I have always been plagued by many conundrums, however, this seems to encompass many, structuring a reoccurring theme. Though, many believe that introductions should not include questions, I find it hard to do anything else when I hold more questions than answers.
So here goes: What distinguishes the difference between an artist and a person who paints? One who plays an instrument and a musician? A person who is able to write well and a writer? What is the qualifying factor that sets in stone which end of the fence you reside?
Do you care about people or are you a humanitarian? Does it lie in intention, in effort or in the end product/situation?
I suppose the deepest problem I have is that I hold too many questions such as these, concepts seemingly paradoxical, however, immeasurable, forcing them to be nothing more nor less than one heavy conundrum.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Inspiration in chalk
I awoke this morning in much the same fashion as the past couple of days, around noon, clutching a pillow and reluctant to move. Using the ever successful process of mentally listing all that had to be done that day, I coaxed myself out of bed. With only one item on the to-do list “Go to the liquor store,” I cast the winning vote, 1-0, to get it over with.
Looking like a walking train wreck, I made it there and back. However, on my way into my neighborhood, I noticed a note written in chalk on the corner by the stop sign. I had seen it just a few minutes prior, but assumed it was just something a few neighborhood kids did last night in the name of undying rebellion.
Intrigued, I decided to stop the car and read the message.
In front of the stop sign read: “If this sign told you to live without fear would you still obey?”
To say I was stunned would be an understatement. In that moment the weight of all of my decisions, the things I have done, things I did not do, everything I have wanted and everything I needed was called into question.
Am I living in fear? If so, fear of what? Dissatisfaction or happiness, failure or success, predisposition or free will, control or freedom, the mundane or the fantastic, comfort or newness, longing or having? Much like the age old question: “Is one more afraid of dying or living?”
It is a strange experience for the universe to give you the exact sign you need in the moment you are starving for it.
Needless to say, I have not nor do I think I can at this moment, answer most, if any, of the questions posed above.
However, the rest of my day consisted of playing the piano for 9 straight hours, for the first time in years, writing numerous new songs and recording all that was played to be part of my second piano CD.
For that I thank the inspirational message writer and beckon you all to spread the inspiration through chalk.
Looking like a walking train wreck, I made it there and back. However, on my way into my neighborhood, I noticed a note written in chalk on the corner by the stop sign. I had seen it just a few minutes prior, but assumed it was just something a few neighborhood kids did last night in the name of undying rebellion.
Intrigued, I decided to stop the car and read the message.
In front of the stop sign read: “If this sign told you to live without fear would you still obey?”
To say I was stunned would be an understatement. In that moment the weight of all of my decisions, the things I have done, things I did not do, everything I have wanted and everything I needed was called into question.
Am I living in fear? If so, fear of what? Dissatisfaction or happiness, failure or success, predisposition or free will, control or freedom, the mundane or the fantastic, comfort or newness, longing or having? Much like the age old question: “Is one more afraid of dying or living?”
It is a strange experience for the universe to give you the exact sign you need in the moment you are starving for it.
Needless to say, I have not nor do I think I can at this moment, answer most, if any, of the questions posed above.
However, the rest of my day consisted of playing the piano for 9 straight hours, for the first time in years, writing numerous new songs and recording all that was played to be part of my second piano CD.
For that I thank the inspirational message writer and beckon you all to spread the inspiration through chalk.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
I thought it would be bigger...
I received my diploma in the mail this afternoon. I thought it would carry more girth and size than it does. Somewhat of a disappointment I guess; I have continuously found the graduation ordeal, in its entirety, much less than anti-climactic, that should say much.
Though many continuously point out the importance and impressiveness of such an “accomplishment,” I cannot help but think of it as something less than that, and more of an obligation.
By no means am I demeaning or belittling the blessed opportunity I have been awarded: to be able to achieve a higher formal education. Nonetheless, it has been the goal held for many years, now that it has been met there seems to be a void of sorts, begging the so-called potential, lying dormant in me, to do something with myself; something of worth, something more than satiating my idealized and delusionary understanding of this world.
I suppose this is my attempt to beckon myself, through writing, to finally do what I must, in order to be a better person; to volunteer abroad.
When framed in such a light, I am sure it sounds a tad pretentious, a bit self-deprecating and much on the selfish side.
As I am sure I have said before…I was once told that the ultimate form of selfishness is selflessness; a phrase I cannot ever forget hearing, for it still stings me, irrespective of how long ago it was said.
