Posts Tagged ‘nostalgia’
Adele – Someone Like You
If you ever had a broken heart, you’re about to remember it now.
Shure SRH440 vs. Grado SR60i
- The Grado SR60i is just a bit less expensive (on the street), and comes from a design philosophy that seems to parallel the approach Shure has taken with the 440s.
- The Grados have a mid-range emphasis as compared to a mid-treble emphasis on the Shures, which means the Grados sound richer but perhaps not as lively (though the Grados will never be accused of sounding dead).
I’m supposed to talk about how good the Grado SR60i Open Back Headphones over the Shure SRH440 Closed Back Headphones that I owned. I would even wanted to make a benchmark on the Shure SE310 Noise-Canceling In-Ear Headphones too against those two, despite being the most expensive headphones that I owned (RM1080 last 2 year, now RM888).
Then, I wrote this instead.
Past vs. Karma
- I dated a girl who already got a Miri Boy Eins. I got introduced to the concept of soul mate. I got into the middle of the relationship — going awry with delusion and rampant jealousy. I apologized and broke up. She likes headphone.
- I befriended a girl who’s into music. I got introduced to the concept of gastronomy and musical muse. Miri Boy Zwei got into the middle of the friendship with delusion and rampant jealousy over headphone gift. He apologized and make up. She still likes the headphone.
But on both account. The relationship with them turned sour. I became indifferent.
I used to rant a lot about that Miri Boy Eins, then Miri Boy Zwei arrived in my life. And what did you know, my last-relationship (not related with the Miri Boy Eins, Zwei or Drei) ended up while I’m offshore in Miri.
What the fuck, Miri. This is not Zack and Miri make a Porno  gone hardcore.
But now I realised how Godop felt. That Miri boy whom I kept referring to the scene of Waiting for Godot.
I’m sorry it took 6 years to realise how abstract our past relationship had gone into, it became too intricate.
On the day I found this in my timeline with all the rage just gave in:
[delete] [delete] [delete]
And ended up deleting the draft.
I wrote another one in the tumblr instead because the headphone girl picture relives so much nostalgia.
Digital illustration for a music night poster.
This is based on a good friend, for another good friend. Entire thing done using a mouse — I no has tablet anymore, after the dog ate the two tablet pens for the Intuos, and my spare cheapo tablet’s wire is broken.
I put a heart on the headphone to mark how I’m spending Valentine’s. WORKING!
I’m an avid listener to music. I burn-in my headphone set by thousands of minutes.
Varying from cheapo Panasonic earbud, Altec-Lansing clip-on, Sony earpad, Shure closed over-the-ear, Shure noise-canceling in-ear, Grado open-back on-the-ear and Sennheiser closed full-size.
It’s only natural I share my passion with others. Yes, I spent hundreds and thousand on audiophile set for the so called studio experience.
I’m not a sound engineer but I appreciated the value of crisp sound to video production. I own directional Rode video microphone and omni-directional Zoom H4n just to make sure I got the sound right in my video take.
One guy pissed me off the day before the V-Day.
It may seemed petty for “still” feeling insulted by mere tweet for an uncalled hip-hop gesture of juxtaposed expression of his jealousy and of me lending a girl (who’s his new found affection and a long last.fm friend of mine) an expensive headphone. The hurt part is to equate all of these into one middle-finger 140 characters tweet — that I’m trying “to get into her pants.” His own choice of word may not be ghetto, but it sure smacked me right into the face.
There’s a lot of good train of thought that night before it gone head up to this “petty” barrier.
I’m sorry for having a grudge, usually I would ignore it. But that night, there’s too many up and down for me to ignore this little spat.
I forgive you, eventually you’ll know I’ll, since you are keen to spy on me with different twitter account. I’m in the production community, I know it’s your pseudonym.
Why do I rant here?
The operative words of headphone, heart and Wacom tablet.
I just bought 2 Wacom tablets to my sister and brother who’s very much into deviantART account. Neither of them a graphic designer. That doesn’t mean I’m into incest. (I own one too, an old Intuos3 A5. I love Wacom product.)
