Sunday, August 28, 2016

Stoa Naini

I ran into a fellow stoic today, after the actual (literal) run got over. It was around noon (shortly past). Both of us got talking, lingering around the official pavilion looking for our collectibles.
That I call myself a stoic is a new fact from a new discovery, the subject of stoicism - an interest in Chryssipus being the seed into a weekend's segue into some finer elements of existence. What is "existence"? I can't exactly tell, but it could be themed on what a particular breed of people, labeled the "stoics" have conjectured/argued for the past coupla millenia. That I agree to those arguments and subsequent conditioning of the psyche arising thereforth, makes me believe I could be inducted as one. And to give a fresh example, was of the one met earlier today. We got to speak little, but I believe from - my honed powers of introjection - he was a good example. Hope I'm not seeing everyone in the same image as myself.

As a stoic, information dispersal should be more liberal. Initiation ritual complete.
Here is one: one of my passwords is OguiseppeY1

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Report: A Debut Outing with Godiva

Some things happening after a long, long while
- burning a day's worth of calories
- hearing the line "we should take a break"
The latter left me with little tangible thought. The former, however, has plenty of forthright data to put out.

The abovementioned calorie-crunching event happened on a morning. I was up early, ready sans the usual drag-down that happens in the early minutes of waking, had the bike prepped for a ride (air: check, tools: check, rear and front lights: check), and beat the other anxieties of life (the rest of life is an anxiety in its entirety, tho). 'Twas the debut ride for me and Godiva since having moved up here - though she has been here earlier, in the spring of 2012, but that was a long time back.

The sun had not yet started to peek through the mountains when I set out. But the village tea shop was up and running, which reminded that I could've been out 15 minutes earlier. Regardless, pedals got into motion. I was soon too lost in the experience, to feel concerned about those 15 lost minutes. The direction taken was North, one towards Bhowali. A coupla km before Bhowali comes a fork that climbs to Nainital. My plan was to hit Nainital via this route, then come down a new shortcut. It would've totaled to around 25km, which is reasonable to start with.

The rush of being on my favorite mode of displacement in my favorite part of the world was overwhelming. A glee made its way through my heart and to my face in the first coupla km, which is a satisfying downhill from Gethia to Khupi to Murdaghat, where onwards it climbs and climbs, to Bhumiyadhar to the fork to Nainital. It felt a bit irresponsible, but the first few minutes were speed unleashed, like a madman breaking free - the wind spoke hypnotic things in my ears and I wanted to hear more. To complement the wind, was the scenery, and to add to it was the detail I could pick which was thanks to being on a bike. On no other mode of motion can one pick up as much - to see the rising sun, to study the detail in the skies, to sample either side of the road, and to sample the relief of the road itself.

The uphill started, and in a while I was rediscovering the definition of perseverance. So long had it lain dormant in the hearth of my organism that I had forgot about it altogether. But here, it was a demand, to meet the challenge of the uphill. And so it happened, that I started persevering in a tangible way - one rev after the other. Funny, that outdoors is the only place where I assent to persevering; in the regular churn of the world I fail miserably/refuse to show any such qualities that contribute professionally or academically. Bhumiyadhar came. Then came the fork. Then came Nainital. I had made it there by 0640, about an hour's time, which is okay for a debut effort of ~15kmph. I could've been cycling for hours, or so it felt.

Having clocked a decent average to reach Nainital, I felt confident to take up the challenge of the new shortcut. However, consulting an elderly and a coupla boys hanging about, I learnt that the shortcut was a foot trail, that was too steep for a bicycle. The boys suggested I take the proper road down to Jeolikote, and climb back home from there. "That'd be too much," I expressed my hesitation, being tired. "Extend your adventure today," was their reply, egging me on. Since the road to J was all downhill, and it would translate to a mere 2-3km extra uphill cycling to reach back home, I coerced.

The adventure was extended, and I was found zipping down the beautiful Naini - Jeoli road, which was once considered the best-aligned hill road. The mountain scenes of this side are much new to me, and both me and Godiva enjoyed it together. It was still early, so traffic was negligible, which translated to a fantastic experience, and some amused Langurs by the roadside.

