Like the Damned
Mood:  amorous
Topic: Poetry

"Make love to me like the damned," she said, as she clamped his eyes with hers.
She gripped his neck and pulled. She kissed him -- hard. Little bruises-to-be stung his lips.
She gasped. "Fuck me like you're trying to kill me".
So he did.
There was much screaming and weeping and sweating and smiling.
They panted in decelerating stereo.
She sighed and tickled his ears with her nails.
He rolled his head around her chest and kissed whatever flesh was nearest.
She giggled.
When he woke,
She was gone.

The Latest Episode in my War with God
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Depeche Mode Personal Jesus (remix)

Dear Reader: This blog may offend you deeply, and for that I am sorry. Read on if you wish.

I’m in a hotel in Amsterdam, and someone has left a CD in the player. It ranges 20 years and an array of genres. Songs I love, songs I didn’t know by artists I like, and songs I didn’t know, by artists I didn’t know, but that it turns out I like too.

When I decided to write this, I had no idea that the song just starting was a remix of Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode. Spookey, eh?

Sure. But meaningless.

I am sitting in this hotel doing nothing today. I tried texting and phoning people, but no one wanted to hang. I read the blog of a guy from work. Two entries struck me as having resonance with each other. I doubt he intended this at the time. The first was more directly about what I’ll be talking about in this entry. It’s about our ability – need even – to imperfectly represent an infinitely complex world, and our endless efforts to try to get our outside world to match as closely and have as many relationships as possible with our inside worlds.

The second kicked off a bunch of thoughts in me about the nature of thought and communication. How can we convey so much in a few words? Such intense understanding and fluid communication as we see in poetry and other great writing? Because we are in fact not saying it, but simply cross-referencing an experience that the other person also has. The skill is a stroke of luck that we can select, and find pleasure in doing so, the words that will stimulate the relevant feelings in the audience. It’s like some sort of encryption, or lock and key system, where we both have the safe full of goodies in our minds, but you can’t access yours until I duplicate my key and give it to you. The experience, or even the idea, isn’t shared, but two actually separate ideas/experiences trigger each other such that a comparable feeling is felt by two distinct individuals. The actual exchange is infinitesimal compared to the result that it kicks off.

As so many things tend to, this brought me to thinking of a girl. This one is one that I recently (a few years ago) nearly fell for. If you’ve read the comments I wrote on my colleagues’ blog, no, not that girl. I wasn’t into this girl until after highschool. Anyway, since I was originally into this girl, she has become quite religious (by my extremely strict standards), and we’ve had endless argument about inherent meaning in things. Endless, that is, until I ended it by “agreeing to disagree”. Or in other words, by me agreeing to think she was just crazy. I still love her as a dear friend, and respect her as an intellectual and as a person, but just less than I would otherwise. She’s lucky she’s got a good religion with tonnes of value above and beyond the theological aspects. If she was into one of the really dumb ones we’d have a serious problem.

Now, I have other friends who believe in God, or are somewhat or somehow religious, but this person hit a triple whammy of: a) I give a shit what she thinks (and still do) b) she takes it pretty damn seriously c) she invests a huge amount of her time into persuing her faith. Eventually it hurt our relationship because we both felt so strongly that it was difficult for us (i.e., me) to refrain from going 20 rounds about it every single time we sat down to talk. It causes me pain that she is sleeping with the enemy.

God is my sworn enemy because I really object to the idea that everything around me has meaning.

But why “object”, Noz?

It’s just a bit too convenient. As organisms, we’re hard-wired to find meaning in everything anyway, and what everyone is saying is, luckily, everything doeshave meaning! Everything has a purpose! Phew! Doesn’t that work well for us? It sure does. I see belief in God like finding a wallet full of money on a deserted beach when you’re dying broke and thinking it was left there for you. What really makes my skin crawl is that there are so many people who would think exactly that. It was left there for them. “I had a great need, it was unexpectedly satisfied in way that is beyond my insight, QED, there is a god.” I can’t avoid the conclusion that the wallet was found because broke people have nothing better to do than wander around lonely beaches, n’est-ce pa?

