Saturday, February 26, 2011

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!


Wednesday, February 23, 2011

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.



Sunday, February 20, 2011

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.

Monday, February 14, 2011

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!



Friday, February 11, 2011

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.   

Thursday, February 10, 2011

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؟  

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Je, je, je, jejeje y otros casos sobrenaturales



Querido lector, dejame desculparme por lo que voy a decir. Si algo le parece errado, extrano o sobrenatural, no lo es, es solo apariencia y no es mi culpa. Puedes llamarlo surrealismo, el fin del mundo, la policia y mucho mas... si no puedes llamar a un amigo. La traduccion de google y otros es muy escandalosa y solo puede equivocar el sentido entonces mejor no entender nada que malentender. Adios o hasta pronto!

Queridos hispanohablantes del mundo, no se cuantos sois y tampoco cuantos soy o seremos (ref. Neruda) pero dejamos los numeros y la exactitud a los cientificos para tratarnos de un tema mucho mas interesante.

Quiero empezar esta trasmision con una broma de facebook, quien en 2011 no conoce facebook o caralibro? Bueno A la Bi, es mi nombre caralibresco y lo que sigue es mi estado actual (en ingles):

À la Bi changed his relationship status with Spanish from "In a Relationship" to "It's Complicated". 
Portuguese, Italian, French and English like this.


Eso quier decir que el espanol me cae gordo. [usted posiblemente: gracias por comp/exp-licarlo]. Sin embargo, lo que quiero decir es que me estoy olvidando del espanol, pero como se puede olvidar un idioma nunca aprendido? Dudo que el vino que tomo moderadamente sea capaz de algo parecido... Mi pregunto si hay una diagnosis paradojica o una medicina lobotomica como la bomba atomica que no debe costar mucho ahora con lo que pasa entre Iran y los Estados Unidos...  De todos modos, diagonisarme y curarme inventara nuevas enfermedades para acompanarme hasta mi muerte porque nacimos debiles y moriremos mucho mas. Entonces, no, gritamos NO a las curas, NO a la medicina y a los medicos, NO a la tecnologia, NO a lo que sea...

Cinqo firmas y hago propagando, 2 mas y hago revolucion! Se puede firmar abajo solo comentando con NO!
Hasta siempre,
Al (por Alcoholico)

PS. El castellano es un de los idomas mas alegres que he aprendido (o descubierto) quizas porque siempre lo hablaba  cuando borracho, pero escribiendolo asi no encuentro la alegria prometida, falta algo?
   

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

γεια σου ζωή μου


γεια σου ρε ζωή, τι κανείς; όλα καλά;
εδώ έτσι κι έτσι. εδώ δεν είναι παραπολή κακά, αν θελήσ μια χαρά...
αλλά περίμενε, θέλεις να ξέρεις γιατί δεν είμαι καλά; σιγύρα;
γιατί είσαι μεγάλη πουτάνα, ρε ζωή, με της μαλακίας, είσαι η χειρότερα, γιατί το παρακάνεις and I swear I would have said more if I knew how to...Αν η ελληνική (είναι) η γλώσσα σου
πες μου, τι θέλεις από μένα; τι θέλεις από ένα άνδρος (όταν/αν) εχεις το κόσμο;;;; σταματά παρά καλό έχω αθυμία και δυσθυμία τώρα και δεν μπορώ να κάνω τίποτα
Θέλω να μάθω κι άλλο ελληνική για να σας πω επίσης στα ελληνικά. έτσι θα ξέρεις κάτι για μένα κάθε μέρα
ένταξη, μπράβο σου και ευχαριστώ παραπολή για όλα...

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Cittadino del Mondo o Apolide?

