Przystanek szczęścia

Dziś rano, podczas rozmowy z jedną z matek w drodze do tramwaju po odprowadzeniu Poli do żłobka, usłyszałem wzruszającą historię.
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Rozmowa zaczęła się od nawiązania do pochwały jaką jej córka, Lena otrzymała od pani ze żłobka – że jest bardzo empatycznym dzieckiem, które zawsze stara się uspokoić inne dzieci miłymi słowami lub oferowaniem zabawek gdy tamte płaczą lub nie mogą zasnąć. Rzeczywiście, pamiętam że przynosiła zabawki Poli, podczas naszych pierwszych dni adaptacyjnych.
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Tak się złożyło, że po odprowadzeniu dziewczynek, szliśmy z mamą Leny na ten sam przystanek tramwajowy, więc chcąc być miły, nawiązałem do zachowania Leny, mówiąc że skądś to ma. Od słowa do słowa, i dowiedziałem się że matka Leny od lat zajmuje się opieką osób starszych lub z niepełnosprawnościami. O, widzi pani – prawdopodobnie nie jest całkowitym przypadkiem że pani taką pracę obrała! I co może tłumaczyć naturalne skłonności Leny.
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Przyznała że rzeczywiście gdy mieszkali w Londynie, po kilku zawodowo niestabilnych latach, podczas których zmieniała pracę co najmniej pięć razy, ostatecznie najdłużej pracowała w prywatnym domu opieki, głównie dla seniorów. Po tym jak stwierdziłem że to musiała być ciężka praca, przyznała mi rację i zaczęła opowiadać o rozmaitych wyzwaniach. Wiele osób cierpiało na zaawansowaną demencję i inne niepełnosprawności, nie koniecznie związane z wiekiem.
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Powiedziała że jednym z bardziej powszechnych wyzwań były wymogi staruszków aby zabierać ich na wycieczki do ich ulubionych dzielnic i miejscowości, lub tych gdzie sie urodzili i mieszkali. Chcieli aby im zamawiać taksówkę lub zabrać na przystanek autobusowy. Jeden pan chciał aby z nim pojechać do Scarborough, ponieważ tam się wychował (to ta miejscowość z piosenki „Scarborough Fair”), a inna pani z kolei prosiła aby ją zabrać na główną ulicę Kingston, pod Londynem, tylko zapytana na którą, nie potrafiła sobie przypomnieć.
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Niestety, takie wycieczki były wykluczone, nie tylko ze względów budżetowych i bezpieczeństwa ale i smutnego faktu że większość staruszków po kilkunastu minutach zapominało swoją zachciankę. Ostatecznie ktoś wpadł na pomysł aby przed ośrodkiem postawić ławeczkę z atrapą przystanku autobusowego. Więc gdy ktoś nalegał na wyjazd, opiekuni zaprowadzali go na ten przystanek. Idea okazała się, jakby to ująć – okrutnie skuteczna, ponieważ staruszkowie z wielką przyjemnością przesiadywali na tym przystanku godzinami, nie pamiętając o tym że już tak długo czekają a żaden autobus nie przyjeżdża.

Eksplikacja reżyserska do filmu "Bracia"

Film „Bracia” to przypowiastka, która zestawia elementy natury ludzkiej takie jak obłuda i próżność aby alegorycznie przedstawić pewien archetyp ludzkich interakcji.

Film wstrzymuje się od stwierdzenia morału, czyli od jednoznacznego ocenienia wynikającej manipulacji, a zaledwie zwraca uwagę na nieunikniony brak kompatybilności pewnych postaw, a raczej ich kompatybilność, która jest skazaną na groteskę. Wielowarstwowość przekazu symbolicznego udostępnia szeroki wachlarz interpretacji – na przykład, mimo dość uniwersalnego przekazu, istnieje też możliwa interpretacja przypowiastki jako komentarza historycznego odnośnie systemów politycznych, opartych na utopijnej wizji świata, czy jako nawiązania do motywu rywalizacji braterskiej – w szerszym sensie rozumianego jako rywalizacji rodzeństwa – często występującego w biblijnych przypowieściach oraz w mitologii, czy w końcu osobistej interpretacji jako metafory podobnych sytuacji z naszego codziennego życia. Innymi słowy, film bez narzucania właściwej interpretacji, skłania widza do ogólnej refleksji nad nieodłącznymi elementami natury ludzkiej. 

Motyw obłudy, który w sposób kluczowy podszywa fabułę całego filmu, uwidacznia się wyraziście w fałszywej wizji lepszego świata przedstawionej przez Wielkiego Brata. Ten fałszywy obraz nawiązuje nie tylko do symptomów systemów politycznych, opartych na utopijnych mrzonkach, ale też bardziej powszechnego zjawiska manipulacji społecznej – cynicznej propagandy służącej wypaczeniu obrazu rzeczywistości dla celów osobistych lub wybranej grupy ludzi. Tym samym filmowi można przypisać bezpośrednie odniesienie do kanonu literackiego krytycznych esejów i powieści takich jak Moore’a (Utopia), Huxley’a (Nowy wspaniały świat), Orwella (Rok 1984), czy domyślne odniesienie do jeszcze szerszego, proto-filozoficznego oraz filozoficznego kanonu traktującego kwestie moralności – od Starego Testamentu i światowej mitologii począwszy a na współczesnych rozważaniach etycznych skończywszy.

Wybór formy fabuły jako bajki narracyjnej został umotywowany uniwersalnością tej formy literackiej – która stosownie odpowiada uniwersalności poruszonej tematyki – oraz łatwością adaptacji do medium filmu animowanego. A więc ten film wpisuje się tradycję, tak starą jak ludzkość – sięgając tradycji oralnej – rozpowszechnianej przez starożytnych i nowożytnych bajkopisarzy takich jak Ezop, Fedrus, czy La Fontaine, i nadal kultywowaną w nowożytnej oraz współczesnej twórczości polskich poetów, pisarzy, i filozofów takich jak Krasicki, Mickiewicz, Lem, czy Kołakowski.

