Where is the World Going To ?! :))

Peter Thiel Makes Down Payment on Libertarian Ocean Colonies
From Wired News 19 / 05 / 2008
Tired of the United States and the other 190-odd nations on Earth?
If a small team of Silicon Valley millionaires get their way, in a few years, you could have a new option for global citizenship: A permanent, quasi-sovereign nation floating in international waters.
With a $500,000 donation from PayPal founder Peter Thiel, a Google engineer and a former Sun Microsystems programmer have launched The Seasteading Institute, an organization dedicated to creating experimental ocean communities "with diverse social, political, and legal systems."
"Decades from now, those looking back at the start of the century will understand that Seasteading was an obvious step towards encouraging the development of more efficient, practical public-sector models around the world," Thiel said in a statement.
It might sound like the setting for the videogame Bioshock, but the institute isn't playing around: It plans to splash a prototype into the San Francisco Bay within the next two years, the first step toward establishing deep-water city-states, or what it calls "seasteads" -- homesteads on the high seas.
Within the pantheon of would-be utopian communities, there's a particularly rich history of people trying to live outside the nation-state paradigm out in the ocean. The most ambitious was Marshall Savage's Aquarius Project, which aimed at nothing less than the colonization of the universe. There was also Las Vegas millionaire Michael Oliver's attempt to create a new island country, the Republic of Minerva, by dredging the shallow waters near Tonga. And the Freedom Ship was to be a mile-long portable country costing about $10 billion to construct.
None of these projects has succeeded, a fact that The Seasteading Institute's founders, Google's Patri Friedman and the semi-retired Wayne Gramlich, are keenly aware of throughout the 300-page book they've written about seasteading.
Instead of starting with a grand scheme worthy of a James Bond villain, the Institute is bringing an entrepreneurial, DIY mentality to creating oceanic city-states.
"There's a history of a lot of crazy people trying this sort of thing, and the idea is to do it in a way that's not crazy," said Joe Lonsdale, the institute's chairman and a principal at Clarium Capital Management, a multibillion-dollar hedge fund.
The seasteaders want to build their first prototype for a few million dollars, by scaling down and modifying an existing off-shore oil rig design known as a "spar platform."
In essence, the seastead would consist of a reinforced concrete tube with external ballasts at the bottom that could be filled with air or water to raise or lower the living platform on top.
The spar design helps offshore platforms better withstand the onslaught of powerful ocean waves by minimizing the amount of structure that is exposed to their energy.
"You have very little cross-sectional interaction with waves [with] the spar design," Gramlich said.
The primary living space, about 300 square feet per person, would be inside the tube, but the duo envisions the top platform holding buildings, gardens, solar panels, wind turbines and (of course) satellites for internet access.
To some extent, they believe the outfittings for the seastead will be dependent on the business model, say aquaculture or tourism, that will support it and the number of people aboard.
"We're not trying to pick the one strategy because we think there will be multiple people who want one for multiple reasons," Gramlich said.
Dan Donovan, a long-time spokesman for Dominion, an energy company that operated Gulf of Mexico-based gas rigs, including Devils Tower, the world's deepest spar structure, said the group's plan wasn't too far-fetched. His company's off-shore rigs, which are much larger than the institute's planned seasteads, provided long-term housing for its workers.
"They were sort of like mobile homes. We could move them from one place to another," Donovan said. "People did live on them."
But even the institute members admit that their plans aren't far enough along to stand up to rigorous engineering scrutiny. Some engineers, Gramlich said, have been skeptical of their plan, particularly their desire to do it on the cheap.
"We have some legitimate doubting Thomases out there," Gramlich said.
But if the idea turns out to be just crazy enough that it works, Friedman, following in the footsteps of his grandfather, the Nobel Prize-winning economist Milton Friedman, envisions transforming the way that government functions.
"My dad and grandfather were happy arguing their ideas and were happy influencing people through the world of ideas," Friedman said. "I see a real need for people to go out and do something and show by example."
True to his libertarian leanings, Friedman looks at the situation in market terms: the institute's modular spar platforms, he argues, would allow for the creation of far cheaper new countries out on the high-seas, driving innovation.
"Government is an industry with a really high barrier to entry," he said. "You basically need to win an election or a revolution to try a new one. That's a ridiculous barrier to entry. And it's got enormous customer lock-in. People complain about their cellphone plans that are like two years, but think of the effort that it takes to change your citizenship."
Friedman estimates that it would cost a few hundred million dollars to build a seastead for a few thousand people. With costs that low, Friedman can see constellations of cities springing up, giving people a variety of governmental choices. If misguided policies arose, citizens could simply motor to a new nation.
"You can change your government without having to leave your house," he said.
Of course, one major role of government is to provide security, which would seem to be an issue on the open sea. But Friedman's not worried about defense beyond simple firearms because he thinks pirates will lack the financial incentive to attack the seasteads.
"More sophisticated pirates will take entire container ships that have tens of millions of dollars of cargo and 10 crew [members]," he said. "On a seastead, there's a much different crew-to-movable assets ratio."
In fact, his only worry is that a government will try to come calling and force their jurisdiction upon them. Toward that end, they are planning to fly a "flag of convenience" from a country that sells them, like Panama, to provide them with protection from national navies.
"If you're not flying a flag … any country can do whatever they want to you," he said.
Even if their big idea doesn't end up panning out, their story should live on in internet lore for confirming the dream that two guys with a blog and a love of Ayn Rand can land half a million dollars to pursue their dream, no matter how off-kilter or off-grid it might seem.
"Everything changed when we got the funding," Friedman said. "Before that, it was two guys with some ideas writing a book and blogging about their ideas.... Now that we've got some funding, it's something I plan to make a full-time job out of."

