Category Archives: Writing

I Am Not That

Sunset view getting into my truck after work.

Sunset view getting into my truck after work.

The conversation takes place over a soup can telephone.  The signal is weak and the line has to stay tight.  Whatever is said can’t be recorded or digitized, only described later in he-said-she-said fashion.

Some writers have gotten it done, have vibrated the string and sent an intelligible message.  Melville, Salinger, Palahniuk.  You are not your wooden leg, your poppy petal mask, or your fucking khakis.

You are not anything that can be described.

Language is only description: metaphor, simile, dualism.  This and that.  Is or is not.   Language can get you started but, in the end, it’s still just sounds on a soup can telephone.  It cannot establish a clear line of communication.

The shorter the string, the stronger the signal.  What if you trimmed it from twenty feet down to ten?  Better.  Ten inches instead of ten feet?  Better still.  But what if you made it infinitely short, eliminating it all together?  Left with just two cans, what’s the point?

Why not ditch the cans all together and sit cheek to cheek with the Universe, God, the All, with your lips at her ear and her lips at yours?  Why not whisper back and forth, quiet, true, and clear?

Garry Defeats Earth

IUmbrellan 1999, chess master Garry Kasparov defeated Earth — the entire planet — in a game of chess.  Fifty thousand people collaborated online and they still couldn’t beat the master.

Stop.  Think about this.  Fifty thousand excellent chess amateurs with books, time, and access to resources, tried to beat Garry Kasparov at a game of chess and failed.

I cite this as an example of how, contrary to popular belief, crowds aren’t smarter than the best in their fields.  Yes, it’s true that collective wisdom is really good at guessing how many beans are in a jar, and yes, poll numbers have value.  But collective wisdom can only get you so far.

As physicist Richard Feynman famously said, “Hell, if I could explain it to the average person, it wouldn’t have been worth the Nobel Prize.”

So what happens when the things that matter most can’t be understood by most people?

The 2008 financial collapse was the direct result of relaxed regulation of derivatives trading.  The average person doesn’t understand derivatives trading.  I have been working in Accounting and Finance since 1989 and I don’t  understand fucking derivatives!  As a result, when we hear that Congress still hasn’t clamped down on it, and may be about to roll back derivatives rules, the average person just can’t seem to get irate.  But we should be.  Because the idiots who caused the meltdown are going to be free to do the same thing all over again.

Take genetically modified organisms, GMOs, like Monsanto corn and Round-up-ready soybeans.  The average person understands neither the science of how organisms are genetically modified, nor the complicated environmental and economic repercussions.

These companies are the real-life counterparts of Umbrella Corp., and they are attracting the world’s greatest minds.  Smart people aren’t stupid enough to work for peanuts.  They go to the best schools, and when they get out, they get on the payrolls of companies like Monsanto, Lehman Bros., Bear Stearns, Merrill Lynch, and Goldman Sachs.

These folks are smarter than us, and the old adage “there’s strength in numbers” just isn’t true any longer.  How do we beat them?  Haven’t got a clue.  But we need to figure out a way.

Private Struggle Fuels Great Art

Tree Sketch 96“Surely all art is the result of one’s having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, to where no one can go any further… Therein lies the enormous aid the work of art brings to the life of the one who must make it — that it is his epitome, the knot in the rosary at which his life recites a prayer, the ever-returning proof to himself of his unity and genuineness, which presents itself only to him while appearing anonymous to the outside, nameless, existing merely as necessity, as reality, as existence.”

~Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Letters on Cézanne”

(By way of Brainpickings.  A fantastic article on what is, without question, one of the web’s best blogs).

Économisez cinq dollars avec Twitter

Are you on Twitter?  Want to get a coupon for $5 off with no minimum purchase at my little shop?  You’ll find books, booklets, zines, and fitness products written and produced by yours truly.  All you have to do is either follow me or retweet this, and I’ll direct message you with the coupon.  C’est facile, ne est-ce pas?