Symboliczny motyw dzbana w sposób absurdalny karykaturyzuje obłudę podszywającą interakcję bohaterów oraz właściwą próżność jego roli jako identyfikatora statusu. Poza tym symbolika dzbana jest dość obszerna – chociażby jego rola w przypowieściach biblijnych czy sądzie skorupkowym starożytnej Grecji. W języku polskim dzban ma też bardzo ciekawe, współczesne znaczenie, które oferuje nam właściwą dwuznaczność – jako pejoratywny epitet, dzban znaczy tyle co głupiec. W internetowym plebiscycie, organizowanym przez Wydawnictwo Naukowe PWN, dzban wygrał tytuł młodzieżowego słowa roku 2018. Dzban to jednocześnie próżność i głupota Dużego Brata, który daje się uwieść wizji „wielkości urojonej”, ale zarazem próżnia ontologiczna realności tej wizji. Czyli symbolika jest rzeczywiście bogata i uniwersalna, więc powinna przemawiać do wszystkich – poza dzbanami, naturalnie.

Phenomenology of Non-existence

Whenever asked to explain the key idea underlying his latest masterpiece 'Phenomenology of Non-existence', Joseph would often make use of an enigmatic Gedankenübung (thought-exercise). He'd invite the typical inquisitive offtologist, or the occasional ontologist, as the case may be, to consider how seriously they take themselves. That it was always too much, Joseph explained, was the first step to understanding the main themes covered in his work.

A dream you'd rather not have.

Imagine the following situation. A Dignitas patient-client ingests the lethal dose of the pentobarbital, and soon after falling asleep (the sleep which gradually deepens into a coma, and eventually leads to respiratory arrest and death) they have a lucid dream whereby they're aware of what is happening, but for some reason in that dream they change their mind regarding ending it all. Naturally, they won't be able to wake up, and they know that in the dream.

Into the blizzard.

You find yourself stranded during a heavy blizzard, in a town far away from home. It's dark, since the streetlights do little to overcome the thick torrent of heavy snow. Your phone is dead. The streets are deserted with no taxi or bus in sight. As you stagger along the snow covered footpath, with you eyes closed tightly to avoid the stinging bombardment of crystals against your face, your suddenly realize that you're right on the street next to where someone whom you know lives. Unfortunately this someone is no other than your lifelong, bitter enemy, and you know they feel the same way. You open one eye and see that the lights in the house are on, glowing with a warm and welcoming glow. You make a life changing decision and with great effort literally crawl up the icy steps toward the door. Then just as you lift your hand to knock, and brace yourself to bear all the humiliation and loss of dignity that will surely accompany the act of turning for help from the last person in the world that you would ever consider talking to, you suddenly recall another thing about them. They hate cats! You turn away from the door and decide to push on.

MÓJ PRZYJACIEL PAWIAN

Odnalazłem fragmenty moich dawnych prób pisania dla dzieci, z circa 2004.

Wszystko zaczęło się od zeszłorocznego wyjazdu na działkę. Lało przez całe dwa tygodnie przez co Leon zostawał sam w domku letniskowym podczas gdy jego rodzice zbierali jabłka i śliwki w sadzie. Tata po każdym powrocie mówił że jeśli nie zebrałoby się tych owoców to przy tej pogodzie sad zamieniłby się w gigantyczną misę kompotu jabłkowo-śliwkowego. Leon na początku nie uważał że taka ogromna misa kompotu byłaby czymś złym, ale po dłuższym zastanowieniu stwierdził że nie ma wystarczającej ilości słoi i butelek aby ten kompot rozlać i w końcu że taką ilość kompotu mógłby chyba tylko wypić jakiś wielkolud albo smok. Niestety okolicy działki nie mieszkał ani żaden smok ani wielkolud, więc Leon stwierdził w końcu, że rzeczywiście rodzice mają rację zbierając opadłe owoce.

I właśnie tego trzeciego jakże nudnego poranka, podczas gdy Leon przeglądał po raz już chyba piąty jedyną książkę w domku, którą była „Historia Naturalna”, pojawił się ów gość. Był to nie mniej i nie więcej pawian we własnej osobie, a właściwie we własnej sierści. Siedział sobie jak gdyby nigdy nic w fotelu i łypał dyskretnie na chłopca swoimi małymi ślepiami. Pewnie myślał że nikt nie zauważył jego pojawienia się. Zuchwalec. Jak można tak po prostu pojawić się z nikąd bez zapowiedzenia? Leon nie omieszkał uświadomić tego pawianowi: „Trzeba było przynajmniej zadzwonić, jeśli nie na domowy telefon to na komórkę mamy, a jak już tak to przynajmniej powinno się powiedzieć dzień dobry.” Jak się okazało pawian był nie tylko impertynentem ale i niemową.

Mimo nienajlepszego zachowania Pawiana, Leon postanowił zainteresować go „Historią Naturalną”. Nietrudno się domyśleć że książka bardzo się gościowi spodobała; prawie przez cały czas przesiedział na oparciu fotela podskakując z wrażenia przy każdej kolejnej fotografii. Uśmiechał się dosłownie od ucha do ucha, i właśnie przy tych szerokich uśmiechach Leon zauważył, że jego gość zaniedbuje nie tylko maniery, ale i też higienę osobistą, a właściwie małpią.

Pawian zupełnie nie proszony wpakował się do samochodu, gdy nadszedł czas powrotu do domu. Leon nie protestował – przynajmniej nie było nudno. Ciekawe że rodzice w ogóle nie zwracali uwagi na dodatkowego pasażera; „To nawet lepiej” pomyślał Leon zadowolony z faktu że nie musi tłumaczyć rodzicom okoliczności pojawienia się pawiana.  C.D.N.

Postanowiłem poprosić Chat GTP 4 aby dopisał kolejna opowiastkę o Leonie i Pawianie. Wynik jest mniej satysfakcjonujący niż się spodziewałem, mimo tego że podobny eksperyment w przypadku opowiadania Immoral trip wypadł znacznie lepiej.

PROMPT: Mam pomysł na serię opowiastek o Leonie i jego wyobrażonym przyjacielu (pawianie). Napisałem już pierwszą, wstępna opowiastkę, gdzie poznajemy głównych bohaterów. Jest to pewnego rodzaju pilot. Chcę abyś napisał kolejną część -- czyli kolejna opowiastkę. Może tym razem rozgrywającą się w domu lub przedszkolu. Nie było to jeszcze powiedziane, ale Leon ma około pięciu lat. Oczywiście chciałbym aby było to zrobione w tym samym stylu i konwencji -- dziecinne przemyślenia i obserwacje Leona oraz ciekawe zachowania pawiana, no i aby była tej samej długości co pierwsza. Puść wodze wyobraźni!