Today...

I watched a few hundred policemen run down my street chasing maybe 150 young men and women, cowering from tear gas. Another usual day in Turkey? In this fascist police-state of ours, cops are nothing but a threat. I do not know a single person who trusts them. Most people don't go to them for help when necessary, as there is always a possibility they will charge you with something and you'll end up worse than when you came for them.
I am not for organized struggle... Maybe it's cowardice but crowds do not make me feel empowered or liberated. I try to stick to my political principles in my own sphere. With my daughter, my wife, my friends. I am not sure that the people in the crowds are practicing what they may be preaching, my choice is to try to do that in my daily life, hoping I may change things bit by very small bit.
However, there is no justification for what happened here today. No one should be chased down a street by robocops with shotguns. I am at a loss for words... Really.
I had the urge to document the whole thing by going out with a camera; then looked at my wife and child. They weren't pleased with my idea, needless to say. Especially not after we had to close the window to block the tear gas. Not sure what to do, I suddenly remembered a whole list of chores I had to do with state offices and grandparents, and knowing most people are staying at home, minding their business, I took this as an opportunity to handle stuff in an Istanbul without traffic.
Am I a coward? Perhaps, but when I saw my centenarian grandfather's face light up when I came to surprise him, I really wondered if I had paid some sort of dues to somewhere, I don't know where though... joy is so short lived and so infrequent in this world; it s a shame what we have created in the name of civilization. Or maybe Buddha and Schopenhauer and Jesus Christ were right. Maybe one has to recognize that all is suffering, in order to know non-suffering. Maybe when thinking of the suffering of the masses, one should look at a babies' face for momentary relief. Not for forgetting the former, but to re-kindle the hope that humans are, in the end, incredibly beautiful creatures, and can do beautiful things for the world. Like Bukowski, I can easily stay away from individual humans for days on end but am terribly in love with the race. Humans are hideously mesmerizing, like Kafka's giant bug. Disgust and awe in one. Desperation and hope at the same time. Sorrow and infinite love bundled in the same experience. One can go on with these binaries. Maybe the Tao is silent and noisy as well.
At moments like these I also like to daydream about my imaginary anarchist commune where money doesn't exist, where we are off the grid and self-sufficient, where all are truly equal and eventually I move to fantasies in having the farmers nearby our commune start trading with us without money and how we might spread a different understanding of life, bit by little bit. Not impossible I think, in fact more probable than overthrowing the state. Power corrupts, no matter who is involved with it. No masters no slaves, no representatives, i don't trust anyone who professes to help me through politics. As Jack Nicholson says to the Martians in Mars Attacks: "Why can't we all just get along?" Then ZAPPP!:)
Today's attack was no surprise to anyone. However, i think it really showed how the present administration is full of fools. Again, I'm sorry and feel shame.

Re: Control

Recently I watched the film "Control" that narrates the life and suicide of Ian Curtis from Joy Division. Ultimately a tragic story, Curtis' depression, caused by multiple reasons some under his control and some not, was depicted so beautifully that I felt like screaming to the screen: "Can't somebody just give him some Prozac or some SSRI?" After all, they were pumping him with carbamazepine for his epilepsy, surely they could've heard the poor soul out... Finally as he committed suicide I was astounded to hear my friend comment on how selfish an act it was, how idiotic Ian Curtis had been. After all, he was leaving so many people behind... At first a sensible argument that can be brought in from many sides, I found this to be somewhat unemphatic, coming from my friend who was himself prescribed anti-depressants before for his depression. I wondered "why would many people regard another's internal pain with so much reference to the outside's welfare?" When you think about it, everyone always gets left behind some way or another. People come, people go. You come, you go; why do we not wonder more among us, after the suicide has happened, what was it that we DIDN'T DO, that could've helped him? Although most suicides don't place the blame on others, why is it that we are so eager to push the blame on the person who actually suffered and even go as far to play the victim (How could he do this to me?etc.)
why, when the matter is suicide along with metal illness are we so reluctant to stare at the patient with unsympathy? Anti-depressants's are last centuries wonder drug and they re prescribed to anyone who may feel slightly "blue" so there is a loss of credibility on the part of psychiatry, fair enough, however this doesn't make mental illness an un-reality. In fact viewing it this way, it is easy to dismiss illnesses of the mind as meagre caprices, but severe cases do exist and if anything, in their cure can we see the advantages of psychiatry. the stigma that comes along with mental illness doesn't really make things easier. As the patient stumbles deeper into "abnormality", the "normal" ones wallow in their acceptance by this hideously crooked establishment we call society. It is sad to see, even in pharmacies in Turkey, where a simple bandaid purchase is greeted with a "geçmiş olsun", the purchase of pshychiatric drugs are given to the customer with a silent sense of distaste. These two attitudes are exactly the same, and woe be to the utterer to really know the deepest pits of depression, mania, and psychosis. All this stems from the centuries' old cultural discourse of marginalizing the mad. Today, we see a new development in viewing these diseases. Not as an abnormal functioning of the brain but a sort of individually unique defense mechanism of some morbid "normality" the subject is asked to adjust to. In fact, to carry this theory even further, one would assume that the most psychopathic among us, are those who have no problems in blending in with what society offers. Needless to say, I guess most sensible people would rather not be "normalized" to, say, Hitler Germany. So, although it is easy to look down upon someone who suffers for no apparent external reason ("s/he should get on with life just like we do" for example), to do this with a view of the patient spreading misfortune and black bile to others as if it were a cancer cell in society that infects it, is equally damaging to society. For I shouldn't need to remind anyone, but progress in arts, sciences, religions are all laid out by the prodigious and prophetic madpeople of our world. It is the "normals" who usurp and degenerate their vision...