Tragedy struck shortly ahead of Patwadangar. Something in the bike didn't feel right. And on a lonely stretch, a lound noise and hiss came from the rear end of the bike. I looked down and found the tube had unraveled. In panic I braked and came to a stop. "I'm fucked for the morning," I said to myself. This was the farthest I could be from my home. And the auto-bragging about not having carried any money seemed the most foolish decision in retrospect. "How will I do 15+km carrying her," I thought. Depression started to take over.

Luckily, the tube wasn't bust. It hadn't unraveled at all. The bike was intact.
It was the spare tube that had come out from the saddle bag, slowly over the bumpy sections of the past few kms. Popping out, it had got stuck in the chain, that had me fearing the worst (unimaginably so). Picking up the tube, I could see that the bike was in fine shape. Whew! Then, I realized that the saddle bag was missing the toolkit. Depression was back, "Allo! Ya missed me, did ya?!"

The depression didn't seem easy to get over. Debut rides shouldn't end with losses of such nature. A multi-tool, though rather inexpensive equipment (compared to other cycling hardware), is important for the cyclist; and sourcing a new one would mean a wait.
I could probably backtrack my way, UPHILL, but with little hope of finding a small piece of equipment that could've so easily skid to the rain gutter at sides (since it would have momentum when it fell), or have been picked up by a curious eye if still in the middle of the road. Regardless, I started going back, uphill, eyes searching. The Langur troupe was sure amused seeing me again. As for humans, there still weren't many out yet.

This uphill seemed doubly difficult - first, I had committed in imagination to not be doing it, already feeling tired; second, it was a persistent and steep uphill, a "real" one. The conditions reminded of an earlier bike trip in trans-himalayan region. The milestones came slowly. Patwadangar, that I just flew through on the downhill, now came after considerable toil (and time) on the uphill. One gets to evaluate a stretch of road in detail on the uphills; consequentially the (mentally held) gradient map had addition in data.

What seemed the near-impossible and near-implausible, happened, shortly before the Nainital 7km milestone. Slightly off-center on the road, was some black junk, which turned to be the multi-tool. It lay in chaos, but still in a single piece. Elation followed. Perseverance worked, and it brought a WIN moment.

Having backtracked so far, it seemed foolish to go back down to J, then take to the road up (to G). 'Twas decided to continue up, hit Nainital again, and make down via the KylaK trail. Those 7km were challenge that squeezed out the last of stamina from my organism. 5k milestone onwards, I had found a distraction from the pain, and the will to give up, in counting the revs/strokes. It takes an average of 250-300 (full) revs to cover a km when uphill (in the lowest gear like 1.1-1.3). 5k reduced to 3k, and 3k to 2k to 1k to finally reaching Tallital. The remaining ride down to G was noteworthy for its challenging downhill which made me fear for the brakes - I trust my legs to get me up more than the breaks to get me down. But, a complete return was soon achieved.
Nothing broke, nothing lost.

The fatigue of the abovementioned morning was immense. To add to it, were the rashes of all shapes and sizes nature bestowed upon me - 30 that I could find visibly, and a few more in unreachable places - which is the result of the past coupla weeks of freewheeling time in the outdoors (and its undergrowth).

Thursday, August 25, 2016

complex matings 101

Bursa Copula - nice name for an online avatar. What does it mean? "sperm digestion organ"
Reading into snail reproduction (pulmonates) and its mating strategy, has been the bizzare experience of the day. At some point in the past, I had decided to make a tee explaining their lovemaking (in Limax) , but never came around to it; and since, the information has been much forgotten, reduced to its essentials of - "snails mate funny", and "everted penis must be difficult".
It becomes difficult to converse with parents when one's head is trying to grasp the mating of gastropods.

