December 12, 2007
I feel absolutely automatic.
Can you describe this automaticity?
Yes. I will use an analogy. Say clothes or example. Clothes are at the complete mercy of the wearer's whim. They travel with him in the company of other clothes, some friends some foes. Some look good some look so so. Some ugly and out they go. The rest are tossed in the washer, hurled in the drier, with each other and into one another. Sometimes they try to fly - escape like Jerry once joked about. The adventure comes back from hangers to being folded, and sometimes being forgotten. In the end there is disintegration of some sort or a drastic change of owners, from home to homeless, shredding thread after thread on the streets, a final purpose before with dust it meets.
But a piece of clothing is a mere garment. No free will.
Yes, but that was just to describe the automaticity.
So do you feel you are without free will and automatic?
No. This is just how I feel now. At this particular moment. Most of the times, like him and her, you and them.
Hmm. So how will you feel after this has passed?
Like a tree. A seed in the dirt. Water and sun and an urgent sense of growth. An ambition to go high, branch out into infinite possibilities. Flowering dreams that bear fruit. Spreading the seed, living in harmony with the weed.
And what next then? Does this lead to other things?
I don't know, it is then that I start feeling automatic. When I think, what next, what next, what next...
What would you rather feel?
Automatic like a tree. Right here and right now, not like the fate of the shirt or the jeans.
So whats the plan?
The plan was always there. Always is. Its been the secret of the seed. The wet earth the sun and the breeze.
Then what is the difficulty?
The answer is just be.
Just be me?
December 08, 2007
Pi wakes up from this dream. Does not understand what just happened. Does not know how to express his experience. Pi was scared. He brushed the wildflowers on the rock he was sitting on. Then he violently rubbed the green leaves. Pi had painted his (and perhaps humanities...who knows?) first piece of art trying to depict the flower on a stem.
Pi observes a piece of wood lying about and kicked it, observing that the circular part of the tree just rolled over the hills. The idea of the wheel was on its way.
With a little imagination one can construct ones own stories of how Pis dream, his art, his inventions and many other things he and his fellow humans were about to do in the course of time became history.
The phenomenon of Pi progressively became repetitive through themes like Galileo, Issac Newton, Leonardo Da Vinci, Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein, etc.
If one then goes back to the moment when Pi had that dream and connects this series of events and incidents to the primordial thought or the origin of his dream one truly begins to see the significance of Pi's destiny.
Cheers to Pi.
December 07, 2007
A wave of something tangy hit Lucy.
Wave after wave of the same feeling washed over her pale skin.
The smell of the breeze was overwhelming in a smooth sort of way.
The suddenness of events were witness to the random flux of her experiences.
Her senses were like the speeding water close to the top of a gigantic waterfall.
Collapsing in a perpetual flow of frozen-ness. The lightening sky was in her eye.
The dark pupils were valleys of unknown secrets.
Her eyelashes burnt dark strokes on the white cloudy horizon.
Her hair was a continuation of bind melodies, gushing through the heights of unaffected scenes.
Across the village stood the villagers all lined up by the sea.
They had a curious look of anxiety in their eyes.
They seemed to be having the most unusual day in their so far uneventful history. In the corner a young boy seemed to be writing about this.
Or perhaps he was painting a picture of the incidents unfolding. Likewise the minds of a million people far away experienced a sort of violent turbulence in their thoughts.
However unaware they may have seemed, such countenance was but a consequence of their primitive imagination.
For these were the audience in front of the televised screen watching the drama unfold -
not unlike you who is reading these words
here and now. The writer was a mad woman they say.
She let out a fantasy of creative eccentricity after suffering every joy that she ever could. Drugged by a dozen experimental chemicals and having undergone a series of virtual reality sessions for months in a row, Dr Warren had simulated the ultimate artist to write this TV show.
After all, what can be more imaginative than the stories born out of artificially simulated madness.
Imagine that. Be it Lucy, was Dr Warrens brain child.