Freak-folk again

This is just a note of appreciation for all the following musicians who have brought back my youth of singing and playing the guitar for long long nights, accompanied by great friends, candles, cheap beer & wine, but most of all, a hippie spirit that is (nowadays) individual though still providing such communal feelings of tenderness, unblemished love, a juvenile sense of rebellion toned down from actual action but able to place a smile on the face and a willingness to sing along. It is significant that for the most part these musicians start of doing everything by themselves. Locked in a cabin recording for days, etc. Contradictory in terms of their earlier inspirations but definitely fitting with the zeitgeist.
The quieter the better guys, roll on!!! : Iron & Wine, Tunng, Songs: Ohia, Ben Iver, Wilco, Caribou... Nick Drake must be happy in the grave! Thanks for taking/bringing me back/forward!!!

Saint Genet...

...was what Sartre called Genet. His lop-sided but definitely un-hypocritical subversive morality and his almost religiously sticking with it surely were among the reasons for being called so. Am reading these days his magnum opus Journal du Voleur and have to say am bedazzled at the literary skill but also his daring candidness in reporting his delinquent escapades that have lasted for years in the streets, ports, cities of Europe: Barcelona, Anvers, Amsterdam, Paris, Berlin, Krakow... He describes his instances of theft like pieces in an art exhibition, emblazoning the memorable moments of the act with pieces of introspection. Most importantly though, in my opinion, is Genet's descriptions of his many lovers. Now I am not gay and I sure don't get disgusted etc from reading about gays and St. Genet in this regard, I believe is the ultimate king. I do not think I have ever read instances of male homo-erotic behavior that resonate so well as timeless renderings of the erotic in the male of the species. Genet's lovers are not sublimated, or if they are, they are sublimated in the way sex is treated in his plays Les Negres, or Le Balcon , as an invitation to partake in an earthy power play. Furthermore his lovers take on descriptive beauty in the context of and through objects, settings and tiny details whose connections to beauty are so far removed than commodified ideas of love and eroticism that they take on the characteristics of an admirable yet uncanny expressionist painting. The wearing of a wrist watch and the twitch of a wrist, a wrinkle in the brow, the way a belt holds up a pair of trousers, the touch of a pair of eye lashes onto the lovers' neck, and the interminable instances of violence make up the erotic world of Genet. Genet loves domination though not in a purely masochistic way; when the possibility arises he is more than happy to take the position of top so to speak, and candidly reports his anomaly as just another instant in his sexuality, which is considered as ever-changing, although one thing is constant: his disgust of women. It is as if Genet's motif of theft is also present in his amorous liaisons. He wants to both be ravaged and have his identity stolen by the lover, just like he steals from others less powerful than he is. As he chases a lover of his devoted to him out of the room he closes his eyelids and tends to examining the myriad of shapes that appear on the black eyelids, completely forgetting the pain he might be causing just like he doesn't mind the pain that is caused to him by his mean lovers: It is the rule of the game, in fact that is what he expects from his lover. For Genet masculinity is almost always linked with the beauty of violence which is like an aura that resonates more strongly in his chosen lovers.
Thieving for objects, both inanimate and human, Genet seems to be touching on the remarkable role that objects have in our lives. How we might think we made them but in fact they re-make themselves by penetrating our worlds and make us something more than what we were without them.
Which brings us to the poem of the day:) This is Las Cosas by Jorge Luis Borges

El bastón, las monedas, el llavero,
La dócil cerradura, las tardías
Notas que no leerán los pocos días
Que me quedan, los naipes y el tablero,
Un libro y en sus páginas la ajada
Violeta, monumento de una tarde
Sin duda inolvidable y ya olvidada,
El rojo espejo occidental en que arde
Una ilusoria aurora. ¡Cuántas cosas,
Láminas, umbrales, atlas, copas, clavos,
Nos sirven como tácitos esclavos,
Ciegas y extrañamente sigilosas!
Durarán más allá de nuestro olvido;
No sabrán nunca que nos hemos ido.

Things
My cane, my pocketchange, this ring of keys
The obedient lock, the belated notes
The few days left to me will not find time
To read, the deck of cards, the tabletop,
A book and crushed in its pages the withered
Violet, monument to an afternoon
Undoubtedly unforgettable, now forgotten
The mirror in the west where a red sunrise
Blazes its illusion. How many things,
Files, doorsills, atlases,wine glasses, nails
Serve us like slaves who never say a word
Blind and so mysteriously reserved.
They will endure beyond our vanishing;
And they will never know that we have gone.


Translated by Stephen Kessler

What a Wonderful...

