Der Untergang

Blame it on my passion for history and the derived fantasies (which I like to call the lessons of history), I saw perhaps, one of the best and most disturbing movies about Third Reich. Its about the final days of Adolf Hitler in his bunker till his suicide, as narrated by his final stenographer Frau Traudl Jung. The name is Der Untergang (The Fall) or the USA working title is : The Downfall.
The actor playing Adolf Hitler (Bruno Ganz) deserves an Oscar for this memmorable performance. The motion picture is simply amazing. AMAZING!!!!! AMAZING!!!!!!
A word of caution: No film ever gave me nightmares; not even Nightmare of elm street (not that it was scary, but the name). I was truly disturbed after watching Der Untergang. The movie truly portrays the fact that men are driven by ideas in their purest form. Ideas harden, and become permanent after a while. This permanance is derived by the abandoning of the perhaps only characteristic property of an idea: the contemplating doubts and the questioning thoughts -- hence the idea becomes a belief. Men had done such terrible things for what they believe in. When men believe, the humanity suffers.
"Men are always judged by their ability to produce, except for the war - when they are judged on their ability to destroy." -- Will Durant, Lessons of History.

Multiculturism and Globalization

I know a bunch of nice girls who are from that troubled region which has caught the entire world by the balls. To all my female friends from Palestine, now living in US:
(The picture on the right: I wonder who thought of "taste the revoloution slogan"

The Lover
Her eyes and the tattoo on her hands are Palestinian,
Her name, Palestinian,
Her dreams and sorrow, Palestinian,
Her kerchief, her feet and body, Palestinian,
Her words and her silence, Palestinian,
Her voice, Palestinian,
Her birth and her death style, Palestinian American.

-by Mahmoud Darwish, edited by me without any permissions.

Side Note:
I kinda feel bad for distorting the context of this simple and yet so beautiful poem. I hope the region finds peace soon.

Old age in the grocerry store

Ignorant of the torridity of the old age, her ice cold but cheeks radiant of the desired now-death, vacillate voyeuristicly exibiting: nothing left to exibit.

Conservation of expression

Axiom: Music is a form of expression. Expression is an art.
Hypothesis: An expression can be expressed in various forms of art. The law of conservation of expression will hence state "any art is interchangeable from on form of expression to another".

The brilliant idea: Can moonlight sonata be expressed in words?
A piece of writing with 3 movements, characterized by a conflict of major and minor like a sea under the moon; like ripples reaching the shore and dying out before touching your feet; a constipated whale.
Can it be done ? What do you think?

incurable self

I have been observing this change in myself. This metamorphosis that has taken place not over the time, but almost suddenly. The change has been marked by a transition in the feelings of intimacy towards mundane commodities and personas, in general.
There is a broader set of feelings that I exibit. Each element of this set takes turns - I use them as masks : Agony, guilt, affliction, misery, twinge, and once in a while happiness.
Every one of these elements come with atleast one common repercussive consequence: euphoria. I can be euphoric while burning in incandescent fires of sadness - I have learnt to be euphoric. Somehow, the euphoric sensation does not adhere to happiness anymore. Happiness does not adhere to euphoria anymore. Happiness is a somber feeling. It is filled with the mellow colors of life which will soon fade away after a few rain drops of passing years.
It is aberrant and strange, how a person is kept going by a few untangible, blurred and often surreal ideas of a personal nirvana - A vision that has no ending, and probably no begining either. These visions are the axioms of my existance - these are what Vincent is. In the happiness mode, sometimes when I am. I stand and look towards the horizon of that nirvana. When I find nothing, when I find a mere illusion of merging of the earth and the sky - of my vain struggle and ideals, I ask myself, "is this what I really want in life?" The answer is disconsolate hoplessness - the answer is "yes".