After years of experimenting with artificially induced states of mind and imagination power, he had conducted the ultimate experiment -
a carefully designed protocol to extend the world of madness as a translation into entertainment.
Quintessential material that was spewed out by a crazy mind without the awareness or expectation of fame, money or even the need for expression.
Dr Warren had manufactured the ultimate fiction-factory, a writer with an unlimited capacity to imagine. The show was an instant hit and the returns were equally unlimited.
People were hanging on to every event that unfolded in this ultimate drama of passion and fear. A major part of the appeal was the fact that linear predictability had little to do with how this would all turn out next.
What next? was a mystery to everyone and all. Everyone except Lucy. She was real.
This is the tricky part.
December 04, 2007
Stimulation, is another effect but misunderstood as an action. When the bubble bursts and a different view rises above you listen carefully if you wish to hear other people’s stories. At such times you can feel life pass by. Once happiness is sought there is much to be said about how and why. Once sorrow is encountered there is much to be thought about how long and when. The latter is more quantitave. The former is enfolded in a quality. Among all the noises there always seems to be this one voice in the head that sounds the most convincing. If only the others would shut the fuck
A mystery is not just worth solving, it is worth investigating. Otherwise the world would have inevitably ended into a stale climax. Even the far reaching obscure possibility of AI being an extended future invader of the human race is a bizarre turn of events.
I am no body, I am no body...
Placed in front of the entire class was a boy once long ago. Standing alone and scared he stared into the faces of several little characters. There was no choice but to imagine their story under the influence of a partially understood drama.
Suppose we left it here. What would you think?
"I would like to begin.... ",
Bet on the right stuff
Try every thing.
Come back to your innocence
At night when you sleep.
September 15, 2007
Between silence and sound, lay suspended a moment. Lucy was trying to focus on her thoughts, the words in the background kept giving clues, but she could not listen to the entire sentences, and definitely could not avoid trying to make sense of sentences.
The key words kept ringing in her short term memory, slowly becoming imprints, and would eventually turn into thought-patterns. The words floating in the deathly silence in her mind were like the notes on staves of wavering frequencies.
In the whiteness of the view in front of her imaginary eye, was the quintessential evidence of possibility. Infinite possibility.
She felt somewhat reassured in this state of mind.
Now it was time to draw.
A murder led her to the heart of a Russian mob. Select cities were destroyed by the higher intelligence. The control of an unaware controller is the first step for the self-aware entity to become free.
Read that last sentence over and over again. It is SO close to the point of reality that Lucy was experiencing!
But now the morning had brought over a lot of people on the street. They were hopeful, liars, pious and forgetful. They were evil residents under the influence of malfunctioned drama. She wanted to travel to the lobster place across the street. She was hungry.
She went through the swivelling doors. Walked by the lady waiting to seat her, and sat across a table with a reserved sign on its surface.
A lonely man walked alone towards her and sat on the opposite chair. On the other side of the room, an old woman was reading some mock newspaper. The headlines read SATAN ESCAPES HELL.
The food arrived shortly. In the neighbor hood the wind was blowing over 50 miles per hour.
The dinner went smoothly, considering that Lucy was 96% invisible. The 4 percent of her that was still in the visible range, was too diffused in the noise of modern day world. The background can overwhelm the foreground to a very extreme extent in certain circumstances.
The wine was old, and it hit her. She was not sober anymore. She wondered what the difference between sober and under- influence was. One was distinctly different and short lived, while the other equally distinct and eternal.
Dinner was over. She was satisfied with her uneventful evening so far.
Through the window she saw a man staring at her. How could he see?
The stalker was blind. For him time moved very differently. There is no sun rise of sunset to define a day. The rotation and revolution of the planet had a different meaning to him. Sound was more informative than anything. Touch was a blessing.
He was staring straight at Lucy, and she was staring back at him.
Someone at the corner table just spoke a lie. In 10 minutes, the explosion was going to devour the restaurant. Every one was gonna die. Or whatever that means when the sensory machinery of "feeling" the world disintegrates and disappears.
