1:48am; need a 3 hour nap before work.
What do I believe?
Sometimes I dont know the answer, but thats because I don't have the information to define it ... yet.
I had been about to post here that, for various reasons, I was renouncing my Christianity. As reasons I intended to cite tenets of faith that were simply at odds with the physical world and portions of Holy text that appear to be at odds with everything. Chief among these would be the book of Genesis which appears to consist largely of mythology, much of it not even of Hebrew origin. I'm not just talking about Creation or the Tower of Babel. I mean that I have serious problems when the basic identity of the main characters appears to have been subjected to revision. Another significant, but related, issue that I have is when the Book of Revelation trots out the ida of a New Heaven and a New Earth. That idea is basically a repackaging of a much older "pagan" religious idea of continuous cyclical destruction and regeneration of the world. I cannot very well be a Christian knowing that if this can even happen, the time scal would be in millions of years between the bounteous part of the cycles. The universe tends to not support physical regeneration.
Before I went ahead and posted that, self restraint urged me to do some research. My main inquiry went something along these lines:
1) Modern Christianity is based upon the New Covenant with God, established through the travails of a historical figure named (variously) Iesu. [How anyone can get 'Jesus' from a Hebrew name is beyond me - I'm fairly certain that it begins with a "Yah" sound, but thats an entire other discussion]
2) That being the case, I should restrain my criticisms to the body of work entitled the New Testament. That effectively reduces the mythological and mystical content by about 75-80%.
3) For the purpose of simplicity, I'll forgo critiquing the Gospels. There is surely plenty of meat there, but the preserving of oral traditions always results in problems like the bias of the authors. I'll call them the rough edges of perspective then, and move on.
The bulk of the NT is actually well edited for content. The epistles of Paul and a few others formulate a nice handbook for Christian living. There persists some debate on semantics, and who the real author of some letters were, but in general, I'll forgo those issues as well.
Thus my main questions boil down to these:
We go through the entire Bible, when all of a sudden, in the last book, we get all kinds of new bad guys on the scene. Where were these guys before?
I'm referring to the Anti-Christ, the False Prophet, the Beast, and a host of imagery and Evil Forces. Also, as I mentioned, we get amazing detail about what the last days of the world will be like. Where did all this stuff come from???
So, my first inquiries were as to when the Book of Revelation was added to the canon of the New Testament. Had it been added later (for whatever reason) that might add reasons for my distrust. The early Church, however, was very careful about selecting which texts to preserve in the face of severe persecution. The earliest documents on the subject clearly include the Book of Revelation as already part of canon (if I use that word correctly) attributing it to being written at about the same time as the gospels (roughly 80 C.E. or so - all the survivors who contributed to first hand accounts of Iesu were dying). So it was definitely not a later addition.
I was rather at a loss for how else to approach the problem after I had determined that Revelation was canon. Then I read an article in Christian Archaeology (I think I'm murdering that periodical title) about "the Throne of Satan". That greatly illuminated, and clarified the issue for me.
The "Throne of Satan" was the Great Altar at Pergamon, which was initially dedicated to Zeuse and Athena, and in time became consecrated to Roman Emperors, including Diocletian.
The message to the Christian Church there emphasized the great peril that they were in, since Diocletian, among other things, tried to preserve the pagan religions and persecuted Cristianity with renewed zeal. That was the answer that I was looking for.
The portents and imagery of the Book of Revelation can be read in several ways. Some choose to interpret them as pertaining to the End Times; the last days of civilization on Earth. They can also be interpreted as short-term prophecy, where the Great Beast is Rome, the Anti-Christ is Diocletian, and the False Prophet probably Nero. It is in this short-term sense that the Book of Revelation makes more sense to me. In this context, the messages to the churches have greater urgency. In this context, the promise of a position of honor in Heaven - not just of a vague treasure - must have been particularly heartening to those who lived in danger of imminent martyrdom. For the Christians living in the shadow of Rome, Revelation portrayed not a dark vision of the End Times, but a vital promise of ultimate victory when the Church faced its darkest days.
Sitting here, in a swivel chair within my messy apartment, I think I can forgive all three John the Revelators if they decide to dust off physical reincarnation of the world (and the body) in their message of hope.
Because it appears to me that the message was recieved.
05 June 2006
03 June 2006
Certifiable Mail
(based on an idea that came to me at 7:15am)
I never liked shopping malls - until I realised how very useful they can be. The people milling about were a melange fairly representative of the local population. In one brief session, a curious outsider can discover much about the area he is in. Racial diversity, economic vitality, popular fashion, unpopular fashion, median age, even the populace's general mood might be percieved by someone receptive enough. Should curious extra-terrestrials happen to visit a shopping mall as the first stop in their visit, they might learn many of these things. And if they also heard the popular music that was piped into these places, they would know for certain that humankind was tone-deaf.
"Pardon me, are you Mr. Ludwig?"
Alas, the figures moving in the background never left him alone long enough to complete his thoughts... but perhaps the world was a better place because of that. In keeping with his previous train of thought, Ludwig faced the interloper and attempted to divine its nature.
Dress: businesslike. Not garish like a salesman, nor costly like an financial executive. Shoes clean but not highly polished; thus not an ex-soldier. [Ludwig wondered where that thought had come from - was it dogma that soldiers are doomed to polish their shoes fanatically for the remainder of their corporeal existence?]
Ludwig greeted the newcomer and assured him that he had found the right Ludwig.
"Good morning. You are right on time. Excellent!"
The newcomer's sudden look of bewilderment pleased Ludwig. He did expect to see this man today but there was no appointment set. Not only was it amusing to see how easily different people could be disturbed by relatively trivial concepts like timeliness and deadlines, but it was also instructive to see how well the subject recovered from unforseen stresses.
The man remembered his purpose relatively quickly.
"Er... I have a message for you, sir."
"Which you cannot give to me here." Ludwig stated as if completing the man's sentence. He was completing the man's sentence. Inwardly he sighed about people not paying attention or following directions that were so painstakingly drafted.
"Yes!" The man brightened visibly.
"I trust you drove here?"
"Yes..."
"Good. Lets go out to your car: I have something to give you."
"What? But I thought that this was just the one message?"
"Shall we? I'll explain as we go."
The man turned and began to walk to an exit. Ludwig moved to stay near his side.
"You are correct." Ludwig began. "With the delivery of this message, your obligation is fulfilled.
"I should stress how unusual this situation is. Having never met me, you must have felt some considerable anxiety about being able to deliver the message successfully. Quite understandable. Similarly, I might question whether the message is genuine, since I have never met you and cannot therefore determine how reliable you may be.
"Unusual as it is, we felt that this arrangement was neccessary to achieve our goals. You, Mr. Smith, were neccessary to achieve our goals. Is it much farther?"
Ludwig had stopped abruptly, and was looking around at the parking lot.
Mr. Smith, a bit startled, had gone a further two steps before he realised Ludwig had stopped. "Its just over there" he said, pointing. "I like to walk. Need the exercise. Easier to find parking that far out."
Satisfied, Ludwig continued walking and talking.
"To be sure, if our goal were less important, almost anyone could be used as a messenger. Perhaps even a different John Smith would be sufficient. Are you aware of how many John Smiths there are?"
"Twenty seven, last time I looked."
