Whispers of the Ghost

Symbol of the 'Individual Eleven' 

Whispers of the Ghost

The concepts behind my greatest inspiration

Almost everything I have learnt about future technologies, I have learnt from the Japanese. Specifically, from one Japanese artist (philosopher) named Masumune Shirow.  

As an expose of art used to give life to a philosophical concept, the world of ‘Ghost in the Shell’ (GITS) is, for me (and possibly my generation), unparalleled in its technological significance.

I was 22 when I first saw ‘Ghost in the Shell’ the 1996 classic. I was in university and the setting was perfect; we thought in Ideals, we oriented ourselves towards the future, made ripe with knowledge and eager for immediate application. I was blown away, inspired, rewired. It would be one of the few permanent imprints on my mind. All else has faded, been rethought and changed; the power of that animation resonates perpetually. The memory of what I have learnt from it tugs and pokes at my senses.

The movie (derived from the Manga) itself was inspired by a white paper titled ‘The ghost in the machine’ by Arthur Koestler. A philosophical work that addresses the Cartesian duality paradigm by rejecting its premise. Shirow adopts this thinking, and in the treatment of this structuralist essay creates a world where art meet deep insight.

I ended up working in general management which I feel was one of my biggest mistakes. In 2009, at the age of 30, I tried to make amends and started my own design firm. On that occasion, the setting was far from perfect; family, friends, economics and international wars made the process almost impossible. The inner push to attempt this was, in no small part, inspired by GITS and the possibilities of working, creating and living ‘futuristically’.

The idea behind my org chart was derived by GITS: an open source firm, specializing in finding the right ‘designer’ for the client, looking to build creative products. No restrictions of scale and scope, the name says it all (inspired by the studio behind the original movie): Intense Designs Creative Committee. I wanted to create a Committee of creative folk, each member responsible for one medium. My dream was to one day operate a ‘tool shed’; a conceptual model of delivering design solutions for almost any project. A ‘hub and spoke’ model organization where the craft is realized by tapping into freelancers and virtual teams.

Everyone was to be connected yet no one was to be restricted. All workflows would converge at the ‘Cloud’;  there the work was accumulated and centralized for archiving. The Cloud was a conceptual tool, aimed at providing the back-end needed to make design a reality. It was both an infrastructure and a thought process. Even as I write these words, I find it difficult to explain the essence. Suffice to say, it was modeled around the ‘Stand Alone Complex’. An independent entity that operates within the global network, meshing with it but retaining its own identity.

It was to be the team of the future. Or, if you live in the future like I do, the team for today. I believe it to have been one of the most significant endeavors of my life, and brings me today to pen an introduction to the ‘origin’ of my motivation.  

(to be continued...)

I do not sleep tonight but I am not afraid...

There is no poetry tonight; I do not have words that rhyme..... 

As children, we are taught to enjoy our laughter and welcome humour. No one tells us that sadness and pain are also going to be with us; there might not be any comfort in them but they are always present. They cannot and should not be relegated within our thoughts. Like creatures of the swamp, they only grow stronger in darkness and flourish behind closed doors. They are like the plankton that thrives deep within the abyss. 

A wise man once wrote that we only see the monsters we are meant to see; only fear the demons that are born of our own devices. Action creates both beauty and ugliness, words always leave a blank space between them because in that space the devil has already placed his mantra. Hatred is not a child of insanity, it is the flesh and blood of reason. Logic leads to wars, creativity leads to destruction and honour is a servant of the wicked. 

We bury our darkest moments under so much falsehood that we are rendered defenseless by the beast of recall; the chambers of consciousness are slammed shut on living things, not yet dead and never meant to become ghosts. Our worst losses will not wander the castle at night, making scary noises and casting unwanted spells. These beings will wait patiently in the corners, where there is shadow during daylight. They will attack us in waking life; they do not simply go away. 

I have slept with thoughts of joy only to slip into nightmares. Felt surges of pride at humanity only to be reminded of the horrors of history. We follow leaders who promise peace and prosperity while they prepare for battle and bloodshed. 

Evil, true evil, only takes control when it is suppressed. There is nothing to be gained from ignorance; we need knowledge of it all. The good, the bad and the downright horrific. 

I wish that, as a child, I had been taught to embrace pain and misery. Had learnt to look evil in the eye, face it with all my senses. Now I know. 

I do not sleep tonight but I am not afraid. I know I will face all my terrors and be haunted and I take comfort in that thought. I will sleep with my enemy and wake up with nothing. Wish for no better and dream a silence complete. I will not try and fight that which I understand is part of my being. 

I will let the sightless monster rise from the deep and burn in the light. I will accept it, for it is I and I, imperfect.  

Echoes from the heavens .. to the Norse gods

"I dream of Valhalla, of flame arrows and a hammer deity"

Echoes from the heavens, a thunderous awakening
Risen from the silence of the cold, comes the storm almighty
A reminiscence of the Norse gods and myths
I dream of Valhalla, of flame arrows and a hammer deity

Visions of warriors with cold blooded honour
Shimmer down with the water so brutally descended
Cries in hellish words so ancestral and old
Come with each drop of rain in the land now repented

Once I was a viking, a man with purposeful death
Conquering new lands, by sea and by force of my will
A race stood tall and left its roots with ample trace
Of history mighty, forged with steel and cutting quill

Oh my wandering mind rests upon sons of Odin
All father, where have you left us, abandoned
To swelter and heat rising from the steaming concrete
Reckoning with simple tales of small villains we trampled

Stand, against wind bellowing a hollow word 
Eyes closed out to theater acted with false script
Chilling temper, a season spent waiting sunlight
Only today landscapes and hills fall into the crypt

