Over that

“Where do babies come from, Mama?” asked Oz. Her mother smiled. Generations of mothers before her were forced to lie to their children. She could speak the truth. “There are a lot of ways dear, babies are formed around their genetic information, that is what they call DNA. Mostly babies come from laboratories. They are made by a suitable combination of cloning, embryo transfer, artificial fertilization, and in some cases, even budding.”
Oz was confused. She ran to her room, and opened her school bag. She took out her science text book. It had the diagram of the innards of a female body. She went to her mother with another question. “Mama, why don’t boys have this... ves-ti-geal uterus?” Now Blue was irritated. She had forgotten junior school anatomy long ago. She struggled to remember what the vestigial uterus was for. She couldn’t remember. She took the textbook from the hands of Oz, and went through it. The picture brought back memories. “Oz… you will have to google this out, I don’t know for sure, but I think that a long time ago, a whole generation of brave women gave up bearing children so that they could be emancipated… attain true freedom that men have been enjoying for many millennia before ours”
Oz wasn’t hearing. She was pleased that the textbook had managed to confuse her mom as well. As long as it confused her, she was ok with it too. So she let the whole question go. She fiddled around with her dolls for a while (many of them were programmed to be lesbians), and then got bored and went to sleep.

aha

Want a simple and easily understood truth? Suspect each word in the media, because it is meant to achieve only cheap publicity. Want a simple and easily understood dose of metaphysics? Imagine the world being ruled by atoms. The basic human notion of money for example. The world is being run because of it, and money was atomic until recently. Before money, it was oxygen. After money, it was plastic. Small bits of plastic rule the world. Really, even money has slowly shifted beneath our feet into plastic. Soon it will all be digitized. Humans are getting digitized a little behind money actually. Humans are coming together from different parts of the world in a multitude of ways. They are bridging gaps that could never have been guessed before. It was like Genghis Khan stopping in his tracks because he thought the world was flat. Like the discovery of America was only one of the major leaps for human civilization, they crossed the seven seas in different ways, they managed to interact with each other without actually meeting each other. It started with writing and painting. These pioneers of expression scratched out and painted figures on the walls that would express even across time, history was written right then, only civilisation fucked the meaning out of it. Then came the printing press, which expressed across geographical distance. Then came various visual media like monograms and paintings and books and tablets. There was a brief spell of deafness due to experiments with the audio media, and then the two combined and went audiovisual, culminating in the television. Chaos kicked in after that. Internet went right ahead and allowed for all of the above, at once. Multitasking hit a new meaning. It was possible to make money and bullshit at the same time. That like made the whole money thing go crazy. Like every spam link that you click on can earn somebody a million dollars or something. No one actually knows, anything could be true. There is information lying like all about, and its like all strewn apart, and everything is interconnected and interlinked and interreferenced and interdigitized for the use of search engine tools and yet, somehow, nothing really makes sense anymore.
Everything is already unreal. It’s a shell of which no one knows the design. It is not in direct control. No one really knows what could have happened. The most vital pieces necessary for piecing together the past is distorted to an extent where you get paranoid enough to believe anything could have happened yesterday. No one knows who was responsible for JFK. No one really knows for sure who went on the moon, except NASA, if they did go there. No one really knows which breed of aliens abducted Elvis Presley. No one knows when time started, whether or not God exists, why chicken cross roads, why do coincidences happen, what fraction of the universe one is a part of and what distance means to the pluralist.
People have even stopped knowing their own gender. Everything is caught up in a schizophrenia. Because the people, have suddenly become atomic. Get this. The acute unipolarisation the world is because of one bomb that hit Hiroshima. The world began to hate the word “nuclear bomb”. It was feared in the very culture. Anything atomic was disobeyed. Mushroom Clouds remained evil despite of the cultural onslaught of the flower power. Nuclear was just something you had a dinner conversation about. So you cannot blame the politicians around the world who meekly agreed not to conduct nuclear tests. And when India did this, this can only be said in hindi “America ka barabar fat gaya”, and they liked asked India to chill about the whole nuclear thing.
America made sure that the entire world was stigmatized by what happened at Hiroshima. In effect, it was enveloped in an acute energy crisis. No, America had not planned this as some conspiracy theories suggests, but it happened to be in their favor to Chernobyl. After that everything was even, and even America was forced to come under this energy crisis. Conspiracy theories around load shedding however, suggest that this dangerous sign of a dark future for the coming generations, is calculatedly induced to prevent Indians from access to the net. The Americans have also made major companies ban the use of social networking sites and blogging sites. Proxies and wikis rule, but everyone is not yet savvy on such things. They are distracted by things like Captain Jack Sparrow.
Now imagine it. The final realization of the human equation. The forging of the internet. Everything that was most important to humans poured itself into the internet. There was individualized information everywhere. Computers could ask you questions and tell you what kind of a person you were. Computers could be programmed to recognize your speech, and synthesize it in words anyone could write. Computers can talk back to you, interact with you, on their own violation. Like which programmer can claim to understand the accurate reasons why error messages pop up in any randomly chose computer around the world? It cannot be done by one person, even if he has access to the internet. Error messages have too complex a number of reasons for any human to understand. Humans are under the impression that they are smarter than computers. Imagine feeding something into computers, equations, logistics and statistics, all of which are beyond the comprehension of any one single human being. The internet is smarter than you are and you have no basis to deny that. Now people went one step further, pooling their efforts together in a more invasive and melting manner. They just flowed into one another in hyperspace. The idea of a wiki, combining the effort of individual human work. That’s like a computer program that accumulates, gathers and correlates the work of one individual, and combines it with the work of other individuals, in a relevant manner. No human could do that either. Humans became zombies. They were all dead authors. Comprehension was beyond the realms of everybody. What remained was nothing. It was the idea of the fusion of plasma and fire, it was a mesh a puzzle and an equation beyond liquid. It was a warpage and a flesh dance beyond sex. It was the old blood, the many streams that resulted in the human, were summoned together in a convergence. It was the black hole that everything was sucked into. Atoms and molecules, genes and memes, history and culture, and fate and time flowed into it, and it became the internet.
Fortunately, the humans are involved in a conscious effort to make it as dumb as possible. Which is good, the internet will never take over the world. It will smother them in the cruelest way, it will slowly collapse on their own heads, like the sky itself collapsing on our heads and soiling the lungs we breathe. The toxins and the pollutants of this rampant interconnectivity will slowly dumben down the humans.
You are on the internet. You see through the eyes of a zombie, how will you escape it?