But seriously, we take our internal world and we project it outwards; we take complex and/or meaningless phenomenon, mark it up with all sorts of meaningful information and tuck it safely away for cross-referencing later based on what it means to us. Such is the human. All things we do are like this, and this behaviour (would) perfectly and seamlessly explain(s) our having created a god. Simultaneous with our continually learning to master and understand the stuff that previously we were told only god was able to understand and control, this implies to me there’s a damn good chance we made the whole thing up. God seems to be beating a steady retreat everyday as people look at all our different behaviours, and all the other times and ways we make junk up to make ourselves feel more safe and less alone, and realise that god fits the modus operandi of an imaginary friend – perfectly.

But still, Noz, why “object”?

Because, we’re supposed to grow out of having imaginary friends, and move on to real ones. Because we’re not supposed to wage wars over whose imaginary friend is the biggest and best on the block. Because when thinking about a problem, as a real person, I object to having to review the opinions of imaginary people. Because everything having anthropocentric meaning seems to me a childish and needless get-out-plan to avoid embracing a world that wasn’t designed for the joy and proliferation of little ol’ you. Because I love the world as it is, and don’t need nor like to attribute all its wonders and joys to something that’s supposedly even bigger and better than the precious, gorgeous and fulfilling world already around me. And more pettily, because it just irks me all to shit when two adults are having a perfectly good discussion and one retreats back into the middle ages, taps their nose, winks, and instantly imbues everything they say with some 3rd party authority that can never be questioned. Everything they say suddenly means more.

So anyway, I’m thinking about all this after I read these two blogs by this guy who wrote them about unrelated subjects he’s never discussed with me even once, all because I happen to be bored and whiling away a Sunday on my PC. Coincidently, on the side of his blog are links to a photo sharing website. I see a neat photo on his area and clicking on it leads me to what’s called a “pool”. A photo pool is where all sorts of people throw in photos about a certain topic. This particular pool is on the subject of “pareidolia”. “What in sweet, sweet, fuck does that mean? “ Noz asks himself, blithely…. A quick Google later and I find:

“pareidolia (payr.eye.DOH.lee.uh) n. The erroneous or fanciful perception of a pattern or meaning in something that is actually ambiguous or random. ”

I.e., The meaning in the inkblots, the animal shapes in the clouds, the man in the moon, the fate in the tea leaves, orrr…. The Judeo-Christian god…? WOW! A whole word dedicated to explaining our tendency to take crap that means nothing, and make it mean something. Why do we do this? Because the meaning is there? Because if you are looking at a fire hydrant, or an electric outlet, or the spots on a potato from the right angle, you can see a real face that’s actually there in front of your eyes, not one that your mind is synthesizing from within its own bank of images and symbols? Because if in 1978, 8000 people did a pilgrimage to see Jesus’ face in the bottom of Mario Rubio’s tortilla pan, they can’t all be idiots? Because someone somewhere actually finds Paris Hilton physically attractive and isn’t just swept up in the hype?

Or is it just because it’s a basic primitive instinct we all share to see what we know, and see what we want to see. Maybe there’s a simpler explanation as to why so much of the time God appears to those that need him most: Because the ones who really want him will create him no matter what anyone says, and no one can really stop anyone else from putting together the puzzles pieces however they want.

So, the CD, no one getting back to me, the two random blogs, my friend of the endless war, the photo site, the photo pool… All these things seem to be falling into places so oddly today, with no logical reason that they should be such. It’s so eerie. And so, the epiphany hits me: God is trying to convince me he doesn’t exist.

Tra-LA!

