The Sound of Silence

I feel our planet is overpopulated. One way around it, is to alternate shifts with our fellow "Earthians" or live nocturnally. Technically, such a lifestyle might be diagonised as delayed sleep phase syndrome or night owl syndrome and of course pharmaceutical companies will make sure you get some of that medication that is sitting on their pharmacies' shelves...

What I mostly enjoy about my nocturnal lifestyle is the substantial silence, which to a great deal, is an incentive thereof. Silence allows me to meditate, focus and work without being interrupted by undesired distractions that are often involved with inconsiderate human subjects whose avoidance could be immoral.

“I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strangely, I am ungrateful to these teachers” -- Gibran K. Gibran

In Lebanese, there is a somehow poetic way of asking someone to shut up simply by saying: (Bet3eerni skoutak?) "would you lend me your silence?". Also, there is an inoffensive and funny way of saying it: (Leb. Ya reit khrit wla 7kit) "I wish you shit and did not speak"! In French we would say: (Fr. Sois belle et tais-toi) meaning "look good and shut up", and more offensively (fr. ta gueule) "your mouth" thus indicating the origin of malfunction. The Portuguese are not any less romantic than the French when they say (Pr. cala a boca e beija-me) "close your mouth and kiss me"! In Spanish I like to quote a more poetic intervention from Dr. Neruda (Es. Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente) "I like you when you are silent because it feels as if you were absent", however that is only a misleading beginning of a love poem. In Italian, I like the interjection (zitto!). In greek you may say siopa (offensive) or stamata. Finally, in Arabic, the saying goes "If speech was argentine then silence is golden"...

Silently yours,
Al

From ISS to PHD to ICC...

As my PhD in informatics (complex systems) nears its defense (ref. vitae), my artistic journey as a photographer and coffee artist (ref. portfolio)--- not to mention music --- seems to be coming to an end with my failure to support it financially or relate it to my expertise in bio-inspired data mining and complex systems effectively.

Below is a preliminary macro take on my current situation between arts and science using insoluble elements. I have seen science and art overlap everywhere except in my career (lamentably); they are like oil and water no matter what I do. This experimental animation portrays endeavors of scientists/artists who strive to combine both fields incessantly.



Is there any venue, community or event welcoming both sides of the brain?

ISS: Interdisciplinary Singularity Syndrome
PHD: Permanent Head Damage
ICC: Interdisciplinary Career Crisis

A riqueza da "Cerveja"

Durante a minha estadia breve em portugal aprendi um léxico vasto para dizer "cerveja": cerveja, cervejinha, cervejola, bjeka, bjola, imperial, fino (norte), pressão, litrosa, super bock, sagres e acho que ha ainda mais...

"A cerveja nos faz esquecer as amarguras da vida." Albert Einstein

A cerveja, como a musica, nos consola nos momentos tristes e nos ajuda a celebrar os momentos felizes. Esta semelhança entre a cerveja e a musica tem que ser reveladora duma cerveja instrumental ou uma musica alcoólica:

El infinito entre el ser y el parecer

cuantas veces decimos algo que quier decir otro y vice versa?

Por ejemplo, cuantas veces decimos "te amo" pero queremos decir otro?



Y cuantas veces amamos verdaderamente pero nunca lo decimos?



Es que somos mentirosos compulsivos o victimas del paradojo entre el ser y el parecer? Sin embargo, la unica solucion es desparecer! Adios!

Quero uma Bifana

Hoje acordei-me com um desejo incrível por uma bifana com alfaces e tomates, por uma italiana, ou seja um café curto (mesmo ristretto em italiano), um desejo por passageiros anónimos quase mudos porque não precisa dizer nada, porque sabem bem que não vale a pena, que nada conta... Nesta altura, fui ao "Which Sandwich" e pedi uma "roast beef" com alho, alfaces e tomates... Enquanto consumava a minha bifana (mais o menos alguns ingredientes, a italiana e os anónimos mudos), o meu querido passado consumou-me. Tenho saudades dum passado imperfeitamente agravado no meu coração. Talvez e' a condição humana, quando não consegue a encontrar a felicidade no presente nem promessas da felicidade no futuro, a procura num passado uma vez esquecido vem re-construído com memorias falsas de desejos e sonhos nunca realizados...


