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Wednesday, January 16, 2019

Stills from 'Adieu au Langage' / 'Goodbye to Language' (2014) ⁓ A Film by Jean-Luc Godard

As I have probably mentioned for the umpteenth time, but never stopped obscuring the essence of it, to put it in brief - I am authoring a paper on linguistics, cognitive and organisational psychology, and the role of capital in changing the behaviour of language. Now, since this is essentially mind boggling, I wanted something that could set the fuel on fire by primarily isolating you from the subject, and then letting you explore the remaining subjectivity from the topic altogether. Jean-Luc Godard is the piper at the gates of dawn, changing the dynamics of time and space and motion like an artist, like a loner, like sensation of pain, like the transcendence in the shades of summer evenings. So here, we will let the stills do the talking instead of Roger Ebert and still insinuate that Godard is not for everybody, and especially not for the faint-hearted!

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Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Playlist Sessions : Third Day ⁓ 'For Emma, Forever Ago' by Bon Iver

It so happened that one rainy day when I went out in the neighbourhood and was on my way back, it began raining very heavily that it drenched my clothes and my skin and perforated my ribs and clasped all the organs inside for a while before saying goodbye. And I accidentally ended up listening to this. I later realised the song hadn't left, it clung to my wet clothes like the last bits of rain on the planet and when I changed to dry ones instead, it still reminded of the essence of wet soil and just how the world looks different,tender once it has rained after long. 

First things first, the lyrics to the song is liquidated poetry taking the shape of an incandescent source of light. It might be a lost place, a memory, a verdict passed, someone's face or just an urge to return to something you cannot clearly make sense of. Whatever 'it' is, it is breathtakingly beautiful and sad. And somehow, given the circumstances I was subject to while listening to this, drenched in rainwater, crazily in love with the verses, almost stupefied and physically numb - I have shared more than six months of prolonged, irreversible kind of pain with the song itself. 

(Photograph Source: Wikipedia)

There is a very subversive, epigamic kind of attraction that you might possibly feel while listening to this. It's volatile, but essentially and rudimentarily sad and in its consistency almost rooted in brutal sorrow that vents out your incapable attempts to recurringly address the secrets behind motion. Out of all the songs included in the playlist session until now, this is a distinguished expression of genius and I would very much like to know someday, what made Justin Vernon write something like this - because as evident as it is, you can't at all afford to write something this crazy without going through some kind of emotive discourse that
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Monday, January 7, 2019

Playlist Sessions : Second Day ⁓ 'Cinder and Smoke' by Iron and Wine

There is something very uncanny about how the song begins and ends and everything in between - it's very hard to put in words what exactly that might be. Primarily, all I can say is that I have never heard a song so Freudian in my entire life. Not even kidding. As far as Sam Beam's poetry is concerned, it is but breathtakingly beautiful and this is not an exception. But there is a certain 'something else' that resonates with the other worldly yet so close vibes that the song literally radiates. 

What possibly is the matter of subjective analysis confronts the sensation of memory inside your memories, within your ideation of memory and how you genuinely perceive it. The narration particularly is more disturbing than anything else yet is attractive in essence to how disturbing things are often attractive. The song also calls for some kind of haunting deep inside - which although not specifically associated with fear is associated with travelling back or finding out something unwanted while somewhat covertly asking for the whole experience altogether.

(Photograph Source : YouTube)

More than other things, the lyrics and the musical composition put up together is a psychological roller coaster that takes you through a remarkable experience. It's most definitively greater than "just a song". The pungent country flavour, solid and prominent musical notes is a blend of classic and contemporary that is very Iron and Wine like, so when you listen to it - you know you're listening to something that has evidently been composed by Sam Erwin Beam. The poetry is probably easy on the eyes despite being effortlessly complicated on the inside. 

