Saturday, July 5, 2008

to and fro.with no permission.

TO :

June 30,2008.
I always believed in serpendity and coincindences ...some of my senstive moments in my life have been great coincidences I think these episodes have been happening to all of us and we always used to feel "It couldn't be just coincidence."

I was wondering are these events sheer coincidence or because of our mental telepathy or psychic stirrings?

I feel there are two features of coincidences not well known among us.First,we tend to overlook the powerful reinforcement of coincidences, both waking and in dreams, in our memories. Non-coincidental events do not register in our memories with nearly the same intensity.
Second, we fail to realize the extent to which highly improbable events occur daily to everyone. It is not possible to estimate all the probabilities of many paired events that occur in our daily lives.We often tend to assign coincidences a lesser probability than they deserve.

Our brains are fantastic pattern recognition engines, a characteristic which is highly useful for learning, but it does cause the brain to lend excessive importance to unremarkable events. Considering how many words, names,people and ideas a person is exposed to in any given day and we sometimes encounter the same information again within a short time. When that occasional intersection occurs, the brain promotes the information because the two instances make up the beginnings of a sequence. What we fail to notice is the hundreds or thousands of pieces of information which aren't repeated, because they do not conform to an interesting pattern.

Coincidences themselves are usually just an artifact of perception. We tend to underestimate the probability of coinciding events, so our expectations are at odds with reality. And non-coincidental events do not grab our attention with anywhere near the same intensity, because coincidences are patterns, and the brain actually stimulates us for successfully detecting patterns… hence their inflated value. In short, patterns are habit-forming.


Proablity says in a random selection of twenty-three persons there is a 50 percent chance that at least two of them celebrate the same birthdate.
The calculation is straightforward. First find the probability that everyone in a group of people have different birthdates (X) and then subtract this fraction from one to obtain the probability of at least one common birthdate in the group (P), P = 1 - X. Probabilities range from 0 to 1, or may be expressed as 0 to 100%. For no coincident birthdates a second person has a choice of 364 days, a third person 363 days, and the nth person 366 - n days. So the probability for all different birthdates becomes
--------------------- = Xn

With its factorials the last equality is not especially useful unless one possesses the capability of handling very large numbers.When n = 23, one finds X = 0.493 and P = 0.507. This shows that the probability of at least two people sharing a common birthdate rises slowly, at first passing just less than 12% probability with ten people, rising through 50% probability corresponding to twenty-three people,reaching 90% probability in a group of forty-one people. This means that on the average, out of ten random groups of forty-one persons, in nine of them at least two persons will celebrate identical birthdates. No mysterious forces are needed to explain this coincidence.


In a experiment of asking people what was more likely from a lotto draw (6 numbers 'randomly' drawn from 40):
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
4, 13, 18, 23, 31, 37 (or any arbitrary non-sequential set)

Invariably they went for the second option (unless they already understood the concept or were second guessing their 'answer')
A summation of the reasoning was along the lines of "I'd remember if those numbers came out, but they never have"
how often do you look at strangers who were same dress or same car as yours on the road? You always notice it.

More to write.



July 1,2008.
your articulation is impressive.
possibly that is what i struggle with as well...i mean the fight
always seems to be building the language which can allow me to
communicate what i can sense.
i have ended up building multiple vocabularies to only a little beyond
the natal stage unfortunately.hell,but the effort is on,and is
sometimes so deceptive it feels like I'm actally doing nothing at all.
anyway,yes, i believe we choose to give importance to only the
coincidences that appeal to our present state of mind.part of what i
found vexing earlier because i knew there was a lot happening,many
signs,many entry points open which i could not see because i possibly
hadn't reached a conclusion of thought on some other subject.
this is what some film makers do while making films as well...
as in for example if the indian music composers like an a r rehman did
not copy from western classical music,or an anu malik from popular
western music,then there would very be very few chances that an
indian public would be able to get an entry to tthe new sound. you
can't just give them the concentrated sound and expect them to give it
a get it to sound like from their context and then they
can start digesting it.some might even take it ahead and trace the
particular sound to its source. most just wait for more from their
identified sources of kitsch.
but all of this bridge making is important.we have one life,and not
many people have the luxury of exposing themselves to other cheers to anu malik!

so with co incidence,i think we actually pile in a lot of data
floating in the intertext and when it falls into our direct context we
draw personal connections and claim for example that we are haunted by
a word we happened to come across just the other day,we see it on
billboards,in ads,on TV,everywhere. truth is it's always been there.
like the tao idea that all the solutions are as clear as the problem
and as available.

this isn't complete,will write soon.
i try pegging down ghosts in this land of the dead.
that is all.

because i believe i was meant to be 25 in the's where i found a chronology through pictures of richard avedon and interviews by doon arbus,while the portraits were being taken of the icons of the sixties...showcasing one here..

blues/rock singer
Port Arthur, Texas
September 3, 1969

I have like what anyone would call like, say, a loneliness, a loneliness of my own. But it's just a private trip and probably shouldn't be forced on other people that much, you know what I mean? God, fuck it. Who cares how lonely you feel. You just have to learn to deal with it like everybody else does. Everybody has that, I think. Everybody. Even Christians.

