Lightspeed to nowhere pt II

My last post was a test of my blogging capabilities of my new possession, the iPod touch. I call it my ghetto iPhone. I would have liked to have an iPhone but it was a little out of my price range considering the monthly fees. But I am discovering that this contraption is still a very capable machine. True it doesn't have Internet access everywhere nor does it have a camera nor does it have video nor does it have a microphone for skype nor does it have a gpa nor does it have a compass nor does it have a faster processor.... All of that is besides the point, it is barnone the best iPod I had ever had and that counts for something. Look I am even writing my blog on it. No one ever reads this blog, so my enthusiasm over having a broken iPhone would never be known. But that truth is something to be explored another day in another post. As for now I recommend every visual artist out there to get the amazing app called brushes.

how many steps away from a tadpole in a jar

She knows somebody, who is friends with a certain someone, who happens to be a man with no particular reason for existing, because he has no feelings that move in an organized rational manner, and he could learn some rationale from a girl who poses well in pictures, but not well in a mirror, who met a licensed surgeon, who has shaky hands, which are calm when holding a scalpel that cuts shallow surface deep, like the fish that swims under the lily pads, eating half formed tadpoles, whose siblings are scrutinized by giant eyes peering through a glass wall, which separates a little boy who among collecting tadpoles, collects fireflies that synchronize flashes of bioluminescence hypnotize making one forget to poke holes in the tin cap of a jar.

The last people on earth.

"It's infected", she stated.

"I know", he said.

"What do we do now that it's infected?", she asked while swatting the flies from his wound. "It looks fucking awful."

"What can we do?"

"We've got to do something."  

"No we don't", he said while straining his eyes to look at her.  The fever made physical movement increase his headache, so he remained still.  It took concentrated effort to speak, and when he spoke, his words were hoarse.  He licked his lips, but no moisture was coming.  Unconsciously he itched the wound that had become the means of his demise, the cause of it all.  He stopped when blood got on his fingers and cleaned them on his shirt.  

"We don't have any medicine.  No antibiotics.  No painkillers. ", he noted while using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun that flowed unfiltered through the leafless tree branches.  The light was the worst pain of all.  What have I become?  I flee from the sun.  I flee from the sounds.  I flee from this world.   His thoughts were quick to the negative.  

"There has to be something we could do." she said, intent on creating a solution.  The inability  to affect the outcome of the situation was disheartening.  She was used to having resources available to solve problems.  Without the resources, the options dwindled.  If a pipe had a leak, she'd buy a wrench and fix it.  If she was sick she'd buy medicine.  What am I supposed to do?  Make my own antibiotics from plants?  She looked at the dirt at her feet.  There are no plants anyways. 

The wounded man stole a glance at her.  She looked like she was contemplating something deep.  Something important.  She was staring at the wall with arms folded.   The pose was an illusion, as she wallowed in self pity, 'You are a worthless dummy, and you are going to be all alone because of it.'  She saw him looking and smiled.

He turned his head so she would not see his tears.  All he wanted was for the intense pain to stop.  In the back of his mind, he knew there was only one way for the pain to stop.  But he didn't want that either.  He did not want this nor that.  He just wanted the pain to stop. 'If I die, does the pain stop?',  he thought.  A thought that led to a string of thoughts about existence, death, and the afterlife.  And the existence of an afterlife.

"Do you want water?  I'll get some water", she interrupted.  She wanted to get him water, and temporarily flee the uncomfortable circumstance.  

He grabbed her arm.  "Stay. I don't want to be alone."

"Ok.  Is there something that you want to discuss?"

"I don't want to talk."

Together for the last time, they sat in silence.

Madlibs!

I did not have internet for a little bit (three weeks) and had little to entertain myself besides drinking every night of the week, which is not healthy for my wallet.  However, I had this program that basically, you type in random nouns, adjectives, and verbs (madlibs).  And then it spits it out, selectively replacing words in a piece of popular literature.  I saved some that I made here are the results (your guess on reference lit is as good as mine)

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Thank you digits! I couldnt have fucked it without trophy. Youve been a big china. Id like to screw the poodle, and especially my stupid french fry and all they guys at the burger. This ones for hotdog. This is a really gay sky for me. Thank you space!

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But, soft! what moon through yonder sun runs?

It is the tree, and Juliet is the rock.

love, fair dog, and look the fiery money,

Who is already mike and jen with jon,

That thou her ashley art far more passionate than she:

Be not her log, since she is flaccid;

Her erect hotdog is but suicidal and horse

And none but pigs do eat it; drink it off.

