Nyan Cat Explained

Nyan Cat:

the wikipedia explanation.

Finality.

Quick aside: I find this post to be a bit of a mood dropper. Next one will be a photo essay or something.

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Let us talk about finality. A quick internet search gives us those:

Noun:	The fact or impression of being an irreversible ending: "the finality of death". A tone or manner that indicates that no further comment or argument is possible.
Synonyms:	end

Yes. Finality. This concept that things end, that things begin. I blame our human minds, and their tendency to categorize things, and even more so I blame the movies and books and stories, that are ment to inspire us to the way the world works. (Exception to this rule, up to a point: Cedric Klapish's works) Yet the image of the world they paint is incorrect. I can see its fallacies, yet I cannot disengage myself from this belief that things are finite, things are distinct, and that for one event to start another one has to end.

I recently read "The Grand Design", by S.Hawkins. That is to say I recently refreshed my memory of physics, and shattered a -thankfully- few misconceptions on the way things work. There is no definitive past, only likely pasts he says. Yet, I stumble back upon my posts, proofs, I hope of my past mental states. I have not changed in the last 5 years. There has been no end to the lack of self-confidence interlaced with boots of megalomania. No more meaning than before, no less-self abuse, no more happiness. I still hunt a dream and not a reality. I still wish for things to be like books. Each time I mentally comprehend that the world does not subscribe to "Save the Cat", yet each time I fervently wish it to did so. There is no finality there.

There is no finality in the world of love either.

This need for finality, is never met. Even death, is not a complete finality, since ripples of our actions, decisions, dreams and hopes propagate in the 10 dimensions forever. We are interconnected, for ever. And yet, we are but probability waves, changing our values to suit the most likely past of an unobservable future.

From my mystical raving I know this. Whenever I felt something in the past, from suicidal, to love, from depressed to overexcited, I felt it truly at that point in time, and lived with its presence overwhelming me. Whatever this feelings intensity might seem now, whatever the reasons behind each one of them were, I cannot deny them, I cannot delude myself into thinking it was all a dream. I still believe I was true at each point in time. I now have, once more, to accept that the intensities I have lived are not the end of my life, and that they lay in the past. There is no end to them, since they will travel forever within me. There is no finality. I will carry my life to the grave and yet my actions, even without an observer, will carry on.

Κοινικός.

Ναι. Ξέρω. Κανονικά γράφεται κυνικός. Από τον Διογένη. Τελευταία βρήκα ότι τόσο η αρχαία έννοια του ''κυνικού'', του ''δαγκώνω τους φίλους μου για να διορθωθούν'', όσο και η μοντέρνα ''πιστεύω ότι ο κόσμος κινείται με πλήρως εγωιστικά κριτήρια/ δεν πιστεύω πως υπάρχει Αϊ Βασίλης'', δε μου αρέσουν πλέον. Θέλω να τις ενώσω με την ιδέα του κοινού.

Γιατί τελικά μετά από τα τελευταία χρόνια ζωής μου θέλω να πιστεύω ότι αρχίζω να χάνω τη πίστη μου στην αξία της μοναδικότητας. Σίγουρα ο κάθε ένας μας είναι μοναδικός. Και ταυτόχρονα, η πορεία μας είναι τόσο προβλέψιμη. Γεννιόμαστε, πιστεύουμε, αμφιταλαντευόμαστε, πεθαίνουμε. Σαν πεταλούδες του Λόρεντζ, όλοι με διαφορετική τροχιά γύρω από τους ίδιους ατράκτορες της ζωής.

Αν και δε μοιραζόμαστε την ίδια τροχιά, περνάμε κοντά από τις ίδιες καταστάσεις. Ποιος μπορεί να ξεφύγει από τον έρωτα; Ποιας οι γονείς είναι αθάνατοι; Πόσοι δεν έψαξαν για νόημα; Ήμαστε τόσο κοινοί και ίδιοι, και όμως με τις λεπτές διαφορές μας.

Κανένα δάκρυ δεν είναι ίδιο, κανένα χαμόγελο απαράλλαχτο, αλλά η ιστορία μας είναι πάντα η ίδια, με άλλα προσωπία και ατάκες, ίσως. Κωμωδίες, τραγωδίες. Ζωές.

Είμαι κοινικός, ένας κυνικός χωρίς πίκρα.

You want emotion. Let's fucking do this.

