Sonnet: Upon Miss Wong's Garden

To Miss Wong, naturally...

I had withheld my proper visit here,
Until the month of May had wholly past.
A summer day had brought me walking near
And into Earthly Paradise at last.
The flowers smil'd, and chatt'd in great delight
As we towards a lake of lettuce trac'd.
While huge tomatoes fell from puny height
And sweet blueberries both my hands embrac'd,
So past the chicken choir we slowly stroll'd,
A child cried, scream'd! (A baby not yet three!)
And while I daydreamt, "Dreamer!" I was told,
"The salad's done!" We ate in spirit free...
Winter rain may have purg'd the scene away,
But th' salad's taste remains, even today.

Seats on a bus: A Tristansque Reflection

Why does the man bother asking the polite question if he is going to sit down anyway? This is the point I would like to dwell on. Here is what is wrong with us:

1. Why do we say things we do not mean?
2. Why do we say things we do not know what it means?
3. Why do we lack the courage to defy the norm?
4. Why do we care for such petty, trivial things?

* * *

1. What have we done to language? We do not speak anymore. We merely mutter words that does not make sense. When the man ask "May I have this seat?", this supposes an answer that could go either way: yes, or no. Yet the man assumes the answer to be yes. Then we no longer mean what we say; rather, we mask what we really want to say with mere politeness. "It is polite to ask, and it is polite to say yes." From beginning to end we know what is going to happen, so why bother with the game?

2. The question "May I have this seat?" means that the friend has ownership to the chair. Furthermore, it means that it cannot be taken over by force (or else there is no point in asking the question). Finally, as mentioned before, "may" supposes two possibilities. If this is the case, then does the man know what he is actually saying? He never considered "no" as an answer, never cared for the ownership of the chair, and took the chair by force. Him asking this question makes absolutely no sense. Of course, criticism arises: why do you pick on the poor guy? Why are you just twisting words and putting them into his mouth? Cruel sophist!
But this is not the only case: listen to the people around you, and you will often find that they use words in which they do not have a firm conception or definition in mind. "That's cool." "He's such a nerd." "Nationalism rules!" "Human rights." What do all these mean anyway?

3. I'm no Overman; I cannot have an entire world made up of noble enemies.

4. Have we, who mutters non-sense, render "politeness" to mere lip service? (How about a certain Algerian, who refused to cry at his mother's funeral, who then was hang for this crime?) Do not say what you do not mean. Take the seat if you will, do not ask for my permission for such petty things. You are all nobel, and I am forgetful - these things do not worry me. I much rather be rude to everyone, and say my thanks when I actually mean them, than showering people with thanks everyday. I shall love not because of politeness; I shall hate not because of rudeness.

* * *

Language needs defamiliarization. The friend should have said "no" for the sake of bringing the problem of language to attention. Such a defamiliarization should shock the man to his awareness of himself and his social being-in-the-world, instead of wandering day in and day out in the midst of the world.

Seats on a Bus: A Nietzschean Reflection

We went onto the bus today, and you were ahead of me. You found a seat, and was eyeing me to sit next to you. I was just two steps away when a man comes and asked you if he can sit next to you. A reluctant "yes" came out of your mouth, and he sat down. I ended up sitting just a bit away from you.

Why did you say "yes" to the man if you do not want him to sit next to you? Is it out of politeness? Don't you see that by saying "yes" you submit to him in a power struggle; you become the slave and he the master? But you are no weak one! You do not need to become the slave! Yet you answer: it is only polite to let someone sit on an empty seat; it is not as if I own the seat; I have no right over the seat. My friend! What is a "right"? Who said there's such a thing as "right"? That's slave morality! You are stronger than that!

Did you notice how he did not even expect you to say no? After he did his polite thing he did not even bother listening to you reply. He just went ahead and sat down. What kind of world do we live in? Are we all governed by such lame herd morality, where every one is polite to each other, and is mere dust? You are stronger than that!

Why did you not say "no"? If he can win a seat merely without a struggle, then he is not worthy of his seat. He has reduced you into a low being, and he himself depended on your lowness for him to rise above you. You are stronger than that!

Politeness is a mere mask for the herd's weakness. The strong does not need to be polite. So say no! and see how your foe takes it. If he turns away, then he is mere slave, mere man, a herd among many, unworthly of human dignity. You are stronger than that!