"Quite. It must be bothersome for the various Mrs. Smiths to not be able to page their husbands lest they inadvertently draw a sizeable crowd. Certainly you can imagine my dismay when I was informed that we were looking for a man by the name of John Smith."
"Yes. It can be a nuisance. This is it. Do I give you the message now?"
"That won't be neccessary. It's just a blank page."
Ludwig plunged a knife into John Smith's chest.
"I told you. We needed to be certain we had the right man. It's a waste of time studying pictures and biographies when you can get the poor bastards to come to you."
Ludwig turned and left, since there were now only twenty six of that name.
I never liked shopping malls - until I realised how very useful they can be. The people milling about were a melange fairly representative of the local population. In one brief session, a curious outsider can discover much about the area he is in. Racial diversity, economic vitality, popular fashion, unpopular fashion, median age, even the populace's general mood might be percieved by someone receptive enough. Should curious extra-terrestrials happen to visit a shopping mall as the first stop in their visit, they might learn many of these things. And if they also heard the popular music that was piped into these places, they would know for certain that humankind was tone-deaf.
"Pardon me, are you Mr. Ludwig?"
Alas, the figures moving in the background never left him alone long enough to complete his thoughts... but perhaps the world was a better place because of that. In keeping with his previous train of thought, Ludwig faced the interloper and attempted to divine its nature.
Dress: businesslike. Not garish like a salesman, nor costly like an financial executive. Shoes clean but not highly polished; thus not an ex-soldier. [Ludwig wondered where that thought had come from - was it dogma that soldiers are doomed to polish their shoes fanatically for the remainder of their corporeal existence?]
Ludwig greeted the newcomer and assured him that he had found the right Ludwig.
"Good morning. You are right on time. Excellent!"
The newcomer's sudden look of bewilderment pleased Ludwig. He did expect to see this man today but there was no appointment set. Not only was it amusing to see how easily different people could be disturbed by relatively trivial concepts like timeliness and deadlines, but it was also instructive to see how well the subject recovered from unforseen stresses.
The man remembered his purpose relatively quickly.
"Er... I have a message for you, sir."
"Which you cannot give to me here." Ludwig stated as if completing the man's sentence. He was completing the man's sentence. Inwardly he sighed about people not paying attention or following directions that were so painstakingly drafted.
"Yes!" The man brightened visibly.
"I trust you drove here?"
"Yes..."
"Good. Lets go out to your car: I have something to give you."
"What? But I thought that this was just the one message?"
"Shall we? I'll explain as we go."
The man turned and began to walk to an exit. Ludwig moved to stay near his side.
"You are correct." Ludwig began. "With the delivery of this message, your obligation is fulfilled.
"I should stress how unusual this situation is. Having never met me, you must have felt some considerable anxiety about being able to deliver the message successfully. Quite understandable. Similarly, I might question whether the message is genuine, since I have never met you and cannot therefore determine how reliable you may be.
"Unusual as it is, we felt that this arrangement was neccessary to achieve our goals. You, Mr. Smith, were neccessary to achieve our goals. Is it much farther?"
Ludwig had stopped abruptly, and was looking around at the parking lot.
Mr. Smith, a bit startled, had gone a further two steps before he realised Ludwig had stopped. "Its just over there" he said, pointing. "I like to walk. Need the exercise. Easier to find parking that far out."
Satisfied, Ludwig continued walking and talking.
"To be sure, if our goal were less important, almost anyone could be used as a messenger. Perhaps even a different John Smith would be sufficient. Are you aware of how many John Smiths there are?"
"Twenty seven, last time I looked."
"Quite. It must be bothersome for the various Mrs. Smiths to not be able to page their husbands lest they inadvertently draw a sizeable crowd. Certainly you can imagine my dismay when I was informed that we were looking for a man by the name of John Smith."
"Yes. It can be a nuisance. This is it. Do I give you the message now?"
"That won't be neccessary. It's just a blank page."
Ludwig plunged a knife into John Smith's chest.
"I told you. We needed to be certain we had the right man. It's a waste of time studying pictures and biographies when you can get the poor bastards to come to you."
Ludwig turned and left, since there were now only twenty six of that name.
19 March 2006
Correction
Upon reading my last blog entry, my friend Jim became alarmed and inquired whether I had been burned.
Sigh.
Adagio is a work of fiction and should not be mistaken for a chronicle of actual events or a veiled allusion to same.
With that said, it is also true that there is some of me in the story. This simply cannot be avoided. Often I 'paint' myself into the 'picture' as a way of solving problems of plot or dialogue. I know what I would wish to say or do in some situations, so it is easier to implant myself rather that speculate what some other character might do. This does occasionally lead to complications, however. It occurred to me whilst I was delineating the story that I should not want to be resussitated from complications which were caused by/included burns to more than 60% or so of my body. [depending on what areas, but you get the idea] The concept of bad burns was more a plot device to keep the subject's arms raised despite their natural tendencies than any reflection upon my well being.
In that vein, in order to prevent any future misapprehensions I shall delineate several things that I have/am/will be writing about that have also not happened.
I have not been killed.
(is that a shock or what?)
I have not killed anyone [today].
I have no uncurable diseases, though I may be susceptible to colon cancer.
I have not been shot, stabbed, peirced (violently), skewered, impaled, transfixed, bludgeoned, beaten, or properly taunted.
I have not engaged in sodomy, either as a 'pitcher' or a 'catcher'.
I have not engaged in bestiality. Anything that the aardvark claims is a lie.
I have not channeled any souls or spirits, nor knowingly come in contact with anything supernatural, except for one occasion where I sat partly in the 'cold spot' where someone died.
I am not aware of being the re-incarnation of any persons, spirits, or other personas of beatific or malevolent demeanor. Despite what my parents say.
I am not now, nor have I ever been a member of the Communist Party. I'm on the Communist Party Planning Committee. These parties dont happen by themselves.
I fully intend to add more B.S. as it comes to me.
I thought that Adagio turned out extremely well, considering that it was pretty much a direct download from my brain. I'm not sure that its an accident, but the only real details are in what the main character feels or attempts. That goes a long way to making it feel somewhat surreal. No irrelevant objects are described, or no notice is given to them. I should have added a few lines in the middle, something like:
Holding her again was exhilarating, almost overwhelming. Being all that she can see and feel at this moment. Right now. This is the moment he wants to preserve. This moment and no others.
That would have gone a lot further to making the alternate title make sense:
"A Time of His Life"
On the other hand, I realised that my feet had forgotten how to waltz, and that I do not have a proper copy of die blau donau. Bummer.
Sigh.
Adagio is a work of fiction and should not be mistaken for a chronicle of actual events or a veiled allusion to same.
With that said, it is also true that there is some of me in the story. This simply cannot be avoided. Often I 'paint' myself into the 'picture' as a way of solving problems of plot or dialogue. I know what I would wish to say or do in some situations, so it is easier to implant myself rather that speculate what some other character might do. This does occasionally lead to complications, however. It occurred to me whilst I was delineating the story that I should not want to be resussitated from complications which were caused by/included burns to more than 60% or so of my body. [depending on what areas, but you get the idea] The concept of bad burns was more a plot device to keep the subject's arms raised despite their natural tendencies than any reflection upon my well being.
In that vein, in order to prevent any future misapprehensions I shall delineate several things that I have/am/will be writing about that have also not happened.
I have not been killed.
(is that a shock or what?)
I have not killed anyone [today].
