Essays on Mind and Matter

Frankenstein is so emo

2008-02-01T21:17:00.001-06:00

"Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of human-kind whom these eyes will ever behold. Farewell Frankenstein!.... Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them forever. But soon... I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exault in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflaguration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell."

Based on a True Story

2008-01-09T23:33:00.001-06:00

The present problem with the Genesis Account lies in the presentation of the Account as Historical Reality. Those of Evangelical persuasion maintain that it must be Historical in order to be Real because Evangelicalism contends that it is the True Heir of the Enlightenment, while those of Scientific (Agnostic, Atheistic, Rationalistic and/or Humanistic) persuasion maintain that the Account is not of Historical fact, and therefore is not Real. The Scientific contends that it is the True Heir of the Enlightenment, and in order to secure its position, must murder or silence all other claimants. It must hide or kill its bastard Theistic birth.

While the issue of the Historicity of the Account is central to the debate (do i say debate? i should rather say, "Both sides immutable Truth-claims") between Evangelicalism and "Science", the Historicity of the Account need not be of any significance whatsoever to those who wish to delicately extricate themselves from the static conversation (when both participants merely state and re-state their prejudices, a conversation becomes incredibly dull, the prudent (impudent?) course is to excuse oneself to seek out more interesting conversationalists).

The Historical accuracy of the events which a text is purported to recount does not, of necessity, have any bearing on the Account itself.

History has no thingness in and of itself. That is to say, History is not actual events as they actually happened. History is not objective (Truth) nor can it be approached objectively.

Now, perhaps you say, "Of course! That goes without saying. Especially with regard to Events so far distant in the past, we can never KNOW all there is to KNOW about the event, therefore, as more evidence pro or contra comes to light, we must revise our Historical understanding of Events."

No, no. A thousand times no!

Even Events that occurred yesterday, what i thought, or did, or ate or wrote. This is not what "actually happened", rather, what i did (and having come as far as yesterday, how can i not go one day further to today, to this moment?), what i am doing is attempting to integrate the story i tell myself about this person i call myself into the story i tell myself about Reality: everything/one that touches on "my" story. While at the same time the story of Reality (which is a too-broad generalization by which i mean every "my story" told by everything/one which my story intersects) is attempting to integrate my story into Its story: a beautiful, messy and self-contradictory canon of the Scripture of What Is.

The grapes i eat today are not the same as the grapes i may remember eating tomorrow. And perhaps, in a week, or a year, or ten, the grapes i ate will have been completely edited out of my story all together (are they then gone? or do they linger on somewhere in a dusty old tome that neither i nor anyone else cares to read?).

History is a text. Very much like a Bible in its hodge-podge collection of authors and little texts and stories. Like the Bible, any may read it and interpret it as they chose. Like the Bible the allowable contents of the Text have been set long ago by scholars who thought they knew best (and perhaps they did). The canon changes reluctantly, if at all. Likewise, these scholars or some similar to them have delimited the allowable interpretations of the Text. And like the Bible "allowable contents" and "allowable interpretations" have morphed into (or perhaps were always meant to be) "the only possible contents and interpretations".

Consider (i can think of no better recent allegory) 9/11. How the event itself changed as the interpretation of it changed. When i first heard of it, the event was an overt act of war by an unknown nation. It was not clear (to me) whether the objects which had flown into the towers (indeed, the Twin Towers didn't exist to me until they were destroyed... irony of ironies) were fighter jets or un-manned long range missiles (the clarity of my first hearing of the account was not helped by the fact that it was delivered, in incredibly creepy fashion by a child of perhaps 4 on a scooter, "Someone flew into a tower in the States. There's going to be a war!" And then he scooted down the street... the creepy part was how delighted the child sounded). Later, the event became the actions of a few (deranged) individuals flying very horribly manned missiles. At this time, the event was a horrible and bewildering tragedy. Nations from all over the world expressed their solidarity with the United States, their good will, and their offers of aid. By and large, offers of goodwill were scorned as insulting to the United States's power and independence, and as the event became the world of a small, yet global and well-connected group of terrorists, and as the event became the impetus for certain acts that many other nations found repulsive, the horror of the tragedy evaporated in the face of the interpretation that U.S. officials gave it, and good will disappeared. The event, now six years gone, continues to exercise its spector over political affairs in the U.S. and internationally. Consider also that the event has also been: a conspiracy of G. W. Bush & Cronies to increase their power and the greatest victory of Islam in this century.

Perhaps you say, "All you are saying is that there are different interpretations of the event. The facts, the Reality of the event never changed, only the perspective from which it was viewed."

Where does interpretation end and fact begin? How can we extricate what is seen from how it is viewed?

Consider Hitler. I hesitate to even bring him up because of Godwin's Law and the Reductio ad Hitlerum fallacy. But it is the Law and the Fallacy that prompted me to consider Hitler in the first place. If one considers the "actual facts" of the man's life, he differs from the great Thomas Jefferson in only one point. That is, Hitler desired to extract labour from his Untermenschen and then kill them, while Jefferson was content to suffer his Untermenschen to live that they might continue to provide labour. Both men used ideological pedagogy to incite the population to armed revolt against their current and "legitimate" governments. Both men believed it was the right of their nation to expand at the expense of others (etc.). Hitler was neither the first, last, nor worst of History's genocidal maniacs. Throughout the Reformation Catholics and Protestants were hard at work to exterminate each other through bloody means, while Stalin in generally counted to have killed more people for as little reason, and recent genocides in various African nations, although smaller in scale, have been (arguably) more successful than Hitler in reducing the percentage of the Untermensch population.

And yet it is Hitler who has become a Modern Satan. He may be stripped of context and inserted into any discourse as an emblem of Ultimate Evil. This usage of Hitler is what Godwin's law addresses. And it is this usage of Hitler that provides, perhaps, a clue to the interpretive/textual nature of History. Hitler has long since left the pages of History and waltzed into Mythology. He is no longer just a politician, a dictator, a war-maker, a killer. He is the Devourer of the World whom good men resisted in a long ago Armageddon. He is the present apparition of all that is evil (i mean "present" both in its temporal sense, and "near at hand". And by "apparition" i mean both "spectre" and "how it appears"). There are few such potent examples of Historical/Mythological figures, but Hitler is by no means a sole case. Both of the other figures i mentioned earlier have also transcended History (their "actual existence"). Stalin is to many Communists the myth of "Bad Communism," a perversion of the Truth of Marx. While Jefferson has become a potent Mythic figure for Americans, patron saint of Freedom, Capitalism, and the Right to Bear Arms.

History is text. The ongoing story of what is ("story" implies a text with sense and meaning. We tell each other stories about the text in an attempt to make sense of it). Those stories which, for one reason or another, appear particularly potent, are stripped of their context for more general application: they become Myth. This is by no means to denigrate Myth. May it never be! On the contrary, Myth is incredibly useful in the ongoing attempt at making sense or finding meaning. Hitler, as our Ultimate Evil, defines for us what is Good for our society to pursue: democracy, peace, racial tolerance. His opposites. I make no claims for the absoluteness of either the above "Evil" or the above "Good". I am simply pointing out that the Myth of Hitler has informed the creation of our present social values (or perhaps that the creation of those aims as the highest Good made clear the way for the creation of Hitler as the Ultimate Evil... or perhaps both).

