Whatās reality? I donāt know. When my bird was looking at my computer monitor I thought, āThat bird has no idea what heās looking at.ā And yet what does the bird do? Does he panic? No, he canāt really panic, he just does the best he can. Is he able to live in a world where heās so ignorant? Well, he doesnāt really have a choice. The bird is okay even though he doesnāt understand the world. Youāre that bird looking at the monitor, and youāre thinking to yourself, āI can figure this out.ā Maybe you have some bird ideas. Maybe thatās the best you can do.
ā Terry A. Davis
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Attempting to build a wafer defect detection system
As a
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Wabi Sabi
I still donāt know to see imperfections in external things, but it has become evident to me that I could start seeing the imperfections in myself.
Things that which I donāt have any control over.
Traits of me that Iām insecure about:
Itās okay when someone gets bored of me. Itās okay if someone loses interest over me.
Because more than often, these things only happen in my head than in reality.
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Illusion of Objective Beauty
Assuming that Objectivity exists, is infactuation a proof of it that lets us see the Objective Beauty of another person?
Or is it a proof of anti-Objectivity, that once the illusion of infactuation wears off, we quickly tend to start seeing them as they are, opposed to the Platonic ideal that existed in our minds?
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Art Beyond the Artist
I still believe that the greatest thing a person can do has nothing to do with how much of a good person he was. People tend to forget the flaws of a person soon after they die, but even when theyāre alive.
Regardless of whether youāre recognised for it, the best thing you could do is leave behind a piece of media thatāll be remembered for a long time.
Homer. George Lucas. Hideo Kojima.
This mostly resonates with my dislike towards the modern cancel culture. Why expect political correctness from the artist rather than the art. Even why should we expect it from the latter?
I didnāt necessarily mean Iāll make something thatāll be worthy of being preserved and remembered for generations.
I donāt know if Iām capable of that.
But Iāll forever have respect for those who had a vision and accurately brought it to life. The societyās obsession with hating those who pursue a career in arts is only because they havenāt made it yet and not because thereās anything wrong in what theyāre doing
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There is a joy so ancient and immense that transcends the limit of language and comprehension
How do you describe the feeling where you spend time watching the same old stuff that you keep seeing everyday, but suddenly everything appears more beautiful and heartwarming?
Thereās a freeway that connects my Uni to the City. Iāve been through this same route more than a hundred times and yet it never appeared remarkable.
Yet suddenly, my sight was so surreal, like the feeling I get in those expensive trips that I go with my pa7rents.
Iāve seen comments in the tweets of @hikingshawty where people often mention how it is impossible to get out of depression by touching grass when they live in a shitty third world and not England.
The same feeling resonated in me a lot, until moments like these when normal everyday stuff invoke the same feeling in us.
It is easy to say ābe content with what you haveā or āthere are cathedrals everywhere for those with eyes to seeā. But why is it that we donāt always feel the same?
Why does a part of me always want to be mad and angry about everything?