I wonder if this is how the world clumsily stumbled itself into the First World War…a series of escalating catastrophic events that could’ve been avoided…I mean, a blind man can see where all this will inevitably lead to…hawks continue to be hawkish, fighting their endless wars for their military-industrial complex masters.
Tolkien always wrote of the Long Defeat, that noble, slow but ultimately inevitable demise of the Elves of Middle-Earth. The seeds planted millennia ago by Feanor that doomed his descendants to fight a war that could not be won…for a prize that could not be attained...
Thus the Elves resigned themselves to slowly fade away into myth and legend, singing their songs of lament, their songs of the sea…
Fiction has a funny habit of mirroring reality. I wonder, should that day come, when we would sing our own songs of lament…of things that should have been…and ask ourselves…did we do all we could?
Wow...it’s been a pretty darn while. I may have lost my old voice, as how things go when left unused for a great length of time.
Years have come and gone unnoticed. It’s all generally be a haze really and not of the drug induced variety mind...every year another post left unwritten...
There were some pretty mind-blowing things that happened. We saw a government rise and fall. We watched the disappointing end of Game of Thrones. Then we saw the rise of a global pandemic of Captain Trips proportions. And a whole of tragedy and general shenanigans in between. Diego, Kobe, Chadwick. BLM, Jordan Peterson, Chomsky still spitting truth. Blackpink. We’re still waiting for Dune. PLO6. The Rise of the Simps. QAnon. Big Tech. Good golly, talk about shit getting from bad to worse. The upcoming divorce of Kim K.
There there. Thought 2021 deserved this little dastardly nugget.
Hanoi is lovely really. The weather's cool and nice. The city has just the right amount of hustle and bustle to still feel quaint. The people are abuzz. The shops are narrow and have that bit of rustic charm to it that still lends itself to a bygone time. Essentially, it still has everything that KL has lost.
Walking the narrow pavements, soaking in the sounds of whirring motorcycles and car horns, the chatter of the local language, I can't help but feel...this is a city ripe for adventure. There's something here there's to be found. If you so choose to find it.
Unfortunately, things have changed. Adventure is harder to be sought these days. Not because there's none to be found, but more like there's that bit of weariness in the bones. Has the warm embrace of summer left us. The noontide of day? Hopefully not.
There's more to life than routine. And obligations. And responsibility. True, there is duty to be fulfilled, but at what expense.
I've come to realise that I've lost some of that spark. The curiosity to follow that rabbit hole. It's gotten a bit too comfortable. Too safe. The routine of things. The now of things. The way of thinking. There isn't anything in way of danger. Not like the old days.
Jeez, I hope I don't turn into a walking cliche of that one guy I used to have a go at when I was younger. That one guy who had a safe and cush life, who was stable, drove a nice car, had a fancy title. But was boring and lifeless as fuck. A guy who had all the personality of a post-it note. A guy who was ultimately bland and yes, part of the establishment, part of the Man.
It's like the hippies turning out to be Wall Street types in their adulthood. People who have...sold out?
So, this ain't gonna be one of those "What does it all mean?" kind of bullshit, nope we don't peddle that junk in Dastardly Musings.
Instead, let's see whether this shakes us out of our complacency just a bit. Let's see.
Things come full circle. I wish I was the full moon shining of your Camaros hood. An ideal of hope. For the better things. For just a sliver of what was, and what could be. There are things that remain unsaid...and undone. What is the thing that drives us? Fate sings us a song. A lullaby. Disembodied voices, that's what we are. Floating through time. Each moment is a waking dream. A dream is a shadow...of something real...
Not quite. But perhaps necessary. Longing to go back to when it all started. When there was yet a spark. It's dimmed somewhat, time and age tends to do that, but there is always hope, and like I've said countless times before, it springs eternal...
It's been a good while since this Blogger has posted anything of note here, maybe since way back in 2005 when this blog first started. Jeez, that was a really, really long time ago.
