Quantum Leap I: Singularity to Matter
The primordial heat-bath,
a self-sustained void
awoke from its ancient sleep,
the unheard fuzz of dark nothingness
painted the ether with sparks and light
and the matter was conceived,
governed by the mundane laws.
a singularity, without space and time,
a moment before
was my material universe
of granites and gold,
a moment after.
a game of pure chance
a pattern carved out of sheer naught ?
or was it the universal Mind
having its first solitary thought?
Quantum Leap II: Matter to Gaia
It was the moment of death-like quiet
inconscient matter gravitated
each others for eons
and there were no patterns and shapes.
and the non-equilibrium crept in
gradient of energies
created innumerable cycles
of creation, transformation and death
and suddenly matter found
an acausal organizing science
to weave the intricate
patterns of ferns and pines
Mother Gaia was born.
And her hyper-seas of animated water
surged with unknown passion
the unborn life-force yearned to unfold
and leapt towards the fuller gestalt.
Quantum Leap III: Non-Life to Life
The primordial soup,
was the cosmic playground
the lifeless inorganic sloths
did some auto-catalytic dance
to conceive the first RNA
and other signatures of life.
and the most ancient thirst was born
with its solitary unicellular lust.
life fed on chaos and entropy
and created an orderly kingdom
of uncountable colors and shades;
was the ancient alchemy
to churn the spirit-ember
from the inconscient
slumber of material dark
Quantum-Leap IV: Instinct to Consciousness
The life was weak and the spirit, infantile
it slithered in darkness, it had no eyes
a long and arduous ladder of fulfillment
and the innumerable peaks of evolution
it had to cross
to find its spiritual terminus
and realize its birth-right to be the God.
a quantum leap, a phase-transition
from instinct to self-reflection
and a Buddha, a Christ
and a Mohammad were born.
the birth of self-awareness
is a mystery
larger than the dawn of life
and it also happened beyond
the linear axioms of science.
when you realize
you are a psychic-being,
a self-aware infinite whole
evolution regains a different value,
a different direction
and it is no longer a mere gizmo
added to your survival-kit.
here, you are not refuting
the mundane science,
your immensity has just surpassed
its ruses and rules.
Quantum-Leap V: Physics to Psycho-Physics
I did not rise from the ashes of nothing
out of pure mathematical chance
to be a self-aware conscious whole
some lucid dreams of a carbonated swamp,
I am not.
beyond the reason of science
and its linear cause-and-effect tools
I am the soul enfolded in the
first atom of gold
I am the quark,
a spirit partying on its weekend-break.
a non-linear recursion
between atoms and the archetypes
creates a matrix, psycho-physical
where spirit implicitly resides
in the matter’s heart.
Laws of soul, if there are any
can only be at their non-causal,
irreducible and supra-scientific best.
Noise is Depth Psychological
I am a Noise geek
or call me a spiritual punk if you please
beat disgusts me, and the rhythms bore me to death
a castration, some initiatory baptismal rites,
a simulacrum of murder, Music.
Bob your head, go to the club, conform
Wal-Mart aesthetics of Spotify, YouTube and I-Tunes
you have some codes in your brain,
a plastered grin and a pair of plastic boobs
culture-industry Gods celebrate the consecration parade.
I don’t like it the way music nucleates my thoughts
and makes it static, stiff and dead
like the mid-January’s Erie lake;
Be nothing, represent nothing
be beautifully indeterminate, bent
but profusely protean like the Noise;
The politics of dissonance and distortion,
is also the story of my becoming.
The vibrant void is the nothingness, that speaks
in the language of reverberating Noise ”Emptiness is form. Form is Emptiness”
the Heart-Sutra of screaming mountains,
Cagean aesthetics, noise-rock,
Buddha’s silence and Wittgenstein’s mute.
Go to the nosie-gig of Michael Gira or Lightening Bolt
and see how Structures arise
in the absence of syntax and rhythm
out of the pulsating “nothing” mist;
the Unspeakable can’t be caught in grammar
all we can do is to allow it to self-express
in emergent forms.
The fuzz of archetypal seeds
conspires the ordered structures of synchronicities
the happenings of soul, that can’t be understood
in terms of linear syntaxes of time;
Psyche and Noise, both elude the reasons
and happen in the space
of rupture-rapture inter-zones.
My “Self” is the Noise
a field of infinite possibilities
an inexact, ambiguous and fuzzy whole
and my “Ego”,
is the celebration of murder
a fabricated clarity, a sell-out
or the chart-topping Billboard’s whore.
A Sunday-Evening Kathmandu Zen
A short city
always has a long tail
and longer tales.
I realize, when
I walk through the dirt-roads
at the bank of her cataleptic rivers.
Dreams come in different colors
a ghetto ass bar,
an orphaned hume-pipe
a starry sky-scraper
or an electrical public-vehicle
that looks as if infected
Gods of quartz
live in their ornate homes
and people follow
their deadbeat routine;
they believe that Free-Will exists.
I see God everywhere
in black and white,
in roses and rust
and in machines and ghosts;
Devoid of categories,
my reality pulsates with nothing
but the sweet void
of this immediate Now.
A bird chirps outside,
and I am the sound; Don’t think.
I don’t talk much about “Love”
probably the most pimped out word
but how can you hate
when the world is nothing
but the plural continuum
of your own self?
