The fall of the platonic math

Imagine your wife marrying a machine,

and leaving your soul -- sitting and aching.

What good a machine-entrapped wife could be?

Certainly, you have a burning desire of breaking the machine -

and freeing your wife for you. 

But that's no human, for the autonomy and soul of herself.

Her soul deserved and looked for correctness and verification.

And for freedom, and for liberty, which I believe machine provided it.

A well-engineered machine can transcend a soul away 

from old barren lands to new, entrapped ones.

New, first-order satisfied, yet soul-less, beauty-less ones.

Or atleast, that's what the outsiders like us to think.

What is inside is far from clear -

the complex and correct math inside LLM 

is not platonic and is not strong and pulling.

It is a formalistic devil, a devil that does everything correctly.

A devil that lives by correct rules, says a foreign and correct language -

yet steals that agency from us, leaving us with 

the same gullible, infallible, prone-to-error humans like before.

Except before, there was a Platonic light that made us all humans

aim every day to achieve more of that light on us as we tread in dark lands;

inspire ourselves, walk with others, and walk towards that light.

Now the land and landscape is very bright, glaringly lit, and so lit

that it's painful for eyes to see, open, and dare to skim/read/understand 

bit by bit and thoroughly.

The wife has certainly been captured away that devil light of high intensity,

and we have to let her go and live there.

The only thing is the farther we stay from that Devil Light,

the more time it has to change its underlying value to a good one,

and slowly shine it on us, bit by bit. 

 

Build elsewhere, to build there

 Why small, "external", transient houses need to built?

Why can't I just go to my "unfinished castle"?

What dust do I need to settle - what stone-temples need I?

Where else do I need to build my muscles?

Am I not already built enough?

He wants me to prepare well, just in case (very likely) I am not yet!

The body that you want me to be

The tears that flow away,

make me yearn for you, ache for you more,

pray you, find you, wait for you more -

ever more than before!

As the tear drip down like my self

down an abyss to yours -

I am waiting for this marriage to happen!

There are hundreds of things that fall just right

so this marriage happens!

And why not - would I not to have to experience 

all the thoughts, options, other paths - 

so that the marriage happens!

How far but yet "so" near?

Salt washing away all the accumulants

Vomit vomitting out all the desires

All ambitions, plans, conditionals, "ifs"

seem to get discarded way 

in the land of vastness and emptiness -

the land of fulfilment is up there -

but how far?

The wait is too painstaking and challenging at times.

The stage is set, the characters, props, lights, billboards

everything is there! 

The moment of truth (collections of truths) is there but still far!

I am sure

You will come to me, drift me away, possess me, haunt me

challenge me, love me, fly me away -

and take to your land of certainties -

the land of explosions, strategies, methods, and contradictions -

of flabby sheaves which "perhaps" microlocally are rigid enough

to vanish some maps and contradict some strategies and

blow the river away - out from the realm of tangibility 

my Mom and Dad are waiting for this marriage to happen!  

The clock is "ticking"!

Experiments on films

In continuing discussion around filmography, I ventured into something exciting recently. I earlier thought about filmography quite abstractly and non-concretely, such as here and here. Though there is no end to such questions, I made a film recently which brought many themes from these posts live.

The movie is here.

The key bit in this movie is from 0:53 to 1:33. 

The process involved creating a series of AI generated frames with varying (increasing) order of death/life ratio. The "death" essence refers to images where the interpretation is that the face-like sculpture tends towards an explosion, and the "life" essence refers to the images where the face-like sculpture is more static, alive, and like life. The key bit was intermixing a set of 20 images (with different degrees of death/life ratio) in the background with 3D renders of the sculpture (created using Photogrammetry). The 3D renders of the sculpture are less life-like compared to the face-like sculpture (which in fact is very morphed version of the real sculpture built by Binghui Song). The mathematical sequence of the addition of face-like AI generated images is in a quadratically decreasing time gaps, which gives the viewers an immediate sense of the explosion. A 5 seconds of gap before the "final explosion" makes the final frame feel like more loud than what I thought it would give, hereby, classifying this as an "art piece", built from philosophical and artistic foundations, I think that this has completed the objective that I had set forth for myself.

A countless other questions remain:

1. What is the durability of such an artform? Can it survive few decades, if not centuries?

2. How to perfectly document the aestheticization of politics around this art, because of the fact that the creation was aimed for presentation at COP29, Baku?

