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Tuesday, December 31, 2002 22:46 H–A–P–P–Y––N–E–W––Y–E–A–R link | |
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Saturday, December 28, 2002 03:15 ![]() Handwriting Giles Just back from a nice evening with a friend I met more than eight years ago in Thailand during a meditation retreat in a monastery in Surat Thani. Giles was this fellow I couldn't talk with because it was a retreat and we weren't supposed to talk at all; he abandoned the monastery quite early (so did I, soon after) but before he did he said good-bye and told me he had left his Thai pants behind should I want them (very nice black ones, still on my shelf). I don't know when, probably before the silence thing started, Giles had told me he lived in Hong Kong and that he knew of a MTV-like channel there which was being relaunched/restructured. I remember thinking then that Hong Kong was definitely not part of my travel plans. So then there was silence and he decided to leave and said bye-bye and left the pants and that was it. A few weeks later, in August I guess, when I doubted my whole travel plan and felt I had no idea of what I was supposed to do next, Hong Kong popped up as a possible alternative and off I went. I loved the place from the very first moment; I remember gazing from the bus that took me from the airport to the central district, seeing all the footbridges and big buildings surrounded by the warm humid weather, thinking it was all excellent, excellent. I've always been a messy traveler, the kind that loses his passport, loses his plane tickets, sprains his ankles etc (it all happened to me in Hong Kong). So I was there already when I realized I hadn't thought of how to contact Giles, who was, after all, the only known name or face in the city. I booked myself in the Mount Davis Youth Hostel, on top of a hill just off Kennedy Town, a less-than-glamourous neighbourhood at the west side of the Hong Kong Island. In the next few days I spent quite some time and money phoning Thailand and trying to find the phone number of the monastery and then trying to convince them to give me the guy's number. They finally did, but that didn't help either – all I got was an answering machine and the messages I left in it got no response. So I quit trying, got myself a bunch of very nice friends to hang out with, hung out at night in the pubs of Lan Kwai Fong and had a very good time. There were outdoors all over the city advertising the music channel Giles had talked about. Two girls at the hostel were working as secretaries at the South China Morning Post, and they knew someone who knew the head of the promo department of the station who seemed to be looking for designers and who eventually gave me a few freelance jobs as a creative producer for Channel [V]. It wasn't until the day before I left Hong Kong that I managed to get hold of Giles; we had dinner at Post97, went for a ride around the island, had a Marmite sandwich in his apartment (not sure about the order, but I am sure I had never tried Marmite before). He lived in one of the three pinkish/salmon coloured towers, right in Central, that can be seen in many postcard views from Victoria Peak and told me that his apartment had been empty for most of the previous weeks while he was in China and that I could have stayed there instead (o the irony of learning that on the night before my departure!). So we said bye once again, I returned to my guesthouse in Chungking Mansions, of all places, and took my plane early next day (Bangkok-Karachi-Rome). Since then Giles and I kept in touch every once in a while. He's is a reliable snail-mail user, and I got a card every christmas or whenever he moved countries. A few months ago I realized that I knew very little about him and stillI could recognize his handwriting the second I saw it, something I can't say about most other people who are close to me now. Our written communication is almost all electronic and I guess I wouldn't know the handwriting of Gabrielle or Fred, whose desks are just a few meters away. Giles is passing by Amsterdam after having spent christmas in England. We met tonight at Café de Jaren for dinner, drinks and to catch up with the stories of the past eight years. He brought me a jar of Marmite. link | |
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Saturday, December 21, 2002 04:27 I'm really glad I have BBC world as one of the channels on the Amsterdam cable company. Their news coverage has always a very humane perpective and it's clearly distinguishable from governmental policy – something that I guess should be normal but isn't, especially at CNN (we have CNN international and it feels like a propaganda channel; I hear from North-American friends that the US version is even more so). link | |
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04:12 (Almost ten days later, and somewhat related to the previous entry) Last night as I worked hard on the design of a news website I listened to the real video version of a programme of the Dutch Buddhist Broadcast Foundation called Dream Yoga (Mostly in English with a few Dutch statements). It talks about the need to prepare yourself before sleeping and about the transition between the waking state and sleeping/dreaming. It argued that by practicing/developing awareness while dreaming you might be able to be fully aware at the moment of your own death, diminishing the confusion as you go. After that I also listened to the episode 'Buddhism and psychotherapy', a topic of current interest. I'm happy I found the BOS video archive because I always miss their broadcast hours (early afternoon on Sundays) and also because for some reason I'm highy resistant about programming my VCR. link | |