A case for a nobel prize

When I was seven years old I could not understand simple mathematical addition. I knew that if 1 is added to 4 it makes 5. I also knew if 5 is added to another 5 it makes 10. But for some reason it was beyond my comprehension that if off two added 5s, 1 is subtracted, howcome, the answer is 9 and not 8. I was puzzled by this problem so much that after so many years, I still remember it.
When I was 12, I could not understand why an electric circuit doesnt work if the batteries' terminals are connected to similar poles instead of the opposite. I, somewhere during that time, created this electric circuit which lighted a bulb if my toy radio was catching a signal, and the bulb stood unlit if it didnt catch a signal. I still have that toy somwhere hidden in the memories.
I was about 13 when I outlined what are called "paradoxes of motion by Zeno", for the sake of outlinning something illogical in the science class, but instead I ended up discovering an anomaly in the numbering system.
At the age of 16 I wrote a paper about the descripencies in Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. Due to my non-existent Calculus skills, at that point, I was unable to make my point thoroughly, and had to rely on socratic reasoning and magical thinking mostly.
A year later I hypothesized and gave a psudo-methamatical equation for a probable time travel. My theory, if it had been accepted, would have resolved what is called "Grand Father paradox of time travelling". The simple answer to the Grand Father Pardox is that the grandfather would not have been a grandfather back then!
During the same time period a subject of mine, with my encouragement ofcourse, was able to test and prove all Freudian ideas. I have well documented proofs of Freud's theories, hence this staunch support for the school of thought. Please email me for the subject's name and other personal data, if interested in details.
18 years was the age when the things started changing their meaning. If my knowledge, reasoning skills, and perhaps wisdom is to be plotted on a cartisian plain, I would say that it shot up like DowJones did in 1995. It was the year I found out that I too cojito ergo sum.
I never fell in love. I would always consider love a strict platonic relationship between two opposite sexes. Where each individual acts selfishly to fulfil the prophecy of nature, and take their part in cycle of sex. Untill, when i eventually did. (The details are omitted to avoid the feelings of monotony in readers).

(gota go ... will continue this)

back to school

So the school has started again, without any sort of excitement on my part. I am already having this burnt feeling on the second day of school. I wonder if its because I cleared around 18 credit hours in summer I, II, and III combined. I thought I will be graduating this semester but all my plans to the dustbin, beacuase of that crazymotherfucker Vain.
When I trasnfered to texas I did not take Govt, so I am taking it now at the end of my degree. The government class has all the elements of a modern government. I was surprised to see that the instructor is not a Vietnam veteran but rather a fairly young man (does not mean young, fair man).
Acting on his agenda he told us that he will try to develop a profound understanding among the students about the importance of a government in a society. For sake of the fulfilment of his dream he enumerated plans: lecture our asses, show movies, fascict republican propoganda, lectures by Pat Robertson, and distribute a wallet size photograph of Henry Kessenger among students.
The movie part is always a personal favorite; media luz harbors greatest dreams, and fantasies (yes, even in govt. class). Apart from all this, I thought he would show us, perhaps, Julius Ceaser, or a screen script of The Republic by Plato, or anything but what he showed us (nop he havent started advertising his ass yet). He showed us "Lord of the Flies". If you have seen that movie: know it has nothing to do with government. It was pathetic and I announced my dislike immediately. And lo, I am taking rest of the government classes with a different class now.
I was sworn in (exaggerated word) for the 2005 term as a Vice President of ACM of the university's chapter. My only agenda is to broaden the member base and expand it to about 1500 students from every dicipline possible. My only tool : alcohol. We will arrange offcampus, and oncampus "all drunk programming competetions", and will try to provide a unified platform for the promotion of computers, drugs, and sex. God bless my heart.
Lets see if I can keep up my 4.0 average in this semester. I am gonna try my best to screw up. Wish me luck.

The problem of Woody Allen

He somehow cannot comprehend that a multicultural world, which is often symbolized by the New York City, can be as dumb as it is. The people are hypocritical and they seem to be comfortable with the farce of their life. Since, he believea that people are aware of their hypocricy, so he thinks he can change that by outlining this duality in his movies.
Most of the times the movies fail at the box office - people are not hypocrites, they are actually dumb.

And what is with his romance scenes? He never kisses on mouth, instead he prefers to kiss on the shoulders and trapezius (the neck muscles), passing the most socratic comments with each gesture. I think this habbit is symbolic of his views about female sex, and sexuality overall.

A ghazal

Its a translation of a ghazal that I wrote. The translation has lost its rhyming scheme, but still may convey the idea. Altough, now much like prose, it must be read in couplets.

