The next step

On this sunken soul
I stand firm, with feet of brain -
each moment sinks me down,
as I palpitate like my heartbeat.

To the land of logic, I stand, 
deciding each event of the future.
What's next: drives me, haunts me,
she pulls me or she pushes me - I'm torn.
With no flesh and no blood, still I stand,
brain engulfs me, yet I am sinking down.

Submerging into the abyss of my soul,
my brain diminishes and droops down.

But what's soul all about?

Soul is a vast grave of logico-emotions -
silence, gaze, eyes, tears, and poems.

But the question still remains,
What's the next step?
Where are you heading?
Is this a place where
a brain is no more, before it sinks down the soul,
or a brain still working but in this grave new world.

Metapoetry

 A thunderbolt of thought,
so striking yet years apart
gave me a piece to write - 
something that you might call "poetry".

A poem is what your brain is,
you can't predict, you can't describe.
The moment you describe, it slips away from you -
like the slippery something you want to say, but it slips,
or the rational thought you want to stick on, but it slips.

Each thunderbolt comes in and goes away,
you've but few seconds to see it, say it.
Why is the first fiery thought the special one?
If you really forget it, is it really the special one?

It seems like special as it excites you at glance -
the way, I met her, dated her, and got excited at glance.
After a while, as that thought get stagnant and stale,
the love gets boring and the relationships start to fail.
Is there something which is special and keeps you ON,
or the notion that to be on is to be afraid of loving all.

Loving all is to not restrict yourself to rationality,
to not be with ONE and but to be ONE with everything.
That is to be open for everything alive and around,
waiting for it to strike you and poetise you down.

Utopia

That moon or that equation,
submerged me into it,
like a a dead body sinking down -
bones, earth, bacteria, and consonance.

A consonance with the universe -
stars, galaxies, or the stardust infinite.
Are you really conscious?
Or your thought is the thought of stars.

The stars might not think but still,
they are close to other stars so they don't care - 
they act the way you can't describe,
the way you can't describe how she loves me?

She loves me the way I don't know-
her smile, her gesture is so spiral and secret.
Secret are those movements of stars,
they yearn to submerge deep into those stars.

Sumerge as in they kiss her -
make love and destroy what they truly are.
To destroy what you really are
is to love someone and to not be who you are.

Are we really someone or are we "love"?
Do we really exist outside your heart?
Imagine walking around with no heart.
Feeling nothing but knowing all,
and still knowing nothing what you feeling are.

Logico-emotional art: 1

 

Alien intelligence and human minds

A question keeps recurring again and again,
across all cultures and systems of thought:
where’s the core of consciousness in brain -
within the universe or in hands of God? 

They told me that God is the answer.
I said, no, you created it.
Okay, then science is the answer.
No, you created it.
Ah, then maths is surely the answer.
No, you created it.
“Uff, seems like I’m caught in myself -
what’s the way out of it? ”. 

Centuries of debates happened
over mind and matter,
philosophers were in trouble
when their ideas were shattered.
Until the night Turing arrived
and imagined a new dawn
of creating computations -
alien intelligence artificially spawn.

Smart move that was, now I am more keen -
How's our brain different from a machine?
What's this secret behind the scene? 

Machines are designed with rules to follow.
Humans make rules which they hardly follow.
‘Human with a machine brain’ seems like the new theorem -
where a cyborg vacillates between freedom and decorum.
Humans and machines seem like striking their chords,
transmuting into an army of cyborgs:
chips in brains, sensors in eyes,
to keep track of calories and time.

Wow! A cyborg standing on this slippery interface -
what will be more worthy for his solace -
some objective rules or his subjective space?

Looking at history of humanity it seems,
we attach value to our dreams -
Not the parcel delivered to your doorstep
but that soul-searching you begin after.
Not the person you meet on web,
but that magical real encounter. 

The world in future will have a society -
not built on our rules, but on our autonomy.
The song that you create, the painting that you make.
The pun that you quip and the laugh that we all share.
A social structure built on pillars of arts -
will set everyone equal on charts.
No new rules to make,
no old rules to break.

Though as we become more algorithmic,
your heart will strive to stay rhythmic.
Rules will feed a dead life in you,
so you'll yearn for a life in you.
There might be times of depression -
of less free will and maybe oppression.
The mantra is: to breathe and meditate,
to be able to love and to create. 

Wow! This world is so full of excitement and tension.
I guess I have found hints to my old question -
that part of my consciousness is in the machine,
and the valuable part is working behind the scene.

----

% haven't checked rhyming and poetic elements yet

% just jotted down ideas and skeleton

% yet to beautify. <3 

%strands of thoughts

AI as alien intelligence

controlling our brain

making rules for us to follow

control on ourselves is reducing

algorithmic and non-algorithmic part of brain

non-algorithmic part reducing 

value of money here

to meditate, arts etc..is what is the future economy.