...country we live in. It is the most beautiful and diverse land I have ever seen yet is scene to some of the weirdest instances of the political human. Our political life reminds one of a coffeehouse, or a zoo; however at the same time it displays the fragility of humanity and trains us to be less susceptible to the allure of suits and manners. The state exists for its own good which is disheartening when raising a family, however, this absent existence also gives us the thrill of being alive, by constantly bringing up new obstacles, generated spontaneously by humans placed in a lawful world where no law really works, as law is, by nature not like jelly, as it is here. With luck and street-wisdom you can be extremely rich in a very short time, but lose it all overnight as the stock markets crumbles, yet again, because some childlike adult representative throws something to another. It shows you that money rules supreme, yet also displays how huge numbers of humans can live, work, bring up families, with an amount of peanuts for money
It teaches you to despise disorder, only to find that once it's absent (say in a wonderfully ordered European town), disorder is what kept you groping for life. Without it you survive, but there always remains a sense of timelessness that un-safety and un-order brings, which is akin to what happens when one is happy. Lessons of life here are taught in contingent mysteries, and no one can guarantee what the next mystery will bring... Strange country... Really strange...

Comix and Today's Myths

It seems to me that the comics form or the graphic novel as it is called is becoming more powerful by the day. There are several reasons for this, some of which I will highlight for my own use:
1. Graphic Novels swing between reading habits by never leaving the literary completely but also relying heavily on visual habits, therefore allowing more access to readers of literary or visually oriented alike. True, this at times makes comics more superficial in theme and story but there are exceptions that challenge this and will continue to do so as the form flourishes.
2. Comix are truly a collaborative effort which pulls together various individuals that are experts in their field, which creates a true synergy. Although these days, artists and writers do get to be more in the spotlight (a remnance of our romantic heritage. cf. The Author-Function, M. Foucault), none can deny that the wrong lettering or coloring can really ruin a reading experience. This collaborative effort renders each work an ongoing process whose outcome can never be fully determined, no matter what the editor plans. In this sense, it is spontaneous, non-hierachical, experimental, anarchistic and self-reflective.
3. Most importantly I believe, is that comix tap into a collective memory that our culture desperately tries to stifle, and that is the creation or revival of myths. I cannot go into a much-needed long definition of what I mean by myth due to space and time, however suffice it to say that I think myth in terms of Jung, Bachelard and Barthes. An analogy like this may also clarify. If myths are reflections of the human psyche, one which all of us indiscriminately partake in, then myth is timeless though it alters shape and challenges rational, materialistic thought through elements of magic, such as psychic projection, belief and archetypes. Nevertheless, comix release, through its octopus-like creation, archetypes into our narrative-driven minds, that have been used and re-used all through human history. The stories they tell are no longer pigeonholed as high art or low art as they transcend these categories and stimulate psychic imaginative powers to the point of making the reader believe in them. How many Spider-Man kids do you know who aren't enslaved by their hero? Do they really care if the story is good by today's literary standards.
Now you may say, well that is what good stories do, no matter what medium. However, aiming at a totally amorphous mass of readers, this medium, more than any, balances out the literary and visuals to form a whole set of signification that neither leaves it all for the readers imagination, nor does it stifle it with its own set of visual signs a la film. This requires longer and further study of course; this is just a preliminary expression of thought, however I feel there is something in this new medium that befits the age, that reflects it and more, has a power to transform its artistic and existential sensibilities, just like earlier forms that preceded it.
I have been an addict to comics ever since I learned to make sense of art and there has never been a house I have lived in which didn't have a shelf of comics. I used to sneak them in because my mom had had enough of me, or cut class (in primary school), go to a park and sit for hours, reading every line, every shadow, every speech bubble. What it left me, and leaves me with still, is a space in my mind (as bob marley said) where mythical humans or creatures do not have to live the dreary modern day-to-day reality we have created for ourselves, do not even have to go to the bathroom, in short a space of archaic feelings and joys that can be lived on end without restraint.

Nerd wha?! - from WIRED NEWS

SXSW: Geeksta Rap Godfather's 5 Steps to Nerdcore Stardom



AUSTIN, Texas -- Nerdcore rapper wannabes, take notice. Damian Hess, better known among fans of the nerdy hip-hop subgenre as MC Frontalot, is here to school you.
The master MC (pictured above) was hanging out in Austin for South by Southwest to promote the release of Nerdcore Rising, a documentary following the godfather of the genre on his first national tour. Hess, who began rapping with friends during college, recorded his first songs as MC Frontalot nearly a decade ago.
"I called it nerdcore because I was performing for an audience of Boba Fett action figures," said Hess over dinner in Austin. "And I thought, how nerdy is this?"
Nerdcore hip-hop is shaped by geeky monikers (like Optimus Rhyme and MC Hawking) and lyrics embracing all aspects of geek culture like math skills, coding protocols and Star Wars. Not surprisingly, the underground music movement has inspired a cult following.
Want to be the next nerdcore rap superstar? Hess, aka Front, is here with five tips that will help you achieve your dreams of becoming a computer-science baller, a rhyme-spitting, algorithmic shot-caller.

Step 1: Embrace Your Inner Dorkdom
Avoid sports and those who understand sports. Cultivate instead a wide variety of intellectual pursuits, like ColecoVision. Pick your favorite Doctor Who doctor, your least favorite Trek captain and one issue of Heavy Metal to dog-ear during your post-adolescence. Be prepared to defend each of these choices in heated debate. You will waste your allowance on Marvel comic books, which is appropriate since this tip involves retconning yourself. You may, of course, skip this tip if you are already the product of a dorky childhood, or if time travel is impossible.