Perhaps this Blogger was of the wider-eyed and gaping mouth variety. When everything was still fresh and young, and there was still wonder left to be discovered in the world. I'm sure there still is, albeit harder to find.
Now then, words these days come harder. Inspiration too. Ramblings seem even more childish and pointless now than it seemed then. These days time is a rare commodity rather spent living than musing.
That's what happens. Inevitable and unstoppable.
So does this mean this blog is at an end? Well, never say never. Heck, who knows? I could start blogging every day from now on. Or take it to the next level by Twittering and Tumblring this shit right here.
NAH, not happening.
Well, what's there to say? As an Anne Rice would say, the blog Dastardly Musings, it left me. I'm not saying that I'm leaving it forever or no longer muse of dastardly things anymore. It's just that it's harder and harder to take the time out and put it into words.
Jeez, this is depressing. This blog has been occasional and irritating outlet of this Blogger's life for the last 9 years or so since it first was born into being by the promptings of that Swedish half-breed Yelpo and after feeling overly affected by the devastation of the Indian Ocean tsunami. That was pretty rough man, I tell you.
At that time blogs were blooming. And I happily jumped on that bandwagon as, who am I kidding, I had nothing better else to do. And I loved writing. I still do, dammit.
It was good. Writing something on the web for the world to see is sort of invigorating. No doubt this blog has very few visitors, it was still fun. Your shit's out there, no hiding man.
Looking back at some of the posts on this blogs, there are many that cause me to cringe when I read them, and a few I thought were pretty decent, and perhaps 1 or 2 that I'm pretty happy with. Which ones? No way I'm telling anyone. All I can say it's those few posts that evokes memories of sunny times that always brings a smile. Sunny times and bright shinny people I love and will always remember.
Well, here's to you guys and to those times. A tip of the hat to you all.
This blog will return, that I promise you. It's just taking a little breather for a moment.
There's this great Radiohead song from some time back that goes like this...
"There's always a siren Singing you to shipwreck (Don't reach out, don't reach out Don't reach out, don't reach out) Steer away from each rocks We'd be a walking disaster (Don't reach out, don't reach out Don't reach out, don't reach out) Just 'cause you feel it Doesn't mean it's there (Someone on your shoulder Someone on your shoulder) Just 'cause you feel it Doesn't mean it's there (Someone on your shoulder Someone on your shoulder) There there!"
As with all great songs, those words once heard just kinda stuck. There was just something about that surreal and nightmarish landscape the song evoked and those darkly prophetic themes that resonated deeply.
There There is subtitled, aptly one might add, The Boney King of Nowhere. From an album called Hail to the Thief. How nicely befitting today's tale of woe.
RUN!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!! FSW's out to get you!
Now then, if you're a true Chelsea fan like me, you should have an inkling of how I feel this morning. And why those words have come to haunt me again, like long dormant memory kindled by trauma.
This is Chelsea. We are the reigning Champions League holders. We were in contention to win seven trophies this season. And we had a squad to challenge for them...after Neymar, Eden Hazard was surely the one player that all teams coveted. And with Oscar, Brazil's number 10, we bought a player who could undoubtedly compliment Mata's playmaking skills.
Now, we're out of the Champions League. We were humiliated by Atletico in the Super Cup and Swansea in the League Cup. We didn't show up in Tokyo for the World Cup Club. We fluffed the Charity Shield. And we don't have any realistic chance in hell of winning the Premier League.
Then we conspired to give away a 2 nil lead to lowly Reading in the last 3 minutes of the match. A match that I woke up 4 in the morning to watch. It's still sinking in. The suffering, the sweet suffering.
The result itself is not so shocking with Chelsea these days. The last time we looked remotely solid in defence was under the early days of Ancelotti's second season. And only because of our attack was so effective. Gone is the defend at all costs mentality cultivated under Mourinho, when we played like the Milan of old, giving away nothing and choking the opponent in a battles of attrition.