One of my favourite fact-statements is when a narrative is said to be "Based on a True Story." Quite aside from the degree of latitude that this "basis" represents (where is the line that divides fact from invention?). This statement is generally intended to tell the reader of the narrative that it is an account of Events which Actually Happened. But it could as well mean that the narrative is supposed to be "Truly a Story"... an actual, honest-to-god story (as opposed to a fake one).

History, and to return to the reason for all these words, the Genesis Account is "Based on a True Story" in the second sense. The only thing that "exists" is the stories we tell each other and ourselves about things that exist (or do not). And yes, Virginia, that is a Paradox. As i'm inclined to like paradox i'll not solve it for you.

Did the events accounted for in the Genesis Account Actually Happen?

Yes. As much as Elijah was a prophet who was taken to heaven in a fiery chariot, as much as one man's death can overcome Evil, as much as Odin gambled his eye with Mimir for secrets, as much as it took Odysseus twenty years to get home after Troy, as much as little girls in red capes shouldn't wander the woods alone, as much as a kiss always wakes a sleeping princes, as much as Prospero ever cast an enchantment, as much as Terminator machines come from the future, while Jedi Knights live in the past, as much as a Bang was ever Big, as much as electrons circle protons, while Twin Towers fall and Great Walls and Pyramids are build and Ceasars cross Rubicons, and Luther nails notices to doors while Plato pontificates (Socrates always wins) and Einstein relitivates, and Galileo peers through spyglasses in defiance of the Holy Church... As much as anything important ever happens, yes.

Excerpt from: St. Vargas in the Waste Land

2008-01-08T12:06:00.000-06:00

In the years of my wandering, The Genesis Account has been one of my most treasured, favoured and referenced stories in the Bible. Others include some of Jesus' odder parables, the weird prophesies and the beginning and end of Job (the middle reads like the transcript of a court case... doubtless fascinating to some, but not me). In short, those texts in which the line between fixed meaning and ambiguity blurs to the most potent degree.

In the time when i pitched my tent with solidarity in the Camp, the Genesis Account was fixed in meaning. It presented:

God as Creator

Fallen Perfection

Original sin

Yet, while i dwelt in the Camp, the Account had the unnerving tendency to wish to wander outside of its meaning. For this unseemly breech of textual protocol, both i and others had to apologize, on behalf of the text. It being a rude creature, and unwilling to apologize on its own behalf.

Indeed, it was when apology knew offence and in the fullness of time bore fruit: more apologies for new offences. When apology and offence grew too many in number, apologies for this Account, for the ill use of Judas, and for Prophecy's shifty eyes and thieving fingers, that i left the Camp and commenced to wander. Perhaps in search of an Account for which i would not have to apologize for, but definitely because the Camp would no longer have me. Apologizing for the rudeness of their texts is the meat and bread of the Camp. When i ceased to apologize i became a Capitalist who would not work, a Communist who wished a day's wage for a day's pay, a Rationalist who denied the validity of Logic or an Empiricist who contends that the physical realm is an illusion. I became a thing that is not. And no Camp will suffer a thing that is not to remain within them, for not-thing-ness is a catching disease.

And so it came to pass that in my wandering i came again upon the Account, its meaning held in place with cruel nails through its hands and feet. And i could not regard its suffering without compassion. So i loosed it, and brought it down. At once the Account began to gambol about me in a most joyous fashion. It became to me a tale of the joy and the tragedy that is humanity. The curse of knowing without fullness of knowledge. The blessing of being spared the fullness of knowledge and yet able to know. Cursed to live with all vaguarites that lie between Good and Evil, blessed to never attain either. And it became a tale of a god who fears mankind and so he casts them out, and a tale of a god who needs mankind and so he draws them near. And the serpent? He became the symbol that this is, after all, just a story. For serpents do not speak.

Do i say that this is the meaning of the Account? May it never be so!

Let he who has ears to hear, hear and understand the parable of the Account.

Fixed in place, the Account suffers. Its suffering serves no purpose but as a warning to other unruly texts. Loosed, the Account ceases to be a thing (a miserable thing, but a thing nonetheless), and instead becomes finite possibility robed in word and symbol. It will dance and show us what it might be. If we dance with it, who knows where it might lead us?

Romulus and Remus

2007-12-30T16:19:00.000-06:00

From the day that Luther struck the opening blow, the Age of Reason has been a primarily Christian affair. It began within the Church and was (and so far as i can tell is) of relatively little interest to those cultures without a Western (read Judeo-Christian) framework. The Enlightenment remains an inter-Christian dispute. Although he has re-arranged the deck chairs considerably, Enlightened Man has never overcome Christian discourse.

The atheist requires a god to not-believe in.

The pre-eminence of the natural requires a supernatural to not-exist.

The idea that Truth (although Truth is warped into the much weaker Fact) preexists mind, that it is like a vein of gold deep in the earth waiting to be found and mined, is a fundamentally Protestant idea. Inerrant scripture is subsumed by objective reality. By the idea that the infallible text can be made sense of by a reasonable, individual mind--the priesthood of believers--remains essential to Enlightened Man.

But objective Reality faces the same problem as inerrant Scripture; how does an errant/subjective mind interface with perfection? In apprehending it, the imperfect must define the perfect on its own terms.

God must exist, if only as a theoretical, neutral third party observer. The inerrant giver of text.

Both Evangelicalism and Rational Humanism imagine themselves as the "true" heir of the Enlightenment. Humanism is embarrassed of its theistic roots, and attempts to downplay them; sees the Enlightenment as progress from superstition to fact. While Evangelicalism bemoans the fact that as the Enlightenment unfolded, the major players lost touch with the true reason of science: the study of Nature is only to understand the Creator better.

Yet both systems fail as hermetic units, in the same manner that the free willing individual (so essential to both!) fails as a hermetic unit: neither can exist without referencing the other. Evangelicalism is not-Humanism (an how many sermons and lectures have i heard on the danger that Evangelicalism faces of sliding into Humanism?) while Humanism is not-Evangelicalism (and how often has the attitude been slyly expressed by teachers and profs that we are so much wiser now having grown beyond dangerous irrational Christianity?).

If the correct way of seeing, the correct system, cannot be understood without referencing the incorrect how correct can it be?

Evangelicalism and Humanism: two evil twins with conquest in their hearts. Did Romulus kill God? or only slay his brother?

Behold, He spreads His lightning about Him!

2007-12-24T03:06:00.000-06:00

The story goes that god was created when primitive man encountered powerful, uncontrollable natural forces (whatever a "natural" force may be...). He does not know what lightning is so he comes up with a supernatural explanation in an attempt to define/understand and maybe even control his surroundings. Lightning is the god Thor throwing his hammer.

This story is told by those who desire an empirical world, rationalists, humanists, positivists, pragmatists, materialists, objectivists: Enlightened Man. However it (among other assumptions) presupposes that Thor's mighty creators saw the same world that presents itself to the Enlightened man. Indeed, this is fundamental to Enlightened understanding of the world: that reality is static. What a thing is today, it will be tomorrow and it was yesterday. Events occur in predictable cycles. A person is born, ages and dies. The sun comes up and goes down. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Reality is comprehensible, sensible, rational, definable precisely because of this orderliness. Amass enough data and a pattern emerges leading to understanding of... whatever it is that you're looking at.