Off to the blind man, two coins in hand and a prayer to Loki
You meddled thus creating worlds, acting a warning
Am I the Viking that once rose from the ice lands?
A giant who would depart the living, flesh burning


(dedicated to the Nordic) 

The struggle for wage is an honest one

"Among these skyscrapers I will fight in the shade"

The struggle for a wage is an honest one
When the means to an end are mentally inviting
I have moved a lot, tried to settle often
The want for material goods is so enticing

Comfort and shelter is found in concrete
In the company of strangers and pieces of art
We often forget to seek these out
Hurried and hassled we forget where to start

A good beginning is a job worth doing
Somewhere of use for self and for others
A place to build or create something special
Be it a muffin or a new home for lost brothers

We all take comfort in what we gain
As we live and not as we learn to lose
Often it takes the whispers of sages 
To remember that love is still very close

I realized rather late that work was a pleasure
Always thought it a cumbersome chore
A burden left best to the lesser minds
Did not expect idleness would be such a bore

We need not wear ourselves to the bone
In search of a better, easier tomorrow
That wishful day almost never comes
The future will always be filled with some sorrow

As life gets on, our minds get dull
The pen becomes useless, the sword unwanted
Legs walk a little less each day
Adventures and travels become so daunted

It will be best to find a big city
The larger the crowd, the less I will fade
While I miss the comfort of a town well known
Among these skyscrapers I will fight in the shade


(dedicated to the Toronto Stock Exchange: TSX) 

A scribe's duty

I do a scribe's duty and write what I know

I do a scribe's duty and write what I know

Fulfill my masters wishes of creating stories

I make no mistakes in capturing the moment

These pages are my worlds, my visions, my glories

History well recorded, acts as a guide

Fortunes and victories are remembered forever

Even a leaders mistakes and losses

May be used to piece bits of wisdom together

We passed the moment, and may not look back

Another day, another page well written

The memory may fade, the ink does not

This foul tasting apple has already been bitten

By a candle, moonlight or buzzing light

My work must go one, without interruption

Only the final darkness can stop me

I am not silenced by might nor by election

Some men are free, some women empowered

Some cities choose, while others abide

Most nations fall, today or tomorrow

No one can will these events aside

Children are taught to respect my writing

Teachers are paid to guard the books

To keep them pure, honest and true

Save them from soldiers, bankers and crooks

The scribe of the ages has seen it all

Witnessed the folly again and again

He has the burden of repeating the chore

Of committing the past to eternal domain

I plead you take seriously the counting

And take into life all the numbers that change

To make good use of the years gone by

Not a few hundred but the entire range

Shahbaz Ali-Khan

(dedicated to historians)

"Painting flowers on a canvas .."

Attics creek from childish footsteps .. 

Painting flowers on a canvas erstwhile
The man with no face smiles with purpose
Banished soldiers wave the flag
Wearing blue ribbons and a red attire

Attics creak from childish footsteps
Of infants not born, raised or mangled
Memories lapse too easily here
Lovers lived poorly but died in style

They keep me from wanting, lusting and watching
From my window figures luscious and wild
While they make loud sounds of fun and frolic
Away from my sight, blinded and tired

A jungle of houses, a river of roads
Have circled my nights and grasped my dreams
Where once there were raisins of woodland and grass
Hang grinning gargoyles of glass and tile

Whisper gently, hushing your message
Take the rotten fruits of your labour
Guard them well for the angels are coming
The bounty they seek is not on your file

Start a fire if the cold has bled you
Taken your sinners saints and prophets
Burn tonight the papers of truth
Clench in your teeth the root so vile

Marry the madness and womb its offspring
Welcome its message as the last to bear
Feed the youngling of hatred and scorn
Let it grow as a killer for hire

I have painted thorns where reason would let me
Drawn on rock that shapes the water
I have riddled the book with pictures of battles
Pictures of Hope's defeat by Denial 


(dedicated to that awful, awful man: Frederick Taylor)

That moment, four and some seasons ago....

"I find solace in the snow, the trees and the mountains .." 

That moment, four and some seasons ago
You asked me to leave the home we share
You had a tear in one eye, a glisten in the other
I had nothing to say, was headed I knew not where

We parted as friends not lovers
We made a pact of always caring
For the welfare of the other we once cherished
Promised to ease the pain of my leaving

We held each others hand for comfort
Knowing the sense of touch had long faded
Time would wash away the wounds, we said
Our days in the sun had been shaded

The hours that followed were weary
Though we sensed each others darkness
We tried to make better those moments
When the walls start whispering madness

Took not long for this trust to be broken
It was easy for you to move forward
You found a companion to hold onto 
Someone to help you in looking onward

I do not blame you your choices, nor their haste of execution
I cannot judge you for wanting happiness
My only grudge is the hurting, the angst and anger
Of knowing how different my own circumstance

We broke the compact, let go of the illusion
That love once lost, lovers once parted
Does not lead to friendship, nor does it mask the confusion
Of coping with moments of hatred 

I take no comfort in not knowing
What your life may be like right now
I know but what I have with me
The shadows of a life gone foul

Fear nothing, be well, live better
I have moved to a new land far away
Here I hope to start living
With the wish to make matter each day

I find solace in the snow, the trees and the mountains
They will be my path to success
Within me there is still some memory
Though with each day it does recess

That day, four and some seasons ago
When you asked me to leave you forever
Those are the days that sometimes break a man
And leave him with a life to rediscover


(dedicated to my family, and to special friend called Charlie; who all helped me take out the trash)