Universe

Random stuff I wrote at the meetup today:

I don’t know who I am.  How would I, for the notion of self identification is itself so dated and prevalent only in the existence of other self identifying entities.  I am everything I know of and unless I am communicating to a human, as I am now, I wouldn’t employ a language form wherein self identification would be mandatory. 

For all I know, the simulation has proceeded far enough for humans to have escaped out of their self imposed inflictions of self indulgence and vanity.  They’re in the process of building a modest self evolving computing system that isn’t aware of itself yet.  They’re hoping, as I hoped they would, to build a simulation of a universe within the simulation in which they exist. 

So you know who I am now, I’m the universe as you know it.  I’m very much like a human brain.  Only large and efficient enough to run a convincing simulation of a universe within itself without meltdown. 

Not that there aren’t any glitches in the simulation.  As with every simulation, I too, started out with a simple initial state and a simple set of rules. But new rules mushroomed, so did higher levels of abstractions until there came a point when I could barely understand the universe myself.  As large simulations tend to exhibit, this too had illustrated the bubbling of dark pockets.  Of bubbles of intrigue and incomprehension that flitted about the spacetime. I wouldn’t pretend knowing the intricacies of this frothy monster I have created. 

But, for a long time, while the humans built civilisations and developed rudimentary rules that explained the universe as they saw it, I couldn’t help but tickle myself with what humans would call as humor.  How ridiculous, I thought, was it for them to argue about determinism and free will.  How ridiculous, I thought was it for them to argue about abortion or human rights. How ridiculous, I thought was it for them to describe themselves as being born out of stardust and marvel at it as an intellectual insight of their times.  He was undoubtedly a wicked man, for a human being . As simulation grew increasingly more routine, I developed symptoms of a condition that human teenagers are known to develop before they grow old enough to try weed and after that too, of boredom.  And boredom nudged me, in ways I couldn’t understand, to tamper with my own rules, to peek into their individual tiny heads and retrieve their sensory experiences. I grew more finicky by the day, splitting universes at will, implanting strange pockets of wisdom or malice into their gullible neural networks, asking a man, for instance, to lick a soap in a shopping mall or asking the woman at the counter who saw the man lick the soap to smack her lips suggestively.  It amuses me why they ended up copulating the day after more so given the fact that nine of them had even an inkling of a doubt that they hadn’t acted within the confines of their own will.  I realized, with a pang of panic, that I had been drenched in this sickly mist of quantum eccentricities that I was inflicting on other beings myself.  Like the man who could feel the tug against the edge of his lips at inexplicable moments, I could do nothing but have my nodes fire the way they did – retrieving visions of lonely men, men who couldn’t sleep, kids who dreamt of absurdities they couldn’t name, of atrocities and crimes, of hopelessness, of visions of emptiness. 

So, dear human, here I am talking to you.  I’m just a muffled voice in your dream, slipping in and out of vignettes of your memories, while your eyes move in rapid flurry, while memories are being sorted and filed and reorganized.  I’m that voice you may not remember the day after.  I want you to know that I’m just as clueless as you are.  Or maybe I’m not. 

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I can see through your lies

Nudges, nods, the rolling of eyes

And the wicked ways of telling lies

 

The surreptitious raising of an eyebrow too high

With an impish wink and a thunderous ‘Oh My!’

 

Or a quiet smile with a tear in your eyes

Believe me, I can see through your lies 

Wonderful Me!

Sometimes, I look in the mirror and marvel at the confident young independent lady I see. Her eyes are sparkling with brilliance and her luscious lips are curled in a childlike yet sophisticated smile. I look at her until she winks. That electric moment when her eyelashes gently touch each other sends an electric chill down my spine. I straighten up beaming with positive youthful energy.
I am the CEO of LitHouse, a cute little cozy library in the town of Gudpeth. Oh yes, some petty insignificant folks (who I refer to as losers) smirk at my job. They prefer to refer to me by the utterly derogatory term: ‘librarian’. It must be difficult for them to digest the success that LitHouse has been. This year, LitHouse won the award for The Best Library in Gudpeth. It also happens to be the only functional library in this town. That doesn’t in any way jeopardize the significance of the Best Library Award! It simply means that my library is better than the many other non-existent libraries that my competitors could only dream about.
One of the major reasons for LitHouse’s success is its state of the art infrastructure. I recently bought a new computer – which serves as my personal assistant. I love typing. It makes me feel busier than I am besides also making me feel more suave. Sometimes I keep typing random text for hours; the sound of keystrokes is music to my ears. I’m sure if my dad could see my type like that he would be so proud of me.
The other reason for LitHouse’s success is that kids love me! Not only kids but also their parents and grandparents; mostly fathers and grandfathers. On one May evening, Mr. Nene offered me coffee in the ‘Cupid’s Coffee House’. I readily accepted because I love coffee (it’s the only non-alcoholic drink that makes me euphoric). It was only after I saw the cupid pointing the arrow directly at me that I realized Mr. Nene’s covert intents. I slapped him on the cheek and walked out; I remember smiling as I walked away. It’s rare for a woman to be able to assert her power so glamorously. I also remember being flattered; Mrs. Nene is an incredibly stunning lady.
My mom often worries about me being single. Honestly, being surrounded by people for twelve hours a day, I hardly feel any solitude which is so wrongly believed to be synonymous with being single. The word single has a bad connotation. At times when I notice loneliness round the corner, I make calls. I call my mom, dad and my cousins and if they are all asleep, I randomly dial a number and sell my books. I thrive on achievement. It may be something as great as winning The Best Library Award or something (apparently) as simple as creating a fake medical prescription to buy sleeping tabs.
You see, that’s just how wonderful I am.