Chat GTP 4:

Leon i pawian w przedszkolu

Leon uwielbiał chodzić do przedszkola. Lubił rysować, śpiewać piosenki i bawić się z rówieśnikami. Jednak pewnego ranka, gdy mama pomagała mu ubrać się i przygotować do wyjścia, Leon poczuł, że ten dzień będzie nieco inny. Zauważył bowiem, że jego wyobrażony przyjaciel, pawian, również wydaje się być w doskonałym nastroju i z niecierpliwością czeka, by pójść z nim do przedszkola.

Do przedszkola chodziło wiele dzieci i każde z nich miało własne małe zwariowane pomysły. Jednak pawian był czymś zupełnie wyjątkowym. Oczywiście tylko Leon go widział, ale to nie przeszkadzało mu w zabawie z innymi.

Kiedy nauczycielka poprosiła dzieci, aby narysowały swoich ulubionych przyjaciół, Leon postanowił namalować pawiana. Jego rysunek odznaczał się żywymi kolorami i dokładnymi szczegółami - od szerokiego uśmiechu pawiana po każdy włos na jego futrze. Kiedy przyszedł czas na prezentację rysunków, Leon z dumą opowiadał o swoim wyjątkowym przyjacielu. Dzieciaki były zafascynowane i chciały wiedzieć więcej.

Na przerwie w ogrodzie przedszkolnym, Leon opowiadał innym dzieciom o przygodach z pawianem. Jak przyszedł do niego na działkę, jak wspólnie przeglądali książkę i jak wsiadł do samochodu, wracając do domu. Wszyscy słuchali z otwartymi ustami.

Pawian, z zachwytem obserwując dzieci, postanowił zasugerować Leonowi nową zabawę. Wykorzystując gałęzie drzewa jako liany, podskakiwał z jednej na drugą, udając tarzającego się małpę w dżungli. Leon natychmiast dołączył do niego, a reszta dzieci śmiała się i klaskała w dłonie.

Po powrocie do domu, Leon miał mnóstwo historii do opowiedzenia rodzicom. O tym, jak wspaniale bawił się w przedszkolu z pawianem i jak wszyscy byli zafascynowani jego wyimaginowanym przyjacielem. A pawian? Siedział sobie spokojnie na fotelu w pokoju Leona, ciesząc się kolejnym dniem pełnym przygód.

Zachód słońca oznaczał koniec dnia, ale dla Leona i pawiana była to tylko kolejna strona w ich nieskończonej książce pełnej cudownych chwil. C.D.N.

Bracia

Bajeczka kórą wymyśliłem lata temu (w 2003!)---wersja tekstowa poniżej nie byłaby możliwa bez udziału i zdolności literackich przyjaciela, Jerzego Rybińskiego, alias 'Stryjaga'.

BRACIA

Pewnego razu, w pewnym miejscu świata,
Brat Duży przybywa do Wielkiego Brata
I prośbę przedstawia chyląc się mu do nóg
By ten w kwestii wzrostu Dużemu dopomógł
- zechciał bratu nadać kilkanaście cali…
by się podzielił…by ciut użyczył
Duży by tego bardzo sobie życzył.

Wielkiemu mimo zdziwienia koncept nagły się jawi,
Tedy tając obawę czy Duży to strawi rzecze:
- „Nie tylko wzrost mój jest wielki przecie…
Z miłości do was, co chcecie zrobię…
Zatem postawcie sobie na głowie
Ten dzban wysmukły…o tam stojący
Lecz uważajcie, aby niechcący nie zbić!”

„Dzięki niemu bowiem…od Dużych większy o łokieć,
z Wielkimi się zrównacie.
- Wniosek z tego drogi bracie,
bez ochyby się znajdziecie
w gronie Wielkich – w Wielkim Świecie.”

Duży Wielkiego dobrocią wzruszony,
z wdzięcznością pyta:
- Co ze swej strony mógłby dla brata czynić w odpłacie?
Wielki odpowie:
„Mój drogi bracie, ja bym zaledwie o drobiazg Cię prosił,
abyś codziennie mi wodę przynosił.”

Best of imperfect worlds.

Lev somewhat dissatisfied with his previous cosmic project, decided to embark on a more careful enterprise of world creation, and turn down the perfection parameter from maximum. This time he decided to play with the parameters of fundamental values, and observe how they'd influence the hedonistic dynamics. The idea was to run a simulation where hugs are set as having principal value, and consequently become the sought after currency -- in other words, hugs in that world were to be the sole wealth determinant. But in what sense 'hugs'? -- one may ask. Receiving them of course! And naturally they'd have to be of genuine sincerity; neither bought nor forced in any way. That is, hugs have value only if they're sincere and welcomed. But then how does one accumulate such wealth, given that hugs are such ephemeral phenomena? Surely, one can't be in possession of a great number of hugs. The only way one can accumulate wealth of this kind, that is, become a prosperous hugee, is to guarantee and maintain the existence of those willing to give those hugs, i.e. huggers (aka ready-to-hug beings). In other words, one can attain a high flux of hugs, and wealth would be interpreted as maintaining a high hug-flux. This can be done in many ways of course, and Lev calibrated the simulation with no limit on the degrees of freedom concerning valid hug-acquisition. Naturally those who attain the ability to reach and maintain a high hug-flux steady state, aka hugagogues  are sought after as raw models for guidance, whose wisdom would guarantee the attainment of wealth in that world. Lev has hypothesized that such a world would be among those that are the closest to being perfect without giving rise to any absurd consequences, which inevitably accompany perfection.

It Goes Without Saying.

After a decade of a comfortable tenure as reader in baroque logics, Lev felt the onset of an uninspiring impasse coming on. He could sense the cold, judgemental gaze of his best work in the field of non-normal world conjuration, staring at him from the old, dust covered journal volumes, stacked neatly on the shelf near his desk.

Some say that it must have been the mixture of mundane routine and the onset of his flourishing that led him to leave the academy. Before his seven year disappearance many of his close associates reported that Lev’s long cherished, yet latent interest in eastern philosophy – Zen Buddhism in particular – took the form of an obsession. He would constantly talk of the higher jhanas, emptiness and other eastern concepts. Subsequently his interest in quietist philosophy grew. It is believed that he wrote this haiku just weeks before his now legendary departure.

a field of wheat

waving in the breeze

whispers

It is commonly agreed that he spent most of the time in India, Tibet, China and Japan. But it was the series of events which unraveled over the next seven years following his return, that made Lev one of the pivotal figures of 21^st century philosophy – in particular the establishment of the field that has become to be known as radical quietism. Although a term which Lev never himself used, the foundation of radical quietism has been unanimously attributed to him by philosophy historians.