I have no uncurable diseases, though I may be susceptible to colon cancer.
I have not been shot, stabbed, peirced (violently), skewered, impaled, transfixed, bludgeoned, beaten, or properly taunted.
I have not engaged in sodomy, either as a 'pitcher' or a 'catcher'.
I have not engaged in bestiality. Anything that the aardvark claims is a lie.
I have not channeled any souls or spirits, nor knowingly come in contact with anything supernatural, except for one occasion where I sat partly in the 'cold spot' where someone died.
I am not aware of being the re-incarnation of any persons, spirits, or other personas of beatific or malevolent demeanor. Despite what my parents say.
I am not now, nor have I ever been a member of the Communist Party. I'm on the Communist Party Planning Committee. These parties dont happen by themselves.
I fully intend to add more B.S. as it comes to me.
I thought that Adagio turned out extremely well, considering that it was pretty much a direct download from my brain. I'm not sure that its an accident, but the only real details are in what the main character feels or attempts. That goes a long way to making it feel somewhat surreal. No irrelevant objects are described, or no notice is given to them. I should have added a few lines in the middle, something like:
Holding her again was exhilarating, almost overwhelming. Being all that she can see and feel at this moment. Right now. This is the moment he wants to preserve. This moment and no others.
That would have gone a lot further to making the alternate title make sense:
"A Time of His Life"
On the other hand, I realised that my feet had forgotten how to waltz, and that I do not have a proper copy of die blau donau. Bummer.
17 March 2006
Adagio
Desperate to endure its enormity, he pushed the mountain back and braced himself to hold it there. Satisfied that he could hold it there, for now, he smiled.
"You'll be just fine."
It was such a lie.
He sat on the edge of her hospital bed for a while longer and talked.
1.) You must rest now.
2.) I gave the nurse my pager number.
3.) Just ask the nurses if you need anything at all.
4.) I'd like to fool around, but I don't think the doctor would approve.
5.) Look, see? They made these gowns just for frisky people like us!
6.) I love you very much and I cannot wait to have you all to myself.
7.) Yes, I took care of that. Leave everything to me.
8.) ...
Those were things he wanted to say.
He couldn't be sure whether or not he actually said them because he had to keep one eye on the mountain, just in case.......
He kissed her very gently, and bidding her goodnight, he slipped out of the room.
The mountain was shifting.
He walked down the hall towards the elevators. Casually at first, because he was still within earshot. Clean tiled surfaces do absolutely nothing to dampen sounds. After about ten paces, he began to walk with long, swift strides.
He had to hurry, because the mountain was moving again, and he wasn't going to be able to hold it back this time.
Reaching the elevator, he jammed at the button with his thumb. COME ON! He heard the hum of the elevator car, but it was scarcely fast enough for his liking. He hadn't really exerted himself, but he felt breathless. A frantic eternity passed in the space of about seventeen seconds. The elevator door opened lazily after emitting the obligatory "ping". He nearly ran into the orderly that was stepping out. Safely inside, he might have looked tired as he reached for his handkerchief. The elevator door closed.
Exhausted, he gladly allowed the mountain to crush him.
He cried, wept, sobbed, wailed, shrieked, wailed, and bawled. Not necessarily in that order, and sometimes all at once. Fleetingly brief periods of self control were used to wipe his face with the handkerchief. Still weeping, the elevator discharged him into the lobby. He didn't bother trying to compose himself, the attempt would have been futile. He wandered out into the parking lot, found his car (perhaps by smell: he certainly didn't appear to be actively looking for it) opened the door and collapsed inside. A good deal more crying followed.
It cannot properly be said that he ceased crying, and he was not weeping uncontrollably, he just chose not to control it. His mind eventually wandered out of the gloom. There, that's more like it! Think man!
She was going to die, but that was as it should be. The fire that burns brightest consumes its fuel fastest and dies out sooner. It was the fire of passion that burned so painfully now; the grand lives they had shared in such a very short space of time. The passion was still fresh, but now suddenly rent horribly asunder. It was too much to bear. It was...
Was???
No.
Is.
Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is.
I am not dead. She is not dead, and I will not give her up to death. The passion is still very much alive. We are only being.... sidetracked. Her malady is unfortunate, yes; but we should continue to live well while we are alive. Precious moments are wasting. These moments shall never return to us... I need some way to... ... ... Yes!
Then he did stop crying. He reached for the small notebook that he kept in the cutout for the parking brake handle. He had such a poor memory that it was necessary to write down ideas lest they be lost forever. He uncapped the pen ..... but hesitated at first. His eyes shifted and his mind roamed...... Finally he wrote sporadically, and then furiously. He needed a telephone! He needed a telephone directory! He needed.... well, he needed a bath too.
___________________________________________________________
He strode into her hospital room wearing a dark blue suit with a portable CD player in one hand and a bundle in the other arm. She looked pale, glad to see him, and insatiable about knowing what he was up to. His smile was akin to the sunrise. It was all that he could do to stay calm. He was proud and excited and pleased with himself. He put the things down on a chair and went and sat at her bedside.
[Admittedly, it is cruel to make people wait for their surprise gifts. Procuring the gift is a very special act in and of itself, but so very fleeting is the actual giving. A very great and grand thing it is for the giver to savor the moment before the giving. To feel the incurable curiosity and palpable excitement, and profess indifferently "Oh, its just a trifle.... nothing special." while delaying that blissful moment for as long as possible. Ah, the excruciatingly tenuous anticipation.]
He knew she would be brimming with curiosity, but he spent an inordinate amount of time fussing about how she was feeling and how well she had slept and whether the nurses had been good to her and was it very painful when they drew her blood so early in the morning and did she know that it had rained overnight and that the rain had not been in the forecast and wasn't it just a shame that they can't forecast rain like that and isn't it just as if we were still living in the Stone Age when we can't even tell what the weather is going to be like tomorrow and...
His smile completely gave him away (as he knew it would) and she lovingly struck him with the plastic knife that had been on her breakfast tray. She demanded to know what was in the parcel or she would find a very unpleasant use for the plastic knife.
His smile blossomed. He feigned reluctance as he slowly surrendered the bundle wrapped in colored paper. The paper did not last long. Then, for the first time in about an hour, you could hear a pin drop. He smiled a mix of pleasure and adoration. She just stared for a moment.
"What did you do? Karl? What did you pay for this?"
"It's a trifle," he insisted. "Look."
He showed her how he had cut the blue gown open at the back, and down the backs of the sleeves, and how he had added hook and loop fasteners to close the gaps so that it could be worn properly.
"It is a much more appropriate hospital gown for you, my dear.
"Now. You must put it on."
She protested faintly, and was fairly weak, but stood shakily as Karl closed the dress around her.
He set up the CD player and started the music. The opening strains of the Blue Danube filled the room. She was pale, excited and happy, but unsure...
"But..... Karl, I can't dance....." she said, not wanting to disappoint him.
"You do not have to."
Karl tried to contort his face into a debonair and dignified look, but he knew it didn't quite work on his features. She smiled at the attempt all the same.
He moved to stand facing her, and reached for her hand. Bowing to her, he kissed her hand. Straightening up from the bow, he moved a step forward and put his arm around her. Straightening fully, he lifted her off the ground with the arm he had put around her.
Karl was suddenly shocked by how light she was, but he recovered quickly and, not wanting to jolt her too much, started to sway around the room. Her eyes misted and after a while she laid her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck.
