Thursday, 20 January 2011

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-deprived procrastinator. The suffix remains the same. Ah well, at least I can say I’m working on it now. Not sure how effective the working is though. Cognitive Behaviour Therapy seems no more credible than voodoo; the latter at least has strong effects when it does (ostensibly) work. CBT is just one of those legal conning systems, just like banks.

Paradoxes are beautiful, but they’re utterly frustrating and if you dwell on them a little more, incapacitating. Yet, there exist far too many of them to lead a normal (as prescribed) life, and yet we must try to lead normal lives, walking around these paradoxes, while denying their existence. A simulator’s nightmare, I must say again.

So either I’m too stuck up with my loopy, unrealistic idealistic thoughts; or the rest of the world is stuck up in a warp of their own s***. Statistics says, I’m probably the outlier and hence must be discarded. The model has errors, but they’re on the whole not too significant. Oh we have a perfect distribution, consistent and what not; but the mean is off by a few light years. Then again, we’ve defined our own terms for consistency, but who’s to say we’ve been consistent with it? It’s all a big paradox. Come to think of it; life is a paradox, is a paradox. Nested function; infinite regression.

Recursive definitions are fun. They’re also the negation of linearity, and decomposability. Maybe God does exist after all. Ah well, let’s have another beer.