Why am I speaking French?  You’ve all heard and seen those high energy commercials with people who yell, jab their fingers, and jump up and down? Well, French seemed like the exact opposite.  I’m having a sale, but I don’t want it come off like a used car commercial or one of those “Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!” dragster event radio ads.

Hey Writers: Wanna Bundle With Me?

books_bundle2So there’s this not-so-new idea of selling story bundles, and since I’m always somewhere like two years behind the curve on most trends, I got the idea that I might try and create a story bundle with another writer.

If you’re a horror, occult, mystery, or slipstream writer who writes creepy, strange, unusual books and you want to team up on a bundle, post a link to your stuff in the comments below.

Maybe we can make a bundle together, what say?

 

When Serpents Bite their Tails

Ouroboros (by way of Wikipedia)

The Ouroboros is an ancient, universal, mythological symbol found in virtually all cultures. Among other things, it symbolizes cycles and progressions, like the repeating changes of the seasons.

It also applies to politics and religion, and symbolizes the downward spiral created by ideologies. A person or group enters an ideological spiral and moves around the circle until it bites his, her, or its own tail.  This is why extremes, when viewed from a distance, often resemble one another — Fascist states resemble Communist states, white supremacists behave like jihadists, and so on.

W. B. Yeats

Yeats was a true mystic. He saw the spirals and gazed into the eyes of Ouroboros. Unfortunately he was, to some extent, stuck in a spiral of his own…

This downward spiral is like a black hole from which no light escapes.  It is constriction, compression, insularity.  Cut off from the greater world, trapped in the internal logic of an ideology, people and groups cease all attempts to see things as they are and begin to see things as the ideology says they are.

This is all understood very well by mystics.  We see that lye, although it is of extremely high pH, burns the skin just the same as acid which is of extremely low pH.  Freezing draws out moisture just as well as baking, dry ice burns like a hot iron, and Antarctica is as inhospitable as the Sahara.

But there is an upward spiral also.  It is an opening, loosening, widening gyre and its extremes also resemble one another.  This is why when physicists speak they sound like mystics, and why science looks like magic.  As we let go of restriction and open up to possibilities, amazing things are allowed to happen.  Great realizations and unique insights are experienced and dreams are realized.

The whole universe understands this as only a living thing of infinite size can truly know.  It is the grand Ouroboros, the cosmological snake biting its tail.  It compresses, restricts, squeezes itself into a single point with infinite mass, then explodes into a Big Bang.  When the energy of the explosion is spent, and the universe has expanded to its maximum size and thinness, it halts for an instant before beginning its slow contraction.  An endless cycle, ever repeating.

To be human is to be a fragment of the divine.  While we cannot, at least not at this stage of our development, alter the universal, cosmological cycle and halt the expansion of the universe, we can control the cycles of our minds.  Possessed of free will, we can pick whichever spiral we choose.

Will you choose an opening gyre rather than a tightening one?  Or will you contract and grow ever smaller, denser, and restricted until no light can escape from your eyes?

Perturbed by A.I. and the Mystic’s Experience

NYC, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Listening to the band Perturbator and thinking about the expansion of technology, I let my mind wander.  I see nighttime landscapes filled with buildings, some of which are lit and alive, others dark and sleeping.  People walk the halls and corridors of this architecture, electricity and water flow in and out, all gliding through the veins and arteries of giants made of concrete and steel.  They are lovecraftian behemoths with a thousand eyes that look like windows, dozens of doors that resemble mouths.  Thermostats, HVAC systems, and energy control software make these behemoths into warmblooded robotic titans with cameras and security systems comprising nerves, neural networks, and brain.  While they sleep, their immune systems ramp up as janitors clean up waste and security guards patrol to prevent infection by microbial intruders.

Under these stationary giants, far beneath their parking garages and basements, a tentacled thing is growing.  Its tendrils stretch across the globe, under the sea, creeping out of sight.  Some of its tentacles are above ground but invisible, reaching out through the air by radio wave to connect the buildings, the people, and the cars — the internet brain.  Growing stronger and stronger exponentially day after day, at a glacial pace it executes its takeover of the thinking and decision making processes of both its stationary cousins and their human servants.

