Tuesday, April 26, 2011

.: Last of my childhood dreams :.

Dead.





Fantasies are but mere fantasies.

Rejected instrumentality at 9:16 PM

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

.: Terminal velocity of certain falling flowers :.

It seems odd that boredom is always accompanied by an inexplicable urge to watch animes. This certainly isn't the most productive way to spend my few days of free time, but I have nevertheless succumbed to the temptation. Watching a good anime and neglecting to write a review seems to be barbaric injustice, hence the following:


Disappearance of Suzumiya Haruhi

The numerous plot twists in this movie (which I assume must have been very exciting to viewers who do not already know the plot) have more or less no effect on me, because I have already been spoiled by the light novel. Despite this, it is obvious that the producers have finally came to their senses after the miserable failure that was Haruhi Season 2. Whether or not this movie deserves to be the top rated anime movie (according to rankings on myanimelist.net) is debatable, but it is certainly fair to say that Disappearance has managed to replicate the magical ingredients which made Haruhi Season 1 the phenomenon it was.


Time of Eve/ Eve no Jikan

Asimov would be proud to see this. Certain less interested individuals may find this to be slightly boring, but I think it is quite refreshing for an anime. In a society where popular culture is flooded with Terminator-esque technophobic sci-fi, Time of Eve brings up questions which are more realistic, but have been neglected due to our overwhelming fear of being killed by giant monster robots. These same questions are also particularly relevant when human-machine relationships are brought under scrutiny due to products such as love-plus.


Mushishi

A masterpiece with amazing atmosphere. Unfortunately, as a student of science there was quite a bit of difficulty in the suspension of disbelieve, particularly when ridiculous explanations for phenomenon were mentioned as if they were fact. Disregarding scientific accuracy however, the poetic, episodic nature of the series provide a good examination of the entire spectrum of human relationships. Of particular interest is the defiance of "happily ever after" endings; in more than one arc the main character provides helpful suggestions and leaves (and the arc could have ended here!), only to return "x-years later" and witness a sad ending.


5 centimeters per second

It is probably not rare for viewers to identify with the characters in an story, since stories are often reflections of reality. Furthermore, though we may wish our lives to be unique and special, people experience largely similar events in their lives, and hence have more or less the same problems and emotions.

Taking this into account, the intensity with which the emotions in this movie with my own is still outstanding. Through this movie, the lost souls who have been corrupted by the cruel realism of society are given a chance to reminisce their pure and innocent childhood feelings.

Of course, this wouldn't apply to those with relatively boring and uneventful childhoods.

Rejected instrumentality at 8:22 PM

Monday, July 12, 2010

.: Flying Into the Clouds :.

Higher and higher my hopes are rising... but if this dream crashes it is REALLY going to hurt. A lot. Like excruciating pain. The mere thought of it sends waves of fear through me.

That which is creeping up on me from behind... is it happiness or suffering?

Rejected instrumentality at 7:52 PM

Sunday, July 04, 2010

.: Selfish Coward :.

Again.

Rejected instrumentality at 8:38 PM

Thursday, July 01, 2010

.: Schrodinger's Box :.

A boy stood alone before a closed door. His arms were tightly wrapped around a silver box. The corners of the box pricked his skin mercilessly, but the boy refused to loosen his grip. He waited patiently in the quiet corridor.

The door before the boy opened. An old man in a lab coat emerged and closed the door behind him. A spark of hope flashed across boy's eyes, which were otherwise flooded with anxiety and sadness. The spark quickly grew into a persistent flame. The doctor he was waiting for was finally going home.

"Sir, can you cure a cat suffering from this?" The boy held out a crumpled piece of paper. His right hand tightened its grip on the silver box for fear of dropping it.

The doctor sighed, and took the piece of paper from the boy's hands. He looked at scribbling on it and sighed again. "Young man, do you know what it means for a condition to be 'terminal'? Besides I am not a vet; sorry."

The persistent hope in the boy's eyes flared. "But sir, what about the procedure suggested in your article?"

The doctor considered his options. He could have gotten rid of the boy with something along the lines of "Give me your contact number, I'll see what I can do." He could then return to his daily routines without any further problems from this boy and his foolish demands.

After a short moment of silence, the doctor turned around to open the already locked door. "Come in," he said.

----------------------------------------

The boy was at a playground with his precious box. For the first time in quite a long while, his hope was more than just a tiny seed in his heart. Since the meeting with the doctor, his hope sprouted and grew into a healthy sapling.He can't remember very well when he was last happy. His cat was a healthy little kitten then, and so many things have happened since.

A little girl around his age arrived. She came before the boy, staring at the box he was holding. Her expression screamed of curiosity.

"What's that?" The girl asked.

"Schrodinger's Box" Came the reply.

"What is in that box?" The girl couldn't pronounce the name of the box, so she asked about its contents instead.

"A Cat." The boy looked at the box fondly.

"A toy cat?"

"He's not a toy. He's real."

"A real cat? But a cat is an animal, and animals need food, air and ... um... water! You can't keep a cat in a box like that!" The girl recited what she had just had learned in school.

