Sureal and argumentative

People wear a worn look, perhaps it's more than skin deep. "Life is hard", it says. They walk slowly, and it's a tired walk. They fight, in slow motion, to be in this painfully small space. The space here is full, culture squirming to break through the concrete, and yet, mostly, it's just a show, crying for its own emptiness. In the East Village, I came across this...

"Time and space died yesterday."

Last night I met, for the first time in my life, a convicted advocate of pure-capitalism. I knew such people existed; but it was the first time I actually spoke to one. Like an exotic fish, I gaped at the Swedish investment banker. Sadly, we had only just started our discussion before he had to leave. I'm hoping to finally understand this view of the world, what drives such believe? I want to delve under the rhetoric and see what is the implicit rationale he holds. I feel I may need to bolster my collection factoids: we did briefly talk of immigration in Sweden, where I got the impression his view is a stereotype that sketched in fears that Muslims are aggressively evangelical, that they want all women to wear the Burka, and have no interest in anything Swedish, except taking advantage of the social security system - a position I expressed my disbelief for. Fundamentally, his belief seemed to be that economic laws corrupt society and lead it to despotism. And there was me thinking that such laws are a mechanism by which we escaped oligarchy... ahh, some exciting conversations await the next time we meet!

Work-wise, I've been feeling rather incompetent, slow, struggling in slow motion to absurd the sea of acronyms and swamps of endless software gunk. Luckily my manager and colleagues, like a break in the clouds and a fresh breeze, shed a humble light on my predicament, helping me realise that it's normal to be stuck in a swamp, but if I keep clambering through, I'll get to dryer land. Maybe I'll even have the chance to walk a dream of democratic, rationaale argument...

Oh yeah, I've been thinking that "Rationaale", with emphasis roughly "rationAAArle", might be a fun word for my twisted take on rational and scientific: it is being open minded, it is the antithesis of dogma, it is the unification of differing positions by acceptance heterogeneity. For instance, it accepts emotional arguments as emotional arguments. It accepts cultural arguments in light of their cultural momentum. It is the gentle heart of science. It accepts all things by accepting them in their context. It is accepting that all things have context, and that the context needs to be made explicit in order to form a constructive collective reality.

You might have noticed that I'm also using a twisted definition of argument: for me an argument is just a statement of an idea or position; typically towards or against some other statement.

Maybe it's worth being a little concrete: our capitalist is arguing from some beliefs. A rationaale for this position is that he has a model that everyone knows everything perfectly, and that if power congregates, then it will, by some virtue of his image of pure-capitalism, be broken back into something else, saved by economic demand. This is the context, and now we can argue about realisation of this context, or lack of, within the world we see around us.

I guess I think that, fundamentally, we nearly all agree, but on top of this agreement lie layers of confused imaginations. These disconnected intellectual backdrops draw us apart and scare us from each other.

Oh yeah, I spent some time this week writing about argument mapping - perhaps
it shows :)

of homes and trycicles of the NYPD

The days pass and pass... I returned from Edinburgh and Oxford on monday to a different New York, to heat, to streets covered in flowers and plants, to people dressed lightly, to the flowers finally breaking out among the trees that were previously just grey skeletons haunting the pavement.

It was strange to be back in Edinburgh; the roots I used to feel are no longer there. Maybe it was just lacking my own flat, my own room, or maybe it was not staying in the heartland of my old haunts. I was awed by the emptiness, by Edinburgh's greenery, and by the leisurely nature of its cafe culture.

New York coffee places are largely pumping affairs: eat and begone!

On other matters, worky projects here are starting to properly catch my curiosity, and I made last night to what people here seem to call a "minimal wave" club: an electronic vision of the darkest 80s, stripped bare, and stuffed with groove; the club was preceded by live music aptly called Dark folk from Gent.

Oh yeah, here's a fun thing about modern new york: the NYPD drive tricycles... still makes smile as I get my morning coffee.

pictures; and things to do...

Some more pictures; I went out to Queens, apparently all the best food is out there, in small unassuming and very local places. They certainly have lots of roads...

I walk past this humble cat very often, always make me happy to see her.

I'm still searching for the noodles and comic place I remember from 2003...


