how have i forgetten about it?

Adidas has a really nice advertisement campaign that goes beyond "impossible is nothing". this is indeed itself a good tagline over which i have engaged myself in some kind of argument/ intellectual Auseinandersetzung (discussion) with the French guy, Daniel, who lived next door when i was renting a room temporarily on Senefelderstrasse, Berlin. the conclusion at the time was that in any event, "impossible is nothing" is better than "nothing is impossible", the former makes more sense and puts you to thinking more.

but back to my point: i saw a TV spot with some runner talking about his experiences with running, and with him loving it. he talked about having started as he was a child: it went, something like this, "as a child i was always running-- to school, to this, to that...". he grew up, running all the time, becoming a great professional runner too. between him and running is a kind of passion and intimacy. when people asked him, why he always runs, he asked them in return: "how have you stopped doing it?"

"how have you stopped doing it", or a similar paraphrase, "how have i forgotten about it", are beautiful reminders to me at this time when i am quite new to Berlin that i should not let my fear, my unfamiliarity with the people and the streets, stop me from doing that which i have always enjoyed as i was alone. along comes also the understanding that i should not allow myself to go too deep in any kind of comfort zone and forget to venture out into the world, where i have myself to depend on, alone against the world (cf. two against the world). it is challenging, but how challenging was it really when i was roaming the streets of a certain city and going to clubs alone, as i did in Salzburg, Austria? how have i forgotten about the joy of being in the cinema alone, of being in a coffee shop alone, of silently contemplating stillness and wishing to myself that someone were there next to me? how have i allowed myself to think that whoever, or whatever, i have at present next to me, is ever enough?

good news from the praydonotthrowmeaway

i have actually almost totally given up on the experiment "praydonotthrowmeaway" leaflet distribution act, when Sigurd from Frankfurt actually wrote me back with his very own poetic words to convince me that life really isn't so bad. of course i have Tim to thank who helped me throw those leaflets around. and now i don't feel so bad about having started that experiment, having printed 500 copies of it (what was i thinking?), and upon giving it halfway up made some kind of installation in my own apartment on the wall.

excerpt 2 from letters

starting yesterday i have begun taking things slower, and being less harsh on myself--- i breathed slower, talked slower, walked slower, and suddenly this age-old advice i hear all the time is taking effect: when one takes things slower, one becomes more fused with the environment, one is able to observe more about one's relationship with the environment and the environment itself. i also realized that i tend to complain less about other people, about the fact that nobody really cares to talk to me, about the pecularities of Berlin, when i take things slower and just fucking shut up and enjoy the quiet company of whoever is next to me-- or the company of myself, where sometimes one feels less lonely being alone than being with someone else.

excerpt 1 from letters

and my own "projects"-- well, one thing i know about them is that i stress myself out more about my cynicism/ skepticism/ fear of wasting time more than trying to do some concrete work. i want to write, either my own stuff or in some newspaper, i want to work, somewhere (e.g. in a bistro), and i also want to take lessons in vibraphone (jazz) and drumsets--- right now all these things haven't really begun yet, because most fundamentally i seemed to be at a loss, feeling lonely at heart and not particularly energized by my being here [in Berlin]

Ratatouille

It's been a while since I can just enjoy a movie, believe in the make-believe fantasies, and indulge myself in being touched without having to dip into any dialectical discussions of a film's philosophy and aesthetics...Ratatouille, a beautiful animated movie that stars an American-in-Paris kid/ "cook" Linguini (what a cross-cultural set-up!) who, with the help of the star-culinary creator Remy, the rat hidden in his cap, rewrites the history of the restaurant of legendary cook Gusteau, which is on the downhill after his death, recreates the image of the rat from that as pest to that as creative and helpful beings, and reinforms the agenda of the mean, hard-to-satisfy restaurant critic Anton Ego from thinking hyper-critical to being generous with praise where it is deserved.