"Would you like me to stop?"
"Never."
"Very well then" he smiled.
He pranced around the room as the orchestra's performance reached a crescendo.
bah-dah-dah-dah dum, dum dum -
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
The heart monitor wailed. The attempt at a debonair look was frozen on Karl's burned face. A twisted smile of delight on his taut lips. Lying on the gurney in the ICU, with his blackened and oozing arms outstretched he looked like a mannequin separated from its eternal dance partner. Despite the urgent wail of the monitor, the only pertinent activity is a woman's grief; watching this destroyed man slip away from her. She sobs helplessly.
A passerby takes in the scene with some alarm, but querying a local nurse receives only a brief countersign; "DNR."
_____________________________________________
She lifted her head from his shoulder. Her complexion wasn't nearly as pale as he had thought earlier. See? It was just a trick of the light! She only needed some air; to be up on her feet a little. Isn't this wonderful?
She was up on her feet. She was dancing. And it was wonderful.
He did hear someone wailing in the distance. Yes, over there - down the hall. In the ICU. Well.... it's a shame that someone should be hurt or dying while he was having such a marvelous time, but he couldn't very well help everyone, could he?
Adagio.
Karl Erik Aune
[alternate title - A Time of His Life]
People should know what horrors lie in wait for burn victims. Especially after the fire is out. People go into the flames but shattered lives and broken minds come out of rehab years later. Life is precious, but it is the quality of life that matters.
"You'll be just fine."
It was such a lie.
He sat on the edge of her hospital bed for a while longer and talked.
1.) You must rest now.
2.) I gave the nurse my pager number.
3.) Just ask the nurses if you need anything at all.
4.) I'd like to fool around, but I don't think the doctor would approve.
5.) Look, see? They made these gowns just for frisky people like us!
6.) I love you very much and I cannot wait to have you all to myself.
7.) Yes, I took care of that. Leave everything to me.
8.) ...
Those were things he wanted to say.
He couldn't be sure whether or not he actually said them because he had to keep one eye on the mountain, just in case.......
He kissed her very gently, and bidding her goodnight, he slipped out of the room.
The mountain was shifting.
He walked down the hall towards the elevators. Casually at first, because he was still within earshot. Clean tiled surfaces do absolutely nothing to dampen sounds. After about ten paces, he began to walk with long, swift strides.
He had to hurry, because the mountain was moving again, and he wasn't going to be able to hold it back this time.
Reaching the elevator, he jammed at the button with his thumb. COME ON! He heard the hum of the elevator car, but it was scarcely fast enough for his liking. He hadn't really exerted himself, but he felt breathless. A frantic eternity passed in the space of about seventeen seconds. The elevator door opened lazily after emitting the obligatory "ping". He nearly ran into the orderly that was stepping out. Safely inside, he might have looked tired as he reached for his handkerchief. The elevator door closed.
Exhausted, he gladly allowed the mountain to crush him.
He cried, wept, sobbed, wailed, shrieked, wailed, and bawled. Not necessarily in that order, and sometimes all at once. Fleetingly brief periods of self control were used to wipe his face with the handkerchief. Still weeping, the elevator discharged him into the lobby. He didn't bother trying to compose himself, the attempt would have been futile. He wandered out into the parking lot, found his car (perhaps by smell: he certainly didn't appear to be actively looking for it) opened the door and collapsed inside. A good deal more crying followed.
It cannot properly be said that he ceased crying, and he was not weeping uncontrollably, he just chose not to control it. His mind eventually wandered out of the gloom. There, that's more like it! Think man!
She was going to die, but that was as it should be. The fire that burns brightest consumes its fuel fastest and dies out sooner. It was the fire of passion that burned so painfully now; the grand lives they had shared in such a very short space of time. The passion was still fresh, but now suddenly rent horribly asunder. It was too much to bear. It was...
Was???
No.
Is.
Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is. Is.
I am not dead. She is not dead, and I will not give her up to death. The passion is still very much alive. We are only being.... sidetracked. Her malady is unfortunate, yes; but we should continue to live well while we are alive. Precious moments are wasting. These moments shall never return to us... I need some way to... ... ... Yes!
Then he did stop crying. He reached for the small notebook that he kept in the cutout for the parking brake handle. He had such a poor memory that it was necessary to write down ideas lest they be lost forever. He uncapped the pen ..... but hesitated at first. His eyes shifted and his mind roamed...... Finally he wrote sporadically, and then furiously. He needed a telephone! He needed a telephone directory! He needed.... well, he needed a bath too.
___________________________________________________________
He strode into her hospital room wearing a dark blue suit with a portable CD player in one hand and a bundle in the other arm. She looked pale, glad to see him, and insatiable about knowing what he was up to. His smile was akin to the sunrise. It was all that he could do to stay calm. He was proud and excited and pleased with himself. He put the things down on a chair and went and sat at her bedside.
[Admittedly, it is cruel to make people wait for their surprise gifts. Procuring the gift is a very special act in and of itself, but so very fleeting is the actual giving. A very great and grand thing it is for the giver to savor the moment before the giving. To feel the incurable curiosity and palpable excitement, and profess indifferently "Oh, its just a trifle.... nothing special." while delaying that blissful moment for as long as possible. Ah, the excruciatingly tenuous anticipation.]
He knew she would be brimming with curiosity, but he spent an inordinate amount of time fussing about how she was feeling and how well she had slept and whether the nurses had been good to her and was it very painful when they drew her blood so early in the morning and did she know that it had rained overnight and that the rain had not been in the forecast and wasn't it just a shame that they can't forecast rain like that and isn't it just as if we were still living in the Stone Age when we can't even tell what the weather is going to be like tomorrow and...
His smile completely gave him away (as he knew it would) and she lovingly struck him with the plastic knife that had been on her breakfast tray. She demanded to know what was in the parcel or she would find a very unpleasant use for the plastic knife.
His smile blossomed. He feigned reluctance as he slowly surrendered the bundle wrapped in colored paper. The paper did not last long. Then, for the first time in about an hour, you could hear a pin drop. He smiled a mix of pleasure and adoration. She just stared for a moment.
"What did you do? Karl? What did you pay for this?"
"It's a trifle," he insisted. "Look."
He showed her how he had cut the blue gown open at the back, and down the backs of the sleeves, and how he had added hook and loop fasteners to close the gaps so that it could be worn properly.
"It is a much more appropriate hospital gown for you, my dear.
"Now. You must put it on."
She protested faintly, and was fairly weak, but stood shakily as Karl closed the dress around her.
He set up the CD player and started the music. The opening strains of the Blue Danube filled the room. She was pale, excited and happy, but unsure...
"But..... Karl, I can't dance....." she said, not wanting to disappoint him.
"You do not have to."
Karl tried to contort his face into a debonair and dignified look, but he knew it didn't quite work on his features. She smiled at the attempt all the same.
He moved to stand facing her, and reached for her hand. Bowing to her, he kissed her hand. Straightening up from the bow, he moved a step forward and put his arm around her. Straightening fully, he lifted her off the ground with the arm he had put around her.
Karl was suddenly shocked by how light she was, but he recovered quickly and, not wanting to jolt her too much, started to sway around the room. Her eyes misted and after a while she laid her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck.
"Would you like me to stop?"
"Never."
"Very well then" he smiled.