His seminal publication in the Hush! Quarterly, is nowadays considered as the turning point in Lev’s philosophical career – this 37 blank page tour de force established him once and for all as the founding father of this new approach, or as some say – style, to philosophical inquiry. His associates and peers agreed that this indeed was the most that he didn’t say in decades. This revolutionary publication, or radical quietism manifesto as it is often referred to, received an immediate non-reply of awe and the highest acclaim from the Hush! Quarterly editors and the quietist community at large.

More papers followed. In the subsequent seven highly productive years, Lev published over thirty papers, each no less brilliant than the preceding ones; each with an equal clarity to the initial gem; each beaming with equal passion and fervor of Lev's intrepid genius. Also given that each subsequent article referenced precisely the previous ones, including page numbers, a complete body of work emerged over that decade which rightfully so is unanimously considered as the foundation and the purest source of not only radical quietism, but quietism in general.

Wake Up, Kitty!

The story below was written for the New Lotus magazine (at Buddhistdoor International). An attempt at Buddhist fiction: Puss In Boots meets Alice in Wonderland meets Saṃsāra. Needless to say, a condition to fully appreciate the metaphors used therein requires some familiarity with Buddhist philosophy.

Felis loved his lazy afternoon naps by the front door, despite the mysterious recurring dream they offered each time. Those naps were the culminating point to the morning routine spent chasing geckos around the house and climbing the living room curtains each time he had the mischievous impulse to do so, and Alice happened not to be looking. Alice was the most caring and loving owner a cat could ask for, but she certainly was careful not to spoil her pet and let him run wild and do as he pleased. This in part was the condition Alice's parents insisted on: "Darling, remember that having a pet means plenty of responsibility. So it would be good for everyone if you made sure the little kitty behaves."

Nausea had always been the cue upon which Felis would "wake up" within his notorious lucid dream. In fact it was quite unbearable nausea, induced by dizziness. It would then soon become apparent that Alice is holding him close, pressed to her chest, and she herself is strapped to a seat in a gigantic merry-go-round situated at the Luna Park which has been seasonally erected in front of their suburban house. The long arms of this mechanical contraption were always decorated with tacky multicolored lights which blinked to the rhythm of a popular nursery rhyme blasting out of the large speakers attached to the ride’s main column. "She must have smuggled me in, under her sweater" - Felis would realize each time, since pets are not allowed on the grounds of the Luna Park. "It's okay Felis, don't be so nervous - this is supposed to be fun!" - Alice would in vain attempt to reassure her little whiskered friend as he clutched anxiously to her arm with claws tearing the sweater's fabric and scratching her skin.

Aside from the extremely unpleasant predicament of being helplessly spun around on this enormous carousel - it appeared very large to this little kitty - the noise of other passengers’ cries consisting of grotesque combinations of hysterical laughter and desperate screams of horror, was quite unsettling. To top this off, this disturbing mixture of cries and jeer was occasionally accented with sounds of painful convulsions of regurgitation - unsurprising consequence of the ride-induced "sea sickness". "Mheeeoowgrr" - was Felis' response to the surrounding human cries as he buried his fluffy head within the folds of Alice’s jumper. "I'm sorry darling - I wasn't thinking when I took you on this ride" - Alice would reply, realizing that her beloved pet is actually terrified, and not just being obnoxious.

Things worsened as it started to become obvious to Felis that the ride wasn’t going to end at all - it just continued on, and on. People's ghostly cries rang like delirious mantras uttered by a group of helpless lunatics - "Luna Park!” flashed through Felis' little, witty head, but the sight of his mistress pale face brought him back at once to sobriety again. The sickly appearance of Alice's fixed and wide-eyed stare, framed by an unnatural smile overshadowed by pain, alarmed Felis. This unmoved, mask-like expression of his dear owner failed to obscure the imminent danger and urgency of the situation, as Felis' ears, pressed against Alice’s chest, were suddenly flooded with the desperate hammering of her heart. As the frequency of her heartbeats intensified, it seemed that her chest would burst open any second. It was at that moment that Alice would start singing the lyrics of the ride’s nursery rhyme theme. She did that whilst maintaining her unmoved and comatose gaze and unnatural grin:

“Ring around the rosie,
Pockets full of posies,
A-choo, a-choo,
We all fall down”

-"This is a nightmare!" realized Felis, as he looked nervously around the Luna Park, which is no easy feat when done from a spinning carousel, since the whole world rushes past like a blurred and phantasmagorical vision. There was no one to be seen! The entire park was completely deserted except for the people trapped on this spinning, monstrous contraption."Can't anyone see what's going on?! This is unbearable!" were the last thoughts Felis had before freeing himself from Alice's embrace and leaping off the carousel seat. Despite being flung out like a projectile out of a slingshot – his little furry body somersaulting through the air, he managed to land on all fours unscathed.

Only then, once on the ground, shortly after his dizziness subsided, the nausea finally vanished for the first time since entering his lucid dream. Felis became aware of the surrounding stillness. It was quite overwhelming, and offered a clear perspective of the entire Luna Park. This serene repose was suddenly terminated by a sharp and foul smell of vomit painfully piercing Felis’ sensitive nostrils – it reminded him why he was here, on the ground. Compelled to stop the mechanism, he was relieved to finally locate the main switch protruding out of the carousel’s column. Knowing what remains to be done – Felis at this point of the dream would flick the switch and wake up before seeing the carousel slow down to a halt.

Waking up this time, he was pleasantly greeted by the delicate touch of Sun’s mid afternoon rays. Opening one of his eyes lazily he noticed a gecko on the door frame stealthily following a giddily fluttering moth. Felis leaped toward the door frame, but the agile lizard swiftly evaded this sudden feline pounce and wriggled outside onto the grass. After his surreal, yet reinvigorating nap Felis felt ready for a few more playful laps around the house in chase of the amusingly frightened geckos. Having ventured deep into the backyard bushes in pursuit of the swift reptile, Felis was too far to hear Alice’s soft voice singing, as she was busy cutting some flowers blooming in the front yard:

“Ring around the rosie,
Pockets full of posies,
A-choo, a-choo,
We all fall down”.

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.

