Monday, December 20, 2004
The Magic - It never stops
All was silent except for the lorries roaring down Poonamallee High Road. The creature in the lotus position seemed oblivious to them. He was meditating deeply, trying desperately to breach the forbidden walls of the eighth psycho-temporal dimension. They would not open, not matter how hard he tried.
His mind swept over the psychic and temporal axes at a scorching pace, the right hemisphere on the former and the left on the latter, searching for a discontinuity. Nothing. The supra-dimensional axial equations were perfect and the workmanship flawless. He tried probing the spatial axes. But unlike the other 95 and 1/2 psycho-temporal dimensions that individually enveloped the multiverse, the eighth one was exclusive to one universe - the most elusive and exalted of them all. Spatial gateways did not exist. His synapses delved into the deepest sumps of nervous energy in the quest for a solution.
The creature smiled. He would just transform the axes.
The conics collapsed. The differential equations fell. Dimensional lines of force warped. Current dimension – 34. 32. 27. 23. 19. 18. 12. 9. And the cosmic lock to the eight psycho-temporal dimension was opened.
He staggered in disbelief.
Where once were great mines and unrivalled smithies, which gave birth to everything, nothing but unadulterated darkness prevailed. Gone were the roaring furnaces and the shimmering lights of those who had constructed the multiverse. Gone was the deep forest that had once girdled and guarded the spring of life. Gone were the proud hills and the shy valleys. Gone was everything that the eighth psycho-temporal dimension ever stood for. Across the 95 and ½ occurrences of the multiverse and the 96 and 1/2 occurrences of that exalted universe, there had been only one place to claim sanctuary. And it did not exist anymore.
There was something he wanted to see.
He moved towards the centre of gravity. All that remained there was the stump of a sacred tree, withered and dead. There was only a brief flicker in his eyes. Out came the sword. He hacked away at the stump with the frenzy of a madman till he succeeded in cutting off a large portion.
He headed for the carpentry shop R3. The tools were rusted and decayed. He turned to the furnace W2. Its fires had long been extinguished. He laughed hysterically. He cut half of the wood he had and carved it out with his sword. It was a perfect design. With the other half, he re-lit that ancient forge. He thrust a broken ladle filled with magnetite into it. And he drew the hot metal pouring out into wires and pellets. He bit the wires into size and smashed the pellets into shape by chewing on them.
He was there for long, in front of the fire, floating in nothingness. His blade was broken. As were a few more things. His eyes blazed as he looked around, He mated wood and metal in a mad burst of passion till the act was complete. And it was born.
He picked it up with quivering hands. Somewhere deep inside, a path of least resistance was established between the creature and the newborn. High voltage current flowed through his fingers, The newborn cried out, its voice resonating across those fabled walls, ripping through dimensional corridors. The creature never stopped till the once-holy ground was stained red by his bleeding hands.
It was the end of an era. It was the beginning of another.
One way or another, the magic never stops.
The creature laughed madly again.
Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind
His mind swept over the psychic and temporal axes at a scorching pace, the right hemisphere on the former and the left on the latter, searching for a discontinuity. Nothing. The supra-dimensional axial equations were perfect and the workmanship flawless. He tried probing the spatial axes. But unlike the other 95 and 1/2 psycho-temporal dimensions that individually enveloped the multiverse, the eighth one was exclusive to one universe - the most elusive and exalted of them all. Spatial gateways did not exist. His synapses delved into the deepest sumps of nervous energy in the quest for a solution.
The creature smiled. He would just transform the axes.
The conics collapsed. The differential equations fell. Dimensional lines of force warped. Current dimension – 34. 32. 27. 23. 19. 18. 12. 9. And the cosmic lock to the eight psycho-temporal dimension was opened.
He staggered in disbelief.
Where once were great mines and unrivalled smithies, which gave birth to everything, nothing but unadulterated darkness prevailed. Gone were the roaring furnaces and the shimmering lights of those who had constructed the multiverse. Gone was the deep forest that had once girdled and guarded the spring of life. Gone were the proud hills and the shy valleys. Gone was everything that the eighth psycho-temporal dimension ever stood for. Across the 95 and ½ occurrences of the multiverse and the 96 and 1/2 occurrences of that exalted universe, there had been only one place to claim sanctuary. And it did not exist anymore.
There was something he wanted to see.
He moved towards the centre of gravity. All that remained there was the stump of a sacred tree, withered and dead. There was only a brief flicker in his eyes. Out came the sword. He hacked away at the stump with the frenzy of a madman till he succeeded in cutting off a large portion.
He headed for the carpentry shop R3. The tools were rusted and decayed. He turned to the furnace W2. Its fires had long been extinguished. He laughed hysterically. He cut half of the wood he had and carved it out with his sword. It was a perfect design. With the other half, he re-lit that ancient forge. He thrust a broken ladle filled with magnetite into it. And he drew the hot metal pouring out into wires and pellets. He bit the wires into size and smashed the pellets into shape by chewing on them.
He was there for long, in front of the fire, floating in nothingness. His blade was broken. As were a few more things. His eyes blazed as he looked around, He mated wood and metal in a mad burst of passion till the act was complete. And it was born.
He picked it up with quivering hands. Somewhere deep inside, a path of least resistance was established between the creature and the newborn. High voltage current flowed through his fingers, The newborn cried out, its voice resonating across those fabled walls, ripping through dimensional corridors. The creature never stopped till the once-holy ground was stained red by his bleeding hands.
It was the end of an era. It was the beginning of another.
One way or another, the magic never stops.
The creature laughed madly again.
Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind
mental baba 4:24 PM
