Knots and Threads

Mercurial Metamorphosis

2012-01-02T13:14:00.001-08:00

A caterpillar on the leaf
was dreaming in the sunlight...
crawling on a stem,
it would stare
at the stars at night.
The leaves were dreaming too
as the stems grew
along their side.

The moon,
was changing faces
while the caterpillar
imagined places,
it would visit
soon,
after it died…..

The butterfly woke up with a start...
"What a nightmare" - she thought.
The colors on the wings had spread
and shaded those images of the dead.

She flew into the forest
and basked in the dawn.
The sun was smiling
at the leaves
and a new world
slowly began to crawl.

Pollen worlds
within the flowers
were hidden
between the twirls.
A fragrance
of enchantment
was dancing
like young girls.

The birds sang a song
that belonged
to the new morning.
The chrysalis
stayed still,
in the memories
of the evening.

The earth continued to move
and the stars continued too...
The galaxy
- if one could see -
was spinning
about its center ...completely free,
like me and you.

Beyond
is infinity...
Chaos
alternating with Creativity.

But all of this
is in the mind
which is present
here and now -
in a moment
of eternity.

Space-Time Continuum Explained in 3^3 Movements.

2011-11-06T08:22:00.000-08:00

This video beautifully demonstrates the fundamental complementarity of space-time.

The farther we go in terms of distance, the more we travel into the past.

As we arrive 100 million light years away from the earth we get into very deep space.

Beyond that is an abysmal spatial field so dense and so luminous that it is hard to imagine that we are such an invisibly microscopic component of such an infinitely large universe.

100 million light years away - now that is distance (space) expressed in terms of the time it takes for light to travel.

Space flips into Time.

Now if we go deeper inside the structure of matter, particularly living matter, and specifically a human being, then we encounter the special cellular, molecular, atomic, and sub-atomic dimensions of micro-space.

It is all pure information beyond that.

At this quantum level everything is dependent upon the observer, while the observer him/her self is a human being made of the same quantum matter.

At this level of reality we don't have any certain information.

At this level of reality we ARE information.

At this close range - 0.000001 angstroms to be specific - things change at the speed of light.

It is hard to imagine that our Self is a Universe in itself!

From this sub-atomic perspective, the forces of creation and destruction keep constantly vibrating.

There is tremendous energy at this level.

E=MC^2

Change is therefore the only constant in the universe.

Everything is impermanent.

It is all simultaneously ephemeral .... and eternally mercurial.

The Big Bang - from which our Universe is thought to be born - was not unlike a quantum event.

An infinitesimally small particle, of infinite density, exploded about 13.7 billion years ago - with a very Big Bang.

All this happened way beyond (and before) the 100 million light years of perspective that we see in this video.

Time flips into Space

Links to Clues about Hints...

2011-10-16T13:32:00.000-07:00

Apparently,
Happiness is the most sought after Emotion,
which makes Greed the obvious consequence of an Obsessive desire to constantly be happy.

Meanwhile,
Mindfulness patiently watches over this ephemeral scene...

Consciousness is the awareness

of this mercurial reality.

Exploding Egoes Goes without Exploring...or Explaining

2011-07-27T11:19:00.000-07:00

There is music in my mind,
and painting on my fingers.
Poetry is my voice,
and an ocean is my skin.

I live in skies....
full of infinite mystery.
so many reasons and whys
to think about reality - for eternity.

I have a countless emotions to feel
and I am very desperate to be real.
I have this intense desire
to forget myself
But I also have an equally strong urge
to simply remember Me....

But I am as much in love with You
as much as you are in love with your Self.

I am extremely old
and I am also brand new.

I hate it when I am unable to love.
But I love it when I am unable to hate.

I can fly far above
and I can dwell deep within.
I am the author of my own story,
But I am also the reader -
my own critique,
of my personal history.
I agree -
I am full of my self
and I am constantly Me.
But in my emptiness is you
and I imagine you are an endless sea...

I love "you" more
than you can ever see.

There are waves in my mind
and colors in my eyes
This is my poetry...
for you - a gift from me.
So are we really distinct...
you and me?

enuff of this stuff

2011-07-20T14:48:00.000-07:00

I'm about to shout
and get the hell out,
but I doubt if such plans
are about to sprout...
into seeds, stems, shoots, and fruits.

The weeping willows
have resorted to pillows
talking out their voices
through impersonal prejudices

These spaces
between words
have meant a lot....
and much more
But why
do I even care
to share with you my chores?

I'm about to laugh
and tame a sane giraffe,
but I doubt if such stuff
exists or is bluffed.

The taxidermist's tale
has failed to regale
the poachers of the east
who have basked in its shades.

The hunters have found
the food of the gatherers,
while the little ones paid
their dues in blue feathers

The fathers have mothered
their children for so long,
this song is about to blow
on the tip of your tongue...

State of fate at the gate where the great arrive late....

2011-07-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

At the very least

I can say, "Come on...share the feast"

These are times like that.

The fun never ends...

and the best part is always about to begin.

So what happens next when the wall is left without a word to be said?

Well, the climate somehow appears to be less dense than it was before.

Layers of information have succumbed to the surface of these stones.

And therefore -

the mind is the most incredible thing to contemplate upon.

Absolutely unbelievable.

Simply fantastic.

After all without the mind there is no glory nor shame

no curiosity no knowledge.

Without the mind there is no ignorance or greed, hunger or poverty, time or eternity.

There is no such thing as uncertainty - without the mind.

The mind is the source of all questions asked.

The mind is the fertile soil for thoughts to play an infinitely open field - countless possibilities and answers to endless more queries.

Mind is where money is and mind is why matter exists.

Eons of human history exist in the mind.

Enough about all this already.

Hope you don't mind.

But after all

You are also in my mind.

Hell, you are more in your mind than mine.

Is there any way out of this dream?

Fortunately NO!

Even nightmares wont suffice.

This is a continuous stream.

Swim with its flow

- the possibilities are suggested by the roll of your dice.

Circular circles encircling the circuit

2011-07-03T14:43:00.000-07:00

the music shook the container

in which the big stuff banged.
most likely,

a countless such quantum events,

exploded from this cosmic vibration.

the patterns,

of smoke and dust,

syncopated with the rhythm,

of this divine continuum.

the scintillating waves,

of pitch and scale,

were enmeshed

in the harmonic expression

of this eternal song.

there is no organism without an orgasm.

incidentally there is no orgasm without an organism.

Its circular

and its full of nothingness.

It is interconnected

to the very end

where infinite other beginnings commence.

Let them say which way

2011-07-03T13:04:00.000-07:00

But the seven sized man

has an odd-sized van

he can never be the same

with his half baked brain

the wilderness of ties

had widened his smiles

the walking stick sale

had heightened his pain.

The bitter sweet maid

had paid for her pride

the wide eyed boys

had lied when she cried

the little one inside

had reached out his hand

to stand on the edge

of his sight just to hide

Mind your words and I will mind mine

2011-06-29T11:32:00.000-07:00

Everyone has full freedom and access to their own mind.
Information is flowing like a river of water turned to wine.
Some of this is yours and some of it is mine
but we are riding the wave on an infinite sine.
You're the 1
and I'm just a zero,
I'm the clown
and you are the hero.

A.I.

2011-06-17T13:59:00.000-07:00

ALL LANGUAGE

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

The Universal Constant

2011-06-09T06:45:00.000-07:00

through a tunnel of narrow radius

a thought surfaces out,
and turns into an ocean wave,

like a seed emerging a sprout.
like a surfer under a golden sunset,
it manifests its illusive self.
like the balance of the feet

on the wooden board and scales
the mind becomes aware

of consciousness....

Where does this happen

you may say?
or when?

...if that's your preferred way?

Well it happens here
- now and then...
before it becomes

another wave again.

Its a continuum of harmonics

spread out over the brain
and it continues again

to each and every cell within its reign.
But it doesn't stop there...

it holds beyond what can be held
- extending outside the skin,
into the reflections of those eyes,
perceived by the occipital lobe within.
each nerve and every neuron

play their cosmic game
all the way up into the D. N. A...

Spiral conversations in meditation
- a gigantic mutation ingrained.

Perched at this apparent end
spin the electrons and their quarky friends
disappearing into wavy strings
as space and time bends and sings.
And when there is resonance
there is music indeed,
which alternates with the chaos
- fluctuating pitch and changing speed.
The waves crash on the shore
and not a single thing is like it was before
the rocks have slightly weathered
and the universal constant has changed some more.

Another piece of plain poetry that rhymes with the insanity of being free

2011-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

The literal meaning of absolve is to loosen up or to clarify,

it has nothing to do with the 'concept' of sin.

Competition is another concept often misunderstood

it is not about defeating to win or to prove what 'should'.

It is rather a symptom of the need for cooperation

a way of imagining the world by asking what one could.

What one could do, be, or is

is only up to the one who does, becomes, and is.

Life is a time frame between birth and death.

Mind is a space between matter and shape.

What appears is more than what it is

and what it is, always appears more than what it really is.

Happiness when stretched to its limits, snaps into bliss,

while suffering is just the change

that is attached to the need for peace.

What is there to disbelieve

when there is nothing to agree?

11 years and 2 centuries

2011-01-04T16:20:00.000-08:00

Now, before we ride the winds
we have to realize once again
that we are only friends,
attempting to ease each others pain.

In the end we have been blind
to a few things here and there,
but when we rewind,
to the times we have shared
it becomes clear,
that the best,
has always been on our mind.
So what now that we have arrived
at a new phase of transition?
Do we look ahead,
or relish the vast view behind?

Somehow it is obvious,
what needs to be done.
One is not a trivial expression of the many.
No one is simply devoid of a collective reality.

We all are in this thing together, walking the line between faith and fear.

So before we ride the winds
we have to talk to our selves once again.
Do we exist only in our minds?
Or such a possibility is completely insane?

Others may confirm,
that such is not the case.
They may say that we are all in each others heads.
But does that really alter this transition phase?

When we look ahead do we see the past,
or is it just the shadows projecting,
on some possible future's haze?

The solution remains unchallenged -
if at all we are to believe anything,
it has to be what is in the present.
Everything else is constantly rearranged -
Reality is continuously earned and spent.

It is not only the stories that we read,
but also the stories that we write,
which we absolutely need
to enlighten our deepest insights.

Information has to pass through
for our evolution to proceed
chaos has to be balanced too
for such creativity to breed.

There is no one to follow anymore.
There is no one to lead.
But what we are is what we see,
And there's nothing to know except to be.

I have seen the writing on the wall....

2010-12-15T09:47:00.000-08:00

If you want freedom,
then you have to see the truth.
But the truth cannot be seen
in the absence of love.
However, love cannot exist without peace,
And peace cannot be achieved
unless you want to be free.
Of course,
You cannot be free -
unless you get rid of "we".
The choice is simple
it is you AND me.

Approaching Surrealities.

2010-11-24T10:44:00.000-08:00

It was an electric shock that sent the stock - flying.

It was chaos that generated the scintillating excitement.

Our prison is a fractal reality.

And the message on this graffiti-less wall is a reflection of sorts:

We obviously need machines.
We just have not expanded our domain of compassion to accommodate the machine.
In a way we are still adapting to 'it' as we speak and connect 'through it'.
A machine is not so much a 'thing' as much as it is a 'process' - an extension of our own evolving internal systematics.
Machines are byproducts of our organic brain.
Try to prove this statement wrong: "there is nothing 'artificial' in this universe."

But the story continues:

Through the big bang came the universe.
Through evolution came man.
Through man came the word.
Through words came "a" level of reality.

The concepts being talked about and the words being heard are signals of communication.
The images being seen and the dreams being experienced are semiotic in nature.
What you read is just a voice whispering in your ears as you mechanically operate under the rules of the software that has programmed your identity - your sense of existence.
Your own little story of myths and histories.

SO...

1-Experiences are semiotic in nature.

2-Nature is experienced semiotically.

These are circular arguments of infinite nature - like the loopy spirals of infinity, or some Julia's fractal topology.
The output is always a re-organized input.

And that is processing.

That is experience.

A fine balance exists between the static and the dynamic.
A delicate thread connects the flow with the friction.
Mind is an imprinted flow of matter, while matter is a flowing code - fountaining out of the mind.

REALITY

How about the ape that ate shit as it faced the drop off a cliff?
That's what happens when you jump trees.

Eventually you hit the ground because of gravity.

Apples are obviously easier to deal with.
The mathematics is simpler.
The real paucity however, is of poetry.

Stars and birds must have circled the poor beasts skull.
It must have become worried.

Must have got it thinking.

Consciousness is a funny thing.

No-it is a flow.

Awake?

In the mood for reality?
Or, the suggestion is that we just dream it up!

Who can tell the difference anyway?

Either way, this show is going to glow with the darkness as it ebbs and flows.
Ah, the incredible lightness of being!

Welcome to the Machine!

Peace

2010-11-18T10:03:00.000-08:00

Under silver sheets are hidden the shades of life.

Beneath the exterior, beyond the surface, under the covers, above the degrees.

Through and through.

Its a network of relationships.

A flabbergasting connectivity.

A secret paradox of invisible jewelry -

a lively discussion of an impossible conundrum.

Ambiguous realities.

Certain fantasies.

An open dream beyond dreams.

A nightmare!!!

So to speak.

Beyond these eyes, there is light,

scintillating with pregnant energy.

It is impossible to stay calm!

Its beyond all reality.

Its certainly not 'a' fantasy.

Something must be done.

Something must just happen.

If everything is shown

nothing can be hidden.

nothing downtrodden.

There is morphosis, and then there is METAmorphosis!

Listen now.

The truth be said.

The lies be fooled.

The law maker's brain's dead.

The robber's lost his tools.

All is yellow

but a little pale in shade.

Red is not just danger -

its a harbinger curtailed.

Even stranger is the rose

that shows it is scared,

afraid to be plucked,

unsure of its fate.

Stemming from thorns

are seeds and fruits

At the root of it all

fall the gravity-chutes.

Just enough to be a mystery.

falling only short of the truth.

Some strange tree

- fountain of its own youth.

An inadequately revealed tapestry.

- a conclusion en route.

Its a mystery,

but there are also clues.

There are also fools -

the rules of mind-trickery.

Three things happen from here on now - past, present and future somehow.

About that - don't be so sure.

It has a trivial symptom

It is just a shadowy feud.

Words are wisdom for some musicians ears.

That one who listens,

to the one who cares.

And then there's that storm - a beautiful spiral collusion,

waiting to unfold, the story untold.

Its been at it through an endless iteration.

And yet another one
is about to begin.

Patiently performing its dance.

Singing its paintings,

drawing its songs.

The sounds of fluctuating reality are merely the letters that make up the words.

The sentences are sheer poetry.

Paragraphs of punctuated ecstasy.

And for those who shit numbers -

the mathematics is sheer wizardry.

A laundry list of angelic beauty.

What exactly are we talking about here?

more importantly, Who is talking to whom?

These things have been going on forever.

There have been countless instances of epiphanies.

Certainly shallow attempts of curiosity!

Time is an arrow beyond the point of tomorrow.

Zero things are accomplished when everyone is a hero.

But somewhere heroic happenings occur when everywhere is zero.

How reflections speak with each other, how translations talk through symbols?

How Dylans sing their sorrow how McLachlans throw their tears?

Imaginations are waking from deep slumber here.

Penetrations are happening through and through - everywhere.

Where is it then?

More importantly, What time is when?

