While visiting National BookStore at sm north mall today, i happen to notice this title on the spine of a white book. I smiled thinking that if ever something profound like that ever happened to a local policeman in this country, it would be a mind-bottling experience to the casual observer.

Did you just say mind-bottling?

"Yeah, mind-bottling. You know, when things are so crazy it gets your thoughts all trapped, like in a bottle?" (Chazz Michael Michaels/Will Ferrell, Blades of Glory 2007).

However, just below the title was the name Philip K.Dick and  he is well regarded in the field of science fiction. His works are often cautionary and prophetic, foreshadowing scifi-elements such as cyberpunk culture, police states, schizophrenic drugs, and  the survival of individuality in future pseudo-fascist societies. The future (in his voluminous works) is bleak, as if the society’s optimistic march into progress actually led to its own perverted, dystopian realization.

Fortunately, before I was overwhelmed by the evident pessimism, the prohibitive price of the book deflected my attention  elsewhere. Instead, I picked up a copy of Isaac Asimov’s books Foundation and Empire and Second Foundation, having already obtained the first of the trilogy elsewhere at a bargain.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. It is a curious development. I was forced into it by happenstance. Three weeks ago, I was suffering from bouts of flu after nearly two weeks of experiments (for my dissertation). Complete rest was in order. I stockpiled on food and drinks, but sleep did not come to me naturally. Having a maladjusted biological clock was partly to blame. Like many of my masochistic predecessors, I usually worked at night. It is not hard to admit that even 4′oclock in the morning isn’t as late(or early) as it sounds.

I decided to induce sleep by bringing the most boring pieces of literature to bed with me. Fantasy novels were my prime candidates. I did not look further than the two books already in my possession. I’ve picked them up three years ago. It was Raymond Feist’s book Magician (split in two, Magician: Apprentice, and Magician: Master).

Unfortunately, there were times when sleep did not come at all. I’ve kept reading until my eyes finally gave out at 7am. So much for the intended cure of complete bed rest! I had finished both books in four days, reading from 9pm to 7am, spending the rest of the day catching up with sleep or eating.

As to why it took me so long to finally read it, I must admit that fantasy or sci-fi works are not really part of my regular reading list. I prefer classical literature or non-fiction. So why spend money to get copies? Perhaps, especially regarding Magician, it was because I owned a computer game based on the book, so I could fill in some background material?.  Other times, opinions (of people I trust and respect) factor in my acquisitions. For example, I have a Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game, Douglas Adam’s Hitch hiker’s guide to the galaxy, to name a few. All came highly recommend, and yet, I haven’t even begun reading the fine print beside the cover page. I cannot simply put it down to: "I have no time for it".  I can spare a few moments of my time for reading. Really. Perhaps the idea of "fantasy" or "otherwordly" in literature isn’t particularly interesting to me. For the record, I do appreciate scifi  or fantasy movies, only not in books.

That changed somewhat since I’ve recovered from the flu. So, my to-do list now includes "must-read’ list. Aside from the research articles that my  dissertation requires, there are stacks of books already thick with dust, waiting in line for a waltz.

If only I had more time …

P.S.

Here are lines from a 16th century song from which the the title of Philip K. Dick’s work was based:

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.

thank heavens for http://www.wikipedia.org

Man may be excused for feeling some pride at having risen, though not through his own exertions, to the very summit of the organic scale; and the fact of his having thus risen, instead of having been aboriginally placed there, may give him hopes for a still higher destiny in the distant future. But we are not here concerned with hopes or fears, only with the truth as far as our reason allows us to discover it. I have given the evidence to the best of my ability; and we must acknowledge, as it seems to me, that man with all his noble qualities, with sympathy which feels for the most debased, with benevolence which extends not only to the other men but to the humblest living creature, with his godlike intellect which has penetrated into the movements and constitution of the solar system — with all these exalted powers — Man still bears in his bodily frame the indelible stamp of his lowly origin

—- Charles Darwin (The Descent of Man)

Heard joke once:

Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life
seems harsh and cruel.
Says he feels all alone in a threatening world
where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain.

Doctor says "Treatment is
simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That
should pick you up."

Man bursts into tears. Says "But Doctor… I am
Pagliacci."