Sin da piccoli, impariamo a categorizzare il mondo intorno per semplificarlo e concepirlo meglio. Questo concetto categorico lo applicchiamo anche per distinguere tra gruppi di amici, compagni, conoscenze, parenti in base alle nostre esigenze e le qualita' interiori ed esteriori dei nostri soggetti (e.g. estetica, razza, paese d'origine, cultura, lingua, intelligenza...ecc). Purtroppo certi stereotipi prematuramente concretizzati e raramente aggiornati potrebbero menare al pregiudizio che da nascita ai fraintendimenti ed all'ambiguita' che contradice il motivo di categorizzare le cose per concepirle meglio.

Avendo viaggiato ed imparato molto e con un cuore sempre aperto per imparare sempre di piu' rinuncio bruscamente ad appartenere ad una sola patria qualunque sia e qualunque siano le stereotipi sottointesi e nondimeno le cattegorie conclusi. Sono contrario ad essere categorizzato come cittadino di un certo paese e non di un altro, di una certa razza e non delle altre. Imperocche, mi presento come cittadino del mondo (cosmopolita), altrimenti mi accontento ugualmente col contrario assoluto, apolide, ossia cittadino di nessun paese (nomado).

Un paio di anni fa ho avuto una crisi d'identita' per pur bisogno di auto-categorizzarmi sia per semplificare la mia identita' e capire me stesso, che per abbreviare la mia risposta a quelli che si chiedono frettolosamente di che "razza" sono, spesso per concludere un discorso appena iniziato. A chi insisteva di etichettarmi o inscatolarmi in una delle loro poche categorie predefiniti, certe volte rispondevo ironicamente che sono cinese o di un altro paese a caso.

Indubbiamente ammetto di aver passato la maggior parte della mia vita finora in libano, il mio paese di nascita, comunque, mi e' impossibile identificarmi come libanese scartando le mie altre cittadinanze e modi di vivere o di pensare. Sarebbe magari paragonabile a parlare della lunghezza delle mie dita per rispondere alla domanda di chi sono, o per non esagerare, la domanda di che misure ho... Dico magari perche la risposta riguardo le dita potrebbe essere buffa ma quella del libano spesso mi riduce ad un terrorista per chi non sa altro. Addirittura mi sono chiesto certo mila volte se una conclusione del genere sarebbe peggio per la mia reputazione o per la sua ignoranza ma non e' mica detto che dobbiamo fare guerra. Anzi, colla mia resistenza a rispondere, o il mio senso dell'umerismo possiamo evitare pregiudizi e fraintendimenti mentre si parla di altre cose fino a quando mi si chiariscono le sue categheorie e la  sua capacita di inventarne altre s'e' necessario. In seguito, mi sbottonerei conformemente ... ecc.

Tuttavia, la mia scelta paradossale tra cittadino del mondo o apolide e' facile spiegarla con la teoria dell'entropia di Shannon, una misura d'incertezza, che giunge il massimo indandicando zero informazione, in entrambi casi di essere cittadino di tutti i paesi o di nessuno. Invece, l'entropia e' ridotta al minimo quando c'e' una risposta definita, nel caso di cittadinanza di un paese solo e in seguito, e' facile categorizzare una persona rispetto all sua unica patria.





A la recherche des mots perdus

Il n'y a pas longtemps, je parlais francais et je me debrouillais pas mal. J'assistais dans un forum des langues pour paufiner mon francais, je m'occuper d'une table francaise dans une universitee ameriquaine, et en plus, je pensais en francais, et donc, dans un sens selon Decartes, j'existais en francais.

Desormais, la plupart des mots m'echape, et les seules fideles, je n'arrive point a les ecrire correctement, donc on peut dire que tout les mots francophones me trahissent mais aux niveaux differentes, soit orthographe, soit expressive. Pire, c'est la vanite pour laquelle j'ecris, et pour laquelle je m'echine a appredre des langues et les perfectionner pour ecrire. Quelle drole d'idee, je m'ammuse enorment a l'articuler!

Par consequant, la recherche des mots perdus, ne changera et ne servira a rien, comme la recherche du temps perdu selon Proust mais non pas a mon avis. puisque son oeuvre au moin a changeait ma vie meme si minimalement et indirecetement a travers "How can Proust Change your Life" par Alain de Botton.