A Home Story

An oldie I 've found while going through some of my documents:

"I had never complained about my tree. It was an old oak with heavy branches reaching out far from the massive trunk. Having lived in its shelter all my life, I couldn't imagine anything better. Well, maybe an even bigger oak.

I will never forget the day when I wandered far away from my tree in search of blueberries. I just love blueberries. Being hunched over, I didn't notice the storm approaching till it was too late. The rain started dripping. Having realized that I'll never reach my oak in time, I panicked. It was at that moment when I noticed that house at the edge of the wood. It was already pouring by the time I reached it panting and almost completely soaked. It looked quite gloomy, and upon entering it I realized that if not for the storm I would have never dared to even come close to that stark wooden ruin, barely visible from behind the weeds which had grown around it. Yes, I definitely had an uneasy feeling as I crossed the threshold.

It was quite damp and cool inside the main hall. The walls were almost entirely covered with mould. The storm was terrible, and raged all night. In the morning though, aside from being tired from sleep depravation I was all right. This strange house had sheltered me. I guess it wasn't so horrible after all. Before leaving, I had a look at its backyard, or at least where one had once been. It was a thicket of weeds.

It wasn't till I finally got home, into the familiar shade of my tree, that I allowed myself a loud sigh of relief. It had been the first time I spent a night away from my oak. I spent the rest of the week reminiscing that frightening, yet exciting night.

Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to visit the house. I knew that to be silly since I had all the shelter I needed under my tree. During that second visit I inspected all the rooms and nooks, and was surprised to find many interesting spots. On that day, looking at the setting sun through the wide bay window in the hall the idea that changed my life came to me. I remember the exact moment. I was leaning against the window frame hypnotized by the beauty of the setting sun. I turned round. The wall due to the dampness had flakes of paint coming off it, and there among that messy sight was my shadow. I decided to renovate the house.

Believe me, it wasn't easy. Actually it took years. I'm especially proud of the garden and the wonderful flowers blooming there every spring. I still visit my tree every now and then, but cannot imagine any life other than here, at home."

17th May 2004

A Bus Encounter

On that day, the bus of the 171 line was full as usual, but Joseph didn't mind standing for the twenty minutes or so since the reminder of his day would be spent sitting in on lectures at the local university. During the journey he would occasionally take his eyes away from the busy city-scape rushing past beyond the nearest window and observe the faces of other passengers, every now and then allowing his gaze to linger on a more interesting one.

While engaging in one of those lazy inspections of his fellow passengers Joseph was unsettled by a pair of blue and mysterious eyes meeting his. Those blue eyes were framed by a pleasant face of a young woman partially visible through a narrow gap between other passenger's heads. Not used to such confrontations from the depersonalized and anonymous crowd, Joseph attempted to conceal his voyeuristic intentions by nonchalantly continuing to turn his head, as if intending to look through a window on the opposite side of the bus. He was sure that during this momentary encounter when their gazes met, a latent smile appeared on her pale and calm face. After composing himself, he glanced back at this mysterious stranger and surely enough she had maintained the same subtle smile and what seemed particularly unusual was how her unmoved gaze welcomed his, as if expecting him to indeed glance back. Prompted by a sudden adrenaline rush Joseph looked away once more.

Not usually forward by nature, he generally avoided making spontaneous acquaintances with strangers, and women especially. Furthermore, he reserved those morning commuting intervals primarily for planning and reflection. Joseph, it seems, desired to suppress and control spontaneity despite seeing its value. It was welcome, but not on a bus. This brief encounter however unsettled his rigid convictions, and the appearance of this mysterious girl tempted him to break his strict habit, only if to learn her name. He made a decision. As the bus would approach the city center where most people would disembark, he would then have the necessary space to approach this newly potential non-stranger and make an acquaintance. This certainly wouldn't require too much effort on his part, since he felt that a subtle yet definite invitation had already been granted.

The bus arrived at the stop where most people usually leave. The commotion created by people heading for the doors was the cue Joseph had been waiting for which gave him the sufficient amount of courage to turn toward the young woman once more.  He was mildly amused upon noticing how his heart begun to beat faster during the composition of the introductory phrase. He approached tentatively, and just as the last of the people standing between them headed for the door leaving behind an empty and unobstructed space, Joseph experienced what could be best described as a cognitive jolt of disillusion, as his eyes fixed on the blind man's cane, which the young woman was holding closely by her side. Her gaze now suddenly stripped of its mystery, had dissolved into a blank and eerie stare into oblivion, and her Mona Lisa smile now equally demystified reduced to the calm and relaxed expression of a morning commuter.

Joseph stood there staring in disbelief for a few seconds, his lips parted with the preselected introductory phrase screaming inside his head. What finally brought him back from the paralysis of this epistemic anomaly was the realization of his asymmetric freedom of being able to look at the young woman, which he thought to be unfair and invasive. With that thought, amused by his imaginative powers of confabulation, he hopped off the bus just as the doors were beginning to close.

A Perfect World.

Lev, one of the most gifted graduates of The Academy of Unlimited Arts, with personal interests in Perpetual Omnipotence, decided to focus on universe creation in his postgraduate pursuits. The world he planned to make this time was meant to be unlike any other - a dynamic cosmos full of sentient and intelligent beings. The idea was to make it a perfect world; no pain, no sorrow, no longing, no broken hearts. No death. In short - ideal.

After all the world-making only one thing remained to be done - finding a fitting name for this wonderful creation. Lev was happy and content having finally settled on an appropriately adequate one - a perfect name. Upon completion of his cosmic project, Lev attached a plaque to its Luminiferous Aether, and on it an engraving in a particularly baroque font "A place with no dreams".

