Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Posts Tagged ‘romance

Shure vs. Grado Labs

with 5 comments

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).

Via AVGuide: Light & Lively

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 [2008] 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 Vladimir.

I’m Estragon.

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:

I write.

Writes.

Writes.

[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.

lainieyeoh:

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!

Headph0ne Phet1sh.

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.

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I’m not going to direct this post to you just yet.

But one of your friend might.

Cheers.

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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!”

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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.

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It’s stranger than fiction and like the movie Stranger than Fiction [2006], 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?

Haih.

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.

She’s that 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning.

May I call you Ash? I like it androgynous.

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My Friend

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There was once a very lovely, very frightened girl.

She lived alone except for a nameless cat.

My Messy Moleskine

Image by Alexandre Dulaunoy via Flickr

I’ve been revisiting the moleskine diary again. The last jotted ink was dry since my past birthday. Nothing much written on that last one except the summary of the years’ written words inside the black bind cahier. A summary of the year 2009. In a very succinct form and if it’s a colour it would be a faltering hue of grey, a glimmering ray of silver and haphazard strokes of blue. The colour of conscience, hope and life at sea — and the love of the ocean. Considering it was soak in brine once.

“In case of loss, please return to” and “as a reward: $” were the printed words at the first page of the moleskine. There’s never a monetary reward written on it but I do mull on the ever cryptic xoxo and xxx. Depends on whom who find it as a romantics or sober samaritan. There’s still blank pages unused from the countless doodles and periodic rants. It’s worth more to the founder than the owner. If he’s the type who didn’t type but writes.

My Friend.

Holly Golightly in Hell

Image by bixentro via Flickr

The title originated in one particular scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) when Paul (George Peppard) slowly typed on his typewriter and then came forth the line of a lovely girl and a nameless cat.

The strings and soft voice of Holly (Audrey Hepburn) came in tandem with the lines and she sang Moon River at the window sill with calm composure and remote emotion.

Two of them broke the silence with greetings when she ended the song with a blank stare to the finite space.

I felt so invested with the emotion with a simple a ‘hi’ and the soft ‘oh’ that it moved me to write in the abandoned notebook. I remember the dialogs, I wrote the lyrics and I spelled the emotion. Why it doesn’t affect me as it does 5 years or 10 years ago when I first saw the movie. Why do I favour the Louis Armstrong version back then, when her voice is more sincere? Why do I think this passing scene so suddenly became so magically enthralling in the history of celluloid?

I don’t know.

Yet I do know that I’ve been missing the details in the past decades in favour of end result. The last view wasn’t out of love for lyrical and cinematography value but out of entertainment. I’m not saying that I dissect the current view with empirical proportion but I can feel the sincerity without satirical exhaustion. Two non-matrimony relationship taught me how to endure as a wounded bipedal mammal. Another two pre-matrimony relationship ended me as a quadruped mammal on my back looking at the sky, like a half-dead panda munching bamboo on a deforested patch of urbanised land.

What I’m saying is, or what I think that I’m supposed to say is that I’m becoming less sardonic. Less cynical with romance, but I’ll never be without one when it comes to the world view. Always one with a cynical eye (or eyes).

I keep my optimism alive still with romance. In the back sleeve of the black cahier moleskine lies 3 pieces of paper of optimism and sentimentality.

My first Singapore dollar note from that damsel in distress who (almost) ruin my academic life in United Kingdom.

Train ticket with hand-written notes as I sat for hours on that last train station for the Seremban girl to wake up for a cup of coffee at Starbucks on Saturday morning.

The Sunway girl’s signature on a folded receipt from her flight to Neverwhere with a purple binded book of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran as a gift to me.

The trinkets were there to remind.

Just as the words are.

They’re lovely friends who’s now in love with their nameless cat — their significant other.

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On a different note. The WordPress Zemanta plugin for recommended media gallery is fun to use. Who doesn’t like tattered moleskine and Banksy-ish stencil graffiti?

The Stop at Sèvres – Lecourbe

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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.

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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.