I have to see this as a sort of personal victory. Two possibilities: 1) God doesn’t exist and this is all just random crap 2) God exists and he’s so sick of my shit that he’s actually wilfully steering me as far from him as he can. Either sick of me or scared he’s going to have to put up with me sitting next to him for all eternity poking him with a stick going, “Is that really you? I don’t know if I buy it…”

I have to end now with my usual disclaimer to separate myself from all the other atheists who somehow think “science” has shown them there’s no god, or those with even more preposterous nonsensical reasonings like, “If there’s a god, then why do bad things happen to good people?”. Nothing has shown me there’s no god. That’s impossible. God is by his very nature un-findable by humans (again, convenient, eh?). So I have only as much evidence against god as any theist has for him: none. BUT, what I do have is humans. I have lots of them, and I have lots opportunity to study, how, when, and why – currently and historically – they manipulate facts for their own comfort. Who do I find smiling back at me like the kid with hand-in-cookie-jar when I chase down the winding roads of man’s self-indulgent make-believe? You guessed it: Santa Claus in a white robe.

See now, to prevent coming across as a bitter and shallow individual that feels life is "meaningless", or is counter-implying that it somehow has less value that these people think, I'll have to do a similar monologue on the wonders of the world, and it's many beautiful mysteries. I'll - when I get to it - dive into the many great other reasons we have to do everything that small-minded theists say we're supposed to do because if not, god will spank us, and large-minded theists think were put there for us to do for some reason that will get cleared up later... Like when we're all getting rewarded for doing things we don't understand.

“Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer”

As always - response posting's invited: how to post. Or email to noznoznoz@hotmail.com with subject line "Waiting for Blogot"

Poem - Not for Naught (for Elodie)
Now Playing: Lamb (Fear of Fours), in Le Havre, France
Topic: Poetry
Bliss
My life is about this.
Oft trite, but with true insight,
One can see that I'm right.
At least in my attempts to,
For sake of we two,
Release my stuttering heart
To the anxious experience,
The chest-tickling tightness,
That constricts and intensifies the strange lightness
That I feel.
When I open for just an eyelash bat,
Or open an ear to a hear a heartbeat,
Or my lips such that we might meet,
I feel a horrid heat flash through.

Fight through!
Through the fear I might be happy
I might be more
That would be so different, that
That I dread the thought

Push, push, push?.
Breathe.
Let the birth happen.
Let the moment stretch and break you,
And let out the new you.
Reach out a hand, and grasp another.
Jump.
Look down and love the site of the ground,
Rushing closer.
Rush at me. Hit and split me and make more of me,
So that I can do the same for you.
So we can finally be free
Free
Freedom
Bliss
Just bliss
It's all about this

Casuarinas
Topic: Dream

For the first time – I think in my life – it was staged in Casuarinas, Peru, in my Grandmother’s house. I think I was just a bit younger – say, 23. I was with my uncles, who were only slightly older than I, say, 27, 28 (the age that I am now).

We were three in the house, my uncle Jimmy, and one more who was a bit anonymous, but I know he was family. I suppose by process of elimination it was my uncle Cesar. The house was otherwise empty. My memory of the dream only goes halfway back into it. I had already made a big Chinese stir-fry. It was a sweet/sour orange and black pepper sauce, and I used lost of different brightly coloured vegetables. I remember most clearly the green and red peppers.

We were quite hungry. Since it was just the three men in the house, and my uncles didn’t cook, I was given the duty. I went to the fridge and it was a chaotic pile of pots and pans and barely plastic-covered leftovers. The stir-fry I had made the day before was piled into some 4 or 5 different containers and stacked into the fridge such that it looked like a heap. My perspective was so tight on the food it almost seemed I was in the fridge with it and it stretched on for ages, like a mountain range.

I said I would make the leftovers, and add meat. My sister Joanna was there too during this discussion, and she had already made herself a big bowl of Chef Boyardee Ravioli, so I was just cooking for tree. I had to keep returning to the fridge during the conversation to check the possibilities

There were two frozen pieces of meat, and I remember that Jimmy was very sceptical they’d be defrosted in time. I had to write something with my finger in the frost on the side of one piece (both were wedge-cut, like pieces of cake, or cheese). I wrote 3 letters on one side of the wedge, and three on the other. I can’t remember what I wrote! S a o l k … dunno. I think it was something personal like a name. When I wrote it, I was able to come back and say we’d eat the two pieces, and I’d use a bunch of the vegetables from the day before. I brought two pots from the fridge to put on the table so they could check the sauce for quality.