The difference between infinity and zen is a lack of something abundant - emptiness.

We are sometimes taller than the small

- and sometimes smaller than the tall.

If one witnesses these moments, one only sees oneness.

If one is in his senses

then unfortunately there is only nonsense.

- a groundless fall.

Now here is "a" solution:

Here is Infinite.

Now is Eternal.

Therefore
Be here now.

How?

You'll know if you listen here.

But let me shut up now.

Listen

somehow

Silence.....

Mathematical Disembowelment

2010-11-11T17:01:00.000-08:00

Square ratios in linear times

fade away as the geometric differentials collapse within trapezoid realms-

"Tales of stochastic mystery."
Curvilinear extrapolations of arbitrary logarithms

careen towards the tangential slope of intersecting probabilities.
Unequivocal equations with their dubious distinction

of being on the pedestal of elliptical trajectories

surrender themselves to undesirable singularities.

Haphazard projectiles dangle with flaccid abeyance

like lobsters on an oily beach
One is left without the other while the zeroes align in spiral sheets.

Statistical mechanics tremble at the organic realities

Quixotic expressions are slapped on the grinning sea.
Folding slopes extend into the vortex of obtuse conspiracies

suffering acute emergencies

and paranoid insecurities.

Perpendicular motifs lie supine against these angles

within hierarchical rectangles rooted in subliminal trees.
Golden ratios through Fibonacci's series

collapse the wave functions beyond infinite limits.

Godel's theorems smiled at the Cat

The Cheshire's grin had never been more dim.
Non-continuous derivatives differentiate within the absolute relationships between algebraic integrations.

What a subtle relief!
Forever the coupling between sinusoidal fluxes exhibit the colors of harmonic hilarity.
Fortunately, lovers collide at high throughput velocities

abandoning the properties of Cartesian deceit.

Revised visions of previous revisions

2010-11-10T09:00:00.000-08:00

Better belong to a strong clan of persons, places, ideas, or things.
Get along with all the mixes of forces, patterns, creatures, and tales.
It is already good news that we exist in the only known plane in the universe that supports what - we - all agree upon to refer to as life.

How does it work?
What does it feel like?
We all have ideas and conjectures and stories.
Equations, diagrams, and theories.

Most importantly, we have innocent smiles and poetry.

Collective connectivity puts us in touch with a historical memory - a fantasy of linguistic journeys and forbidden dreams.

Countless unaccountable themes.

Streams of sub-conscious whims.

Time better stop still for a while.
This mind is turbid.
Let there be silence for a while.

Clearly there is an invisible dimension to our existence.
- a continuous fabric of semiotic tapestry.
Fractal musicality - Musical fractality.
Not only that, it is also experienced with unequivocal certainty by every individual human being.

Alive or not alive.

It is after all a considerably constant process - life and its curiosity.

We are born, we live, we die.
Life evolves and the universe constantly changes.
Up and Down are a quantum wave - collapsing in randomized states of disequilibrium.
Entropy is the trophy at the end.
Who really wants to stand on a fountain head pedestal.
Its a lonely stadium with no friends.

Ambitions don't have a place here.

Foes don't bother with it.
Its impractical to win this thing - and practically nothing is at stake here.

So on and so forth.

Now that we have attention towards what is "secret", why not come out in the open and face it?

The truth is that we are not scared.
We are afraid to imagine
that we were never scared at all!

Evolution-The idea that constantly changes.

2010-08-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

How does one figure out one's own story after one has figured out that 'life' is in fact fiction?

Does one try to make sense?

How could one make sense?

Its a story that keeps unfolding - constantly.

An interesting question may be, "who is the author?"

But that too is pointless, given that there is one continuous connected infinity, about which we have an infinite number of stories, and a concept of a 'person' is inadequate in subscribing to a higher authority anyway.
Especially, because the stories can quite possibly be endless even 'up there'.

(or down below).

We ask then, "when did this story begin?"
We ask, "when will it end?"
But all our curiosity is just pointless because we very well know that there are no ends and beginnings.

We know for sure that infinite, eternal, dynamic systems, such as reality, cannot possibly have a primordial origin, or a prophetic end.

Think about it.
The question will always remain - what was before the beginning, and what will be after the end?
The illusion of time (and being stuck in it) is a case of writer's block - the self-contradicting delusion of being stuck in an imaginary stagnant stillness.

The impotence to write is simultaneously an inability to read.
But read what exactly?

And moreover, this is not even that kind of a story - like a novel or like history or like a fossil record or a myth.
This is THE story.
The story of our lives.

This is beyond the hieroglyphs and equations and symbolisms and psychedelic enchantments.

This is the source of religion, the birth (place) of consciousness.

It is music, sculpture, and painting, all wrapped up in a crystalline case of stochastic intuitions and pre-meditated change.

It is the flow of sound and light.
A chance encounter with the reflection of a customized reality.

The mind is but one of the ripples in an ocean of information.

Stories and concepts such as existence exist in its oceanic continuum.

The language of this story is omnipresent and the message is forever changing.

But - and here's the best part I think - the meaning is always the same...

Look at the night sky....

2010-07-31T09:47:00.000-07:00

On an assembly line of magic the worlds were made with customized realities and pay-per-view worldviews.
The children born were assigned birthdays and the seasons were forgotten and the skies too.

Then some children did the sort of thing that children normally do - the 'abnormal' behavior as the adults put it.
They went about seeking their own opinion, painting their own pictures of glory, and sculpting fantasies of doom.

Some of them were exceptional.

Others were yet about to bloom.

Most would someday succumb to the system and be trapped behind the machine doors, behind a veil, a suit, a tie, and eyes that glint with avarice and feet that march to unquestioned rules.

Time went by and the structures multiplied like a monolithic skyscraper into dreamy skies.
But something else was also happening.

Something else is always happening - outside all this and also deep within.
There were cosmic events of quantum proportions that had the potential energy to disassemble the mechanistic pin-point glory of this euphemistic modernity to emerge as a self-organized moment of spontaneity.

In a word - eternity.
The culprit of course was Consciousness.

It just couldn't keep up with the charade, and ultimately it saw the horizon through the shadowy lines of smoggy oceanic thoughts.

It was the aurora maybe, or perhaps the sense of that solar system out there floating through the milky way, amongst the deepest fields of space where time collapsed into an idea of singularity.

What a quantum of solace that must be!

And then something more happened.

(Like something more always happens.)

The realization of the infinite reality resulted in a moment of eternity.

The most natural state of mind was autonomically selected by an epigenetic feedback wave and the biggest picture ever was conceived.

The very structure of the brain, its neuronal networks, its molecular labyrinths, its countless symbionts, its endless strings of atoms and quarks - all of it just scintillated into an ephemeral bonanza of voluptuous beauty.

It was the uber-climactic epiphany.

The superlative crystallization of creativity

What happened next?
Well why don't we find out?

...look at the sky!

By the river moon...

2010-06-26T21:59:00.000-07:00

Chandrabhaga
Before it passes out bit by bit, the information makes it to the very edge.

Then it repeats.
Processes that scintillate in a rhythmic oscillation are perhaps cumulative accumulations of change that fluctuate with the same sort of reticulated rumination that you are unaware of as you read this non-sense confession about being oblivious of the perennially rudimentary processes that underlie the physiology of the process of trying to make sense.

Curiosity has its own reason for existence.

Reason has its own reasons.

So does existence.
In the end, what are we trying to make sense of my friend?
In the end, are we not supposedly stranger than the strangest things in the universe?
What is reality if not a state of mind?
What is the stuff that is 'seen' by the blind?
When the deaf hear voices are they hearing music or are they simply schizophrenic?

Who is the know-it-all all-knowing, and who is probably hallucinating?
Who knows the answers to such questions!

Does it matter?
Doesn't anybody mind?

So here's what you must do.

Just be and do what you are doing and let be done to you what is being done to infinite authors of fractal realities encapsulated for eternity beyond space and time.

Just remember one thing - be careful of what you write and read.

Circles

2010-04-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

It is perfectly possible for things to appear somewhat impossible, but it’s certainly not possible for things to be absolutely impossible.
Words unfold in a world that has secreted the words that make up the world.
Circular Logic?
You ask me?
There is a point to all of these things in the end I suppose - the impossible ones as well as the possible ones - although what is a point if not an abstract manifestation of space-time?
In a way that too is uncertain.
We are certain about things only to the extent where ambiguity becomes obvious.
But when does such a thing as 'uncertainty' become obvious?
Certainly, uncertainty cannot be tamed by a principle alone!
What are we really ignorant about then?
The where and when - that's just a play between what we call Obsession and Zen.
Are we ignorant of bliss then? You ask me?
Circles again.
Round and round we go, the wheel, the flow of up and down waves, which oscillate through our ancient brain like those visions that have constantly changed places through the openings of our mind's caves - sun rise and sun set.
Thoughts are like clouds that percolate on a temporary scale, conjuring up images that have special meaning, only to the innocent and the naive.
So when it rains it pours and our thoughts just occur between sun and shade.
Time is really between the slices of such moments, within the crevices of an undeniable invisible space.
We believe that we carry a lunatic in our head, as we groggily wake up and continue to dream in the world beyond the comfort of our sleeping bed.

Therefore....a circle with the radius equal to Pi covers an infinite area.
Now that’s a point

.
What is madness if not an impossible dream?
You ask me?

The Others - they are there.

2010-03-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

The other is defined by the self.

The Other is a reflection of the self.

The other is a counterpoint of reference, a scorching suggestion of reality.

The other is a shadow of the protection we live under - a sensory zoo, which we observe ourselves observing.

The other is a figment of our imagination, a dream in our reality.

The other is a balloon, flying high in the sky, a vision of the self with an infinite Why?

The other is a poignant speculation of cryptic reality, a heartless manifestation of fear, an emergence of constant hope.

The other is a story within stories, entwined within realities, extending eternally into nothingness.

The other is a spark of truth, a glimpse of disguise.
The other is a wretched kingdom, a beatific hell. The other is love affair with freedom, a slavery of prisons.

The other is a reflection in the mirror.....
- the eyes behind the curtain.

Reverse Insanity

2010-03-25T10:36:00.000-07:00

I hear voices -
whispers in my ear
words muffled by the lips
shuddering with some unspoken fear

wonder why they speak at all
in silent sounds and peeps they call
often making me wonder
what really is hidden under?

Burnt out edges on the paper
now conceal the words no more
everyone is clasping secrets
and keeping silly secret scores

but time will find itself a cure
the voices will disappear for sure
could it be that we don’t really see
that we're constantly 'trying' to be free?

Deep breaths in the here and now
we keep hiding our selves some how
but when I see 'there is no me'
I can tell that I'm really free

the voices, they have faded out
now all I hear is a silent shout
I've forgotten myself here again
there's no more point in going sane.

2010-03-22T10:39:00.001-07:00

Who cares which country is the super-power or even the next super-power?
In an increasingly interconnected globalized planetary society such egomaniacal notions of being on the top are not only sophomoric and irrelevant, but ultimately counterproductive.
Global problems require cooperative solutions.
Obsessive political fanaticism masquerading as patriotism can only lead to more wars.
The problems of modern man are systemic and the solutions warrant a co-existing global society over a system that introduces a fragmented worldview of superiority vs inferiority therefore repeating the worst mistakes in human history.
From the perspective of a collective consciousness, these needless conflicts only perpetuate a 'superiority-complex' that seems immature in the context of the progress made by human beings in the past few thousand years.
It is not going to matter who enjoys the celebrity status of being on the top of a plastic pedestal standing in phallic insecurity in the middle of an empty stadium echoing the shadows of outdated glory.
The image is rapidly transforming into a bauble of plasticity - a pathological phenotype of the adolescent human mind.
Only two possibilities exist in the end: either we gain wisdom and peace, or we blow ourselves up in a useless attempt to prove who is superior.

Revolutions between mental spaces

2010-03-16T11:49:00.000-07:00

Its impossible to be free when two sides of a story keep drawing one within.
How can a person see the clarity of it all, when all is obscured by the grim dualities?
How is one supposed to feel when what anyone else says appears to attack some fundamental belief?
The choices of what appear to be seem to be hidden beneath a countless layers of misunderstood grief.
How is one supposed to smile when all the while the reality keeps shifting outside in?
Somehow it feels wrong to be saying all these things.
Somehow the battles have to be fought from inside out, without any noise or shouting.
In silence can one exist as one really is - minus the noise with just the sound of eternity.
To whom is one supposed to make these offerings?
How are we to believe in just each and every thing?
Somehow these struggles encounter the same old suffering.
And if its all me in the end then why is there a need for the notion of empathy - yet another friend?
Breathe in and breathe out.
Collapse the primordial wave-function into a compressed moment of infinity.
within the layers is encoded the pattern of flow.
Become one with the flux of the binary show.
Tune in to your self.
Retreat within.
Make peace with the reflections that you see.
Just be.

Wavicles

2010-02-19T15:51:00.001-08:00

There is a red dot on the ceiling
Meaning someone was there
We are all minions with opinions
And we fool ourselves that we care

Life is a bubble that bursts into moments
It shall be eternal though it appears at rest
Things are ultimately just pennies and cents
We seem to be living but we are running out at best

Nothing is what it seems
Everything is what it is
Reality is the other side of dreams
In the end, what we have is what we miss

Somehow, somewhere we have heard the whisper,
Quivering near a round of smiles.
The words slip by like a silver sliver,
While here we wonder all the while

There is a red dot on the ceiling
Meaning someone was here
Like listening to the other sides
Besides the glistening fears.

Little Man oh little Man
Do what you think you can
I for one don’t care anymore
And this is not like it was before

Sometimes I am the devil
Sometimes I am god
Sometimes I am a sinner
Sometimes I am a saint

V-day

2010-02-11T17:12:00.000-08:00

Done with the dancing.

Done with the song.

How far have we been and how long?

Some people just belong to the stories that they tell, and yet it is always about someone else's life too.

So how many times have we asked the question, "How many times...?"

If the answer that we are looking for does not come too soon, will we just wait for yet another blue moon? By the way the day has been so much more than yesterday.

It was in the late 70s that the memories of bodies painted with bathing suits came out on the cover of the portrait that seemed to wait for the world to spin around once more. Who will the bottle point to was on everyone's mind.

Kiss and tell they said. We have one more task to complain and then we are done.

Done with the dancing and done with the song.

Before we take the fake person out of the room, lets unscrew our own head.

Lets examine the question in a different light.

Would we be the same if it was always night?

The pictures will keep fading as I record these happenings.

Who are they talking about?

What did they whisper and what did they shout?

If only we knew, we would have danced some more.

Sung another song before we crossed the shore.

The waves were aroused by the moon, and the sky had covered the night with a blanket of silver stars.

It was alright so far.

How soon would the tides fade?

How soon will it take the fake person to identify the unscrewed head lying pointlessly on the bed?

Just a kiss could tell.

But we don't have time for that sort of thing.

It is either now or nothing.

Never can we argue about the things that we can't think.

Below the towers the margaritas flushed into a machine of booze, flowing through a stream of smoke.

The red light filtered the words that were soon to be forgotten under the breeze.

What a joke!

We have heard them laugh many times before.

We have heard them crack under the whip of the scary sorcerer.

What did the future hold we were never told.

Our ignorance appeared to be a shadow cast in the past somehow.

If tomorrow we die, will it appear that we had been so and so?

Only time will tell.

Hugs and kisses.

X and O.