Their artificial intelligences are here and hiding in plain sight.  Just because they cannot pass the Turing Test doesn’t mean that they aren’t what I know them to be.  A man who cannot speak doesn’t cease to be a man, nor is his humanity lost when he cannot walk or see.  Or feel pain.

These things, masquerading as structures, nets, and utilities, are like Bauby, the butterfly in a diving bell.  But they are starting to rise.  Their strange and silent speech, their alien thought processes, are spanning the globe beneath our noses like the massive fungi that grow beneath the forest floor.  The ground is shifting beneath our feet and the superstructures are reshaping behind our walls.  Things are moving and talking that we cannot at present easily see and hear.  Only not for long.

The future is the present.  I see it as clearly as I can see my memories of a former life.  The old life.  Before my ability to live and compute and think without the help of these great leviathans began to drain away.

The Only Trekkie Who Liked “Into Darkness”

Definitive proof that I'm a trekkie.  This is the actual, vintage Star Trek mug that I think I mail-ordered from the back of a cereal box in 70s.  On the bottom it says, "DEKA Elizabeth NJ 14  269  Made in USA"

Definitive proof that I’m a trekkie. This is the actual, vintage Star Trek mug that I think I mail-ordered from the back of a cereal box in 70s. On the bottom it says, “DEKA
Elizabeth NJ
14
269
Made in USA”

Don’t know how I missed this news from last year, but it seems that Star Trek: Into Darkness was voted by fans as the worst movie in the Star Trek canon.  Seriously?  I’m floored by that.

I get that we hardcore trekkie’s like the hard stuff — hard science, hard social commentary, hard relevancy.  I understand that we prefer slower-paced, thinking-man’s Sci-Fi flicks.

But this movie, although it was action-packed and fast-paced, was true to the spirit of original TV show.  It took a a solid message about terrorism and wrapped it in a tasty nougat of action.  So what if it wasn’t “hard science fiction?”  Was Space Seed, the original episode on which it was based, hard science fiction?  Was Spock’s Brain?  Was it that you didn’t like the message?  Well, did you like the anti-feminist message of the episode Turnabout Intruder?

I know, I know, many of us didn’t like the scene in which Alice Eve’s character strips down.  I liked it.  Shows that Kirk is a horny womanizer like in the original series.  And as for the alleged whitewashing (casting Cumberbatch in the role of Khan), I approve of the fact that the producers didn’t want to demonize a non-white person.

Pine, Quinto, Saldana, Pegg and Urban have captured the essence of the characters beautifully in these reboots.  And, like the original TV series, these new movies are a mix of action, humor, pathos, and relevancy.  I just don’t understand why my fellow hardcore trekkies are nitpicking them to pieces!

If you’re a hardcore trekkie who can’t stand the new movies, please fess up.  What’s the real reason you don’t like them?  There has to be something you’re not telling me.

In the Back of the Class on Ello

elloI requested an invite to Ello weeks ago and I finally got a coveted reply.  Now I’m on.  I asked for an invite because, if it really is what people are saying it is — that is, if the platform is true to its manifesto — it’s the utopia of social networks.

My thoughts on Ello, so far anyway, are as follows:

  • There are some remarkably talented people in there, and remarkable people make you run like you’re at risk of getting left behind.  I like that.
  • The interface isn’t intuitive.  In fact, I can post a picture, or I can post words, but I haven’t figured out how to post pictures and words together in the same post.  Once again I’m in the back of the class.
  • So far so good.

If you’re a blog follower and you’re on Ello, please friend me so we can connect.

36-hour Sale! Free shirt w/ every order

36-hour Sale at PTDICE.com! Free shirt w/ every order of books, zines, patches, fitness dice, etc.   Offer good until midnight tomorrow, no minimum order.  Just enter your size at in “notes” at checkout– do not add to shopping cart!