Time passes again in a strange manner and way.
September 13, 2007
DNA's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy hints at 42 as an answer to the universe. Ofcourse, the conclusion is obsucred by the ambiguity of the question, but a pertinent question still remains: Why 42? Why not 40? Or 41, or 39, or 21?
What is it in human consciousness that generates the imagination? What is it around us that gives us the idea?
I walked out of the new place. Now a different evening. Something moved in the vicinity, the light was green and blue. I looked up towards the black dome of infinity. The night sky. Countless stars stared down my eyes, reflecting each sparkle into shades of black and white. Thoughts and memories danced to that sight. Perception quivered in its wake.
With unimaginable intricacy a few billion year old machinery went about doing its business, and in my mind was an image of the past, light years away.
I could hear birds, chirping between the rhythmic beat of the traffic, cars powered by stroke-engines, pistons throbbing, pouring out energy through a fossil fuel, creating motion out of matter. Operated and steered by intelligent beings, the motors whiz by at varying speeds, at fluctuating frequencies, pitches, synchronized cacophony, mercurial harmony - the true sound of reality - the present moment!
I could see it. I could hear it!
So after billions of years, the stardust that turned into me, was light years away in the sky, an ancient image of eternity, reflecting in my eyes, imprinting on my brain, scintillating my mind, in a sensual confirmation of awareness.
Meanwhile, the earth rotated around itself, and revolved around the sun. The solar system circled some corner of the milky way. And all of it they say, circles about expanding in an infinite space - after having started from a pulse that went out with a big bang!
I turned back towards the streetlights, the STOP sign. The blue and green sky. At my feet a dot and a 4 and a two.
Arbitrary you may say. Random you may Conjecture. Chaos or order? Particle or Wave? Consciousness or Matter? Energy or Time? Black or White? Dream or Wakefulness?
Signs and Shapes. Curves and Squares. Fours and Twos.
The path shone in the yellow light. Fluorescent filaments burned.
In the beginning there was fire. In the beginning there was the wheel.
One becomes two, and two becomes four.
It becomes me, and I become you.
August 30, 2007
Completeness was far from over. The cycle kept on going. The tide kept on turning, and her life kept on throbbing. The beating of the heart got faster as the events of awakening unfolded in time. Her eyes opened and she jerked up straight, her spine towards the sky.
Lucy found herself on a large rock floating in the sea. There was a full moon in the sky. The waves crashed on the rock with an unexpected gentleness. There was a breeze in the air. Her hair shone against the silvery blue light of that night. Sound had a rejuvenating quality here.
Mood had a special flavor.
Am I dead?
Am I born?
Am I dreaming?
Is this real?
Who am I?
What place is this?
What year, date, day of the week is it?
Complete amnesia on an inhospitable rock in the middle of the ocean under a dreamy sky. What a situation!!
Some soft music started playing before she became aware of a certain change in her scene. There was a subtle rhythm that seemed to be getting louder by the second and yet far far away before its crescendo.The sound, that was the only thing that seemed to indicate change in this changeless painting of a situation.
The music kept getting louder but too gradually to take notice.
Maybe its my imagination.
She thought for a second. Quietly in that breeze she thought for a second.
As the wind brushed against the midnight moon, Lucy imagined the most beautiful sunrise. It was raining lightly as the sun came out and a rainbow curved in the golden sky. She picked up some fresh fruit off the grass and walked into the log-cabin by the edge of the valley.
In the far distance there was mild lightening.
A delicate thunder vibrated in the wooden walls.
The music kept playing. The time kept flowing. Completeness was far from over.
Lucy kept imagining..
August 25, 2007
it should be
time for the cold to come in
fear's end's here
its time to make a new turn
On the way back
nothing is the same
things have rearranged
when you left them again
On the return
you'll see your old friend
waiting in your direction
to make his own U-turn
how the seasons change again
you wait in the sunset
and sip on a happy cup of pain
Content to have fought
the fight and now remain
in peace forever
when its sunshine again.