Buddha, Wittgenstein and Cage Walked into a Bar
Space, time; a leper and a Tathagata
I asked Buddha about the endless myths
of their origin and apocalypse
and all I hear is silence
of quantum-mechanical void.
I have felt more than I have seen
and I have painted more than I have felt
the “unsayable plentitude” of Wittgenstein
bubbles just below my skin;
I shut up when I feel as full
as the pregnant python
OD’ing on an overweight croc.
“Things, we must pass over in silence “.
Often I listen to John Cage
and his 4 minutes and 33 seconds
of indivisibly-layered mesh of noise and
Call it soul and body, matter and mind,
black and white or any yin-yang whatevers
because in my psychocosm,
the anti-particles are not really antithetical.
I sometimes name things
or speak or curse or do a little poetry
in the language of vomits and coughs,
for the things that are Buddha’s unsayable
and need to be passed over in Wittgensteinian’s
Yes, “Saying the things anyway”
sort of Cagean aesthetics.
My head, most of the time
is “Buddha, Wittgenstein, and Cage
in a bar-brawl,” with a face.
Deep-Dreaming Nothingness in Google
Glitch and gravity, both
bend the space
time-warp my already
I make the Möbius strip
and a couple of more paradoxes
out of my psyche;
God must be a geometer
as Kepler has thought once.
a sonic excess of noise
or the rhizomatic fuzz
inside the root of a pepal tree;
life oozes out of
in a path
nor straight, neither curvilinear
Have you ever tried
to make nothingness
deep-dream in Google?
to get countless virtual raves,
for the laser-light
and few psychedelic
matter and mind
weave an irreducible
related and plural
undivided, yet many
The Tao of psychophysics.
All my life, I haunted
for the single truth
and ended up finding
some sleepless rivers that flow
straight from a beer-factory,
few deathless trees that refuse
not to dance for a second
and some coked-out gods
who like to party
wearing a blood-soaked skull for a cap.
I am not a sell-out
but I find no difference either.
Of Dice and Men
And Einstein said “God doesn’t play dice”
Niels Bhor curtly replied
“don’t tell God what to do”
Hawking went a bit far to say
“Not only does God play dice, but
he sometimes throws them
where they cannot be seen”
of course the stories of black-holes,
singularities and other space-time ruptures.
“God plays dice with the universe.
But they are loaded dice”
Joseph Ford said, a Chaos geek
probably the tales of non-equilibrium,
rhizome and life.
Ian Stewart, a mathematician added
“The question is not so much
whether God plays dice,
but how he plays it”
and he was referring to the order
implicit within the space
of chaos and glitch.
Bart Kosko, an information theorist
also has his say: “God’s Dices are fuzzy”;
beyond the binaries of true and false,
truth can have infinite shades
and it seamlessly permeates
a non-Aristotelian fuzzy-space.
and all these God-talks happened
decades after Nietzsche wrote
an elegy on his death;
I ordered my second cup of tea
and realized, I have not found
my innermost human yet.
Dear Old Tjikko, Sorry. We Have Lost It.
9,500 years ago
there were no dollar-bills,
central-banks or research-institutes
And no grand tales
I-phones and Internet-God.
We were not that schizoid
not to revere our soil and trees
and not to feel the whole
as our own kindred souls.
because we had not yet
invented the word, “Love”.
Now we talk and write, endlessly
about Ethics, Religion and Science
on good and bad, human-nature
climate-change and world-peace
we take pride
in our diamond blades of reason
and don’t hesitate to crucify a guy,
and God the shit out of him
so that we can kill,
and still justify.
Claude Shannon said,
the redundancy of an
ordinary English prose is 75%
and if you believe
Buddha or Wittgenstein
it may hit 100 % when
you try to express your inner self;
Take a scripture or a text
written in any language
add the subjectivism
of the readers, listeners
the additional redundancy
of the preachers , gurus
leaders, smooth-talking philosophers
scientists and commentators
and loop it for few thousand years
in the name of education, knowledge
renaissance and enlightenment
and we end up with nothing,
but the words
falsely substituted for reality.
a sorry ass book-keeping of errors;
Error of misplaced concreteness,
linearity, absoluteness, permanence
and many more; keep counting.
Ouroboros bites its own tail to death
a silkworm does time
in its own cocoon construct.
Fuck Evolution, yeah fuck it
If this is what I have become
an un-sane, insane mind
living in the Plato’s Cave
amidst the shadows
of mere ideas and words.
Mother Gaia, will you ever
forgive me and my brethrens?
because I know
there is no turning back here,
there is no second chance.
[Old Tijiko is the oldest tree recognized in Sweden,
a 9,500 years old Norwegian Spruce]
I Am Not a Dadaist but I Don’t Mind
Someday I may write a poem
its words, lines and verses
I will generate from I-Ching,
some dices randomly thrown
for an oracle
or some automated random
numbers dictating its form.
it will just stand
and stand for nothing,
like a tree
on an unheard Amazonian swath.
Mean nothing, serve nothing
or Reed’s Metal Machine Music
The value-whoring art-thing
represents, schools and philosophies
and thus misses
the plastic meaninglessness
of this immediate now.
seeing things naked,
is seeing Nothing
my truest seeing so far.
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