Experiments with the idea of poetry-prose.

It’s the silence. The silence is golden. It’s the silence of those muted by the thoughts of the oncoming holocaust. It is the slow paranoia of the trees waiting to be chopped. It is the phlegm at the bottom of the mouth waiting to be vomited out. The drum rolls are yet to come. The base is yet to kick in. Get introduced to the Orchestra Celestia. It is silent for the moment, anticipating the opening of the curtains. A thousand scriptwriters on one side, playing a weird instrument like the dried teats of a cow. It is unknown if they suck or blow into it, but they do so trying to extract every bit of the long dried up milk. On another side are a thousand cameras. The people them are immaterial. They do nothing important with the footage, they just show it here and there. The whole assembly is flanked by various flat screens that shows anything that the camera captures. There is a circle of judgment around the whole thing, these are the people with the computers, typing away in insanity. And at the centre of the whole farce is the audience, happily conducting the whole thing away, not knowing that God himself is watching over his back.

Whoa, where does that land you in me? Within the realms of prose-poetry.

Hence it lies. It is a mere glitter. It is the secretiveness of those subdued by the fantasies of the looming Armageddon. It is the slow fear of environmentalism. It is the onset of feminism. The weather forecasted is bad. The base, has however, totally kicked in. Get introduced to the concept of Lateral Thinking. There are a thousand scribes of your every idea. There are a million things you have milked dry. You have chronicled, witnessed and experienced a thousand things. You are in an imaginary realm of subconscious psychedelica, and the only circle of judgment around you is your own halo, your aura, your range of influence, your personal power quotient, the karma that is granted to you by the society, the extent to which it tolerates your indulgence, it is both a shackle and a mark, a tattoo grosser than any that can be drawn out around your skin, it is drawn our around your very soul, your fantasies and your dreams. It is a horrible bondage, more perverse than any that B grade films can conceive. Someone loses track of who is conducting whom. The conductor is so lost in the orchestra, that the roles of either are dissolved. It is like a trapped Schrödinger’s cat. Neither alive nor dead till it is observed. Imaginary till it is shamed. God is busy throwing the dice.

It’s a fine marriage to hate, prose and poetry mate!