August 22, 2007
As I stared in that direction I immediately realized that this was truly fascinating.
I was a bit surprised that I was actually surprised about it.
The noise from the other side seemed to get more melodic with every passing hour.
If not for those small cars speeding under the bridge, you could even hear the ants scurrying around your ears.
Her eyes felt dry. The water from the rain oozed through her red hair and slipped by her red lips.
The evening got pleasant. A storm was leaving that fresh smell of wind in the air.
The devils got 90000 women he just need 1 more.
Just the kind of woman who is bound to go.
So there it is. Well some of the middle part can be picked from the hints in this picture. If nothing works in making sense, then just imagine how it must be to see it finally - you know, that view behind the brick wall. That surprising music besides the sound of the ants scurrying around her dry eyes.
Bill could have stayed longer, but the spiders were waiting.
August 16, 2007
sometimes you stare in the evening sky
and cross the road when the lights white
about 10 million times
your mind works around
things, thoughts and signs
uplifting brightened up sounds
believe me its true
do you notice how this has changed?
the knots and threads have gotten
much entangled again?
But now a beauty is resolved
something satisfying has been achieved
a fearless vision of the future
is bravely facing my race again
and as for me -
I've learned a thing or two
about letting go
this assumption that I know
its only about understanding
and enjoying this show
welcome to the machine!
August 15, 2007
Isn’t freedom an experience, and aren’t all experiences "experienced" by our mind?
So is our mind free? Really free?
Is freedom only the absence of a ruler in person?
What about rulers that aren’t personified?
We are all fighting for that freedom, some may have given up knowingly, and some may have never been aware of the slavery, but this human condition that we so romantically refer to as "life" and this process of living in the present moment is a constant fight -
- or constant slavery depending on your view.
Do you sleep well? Are you free to express yourself? Are you constantly chasing a future, always mesmerized by images, glitter, power, greed?
Are you afraid to lose what is truly yours?
Well, do you really know what is TRULY yours -
- you know, the stuff that CANNOT be taken away from you? The stuff that is REALLY you?
Is happiness merely material to you, or do you seek something higher?
Now, again, really, what IS freedom?
Are you free?
Fight for your mind!!!
August 12, 2007
Not like the way it has been so far
but quite different
quite out of range.
It wont matter who you are
where you are
how near or
distant from here and now you are.
things will change for sure
certainly things will be 'different',
things will be strange
bizarre and even quite incredible.
What we know will mean much more
what we do not know will suddenly be known.
The weather will be different
the computers faster
and we will be talking to each other
in more ways than sound and text.
Time will probably have more things to do with
death will be farther and the birth of new ones even more miraculous
It is also likely that many other sort of things may happen:
this planet may be completely cooked
by nuclear holocausts and torn $ bills
machines may have become more powerful
and through TV, AI may finally get our attention!
But maybe not, maybe through TV we may be
paralyzed to our couches, frozen in fossils of the 21st century.
August 10, 2007
I woke up in the darkness and looked about. In my mind I saw greek sprawled around the fluctuating floor. It was all greek - what did it mean? It was all greek.
It took me a while to realize that 'those' were my thoughts. But, what did it mean?
I suddenly noticed the part of my mind that carried out the job of noticing such things. Things such as language, thought, curiosity and dreams. Was it a dream? I asked myself, was "this" a dream?
I woke up in the darkness and looked about. In my mind I saw images flying around the mercurial source of light. It was like watching a really big picture shatter into infinite small ones - every moment, forever. Were these memories? I tried to remember. It was still greek.
Suddenly, there was a sound - a knock on some invisible door. I looked through the peephole. It was me. Behind was a whole another world. More doors, more windows, more empty spaces, sprinkled with trees and thoughts. Was it all a dream? I asked myself.