He pranced around the room as the orchestra's performance reached a crescendo.
bah-dah-dah-dah dum, dum dum -
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
The heart monitor wailed. The attempt at a debonair look was frozen on Karl's burned face. A twisted smile of delight on his taut lips. Lying on the gurney in the ICU, with his blackened and oozing arms outstretched he looked like a mannequin separated from its eternal dance partner. Despite the urgent wail of the monitor, the only pertinent activity is a woman's grief; watching this destroyed man slip away from her. She sobs helplessly.
A passerby takes in the scene with some alarm, but querying a local nurse receives only a brief countersign; "DNR."
_____________________________________________
She lifted her head from his shoulder. Her complexion wasn't nearly as pale as he had thought earlier. See? It was just a trick of the light! She only needed some air; to be up on her feet a little. Isn't this wonderful?
She was up on her feet. She was dancing. And it was wonderful.
He did hear someone wailing in the distance. Yes, over there - down the hall. In the ICU. Well.... it's a shame that someone should be hurt or dying while he was having such a marvelous time, but he couldn't very well help everyone, could he?
Adagio.
Karl Erik Aune
[alternate title - A Time of His Life]
People should know what horrors lie in wait for burn victims. Especially after the fire is out. People go into the flames but shattered lives and broken minds come out of rehab years later. Life is precious, but it is the quality of life that matters.
20 February 2006
It's not the real Grail???
After yesterday's summary of what the typical theme is in Indo-European mythos, I will now, in what promises to be a multi-part discussion, dissect the King Arthur legend through the lens of that mythos. Specifically, since there are several versions of the legend, I have chosen to use John Boorman's "Excalibur" as a pithy summary. This is largely because Boorman uses wonderful symbolism, and it is my favorite film. In the interests of brevity, I will have to ignore Boorman's marvellous visual symbolism, which is a real shame. Go see the film now; I'll stay here and wait until you are done. I capitalise the word "land" to stress its importance, or because of my conceit, whatever.
There are two basic ideas that you must retain for this discussion:
First, the world is a macrocosmic representation of man, and its components are the equivalent of the constituent parts of a man. Secondly, that a proper king must be the embodiment of all three social classes, or be depicted as doing that through his posession of the symbols for all of the classes. The symbol for the common people varies, the warrior caste is usually represented by a sword, and the priest caste is typically represented by a (ornamental?) cup such as priests use to pour libations.
In the opening, we see the mighty Uther Pendragon ("pendragon" means the precedent to the dragon, but the Dragon is a further layer of Boorman's symbolism that I have to ignore here) doing battle with the forces of the Duke of Cornwall. Merlin promises him the sword Excalibur, but we see that Uther is ruled by his vices and proves to be an unworthy king. [This is true to themes in other Indo-European folklore] Uther, ambushed and at the point of dying intends to deny Excalibur to everyone else, believing himself to be the rightful king, and drives the sword deep into a large boulder. Since stones are the homologic alloform of bones, it could be said that he drove the sword into the bones (or marrow) of the world. Uther is the mightiest of warriors, but posession of the symbol of his class (Excalibur) and access to divine guidance, which is the priest caste embodied in Merlin the Magician, is not sufficient. He fails as a king, and the land descends into the strife that occurs when the classes are not united.
Along comes young Arthur, who easily plucks the sword from the stone when no warrior is capable of doing it. [Arthur, as a squire, is hardly a commoner, but a later exchange between Uriens and Arthur makes it very clear that squires are definitely a social strata that is subordinate to Knights.] Merlin appears and briefs him on the situation. An interesting sequence follows where apparently Arthur melds with the land.
"What does it mean to be King?"
"You will be the Land, and the Land will be you. As you thrive, the Land will blossom; if you fail the Land will perish."
Arthur goes on to become a successful King. There is peace, prosperity, and it seems they have driven away evil. This should imply that Arthur is successful at uniting the classes, although the common people do not appear to be represented. I believe that Boorman has substituted "the land" for the working class. This actually fits well with some known folklore.
[Afterthought: "uniting the classes" may not be the proper description. It may in fact be completely wrong as the classes continue to be stratified throughout the King's rule.]
[One example is a tale of three sons that attempt to usurp their father's throne - the only link between them and the three social classes are their names, which are rather obscure etymologically. The son who represents the lower class is named 'Lothar'. In celtic, it appears that that can mean ditch, trench, or canal, among other things. Bruce Lincoln opined that the commonality there is a low-lying water vessel; like a wash basin. That may be a bit of a stretch, but I'll accept that either a ditch or wash basin symbolizes the common people.]
Therefore, Boorman's King Arthur *is* the Land/commoners, posesses Excalibur (the symbol of the warrior caste) and has the guiding advise of Merlin (priest caste).
Internal divisions occur, strife originating from within the very Round Table destabilizes the kingdom. [Karl's note: I've just realised that the Round Table is yet another instance of symbolism - it indicates a wholesome state out of a cycle of strife and stability] In dual sequences involving Launcelot and Gwenevere, Merlin and Morgana, King Arthur loses the advise of Merlin and posession of Excalibur at the same time. The result, of course, is strife. Morgana's evil takes root in the world, and the land languishes. Arthur grows ill as the Land suffers, again because Arthur is the Land"
Launcelot: (anguished) "Excalibur! The king without a sword! The Land without a King!"
"We must find what was lost." Boorman's film never actually refers to the cup as "the Holy Grail". I believe the word 'grail' is used, but so is 'chalice'. [Morgana, on the other hand, offers questing knights a 'cup' of her own. Morgana will have to wait until a later installment.] What you and I now know is that what was lost is the essence of the priest caste. How shall the knights recover that? "Signs. Portents. Omens." All of which have traditionally been the domain of priests.
Here (to my personal joy) Boorman stays faithful to the Arthurian legend. In the legends as I read them long ago, Percieval, Bors, and one other knight found the Holy Grail. Bors and the other knight were taken into heaven, and Percieval returned the Grail to the King. Percieval was a wild boy who became a knight, and thus ..... oops, I was going to leave Boorman's general symbolism out of this, wasn't I? Well, it can't be avoided now. We see that it is only by Percieval shedding his armor (symbolic of innocence or nature or common people, your choice) that he can approach the Chalice, and provide Arthur with what was lost: the preistly advice of Merlin: "You and the Land are one!"
Once Arthur drinks from the Chalice, he is filled with inspiration and psychoanalyses the entire film since the point where strife started to take hold of the Round Table. [JOKE] Having recieved this infusion of priestly advice, Arthur knows what to do. He must posess Excalibur to be King and save the Land. He finds the sword in the keeping of Guenevere. Notice that it is only AFTER Arthur reclaims Excalibur that the land flourishes again. [huh, actually, I have forgotten, been too long since I have seen it, and its too cold right now - but I remember the land conspicously thriving after Arthur has Excalibur]
In another important sequence, Arthur awakens the spirit of Merlin when he is leaning against a stone circle. Again, stone is an alloform of bone.
Merlin's spirit vanquishes Morgana, but Merlin himself is otherwise out of the picture. Arthur intentional disperses the last of the symbols that is in his keeping. Mortally wounded, he commands that Excalibur be returned to the Lady of the Lake. "One day a King will come, and the sword will rise [again]". This is another common theme in folklore; a king falls, and there is strife between the classes until another (worthy) King comes along.