To make "film" philosophically self-consistent

Medium of "film" is debated - if it qualifies as an art form or not. Those who believe it's an art, find certain conditions to be able to do so. A primary condition is to enable film as a mediative source of invoking consciousness. The visual/verbal stimuli it delivers should make the audience understand/reflect on the form it delivers and become a participant in the form which the creator of film was already a part of. There are certain easy techniques to do that, which shouldn't become the sole method of making film an art. For example, to make characters recite a poem on screen makes film a medium to access another form. To make film an art, it has to crudely invoke consciousness in your mind by finding and establishing certain putative features of itself and using them. 

Having done that, let say, now my aim is to make a film as an art form do philosophy. If I am able to achieve that in a perfect wotld, it means that philosophy and art are abridged through the medium of film. In other words, a film has its crude elements which are philosophically rich (be it the mathematical sequences of images - logical positivism etc.) and act as a guiding medium of consciousness for the viewer. In effect, film resources do all the "hard" task of philosophy and what an audience gets is the "soft" part of arts portrayed thereby. Depending on the type of philosophy, the "hard" task can be undertaken by the creator (rational) or left for viewer to interpret (open ended). For the former, there is a clear distinction between arts and philosophy, while for the latter, both things are merged together seemlessly and the question of arts and philosophy is in the minds of viewer (creator can only attempt different techniques). 

It is quite interesting to think of ways to do that. In rational sense, the best approach is to try different philosophical systems and find technical means of putting them in film. It can be done using the seqeunce of images shown in film or some other visual means which are artistic in nature.

Key ideas - Structural (minimalist) films like Serene velocity 1970. 

Citation - Plato Stanford, philosophy of film.

Solution:

1. Web cam technique is a nice methodogical-practical technique to create infinite frames sequentially. 
2. Let's shoot near the grantchester river, to aim for a infinite long distance location - keeping the stand static. 
3.  Time lapse of the whole video would be best. 5 mins step. 

Thought, grave, and entropy.

A grave once said to a thought,

 "why do you look so engrossed:

 a heart troubles a head when in misery, 

are you trying to solve some mystery?"

 The thought said in a grim tone, 

"I've power, money but I feel alone. 

My pillars of thoughts attract flocks,

 who admire it, climb it, to get flopped. 

Some still manage to reach the top,

 and they end up voracious or in doubt." 

The grave quipped with a fossil tone,

 "You were the one to call stone a throne. 

Then, everyone started running after it.

 Those who got it, they got contented. 

Others polished it hard, to glow it more.

 But very few asked the episteme of throne. 

Those who asked it, got depressed, 

and stopped this quest and fell dead." 

The thought froze on hearing this,

 awaiting to fall into this vast abyss - 

of galaxies, stars, stellar gas and clouds, 

with sign of nothing but his own thoughts. 

As grave opened its arms to embrace him, 

a sudden idea like a thunderbolt struck him, 

"What if there's something beyond you and me?" 

Grave replied as if he saw this coming, 

"To not exist is beyond all. To be nothing".

 Building up his epiphany, the thought explained, 

"A man dismantles into atoms when dead. 

These atoms exist beyond all our senses, 

this simple fact can have lots of inferences.

I'm life because I'm thought,

 but it doesn't mean life is all thought. 

A bunch of packed atoms is what is life, 

just see that mold on you, living with strife.

 For me, life is a restriction with less entropy 

than death which is a state of maximum entropy. 

Entropy is an uncertainty in our lives, 

a cycle of love and quarrel with our wives. 

More than that, a life strives to interact with a life,

 imagine a specie living light years away in disguise.

 It's not a story to sell or a publicity stunt, 

a thought chasing that signal is mankind's hunt. 

A hunt to increase entropy without going to grave, 

for the joy of elevating entropy, while alive, is all I crave."

Rough -

The thought replied with grim face," I feel like dissolving into the space.Being tired of sitting on my own tower,I want to cede all my assets and power. "The grave remarked abruptly with a mirth,"Being human, you will dissolve in this Earth.One thought created another,each thought debated another,one thought conquered another,each thought killed its mother.Cyclones made of thoughts  lionise you and blind you,yet drift you to the top of mound, **cyclones - thoughts - drift - top - mound - Sitting there aloneDark clouds of thoughtsbefool, engross, and haunt. Every thought is in illusion,every system, thus, is delusion,every word is an aversionto the mind-matter unison.Every debate dies in confusion,every mind lies in Perching on top, you adore sky,obscured from beings that fly-geese, vultures, stars, comets,who are they, what do they feel?Heavy heads bogging down the bodiesand forging a convolute reality.Minds - sick, alone, gore, and torn,  lingering to transcend into oblivion. Before the impending escape,a signal struck the landscape shouting trillion miles away"You were never alone, so were we,You are not the app ******** everyone knows stuff till this part, everything after this is going to be the future.