We're supposedly more expansive now, with creative players needing freedom to breathe. Defensive discipline is no longer our priority. And in this blogger's opinion, all the better. If you're Abramovich sat there watching the effective but dull displays of Mourinho's Chelsea, you'd too be wondering just what you spent all those hundreds of millions of pounds on. Especially if it was an entirely enthralling game between Man United and Real Madrid that ended 3 all that brought you to buy a football club in the first place.
Sure, winning is great. Winning ugly is great too, if you have limited resources and means. But if you're a billionaire, and you've dumped millions in, surely you should expect something a little more.
Thus Abramovich's experiment began. His prime picks like Ancelotti and AVB came and went. With stop gap measures of Grant, Scolari and Hiddink in between. Yet, that winning attacking style still eluded him.
Then came Di Matteo, a former player and Chelsea legend. He brought back the defensive identity of old, going back to basics after AVB's project spectacularly failed (in my mind, due to the players he had at his disposal, if only he were manager now). That brought the FA Cup and more importantly, the elusive Champions League trophy. With that, a permanent contract as manager.
As time would tell, Di Matteo's project would too go awry. Too many new players, no distinctive style of play. More tellingly, he tried to turn Chelsea into a possession based attacking team. It worked to a certain extent, but without a Modric or Xavi to control the midfield, it was doomed to failure.
So Benitez comes in. I'll let the facts say it all. He used to manage Liverpool. He insulted Chelsea fans when he was their manager. He was sacked after half a season with Inter Milan after Mourinho's Champions League triumph there. He also has the worse stats of any Chelsea manager, ever.
There you go. He might not be boney, but he's sung us to shipwreck. Hail to the great thief of our hope and dreams.
It's been awhile. Like a turd that won't flush, this blog just won't go away. Nasty that.
Well, what's there left to say? Not a lot apparently. Everything moves in cycles...mostly you'll end up right where you started. Round and round, without end.
In this never-ending wheel, faces spin past you, sometimes in a blur...sometimes they stick with you. Holding a place in your head, your mind, your heart, whatever. But they do stick. Mostly in a good way, sometimes in a bad way.
Words echo...disembodied voices for sure. Yet they at times speak wisdom. Well, if you're lucky.
This winding, sinewy path we're heading on, perilous if you choose, but dull and safe too. Entirely dependent on you.
Are the days of adventure and wonder over? And if not yet extinguished, do you wish to seek it? Does the heart crave what it did years ago? Or have you become entirely safe? Safe and secure in what you have to lose?
You look around you, and sometimes you feel what Treebeard must've felt...the world is changing...and though you might not feel it in the water or feel it in the earth, you just somehow know that things have moved on. Like how Roland Deschain's world had moved on. Not the entire world, but your world.
Just look around you. This is not the world of your youth anymore. The people speak, but it is not your words. People rebel, but it is no longer your cause. What is hip is strange. Music and film no longer resonate like they did in your time.
Friends have become strangers, these strange beings who have become responsible adults, carrying the burden / joys of marriage and fatherhood on their shoulders. Your days show signs of becoming shorter. You can no longer abuse your body without facing the pain later...the pounds don't go away like they used to...sleep is no longer some trifling thing that one did to charge up for a few hours.
That's how it is I guess. The way of it all.
But rather than descent into some endless melancholy like this blog is apt to do, let's look forward. To what Twenty Thirteen may bring. Probably more of the same, probably not. The important thing is, you don't really know do you? No one does. There could be surprise lurking at every corner. Of course there will be daily toil. And hard knocks now and then, literally and figuratively. But there's always the potential of an unexpected journey, and adventure waiting to happen. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is always worth looking forward to.
There's this great book I've been writing in my head for the past 21 years. Round and round my mind and my heart it swirls, sometimes manifesting in actual chapters written, most times not. It started as an entirely different tale initially, and it evolved over time and space. I'd like to think that it had a life of it's own.