To summarize: A common (or lowly, in this case they are not the same thing) boy that is able to posess the essence of the three castes rises to become the rightful King. When he loses control of the classes or the symbols that are their essence, the King loses power and fails. A society in strife becomes wholesome under a proper King and returns to strife without him. A cycle that is implied in folklore as eternal until the destruction and re-creation of the world, which is also an eternal cycle.
And by now you may have guessed at the truth:
There was never any "Holy Grail".
There are two basic ideas that you must retain for this discussion:
First, the world is a macrocosmic representation of man, and its components are the equivalent of the constituent parts of a man. Secondly, that a proper king must be the embodiment of all three social classes, or be depicted as doing that through his posession of the symbols for all of the classes. The symbol for the common people varies, the warrior caste is usually represented by a sword, and the priest caste is typically represented by a (ornamental?) cup such as priests use to pour libations.
In the opening, we see the mighty Uther Pendragon ("pendragon" means the precedent to the dragon, but the Dragon is a further layer of Boorman's symbolism that I have to ignore here) doing battle with the forces of the Duke of Cornwall. Merlin promises him the sword Excalibur, but we see that Uther is ruled by his vices and proves to be an unworthy king. [This is true to themes in other Indo-European folklore] Uther, ambushed and at the point of dying intends to deny Excalibur to everyone else, believing himself to be the rightful king, and drives the sword deep into a large boulder. Since stones are the homologic alloform of bones, it could be said that he drove the sword into the bones (or marrow) of the world. Uther is the mightiest of warriors, but posession of the symbol of his class (Excalibur) and access to divine guidance, which is the priest caste embodied in Merlin the Magician, is not sufficient. He fails as a king, and the land descends into the strife that occurs when the classes are not united.
Along comes young Arthur, who easily plucks the sword from the stone when no warrior is capable of doing it. [Arthur, as a squire, is hardly a commoner, but a later exchange between Uriens and Arthur makes it very clear that squires are definitely a social strata that is subordinate to Knights.] Merlin appears and briefs him on the situation. An interesting sequence follows where apparently Arthur melds with the land.
"What does it mean to be King?"
"You will be the Land, and the Land will be you. As you thrive, the Land will blossom; if you fail the Land will perish."
Arthur goes on to become a successful King. There is peace, prosperity, and it seems they have driven away evil. This should imply that Arthur is successful at uniting the classes, although the common people do not appear to be represented. I believe that Boorman has substituted "the land" for the working class. This actually fits well with some known folklore.
[Afterthought: "uniting the classes" may not be the proper description. It may in fact be completely wrong as the classes continue to be stratified throughout the King's rule.]
[One example is a tale of three sons that attempt to usurp their father's throne - the only link between them and the three social classes are their names, which are rather obscure etymologically. The son who represents the lower class is named 'Lothar'. In celtic, it appears that that can mean ditch, trench, or canal, among other things. Bruce Lincoln opined that the commonality there is a low-lying water vessel; like a wash basin. That may be a bit of a stretch, but I'll accept that either a ditch or wash basin symbolizes the common people.]
Therefore, Boorman's King Arthur *is* the Land/commoners, posesses Excalibur (the symbol of the warrior caste) and has the guiding advise of Merlin (priest caste).
Internal divisions occur, strife originating from within the very Round Table destabilizes the kingdom. [Karl's note: I've just realised that the Round Table is yet another instance of symbolism - it indicates a wholesome state out of a cycle of strife and stability] In dual sequences involving Launcelot and Gwenevere, Merlin and Morgana, King Arthur loses the advise of Merlin and posession of Excalibur at the same time. The result, of course, is strife. Morgana's evil takes root in the world, and the land languishes. Arthur grows ill as the Land suffers, again because Arthur is the Land"
Launcelot: (anguished) "Excalibur! The king without a sword! The Land without a King!"
"We must find what was lost." Boorman's film never actually refers to the cup as "the Holy Grail". I believe the word 'grail' is used, but so is 'chalice'. [Morgana, on the other hand, offers questing knights a 'cup' of her own. Morgana will have to wait until a later installment.] What you and I now know is that what was lost is the essence of the priest caste. How shall the knights recover that? "Signs. Portents. Omens." All of which have traditionally been the domain of priests.
Here (to my personal joy) Boorman stays faithful to the Arthurian legend. In the legends as I read them long ago, Percieval, Bors, and one other knight found the Holy Grail. Bors and the other knight were taken into heaven, and Percieval returned the Grail to the King. Percieval was a wild boy who became a knight, and thus ..... oops, I was going to leave Boorman's general symbolism out of this, wasn't I? Well, it can't be avoided now. We see that it is only by Percieval shedding his armor (symbolic of innocence or nature or common people, your choice) that he can approach the Chalice, and provide Arthur with what was lost: the preistly advice of Merlin: "You and the Land are one!"
Once Arthur drinks from the Chalice, he is filled with inspiration and psychoanalyses the entire film since the point where strife started to take hold of the Round Table. [JOKE] Having recieved this infusion of priestly advice, Arthur knows what to do. He must posess Excalibur to be King and save the Land. He finds the sword in the keeping of Guenevere. Notice that it is only AFTER Arthur reclaims Excalibur that the land flourishes again. [huh, actually, I have forgotten, been too long since I have seen it, and its too cold right now - but I remember the land conspicously thriving after Arthur has Excalibur]
In another important sequence, Arthur awakens the spirit of Merlin when he is leaning against a stone circle. Again, stone is an alloform of bone.
Merlin's spirit vanquishes Morgana, but Merlin himself is otherwise out of the picture. Arthur intentional disperses the last of the symbols that is in his keeping. Mortally wounded, he commands that Excalibur be returned to the Lady of the Lake. "One day a King will come, and the sword will rise [again]". This is another common theme in folklore; a king falls, and there is strife between the classes until another (worthy) King comes along.
To summarize: A common (or lowly, in this case they are not the same thing) boy that is able to posess the essence of the three castes rises to become the rightful King. When he loses control of the classes or the symbols that are their essence, the King loses power and fails. A society in strife becomes wholesome under a proper King and returns to strife without him. A cycle that is implied in folklore as eternal until the destruction and re-creation of the world, which is also an eternal cycle.
And by now you may have guessed at the truth:
There was never any "Holy Grail".
19 February 2006
Is there a symbol for the map legend?
No way to shorten the long story, so I'll just skim the marrow. Still 12 hour shifts, now 60 hours a week. I miss my three day weekends. What is really crazy is that I have more than ever to blog about now that I have no time to blog. Theres probably a good blues song in that. That will be my contribution so society. The song wont sell a single copy, but will get shared endlessly in the dark corners of the internet.
I am in a hurry to get my musings on King Arthur down in black and white here, but cannot do that without providing backstory first. This time the lengthy banter is not so much that I want to tell the entire story. It is because I want the reader to at least glimpse my fantastic vision when I reveal it. So: on with the book review.
I have just finished Bruce Lincoln's "Myth, Cosmos, and Society : Indo-European Themes of Creation and Destruction." It will take me some time to fully digest, but I am already gaining new insights from it.
Lincoln presents excerpts from several cultures throughout the spectrum of Indo-European languages that clearly show a similar and all-encompassing mythos. He leads us into that mythos gradually, presenting to us first the "homologic alloforms" - that man is a representation of the cosmos, and the parts of a man have equivalent representation within that cosmos. [Mind that 'cosmos' here refers only to the visible world; earth, sky and stars] We begin by recognising that the multiple cultures have creation myths where the first man was killed and his body was the material used to construct the world. From that it follows that the earth (soil) is flesh, the stones are bones, the trees are the hairs on the head, and so on.
