Relativity Reduced

A friend has done this piece on reality and its associations to perception. And I have to interject. Little goodfornothingknowitall that I am.
Physics does define a reality as a child of a relativity. A reality on coordinates set beta is something you see from coordinates set alpha, where you are, on coordinates set beta. Fine. Einstein said so. Must be true.
Hmm.
But the coordinates? Are they not absolute? How do you define the fourth dimension? By defining an absolute “c”.
Absolutes.
When everything is supposed to be relative.
Physics.
Perceptions.
Repercussions to perceptions.
Why?
‘Cause Big Daddy Al said so. So beat it!
What if alpha is moving at velocity “c”? What happens to the fourth dimension?
Simple. It vanishes.
A lie within a lie. Can nothing move at the speed of light? Can nothing for all the cash in Bill Gates’ private accounts in The Bank of Zurich change Planck’s constant?
No.
Einstein said so. Must be true.
My friend says reality is an accident of perception, a maximal statistical correlation between events.
What happens to beta if alpha moves at velocity “c”? If beta had an initial relative velocity to alpha, how fast does it go now?
“c” plus the initial relative velocity?
In your dreams.
“c” is the limit all those nonlinear differentials tend to. Things can’t move faster. So beta has the same relative velocity as every other frame has to alpha.
“c”.
So beta becomes the same as any other frame. Alpha perceives beta as stationary relative to all other frames. “c” is God. It considers all its children the same.
Then if “c” is almighty, and your space coordinates are also defined in terms of “c”, and even the whole Theory of Relativity goes down the drain when you are moving at “c”, then how is everything real?
Here’s the deal. Nothing is real but the speed of light. The only absolute thing in the entire Universe.
Now does that fit in with the statistical model?
Depends on whether the model is moving at “c” in relation to your perception. If it is, then what do you know, your idea is real. If it isn’t, then too bad.
Establishment defines Reality. When the great chariots of The People go to War, against alleged stockpiles of nuclear and biological weaponry in Iraq or elsewhere, they hold the system of coordinates in their hands. Reality is but a child of the same system. Whether they conform to your coefficient of correlation is immaterial. They will only acknowledge your data pool when they are moving at “c” relative to you. When they feel benevolent and see you all the same. And give you all the same gifts of eight hours of noble labour a day (multipliable by a coefficient depending on your position relative to them, value>=0 and <=3), quarters that wouldn’t honour the most lowly of rodents, a Right to Information that doesn’t exist, and free to air TV channels.
Enjoy.

An End To All Torment Must Come

Well, looks like exams are over.
It does get a little uncomfortable sometimes when the nice examiner who's supposed to have taken your viva voce suddenly finds out he has a bit of trouble at home and leaves, and you land up with a freak who has the world's most unfair book-selling tactic.
That he would find out the world's most ridiculously complicated definitions for stuff like sex perversions, put them in his book, make sure they're not available anywhere else, and expect you to regurgitate them if you happen to be taking a leisurely stroll and suddenly feel an insane urge to do a viva at his table.
It gets more painful if you're not expecting him for your examiner, but someone else who doesn't have a book, and so no mad royalty-earning tactics.
And it gets no better if your roll number is third last in the list, and you have Microbiology the next day, and the examination began at ten in the morning and it is a quarter to four, and your brunch that you had at eight is now filling up the corners of your glycogen stores, and your stomach has nothing in it.
And then if your friend aquilusaltus comes out of the same dark chamber telling you in reasonable profanity that his questioning blew up in his face, you really get scared.
Then another one bites the dust because his apron didn't exactly match the apex results of the Tide Whiteness Challenge, and you steel yourself against events to come.
Then an absolute effing fool comes out with a broad grin on his face 'cause he had mugged his pants off over the aforesaid abomination of a tome, and says you're next.
You walk in.
The Bad Bookselling Tactics Guy says-"Yesh, thish ij hauu eeu shood appear phor ekjaminashun. Eeu shood ware kleen aprawn, eeu shood sheb aand get heyarkaat. Bheri good. I laik eor appearensh."
I say-"Erm, hmm, hem hem, thank you sir."
BBTG-"Aachchha, dephine Phorenshic Tokshikolojee."
Me-(About 70% of answer matched his definition. He nods.)
BBTG-"What do eeu meen bai poijon?"
Me-(Got this bang on.)
BBTG-"Whaat eej therapeutic misadventure?"
Me-(Nearly there. In the meantime, his cellphone starts ringing out Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. I am horrified by this abuse of Mozart.)
BBTG-"Ai Molly, tui koyekta kor.(Takes the call. Does not ask anything else. Molly is his protege in the noble art of tormenting young minds with discussions on the most boring of subjects in the most horrible English.)
About fifteen minutes later, I'm homebound thinking what I will do in Microbiology the next morning with essentially zero preparation.
I don't think I'll say any more. That kind of sums up the examinations. All of fourth sem.
What is wrong with my life?

Right, I've got stupid exams again!!
What is it about medical school that bugs you? Is it the dirty loos, the stinky gutka-spitting, foul-mouthed, rat-infested-brained patient-parties, the never-ending demonstration classes, the dimwitted freaks that compare notes on dimmerwitted, freakier, uglier girls, the really dunderheaded PGTs who can't string one-and-a-quarter words together and get through their entrances by means we all know??.....
Nah.
It's exams.
No competition on that.
Exams every day.
Items.
Parts.
Practical items.
Semesters.
MBs.
PGEs.
Why, Lord God, why?? You created Himesh Reshamiya, and I didn't flinch. You created Simi Garewal, and I didn't sigh. You created Subhas Chakraborty, I did not shed a tear. You created Arjun Singh, and I barely stifled my anguished screams.
But why exams, dear God?
Why????

Really Annoying Warthogs!! (RAW)

How dare they block blogs?
Democracy has never, indeed, been reality. It has been a way for some people who, by ways straight or winding, get themselves support, and start a well shielded reign of prosperity-of course you don't get any of their loot. So you sit in front of your grubby old monitor drinking cheap coffee while you type out your nonsense, and they sit in bulletproof cars and chalk out ways of bugging you!!
So, the latest from the successful men. First reservations, and now censored blogs.
Of course blogging is a monstrous waste of time and this might actually raise the GDP and the Average Annual Income Per Capita and people might actually stop guzzling atorvastatin and go out jogging in the time they used to waste blogging and the Annual Mortality Rate From Coronary Arterial Disease might hit rock bottom and my uncle who's a cardiologist might go out of business and the SENSEX might make Dow Jones look midgety and....erm...next time I start off, pinch me, ok?
But, why block blogs? National Security? I know!! Hey you guys didn't know that I have plans for India's first ICBM-capable nuclear submarine that's going to knock the US Marines out of business!!
Provocative?
Will they bundle me offline for that? Or at least off blogspot?
Pah! I never wanted to blog anyway.

Why blog?

I mean, what's the point?
Of telling every single disinterested fool about what I was thinking in the loo this morning...the amount of roughage in my diet?
Of letting the world know why I called my cook a nincompoop? ..Cause she is one, of course.
And of telling the world I love Angelina Jolie, when she's got Brad's baby and Brad and her two adopted kids to think about and probably is old enough to be my mum?
Why do people blog about their thoughts? My thoughts are my property, copyrighted and protected by multiple encrypted passwords. Why should the world know what I'm thinking about? What right does the mediocre multitude have of looking upon something so high and complex that it is going to be beyond their comprehension, anyway?
And I have friends blogging like mad..about stuff from melons to Margaret Mitchell, from fish to Georges Feydou, from exams to Desiderius Erasmus...erm...went too far..
Pointless....pathetically pointless...