All philosophers true to the study will go mad some day.
But then again, it is Normal that defines Mad.

Random scribbles 2

1.So yeah, I look at my friend's blog. She's written poetry. She calls it poetry. I call it poetry. Generally, people call it poetry. She's written truckloads of it. Wait, that's probably not the proper word to use - truckloads, but yes, that is what I find apt for it. She just scribbles around in class and comes up with a poem. She sets a target like one in a week or something.
Now, I'm not commenting on her practices. No sir, that's not what I'm here for. She's pretty good at what she wants to be good at.What this got me thinking, strangely, was -what is poetry?
What I came up with, it's usually a set of broken lines; fragments of sentences that are generally enough to give a shape to the meaning. What that meaning is, well, it's up to you I guess. I've written poems myself, right? And I thought to myself what made my poetry "poetry" and that's the answer I came up with. O_O
Weird, ain't it?

2.Saarang 2010 began and ended. I found it, well, not so great. I enjoyed myself though. I guess I expected too much out of it. Like that "Schokolade machen workshop" (chocolate making workshop, I just like saying it in German), I expected the same you would expect. Well, at the end of the day, I re-learnt how to pour melted chocolate into a given mould. And I paid 50 bucks for it. Honestly people, get a life!
Like I think I've said somewhere in my blog, ( :-p) expectations really ruin you once in a while. Honestly, sometimes I don't even see the point in remaining optimistic anymore. And yet I begin my day with a hope that the shower won't be too cold.

3. Sometimes, I feel it childish myself that I believe that anything that happens, happens for the greater good. But, so far, it's always turned out to be that way. You can ask what about global warming? Well, maybe IT IS for the greater good that the human race becomes extinct. Who knows? On this note, I must mention, do watch "The Age of the Stupid". Really.

Here I shall stop my version of "Nameless Ramblings". Desperate to write something "read-worthy" though.

The Waking

I loved the early mornings; the soft rays of the sun and the crisp, cool air. And I was at the beach that too- jogging, in fact; barefoot. I could feel the grainy texture of the damp sand against my soles; feel the first rays of the sun hitting my cheek; feel the beads of sweat drip from the tip of my hair.
I followed a bead through touch, as it moved down from my forehead, travelling on the bridge of my nose. I felt it dangle on the tip of my nose for a second. It then missed my lips and landed on my chin, slid down my neck to join the numerous other twins of itself. It’s amazing, the things you notice if you realize the beauty in them.

What I hadn’t realized was that I had stopped in my tracks while trying to follow those of the droplet of sweat. I looked around; looked back.
My footprints. Those were the first things I saw. My tracks were missing at places, no doubt the places where the ocean had done its duty of wiping the sand clean. I watched as a few more of prints got washed away by the waves. I watched the gentle froth come and go as if it were lapping up the golden of the sand and leaving behind the dark brown each time.
Then, I looked towards the horizon. The sun had risen higher now, staring at me right in the eye – a deep, reddish orange. I noticed the moon was still in the sky, fading away, surrendering to the more powerful.
Out in the sea, I could see the last of a fleet of fishermen’s boats. Closer, a couple of early bird surfing enthusiasts were up and at it already. I watched the first family coming out for an early morning dip in the pond. I stared at the lone palm tree a couple of metres away; branches moving with the mild breeze causing its shadow to sway ever so slightly. I looked down at my feet- dirty, sandy, black in places, and wiggling toes with uncut nails. A crab quickly scurried into a tiny hole beside my right foot. Then a shell caught my eye. A beaut of a shell it was; as big as my little finger, white with brown stripes around the circumference. It looked like swivels of caramel poured gently on a layer of milk and frozen for posterity.
And the sounds; yes. Faint, high pitched shrieks, gulls flying around, the wind rubbing against my ears and of course the roar of the breaking waves which left a light spray of salt water on my face. Even otherwise I could smell the salt in the air; the smell you tend to get when you’re at the sea shore. If you’re lucky, you can sometimes taste the salt in the air too. I did, every time.


