"Iki insan ayni evde yasadigi zaman, birbirlerini her gun gorur ve dahasi, birbirlerini sever, gunluk konusmalari ikisinin bellegine bir duzen verir: Sessiz ve bilincdisi bir kabullenisle, hayatlarindan genis kesimleri unutusun icinde birakir ve haklarinda ayni hikayeyi anlattiklari bir kac olayi konusur da konusurlar; hikaye dallar arasinda esen hafif bir ruzgar gibi, baslarinin ustunde mirildanip durarak, onlara birlikte yasadiklarini hatirlatirlar."
Milan Kundera, "Bilmemek"
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Bellek
"Yillar sonra tekrar gorusen iki insanin heyacanini hayal ediyorum. Bir zamanlar sik sik gorusmuslerdir ve bu yuzden de, ayni yasanmislikla, ayni anilarla bagli olduklarini dusunurler. Ayni anilar mi? Yanlis anlamalar burada baslar: Anilar ayni degildir, ikiside gecmisten iki ya da uc durum hatirlamaktadirlar, ama herkesinki kendinedir; anilari birbirine benzemez, birbiriyle ortusmez; hatta, nicel olarak bile birbirleriyle kiyaslanamazlar; biri oteki hakkinda, onun kendi hakkinda hatirladigindan cok daha fazla sey hatirlar; once, bellegin kapasitesinin bir bireyden otekine farklilik gostermesi (bu da her biri icin kabul edilebilir bir aciklama olurdu) yuzunden, ama ayni zamanda (ve bunu kabul etmek daha zordur), birbirleri icin ayni derecede onem tasimamalari yuzunden. Irena, Josef'i havalaninda gordugu zaman, gecmisteki maceralarinin her ayrintisini hatirlamisti; Josef hicbir sey hatirlamiyordu. Daha ilk saniyeden itibaren karsilasmalari haksiz ve isyan ettirici bir esitsizlik uzerine kurulmustu."
Milan Kundera, "Bilmemek"
Milan Kundera, "Bilmemek"
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Paradise Falls
From the movie Up. Carl and Ellie's dream.
It is a dream that connects two people no matter what. It is a silent feeling that gives both happiness and grieve; a point in time; a point in time that may never come true.
I realized how beautiful this part of the movie later. There is a guitar, binocular, and Carl and Ellie's wedding photo, and of course their dream and knowing how they paint the frame for their kid. The guitar is the joy, the binocular is the curiosity, the wedding photo is the support, and the frame is the dream, and they are together for years. Isn't it so true as though it is love?
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Simdiki Zaman
"Ardimiza baktigimizda zaman daha genistir, bizi geri donmeye cagiran ses daha karsi konulmazdir. Bu deyiste keskin bir hava var, ama yanlis. Insanlar yaslanir, sonu yaklasir, her an gitgide kiymetlenir ve anilarla kaybedecek zaman yoktur. Nostaljinin matematiksel celiskisini anlamak gerekir; ilkgenclikte, yasanan hayatin hacmi tamamen anlamsizken nostalji en guclu noktasindadir.
Josef'in lise ogrencisi oldugu zamanin sisleri arasinda bir genc kizin ciktigini goruyorum; upuzun ve ince, guzel, bakire ve huzunlu, cunku bir cocuktan ayrilmis. Bu onun ilk ask ayriligi, bu yuzden aci cekiyor, ama acisi, zamani kesfederken duydugu saskinliktan daha hafif; zamani daha once hic gormedigi goruyor.
O ana kadar zaman ona ilerleyen ve gelecegi yutan simdiki zaman goruntusu altinda kendni gostermistir; hizli gecmesinden (kotu bir sey beklediginde) korkuyor ya da yavas gecmesine (guzel bir sey beklediginde) isyan ediyordu. Bu kez, zaman ona bambaska gorunuyor: Artik gelecege el koyan muzaffer zaman simdiki zaman degil; yenilmis, esir alinmis, gecmis tarafindan suruklenmis simdiki zaman. Hayatindan kopan ve asla ulasilmamak uzere cekip giden bir genc adam goruyor. Hipnotize edilmiscesine, hayatinin uzaklasan bu parcasina bakmaktan baska bir sey gelmiyor elinden, sadece bakiyor ve aci cekiyor. Adina sila hasreti denilen tamamen yeni bir duygu hissediyor."
Milan Kundera, Bilmemek
Josef'in lise ogrencisi oldugu zamanin sisleri arasinda bir genc kizin ciktigini goruyorum; upuzun ve ince, guzel, bakire ve huzunlu, cunku bir cocuktan ayrilmis. Bu onun ilk ask ayriligi, bu yuzden aci cekiyor, ama acisi, zamani kesfederken duydugu saskinliktan daha hafif; zamani daha once hic gormedigi goruyor.
