Psychedelic Slippers

The cocky exponential function e x is strolling along the road insulting the functions he sees walking by. He scoffs at a wandering polynomial for the shortness of its Taylor series. He snickers at a passing smooth function of compact support and its glaring lack of a convergent power series about many of its points. He positively laughs as he passes |x| for being nondifferentiable at the origin. He smiles, thinking to himself, “Damn, it’s great to be e x . I’m real analytic everywhere. I’m my own derivative. I blow up faster than anybody and shrink faster too. All the other functions suck.”Lost in his own egomania, he collides with the constant function 3, who is running in terror in the opposite direction. “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you look where you’re going?” demands e x . He then sees the fear in 3’s eyes and says “You look terrified!” “I am!” says the panicky 3. “There’s a differential operator just around the corner. If he differentiates me, I’ll be reduced to nothing!

came across this post as i was surfin aimlessly on the net... the article speaks abt thoughts, about reality, death, reincarnations... n a lot of other things. some of the ideas match mine if u wud like to read http://bardcan.wordpress.com/2007/08/25/thoughts-on-the-toughest-questions-we-face/

is it just me? or is it u ? (or is it not u ?) u is a song not u is humming the tune.... some times its both... n m lost if u is night n not u day then twilight.? (thats smwer mid way) if u is a dream then not u is reality bt wat of those times when u r ther n not (n when u r not , yet so near ) there is a divide (or is ther?) cos while u i can see not u is memories!

···························by Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day . Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther , losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. -- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster

"destiny is not a matter of a chances, tis a matter of choices." said a wise individual Life, some times places an encyclopedia infront of you for reference.. and you gotta choose the right word! that's the toughest part ... MAKING A CHOICE when people take decisions for us, we accept the decisions and crib that we aren't allowed to make our own. when placed with a choice, we crib that we have insufficient information, when placed with everything....We are CONFUSED. I wonder if you have ever come across chaos theory....But the way its explained its really beautiful I liked one particle para from one of the first write ups on chaos theory(or the butterfly effect) "The flapping of a single butterfly's wing today produces a tiny change in the state of the atmosphere. Over a period of time, what the atmosphere actually does diverges from what it would have done. So, in a month's time, a tornado that would have devastated the Indonesian coast doesn't

Why is Free Speech so important?... Why speak up about things that don't seem to affect you? Perhaps Pastor Martin Neimoller's view in one version of his quote will answer that question. He supported the Nazis until he realized, too late, what they were really about and was sent to Dachau concentration camp. He was one of the fortunate to be freed and live until 1984. First they came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up, because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the Social Democrats, and I didn’t speak up, because I wasn’t a Social Democrat. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I didn’t speak up, because I wasn’t a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up, because I wasn't a Jew, Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left to speak up for me. very often we find ourselves keeping mum at places wher we should speak. what feigns this indifference? or is it fear? why do we not voice for

8 th march—its significance—called the Woman’s day. I am not a feminist, I don’t believe in gender differences except from the biological point of view, but then , when a vast majority of my biological counterparts have concerns that are based on this very gender divide I cant resist the opportunity to write I was born and brought up in a town. I have lived a fairly free life. I am glad to have parents that treat me as my brother’s equal, who understand and treat me as a child (thankfully not as a daughter). But not everyone is as lucky as me I belong to a circle of frens mostly of the opposite sex. I am happy they treat me as one of them in most cases. What I find baffling is when they refuse to acknowledge me as a girl (“thank you”) and then ass “ she is like one of us….Guys”. (Excuse me!!!!) I may be one of u, but that doesn’t make me any closer to a guy, nor does me nt bein a conventional girlie type in any way change my gender status. I am “Nishigandha Patil”; socia

Me up at does out of the floor quietly Stare a poisoned mouse still who alive is asking What have i done that You wouldn't have

one's not half two. It's two are halves of one: which halves reintegrating, shall occur no death and any quantity; but than all numerable mosts the actual more minds ignorant of stern miraculous this every truth- beware of heartless them (given the scalpel, they dissect a kiss; or,sold the reason, they undream a dream) one is the song which fiends and angels sing: all murdering lies by mortals told make two. Let liars wilt, repaying life they're loaned; we(by a gift called dying born) must grow deep in dark least ourselves remembering love only rides his year. All lose,whole find ...........another of ma favorites by e.e.cummings so deep n meaningful