Nature's Complexity

Three observations. A few months ago, whilst sitting in a park in Sherwood on the bank of the Brisbane river I noticed something peculiar. The sun was quite low at this time of the day - about 15 degrees above the horizon on the other side of the river. A group of  Noisy Miners (birds - Manorina melanocephala) were gathered on the ground between where I was sitting, and the bank of the river, engaged in a peculiar hunting activity.

This is unusual for those birds, from my experience. They trotted around on the ground, every now and then flying up for a second only to land again. This phenomenon evoked my curiosity - what are they doing? They were hunting for moths and other insects of course, which from a bird's ground perspective were clearly visible against the dark background of the trees, and illuminated by the setting Sun. Hence this phenomenon - particular behavior of the Noisy Miners was contingent on the location (dim depths of a park on one side, and an open river bank on the other clearing the way for the rays of the setting Sun) and the time of the day. What finally confirmed my hypothesis was the fact that the birds always took flight in the direction of the park i.e. with the Sun - never in the direction of the Sun - toward the river's bank.

* * *

I observed something of similar nature today. I often track the Moon's path accross the sky from my front porch, as I appear there intermittantly every hour or so. There's a large tree in front of my house, which obscures a fair share of the Moon's path from the perspective of my porch. There is however one clearing among the branches, where the Moon appears for a short while, snugly framed by the little window in the monolithic thicket of the tree. I noticed today that although there would be sufficient room to construct a web anywhere among the tree's branches, a Golden Orb Spider has spread his silky net in that very clearing. 

We all know that moths are attracted to light - so the point is that the phenomenon of this spider appearing in that exact spot is contingent on the clearing, the Moon appearing there and the swarms of moths inevitably flying in that direction from the low and misty thickets of my front garden. The clearing, the seasonal location of the Moon (and it's phasal brightness) are only temporary, just as is the phenomenon of  "the spider in the tree's window".

* * *

The final, and equally contingent occurance which ties the previous observations is "the phenomenon of this post", since as I saw the spider today, the memory of the birds hunting by the river came to mind - and hence a substantial topic to write about.

Propositional Logic/Calculus Calculator/Emulator in Matlab

This link will take you to the Propositional Calculus Calculator main post which contains all the instructions.


The links below are to DOWNLOAD each of the m.files required to run the Propositional Calculus Calculator (Propositional Logic Calculator): 


Still, I advise you visit the main post, also on this blog, to find out how to use it.

wff.m
valid.m
truth table.m
tautology.m
row pic.m
orf.m
numerical string entry.m
npv test.m
notf.m
n andf.m
max row.m
licence.m
is even.m
instructions.m
index of not general.m
index of.m
convert3.m
consistent.m
consistency.m
conf.m
bconf.m
andf.m
all pvs.m

Comments and feedback are welcome :)

The Black Swan - A Lyrical Vision of Madness

In this stark and surreal creation Mark Heyman and Andres Heinz through their screenplay weave an intricate analysis of a obsessive compulsive disorder evolving into a fully fledged psychosis, as Darren Aronofsky masterfully gives the viewer the uneasy privilege of experiencing this evolution through the very eyes of the protagonist who is undergoing it.

In her late twenties, frigid, gentle, soft spoken, shy yet determined and ambitious Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), knows only too well that getting the main role of playing both sisters - The White Swan, and her evil twin The Black Swan - in the new adaptation of the Swan Lake choreographed by the renowned Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) may be her last chance at stardom. Thomas eventually, but reluctantly picks Nina. Despite immediately judging her rendition of the White Swan as perfect - which reflects Nina's virgin like nature and personality – his reluctance lingers due to her inability to convincingly portray the evil seductress - The Black Swan. Finally a hint of visceral and wild determination dormant within Nina, convinces Thomas to give her the role with the hope that the "evil" spark will develop into a flame of desire allowing Nina to convincingly portray the evil twin. He doesn't take a passive role in this transformation, and aids Nina with all the possible ways a professional French maestro could offer. He fails to predict however that this flame will grow out of control and eventually engulf entirely the pure spirit of the young dancer.

Witnessing her transformation the viewer may experience frustration and confusion since the boundary between what is a psychotic and delusional vision and what is real slowly dissolves, as Nina progressively develops the required alter ego. Those feelings of cognitive discomfort should be seen as hallmarks of Aronofsky's skill in giving the viewer a glimpse into Nina's world, since undoubtedly confusion and frustration are in the least what she experiences. It eventually becomes apparent that the only way this subtle and gentle young woman can successfully and absolutely embody the Black Swan is through equally absolute madness - effectively splitting her own personality by allowing the alien, dominating and destructive Black Swan alter ego emerge and eventually engulf her.

The technique of offering a subjective vision of a delusional protagonist is not entirely original. However here, strongly intertwined with Tchaikovsky’s powerful musical theme (adopted by Clint Mansell) and suggestive dance sequences the film can be interpreted as an original postmodern rendition of the ballet.