Step 2: Forget the People Who Dissed You Back in the Day
One day you will notice that you never really wanted to hang out with those jackasses anyway, and you will begin to feel pride over formerly shameful aspects of your character: your wealth of flawless Python quotes, your home-brewed Linux kernel, your persisting virginity. You are almost ready to rock a nerdcore track.

Step 3: Pick an Awesome Rap Name
You may want it to subtly communicate your geekishness. For reference: Kid Decoder, subtle; tEH 133t3st H4x0R 3v4RR, not subtle. Suggestion for a nerdcore lady rapper: Minnie Perl. You can have that one. Really, gratis.

Step 4: Get Ready to Rock a Nerdcore Track
Carefully choose a software multitracker, hardware D/A interface and starter microphone (Note: Those vended by Radio Shack do not rise to the level of "starter"). Learn to use these things through trial, error and the studious perusal of home-recording FAQs. Dedicate yourself to the mysterious art of beatsmithing, or just jack a drum break from your favorite old record. I use the term "record" only to be snotty; I mean MP3. Loop, repeat. Compose and record a vocal. Practice this until you are not entirely embarrassed by the result. Do not sidestep embarrassment by pretending that your song is meant to sound terrible for comic effect. Mix carefully and serve.

Step 5: Become a World-Famous Nerdcore Rap Star
I don’t have a well-developed tip for this one. I assume it just automatically happens.

Odd jobs that I like and would like to practice even if once

Taxi driver
Barber
Pottery Artisan
Bookstore clerk who is paid to talk (thus sell) to customers
Librarian
Levi's sales staff (at age 12)
Amateur Scuba-Diver Fisher
Sailor for at least a year
Psychoanalyst/Psychotherapist
Professional Juggler
Freelance seminar preparer
Bed & Breakfast manager
Comic bookstore clerk
Astronaut
Carpenter
Field-happy anthropologist
Amusement Park manager
Illusionist/Magician
Individual think-tank for researchers (paid for ideas?)
Anarchist commune worker/citizen
Tea House owner (after 60-5)
Game & Comic book reviewer
Cocktail Bartender (again and again)


still to come i m sure...

AREN’T YOU TOO YOUNG TO BE WRITING APHORISMS?



Hold soft the hammer
Lest you be the nail one day

Drink knowledge in gusts, into guts
As if stranded in a desert

Know that desires
Are there, not to be fulfilled
But enjoyed for the passion they ignite

Hope all you want
Though know it is for its own sake only

Follow not your heart
For the heart is deceitful
The heart is true the heart is chaste
Yet it recoils from its’ own shadow

Never give advice to your offspring
About wanting being real
Wanting doesn’t mean getting
And that you are also made of all else
And all else also have wants

The hare got cross with the mountain
But the mountain was unaware
(Turkish proverb)

No action is blessed
Lest it benefit someone else

Hope is no less an illusion than the world

Think of the visceral often
Scent of Man, tissue teeming
With a myriad of organisms
Marvel at the miracle of love.



9 March 2008

Babies See Pure Color, but Adults Peer Through Prism of Language

By Brandon Keim March 03, 2008


When infant eyes absorb a world of virgin visions, colors are processed purely, in a pre-linguistic parts of the brain. As adults, colors are processed in the brain's language centers, refracted by the concepts we have for them.

How does that switch take place? And does it affect our subjective experience of color? Such tantalizing questions, their answers still unknown, are raised by this developmental shift in color categorization, described today in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
To test the phenomenon, a team of British and English researchers asked adults and infants to focus on a briefly flashing target circle.
Sometimes the target appeared in the subjects' right visual fields -- roughly speaking, the right half of a person's field of vision, which is transmitted from the eyes to the brain's left hemisphere, where language processing also takes place. Sometimes the targets appeared in the left visual field, which connects to the pre-linguistic right hemisphere.
When asked to pick out a target against a similarly-colored background -- a more mentally demanding task than distinguishing between different colors -- infants performed better when the target appeared in their left visual fields. Adults, by contrast, had an easier time with targets in their right visual fields.
But might adults see colors differently? That seems plausible.
"As an adult, color categorization is influenced by linguistic categories. It differs as the language differs," said Kay, who is renowned for his studies on the ways that different cultures classify colors. He cited recent research on the ability of Russian speakers to detect shades of blue [pdf] that English speakers classify as a single color.
How does the switch to a language-bound perception of color take place?
"That's the $64,000 question," said Kay. "We have every reason to believe that learning a language has a lot to do with it -- but [as for] how that works, it's early."
Categorical perception of color is lateralized to the right hemisphere in infants, but to the left hemisphere in adults [PNAS]

A LATE REQUIEM

When I look at you,
At your eyes that shine like newly-cleaned
Windowpanes,
Your poise lean and crisp
Almost rising above ground

Your unshattered fresh belief
in a colourful reliéf
echoing your preference in technicolor,
I think of my brother,
A life sliced too thin for his loaf,
Leaving behind too many unposed questions
His poise tall and lean
Always watching the clouds above

-cut to tall sweet grass thinly disguising the headwound-

When I think of him
A lazy student who “can but won’t” do,

I feel he was right
In making merry in the short time he had,
As if he from inside, in unconscious submission
Knew his fate of multiple doom.