The terrestrial gastropods are mostly simultaneous hermaphrodites (monoecious i.e. containing both reproductive parts on the same organism). Their entire reproductive system is a consuming read.
A coupla interesting features, that I got to learn about:

1. bursa copulatrix

aka the common oviduct
a depression around the genital aperture of insects which receives the male organ during copulation.
a thin fan or bell-shaped expansion of the cuticle of the tail of many male nematode worms that functions as a copulatory structure

2. The Love Dart
aka the Gypsobelum
This is a chitinous (sometimes calcerous or cartiliginous) harpoon-like structure that is formed inside the reproductive tract of gastropods. It resides in the stylophore, or the dart sac. During mating, at the epic moment when the two genital openings come into contact, the dart is fired into the other. Funny, that virgin snails will never have this structure, but it grows after the first mating - that, I think, is the most obvious sign of a nonvirgin, which sadly is a feature not present in humans.

It has a very complicated function that has mystified researchers - until now, that is. Newer research has given us an understanding that the mucus of the dart contains an allohormone (a hormone-like substance) that suppress (or mitigates) the digestive function of the Bursa Copula, and hence allows a greater amount of sperm to make its way through the tract. Why do they need more sperm they can handle at a time, because this sperm can be stored for a long time (in the spermathecae), and used for fertilization later on.
If a snail can fire this successfully, the reproductive outcome is highly favored. If not, the other party has the risk of internal damage, even leading to death!

The mating dance is also an interesting read.

The genital pore (from which comes out the entire reproductive paraphernalia during reproduction) of snails is positioned on the right side of the body, very close to the head. A mating ritual has the snails stimulating regions close to each other's heads, to draw out the genital apparatus (which is a white globby mass).

Most species have a single dart, while some of the Urocyclidae family have upto 70!

In a nutshell

Yawn Yawp

Just earlier today, the topic of "yawning" came up, fawning over a friend's newborn. I had assumed that we yawn when our body needs more oxygen, for all the process running. She had agreed.

However, by the end of the day, I stumbled into a short BBC story ("Horses yawn a lot, and probably not because they are tired"), on why horses yawned so often. I didn't know that horses were proliferous yawners. It was observed that among horses, the adult males yawned more often than females or juveniles. They (researchers) concluded the following:
A horse's yawn could be triggered by testosterone, excitement, and on occasion social stress.
I associate meself with those situations. I feel like a horse now.
Stallion, indeed! 

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Tee for a Friend's Bachelors

imagine their pain
and mock it well

Koi Mil Gaya

कोई मिल गया
मेरा दिल गया
क्या बताऊँ यारों
मैं तो हिल गया

Lines 2, 3 had already been realized; and that's when I found him - I'd already given my heart and told (some) friends. But Lines 4, 1 happened today.. when I found out that we shared a great fact (or facticity, rather), that I had been feeling an isolation about, and only recently been in a conversation about.
Terrence Mitchell "Terry" Riley (/ˈrli/; born June 24, 1935) is an American composer and performing musician[2][3] associated with the minimalist school of Western classical music, of which he was a pioneer. His work is deeply influenced by both jazz and Indian classical music.
 So fecund, this guy's psyche perceives itself right now. T+50.

Indian Hot Shorts

only scratched the surface here.. much more indigenous perv lurks. have had a resurgent interest due to recent experiences - not as myself, but as the objectified gender. seems like we have all taboos addressed and somebody patient enough will find their kink, in the comfortable expanse of youtube.
wow, and how, to endorse the indian psyche!

कमसिन सेकेट्री और BOSS

बदचलन बेटी मजबूर बाप


सेक्सी चाची की चासनी

INDIAN सेक्सी हाउसवाइफ

रात भाभी का बिस्तर गिला हो गया

मदहोश किरायेदारनी

बीबी का नाजायज़ रिस्ता

गर्लफ्रेंड सेक्सी सबिता

16 की उम्र में जिस्म की चाहत || Bazaroo Aurat

जिस्म की भूख

Akeli Bhabhi Dewar Romance

सेक्सी मालकिन का गरम समान

नौकरानी की प्यास बुझा दी

Tailor Master Ka

 गावं वाली लड़की के साथ रोमान्स

Hot नेपाली भाभी

सेक्स के शौकीन HOT BHABHI ##Jism Ke Shikar

प्रेमी ने प्रेग्नेंट करके छोड़ दिया

फिल्म डायरेक्टर और हीरोइन के सम्बन्ध

16 साल की सेक्सी लड़की को AIDS हो गया


भाभी ने ननद को करते हुए पकड़ा

Balatkari Pandit

हट सबज़ वल क टग उठल

अनध हवस हवस क पयस लड़क

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Stumbled into some great music

