Initially this post was supposed to be a parody on the Six Concepts, a die-if-you-haven't-read-it kind of architecture essay, by Bernard Tschumy ( and go die if you haven't heard of him ).
However my optic nerve refused to have anything to do with the essay and also passed the unfair judgement that Tschumy talked gibberish, and also that Six Concepts was itself a parody.
The post could have taken shape much before, since the world is not short of gibberish ideas but then there cropped up another obstacle. Something far more personal, even physical.
Beglove 'em, burn 'em, boil 'em, they're still bound to turn a bitter blue if the winters in your place are bad enough to trigger Penguin Sighting Expeditons around. Mummify them and they may turn a putrid green. Other rainbow colors might show up if you explore other sciences of frosted-finger prevention.
Those sciences are crap, I learnt when one faced by this terrible affliction and so this post was put on hold for an indefinite time.
Now today when some unexpected sunshine interrupted the grey weather's miserable run, I felt defrosted enough to put my fingers to use. But fingers, one learns, show a large amount of hysterisis or they probably like to stay stuck together, so all I could manage was some random WHAM!!!! WHAM!!!! on the keypad. And so this post came out to be...
When one skims through it, one can almost sense an undercurrent of coherence through the jumble of random alphabets. Can you? I am fascinated by how that bored WHAM!! WHAM!! session could produce a couple of intelligible words. In the middle of this experimental post, if you search hard enough, you'll find TWO words which can be spotted easily in any Archaic English Dictionary. WHAM, WHAM ofcourse. To decode the rest of the words, try the Pox-ford Dictionary of Gibberish.
Infact, Tschumy might have chanced upon the same happy discovery too. Master of everything that he was, he might have got up and danced on the typewriter keys to roll out that gobsmacking piece of work- Six Concepts- that was hastily lauded by critics worldwide, before anyone could mention actually reading the sticky essay.
Magical, it feels, to be sharing a century-old secret. And also glad, that one escaped nearly burning one's retina in pursuit of reading the Arbit. I only wish that you, dear reader, could say the same!