Beginning of the End

Elijah had been seeing Barbara for almost a month by then. The first few times they had met for coffee, drawn towards each other with a youthful curiosity and suppressed desire, days passed like hours. They relished in this new unexplored space of companionship. Immersed in philosophical conversations about life, exchanging views about what seemed most important, they managed, it seemed, to create their private realm outside of time which did not conform to the usual laws governing the universe. Before Elijah could realize, their quite lengthy acquaintance, for they had by then known each other for over a year, within no more than a few weeks evolved to a state which was an enchanted and exciting platform full of endless possibilities. Both quite shy, and careful not to spoil what grew out of what seemed like hours in their personal timeless world, enjoyed this curious state full of promise yet free from promises. Aside from Barbara’s cheerful, witty and energetic yet controlled demeanor which captivated with its reliably suitable degree of spontaneity, there was one other particular quality which Elijah admired. Unlike anyone he had met before, Barbara wholeheartedly engaged herself into any issue at hand, and with a particular and genuinely considerate approach when immersed in conversation with a colleague, or a friend. "She makes me feel present" was, Elijah felt the best characterization of her caring, engaging and non-selfish nature.
Barbara had a quintessentially feminine and beautiful Rubenesque figure, which sadly did not reflect her desired self image. This bitter dissonance between love expressed and actual self-love, was to become a blemish which would not only encroach into the blissful realm the two friends had conjured, but eventually mercilessly annihilate it.
The first cracks appeared during one of their many outings through the city’s major bookstores. Whilst strolling through the forest of towering bookshelves inside the city’s largest ‘used books’ store, and admiring the beautiful publications of Shakespeare’s works from the beginning of the 20th century, Elijah captured by an almost juvenile spontaneity with a trace of romantic intention, which he wouldn't deny, turned to Barbara and whispered among the colonnade of world’s major literary works: “Close our eyes, and let me lead you into a place within this forest where you will open them again only after you have blindly picked some book – one which you’ll promise to read”. Barbara agreed promptly – and soon, they were silently dancing through this symbolic storage room of millions of stories, fictional and actual lives, hopes and dreams. Upon stopping among some particularly tall bookshelves Elijah delicately twirled Barbara twice and lead her carefully as she blindly reached out for a book - this mysterious book, which they both anticipated to contain a magical spell which would embody everything that led to its emergence from the dormant and dusty forest. It would also bring a promise, a guide, or clue on this treasure hunt for true love. Barbara hesitated a little before allowing her fingers tentatively feel the spines of the books at shoulder level. She pulled a dusty book out, and after what appeared as having glanced at the title she silently turned with a jerk of the neck to Elijah who, not having seen the title himself only puzzled in horror at Barbara’s cold, narrowed eyes piercing him with a deadly and stern gaze out of the frame of a stone cold and fierce grimace which momentarily disfigured her face. She pushed the book into his chest, said “very funny” and marched off with an impatient glance at her watch. Elijah stood there in utter bewilderment at what had just happened, and his eyes widened as he read “Low fat cooking” - a title screaming at him with its colorful and boldface font from the dusty cover of the book.

Chance's Revenge

Joseph was known to occasionally bewilder random strangers, mostly those unfortunate enough to travel on the same train as him, by unexpectedly turning to them and reciting some lengthy and arbitrary Latin sentence. This exercise in buffoonery was mostly intended to evoke a laugh from his friends who shared his appreciation for the hilarity of the kaleidoscopic mixture of puzzlement, amusement and horror - all inevitably provided by his victim's faces.

Yesterday morning Joseph, up to his usual mischief did just that - while conversing with his typically extroverted group he suddenly turned around without warning and uttered a preselected Latin phrase to the young woman sitting behind him - "You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my not so quite short life". This time something odd happened however. Whilst uttering this provocative sentence he slowed down half way through and what began as a nonchalant and lively baritone quietened to a quivering whisper, for at that very moment Joseph realized that what he was saying was true. The jest backfired, and Chance took her revenge on him.

Mission: a survey of the two human types and their interactions

Below are some excerpts from mission reports of the Andromedian's research of human behavior through a method known as "Host Control". This particular approach allows the Andromedian experts to reside inside a human mind in a manner akin to the Cartesian homunculus, thus allowing for the study of the correlations of cognitive and physiological phenomena with behavior. If necessary a complete control of the host is possible and legal by "The Alien Species Protection Act"..

"Type I individual" Mission Report.
"At times, when confronted with a particular individual of type II, the most accurate description of the sensation that could be given is akin to the impulse one experiences to pulverize an unexpectedly encountered Giant Roach back on the home planet of Zix. One desires to pulverize it, the individual that is. From the up-to-date linguistic analysis, this sensation is referred to as "annoyance".

At other times, confronted again by some type II individual a peculiar somatic phenomenon occurs: without any conscious intention, (as far as the sensors of the higher cognitive functions are concerned) the facial muscles tense into some type of cramp, manifesting with the teeth being exposed and the cheeks lifting up (again, semantic analysis of local foraging habits has found this to mean "a smile"), causing the sensors register a rise in upper body temperature, accompanied by enormous amounts of rather complex proteins being secreted by the skin tissue; a whole cloud of them as a matter of fact. It is suspected that this is a neurotoxin designed to partially paralyze the other individual who is then forced to respond with a similar facial grimace, although with varying intensity. The individuals most affected by the toxin tend to approach closer, which supports the theory of the chemical cloud being a kind of lure.

Theory explains this complex phenomenon as a predatory strategy intended to lure other individuals to a vicinity sufficient for a lethal strike, although that has not yet been observed. However it is very likely since a variety of marine creatures and plants on that planet hunt in exactly that manner, and teeth exposure accompanying the behavior supports predatory intentions.

This peculiar phenomena rarely occurs when confronted by another type I individual, with the exception of the facial contortion, which although sometimes does appear, but when it does it displays the hallmarks of voluntary and controlled behavior."

"Type II individual" Mission Report
This is a description of an incident where the circumstances caused one of the research experts to lose control of the host, and as a result abort the mission. The incident occurred in a rather loud and dim environment, where plenty of other individuals of both types were present. Most of them moved with a more or less synchronous manner to the ambient sounds of the local environment. This is his report:

"Upon approaching one of the other type individuals the first signs of trouble appeared; I became aware of blood pressure drop in the central navigation/cognition system which made controlling the host substantially more difficult. At the same time the sensors indicated a blood pressure rise and concentration in some lower part of the body. This completely unexpected and novel phenomenon forced me to put the Mission Alert System on standby.
The other individual, a type I, displayed a facial grimace consisting in the teeth being exposed, similar to the one encountered in previous missions and described in detail by Dr Xerox in his seminal paper "Facial contortion correlations with spasmodic and unintelligible vocal raps".

The body of the host acquired at this stage a peculiarly intense tendency of attempting to draw closer to the type I, and I had to try my best in order to restrain the host from coming to physical contact with the type I, which it attempted in a variety of subtle and cunning ways. What made it difficult to control was the fact that I was dealing with a very low level program, running somewhere in the background which could not be traced by my sensors in any part of the cerebral cortex.