I woke. All of a sudden; I snapped out of my trance. Nobody clicked their fingers. Nobody touched me. Oh, I forgot. I don’t feel touch no more.
It was that dream again. It wasn’t a dream. We don’t sleep. It was a vision- the last day of my past life. Oh wait, scratch that. My Life. Yes. I remember clearly now. I was shot soon after that. All I had to do was turn around. He was there with his Smith & Wesson. But I don’t want to think about that right now. We dead still have emotions. Only slightly though- they wear off.
I was partly into Philosophy during my life; always wondering about Life after Death. Well, now I know. That was the irony of trying to know life after Death- you had to die to learn about Life. We could still smell, and taste and hear and see (the colours were not the same though). We had pretty much the same bodies. We weren’t white sheets floating around like I used to think when I was alive. No. We had the same bodies and moved about in the same realm. The only difference was we’re invisible, didn’t feel touch and didn’t excrete. We could see ourselves but you can’t; we’re right next to you. Didn’t expect it, did you? We do eat though. Grass, shoots, fruits, anything; but according to what I’ve heard, as you go on, you begin to live on air. And we have these trances often, it seems; unconsciously in the beginning and conscious later on.
Life is completely different when one of your sense organs is replaced by another. You see, we don’t have touch and your blue is our green but, we do have the ability to communicate with animals. And that is fascinating. The most fascinating part is, unlike what you believe, the world is definitely not anthropocentric, shouldn’t be at least. I’m pretty young in THIS world, around three “Life” days old. So I haven’t gone around much. But there was this interesting dog I spoke with. Yes, very interesting. Sounded more wise than any human I had come into contact with when I was alive. We humans are too proud, I tell you. But I can’t do anything about it. Moving on though, the first thing I noticed about my new, dead, self was that I felt no attachment to any of my previous objects of desire. I went to my house yesterday; saw my parents grieving. It didn’t do anything to me. (Here I should probably mention that we get around by walking. Time is nothing to us and we feel no fatigue. We are not bound by Time. Though I think we do feel physical pain, like when we’re bit by a dog or something. I do not know how since we don’t feel touch. But I’ve experienced it. )

I’ve a lot to figure out in this place. But even in this world, where I am but three days old, there is the question of “What after?” I’ve not adapted well enough to ask that question, even to myself. But maybe...
Wait a second. I got it.


Jika wergle. Regt jika handfurstal huj jiker nokiurt junder poluter, ,,Jika freget hunderst fihaana imjuk loap hunderst bhijokl junder fregharted glarglar hunklerglar frumsdter warfar grungelbar fun fun haglekaa...............” *

*Translated into earth language: I awoke. Amazed. I wheeled over to the superior protector and visually transmitted the following narration, “I awoke from my scheduled hibernation. I had a vision, a sequence of events within my controlling unit. It was of a planet altogether unimaginable – with beings of limbs and ten digits and extraordinary things. I experienced all their hormonal changes and experiences as one of them; in first person. And the entire meaning of their being and ethereal being is.......................................”

The question, dear readers, as I highlighted in my last entry, is, “What is real?”.
If you’re sure you know, well, good luck with that.

First day of new semester

Coming back, turns out not much has changed. No. Not really.
The whiners still whine, the hep stay hep, the vain, vain and the plain, plain.
The same nods, the same groupism, the seniority hierarchy, the rooms, the tears, the comfort levels. Yes. All the same. But of course, as always, change is inevitable innit?

We first years found ourselves becoming a part of the system- walking the walk, talking the talk, having intellectual conversations once in a while, knowing when to do what and all that jazz.

Fear, once in a while, is an amazing feeling. Maybe not fear exactly. That rush of adrenalin, the heightened sense of excitement; the feeling you get before you bungee jump off a cliff or before you commit yourself to a serious relationship, or in my case before the start of a new semester, is just thrilling. It’s the curiosity; the wait that does things to you. Unfortunately, it also, all the while, builds up expectations within your mind. Expectations and attachments; desire, as we all have been hearing, is the root cause of evil. And so, when these so called expectations we’ve attached ourselves to do not get fulfilled, we become but disheartened. It drains the enthusiasm out of you. You are left with just the hope that things will get better. This is what I’m left with right now. Fortunately, for me, that’s all it takes to put the enthu right back into me. So I start off this academic semester with optimism.
(Just realized that I’ve been jumping between the three persons of narration too often. No matter.)

Secondly, I seem to be waking up every day with a burst of positive energy. Good for me. But this optimism might get into trouble one day.

Stuff that has interested me so far this semester:
One, solipsism – The belief that only you exist in this world and that everything else is but your dream and your creation. Fascinating isn’t it? And believable. For all you know, you could be living in your dream as you read this and wake up to find only existing or in a world completely different. An infinite number of possibilities rush to my mind as I think about this.
If not this being my dream and creation, then someone else’s. Ever since I was fifteen I’ve pondered whether we all live in a giant’s dream. Now, I think maybe we’re dolls belonging to a kid, belonging to a superhuman race which has the ability to infuse life into inanimate objects, and he’s watching us play to pass his time. Could be, right? Or that you're a different being altogether in some completely other dimension and you fell asleep one day and are dreaming all of this. Maybe that's a place where there are no concepts of universe. Maybe all reality is just a four walled room and you're the only being. Maybe reality is you're an invisible dog with extraordinary thinking capacities. Complex, yet believable.

Two, the fact that mathematics is abstract. Yes. I realized it just now. One of the basic facts of life; the science of numbers, is abstract. Where did they come from? From one of the most abstract and complicated things – the mind. WE created numbers and symbols. WE said that two is greater than one. Nowhere do these numbers EXIST. Nor do these symbols. They weren’t begotten from Nature unlike Physics or Biology. Math was just pulled out from thin air.

Third, the chapters on “Sex” and “Rearing” in “The Naked Ape” by Desmond Morris. Really good. Amazingly eye-opening. For me, at least.

And lastly, I’ve understood that I actually do have the strength to overcome any difficulty in life. Nothing is worth dying. A number of setbacks may happen again and again, but I have the strength. I do.