Science is a dynamic way of gaining insight that can explain much, and do much more. Religion remains a sanctuary, one that requires a deeply ‘internal’ and progressive spiritual fever. Lacking which, religion needs to be coupled with knowledge that may change the world.

Technology has had a phenomenal impact on how we view knowledge. In this, it is silently creeping in as an affirmation that science is indeed marvelous if used logically. It has the capacity to enrich regressive lives. Religion seems to be in a constant need to, somehow, create anger for all the wrong reasons. On the global space of culture, technology seems to be heading in two branches; one in harmony with spiritual needs, and one leaving countless ‘blank spaces’ among so many people.

One branch is going to die out.

The destructive power of Art

2014-01-03T09:20:00.003-08:00

Sartre was an intellect with a violent message

Art destroys. It is a force of such strife and internal conflict that the artist, moved to express him or herself on canvas or on paper, is often a disturbed individual.

Which does not mean that there are no artists who are at peace with themselves; I have always wondered if this peace was in itself a source of inspiration for them or a delusion of the self.

I grew up fascinated by the lunacy of Van Gogh. His misery is apparent. Sometimes they place him next to works inspired by him, and the dissonance is obvious.

All great works of art are either commissioned for cultural space, making them not art in its purest form, or they are made under the duress of angst. In art galleries, where art is collected and pinned up, there is a tendency to categorize and objectify art. A masking occurs at this moment. People gather there, in a collective form of appreciation which, at the surface, seems to be a very positive thing.

The art gallery is a construct. It is not the natural way for art to be shared. I would even go as far as to question if art need be shared universally. It is as if all the exotic beasts are collected from all over the fauna and are placed under the same roof. There is something revolting about the process. I feel at odds with the people who I share the experience with. Their lack of understanding makes me angry and makes me want to tear at the very fabric of expression that is being exposed.

Art is destructive; it is destructive because it is deconstruction in the first instance, the instance when it is undergoing creation. In the instances of time that follow, the artist has in fact destroyed himself; the more complete his art the more complete his destruction. He wants not to be of this world anymore. He wants release that, perhaps, he should have sought in death. Yet a clean death is beyond him.

Art destroys me bit by bit, tearing at soul by being. It reminds me that I am, still, naked. Decades after having come out of my mother’s womb, I am still without clothes that really cover me. I want to be the artist, I want to be in the Art itself; yet I cannot.

The line between deconstruction and destruction is so fine that I have never really wanted to dwell on it.

The Nazis wanted to reconstruct by deconstruction, destruction being the ultimate result. It is an expose of the innate misery of man that he, when given the power to do so, he aims to deconstruct and reconstruct relentlessly. All he ends up achieving is massive destruction, often with millions giving up their lives for the purpose. The aim of starting from the root is an aim, quite clearly, of the artist made man of power (because he is rich, or idolized, or talked about). His suggested point of departure is the rhizome, a cellular structure which explodes with a mass and leads to cancer.

The monk who sets himself on fire is also an artist. His work is seen by being unseen instantly. He wipes himself off the face of the canvas, without trace, yet he leaves his mark. He has destroyed his being yet he has deconstructed rather than destroyed the ideal. This is the Art that is to be admired. It gives no sense of longing, does not incite escapism. It does not make me wish for a better world for myself. The world of Monet or the words of Shakespeare only remind me that there will never be a reality for me that can compare to the realities they created.

I came across Sartre, that philosophical terrorist, very early in my life. His was a militant work; I would say a violent body of thought.

Violence is a way of life, perhaps the only way for life to continue on (do we not tear apart our mother’s wombs? Would we not suckle out all of their life juices, blind and newly born, if we needed to?).

A person who experiences such vehement outrage at his own being that being alive amongst people causes him nausea; this person is the ultimate intellect of terror. His only source of peace is the acceptance of life without rooted meaning in life itself. His is an Art that denounces existence at any higher level and wants to ensure that life’s every instance is to be taken into account, our every pain to be considered; that is not life.

Life is an abstract concept. It has no real meaning at the individual level, it is given meaning only temporarily, and a poor sense of meaning that is. While humanity pretends to give voice to ‘life’, this is a useless and powerless voice; having no bearing on the abject lack of happiness of my life. So Sartre (and many others) used their art to destroy the fictional fiber that connects humans with a more illusory sense of life.

By making the man, the woman, responsible for feeling life, they destroyed (and with the same violence as the Mongol horde) what was once the fantastical life of the collective.

Art destroys when truly appreciated; it gives false hope and escape to the naked eye.

We have to stop them

2013-12-09T18:51:00.001-08:00

We have to stop the people forcing Google to charge 10 dollars per online rental. I know they believe in free as much as I do. It's cool that you can get any movie (almost) online; but the price is too much.

By the torrent is available, the producers of the average film has made a lot of money. By the time you can get hold of a pirated copy, online or DVD, they have made a million or so more.

Ok so it's copyright. But we have to stop them. Art and film should have it's finite commercial value; following which it should be Art and film. Libraries probably pay good rates for lending movies out, the online world should get more leeway; make it so that it's like a library membership. It's cheap with due charges. It's free if you're disciplined.

Seriously, we have to stop them. I'm not taking Netflix. I'm talking an open source World. We will all still have Netflix, we are lazy. Trust our laziness and let us download for free.

Preemptive Strike

2013-11-28T12:14:00.001-08:00

What does it mean to take the initiative?

I am standing port side on this ship, as it approaches some gloomy waters. The mist is all around us, and we, men of the sea, can merely whisper our loathing to ourselves.

So we remind ourselves that we too are creatures of darkness. We thrive in it.

So I made a preemptive strike. Sometimes the monsters come in the form of gentler beings. These are not to be trusted. When Fortune strikes, she does so with the help of your guiding hands; that tree in that forest has nothing to do with you. Fortune strikes you where you have led her to strike you.

When confronted with a being that is not what it seems to be; remove its presence from your mist. Before the poison that be dichotomy come to visit.

There is no greater evil than dichotomy. It is a pestilence of an evil. An all-being; all around as if a mist of thorns. The best way to fight dichotomy is to remind yourself once again that you are fit and trained to fight in darkness. You have sailed these dark, threatening ebb of waters around you for millennium. Your collective conscious knows this malevolent sea. Knows how to steer itself true, deep in her grey bosom.

Take the initiative, use your shortest sword and start slicing through the mist.

Preemptive. Strike.