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Simulator's dilemma

The fabric of the universe is robust, yet intricate and quite tenacious. I often wonder why people act the way they do, but I find this is more difficult to decipher than first appears. Events around a person shape a person, who subsequently incluences subsequent events around him. We are all entangled in a causal loop with no definite start or end point (at least thats what the observer inside the system is led to believe). A suboptimal control over situations poses the need for predictability, but the very nature of human behaviour and the unfolding of situations is dependent on each other. And this one is led to conclude that to deterministically figure out the outcome of one situation, one would have to track back to the origin of time and solve equations all along. This leads us (me, at least) to believe that if the 'nurture' argument along with 'determinism' is assumed, one would either find the solution to every situation that could ever unfold, or none. Engine

Tomorrow

Its vitally important to capture the moment when you can. I feel great right now, and know well I might not tomorrow. But its okay. I'm happy, I'm tranquil, and I can live a good chunk of my life right now. And hopefully, if I keep the momentum up, I'll be fine for a while. That's all that matters in life after all, living the moments and living up to them. During the off times, you build yourself up to life FOR the moments, in the past and the ones to come in the future. Life's not too big, a collection of a few moments is what define eras, some better and some longer than others. Its a constant fluctuation, momentary ups and downs that, averaged out make a zero sum game, or if you're lucky have an up slope. You are what you make out of yourself, and the situations around you. The best you can do is your best, and hope to have a good time along the way. Nothing else matters. People come and go, experiences happen, memories remain. There's not much more to

Attribution

You are the highest of highs You are the reward of my toil You are the untouchable You are the insurmountable You are unprotected, and thus indestructible You are the epitome of the human spirit Yet you're only human That's what makes you supreme You are the promise land... the dream destination... You're always the goal, yet always unattained You're the light at the end of the tunnel Always in sight, but always far away If only I could have you... I would be redeemed of my sins I would be immortal I would be alive........ If only I could. You're the frail beauty that perishes when possessed But I would never know You're the angel's voice in despair that I have never heard You're my saviour, my guiding spirit The twilight of eternal youth The elixir of life So I'd like to believe You're the love of my life You're a figment of my imagination I'm trapped in

That Whereby Men Live

I was about to write something stupid but thought against it. Metacognitive as I always am, I am aware now that my feelings might merely be a projection of a conscious reflection arising out of the superimposition of years of environmental conditioning, social structure and human evolution. In essence, I might just be constructing a reality that is made essentially out of nothing. But yet, these fictional realities sometimes overlap, sometimes coincide between two or more people, resulting in consensus. Consensus doesn’t necessitate correctness, it merely represents reinforcement arriving from mutual acceptance. The consented matter might be grounded in reality, or floating in delusion, yet for the consenting believers, that's all that matters. That is true, that is uncontested, that is given.  In a sense, by the very nature of human incompetence of arriving at an absolute, only the relative can be consented on. And so, every act of consented conviction must probably arise, to som

London is cold

Some say I'm on a quest to uncover the fabric of the universe. Others say I'm just kidding myself. Among the believers of the holy grail, there are some that believe I'm looking to discover myself, while others are convinced I'm trying to make sense of the people around me. And then there are some that believe that the self and the other are but trivial and inconsequential objects in the majestic vignette of the universe. And yet, for us imbeciles, we are our world. Life revolves around the self and the other, more pertinently, the significant other. We often spend lifetimes comparing and contrasting ourselves with our contemporaries, and occasionally with our ancestors. Yes, we are remarkably short sighted, but everybody is, so we're not made to feel the need to see otherwise. I'm both amazed and vexed by the amount of time we spend trying to merge with the social structure, the latter of which is also incrementally shaped by our actions. In effect, we cons

Possible Worlds: An Interpretation

(Warning: The following review contains spoilers. Please watch the movie before reading this. For an introduction, read my post HERE ) George Barber is a mathematical genius that works in a corporate firm. Due to his psychic abilities, he can 'see' himself simultaneously living out his life in parallel universes. In each of the possible worlds exists Joyce, playing different roles in George's life (a dead wife, a casual partner and a stranger). At the beginning of the movie, George is found murdered with his brain extracted. Detective Berkeley and his sidekick try to investigate this crime throughout the film. This is interspersed with flashbacks of George's different lives. In the end, the detectives figure that Doctor Kleber, a brain scientist murdered George so he could study and manipulate his brain. George's brain, still 'alive' and fundamentally conscious is brought back to Joyce. In the last scene, George's brain simulates a romantic evenin

Order and Chaos

Life is as random as can be. Ubuntu is good, but the grass is always greener on the other side. Web horcruxes means that my life isn’t really my own, even in the individualist west. I’m so well connected, like everyone else, that life doesn’t really require human intervention to run. It runs almost in autopilot mode, just like the myriad tech gadgets that we now use. Sometimes, it proceeds without an administrator password, making it appear that my life isn’t my own after all, but a coordinate in a haphazard conglomeration of entities incapable of self existence, adding up to a complex dynamic system called society. I wish I could use the word robust or systematic, if only I could make sense of it. Maybe, just like ant colonies, we're not meant to comprehend the role of an individual in the bigger picture and yet contribute to it. However, a human ostensibly possesses consciousness, and hence is constantly aware of most of the things s/he does. This is the perfect recipe for que

Independent Thinking

Sleepless Night

6:05 AM I guess I have nothing much to do otherwise, so I’ll just write. Such moments of paradoxes, existential or otherwise, should rightfully be celebrated by writing about them. And that being said, I do feel like a sell-out again, and the self-reinforcing loop continues. The self-loathing is strong, it always has been. An endured punishment called existence. I might sound too full of myself, but that’s not necessarily true. Besides, alternate techniques of living a life have somehow eluded me. Not that I am complaining; I’d only know what I’m missing out on if I knew what it’s like to be otherwise. But then, the design is robust, and the curtains provide good insulation from light, so I (we) might never know. This last comment was entirely uncalled for; I just pretended to rise above my own problems and generalise them to the world, thus demeaning people around for my own flaws. Nice try, Watson. Turns out that the once sleep-hungry procrastinator has turned into a sleep-deprive

New Year's

And so I am invited to write by my Other self. There isn't a theme in particular to write on, but then, there rarely is. Oddly enough, it is New Year's day, although by the time I publish this (if I do), it wll be past midnight. Its a fairly monumental day to write on, and hence I shall coax myself to ramble on. Its funny, the climax of 'When the music's over' is playing in the background, and nothing else (eg. blogging) can really matter, but then, here I am, a living contradiction of ideals, as I constatly violate the ideals I stand for. It's all good, I remind myself, and decide to write on, the whole idea now seeming more pointless than ever before. It would make a modicum of sense if I actually wrote about something at all, instead of being self obsessed that I am, accentuated when i'm drunk. I could write about the action packed, fun filled (?) last week or so I've had. Matter of fact, it's an rollercoaster continuum that I can't put  star