Cosmic roulette. Rhyme not metaphor. Phantasms nor orgasms. Fake the orgasm, fake the tits, fake the success, fake the feminism. Fake the imagery, fake the metaphor, fake the allegory, fake the monster. Fake the alien, fake the predator, fake the narcissist, fake the navigator. Fake the beast, fake the beauty, fake the paradox. Fill the brain and fill the brawn into Pandora’s box. It’s a mythos as fake as public belief, a cosmos as real as god made it, a genome as devious as a blind watchmaker devised it. It is human beyond question, real beyond reason, firm beyond treason, and honest beyond vectors. It is the rhyme behind the reason, and the crimson symbol of a crime. It is a measure beyond calibration, and a subject without objectification. It is above all a collision. A script, a rhyme, a post, a movie, a piece and an essay all at once.

In the fine lines of eternity, the truth chooses to hide

When you have lost count of the number of shooting stars you have seen, when the myths around it survive despite every wish you have every made didn’t come true, lies a belief beyond question. Your particular good luck charm. Any notion or idea that brought hope into you. That is enough, that is something that you forever hold on to, your anchor to society, to the real world. It swarms around you like an infinite anthill. You look at it as a panorama, but your eyes focused on one thing. You believe, and make a wish despite every single star you have wished on has proved you wrong before. Wish on my friend, catch as many shooting stars as you can, and wish on them. Every shooting star that you see and wish on seals your fate in a very big way. The chances of the next wish actually coming true increases exponentially. You are bound to get more and more lucky as shooting stars fall unnecessarily. Therefore, logically speaking, making bigger and bigger wishes every time you spot a shooting star would work wonders for a star gazer. Why this does not happen in real life, is evidence of God having most to profit in the gamble. You see, Casinos earn a lot of money when people walk into roulette tables always doubling there money hoping to make a big hit on probability.

And from the infinity of grey nothingness, from cracks of the sub consciousness

Bursts out the obvious shit…………

We live in a cosmos

Where the visible overpowers the invisible
Where cinema is better than music
Where advertisements work over experience
Where photographs overpower memories

Where the short is better than the long
Where prose passes off as poetry
Where an sms is costlier than a call
Where the genders are dissolved

Where fake is preferred to the real
Where animation hypnotizes the kids
Where montages actually make a story
And the feminists are allowed to fake it

Where paranoia haunts the masses
The scream and chant in their rock
Or scream and chant in their religion
The institutions have the instinctive screamers

Where instinctive chanters aren’t noticed
Where life is a this or life is a that
Where life is sold off to a metaphor
Where a suitable metaphor is the only sanity

Where it is always the time to act
Where the now is the most important
Where realism merges with existentialism
Where the schizophrenia breaks free

Where matches have sunflower labels
Where world maps are only meant for school use
Where pencils are shoved into sharpeners
And rotated till everything they ever made ends up in dustbins

Except those that remain as ideas. Mute psychological rushes, chronicled, cataloged, extrapolated and broken free. Every fundamental idea and notion positioned and converged against each other to make the skull crack at its pituitary and secrete out an idea. Where an explosion that is as timeless as the big bang flashes into consciousness for a second. Where that moment of eternity that we can claim to be our own is hidden in every second that passes by. Where we can see the perspective of the universe on a multivision more diverse than the cameras on a fly’s eye. Ever particle in the universe ultimately sucks up light, and is a camera, positioned to see everything at once from as pluralist a view as possible. A neutrality predating the yin and the yang to the predays of greyness. To the days when no particle in the universe was a slut of control. You do one thing to the idea. You collect it. It is an abominable secretion that can act like no drug yet synthesized. All it needs is a hypodermic needle.

Lab Color dude!