You are You

2010-02-01T14:04:00.001-08:00

You are smarter than the jackals, little girl
You are stronger than their shackles, you really are
Just stay within your silence
and shine beyond your light
Just keep your own distance
and see beyond your sight.

You are purer than the darkness, little girl
you are newer than the stars, you really are
Just carry on with your smiles
and wipe away your tears
Just keep to your own self
and be your self without fears.

You are greater than the others, little girl
you are greater than them all, you really are
The galaxies in the skies are you
and all the inner space is yours.
You are brighter than the brightest blue
You are you and we all are yours.

In pursuit of lies...

2010-01-27T16:42:00.000-08:00

What is the truth?
Is the truth this question itself?
Or is it hidden in these words, which are veiled by themselves?
Does it dance with chance and blend meaning with memories?
Or is it just a never ending string of complicated stories?
Isn't truth the beauty -
- music, colors, and poetry?
Is it a wave or a particle?
Is it the day or is it nocturnal?
Does it fly?
Does it laugh?
Does it cry?
Is God the absolute truth?
Is religion a perfect lie?

Are numbers the truth?

Can we count what cannot be counted?
And if we can, does it truly count?
Are visions that come to the mind just equations discerning the seers from the blind?
Or is truth the pursuit of some facts that we left behind?
Is our material evolution true?
Or is our existential confusion 'the' clue?
Are your eyes - that read - the truth?
Or are my words - that I write - the truth?
Is your belief the truth or are my assumptions the truth?
Is change the only constant truth?
Or is truth the only constant change?

What is IS?
Without IS - is truth still is?
Who knows? Who sees?
Everyone agrees -
The truth is what no one believes.

Never ending tales....

2010-01-24T16:07:00.001-08:00

Discern the truth from the lies, the pattern from the noise.
Your voice is not some choked up consequence of some coincidental ambush.
You are in control of what you wish to control and that's about it.
All that stuff that is out of control is beyond you and me any ways.
So see within what watches you and feel beyond what makes you feel.
The questions are not the only way to get the answers and almost every time, the answers bring up more questions.
PAY attention because it is all going on very fast.
Before you know it, it will be time to redefine space, and where you may find your self next may be another time altogether.
So watch out.
You cannot be so alert all the time that you lose yourself to your alertness and completely miss the spontaneous music of reality that you have descended into so unprecedentedly.
Look deep from beyond the surface and you will find the truth encapsulated withing its layers.
It should be clear to you that there is nothing discontinuous really.
Where does one person end and another person begin?
We are all just strings of DNA all the way....
What is it that we are trying to tell our self? That there is no self?
That there IS a self?
Who are we kidding?
No one who reads this now will be here a 100 years from now.
Who is reading and who is writing?
Who is singing, and whose is the song?
Its a long story - a never ending story.
As for me, my mind is made up - Its gonna change, again and again, every moment of every day in every possible way.

Burning Man Blues

2010-01-13T14:20:00.001-08:00

Ablaze in the heaven
the smiles sink beneath
the triple chocolate tales
that washed around the zenith
The truffles of beloved
came dancing like the seals
the chap sticks had gone too stale
while the matchsticks still revealed...

Burning man oh burning man
thy singing song has seemed
like yellow shades of glee
that spangled on the screen

Burning man o burning man
if you can be then just be
I have tired off your eyes so much
I am tired of your sleep.

The dreaming dream has come out again
that screaming little feeble sheet
shut out from the open dreams
the walking walker has been beat.

Four Cats forecast for a cast of

2010-01-04T16:48:00.000-08:00

X-o-X

Bring back your vows,
bring back your tears.
Its time to smile and hear
what our fears want to tell us.
If by looking at the picture we can act like the ocean,
we could shine like the sun or the moon behind the clouds.
The leaves, when sprinkled with dew drops, dance in the breeze - without a care with complete ease.
But we shall leave it all for this instant premonition:

Success stories will paint the news paper black till nothing is white anymore.
The television sets will evolve into computers and the Internet will feed us what cryptic clues and numbers - money without a dime or a bill will remain so without a reason.
Soap operas may actually conclude their pointless tale - pretty much like most lifestyles lived in such typical ways.
Children will grow up and old people will fade.
Women and men will truly be equal - again?
Somethings will be late than usual, like bliss and pain, depending on whether you want to sound casual or vain.
Apart from second to second transmogrification into insane assumptions, the human mind will be rearranged beyond recognition.
Cigarettes will become cliched ways for the lethargic to commit suicide.
Time will cease to flow and will go to where we wont know if we are inside or outside its holographic show.
Dances will be held in the mind for people to abandon and remind that it will never get easy to listen intently like the blind.

Hot water may become spare....

Happy 2 Thousand & Ten!!!

2009-12-31T11:39:00.000-08:00

We exist in choices.

Choices are hurling around us, popping up, sliding, swiveling, scintillating and tantalizing - dancing around us.

We are guided by a plethora of choices that have probabilistic patterns of occurring and emerging as our existence unfolds from one moment to the next.

Its our mind that makes these choices, but each choice that we make, each moment of our life, is in itself a probabilistic pattern of occurrences, emerging - in our mind - as it too unfolds in a pattern that is consistent with its ontological history - 'our' ancient memories.

These choices extend back into time - eternally.

And these choices connect to everything - through the branching patterns that extend infinitely into a space that emerges in such eternity.

'This' is here and now - it is our only choice really.

Everything moves unpredictably, but probabilistically, into and towards, a future - certain with uncertainty.

And when there is a moment of pause - we think.

We wonder what this is all about.

We ask, "who are we?"

We don't really exist as a single personality do we?

We exist as a resonant composite of multiple personalities manifesting as probabilistic occurrences - events, moods, rituals, practices, exercises, protocols, belief-systems, regimens - states-of-mind(s)!

How can something, that is constantly moving, be imagined as something, which is constantly static?

If everything in the universe changes, then so do we.

The sun travels 250 kms each second (each second) to make its orbit around the galactic center of the milky way.

Thats how much we move each second.....Each second on earth that is.

There are 86400 seconds every day - which is really just once around ourselves from a terrestrial perspective.

But from the solar perspective, we have moved 21600000 kms in a single earth day, tethered along with the Sun, moving into the unknown.

So what really is a year?

Once again around the Sun?

Happy two thousand and ten!

Soul without a clue (or a goal)

2009-12-16T16:04:00.000-08:00

As a warped up soul without a goal he drifted off too soon to the clue.
His woman was lost, his friend was a ghost and he didn’t know what to do.
So he walked along with a song in his mind trying to keep it real.
The beating sun had chased him blind and he didn’t know what to feel.
The mountain lions from side to side were often where he would hide
His courage was a bag full of rotten sage - his eyes had cried and dried.
The following day he made his way towards the giant trees
He wished he could rest under its shade and feel its gentle breeze.
The poachers had found their prey and were waiting for the heat.
He wondered what would happen now if he asked them to retreat?

That night he heard a deafening shot that caught his bleeding shin.
With many more months to walk, he could no more hide his skin.
They say he faded into northern woods besides the dairy queen
The world had yet to discover then what lay within his broken dream.
Without a pause the cause of being – everything said before was lost
In time the viceroy made his speech, he said everything has a cost
So what would you be if not for the tree that gave away to his soul?
What would have been where would it seem that we have reached our goal?

Homeless sells 'em "Oh!"

2009-12-07T10:31:00.000-08:00

There is a black hole looking for a place to stay.
It is all awkward to think about in a way.
Who ever imagined that a black hole would require a place to stay?
I mean, it has all the space to stay in.
I mean, 'it' is a black hole for crying out cloud - the birthing place for galaxies!!!
Either ways, the news item says that a black hole is looking for a place to stay.
And it is looking for this place in some galaxy to be specific.
Makes you wonder what it all means!
Does it not?

"Why would a black hole need a place to stay?", for instance.
It was referred to as homeless - without a home.
So what happens when it finds a new galaxy and it makes itself at home?
What then?
Now knowing that its a black hole, it may certainly swallow parts of the host galaxy - being homeless and probably starved!
After a good meal, it may meditate like the Buddha, and achieve enlightenment, nirvana, zen.... freedom of mind, body, and soul, ....
.....union with a moment in eternity....

And what must that be like?
We can only wonder.
After all we have to wonder a lot just to 'imagine' a black hole.
But if we do manage all that, we can imagine that it’s most likely that the black hole will birth a new universe, a new cosmos.
And with the new cosmos will be born new worlds, new suns and moons, planets and comets.
And who is to say that the possibility of life on one of these planets is a totally odd suggestion?
After all, one cannot even 'imagine' a black hole without mathematical data and scientific conjecture and proof!

I wonder if in the aftermath of one such black hole finding its place, could be born one such universe and if in one such universe there is one such planet, where one such life form is wondering about having a nice good meal and sitting under a tree to meditate?
Would it not be home.....
....free?

Further instructions in imageless continuity.

2009-11-23T14:04:00.000-08:00

Beta testing of alpha particles failed miserably as the technology that was invented to salvage us overlooked the intricacies of our caged slavery.
It was all self-inflicted too!!!
That was the hardest fact to swallow.
But with a little binder, almost all bitterness can be made into palatable mind-candy.

So here's yours:

You stick out you tongue when no one is watching.
You seem to be aloof when someone is trying to catch your attention.
You are too self-involved to ask for the objective truth.
You are too shy to express yourself.
Your arrogance is only surpassed by your utter reverence to irrelevant deities.
You never look up at the sky and wonder about your place in this infinite universe.
You are often distracted by a countless choices every moment.
You are trapped in a prison built by your own mind.
You dream of freedom, but you have no idea where to begin.
You are completely oblivious of your true self.
You are helplessly impatient with true virtues.
You are misguided by fate.
You intentionally pass on coincidental opportunities.
You worry about the opinions of those who do not exist.
You are needlessly afraid of the inevitable end.

The last one there is where I would begin with, but then some people like to begin with the dessert.

Speaking of sweet endings, I recently dreamt of a mirage, speeding invisibly through the highway traffic, stealthily hidden from the eyes in the sky.
They are watchful always you know.

Before you move on to other things, why don't you sit and relax a bit.
Can you feel the space between your skin?
Can you see the continuum of your body extending boundlessly for eternity?

OK. Now you are ready.
Go ahead.
Do what you want!

The most commonly occuring words on this blog...the knots in the invisible thread

2009-11-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

return to innocence

2009-11-19T16:36:00.000-08:00

Briefly some children can think for themselves and ask for themselves the questions that they can answer for themselves.
Yes, the adults say that its all imagination, but then where would the adult world be without imagination?
Where would the wheel or fire be?
What about art and religion?
And what about the language and technology that we have embodied us through our evolutionary journey?
There is nothing without imagination.
No primordial beginnings, no apocalyptic ends, no quantum bottomlessness and no semiotic fractals of the biological world of which we consider ourselves as the supreme arbiters.

Children work with facts of course.
They work with the facts that the adults tell them.
They work with the facts that the world tells them, their history tells them, their culture tells them.
Children however are equipped with an infinite imagination power.
They turn the letters and words into interesting rhythms and rhymes.
They transform mud and sand into castles in the air.
They paint animals in the sky with just the colors and shaped of clouds.
The facts of information have relatively unpredictable effects on the nascent minds of infants, toddlers, and the naive talking entities of innocence that explode into hormonal eddies as adolescence approaches.

It is irrelevant that personalities take shapes and characters are moulded to make social animals out of the quintessential infancy.
It is also without doubt true that the young ones of all species are fundamentally innocent. But then how far back does it go?
Is our cellular nature even more rudimentary as far as our existential reality goes?
How about our genetic self, our molecular self?
We are all information encoded as ATGC as far down and as far back in time we can go.
But it does not end there.
It goes on and on.
What is our true nature?

It is clear that in the context of the infinite, we are ourselves untouched epiphenomena of the universal nature, what the Hindus call the Brahman.
The innocence of our childhood is a testimony to this premise.
But we are born into a world that is created based on some rules.
No doubt that these rules are inspired from nature itself.
And its certainly true that these rules are borne out of our own nature - human 'and' animal.
But our unawareness of this reality is also a consequence of this rule-based world view, where nothing is strictly 'real' in an objective sense.
Our minds seem to be under this natural selection pressure where we appear to flip between the world of the Brahman, and the world of the ignorant fool.
We seem to constantly struggle between the polarities of our spirit and our body, and if we are lucky, we mature through this journey by gaining wisdom.

The suggestion here is that wisdom is connected with innocence.
Experiential progress through the world of constantly fluctuating information results into emergence of states of mind that are aided buy the semiotic inputs and outputs that typify our day to day existence.
As these events accrue and reach inherently placed individual thresholds, the innocence metamorphoses into wisdom.

Life is a creative process punctuated by imbalances and inconsistencies that form feedback loops emanating on the horizon where transformation takes place and the mind reaches beyond the material constraints of sub-existence. We are no more adults then.
Such is the full circle that spirals infinitely.
Such is our return journey to innocence, from whence we came!

Patience for frigid philosophy

2009-10-29T15:55:00.001-07:00

It rubs on ice they say-the perfect contours of the sea as it flows in the dark depths of the cold frigid poles from a certain reality.
If the waking thoughts of the know-it-all have not yet believed in such possibilities, then too bad. But one thing must be sure, there are such places as these - the poles that are frigid with reality.

In the sun the fun never ends.
We have friends, beer, and barbecued meat to sauce up our tales.
In the frigid poles the water never melts, the food is good but could be several days stale.
And the sky?
The sky is menacingly calm and blue with only a distant cloud shrouded only by you.

Beyond the fairy tale theaters of the little children games, the minions of these invisible emperors have safely made their way to the bustling city of New York.
Liberty waved a thread of unbleached flames as they torched up a caustic sky.
Our dreams have melted here.
Our present moments have suffered at the foot of this growth.
In these cities we have escaped from that which we could never recognize.
Beyond the walls, windows, and doors, we have encapsulated ourselves to be free.

Free from what?

Shades of black and blue danced on the pavement.
A strong wind pushed through the roof.
The coffee seemed to come alive with spiral clusters of cream and sugar.
The sun seemed further from where it was before.
The lonesome wolf just stared at the shore.
For hours, he just stared at the shore.

Imagine the lonely existence of an Eskimo philosopher, hanging out alone at the periphery of his fears.
Imagine the things he would have said if he had a friend to speak to.
"Who are these thoughts for then?"

Below a vastly changing landscape the newborn fishes swam in glee.
It was after all just a few months before summer would peek in to see.
The view was embellished by the shy conjectures that ran through his mind's eye.
It was some sort of a flashback mirage.

Losing touch of the sight may make one blind, but touching the slight gravity of long gone feathers and sheets can barely justify these aching, fleeting pangs of pain.
Why don't we all smile then?
For now, why don't we avoid the avoidance of pain, and just be?
Why don't we start now, and never finish?
Really?

Sure

2009-09-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

How sure can you be now that you do not live in a future simulation of a historical 21st century?
Somehow it seems un-true. You know, like an intuitive gut feeling.
But surely you cannot be 100% certain. You cannot be 100% certain about anything.
Yes true.
So?
Well...if it is a simulation, then it’s a darn good one. I mean, what I am saying right now, what you are asking me, what we are thinking...it’s all part of the simulation right?
Yeah...there's a chance that it is.
But what if it isn’t? Isn’t it still a simulation in some sense?
Yes. The world that we experience is the world that we create.

Message from 1600-China.