But if he should assert himself onto the seat anyway, then here is a worthy foe! He is no nerd from the herd; rather he overcomes slave morality - he is the Overman who is as strong in you are, and as proud as you are. You have raise yourself to a new level, and have raised him to a new level too - beyond mere politeness, beyond mere good and evil. Let him sit next to you, shoulder to shoulder - this is the enemy that you respect; this is the enemy that you love!

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

The Anguish of Being

A friend's friend's father died in a car crash last night. Death crept upon me and haunted me the entire day. I realize that I do not fear hell; what I fear is nothingness.

A Very Biased Concert Review

22 year old Chinese piano sensation Lang Lang played today at the Orpheum theater. Overall, Lang Lang definitely did not disappoint me - I've heard him played on the radio before, and live with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra back in June (playing Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto). Here are the pieces he played, and my two-cents worth of comments:

1. Schumann: Abegg Variations - beautiful piano playing, extremely good pedal and keyboard control. Virtuosic, but at the same time deeply moving. I thought he was able to bring out the youthful fire of the romantic Schumann. (Although admittedly, I'm nowhere being a Schumann expert)

2. Haydn: Piano Sonata (in C major, if my ears did not fail me) - I thought overall it was very well done. (Anything that Lang Lang does is well done.) But what concerts me is his romantic playing; it does not exactly work the best for a Classicist like Haydn. Lang Lang failed to observe the repeat sign of the first movement, which is a surprise to me. Second movement is romantic, but maybe it should be more sentimental. But the brilliance and humour of the third movement makes up for everything.

3. Chopin: Andante and Waltz - both pieces are absolute Poetic (with the capital P)...other than the fact that Lang Lang might have made the Waltz a bit too virtuosic, otherise there is nothing else to be complained.

Intermission: Saw Jade (Chan, my friend), and had a wonderful chat with her. She, too, has brilliant wit, which I greatly admire.

4. Tan Dun: 8 Piano Pieces, op.1 - for me this is the climax. The Chinese folk melodies and the pentatonic style is fresh, and beautifully incooperated into the western style.

5. Chopin: Nocturne #8 in D-flat major - My heart melted into a pool of boiling passion as the piece ends in gentle sixth-scales.

6. Liszt: Don Juan Fantasy - there is really nothing to be amazed at except virtuosity. But that's way more than enough. Now I know why Liszt was called the Devil - I would call Lang Lang the devil too, after seeing/hearing those hands doing its magic.

Encores:
1. Schumann: Dreaming - Is it just me, or did Lang Lang forgot the last couple of bars, but made up the ending?

2. Liszt: a fantasy - this one I'm not sure what it is, but I'm just identifying it by its style. It's as difficult as the Don Juan Fantasy, so I'm guessing only Liszt could have written it.

3. Liszt: Dream of Love - what more beautiful to end this wonderful concert?

For just how I felt in general, see my previous entry of "Time and Music".

Sidewalks

We ought to pay attention to our sidewalks. If you are willing to just take the time and effort and look around the sidewalks while you are, let say, walking home, then you will find some interesting things that you might not have seen if you have just treated your sidewalk as something you mindless walk on and about. Today, for example, I saw the typical things - candy wrappers, tissues, cigarette butts, pebbles and rocks; but I also saw something more bizarre - actual candy, burnt out pine-cones (or maybe it was really really soaked), and even a baby underwear (with little bears on it). These things have always been there, but it is a matter of whether we allow ourselves to open up our own being to the being of these things: these beings, like us human beings, are/have no "essences"; rather they are "becoming", constantly striving to become away from nothingness. I cannot stress enough of how often do we immerse ourselves in a stream of everyday-busyness, and fail to stop and take a look at the things surrounding us on the banks of Being. So next time (whenever that is) you're walking home (I know we all tend to drive home these days), if you are not in deep thought, I hope you can remember my little blog, and look around your sidewalk: something is waiting for you to acknowledge its presence, just as how your presence is acknowledged by the objects you see on your sidewalk.

*Afterword*

It is truly ironic that while I saw the little things on the side walk, I have failed to see the big garbage bin on my driveway - my mother, when I was stepping into the house, asked me, "did you pick up the garbage bin?"

I innocently replied, "What garbage bin?"