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Saturday, December 14, 2002 03:45 Sinking – death – dream Two nights ago I had a rather intense dream-beginning in which I sank into the ground, sheets and all, in a sort of burial. A rectangular tunnel was building itself around me, upwards, and high up there the light of the day, the fading light of life going away. I knew I was going downwards and at the same time it felt like a building was rising up around me, and I was it, had to adjust to it. I say 'dream-beginning' because some other stuff happened after that and when I came back from it I thought of writing it all down but I didn't – pity. Almost all details are now gone but I know it felt weird and helpless and fascinating. I should never, never skip writing down somehing while still partially unconscious. After all that's why I keep a notebook and a pen next to my bed. link | |
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03:38 Prophecy becomes fact, in the flesh Earlier today I heard the weather forecast of AT5 (embedded on the short title sequence I designed myself) telling that bikers and pedestrians should take extra care later in the day since the frost was likely to make the street pavement very slippery. That was hours ago. Minutes ago I was biking home after a few beers and I fell smack down to the ground on the bridge around the corner. The bricks were slippery beyond belief and I found myself giggling, no, laughing out loud at my difficulty to get up. Sort of like Bambi but then far less gracious. As I attempted to bike with minimum speed through the last block before getting home I saw some other humans dealing with the same problem. link | |
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03:26 Carbon copy of (fragment of) a message to Rodrigo Pimenta: São 3 e 20, acabo de cair da bicicleta porque os tijolos da rua estão link | |
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Friday, December 13, 2002 15:22 steaming ~ streaming ~ freezing Rio had already been in my mind a lot the last few days; the thing peaked yesterday when I got a compact wave of small carioca messages: first an e-mail from Cali (who I last saw sitting facing the sea, drinking coconut water), then a nice picture of Ipanema spotted while browsing an old Dutch magazine, then a long and warm phone call from dear old friend Amilton (who I last saw around this time last year, at the Rio airport before returning to Holland). Meanwhile the Amsterdam canals are partially frozen and so are my hands and feet as I bike every day to the Captain Video studio. That's where I will be stationed for the coming weeks while we work together on the redesign of the news show Nova and on the new station identity of TV Noord-Holland – the two jobs are the reason for the recent latenightpool silence. Conclusion: the moment is good, the mood is peaceful and the ice looks nicer every day, especially in combination with tropical vacation plans (March! Rio!). link | |
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Thursday, December 05, 2002 00:01 While searching for connections between psychology and Buddhism in the Netherlands I came across a short article on sensory awareness by psychotherapist Michael Tophoff: The psychophysiological phenomenon of awareness has to be differentiated from arousal. Clearing or cleansing of the sensory pathways so that bits of information start to register more readily may eventually lead to zanshin - to the tranquil, yet alert mind which registers ever so curiously, all the way not holding onto something. In this sense, awareness is very close to another Buddhist concept: mindfulness. An attitude of friendliness towards all that we encounter in the process may come to the foreground: metta bhavana, a Buddhist virtue. I was first told about Buddhist psychology a few years ago; the topic came back to my attention when I read Chögyam Trungpa's chapter on 'styles of imprisonment' in his book The Myth of Freedom: The six realms, the different styles of samsaric occupation, are referred to as "realms" in the sense that we dwell within a particular version of reality. We are fascinated with maintaining familiar surroundings, familiar desires and longings, so as not to give in to a spacious state of mind. We cling to our habitual patterns because confusion provides a tremendoulsy familiar ground to sink into as well as a way of occupying ourselves (...). The six realms are: the realm of the gods, the realm of the jealous gods, the human realm, the animal realm, the realm of the hungry ghosts and the hell realm. (...) As human beings we may, during the course of a day, experience the emotions of all the realms (...). Nonetheless, a person's psychology is firmly rooted in one realm. This realm provides us with a style of confusion, a way of entertaining and occupying ourselves so as not to have to face our fundamental uncertainty, our ultimate fear that we may not exist. link | |
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Wednesday, December 04, 2002 23:35 Seventeen. link | |
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