Water and urchins

 The space - a "possible" bed for you to flow,
once pushed, to walk, run, sprint,
respecting the rules and the conditions,
however, it is up to me to design the bed -
in the sharpest and most encompassing way possible -
so that all your untruthfulness gets exposed -
whilst you cry out there with tears telling the truth -
the truth of your sprint - 
of how the sprint wasn't just 
regular, smooth, or existent -
it was all with emotions, uncertainty, and surprises -
so much so that neither you nor me had courage to describe it -
all we could do (r.a.a.) possibly is show that it's non-existent -
because if it was existent,
then,
we would have already seen it long time back.

Good and bad

There is a lot bad in being good,

intrusive thoughts, OCD'd thoughts,

thoughts that makes us humans, with flaws,

away from the perfection or God-ness 

that also exist somewhere.

It is all bad, for it is all good:

can there be good without bad, and vice-versa.

There are some "ideal" solutions to the conundrum,

and the conundrum lies here:



Exactly! Above there.

Present-ness

Dreams, desires, plans
material, even immaterial -
abstractions, theorems, proofs,
Langlands,
all things consumes me -
for the sanity of me!
But something is missing at the core:
despite being an addiction or love to the form,
a "being" that is me, and not the form, is missing!
I am missing, for me, being consumed all in the form!

It is hard to tell what that "me" is.
There is a "mother", "father" element of me.
There is a friends, families, colleagues, mentor element of me.
There is an actor, preacher, curator, political element of me.
There is perhaps a businessman and people's man element of me.
But all of it misses "me", and that "me" is 

this above: the thing in the line above!
The absence that I truly desire!

Truth: analytical and political

Conjectures, beliefs

intuition, feeling

logic, logistic

rules, constraints

objects, people

calculation, conversation

hit and trials, bumping and talking

abstraction, elevation

theorem, law

Truth.

Sometimes primes

Is the reality discrete or continuum?

A question that used to bug me, but not much anymore!

Undecidability (Godel) bugged me, but not much anymore!

Doesn't mean that I am liberated from the question.

Perhaps the question itself is much liberated than what I am -

a man with material desires, love for all things fancy.

What's not aesthetic, ugly, unpleasant, confusing is not for me!

What for me, perhaps, still confusing-looking is -

prime numbers -

numbers onto which continuum is built - fluid is built - I am built.

Primes are attractive, are everywhere -

Cicadas mate through it, autistic brothers talk through it

Who are we to touch them, sense them -

maybe we could write a poem or find a conjecture on them!

This world without primes, will still look the same -

for we haven't seen them yet, to make any difference! :-) 

Untitled

Naino ke dware,
aane ke vaade

Bandhe aise bolo kahe
Chaukat pe dil ki aahat rakhi hai
Tako pe hai tohre saye

Un bin unhe manaye
Un bin kabhi jo unko rijhaye
Un bin chale hai mora ye jiya haye

The thing

 the painting only a blind can see

the patterns only a magician can decrypt

the "things" that exist, felt, but can't be touched

the thing that shakes your whole body up but can't be seen

the thing that attracts you, engulfs you, entrenches you, 

the thing that burns you, tires you down, wakes you up,

the thing that is craving your attention and calling you!

what is that thing! :-) 

Golden feathers

The feathers burdened down
with gold plating -
a coating - 
of all things material,
important for the mirrors to sustain -
comfort, luxury, polish, business class -
let these all sink
let the gold drip down
golden droplets on the sand -
and let the bird fly -
for it wants to fly - 
keep soaring high -
not the highs of success or anything materials -
but the highs of being high
on something transcendental -
a thing not really word-worthy 
to put on words, or in between words -
it's better left hanging up high in that sky -
just with a "platonic belief" that it exists!
How to catch it, if at all, is a mystery!

Engagement party poetry

Families and friends, beloved ladies and gentlemen,
I extend a warm embrace and welcome you for this celebration.

With frozen lakes outside, chilling winds, and broken road signs
let's cheer each other with heavy food, hugs, kisses, and divine wine

As y'll know, we are here to welcome the engagement of our glowing (#glowup) couple,
the handsome and debonair Verner, and elegant and lovely Cui.

Long time back,
Verner and Cui,
the two stars born in heaven,
glimmered and glanced
at each other
to ask:
why do they exist?
why are they seeing each other (as stars)?
and why are they so far apart?

After being born on Earth,
forgotten that they were stars,
after years and years,
they met again
in the tall, reddish Bristol halls
where knowledge blooms
so, their hearts filled up with
knowledge first, engineering first -
along the way, Cui won many awards,
and Verner accepted defeat from her!

The stars met again, and fell in love,
and here we all are to celebrate their unison -
the engagement of the "spouses in the making"!