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Saturday, January 5, 2019

Playlist Sessions : First Day ⁓ 'In Tall Buildings' by Gregory Alan Isakov

Out of the covertly abusive cycles of torture that we now survive in, the worst affected are those who have been separated from the ability to identify with the basic elemental beauty of life. The mainstream (pro-American) agenda to crush down anything musical to everything that is primarily very un-musicly and very oppressive, from many perspectives. 'In Tall Buildings' is an original work written, composed and sung by John Hartford. You can also listen to the Max Gomez version of the song on YouTube - Gomez has a deeper voice and has covered the song in a more country folk kinda way it should have been sung long ago in. But somehow, despite the materially qualitative differences, I would somewhat distinctively prefer the Gregory Alan Isakov out of all three versions. 

To be honest, this song was nowhere nearby my playlist until last evening when I accidentally came across this playing in the background while editing certain content. The moment the strumming began and his voice started flowing across the teal of the water somewhere in Cornwall, I got really really distracted. 

(Photograph Source : Vimeo)

Now, as a poet, Isakov is a gem of a man. His choice of poetry in that sense is essentially commendable but what strikes harder is the way he sings a song - any song. Neo-country oriented genres are also important technically if you have to preserve and carry in your veins a lineage of musical understanding inherited from the surroundings and from those who have carried it in them throughout their lives. It's lifetimes of music that probably transcends into newer, relevant, sweet sounds and words that are guardian angels in disguise. 

On the other hand, since I'm doing my best to study language as a science, music is necessary and an important part of the 'basics' that deserve introspection at its best. And honestly speaking, any genre remotely linked to folk music is a political statement at this point of time. (Not even kidding.) 

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Wednesday, December 26, 2018

Grammatically Perfect, Semantically Absurd : Beyond Game Theory and the Three Laws of Gravitation

There is an awkward missing link paraphrasing the silence in context of the relationship shared by Game Theory, Social Psychology and behavioural sciences in general. As an easy example, take the case of the lions and lambs wherein in a desolate island, there lives "n" pack of lions,where n depicts a positive whole number (given the fact that we are used to excluding the freedom of not being, and have evolved an extent of sanity that allows us to cardinally ensure that each of us, indeed are another sample in the random set) and in the otherwise absurdly desolate island that is devoid of herbivores, a pretty little lamb sets feet one fine morning. Now, we begin to explore what would happen if the number of lion(s), was 1. This would result in the lion eating the lamb.
If the number of lambs was going to be 2, then one lion eating the lamb would result in the other lion turning into a metaphoric lamb himself. Hence, both the lions would most probably resent themselves from consuming the lamb. Again, say the number of lions were 3. If one of the lions ended up eating the lamb, it would turn into a lamb and the other two lions could split and savour their "newfound lamb" into two equal pieces. That being said, every odd number of lions constituting the set of lions present in the island would result in the number of lions being reduced to (n-1). This would possibly keep all the lions from hunting the lamb at all!
Now, take into account the arbitrary case of human beings and the way they form conglomerates in the modern times. The first example that comes to mind is how industries morph together for combined benefits. However, what about the ways in which our language is morphed to an universally standardised version of a certain code? 

Most people familiar with the absurdist genre existent in literature, including say, Edward Lear's poems or Kafka's short stories (the really short ones, especially). In his 1957 book 'Syntactic Structures', Chomsky wrote the famous sentence "Colourless green ideas sleep furiously." As you figure out for yourself that the sentence is indeed semantically absurd, it is absolutely grammatically correct. If grammar is compared to norms in this context, then semantics would probably converge with the open set of "imagination". Henceforth, an error or two - which are definitely not sampling errors but are mathematical errors happening from a not so mathematically defined, illogical world of lost causes and secrets buried deeper at the core of the planet. Here in case of the concentration of wealth in the hands of few and the rising trends regarding the same that have persisted ever since the harrowing pace of industrialisation has taken over our sad old life, such a truth is merely speculated yet is very visible. 