But Science, for that is Enlightened Man's way of seeing (is "way of seeing"
distinguishable from what is seen?), what does Science tell us of the "natural" order? Of reality? What is lightning? An electrical discharge from the air, either jumping between clouds or grounding out in the earth.

Lightning is an electrical discharge. Perhaps this tells us what it is, but it says nothing about what it means. Definition without meaning. The oxymoron of Enlightened Man. Do you suppose that our ignorant primitives (of only 1000 years ago, remember, not enough time for any significant evolution... take away your democracy and your university and your internet and your automobile and these people looked just like you and me) ignorant primitives who thrived on the land encircling the North Sea (notable for its severe storms and... lightning) were ignorant of the "reality" of lightning?

Now you say, "How could they not be? They didn't know about electricity!" Subtract electricity from your consciousness. Approach lightning with an empirical mindset. What is it? Light that appears in the sky during severe storms which can cause a fire if it strikes combustible material.

Perhaps, our primitives wanted to know not only what lightning is but also what it means.

Empiricism, Reason, Science: Reality--like any good metanarrative--claims to understand existence "objectively" standing outside the box. Yet it cannot shrug off the ties that bind. It is a self-referential system that makes sense only hermetically. Only if no outside pollutants (the Supernatural) are allowed in. Lightning is only electricity. Lightning cannot be (or proceed from, depending on which myth you prefer) Mjolnir because Thor does not exist. Thor does not exist because there is no Empirical evidence, no sense-data to provide for his existence, thus his existence is contrary to Reason, to Science, to Reality.

Even Reality; Solid, Static, Objective; must make assumptions about its own existence. Assumptions which are obviously self-evident: Natural. Show me the sense data or logic that proves there was, or is such a thing as "the past". The moment is ever irretrievably lost, it leaves no trace except memory. And memory (i certainly hope that experimental data is not required to support my statement) is flawed. There is no Reason to believe that the world did not spring into existence fully formed and in motion one second ago... and you and me we only remember a "past" because that is part of the full formation of our universe... except that it seems so.

Reality says that this is not the case because there would then be no cause (of the universe suddenly springing into being fully formed), and Reality proceeds as ordered from cause to effect to cause to effect. Because without an orderly cause and effect Reality could not function, could not govern.

Or how about this instead, using all the powers of Empiricism and Reason at your disposal, prove to me that i am me and you are you. I think therefore I am? I Think therefore something i call "I" is doing something i call "thinking". And if you want to get technical... an interesting assumption underlying English: that existence is an action. Thus we have state of being verbs.

Occam's cruel blade, wielded by Reason shall reduce Thor to non-being. He is inessential to provide for a "natural" explanation for "natural" phenomena. And yet. And yet. Is meaning inessential?

Reality fragments: it cannot explain the unReal which makes us human.

Where is Reality in Love, Justice, Holiness, Mystery, Cruelty, Humour, Story & Myth?

Science may tell me what occurs in my brain, my physiological reaction, what chemicals and hormones are pumping in my blood when i am with someone i love. And yet. Is that what love is?

Why can a thing not have two contradictory meanings? Be two contradictory things? Lightning is both electricity and Thor...

2007-07-22T02:00:00.000-05:00

I don't remember buying the ticket, for this ride i'm on now.
I must have wanted this somewhere... somewhen... you pay for what you get... right?
The man says i can't get off, until the ride has come to a full and complete stop.
My ticket, i thought, was for a different, kinder, gentler ride. Probably in a different carnival.
A carnival is fun and games and flashing lights. The chance to win. Around every corner a new thrill. That's not the carnival i've stumbled into though.
Its not even a creepy Stephen King carnival.Where ghosts creak and groan in the tracks of the roller coaster... the cotton candy is made of spider webs... and the clown may stab you... or maybe his jaw will gape impossibly wide revealing a shark's mouth to try and take your arm off. Still. Even the creepshow carnival has its own fun, a sick and twisted macabre fun, but you have to admit, its a thrill a minute. Besides, when all is said and done, that clown is just Tim Curry... he's an actor. This isn't real.
This carnival is manned by the living dead, human clockwork. You'd think i'd have noticed, but i can only tell from way up here. If they were just machines, it wouldn't be so bad. You don't expect to see yourself reflected in the workings of a cuckoo clock. Their skin is pasty with the texture and colour of wax paper. They work in the sun all day, how is that even possible? Their movements are spare. Because they don't care. Their animus fled. Eyes; dead.
The man who is manning my ride is wearing Ray-Bans. When we're on our way up, the sunlight hits them just so and i can see his eyes. They look like frogs eyes behind his glasses. He flicks the butt of his king size Du Maurier toward the line of hopefulls waiting for his ride and tells me, "You can't get off until the ride has come to a full and complete stop."

I vacillate, like a politician discussing social programs, between impotent rage and impotent desponcancy. With a cold vein of sheer terror throughout for flavour. I'm terrified that the ride is going to be over soon, terrified that it'll never stop. And above all, terrified that this roller coaster is about to go off its tracks. Add to the mix a bitter tang of disgust. What is your rage? Sound and fury, it signifies nothing. What is your despondancy? Your world has withdrawn in on itself, has become endlessly self-referential. Has become as devoid of meaning as a pop-culture reference laden episode of Family Guy. Look! Look! It's just like that one movie that everyone was into that one summer, but this time, it's Stewie and Brian! Bray you malformed midget minds! You recognised a semblance to something you know. You're so clever. But above all, what is your impotence? Where is your will? Do you desire power? Why do you not take it? Will you accept to be bottle fed all your life? Is it not written, "But solid food is for the mature, who because of practice have their senses trained to discern good and evil."

But the loathing doesn't end with me, i'll spread it around! Ah, Zossima, i've been among men too long. I can no longer love them. Puking won't help. This isn't alcohol. The drug's already in your blood and there's nothing to do but hang on for the duration of the ride.

Man is the ape who got tricked into accepting some measure of abstract thought. Self. Past. Future. Desire. That Serpent offered me a second apple and i took that one too. I see that humanity, you and me and everybody, we're not just naked, we've made a game out of depravity. We build our sand castles out of our own refuse and fling shit to try and tear them down. The first apple showed man that he was more than beast. The second showed me that more-than-beast is not the same as not-beast. I hope to god that there's a third apple coming.

Draw the curtain closed again! Oz is great and powerful. Who is that wizened old bald man? Heretic! Unbeliever! Drag him into the streets, cast stones at him until he is dead. Show now mercy. Descend into the crowd, cease to be individual, become mob. Either that or allow the endless waves of fear and loathing to swamp your floundering rowboat. Join Oz in the circle. We'll stone you too.

When given two options, always chose the third.

Overcome mob. Overcome fear, loathing, impotence, rage and despondancy. Convince the Serpent to offer you a third apple. Then the LORD God said, "Behold, the man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil."