But last night, I went to see some classical music, there I was told of a cigar-bar, a place licensed for people go and smoke cigars and drink whiskey...

Things to do are vastly outpacing the rate I can do them...

There is a sign that says BUMP

There is a sign that says BUMP.

A man picks up his dog's shit, with his bare hands, and places it delicately by a tree.

Galleries last weekend, some work of Marcel Dzama at David Wirner - chess, war and sex, contrasts interwoven. Then Glenn Ligon (images to words, angry sad reflection on racism) and Edward Hopper (magic painter of light and people) at Witney.

I spend an hour today practicing falling-over, at various speeds, from various heights. The final 10 minutes are the hardest: a strangers holds out her right arm; I stand in front her, a little to one side. She is a blond girl, of medium build with a round face and a kind smile. I place my left hand on her wrist, and then throw myself over her arm, my feet are high in the air, and I'm still holding her wrist gently. I meet the ground first with my other arm, and then my back, finally my legs. Quickly, I stand up, and take her wrist with my other hand, and throw mayself again. Again and again.

A basement, Bar 55, the most hard-worn musicians I've ever seen play their hearts out while I drink whiskey.

It's been a fun week, culture, music, friends, explorations of Brooklyn. Work-wise I'm still frustrated by programming with a pile of sludge (C++), plotting revenge of ML (an almost brilliant language)... also looking forward to visiting Edinburgh and Oxford soon (Don't ask, I can't tell you when, it's a surprise).

time, time traveling, and psychic puppies on a window-sill

I got home early today, left the office at 17:30, that felt pretty good. But I also had too much coffee, on and off, over the day, leaving me kind of drained and hyper. Now I'm fighting back against the encroaching sea of emails and also tackling a few outstanding electronic chores.

Repeatedly failing to do any exercise is frustrating me a bit. I need to find a way to get to Aikido, I was planning to go at 6am, to the early class, but it's too early for me, if I stay up until 2am as I tend to, then it destroys me. Work typically wraps its ugly arms around me in the early evenings, at the end of which, Aikido is finished; and during the day, I get caught up by... well... mostly debugging shitty c++ programs and dreaming of writing in ML again... Perhaps I can schedule Aikido into my diary and go at lunch-time... new plan!

Yesterday I finished reading the Time Traveler's Wife, a story of beautiful human nature; almost too romanticly-sweet for me, leaves you feeling good as you read it, somehow inspired by the characters, but also a little unreal in the way fate falls out in front of them; I think the sensation of your own fate, looking into your past, can be comforting and intriguing, but when a fateful sensation lurks in your  future, then a delusion is afoot, possibly a dangerous one, I ponder.

Today's observations of New Yorkers: there is an oddly large number of shops selling collections of  rat-shaped hairless tiny dogs. Outside, groups of women gape at the creatures. The dogs look a bit bored to me, but they occasionally pull-off a cute-trick, bite each other, and I imagine, poo on their sterile window-sill once in a while, surely. So, I wonder: what is the link between 24-hour psychic advisers on every street corner, and the puppy shop on every street? Is this some demonic mechanism that traps people's souls in puppies and makes the dogs hair fall off? Or are the psychics pulling a ruse, pretending to talk to the dead, when in fact they communicate with rat-shaped dogs via string and yogurt-cups? the mystery...

images on the way to work

I wake up, and admire the view...

I walk to work, this is typically what it looks like:

There are strange characters here, like this rat, who hangs about on the side of the street. I often see him on the way to work. I don't know why there is a yellow prong coming out of his nose, it's always there, and today it matches the puffy jacket of a passer-by.

carnival in queens, alien-heads galore

This weekend, I went to a party in Queens; Astoria. It was the kindly invite of a friend of friend, a Greek carnival party, where wild alien-heads is probably the best description of my favorite costumes. This inspired me to dance slightly strangely - I just got sent this video as an approximation for my dancing... I'm hoping some of the party-people will send me some pictures of the Alien heads and maybe photographic proof of my mad dancing. Getting to the party at 1am meant leaving kind of late, hurray for all night trains. The next two days I lived in space - a floating purgatory where my insides had been turned to saw-dust and sand. Luckily my guest, Conor, who arrived a couple of hours after I got to bed, was in a similar state - he'd just celebrated house-selling before flying here. We enjoyed conversing about teaching, long-distances, loves, this and that, and a sprinkling of type theory things: what is the type-theory of fancy pointer structures and their shape-changing transformations, and how do you describe their inductive shapes?