I slowly felt the light of the sun glow on my face. What place was this now? "when" is this? I got up, and noticed the sky was dimmed by a fading eclipse in the sky. In between the times I shut my eyes and opened them again for yet another time, a memory, an image, flashed behind my eyelids. It was a picture I had seen of the earth rising on a desolate martian scene - real pictures. Postcards from mars. An exploration of the human mind. A receding horizon. It looked like the north star over a static red sea.
I brought my mind back to the present moment. For a while I thought of nothing. I noticed I could move this time. I got up to embrace the morning. I sipped a cup of coffee. There was music in the air. The traffic moved in a rhythm of its own. People spoke and birds sang. Within it all, there were sounds of the wind swaying the trees.
I looked through the peephole.
There was the world, sprawled all across a slowly changing canvas.
I walked towards the mirror to examine my self. I looked closer into my eyes. There, beyond the reflection in the dark circular globes, I saw yet other worlds. It was all greek, all memories, colors and sounds shifting through a temporal breeze.
What did it mean?
It was always different. It always seemed that I insisted it wasn't changing.
Another day the sun has risen, like it has risen a countless times before. Will it rise again tomorrow, I wouldn't really know. For sure I mean.
Was it a dream? I asked myself...
July 28, 2007
The source of sound
and the source of light
are orchestrated around
in the shade of the night
vibrations from strings
dance in a hollow wooden box
while the magnetic pickup brings
the electric strings to talk
The lamp on the right side
glows geometric arcs of light
a metal filament in its hide
is the source that shines the night
these 'instruments' of waves
are held to the ground by a force
and the gravity of these thoughts
has its own cryptic source
I watch from a distance
at the picture in my gaze
and I marvel at the dance
of light, sound and waves
July 19, 2007
a certain kind of thing
completely out of mystery
on some straaaaange territory
I take a step forwards,
stealing one last glance backwards
moving one step at a time
imagining what inclines behind???
Some steep sort of a slope
rests underneath my wings
my mind is near exploding
into cosmic daily things
Blasphemy is a word
and belief is just a concept
in the very end its all illusions
under stand this and you're safe!
Now let me go to sleep
the other side has to wake
I'll dream - as they live their dreams
waking the sunny side for my sake
July 13, 2007
such an important part of me?
And, how come I disappeared
before I could even see?
Why does the tide change
exactly when I watch?
why do these troubles fade
slower than my thoughts?
Mind does wax and wane
it does indeed ebb and flow
Sometimes it even feels insane
and sometimes...you just know.
Theres a world on the other side
and it will always be there
the truth is always hidden
in two places at one time
How can I see that truth
how can I be in time?
There is love somewhere out of sync
And this planet is an imagination of mine!
June 15, 2007
It is time
to see the side
of the shining moon
crazily flying in the sky
all around it diamonds
and grass on sweet secrets
the dawn is but obscured
by a division in the wishes
of being numb to the education
breaking childhood into shards of cigars
The barking of the dogs echoed through the machine
as the whine of the thin ice struck at the controls of the sun
Therefore it is time now
tomorrow it may all have changed
There may no more be a difference between us and them
by the mudmen in the relic of ancient gold over burning bridges
It is ultimately comfortable to know that a dream has been lived
when I was a child I dreamt of watching you live, to hear your voice as I go to the show.
April 30, 2007
If you really want to know it, you have to live as if you believe in everything. Not trust, believe! Everything is significant and insignificant at the same time. Every moment has a peak and a trough. The most fundamental nature of material reality is a network of waves.
The smoke from the old woman’s lungs branched into the afternoon air, resembling the ramifying labyrinth of the delicate alveolar tree through where it came.
Somewhere in the vicinity, the waves hit the shore as she grew older by the second. The light from the sun moved slowly and the wind changed somethings too. If you really thought hard now, you could even feel time flow.
Reality vibrated in a rhythm. Colors spoke in sounds. In the background, she inhaled the life out of a red glow that harnessed energy through the burning tobacco. In a different dimension nicotine molecules were dancing with the nerve cells in her head. Somewhere in the vicinity was her entire life history.