Surely, there are the make-believe messages that may have seemed far-fetched in reality but totally in line with the objectives of Disney pictures, such as how the whole clan of rats (starring Remy's brother and father, who lack taste in food, or trust in humans--initially) creates a beautiful meal towards the end, or the worn out ideals of pursuing one's dreams as long as one invests passion (Gusteau says, "Everyone can cook"), or even just how Linguini can communicate with Remy; or, consider the ludicrous images of American cross-culturalism in a French context (the kitchen staff is all mixed with people of different backgrounds or ethnicities), and of all the French English accent. Yet, this film works because it opens one's eyes to the beauty of creativity and, to me personally, because it succeeds in bringing forward inspiring thoughts on the issue of criticism. In many ways, Anton Ego, the critic with a big ego, mirrors myself. A long, emanciated face and a menacing voice, his critique is sharp and pungent, making his opinion effective to the extent that it filters out the nonsense; his acute taste, while working to the advantage of offering judgments, hinders him in being open and positive about that which he is evaluating. When asked by Linguini why a critic who likes food looks so skinny, he says dogmatically, "I don't like food, I love food. If it's food that I don't love, I don't swallow it". The question is, what kind of a love for food is this? What does he love? How much is he appreciating food for food itself, or aware of the value of that which he chooses to spit out and grimace about? What is key is that there is an implicit downside in the nature of criticism if its focus is primarily on digging out the negative sides of the subject matter. After savoring the beautifully crafted ratatouille sensation that Remy and his clan put together, served by Linguini the cook/ waiter on wheels, he reevaluates his criteria for critique; after the unfortunate termination of the restaurant's business due to its unhygienic conditions (N.B. the rats), his credibility is damaged, but he is seen in Linguini's new bistro, enjoying the famed ratatouille, his occupation as a critic something of the past and the mean look of criticism gone from his face. Just as how his face lit up in childhood reminiscence of his mother's ratatouille when he first tastes Remy's creation, now he is rid of the need to be faultfinding, is broadening his love for food and, in that way, is closer to it.

I have found out that I have a tendency to adopt a distant and analytical voice when doing a critique/ review of a certain subject matter, in an attempt to offer a systematic or technical opinion that will appease the reader's need for "critical opinion"; yet, in the process of breaking the subject matter down, I miss the joy of staying close to the medium in question and in finding faults in the subject I seem to have no idea of what I like, only an idea of what to dislike, for the sake of offering some sort of critical argument through the act of negation. The phenomenal human touch at the end of this film touches me to open up myself, and reminds me that the critical taste of an individual comes not only with the act of opting for what is good, but also with embracing what may have seemed bad. To reject something when it does not seem good enough ("If it's food that I don't love, I don't swallow it") ruins the prospects of discovering something better to come, because that negative energy fails to give due credit to anything and alienates one from that which one professes to love.

Note: Ratatouille is a vegetable dish from southen France, made out of eggplants, onions, garlic, green peppers, tomatoes, zucchini, with a variety of spices, simmered in olive oil. Have got to try this dish, and this film has got to be seen.

"Chronicle of a Disappearance"

"CHRONICLE OF A DISAPPEARANCE is a journey in search of what it means to be Palestinian. It is a compilation of possible truths, transgressing genres and blending fact with fiction to explore the intertwined boundaries of storytelling, history and autobiography. The character E.S. is the filmmaker himself. He and the other characters wander through a social and political labyrinth in an attempt to break free from their ghettoized existence. The film explores the effects of ghettoization and marginalization on the Palestinian psyche." -Elia Suleiman/ http://www.itvs.org/pressroom/pressRelease.htm?pressId=13 (ITVS)..

http://www.indiewire.com/people/int_suleiman_elia_970328.html:
iW: Were there things that you felt were sacrificed in the actual making of the film?
Suleiman: Always. I think filmmaking is probably the closest metaphor for comformism. If we try to present it as a tool of resistance, I have too many doubts about that form of resistance. I think it's very digressive, because, in fact, what happens, is you're always inside the system. You're always bought and sold, and you're always packaged and packaging. Of all strategies, actually, that one thought at some point would do something for the world, it did not work for me. Whether it's from the first work or the second work or the third, there's always a no exit situation, and there's always something that torments you about the way you position yourself and the way you're positioned. I don't know how the fight can be taken, in fact . . . . I think what I do is listen, but when I listen, I can only reflect on myself and can only stretch the moral questions to myself. . .
(And not to an audience. . .)
Well, myself will always translate somehow. As long as you're trying to communicate and there's that impulse, there's that desire to actually communicate to others, I think, you're constantly testing yourself, researching yourself and eventually raising the moral questions to yourself about your political positioning in film and the way you want to change the world. And I think if you don't ask those questions to yourself, you'll end up cheating and you know what? The audiences will pick it up when you're being a liar . . . and you're going to be labelled a con-man. I don't want that to happen, not because of my career, I think it's because (can I have my cappuccino now?) because the little rest and peace I derive from this very turbulent world is when I'm honest. . . . Which is what I try to do in the film.
more thoughts to come

slip-ons

so there really is no end to consumerism. and i don't really want or need to end it, because i do need those slip-ons. a half way between sneakers and flip-flops they lend the wearer an air of casual friendliness and serious creativity. please, no socks.