The boy looked sad. Of course, the box's designers accounted for such obvious needs. Food, air or water, there was enough of each to last fifteen years. Besides, the very design of the box was meant to protect its contents from terminal disease, and it would be rather ironic if the cat were to die from a lack of basic needs. Then again, there was something deep within tugging at him, telling him it was simply wrong to keep an animal like that.

"He won't die inside there." The boy did not bother to explain that in every single conceivable example of 'certain death', there is always a tiny chance of miraculous survival. The box is made such that no information from within it can ever possibly escape without the box being opened; this means that to the outside universe, the entire system within the box is a quantum superposition of states, and the cat within is both 'alive' and 'dead' at the same time. In other words, the cat could never truly die as long as it was inside the box.

"You're just lying to yourself! Is your cat sick? Maybe he'll get better if we bring him to a vet it will get better! Come on, let's open the box!"

"No!" The boy snapped. But he was not angry at the girl, for she was right. He was angry at himself. She might not understand the physics behind the box, but her point about self delusion was nevertheless valid. Even if the cat couldn't die within the box, the very moment the box was opened, the possibilities would collapse back into reality, and he would almost certainly find a very dead cat within the box. There would likely be no live cat for the doctor to cure, even if his cure is indeed effective. The boy has not overlooked this, he has merely refused to consider the possibility. What he was keeping alive in the box was not the cat, but the hope in his heart.

On a very basic level, the boy was nothing more than an ostrich burying his head in the sand to hide from danger.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He who chooses to be ignorant will be allowed to keep his hope at the expense of not knowing the truth.

There are uncertainties, and often truths revealed are painful. In the end, I am just a chicken avoiding the truth and denying confirmation in order protect the frail hope inside me. When someone spoke my mind, i could not even gather enough courage to conveniently steal his voice and use it as my own. I'm still the same selfish coward I was long ago.

--------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know if what I am reading are hints or merely misinterpreted words, but it's feeding my hopes and when/if I fall from my cloudy dreams it will be doubly painful.

Rejected instrumentality at 7:20 PM

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

.: Hope is a dangerous thing :.

That which crushes the farmer's spirit may not be drought, but the cloud drifting silently towards him, and then silently away without shedding a single drop.

That which renders a lost child crying by the side of the road may not be a lack of travel fare, but the many taxis approaching from the distance, all refusing to go where his home is.

When adversity fails to kill, hope will often finish the job - sometimes by evaporating into air like it never existed in the first place; other times by painfully shattering into useless pieces just a moment before it can materialize.

The desperate man marooned many years ago has not yet lost his insanity to solitude. Yet will he survive the hope which presents itself as a barely visible speck on the horizon. If he should summon all his remaining strength to gather twigs and leaves for a smoke signal, will he survive when he the speck on the horizon disappear like the trick of light it always was? If he should burst his lungs and burn his throat screaming and waving at the speck growing into an approaching ship, will he survive when the cruel vessel fails to take notice and slowly but surely sails away?

I know full well that hope is probably just a water bomb ready to explode right in my face. It will probably end up a painful reminder of my harsh fate. Yet i cannot ignore it, for it looks too much like my dream.

Rejected instrumentality at 7:29 PM

Saturday, April 10, 2010

.: I haf 500APM at StarCraft 2.... :.



...not. Nice looking rankings, except there are at least 79 divisions, each with platinum, gold, silver, bronze and copper ladders. That makes me at best the top 20%, and at worse I'm just a random noob squashing a few other random noobs. (The latter case being more likely since those krazy koreans in division 1 would have likely played OVER 9000 games by now -- not such a good idea to play them eh?)

Rejected instrumentality at 8:42 PM

Monday, March 30, 2009

.: Congratulations :.

and you're welcome.

Rejected instrumentality at 10:26 PM

Saturday, December 06, 2008

.: Part 5a: B World :.

I took one last look at the ancient parchment before crushing it. A bright green spark jumped from my thumb, setting the crumpled paper ablaze. The powdery ashes slid through my bony fingers and formed a heap on the cracked earth beneath. The map had served me well but was now worthless.

I turned my attention to the final obstacle between me and my prize. Twenty five men stood in two rows before me, stubbornly blocking the entrance to the ruins.

At the front was a tight phalanx formation of fifteen soldiers clad in crystal plates and wielding gleaming mirror shields. Their translucent suits of armor gave off soft pink glows, beneath which a further layer of golden chainmail was visible. In a duel against a mage these marvelous pieces of equipment would serve to block the worst parts of a spell, hopefully allowing their wearer to reach the mage before he is fried to a crisp or frozen into a solid block. Many young wizards who believed that elemental magic could decimate anything were defeated by these crystal plates. Of course the assumptions made by those wizards were not entirely wrong but merely inaccurate. Elemental magic could indeed overwhelm the defenses provided by any armor, if only it was sufficiently strong. About one third of a decently powerful spell would pass through the armor, leaving the warrior either stunned or injured. At a strategic distance, any mage with good concentration would have ample time for a second incantation, and that means death for the unlucky souls with their crystal suits.