From there we go deeper and deeper, the significance of "homologic alloforms" with respect to food, growth, human sacrifice, magical healing, cures for baldness, and the afterlife (or rebirth, for these cultures).
In the last chapter, he expounds on myths that, when taken together, define the roles of the social classes in these very similar societies. This is the important part. As per usual, the social structure is vertical. Commoners at the bottom (represented by various symbols) supporting the 'nobler' classes; warriors in the middle (symbolized by the sword), and the priest class (symbolized by a cup or goblet) at the top. A recurring and key theme among many examples of folklore is that for a king to successfully rule the society, he must unite all these classes. When he fails to act properly, or dies, or there is no king, there is strife between the classes, or simply strife in general. At least two examples clearly show the rightful king as being the embodiment of all classes, or the only one who can hold the symbols of the three classes.
He concludes by telling us that all of these myths were clearly propogated by the priest class in order to maintain their positions at the top of society. They recieved tributes from every other class and gave counsel to the king. The commoners far outnumbered the priest class, but were treated poorly. The commoners were largely kept placated (in part) by a thorough system of myths and folklore that depicted that it was normal and proper for the warriors and priests to be the nobler classes. Furthermore, if they were not the rightful lords, then all of the other myths were also false, even the promise of a ressurection in the end times. The latter was probably the anchor for the whole mythos: for a downtrodden commoner the only real Nirvana could come with the ressurection.
I had some reservations throughout the book. Were there contrapositive excerpts that he did not present? How thorough was his review of folklore? Overall, I found it a fascinating and enjoyable book, although I had very little time to read it. It is not a long book - a full 1/4 of it is notes on the text - but I only finished it after I renewed it from the library for the last allowable time. My one big complaint is that the last chapter (reflecting on the societies propped up by these myths) ends rather abruptly. I felt it needed more. An example that brings everything together. I was thinking about this last night when I realised what the perfect example was. I shall present that next time.
I am in a hurry to get my musings on King Arthur down in black and white here, but cannot do that without providing backstory first. This time the lengthy banter is not so much that I want to tell the entire story. It is because I want the reader to at least glimpse my fantastic vision when I reveal it. So: on with the book review.
I have just finished Bruce Lincoln's "Myth, Cosmos, and Society : Indo-European Themes of Creation and Destruction." It will take me some time to fully digest, but I am already gaining new insights from it.
Lincoln presents excerpts from several cultures throughout the spectrum of Indo-European languages that clearly show a similar and all-encompassing mythos. He leads us into that mythos gradually, presenting to us first the "homologic alloforms" - that man is a representation of the cosmos, and the parts of a man have equivalent representation within that cosmos. [Mind that 'cosmos' here refers only to the visible world; earth, sky and stars] We begin by recognising that the multiple cultures have creation myths where the first man was killed and his body was the material used to construct the world. From that it follows that the earth (soil) is flesh, the stones are bones, the trees are the hairs on the head, and so on.
From there we go deeper and deeper, the significance of "homologic alloforms" with respect to food, growth, human sacrifice, magical healing, cures for baldness, and the afterlife (or rebirth, for these cultures).
In the last chapter, he expounds on myths that, when taken together, define the roles of the social classes in these very similar societies. This is the important part. As per usual, the social structure is vertical. Commoners at the bottom (represented by various symbols) supporting the 'nobler' classes; warriors in the middle (symbolized by the sword), and the priest class (symbolized by a cup or goblet) at the top. A recurring and key theme among many examples of folklore is that for a king to successfully rule the society, he must unite all these classes. When he fails to act properly, or dies, or there is no king, there is strife between the classes, or simply strife in general. At least two examples clearly show the rightful king as being the embodiment of all classes, or the only one who can hold the symbols of the three classes.
He concludes by telling us that all of these myths were clearly propogated by the priest class in order to maintain their positions at the top of society. They recieved tributes from every other class and gave counsel to the king. The commoners far outnumbered the priest class, but were treated poorly. The commoners were largely kept placated (in part) by a thorough system of myths and folklore that depicted that it was normal and proper for the warriors and priests to be the nobler classes. Furthermore, if they were not the rightful lords, then all of the other myths were also false, even the promise of a ressurection in the end times. The latter was probably the anchor for the whole mythos: for a downtrodden commoner the only real Nirvana could come with the ressurection.
I had some reservations throughout the book. Were there contrapositive excerpts that he did not present? How thorough was his review of folklore? Overall, I found it a fascinating and enjoyable book, although I had very little time to read it. It is not a long book - a full 1/4 of it is notes on the text - but I only finished it after I renewed it from the library for the last allowable time. My one big complaint is that the last chapter (reflecting on the societies propped up by these myths) ends rather abruptly. I felt it needed more. An example that brings everything together. I was thinking about this last night when I realised what the perfect example was. I shall present that next time.
22 October 2005
Working Title
Been busy.
Too much work.
Too much training of new people.
Too many new people quitting the job once they have been trained.
Too often starting all over with other new people.
Thats almost a haiku. Too bad I havent the energy to rewrite it into the proper syllabic form.
In the meantime, the last two trainees appear to be staying, so maybe I'll have some bona-fide free time again.
Theres been quite a lot going on here and in the world in the meantime. I was looking to buy a Russian/Soviet Moisin-Nagant rifle when I came upon a German-issue Mauser K98k that I grabbed instead. There must have been some activity recently from surplus military arms importers, because what piqued my interest in the first place was several Moisin-Nagants that I had seen at gun shows. This K98 wasn't the first of its kind that I had seen, but I have been seeing more of them lately than I can recall. This one isn't perfect enough for a museum piece since a few of the numbers do not match (meaning it was rebuilt from parts of other rifles that had been issued), but in my book that means its OK for shooting and perhaps some minor modifications. The bore is corroded from the salts used in WWII era primers (deposits in the bore attract moisture), but I think I have learned of a 'fix' for that. A proper fix would probably be to replace the barrel. I'll have to see what happens.
Cool weather returns, and I still live in a poorly insulated and drafty townhouse. Well, I refuse to spend a metric ass-load of money on natural gas heating. I went to Home Depot and got a second electric heater and a pair of 15 amp timers (the sort that normally are used to switch on lamps). The heater I bought is a variation of the baseboard heater, but it has a "soft on" power switch. That means that I've got one too many timers, since the device plugged into the timer should be left on, and lack of power causes auto shut down on this unit due to the rudimentary computer that controls the temperature and a timer which determines how long the heater will run. Thats not quite the sort of timer I had in mind, but since I intend to do without gas heat, I'll be leaving this thing on a large percentage of the time. I only going to actively be heating a 2-3 room area to 55 or 60 degrees, so continuous duty shouldnt be a problem.
Now I have some caulking to do.
Too much work.
Too much training of new people.
Too many new people quitting the job once they have been trained.
Too often starting all over with other new people.
Thats almost a haiku. Too bad I havent the energy to rewrite it into the proper syllabic form.
In the meantime, the last two trainees appear to be staying, so maybe I'll have some bona-fide free time again.