I remember I used to think, goddamn it, it's because I'm a chick or it's because I haven't figured it out yet. It's because I'm not twenty-one. It's because I haven't read this or I haven't tried that.... Well, I've done every fucking thing and now I know better. There is no "because." And it's not going to get any better.

My father.... See, my father is a very intelligent man and I used to talk to him a lot because he reads and he's pretty sensitive and I was a mixed-up kid and too smart for my age-right? Anyway, so when I was eighteen, I ran away. Well,...went to California. One day this thing comes along and I learned something. It went pfshutt right in the side of my head and I sat up...and realized something. I ran up and wrote a long, long letter to my father all about how I'd felt growing up was like climbing a hill and that sooner or later you'd figure it out and it'd all come together and you'd level out and it wouldn't be such a fucking struggle every day, you know?... But then I realized there wasn't any leveling out, you know? You have the same fucking problem- or more-when you get old. I mean, you got more to deal with. It isn't gonna turn that corner, man. It just keeps going right on straight uphill.

So I wrote my father and explained this whole thing. Well, the next time I came home-my father has this friend, another man who's also very intelligent-and my father had evidently let him read my letter. You know, "Look what Janis is going through." They were proud of me because I was a thinker and they liked that because they were thinkers. So when I got home, this guy comes up to me and he says, "Well, I hear you learned about the Great Saturday Night Swindle." That's what he called it.

The realization that there isn't going to be any turning point.... There isn't going to be any next-month-it'll-be-better, next fucking year, next fucking life. You don't have any time to wait for. You just got to look around you and say, So this is it. This is really all there is to it. This little thing. Everybody needing such little things and they can't get them. Everybody needing just a little...confidence from somebody else and they can't get it. Everybody, everybody fighting to protect their little feelings. Everybody, you know, like reaching out tentatively but drawing back. It's so shallow and seems seems like such a shame. It's so close to being like really right and good and open and amorphous and giving and everything. But it's not. And it ain't gonna be.'

if you haven't heard the lady sing yet,you might want to watch her here...

or listen to the song 'try' here please.
this is work by hanna wieslander.
what i like about her work are the strokes,her hands are free.she has fluid thought.i admire the punctuation.i envy the delivery.
you might want to see some of her work. i love it when people's personal style shows brilliantly in even the commercial work they do.i respect that. it usually draws a lot of blood from me.and i'm not into the angst these days.

Friday, July 4, 2008

this is the age i belong to !

i toast to vintage dressing.
this is it.i found the name they'd given it.

we will meet,you and i.

i am.

if youtube starts misbehaving on this page,you could see this

Thursday, July 3, 2008

un cut

tiger:play it loud ,ok!

that song you sent me from the almodovar film...
delicately spurious.
the mind can carry you off if you don't watch out.
. can also settle.
from one tune.
they say a person transcends to being a poet only after one has attained the equals of being a sage.
kuntaka feels it would be inappropriate to be able to expect poetry from a single he demands poetry from every two words.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

In one account by Alice Toklas, when Gertrude Stein was being wheeled into the operating room for surgery on her stomach, she asked Toklas, "What is the answer?" When Toklas did not answer, Stein said, "In that case, what is the question?"

Gertrude Stein used to write.and wrote well.i'll put up stuff i like soon.

this plant itchy.
if you're like me and used to walking anywhere into the undergrowth...
this is parthenium hysterophorus.
avoid avoid.
right now the plant and i share similar emotions.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

you might want to see the beautiful narratives adjoining each of these paintings by people of aboriginal origin,this one below is by Susie Bootja Bootja Napangarti......the aborigines say the first man in the world brought the world in to being by singing while he walked,it was all part of a wonderful aborigines even today sing of the earth and it's creations so as to remember the dreamings.
to remember the dreamings.

I find the narratives with each painting especially effective because they sound like they weren't meant to be related in a cold,indifferent english.the sound of the stories call for a tone,a rounding off of sounds,reverb.
i like the english words left dangling in the middle of nowhere,you get the pictures attached to the words in your head and you can weave them in whichever way you want!