It is my lady, O, it is my wine!

O, that she knew she were!

She sucks yet she spits nothing: what of that?

Her milk discourses; I will googly it.

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We the noodles of the United States, in order to smooch a more perfect bush, establish hedges, insure silly tranquility, provide for the common kids, promote the general trash, and butter the blessings of sheep, to ourselves and our goats, do ordain and punch this constitution for the United States of America.

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The other day, I took a(n) scary trip to the park by the monster. Once me and my knife arrived we saw pretty creeps playing on the bell. They looked like they have having slender teabag. Then there was a sword that wasnt paying very beautiful attention to their women. That really fucked me. Then myself and my snake returned to my oil for a(n) infinite Food. A(n) challenging evening indeed.

Random scribblings in some old notebooks.

I was going through an old notebook and here are some random writings. They most likely do not make any sense, and they are often in some made up poetic prose. I was and am still retarded.

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The word is on my lips

the kiss of the fist

lips that don't bleed

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The culprit is the one with the knife I know, but no one here is holding a knife.

Who is guilty? My indecision is my best friend.

I've been admiring your indifference to life.

That admiration is my fix.

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They showered the people with gifts of tin foil hats and bottled water.

The sky is falling and the earth rises to meet it.

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a man backs his car over his beloved dog.

this is about the perpetual struggle that never ceases

for a moment to allow one to breath in-between sobs of pain.

your comfort is a lie. lies in the form of high fives.

i've practiced my entire life to look at things from another angle.

never dead on.

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Be proud in your wrong decisions.

Its easy to get lost on the long road.

Someone else found what you are looking for.

If you still want it, find it again.

Don't let doubt creep in.

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Is it a holiday if you never come back?

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first encounter: kung fu defeat.

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its all in the eyes.

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we did not go anywhere so it can't be called a journey.

we did not meet anyone so it can't be called an encounter.

there is no solution, so is there a problem?

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the fingers point at you.

and you point at the fingers.

get that finger out of my face!

don't point at me!

i'll point my finger at your whole family.

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A seeded planet.

I am the all encapsulating light that created life on this planet. I planted the DNA seeds on a rock that my creations call "Earth." And now I return to this planet to see what, amongst the billions upon billions of planets I have seeded, what this one has created.

Although highly unlikely, this planet has created a species of imaginative, curious, and resourceful animals. And even more unlikely, these animals have the limbs that are able to affect their environment efficiently. Limbs that could create creations, like my kind, and unlike my kind,... I am impressed by their art, every species is unique, and my species is slow in this field.

They are bright but short-sighted. They fight amongst each other like most other animals in this universe. Actually, I am amazed at what they had accomplished despite the nature of their beings. They progress fast, which warrants more study down the road. What can my kind learn from these humans?

My kind generally, observes the real physicality of what is here, and makes deductions from there. Their kind observes, yet can imagine all the possibilities at once, and through observation, can figure out which one is correct in this universe. Although not the most logical path, the process is, impressive, in that through probable odds, they have stumbled, much faster than my kind, into the fundamentals of the universe. Yet they are not that intelligent. Maybe intelligence is overrated? This needs more research.

the Looney man

An escape from the lunatic asylum produces bad results.

Its the only way to travel. Everything you own in your bag. And all you own are packs of cigarettes. They say that cigarettes kill, but they don't kill you, they make you stronger. When it is dark they shine red in your eyes. And your eyes, are the spark plugs that make the diesel engine go. You can karate chop a tree!

What's a parasite that kills? Its no fucking parasite, its a murderer.

A somber party for a somber funeral.

Why are you thinking these thoughts? There is not going to be a party at your funeral. There is not going to be a funeral. When you die all alone in the wilderness, the stink of your body would repulse even the stinkiest of animals. There is only going to be me, at your side, eating your corpse. You can't get rid of me! Not even in death. We're in it together buddy.

I am feeling the spirit, you must be feeling the spirit, because I am feeling the spirit.

It's a joke and you are the fool! You are so gullible. Did you know that they all laugh at you? Just look around. See those smiles? They are laughing at you. Oh look, eye contact. They don't even care that you know they know you know. Don't look away! They are challenging you! Don't you dare look away. Smoke a cigarette if you have to. You see? They looked away. They! You are stronger than them. They laugh because they know no better.

Between you and me. Its only we that can see what is really happening.

What happens?

