Bam shicka bam shicka boom boom boom
Shalang shalang boom shalang shalong boom
Bam shicka bam shicka boom boom boom
Shalang shalang boom

spiritus ex machina (iv)

Inhale quickly, deeply. Last stick of satisfaction, enjoy it. He searches his dirty pockets for loose change. Even his lighter is empty now, spent it. He pulls up his collar, back pushed against the brick wall. But there is no respite - the icy, biting wind is unheeding and incessant.

The embers of his cigarette glow fiery orange. No one notices in this bleak setting. Alone, he gazes into the world, thoughts vapid. It's this town, God forsaken shit town. It surrounded his vacant eyes. The empty shelves, the empty store, the empty parking lot, the empty homes, the empty...

Exahle, slowly. Let the poison seep out. He watches for his breath to linger in the air, but its every curve is affected with a forceful insouciance. A grey, woolen blanket that offers no warmth, it hung upon this town always, dull, heavy, joyless, "like second hand smoke", suffocating.

He closes his eyes and inhales, some satisfaction. Behind the warm shutters of his eyes, ah, some fiery color, the pulsing colors of glowing life, feeling the chemicals move through his blood, soothing his skin, appeasing some dark corner of his mind. Death by internal ablation, how thorough. My interpretations of reality are formed by merely these, different amounts of different chemicals: neurotransmitters, passing information from neuron to neuron, synaptic certainties. We are chemical machines.

Her embers glow brightly. 1,2,3... Dissipation. But if these chemicals determine how I behave, how I act, who controls these chemicals? Am I slave to these chemical interactions? Are my actions predetermined by a biological fate? Who then, or what, is 'I'?

Eyes open. He looks to the earth. The wind is still vitriolic, biting at his ears, and it is snowing. He sucks in the last remnants of satisfaction. Her orange embers flicker, suffering now it seems, for the end is near. Their's was a tacit relationship: she was never spared. An empty, vague apathy pervades this town, it occurs to him, insomuch as to border a collective nihilistic consciousness. God forsaken shit town. He feels the fire singe his fingertips, but within this shroud of numbness, it makes him feel real. A few more seconds, please...

He drops the stub to the cement. The snow is blowing almost horizontally through the air, pull your collar up fella, but it is in vain, his walk from here is into the wind. As intangible as the wind may be, ever more the ephemeral mind. These chemicals change and act in response to external stimuli. Thus, if my actions are defined by a series of sensory inputs, then perhaps these chemicals simply move through a series of states of being, states of mind, to define each of my actions. Inputs and outputs, cause and effect, this human complex, this self, can it be defined so simply, as an automaton?

Colder and faster, the flakes cut at his frigid skin. The snow, more than a foot deep, touches his knees, and he feels the ice creep into his bones. As the white blanket envelopes him, a furtive darkness has crept across his thoughts. Motionless, breathless, disembodied, spiteful, where the fuck is she? Alas, abandoned, by machinations of an immutable reality. A small house appears, bare and callous, perhaps there is warmth within.

A young girl of forgiving countenance has opened the door, but he cannot see her clearly now; beyond her stands a tall mirror. The reflection in the mirror becomes focused, and he can see himself: he is naked. The girl's voice is mellifluous and yet muffled by the howling winds. He is immobile, but he perceives, engrossed by the reflection. The body can never define the self, it is but a vessel for the burgeoning perceptions and ideas of the mind; it is merely the finite construct with which the mind may effect actions upon reality. But reality can-

The reflection is changing rapidly. He sees himself, an inchoate shadow in the middle of a deserted four-way intersection, and down each path, it seems to him, he can see forever, but he is still immobile. Perception and idea. If I am an automaton, defined by inputs and predictable outputs, the path I take is already decided. If, in this infinite space behind my eyes, this self, my self, can assert its will upon reality, however, then I become the actuator. And yet, my decision, though freely chosen, will be based on external information, inputs, I perceive in my reality. Furthermore, my decision, though freely chosen, will be based on the deterministic properties of cause and effect; specific knowable consequences will follow from my actions. But reality can-

The reflection is changing rapidly again. He sees himself as he is. Perception and idea. Free will of the self and the deterministic nature of the physical world may coexist; the self, an automaton of free will, is guided by the deterministic nature of reality. Yet, the self specifically, actuator of this automaton, remains utterly intangible. The door slams shut. A shadow passes through the gloomy white landscape, mindscape, inscape.

Eyes open. He has fallen. Frostbite, he thinks, a certain appropriation of the senses, even of time. He listens for voices and tries to scream, scream!, scream!! The wind is howling. A sickening dizziness stirs within him the thoughts of her burning, glowing embers. The young girl may find him in time. A fiery orange flame to melt all things frozen...

On the icy cement, the once burning stub is now nearly frozen. Save the cutting winds, there is no sound, but for the falling snow, there is no movement. An eerily calm violence has descended. This much is true, eventually all lights go out. Exhale.

viG ©

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h4x0r

the following takes place between...