Written by cthulhu

August 9, 2010 at 1:54 am

And Those Who Have Never Been Wounded in Love Will Never Be Able to Say: “I Have Lived”. Because They Haven’t.

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Convention of Those Wounded in Love

Promulgated by Paulo Coelho

General provisions:

A – Whereas the saying “all is fair in love and war” is absolutely correct;

B – Whereas for war we have the Geneva Convention, approved on 22 August 1864, which provides for those wounded in the battle field, but until now no convention has been signed concerning those wounded in love, who are far greater in number;

It is hereby decreed that:

Article 1 – All lovers, of any sex, are alerted that love, besides being a blessing, is also something extremely dangerous, unpredictable and capable of causing serious damage. Consequently, anyone planning to love should be aware that they are exposing their body and soul to various types of wounds, and that they shall not be able to blame their partner at any moment, since the risk is the same for both.

Article 2 – Once struck by a stray arrow fired from Cupid’s bow, they should immediately ask the archer to shoot the same arrow in the opposite direction, so as not to be afflicted by the wound known as “unrequited love”. Should Cupid refuse to perform such a gesture, the Convention now being promulgated demands that the wounded partner remove the arrow from his/her heart and throw it in the garbage. In order to guarantee this, those concerned should avoid telephone calls, messages over the Internet, sending flowers that are always returned, or each and every means of seduction, since these may yield results in the short run but always end up wrong after a while. The Convention decrees that the wounded person should immediately seek the company of other people and try to control the obsessive thought: “this person is worth fighting for”.

Article 3 – If the wound is caused by third parties, in other words if the loved one has become interested in someone not in the script previously drafted, vengeance is expressly forbidden. In this case, it is allowed to use tears until the eyes dry up, to punch walls or pillows, to insult the ex-partner in conversations with friends, to allege his/her complete lack of taste, but without offending their honor. The Convention determines that the rule contained in Article 2 be applied: seek the company of other persons, preferably in places different from those frequented by the other party.

Article 4 – In the case of light wounds, herein classified as small treacheries, fulminating passions that are short-lived, passing sexual disinterest, the medicine called Pardon should be applied generously and quickly. Once this medicine has been applied, one should never reconsider one’s decision, not even once, and the theme must be completely forgotten and never used as an argument in a fight or in a moment of hatred.

Article 5 – In all definitive wounds, also known as “breaking up”, the only medicine capable of having an effect is called Time. It is no use seeking consolation from fortune-tellers (who always say that the lost lover will return), romantic books (which always have a happy ending), soap-operas on the television or other such things. One should suffer intensely, completely avoiding drugs, tranquilizers and praying to saints. Alcohol is only tolerated if kept to a maximum of two glasses of wine a day.

Final determination:
Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflict, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they have to accept both the agony and the ecstasy of their choice.
And those who have never been wounded in love will never be able to say: “I have lived”. Because they haven’t.

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*meh*

Written by cthulhu

December 15, 2009 at 11:05 pm

How Shall I Remember Monday, 12th October 2009?

with 4 comments

Solitary

Solitary

3 months of Pipelaying Project in Miri (ongoing).

3 days of UWILD inspection under Bureau Veritas in Labuan.

6 months of relationship.

1 break-up.

Sometimes we’re so focused on finding our happy ending we don’t learn how to read the signs.
How to tell the ones who want us from the ones who don’t. The ones who will stay from the ones who will leave.

— He’s Just Not That Into You (2009) via Bianca’s entry

Funny. When I commented on Bianca’s entry, it was meant for Ebb, not Sue.

The day after, it looks like I’m still “inside the blind spot”.

The reason?

The haunting of past memory — made anew — fueling the distrust, basking in its flame.

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P.S.: I never watch the movie, of which the quote comes from.

Written by cthulhu

October 13, 2009 at 2:02 pm

Protected: No Warm July, No Libra Sun

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Written by cthulhu

January 18, 2009 at 3:28 pm

Je T’aime… Moi Non Plus

L’amour physique est sans issue (Physical love is a dead end street).

Also, physical love is a back end tunnel.

Written by cthulhu

May 5, 2008 at 8:33 pm