The ten frail looking old men in the back row seemed a much larger threat. They wore the simplest mage robes, and each held a thick tome in one hand. Brilliantly shining orbs of various colors encircled the palms of their free hands. The luminescent orbs were artifacts thought to be long lost, or assumed to never exist in the place.

“Young man, it is not too late for you to turn back and repent your evil ways. Stop dabbling with the forbidden sciences and you may yet be able to escape the curse of darkness.” The commanding voice belonged to one of the old men wearing robes of slightly fancier design.

“Legend speaks of a magical pyramid, and also of a powerful mage who possesses the divine nature to reclaim the pyramid. By consuming the pyramid he ascends to immortality, and becomes the Decider.” I recited the runes on the map I burned just moments ago.

“The wisest and the purest have attempted and failed the test. As the guardians of the pyramid we have long since come to the conclusion that the power of the pyramid is in fact forbidden, and no one possesses the divine nature. You, vile practitioner of chaos, have no place to even stand before the pyramid for the test. Leave before we are forced to destroy you!” The old fool was apparently losing his patience.

“I thought the guardians of the pyramid would be better acquainted with its nature than those idiots at the temple. I am here for my destiny.”

“A snake should learn that the dragon’s lair is not made for it.” Old men often think it wise to resort to metaphors when direct speaking fails.

“Rats should learn to scuttle out of the way when a snake is returning to its nest.” I countered.

“Insolent beast! In the name of light we shall rid the world of this nefarious sorcerer’s foul presence!” The captain of the shield bearers shouted then drew his sword and charged at me. His men followed.

“For-” Both the warriors’ battle cry and their advance were halted midway. Like statues the fearsome men became motionless, with their swords raised in the air and their feet rooted to the ground. Twenty streams of glowing green energy flowed out of the men’s eyes. Like green rivers they were drawn towards my hand, spiraling and merging before being siphoned into my fingers. Young flesh grew on my bony hands. My originally wrinkled skin smoothed, acquiring the consistency of silk. Seconds later, the lifeless bodies fell to the ground like sacks of potatoes.

“That was refreshing. I’m afraid crystal plates are quite useless against my manipulation of spiritual energies. Really, you would have done better wearing paper armor.” The failed men should know their mistakes, even if they were already dead.

Rejected instrumentality at 8:59 PM

Sunday, November 23, 2008

.: Part 3: The search for Order gives birth to Time :.

How am I to be satisfied?

The burst of patterns faded into silence and darkness.

What is to be satisfied?

To be satisfied is for my wills and wants to be fulfilled.

What is Will? What are Wants?

Will is me; that sole thing which is uncontrollable and unfathomable even for I, controller all.
Wants are what manifests from my will. It is pure chaos; unpredictable and inexplicable developments which occur. Wants are my every whims and wishes.

What is it that I want? What is it that I will? What is that I wish for, then?

Those are unanswerable questions. Wills, wants and wishes are reflected in the dimensions and the occurring events; they are the very nature of the dimensions; the axiom from which all is derived, and it neither needs be to nor could be explained. It is simply pure chaos. It never repeats. It is changing and always changing regardless of the dimensions.

Then how am I to be satisfied? Have I set out to discover that which would satisfy me, only to return to the starting point? Is it true that I can never foresee, or manipulate my wishes, wills and wants? Why, since these things are always changing and never repeats, then surely that is a pattern. In fact, until the otherwise occurs, it is an immutable law of my nature. I’ll call it… Boredom.

First law of boredom: Wills, whims, wishes and wants never stay the same for long.

Then, again how am I to be satisfied? The chaotic options have been exhausted; it will not be long before boredom sets in.

It seems we have made some progress here, and every little bit of progress seems to arise from the conversion of chaos to order. Perhaps that is the answer. Everything occurs randomly; there is a lack of order. Despite this ever changing randomness, I am unsatisfied and bored. It seems the number of dimensions does not matter so much, after all. Perhaps if things followed a fixed pattern and fixed rules, then I would be satisfied. Order; is this what I want? It is worth a try.

But how? Amidst all this chaos, where is order to be found?

Hm… If chaos and change goes together, then the unchanging must be order. And hence, if I render the dimensions fixed and unchanging, based on one and only one of my wills or wants… would that be order?

The entirety reverts to a lonely single point.

If it stays this way, would it be order?

…
Boredom sets in.

No, such is merely an outright refusal of the true nature of my wills, whims and wants. The order I seek does not involve a lack of change.

Entirety expands back into the pulsating mass of dimensions.

Then what is “order”?

Perhaps… If I set just this one dimension aside, and make it such that change could only occur in certain ways moving from one point in this dimension to another…

The dimensions empty; becoming an empty like a white sheet of canvas. A neat row of clusters appear. A second neat row of clusters appear, slightly angled from the first.

Ah, this way, the clusters can only get further apart as we move down this special dimension. It is something which occurs regardless of my chaotic nature. It is “order”. But wait, we can do yet more.

Uncountable numbers of clusters appear, arranged in that same skewed angle manner. Patterns interact. An invisible arrow dictates all that could change.

Ah, this gets more and more interesting… I like this “special” dimension. I shall name it “time”.

And thus time was born.

Rejected instrumentality at 8:02 AM