The Philosophical Turkey and I

Oh Friends! Have you heard of the great philosophical turkey? Let me tell you about this great turkey. One day the turkey was sold from its farm to a man, who puts it in a little house. The first day, when the turkey sees the man's boots walking coming towards the door of the little house, the turkey got really scared and hid in the remotest corner of the house. But the man is a very nice man, and he only came to give the turkey food, then he left. The turkey slowly stepped forward, cautiously ate the food, and then went to bed. The next day, while the turkey was doing some thinking, it saw boots again. It got very scared and hid in the remotest corner of the little house. Again, the nice man only put down some food and left; the turkey stepped forward, cautiously ate the food, then went to bed. The third day, the same thing happened. The turkey was still afraid, but less afraid then first day, went to the food, ate it cautiously, and then went to bed. This went on for a week, two weeks, 30 days, 50 days, 75 days... The turkey gradually was less afraid of the boots. In fact, by the 99th day, it readily waited for the boots, and indeed, the nice man fed it, and left; the turkey ate with all the pleasure, then went to bed for a good night sleep. The next day, the turkey, after it has done its share of thinking, waited happily at the door. The boots came, and the turkey looks down, ready to bend down and feast. Unfortunately, the turkey did not know that it is Thanksgiving. The man opened the little door and broke the turkey's neck, brought it back to the house, and cooked it for his family.

The moral of the story: do not ever trust the principle of induction.

Of course, this moral has tremendous implications:
1. The sun might not rise tomorrow.
2. The next time you jump out of the window, you might not fall.
3. The next apple you eat might taste like chicken (and hence the expression "it tastes like chicken").
4. Your next class might be cancelled.
5. Your glasses (or your eyeballs, if you don't have glasses) might fall apart the next moment you take them off (of course, you cannot really "take off your eyeballs", so it follows that your eyeballs won't actually fall apart...).
etc...

Now, as the title indicates, "The Philosophical Turkey and I", you might be wondering: what does this turkey have to do with me? Well, let me tell you a little story. This morning I was, as usual, waiting for the 7:30 bus. Like every morning, the bus comes at 7:30, rain or shine. But it didn't come today. I ended up getting on the bus at 7:50. During that long moments of waiting, apart from the crazy existentialist angst I feel, otherwise, I really feel like the Philosophical Turkey...

Observations and Reflections

There is this girl (I have now seen her many times) on the bus who seems to pay a lot of attention to the things I say (to my friends, when in conversation). I do not know who she is, and I assume that she does not know me either. But when Chance permits she stands or sit rather close to my conversations and she eavesdroppes in. We (my friends and I) laugh at a joke, and she chuckles; whoever is speaking, she looks on politely. I've noticed that several times that she and I have caught each other's eyes, and that she wanted to join in. There was one time in which I really think she was going to sneak in with a comment, because after our laughter there was a brief gap of silence. But she didn't, and the waves of words carried on. But I was, and still am curious, very curious - what did she want to say? What did she want to tell us? How does her voice sound like? How does her laughter - unconstrained, free laughter that she seemed to tried very hard to contain in herself - sound like? A string quartet is playing, and maybe she feels like a clarinet - not quite right to join in? But a clarinet is just as musical as a violin, no?

* * *

I have accidentally deleted a document, a summary I've written for Alexander Pope's Rape of the Lock. Since it was on a floppy, the file was as good as gone. Of course, this triggers my philosophy mind: where did the file really go? Can there be such a thing as "nothingness"? The file was perfect here before. But at the push of a button it is GONE! It vanished into nothing...how is that possible? I cannot conceive nothingness of it...it must be still somewhere. What does "nothingness" mean? What if one day some thing, my bag for example, just vanished into nothingness? What of that? What if one day some one, my friend, for example, also vanished into nothingness? And if I vanished into nothingness? Where is nothingness? What is nothingness? But nothingness is. Even "nothingness" must be, which already presupposes a space and a time, for nothing is if it is not in space or time. Am I running into a paradox? How is it that "nothing" is "something"?

* * *

I was raking the maple leaves today. They are all over the ground. And I told myself: why does Winter send its forceful winds to tear up the dress of every tree (so I guess I was raking up the fabric pieces of my maple tree), penetrates us to our very core, and rapes us into the knowledge of its arrival?

I long for the snow to cover up my wounds...