The positivist, functionalist and overtly Darwinist perspectives on anything concerning wealth and power have hit hard the very existence of life forms on earth. However apocalyptic and antagonistic this might sound, eventually the truth lies in cohorts of ruthless mercenaries that instead of leading us to signs of leveraging lifelines substitutes the urge to survive with a concurrent taste in utterly dystopic situations. The dilemma, hence is not and should not be constricted with closed sets, to begin with, if we are to begin our work of excavating the other versions of truth that doesn't match with the imperialistic agenda to consume all that it can on its way to take the form and features of a massive black hole. 

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Sunday, December 23, 2018

Recurrent Obsession : 'This Empty Northern Hemisphere' and 'Our Endless Numbered Days'

It has been a while since we have talked music. And even though I'm probably better at solving equations and calculating moves, I think for once, I might be in love - helplessly in love with two musicians of my time who I can't believe even exist to this day. Isakov is still comprehensive to an extent that it is possible to talk about his music, which is wholesome, rustic, pretty, evolved, melancholic and intoxicating. Iron and Wine, is probably each of these coupled with the fact that Sam Ervin Beam's music is enchanting and crazy and like Van Gogh's "Sorrow" - soething you cannot possibly afford to talk about, in details. 

There was this one time when I was fifteen and used to live by the side of the river I had grown up with, and every night would want to make me desperately run away from the world and seek refuge in perceiving its beauty. Beauty that it was, that it imparted into my eyes and the ecstasy inside. It was irresistible, it wanted me to believe I was constituted out of something else - something other than skin and muscles and bones. Something as crazy as Kafka's short stories or the sound of bells or the causality behind the beasts barking every night like the dead exist. Sam's music reminds me of tangentially touching these points, of wombs and ashes spread across galaxies, of musk, of umbilical cords, of a pair of other-worldly eyes. 

(Photograph Source : Genius)

You would know art is art when it defies both grammar and semantics and challenges you to figure out the fault. I'm listening to 'Sodom, South Georgia' for the fourty-sixth time as I write this and I probably will obsess a bit more about Iron and Wine than I will about Isakov simply because I couldn't muster the courage to listen to 'Our Endless Numbered Days' for almost a year. If you ever look deep into the stature and expression of a language, you would know how it stretches far, far beyond the universal set we are constantly trying to define. It fills the gaps and voids between the arts and the sciences. There is one very ecstatic, arousing element about Beam's work - which combines sexuality, origin, urge, instincts so deeply yet so wildly that it almost cuts through the skin. The first time I listened to him was after I had listened to Isakov's cover of 'The Trapeze Swinger' and it depicted absurdist fiction in music. Absurdity in music other than 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' or 'Strawberry Fields Forever' are not very easily identifiable. On top of that, I don't understand why the rave is so harsh about the Beatles because they lack the melancholy, in all circumstances and nothing will ever suffice for that. This is one big reason why Tarkovsky is more renowned than say, Wes Anderson or Tolstoy is legendary. This is also a huge advantage point for Pink Floyd, who at least have elements of resistance, of action of some kind or the urge for the same in their music. 

(Photograph Source : Wikipedia)

Now, being very gentle on the critical side, Justin Bieber or Rihanna or even Beyonce or Adele will not be even remotely close for comparison with any of these artists. Primarily, the genres are distinguished, highly unique, poetic, philosophical - unlike the regular high-slit-on-the-red-dress-worth-4000-dollars technique. Secondarily, we're strictly talking art here, and not how desirable the artist is from the consumer's perspective and finally, most pop-culture icons right now have no idea about songwriting or the basic idea of art one needs to absorb before writing a song. On a positive note, we have discovered some fine treasure here and we certainly can indulge into the same and not be pessimistic about the future of doomsday. There still is hope somewhere, that art will survive. 

Coming back to Beam's music, the drive to trace back the causality behind sexuality and its attributes is visible if you take a closer look. It is Freudian, even - if you haven't sensed that already. It was apparently quite shocking to listen to 'Cinder and Smoke' for the first time. Incidentally, I can also smell the wintery notes in his music and it was practically one winter from now that I got introduced to his music. 'Upward Over the Mountain' is on the contrary, a softer song, something that easily assimilates into the veins. 'Sodom South Georgia' is as beautiful as 'Take Me To Church' and Sam's voice has a very sultry, very sensual element in it - which other than being melancholy is insanely attractive.