So what's it about? God knows. All sorts I guess; redemption, renewal, betrayal, conciliation. All that. Will it be epic? Well, in my mind it is. Grand in it's scope and ambition. It's been brewing so long now, most likely because, deep down inside, I know I probably wouldn't be able to pull it off, with my limited powers as it is as a writer that never was. But can I ever be that writer I want to be? Perhaps...not.
The kind of tale I'd like to tell wouldn't be those intellectual books with a lot of symbolism and hidden meaning. Nay, what I'd really love to write is an old-fashioned yarn, one about virtuous and not-so virtuous heroes and diabolical and not-so diabolical villains, with fair and not so fair damsels in distress. In a world where there's black and white, and the varying shades of grey in between. With flawed and doomed protagonists who are sometimes antagonists. Where beginnings are endings, and endings are beginnings. A tale without end. Confused yet? Yes, so am I.
How will it begin? With a prophecy of course. The closing of the circle revealing a new one opening. Set in an alien world that perhaps is not so alien. In a desolate land, probably called the Scorched Lands, which may have been green and lush once. The whisper of prophecy still exists, as what is written centuries old will ultimately come to pass, if there are enough who believe.
It's probably during a time of decay, a passing of an age...the noontide of past glories are soon faded and forgotten, replaced by new ideals and beliefs. As Dylan would say, the times they are a-changin'...true that.
Now, the time may come, if I discover some hidden writer superpowers, that I actually get started on the damn thing and hopefully finish it. It shall be glorious time, oh yes it shall. The birds will sing sweeter and the sun will shine brighter. Milk and honey will flow in the lands, and there shall be fair tidings across for all who dwell therein.
"Let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it,"
- Macbeth (4.3.228-9)
Chelsea went down 2-3 to Manchester United at Stamford Bridge last night. After coming back from 2 goals down, Chelsea had two players sent off before conceding a third goal to United, scored from a player that seemed off-site as replays seemed to suggest.
Torres was sent off for a second yellow card for diving, even as replays showed there was contact.
After the match, Chelsea brought charges for abusive language (with a suggestion that some of it was racial in nature) by the referee, Mark Clattenburg towards two of their players.
Those are the facts of the case. Time shall tell what comes of it.
My 12 year-old niece whines everyday about having to go to school. About having to go to tuition. About having to do exams. She also whines about not having the latest iPhone and iPad.
When I was her age, I had my share of whinging. Probably not as much, but yeah, I was a right spoilt brat I was. Those days it wasn't about an i-gadget, more like the latest Nintendo game. A Super Contra here. A Ninja Gaiden there. Hell, who can forget the awesome Lifeforce from Konami?
Yep, I wanted 'em all. Those were the sweet days when Nintendo ruled over all...the halcyon days of gaming, if you will. Who can forget Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start.
Anyway, I digress.
If you've been following the story of Malala Yousafzai, you probably know where this is headed. I'll leave you to it.
Stuff...big summertime momma blackjacks, Jared Slabicki, roof jumping, bee hunting, wild quests seeking stone temples, fort making, wood swords made up picket fences, imaginary gang wars, the black corvette...sticky maple syrup, lemonade stands, crushes on multiple Sarahs...halloween parade, sledding, mutant snow men, ice mountains...the Xmas choir...springtime showers, worms, lots of 'em...HW Smith...
So Spain were worthy winners, at the expense of my beloved Italy. But who can begrudge a team so talented as them? True, they only hit top form in the final, but there's no one else in Europe, not even Germany, who can match their play when they're on their day.
Italy? Well, until they find a new no. "10" to fill Bobby Baggio's shoes and a "3" to fill Maldini's, this Italy team will continue to be a hard-working and solid team, but sad to say, not quite world beaters. Giovinco doesn't seem up to the task...who else?
Two years to Brazil...might come too soon for Italy, and probably it's one tourney too many for this Spanish team. Belgium, if they mature and get their act together could have a decent run, and probably will be genuine contenders in the next Euros. They have generation unlike no other at the moment...Hazard, Kompany, Vermaelen, Vertonghen, Lukaku, Dembele, Witsel...unless they go all Dutch-like, I'd pick them as dark horses...perhaps a quarter-final finish in the World Cup, and a semi-final run in the Euros.