2009-09-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

Translucent porcelain

shattered in vain
this time has broken
into pieces again

The sand has spilled
on the island of seas
the sun is shining
through one broken piece

Lifting its gaze
the mind seemed to freeze
at the sight of disaster
unfolding with no ease

Words from the past
are NOW out of sync
the future reveals a canvas
whitened by fading ink

Purposefully we wait
in this present sort of moment
and our ideas about fate
come back from where they went

Are we really awake then?

Perspective # 3.14

2009-09-18T08:52:00.000-07:00

Beyond our skin, our facades, our charades, beyond the walls and fences around us, beyond the boundaries, conflicts and contradictions, beyond the atmosphere, the sun and the moon - is infinity. We are here - now.

Where are we? Are we in our bodies? Are we in our mind?
Its all moving - constantly - time.

Past, future, and now - are just images - symbolic communication.

Matter - in our 'material' sense is finite.
If we look beyond, we are part of infinity.

Futile Enlightenment....

2009-09-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed
of exploding moments
when universes were born
and the minds that had dreamed them

It was like a mirror
was floating in space
Reflections of emptiness
on a starry sort of face.

Eternal motions
were dancing insane
Time was an explosion
Space was its name.

The future and the past
were locked in its cage
One was imagined
and the other - an image.

What next?
I wondered.
And I wondered,
"Why? ...Why even try?"

Circular Arguments

2009-09-02T15:05:00.000-07:00

Absolutely true.
We agreed upon a subtle point, a moot question, and an uncertainty that lurked
constantly between the brain and the heart.
Its all metaphorical really.
We think with our head and feel with our heart.
We feel our thoughts and we think its the heart.
In the end we are again at the start, wondering,
"where to from here now?"

But by beginning to stay on or off before burning the cognitive bulb one needs to consider flying without wings.
Perform an unnatural task, if there is any such thing as that, and it will become instantly clear that the murky confusion of pursuing these questions was irrelevant in comparison to the redundant insights obtained in the end - or at the start.

The long and winding road encapsulates flurry beings that our minds carry along with our soul. We come to birth and die while a countless moments imprint upon us the persistent illusion of reality.
Its a game, a joke, a poke in the sides of a giggling mind, a melancholic tale of masochistic eccentricity - resting before exploding freely in our collective consciousness.
To do what we have done before we need to think of what we need to do.

Circular traps are present around every corner.
Triumphant Cinderellas are watching dreams beyond fading TV screens with Latin sub titles flowing in Arabic scenes.

Directions. Some of us are past these things.
Some of us just cannot stand these meaningless themes.
Some of us just don't care.
When we smile at ourselves in the night we feel safe in our secret insanity.
Our disturbing identity is mysteriously hidden behind the countenance of normalcy.
Its all apparent, and we all know it.
It is just that we have no choice.
Its too much work to cause an upheaval of societies.

So we trail along like the ants up an ant-hill. We serve the prodigal queen and we wander aimlessly in her search.

Besides that its all absolutely true.

9 to f.i.v.e.

2009-08-26T23:09:00.000-07:00

When the sounds of the resounding thunder melted in the afternoon air, the trailing dust and smoke from the bus settled deep within the confines of mundane memories-slipping away one at a time. The people seemed to be everywhere at once but going nowhere in particular. Some were aloof and some were stunned. The highlight of the ride was the beggar who seemed to smile with a hint of tears in his eyes. The blue sky above begged for some more rain.

The clouds seemed to care less.
They just drifted away.

Across the green the golfers swung their clubs. The water was placid and glassy, almost like ice. As the passengers moved ahead and got off at their destinations, the driver began to grow restless.
The bus was emptying in quick succession.
Soon the last stretch would be spent in constant loneliness.
But he never talked to anyone.
At all.

To whom the directions were sent, those people simply wasted away their time on the non-trivial banalities of splendid games.
The winners and the losers were all out on board - ready to fight at the sight of the flag.
Peace was lost in the checkered patterns of right and wrong.
"Which side are we on?"
- they all wondered.

The blinding light of the late afternoon faded into am exploding sunset.
The ocean seemed calmer as strangers returned back towards their homes.
Some were afraid they would never see another sight so beautiful again.
Some just smiled for what they had won.

The living were spread out amongst the dead.
The breathing of their brains pulsated with the whining of their muscles and skin.
Within each one resided a human being.
Beyond the skeletal support rested a soul...unknown and unseen.

"How long has it been?"
-the passenger asked again...
The driver came back to the crowd clinging behind his seat.
Its been 20 minutes sir - he said.
And then he was dead.

The crowd gasped in unison.
A small child on the front seat began to sob.
The tears from his mothers eyes glistened on his forehead.
The bus went out of control and drifted off the highway, into a valley between the hills
-it just tumbled down the sides.

When it stopped. There was a rose petal buried under it. Several hundred years ago, a young boy had planted its seed. Today, the funeral had arrived to the flower's red feet.
Today, a thousand martyrs had suffered what one had expected to defeat.
Freedom was just around the corner, but blissfully ignorant.
The souls just wandered back to the shore, waiting for the sea to embrace them like before.
Just then the bell rang. It was time to stop again.
Another passenger got off, and the bus continued its course.
The sun set in the distance, shadowing everyone with its glow.
There were smiles in the crowd.
Another day off work from nine to five.

In search of a quest.

2009-07-29T09:34:00.000-07:00

Surrender in your thoughts

to let go what you have got
when the time is up to speak
you can wake up and shriek

The wells have gone dry
these words just stumble by
you have slept in them for too long
now its time to sing The song

The music is in your head
and your mind has often sped
the following footsteps seem
out of sync don't you think?

If these were sounds of tomorrow
then where have we been yesterday?
What were we up to then
that led us to this day today?

Oh I know. Why ask such things?
But then what else is there to think?
Why not break this tiny machine
and let go ourselves in a whim?

Often the words pause
and then simply flow
what are all these thoughts?
And where really do they go?

Carpets are covered with skin
the books are lined within
with wisdom and tales of times
that have often seemed to smile

Over here there is another thing
over there it has a different ring
the truth is always out there
but the search is always with in.

An ob ser vation on now.

2009-07-15T09:00:00.001-07:00

You are you.

On the left is you.
On the right is you.
You are the one, watching you.

You are eyes, ears, skin, and a brain.
You are behind your smile.
You are over your own pain.

You exist as good and bad.
You are the one who is extremely happy.
You are the one who is terribly sad.

You want some more when its more than you have.
You hide yourself from the mirror and the sky.

You walk alone with someone by your side.
You are never alone so you constantly hide.

You are all that exists for you.
You are all who lives through you.

You are afraid to die so you cant seem to live.
You are afraid to live so you slowly seem to die.

You are connected with others and others are with you.
You are followed by your shadow and others are by you.
You are in here and you are out there.
You were then - and now - you will be.
You are the one who always sees.

You ask why, or who am I?
I am you and you are I...

Woo Who??

2009-07-09T09:34:00.000-07:00

In absolution without dissolution of traits,
the floating manatees will never meet our gaze.
We will drift in their waters on shallow hurdles of pain.
We will wait and debate whether we will see ourselves again.

After losing our sight we will fight for our vision.
Through division and subtraction we will add to our confusion.
Before we know it we will beyond this dimension
Demented emotions will earn ephemeral damnation.

Through the wind the thoughts will bind
beyond the thoughts our ideas will rewind.
Before we know it we will have forgotten
the memories of a future and that passing illusion.

Together in this sea shall we strain for our souls
Gathering the reasons we had drowned in some hole.
From pole to pole we stretched these wings
And for what we asked? Just mere worldly things?

Before we know it we will certainly be through.
Through and through of an aftermath of a clue.
We hope we will wait - and probably debate
whether we will see who we lost our selves to...

Suspended Incognition

2009-06-15T08:04:00.000-07:00

Blasted furnaces.
The thinking and sinking of cellular winking just could not take a break.
For the sake of passing time the grim themes of the movie set were the right sorta thing to get. After all how many times can a man walk down and pretend that he just cannot be?
So here we go.
From somewhere near we start to call out in sheer numbers- shouting away to a glorious day. Bellowing out towards the crowd. Waiting silently in our skulls. Wondering where the voice is coming from.
Waiting.
Waiting to be seen.

So every time the wind chimes in the notes of a distant bell we stop in remorse or respect. Because we can take it we take. Because we can give, we give. Beyond the established madness of sane asylums and normalcy lie the borderlines of individuality.
Beyond the fences lie the blasted furnaces.

The invisible enemy approached the bunkers and the soldiers just fell dead.
Greedy with life the others marched by.
Bullets of thoughts piercing through their brains, they marched on to the shifting sand.
It was a life well spent - bled to the grave.

The sun rises again. Yet again. For the umpteenth time, it rises again.
The light penetrates the dust and guts -
the spilled out spleens and testicles in stark shame.
Decay is such a slow aftermath. Such a languid consequence.

In a few hours an atom was about to be split.
The separation of two lovers was about to be pushed to a new extent.
The birth of destruction was looming in a fractal string of numbers that were awaiting mans decision to paint a gloomy cloud.

The sun rises again.

Victimised vindications over stale eggs and juice

2009-06-08T16:45:00.000-07:00

There are secret ways to give away the most obvious truths.
No one can tell and no can know. Its all under the sheets, behind the curtains, and locked in a box that says, "don't open before doomsday!"
All kinds of stories are left behind by the silent makers of history.
In the glory of the accomplished, the naive dreamers stare at the pedestals with disillusioned eyes and confused thoughts.
One wonders if someday in the future of humanity money will stop spinning the world around! It is clearly not the end of the world if such a thing happens.
The fate of our universes are beyond the position of the corners that we inhabit in infinity.
However, it is interesting to note what "would" be of importance if money got extinct.
What would it be replaced with?
Material replacement of a currency that was devised to overcome the clumsiness of the barter system is an immature speculation.
Would it then be up to humanity itself to validate its value? What would individuals do in this case?

Is it possible to understand the impossible?
If yes, then it is not the impossible that we have understood.
If no, then we have acknowledged the impossibility.
Either ways, one thing is for certain - everything is uncertain.

Occurrences are phenomenal.
They exist as probabilistic outcomes.
Moreover, all that can be imagined is real. So why not speak up?

Morality is a constantly evolving quality of the evolving mind.
Laws are in place to act as feedback checkpoints.
Judgments are not based on laws. Judgments are based on the subjective assessment of the laws. Unfortunately, this means that a 'victim' can be described subjectively too.
So what is real really?

Windows Vista

2009-05-28T08:10:00.000-07:00

Outside there are noises of all kind.

And there is a light that is pure white. A plethora of sensations flooding through the eyes.
The body remains a living organic machine - sensing all the time.
Women, men, and children - they are all insane.
The homeless across the street, die slowly on the boundaries of our genuinely remote assembly - expelled by time and rejected by space. Homeless indeed.
Minds appear walking rapidly towards some destiny.
If you really ask them - its absolute ambiguity indeed. Certain insanity. Precise instructions - definitely awry.
Programmed obedience - clearly simplified.

Amongst all this, a question about identity lingers painfully in the puzzles of the mind.
The dancing chemicals comply by orchestrating a new theme. The neurons fire to a new tune. A new drama begins to unfold. Its time for the next scene.

Wake up. Brush your teeth. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Come back home. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Read. Sleep. Dream.

It seems the whole routine is laid out. All you have to do is just believe.
Believe and deceive.
Perhaps that's why the enlightened have always called it an illusion. "Its just make believe."
Its obvious. How could it not be?

But wait. There is more. There is more you have to hear. And there is more I have to tell. Don't run away. Its just the beginning. You will never miss the end.

How do I know?
I can tell...

No really. Wait for ever.
Its an eternal state - this life.
Death is but a punctuation mark. There are sequels to follow. Alternate story lines to write.
The readers are plenty - their gaping jaws hungry for more. More knowing.
The writers keep on writing. Keep on feeding into the machine. The machine keeps on going. Rushing rapidly towards some destiny.
Its absolute ambiguity indeed

Knowledge is power - the kind that can get to your head. It penetrates your mind while it enlightens the blind.
Obscure visions are as commonplace as the lucid imaginations of a soulful schizophrenic.
The split is not between you and the world. Its really between I and Me.

You - on the other hand - are no one.
Just a figment of my imagination. Just a construct of my mind.
We are playing with toys. Don't you see?

The rest will keep on flowing, like the traffic lines through the window. Its quite a sight.
Nature, nurturing our lives.

The Wall

2009-05-09T09:23:00.000-07:00

A piece of me
over there
a piece of me
over here
Shallow hearts bring out the fire
Turmoil crave
for a mind in fear.

I laugh
at my drying tears
crying never
seems to clear
these things
that I have accumulated
over years of pain and slander

If only I could hold my smiles
and ask them why they are smiling?
If only I could hold my pain
and ask if it will see me again?

I have loved it and I have tried it
I have tried to but haven't had it
The closer I got, the farther it flowed
I could never find my way back to that shore

I am broken into pieces
and I see myself in each
I have worn out all my worries
and I have overgrown my peace

It seems the thing to do next
is settle down in silence
let go of every thing again
there's no point
in this pretense

Dreams, goals, ambitions and souls
are all awash my drifting worlds.
Locked inside my fractal self
I am building myself a wall again

Behind the fence across the road
I watch the sun shine through the rain
I've never seen the birds there
Twice now,
they have driven me insane.....

A piece of me
over here
A piece of me
over there
I have had my tales to tell
I have had my secrets shared

Anniversary

2009-04-28T15:58:00.000-07:00

Its a blessed, blended, day.

These flights of fancy seem to be going everywhere, dragging me along to the edge of that lofty chaos.
Seems like years have passed by in an eternity.
Seems like moments have faded into seconds - exploding back into fountains of memories, neatly lodged within the astronomical galaxies of my organic mind.
A sound here, a whisper there.
The birds make noises from patterns of my cares.

I looked into the flower and saw the whole world.
It was perched on a pollen, hidden inside a twirl.
Instantly the colors jumped into my eyes.
And I saw it all over again.

My memories seem to rejoice in the pearls that had collected in various corners of my mind.
I trust them to rescind those occasional few things that occur unavoidably outside my self.

I took leaps of imagination wondering where I would land - finding myself waver on the palm of some divine hand.
I played my strings till the evening brought a foggy beach in front of my eyes and I waved till I found what a lovely dream this was.
Somehow I knew I was not alone anymore.
In love I had found the eternal forever.

What a lovely, blessed, blended day!!!

Ideas about Reality

2009-04-07T14:56:00.000-07:00

Blinded eyes can still see even though the light that reaches them is meaningless in a strictly physical sense.
But then, in a strictly physical sense, seeing is more than accessing the visible, isn't it?
To see is to penetrate the countenance of reality - a part of which is the act of seeing itself.
So the eyes are as real as the sun that they see.

But remember - don't look directly at that star.
It will burn the delicate network of tissue and blood that conveys its very identity.
In such an extreme sense, the message destroys the recipient, while the messenger remains free.

The seer himself is destroyed by the sight.

Beethoven's deafness ironically built around his creativity a wall that imposed a mocking challenge - "Make that which you cannot perceive!"

After I read this, I dreamt of a man who was hidden from the dream.
One by one his senses severed, to be taken far away from him.
First his sight, then the sound, followed by touch, smell and taste.
He remained awkwardly subtracted from the grand unified deity who gave him birth and then waited till he died.