This whole discussion was happening on a kitchen table, the layout wasn’t quite right. There was the table, then the kitchen, then the offices, and there was no hallway like in my grandmother’s house before you got to the offices.

When I brought the food, there was rice in it that had dried to being nearly inedible. I apologized for this and remembered the rice my father would leave in the fridge until it dried out. I asked them to eat the least dry bits. They eat with their fingers, and approved the sauce. We agreed we’d share the two wedges of meat (one was chicken and one fish I think) although it wouldn’t be much. This is when I asked Jo if she wanted any and she said she was ok. I was relieved.

I got to work, and loaded a wok with the meat and just a few vegetables. I was to add more later for some reason. At this point, the other men were in the offices working, and somehow 3 Peruvian girls showed up on the scene. I think they were the three girls I went dancing with in Iquitos. They were definitely love-interests, and I spent a long time with them chatting in different parts of the house. It’s a bit of a blur, but I remember I returned with them to the kitchen and the oil had burned black, and the food was still cooking away in it.

The food was relatively undamaged, but the smell wasn’t great, and news somehow got to my uncles. They began to chastise me with that brand of venom that my eldest brother and other Peruvians use to let you know you’re an idiot. If you’ve not experienced it it’s an essay in itself to explain...

Then my alarm went off; Time to get everyone up and make them banana-chocolate pancakes. I hope I don’t burn them!

Stupid Freaking Internet Things
Mood:  loud
Topic: Net Junk

How the HELL do these things work!?!?!!

Test

Oops - URL Redirect
Mood:  energetic
Topic: Net Junk

1. This poor guy put a redirect on his website, so any URL off the main domain goes to the home page. Seems sensible, but in effect, it means you can type in:
   http://digitalsplendor.com/cunt.html
   and it goes straight to pics of his wedding, honeymoon, orchids, etc.. My first reaction before realising the issue was, "I can't believe he called his page that! What does his wife think?

My Goals as a Musician
This is what I want my songs to make people do:

pump

Noz's First Film
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: SlapStickin' by The Solution (aka Me)
Topic: Movies
15:44 28/03/2005

Feelin' like Martin Scorenoze...

I'm really getting into this movie thing! I've been playing with Microsoft Movie Maker for the last couple nights and it's a blast!

I put together some of my photos, my videos from the last Noz Update, and some of my music that I made with Tim Nutman, and I've made my first film!

How cool is that?

I know everyone else has been making movies for a million years on their PC, but this if my first, so I'm quite amused with myself. A special thanks to all the warm generous and giving souls at Microsoft - that confederation of selfless philanthropists!

Here's my first finished product:

Noz's First Flick

As always - response posting's invited: how to post

Fashionasties
Mood:  sharp
10:56 25/03/2005

Ok. I'm going to indulge in a little self-mockery. A few of these only make sense if you know the labels involved, but it's my blog, so screw you.

Most people know I'm basically on the cast of Will and Grace when it comes to fashion. ("Honey, I thought we'd talked about that suit.") Like Jack, I talk the talk and usually walk the walk, but catch me on a lazy Tuesday and I might be wearing a chic ensemble of potato sack with kleenex boxes on my feet.

Nevertheless, I've been called Zoolander and been hard pressed to argue. Things like lack of attention to necklines or accessories, running shoes (trainers) with dress pants, or jogging pants on a weekday scrape at my eyes like salty nail files. Cotton-poly blends, and sports-trademark clothes (worn without jest) wound me to my very soul. I wear Zara, but I'm slightly embrassed about it. I forgive myself because their price+build quality combo basically makes them disposable clothing. One of my Friends (of Dorothy) once said, "Who wants clothes to last more than a year anyway?"

A solid point.

Still, the world of designer fashion - like most other old institutions - needs a perodic battering.