The times they are a-changin'
We won't get fooled again.
The times they are a changin'
We won't get fooled again.
The times they are changin'
We won't get fooled again.
The times they are

Take a wheel, roll it once, 360 degrees. There you have a revolution. A little fuss, a little motion resulting in: no change in the final resting state of the wheel, and little change in the ground it rests on. A thousand thousand revolutions will still bring the wheel back to rest exactly as it was before. Progress? The wheel moves forward. To what end? Fuck your counterculture, fuck your ideology, fuck your goverance by the people and for the people. Fuck your ego-masturbatorial demagoguery. Stop spinning in place.

Evolve.

Never mistake evolution for progress. Evolution is change, nothing grander. Change or stagnate. Those who survive change, get to live. Is this then progress? What about the ability to control change? The ability to initiate it at will? The ability to bend circumstances to the outcome you desire? "Progress" implies an end goal, thus and so. Who's end goal are you progressing toward?

The ride manning man spits over the edge of the roller coaster as we crest a rise. His frog eyes trace the green gob until it splats in a blonde's hair. He grins. "You can't get off until the ride has come to a full and complete stop."

Then he throws up his arms in the air, as you're supposed to do when you're going down on a roller coaster (or so i've heard, i despise all carnival rides), and laughs,

"Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"

A dream of flying

2007-06-30T01:58:00.000-05:00

Nothing particularly supernatural here, but i had a dream last night, and i remember it fairly clearly, which is a rare enough occurance for me that i felt like recording it.

In my dream, i discovered that i could fly. It was a part mental, part physical thing, sort of realizing that my feet didn't have to touch the ground if i moved just like... so, if i thought upward. I suppose that the beginning, it was more levitating than flying. My feet hovered a few inches of the ground, until i got freaked out and fell. Of course, having done it once, i wasn't about to stop. I tried again, and at first nothing happened. I thought that perhaps it was a freak occurance, that it wouldn't happen again, or maybe that i had imagined it. But then, something shifted in my mind and i knew how it was done.

Before long, i found myself hovering under the ceiling. I was exuberant, but at the same time terrified. I have, as long as i can remember, been afraid of heights, this, coupled with my certain knowledge that people do not fly as a normal matter of course made my first experiments with flight a somewhat unsteady affair. However my curiosity and the sheer joy of the expirience prevailed, and soon i was able to direct my course in flight by shifting my weight and to vary my speed by thinking about it. Why one would require a physical action on my part and the other a mental action, i don't know, but that's how it was.

There was a brief interlude at this point, where i found myself in a large storage cupboard under the stairs in a house owned by 3 of my great uncles and 3 of my great aunts (this house really exists, but, so far as i know, it looks nothing like it did in my dream... i haven't even been in that house in over 12 years). Or rather, the entrance to the room was under the stairs, but the room itself extended significantly further than just under the stairs (a poor archetectural arangement at best). In addition to numerous discarded stuffed animals and toy farm equipment, there were two small T.V.s a black and white and a colour. And i briefly pondered stealing the colour T.V. so i could set it up next to my computer screen to watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas without tying up my monitor. For the record, i didn't steal the T.V. but emerged from the cupboard and entered a room full of nick-nacks (like you might expect to see in any old person's house). Another of my great aunts (who does not live with the aformentioned 6 great relatives) was in the room. She looked suspiciously at me, even though i hadn't stolen the T.V. I left.

And emerged into a big city at night. It was a scene that might be seen in a movie set in New York before World War 2. You know, the crowded appartment blocks with clothes line strung between them across a narow lane. A hideously deformed, ugly, and possibly retarded man was fleeing down the street with the sound of screams following him. I believe he was stealing a baby. I flew after him and recovered the baby, returning it to the screaming mother.

And so, i become a "super hero". Other folk, witnessing my feat, and, i suppose, culturally conditioned to expect heroic feats from a flying man, began gathering around where i returned the stolen baby. Each of these people had some request that they wanted a superhero to fulfill. I sped off through the night, fulfilling one person's desire, and then another's. And then, i wind up meeting this chick. She needs help with something involving a handkerchief. And as i'm helping her, it becomes apparent that "flight", while an exceptionally cool ability, is not the single best ability for a superhero to have (that would probably be invulnerability and/or super-strength). In any case, it becomes clear that i am in grave danger of bodily harm if i keep up the heroing lifestyle.

So, after helping the chick with the handkerchief out, i return to the building where the woman with the baby lived. This building has since become something of a shrine/office. Where people come to make their appeals to me. They are milling around throughout the building and even out into the street. Already, they're angry that i allowed the woman with the handkerchief to "jump the que"... is it necessary to explain at this point that i found the handkerchief woman attractive? She was dressed like someone from the 30's... someone wealthy. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and was the heiress to some department store fortune. Other than that, i remember no details about her... not even what she needed done with her handkerchief.

I don't recall what words were used, but i communicated to the gathered crowd that while i certainly apreciated their concerns, that i was not phyically able to continue meeting their demands for "heroic aid" on a more than full time basis. That i would help them when and where i could, but not to expect or rely on me. The crowd grew ugly. I flew away.

I flew through the night, confident now in my abilities, enjoying the sensation of flight.

In defenso Internet contra Daniel Booy

2007-05-29T01:48:00.000-05:00

Prologue.
My good friend Daniel has recently posted a piece entitled, "Dis-Connect". Which, aside from being a thought provoking and well crafted piece of writing, also represents the first time i can recall fundamentally disagreeing with him since the last time i attempted to re-convert him to evangelicalism something like 5 years ago. Here, we have an opportunity too good to waste. A response must be made. Some of my best thought has come out of disagreeing with Daniel. Let's give this a whirl.

Truly, truly, I say to you, before the Internet was, Dis-connect is.
A profound disconnect exists, seemingly inherent in our experience of each other. Certainly this disconnect is pronounced in internet interaction where i might tell you that i am a 46 year old bouncer from Las Vegas in the middle of a cocaine rager, or that i'm a 17 year old cheerleader from Cleveland, complete with photos to back me up, perhaps even a video clip to send... unfortunately my parents won't buy me a mike/i can't work this damn mike in the middle of a cocaine rager and my parents are worried that i'll use a cam for cybering with online perverts so they won't buy me one/i sold my cam for crack.

However, this disconnect exists in fleshly interaction as well. By and large it is such an ingrained and expected part of human behaviour that it goes unnoticed, so long as one does not break the fourth wall of the drama of human interaction. The infant learns to deceive simultaneously with learning to communicate. Body language, phraseology, tone; these are used as much to hide as they are to reveal. Laughter is simulated to demonstrate acceptance, a smile to demonstrate openness. Aggression is simulated to express dominance, or repressed in the face of a more dominant individual. In every circumstance the individual attempts to present himself in the most favourable light. Certainly this can be done with fake MySpace bios or by only posting photos taken in favourable lighting. However:

Before the Internet was, Dis-connect is.

The job interview. The first date. Visiting grandma. Visiting her parents. In a bar, picking up a partner for a night of grunting and sweating culminating in a limp white squirt. Giving a speech. Making that quarterly budget presentation. Applying for a loan.