I still want Messi's Argentina to win it in Brazil, if only because a player as great as him deserves it to get all the hacks off his back. Messi's the greatest there is, and perhaps, the greatest that will ever be.
On Eden Hazard
Stamford Bridge hasn't seen a true king since the halcyon days when Gianfranco Zola reigned over all amongst it's hallowed walls.
Now, the season has thus started...
Spears shall be shaken, Shields shall be splintered, A sword-day, a red-day, ere the sun rises!
And a new king be revealed beneath the summer sun. His raiment is blue, as apt for a great knight of the hither lands. He comes forth from glory, and he be joined in glory. And he sings, for his motion is poetry...a poetic song of such singular passion and beauty that it shall move all who witness it to tears...
That is all.
On the Olympics
Brazil and Spain inevitably disappointed. But both Neymar and Oscar look the real deal. Luckily Oscar's off to Chelsea and Neymar's staying in Brazil. Stay there you fool, stay! But if we can't have you, no one else can! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Erm, ok.
Archery is my new favourite sport. That legally blind Korean dude who won it all is totally bad-ass.
I will shoot this arrow up your ass, and I can't even see you
Second to that is volleyball, women's volleyball...the Brazilian women's volleyball team to be precise. And I swear to you that it has nothing to do with one Jacqueline Carvalho who plays for them...
Gold goes to Brazil...damn right it did
The Olympics are truly a marvellous spectacle...
On the Dark Knight Rises
Let me get this straight. The Dark Knight Rises wasn't really a Batman movie. It was a Nolan movie. Bruce Wayne just does not retire to enjoy Florence with the Catwoman in tow. That's not who Bruce Wayne is. But I guess it works for the Bruce Wayne of Nolan's trilogy of films.
There were moments in the film that were great, but also many parts that were troublesome and didn't work. It doesn't quite achieve the grandeur and spectacle it wants to be, and it does fall beneath the weight of it's own bloated script. Whilst The Dark Knight was truly a masterpiece for the tale it wanted to tell, which was a good old-fashioned sprawling crime yarn akin to Michael Mann's Heat, you could tell that TDKR was aspiring to be something greater and momentous (Nolan drew inspiration from Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities) but didn't quite get there.
TDK was carried by Ledger's brilliant performance as the Joker, and had some truly gripping set-pieces. TDKR had an ok villain, a weak first and third act, and sadly, no emotional weight to it. I wished I cared more for Wayne's final act of sacrifice, but I didn't. Nolan directs his movies cold, and it was none more apparent than in that scene. You can't have an emotional pay-off if there's no build-up to it. And also, Nolan still doesn't know how to direct action.
Don't get me wrong, TDKR is still superior in all aspects that popcorn flicks like The Avengers (save for the action scenes), but it's well below the bar set by TDK and just below the enjoyable but still flawed Batman Begins.
For the inevitable reboot of the next series of Batman films, what we need is something more ambitious in scope and grandeur, a series that will tell Batman's tale end-to-end. And it can't be told in a trilogy, no way. Seven films seems right...with Batman: Year One being the starting point of the first film, and ending with The Dark Knight Returns.
We need to see a story told similar to The Wire, charting Batman's rise and fall, and rise again, and have the tale told from all Gotham's denizens. From Gordon to Dent, the Joker to the Penguin. I can do without the supernatural elements, and too much high tech stuff (Batman is not Bond). Plus the action scenes need to be kick-ass. It's probably time to design a suit that is mobile and actually is conducive to fighting.
Now who can direct such a feature? I love Neill Blomkamp's District 9, that was truly a flick that combined action, humour and heart into one. Let's see how he does with his new effort Elysium. If he proves to be consistent, he might be a smart choice.
