× does not compute ×

    I'm treading out of my usual waters here. But what must be said, must be said. And I feel like it's a necessity at this point.   Let's just imagine a town; a quiet, comfy, secluded town where there's enough resources and the residents are more or less well off. The only problem they have is a shortage of oxygen (welcome to the future). It's been centuries since the earth has started running low on oxygen. But since the people of our town are prosperous, almost all of them are able to afford the public oxygen concentration facilities. And there's this one guy, super rich, who finds joy in feeling the warmth of an open flame. So he has, in each of his rooms, a fireplace wth its own little oxygen supply. And he rallies the people to protest against the ever increasing price of such an essential commodity like oxygen.   Just think about how ludicrous it is; taxing oxygen, something you need every moment to just keep you alive , he said. And he was made leader. T

What was the most ludicrous, the most over-the-top silly idea in the grand history of ideas? Shall I hazard a guess and say that it was something?... Anything?    There was nothing. No space; no time, no... thing. It was empty, nay, there wasn't even emptiness; no context nor purpose whatsoever. Stable, were everything, of the nothing that existed. No tendency to move forward, no reason to go back; not even time existed for decay to occur. The still, cold deadly silence of the cosmos, with nothing and nowhere in it.    Out in the absence of everything, a possibility was conjured; an attempt so insanely absurd that the very conception of the idea was twisted.  "What if there were something?"  Something to stand out from the ridiculous lack of anything; something to break up the omnipotent stability of 'nothing'? What if there were something, so that there is a directionality to the all-embracing monotone? A will to go forth, and a reson to head back; what if there

T hese silhouettes, oh what they shall be! Creatures birthed from the dim and the dark, they wringed the terrors out like sharks. The darkness souped to give them form and the rains and thunder did conform. Me? I'm alone amidst the storm when they confront me, my monsters, to inform. The monsters of night, of secrets kept; of all the dismal things you'd expect. Sinister, yes; but personal yet. the ghosts of pasts in vengeance wept; for there are monsters beneath our roads well set. They sleep beneath in detest the calm; before the tempest. They be my monsters, the revenants of the grave for my past I digged. Teeth and bone, for my being they crave. Here are the monsters of my own making but just or unjust; I shall do the raking. And thus charged at me the fears that haunted my waking scathed and sliced, bleeding, I barged The scent of blood did their frenzy fill; tearing mouths on their noggin did they move in for the kill My sanity cracked, and creatures let loose creatures so

  R eader alert: opinions upcoming. We are all beings with only our views to define our truths; so take my opinions with about thirty one grains of salt. It is not 'the' truth; it's just my truth. And if you still can't agree, there's always a comment box; somewhere.   No matter what philosopher’s stone you conjure up to keep time with ever increasing accuracy, the time we take to scroll instagram feed at two in the morning is always short. But there are organisms, right along with you, staring at your socials, who lives and dies before you could finish up that eighty eight photo from the cute kitty series (#stressbuster…?). For them, you have spent an entire lifetime looking at a screen (just let that sink in).   Special relativity tells us that time is relative. But apart from quantum physics, which makes as much sense as a saber-toothed pumpkin on uranus, doesn't time flow differently for each of us? If you ask eleven individuals to close their eyes for ten s

      Do I know that the last paragraph is all that matters? Yes. But do I rather that you read the whole thing? Also yes.   To get things straight, this whole thing you’re reading came from me taking a wild tangent on the classification of rabbit holes. Now rabbit holes; amazing, aren’t they? Well, maybe just me.   Now I’m talking about the figurative rabbit hole, the one that wise people encourage you not to go down; not the literal one (sorry rabbit fans). My whole life, I’ve believed that “ You shall go down a rabbit hole; but make sure you ’ ll have bunny stew for dinner. ” (sorry again, rabbit fans)    The other day, I was thinking about this (for no apparent reason, of course), and was fascinated by the possibility of there being a rabbit hole classification. What if there are two kinds of rabbit holes? The ones that you should go down, and the ones you might wanna take a hard pass on. Let me be the Linnaeus of rabbit holes for the next few minutes.    If you’ve made

                 ...just imagine reaching peak satisfaction; not even all the pleasures in the world put together can tempt you at that point, because you don't want anything, you're satisfied...   I 've been wanting to write a bit about this topic for a while. Just to put it out there, and out of my head.   We humans tend to do most of our animal experiments using two main ways; the first of which is the reward based cycle, where a given test subject (which is of course a lab rat; who are we kidding?) is put in a dingy little cell, and given a little treat every time it does what we want it to do. The second method is quite similar in the rat part and the dingy cell part, but uses a little punishment, like a taste of a taser gun, every time the animal does something we want to condition it not to do.   So, I've been thinking a bit about these elegant little training methods, and the genius idea dawned on me that the popularity of these procedures are mostly due to our

The pre requisite for creative writing: darkness and silence. Though I am currently in possession of both these assets, this, in no form, is creative literature. I'm just venting out some of the my thoughts. Just now, I was reading a paper on how they found out a new cnidarian that shows anaerobic respiration. Well, this is a huge deal in the scientific community, for we have known a lot of anaerobic microbes, but we believed that all animals (and by animals I mean the scientific term, which includes everything from sponges to humans) were aerobic; and yet this creature, Henneguya salminicola, is perfectly fine without oxygen. This sent me thinking how to incorporate a good scientific backbone into literary writing. Well you see, I enjoy two types of reading experiences: one is the scientific paper style, where the intellect, and more importantly, the curiosity is stimulated. The other is good fiction that gives a healthy dose of imagery and fantasy. Often, the scientific literat

  (I honestly don't know why I'm writing about discipline at this time and hour, but I am. So here goes:)   What is discipline? It isn't merely a gesture of obeying a bunch of rules. It is the very basis of all life. It is life. If you think about it, all of us are made up of mindless elements; yet we thrive. There are billions of ways in which nitrogen, oxygen, carbon, and sulphur could exist in chaos. But it is just this one recipe that makes us alive. This is the very fundamental of discipline.   When the laws of thermodynamics works against us, and entropy tries to pull every atom in our body back into the chaos it came from, it is the discipline of life that keeps us such.   Every cell in our body is an individual living unit that is capable of self respiration and reproduction. Living within us, they get an ample supply of all nutrients to produce their own progeny. They have every opportunity to put their existence above ours and proliferate within us. But o