Malgre mon doctorat en informatique et surtout en anglais, j'arrivais parfois a papoter en francais mais avec l'invasion artistique des derniers minutes libres de ma vie, je n'arrive plus a me servir du francais. Peut-etre je m'installerai un jour en france et si j'y serai lontemps peut-etre je me naturaliserai et la recherche des mots perdus sera toute une autre histoir transparente a moi et a vous aussi.


Friday, February 4, 2011

CARALHO!

Bom! Ja disse muito para hoje tambem, vou a deixar qualquer coisa para manha!

Thursday, February 3, 2011

A morte do ingles

Peço desculpa ao(s) meu(s) querido(s) leitore(s) que agora precisa(m) traducotres para perceber a inutilidade e a vanidade da minha contribucao electronica. Para muitos, o portugues e mesmo cines, para outros e talvez a unica lingua para comunicar com os outros, para mim e para poucos como o Fernando Pessoa, e' uma patria, uma das nossas.

Entao, vou a escrever a mesma banalidade da minha vida seca, antes articulada em ingles, com palavras ainda nao esquecidas da minha "patria", seja portuguesa ou uma das outras linguas em perigo do esquecimento (como o meu armenho) ou do extincao (como as linguas mortas e.g. latim). Alem disso, a lingua portuguesa e pouco falada aqui e estou farto de falar sozinho.

Hoje nao vou a dizer muito mais do que eu ja disse ontem, entao vou a parar aqui.

Amanha vou a mudar lingua e escrever com uma lingua diferente cada vez ate ter que inventar novas linguas que ninguem percebe, nem mesmo eu!


Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Dreams, Desires and Other Things I Used to Have

Many years ago, when asked about what items I would carry with me to a distant island, my answer would be too pragmatic (e.g. computer, books...) if not foolishly religious (e.g. bible). In diaries, I kept track of these answers that lacked imagination and audaciousness.

That was until these answers started unfolding into surreal imaginations to quench simple and basic desires that I often tried to express visually but failed immensely. For example, upon my discovering the inexorable satisfaction that the avocado fruit offered in terms of variety of flavors, vital shades of green, and palpable textures, that are unimaginably analogous to women's flavors (also metaphorically), skin tones and textures, I dreamed of inhabiting an island of infinite avocado and women trees, possibly with cross-breeds amongst the two species where women breast-feed, secrete and, but not necessarily, excrete avocado products, such as avocado milkshakes, guacamole and their cousins. I can vaguely remember if that was through a dream or a day-dream, however, I additionally reasoned that pregnancy was unnecessary as women were sporadically inseminated to reproduce asexually via avocado/women trees and other Daliesque elements...

The reason I am writing this leads to the main theme of this monologue.

I have lately been self-diagnosed with a mild chronic depression termed, dysthymia (greek for malfunctioning of emotions θυμία), if any at all (athymia), and anhedonia (also greek for absence of pleasure) and along these come also nihilistic feelings, lack of ambition and desirelessness, which to my great surprise, is considered as the highest state, or the nirvana in Buddhism, regardless of the paradox of having to desire desirelessness, which was never my case anyway.

Perhaps the surrealist "gyneavocado" island was one of the last dreams or desires I can remember or label earnestly as a dream/desire. Then for a long time I was catching up with the real world and its mundane routines, research projects and mislabeled opportunities...


With a PhD about immune-inspired document classification, I feel as if I have traveled lightyears away from the gyneavocado island I have once dreamed of. The path I have chosen was definitely misleading with respect to my ideal island and I have no idea which path, if any, would have lead anywhere towards it...

Happiness in retrospect is its own termite in prospect. It is even the termite of prospection. 2004, 2006 and 2008 promised me great happiness but did they keep it? That is the definition of beauty according to Stendhal. Interesting how even numbered years of the past decade have been significantly prosperous and prominent, but not 2010. I thought I would have graduated by 2010 and that must have thrown my passion to the nadirs.