So I look back at you,
Your efforts so sincere
Being naive as they are,
Nonetheless they
somehow assure me
of a long life ahead.
the possibility of death being
a sculpture you never liked
but never left behind...

The Revolution will not...

There's a war going on in our country. Bodybags have begun to accumulate once again. I have financed this war for more than 10, my father, more than 20 years with the huge amounts cut from our paychecks in taxes. We've bought better weapons, planes, trains, tanks and the like. We watched our income be siphoned out at the tax ratio of a Scandinavian social welfare state, yet my daughter does not and will not have free health or education services. We've all financed so-called reform work for the last 25 years (GAP) in the region, and still we watch the same words from similar leaders' mouth coming out, as if they were ruminating discourse from years ago and just vomit it out when necessary. The worst is that the same discourse is gratuitously used by actual citizens, who take some sort of sadistic pleasure out of war. I try to sympathize with them but when I hear the charcoal-black slab of sentences that come out, I only get disgusted. A disgust that arouses pity, though with no intention to help or even converse. There's a sacrificial frenzy at the moment; metaphors of blood are on each corner. Yet we are fed the crimson flag hoisted up high, as if there still are clear-cut sides to this war
Never mind the revolution not being televised or serialized, the revolution, or any revolution will not happen until each citizen of a nation really has the means (finances? leisure? luxury?) to decide for themselves. WHO IS SPEAKING WHEN YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH TO HATRED? TO WARMONGERING? TO BIAS? TO FUNDAMENTALISM OF ALL KIND? AND WHY DO YOU LET YOUR MOUTH RUN OFF? DOESN'T ANYONE THINK ABOUT THEIR SPEECH?
One reason is it's easier, and probably is less likely to give an ulcer. I know that but that is all I know...
One contrarian of all people in Turkey, a transsexual singer, just declared that if she were to have a son, that she would do everything to not have him go off to the war. An honest statement that probably comes out of mothers all over, daily. But Presto! The lynching process began. Now she will be sent to court. This is a typical case for Turkey. Our hundreds of columnists don't get into trouble (because most are for the war, and probably those who are against have far too many court cases to have the courage to handle yet another one.). Another singer (a woman ifyoucanbelieveit-I've long lost faith in a matriarchal world, these women have bigger balls than me) stood up, spouted the usual slogans handed by our leaders and added that if her son needed to die, so be it... HOW CAN YOU SAY THIS AND LOOK YOUR SON IN THE EYE WITH LOVE ,WOMAN? Necessity, self-defense etc. is one thing, volunteering to die is another. I mean in today's world, can anyone name a sacred cause for war? independence? wtf does that mean when the stock market carshes in the states we all lose? nationhood? what does that mean? unity? define please. Resources? How much of it will trickle into your paycheck do you think? Love of your country? Would you ask your girl/boyfriend to shoot herself for your love?
Sorry but my stomach is turning over, I have to go throw up.

We live in such a sick world that the ones who are the best adapted to it, who glide among the classes untouched, unscathed, and who continue to pursue the good life without noticing that it is to the expense of millions of people, are the most vicious psychopaths. If you're somewhat deranged, mentally unstable, and generally depressed due to the nastiness you see, cherish it, you're still human.

Freak-folk ya da Sürrealist Amerikan Köylüleri

Amerika'da yeni peydah olduğu söylenen bir akım var: Freak-folk. Benim açımdan gitarın dinlenebilecek bir sertlikte seyretmesi ve idie rock müziğe beni geri döndürebilmesi kıstas oldu bu yeni akımla ilgilenmeme. Bazı temsilcileri şöyle: Calexico (Texas), Iron & Wine (South Carolina), CocoRosie (NY), Songs: Ohia (Ohio). Enstrümanların dizilişi ve kullanılışı amerikan folk müzisyenleriyle (Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon vs.) aynı ama "freak" diye tabir edilmelerini sağlayan, duruşları ve sözleri. Hoş ABD de freak tabir edilmek hem çok kolay hem çok zor. Georgia'da "freak" olmak kolaydır da NY'de mesela "freak" olabilmek CocoRosie'nin acaip şairaneliği ve cinsel yönelim/deneyim + sahne şovu vs. gibi ek gayretler gerektirir. Ancak bu gruplar arasında ortak nokta aranacaksa, tekinsiz bir içedönüklük ve sürrealizme varan tuhaflıkta sözler, temalar bulunabilir. Herhalükarda Bob Dylanların barış, sevgi, gelenek vs. gibi kaygılarından pek fazlasının olduğu söylenemez. Daha çok gotik münzeviler gibi takılıyorlar sanki. Neyse bana gitar dinletiyorlar ya...

SOMETIMES AN ASS IS JUST AN ASS!

