Is it a part of life to forever want
even though that's what we did day before
always thinking one more and I'll be happy
is there ever a happily ever after
or just a a mirage of water in hot desert
vanishing the moment we reached the spot
giving us the hope to move forward
yet bringing disappointment all along
is the desire the cause of all distress
or just the very element that makes us human
satisfaction is what we all search for
or just an emotion that will pass us through
eventually making us want it even more
so when does ambition become dangerous
and success a part of next failure
how does one ever find out when
to stop wanting....hoping...asking for more...
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Piano and Amplified Teapot
To understand my utter bewilderment, you must listen first, to this: (it’s not long, don’t worry up to the 1:00 mark should be enough to get the point)
If you were wondering when the music starts, get ready to have your world shaken up: what you heard was the music, composed by John Cage, one of the most influential composers of the 20th century. The music, it doesn’t get any different. It’s plant noises for 8 whole minutes. I’m telling you, people applaud at the end and everything.
That utterly confusing piece is a form of “contemporary music”. If you understood or thoroughly enjoyed it, you can stop reading now, because the rest of this might be total nonsense to you.
Still reading? Okay. I’m going to try and convince you why this form of “music” isn’t so random after all. I experienced it for the first time at a concert by the contemporary music band “Sonic Generator”. They began with a most “interesting” piece called “this(continuity)”. To give you a feel of what it was like, here’s a description of it from a pamphlet we were given:
“Writing this again starting/stuttering location: this location and dislocation, disclosing and this closing … somewhere in the something to do, somewhere in the middle/muddle, a vertex/averting, where the fidgeting begins... using repetition to counteract the dominant culture’s obsessively repetitive state of denial, thus hopefully becoming an input for new and different information...”
Now, the music consisted of the artists breathing into flutes/clarinets, at intervals hissing words like “Begin!” or “This!” and stamping their feet. Towards the end, a section of around half a minute is pure radio static. No, seriously.
I was totally befuddled. I had no clue why anyone would pay to listen to a collection of arbitrary sounds, some of which make you want to jab your ears violently with a fork. So I rushed home, and reached for the nearest fork, when a thought struck me: Has this fork been washed properly? And then, another thought struck me: Isn’t music basically about sounds? Why was this any different?
I took deep breaths, eased the fork out of my hands and thought about it. Music, most people would agree, is anything that sounds “good” to the ears. Of course, people have varying definitions of “good” (just ask your grandparents to listen to Metallica for example). But in spite of differences in tastes, there is one thing common to almost all forms of music:a pattern. Almost any music contains intricate patterns and repetitions: a drumbeat in the background, a rhythm you can tap your foot to.
This contemporary music stuff, however, has no easily recognizable pattern. And no, its not just me saying that, many of my musician friends who attended the concert with me were equally ... er... surprised... by the piece.
The composition that followed this(continuity) was more understandable. It was played using two instruments: a Piano and an Amplified teapot. Yes, you read that correctly.Here’s the pamphlet description of it:
“During this work, fragments are played … The performance is recorded on a cassette tape... the tape is rewound and played back through a small loudspeaker hidden inside a teapot. … the lid of the pot is raised and lowered, changing the resonance characteristics of the pot.”
Essentially, the artist took a part of The Beatles’ Strawberry Fields Forever and modified its sounds in eccentric ways. But there was something about the sounds within that steel teapot that gave the tune a different aura: a hollow, echo, growing and shrivelling through the air, like memories of the past. And that got me thinking: is Music really about patterns, or is it more about the emotions and the images it creates?
Most people associate some emotions and feelings with musical pieces. But emotions can often be triggered by random events, and random noises. The noise of the wind or could fill you with awe, when you remember the first thunderstorm you saw as a child. Birdsong might make you picture a happy sunlit garden. A clang of metal in the dark could fill you with fear, when the last horror movie you watched floats up in your mind.
All of these are random noises, right? What if this piece I’d heard was not meant to sound pleasant, but instead meant to evoke emotion? I thought back and realised I was trying too hard to find patterns. Maybe if I had just listened, I would have understood.
