Posts Tagged ‘waiting for godot’
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.
You know, you know where you are with
You know where you are with
Floating, bouncing back
And one day….
I am going to grow wings
A chemical reaction
Hysterical and useless
Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground
Let down and hanging around
Like Estragon and Vladimir, I’m forever Waiting for Godot. The faculty of anticipation bordering absurdity as the capacity of waiting withering.
Is it so hard to make one commitment to fill this epoch of time, when there’s absolutely no hindrance, no attachment to other place and at least a foresight of expecting to be near-presence of this locality?
One day off. Near and about. Silence.
I feel sorry for myself. I’m trying too hard to appease this facetious pantomime. Mouthing and jerking and twitching for semblance of plausible expression. I’m humouring my ill-humoured self with certainty with certain degree of sacrificing the prospect of my hectic life.
One day off the hectic life on this eventful day.
And I found myself thinking — aloud — Why?
Perhaps it’s time to be overtly apathetic. Curbing the liquidity of resources to bare minimum. Saying yes, to say no. To contradict myself, for my own benefit — not being selfish — rather, just to be self-aware.
I know, it’s not a promises. And you know it’s the day. Yet the day wasted with you in the familiarity of personal-comfort. I should know better, for someone who is used to normalcy, impromptu event sounds taboo.
Alright, my fault.
Man, I’m really easy to cave in, innit?
Don’t you all treat the people you love differently? I would never understand someone who just stand and watch the person they said they love cry , and not do anything to soothe that person. I can only surmise they do not love – there’s no love in such person’s heart; only hate and a bloated sense of selfishness.
I think I miss my didi. Are you going for your blue berth already? :) I know it’s strange to feel someone who’s far away as closer to me than those who are around me. Life is never easy…right?
I wish all that is written is what I confide in with utmost privy, but I’m a creature of habit, the habit of a tortured wordsmith where his canvas of written mind screaming like the Edvard Munch’s The Scream — suffused with melancholy and anguish.
You’re right after all. Self-destructive relationship is always been the cynosure of my longings. The expectation is known in foresight but I keep on feeding on it. On hindsight, I spew the bitterness and again taste the cynicism as aperitif for the next sour meal.
Falling out of love is very enlightening. For a short while you see the world with new eyes.
Iris Murdoch (1919–1999), Irish-born British novelist and philosopher.
The Observer (London) “Sayings of the Week”.
I’m used to take umbrage on the most innocent act that constitutes the company of them. Where once I was invited to be the third in the company of two. I took that as a mockery in the looming presence of [his]. Mocking the idea of familiarity, as I would jutted there, seated on the urban cafe of capitalism with the prospect of disillusionment. I’m like a jutted and jagged rock on a jaded meadow — weary of the accusation and compromises. Whereas it just a simple invitation, that in retrospect, I would never attend. Why can’t I just leave it be?
Jealousy used to be the blind rage. As ever hidden like Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, the titular character of [his] should never arrived in my simple mind. Whereas in the play, the arrival is awaited . In my mind, there should be in perpetual absence. Even a good-natured pity is hardly welcomed. As I sought the sympathy of her but got the pity of [his], the drugged and medicated mind of a feverish man caving in the state of malaise. As if [his] apothegmaticall word of apothecary — “get medicated, rest well”– giving me an apoplexy. Why can’t I accept the honesty of a dispirited man?
Jiji, did you know one of the character in the play is affectionately known as Didi?
Hence the optimistic approach to my romantic life, I supposed. The last happenstance with her consolidated this newfangled attitude.
A contemporary courting. A prelude to the ephemeral relationship that be.
I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
How apt jiji, Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars.
That’s what she means to me, that’s how I feel as I lay with her. As I cry, her voice soothes me. There’s still love in her heart albeit an altered one — shaped by the sin of my past.
Love or perhaps empathy.
P.S. : Jiji, you’ll never heard of this version of the story as I keep my life apart again from a confidante. Isolation seems to be the best policy for me, but I’ll always long for her — the ship of destiny — deep in the blue berth of my heart. I’m berthing, I’m basking. I’m sulking…less.