'During the Tjukurrpa (Dreamtime) a man and woman were travelling around this area which is located, at the top of the Canning Stock Route. They stopped in the country known as Kaningarra to dig a hole for water, where a permanent spring now exists. The two people are shown as the U shape. They are shown camping by the spring. Surrounding them is the abundance of tjunta, or bush onion, which can be found in this region today. The arch shapes along the edges are talis, or sand-hills, which dominate the landscape of the area. The iridescent colours reflect the sky, the white and black stones and the colours of the sand hills as the late afternoon advances toward sundown.'
you could check out work by other artists here like Rosie who was born at Pawarla, north of the Granites area in the Tanami Desert. She has ancestral rights over the wampana (wallaby), janganpa (possum), ngurlu (seed) and kulukuku (bush pigeon) Dreamings, which were passed from her father, Wayipurlungu,as in she inherited his dreamings,do you get it?!!!?
the art below, 'Wak - Crows',is by Namiyal Bopirri,Ramingining, Central Arnhem Land,Australia

"A long time ago, way back in the Dreamtime, a man named Marrngu, The Possum Man, and his two wives, Barkuma (native cats: dhuwa), lived at a place called Guruwana. One day, the Barkuma sisters went out to collect shells from the mangroves. Marrngu, who was going to marry them, stayed at the camp. They went into the mangroves and collected dhongu' (lined nerite) and nonda (telescope mud creeper), and then came back to their camp to cook. But because the sisters despised Marrngu the Possum Man to be their husband, they made the fire extra large to cook the shells in. As they went about cooking the shells, they plotted what they were going to do to Marrngu, the Possum Man. That night, their husband came and sat near the fire to warm himself and to reconcile with the sisters as they refused to sleep with him. Then, as Marrngu was warming himself near the fire, the sisters threw the hot coals and ashes all over him, shrivelling his arms and legs. Marrngu then got up, turned into a possum, and ran away screaming from pain, "wot, wot, wot, wot." That is why nowadays Marrngu, the ringtail possum, has pink skin on its body from the hot coals and ashes.

The Crowman, Wak, had made a fishtrap (Gorl) so they can have fish. Here the fish are caught, eaten, and the fishbones are put aside so that they can put the fishbones into a 'Hollow Log' coffin later. When Marrngu ran away from the Barkuma sisters, he came up to the Crowman and told him what happened, how the sisters had humiliated him and then tried to kill him. He also warned the Crowman what he was going to do to the sisters. Then Marrngu went away, gathered his clansmen, and returned to kill the women. The miringu (army) gathered in groups at the edge of the plain, then they went in and speared the sisters to death. The place where they killed the sisters is now called Molumirr to this day. It means that this was the place where the Barkuma sisters were killed. Where the armies gathered in groups on the plain now stands a small group of bushes, gulun'gulun, to signify where the miringu once stood. Their spirit entered the body of the catfish, Wedu, in the nearby river. When the Wak heard about the women's death he got upset and went to Warang the Glider Possum Man, the boss of the hollow log. The Wak wanted to arrange a 'Hollow Log' ceremony for the dead women. After preparing the Hollow Log coffin, they collected all the catfish bones and placed them into a Dindin (paperbark basket). They would later put the catfish bones into the Hollow Log. To do this, they painted the Hollow Log and had a big Bunggul (mortuary rite). They danced all night until late in the night. They ceremonially placed the catfish bones (the two sisters' bones) into the Hollow Log coffin, then the Wak came and took the Hollow Log coffin away and flew into the heavens. That Hollow Log coffin can now be seen as the Milky Way. And that is how the Milky Way was formed."
see,so simple!
And that is how the Milky Way was formed.
i adore the way this gentleman pulls the hands of his muses...
i mean when there are no hands in the frame,i'm left wondering where they're at.

here's amedeo modigliani(1884-1920) up for worship.just for making me look beyond frames.
i assume i also relate to the tilt of the head.people who know me might agree.

'Letters that he wrote from his 'sabbatical' in Capri in 1901 clearly indicate that he is being more and more influenced by the thinking of Nietzsche. In these letters, he advised friend Oscar Ghiglia,
"..(hold sacred all) which can exalt and excite your intelligence... (and) ... seek to provoke ... and to perpetuate ... these fertile stimuli, because they can push the intelligence to its maximum creative power." '

'Modigliani died penniless and destitute—managing only one solo exhibition in his life and giving his work away in exchange for meals in restaurants. Since his death his reputation has soared. Nine novels, a play, a documentary and three feature films have been devoted to his life.'
such terrible summations of people's lives..

where're the handswhere're the handswhere'rethehands amedeo..