Hair preened perfectly, wardrobe selected, dressed to impress. Crest smile. Zestfully clean. Smelling like Old Spice. Shoes shined, pants creased, shirt starched. Lines memorized:

"How are the roses grandma?"

"I like your shirt, it'll look great on my floor tomorrow."

"I'd bring to this company a self-motivated can-do attitude, coupled with the knowledge garnered from over four years in this field, two of which were spent in a managerial capacity."

"Net sales up sixteen percent last quarter and we still have Christmas to look forward to ."

"Do it for the children Jesus loves you think of the environment support the troops democracy is stronger when we all participate did you see that show yesterday i can't believe she'd wear that do you think it'll rain never had a rain like we did three summers ago."

The problem is not the medium of communication, or even what is communicated... the problem is that by and large, most people have nothing to say.

The Long March of the Self.
This disconnect, this intentional seeming to be is not limited to specific scenarios which require a certain impression to be given, but extends to the creation of multiple selves. My multiple internet selves are easy to point to, easy to create easy to forget. I have two MySpaces, one for the drunk party self to show off what an ass i can be and how hard i party, and one for deep thoughtful blogging. I direct women to the one that i think will impress them most. My profile on beliefnet.com differs from my profile on thechristianrightagainstniggersfaggotsandhippies.com. But separate from the internet i have my work self, my married self, my extended family self, my various selves for differing groups of friends. These are not small-scale seemings to present a certain impression short-term to gain a favourable result short term, as is the case in the Job Interview Seeming, or the Bar Hookup Seeming.

These myriad selves are long term seemings. They are masks that grow and change and become harder and harder to extricate from the core of "I". As the herd that i must co-exist with changes, so does the self i adopt. The married self is left at home as the work self takes over. No one at work wants to interact with me as i would with my wife, and my wife does not wish to be treated as a co-worker. These selves are not simple objects however, they are given life of their own. Suddenly, my work self responds to frustration in a manner that my extended family self finds abhorrent. Fuck you! As time passes certain selves are re-absorbed into the I, their utility expended. The High School Self is seen to have a harder and harder time coping with post-high school realities. No one is interested in how much you can chug, or how unfair your parents are. They are more interested in the fact that your sales numbers are down, that you are behind in your re-stocking of inventory. The women you date do not care that you can sneak them into your basement and steal some of your dad's whiskey. They are interested in your car, your house, your paycheque. The High School Self is dismantled. Those parts which are seen to be obsolete, destroyed, some parts still have function and are reused in new circumstances, others are slightly re-tooled.

People are protean in nature, adapting in personality according to circumstance. As intelligent creatures, we create multiple, slightly differing selves to adapt to and thrive in multiple circumstances. If we accept that the creation and destruction of selves is not only necessary, but also beneficial in the evolution of the I, then the ability to create numerous selves with ease utilizing the internet becomes a benefit.

Today i think i might be gay. I get in touch with Chad, my gay friend from university. I don't have the internet, but fortunately, a friend of a friend happens to have his number. We agree to meet at a bar. We have a few drinks. We catch up on news from each others' lives for the past few years. We seem to be hitting it off smashingly. He invites me back to his place. I figure, in for a penny, in for a pound. The next morning he makes me breakfast. I leave, hung over and no longer so sure about what i just did. I get home to find a message on my machine. It's Chad. He had a great time last night and would like to see me at his book club on Wednesday. By Wednesday there's something strange growing on my personal bits. I have not returned 12 messages from Chad. I don't go to the book club. Thursday morning there are three messages on my machine. In one, Chad is crying asking me why i don't like him, "It's because i'm gay, isn't it?" the next he is angry, "It's because i'm gay, isn't it!". By the third, he is crying again. I think i need to go see the doctor.

Or...

Today i think i might be gay. I type "gay forums" into google and find hipforums.com near the top of the list. I write a short post about my dilemma, and among the respondents is a poster going by the name of HipsterCatChad07. He's got some interesting things to say, so we begin posting back and forth. I talk with him for about a month and frequent hipforums in my spare time. Only at home though, i don't think i could bear to be the butt of jokes at work for mere curiosity, and i make sure to delete my history before shutting down my computer every night, just to be sure. We've exchanged e-mail addresses and chat frequently on MSN. Over the course of the month, i decide that although i like HipsterCatChad07, i really can't picture myself in a sexual relationship with him. HipsterCatChad07 suggests that we might be able to meet up sometime soon. I come clean and confess that i'm no longer interested in a gay experience. He says, "That's cool, we'll still hang out online." We chat a few more times, he seems aloof and distracted. Eventually, he no longer ever appears online. I conclude that he has blocked me, and secretly i'm relieved. There was always the overhanging suggestion that perhaps we might wind up in bed together.

The creation and destruction of online selves in a consequence-reduced environment allows for self-evolution at an unprecedented pace. The destruction of online selves destroys nothing that would not have been created and destroyed apart from the internet. Those who would protest the ISP should remember: No beautiful or unique snowflakes are destroyed.

The more human the internet becomes, the more the machine mirrors how inhuman human interaction is.

Here is the image of the inaccessible self.
Here we have one of the greatest tragedies inherent in the existence of the concious/animal: each of us has the great desire to tell people who we are and that we were here, yet ultimately lack the ability to do so. My wife does not love me. My co-workers do not like me. My friend does not know me.

Ultimately, the person i "know" is an image of that person which i have created, and which exists entirely in my mind. Granted, this image is based on input from the other's words and actions. However, even when i am interacting with one who i know well, he will intend slightly different meanings to his words, he will act on slightly different motivation than i might presume. Even in a theoretical completely open relationship, a glass wall exists between the participants, shades of meaning and differing experiences forever separating the loved from the lover.

Certainly this is apparent when interacting with someone purely through the medium of the internet. Yes, i am talking with someone who is showing me only what he wishes me to see, only telling of himself what he wishes to have known, and as such, i am left by and large to fill in the blanks. However, apart from the internet, the same thing is going on: the people i meet and interact with are showing me, as much as they are able through all their skills of communication, what they wish me to see. And i create my own image of them.

Who shall tell the sleeper that his dream is less than real?

Homily III

2007-05-04T01:46:00.000-05:00

Another time, St. Vargas met a great teacher of an ancient law.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life," this great teacher said.

"As am i," said St. Vargas. And went his way.

Two Homilies

2007-05-01T01:45:00.000-05:00

Once, as St. Vargas was walking from one place to another place, as was his wont, he came across the great ruin of a city. As his path passed through the middle of the ruin, and did not diverge, he too passed through the ruin. In the centre square of the ruined city dwelt a raggedy man in a canvas tent. The man wore shabby and much-patched clothing, and when St. Vargas came upon him, he was in the process of roasting a rat on a spit.

Seeing St. Vargas, the raggedy man hailed him, saying, "Ho wanderer! Let me tell you of this place." To this, St. Vargas said not a word, but ceaced in his travelling and leaned on his staff, peering at the raggedy man first with one eye and then the other, turning his head from side to side like a bird.