I'm moved to take action because:

• I recently moved to central London
• February is "sale season" in Paris, and I was staying just off the Champs-Elysees. Thank Fahri I'm saving up for my Canada trip, or the friction would've melted my credit card...
• Even one weekend in Geneva always makes one label-concious. That city makes you feel bad for not driving a Ferrari and carrying a vertu
• Dare I count Amsterdam as a fashion hub? Last month's KLM in-flight Magazine was a fashion-focus, and this month's did a spread on Amsterdam's little pocket of boutiques.

Below is a list of "Nozzed" taglines for a few of the labels I love (or love to hate). I think taglines are supposed to answer the question "Why should I buy your product?" so I went for a L'Oreal Paris "Because you're worth it!" motif. Most of these lables don't actually have taglines, because, does anyone need a reason to buy Armani? No. What a stupid question!

I love the irony of doing this while wearing a Dior shirt...

Fashionasties:

• Dior - Not always that dull
• Salvatore Ferragamo - My name is more interesting than my clothes
• Yves Saint Laurent - Skin-tight and pink isn't just for ladies
• Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche - Indiana Jones: the Jungle Queen
• Hugo Boss - Meh...we don't know either...
• Gucci - You have just too much money
• Dolce & Gabana - You're gay
• Valentino - These clothes will get you blown
• Chanel - Hey, maybe this cut will come back in someday!
• Armani - Put the plebs in their place
• Kenzo - Not really so expensive, it's the import taxes! Tokyo's FAR, Dude!
• Louis Vuitton (Women's) - You'll show that bitch
• Louis Vuitton (Men's) - Your Sugar-Momma dresses you
• Burberry - Approachability's overrated
• Roberto Cavalli - You might need to go to Mardi Gras someday...
• Diesel - Taking out a loan to buy casual-wear is totally reasonable
• Lacoste - Because her Daddy's cuter than she is (and he signs off the trust fund anyway...)
• Calvin Klein (or Guess) - Hey! Fuck you! We deserve to be in this magazine just as much as Diesel or D&G! Elitest cunts... eat our shit, Fuck-sore!
• Prada - Hello, like, we're Prada? DUH!
• Jean-Paul Gautier - Deep down, you're a French homosexual too
• Nicole Fahri - It's not that itchy, you wuss! I blended in some cashmere!
• Ralph Lauren - Hey, basic is good. We're more interesting than Dior!

As always - response posting's invited: how to post

Chocolate Rimming Sugar
Mood:  celebratory
http://www.urbanaccents.com/products/product_detail.asp?c=0&p=120

Roots Bloody Roots
Mood:  chillin'
Now Playing: the hum of elodie's 'hummer' laptop
Topic: Language
I'm in Le Havre staying with Elodie. We were talking, and she said she was having trouble remembering how to spell 'Wednesday'. I had similar trouble not so long ago, and I fixed it by linking the spelling to the etymology of the word in my head. Wednesday = Wodnesdaeg, or "Woden's Day". Or "Odin's day", depending on the dialect. Since then, I don't screw it up. It would have been much easier if they'd simply explained that when we were in school instead of saying, "This is how it's spelled. Live with it!" Anyway, I took it upon myself to learn the rest of the days, and I found both the Latin and Germanic day-name roots! Bonus!

---

In A.D. 321 Constantine the Great grafted the Hellenistic astrological system onto the Roman calendar, making the first day of the week a day of rest and worship and imposing the following sequence of names on the days: Diēs Sōlis, "Sun's Day"; Diēs Lūnae, "Moon's Day"; Diēs Martis, "Mars's Day"; Diēs Mercuriī, "Mercury's Day"; Diēs Jovis, "Jove's Day" or "Jupiter's Day"; Diēs Veneris, "Venus's Day"; and Diēs Saturnī, "Saturn's Day". This new Roman system was adopted with modifications throughout most of western Europe.