he

when he smokes, he frowns and shows you the art of serious inhalation. his eyes converge to focus on the tip of the burning object. into the far corner of universe he exhales. you just want to ask him to keep doing it, and never stop. you want the smoke to smother you, you wish to speed up the watering of your eyes. you think aloud, "how great would it be, if i could create the same effect on that person that walks into my fate?"

tarzan tanz

i have heard that for a couple that has stayed together for a while and where the two have built up trust with each other, you see them look in the same direction more than they look at each other. to my two o'clock dances a couple, white tanks and khaki shorts, with a calm energy that attracts my gaze and makes me beam with envy. the male looks into that meaningful space in front of his sight, the female sometimes into her partner's eyes, sometimes also just into empty air. yet behold the speechless harmony in their synchronized rhythms, their trained movements, their invisible sweat that shows itself only after the show is over. they keep going on and on, and i keep looking and looking.

to my 10 o'clock the female does not know where to look. the male cannot get enough of dancing, though, and he is ready to serenade the lady to his utmost capabilities, him being a rather small gentleman. their shuffling feet reveal a seemingly absentminded air that amuses but does not sufficiently touch.

you ready to move your dancing feet? i want you to join me, but promise me you will try to look into my eyes. just try. they've got to burn.

good company

only lately have i begun to realize what i have been missing out on... with no room for regret, there is only the extra smile that you cannot waste more time concealing when you are in good company that exudes positive radiance, that with their laughter at the most mundane joke or the most questionable quotes lights up that match in your heart that has stayed dormant and wants to get on fire...

clean up

she showed that she cared, and that made my day

spectacles

i like cinema as spectacle, but not spectacular cinema.

aim high, think low.

it's nice to have a little after-flavor in your mouth, but i don't necessarily need another shot of it.

we should do away with the term "beauty".

what

who calls himself/ herself an object?!? who is so brave to assume that he/ she can represent that tangible heap of being lying around, on someone's head, on a table, on a chair, on a bed, here, there?

still.... i find calling myself "sabma" only insightful to a very small extent. i switch. i am calling myself sabrina ma

Red streaks

no, i don't want more colors in my hair. where did these red streaks come from?

Thought in music school

He uses numerous encouraging words to describe his friends or strangers alike, all who deserve recognition. he is one for "awesome", "amazing", "phenomenal", down-to-earth, open-minded about trying, failure and success, lives to play music. his positive energy, though seen from an incomplete view, not knowing him 130%, infects me

Loving the art, the art in yourself... thoughts

There is a marvelously direct and encouraging article by Joan Caplan, a mezzo-soprano teacher based in New York City, at http://www.joancaplan.com/art_read.html. In many ways this article touches on certain issues I am facing at present, with preparation for a competition creating burdensome stress that is now spilling into other spheres of my daily life, and it is satisfying to read her thoughts because they inspire both agreement and further questions.

One of the important points discussed is that of success. According to Caplan, success comes in variable forms and extents and can be defined by the individual. Fundamentally, however, success (in the particular case of music) is when a performer serves as the carrier of a composer and is able to touch the audience with the message contained in a certain piece. Now this essentially implies that the composer's will and intentions are of more value than the performer's own to the audience: only when the message of the composer comes through does it seem that a particular performance is doing the composer justice.


What kind of a place should a performer have? In my opinion, it is difficult to understand how a performer should negotiate his or her performance preferences or stylistic considerations with the seemingly transcendental messages of a certain composer's creation. Precisely because the performer is the carrier, and an ambassador of sorts of a piece of music, at a particular point in time, on stage in front of an audience, that ......

* to be followed up.
"perfectionism is the last resort of the amateur". the real star is one who is aware of his own imperfection, and the audience's, and does not let slips affect the general picture of a performance. it is important to distinguish "perfectionism" with "being meticulous" (or striving the do the best that one could). Is it because being "perfect" has too much to do with the performer's self-esteem than his awareness of his role as carrier?

What is wrong with self-criticism?

"Learn and serve your art. Keep in your heart that the real reason for singing is to be faithful to music, and to reach and touch an audience with the composer’s intention." Again, this raises the question on the role of the performer, and why it necessarily needs to be put away from the spotlight

Stanislavsky: "you must love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art". in essence, this means that one should derive joy from the fact that one is capable of creating art, of "serving" art. One is not to put the focus of attention on one's self-image when one is engaged in the process of doing art, making art the subject of higher importance. How realistic is this statement?