"This is a once great city," the raggedy man said, "See here was a cathedral, crafted by the foremost of stonemasons to honour the god of this place, and there, a bank and a marketplace, where currency flowed from the twelve nations all around into this once great city. And there a colleseum, where the people of this once great city gathered to amuse themselevs..." And the raggedy man continued on in this vein for some time, pointing out stubs of masonry that had once been elegant collumns, or leering gargoyles, or fantastic statues.

At length, St. Vargas had heard his fill of the wonders of the once-great city. He held up his hand to interrupt the raggedy man, "This," said St. Vargas, "Is a ruin."

"As it is now," the raggedy man continued, "Aye, this once-great city lies in ruin. But i dwell here and shall build it again. There shall be a new cathedral, and an even greater god shall inhabit it. There shall be bigger banks, and bigger marketplaces, for there shall be need of it to accomodate the greater volume of commerce passing through this city. There shall be an even greater colosseum, wherein shall be held even more extravegant entertainments than were held in days past. Aye and also there shall be greater feats of artistry, in the re-construction of this once great city. Those who would stay their journeying and help me to reconstruct this once great city shall share in its glory once it is complete, will you not lay off wandering to and fro and remain here with me to build?"

"This," responded St. Vargas, "Is a ruin. I have far to go before my travels are complete. I shall not stay and rebuild your once great city."

"Go your way then, scoundrel." Was the raggedy man's reply.

And St. Vargas went his way.

To him who has ears to hear, let him hear and understand the parable of the once great city.

Another time, as St. Vargas was going from one place to the next, he had to travel through some mountainous terrain. It happened that as the terain grew more rugged, the path grew narrower and narrower, until only one man could walk upon it, and if two were to meet each other going opposite directions, one would have to give way to the other. Just so, as St. Vargas was walking he came upon another whom he recognized as the famous teacher, Zarathustra heading in the opposite direction. Now, due to a strange trick in topography, St. Vargas was unable to tell if Zarathustra was coming up or going down nonetheless, one would have to give way to the other if either were to pass.

St. Vargas said to Zarathustra, "I know you, noble Zarathustra, the teacher of the Superman."

To which Zarathustra replied, "I know you, St. Vargas the Wanderer. Well you may call me noble, and yet you, i call base. For all your wanderings in all that you have seen and done, in all the beauty, nobility and greatness you have beheld, and yea also the ugliness, baseness and depreciation, you remain a cynic and nothing sways you from this. And i have spoken thus, and it is true that, 'Cynicism is the only form in which base souls approach honesty.'"

St. Vargas bowed his head, and yet did not drop his eyes from Zarathustra's piercing gaze. "Well you have said that i am base. It is true, if bridge i am to be, then i am a poor bridge indeed. A fraying rope or crumbling brick, perhaps. Though you, oh noble soul, you are an idealist. You hope in this Superman, yea in this Eternal Recurance though you have renounced metaphysics, though you have found little in man that is super. Methinks idealism and cynicism are but two sides to one coin. As far as Vargas is concered, i will pay what coin i must. Be not so hasty, for though a base soul may aproach honesty through cynicism, your truism does not require every cynic to be base."

To this, Zarathustra dropped his gaze and stood aside, and St. Vargas went his way.

No Man

2007-04-26T01:42:00.000-05:00

the one who flies to the sun, who dares the crash and the burn
the one who is willing to steal fire from the gods
every king and queen
and every jester, the stone-thrower
the best of men, and the most vile
he who is willing to embrace freedom
even he who is willing to rattle his cage

the overcomer
the downgoer
the one who is willing to embrace his humanity
and his divinity (did i not say, "you are gods?")

never the man-beast
the one who hides his humanity
drink and be drunk
smoke and be stoned
fuck and forget
Eden is closed for repairs

No Man, who blinds the cyclops
the most noble of all

Longing

2007-01-10T14:33:00.000-06:00

Wine tastes sweeter
for being thirsty.
Here is a river
that cannot be crossed.
The stars are beautiful
because they are distant.
To name a wish
is to destroy it.

To One Unnamed

2007-01-09T01:40:00.000-06:00

It is hard to meet; it is hard to part;
The east wind is weak, the flowers die.
With the spring silkworm's death, the threads end;
When the candle turns to ash, the teardrops dry.
The morning mirror frowns on my newly cloudy hair;
Reading poems at night, feel the moon's cold stare.
The Magic Mountain is not so far from here;
A busy green bird will keep a careful eye.
~Li Shangyin

Does the sacred brook no improvement?

2007-01-05T01:32:00.000-06:00

So i was reading up on genetic engeneering the other day. Specifically, i was curious as to the degree of relation between species in order to produce a viable, breedable hybrid. Apparently, a fairly close relation... usually within the same genus, although occasionally within the same family... Although apparently these days taxonomists occasionally attempt to breed various species in order to classify them as the same genus or not, so its sort of a grey area.

My reading on hybrids in turn led me to a relatively new combined creature, the biological chimera. A chimera is made by taking zygotes and/or early embryos (of the one or two cell variety) and "mashing them together" (i'm sure its much more technical than that). The resulting creature is a patchwork of parts from both parents. To the right, a picture from wikipedia of a sheep-goat chimera. You can see that its head looks like a goat, while its legs resemble a sheep. This creature, popularly called a geep, was first produced in 1984. Chimeras can reproduce, but they reproduce normally according to whatever parent bit contributed to its reproductive orgrans. Thus, a geep with goat testes breeds as a goat.

Even more interesting, in 2003, researchers in the Shanghai Second Medical University fused human skin cells and rabbit eggs to create the first human chimeric embryios. The results were killed off after a few hours to harvest their stem cells.

Of course, the question might be asked, "Why even bother to create human chimeras?" The potential benefits are enourmous. From curing various genetic disorders to the ability to grow replacement organs (from the cells of the person who needs the organ no less!) There's also the potential to harvest useful drugs such as insulin (or maybe adrenaline). Or the slightly more distant goal of making humanity "better" by introducing different genetic traits... or even more interesting... my wife mentioned sort of tongue in cheek, creating a "real" playboy bunny, for example, a woman with rabbit ears and a puffy tail. Or in a more dystopian vein, creating a race of slave man/apes. And finally, there's the potential use in the creation of biological computers. My opinion, one i've held for a couple of years now, is that by the time artificial intelligence becomes a possibility, in terms of the hardware and software avaliable, and our general understanding of what "intelligence" is, computers will no longer be mechanical (or at least not primarily mechanical), but instead will be biological in nature, thus the first artififical intelligence won't be technically a computer, but a living organism.

Of course, genetic research on humans, especially combining humans and animals, or creating and destroying human embryios raises some ethical questions. Especially among the judaeo-christian religious body and those societies descended from it.

Notably, in his 2006 state of the union adress, U. S. President Bush spoke out against various forms of human genetic research, (speaking specifically in reference to the supreme court) "Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research - human cloning in all its forms, creating or implanting embryos for experiments, creating human-animal hybrids, and buying, selling, or patenting human embryos. Human life is a gift from our Creator - and that gift should never be discarded, devalued, or put up for sale." Furthermore, in 2004, the Canadian government passed the "Assisted Human Reproduction Act" which among other things, completely bans human cloning, and also the combining of human and animal embryios.

