December 12, 2007

Dilemma on thee couch...

How do you feel?

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 story

The first human - lets call him pi - sat on a rock above the valley. He dreamed of the future, a concept about which he had no idea - yet. Everything from language to art, politics, domestication, invention, science, exploration, philosophizing, religion, and back to the self were the visions of his future dream. He saw that the future held various manifestations of these emergent human traits. As a result, the consequent events in history included the different ages from stone age to steel age and from the age of reason to the age of enlightenment. Renaissance, the industrial revolution, the world wars, the discovery of the DNA, were examples of descriptions of these historical events and incidents that were about to unfold. There was language - the translation of abstract thoughts into a recordable format, the descriptions and chronological recording of human history, yet another manifestation of those original abstractions made by the primitive mind. The realization of being home was imposed by the name and the image of the planet that humans will carry in their heads with certainty. An astronaut in space confirmed this fact visually. From there outwards the human eye expanded the naming and identification process to the vast out reaches of the fairly uncertain concept of space. The different craters on the moon, the different moons of Jupiter, the minuscule's size of the solar system in the milky way, and the final minuteness of his galaxy in an infinite and eternal universe were the examples of this inside-out exploration. And at the depths of matter were discovered subatomic particles, waves, strings and probabilities. The core of the living organism was found to be a 4 lettered code of a three lettered DNA molecule. Here again, abstractions of nature translated via language into symbolic concepts, ideas, descriptions, names, pathways and theories - mental models of the universe that they were all curiously trying to agree upon while at the same time being drawn by the unknown infinity.

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.
Simulated imagination.
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


Its silence. Thoughts are silent, words are silent, and time is silent. The space between notes and abysmal gaps between leaps of imagination are silent. The insights into other worlds - virtual reality experiences of a big discovery - are silent.
Silence is the simulation of senses. Yes, simulation.

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.
It is definitely not the end of the story though. The story never ends.
The story of life has its beginnings in the non-living. The zero fits between before and after - it.
Breaking up into finer strands, awareness lets out a shallow scream.
Delightful feelings whistle out in the air and a blanket of light spreads over the skin.
A shadow of gentle concern envelops the body.
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.
The teacher stood crooked - a symbol of authority in motion.
The chalk on the board was an abstract scribble on the dark void of putative ignorance.

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.