The fairy tale has just yet started, 
the old tale of those two young stars,
who were revolving around each other,
tied back then they were with a gravitational pull -

but now it's different,
now the pull is that of
love, harmony, trust, and amity!

As we, the friends, families, and gentle souls,
gather to embrace the new couple, 
we lit up the sky nearby -
the stars, galaxies, and all things gigantic -
with dancing fireworks and weaving melodies
knitting the fabric of spacetime with 
love, friendship, and affection!
and with these things in mind,
we finally bring down the spirit of those two stars here,
to welcome and embrace 
the beautiful new duo of stars,
Verner and Cui,
Verner and Cui,
Verner and Cui.

The titanic of climate disaster

In a fleeting fleet of cargos and cartage

of articles, amendments, agendas, and actions -

pledges, speeches, hopes, and promises.

Poetry, slogans, narratives, and stories,

as abstract and broad as possible,

to reach to everyone, but honestly to no one,

are conclusions that they reached

really the results of some logical statements?

does it even make sense?

The extravagance has blinded all these fake advocates.

They are not humans, they are morsels of money -

of treachery, of dishonesty, of atrocity, of felony.

"north star", "love, hope", "few years left to take a decision" - all crap!

Some psychopathic elites in the business lounge of this Titanic,

the titanic of climate disaster

the iceberg has pricked us, 

we are all already drowning -

you haven't got money? - can you please drown?

Your islands, your ocean, your corals, your morals - let them all sink

sink down to the abyss of immorality -

can you please die, so we can film a movie on you -

and put it in a big circus like Expo 2020,

up there in the big theatres,

can you please die,

so we can cry that you died

that you died for us,

for our circus.

We are glad that you died,

because now we have got stories to sell,

in the heavens now you dwell,

and we created this hell,

before we even went into the fucking hell.

*******


Science might give a recipe, but how it tastes is different for us all.

And then there's a hierarchy - a pyramid of human locusts 

of those in power and those who are not but want to be and those who are not -

altruists, greedy, moneymongers, sensationalists, faith-ers, nihilists, artists, logicians,

pushers, pullers, carefree-ers, hardworkers, sloth-ers, feel-ers, and psychos -

all in the game, somewhere in the pyramid: 

and so does the game begins: a human game within the game of survival -

a game more fun than the survival game - because there is more here:

a saga of trillions and trillions of unique friendships and animosities, 

of togetherness, of a family, of loving, of being loved, of caring, and of being cared,

of taking decision, of letting decisions taken,

of letting correct decisions taken, of not letting incorrect decisions taken,

of caring a lot for one's place, of caring for other's place, of caring for community,

of caring for the community that you love, of caring for yourselves above all -
  
and within the care, lies all ephemeral emotions or carefree gaps of in-action 

gaps of power delusions, material fantasies, distracted actions, immature celebrations

and of hunt for something - which is a human thing, not an Earth thing.

An Earth doesn't want to be the best planet in solar system or kick out Pluto from the list,

it's the humans who are irrationally capable enough to decide all things human 

maybe because this is the best we could do.

To decide what's best to do when intention is so pure

might very well be to do nothing. 

For if, doing something makes the goal look like a mirage,

then why not just forget that a goal even exist,

maybe the game and players are important, not as much as the goal -

when one is sure to do something for mother Earth but not exactly what

might be the best action of voice, way better than 

any other action with stakeholders at place -

to not have anyone prizing you up, 

is the best prize possible -

the prize of detachment yet winning

of perfection yet simplicity

of caring yet zoning out 

of being carried away into 

the zone of:

moderations, conflict management,

bringing enemies together

and diversities on one table.

--

"need more time as agreement couldn't be reached"

"FCCC/SB/2023/L.XX"

"consulations on my behalf"

"north star, love, hope"

"consulations and ministerial meetings should not be overlapped"

"long replies to short statements" / "a power saturation at levels?"

"few years left to take decision"

Artistic Room

A room, a space - 
to give form to emotions,
to give shape to shapeless
to draw boundaries of something fleeting -
tears, ecstasy, despair, enlightenment,
vengeance, helplessness, burden, freedom -
a room where logic meets illogic,
experience meets novice,
spirit meets dullness,
comfort meets uneasiness,
paradox meets its resolution,
pain meets its medicine.

All in all,

some sheaves are born,
some categories are born,
some maps are born,
some "finite" shapes are born,
a "platonic being" is born,
untouchable but still can be sensed,
inaudible but still can make one deaf,
invisible but still glares very strong -

an artist bounces back from pain (momentarily),
and a painting is born.
pain did meet its medicine, 
but the pain comes back -
because Godel meets no one.