I recalled a phrase from the description: “trying to counteract dominant culture’s obsessively repetitive...”. The description spoke of people constantly trying to conform to standards, trying the same things over and over: patterns. Instead, they wanted you to simply stay in the moment, feel that sense of discomfort as you relish the struggle between wanting to stay here and wanting to move into the future. Now it may not be the standard definition of Music, but it wasn’t as random as I’d thought. It actually made sense.
What if you could go to a concert, not necessarily to listen to something that sounded pleasant, but could bring back memories you never realised you had; evoke in you emotions that you rarely experience; give you something to think about? I think I’d pay for that.
And no, I still didn’t understand the plant noises noises thing :-/
(All of this is just my take on the matter. This is a topic where people’s opinions vary greatly. What do you think? Please post/comment and tell me how ignorant/stupid I am)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
As the day goes by !
DAWN
Just before the golden rays pour in,
Just before a thin sheet of fog becomes evident
Just before dew sets on the blade of grass
Before the birds welcome the dawn sweetly
Before the bats were up on a tree cosily
Before the little one cries its heart out
She slowly woke up and stretched
Smiling at the wonderful part of her life
It was the most beautiful reflection of herself
Using all her conviction she turned away. . . . .
DUSK
A girl in lily white gown,
Waited 'til the sun went down
The moon had become all gold
Just then breeze had become cold
The chirping birds had become few
The green meadow had pearls of dew
Full with hope in eyes she stood
Would wait forever if she could
Being patient had become a must
This was just a test of her trust
Then the sound of horse filled the air
She finally did something very rare
Silently she stared for a while
Then came rolling down a tear and smile....
Just before the golden rays pour in,
Just before a thin sheet of fog becomes evident
Just before dew sets on the blade of grass
Before the birds welcome the dawn sweetly
Before the bats were up on a tree cosily
Before the little one cries its heart out
She slowly woke up and stretched
Smiling at the wonderful part of her life
It was the most beautiful reflection of herself
Using all her conviction she turned away. . . . .
DUSK
A girl in lily white gown,
Waited 'til the sun went down
The moon had become all gold
Just then breeze had become cold
The chirping birds had become few
The green meadow had pearls of dew
Full with hope in eyes she stood
Would wait forever if she could
Being patient had become a must
This was just a test of her trust
Then the sound of horse filled the air
She finally did something very rare
Silently she stared for a while
Then came rolling down a tear and smile....
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Hunter
The golden light of the setting sun gleamed across the wooden spear as it flew gracefully through the air. It found its mark in the neck of the fleeing animal, sending it crashing to the ground.
At long last, a successful hunt.
The hunter looked tired, but relieved as she stood over her treasured prize. The meat on it would feed at least ten of her starving village. This was a sorely needed hunt. Food had become scarce ever since the village had been cursed by...
No! Banish those thoughts, she told herself, focus on this task alone, and return before the sun sets!
As was custom, she whispered an apology to her prey as she began the process of cutting up the meat. The orange disc of the sun was slowly swallowed by the horizon. She had expected to return earlier but game was difficult to come by these days, and she could not return home to her little brother empty handed. An intuition told her she had stayed far beyond safe hours though. Dusk was a dangerous time for work even by usual reckoning, but in recent times it was naught but suicide. Night was fast approaching, which meant so was the creature that haunted them.
It had first visited their village two months ago and carried off a small dog. It had rapidly grown bolder, progressing to infants and children playing near the outskirts, until finally terror had entered the village itself.
Thrice it had struck, on successive nights. Two young boys and an old woman were taken from within their huts themselves, and yet, not a sound was heard even by those that slept right beside the victims. The creature was Silence incarnate. Only the signs remained, a thick trail of blood leading out of the huts, disappearing quickly into mud and dust.
Fences were erected, doors were built. These offered some harbour, but there were whispered reports of rattled doors in the night, and the scratches on the doors were plain for all to see in the following mornings.
But this did not stop it. Hunt was stolen from the traps the hunters set, and those who set out in evenings did not return. Fear had created locks and doors stronger than wood and stone: no one ventured outside the village fence, save in groups in broad daylight. Hunting was much tougher in daylight, and the village had slowly run out of food. They were starving... until she had grown desperate enough to tempt fate.