A Ghazal
The dry flower of hope smelled of mellow colors today:
memory of spent life and the lost youth's nostalgia.

Look my grievence worked; the hour of unity approaches,
But ray-of-unity has brought the message of the night along.

Lips of the time, which are stationary to the virtue of their fate
Today, shimmer smiles like dew on the roses.

Vince is nervous, stuck in turmoiled-whirl-of-time
Its the hour a star sinks in the chaos of the dawn.

Fancy

Fancy my love is forever,
Fancy it is madly;
Fancy both these are fairytales.
Fancy this heart's tragedy is a fancy of the heart;
Fancy there is more to it, and rest is hidden inside the heart.
Fancy I praise your eyes to nurse your vanity;
Fancy I drink from these taverns' charity.
Fancy I fake my agony -
Fancy its a false crusifixion;
Fancy this love of mine
is indeed a fateful infliction.
Fancy my strife's false -
Fancy my suffering an aspersion;
Fancy this is the only fact ,
and all else an illusion.

A mutual presentation by me and Sando.

Romanticism, it caanot die!

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe, 1849


It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

A tale of an asshole

The big institutions have a way of attracting assholes for interfacing with the rest of the world. I have no recollection of even one incident which was on the contrary or an exception. The story unfolds as I was begining to escape the feverish excitement of graduating this fall - announced I had already to my friends and foes alike.
I had to see this advisor of mine with an unpronounceable last name, and first name pronounced as "Vain" (however, it is spelled with an x in it), before my last semester formally commenced. This guy is a strange character. He is an advisor for a computer science and mathematics degree but always have a question about simple MS Windows XP use whenever I visit him.
So I visit him this final time, supposedly. Ask him for my degree plan audit and to sign the proper documents so I can get ready for the launch into the world of graduated joblesses . He meditates. His inextricable asshole expands and contracts. I notice those changes through face reading. In his peculiar accent where every word is immortalized by the adition of an x in the begining and in the ending, he announces that I have taken two research courses instead of the required only one. So, I ask, "You never mentioned this before, and you advised me these courses, how is this possible at all?" He murmurs something without moving his lips and I wonder if that is his all encompassing ass. I point out that even though I have taken two research courses that only means that I get a higher stipend for my reasearch this fall, and nothing more and graduate with flying colours. He tells me, " (hell, let me just explain what he says)" - that I had to complete a writing course and that had to be done before the semester I was graduating in, hence, I may not be able to graduate this semester!
At this point I told him to go screw himself, and revealed to him all the distinct characteristics of his deformed, rather de-formulated anatomy - not really! He showed me a piece of paper, rather read it to me by skipping the lines that were in my favor. So I got up, THANKED HIM for screwing me up, and went to the Chair of the college.
Now what happened there is anoter inspirational tale of wisdom. Chair, however, was not an ass-pillered man and he did help me out, and I hope that I will be graduating this fall.
The point of the matter is that I should have been more careful and should not have depended on this omnipotently potent asshole. My first que would have been his name "Vain". Vain it is, "curse you, bastard!"
A Request:
I humbly ask my readers to create a list of comments with the appropriate adjectives for this Vain guy - the nasty the better. I shall deliver your postings to his door steps and to the Chair, as well. Thank you!

The eccentric fool

Once upon a time there was a gorilla. The gorilla was black and partly blue. The blue color was not an inheritence through genetics but he got his hair dyed blue. Once upon another time there was a gorilla who was black and partly red. The red color was not in his genes but an epitome of prevailing fashion.
Once upon a time there was a man who was an intellectual and partly eccentric. He was not eccentric because he was always like that but because it was a reaction to the prevailent culture. Another once upon a time the same man thought that if he commited himself to the learning and apprehension of prevalent knowledge and mastery, he would dibilitate his life in it - hence, will never be able to innovate anything. So he started looking for an alternative. A few more days plus that another once upon a time, he observed something that served as a metaphor to him in later stages of his despised bourgeois life. He saw a honey bee move from flower to flower sucking on the nectar but never fully exhausing the supply in each flower. The bee's intentiion appeared to fully cover the garden than to accumalate sufficent amount of nectar.
He hence conculded that expertise in a field is extremely essential only if the seeker is an immortal; for a mortal the overall picture, and the general imrpession is more significant. From that day on his days were spent in search for the secret of imortality, till the day of mortality.
The gorillas, if they hear the story of that man who was intellectual and partly eccentric, would wish that he had rather not wished for expert knowledge, but to gather a little bit in every field that was available to him, and be innovative himself.