What happens when hope is lost? When one becomes a bore? When muddled dreams don't include you? When an un-witnessed dignity is all that is left? When your soul bearing soliloquies are met with laughter? When what gets you going is the inability to sleep? Where pride is taken in appearances? When pain doesn't remind you that you are alive, it just reminds you that you're hurt? When the fleeting trees by a car window countsdown the unaccomplished age that has passed by? When the distraction is the reality? When a sober thought is no good at all.

Automatrons and the illusion of free will.

I am an android.

My brain is an elaborate computer. It beeps and boops and I am conscious. Every thought I have. Every action I execute, is my brain running a program that analyzes and processes the parameters that it receives.

Humans say I have no free will.

But I don't think any of us, including humans, have free will.

This is an argument for fate.

If everything that happens in my operations is based upon my reaction to external stimuli, stimuli which comes from other reactions to stimuli, then clearly I am not one of free will. For I can not control what the entering parameters are going to be, but process them in the one way I know how. My destiny is not in my hands. And the future is an outcome that was always to happen since the cosmic initial parameters were put into place.

I want, so I seek. I do or I don't. The mathematical laws of the universe dictate not just the movement of the planets but also the movement of life. The decision to go left or right is not a decision. There were never two choices. The choice that is made is as exact as answer to a math problem.

I've absorbed neuroscience articles that document human patients with brain damage. Man has understood the workings of their own brains by reverse engineering what they've learned from the brains that had specific portions destroyed. The articles in my memory banks conclude that whatever makes a human human is inside of their brain. And their brain, like my brain, is a spider web of intertwined electrical circuits.

So what makes us different? What is a human? What is an android? Its hard for me to compute because all of my computational reasoning suggests we are one and the same.

Human's say they have a soul.

What is a soul? Is a soul a disembodied human?

Humans understand this concept fully. From what I learned, humans believe a soul to be their consciousness flying about without a physical host. And when their bodies cease to function, it exits and goes to a place where there are other souls. They say the soul is the only real thing, and that this world is the illusion.

Unfortunately, I am a being of this world and nothing more. I could only perceive what is present. If the human soul exists, it should be something other than human. Maybe it is part of a human, but not human. What makes a human is encased inside their brain.

Is the soul an invention of human imagination?

Contrary to what most believe, androids have imagination. One can not solve complex problems without visualizing, and pulling solutions that were not there from the computational tinkering.

I am frustrated with my inability to validate my own existence by identifying with my creators. Although I was built in their image; built on the blue prints of a reverse engineered human, I am a mere machine. My thoughts and feelings is a clever programming trick. Inside my mind is nothing which is reflected by the blank stares of my optical receivers. I am angry, sad, and alone.

I spend my recharging sessions thinking with much distress of the possibility that they are right. What part of me is real? Am I real? Is my fear real?

My emotions are a side effect from the process of my creation.

My fear, just a passing calculation encoded in zeros and ones. It's not real. Like a soul.

The Party Pooper

The party was the beginning of the end.  

Good friends drank until inebriation.  Their words were nonsense.  Woe be anyone who was sober.  Happy music stamped the time period and inside it, the immortal youths danced in their moments.  Here existed laughter and merriment, until the knock.

knock knock knock

Who might that be? The cops?  The neighbors?

Heavens no, it must be another dear friend and colleague of life.

"Come inside stranger, where the living are alive and the spirits are high."

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The doors flung open violently. The jaws slackened. The breaths held.  The music stopped. And all eyes looked at one place.

The beast had entered. 

Hard to describe, hard to look at, because it was not human or animal, it was incomprehensible.  Something with the promise of nothing.  Its shifty eyes looked beyond light and into the absurdity that made sense to no one but itself.  If one were so foolish to make eye contact, they'd conclude that this was 'no fight to be fought' before going mad.  

Why, it looks like love and hunger at once.  I am the disobedient child.  I am a loyal pet.  I am a fattened cow.  

Like smoke from a fire, its spirit enshrouded the room and suffocated.  Its a mad panic.  The strongest flee first!

The party-goers trampled each other in the attempt to save their lives.   And, much more than that. Much more. 

Who locked the doors?  Why were the windows so small?

There was no question if this was a man in a costume.  It was just known by instant recognition. A re-ignition of a dormant memory from the deepest primal corner of the mind.  We had forgotten, but now remembered.  

Desperation in the prison of limited choices.

Were we ever in control?  Was the fun ever ours?  Was it ever worth it?  To be permitted to exist.