Immoral Trip

Gregory considered himself first and foremost as a traveler. "Life" - he claimed - "is a journey", and so to live was to travel. This life philosophy consequently and quite naturally led him to embrace the aid of various consciousness altering substances. After all if used responsibly they could broaden one's horizons by expanding the potential set of places to visit and experience, otherwise obscured by pragmatic and polarized sobriety. Those places, invisible on any map, and unsurprisingly absent in traveler’s guides were destinations which no serious traveler would omit on mere grounds of geographical inaccessibility.

It was the series of dramatically unexpected and mysterious events however, which took place in Delhi during Gregory's journey through India that forced him to revise his attitude toward such substances forever. Since then he exercised more caution then previously when allowing himself the luxury of chemically "expanding the world". Also the "responsibility" concerning their use acquired a whole new meaning. This new and greater responsibility was not to be motivated by concern for his own mental health, but as it will become clear, by a moral obligation to all of humanity.

One evening, meandering through the streets of Delhi, Gregory with two of his Indian friends were in pursuit of adventure and memorable experiences spiced up with Psilocybin mushrooms. As the night progressed the surrounding world became gradually more surreal. First signs of the hallucinogenic mushroom taking effect appeared when Gregory was unexpectedly approached by an “Indian” – no, not an inhabitant of India, but a native American Indian, wearing the traditional Sioux garment and eagle-feather war bonnet. The Sioux chief inquired about the time in fluent English, and after receiving a mumbled “half past eleven”, turned around and walked off majestically into the busy street crowd. ”Wow – this is some potent stuff” - thought Gregory, after having recovered from the shock induced by the circumstantial oddity of the encounter.

At this stage the world acquired an intoxicating intensity of colors, and all light, streetlights, car headlights and shrine candlelight shone with the intensity of burning Magnesium or that of the Sun, and radiated with richness of color surpassing even the proud glamour of the rainbow. The multifaceted brilliance of candlelight which covered the stairways and floors of nearby temples uncannily resembled a starry sky, but a living and breathing one that descended to the mortal realm, only to dance and whirl among the shadows of the old city like a giant firefly dervish. Those visions, although fantastic were certainly more familiar to Gregory than the random appearance of the Sioux Chief.

Gregory’s Indian companions Abinaash and Sangat, students of Delhi University, also shared a feverish zest for life and welcomed the multitude of additional experiences it could offer when augmented with Psilocybin mushrooms. Swimming in the kaleidoscopic sea of colors and light the three vagabonds held on to reality by means of a desire to drink some of the best Masala Chai in the area. For that reason Abinaash entered a restaurant to check the menu and assess the interior esthetics. During the two minutes of his absence, Gregory experienced yet another unexpected and entirely inexplicable series of incidents. A speeding, small Toyota van appeared from around the corner closely resembling a noisy giant bumble bee, screeched to a violent stop in front of the restaurant, and Gregory only could watch in utter bewilderment as the side door of the van opened, and the three shadowy figures which emerged from within grabbed Sangat without any explanation, threw him inside the pitch black hollows of the vehicle which sped off noisily and disappeared in a side alley.

“Where’s Sangat?” – inquired Abinaash who appeared moments later. “Well, this will sound very strange, but I think he has just been kidnapped” – replied Gregory unconvincingly, seriously unsettled by what he had just seen. “This aren’t shrooms talking?” – pried Abinash rising his brow. “I don’t know” – was Gregory’s sincere reply, who at that moment felt reality slipping away from him. And it wasn’t the fact that by this stage the night crowd chaotically flowing through this part of the Chandni Chowk had transmogrified into a parade of beings almost identical to humans except for the detail that instead of heads they possessed party balloons of various colors, shapes and sizes, tied firmly to their necks with decorative strings. It certainly was not due to the behavior of the ground which took on the properties of a calm ocean, causing the entire street, buildings and balloon-headed humanoids float as if carried and swayed by giant waves. No, the turned- inside- out vision of reality evoking awe and amusement stood apart from the anxiety brought about by Gregory’s own doubt in his ability to identify the boundary between the hedonistic illusion and the inexplicable and equally fantastic yet nevertheless merciless reality.

Abinaash stared silently into the street, but somehow his gaze seemed more distant then that. The subtle frown, as a stigma of concern suggested a state of deep thought. He then turned to Gregory, and terminated his thoughtful reprieve with a curt “Let’s go, I think I know what happened”.

To be continued…

What follows was written by ChatGTP 4.

The narrow streets of Delhi's Chandni Chowk district were winding labyrinths, and they felt even more so to Gregory as he followed Abinaash. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, and the distant sound of sitars created an eerie background music to their mission.

"We need to go to the Old Quarter," Abinaash declared, pulling Gregory out of his hallucinogenic reverie.

"Why? What's in the Old Quarter?" Gregory inquired, struggling to keep pace.

"The Oracle," Abinaash responded.