One of the things I really like about Turkey, is the understanding among the people that strained kindness is unnecessary. By strained kindness, I have in mind especially the myriad times I heard 'thank you' and 'excuse me' in the US and especially, because of its wider implications, the idea of political correctness. Daily discourse in the US is so widely regulated that one speaks in fear of causing offense, especially when identity politics are at stake. I can see the reasons for defining your identity, however, once the identity is socially accepted as a fact, the ongoing usage of a particular term actually turns onto itself and enables more pigeonholing than integration. Politics that were out for integration become separatist themselves. Bestowing so much meaning & importance on a word, I think has limiting consequences. Words should belong to us, not us to them; in the end we created them. Limiting your infinite being to some inadequate consensual description seems to me to be not only a waste of time and friendship but also is damaging to society as a whole where the once liberating differences become rigid categories and thus are used to usurp discursive power over other 'difference-bearers'.
In this sense, we all know that politicians use language in a vacuous way, where meaning sometimes can be disguised to the extent that what ends up coming out is a waste of concentration. I recall the speeches by Bush and Cheney, especially the one where Cheney speaks on account of WMD in Iraq (We know what we didn't know and so on). Somehow we take this for granted. We may laugh but in fact we just stomach it silently, chasing it to the realm of politics, which we should all take part in but since we're civilized, we make do with voting.
Coming back to Turkey, the recent discourse our PM is using is criticized to death as rude, crude and full of fury. I agree totally however, there is something to be said about revealing your true nature through words, without thinking of etiquette. From a larger perspective, it seems to me that Erdoğan frequently has in mind the expression I put in the title. That sometimes, an ass should be called an ass, and not a behind or buttocks etc. And since we all possess one, what in god's name difference does it make when you call it in a more polite way? You're talking about an 'impolite' body part in the first place!
In the same vein, I find Erdoğan's blasting ghetto-mouth as a funny twist in Turkish politics. As much as he is showing his true colors (hideous to you and I, they may be, but that is not the issue), he also is bringing the level of discourse 'down' therefore is setting an example to potential politicians who may break this uniformity that world politics have. How many of you really believe there is a person underneath those black suits and ties? Only socialists and communists break this taboo of dressing and most of us dismiss them as being unrealistic and such. However the buzz word difference can only really be in vogue if we actually see the true colors of our politicians and recognize their differences, albeit it may be from physical appearance at first.
Calling an ass an ass in full comfort and liberty, without causing offense is the point where humans interact with humans directly, without the intervention of power politics. I remember feeling elated when I was able to call my black (African) friends niggers and laugh about it together. They called me 'white-ass' back, which is- in skin color- true and there's nothing I can do about it. I was later promoted to a 'wigga' (white-nigger) which made me even more happy, but hey, I'm not going to go around telling black folk that 'I understand your struggle' (like many white folk do, in a patronizing manner I believe) and such, because I truly can't; my experience in life is different. But I can sympathize and try to understand, as long as I am provided with an entrance to their discourse. Barring me from using your words, is not going to make me appreciate you. Letting me use them provides a lesson in tolerance
Also, like a great friend of mine said once, 'küfür ruhun yelpazesidir' : 'Cursing is a fan for the soul'
So yes, words carry power, yes we have to think twice before saying anything, but sometimes an ass really is an ass, and nothing more.

"Doğaya Dönüş" hadisesi...

Hepimiz artık şu küresel ısınma mevzuundan yeterince haberdarızdır. Garip olan bir anda Al Gore'la başlayan, tüm zengin sınıfları ve anamal sahiplerini etkisi altına alan "haydi bu düzeni durduralım" vari çırpınışların ortaya çıkması. Kesin bir iş var burada diyordum ki bir anda Le Monde Diplomatique'ın Şubat sayısında bir makale yardımıma yetişti. Mevzu Fransa'da ki kayak merkezlerinin küresel ısınma sonucu karsız kalması, sonra da mevcut müşterinin daha ucuz olan Avusturya veya Bulgaristan'da ki kayak merkezlerine kayması.Görünen o ki, küresel ısınmadan yakınan zengin kesimin derdi başka: yani her zamanki gibi, kar marjı! Aman boş kalmasın merkezler, aman zenginler başka yere gitmesin kayağa!
Küresel Isınmadan nemalanan -dolaylı ve söylemsel yoldan- bir başka kesim daha var dünyada, o da Renaud'nun deyimiyle BoBo'lar, yani "Bohem Burjuvalar". Bizde neye tekabül ediyorlar derseniz, herhalde en yakını "cihangir cumhuriyeti" denilen oluşum. Dertleri nedir ve nasıl dile getirilir?
1. "Abi bıktım ben bu pistanbul'dan, şöyle alacaksın bir arsa güneyden, çek kayığını da oooh!"
2. "Şehir hayatı kasıyor abi, doğadan koptukça insanlıktan çıktık, hadi geri gidek!"
3. "Şehir hayatı doğal değil, kır hayatı doğal!"

Bu süregiden doğaya dönüş muhabbeti bana acaip ikiyüzlü geliyor. Neden?
1. Şehri pisleten senden gayrı tipler değil ki! Hepimiz bir olup pisletiyoruz. İnsan çöp ve dışkı üreten varlıktır. Bunu değiştirmeye çalışmadan ister fizan'a kaç, pislik seni bulur. Daha biz "geri dönüşüm" ün ne olduğunu yeni anlıyoruz yahu!
2. Şehirle kır arasındaki kurulan bu "doğa" anlayışındaki zıtlığın kökleri 18. yy Romantiklerinden çıkma doğa tasvirlerine gidiyor. Yani bu romantize edilmiş, şairane bir duyarlığın göstergesi sayılan doğa sevgisi, gerçek anlamda doğayı değil, insanın kendi yüceltmesi (süblimasyon) sonucu oluşturduğu bir figüre gönderme yapıyor. Bir düşünün doğa dediğinizde pastoral manzaralar, saçlarda uçuşan doğalına dönmüş saçlar ve serbestçe koşturan bin türlü hayvanat geliyor mu, gelmiyor mu? Peki bu mudur doğa denilen ya da gidilecek olan?
3. Yine aynı zıtlığı bir de şöyle açalım: Şehirde tükettiğiniz elektrik, su, doğal gaz, kırda da tükenmeyecek mi? Tüketilecek, üstüne üstlük belki de daha fazlası tüketilecek, zira şehirde yaratılmış düzeni doğaya uydurmaya çalışırken (zira kabul edelim, pek azımız hakkıyla bir Manisa Tarzanı olarak yaşayabiliriz) şehirde tükettiğimizden daha da fazla benzin ve elektrik tüketeceğiz. Misal bir süpermarkete şehirde yürüyerek ulaşıyoruz, halbuki kırsalda mesafeler daha uzun, dolayısıyla araba daha da önem kazanıyor. Bir de şehirdeyken taksitle aldığınız plazma tv yi almayacak mısınız yanınıza? Alacaksınız tabii, hem de bilgisayar, playstation vd elektronik malzemeyle...
Sonra ne oldu? hadi döndük doğaya... Bir de ıslık çal koyunlara da tam olsun!