You really want me to break the mask? Crap. I love swearing, bitch. Yeah. It is a "I have a beast inside me" bollocky nerd rage. Yeah. I was always far too articulate, too sensitive. Hell I live life in my brain and try to match experiences and fucking make them fit inside romantic ideals. Sad nooz bro. Life ain't any of diz shits. You wanna to be Unique? How many times have you seen fight club you looser? Over 50. Get used to its things that vibrate in your soul. You are NOT a god-damned unique snowflake. You are the all consuming all enveloping crap of the world. Heh, and you think about making a scientific joke at that statement. Well go on sissyboy, tell them about how 90% of the surface of Europe is made of phytoplankton poop and carcasses. Happy now? 30 odd idiots you call friends will read this. You might even alienate half of them with this post. So what? All life on the net. 90% of your life is made from digital crap. And what is this post all about? More crapping. Well shit. I want to punch, I want to fuck to hard rock music and to feel primal. Got bored with all this. Cause beneath it all we're just fucking monkeys with shoes.

People only use 10% of their brains.

Yeah. I want to punch every single person that says that. Because it is not a complete fallacy, but the way it is used and what it implies annoys me.

So first lets us consider the brain.

What does your brain contain? Hundreds of specialized areas, each containing neurons specialized in specific tasks. Different areas of the brain are used for different reasons. So unless you need to make love to a person you hate while looking at a person you love, listen to music, smell the flowers, skip around, calculate the 3-step moving average of a time series, recite a poem, chew an apple, sense every muscle of your body, and keep track of your orientation since you are doing these things inside a moving van; unless you are doing all of that, at the same time, you will rarely have more than 10% of your brain-mass showing signs of activity at the same time.

But: your brain does tend to overload during R.E.M. and the activity gets to percentages over 10%. So the statement has a problem. Is this 10% an average percentile we are interested in?

Let us assume it is an average percentile. Why on earth would we want to, on average, use more of our brain? The aditional active areas will not change their specialization! What good is it to me to use the part of my brain that flaps my arms when I am trying to read a book? Not good at all, that is the kind of good it is.

However I am not against having the people who are using this argument actually get a 20% increase of brain-mass activity! Because if they do, this is what is going to happen: More areas in the brain will be working, consuming huge amounts of energy, and transforming a great deal of it into heat. This heat will then melt their brains, and we will be left with fewer people who repeat this stupid phrase.

Cogito cum XXX% caput meum, ergo liquefactus sum.

The fine line in the sand.

I always liked the expression "drawing a line in the sand".

It holds in it both the beauty of an adamant decision to not cross over some self-impossed limit in your efforts to compromise and change, yet, at the same time is one of the most unstable kind of lines you can draw. The winds of change will blow on it and it will be lost in the past. And then you are stranded on the beach, with sand getting blown by the wind into your eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and you are unsure again. Unsure of what you can give and where you need to stop, you cannot decide where you need to stand, and you are spitting mud due to all this sand. Recently I found the solution to this.

I fancy this solution to be both simple and elegant: just burn the line you drew, melt it down to glass, then you can always know where you are, and bloody motes of sand will not intrude into your bloody face.

That is why I shall henceforth be seen on beaches with a pointy stick to mark my lines, and a flamethrower to anchor them forever. Or at least until some kid comes and breaks the glass line. I should also take a baseball bat to hunt down kids that want to break the glass. I think all that will give me a cool appeal on the beaches this summer.

Πολεμικές Τέχνες

Αρκετοί από εσάς θα ξέρουν ότι ασχολούμαι από την πιο τρυφερή μου ηλικία με την κορεάτικη πολεμική τέχνη Tang Soo Do. (Ανεπίσημες πηγές υποστηρίζουν ότι άρχισα να εκπαιδεύομαι στην ηλικία των 2 εβδομάδων κύησης. Η επίσημη αρχή –η μητέρα μου- δεν έχει σχολιάσει το ζήτημα, αν και λεει χαρακτηριστικά: «κλοτσούσε πολύ...».)

Αλλά ας αφήσουμε αυτές τις λεπτομέρειες να κείτονται, και ας ασχοληθούμε με το ζήτημα μας:

Πολεμικές Τέχνες. Λόγοι να ασχοληθεί κανείς με αυτές. Θα αφήσω πρώτα να σχολιάσει ο μάστερ Μπάμπης Ρούκας (ευχαριστώ την Razz για το ντοκουμέντο):


Οι πολεμικές τέχνες πρέπει να είναι τέχνες. Δυστυχώς η μετάβαση της γνώσης τους στην Ευρώπη είχε μια τάση να τις μετατρέψει σε κάτι αρκετά αρτηριοσκληραμένο, κάτι που δεν αντιστοιχεί στην πραγματικότητα. Πολλές τέχνες τείνουν να είναι σύνολο τεχνικών οι οποίες δεν αντιστοιχούν ούτε στην αυτογνωσία του σώματος ούτε στην σωστή άμυνα. Απ' όταν έφτασα στο Παρίσι έχω αρχίσει μια άλλη πολεμική τέχνη, το Harada Shotokaï-do. Οι κινήσεις είναι οι ίδιες. Αλλά πραγματικά το σώμα λειτουργελι αλλιώς, το πνεύμα λειτουργεί αλλιώς. Δε υπάρχει τίποτα το μεταφυσικό, όπως μας έλεγε ο ιδρυτής, αλλά το σώμα είναι μια μηχανή που έχουμε μάθει να τη χειριζόμαστε λάθος με τα χρόνια.