Another second passed by. The woman grew grayer.
The moment seemed to divide into two equal lives. The left was bright and the right was dark. There was symmetry in black and white.
"Maybe as we grow older, we run out of the storytelling abilities that childhood sprouted in us. Maybe the entire purpose of those fantasies was to simply live. Is that what we began to miss, as we faded into yesterday? Makes sense", she thought to herself.
A blank canvas has a simple story to tell.
Eventually there is a blotch of a color, followed by a line. Then there is a streak of fibers and grains. There is gold, orange, and green along with the textures of wood and steel. A hand withdraws and takes a step behind. A pair of blind eyes watch from a distance. Oh what must they see? What must it be?
A moment in time.
The evening melted into her pale-white skin. The darkness collapsed on her dusty black clothes. The wind blew a few more seconds as tiny grains of sand changed places in the air.
Then sunlight disappeared into her old black eyes.
In the end, there were just pinholes, reflecting smoke against a yellow sky and speeding incredibly through her memories.....
....till they brought her mind back to this present moment.Meanwhile, more smoke danced as the street lights turned green.
April 29, 2007
how many of them you've had?
The first hour of the first day
the week in its beginning?
Listening to Dylan at times
and at times listening to Marley
you hardly ever realized
that those were the unique times
Toasted sandwich over green tomatoes
a blurry sunlight making past your bed
incense burning in the neighborhoods
I feel a strange memory in my head
Do you remember all those Sundays?
The morning steam over tea cups on streets?
- the motion of the public buses
taking you somewhere some place to meet.
April 24, 2007
are covered in dirt
there's a weary sky
fluttering under her skirt
A bird from a weather
that had gathered together
from here somewhere
the wind had howled
the world had turned
into an automatic twirl
the ribonucleic acid burned
to a different sun
but before you leave
would you like to try one?
April 18, 2007
Consciousness occurs at a slow pace. It is like a gradual stage of blaring through silence into noise beyond our hearing limits. One doesn't know exactly. There are weird times of the day or night when understanding dawns. It may be the most unexpected situation for an eureka moment.
You never know instantaneously about profound realizations.
Your epiphanies and discoveries are hidden under and behind layers of ambiguities.
Lucy realized this and that in itself was a step closer into a new level.
Ones madness is a whim unearthed. Apology for an ego washes fear into truth.
There is an artistry in the brief sincerity of the moment when people stop existing and persons come alive. The truth of a purpose sprouts at a moment of a rare blip.
Individuals have never been as engaged in a revolution as they are when facing the limits of their programmed lives.
In such moments, occurs consciousness.
In such moments, the limits are crossed. In such moments, creatures who cannot fly, take giant leaps of imagination and invent time travel.
In such moments, history is made.
Consciousness is a message to ourselves. It is a moment when we come full circle with our historical egos.
What happens now? Hopefully something wonderful!
Lucy reached the end of a quest, which had no beginning.
And then, she took a giant step outside her mind...
March 03, 2007
of this blazing black cloud
dying to pour into rain
this pain is like an orphan
trapped inside a sheltered home
alone and in my head
its like talking long distance over the phone
longing to feel the real
a symptom of careening fear
sole shrapnels of isolation
buried laughter under tears
the moon is shining through
the window of my soul
as I wake up in the evening
wasted away in alcohol
staring blankly at the light
of motion pictures on the screen
paralyzed on this lazy couch
ouch...don't let out that scream
slip silently into the night
satisfied of the end in sight
while I fight this fight
don't let me out your fading plight
February 03, 2007
I stumble upon you
your eyes meet mine
and I realize that its true
the revolution of ideas
has begun with a bang
like the branching of trees
the consciouness has sang
and I feel insane no more
to have feared everything
I've been insane before
and it wasnt a bad thing
but if I had'nt been aware
of your tandem existence
I would'nt have found you here
in a collective sort of presence
So in a moment of insanity
I struggle with you again
through destruction and action
we shall create what will remain