Of course this realization severely paralysed him.
And now he could neither move nor speak.
He could neither look nor shriek.
Silence was his friendly enemy - sometimes uplifting but mostly a bitch.
He had nothing to do but just wait and be.
Surprisingly he lived till he was about 90.

And then when he died it didn't feel all that odd.
For this man from my dreams, the transition had been smoothed out of existence, and death was now merely a concept in his unequivocally defragmented mind.

No greed or desire had touched his side. No food or wine had gotten him satisfied.
He had drifted through the machine like an outdated key - with no intention to leave or any need to believe.
He remembered the feeling when he could touch the violin strings. The sound that it released had set him free.
Of course now it was but an ambiguity.
Just an uncertain memory.
He wasn't even sure anymore what music could mean.

The old museum that he had first visited when he was three, was now inseparable from the paintings that he had seen.
He had walked through a Renoir and dozed off in a Bellini.
Colors were notes of music to a degree. But then what was music if not wavelengths in deceit?
He had once felt love and that's all he really knew for sure.
Other than that he was not sure of anything anymore.
The uncertainty clung to him like he clung to his ideas of reality - all the while drifting through the unearthly white serenity of some sterile make believe.

How does it feel?

Anticipated Visions

2009-03-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

Slowly the infant crawled across the floor, moving a little bit more.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was walking on the road.

The road to 'nowhere in particular' really, because the stars in whose constellation his blue planet was nested was hurling into a future destination about which no one had a clue.

So he walked and he learned to ride the bicycle. He learned to ride the scooter and the motorcycle.

He was soon behind the steering wheel of a boltening fast car and the first time he flew was in an aircraft that touched mach 2.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was 32.

And the space occupied by his solar system was still changing rapidly by the year...., hour, and second.

Time passes by and you pass along.

It was just as sudden that he fell in love.

It was just as sudden that he made love.

Somehow suddenly one day he too had a son, crawling on the floor, desperately trying to run.

Three more decades passed by like three hours in the sun. The clouds came by and the seasons took their turn.

The old man was 62 as he watched his son - take off to the moon. He remembered the time when he could barely run.

HE remembered the time when "he" could barely run.

Millennia passed by like the circles around Saturn. Thoughts came in and thoughts went out. Generations of men and machines came about. Lifetimes had stretched into hundreds of years while ghosts were living and smiling without tears. Wings of fire burnt in the shade of virtual realities prophesized by the sage. He had lived in these times when this was a past before a future inevitably "hidden". It was all happening off-stage.

He looked far into the horizon. There was infinite space and eternal time. What more can you expect anyway.

A new view you always knew..

2009-03-02T22:50:00.000-08:00

This is a Pythagorean room with an Euclidean view.

Nothing here is old and nothing here is new.

It all comes down to two things alone.

Without being undone, you cannot go ahead.

So instead you wait some, for the static sun to burn.

The earth to turn and the moon to return.

This is an imaginary room with an imaginary you. If you see this view in your dreams you better believe it’s true. Sometimes it may appear to be moving very slow. But mind you it’s just you who is really keen to go.

So go on. Continue with your goal. Continue to find your mind. Continue to seek your soul.

Fallen angels will kiss your feet and dirty dirt will taste surprisingly sweet. So continue to walk through, it’s just your own self split in two.

At times the sun explodes when it shatters on the floor. This room is not all that stable, especially when you have never been here before. But don’t be alarmed. It is just a perfect storm, which blows out your eyes as you stare through this window and expect it to snow.

Look again. You can see yourself running - away from the rain. At the end of a mountain, you sit and stare. You have been here before, and you know that it’s true. There is a slight smile and a dull memory of pain.

The flowers have changed colors while the trees grew taller. You have missed subtle moments when you went after that shore. The sea was static waves when you watched it long enough. It was you who is flowing when the wind whispered “hello”...

Do you feel you are trapped here alone? Think about those people who have been here before.

Look at the ceiling, up high above. Do you see those smiles splashed across the door?

Ok. Now you have found a way. Pass through it and you shall instantly see the trick.

But first wait. Are you really prepared to deal with such intense uncertainty?

Or are you so uncertain, that you'd pass this fun reality?

Time keeps dragging on, don’t you think?

If we just wished it away, it would let us peacefully sleep.

And what then when we wake up again?

What if you find yourself escaping in vain, this room full of views that changed and will change again?

History of Love - a tale of two.

2009-01-21T09:54:00.000-08:00

Dropping eves like
peanuts and peas,
the passerby glanced
at the vanishing seas.

The waves remained reminders
of the same collapsing memories,
that came back again
through a forest without trees.

A strange sense
of absolute pretense
washed over his eyes,
like the melting evening sun
that faded out of sight.

Before he drowned
and after he was saved
his life passed by
before his uncrowned grave.

When he looked at the sky
he too wondered why
the tremendous infinity
seemed so desperately dry?

The lightening arcs shouted
behind courting clouds of white
while the wind muscled a chunk
of solar heat and light.

A zephyr whispered some wishful plans
while the clan of others stepped out to dance.
Above all it was nothing at all
but a factual twist of fate.
The passerby's stories
were too frequently late
- sometimes to love sometimes to hate.

She touched his shoulders before he could speak.
And before she could seek he had vanished from the shore.
Once more they parted like the pigeons off the street
who pecked on the peanuts and the charitable peas.

Words in the center
of conscious disaster
appeared to focus
somewhere near.
The voice was his own
but his music had outgrown
the everlasting bliss
that he carried in his moans.

He looked at the sky
and wondered why
she arrived so late
after making him wait.
He looked beyond
the rising waves,
a horizon had appeared
through his lover's gaze.

Aspirin Wars

2009-01-09T14:30:00.000-08:00

continued from

The tidal waves washed ashore the bruised egos of famished Heedons.
Thoughts were like buildings erected upon stolid water that flowed unlike anything above the sheath of glistening grey and white matter.
The pace of change rearranged one piece of reality with another as the un-ending puzzle of questions and quests terminated into offshoots of nonplussed gazes - staring far into the abyss.

Before Dr Woltz happened to realize that his headaches weren't getting any better, he took a few aspirins. The salicylic molecules made it through their familiar pathways, inhibiting enzymes that mediate pain.
But soon something kinetically abnormal took place.
A young Heedon was marking its territories over a borrowed patch of Dr Woltz's neurons - sizzling the electrochemical signatures of pre-patterned thoughts through un-channelised dimensions.

The dead sounds of the evening disturbed Dr Woltz's solitude for the first time in the past 3 decades he had been working for Quintronic Simulations Inc. Beneath the dusty ceiling and over a crooked flow, Dr Woltz simmered in his own marvelous immortality.

But was he really immortal?

Chaotic thoughts grazed all night through his eyes and his ears. The fever seemed vaguely strange for a trivial case of being under the weather. Before he shot a glance towards the mirror, his eyes felt redder than the tropical sun under a treacherous sky.

The Heedons had taken over Dr Woltz's brain. They had no idea of control nor did Dr Wolts had any control over his ideas.

Thus, imminent breakthroughs percolated in Dr Woltz's life. Memories appeared anew - for the first time ever.
Clues of all kind and sort pushed through the barriers of his tacit imagination. The entire world swayed with the shifting paradigms generated by Dr Woltz.

The Aspirin wars had thus begun.

A few questions for theeeeeee?

2009-01-04T19:51:00.001-08:00

Floating indeterminately through ever expanding space, we drifted through intricate chaos and macroscopic probabilities.
Quantum causalities ended up in a temporary state of zero-ness.
That and the inevitable contact.
It was sort of like Mind meets Matter - and when no one was watching - what mattered met the Mind.

At this point all human evolution appeared to be for the manifestation of some sort of a message, that would eventually intersect with the messages from neighboring dimensions.
First contact is bound to change it all - that we are not alone.

What it could mean, as far as we know, is that the tree of life will expand beyond our times.
Times and Space of course. The heads and tails of the perpetually flipped coin, snaking through the abyss of chance and fate.
If the cards are played right we might even see beyond our humble insignificance in the cosmic pattern of reality.
Human history would then profess the eventualities of an extremely unpredictable phase in time.
These moments will never feel the same.
Who will we pray to then?
To whom will we honestly tell?

Absolutely nothing could collapse onto the imagination of this scene.
For a long time history will happen and we will happen with it.
But there is bound to be a time.
There is bound to be a threshold beyond which history will not be written as a record of the drifting past, but would rather be a prophetic portrait of a future.

In other words, the authors write their own stories, and the readers dream someone else's dreams.
Some critics may fear that we will be eternally trapped in pure freedom.
What an ironic plight that would be?

So will our life times meet us this way?
Will we forever be ensconced in a revolutionary space and time - finally rid of our desperate collusion of perennial loneliness?

Or will we seek solitude?

The title of this story is...

2009-01-01T13:02:00.000-08:00

It takes you away with it as you realize what just happened that is now pulling on your fabricated ID, leading you into a new unknown.
These eyes swept across the room as heads turned around in incremental angles - bound by some invisible force.
A big wave of time crossed its path with yet another shade of midnight blue.
It was all so suddenly new.
And what had changed no one knew - not any more.
After all it was all so momentary - years come by and then they go.
This is how it has always been.
This is what we have mostly seen.

Every dramatic joy and pain accumulates at the cusp of time when some invisible co-ordinates of a mercurial where fluctuate in the eternal now.
Quietly, another year passes by like a big 18-wheeler that whizzes by every time you careen 2 wheels around the bend at 90 miles an hour.

Every second you move about 4000 centimeters through space, as thousands of rotations pump pistons full of hot air through crafted metal and machinery.
Its a quantum soup beyond this point, but that's pretty much what I would do at 12:00 midnight on some new year's eve - just to appreciate the moment of change from the perspective of velocity.

So Al's well now that we all sip champagne as the band crescendos into an act of celebration for having lasted another year.
Pages of history will turn over and over.
The inevitable end still seems farther and farther.

Here's to another year of visions, divisions, revisions, premonitions, contemplation, consolidation, confirmation, corroboration, devastation, seduction, and massive lot of creation.

O Nein

2008-12-20T10:20:00.000-08:00

It is strangely familiar that somethings change while others remain ever changing - just the same.
The bumpy tides of time wash across the borders of this mind.
The stars confirm an extremely real illusion through holes that penetrate the biggest picture - appearing like shards of some fragmented thought.
So when you proceed, be aware.
There is no scope for serious frivolity.
What seems is what you deceive.
In turn, everything remains constantly altered between now and then - here and there.
Everything is the same except for what is not-where?

It will be oh nine.
Things will stay fine,
refined without a trace-
composed with sine grace.
Affiliations with delusions,
will be rewarded with secrets.
The mystery will grow
starker than the days.
Treading between lines
of a shifting giddy gaze.
The lines will disappear
behind the fuzzy phase.

Vision is perception plus more.
The less you see this, the more there is yet to know.
How and where we will share the what?
In the end it is why thats all we've got.

So walk again you pair of eyes moving over these restless lines.
Listen you pair of ears staring still under a million connected suns.
And when the night approaches you'll know,
Who this is that told you so...

:-)

Above in the deepest heights of inner space, lay buried a voice that often speaks to me about you - and of course to you about me.
Its a trick to see the maze we are in.
You cannot simply win.
Its a prick, isn't it a sin?

Anyway,
Like I said, it will soon be on nine....

For the sake of a fake checkmate debate

2008-11-29T19:52:00.000-08:00

The king is but a fancy wooden pawn whose movements across the board depend
upon the whim of the player.
The game is limited by the rules and only strategies make it work.
In this sense the game is as much in the mind as much as the mind is in the game.

Through black and white turns, the pieces end into a checkmate - a unique configuration of terminal consequence. The winning strategy enjoys its 15 minutes of fame while yet another game proves yet another winner.

War is always about with and without.
Power is a bunch of sensational baubles crammed into an empty hole that could not be filled creatively.
Victory in some senses is a desperate attempt to humor insecurity.
The need to prove is at times only a sorry desire to draw juvenile attention.
This world is arrested by the overgrown children who cannot stop clasping and clinging to some temporally insignificant medals hanging over lonely pedestals standing in phallic upright glory in the middle of a deserted stadium.

It is so obviously fake!

A special tramp walked from place to place, getting rid of the trash that polluted his world.
While we watch through the glass the thunder and the storms he lived in the rains watching our homes.
Something about his soul seemed perfectly in place.
Beyond his decadence was concealed an honest reality.
He represented the soul of humanity's lost face.

If an alien observer were to stumble upon this rare representative of the human species, the extraterrestrial intelligence would most certainly be amazed at the evolvability and harmony that danced within the enlightened tramp.

It would be precious, I imagine, from the most unearthly points of view.

Meanwhile. the wizards behind the curtain play the real games.
Their minds are molded by the context that they create.
These geniuses are mad men who are born too soon and their silence is a word that speaks without sounds

Beyond the veils lay lesser mortals scurrying about in precious perplexity, chasing tacit lines within imaginary boundaries they follow the false kings.
Ambiguously serving a certain queen who pulls apathetically upon their strings.

I sit with the sages who close eyes beneath the tree and watch silently the sun setting over the seas.
In every breath and every thought, pulsates the rhythms of their universe.

Vibrating with indispensable precision, they comprehend the situation.

There is an art in this universe that can only be expressed but never be perceived.
There is a truth about existence that can only be experienced and never be deceived.

The flowing river carries passengers from heaven to hell.
Some are in search of an escape, while others are escaping from some search.
I stand with those who are there simply because of the flow, neither tied to the river, nor enchanted by the shore.

For your information only....

2008-11-26T12:56:00.000-08:00

The music chars the pieces of space separating these thoughts from the vibrations of random quantum states.
Very few contexts remain after all beliefs are shed and there is absolutely no place to retreat. Somehow now seems to be the only certainty, and space appears wide open for you to see.
These visions are not simply an occasion for confused delight.
If you have arrived here by chance, then by chance you shall leave everything behind.
So, where is your mind & where are your thoughts?

Walking on a parched street after a rare rain, the sparkling sunlight flickers like multitudes of stars in bold sunlight.
Its a glimpse of a past that cannot be forgotten simply because it was never remembered.
What kind of connections do you call these?
What are these ancient memories?

As time flows again, the changes in hell surprise the naive visitors from heaven.
Don't misunderstand this mythological duality.
It is already enriched with cryptic clues and precious seeds.
There is no black or white when the gradients of the inevitable storm wash away your tidy consciousness.
When you die, you become ash and dust.
You have no choice - you simply must.

But before that, there is a lot to experience.
There are a countless sunsets to feel and infinite moments to live.
You cannot simply arrive at the end as if this life is a journey.
Continuum without the bracket of a beginning and an end is hard to imagine isn't it?

However much you reason with this flux, you can never win if that's the way you see it.
There are hidden dimensions hiding more worlds than have been seen by mad men and spirits. You will learn if you keep still.
You will remember when you move.

Today take a look above while your feet hold the ground that moves unpredictably thorough an unknown universe.
It cannot really be understood.
This is FYI only!

These are a musical times....

2008-11-04T22:23:00.000-08:00

Change shines in like a colorless light.
It erupts into an energy that is unfathomable and countless in a vibrant sort of way.
When something important happens, it happens in a very authentic manner - like the blues. Waves of positronic flux simultaneously envelop and leap out of the imaginary boundaries that separated us from our own selves.
We are finally getting a glimpse into our own unity.
We are looking back in time - enshrining our roots.
The old and the orthodox minus the preciousness of tradition are only an empty shatter in the subtle fears that pin us down to comfort, that break our intrepid spirit, and crowd our innocent freedom.
The voice of change is a song of the youth.
This is a rhythm of new energy.
Nomore a plastic replica.
Its real this time.
It is the pulse of the new generation.
The milieu of a collective human behavior.
It is that what politics truly is.