...10:30am and 9:30pm, the next day. 1 day to finish this crazy assignment. dammit chloe, we're running out of time! somehow pulled it off. somehow stayed awake to submit and go to classes! 35 hour day, son of a bitch! harkens back the days of 265... guess im not that old yet! =)

virgin times

anyone here part of the 100 mile high club?

the new frontier is closer than we imagine. richard branson, the daring billionaire, is taking his virgin airline to far new heights with virgin galactic. in particular, about 100km into the sky, and higher. truly amazing!, this journey 99.99% of the world has only dreamed about.

currently the only way for citizens to experience the true weightlessness and breath-taking scenes of space is to pay up $20 million us to the russian space agency. virgin galactic promises to fly 500 passengers a year for about $200,000 us each, starting in 2009. sure, its still for the wealthy, but as with all technology, prices will soon come down. one can imagine, within our lifetime, that we will be booking spaceline tickets online (whatever 'online' is 20years from now). and many of our children will almost certainly be afforded the opportunity to see the curvature of the earth from above and afar.

which raises a lot of questions. who will be the first baby born outside of planet earth? does that make it some sorta alien? yowsah. =)

by fault of the media, the public has come to see much of technological and scientific growth as enormous spurts of achievement. what most of us rarely hear about is the small breakthrough on a cloudy day in a small research lab. after years of research in chemistry, materials science, aeronautics, and a multitude of other fields, and with great financial commitments, these kinds of advancements become possible.

*

it is man's natural ambition to explore and push boundaries, no matter how high the risks. many argue that we should first concern ourselves with the problems here on earth, disease, poverty, and education. but i strongly believe that man's pioneering adventures are just as important. where would we be had no brave soul set sail off the shores of europe? only history will gauge the success of our actions today; but one thing is certain, exploration must never be surrendered. by exploring our minds, our bodies, our world, and other far reaches, we learn, understand, and adapt more effectively in our changing environments.

centuries from now, when historians look back upon humanity in its youth, let us hope they see the forebearer of an evolved future. let us hope that man's instinct to advance his state of being will never cease, for it is the soul of progress.

the stars, though near
may disappear
if, for fear,
we remain here...

images of the mind

one of the most studied aspects of psychology deals with the ability of humans to generate images in the mind. although many studies have investigated this realm, there has yet to be found conclusive evidence for one imaging 'process' or another. it seems, in fact, that our brain uses different processes to build mental representations of different types of objects. the process used by the brain to represent a particular object could be dependent on any combination of the object's color, depth, familiarity, functionality, or other attribute.

i recently read a quirky article regarding how we picture time in our minds. i've thought about this before, but this was the first time i had read about it. in particular, how do you picture the annual calendar in your mind? when 'looking up' dates or weeks in your head, do you generate a pictoral image of the calendar?

i do, and im glad its not just me! my image of the calendar runs from Jan to June in one column on the left and July to Dec in another column on the right. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure when being taught the months in grade 1, the teacher had written the months out in this same way. my mind has kept this same representation.

i have a representation for natural numbers as well, and its kinda crazy lol...

if this sounds like pure madness, i looked it up further and found this!
Do you picture a calendar in your head, or am I just strange?

man, brains are weird... some more than others...

chinlone

a movie currently showing at the vancouver international film festival follows the life of men, women, and children devoted to the game of chinlone. the movie is called mystic ball. chinlone is the traditional game of myanmar, and the focus is not on winning or losing, but how beautifully one plays the game.

and seriously, it puts any footballer or hackysacker to shame.

the art of chinlone in act

cool music too.

there and back again

The will is not free - it is a phenomenon bound by cause and effect - but there is something behind the will which is free.

on september 4th i returned to nyc, having journeyed across ocean and earth to india. a fantastic trip indeed! i was there for about 3 weeks. it was both relaxing and rejuvenating. my parents, brother, aunts, grandmother, and cousins went on a 5 day road trip to the country side. we hired a driver and a big jeep, and set off, travellers 9.


we stopped at the small towns and visited important temples. much of the drive was through the rainforests of the western ghats, a very mountainous region! it was an incredible drive, alas even pictures do no justice. with the humid air foretelling monsoon rains, the feel of the warm wind on your face, the sounds of wildlife in the lush, wet forests, majestic clouds lingering atop mountain peaks, there is nothing to do but soak it in.


down in the valley, a thundering river surged below. this river must have been fed by many streams and waterfalls, and these scenic cataracts gave necessity to pull over and enjoy sight. until large oil trucks needed way to pass the narrow road. on the journey there, these roads were very bad. i had never seen such road craters! on the way back, our route was friendlier.


we spent two nights in the small town of sringeri. there is a very nice temple here, more than 1,000 years old. although the town is slowly becoming populated, within the compounds of the ashram, it is very peaceful and remote. the temple is situated upon the banks of the tunga river, an idyllic setting.



i think we were all tired near the end of 5 days. but it was a great trip! back in bangalore where both sides' grandparents live, it was back to relaxing. shopping, visiting relatives, enjoying more freedom! hehe...

here are some pics from around the city: one of the many street markets; school boys in the field across our house, playing cricket ofcourse!; one of the busy shopping areas, commercial street; one of the main modes of transport is the autio-rickshaw, but when hailing one down its "auto!". these are fast, cheap ways of getting around, more convenient than taxis cuz there are no doors! just hop in and out! actually autos are like the yellow cabs you see in nyc, they're everywhere.