The first week at work has been surprising in how unsurprising it has been. Much like Wikileaks - all the stuff you didn't know, but strongly suspected - turns out it's true!

What was a little unexpected was the 'party' atmosphere. Also, people don't overwork like I worried they might. Although I've been working very hard this first week - but I can see it's just the first week. There's a deep river of thought here to run things rationally, and they have the resources to try and make it happen. That feels very good. On the less positive side, I've not come across an interesting concept or idea yet, I'm worried I'll miss academia for that, but I guess it might also be the first week of introductions is naturally administrative. Missing my academic friends in Edinburgh!

I've been making a morning ritual of walking to Grumpy's, reading a little with a cappuccino and croissant, and then making my way into work. A nice start to the day. Sleep has been a little problematic; hard to get the right temperature, constant sirens and horns are also a little unusual for me. I just bought a couple of blankets, and a non-feather pillow, so that should help me avoid sneezing and getting some reasonable sleep. Last night I dreamt. The dream took place in a big white box, with some rocks, and water at the bottom. There was a big hungry green lizard who was chasing, trying to catch, and eat a terrified frog. There was also an aggressive hungry fish taking big bites out of the lizard's body and legs. The lizard didn't seem to notice, he was totally intent on catching and eating the frog. I could feel the mad urgent chasing hunger of the lizard, and also of the fish. I was also very worried for the frog, he was leaping out of the jaws of the lizard, up into the air, and hard against against the plastic of the box, and sliding, falling back down towards the lizard's gaping mouth. Several times the frog lading on the lizard mouth, but managed to push against it's jaws and jump up again. Full of angst, I watched the scene, feeling for all 3 creatures, terrified and hungry. Then, the lizard managed to jump up as the frog was falling, and the frog was caught this time in the throat of the lizard, who hungrily gulped him down. I woke up. It was 6am-ish. I fell back to sleeping shortly after, this time dreaming that work didn't allow me to grow a beard, and I remember feeling terrible about it, scared and shamed because I hadn't shaved, and also frustrated by the crazy requirement. Luckily, when I wake up again at 9, I realise it was just a dream, and the disarray of my facial hair is not an issue.

Sorry there are no pictures this post, no pictures allowed at work, and I've not been anywhere else.  Having said that, I did randomly meet a lovely couple while queuing at a restaurant yesterday; ended up sharing a table and enjoying dinner together, over a kind of Korean sake.  It was very popular Korean place (Woorijip); discussions about ranged from marxism and radical left wing politics, to technological revolution, and the existence of rationality. It was food to my hungry mind, who was aching for some good chat. The Korean place itself was amazing, with 2 tears of queuing, first by the door, then inside at the back. The place has an atmosphere of hot chaos, while outside it was bitter cold. As I watched I realised the bustling waiters who rushed here and there, and directing people to tables, and urgently but gently pushing people out of their way - that these waiters were a powerfully efficient mechanism, they made the place work, they were the blood of the place. It was wild and delicious, and also very homely tasting, not amazing, but good. I loved it.

Also started writing a short story about the life of a conceptual artist... more on that another time. Til the weekend!

A short, delightfully bitter Capuccino

A short, delightfully bitter Capuccino, and a gentle brioche in the lobby of the ACE hotel; I'm really here for that Stumptown Coffee. The lobby, where I'm sitting, is dimly lit, full of people and the sounds of conversations in an enormous space. Lots of faces highlighted by laptops, brass and black, lamps. A few people trying to read in the darkness. I think I can vaguely here some music behind the echoing conversations.

Yesterday was good, today too; Yesterday started early, then a couple of Aikido classes leaving me feeling glorious. Some drifting through streets, ate the biggest salad I've ever eaten (and I'm a big salad eater, but it nearly defeated me), found a way to get some more money out of my UK account (struggling with my US bank account...), and then coasted my way downtown to explore east village.

Simone's bar, wifi and whiskey!

