Pi story

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

Pi wakes up from this dream. Does not understand what just happened. Does not know how to express his experience. Pi was scared. He brushed the wildflowers on the rock he was sitting on. Then he violently rubbed the green leaves. Pi had painted his (and perhaps humanities...who knows?) first piece of art trying to depict the flower on a stem.

Pi observes a piece of wood lying about and kicked it, observing that the circular part of the tree just rolled over the hills. The idea of the wheel was on its way.

With a little imagination one can construct ones own stories of how Pis dream, his art, his inventions and many other things he and his fellow humans were about to do in the course of time became history.

The phenomenon of Pi progressively became repetitive through themes like Galileo, Issac Newton, Leonardo Da Vinci, Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein, etc.

If one then goes back to the moment when Pi had that dream and connects this series of events and incidents to the primordial thought or the origin of his dream one truly begins to see the significance of Pi's destiny.

Cheers to Pi.

U-turns

contd from...

A wave of something tangy hit Lucy.
Wave after wave of the same feeling washed over her pale skin.
The smell of the breeze was overwhelming in a smooth sort of way.
The suddenness of events were witness to the random flux of her experiences.
Her senses were like the speeding water close to the top of a gigantic waterfall.
Collapsing in a perpetual flow of frozen-ness. The lightening sky was in her eye.
The dark pupils were valleys of unknown secrets.
Her eyelashes burnt dark strokes on the white cloudy horizon.
Her hair was a continuation of bind melodies, gushing through the heights of unaffected scenes.
Across the village stood the villagers all lined up by the sea.
They had a curious look of anxiety in their eyes.
They seemed to be having the most unusual day in their so far uneventful history. In the corner a young boy seemed to be writing about this.
Or perhaps he was painting a picture of the incidents unfolding. Likewise the minds of a million people far away experienced a sort of violent turbulence in their thoughts.
However unaware they may have seemed, such countenance was but a consequence of their primitive imagination.
For these were the audience in front of the televised screen watching the drama unfold -
not unlike you who is reading these words
here and now. The writer was a mad woman they say.
She let out a fantasy of creative eccentricity after suffering every joy that she ever could. Drugged by a dozen experimental chemicals and having undergone a series of virtual reality sessions for months in a row, Dr Warren had simulated the ultimate artist to write this TV show.
After all, what can be more imaginative than the stories born out of artificially simulated madness.
Simulated imagination.
Imagine that. Be it Lucy, was Dr Warrens brain child.
After years of experimenting with artificially induced states of mind and imagination power, he had conducted the ultimate experiment -
a carefully designed protocol to extend the world of madness as a translation into entertainment.
Quintessential material that was spewed out by a crazy mind without the awareness or expectation of fame, money or even the need for expression.
Dr Warren had manufactured the ultimate fiction-factory, a writer with an unlimited capacity to imagine. The show was an instant hit and the returns were equally unlimited.
People were hanging on to every event that unfolded in this ultimate drama of passion and fear. A major part of the appeal was the fact that linear predictability had little to do with how this would all turn out next.
What next? was a mystery to everyone and all. Everyone except Lucy. She was real.
This is the tricky part.

Syncopation

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

Silence is the simulation of senses. Yes, simulation.

Stimulation, is another effect but misunderstood as an action. When the bubble bursts and a different view rises above you listen carefully if you wish to hear other people’s stories. At such times you can feel life pass by. Once happiness is sought there is much to be said about how and why. Once sorrow is encountered there is much to be thought about how long and when. The latter is more quantitave. The former is enfolded in a quality. Among all the noises there always seems to be this one voice in the head that sounds the most convincing. If only the others would shut the fuck

u

p.

Breathe.

A mystery is not just worth solving, it is worth investigating. Otherwise the world would have inevitably ended into a stale climax. Even the far reaching obscure possibility of AI being an extended future invader of the human race is a bizarre turn of events.

It is definitely not the end of the story though. The story never ends.

The story of life has its beginnings in the non-living. The zero fits between before and after - it.

Breaking up into finer strands, awareness lets out a shallow scream.

Delightful feelings whistle out in the air and a blanket of light spreads over the skin.

A shadow of gentle concern envelops the body.
I am no body, I am no body...

Placed in front of the entire class was a boy once long ago. Standing alone and scared he stared into the faces of several little characters. There was no choice but to imagine their story under the influence of a partially understood drama.

The teacher stood crooked - a symbol of authority in motion.

The chalk on the board was an abstract scribble on the dark void of putative ignorance.

Suppose we left it here. What would you think?