jujustan

MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

jujustan

jujustan

Bebeğim doğdu, kendisi özgür ruhunu her fırsatta bize göstermeye niyetli. İnsan olmak için bu kadar gayret gösteren bir bebek daha görmedim. Daha iki haftalık ama elleri sürekli birşeyler arıyor, esniyor, geriniyor, ayaklarını ittiriyor, çekiyor, sanki spor yapıyor. Yüzü bin türlü değişik şekil alıyor, öyle ki her yaştan insana benzeyebiliyor. Nasıl bir tohum içinde bir ağacı ve bin türlü yaprağı barındırıyorsa, bu bebekte olabilecek yüzbinlerce değişik insan çehresini barındırıyor sanki. Ve şu an hepsini özgürce deneme zamanı (ya da bilinçsizce kaslarını oynatma zamanı). Hangisinin yüzüne oturacağını bekleyip göreceğiz. Geliş koşullarını düşündükçe, kendisinin bu işe niyetlendiğini, herşeyi onun ayarladığını ve tıkır tıkır işleyen bir doğumu da onun sayesinde yaşadığımızı hissediyorum. O derin buğulu mavi gözlerine baktığımda da önceki cümledeki deli saçması gibi görünen önermelerin hepsinin doğru olduğunu bir kez daha anlıyorum. Biz sana kontrol edemediğin o kaslarını kullanmada yardımcı olacağız sevgili Susum, sen de bize unuttuğumuz, unutturulduğumuz o saf sevginin hüküm sürdüğü diyardan bilgelik getireceksin.

gençlerin cinsi hezeyanları üzerine...

bu da başımıza gelecekti demek...
sinemaların haftaiçi erken seanslarını ziyaret etmek uzun zamandır düşündüğüm birşeydi. bu saatlerde gelen insanların ilginç hayali durumlara beni sevketmesinin yanı sıra, bizim hanımın "kapalı alanlar ve egzibisyonizm" adlı doktora tezinin alan çalışmalarının hiç olmazsa öznel deneyim tarafını aradan çıkarmayı umuyorduk. salonda kimsecikler yoktu, yaşlı iki bayan, bir-iki çocuktan ibaretti. filmin bol gürültülü olması işimize gelecekti. en arka sıraya oturmaya davranacakken, makinistin dev camdan bizi görebileceğini bizim hanımın hatırlatmasıyla, bir alt sırada sağcanak koltuklara oturduk. tam yalnızlığını tadını çıkaracağımıza dair öngörülerde bulunuyorduk ki arka sıraya, tam da bizim vazgeçtiğimiz yere, gencecik şuh giyinmiş bir hanımkız, yanında kısa boylu, zakariyas modeli saçlı bir delikanlıyla oturdu. kötü talihimize lanetler okuyarak, dikkatimizi filme yönelttik.
filmin ikinci yarısının ortaların doğru yukarıdan koluma birşey damladığını hissettim. hanıma sordum, pek oralı olmadı. klima suyudur diye konuyu kendimce kapattım.
çıkışta kolumun üzerindeki lekeyi farketmem için bol ışıltılı bir yere oturmamız gerekti. hanıma bu kez, kendimin cevabından emin olduğum soruyu sordum:
-bu ne?
hanım dikkatle baktı, biraz dokundu, kıvamını hissedince,
-sümük, dedi.
ancak yanılıyordu.
koluma damlamış olan kıvamlı köpüksü maddenin zakariyas modeli daçlı delikanlının ersuyu olduğundan yüzdeyüz emindim. ani bir tiksintiyle kalktım.
hanım gülüyordu:
-bu sana bir mesaj olmasın bey? dedi.
bir cevap vermeden lavaboya yollandım. yolda, "boynuz kulağı geçermiş" diye düşünüyor, delikanlının locistik başarısına gıpta etmekten kendimi alamıyordum. hanımın doktora tezi böylesine bir şahitlikle mutlaka zenginleşecekti.

climbing up the walls...

the kids are climbing up the walls... full proof that what we are doing may be somewhat unnatural...sadistic thoughts of leashes given out at the school gates...taking them out on a field trip to a faraway island and leaving them there...let the lord of the flies decide who stays and who comes back...and until then, we sit by the pool siping our cocktails, chirping birds on the branches above us covering us in a sleepy, melodic breeze streaming through the leaves, cushioning the sunlight.