Now, I have certain memories attached to Isakov's music ; so I probably will never know if I will have a perception of his work devoid of propensities of the positive kind. One of the first songs I had listened to was 'Universe' and I felt a dagger piercing through the skin, then the rib, then the heart until it reached skin on the other side back again. It was so uniquely put together in such a short span of time that it has got the x-factor that drives the listener half-crazy at first sight. This however, compared to Iron and Wine's work, is more descriptive, less absurd, less insane, softer, more tender
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Sunday, December 9, 2018

Toasted between Sadism and Twilight : What are We Headed Towards?

Apart from the pathetic title and not-so-sweet narrative of the content, there is so regarding our lives right now that is actually terrible. Ever since I have come across technosociologist Zeynep Tufekci and her take on the technological evil that has been causing the tremendously consistent apocalyptic weather around, Chomsky and George Orwell are coming back interjectionally (and that's not nice). 
Let us talk of simpler things.If you're keeping a close watch as to how monopolies function, you'll be heading towards a politically nihilistic contextual discourse. What is even better is that you can forge (I repeat, forge) the same through channelisations that monopolise what you wanted to be a critique to the mechanism of monopolies. The police are everywhere - morally, sentimentally, sexually, politically, pragmatically and metaphysically spooling your brains out like intestinal muscles in a manner using which forensic experts almost always manage to look down at corpses as if they were simply a numerical endeavour. 

Twilight is supposed to be the transitional area between day and night, between sensation and calculation but we who choose the latter are better at the game of thrones than nobodies who cling to the dominating side of fate. In between the paradigms shifting faster than the speed of light, we are beings trying to stay afloat, to pace up and not make things look derogatory. The problem is how every single dynamic makes the entire situation look like an introduction to a completely dystopic novel. With scarce forms of non-determinism being inculcated in the veins of the modern homo sapiens, there is more to "species" than dilemma in the midst of nothing. The amnesic nature of our understanding, the short-lived collective memory and the absence of thought, the apparent motive of being and refuting all means of supporting life further is anything else but incandescent, anymore. The ordeal of rising up or even questioning the question regarding the question itself is intrinsically insignificant. 

Coming back to the real world, a publication regarding the misdeeds of both Hindu and Islamic fundamentalists from both India and Bangladesh should be up in around a month, after which I will be posting the details of the same. I still am succumbing to the dread caused by limited referencing of time and do not see the tiniest dent in the schedule that would allow the littlest of breaks until at least the month of March. However, there is a pretty intriguing piece
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Monday, December 3, 2018

Movie Review : Her (2013)

The movies that appeal the most are the ones that cease to look like a movie every single chance they have. 'Her', at its best (and probably also the worst) felt like the pages of a book, one whose genre you could possibly never decide. In fact, the pages shift so fast that you can only wish they retained a little longer. 

One clear thing that the movie stands out is in its background designing, the constituent features and the highly neat, minimalist layout. Henceforth, you never notice the beauty of anything but the true context and the truer characters. What follows is the grace in the antithesis of what you might call time itself, or something even bigger. Despite the complexity of the subject(s), the director who also happens to be the writer of the film did a magnificent job in allowing an almost spectacularly spontaneous transcendence. The blend is super fine, like cosmic dust and ethereal symphonies intermingling to form a different dimension, something that "exists" outside the physical word - an area of emphasis that has been worked upon at the end of the film.

The film stands out at its depiction of the highly complicated subject with a fairly simple storyline. Almost any other film that shares a common interest or lineage, including Kubrick's 'A Space Odyssey', Nolan's 'Interstellar' or as for that matter, von Trier's 'Melancholia' or Michael Gondry's 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' share sheer brilliance ; however all the other storylines are highly hypothetical and need substantial analysis and counter-analysis, cinematic knowledge for the petty purpose of being communicated or understood, to begin with. 