The sun was now all but devoured and shadows crept forward growing longer, bearing darkness and fear. The hunter briskly set off, following the well-used dirt path, for this was safest. But it was still too late. Twilight quickly faded, shrouding her in cold, absolute darkness.
She knelt and searched her bundle for the oiled torch she always carried. When lit, it burned brightly and lasted long enough to take her home. She uttered a curse: the torch was missing!
It must have fallen out while I packed, too hurriedly. How could I be so careless?
The sounds of night mocked her now: she heard the calls of nameless evils stalking her. That crunch! Were those footsteps landing on dry leaves, or just a branch in the wind? And that rustling: are those merely leaves or did the haunted one approach?
She shut her eyes and collected herself.
Calm yourself. At this point fear will only cloud your instincts.
Her heart trusted her words, and slowed its pace.
Trust your ears, your feet. Make little noise. Follow the path through experience.
The eerie noises died down. Now it was just her and the night, and darkness could not in itself hurt her.
But the creature... the voice of terror said in her mind. She silenced it as well. Staying here is certain death. Proceeding forward is a gamble. In either choice, fear is of no use to me now.
She snapped her eyes open, now determined. There was only one option. She took step after step, rapidly but as silently as possible. Her heart was racing again, but this time out of resolve, not fear. Her ears gave her vision in the night, and her instinct showed her the path home.
Luck was with her, for soon her eyes were greeted by the fires near the village gate burning bright!
I’m home!
“Open the gates!” she screamed, exhausted. “I have come home!”
She beat the wooden door with her hands. There was no reply. She shouted out again and beat upon the gate, her hopelessness growing. After a while she sank to the ground. In the darkness she waited. No one was coming.
And then she heard it. Soft steps, falling on the ground in the night, slow and deliberate, approaching her. With bated breath she waited as the haunted one drew closer.
The footsteps stopped. There was now a scraping sound, as though something heavy were being dragged through the ground. Silence followed.
She waited still, listening intently. She let terror press in around her until it was too much to bear.
I shall not be taken sitting down! If I must be taken, let my spear go with me!
She silently drew her wooden weapon and began crawling on all fours, inching towards the source of the sounds. She crept forward, sticking close to the wooden fence - until her hand missed a step and fell lower then it should have!
A ditch? Right next to the fence?
In the dimming light of the village fires she saw what her hand had felt. A small portion of the ground under wall had been cleared, leaving empty space below.
A tunnel - It has dug a tunnel. The thought hit her like icy water to her face.The image of her little brother formed in her mind. There was no time to lose. Spear in hand, she crawled through.
Inside, the village was as silent as the grave. She ran, moving as fast as her legs could carry her, and halted at her home. The door was ajar. A feeling of dread washed over her. She burst in screaming her brother’s name. Time stood still.
And then she heard a whimper: in the dim light, she saw a tiny figure sitting huddled in a corner of the hut. In a heartbeat, she was near him, with her arms around him. His breathing was heavy, stuttered. His hands were moist to the touch, covered in a sticky liquid.
Blood.
The boy lifted a shivering arm and pointed behind her. She turned.
Behind her, against a wall, lay a mountain of fur, stripes and glittering eyes. She did not know how this had escaped her sight, but she knew it was no longer a problem; for beneath the cold, open eyes, in the white fur of the neck, nestled deep within flesh, was a simple, unassuming kitchen knife.
At long last, a successful hunt.
The hunter looked tired, but relieved as she stood over her treasured prize. The meat on it would feed at least ten of her starving village. This was a sorely needed hunt. Food had become scarce ever since the village had been cursed by...
No! Banish those thoughts, she told herself, focus on this task alone, and return before the sun sets!
As was custom, she whispered an apology to her prey as she began the process of cutting up the meat. The orange disc of the sun was slowly swallowed by the horizon. She had expected to return earlier but game was difficult to come by these days, and she could not return home to her little brother empty handed. An intuition told her she had stayed far beyond safe hours though. Dusk was a dangerous time for work even by usual reckoning, but in recent times it was naught but suicide. Night was fast approaching, which meant so was the creature that haunted them.
It had first visited their village two months ago and carried off a small dog. It had rapidly grown bolder, progressing to infants and children playing near the outskirts, until finally terror had entered the village itself.