A bar called Simone provided me with a space to do some programming, eat about 50 olives, and eventually make my way through the biggest measure of Macallan I've ever been poured. A little light-headed, and stuck with my programming, I swayed out to find ramen noodles and lots of green tea. Then I wondered streets following my favourite style of walking random. I came across a charming and swanky little hat shop, villagescandal, walked out with two very different hats that I actually really like, and a complementary scarf. Feeling way cooler I wondered past closed subways, eventually finding a way to get back home. A few hours programming later and I had sorted out a serious chunk of my quantum robot machine - essentially routine programming, but demanding as I wrapped my mind around some friends code.

Time Square today

And now a plan is needed for today... Aikido, or walk in the sun to time square and then central park...

Man and parrot outside Murray's Bagels

I'm moody today; woke up on the wrong side of bed, on the wrong side of afternoon; struggled to make my way out, anywhere, to just do something. Doing something ended up being getting a bagel, watching a man and his parrot, then a coffee at Grumpy's; which is how I felt before the coffee - it was a good coffee. Going for cocktail and book reading in a bit, or perhaps to see True Grit. The big city blues today are finally wearing off today, as the evening arrives; and as I watch the lights of seemingly infinite cabs make the ant-like way down 6th avenue towards me.

sighting masonic temples, fortune tellers, and lovingly made burgers

Simultaneously lost for words, and overwhelmed with things to say. Here's a sprinkling of sights...

View from living room window;
masonic hall is the middle building

One thing I noticed today is that the building 1 block away - it is basically in front my of living room window - seems to be a masons guild, it's a big building, openly advertising that it is a secret society...

I realised yesterday, while doing a random walk-about, is that on pretty much every block, there is a fortune teller. I can choose from a variety of palm-readers, a fair sprinkling of tea-leaf readers, also astrologers, people who speak to the dead, and many many more. I guess a there must be a lot of demand for them... there's almost as many places helping you speak to the dead as there are phone shops trying to make you speak to your mobile phone.

There is something else that is on every block as well: a fitness club, usually second floor. One sighting today: a line of men on running machines. I find this alone strange, a line of people running on the spot, going nowhere. But what I've not seen before is that each person had his own 30 inch TV, in front and a bit above his machine. They all showed different channels. The guys were all running, but with their head craned up to watch TV. I guess something shocking must have come on the TV and distracted one guy: he stumbled, falling hand to the floor; but what amazed me was that he was able to keep watching the TV even as he fell over. The running starts and stop, but the TV watching is eternal.

I spent a good part of the last few days wondering about Chelsea, Greenwich Village, and Midtown today - Fiona gave me a collection of New York City Walks; I took my first of these walks today. It was a fantastic architectural one, this is a very impressive city to be in. It's heaped with diversity and there's a totally unashamed attitude to the architecture here, it says "I'm a big f-off building; what you gonna do about it?". It would make a building like Appleton Tower seem like a lost and shy garden shed.

After today's exploration of New York Aikdio, a very friendly experience, I was left with some appetite, and decided to try indulging in local burger. I've never seen a burger made with such love and attention... the way the onions were carefully caressed, the cheese gently layered, and bread rolls precisely placed - it nearly made me cry. Truth be told, I enjoyed watching the burger being made a lot more than eating it - feel kind of heavy and full now...

And it's time to do some washing; turn out I'm not getting my stuff until march; I only brought enough cloths for 3 days... (and luckily one Aikido gi, and my dancing shoes)... I guess I'll have to do some shopping, New York seems like a good place for that... ah yes, must go and get my Aikido Gi now...

Just arrived to my flat in New York, a 17th Floor on 6th Avenue, the centre of Manhattan. Rather like a hotel; white clean dry walls; it's about the size of my old flat, but feels a little smaller; my stuff isn't here yet, but I am, well, a little tired, kind of emotional. Outside it's just slightly snowy, police sirens sing from the street below, when they pass regular horns holler at each other. Outside my window I can see three large cylindrical water containers on the roof off the building opposite...


Eyes feel kind of heavy... guess I'd better find some lunch, and maybe buy some more cloths...

Dangerously in Sydney

A collection of long flights, 40 hours from setting off I'm washing away jetlag, slowly, loosing moments here and there as I stare nowhere. Thoughts come in a sporadic trickle: I nearly died on my first road crossing, a mad speeding sports car jumped a red light and swished past honking cars and the shouts of nearly run over people. For my part, I quickly took a step back and walked on like nothing happened. The hotel is bland, but pleasant.