Das ist meine neue idea fur eine playlist

Battiti del 12/08/2016

TERRY RILEY, Music For The Gift (feat. CHET BAKER), da "Music For The Gift"- Elision Fields EF105

TERRY RILEY, Poppy Nogood And The Phantom Band, da "A Rainbow In Curved Air" – CBS 64564

NATURAL INFORMATION SOCIETY & BITCHIN BAJAS, Anemometer, da "Automaginary" – Drag City DC626

THIRD EAR BAND, Ghetto Raga, da "Alchemy" – Harvest SHVL 756

AKTUALA, Alef's Dance, da "Aktuala" – Bla Bla BBL 11054

DON CHERRY & THE NEW ETERNAL RHYTHM ORCHESTRA, Humus – The Life Exploring Force, da "Actions" – Intuition INT 3606-2

CODONA (DON CHERRY/NANA VASCONCELOS/COLLIN WALCOTT), Travel By Night, da “Codona3” in "The Codona Trilogy" – Ecm 2033-35 176 7420

BROTHER AH, Boundless Rhythm, da "Move Over Onward" – Ikef Records Ikef 04

BROTHER AH, Celestial Strings, da "Move Over Onward" – Ikef Records Ikef 04

WILLIAM PARKER, Morning Mantra, da "Double Sunrise Over Neptune" – Aum Fidelity AUM047

WILLIAM PARKER/HAMID DRAKE, Black Cherry, da "First Communion+Piercing The Veil" – Aum Fidelity AUM039/40

HU VIBRATIONAL, Red Ochre Cowrie, da "Universal Mother" – Soul Jazz Records SJR CD 139

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Asking N he low f lue ight ee he creen s ellow

Basking in the glow of blue light, I see the screen as yellow, and wile my time away logging the dull experience. The day is coming close to a close, so the agency strikes in random directions, running against walls like a moth, to settle on something random, like this. Crowing to the demons to send another bone to fetch to lengths of feeling guilty about the distraction and serious over-indulgence that sent the previous distraction to a buried past - who remembers the past, after all. We are each moment of reaching out into the future, not the past. The past is there inside us, and acts in funny ways, while we act in the present to unearth a new future, from the ashes of the past.

The day was spent staring into a screen, the evening staring through a screen, and the night is back with staring into a screen (into text). No sharp instruments for the day, enough was done over the past coupla days, and let the cuts heal. No effects towards nature or photography either, apart from querying while online, that led to more knowledge, that today went nowhere. The day was slow and cramped, as the clouds closed the valleys and fog hugged the slopes and peered into homes, to later turn into a hour of smashing thunder accompanied with heavy showers. It was in the latter phase of the day that I got to stare through the windshield for a coupla hours, on roads and things that populate it - pedestrians, cars, buses, dogs, cattle, dirt mounds, boulders, and micro-roadkill. Things rolled on fine, and the staring through screen phase got over without any offences towards mankind.

The day staring into a screen was mainly about studies. Infinite amount of studies that await, is getting tended to. It is hard to survive on the hope of struggle, but it goes on. As to the content, t'was something divergent from present ambitions of a masters degree, but interesting shit nonetheless. The benefits of viewing the individual in terms of multiple intelligences (MI, as against IQ, which is the dominant "measure" of an individual's capabilities in much of today's world and has been so since the post-WWII era) is now more evident to me.

Reading on "Intrapersonal Intelligence", the following line gave some analytical food for thought.
Injury to lower area of frontal lobes likely to produce irritability or euphoria
I deduce that I suffer from some frontal lobe injury - most likely high altitude to blame, or that head injury that happened once as a teenager in cricket days. I show both the symptoms (though not sure if that is supposed to be the case). But I wish we had an app to do that i.e. study one's brain matter. Quick-fMRI or Quick-CT or Quick-SPECT instrument builtin (or available as modular mobility picks up).