Ultimately, I suppose both are required, for, if it weren’t for that phrase once said to me, the debilitating poison in my ear, there might be a lessened passion to my drive.
All the same, I no longer believe that, however, now for different reasons than before; for more valid reasons.
It may make me feel like a better person to help other people, however, should I deny those in need out of the fear of selfishness?! Which is more selfish: to sit and constantly spew self-righteous views in an attempt to make others think…..OR…..to take a risk, leap off the branch and do what I feel is right in order to make a difference in the lives of others, knowing, full well, that though I may receive something in return (spiritual enlightenment, humanity etc.) that I provided something of equal worth to those in need; composing a symbiotic relationship, unclear in who plays which role, the giver or the recipient.
Though many continuously point out the importance and impressiveness of such an “accomplishment,” I cannot help but think of it as something less than that, and more of an obligation.
By no means am I demeaning or belittling the blessed opportunity I have been awarded: to be able to achieve a higher formal education. Nonetheless, it has been the goal held for many years, now that it has been met there seems to be a void of sorts, begging the so-called potential, lying dormant in me, to do something with myself; something of worth, something more than satiating my idealized and delusionary understanding of this world.
I suppose this is my attempt to beckon myself, through writing, to finally do what I must, in order to be a better person; to volunteer abroad.
When framed in such a light, I am sure it sounds a tad pretentious, a bit self-deprecating and much on the selfish side.
As I am sure I have said before…I was once told that the ultimate form of selfishness is selflessness; a phrase I cannot ever forget hearing, for it still stings me, irrespective of how long ago it was said.
Ultimately, I suppose both are required, for, if it weren’t for that phrase once said to me, the debilitating poison in my ear, there might be a lessened passion to my drive.
All the same, I no longer believe that, however, now for different reasons than before; for more valid reasons.
It may make me feel like a better person to help other people, however, should I deny those in need out of the fear of selfishness?! Which is more selfish: to sit and constantly spew self-righteous views in an attempt to make others think…..OR…..to take a risk, leap off the branch and do what I feel is right in order to make a difference in the lives of others, knowing, full well, that though I may receive something in return (spiritual enlightenment, humanity etc.) that I provided something of equal worth to those in need; composing a symbiotic relationship, unclear in who plays which role, the giver or the recipient.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Google yourself
I am currently in a slight state of shock accompanied by a strange excitement.
I googled myself tonight, not expecting to find much; then again I tend to fall into the most unexpected of circumstances. I wasn’t surprised to find articles I had written for the university paper, published online, however, I was shocked to find a piece I wrote, which mind you was not chosen to be printed, but was published online, without my knowledge.
That’s fine, I understand that if something is submitted there are, at times, blurry ownership issues. Then I found myself on the U-wire, which is a university version of the Associated Press (stories are shared online with all the universities that are subscribed to the service). However, it is good to keep a record of where one has been published.
My next finding was completely unexpected -- I wrote an article, about a year or so ago, about the fact that people need to take credit and fault for their actions; it was in response to a woman who sued a tobacco company for the death of her husband, who was a long-time smoker. I myself am a smoker, but I thought it was as ridiculous as suing McDonalds for “making” you obese after years of eating fast food daily.
Anyhow, some tobacco awareness organization posted my story on their website! I’m pretty sure that’s not legal, there are copyright laws; I don’t mind too much seeing as though my writing is, obviously, being circulated around; irrespective, it is strange!
Here is a list of the web sites I found (some people added an h to the end of my last name, hence the need for two google searches; I didn't include the sites I found on yahoo):
http://www.tobacco.org/news/243003.html
http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P1-132427498.html
http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P1-138922976.html
http://www.chezshaw.com/pastartists/sarahalmulla.html
http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P1-136144349.html
http://www.daily49er.com/home/index.cfm?buttonPushed=1&event=displaySearchResults&q=mulla (list of a few articles is on this one)
http://media.www.daily49er.com/media/storage/paper1042/news/2006/10/04/Opinion/Technology.Harmful.To.Society-2330626.shtml
I thought that since I had a moment, and as I am prone to yammering on endlessly at this time of night, I would share my findings.
Cheers
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Perfume to weaken even the strongest of hearts
I sometimes forget the preternatural power of words, furthermore, yet slightly less fleeting, is the knowledge of that same force in music. The beauty, the grace, the sleight of hand, the movements, motions, thought and heart it takes to create something truly beautiful; something that would render even the most calloused of hearts to tears and emotional anguish.