A little later, crossing roads again, I listen, amused by the sounds of an old computer game emitted from the man crossing road lights.

A Japanese on Dixon street, just outside China town and full of Asians– must be good I presume, turns out to be cheep and plentiful rather than tasty, but hits the stop and bangs a hold in the jet lag.

Now in espresso bar on Kind street, good coffee, chocolate, and luck would have it – free wifi. Only thing missing is water with coffee. Feeling a bit dried out, but friendly interactive australian temperament makes up for it. These people have a good sense of humanity, and the bar man appreciates that I run linux on my laptop.

Time to do some work.

Lost, Smuggling and Consuming

Somehow I have not managed managed to sleep again. I mismanaged my packing, fixing the shower at 2am, forgot my french phone cards, euros, but nothing too serious. Arriving in gatwick there was a branch in the corridor, everyone else went down the left branch, but reading the sign I realised I had to take the other corridor, international connections... can I really be the only one? Various passageways merged and passed by in the airport maze, I chased the very yellow signs, one by one, alone, passing them again and again. My heavy steps thud softly on the carpet, audible in their solitude. Some people pass me, going the other way, at least there is some other humanity in this airport - unless they are robots... they do not act human, walking step step step, in hurry, like they are scared and alone. Poor lonely robots.

Then I'm there, before a security checkpoint, waiting in line, pulling my coat off rather inelegantly. The generic unhappy security man gets the people in front to take off their shoes, carefully telling them everything. Pre-empting him, I ask “shoes off?” and “Yes” he says, and proceeds with the laptop drudgery. I nod acknowledgement, placing my bags and coat in the tray, I suddenly think to ask about my belt, which he says is fine as is. I pass through, get searched carefully, pick up my stuff, fight my coat back. But suddenly I realise I have my shoes on! A huge joy spills through me, a smile embellished my face. I won! This small victory against the tyranny of paranoid terror-maniacs! Never has smuggling made me feel better! Me and my shoes, we beat the fear-mongers, the madmen, robots of insanity bear witness to my triviality!

Sober, reflecting on the nature of the - I have to admit it - completely accidental victory, I realise it was the acknowledgement followed by belt-flashing distraction that won. It broke his story, his plan, and he didn't realise it, but his brief moment of controlling me lapsed and failed to catch the silent shoes. The security who searched me so carefully simply weren't expected shoes and so they did not see them. We humans, I ponder, prime ourselves for the expected cases and find it hard to even see the unusual.

Sometime later, in Gatwick shopping-land I grumble at Costa's inability to provide a glass of water with their coffee, I shrug them off, exercising my consumer power. The consequent search leads me to a better place - at the opposite end of this, the north terminal, is a french cafe, an oasis of freedom! Free tap water in Gatwick! another success! A good birthday so far, I buy myself some shoes and wonder how to pass the time between flights, trying not to sleep too heavily.

Memories of Spain in Paris

Paris again, a small cafe somewhere, this table is too small for my latop and the coffee. Two girls discuss something serious in deep arabic tones. A little break from work, waiting for the library to open and use the free state-provided internet. The corner tables in this cafe are the prime places, I have the inside corner by the window, my neighbour just left; she was a young women dressed in fitted black, intently hunched, reading a book and on occasion drawing smoke from her cigarette. Now a young couple come to take that empty corner table, softly complaining about something.

I found this note of from Granada in Spain, probably sometime in late May...

There is Arabic pop playing in this narrow tetoria at the foot of the Alhambra. Outside the sun is dry and hot. Inside, three young Spanish girls share a shisha at the far corner, while in front of me an old and ornate rifle hangs on the wall beside a pink sign indicating 490 EUROS. All of the decorations in here are for sale.

I have escaped the wonderings I use to fill my otherwise missing hours. When the agenda of everyday life is thrown out, it leaves a void of action.