½ intelligences await. Wait for it...

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Quill Pen mania

It was on the "table" (or tab-cosmos) since last week. Finally, I got to consume it, and thereafter digest it and expel something derived - from als (ich bist das) was ich isst - which is logged here.

Shakespeare, Newton and meself had something in common this afternoon.
I got to write (literally) much like they did in their times, a few hundred years back - the process, that is, not the content. The three of us have now experienced writing with the same instrument. For the former two, the instrument would be the default instrument of writing; for the latter, the instrument happened out of curiosity arising in an anti-zeitgeist phase of life. Though its use felt laborious, the Quill Pen is gonna linger in my project lists.

It was easier to execute than to have learnt about. The learning that happened went beyond the foundational/historical perspective, and into its design. Thereafter, a real quill pen happened, fashioned from an Eagle/Kite flight feather (one among the lot I collected through roaming Punjab). Then another one, fashioned from a porcupine quill (thanks, Hystrix Indica, for being out there in nearby forests). Then knol gain on making glue-based inks that are effective with such pens (regular pens aka fountain pens clog up with these old world inks), something that would be put into practice later. The bigger the bird, the more fancy the pen that could be fashioned. Ostriches and Peacocks quills already exist.

Here are a coupla useful blogs which will seem as tedious, but are an easy read

The above image is that of a Sea Pen, which - I Guess - got its name from the original instrument, quill pens for its obvious reason of visual similarity.
Sea Pens are diverse and delicate underwater animals, and as their name suggests, they can look like old style writing pens. They have hard, internal skeletons, and few of them can even glow in the dark, which is how some colorful Sea Pens decorate the Ocean floor (see pictures in Image Gallery).

Thursday, August 04, 2016

A collection of moments/quotes from Sans Soleil

Recently saw an indulgent movie, indulgent for the navel-gazers like me.
Sans Soleil, 1983, by Chris Marker [wiki, imdb]
[did you know there are Emus in Haldwani]

A solution to change the present, through the medium of iconography
if the images of the present don't changechange the images of the past

Expressing the falsities and inadequacies of the image
portable and compact form of an inaccessible reality

How love can't be imagined without illusions

If to love without illusions is still to love, I can say that I loved it

To dissent and to fail, is not failure
All they won in their understanding of the world could've been only won only through struggle.

How the mind can adapt (its knowledge) towards any mode of action
... they studied capitalism so thoroughly to fight itthat now they provide it with its best executives

A movement is not without personal goals
... the movement had its posturers and careerists - of matrydom
On the students who fought and massacared in the name of (their) revolution
they "trembled with indignation every time an injustice is committed in the world"
[original, by Che Guevara] "If you tremble with indignation at every injustice, then you are a comrade of mine."
Leading towards a life, vs leading a life

They are life, to be eaten on the spot, like fresh donuts.Its a very simple secret. the old try to hide it, and not all the young know it.

On a dance-cult, that does public performances as a means of cleansing or understanding
For the Takenoko, 20 is the age of retirement.They want people to look at them but don't seem to notice that they do.

Personal development through a movement or revolution, as learnt from the Guinea-Bissau coup

We'll see that beneath this ceremony of promotions,seemingly perpetuating the brotherhood of the struggle,there lay a pit of post-victory bitterness,
and that Nino's tears expressed not an ex-warrior's emotionbut the wounded pride of a heroslighted at not being raised high enough above the rest.Beneath each of these faces lies a memory,and where there was to be one collective memory,there are a thousand memories of men who parade their personal woundsin the great wound of history.


On finally understanding Mussorgsky's compositions

Its meaning has been lost, but for the first time, he glimpsed the presence of that thinghe didn't understand,which had to do with unhappiness and memory,which he must grasp at all cost,and toward which, slowly, heavily, he began to walk.

The entire text.

Visually unappealing fauna

There's a society that champions the ugly! That's right, the uglies that we don't empathize with, and won't dole out large amounts of cash towards conservation efforts for. They sit at the other end of the list of "Charismatic Animals".. and someone setup a Ugly Animal Preservation Society (official) in their concern.