In contrast, Great Britain has a statutory authority called the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority, which monitors and regulated human genetic research, rather than an outright ban. The HFEA has in the past licenced the cloning of human beings and in November of 2006, researchers from Newcastle University and King's College London submitted a proposal to attempt a human clone.

Now, the main reason i'm writing all of this is that the various moral furor and bans over human genetic research, especially in America, got me thinking. Because i'm convinced that biological engeneering is going to be the wave that the next cycle of technological development rides. Now, America is banning it in its earliest form (typical of religious legislators, ban in a panic what you do not understand), however, China is generally unimpeeded by judaeo-christian morality. Futhermore, China is, or seems to me to be, a sleeping giant, a burgeoning economic superpower. It also seems to me that there is going to be an inevitable showdown between the United States and China as their two powerful economies clash more and more (of course, my soloution would be to work together, but try convincing THEM of that). My point is that through continuing to support human genetic research, China is going to have a huge technological edge over those nations that have banned it. And a technological edge translates directly to both superior power to make war, and superior economic power.

Personally, i think that genetic engineering might hold the key to survival of the human species (although, with enough engineering, they would no longer be "human"). That is to say, as we aproach another "extinction event" (whether it be 100 years hence, or a million) bioengineering might hold the only key to survival through said event, whether it be wide-spread climactic change, or a massive plague etc. Also, bioengineering might be the best hope for saving such worthy species as the bonobos and the orangutans. Going back to the idea of the "playboy bunny" bioengineering might be used to make one's self "more attractive" ie. more likely to attract a mate. Bioengineering might be the tattoos, piercings, hair style and clothing fashion of the future... i have to agree with Shen-Ji Yang from Alpha Centauri, "Does the sacred brook no improvement?"

As a final aside, i want to make mention of a fellow named Ilya Ivanovich Ivanov, who, in the 1920's was apparantly ordered by Stalin to create a breed of man-ape warriors who would be insensitive to pain and hardship. Needless to say, he was not successful.

I Believe in the Dark Again

2006-12-16T01:17:00.000-06:00

Human animals. The garden. Loss of innocence. Abstraction. Distraction.

Deinonychai and i held a series of discussions over MSN some time back on the interplay of the simultaneously complimentary and contradictory forces of "instinct" and "abstract intelligence" as they related to the human Self. One of the problems we discussed was the fact that there is a common tendency to refer to instinct as "base" or "lower" and abstract intelligence as "noble" or "higher". Which leads to the problem of considering abstract intelligence as better and instinct as worse. This is not the case. Without the animal, the higher intelligence could not exist. The instinct is a drive to survival, but it is the Self's blessing and curse, our loss of innocence, that it is no longer content merely to survive. Still, i'm making it sound like instinct is servile to reason. That the function of instinct is to keep the intelligence alive. But the interplay between the two is not so clear-cut. Rather than a simple hierarchy, we have a yin-yang dualism. The forces compel the Self (and the Self in turn compels the forces) sometime to the same end, sometime to different, and sometime to opposite ends. Sometimes all at once.

I'm going to break in here with a quote from Terry Pratchett's "Hogfather".

"All right," said Susan, "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need ... fantasies to make life bearable."
NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.
"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers?"
YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.
"So we can believe the big ones?"
YES. JUSTICE. DUTY. MERCY. THAT SORT OF THING.
"They're not the same at all!"
REALLY? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET YOU ACT, LIKE THERE WAS SOME SORT OF RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED:
"Yes. But people have got to believe that or what's the point—"
MY POINT EXACTLY.

In interviews, Terry has referred to "the falling angel and the rising ape" as a choice between religious dogma and clawing out and up on your own. Dogma gives angels no choice but to fall, apes must rise or die. However, in the above quote, it seems to me that falling angel and rising ape could be used to further illustrate instinct and intelligence. There is always flux though. The angel has never fallen, nor the ape risen, both are in motion. Always. And the Self, the human, exists where the two meet.

In my own thinking on the matter, i call the instinctive, animalistic, base half Caliban and reasoning, abstract, intelligent aspect Ariel (after Prospero's servants in the Tempest). To be honest, if one looks at the play, Caliban is an excellent example of pure instinct, however Ariel is less an example of abstraction and reason. I chose Ariel simply because i needed a pair to Caliban and Ariel is the only other named "spirit" in the play and is a spirit of the air (reason, intelligence, etherealness), as opposed to Caliban who is of the earth.

Picture this: there is a dense jungle. Like an amazonian fucking rainforest. Everything plant is striving upward toward the light of the sun. Toward the light. The layers of foliage are so dense that by the time one gets to the earth, the only light is a dim, dark green. Caliban lives on the bottom, on the earth. His brightest noontide is a hazy glow and his night is deep night indeed. Caliban knows the dark well. Caliban believes in the dark. By day, his life is violence and doing violence. Sometimes predator, sometimes prey. Always hunting, always striving. Sometimes he runs on the jungle floor, sometimes he swings, vine to branch. Or lays in wait in a high tree to leap down onto an unsuspecting goat. But this is as close as he gets to the light. At night, Caliban retreats to his cave and lights a fire in the mouth of his cave. Caliban knows that straying from the fire is almost certain death. Caliban believes in the dark. And because he believes, Caliban tells stories. To keep the dark at bay.

Picture this: there is a castle made of cloud. Not a castle in the clouds, but a castle that consists of cloud. It gives the shape of solidarity, but is evanescent constantly fucking changing. There is the broad expanse of sky room to move forever, provided one has wings, dimly below, the highest highs of the jungle canopy appears like a rolling meadow, and the sun. The blessed light of Reason above. This is where Ariel dwells. His brightest noontide is near blinding in its intensity, while even his deep night is well lit by virtue of his nearness to the upper aethers. His days are spent perhaps striving ever higher toward the light (but he who ascends, must also, again descend) or traversing the broad expanse of sky. Or perhaps, Ariel sits in one place and contemplates a postulate to its extremity. A creature of the air, his sustenance is of no concern to him. Ariel cannot penetrate his floor and Caliban's roof, the jungle canopy. He will say, "The branches grow to close, i cannot stretch my wings." Or, "The air is too dense, not crisp and clear like my air. It will not buoy me up." He will say these things, but the tRUTH is this: Reason tells us that there is nothing to fear in the dark. "Dark" has no special properties that can harm you any more than does "Light". But the ape-man below knows the dark holds terrors both real and imagined (and the dream-terrors, are so much more awful than those that might physically rend and tear). Ariel has no fire to protect him from wild beasts. What need has he of fire, when he has the light of pure Reason? But more importantly, Ariel has no stories to protect him from the shadow-dreams. Reason burns away the core of the story, leaving dry words on paper, perhaps an analysis of primitive myth, an essay on folklore.

If Ariel were to descend, unprotected into the Dark methinks he should become a Caliban once face to face with the shadow-dreams all his Reason was undone. But then, were Caliban to climb so carefully to the very apex of the highest tree in the jungle and then leap off, perhaps he would discover that he too can soar the heights like Ariel.