In the Germanic languages, such as Old English, the names of four of the Roman gods were converted into those of the corresponding Germanic gods. Therefore in Old English we have the following names (with their Modern English developments): Sunnandaeg, Sunday; Mōnandaeg, Monday; Tīwesdaeg, Tuesday (Tiu, like Mars, was a god of war); Wōdnesdaeg, Wednesday (Woden, like Mercury, was quick and eloquent); Thunresdaeg, Thursday (Thunor in Old English or Thor in Old Norse, like Jupiter, was lord of the sky; Old Norse Thōrsdagr influenced the English form); Frīgedaeg, Friday (Frigg, like Venus, was the goddess of love); and Saeternesdaeg, Saturday.
http://www.answers.com/topic/wednesday

---

Lo loves the beauty of this choice for the names of our days, and feels it demonstrates the need to connect with the universe. I think it's interesting that we so much need to have meaning. We hate things to be meaningless, so to communicate something unvisersally, we choose things that have a connection to universal things, like the planets and stars.

Hook Engine
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: The Chrystal Method - Busy Child
Topic: Music
I've discovered a new way of creating hooks. Put your MP3 player on random, turn it up, and go in the next room. Turn on a fan or other appliance until you can only hear a light layer of sound permeating the wall.

Try to sing along with the hooks. You'll find the muffled melodies will give you all sorts of new ideas, that if you walk into the room, sound *nothing* like the original. They are your brain piecing together the broken information by interspersing your own creative mortar.

Orgy After the Orchestra
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: Basement Jaxx - Where's Your Head At?
Topic: Poetry
Harmony and hard-on dreams, it seems
Burst through every seam in me
Especially when we three take tea and crumpet
My Musketeers with whom I thump it
And to whom I choose to trumpet my garish tune
I specialise in the high-noon swoon
Where the one who croons is festooned with roses and panties
Shall we up the ante? Oh, yes, let's!
Let's place our bets on which maiden fair will first let down her pants and hair
And display her lunar derriere to a pair of erections from the rhythm section
Let's pop another cork from the muzzle of a bottle
And swing it about, so we all can guzzle
Maestro! Play one a bit less slow!
Madame! Pass the one with the rosy glow!
I know, I know, she's too young and I'm too old, but the song's just started
And here is where tales are made and where the legs are parted
I'm gliding now?
Slipping back and forth and sliding now
Dancing across the centre of the floor
Cheers and muffled giggles lift my feet like gentle tickles
Decorated with girls on each arm, like medals, rose petals
I am commandant for this song
This long, strong, tong of melodies and mentalities flung upon the throng
It's on!
Artist! Grab a canvas and paint me an explo-shee-on!
I'm gone, up the stairs with everyone
Run if you will, but don't trip, you'll spill your drink, such a waste I think
Bring the band and some champagne, for the music now can change
We'll make it ourselves, on cotton strings and shiny oboes
If you've tympani or congas, you'll still know how the song goes
Just watch the baritones make those tenors go soprano
Myself, I've spent years mastering the conductor's wand
Its staccato patterns of which I?m so fond
With its jaunty snaps from nimble twists of the wrists
And how I love the jubilant tits on the percussionists
And the beautiful pursed lips of the enthusiastic flutists
How delicately they handle the instruments?
All as one, sway to and fro,
To the crescendo!
For this is the bit where everything fits
Together!
Now or never!
Play this, my fugue, my heroes and heroines!
Brutalise your violins and stroke your cellos, fellows!
Remember now why and how you came to earth:
To live and die and take the time between
For everything that it is worth!


Orgy After the Orchestra
Ben Noz Urbina
(c) 2005
Sunday, 30 January 2005

Watching Almodovar all day on a sunday
Now Playing: "All About My Mother"
Topic: Movies


I'm like a balloon full of tears, and the scenes stab me.

Insert Poem Here
Mood:  chillin'
Now Playing: the sounds of the cars on the rainwashed streets of le havre
Topic: Poetry
Insert poem here:
[











]
Remember to use beautiful words
Words that capture just how you feel
Use this space to transmute experience to reference to wisdom
Choose slowly and carefully or choose quickly and honestly
Clarify your thoughts retrospectively
On life, death, sex and love
Use this space for all of the above
Because if you don't, who will?