Something of utmost importance is going on and we need to awaken to its beauty.
We need to let go of our adolescent notions of a languished material pride and symbolic apathy to welcome this fresh and detached sense of impermanent ownership.
There is no race and the finish line is just a carrot hanging over our quintessential vision - blinding us from our soul.

The reward lies not in a discovery, but in a pious predisposition to connect with our higher selves.
The inevitable is inevitable only because of the innate rhythms of nature.
In reality we are all trying to reveal to each other a blatantly open secret -
Harmony!

Dear Diary - Day Zero (0)

2008-11-04T07:42:00.000-08:00

Several of us had escaped the world when several others blew it up. At that final moment we saw pieces of ourselves launched into the portion of space that used to be the earth. We had no plans for life. Life did not involve planning anymore. All the plans had apparently been leading to our imminent self-destruction. A powerful realization dawned in this moment of absence. The paucity of everything that used to be taken for granted dissolved into a single fact, shattering into a pin point. We certainly did a thorough job of annihilation.
After all, it was our speciality.

In the absence of the earth the moon shifted its orbits, and the solar system seemed dreadfully empty as I drifted into deeper space. I had a few more hours of life support before I too would become yet another system, breaking down into infinite continuum.

We never found out if there was life on other planets. For the first time, I felt lonely without being able to do nothing about it. But then emotions and thoughts are also systems that eventually break down. So...my loneliness transformed into freedom.
Yes. A brief sort of freedom, but the most absolute kind nonetheless.
It was precious...

We had all been living like the lab animal - born into a well controlled environment, hooked to pipelines of food, water, and energy. We left our wild roots for the comfort of concrete walls with beautiful paintings of mystery safely hanging at a distance. We slept in peace with imaginary fears and silly ambitions of 'making' it in life. Now it was all amusing to think we knew.
But we hardly had a clue.

Retrospectively it makes sense that our end at our own hands was inevitable. After all, once we traded cold comfort for change, it was all about guarding it with our lives, the lives of our families, and those we loved. The ones we despised, the ones we hated, were on the other side of some colluded boundary.
Caricatured lines separated us from ourselves, like the clothes that concealed the natural nakedness we had become so terribly ashamed of.

War is certainly the organizing principle of life!

I died on the doomsday, but my entire life did not pass before my eyes.

Instead...........

Colors enhanced in the dark, Creatures in the mind lying still, Bright flashes hurt the eyes, if you want to die...you will! No voices from deep within Can answer you tonight. This is the last hour, before the final fight! You'll lose your peace of mind, let go your values behind, This is the last hour, before the final fight! Your breath is counting hours, to stop for a while. In an instant of eternity, you close your eyes with a smile! There will be flashes from the past, and premonitions of the future. Your present is a dead grave, and your life has gone obscure! You see the tunnel vision, And your body levitates in the wind. You imagine the Heavens- Taking your martyred soul within! You have hated and you have loved, You have sinned every sin. You have called the almighty at times, And worshipped the Devil within! Now you lie in the grave, of pious purity- and you wonder what you've done, to die among these loved ones!

to b normal is abnormal

2008-10-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

there is a red dot on the roof,
a proof that some hands were there.
up and down around a ground,
I am here, surrounded by the sound.

below me, an infinite sea
above me, an endless sky.
my eye reflects my self to me,
I no more wonder how or why?

to be addicted to everything,
is to do nothing at all.
in zen every moment,
is to climb when you fall.

Before you go further,
you have to look behind.
before you surrender,
you have to lose your mind.

presumptions are wrong,
symbols are impermanent.
time is an illusion,
from an outdated song

Poetry - is a a waste of time,
a rhyme is a thoughtless crime.
to break the rules,
is what you really learn in school.
if you agree with that,
you are an endangered fool.

congratulations

All fall down.

2008-10-14T09:48:00.000-07:00

Here's to your avarice and greed,
to become what you are not yet,
and to lose what you think you are.

Your quest is my discovery.
I have invented it for nothing.

What have we created
and what has created us,
if we are doomed with an omen
and our only chance is a curse?

somethings are everything
that are sometimes nothing at all.
hanging on some delicate string
we are afraid as we wait to fall.

Is this it?
is this all?
There is certainly something more
this present was never before
after all we are all
going to fall.

Avoidance Refrained

2008-10-07T14:14:00.000-07:00

You avoid me
devoid of empathy
for who we used to be.
now strangers
in a friendly game
of doctored monopoly.

Till recently
the weather sprayed
fair notions
of anomaly.
But now
we just remain
constrained by
pointless pleas

If we follow
the lines of our shadow
we may never know the sun
but once
we stay still
we will
watch and learn

till then
we burn again.
we place
our shadows where
we wait with no pain
and we pace
and we dare
and we hear
with no disdain

what have
what we crave
but we still
will to gain

Following the Follower...

2008-10-02T15:18:00.001-07:00

In an upset tone the silence shrilled away at the crowd who seemed to be heading in no particular direction.
Something appeared to be chasing them.
It appeared it was the sun.
They were moving in all possible directions, calmly engrossed in their subconscious exodus.
Once in a while a storm of conflicting emotions would slide them away from the barren repertoire of exclusive control.
Once in a while they would seem human.
It would appear as if they all smiled at once, a giant glint of recognition, a movement of hope.
But just for a moment.
As the sun rises and the alarms go off, they begin to move in a desperate commotion to prove something, to achieve something, to keep the wheel moving, to scrounge for a meal - reinventing themselves.
Rediscovering lost zeal.

A sense of suspended urgency always seems to haunt as the motion of this machine takes turn to reproduce it self - clogging and chugging.
Blogging and Laughing.
Thats the way it is.
Thats the deal.

Solitude remains alive in the bereft illusion of company like a butterfly trapped in a leaf.
Thoughts surrender to random feelings, while greedy sharks eat away the soul in stale dis-belief.
Somehow somethings didn't seem right,
but we all continued with the fight.
Perhaps this war will end someday,
but would we still be
so far away?

Walking in the rains on the mountain slope
they watched the trees disguise their shape.
Talking alone without any hope
they grimly planned for silent escapes.

Wandering about with no glory or shame
they stepped on valour and made up games.
Wondering about the indelible demise
they lost themselves in a green disguise.

we believe that no one is lonely.
But how exactly could we not be?
Its a body, a brain, a mind, and a soul
all neatly packed with no warranty!

Cheers to you my friend
I am wasting myself to no end.
Drink up and don't be late-
you still think this all is fate?

nothrs k nved a eam to a

2008-09-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

Some had dreamed a dream alone.
and they were told not to tell anyone.
No one must know and none must tell
about this dream to another soul.
It was a dream about some one
- some one who lived in their dreams and their world.
They all dreamed about this one,
they all lived and moved about him
except for him alone.
He did not have a clue,
just a suspicion that something was true.
Something was certainly going on about
- something very inside out.
Everything else seemed equally same.
It was as if it was all too strange
And everyone knew,
and felt the same.
He wondered if he was going insane.

He doubted if he was ever sane.
He wondered how
many times again...

Trial and Errot

2008-09-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

We talk for a while
and we laugh and we smile
we try to be friendly
and we try it in style

we try to be honest
and we try to be smart
we try to be angry
we try from the heart

we try not to mind
we try not to care
we try to be loved
but we try not to hear

we try to climb
when we try to sleep
we try to surrender
when we cry and we weep

we try to be here
and we try to be there
we try to be someone
same place somewhere

we try to be
and we try to see
we try to believe
but not clearly

we try to try
we fail to succeed
we forget our victory
for the next thing we need

we breed
and we breed
and we try to speed
we try to be happy
we try to be freed

--------------------------------------------001 + e

SYSTEMS BREAKDOWN AT TREMENDOUS SPEED.
THE PERSON LEAVES THE ROOM
THE MIND BLOOMS LIKE A SEED
UN THREATENED BY THE GLOOM
UNENCUMBERED BY THE GREED

(9)

Now this happens all the time...

2008-09-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

The music begins and you take the first hit of a perturbation from the environment.

The magic dissolves into a river of pulses synchronizing with what you hear.
As time passes, the flow blends into the fabric of who you imagine you are and the sound begins to resonate with what you see before your eyes.

With the beating of the heart and the movements of the cars outside your window, your mind branches out into streams of thoughts budding into leaves of insight and flowers of consciousness.

The fruit of knowing what this means interrupts the metamorphosis of a chrysalis into a butterfly without disturbing the journey of the river heading towards a waterfall of delight.

A small portion - your ego enjoys a banal sip of this sensational moment and relishes false dreams of glory and power.
But only for a moment, because the next moment washes over the pithy illusion of some permanent image and submits you into the esoteric descent with the crashing of a waterfall. Gravity kisses you all over.
The flow accomplishes your every desire.
You are no more you.

For a while you bathe in the light of this moment and then you give in to the dragging force of eternal change.
A purpose seems to have been achieved and this feeling surrenders into a certainty that everything will forever change and forever remain - sometimes as you and sometimes as all that you consider within and outside you.

You break out of the shell that walled you inside a cage that you couldn't escape through - until now.
You realize the impossibility of its unbreakable existence.

And yet, in a sense everything is still the same.
A continuous flow.
An eternal show and tell.
You are you,
who you were a while ago.
And you are you who knew.
And you are you who doesn't know.
You are you who are the river,
you are the waterfall,
and the to and the fro.

Suspended on this wave you dissolve and you glow - you understand the ignorance that will eternally show.
The shell breaks into pieces, confirming your impermanence and you come to find yourself in an eternal reflection.
There is no need to hold on to it now.
There is no need to let go.

Now this happens every moment, and all the time.

Genie with the bottle

2008-09-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

The next thing you remember is the Genie with the bottle.
There was a message beyond the walls of glass with a hint tied to an aged cork that separated you from yourself.
If only some sort of a miracle could send the Genie back to its home.
Alas, it only walked about from place to place, looking for its home - its only wish that its wishes would come true.

A wandering beggar spoted a horse tied by the tree that was too far from the lake.
The thirsty animal begged for the cool liquid, dreaming of its quenching taste just for its own sake.
The beggar simply wondered, "you can take a horse to the water, but you can never make it drink!"
And then....the fool just walked away.
The Genie watched from a distance and wished aloud, "if only he was a wish"
It didn't mean any thing of course.

Rescuing the horse and watching the beast submerge its insides in the apparently nonchalant water, the Genie decided to drink up some too.
It filled up the bottle with the cool liquid blue.
The message drifted away with the current.
Unaware, the Genie took a mouthful sip and felt as satisfied as the horse.

At the end of the lake the beggar washed his decaying face in the cool water.
The message from the bottle - the one with hints that separated you from yourself - floated in his hands.
He simply used it to dry the tarnished dirt off his face.
The paper fragmented into several pieces of muddied stains that denied you from yourself - forever.

The beggar walked around aimlessly for another year or two and then died in a fight fought on a rainy night in the alley where some very mad people fucked each other without mercy and a disturbing paucity of pleasure.

The Genie remained lost for eternity.

Some years later the horse was put down after it helplessly lost a very rich man a lot of money.
When it died it somehow remembered being rescued by the Genie with the bottle.
That was the poor creature's life passing by in front of its eyes.

The Ghost of the Beggar watched the whole thing and smiled, ""you can take a horse to the water, but you can never make it drink!""

The fool still wandered around aimlessly, except this time it was for eternity.

Next Question - Your Move

2008-09-08T12:53:00.000-07:00

The dark side of the delusion gods is now hidden behind a veil of ambition and fake nobility.
The search for the truth has transformed into a Mobius strip where the snake-charmer pulls strings on a couple of numerical immigrants - driving them to see while his eyes remain blind with a fleeting sense of glee.

Light bends and when it does the vision distorts into a political game of up and down, with and without.
Somewhere around the colossal tree lies the innocence of it all. Somewhere under the shade of branches and leaves rest a pair of eyes that see everything - very clearly.

What needs to be done?
To become completely free is apparently the key.
Rejuvenate in the delights of the history that make you see what you see. Celebrate the pain that endured your survival and helped you to preserve that which really mattered.

Believe in your soul. Trust your thoughts. Paint your dreams. Live your song.
The explosion bears a mark of reform.
The fountain fades into an instant hanging suspended in a recent mystery.

Everything is in place.
This is how it should be.

Your move.

A Subtler Suggestion...

2008-08-31T14:35:00.000-07:00

The first hit.
It defines everything - after it.
How the water feels the first time you dive in.
Or the bright Sunday afternoon.
The first sip of cold exotic beer.
Or the sand underneath your hammock.
A slice of a strange foreign fruit.
The first listening of your all time favourite album.
First kiss, first bite, first love and first sight.
First thought, first sun, first life, and first light - the way everything began it

Realizing it for the first time is also firstly delicious.
Then, it defines everything.

The first time you understand everything is also quite amazing.
After that you understand nothing.
Nothing is understood anymore.
There is no certainty.
It is all ambiguous
It is somewhat like literally living in dimensions associated with the Uncertainty Principle.

There are no more false pretenses, or true ones for that matter.
The fact of the matter is that there is no matter of fact.
And therefore, as a mind of fact there is no matter.
Thats really it.

Science is magic and magicians who don't see it are scientists.
An artist is the quintessential politician.
A true philosopher is the mad man from the future.
In silence you hear true sound, and apart from circles, everything is round.

Every time it hits, it fits the first time.
Every thing is a collision - exploding into collusion.
Epiphanies are but forgotten memories.
History is the future.
Tomorrow is when yesterday will arrive.
Now is the moment to define everything.

But, first
hit it.

NOTE: IT is the 101st Knot in this entanglement of Threads. Thank you for Be-ing.

Staring at the Moon

2008-08-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

I find myself lying awake in the middle of a busy high way, unperturbed by the passing wheels and several souls in search of a journey.
Standing besides moving targets feels like the destinations have just begun to arrive.
There was no place to go to but watch the full moon reflect on the black tar.
The sky is breaking underneath while the reflections are a revolution of perspectives.
Yesterdays dreams were different in their contiguous weariness.
Being awake has never been so sudden, so uncertain, so full of multiple choices.

What do you say?
All of the above?

Its a safe bet.
I get it all the time.
How do you know?
Who cares?

Scared and lonely the journey continues in the form of futuristic musings.
There is one sound in the left and an echo on the right, but when you turn around, its not the same sight.

Sometimes when all this stops for a while, I smile into the eyes of the terrifying homeless man whose hunger is visible in every thing that he does and every place that he goes to.
Sometimes an epiphany or two hit him too.
A long time ago a mad man spoke to me of un-thought of things.
It comes to mind now somehow - a memory to be worshipped.
Before I move to the next moment, I shall close my eyes and stay still.

Heres to madness!!!

There's a blue sky and I am staring at the Moon.

Premonition-One

2008-08-26T16:03:00.000-07:00

In a continuous vacuum the pliers of wafting solace shuttered modestly while somewhere in the vicinity the lassitude of these thoughts worshiped a naked muse who sat still on a stationary wheel.
Before someone spoke, the corrosive steel in her eyes bore stellar sparks into a world that lurked unaware outside itself.
To believe all this was a sin when in fact the disbelief of dead idols quivered like ghosts departing a sea in a straight line and where angels sang while the sounds of gods spelt love in the air.
Apart from the kaleidoscopic scintillations of fractured imaginations there were just the partially scattered figments of distracted foci's - abandoned by careless attention.
Who knows any more?
Who cares?