I found myself reminded of these things by one of the most beautiful films I have seen in the last 6 months. “Perfume: The story of a murderer,” based on a novel by the same title, is morbidly gorgeous in every facet of its being. The plot, the imagery, the score, it is easily, the most beautifully haunting film; on par with “Edward Scissorhands,” though, dare I say, thankfully lacking the 1970s kitsch.
From costume to set design, acting to dialogue, I find this film truly flawless. You are free to disagree if you wish; however, it is an impossibility to convert me at this point. I never thought I would even think this, but even the film’s website exists beautifully. (http://www.perfumemovie.com)
I have not yet read the novel, as I still have a plethora of books I have been trying to get through; however I am anxiously awaiting it in the mail. From what I have read of it, the writing is impressive, the phrasing poetic and the characters, simply human at worst and heartbreaking at best.
A comfortably eerie feeling overwhelms me as I listen to the soundtrack, looking around expecting something to be behind me. I feel moved, maybe a little too far from comfort. There is not much music with such intrinsic power in silence as well as sounds.
If you have not seen this film I recommend you watch it; for there is something magical, beautifully morbid, terrifyingly gorgeous, unsettling along with an unspeakable quality to this film; it should not be passed up.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
When I finally get a customer service rep.
If you know me, this story is not going to seem surprising; if you don’t, stuff like this happens to me often. Occurrences people think would make for a great short story; a brief encounter with a stranger, a conversation being had in sheer loneliness, an end as seemingly short as the experience.
I received an invoice in the mail for my subscription to the Wall Street Journal. I was quite confused seeing as though I had already paid it online. I multitask, as I usually do very poorly, and make my insta-Mac & Cheese in the handy microwave – that machine will kill me long before the cigarettes kick in.
I can hear the random facts and muzak via speaker phone as I set my cell down on the nearby counter; listening intently every time the condescending voice chimes in that I am a valued customer and shall be dealt with as promptly as possible.
My macaroni is ready; I stir in the powdered cheese and breathe in the toxic aroma of the insta-food.
As I leaf through the tabloid magazine on my table, I feel guilty for doing so. However, feel a sense of self-validation in the fact that it was not delivered for me, I am just being nosy for the sake of voyeurism and boredom.
Finally, a man answers my call, muttering something I cannot understand; I was too caught off guard having just taken a bite of piping hot food.
I reply “I am so sorry; I have no idea what you just said.” That was not the response he was expecting, nor was his one I was, his being “blah blah blah, what can I do for you?”
Needless to say I was surprised at his candor, however, more amused than anything else. He repeated his original phrase: “Hi my name is (insert name here) from the Wall Street Journal, what state do you have your newspaper delivered to?”
Now that he was speaking in English, I began to formulate a reply, which seemed to be difficult under the circumstances. I told him “California,” he then says “Oh, that’s why you couldn’t understand a word I said. We New Yorkers hate California.”
“Hey don’t start bag on California,” I say with an unrecognizable defensiveness in my tone and intent. I follow that with “California is great, I think New York is rad, I’ve always wanted to go! What’s so wrong with California?!”
“Nothing,” he says, “I lived there for three years, and I really liked it.”
I’m even more confused than when I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
I explain my payment dilemma to him; he assures me I’m in the clear, paid for etc. We then start talking about random U.S. cities, what’s nice about them, where he’s lived, what he liked/disliked.
He got a degree in engineering, decided he didn’t like it; got a degree in Mathematics, ended up teaching and is now finishing up his second novel. It’s a Sci-Fi/fantasy novel, supposedly in order to understand it; one must have a good deal of knowledge in physics and calculus.
He yammered on endlessly about scientific wonders, none of which I was familiar with (I don’t think many people are, in my defense). He was surprised I didn’t know some scientific phenomena, seeing as though it has been featured on Star Trek…at which point I had to inform him that I was not an avid viewer (it’s cool and all, just not my thing).
Much of the conversation was a blur; of course except for the part where he gave me directions about how to mock a huge volcanic eruption: supposedly…(put 4 white Mentos in a 2-litre Diet
Coke bottle and run; if you try it before I do, let me know if it works).
Poor man then said “I’m sorry; I’m just a very lonely man.” I, on the other hand, was intrigued to have such off-the-wall dinner company in New York via telephone.
