Preface
KTHMA EΣ AEI
(Grk. Thucydides c. 395 BC)
This work is not a piece of writing to meet the taste of the public, but is written to endure forever…
The novel is about the cultural diversity. Its central character is a young reporter working for a local radio station in New York, and as he goes on various assignments to write and reflect about various cultural niches around the world, the people he meets during many encounters and situations he runs into and his reflections in search of his own identity in various familiar and sometimes unfamiliar settings is the domain of this book.
The book is going to provide the readers with a a pluralistic view of the world, not only in the context of who we are as human family; but it will also explore the deepest mysteries of the Universe.
From that we will hopefully, have an emergent world view that we can share with one another and catch a glimpse of ourselves, as if in passing, only to discover a deeper, more significant part of ourselves.
The readers will not only find a grand tour of the cosmos, but a micro-tour into the secrets of human soul during which we will find startling revelations and discoveries about ourselves and who we are as human family and as individuals.
In this 36-chapter narrative we will visit the depths of contemporary reality through the eyes of our introspective character who is full of contradictions and zest for life in search of his own identity.
Through his eyes and experiences we will re-visit contemporary history, science, mathematics, particle physics, objective reality, evolution, behavioral sociology, anthropology, arts and archeology, and take an in-depth look at our Universe as seen in the context of science, mythology and major religions of the world.
We will also closely experience many fascinating cities – London, Paris, New York, Calcutta, Hong Kong, Cairo, Warsaw, Helsinki, Moscow and many others, both in their historical context, and by taking close look at their contemporaneity including their glamorous, and sometimes not so glamorous past until today.
Above all this novel's celebratory purpose is to explore the beauty and power of English language, and hopefully provide the readers with endless insights and hours of joy and excitement in their glorious journey through this amazing landscape.
Many thanks to those assisting me in this project, individuals, scholars, editors, literary fans, and friends whose contribution to this project will be gratefully acknowledged at the time of publication.
(Excerpt)
CHAPTER ONE
Globular clusters are the sign of aging and expanding Universe Adrian thought as he woke up to the screeching sound of his alarm clock. His work was a ritualistic kind of circumambulation with New York being in the center of his life that gave him the unity with the omniverse, the multiverse, with his own universe a tangential sort of destiny, his personal axis mundi; or was it simply a case of eat, live and love in a bizarre case of monopsony with life itself.
Like the Naperian system of logarithms he took it to a whole new level of meaning interpreting their obstreperous conversations and raptorial gestures in strange arithmancy of letters, as if they were tegumental properties of a relationship that never took place assymetrically arranged and awaiting extinction, the viral genome of life doomed to failure. Oh, divine Terpsichore, life as movement, movement as life, the tenebreous fate of our thoughts disconnected from anything decent, normal, usual, miserable therbligs in search of meaning to find, grasp, load, disassemble, reload, release, load and bang, bang again, and wham-bam thank-you-ma'am, is five seconds long enough for you Madam; mea domina, my mistress, my love.
Music, emotion, language, and the science’s holy grail, the contralateral neglect, the subjective denial of our inadequacies, the neural correlates underlying our subjective experiences,coupled with awareness, attention to detail, with reference to ourselves, with the cortical process known as qualia, connecting us to consciousness, music, language, experience, color, intelligence. What is qualia? The distributive quality of human beings to comprehend themselves and to reach ethological insights about the baryonic assymetry of the Universe?
Declarative, semantic, episodic, non-verbal, motor-like, sexually dimorphic, the magnificent understatement of (science’s) reductionist wishes, the spectacular, psychoactive effect of our endogynous reward system, body, brain, mind, behavior, how we are all hardwired to our world, perpendicular to our limbic system that engages us with the world apart from the impossible paroxysms of our verbal schemes, how statistically pre-programmed we are to understand the world, how hormonally effected and neurologically aligned with our individual genotypes and how statistically significant is that?
What is mapped to the meaning of our world, what is the meaning of that and how our experiences can ever be both sensory and instinctual and symmetrically the same. Qualia…. science’s ottava rima, preponderous, bacchant definition of a drunken, bromidic cacography on-the-wall.
Like the Naperian system of logarithms he took it to a whole new level of meaning interpreting their obstreperous conversations and raptorial gestures in strange arithmancy of letters, as if they were tegumental properties of a relationship that never took place assymetrically arranged and awaiting extinction, the viral genome of life doomed to failure. Oh, divine Terpsichore, life as movement, movement as life, the tenebreous fate of our thoughts disconnected from anything decent, normal, usual, miserable therbligs in search of meaning to find, grasp, load, disassemble, reload, release, load and bang, bang again, and wham-bam thank-you-ma'am, is five seconds long enough for you Madam; mea domina, my mistress, my love.
Music, emotion, language, and the science’s holy grail, the contralateral neglect, the subjective denial of our inadequacies, the neural correlates underlying our subjective experiences,coupled with awareness, attention to detail, with reference to ourselves, with the cortical process known as qualia, connecting us to consciousness, music, language, experience, color, intelligence. What is qualia? The distributive quality of human beings to comprehend themselves and to reach ethological insights about the baryonic assymetry of the Universe?
Declarative, semantic, episodic, non-verbal, motor-like, sexually dimorphic, the magnificent understatement of (science’s) reductionist wishes, the spectacular, psychoactive effect of our endogynous reward system, body, brain, mind, behavior, how we are all hardwired to our world, perpendicular to our limbic system that engages us with the world apart from the impossible paroxysms of our verbal schemes, how statistically pre-programmed we are to understand the world, how hormonally effected and neurologically aligned with our individual genotypes and how statistically significant is that?
What is mapped to the meaning of our world, what is the meaning of that and how our experiences can ever be both sensory and instinctual and symmetrically the same. Qualia…. science’s ottava rima, preponderous, bacchant definition of a drunken, bromidic cacography on-the-wall.
“I looked and I saw with my own eyes, it’s Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage " he thought, his oleaginous hair protruding with testudinate obstinacity as Alexa chewed on her morning toast fletcherizing it with obvious flaucinacity, her face becoming more visible with each bite. Nam Sybillam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, the inescapable asymptotic freedom squatering his energy into inexplicable particles of matter, her sylvan mystique reminding him of her presence, the sentinel of his dreams, ineffable in their essence and yet so protrusively and painfully real.
Her accismus would not pass muster. She looked at him once, and than refused to look at him again in the transmutation of her passionate urges that were the alembic of her self-induced deprecation; and while her bovarian appettite would eventually prevail over her urge to look at him, he was painfully aware that she was doing her best not try to betray her true feelings about him that would let him know she still desired him. He desired and admired her, he adored the beautiful, vert-de-gris color of her eyes, her vast, pale complexion and the dark, auburn tincture of her hair.
She was a friar’s lantern for him, a pale light in the dark; an escape from incomprehensible, incorrigible, impenetrable marsh of his self-imposed solecism, a bizarre form of ignis fatuus representing his reflection of her humanity in himself.
Her accismus would not pass muster. She looked at him once, and than refused to look at him again in the transmutation of her passionate urges that were the alembic of her self-induced deprecation; and while her bovarian appettite would eventually prevail over her urge to look at him, he was painfully aware that she was doing her best not try to betray her true feelings about him that would let him know she still desired him. He desired and admired her, he adored the beautiful, vert-de-gris color of her eyes, her vast, pale complexion and the dark, auburn tincture of her hair.
She was a friar’s lantern for him, a pale light in the dark; an escape from incomprehensible, incorrigible, impenetrable marsh of his self-imposed solecism, a bizarre form of ignis fatuus representing his reflection of her humanity in himself.