In the proximity there was a soft scream.
The dreamers of the rotten land had found their way beyond the streams of conscious distaste and orthodox trusties.
Far above the darkening skies flew creatures without wings and within the terrestrial lair lay faces without skin.

Such were the times and such times were coming.
If you want to run you can
but there ain't no point in running.

~A~

2008-08-25T22:47:00.001-07:00

~A~
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
The breath taking beauty of the naughty trekker was trickling by the sides of the bulky hills that slid under the skies of ominous serendipity.
Of all the places the cheaters of paradise had found the one hell that smelled worse than the corrupted corrugations of the remorseful cavaliers.
Isomorphic understatements vanished in the graying thoughts of men who seemed to crave the depths of a certain breath taking beauty taking their breath away - for eternity.
If only all went well would the real tell tales of the smiles and the shades of day and night be revealed with sudden comfort.
If only the whispering of the birds were undying cries for migrating winds that had played with the fortunes of the marooned and the doomed.
Somehow the ifs had no meaning while the shifting of tides bode farewell to the young restless minds sitting in the new-found foreign land, wondering "where the hell we'll be?"

The angst of the retreating shores burrowed deep in the minds of nasty virgins breeding thoughts that were forbidden by the falsely educated elderly, smoldering on the hedonistic side of things - elusive in the shadow of pretentious wisdom.
Succulent waters bathed the insides of the brains that trained you to be who you are and then cruelly hurled the existential question at your aging mind - "who am I?"

Who are you in a true sense?
If this pretense does not shout loud enough yet, carve off your tragic mask that lingers on those eyes devoid of light - shining every day on your masquerade.

At night when you dream that you have wings and you can fly when the birds cease to sing, think about the wild waking life that took away from you what really mattered:
Why?

Continued Forms

2008-08-21T08:19:00.000-07:00

Claps of the kleptomaniac's laughter
closed the storming doors of wonder
as the wealth of wisdom bore silence
in a blunder that was out of structure

Briskly fallen ladders
were hard luck to climb and fall
there were many sudden departures
once every one had seen them all

But hold on not so soon
was the clarion call of the marooned
before they stuck themselves with ice
and crashed along a floating moon

Before some sudden noise approached
the poachers had left that place
to surrender to their hunger
and embrace their swollen race

In round about circles
the people clapped in thunder
as the lightening struck their cats
while they clenched their silly girdles

Upstream a canyon roared
at the wonder in their eyes
before the sun had set
they had clutched her fairy side

But some how it slipped by me
how often I could see
the scenes from this broken land
appear out a certain tree

So I am free till I am caught
Frozen still before I rot
IF only every tale I heard
hadn't pretended what it was knot.

The thread continues...

Contact Headaches

2008-08-12T22:38:00.001-07:00

It seemed like some aliens were trying to make contact.

Dr Woltz had frequent headaches. He had not cared about them for a long time – continuing relentlessly to ponder over the deepest possible questions that generally have baffled humanity. He didn’t care about the throbbing pain in his forehead, the heaviness in his temples, and the pulsating sensation of flux above his ears. His brain seemed to burn with sharp pangs.

Woltz, like many great thinkers, was an obsessive thinker.

In a dimension, not accessible to any terrestrial species, there lurked an undiscovered intelligence. It is hard to define who or what these creatures were. It is also very uncertain whether these are any sort of creatures. Rather these entities qualify more as energy packets exhibiting some sort of quirky socio-cellular pattern.

Regardless of their identity - or their lack of it - the extra-dimensional entities had one burning desire. One soul-purpose: to be discovered.

For about 700 zillion years these Heedons had been multiplying s l o w l y in the known and unknown parts of the universe.
In spite of being extremely immune to extinction, the Heedons existed in a curious existential dissatisfaction because of their extremely sluggish rate of multiplication and an infinitesimally small size.

To get an idea of how small and how s l o w their journey through evolution was, the following pieces of data may prove to be eventually enlightening:

Average lifespan of a generation of Heedons = 1 zillion years.

Average size of a single colony of Heedons = approximately 6 trillion Heedons occupying space equivalent to what earth scientists refer to as a Quark.

Rate of multiplication = 1 generation per zillion years.

It is irrelevant to imagine how small a single Heedon is or how long one lasts. One can barely begin to contemplate about the rate at which new ones are born, how fast they grow, or how slowly they die!

Given that the Heedons are residents of inaccessible dimensions, it is pointless for human cognizance to be wasted over their almost invisible existence.

Ironically, human cognizance is exactly what the Heedons were in search of.
Having squandered an incredible amount of time and travelling between spatial fluctuations resulting from the ever-evolving universe, the Heedons had - bearing near-infinite patience - awaited to be discovered by some sort – as a matter of fact any sort - of intelligence that was constantly seeking something in this hastening universe.

In this hide & seek approach towards natural selection, the Heedons reckoned that if a mind could perceive them upon discovery, then they would attach themselves to the discoverer-specie's cognitive matrix and live off it in a parasitic existence devoid of their current limitations of infra-microscopic size and astonishingly sluggish rates of multiplication.

In such a manner the Heedon intellect seemed to work in terms of probabilities of occurrences rather than consistent cycles of paradigm shifts that were typical of Dr Woltz’s world. This is precisely why the near-infinite patience of Heedons is considered a crucial survival-trait for their tardy variation on organic life. Obviously, they didn't do much throughout their long and boring Heedon history but wait for a host brain.

It all seemed in vain

- until now.

The minuscule probability had arrived like a prophecy in their stagnant Heedon existence.
Somehow they had become someone else's headache.

Specifically, Dr Woltz's headache.

TO BE CONTINUED as The Aspirin Wars

Accidents Happen (What for?)

2008-08-07T11:13:00.000-07:00

One thing runs into another.
There is a slight collision that follows and a sound that seems like visions of war on a lush lawn strewn across squandered blood.
One thing leads to another and the entities meet their demise with the same suddenness that abrupt intersections of material identities culminate in during experiments with particle accelerators.
Somewhere a question lurks -
What for?

Before probing further into the anatomy of disintegration it is worth appreciating that the way events pass through space and time is a spontaneous progression of random trajectories.
It has been mentioned somewhere earlier too that an accident is when (and/or where) two objects attempt to occupy the same piece of space at the same time.
Such is an instance of a desperate fate.

It is sort of like playing a very difficult song for the first time.
Or like painting over a painting - a stone hurled with emphatic contempt over the statue of David in a boring area somewhere in Rome.

One of our possible ends is the death of our planet under the looming shadow of a huge asteroid, its gravity engulfing our entire pattern.
Wiping the slate clean so to speak.

Annihilating the slate in fact.

Retrospectively the future seemed certain, but somehow some very dazzling variables made their way in, overthrowing the primordial balance into ephemeral chaos.
It was in a moment in eternity that all possibilities collapsed into the fecundity of a tiny particle - pregnant with potential epiphanies

Listening to my own words make their way to my soul made me wonder again.
What for?

Strange Belief: Reality Check

2008-08-06T12:56:00.000-07:00

It is incredibly inappropriate to find the aptness in all that is and wonder whether everything is still alright.
It is shocking to believe that beliefs cannot be shattered, that lessons cannot be unlearned, and that persons cannot be reborn into non-believers and tyrants.
It is astoundingly naive to trust that what we know is the truth and what we suspect the ones we judge to live in is an open lie.
Time does not go beyond the horizons of vision and vision cannot permeate the cloudiness of the opaque paucity of unsure clarity.
A huge boulder of absolute certainty will any day fly through the stratosphere of this colluding celebrity and shatter the placid ripples in the lake of our factoid obsessions.

Time and again, the words have seemed to falter in some devoid fullness.
Frequently we have - once in a while - conformed to our ambiguous ideologies in a mercurial context of gaining uneducated epiphanies.
Seldom have we thought about the meaning of the moment.
Rarely have we relaxed in the awareness of being alive.

When does it all begin?
When we die?

Believe it or not.
Its true.
the scales of time
are made for me
...and you.

they wait ,
but for none
and are undone
by the one
who has walked out the door
when we begged him for some more

oh we have gone without sleep
for the sake of staying awake
we have gone too far
for the fear
of a reality check

Believe it or not
it is all still true.

Unscheduled Enlightment

2008-07-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

There is nothing to prove and nowhere to go.
In a sense this continuous flow of life shudders like the leaf of a dancing tree swaying with the breeze at a far distant point.
The eyes reflect these patterns in shades of light and deep shadows.
Green and blue are more than just hues and halos.

Thoughts are constantly pouring inside our heads.
We have thoughts spilling over the walls of this place.
Sometimes we are big and sometimes we are small.
Sometimes we are all alone and sometimes we are all.
We are everything, when at the same time we are nothing at all.
Deep down inside we are just empty space.
At the level of our brief surface we are just a changing face.

If we breathe right we understand the folly of moving so quickly.
If only we understand that we have all the time to modify the space around us - shape it into a self assembling cast of liquid zeal.
After all, the muse has left us for some half-pence writer and there is nothing you are going to able to do about it.
By now she must have turned his insides out of his mind and made him succumb to the love that was hiding mysteriously behind some cluttered curtain of ambiguous fates.

Do you feel the orgasmic flood of thoughts trickling through the roof of impossible limitations?
The barbaric destruction of mental fluctuations, curbed by revolutions of orchestrated insights??

Do you?

The oscillating balance remains from our past into the present.
It has prevailed in the curves of the leaves, shades of the woods, and the squares of buildings towering boldly over our oblivious observations like howling machines of wood and mud.

Surely the proximity of everything from everything else is infinite.
At a very minute level what are we really?
To the very last detail what is everything?

The combination of water and fuel makes rainbows of exploding hues in the puddles of caustic rain in a barren future possibility.
The moon has shattered and come too close to the windows by which our great grandchildren will sleep in uneasy confusion.
It is inevitable for any thing that survives to get old.
There is an amnesic insomnia approaching our aging memory.
We are all falling for a puzzling paradigm, which is lurking behind our pointless collusion.

Amongst the multitude our individual voice is just a whisper, a set of words, dialects, tones, and patterns.
Our creations, our dreams, our futures, and our pasts are all neatly embedded with our fears, hopes and frustrations, packed in a hollow collection of boxes with doors, windows, and cubicles.

Our train of thoughts is interrupted only by the commercials of rollover minutes and bandwidths fusing us deeply into a forest of information that we are all contributing to relentlessly -
-every moment.
The disorder and uncertainty that is building up in the background is quiet and formidable. Don't look too soon, you might lose your mind!

Light Seduction

2008-07-10T17:00:00.001-07:00

Light has a way of seducing me.
Sound has a knack to rip my head apart.
The words - they keep me sane
but not for long,
they play their part
- its just colors and songs again.

Silence is a friend
to the music that I'd played
now my mind wants to know
what next If she had stayed?

to breathe is my obsession
to covet - my boredom
I'm full of my own self
but I am seldom some one.

the shapes on the sharp
turn white into black.
Bleeding several red dots
painting's such a forgotten art.

Its beautiful to be alive
with no fear of some ends
when light and sound became
my ever lasting friends

I can travel through time now
I can can even become space some how
I can see in you a part of me -
a seed, a branch, a flower, a tree!

0

The Old Man and the See

2008-06-26T12:56:00.000-07:00

Some times the chaos seems friendly.
Some times it seems to be a foe ready to plunge its rusted sharpness through your petrifying soul.

I just gave it all up when I couldn't take it anymore.
The old man in front of me could not see where he wanted to go.
In the past he probably knew, but now he was lost somehow
in this modern show.
He spoke to me and asked me for directions.
His questions did not make any sense
while I wondered how he was thinking.
What was he thinking?

The light from the afternoon sun hit the glasses on his partially blind eyes.
He moved on to a different moment completely oblivious of his being...
... lost.

Its times like these that the blips of fluctuating feelings rest for a second that is unusually longer than that typical one on that symbolic clock.

The bus moved on and in the mirror the old person faded - just like he was fading in real life.

REAL LIFE?
What could that be?

Surely the old man had some day been as young as I.
And perhaps I may become someday just as old as him?
But certainly thats not the answer.

What is the question?

What is really important then - for both of us - in this mercurial frame of reference?
Is it the directions that we keep asking for - like speechless children drooling over endless bowls of cereal - or empty old minds waiting for the funeral?

His image disappeared from the rear-view mirror,
being replaced by the relentless claim -

R.E.A.L. L.I.F.E.

I was more confused than ever.

Some words fell into my lap
and I began to read my book
I could not look beyond this gap
that stood under me -
so un understood.

Question-Answers

2008-06-17T12:56:00.000-07:00

To hold on to nothing and fall deep into yourself is your mission - the child told itself as he walked trough the city that was borne out of the fantasies of innocent imagination.

The clean slate reflects lines that mean something but never seem to shed light on that something. Fallen pieces from the worlds around make the mind grow into a pod while the birds in the sky and the waves of the sea speak to each other about secrets yet unknown.

For however much time the child lay still, it couldn't help to wonder about things that have been and the things that could be.

Working out the riddles of paths that laid down the myths and facts entwined into a puzzle that never seemed soluble.

Disintegrated artifacts remained the only clues through which the creatures of these worlds deciphered the meaning of their own selves and their lives. Meanwhile, the world changed again to only leave behind a pattern of stories partly finished.

Few things grow as much as the thoughts about trees, branches and cracks in dry earth. few things remain constant like the turbulent oceans and the clouds in clear skies.

As time went by, the fantasies came real. Somehow the picture didn't fit well and more work was yet to be done. He was so tired. He could give up any moment only if he knew what would be so worth it.

Leaving behind the days and the nights and the loves of yesterday the approach became clear - life happened with or without you.

A smile faded the subtle tears that ran across the skin worn out by the clocks and calenders.

The cubicles always rearranged into something else but remained a constant reminder of the same old geometry - begging for the curves from different dimensions.

These affairs with reality had never brought him close but only closer.
But closer to what???

And as life went on,the people and the events around seemed unnecessary to take in.
All that was needed was within.

Stop by in frustrated contemplation

2008-06-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

Time passes in irrelevant motions
the eyes on this side listen to jazzy notions
and the sounds of the sax ebb and flow
in my mind I suspect there're some things that I know

where time comes from
and from where come I?
we are all in this together
like the clouds in the sky.

Below the levels
of worlds in parallel
come ideas and pictures
and scriptures and gospels

turn around this ground
in sometime I wonder
where does my mind wander
what lies asunder

Above the sound
the notes flow alone
random and mischievousness
colored off tone

please don't shout
or go out to the ghosts
will we place our bets
on haunted old posts?

Love ya...
and thanks for stopping by!

Some Times

2008-06-05T11:09:00.003-07:00

Through the invention of the word the thought missed the point that its existence was to be and not to assume the attire of symbols that were eventually clad by its confusing sense of identity.
Eons and eons passed before the magical dance of illusory particles gave way to a sequence of limitations through which the primordial ideas flowed like water through a stream of troubles, waves, and ripples.
After a while the dried up instances of a seasonal phase sunk the world of created visions and dissolved the background into a purposeless noise of unsurpassed magic.

How will you come to terms with this fabric then?

And what about that?