It's sunday and i am feeling slow and bored. I have always espoused the concept of not working on Sundays, of going to the fresh food market to pick up ingredients for a nice supper, and the substitution of any sort of reading (done in the accompaniment of a high-lighter pen) with a good movie. But that was during college time, when the sight of all the students working diligently (hyper-diligently) on a sunny Sunday afternoon appeared hugely repulsive and anti-life. I have tried to not do much on the weekends ever since, but now the problem is that i don't do much every day of the week. i have exhausted my options for the day, and it's only around 9 pm. no friends, no romance whatsoever.

catachresis: An extravagant, implied metaphor using words in an alien or unusual way. While difficult to invent, it can be wonderfully effective

www.eddyelmer.com/tools/litterms.htm

?

Oh! Shinjuku. Shomei Tomatsu

Oh! Shinjuku. Shomei Tomatsu (photographer)

Shinjuku is a young people’s town Shinjuku is a getting-off-on-the-way-home town Shinjuku is an underground city Shinjuku is a happening-stage Shinjuku is a floaters’ town Shinjuku is a sex-town Shinjuku is the womb of civilization Shinjuku is a giant supermarket Shinjuku is Tokyo in miniature Shinjuku is the Mecca of instant culture Shinjuku is a town of uncertain nationality Shinjuku is a formless amoeba Shinjuku fills us with expectation Shinjuku is the student’s home village (furusato) Shinjuku is where beginners form families Shinjuku is where you can drink and dance for 200 yen Shinjuku is everybody’s plaza Shinjuku is where authority is rejected Shinjuku is frivolity and infamy Shinjuku is a modern jungle Shinjuku smells of crime Shinjuku is a night town Shinjuku is the specter of desire gone wild which can swallow everything There are countless words one can use for Shinjuku If we try to catch them they will wriggle out of the net like eels No place is as hard to decode but I will say the following Every time has its own unique face and the face of a time may appear vividly in a particular town like Asakusa and Ginza in the past Shinjuku is now the town that responds most acutely to the new Theatrical and nontheatrical space mix mysteriously in Shinjuku The town called Shinjuku makes us feel “free” even if this is an illusion This is what so many people have come to love At the end of 1969 however the winter wind blowing through Shinjuku is frigid A raging hurricane of steel threatens to turn the tide and tear that freedom apart The heavy shadow of the state…Oh! Shinjuku

Exiles

If "Exiles" is meant to chronicle the search of two young Parisians of apparent Algerian descent of their historical roots, from Paris "on foot" (in fact, also by train, car, truck), it suggests the start of a search without expanding on the content of the search, where at the end of the film one is left to mull over its deceptive review as a "terrific journey of self-discovery". At best, the film evokes images of that historical roots by the profuse use of African music, rites of exocism and head dress that directly transfer the exotic to wherever the film is viewed.

While the film is an unsatisfying attempt to reach the reachable past, i.e. to ratify and give meaning to............ (must follow up)

Balkan Epic, Maria Abramovic. Feeling erotic

Some ideas from Maria Abramovic,


To make a man love her, a woman would take a small fish and insert it into her vagina and keep it there overnight. The next morning she would extract the fish, dry it, then grind it into powder. By mixing a small amount of this powder with her lover's coffee, it was believed that the man would never leave her.

In 19th century Balkan, if a child was ill the beekeepers would take the child, and with the child's bare bottom touch all the beehives.

Icelandic movie, "Noi"

"Noi" mysteriously plays around with the viewer's attention by juxtaposing its beautiful use of the color red, the exploitation of the barren and snow-white Icelandic landscape, with insufficiently developed characters who do not tell their stories, and a dramatic twist towards the end of the movie that may have struck a chord, albeit a lukewarm one. More a visual experience supported by music reminiscent of Sigur Ros's ambientic evocations and a slow build-up of tension as in Gus Van Sant's "Elephant", where the narrative is largely disjointed until a turn in the story, Noi is a romantic film because it is vague, distant, seemingly unreal, but never disturbingly baffling.

The bald-headed Noi, who hails from the city, lives with his grandmother in their house in Iceland's countryside. The most obvious character traits of Noi are laziness and disrespect towards his school, and an enigmantically quiet disposition, but more than that the viewer cannot tell. His "wonderkid" nature, disclosed after having been studied for the underlying reasons surrounding his problematic nature by a visiting psychiatrist to the school, is not expanded upon. There are scenes of a budding romance between Noi and Iris, the girl who works at the gas station and who is the daughter of the bookstore owner, or of Noi and his father eating at a restaurant, scenes that are little linked to one another from a narrative standpoint but all seem to feed to the viewer's imagination of the Noi character. The psychology of the film is simple and straight-forward, and the film's value lies in its being unobstrusively enigmatic and, in some ways, devoid of significant meaning

Confessions of a Hedonist

Disclaimer: This is not to justify or rationalize a particular lifestyle, but to discuss what it may entail or imply. There is not to be any moral in the story.