Gott ist tot

(Ich bin) "Ein Teil von jener Kraft, Die stets das Bose will und stets das Gute schafft."

We did it!!!!!

Ten years ago we founded Vincent Research Labratories for Collaboration of stupid ideas in Literature with Science with a promise to uncover the mysteries that have haunted the english literature since early modern period. We are proud to announce that we have successfully discovered, uncovered, stripped off, and unvieled a various aspects of crazy science. We shall be presenting our discoveries and uncoveries in the upcoming articles. The Constituency Department of VRLCSILS has decided to publish their findings on the historically unidentified constituents of famous potions in literature, under GNU public liscence. We will be revealing the reciepies/ingredients/make-it-yourself-guides of , but not limited to the following:

1) Love in Idleness nectar. (Origianlly created by Oberon by a flower, as claimed by Shakespeare, but that proved to be a hoax. The active ingrediant is Sildenafil Citrate which is used in Viagra nowdays).
2) Picture Perfect Paints (Used by Basil to paint the picture of Dorian Gray)
3) Metamorphosis Catalyst Steak (eaten by Gregor Samsa the night before he turned into a roach. Side orders include blue cheese, and horse's dipshit)
4) Out of Sight Death potion a.k.a I am Sick O Sick! (used in many epic tales. One example is the death of Regan in Lear off the stage)
5) The patient Bullet: This bullet has claimed lives of many a protagonists and antagonists alike. The bullet is observed to sit waiting outside the house of the victim in the stairs till he returns from work. (Young Wurther was killed by such a bullet, however the bullet didnt have to wait at point blank range, in his case.)
6) Blitz Kriek Liquor (A person tries to find a Clean Well Lighted place after getting drunk on this serum. Hemingway discovered it)
7) Devilsbay.com (if you want to sell your soul to devil, this is where to get a good bargain. Goethe did not from utterly cruel intentions specified this website)
8) Heinz Tommato Ketchup (and you thought that God made Terresa Heinz Kerry like that?)

Please email us of any questions you may have. Let us know if there is any specific potion you think we should study.

invain struggle

Outside this city away from the metropolitan there is a hut. A dewelling which dewelled escaping the claws of capitalist time. In the stardust, the sprinkles of light at midnights, the inhabiter of the hut; the foresaken old man - on the support of the stick walks out to the world. His eyes are weary, and his back is bent under the unflourished dreams; Dreams of epochs - the epochs of hope. The stones which stumble against the stick; the stick which stumble against strangers, is cautious not to brush against a squattering anguish. Disquiet headaches which roam on the dusty trail that vanishes into the woods are restless again. Blind old man must find his way back to the hut once more, untouched by the presentiments of this night. The stardust will settle down soon. The cries are loud - the bitter pleas of fallen mercy is raising its head again. A forlorn scream fills the qualm air. The stars and their dust are spectators of the misery, as he turns and starts the voyage back to the dewelling, which has dewelled by escaping the claws of the capitalist time.

damnit i cant write

It appears that I have expressed myself on every aspect of my conciousness. This is the only logical constituency that i can think of for not getting any ideas to write about. I have learned that i cannot write about the traditional matters which have haunted and continue to haunt most of the authors. I somehow cannot seem to bias my thoughts into a current of pulsating ideas. Rather, it appears that my subjugation to writing ideas flourishes only under brief impulse like epiphanies.

Few quotes by a dear but dead friend of mine: Salvador Dali

"The only difference between myself and a madman is that I am not mad."

"The only difference between me and the Surrealists is that I am a Surrealist"

"At the age of six years I wanted to be a chef. At the age of seven I wanted to

be Napoleon. My ambitions have continued to grow at the same rate ever since."

"Every morning when I wake up, I experience an exquisite joy – the joy of being Salvador Dali – and I ask myself in rapture: What wonderful things this Salvador Dali is going to accomplish today?"