Thrice it had struck, on successive nights. Two young boys and an old woman were taken from within their huts themselves, and yet, not a sound was heard even by those that slept right beside the victims. The creature was Silence incarnate. Only the signs remained, a thick trail of blood leading out of the huts, disappearing quickly into mud and dust.
Fences were erected, doors were built. These offered some harbour, but there were whispered reports of rattled doors in the night, and the scratches on the doors were plain for all to see in the following mornings.
But this did not stop it. Hunt was stolen from the traps the hunters set, and those who set out in evenings did not return. Fear had created locks and doors stronger than wood and stone: no one ventured outside the village fence, save in groups in broad daylight. Hunting was much tougher in daylight, and the village had slowly run out of food. They were starving... until she had grown desperate enough to tempt fate.
The sun was now all but devoured and shadows crept forward growing longer, bearing darkness and fear. The hunter briskly set off, following the well-used dirt path, for this was safest. But it was still too late. Twilight quickly faded, shrouding her in cold, absolute darkness.
She knelt and searched her bundle for the oiled torch she always carried. When lit, it burned brightly and lasted long enough to take her home. She uttered a curse: the torch was missing!
It must have fallen out while I packed, too hurriedly. How could I be so careless?
The sounds of night mocked her now: she heard the calls of nameless evils stalking her. That crunch! Were those footsteps landing on dry leaves, or just a branch in the wind? And that rustling: are those merely leaves or did the haunted one approach?
She shut her eyes and collected herself.
Calm yourself. At this point fear will only cloud your instincts.
Her heart trusted her words, and slowed its pace.
Trust your ears, your feet. Make little noise. Follow the path through experience.
The eerie noises died down. Now it was just her and the night, and darkness could not in itself hurt her.
But the creature... the voice of terror said in her mind. She silenced it as well. Staying here is certain death. Proceeding forward is a gamble. In either choice, fear is of no use to me now.
She snapped her eyes open, now determined. There was only one option. She took step after step, rapidly but as silently as possible. Her heart was racing again, but this time out of resolve, not fear. Her ears gave her vision in the night, and her instinct showed her the path home.
Luck was with her, for soon her eyes were greeted by the fires near the village gate burning bright!
I’m home!
“Open the gates!” she screamed, exhausted. “I have come home!”
She beat the wooden door with her hands. There was no reply. She shouted out again and beat upon the gate, her hopelessness growing. After a while she sank to the ground. In the darkness she waited. No one was coming.
And then she heard it. Soft steps, falling on the ground in the night, slow and deliberate, approaching her. With bated breath she waited as the haunted one drew closer.
The footsteps stopped. There was now a scraping sound, as though something heavy were being dragged through the ground. Silence followed.
She waited still, listening intently. She let terror press in around her until it was too much to bear.
I shall not be taken sitting down! If I must be taken, let my spear go with me!
She silently drew her wooden weapon and began crawling on all fours, inching towards the source of the sounds. She crept forward, sticking close to the wooden fence - until her hand missed a step and fell lower then it should have!
A ditch? Right next to the fence?
In the dimming light of the village fires she saw what her hand had felt. A small portion of the ground under wall had been cleared, leaving empty space below.
A tunnel - It has dug a tunnel. The thought hit her like icy water to her face.The image of her little brother formed in her mind. There was no time to lose. Spear in hand, she crawled through.
Inside, the village was as silent as the grave. She ran, moving as fast as her legs could carry her, and halted at her home. The door was ajar. A feeling of dread washed over her. She burst in screaming her brother’s name. Time stood still.
And then she heard a whimper: in the dim light, she saw a tiny figure sitting huddled in a corner of the hut. In a heartbeat, she was near him, with her arms around him. His breathing was heavy, stuttered. His hands were moist to the touch, covered in a sticky liquid.
Blood.
The boy lifted a shivering arm and pointed behind her. She turned.
Behind her, against a wall, lay a mountain of fur, stripes and glittering eyes. She did not know how this had escaped her sight, but she knew it was no longer a problem; for beneath the cold, open eyes, in the white fur of the neck, nestled deep within flesh, was a simple, unassuming kitchen knife.
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