For one second, let’s really confront ourselves with the question: how should we, or can we, live life, life itself, if life is something as simple as the time and space in which we can touch our bodies and feel our souls? I am bold enough to offer some insight. Hedonism, an attitude towards living that I hold, quite naturally out of subconscious and conscious decisions, is first and foremost about life, because it seeks to make life good (the word explains itself). It entails in principle the belief that pleasure is the principle good for an individual, and that it is the goal of all his/her actions. Further, it implies that pleasure is to be the highest aim of the individual and society. It follows that whatever action produces pleasure, it is to be undertaken, and vice versa. Decisions are made based on the probability, quantity and quality of the pleasure that can possibly be derived.

What does "pleasure" mean? Apparently this is an object that is highly variable and specific to each and every individual. To me, pleasure means to feel good, in particular feeling good about myself having engaged in a specific action. Pleasure can be derived from actions that by nature are meant to produce leisure or entertainment: watching films produces pleasure to me, and so does sipping coffee in a coffee shop, even though the coffee beans smell burnt in my latte. Pleasure also extends beyond the premise of the action and is linked closely to a self-reflexive reflection of the involvement of the self in the action: not only is watching films a pleasurable experience, but knowing that I am watching one and that I am engaging myself in a pleasure-producing action, also generates pleasure.

The act of seeking pleasure must, then, be largely reflexive (in face of the objective actions) and self-reflexive (in face of the self in a particular objective action). The feelings that the self experience serve as the focus of attention, not only before the decision is made to undertake a particular action, but also when the action is in progress. Yes, I confess, seeking pleasure means self-centeredness, even self-love.

Further, as pleasure seeking is an act guided by physical and mental senses, hedonism entails a level of sentimentality, where sentimentality means the magnification of the senses, feelings and emotions, and the explicitness with which these are perceived and re-created. Yes, I confess, I am sentimental and enjoy looking into my own emotions. I feel touched by the fact that I am touched.

A person who is hedonistic is short-tempered and short-visioned. Pleasure has to be generated, right now, right here. There is no waiting for some pleasure to come in some 30 years! In some ways, a hedonist is concerned more about the daily bread than the long- term career goals. Yes, I confess, do not lure me into a 10 year program to finally one day become that doctor that saves lives and earns a handsome amount (but who seems to be constantly tired); I am too busy with this moment to think about old age. At the same time, something is given up, often without second thought, when it does not seem to strike the right pleasure-seeking chords at the present moment. Yet because a hedonist has a well developed sense of imagination, things may be taken up with little hesitation, habits that may seem strange and unreasonable (e.g. the constant plucking of eye-brows that produces that itching and biting sensation that makes me feel alive and gives me pleasure) can be formed, and in this sense an individual may well be investing in some long-term quirks that are meaningful. Do not assume that hedonists are necessarily lazy, even though, yes I confess, I am not so concerned with being productive.

Even though hedonism as a term can theoretically be applied to a broader level--that of the society--it is quite difficult to imagine how individuals can promote their own hedonism to other people, or to care for other people's pleasure before their own. A hedonistic individual wants first and foremost pleasure for him/ herself, and if something works to your flavor too, very good: pleasure is generated together and consumed both individually and collectively. Yet in practicality, a hedonist is not one who will want, out of natural will, to further another's well being, because, well, who cares?

I have made a series of “confessions”, because I know that within the present society my hedonist status will likely be considered wayward, unproductive and selfish. Yet, while I am aware of the rules the society have implicitly laid down, I know that I do not have to abide by them, because my life is in my hands and pleasure-seeking is not to be delayed. Life is to be lived, in a way where its good things, things that make me happy and feed my healthy state of mind, are to be explored, exploited and relished. Secretly I am proud of the fact that I seem to have some answers to what life is, and should be, about. So I make my confessions with my head up.

One last note: hedonism is an attitude, not a lifestyle that one can buy or acquire by unnatural means (such as eating a ridiculously amount of candies to make life “sweet”). One needs the heart and the spirit for it; one is not naturally born for it, but one has to be self-confident in one’s self-image and pleasure-seeking actions. Do not make an extra effort to “switch” to a hedonistic lifestyle, it is not meant to be that way.

This is to try out Blogger. I have MySpace too, but i was told by a good friend that on MySpace there is too much going on. plus almost nobody reads my MySpace. My egocentricity propels me to try out other venues to express myself and get listened to.