Tudo parece um filme do Pasolini, uma canção do Fabrizio de André, ou um Jacinto do Alentejo...

Where do all picks go?

Today, I stopped by the music store to buy new picks for my mandolin and guitar. That was the third time I buy picks in the past month. My pick purchase habit is becoming comparable to that of  some dairy products,  like milk. However, afaik, picks are never consumed---at the least, they are lost. The store owner, recognizing me from previous visits asked me: "but where do all the picks go?". I was dumbstruck by her question and by whatever impression  my peculiar chronic picks shopping might have brought to her. I also reflected on whether the picks' affordable price (less than a dollar each) makes them prone to misplacement and mistreatment. Still I wonder where do all picks go...

I shall pose the question in a universal language I have never written before:

C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all guitar picks go
C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all mand'lin picks go

Em (3)
At the store of music I always find myself bying new picks
       C (2)
Where do they go?
Em (3)
Our souls after we die, I can't stop thinking if they'll end up where the picks go 
       C (2)
I do not know?

Em7             Em6
All the lost guitar picks
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?
Em7                Em6
All the lost or dead ones
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?

The song is based on the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and inspired by my peculiar chronic picks shopping habits.

Le fabuleux monde des chats

C'est Samedi soir mais je resiste le bordel nocturne pour comparer les femmes aux chats. Aujourd'hui il faisait assez beau pour me promener avec mon appareil photographique et mon oeil aesthete et critique. Ce n'etait pas la premiere fois qu'un chat me suivait, mais justement parce-que je ne lui donnais pas acune attention. Pourtant, le chat fuiait quand je le cherchait pour le caresser ou pour le photographer. La femme chez nous, c'est pareille, suit la elle te fuit, fuis la elle te suit. J'etais tellement distrait que ce(tte) chat(te) qui appartient aux voisins est rentre(e) chez moi. Il/elle se sentait a l'aise. Les modelles que je photographe me disaient qu'elles sentaient toujours a l'aise, parfois c'etait comme si je n'y etais pas mais c'est ca qui les attirait et meme  defiait. A part  mon observation analogique , il y a une autre liaision lexique entre la femme et la chatte. En argot, la chatte c'est l'organe genital pour la femme, e non pas seulement en francais mais en plusieurs langues comme l'anglais (pussy) l'arabe (qotta)...Donc, au lieu d'etudier le monde complexe des femmes, je propose etudier le monde des chats pour mieu comprendre les femmes.

Happy Birthday

CAVEAT LECTOR: May the clarification in this post about the pointlessness of birthdays and similar celebrations not be confused with my sincere wishes of happiness for everyone.

A couple of weeks are to determine whether I make it to the 29th year of a debatable nonexistence. Worse, a nonexistence that is perfectly perceptive and requires food and therefore a job... Perhaps I would have celebrated my 10th or 15th birthday unawarely, but celebrating my 29th seems ironic and pointless. I am not at all debating one's life quality, one's mere survival of another year, or one's nearing the last days of what he or she might consider a wasted life, for all these arguments can be flawed epistemologically. I am arguing about a more rudimentary philosophical savoir-vivre question...

Why should your birthday be any more special than the remaining days of your life? Doesn't this very expectation impose monotony and boredom on the remaining 364 days you were not born on? Can't you have a daily blast or more ad libitum? Your friends, that have received 100 birthday notifications from 50 social networks you are both on, to wish you that "happy birthday" or a minute variation thereof, are they truly thoughtful and sincere. If you're rather judging them based on their gift, have you thought of the non-materialistic, poor or tasteless friends with good intentions? And what about the gloomy ones that are neither faking a smile nor planning to ruin your special day of the year? Therefore, I wholeheartedly vote for abolishing birthday celebrations after one gains full consciousness.