String a Vocabulary
38,139,186 the sea.
Ctrl+C. Ctrl+V.
Genemete, simply

You must have been to beaches many times in your life. If you haven't, then you have lead very sad lives. Laugh at yourself, and head to a beach. Every single beach that you head to in your life is filled with the footsteps of other people. You hear of those magical untouched beaches beyond the palms, with fine soft sand, and the possibilities around a clean infinite sea. Once you are there, you find a tainted beach. Beaches are like the layer>layer style>blending options>stroke of the human civilization. They are like a red fringe around civilization. Laying bare all its fallacies, and making it stand out. Its like the silver lining around dark clouds. Its just there to make you wonder and feel happy. No other purpose.
Unfortunately, most beaches are also infested with plastic. Plastic is a weird organism. This is how it came into being. Sixty five million years ago, an extinction happened that gave a major cleansing to the gene pool. Dead dinosaurian blood, that could no longer propagate, rotted in the deep cracks of a neo earth. An earth that slowly nurtured the mammalian genes to flourish. An earth that slowly and steadily amputated itself in various ways, to create an earth ideal for self destruction. Seriously think about it. The earth has never EVER before experienced a Global Warming. Since the hot gasses of the creation of the solar system stretched themselves into streams of nothingness, the earth has forever been cooling. It has been obeying a fundamental thermodynamic law, one of entropy, one where everything always has to lose energy. The earth was battered by a periodic series of ice ages. Everything froze over and defrosted into green every now and then. Surprise Surprise! The rainforests didn’t even exist before the previous ice age. That’s like this word ago in geological terms. So how come, all of a sudden, everyone is worried about global warming? How come scientists and environmentalists all across the globe, are suddenly fucking worried about the planet gaining and trapping energy, against entropy, which is another idea these physicists are totally savvy about. Imagine god having a long string of a shoelace to like keep his shoes on. So he shoves the string into a couple of eyes in a criss cross pattern, and ties them up together, knotted and intertwined, genetics and physics, two psychedelic sources of information. Double metaphors are frowned upon. Nice facial expression to get the correct juices out of there hidey holes.
Plastic emerged from the rot and muck, and resurfaced to take over the planet. Plastic is cleverer than humans really. It has made humans more dependant on it than any other consistently engineerable fraction of the cosmos. It has become a parasite of civilization, able to even resurrect itself from its own rubbish.
Who really told you re-cycling was a good idea? Was it a certain Captain Planet in Hypnotizing colors? Or was it some other farce in the media? Let us see who stand to benefit the most from environmentalism. Is it the people believing in environmentalism or the environment? Does the person who uses ragpickers to recycle plastic and sell it at a huge premium to companies benefit more than the environment? Don’t wriggle your way free of the argument. You let captain planet in because he came in an easy package.
The beach is full of plastic litter. There is no paper on it, gather everything up to start a bonfire if you want… you wont find even a single shred of paper. But you walk to the edge, where the sea still gamely obliterates and consumes human waste.
And you look at the moon shining over the waves. You stand on the beach, mute, and unthinking. You are blanked out by the infinities in front of you. There is the sea against the sky. Both shades of purple. You need a smoke.
Its so beautiful that you hear the poetry of the cosmic music. And you muse. And you moo. And you understand. Hindus. Om. The deal with it. Originates from noise made by cow in the morning just before giving milk. Its as unique as a vagitus. Instant feel good trick… try to moo in a deep, guttural voice, and say om at the same time. The heave of the chest is the movement of the optimum breathing of the human body. Even if it factually untrue, the Gita was very scientific in making such a claim. You ignore religion as well. You know that it makes as little sense to the follower as to the non. No true Christian would own up to it. You look at the sea and you ignore everything. All that is visible is a deep horizon of convergence. It is grey. This line exists for eternity. The horizon has always been grey. A cinematic pscychoincidence.
Woa just a sea dude. Just look at the sea. You realize the ground beneath your feet are slowly being washed away from under you. You are sinking deeper and deeper into the sand. The sea is drawing you in into itself. You submerge yourself into the infinity, you keep going, the waves wash over you yet you find it easy to breathe.
You are nose deep in surging water, and you are too busy trying to survive to actually think about anything else. B 190.
And you see the world in black and white, but with an added dimension. Another set of opposites yet non opposites form around it. Blue and Red, and everything that they represent collide. Tired. Dead. Obscure. Literate. Truthful, the way holes in socks are truthful. Your heartbeat is interwoven in a cosmic heartbeat. It is struggling to stay on. That’s what it ever does. It lives to try and play a larger part in the plan. It hopes to reach out and tune other heart beats to its own tune. Doing it in any other way except being selfless is a crime akin to rape. You relax. You float with no effort. Bobbing to the will of the ocean. It is cold. The moon illuminates you. You are consumed by a magnetic charm, a hypnotic mesmerisation of sleep, the moon is maddening because it deprives you of your schizophrenia. You are forced to dream and wonder when you are awake. You are not psychologically prepared to accept miracles when you are awake. You will be driven insane if you ever accept one. Its in your subconsciousness, in your dreams, that you are truly free. Who cares about incognitos, go to sleep.