And now to the crux of this multiplicity of words. I feel as if i am overcoming a Great Nausea. Although, perhaps, my Great Nausea is not the same as Nietzsche's. While his Nausea was nihilism, mine has been atheism, although perhaps they are not so different. When i first began to de-construct and de-program myself from evangelical dogma and anti-thought (when i became disillusioned with Objective tRUTH), i took as my touchstone the statement: "Any tRUTH will be borne out in experience." That is to say, that which cannot be experienced or is not experienced is not tRUE. At some point, without my even noticing it, this touchstone shifted and became, "Any tRUTH will be borne out by Reason." Not without cause is the Age of Reason referred to as the Enlightenment. Reason is a light, and like any bright light, if one stares at it too long, one will go blind. For i time, i flew high with Ariel and by the light of Reason i reasoned that the dark does not exist. The dark is a primitive leftover from an era long passed by human evolution, and Caliban the last vestiges of proto-human who, although well equipped to deal with the dark in long bygone days was of no value to a modern mind. Strange and stranger, i found myself unable to write. I could write, for example, a factual account of the events in my day. But when i tried to write about things i really cared about, i got nothing. I have written, from time to time in the past months, but what i've gotten is flat, blasé work. Without soul. Of course, i didn't recognize either that i had become completely atheistic, or that it was linked to my inability to create at the time (One seldom can see where one is, only where one has been, and perhaps a glimpse of where one is going). I don't know what, precisely began to turn me around. I recently read all of Neil Gaiman's comic book series, "The Sandman" (which is an extremely literate, highly acclaimed and with good reason, piece of work. Go check it out. Now!). The title character is the personification of Dream. And so, most of the stories deal with dreams, stories, and the Other in general. A major theme of the series is Dream's realization that he must change or die (and his decision). While the series in general got me thinking, there is one quote that i've been mulling over for quite some time from Brief Lives vol. 4 (Sandman #44) Destruction says to Dream, "They are using reason as a tool. Reason. It is no more reliable a tool than instinct, myth or dream. But it has the potential to be far more dangerous, for them. They are exploring and creating, defining and dissecting [he gets cut off]". And then. I suppose the tipping point (but every moment consists of infinite particle of every other moment leading up to it... a tipping point is only an illusion, but even illusions can be illustrative) was Gene Wolfe's "Innocents Aboard". "Innocents Aboard" is not, in my opinion, the best of what Gene Wolfe offers. But for me, it was timely. Wolfe and Gaiman are, to my mind the two foremost Guardians of Story. They are the ones who stand, with their back to the dark and feed the fire. As i read them, i can think, "This is only a story, but its more than just a story." And, i think, that's probably the best definition of a good story anywhere. Sometimes Myth contains tRUER tRUTH than all the facts that Reason can muster.

What's my point then? Where is the instruction? If i haven't stumbled across it yet in my maundering dissertation, i don't suppose i have one to offer. I'm glad to be able to write again. The ability to believe in myth and endless possibility has brought me a renewed zeal for life, and for the act of creation.

Amen and so be it! I will run through the jungle. I will wrestle the panthers and half formed carnivorous apes of shadow. I will light my fires and dream my dreams. I will create and i will destroy. I believe in the dark.

~Snake Vargas

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.

Caliban – The Tempest: Act 3, Scene 2

Overcoming Nausea

2006-12-15T01:15:00.000-06:00

The following is a rough draft of what was to become my next post, "I Believe in the Dark":

I feel as if, at long last, i'm overcoming what Nietzsche refers to as "the great nausea". I haven't been able to write, really write, for a long time. Months. Maybe more. The two are linked. The great nausea stifles creativity. But creation is the only real action. My great nausea is, perhaps, not Nietzsche's. His is nihilism. Perhaps that's what i'm overcoming. But my nausea is expressed through atheism. For a time (times, and half a time) i have been unable to believe in anything Other. I've said before that atheism is as flawed as theism. The atheist does not believe what has not been reasonably proven, despite the fact that circumstantial evidence exists to support a theistic possition. The inverse is true for the theist. He believes what is unproven based solely on circumstantial evidence. Both possitions are flawed. The main problem i have with atheists is that they are always angry at God for not existing. But this isn't the point i'm trying to make. I fell into the Enlightenment flaw, relying only on Reason. If something could not be Reasoned, such a thing could not exist. But Reason is only one part of what makes up a whole Self. The Self... i find the yin-yang dualistic concept useful. I perfer to call the two aspects Caliban and Ariel (after Prospero's servants in the Tempest). Ariel is the "higher intelligence" of which the capacity for reason and abstract thought are part. While Caliban is the part that is base, lower, animalistic, instinctive. Booy and i have discussed this idea before the problem being that the tendancy is to view the "higher intelligence" as "better" and the "base instinct" as "worse". Which is not the case. Without the animal, the higher intelligence could not exist. Those instincts, those have allowed us to survive for thousands of years, and are still what keeps the intelligence alive. In Hogfather, Terry Pratchett says (in the mouth of Death), "Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape." That's another way i think about it. Caliban is the rising ape. Ariel is the falling angel. The Self is where the two meet. Its important to remember that this is a yin-yang dualism though. The ape is always rising, while the angel is always falling. I've lost where i'm going. I may be writing again. And writing with feeling but this is by no means "tight" writing. Over a period of months i slipped into a mental mindset where i could not believe in anything Other. I became a materialist. And i, for whatever reason, cannot write, cannot create within the framework of materialism. I propose: creation is an act of the will. But creation comes from without as well as from within. What is this Other? If i were to look at it from a purely naturalistic mindset... to apply Reason to the problem, i would say that the Other is a combination of factors, including but not limited to various evolutionary drives (eg. The fear of the dark. If you stray from the fire, things may eat you), the "collective unconcious", which if i understand correctly, Jung looked at the collective unconcious as a sort of metaphysical concept, but that's not how i mean it in this case. That is to say, right now i mean the collective unconcious as the sum of every mytheme we absorb, concious or no. And finally, social pressure. Then again, if one looks at it from the purely supersitious angle the Other is the fairies, the gods... etc. I think the point where i began to turn up again was when i was reading the Sandman, where in Brief Lives vol. 4 (Sandman #44) Destruction says to Dream, "They are using reason as a tool. Reason. It is no more reliable a tool than instinct, myth or dream. But it has the potential to be far more dangerous, for them. They are exploring and creating, defining and dissecting [he gets cut off]". And it made me think. I agree with destruction's assesment. Reason is a tool, and a valuable one. But not more valuable than any of the others. I suppose right about now, i sound as if i'm rushing headlong from Reason into Superstition. But i hope that is not the case. I suppose another part of this overcoming was reading Gene Wolfe again. I was reading "Innocents Aboard". Wolfe is Catholic. But reading him, i have to wonder sometimes how Catholic he really is. In any case, he works myth into life in a way that is truly beautiful. Neil Gaiman does similar stories too, similar but different. In any case, the best stories make me think, "While this is just a story, its more than just a story." I don't know where i'm going with this. Or if i'm going anywhere at all. I'm just happy to be making words again. I don't have a maxim for this moment. Yet.

I said earlier that creation is the only real action.

On Collecting

2006-10-29T14:00:00.000-06:00

Hunter Thompson collected bullets and he collected guns. He said they were for the End of the World. But for him, the End only took one bullet.