There is literally no way, no way I can realistically convince a simple Punjabi farmer of Avogadro’s number, and therefore I am not convinced of it myself. The good thing about a simple farmer is that he literally knows nothing on such matters, or more precisely he hasn’t started to tell himself he understands things like temperature or entropy or kinetic energy or energy, his ignorance is so pure, so complete on such matters, that it is only if I am able to explain it to him that I know I have understood it myself. But this will never happen, and therefore I shall keep telling myself I know things, when I don’t.
All this world started when God let time fall from his hands, she hasn’t returned to him since and God let out a great cry at this moment, the physicists call big bang. At her departure, God tried to woo her back, and in her wake he created the Universe, the skies, humanity, consciousness but all to no avail, unimpressed, she wouldn’t so much as turn to look back, and she continues ceaselessly her cruel feminine march forward, and God continues to make things happen in his despair at his foolish error of letting time go.
On coming to Europe I learnt a western-european dialect known as “French”. In fact it could even be argued that it is a separate language in itself, although the writing system closely resembles adjoining parts of Western Europe. Much to my surprise I learned that French, has a long history of literature, and writers from about 500 years back can be understood even today! Western Europe, as I read more and more of its history, has always struggled to find unity, and most unfortunately dragged itself into war after war, with the English ( a region to the north of the French speaking part of Europe, across the so-called “English Channel”, a waterbody separating it from “Continental Europe”) often pitting the Germans (another part of western europe to the east of the French speaking side) against the French. The continent now hopes that they will someday find unity and peace, but it remains a difficult task, because the English take their “physical separation” a little too much to heart. If you are interested in the history of this region, I suggest a local author called Jacques Bainville, who writes about its history from the antinquity to modern times.
Everything that we hate is merely a form of what we love, everything that we find ugly is merely a form what we find beautiful, everything that we don’t understand is a form of what we understand. Thus the world hates one man and loves his brother, who differ only in form, we look for substance, but even in love, we only find form and thus we suffer.
Physicists seem to confuse people by saying things like “the particle was able to cross the barrier despite having less energy owing to quantum tunnelling”. A lay man looks at that and says: “thats just not possible, that makes no sense”. A physicist doesn’t care if it doesn’t make sense, or rather his mathematical structure doesn’t care, energy is a concept, built on analogies, that fits somewhere a mathematical framework, a framework built by hit and trial, and which is susceptible to change. Then mass and energy become the same, and the lay man is at a total loss. Concepts change, philosophy can think what it will, so long as the physicist can keep calculating and predicting, with unfair almost suspicious accuracy. Whatever the mathematical structure tells you is true is true, I couldn’t tell apart a tautology and a theory if it hit me at the speed of light. Energy is just a word, a letter. Alas, Quantum tunneling doesn’t mean there is a small chance I will pass the exam if I know less than what I need to know. Energy called by any other name would have suffered profound conceptual modifications. Plus we can write books on quantum consciousness, which sell well. They are just making this shit up along the way.
A truth is simply a lie that we do not yet know yet is a lie. All truths are infact lies, this is the real truth, this too is a lie.
I blame my computer for making me forget what it was like to be bored, genuinely bored. Up until ten years back I knew what boredom was, now I only know restlessness. The machine is fundamentally different from me, because it isn’t sophisticated enough to be bored. It doesn’t understand the long routed, intuitive, stupid way in which I learn and understand things. It moves so terribly fast, it is always happy in a sickening sort of way.
Future generations will not know what boredom is, there is always something to see on the internet, a movie to watch, a tv series, an article to read, and the effects are already there to see, with metros filled with people staring at their screens, clicking photos of themselves, the poor fools. It is an incessant evasion of the self, the screen before me dematerialises me and thus allows me to escape myself.
The internet is useful, that is its biggest problem, so is the laptop, but there isn’t a thing I regret more than having my laptop. It is like a bad marriage that you stay in for the kids. I wish terribly that I could do without it, so I could go back to being bored, alas there isn’t an app for boredom.