"I would like to begin.... ",

Bet on the right stuff
Try every thing.
Come back to your innocence
At night when you sleep.

Lucy saw Traffic in the Sky

contd from...

Between silence and sound, lay suspended a moment. Lucy was trying to focus on her thoughts, the words in the background kept giving clues, but she could not listen to the entire sentences, and definitely could not avoid trying to make sense of sentences.

The key words kept ringing in her short term memory, slowly becoming imprints, and would eventually turn into thought-patterns. The words floating in the deathly silence in her mind were like the notes on staves of wavering frequencies.

In the whiteness of the view in front of her imaginary eye, was the quintessential evidence of possibility. Infinite possibility.

She felt somewhat reassured in this state of mind.

Now it was time to draw.

A murder led her to the heart of a Russian mob. Select cities were destroyed by the higher intelligence. The control of an unaware controller is the first step for the self-aware entity to become free.

Read that last sentence over and over again. It is SO close to the point of reality that Lucy was experiencing!

But now the morning had brought over a lot of people on the street. They were hopeful, liars, pious and forgetful. They were evil residents under the influence of malfunctioned drama. She wanted to travel to the lobster place across the street. She was hungry.

She went through the swivelling doors. Walked by the lady waiting to seat her, and sat across a table with a reserved sign on its surface.
A lonely man walked alone towards her and sat on the opposite chair. On the other side of the room, an old woman was reading some mock newspaper. The headlines read SATAN ESCAPES HELL.

The food arrived shortly. In the neighbor hood the wind was blowing over 50 miles per hour.
The dinner went smoothly, considering that Lucy was 96% invisible. The 4 percent of her that was still in the visible range, was too diffused in the noise of modern day world. The background can overwhelm the foreground to a very extreme extent in certain circumstances.

The wine was old, and it hit her. She was not sober anymore. She wondered what the difference between sober and under- influence was. One was distinctly different and short lived, while the other equally distinct and eternal.

Dinner was over. She was satisfied with her uneventful evening so far.

Through the window she saw a man staring at her. How could he see?

The stalker was blind. For him time moved very differently. There is no sun rise of sunset to define a day. The rotation and revolution of the planet had a different meaning to him. Sound was more informative than anything. Touch was a blessing.

He was staring straight at Lucy, and she was staring back at him.

Someone at the corner table just spoke a lie. In 10 minutes, the explosion was going to devour the restaurant. Every one was gonna die. Or whatever that means when the sensory machinery of "feeling" the world disintegrates and disappears.

Time passes again in a strange manner and way.

Forty 2

DNA's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy hints at 42 as an answer to the universe. Ofcourse, the conclusion is obsucred by the ambiguity of the question, but a pertinent question still remains: Why 42? Why not 40? Or 41, or 39, or 21?
What is it in human consciousness that generates the imagination? What is it around us that gives us the idea?

I walked out of the new place. Now a different evening. Something moved in the vicinity, the light was green and blue. I looked up towards the black dome of infinity. The night sky. Countless stars stared down my eyes, reflecting each sparkle into shades of black and white. Thoughts and memories danced to that sight. Perception quivered in its wake.
With unimaginable intricacy a few billion year old machinery went about doing its business, and in my mind was an image of the past, light years away.
Vision.

I could hear birds, chirping between the rhythmic beat of the traffic, cars powered by stroke-engines, pistons throbbing, pouring out energy through a fossil fuel, creating motion out of matter. Operated and steered by intelligent beings, the motors whiz by at varying speeds, at fluctuating frequencies, pitches, synchronized cacophony, mercurial harmony - the true sound of reality - the present moment!

I could see it. I could hear it!

So after billions of years, the stardust that turned into me, was light years away in the sky, an ancient image of eternity, reflecting in my eyes, imprinting on my brain, scintillating my mind, in a sensual confirmation of awareness.

Meanwhile, the earth rotated around itself, and revolved around the sun. The solar system circled some corner of the milky way. And all of it they say, circles about expanding in an infinite space - after having started from a pulse that went out with a big bang!

I turned back towards the streetlights, the STOP sign. The blue and green sky. At my feet a dot and a 4 and a two.

Arbitrary you may say. Random you may Conjecture. Chaos or order? Particle or Wave? Consciousness or Matter? Energy or Time? Black or White? Dream or Wakefulness?

Signs and Shapes. Curves and Squares. Fours and Twos.

The path shone in the yellow light. Fluorescent filaments burned.
In the beginning there was fire. In the beginning there was the wheel.
One becomes two, and two becomes four.

It becomes me, and I become you.