Then the equally unexpected, and vastly more dangerous series of events developed. The steadily maintained facial grimace of the type I, and a piercing gaze fixed on my host, caused the trunk of the host to move decisively forward nearing its muzzle dangerously close to the type I. Surprised by this sudden attack, all the other individual seemed to be capable of doing in a futile and desperate feat of defense was to close its eyes and purse its lips (possibly a defense mechanism, although its efficiency is not yet entirely known). A fraction of a second before what appeared to be a certain collision of heads I was forced to inject a prodigious dose of emergency sedative into the host's bloodstream, which to my relief worked surprisingly fast due to the dangerously low blood pressure in the upper part of the body at this stage.

My only defense for resorting to such drastic measures, which may have compromised the outcome of the mission, must be the fact that I was not briefed on the standard procedures implemented in cases when the host engages in hostile behavior, which was clearly what was happening ."

L.I.F.E

last edited 23 August 2009

It was both the unbearably increasing monotony of most of the daily activities, and the discovery of the mechanisms governing the illusion of time that led the brilliant employee of the Institute of Advanced Studies, Martin Parmenstein to finally bring himself to carry out a project which he had been anticipating intermittently since college. Deeply harbored metaphysical concerns fueled Martin to consider himself as the first test subject of this existential optimizer device. This is why writing the Life Intensity Full Enhancement (LIFE) algorithm would not only be the first step of this grandiose project but it would eventually change his life forever. 
Martin’s PhD dissertation The Influence of Prior Stimulus Distribution Saturation on Time Perception and Memory Enhancement essentially proposed what could be understood as an elixir of youth simulation. The theory explained the commonly known phenomenon of changes to our subjective perception of time with ageing and proposed a way of eliminating it by simulating an experience of being that is lucid, enthusiastic and carefree: the hallmarks of youth which nature inevitably denies us in later life.

Martin’s explanation relied on the widely documented evidence of our adaptation to repeated stimuli. Repeated exposure to similar stimuli eventually ceases to register as unique, and we have no conscious memory of it, or more specifically we have no way of distinguishing one repeated stimuli event from another. This is naturally the result of the evolutionary optimization of energy strategy which our brains employ.
Eventually this results in a task distribution in accordance with what is today referred to as Parmenstein’s Law, which essentially states that the level of consciousness governing the response to a given stimuli is inversely proportional to the frequency of exposure to that stimuli . Simply put the law states that the more frequent the occurrence the lower the level of consciousness which will deal with it. This makes an activity such as walking practically automatic.
The consequences of this fact carry over immediately to our memories of the world; the very rare and hence unique experiences will stand out above others in our minds, whereas the chains of routine ultimately dissolve into oblivion of amnesia at best. The other alternative that awaits mundane and repeated experiences is that of mutual homogenization resulting in a collage of memories of an action to make up the actual memory; remembering the act of locking the front door last week is no more than a mnemonic tapestry of the more lucid fragments originating from all the times this act has been performed. Such a chimera is the best raft of clarity in this otherwise ocean of amnesia that our mind can construct, and hence nominate it to the status of a memory.

The final piece of Martin’s Thesis was the claim that it is those unique experiences that serve as the mnemonic milestones dictating the perception of the passage of time and hence also its anticipation. Anticipation of time has a fundamental importance in making plans and setting goals, which are essential in furnishing our lives with meaning. Furthermore the temporal “spaces” between these milestones, Martin believes, are constant due to neurological hardware limitations.
The conclusion then is that our perception of time is determined by the richness of our experiences. To a child, every day brings new and unique experiences, such as going to the movies for the first time or seeing the sea or just hearing a fire engine siren. Hence the weekend seems like a very long time, and the school brake almost like eternity. As we grow older this constant set of stimuli does not change substantially and what’s more we tend to gradually diminish it with our daily, self imposed routine, a tendency which enhances the impoverishment of stimuli. Weekends become insignificant instants mainly due to the fact that a two day period rarely brings anything unique enough t o register as a milestone. By this merciless mechanism, in old age we are but somnambulists whose dreams are no more than kaleidoscopic projections of our memories of childhood and youth.
If one was able to enrich the distribution of stimuli in one’s life then not only the anticipation of each day would be comparable to that of what a child experiences on the eve of Boxing Day but also the memories of it would be proportionally rich and vivid. The implementation of LIFE to one’s life, Martin believed was the answer.

In theory, LIFE’s function is essentially the inverse of Permenstein’s law; it would counterbalance the inevitable suppression of awareness of stimuli to lower levels of consciousness by substantially reducing the frequency of repetition of stimuli by means of novel modifications of their content. For example the route taken to the office every day by a given subject would have certain alternations and idiosyncrasies introduced in order to make each journey vividly distinct. The means of transport may be proposed to alternate between driving, public transport, taking a taxi, riding a bike or a scooter, or some combination of those during a single journey. On public transport one may be advised to engage in conversation with strangers.
Such behavioral differentiation would be implemented to all other facets of life, such as choice of leisure or culinary dishes. Incidentally LIFE had been condemned by the Vatican, soon after Martin’s paper appeared in Nature, due to the necessary promiscuous tendencies it advocated. Needless to say the New York Times headline “Pope condemns LIFE” provoked an outrage within the entire Christian community, consequently reviving the abortion debate. As a matter of fact LIFE’s parameters would naturally be custom calibrated to correspond to each client’s deeply cherished beliefs so neither a religious person would be encouraged to commit adultery nor an atheist expected to make the Hajj. Effectively the subject would appear to an onlooker as adventurous, spontaneous, curious, possibly immature and finally outright childish.

Prior to receiving his PhD in Algorithmic Metaphysics, Martin encountered three serious objections to LIFE, one from each of the three academic auditors. Naturally those objections had to be refuted in order for his dissertation to be accepted. The first one questioned the efficiency of LIFE’s mechanism, by pointing to the supposedly excessive set of novel changes and alternations its application would require.
After all, the professor argued, rendering a set of experiences unique can be achieved a lot more efficiently using a formal approach. This means that no actual states of affairs need to be altered, but only the perceptual construct of the subject. By dramatically changing a given subject’s worldview one could thereby change the subject’s experience of the world. So for example, instead of alternating between various means of transport taken to the office and the random introduction of idiosyncratic behavioral tendencies, an alternation between radically different psychological constructs would make each journey equally unique. Insofar as human imagination is capable of accommodating and harboring an almost infinite variety of worldviews, a pre-fabricated set of metaphysical and epistemological systems could be within reach to absorb and allow seeing the world in a new light. After all an ordinary bus ride experienced with the conviction that all that exists, does so in virtue of being perceived isn’t the same as riding it tormented by the thought that this bus ride is just a way filling out a sequence of events which are necessarily predetermined . The technical aspect, although non trivial would certainly not be insurmountable; a world system generator placed on the bedside table would instantiate a new Grand Unified Theory each evening which would then be absorbed by the subject during sleep. A mere rewiring of the cerebral cortex would have the effect of conjuring up a new universe each morning.