Their tagline:
We can't all be Pandas
The following animals were deemed the ugliest, hence championed, all across the UK
- the Blobfish (adopted as their mascot)
- the Promachoteuthis sulcus (squid, that doesn't even have a common name - poor thing)

These are the fauna which don't fit in with our anthropo-centric / neoteny-philic view of the world, and get labeled "ugly" - in a world of skin-deep beauty. But they have some amazing structural features, and unique adaptations, and have gone longer being on this planet (hence being a more fitter of species) than us humans.

In the fields of Nabha in Punjab...

Recently I had a moment, with a fellow mann - a woman, - a moment and a memory which felt connected to / guided by passage from a movie, that has been held in my quick access stores since having watched it. Meeting the gaze of a local in the villages of the nation was a special moment, more so to understand how - despite the tags we attach to those who aren't us - people grow up with a similar/shared understanding of human nature and with an idea of their own immortality, to show us that either they are us, or we are them, or both of us are the same.
In the marketplaces of Bissau and Cape Verde, I again encountered those egalitarian stares.
and this sequence of glances that bordered on seduction.

I see her.
She sees me.
She knows that I see her.
She glances my way,
but furtively, as if I'm not really the object of her gaze.
Finally, the direct gaze
lasting 1/24th of a second,
the length of a film frame.

All women have a built-in kernel of indestructibility,
and men's task has always been to keep them from realizing it (or to make them realize it as late as possible) for as long as possible. 
-- Sans Soleil 

Wednesday, August 03, 2016

Story of My Life

Hindsight bias, also known as the knew-it-all-along effect or creeping determinism, is the inclination, after an event has occurred, to see the event as having been predictable, despite there having been little or no objective basis for predicting it. It is a multifaceted phenomenon that can affect different stages of designs, processes, contexts, and situations. Hindsight bias may cause memory distortion, where the recollection and reconstruction of content can lead to false theoretical outcomes.
 I have had creeping determinism retrospectively affect my understanding of events in the past.

- Exams: only if i had started earlier
- Jobs: knew this was gonna happen
- Relationships: only if i had said that

Besides enjoying the recollection of a moment, this makes me hate meself for various reasons over various events. It has made me lose subjectivity for the past, in light of the new objective information which I didn't have back then. The bias most often rears in situations where we are left unhappy/violated/failed, because we feel a guilt for what is not right in our life, so the mind goes back to the time right before, and tries to figure how it could've led to it, then deduces the "knew it all along", and feels bad for its organism. The winners never look back like this.

It is, however, difficult to act despite having all the information about a forthcoming event. Human-human dynamics is simpler, but human-social or social-social dynamics is largely unpredictable (yet). To say "oh I should've seen that he was gonna try stab me" is genuine, but to say "oh I should've seen the mob taking over" is bogus.

This Summer has Kind of Been a Real Pain in the Ass

"All men will be sailors, until the sea shall free them." - Suzanne

Repeating motif of my days has been of being in the ocean. A lot of perturbances, a few calm days, lots of days of reaching nowhere, lots of days of reaching somewhere. The seafaring vessel has been kept seaworthy, but there are the occasional packets of chips which poke holes in its organism.

Most recently, I was reminded of the "ocean metaphor" through a discourse on spiritual foundation. No religions, that I ascribe to, but still did manage to get hold of some insider 'wisdom' while I was literally inside a spiritual bastion. The above para was a reflection on that. We are the vessels that steer through rough waters without sinking only if we take care of our mental and moral wellbeing, they say - in one context.
They have - in another context - also used the ocean as a metaphor for humanity, and water droplets (so infinitesimally tiny by themselves) that make up the ocean as us.

The Theory of Mind reflected in the discourse gives some food for thought. The discourse ensures that a false-belief situation is eliminated, by pushing a lot of worldview on its readers, so that no information asymmetry remains - everybody assumes everybody else changes their outlook to/by what "the Word" says. A Polly-Anne test should be interesting here - to see if those who advertise a cosmic consciousness will understand the world around them as 3- year old would (the normally-developed individuals pass this test beyond that age).