I had forgotten that to be asked for fire, for a light at least, was once a common event in Britain. It still is here. But I have no fire, and only now do I realise that for the last several moments that the girls in the corner have been trying to get my attention. I shrug to the girl apologetically, and say I have no none. Slightly amused now by the giggles that preceded their attempt to get my attention, in good humour, I return my bitter tea and over salted falafel. I came here to write, nothing on my mind, devoid of philosophy, sadly projectless and outside the world of communication; I'm an uncontactable anomaly! Now it is Arabic ninja-techno on the TV, and a beautiful woman starts singing while ninja's jaunt around the background. So, still empty of philosophy I'll finish my tea. But that's it! The creature of my empty heart, a hesitation, lost indirection, slight tension – the curious creature I travel to find. A heart of uncertainty – the very stress in the unkown about what to do next!

Retirement to The Samarkand Teashop

The Samarkand Salon de The, a carpet covered cafe on a small backstreet in the centre Paris. I sip a bowl of widely spiced tea and listen to a mournful sounding ode from Usbekistan. I'm here, having escaped from a week of 9am to 7pm technical talks and too much work that left me hectic and tired. Now in bustling Paris, staying at family and friends, feeling time slow down in the absence of schedules, I enjoy the days events and spring surprises: a little tango, a lot of wandering and walking, some dinners and a few discussions later. Soon I will take the train to the village where my mum lives.

Stormy Paris

Dressed all in white, an elderly woman holds herself upright on two metal crutches and stares strait into the sky, watching it throw down a storm. Her dog faithfully but coweringly, with tail and head hung down, waits for her to fill her eyes so they might move on. I sit under a canopy watching the busy street of Sunday-closed-shops and listen to the thunder. Opposite me is the Boulanger Patisssier Denis, an orange enclave of cakes, sweets and sandwiches. A man with a parrot on his shoulder and a brown leather bag buys a sandwich while I drink my coffee and listen to the rain.

A little later I've found the delightful creaky wooden-floored flat where I will sleep tonight. The warm glow from yesterday's sun still lingers on forehead, especially when I lift my eyebrows. I have a day to linger here and prepare my talk. This flat is the ancient Asian home of my great aunt, currently lived in by a cousin, and it has recently acquired hot water. To my surprise there is a distinct non-existence of a toilet. Sometimes in small Parisian flats they are in shared by several flats and have a separate door from the stairwell – but after a little adventuring I find it is not the case here. A phone call to my mum, who once lived in this Asian treasure trove of china and dark wood, reveals the curious geography of this flat: there is a secret door to a neighbours flat who has a toilet. When I get back from the phone box, I bang the ornate gong and nod to the Buddha.

Back to Edinburgh Chaos

I'm back in Edinburgh, the wind howls and tango based chaos storms around me. My next trip will be to Nimegan - until then you can find me at a cafe near appleton tower. :)

Walk in the morning sun

Yesterday Graham and Sam arrived; we lunched on extravagant sandwiches and then undertook an expedition to find the remote exhibition of the school of architecture. A note I had scrawled in a bar provided our directions: "school of arch. continue right past lake. turn right. lots of trees and hidden house". This lead us through Cristiania, and out again into the seeming wilderness by the south lakes of Copenhagen. We did find trees and a monument-like stone building and a hidden house, but it was all locked and all quiet. So we made are way back by meandering through the lake-side artisan houses of Cristiania, beautiful hand craft dreams realised, a floating wooden cabin, a space craft, a miniature castle in black and white with towers and circular windows. Like my fantasies of being an architect from 20 year ago.

In the evening we met at a dark indie punk venue to chase another bar-acquired ill-direction. The billing was Jazz meets Punk. The venue had a dark alternative, real, and somehow Glasgow-like feel, but the music was empty of talent - young men self indulgently ignored their spectators. But to talk with Graham and Sam was warming and dear, we rambled around snippets of suddenly remembered news, falling into cryptography and out through politics and relations.

This morning I woke early, the beer I dared to drink last night grinding at my sleep. Another year passed last wednesday and I grow increasingly intolerant to beer! I took a stroll in the shining cold and daring sun of this fresh morning. Empty streets and art gallery windows. Then to cafes stretching chair-limbs, rubbing their window-eyes, watching the city wake up; brings a smile to my face. Now for breakfast and plans!

in celebration of cake

It's raining and I'm in a good mood - my teaching is over and we've just eaten cake had a taste of whisky and enjoyed some good coffee. So here are some pictures from the last week or so....