Mistakes

Aati: Even mistakes have to start somewhere.

The Judge

"In matters of sentiment, the public has very crude ideas; and the most shocking fault of women is that they make the public the supreme judge of their lives."

Stendhal, Fragments

The Story of Human Rights

The Imperfect Society

There was a time when I thought about what a perfect society should be like; I still do sometimes. Eventually, there were two painful realizations: First, there probably isn't such a thing as a perfect society, even in theory. Second, even if there is, I don't live in one.

Wham!!

For years I kept thinking over the wrong question, seeking the non-existent Utopia... because it was the easy thing to do. Just hide away from the world, sit alone in your room and work out your own version of a Republic. Convenient. Except you can't hide forever. Sooner or later, no matter how individualistic you may be in ideology, you realize that there are lives attached to you. Sticky organic lives, which you can't tear apart without bleeding yourself. I was suddenly thrown into the whole mess unprepared. What is a guy, whose head is full of potential blueprints for a perfect society, supposed to do when he is forced to live in an imperfect society?

Wham!!

Suddenly all those 'lesser mortals' appeared more well-adjusted to live in this world, because they had never asked the question "What is Utopia?". They had never sought a higher world, and had learned to live in this one. I had sought a higher world, and I learned to live in none. So, it was after the realization that I began to ask myself the question: "How should one live in an imperfect society?" This is the question that matters. How should you compromise between what you think is right and what the society expects you to do? What should you do when you don't even know what's right? What values to keep, what values to sacrifice? Perhaps this requires what we call 'sense of judgment', 'wisdom'. And wisdom cannot be codified and systematized.

We cannot suddenly radically transform a society; nor can we create a society out of nothing. We have to work with what we have got, and what we have got is a small but significant sphere of influence. Your very own micro-cosmos: that tiny little world where you can make your own decisions, where you can speak your mind, where you can be yourself, where you can influence others. This could be just you and your best friend. This could be your Facebook life. This could be your blog.

Find your micro-cosmos. Use it to start a ripple of change. You cannot build a perfect society, but you can try to build your life, whatever you can, as much as you can. Be yourself because a life is more convincing than an argument.

On Truth: A Discussion with Butters

I recently had a discussion with Butters regarding her views on Truth and epistemology. Butters has posted it in 3 parts on her blog:

Part A

Part B

Part C

The Zeroth Law of Love-dynamics

Aati: If someone can't love you as who you are, then that person can't love you at all, and won't ever.

Awkward

X: And when i told my parents about her, they were shocked. They weren't exactly shocked that i liked someone, but that how could I be so "stupid" to have become so "serious" about her. It was an awkward moment: knowing that my parents would rather wish me to be a flirt than to be truly in love.

Harris Vs Armstrong

Read here.

Not Poetry and Not Prose

It seems that the only thing defining Art is the intention. If something is intended to be Art, it becomes Art. [A circular definition, some would say.] If so, then there is no such thing as "Not Art", because if that "Not Art" is intended to be Art, it becomes Art.

However, same cannot be said about poetry and prose. Controversy also exists regarding what is poetry and what is literature, but there seems to be such a thing as "Not Poetry" and "Not Prose", which indicates a boundary exists even though it may be blurred.

"Not Poetry"

For instance, the following piece of writing cannot be called "poetry" even if some insane poet intends it to be a poem:

"Glaucoma is a disease in which the optic nerve is damaged, leading to progressive, irreversible loss of vision. It is often, but not always, associated with increased pressure of the fluid in the eye."

Or this:

"dfhedtufj
kjygwityr
llopmisx"

Which is simply gibberish.

[E.E.Cumming's poem Snow seems to test the limits of poetry, but it nevertheless conveys something and is not gibberish.]

"Not Prose"

Similarly "hjmgbdkd dhncgdosnndsdfh klsjhdfdfffdfdfdfdf bvc" cannot be considered a piece of prose, because it's gibberish [unless its a coded message, but that would mean that there is a meaning to be conveyed.]

So, the conclusion: unlike Art, there seem to exist limits for what can be called Poetry and what can be called Prose.

The Art of Mark Fray

The recent acquisition of Mark Fray's painting "Desire" by Museum of Modern Art in New York has once again raised the controversy among critics about the validity of Fray's work. Kenner, Fray's harshest critic has been reported to say, "If it is art, it is certainly very bad art." Kenner in fact represents the prevalent opinion of Fray among the critic community. However, Fray's work with a significant cult following, refuses to die like a stubborn ghost, and continues to haunt all attempts to define art. Fray was unknown before his suicide in 2004, but just before his death, he sent an email to Steadon, the editor of the magazine Anti-Art, which was in fact his suicide note. The email simply read "Today I am going to die. But I have something you might find valuable" and gave his home address. Steadon read that email the next day and decided to visit him out of curiosity. He was certainly shocked by what he discovered: the dead body of Mark Fray lying on a huge white canvas; both his wrists had been slashed and had spilled on the white canvas beneath. Fray had converted his suicide into a work of art. The things of value were the paintings, if they may be called so, which Fray had left for Steadon. These paintings were later shown in an exhibit, which raised the unsettling controversy amidst the art community, with reviews lying on the extreme ends of spectrum. Since then, many of his supposedly "senseless" paintings have been given sense by the discovery of his journals, which contains thoughts that potentially explain what he drew. Here are four of Fray's paintings:

Suicide

The drawing is thought to be a distortion of "plus sign" which is seen on First Aid kits. If looked closely, some reviewers believe that object in the white box also resembles a man jumping or falling. Is that what Fray intended? Who knows.

Desire

Critics believe that a statement in Fray's journals "Desire lingers like a dust storm on the landscape of her curve" refers to this painting, which perhaps shows the curve of a woman's back, waist and hips.

The Kiss

A minimalist painting.

Depression

Analysis has revealed that the repeated image in this drawing is actually a replica of the woman's cleavage from Francisco Goya's famous painting The Nude Maja. The painting is associated with the line from his journals "I have known depression from the space between her breasts."

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P.S. All of what is written above is a work of fiction. Mark Fray doesn't exist. I made him up. All the paintings posted above were drawn by me on M.S. Paint; the repeated image in Depression was cut from Goya's The Nude Maja.