O ana kadar zaman ona ilerleyen ve gelecegi yutan simdiki zaman goruntusu altinda kendni gostermistir; hizli gecmesinden (kotu bir sey beklediginde) korkuyor ya da yavas gecmesine (guzel bir sey beklediginde) isyan ediyordu. Bu kez, zaman ona bambaska gorunuyor: Artik gelecege el koyan muzaffer zaman simdiki zaman degil; yenilmis, esir alinmis, gecmis tarafindan suruklenmis simdiki zaman. Hayatindan kopan ve asla ulasilmamak uzere cekip giden bir genc adam goruyor. Hipnotize edilmiscesine, hayatinin uzaklasan bu parcasina bakmaktan baska bir sey gelmiyor elinden, sadece bakiyor ve aci cekiyor. Adina sila hasreti denilen tamamen yeni bir duygu hissediyor."
Milan Kundera, Bilmemek
Utangaç
"Dunyayi, tipki yirmi yil sonra mezarindan cikan bir olu nasil bulursa, oyle buldugu izlenimine kapildi: Olu, yurumeye unutan cekingen ayagiyla topraga dokunur: Yasadigi dunyayi cok zor tanir, ama durmadan hayatinin kalintilarina takilip tokezler: Pantolonunu, kravatini, onlari cok dogal olarak paylasan canlilarin bedenleri uzerinde gorur; her seyi gorur ve hic bir sey talep etmez: oluler utangactir."
Milan Kundera, Bilmemek
Milan Kundera, Bilmemek
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki
"And in that moment, he was finally able to accept it all. In the deepest recesses of his soul, Tsukuru Tazaki understood. One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of harmony."
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, H. Murakami
---
A point in time. A knife in time.
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, H. Murakami
---
A point in time. A knife in time.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Winter
"Winter.
Here is what I do on the first day of snowfall every year: I step out of the house early in the morning, still in my pajamas, hugging my arms against the chill. I find the driveway, my father's car, the walls, the threes, the rooftops, and the hills buried under a foot of snow. I smile. The sky is seamless, the snow so white my eyes burn. I shovel a handful of the fresh snow into mouth, listen to the muffled stillness broken only by the cawing of crows. I walk down the front steps, barefoot, and call for Hassan to come out and see."
From "The Kitten Runner", Khaled Hosseini
Here is what I do on the first day of snowfall every year: I step out of the house early in the morning, still in my pajamas, hugging my arms against the chill. I find the driveway, my father's car, the walls, the threes, the rooftops, and the hills buried under a foot of snow. I smile. The sky is seamless, the snow so white my eyes burn. I shovel a handful of the fresh snow into mouth, listen to the muffled stillness broken only by the cawing of crows. I walk down the front steps, barefoot, and call for Hassan to come out and see."
From "The Kitten Runner", Khaled Hosseini
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Incapable of Hurting Anyone
"No obstetricians, no anesthesiologists, no fancy monitoring devices. Just Sanaubar lying on a stained, naked mattress with Ali and a midwife helping her. She hadn't need much help at all, because, even in birth, Hassan was true to his nature: He was incapable of hurting anyone. A few grunts, a couple of pushes, and out came Hassan. Out he came smiling."
From "The Kite Runner", Khaled Husseini
From "The Kite Runner", Khaled Husseini
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Three Stories
"I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned Coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and sans serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But 10 years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backward 10 years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents' garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4,000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down — that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the world's first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors and Polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: It was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much."
Steve Jobs
From: http://news.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned Coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and sans serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But 10 years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backward 10 years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents' garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4,000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down — that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the world's first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors and Polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: It was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much."
Steve Jobs
From: http://news.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Taciturnity
"The city's earthly lights blotted out the stars as always. The sky was nice and clear, but only a few stars were visible, the very bright ones that twinkled as pale points here and there. Still, the moon stood out clearly against the sky. It hung up there faithfully, without a word of complaint concerning the city lights or the noise or the pollution. If he focused hard on the moon, he could make out the strange shadows formed by the gigantic craters and valleys. Tengo's mind emptied as he stared at the light of the moon. Inside him, memories that had been handed down antiquity began to stir. Before human beings possessed fire or tools or language, the moon had been their ally. It would calm people's fear now and then by illuminating the dark world like a heavenly lantern. Even now when darkness had been banished from most pats of the world, there remained a sense of human gratitude toward the moon and it's unconditional compassion. it was imprinted upon human genes like a warm collective memory."
From 1Q84, H. Marukami
From 1Q84, H. Marukami
Sunday, April 26, 2015
This Little Space in Between
"-Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly like it would ruin my whole life. And it's not just a fear of commitment or that I'm incapable of caring or loving because I can. It's just that, if I'm totally honest with myself, I think I'd rather die knowing that I was really good at something that I had excelled in some way than that I'd just been in a nice, caring relationship.
-I had worked for this older man, and once he told me that he had spent all of his life thinking about his career. He was 52, and it suddenly struck him that he had never really given anything of himself. His life was for no one and nothing. He was almost crying saying that.
I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."
I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."
from Before Sunrise
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Disappearance
I was sitting and watching the flow of the dance, listening the voices, and feeling the disappearance of everything but the moment.
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