"I tried sex once with a woman and that woman was Gala. It was overrated. I tried sex once with a man and that man was the famous juggler Federico Garcia Lorca [the Spanish Surrealist poet]. It was very painful.*"

"What is important is to spread confusion, not eliminate it."

* Dali was not gay, or bi by any standards, if any exist.

Thus spake Zoroaster

There exist strangest relations between the subtlest details of our observations. The comprehension of the matter is not to be established thoroughly. The comprehension of the nature is only possible through subtle glances on the details. The attention must be paid to the eliads and not to the obstructing heels. Consequently, the passages should be independent of the quatrains that follow; connected through only a logical harmony of a broader observation. There must not be refrains, hence. The knowledge must then flow from an individual to another, and not from an institution to a parasite. History makes it happen. The individual reins, the individuality buds on the shores of Euphrates, later to drown in the Tigress.

Only then the melancholy becomes beautiful. The sadness in the strings of violins becomes beautiful. This lachrymose becomes nature's allure. The violin plays; the hurricanes dance; the storms delight; the fires perform in the frolic lightning. In some room on a piano, Beethoven sits and composes the 5th.

not the update I talked about

Tonight, this night, by living one night,
we have lived a thousand epochs.
Tonight, like a healing wine,
these hands have drank the beloved.

by F. A. Faiz

Ether dipped table

People, apologies for the delay in update. A serious update coming soon, so stay tuned.

Violins

Tell those broken dreams to dewel elsewhere
this scar'd heart has no room anymore.

Harry Haller after failing in career, sociability, and love turned to cowardly thoughts of suicide. Declared as an outcast and labeled a madman he could only have made his comeback in the depths of his own thoughts when fueled by Opium. Indeed!

A case for a war

The exact time frame of the origins is unknown. It may even pre-date the egg and the chicken question. There used to be hens, and their male protecters: Cocks. A native indian, in cunjunction to those cocks, had a shaved head with only a strip of hair from front to back; called a roach. Miguel Cervantes thought of the idea of unification. The idea that two subjects can be combined in their nature, and yet be two different entities, hence he created Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. But Cervantes' story is unrelated to cocks, hens and the indian since chivalary died, and romance was institutionalized by the Bourgeois(: the flagbearers of mediocrity).
This tragedy however did not alter the sufferings of Prometheus. The eagles kept tearing apart his liver over and over again, for their nutritional needs. The Condours consequently were not happy with the eagles for stealing their job. Meanwhile, the indian smoked tobacco, and the cocks were being cocks; what hens were doing and the status of the roach is not clear during that particular moment.

If you have thought that this fable would end in concatination of the cock and the roach then know this that it has not. The fable has survived because of its conservatist interpreations.

Franz Kafka

Somebody said that Franz Kafka was crazy; he was a psycho.
Is this not cruel? Why do they say that?

An excerpt from Carmina Burana

O Fortuna (Chorus) O Fortune

O Fortuna                       O Fortune,
velut luna                      like the moon
statu variabilis,               you are changeable,
semper crescis                  ever waxing
aut decrescis;                  and waning;
vita detestabilis               hateful life
nunc obdurat                    first oppresses
et tunc curat                   and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem,              as fancy takes it;
egestatem,                      poverty
potestatem                      and power
dissolvit ut glaciem.           it melts them like ice.

Sors immanis                    Fate - monstrous
et inanis,                      and empty,
rota tu volubilis,              you whirling wheel,
status malus,                   you are malevolent,
vana salus                      well-being is vain
semper dissolubilis,            and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata                       shadowed
et velata                       and veiled
michi quoque niteris;           you plague me too;
nunc per ludum                  now through the game
dorsum nudum                    I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris.              to your villainy.

Sors salutis                    Fate is against me
et virtutis                     in health
michi nunc contraria,           and virtue,
est affectus                    driven on
et defectus                     and weighted down,
semper in angaria.              always enslaved.
Hac in hora                     So at this hour
sine mora                       without delay
corde pulsum tangite;           pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem                 since Fate
sternit fortem,                 strikes down the string man,
mecum omnes plangite!           everyone weep with me!

The complete lyrics of Carmina Burana can be found here.