Rocks and sounds

imagepolice — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 20:10:33 +0000

Well, disagree with me, but we are rocks. The fact that we enjoy existence is because of our five senses, detecting sounds and light waves provoking little nerve endings, weaving them into perception of something beautiful or otherwise. Our voices are but another bunch of waves that we learnt to twist, bend and control over time and give them names we call meanings. Much like the sounds of other objects, a crack in the trees, or the ocean hitting the shores. We don’t listen to these of course. These are not words. Just sounds of nature, things, not like us. Perception tells us that. The chemical reactions in our brains that form memory. The same memory responsible for us telling apart emotions of others, cry when sad, laugh when happy or heard sounds which are given humorous meanings. Something funny we call it. A joke. Another chemical reaction occurs, creating a sense of sympathy when we see fluid rolling down the eyes of others. Must be in pain, our memory tells us that that is what we do when we are hurt. The sound of sorrow we labeled it. A wailing sound. Similar to the wailing sounds of the police car siren. Or a piece of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor. Are all these sounds of sorrow? How about, the wailing sound of a hungry stray cat meowing for food? No, it’s just midnight sounds keeping us awake not unlike that furniture being dragged next door at 3am. We do the same about both sounds, turn in our beds, chemical reaction occurs, irritation, says the memory. Our five senses, honed over millions of years, tell us, we are not objects but intelligent beings. We give ourselves a name too. Humans. Millions of years. That is a long way. As long as it took the oceans to shape the continents. But continents are not Humans. They are rocks. Soil. Just land. Not like us. Intelligent beings. Who can read between the lines. Decipher poetry. Perceive beauty. But not the sounds of objects. The leaves rustle. The thunder roars. The horses neigh, even of tales of slavery. Dogs bark, even of abuse. Cats mew, even out of sorrow. These are just noises. They don’t have words. We don’t have to listen. Not even to this text I am typing. After all, it’s just a result of an object flapping its fingers against another object. Just would a tree, its leaves against the brick wall. Existence? With a voice. Is overrated. A balloon, still exist after it was popped. To die, to cease to exist? We still exist after we die. Not with a voice you say. Neither have the balloon. Cremated to ashes, or buried underground, is still existence. Just like before we have that voice, just like before we were born. Existence is just a word. Our word. These skin, these bones. They must have come from somewhere. Carbons from nutrition, our mothers consumed, made them. Carbons exist. I know, not with a voice, they don’t. What happens after we die? Become part of the Earth, the soil. The land? The rocks. Of languages and lifestyle. Handshakes and hugs. Kisses and punches. Just like the rock we kick, hitting on another rock. Kisses? Hugs? They exist. Listen closer as it bounced on the concrete floor. Sounds. Like when we grit our teeth in anger. Only ours have a name, anger. So it matters. We are special, intelligent beings. Capable of naming things. Of memory in abysmal minds which are capable of chemical reactions. Oh, just like the trees photosynthesizing? We are not rocks but trees. No? They can flap leaves like I do my fingers on this object we name the computer. No, we have laws and grammar, I don’t. You know, having read this far. I am a pine cone then. Or maybe we are brick walls. Clay is soil too. Land. Continents. The state in which we will be after we “don’t” exist anymore. So we are bricks. Only named something else. I’d prefer rocks.

Missing cube

imagepolice — Tue, 25 May 2010 09:02:12 +0000

Been 3 weeks since I left Meowland. As tiny as it was, the current space has even less to offer. Afterall it was just a cube up in the air, at least I got to be the only one to breathe the music-coloured and tobacco-filled air. Like a mini getaway, instant vacation. Looks like I have to hunt for alternative location down the road.

From Jogja with love..

imagepolice — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 17:33:07 +0000

I’ll find you somewhere.

imagepolice — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 15:33:55 +0000

I will.

School

imagepolice — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 14:05:15 +0000

School has just started again, putting my long slumber to a halt. Time to shift up the gears and work harder this time round. Previous hard work didn’t quite bear the fruits I was expecting, but I’m just glad I made it fairly well. I have to admit that it is nice to see the studio people again, knowing the kinds of fun we are capable of.

Welcome to the world little one..

imagepolice — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 16:15:16 +0000

My niece is here! Born the day before yesterday. So I guess if she could talk, the phrase “I wasn’t born yesterday” would still apply. Hehe! Anyway, shes beautiful. I know it’s your first time, but come home quick..!

Ps: Happy belated Birthday, Mum.

Harith and me

imagepolice — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 14:38:14 +0000

A rainy afternoon out with little Harith.

Glorious

imagepolice — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 13:20:39 +0000

Electronics 101

imagepolice — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 12:12:17 +0000

When novelty and curiosity are put together, you get things like this. A homemade speaker, in a shape of Gatsby Moving Rubber, just the kind of things I do with too much time on my hands.

Corporate Coffee

imagepolice — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 11:52:51 +0000

Caramel Frappucino. New York Cheesecake. A fairly long tradition. We should be given loyalty credits.

Of love bites