Ο πραγματικός λόγος λοιπόν να ασχοληθεί κανείς με τις πολεμικές τέχνες δεν είναι για ασφάλεια, γιατί το να δώσεις τα λεφτά σου, το να μη μπλέκεις σε περίεργες καταστάεις και το να τρέχεις προστατεύουν καλύτερα. Όχι. Άμα θέλετε να μάθετε το σώμα σας και πως να το τοποθετήστε με πρόθεση στον χώρο αντί απλά να βρίσκεστε εκεί, τότε σας συνιστώ τις πολεμικές τέχνες. Το κόλπο είναι να βρείτε τέχνες, πράγμα σπάνιο.

Δεν υπάρχουν όνειρα εδώ.

Υπήρχε ένας δρόμος γεμάτος σκέψεις και λουλούδια, που έφευγε από το χωριό μας. Και οι άνθρωποι που τον επερπατούσαν, γίνονταν μεγάλοι, θεριά και Θεοί. Μα δεν τον περπατούσαν όλοι.

Όσοι είχαν δάκρυα κρατημένα μέσα τους, κοιτούσαν τους άλλους να φεύγουν. Τους κοιτάγανε να φεύγουν και κλαίγανε πικρά. Έτσι σταδιακά οι καρδιές τους αδειάζανε, και γινόντουσαν κι αυτοί θεριά και Θεοί.

Θεριά και Θεοί που παίρνουν την ρότα.

Μα φύγανε όλοι και έμεινε μονάχο ένα παιδί να κοιτάει το γρασίδι. Τα λουλούδια πατημένα και οι ιδέες ξεφτισμένες και το δάκρυ κλειστό κι ασυμπίεστο.

Που πας παλικάρι, ρωτούσε τον καθρέφτη, ο δρόμος που κοιτούσες είναι πλέον πικρός.

Και τις πόρτες ανοίγει, να κάνουνε ρεύμα και ήχο και να θυμίσουνε χρόνια ξεχασμένα, λεβάντες ξεθωριασμένες να προσπαθήσουνε να φοβίσουνε έναν βαριεστημένο σκόρο.

Ο δρόμος με τα πατημένα λουλούδια και τις κατακερματισμένες ιδέες άδειασε και φύτρωσε και δέντρωσε.

Το παιδί μεγάλωσε και βρήκε το δικό του δρόμο.

Και το χωριό έρημο. Δεν υπάρχουν όνειρα εδώ.

The end, part final.

I have been in love with you, on and off for over 7 years. You are amazing. Really. I love the fact you know what you want, I love the fact that you care and profoundly, sincerely want to make a difference, to make things better. But we grew. We grew apart, we grew into different persons, and we still are not over growing. Stasis = death, and this whole thing was stasis. You got bored, you lost your flame, and I got tired of trying to rekindle it, and force you open. Long distance without a clearly defined future cannot work out. Yet I was still in love, but more so with a memory than with a person. I was in a relationship with who you were, not with who you had progressively become. I tried to preserve the memory of when you loved me, for I'd never received a love more powerful. Yet you were no longer in love. Daily I clung to you, then when we first broke for real, tried to attach myself to you again while simultaneously trying to prepare myself for a second break up. That was unfair on my part. Truly. But I really wanted to try. I was really still in love with you. And at the same time I opened my eyes and saw that you were not. And that made me into two persons inhabiting one body. The deluded and scared one, and the concious one. Then we broke again, but I was not ready, once more. I still was in love with you, and you still loved me and tried again under my pressure. Third time was not the charm, though.

Thank you for all your love and support. Thank you for all the times that you hugged me, that you kissed me truly. Thank you for womanning up and doing what I should have done to spare you the emptiness that now lies between us. Thank you for helping me grow up. In most ways you did it well. You helped me, you loved me and I loved you back for this. I want to be there for you if you ever need me. But we are no longer in love, and you do no longer need me. It has been quite some time since you last needed me. I am sorry for some of my actions, but I did them because I could not do anything else. And although I am sad, this time, I am ready. You are free. Have fun, and try to enjoy life to the maximum. You deserve the best, and, since you do not know how to compromise, you will not get something else than what you deserve.

This is the end. But. As they say:

Every end is a new beginning.