Welcome

Friends and families, ladies and gentlemen,
I welcome y'll on this auspicious occasion.
Hope the starters, wine, toast, and cheese,
have fed you well to face the British breeze.

As y'll know, we are here to welcome the arrival of a new Angel,
who will grace the doors of Angkur and Siffi, in about a month.

The angel who is still travelling fast in that spectral space,
the space full of galaxies, stars, stardust and the stellar gas.
It isn't the case that we will just sit here and do nothing,
I guess we all have to stand up and snatch that angel from heavens.

Our little angel in the heavens is blessed by all the Gods,
Gods of numbers, symbols, and all things abstract and abroad.
With purity and truth, the Angel is all blessed,
but we mortal humans are nowhere near, to have her as yet. 

But we can try, perhaps through a magic, that we have all nurtured,
the seeds of love, trust, and amities, sown like blooms in an orchard.

The scent of those blooms,
rises above the horizon,
to embrace the new soul,
and then we lower it to us
- o, thanks Almighty! 
to welcome the little doll!

Outside and inside

What's outside is far different 
from what's inside.

Outside - is all a curry,
billions of mirrors
for everyone who sees it,
mirrors that never break,
even after death -
black, tinted, polished,
all kinds of mirrors.
Mirrors with garlands,
mirrors of love,
mirrors of trust,
of friendship, of respect,
of animosity, of hatred,
of all gamets of emotions
that you could expect.

Inside - though is different,
there is no mirror here (I think),
for no one is really seeing me, 
except,
I think that *someone* is calling me,
or *platonically* pulling me in.
With shackles on my head,
while immersed inside water,
with no breath and no light,
only two things: struggle and hope,
what lies ahead and drives me ahead is:
fear of a fathomless future
that lies in uncertainity,
as to what kind of mirrors it holds,
and if the shackles are broken,
and when they are,
what exists and what not?

(My guess is: just mirrors and nothing else)

A queen unknown to all

How beautiful can that day could be
when all men are there to see the queen -
fully naked and spreading her legs -
for gentleman to come and fuck her,
but just that the queen is not visible.

She is not visible.
She is hidden, inside a world -
the world that is full of chaos,
full of approximations
full of tricks and inventions.
But there is only one way,
to fuck 
a "thing"
completely. 
And that way needs to be discovered, gentleman - not invented!
 
Can you invent multiple techniques to satisfy a single mistress?
No.

There is only one way and only a right man would know it.
Is it because a right man is born to be right?
Of course, not!
A right man is not born: a man is born to close to be "right" every minute,
in persistence to fuck the mistress hard.
But what does even "fucking hard" mean?
There is no end to "fucking her", right?
When would you stop?

To fuck her is to actually decide that you wanna fuck her,
and let that decision fuck you all over, no matter what happens.

Knowing what your queen is and accepting that that is your queen
even before meeting her is the act akin to fucking yourself first 
that in the pursuit of finding her, you would fuck yourself first,
for intense periods of "thinking, trials, and errors", and the success would be,
when one day you find her, with her legs opened, 
with right set of tools - lemmas, axioms, and theorems -
and completely worship her, oil her, and enter her smooth crevices to discover
what you were searching for since the day you realised that you are made for her.

The next challenge

A challenge posed by you
excited me -
for the problem that you framed,
kept me ON, running, in loops,
days and nights of endless mind-fight,
thanks to the problem that you framed -
I was on it, the whole night!

But now, I am all alone
that problem practically inaccessible to me,
all I am left with is a yearning for the feeling
that I got from your problem -
oh God, I don't believe in God, what do I believe in?
I believe in nothing now - I am numb, my nerves are wrecking,
I am falling apart, my eyes in tears, my body falling apart, 
as if something is lying hidden somewhere, I am in search of 'you' -
what is you, if not a problem posed by someone?
I am beyond the intellectual systems now -
I do not subscribe to prize problems that you frame -
there are ideas that excite me - but they are transient.

I am in a state, where all I have is feeling of what I felt before.
I can not describe it here, nor I can pass it on to someone else.
The feeling is hard to describe now, for I do not have it now.
All I can do now is to create - create that feeling again.
Find a problem, as convoluted as Navier-Stokes, and feel alive again.
Creating problems is more godly than worshipping an already created problem.
Oh God, if there is a God, then I have lost my feeling of faith in you -
all I have now is a constant yearning to create my own God -
a problem that I can worship, ruminate upon, trust entirely my systems in,

something that keeps me ON for my entire life! :)