On Life in General
Apple's won it's suit against Samsung. Good or bad? Who knows...Apple ripped off Xerox back in the day, and Microsoft ripped them off in turn. It's a pirate rip-off pirate world out there. The game is rigged...but you cannot lose if you do not play. I just so love The Wire.
There's shit going down in Syria which is bad for everyone. But aren't we just so desensitised by what's been happening in the Middle East that it's just images and words flashing before us on screen? It seems that we're more interested on which celebrity did what rather than tackling some truly important issues. Life is like that. The world has moved on, and many have forgotten the faces of their Fathers.
The local political scene has just taken comedy to new heights with the release of that May 13 flick. That one should be a gem.
And the final word goes to Richard from Danny Boyle's adaptation of Alex Garland's The Beach... "I still believe in paradise. But now at least I know it's not some place you can look for. Because it's not where you go. It's how you feel for a moment in your life when you're a part of something. And if you find that moment... It lasts forever..."
He's finally ours. Troll or no Troll, Hazard is a Blue now. And we'll love him to bits. For the first time since Robben, Chelsea has a player who'll run at players. He has that little bit of fantasy to him as well, just like Zola. With all due respect to Mata, Hazard is that marquee signing Chelsea has been waiting to make since the days of Sheva and Ballack. Even those two were over-the-hill. Hazard is up and rising, and his star can only get brighter. He might not be consistent throughout, or reach the great heights we're expecting of him to hit in his first season, but he'll get there. I know he will.
Surely, it's their time now. Barring Spain, they have the most talented squad in Europe at the moment. From back to front, they're class. Hummels will surely develop into the best defender in the world. Calm in possession, quick in thought, and has an eye for the pass too. After Thiago Silva and Kompany, I personally rate him as no. 3 at the moment. Complimenting him in defence are Lahm and Boateng, solid and consistent performers every team needs to make it. In midfield, they're bursting in the seams with talent. From Ozil to Gotze, Schweinsteiger to Muller, they've got a good mix of experience, creativity and aggression that will see them far. Gomez up top is a proven goal-scorer (Champs league finals notwithstanding...a final that Chelsea won! CHELSEA!!! CHELSEA!!! CHELSEA!!!).
My bet is on them, unless Spain can pull herself out of their current lethargy. The success of Barcelona has clearly taken it's toll on this team. Barca players like Iniesta and Xavi have look a bit jaded. Plus Villa is injured. And the fact that they've been so successful in the last two tourneys makes a treble success look unlikely. I'd love them to win it however, as when on form, Spain are still the best team in the world.
And my Italy? Well...any team that has Giovinco, Pirlo and Cassano surely can compete. But to go all the way? Not likely. There's just too much mediocre talent in the team now. Good as he is, Giovinco is no Baggio or Del Piero. Cassano is erratic. Pirlo is reaching the twilight of his career. And the defence is susceptible to lapses in concentration (case in point, the 3 nil reversal v Russia). It shames me to say this, but Italy's defence looks the weakest in ages. Baresi and Maldini would weep.
And Inger-lund? For once, not much hype. Justifiably so. This England team has no stars, no imagination, and plays an archaic 4-4-2 formation from the dark ages. They will be solid. They will be tough to beat. And they might nick a goal or two with their long ball tactics. But win it? Hell no. Seems to me that they're following Di Matteo's Chelsea blueprint. With some exceptions. It was written long ago, in the secret scrolls of the divine football Old Ones that Chelsea would win it this year. With the comedic and tragic Drogba as the hero. Against the football gods of Barcelona did Chelsea prevail. Unjust? Perhaps...but Barca's had too much success already. It was Chelsea's time. Only for the reason that success will probably bring us Hazard and Hulk. For Inger-lund to do it? Naw man...too much sin and hubris has been committed by this team. Fat Lamps has been punished with his injury. Terry will too perhaps get his reckoning.
But enough of the tourney muppets...time to get your EURO on.
Last word to Hazard, you internet troll you. You better sign on for Chelsea or I'll freaking break your legs!!!