Mid-sentence he changed his tone: “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” So I am assuming that the boss walked in, ready to have his job.
So if you will all do me the pleasure: the next time you have a drink, cheers to the lonely Wall Street Journal man…may he experience great success in his novel and soon escape the tortures of his current position.
Cheers Lonely Wall Street Journal Man!
I received an invoice in the mail for my subscription to the Wall Street Journal. I was quite confused seeing as though I had already paid it online. I multitask, as I usually do very poorly, and make my insta-Mac & Cheese in the handy microwave – that machine will kill me long before the cigarettes kick in.
I can hear the random facts and muzak via speaker phone as I set my cell down on the nearby counter; listening intently every time the condescending voice chimes in that I am a valued customer and shall be dealt with as promptly as possible.
My macaroni is ready; I stir in the powdered cheese and breathe in the toxic aroma of the insta-food.
As I leaf through the tabloid magazine on my table, I feel guilty for doing so. However, feel a sense of self-validation in the fact that it was not delivered for me, I am just being nosy for the sake of voyeurism and boredom.
Finally, a man answers my call, muttering something I cannot understand; I was too caught off guard having just taken a bite of piping hot food.
I reply “I am so sorry; I have no idea what you just said.” That was not the response he was expecting, nor was his one I was, his being “blah blah blah, what can I do for you?”
Needless to say I was surprised at his candor, however, more amused than anything else. He repeated his original phrase: “Hi my name is (insert name here) from the Wall Street Journal, what state do you have your newspaper delivered to?”
Now that he was speaking in English, I began to formulate a reply, which seemed to be difficult under the circumstances. I told him “California,” he then says “Oh, that’s why you couldn’t understand a word I said. We New Yorkers hate California.”
“Hey don’t start bag on California,” I say with an unrecognizable defensiveness in my tone and intent. I follow that with “California is great, I think New York is rad, I’ve always wanted to go! What’s so wrong with California?!”
“Nothing,” he says, “I lived there for three years, and I really liked it.”
I’m even more confused than when I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
I explain my payment dilemma to him; he assures me I’m in the clear, paid for etc. We then start talking about random U.S. cities, what’s nice about them, where he’s lived, what he liked/disliked.
He got a degree in engineering, decided he didn’t like it; got a degree in Mathematics, ended up teaching and is now finishing up his second novel. It’s a Sci-Fi/fantasy novel, supposedly in order to understand it; one must have a good deal of knowledge in physics and calculus.
He yammered on endlessly about scientific wonders, none of which I was familiar with (I don’t think many people are, in my defense). He was surprised I didn’t know some scientific phenomena, seeing as though it has been featured on Star Trek…at which point I had to inform him that I was not an avid viewer (it’s cool and all, just not my thing).
Much of the conversation was a blur; of course except for the part where he gave me directions about how to mock a huge volcanic eruption: supposedly…(put 4 white Mentos in a 2-litre Diet
Coke bottle and run; if you try it before I do, let me know if it works).
Poor man then said “I’m sorry; I’m just a very lonely man.” I, on the other hand, was intrigued to have such off-the-wall dinner company in New York via telephone.
Mid-sentence he changed his tone: “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” So I am assuming that the boss walked in, ready to have his job.
So if you will all do me the pleasure: the next time you have a drink, cheers to the lonely Wall Street Journal man…may he experience great success in his novel and soon escape the tortures of his current position.
Cheers Lonely Wall Street Journal Man!
Fascinating quote
“He wants the woman he would never be. He wouldn’t be caught dead being her: therefore he wants her. She is his repudiated identification and the object of his desire.”
If you want a context to the above keep reading:
“Becoming a ‘man’ requires repudiating femininity as a precondition for the heterosexualization of sexual desire and its fundamental ambivalence. If a man becomes masculine by repudiating the feminine, where could that repudiation live except in an identification which his heterosexual career seeks to deny? Indeed, the desire for the feminine is marked by that repudiation.”
- From “The Psychic Life of Power” By: Judith Butler
If you want a context to the above keep reading:
“Becoming a ‘man’ requires repudiating femininity as a precondition for the heterosexualization of sexual desire and its fundamental ambivalence. If a man becomes masculine by repudiating the feminine, where could that repudiation live except in an identification which his heterosexual career seeks to deny? Indeed, the desire for the feminine is marked by that repudiation.”
- From “The Psychic Life of Power” By: Judith Butler
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