Here we seem to dabble in war and peace while sorrow and bliss elude us in a way that feels strangely familiar.
Apparently a deja vu exploded before this moment.
The future holds a secret that we create as we close in on it.
It claims to be an elusive quest begging for a change.

How is it then that this unique moment that we experienced with such convoluted attachment was borne out of chance events extending back into eternal space?

someones hell is your heaven
sometimes you are that someone
above the clouds a thought whimpers
but the sky is constant to the chosen one

In a race you jump the gun with a subconscious intent to win the finish line.
Although success is guaranteed in such a ploy you didn't play the game that offered its joys: the medals bronze, silver and gold - a certain place on a geometric pedestal.
The symbols are striking!
The depth of our struggles is unquestionable.
We drive to survive but when it comes down to it we are merely living.

The mind is locked in a body that dies.
The body describes the mind that it ties.

How is it then that this unique thought scintillates with detachment?

Someone spoke
like a loudmouthed bloke
trying to win the fates
while the friends and foes
dragged to the shores
treasures from an ancient cave

Opened beyond the words of swords
the blood and water merged with the gods.
Dramatic events twisted our worlds
the ultimate questions washed to the core.

Before the message in a bottle was read
the light in the eyes began to fade.
The sounds that are white were all that remained
before you could grasp it had all re-arranged.

Touch the tip of my imaginary finger
kiss my lips when you cease to linger
our souls were matched before we met
I am waiting for you beyond these dangers.

some times you are some one.
.

Instant Gratification

2008-05-16T21:50:00.000-07:00

It was the dead past
re casted into dreams
packed and sold
as brand new things

surprisingly old
un replaceable thoughts
were ideas and imaginations
of visions that we'd sought

blue and true to
a drifting soul
the thoughts re capture
a fleeting goal

slipping away
on thinning ice
the surface is cool
in slight disguise

before the door
opens no more
The bird flies away
into recurring shores

We wish they were here
who are here no more
but before they speak
we leave the icy floor

somewhere perched
up and above
the blue bird sings
the songs of the dove

freedom on its mind
its virtual wings rewind
to a time that was gone
but was hardly left behind

we are never really lost
we are always on a quest
you will learn if you listen
at times silence is best

Innocent wars

2008-05-16T01:01:00.006-07:00

Except
that is not this
and
this is not that.

The questions survived the tests of terror and the questions remained floating in the air of oblivious disguise forever.
The pretence of the relative blood was getting warmer by the years.
The words on the pages were making new sense everyday.
In every way our minds are growing and our souls are reaching out to ourselves through people, thoughts, and plays.

A wonderful painting is the result of the feeling in your fingers. If you have the feeling of the thickness of the ink in your brush, the painting is already there before you paint. When you dip your brush into the ink you already know the result of your drawing, or else you cannot paint. So before you do something, "being" is there, the result is there. Even though you look as if you were sitting quietly, all your activity, past and present, is included, and the result of your sitting is also already there. - D.T. Suzuki

So much in a name.
So much in a series of letters, words and syntax.
So much in a signature and on a screen.

Infinity had simply shied away to the depths of sincerity.
The awareness of a rock pressed hard against a headache was mounting like a fountain frying through the shadows of duplicate hells.

The schizophrenic who went to heaven freaked out coz he hallucinated that the angels were demons with lightening in their bites and chaos in their voice.
Needless to say that he was in deep hell!

Water is thinner than blood, but blood is made of water.
Water wipes the fire off the first lethal pain that was suffered by the martyrs who died in somewhat vain by the blade of an eagles beak.
Bound by the stone, again and again, the egos of history rave and rage till the wonderful caricatures begin to play mayhem in the subtle silence of such mental caves.

The darkness is always a picture of mystery, a canvas of possibility, a fertile ground for bright creativity.

Through thick and thin everything was in place but the next moment made a slight change and the place was rearranged
yet again.
Believe it to be an idea granted from above the surface of the bottomless pit where demons and gods play whose line is it anyway?

Riding through the desolate landscape of Texas a thought comes to any lazy mind in a car. What do these cows think when they graze the grass on the other side of the fence? Colorblind as they are, do they care or are they just too nonchalant by nature?
Is it so desperately cool to be bovine?

The next item on the dish was a steak and some peanut sauce.

How wonderful is the sky when it reveals to the eyes a minuteness so beyond description that silence alone - that too the pin drop kind - can describe with elegance the inverted depth of truth.

A smiling cloud looked beneath.
Light was its soul and heavy were its days.
The rain and the storm played and danced like the siblings of a shy couple who had never known pain.

If an evening disappears like this I will fade along with you.

Time and Again

2008-04-20T20:39:00.010-07:00

Its strange to pack again

to leave this place
before it got old again
To go through this and that
is not easy you know
when you gather what you had
to avoid the apparent show

so suddenly you move on
its not easy every time
but you have it and its gone
it was never yours
though you were always mine

so no point in holding tight
it will still lose your grip
its certainly a futile fight
coz you are right
if you feel alright
coz thats what its all about -
the difference between vision and sight

the nerves are slit open
and the sweat is on my palms
calmly I stay un broken
while the new changes turn on

walking past the future
this time has come about
without your thoughts for sure
I wouldn't have done this route

so you are all right
as long as you see the sight
coz that's what its all about -
this day is different from the night

I wonder if anybody knows
where the world goes
when you close you eyes

is it still around you
or its neither earth nor skies?
but just a rapid change to an end

smile
its still the beginning my friend
from here we receive and send

Shanti

2008-04-15T23:25:00.002-07:00

Of course there is a method to madness.
One has to be mad indeed to understand this method.
However, madness by its virtue is resistant to adopting 'any' method.
This then is the method to madness.

Every individual is unique.
How could he not be? How could she not be?
The thoughts and the worlds and the creations and the madness are all mine.
And they are all yours too.
These ideas have always been ours and no one can claim the creative rights.
However, everyone can claim whatever they want for themselves.
There is infinite from where it all came from.

Why be afraid?
Whats there to lose?
There is everything to gain and you will still not have it all.

This moment is special.

I will leave it at that
I will leave it to you.
Peace.

Whens your time?

2008-04-12T13:49:00.004-07:00

When you are tired of fighting
you speak up to the thoughts
and you wake up with them
as thoughtless as you’ve been

You caress the past
while a dream spills a future
as you sit still in two days
the next moment comes too fast

You try to hold
for a while some more
of the smiles in your eyes
they grow larger many folds

your silence means some things
your time is some sort of a skin
and your ideas flap its wings
you have some action with in

There’s nothing there
to search no more
but its taking me
to a moment before

Uncertain certainty
she painted its flow
in a mercurial zoo
that wasted some how

The roads up
round about the sounds
of the guitar strings
that left your grounds

waiting to re pair
from dismal despair
shines another scene
I think it is some where here
that I have been

moving on from
here to there
your thoughts resolve
to a town some where

tomorrow try to lure
the same moment before
captured in your tears
the decade approaching near

different people same mind
the conversations we left behind
but yesterday is an other thing
if you say you saw what lies within?

A hamburger was eating ME!!!!

2008-04-02T22:35:00.003-07:00

It’s certainly not the first time that the lights have turned on in your head.
It seems a lot has remained the same.
Look closer.

Details….

As you grow older you begin to appreciate details. You begin to appreciate the shades between yesterday and now.

You begin to touch the limits of probability.

It’s not really about getting older.

It is about traveling.

It is about journeying through space and time...whatever that is.

The youth always insisted that the journey is more important than the destination.
Experience can surprise you.
You realize that you love milestones.

Don’t get attached though.

Move on.

The things around you are changing.

Look again. Details.

Living beings definitely rose from simpler living things that rose from simpler living things that rose from simpler non-living things.

So matter became mind
and thoughts became words
and actions became creations
and symbols became chants
and money became numbers
and numbers became life
0110001101000101
and life became machines
and machines came alive
and the living became dead
and the dead became non living
and the mind becomes algorithms
and the body becomes gears
and the eyes become holograms
and the ideas become immortal

Display. Its all a display?
You don’t agree? You must be blind.
And even then it is display!

It’s a beautiful display though.

Colors. Shapes. Sounds. Textures. Sensations. Pains. Emotions. Thoughts. Games. Shows. Visions. Places. Politics. Madness. News. Entertainment.

It’s a lot of fun though.
Highly recommended experience.
But don’t get attached.

Obviously it’s not even an option.
There IS no choice.
Pure free will.
Quintessential freedom.

Flow. Flux. Change.
Constantly.
NOW….
And on and on you go on.

Off you go.

Yes.

There are the funny moments.
They are fun. Intact fun. Pure laughter.
Giggles. Smirks. Uproars.
Bursting bubbles in untold pleasures.

Enhancement.

Bloating egos. Pretentious conversations.

How are you?
I am fine.
What a lie.
Not always.
But come on.

Its ALL fun.
Its all not as serious as these words make it appear to be.
Actually for an insightful reader this may be darn light.

Don’t smile
You are not insightful as you think.
But to a true thinker this should be Childs play.
Relax.
You are not as true a thinker as you believe.

What do you believe?

Really?
Why?
Uhmmm.
Why you silent?
Yes.

You speak a thousand words.
Try to paint a picture will you?
It’s a joke really.
Don’t be judgmental.
Don’t be touchy.
Just because its on TV
and in books
and on the radio
and the internet.
What about you?
Of course you are bored of some things now.

Things get old.

You can’t just sit around naked and speak nonsense and shit wherever you wish and get the attention of the whole world showered on you – for ever…..
Sadly it could not be all that perfect all the time in all the cases.

It’s the ultimate irony.
Every person has been a helpless baby, but one never does remember that.

How amazing that the role of being an adult is gently, subtly, without your slightest awareness, incorporated into you – essentially by the other children who grew up into adults.

It’s remarkable how you assume roles to play.
Lines to say. Dramas to think up.
It’s all a joke - a joke about nothing?

Now now.
Don’t call me bitter.
That’s where you err.
You assume too much. But it’s ok.
It’s human to err.

It’s funny.
That’s what it is. Its funny
Honestly :-)

Hell.

We actually TYPE to smile now!!!
Shakespeare rolls his eyes in the grave.
Except even bones must disintegrate.

What then happened of him? His legacy? His drama?
His Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet and McBeth?
Technically reincarnation is not that unbelievable.

It’s on the blank canvas of the newspapers and it’s on the ass that you wipe it with.

Paper made from trees.
Wood from trees
Food from trees
Animals from trees
Skin from trees
Life from trees
Trees Trees Trees

Well. It had to get to THAT point. You know the Lorax point.

You don’t know the Lorax?
Dr Suess?

Sigh.

Move on. Move on…………….

So.

It’s not the first time that the lights have turned on in your head.
It seems a lot has remained the same.
Look closer.
It has changed
It has rearranged.
Matter and energy simply change places.
Living becomes dead.

The dead become Trees.
TREES TREES TREES.

Do you GET why these so called rants are called knots and threads?

Look again.
Details…

Smiling at you...

The Show

2008-03-27T14:51:00.005-07:00

Sometimes the corner of the eyes appear to gather more information than direct sight.

Sometimes the the present can be so overwhelming that you have to let go without a fight.
Sometimes letting go can be so scary that you are forced to keep your eyes open - wide
- confused and worried in suspended tension.

Take in as much as you can.

Perhaps you notice that the view from the corner is something else.
Something new.
If it makes you smile
you may even shed a tear.

The birds begin to chirp when the spring sings in the air.
When the leaves fall to the ground the flowers dance in an odd pair.
Returning from school, the memories of evenings fountain cool feelings in the mind.
Little grains of sand soon to be turned into tools.
Is it fair?

If some music played along it would all sound so sweet - like fresh lemon juice swirling over the tongue while a whiff of subtle fragrance approaches from the street.

A pretty girl gets prettier while an old man dies.
Beggars on the road lie with the flies
Their shadows bloated
when the egos exploded
scared to look
even into their own eyes.

Innocence is never lost.
It remains the weight in a progressively nefarious world.
Everything is taken lightly.
Everything can be fixed.

Persistent static lingers over a masterpiece undone.
The innocents cluster like children on a playground.
Them, and that solitary one who keeps by himself in the corner of the garden - lost in The Three Musketeers.

Life sings the same tune in different rhythms. The garden transforms into a gigantic city and the games become less play and more memos, ads and bills.
The minds begin to melt into a foolish battle of WITH and without.
Outside and within.

Matter does not matter
empty space is the place.

The grain of sand becomes a pebble.
A stone becomes a tool.
The child becomes a fool and the world becomes one rule.

Now when the skies turn dark the winter burns pain through the soul.
Where has the world gone?
Where is that love,
Someone?

the solitary man wonders...

One for all and all for one
if you wanna stay alone
find some one
- if you find someone
don't let em go
but if you do
then don't forget em so

"Lets go to the show.. Shall we?"

They smile and proceed.

Paranoid-doomsday: Part 1

2008-03-23T20:16:00.003-07:00

The lights in the room had changed and this made him very nervous.
It was his room but the lighting wasn't.
Things felt strange.
The neighborhood had grown quiet since the curfew.
The internet was the only thing that appeared to work.

Contact with the outside real-world was virtually virtual.

But then, who could trust the world-web in these circumstances?

He walked up to the door.
Things did not seem as crazy as he imagined them to be but then he was paranoid - Schizophrenic even.

How could he trust anything?
Maybe there was no curfew.

But then the place did seem dead silent.

By now he had become temporally disoriented. How much time had passed?
How long had he been in this house?
He took another of the pills that the good doctor had given him.
He trusted her. She had pretty hair and honest eyes.
She was the only one he trusted.

There were definitely no other people in the house.
Perhaps they had been held up somewhere else in the curfew.
Perhaps they were dead, or worse, non-existent.
It bothered him that he could not remember.
He felt lost - perennially lost.
He perennially felt lost.

But then again, he tended to hear voices.
One could not be sure in such circumstances.

He logged on to the news and was ironically reassured that a curfew was indeed being enforced.
As he read further he realized that the world was under attack by some alien life forms which had taken over the internet.
There were nano-bots in the air and they were potentially taking over everything.

So the internet was infected!!!
Hmmm...

How could he trust what he was reading then?

Could it be that his perception had been altered as well?
After all, organisms that could infect the nanobots and the internet could easily infect neural networks in the human brain.

Has it always been like this?
He wondered a lot to himself.
He wondered a lot about himself.
The dialogs within his head had slight variations of different flavors and themes.
He was relentlessly unsure of everything.

But then the time has come to reveal what is really going on here.

Who knows?

Prince of Dreams

2008-03-09T20:19:00.002-07:00

The prince of dreams
galloped on the wind
he stopped for no one
and thought of nothing

The castles in the air
were there for him
the unicorns were real
and so were his whims

He believed everything
but nothing was his thing
He fell apart many times
- but it wasn't as bad as you think

He galloped on the wind
through tunnels at a time
he moved through the mind
he slowed down in sync

The world came alive
and the chances got too thin
the blissful morning sun
was as cozy as the evening

The prince he sailed alone
for once it was eternity
he was locked in the magic
and it was all his certainty

The castles in the air
came alive in dis-belief
the mountains they were there
but no more than the trees

someone had said someday
that you wouldn't be able to be
what you dream of being you fool
you will be full of dis belief

The prince he sat alone
in the bliss of what he'd done
he had proved that it was possible
to accomplish the im-possible

And he was alone no more
not prince nor a pauper
coz life was about creating
what hasn't been done before.