That may not be sound odd in familial way — being good to your siblings — but try being a good samaritan with the opposite gender of your closest friend.
You must knew about the UK & Eire Knuke Tour: Altimet & Monoloque? You should, since you’re in their social circle and a producer. I didn’t go to UK to cover the videography due to my other day job: offshore engineering stuff. Yet I’m willing to support a friend who’s working with the tour with my shoulder-mount Redrock Micro rig, 64GB Extreme Pro CF cards and other videography rig for free. That tiny square card alone cost me RM3k. Am I looking for a buttsex?
I’m not the person who build up name in the photography and videography world with the word [your name] photography and [your name] videography watermarked on the online portfolio. I feel I’m not good enough for this self-branding.
Maybe I would in the motion-control time-lapse sense, since it’s my niche market.
Hey, no grudge.
I’m just ranting.
Even though this rant is mild in comparison with what I drafted in my wordpress blog.
Here comes the problem, I knew some of your friend that my name might have pop-up somewhere in the conversation — like the one you did during your meet-up with your friend (and mine) at The Cookie Cat store. Publishing it, shall make both party uncomfortable.
It’s in the draft. No worries.
Thanks for the DM, you know I’m a cool guy (your word, not mine) when I end up this conversation with this quotes: Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.
I’m not going to direct this post to you just yet.
But one of your friend might.
Afterthought. I blame 6 hours of non-stop Deftones tracks (The Strokes on top of the playlist) for being Chino Moreno on you. “Head up!”
UPDATE: Uzairsawal answered.
I think you quote me wrongly: “his (you) new found affection and a long last.fm friend of mine.” Jeez.
Alright, both of you can kiss and make up, now.
I don’t understand you, too.
For people who don’t know me, to judge me.
It’s stranger than fiction and like the movie Stranger than Fiction , I end up being in love with a baker who used to study in law school, even though she end up with a Master Degree in something else. The last 2 exes are TEASL major, so is she. What’s with me and language student?
Even though the courtship is premature, but a night of Deftones at KL Live with her is all that I need on the Black Valentine’s Day. Perhaps, The Gotan Project later at MPO would be more laid-back than the crazy night of moshing.
I’m trying to be less indifferent with her.
Not a soul-mate.
Nor a muse.
May I call you Ash? I like it androgynous.
I’m sorry I can’t help being sentimental — even with sufficient compartmentalizing in this faculty — her memories still tampers with facility of felicity.
The drips of her optimism.
Those veiled salacious intent and dry tears of forgotten misery.
5 years is not something that’s easy to bury. Unearthing it is not an option too. Yet as I pass by the memorial site in my own memory. The wretchedness and those smile comes flooding to me uninvited.
The momentarily stop at Paris Métro is unexpected to both of us. And the first kiss at the station of Sèvres – Lecourbe is unexpected for me.
I’m the luckiest man in the metro station.
Then life interjected with career.
I wait and wait for time to pass by as I try to get home back to her.
Your goodbye silence is as unexpected as those first kiss — five years later.
I felt like I’m the loneliest man in the busiest metro station.
I almost hate Paris.
I’m glad with her reply.
Even after 9 months later — calling me by full name stated much how her felt — tacitly.
That’s how she spell disagreement — as if I’m infantile.
Yet she purred and mew — as if she’s my favourite feline.
It’s not bitterness neither acquiescence.
She accepted it as it is.
I didn’t reply.
It won’t matter.
She finally replied.
And that’s cathartic.
When missing someone, the most logical and likely-to-be-successful avenue by which to appease that feeling is to get in contact with said person. When this communication would doubtless be damaging to one’s emotional health (but staying out of touch is also very unpleasant), which solution is really considered “coping”?
I might have severe attachment issues. Coping mechanism simply do not operate on an adult level of refine maturity, it is as though in my own mind, I can’t get past age sixteen.
I trudge along the route of melancholy and dare myself to get in contact with her again.