'Her' combines romance, sexuality, cognition, human psychology, metaphysics and poetry together in a narrative that flows as easily as the dialogues that paint the greater picture. 

Joaquin Phoenix, as Theodore Twombly - couldn't have had a more perfect match. Joaquin almost penetrated and reprogrammed the nature of the character, then presented it in his own perception of perplexity, in his own understanding of nature. Not to mention how good Rooney Mara as Catherine Klausen felt, both in  portrayal and summarisation. Scarlett Johansson as Samantha (voice only) was near perfect, too. However, a little something - like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle was missing, and I could not fish out proper terminology for it but honestly speaking, somebody with more depth of thought would have suited the role better. 

The dilusion of the context and its encapsulation into something so fluid, so easy on the eyes yet not superficial at all, something so deep yet so prominent and profound without insinuating the imposition of the most complicated of theroies, or as for that matter even hypotheses previously not known. The entire backdrop is extremely elucidated, in a certain sense yet never overcrowded, never distorted. The void is felt in every second, "the gaping hole in the heart" is both semantically and metaphorically
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Sunday, November 11, 2018

Last Post before Travelling to the Conference in Arunachal Pradesh

The opportunity cost of being an academician is too high for an idealistic soul (I'm not advocating my own self, don't even imagine it). For example, you feel like an idle something in the middle of a sadistic nowhere, not functioning, chained to an extent that you'll suffocate and succumb to your own wounds. It doesn't just let you be happy on any note anywhere anymore. And no matter how superficial it might feel on the surface, we're a bunch of wanderers making a fool of ourselves, operating within a system that will never allow freedom of speech in forms of language that can be easily absorbed. No matter what you do, you'll always feel a snowflake sneaking under the sleeve of your comforter, tickling your spine every now and then, asking you too many questions. 
I've observed this one truth about crowds. They have a certain pattern of anonymity attached to their intrinsic value. The goal is tipping off the bigger bait while one's fishing in the human pond of amenity and value judgement. It seldom scares you. It only makes you feel like..."I've got wild staring eye/And I've got a strong urge to fly/But I got nowhere to fly to..." The storm somewhere, is earnestly brewing right now. You seem to feel it, understand the notes in its essence, understand the paltry, useless, cliche crisis of hunger and choose to go on understanding furthermore. The era of questions has quenched our thirst with an urge to eternally go on consuming instead - consuming time, consuming space and whatever comes in between. 

On the top of deep realisations that nonetheless never affect the shiny presentations I deal with, it's the seasonal affecting disorder period of the year and even physical labour doesn't effectively curb the pain down. I still am travelling to a certain land where people have been suffering for more than I will ever be capable of pragmatically realising, more than I'll possibly experience practically, more than I will ever be able to put words into a charismatic article. I am definitely not sorry. I still will never get over the obsession with fine grades, valued opinions, organised debates, corporate presentations, targeted motives, the glamour of it all.
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Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Dire Notes : Flight

Once I'd caught a glance of her. It was a full moon night and I was counting footsteps in the attic. I gazed upon her naked body half in awe, and half in ecstasy. She was like an epiphany of nebulae sinking deep into the ocean of oblivion. I wanted to grasp her, absorb what was remnant of her other than the thoughts that constituted the infinite in me back at that moment. I wanted to bathe in the light of what she held against and amidst the same time. I felt time surrender at her somber feet and piercing gaze. 

The Great Comet of 1680 over Rotterdam by Lieve Verschuier 
Photograph Source : Wikipedia

She ran through me, tearing my flesh, intertwining what still was mine and what wasn't in the blink of an eye. The wind echoed around. I walked sown the flight of stairs like a snake about to shed its skin. I could feel her breath, the history of the galaxies attached to her fragrance carved the shape of the moon, of the day that struck against the course of the night like a gong hitting an ancient bell in the distant hills. 
Of mountains and echoes, of gallant silences that have preserved themselves in the caves and the whirlpools, she resonated the inconsistent spirit of a light
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