Gregory raised a brow, even more puzzled. “The Oracle? Like from ancient myths?”

"Somewhat," Abinaash admitted. "There's a woman there who knows everything that happens in the city, especially the hidden layers that tourists like you don't see. If Sangat was indeed kidnapped, she will know."

As they approached the Old Quarter, the cityscape began to change. The modern hustle of Delhi faded into an older, more mystical aura. Stone statues with many arms and faces loomed large, and ancient temples with shimmering golden domes dotted the horizon. Inside one of these temples, they met the Oracle. She was an old woman, her face marked with the lines of time, wearing a rich sari of deep purple and gold. Her eyes, however, were the most arresting—a bright, unnatural shade of emerald.

"Seeking lost friends, are we?" she intoned without preamble. 

Abinaash nodded, a hint of respect evident in his posture. "The one named Sangat."

A tense silence filled the air, punctuated by the gentle tinkling of wind chimes. Finally, the Oracle spoke. "He's not lost, merely taken. He's been chosen for a ceremony, a ritual. It's been foreseen."

Gregory's impatience flared. "Chosen? By whom? And for what?"

The Oracle turned her piercing gaze to him. "By the Spirits of the Past. Delhi is ancient, and so are its secrets. Every few decades, they require a tribute, a soul to join them, to maintain the balance between realms. Sangat is that soul." 

Gregory's heart raced. His trip and the kidnapping seemed interconnected, inexplicably woven together. "How do we save him?" he implored. 

The Oracle looked deep into Gregory's eyes, as if assessing the depths of his soul. "You can try, but the journey will not be easy. At the stroke of midnight, when the realms blur, go to the old ruins near the Yamuna River. There, you will find a portal. But be warned, once you cross over, the way back may not be clear."

They left with more questions than answers. Time was running out. Abinaash led Gregory to the river ruins. The hallucinogenic effects intensified, making the ruins pulse with an otherworldly glow. As midnight approached, a portal manifested—a swirling vortex of colours and sounds, an invitation to another realm. Without hesitation, both stepped through.

Upon their entry into the timeless Delhi, the city seemed like a living memory. Ancient structures stood tall, exuding a spectral glow. The streets, though familiar in layout, emanated a sense of reverence and mystery. Chants, emanating from all corners, carried stories from centuries past.

Centrally, Sangat lay on an ornate altar. The spirits, looking like regal figures from various dynasties that once ruled Delhi, circled him. Their movements were fluid, like a choreographed dance, their garments flowing with a life of their own. Each of them held a luminescent thread which, when touched to Sangat, extracted memories in the form of vibrant images - his childhood, his days at the university, the joyous festivals he had celebrated. These threads connected to an intricately woven tapestry that floated above the altar, a living testament to Delhi's rich heritage.

Beside the altar, ancient musicians played ethereal tunes on their sitars and flutes, adding an auditory dimension to the ceremony. Gregory noticed that every time Sangat’s memories integrated into the tapestry, the music shifted, resonating with the emotions of the memories.

Abinaash, visibly shaken, whispered, "It's the Ritual of Remembrance. They’re integrating Sangat's essence with the soul of the city. We must intervene before it’s too late.”

Drawing from his travels and experiences with various cultures, Gregory started to chant. His voice, resonating with the power of his emotions and memories, created ripples in the realm. The spirits paused, their attention now on him. Using the distraction, Abinaash joined in, adding the depth of traditional Indian incantations to the chorus. The tapestry began to flutter, as if torn between the pull of the spirits and the passionate pleas of the two friends.

As the duel of chants intensified, a maelstrom of wind enveloped the area. Within its vortex, the spirits, the altar, and the tapestry began to merge and morph. When the tempest subsided, modern Delhi stood in its place.

Sangat, bewildered but unharmed, was helped up by his friends. "Did I become a story?" he asked, recalling fragments of the ceremony. 

Abinaash smiled, “You almost did. But our story isn’t meant for the past; it’s meant for the now." 

The trio decided to take a moment to reflect on their incredible journey. Sitting on the steps of an ancient monument, they watched as Delhi woke up to a new day. The aroma of street food, the chatter of morning vendors, the distant sound of temple bells, all seemed amplified, as if the city was sharing its soul with them.

Gregory, deeply introspective, realized that the tapestry wasn't just a historical record; it was a living, breathing entity, constantly evolving with each story added. "Every person, every experience, every emotion weaves its thread into the fabric of this city," he mused. Sangat, looking at the vast expanse of Delhi, added, "And yet, in its vastness, it has space for every single story. It's humbling." Abinaash, with a twinkle in his eye, concluded, "Delhi is not just a place. It's an experience, a memory, a story waiting to be told. And today, we added ours."

The sun, now bathing the city in its golden warmth, seemed to nod in agreement. As they ventured forth, it was evident that while their journey was unplanned and unexpected, it was one they’d cherish for a lifetime. They had not just witnessed Delhi's past; they had become a part of its eternal narrative.