Of course it didn’t work.
All I got is silence, since 11 months ago.
I knew it from someone else that her dad was treated for cancer and she start to visit the specialist for her spinal therapy again — a recurring sickness, that almost never exist when I’m still with her.
In the distant, I’m worried of her.
Those short electronic message of wishes is cathartic — at least to me.
I wish her and her family the best of health.
Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Sue.
Neither would be a “coping” solution. Yet every avenues make us human. The zeitgeist might not be the best of je ne sais quoi but it’s better than being blasé.
I realized I never did delete a reminder of your birthday. I wish you’re not bitter at me anymore. Be strong and hope you’re already doing your master degree now. Hope your family is ok. Sorry for the wee hour txt. It’s been 9 month since we parted. Hope all is well. Regards, Fez.
I didn’t dare to add, I miss you.
It’s a cruel realization of her memories as I picked Kahlil Gibran book at the book store and the iPod hit Climie Fisher – Love Changes (Everything). Later the text came: Sue’s Birthday, 5th August 1983.
Her favourite book, which she later bought me a hard cover while she’s visiting her grandma at Singapore.
Her favourite song, which became my ringtone whenever she called me when I’m outsation and offshore (when the phone line feels like reaching the fringe of the oil field).
Then the text. The reminder.
It’s just too much.
It’s time to move on but like I said to @Voltairess:
YES! But first, I’ve to rant (write). Not to relive, more to revel. OR suffocate this sudden sobs in the pillow & wait for dawn.
And what do you know.
My last entry in my moleskine is on 27th December 2009 in which I quote her entry on her blog on 16th November 2009:
This is the date which mark something new.
Now I can’t sleep.
And I can’t write (yet).
Despite of all thing — I miss her — my petite literature chic.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
T. S. Eliot (1888–1965), U.S.-born British poet and playwright.
Prufrock and Other Observations “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”.
At dusk, we met. At night, we drove in the sleepless street. At dawn, we retreat.
A bliss. In past tense.
Rainy night never fails making me hopelessly nostalgic.
Not the best shot of her. It’s out-of-focus and blurry.
Yet, it’s my favourite moment with her.
“Stop taking picture of me”
It’s actually a video.
“Argh, the attack of killer woman!” In reference to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978).
Yup, it’s time to forget the past — sometimes in the near future.
I bought a few bottle of homemade Baba Nyonya’s sambal udang at this restaurant near my office. They served authentic Portuguese dishes too — as far as I know, I never know much about Mediterranean cuisine.
I was hoping to give it to your mum this Tuesday. I never did visit your parent after I got back from offshore last December 2009. January and February were hectic too, as I’m outstation a lot (Singapore mostly). March seemed to be kind to me. Then again, I did try on that fateful December.
Reading your entry about your dad (chemotherapy for the nasopharyngeal cancer), ridden me with guilt — knowing that my absence for months being offshore was hard for you.
I was never there for you — to console and to hold you, to whisper that everything shall be alright.
It’s a void, ready to be filled.
I’m contemplating of visiting your dad, but after reading this entry — maybe I shouldn’t (and to bring a bottle of sambal udang would be astoundingly rude — because of the mouth ulcer).
Even if I did, I’ll be nothing more than an unwanted ghost of the past — and a phantom I should be.
…He has severe attachment issues. Coping mechanism simply do not operate on an adult level, it is as though in his own mind, he can’t get past age six……At the very least, you could appreciate his conviction, even when it doesn’t reflect your own……We can revel in our past glories, but to relive them is unnecessary……Bitterness and blind faith, with a shot of guilt for catalyst……I stopped being an observer and become a witness. I’ve got the evidence… now where’s the court?……After the first couple of kicks, you don’t feel any pain, just thing breaking inside. Battered by abomination……I’m cold, chilled to the marrow.
Is that you Garth Ennis? Jamie Delano?
You make John Constantine (Hellblazer) chokes my own pitiful mind.
Now, should I listen to my conscience or succumb to my ego?