This approach Martin argued, although attractive due to its apparent simplicity of method and robustness of effects, could not be considered for ethical reasons. A person’s mind tampered in this fashion would in principle be equivalent to being rendered schizophrenic with a unique delusion dominating each day. Furthermore, the overwhelming contrasts of meaning and significance resulting from the irreconcilable worldviews would make it impossible for any coherent memory thread to exist, since its content would be interpreted with systematic inconsistency. As a result no genuine notion of self could emerge – a consequence surely undesirable for anyone with the hope of improving their experience of the world. If there wouldn’t be a self experiencing this epistemological freak show, then there can be no talk of any variety of experience at all.
To be continued...

All aboard!

This is an oldie that I dug up from the desperate literary attempts of mine. The style is a bit awkward at times, but nevertheless remains a fun read...I hope:)

"The morning bus ride", whether destined for work, school or college seems to be a rather unique phenomenon, in a category of its own among commuting experiences. The actual means of public transport is irrelevant and in order for the trip to qualify to that special category, it needs to fulfill two conditions; it must take place early in the morning, and on a regular basis.

Having lived in various places around the world and having frequently participated in the morning ride "ritual", I can say with the confidence of a globetrotter that its unique character is perpetually common to suburbia worldwide. Taking those morning trips anywhere; whether it be Melbourne, Warsaw or Surrey in British Columbia, one cannot possibly fail to notice the obvious similarities.

For instance there is always at least a quarter of passengers on board to whom getting out of bed, having a shower and possibly managing a quick breakfast doesn't actually mean waking up. This becomes obvious as they nod off during the trip. They don't even need to be sitting in order to do that mind you. To the amusement of some, their heads bounce up into a quasiconscious state with every more abrupt movement of the bus. That occurrence is not reserved solely to the morning bus ride however. It does also take place in movie theaters and opera houses alike.

One of the hallmarks of early morning commuting are people who obviously hadn't had time to have a coffee before getting on, and probably won't have the time once they get off, yet crave the feeling of alertness. The shapes and sizes of those portable coffee mugs people carry are endless – its almost as if the bus plays a secondary role of a venue for some mobile home-ware design fair, where the representatives of participating manufacturers had been recruited from Catatonics Anonymous. Last but not least there are the students and eager employees with sleepy dazes fixed on the pages of their text books and laptop screens. If their belief is that our brains actually are at their receptive peak in the morning, which of course may be true, then certainly their faces don't reflect it.

Basically the atmosphere aboard the morning bus, with its vivid presence of sleepiness and a kind of passive absence, magnified by the routine factor, creates an air of suspended animation. Yes, the monotony of the trip adds to the detachment of the self from the slow motion nature of the surroundings.

Taking part in the early ride, being to most just an extension of the morning routine, possibly its final stage, one generally moves about in an automatic and absent minded manner; as a sufficient example of this may serve the mouthful of a mantra recited mechanically to the bus driver which encodes within it the full description of the ticket we desire. Attending to some business in West Vancouver on a daily basis, and therefore taking the bus to Surrey Central in order to board a westbound sky train that's exactly how I treat it - as the opening sequence to my day.

Now that I think of it, the routine-induced detachment is so profound in fact that I can't seem to recall a single bus driver's face. Even though I've seen them countless times, in the end they all just seem to blend into this one, vague and featureless, uniformed figure in my mind handing me a ticket over the coin dispenser. All the drivers faded from my memory, but one. Yes, that particular one who is the sole reason why I'm writing about the "commonly known and exhilarating experience of the morning bus ride, bursting with a myriad of inspiring subjects and events just begging to be made a mention of".

"All aboard!” announced in a summoning manner by the smiling bus driver, is generally the first hint for those entering the bus that this is not going to be just another ordinary ride. There's also the effect caused by the driver's personal remarks; referring to random boarding passengers as a "young lady", or "young man", which proves to have nearly spell like qualities. It almost always makes the kids beam with smug satisfaction, as they take their places. After all they had just been promoted to a more mature status by the "Captain". Passengers beyond their upper thirties, on the other hand can't help but smile upon receiving such a spontaneous compliment.

What struck me as delightfully unusual when encountering that cheerful character for the first time wasn't actually his giddy invitation, but something that took place during the purchase of my ticket. It happened once I got on the bus, probably because it was only then that I actually entered his domain of magical influence. In order to get to West Vancouver, I asked for a three zone fare. It was then that I discovered just how far such a ticket in fact entitles me to travel. "All the way around the world!” the driver enthusiastically confirmed my request, handing me the suddenly precious three zone pass.

Observing the driver and the way his behavior influenced all the passengers, I realized that surely this can't be your typical "morning bus ride". All of a sudden the cliché seemed to fade away, disrupted by a new kind of activity permeating throughout the entire bus. The ride ceased to be a part of the compulsory morning routine. Seeing the children peer through the windows with a somewhat more eager than usual curiosity while the adults immerse themselves in lively conversations brought to mind images comparable to those seen on school excursions or sight seeing tours.

Overwhelmed by the surrounding atmosphere, I soon realized that it's not a bus I'm on anymore, but a cruise ship. Surrey Central suddenly ceased to be a Sky train station, becoming instead some far away port on one of the distant Pacific Ocean islands, serving as a stopover on a journey to some yet further exotic destination. The asphalt visible directly outside transformed into a calm surface of the friendly sea.

In all my travels I have never encountered such a display of creative spontaneity on the part of a public transport employee. Well, maybe except a certain tram driver in Melbourne who sang for two days during work hours, the reason being, which he gladly shared with the bewildered passengers, his approaching marriage date.

What's extraordinary about this particular driver of line 320 is that his behavior doesn't seem to be influenced by the weather, time of the year or any other external conditions for that matter. He just seems to be enjoying his job and the way his original aura brightens everyone's day. For that I'm grateful to him. So if he ever wondered if his commitment was worthwhile, I'm sure most of us traveling in his presence would have a ready answer: "Aye, aye Captain!”

Surrey B.C. January 2006.