I am not bothered by people celebrating their birthdays, on the contrary, if that makes them happy. However, I find myself often confused by their expectations, especially from the invited guests and the dynamics in between... I wouldn't call myself socially inept but I can't help laughing at bad jokes or smiling to cliche, especially when repeated incessantly by an interdepartmental social group or an intimate click with cryptic nerdy inside jokes. Therefore, with that I conclude that I am not anti-social nor am I a misanthrope.

In fact, when I last turned 27 or 28, I was overwhelmed with all the generic birthday wishes that I was never able to reciprocate. Initially, I felt obligated to respond thanking each and every thoughtful though inconsiderate soul that left a mark on my virtual facebook wall. I felt guilty for never using neither facebook nor other means for casting birthday wishes... I felt bad just because I like to wish my friends and family a happy (even glorious) day every single day and not once every year. I wish to share with them special moments whenever possible, not whenever convenient.

Have a wonderful day!

shu hal bahlaneh aw hablaneh hay?

3ada inno b7ess 7eli mish tabi3i bass iktob bellebneneh, b7ess kamen inno ma ba3ref shu baddi iktob aw la'ayya sababa. bas el shi el mni7 hewwe inno law shu ma katabt ma fi 'wenin aw shourout w feyye iktub shu maken bikil rye7a. El hadaf hewwe inno iktob bi kil legha shi laltanwee3. Ba3dein yemkin shi nhar lebnen ysaytir 3al 3alam bi leghto w 7adarto la'anno el lebnene zaki, yey shu zaki el el-lebnene. Law la el7arb ken yemkin khtara3a, wlaw la el sini ken yemkin khtara3 el baroud wel sini kamen. Khasatan el feni'i la'anno 3endo avantage  el abjadeyyi, la'anno hawdiki ma fi shi 3ala el CV taba3on. Hawdeeki khel'o mbere7.Ya 3azizi el lebnene, ma tekheda personellement, asdi inno lezem nettala3 3al mousta'bal mish 3al madi, lezem nrakkiz 3ala el eshya yalli btejma3na mish yalli betfarre'na. Belneheye, ne7na khle'na metl ba3d, w neheyetna metl ba3d law shu ma ken dinna, 7atta law ma men'emen. Khallini wadd3ak bitibit khater w shufak neje7 w sebe' 3asrak halla' w bel musta'bal la'anno el madi mish la 'elna.   

البحث عن الماضي في لغة ليس لها مستقبل

لقد مر عامين منذ آخر مرة كتبت فيها العربية و تلك ألحين سبقها دهر من  الاعربية  و كانني كبرت على لغة ترعرعت معها و ليس بامكاني أن أتعرف أليها أو ألعب معها. كتابة هذا النص و قرأته يردني الى ماض بعيد من طفولة لا آخر يذكرني بها أو يشعرني حاجة للبقاء فيها. تراودني أفكار و شعور بدون سابق أو مثال و كان هذه الغة محطة فضائية تنقلني لاشعوريا إلى العقل الباطني. أتذكر مدرستي و  معلمتي و  نصوص من القراءة و قصائد حفظت لاشعورين و أتليث مع أناشيد وطنية و مدرسية بدون سبب.  ولكن من منا إعترض أو خالف كان مصيره غير محبذ. وإن أتيتكم اليوم يامعلماتي  و يا أساتذتيأقرع أبوابكم و أسأل عن وظيفة أو معاش مقابل ما تعلمته في مدارسكم وما تحملته من أفواهكم هل أستطيع الاعتماد عليكم؟ أين أذكر تلك القصائد والنصوص مقابل خبزي اليومي و أين إستعمل طول نهر الليطاني أو عمق سد القرعون أو معركة معاوية  في البحث عن لقمة عيشي؟ هل راحت سدن  كل معرفتي مع مصاريف مدرستي و معاناتي للاستيقاظ قبل الفجر للبس ذاك الرداء الردي لالتزام قانون يومي غير صالح لمستقبلي؟ كيف أستعيد حياتي التي لا بديل لها؟