Theres been quite a lot going on here and in the world in the meantime. I was looking to buy a Russian/Soviet Moisin-Nagant rifle when I came upon a German-issue Mauser K98k that I grabbed instead. There must have been some activity recently from surplus military arms importers, because what piqued my interest in the first place was several Moisin-Nagants that I had seen at gun shows. This K98 wasn't the first of its kind that I had seen, but I have been seeing more of them lately than I can recall. This one isn't perfect enough for a museum piece since a few of the numbers do not match (meaning it was rebuilt from parts of other rifles that had been issued), but in my book that means its OK for shooting and perhaps some minor modifications. The bore is corroded from the salts used in WWII era primers (deposits in the bore attract moisture), but I think I have learned of a 'fix' for that. A proper fix would probably be to replace the barrel. I'll have to see what happens.
Cool weather returns, and I still live in a poorly insulated and drafty townhouse. Well, I refuse to spend a metric ass-load of money on natural gas heating. I went to Home Depot and got a second electric heater and a pair of 15 amp timers (the sort that normally are used to switch on lamps). The heater I bought is a variation of the baseboard heater, but it has a "soft on" power switch. That means that I've got one too many timers, since the device plugged into the timer should be left on, and lack of power causes auto shut down on this unit due to the rudimentary computer that controls the temperature and a timer which determines how long the heater will run. Thats not quite the sort of timer I had in mind, but since I intend to do without gas heat, I'll be leaving this thing on a large percentage of the time. I only going to actively be heating a 2-3 room area to 55 or 60 degrees, so continuous duty shouldnt be a problem.
Now I have some caulking to do.
11 September 2005
Book Report Time
Not a lot to say at the moment, been reading up on the Indo-Europeans lately, and much more about that soon. I'm still assimilating it and gathering my thoughts.
I have a problem focusing on one book at a time, but I'm done with one and finishing a second. I'll add the second later today or tomorrow.
"Sophie's World" by Jostein Gaardner
Mr Gaardner has accomplished something quite admirable with this book. He has couched a fairly complete overview of the history of Western philosophy in a story of a 15 year old Norweigian girl, AND made it to the New York Times best seller list. That's something to be proud of; getting the masses to read more philosophy! Gaardner covers most significant philosophers (and some minor - depending on their contribution and what era they lived in) in most major eras of civilization, noting their major contributions and when applicable the social and historical context in which they formed their ideas. I found the book to be very illuminating, in some cases correcting misperceptions I had about some philosophers.
What I did not like about this book was that it focused almost exclusively on Western philosophy. I will grant that the majority of novel philosophy and influential thinkers lived in the 'Western' world, but the omission of non-Western philosophies constitutes a blinkered or incomplete picture. Philosophical schools of thought tend to be 'alive' like languages; influenced by preceding and concurrent ideas. Omitting 'Eastern' thought is tantamount to saying that the Western world exists in a vacuum. The Semitic peoples are only mentioned long enough to introduce the social context surrounding the birth of Christianity. Hinduism and Buddhism are glossed over very briefly, while Islam is ignored completely. Confuscius isn't even mentioned and Buddha only merits a pair of passing comments - because his philosophy was similar to that of Hume and Kierkegaard, though he predated both by 2500 years.
Next up: "Blood and Oil" by Michael T. Klare
I have a problem focusing on one book at a time, but I'm done with one and finishing a second. I'll add the second later today or tomorrow.
"Sophie's World" by Jostein Gaardner
Mr Gaardner has accomplished something quite admirable with this book. He has couched a fairly complete overview of the history of Western philosophy in a story of a 15 year old Norweigian girl, AND made it to the New York Times best seller list. That's something to be proud of; getting the masses to read more philosophy! Gaardner covers most significant philosophers (and some minor - depending on their contribution and what era they lived in) in most major eras of civilization, noting their major contributions and when applicable the social and historical context in which they formed their ideas. I found the book to be very illuminating, in some cases correcting misperceptions I had about some philosophers.
What I did not like about this book was that it focused almost exclusively on Western philosophy. I will grant that the majority of novel philosophy and influential thinkers lived in the 'Western' world, but the omission of non-Western philosophies constitutes a blinkered or incomplete picture. Philosophical schools of thought tend to be 'alive' like languages; influenced by preceding and concurrent ideas. Omitting 'Eastern' thought is tantamount to saying that the Western world exists in a vacuum. The Semitic peoples are only mentioned long enough to introduce the social context surrounding the birth of Christianity. Hinduism and Buddhism are glossed over very briefly, while Islam is ignored completely. Confuscius isn't even mentioned and Buddha only merits a pair of passing comments - because his philosophy was similar to that of Hume and Kierkegaard, though he predated both by 2500 years.
Next up: "Blood and Oil" by Michael T. Klare
16 August 2005
Tommy, can you see me?
I was progressing in my philosophical/religious research (or trying to) when I realised something that occurred to me to be extroardinary.
But again, I should start at the beginning.
I'm finding the Indo-Europeans fascinating, theres a few good articles here and here. I have also been trying to see what I could learn about mysticism in these societies.
Mysticism is defined as the gaining of direct knowledge (of the world, the universe, or God) through a subjective experience that is neither based in reason or perception. The Oracle at Delphi was a decent example of mysticism. A priestess inhaling fumes from a fissure in the earth uttered things that her acolytes interpreted as answers to queries from petitioners. Ostensibly a trance brought on by planet fumes gave her mystical insight. A curiously lasting rumor goes that the Oracle declared Socrates the wisest man in Athens.
What I recently realised is that there is a very common form of mysticism that is practiced fairly often in the modern world: prescience in dreams. It is foreknowlege of a sort. Specifically it is typically foreknowledge of yourself at a future time, and thus is knowledge of the world or the universe. For me personally, it has only occured once in a great while.
What seems more significant to me is that most (or some, I havent taken a poll or anything) people of this glimpse of mysticism in their dreams. So the subconcious is capable of mystic knowledge at rest, how much greater if effort was put into the task?
But again, I should start at the beginning.
I'm finding the Indo-Europeans fascinating, theres a few good articles here and here. I have also been trying to see what I could learn about mysticism in these societies.
Mysticism is defined as the gaining of direct knowledge (of the world, the universe, or God) through a subjective experience that is neither based in reason or perception. The Oracle at Delphi was a decent example of mysticism. A priestess inhaling fumes from a fissure in the earth uttered things that her acolytes interpreted as answers to queries from petitioners. Ostensibly a trance brought on by planet fumes gave her mystical insight. A curiously lasting rumor goes that the Oracle declared Socrates the wisest man in Athens.
What I recently realised is that there is a very common form of mysticism that is practiced fairly often in the modern world: prescience in dreams. It is foreknowlege of a sort. Specifically it is typically foreknowledge of yourself at a future time, and thus is knowledge of the world or the universe. For me personally, it has only occured once in a great while.
What seems more significant to me is that most (or some, I havent taken a poll or anything) people of this glimpse of mysticism in their dreams. So the subconcious is capable of mystic knowledge at rest, how much greater if effort was put into the task?
21 July 2005
Why North Is Not Always Up
Once again, just as I am poised to spill the beans, the real world scoops me. Or not. So I'll save my conspiracy theories for the moment.
I had an interesting conversation the other day. I was training a new contractor to take up some of our workload in anticipation of a Zero hour that is expected to coincide with August 1. Things will then return to the normal level of mind-unraveling frenetic here at work. Naturally that will precipitate a long pause in blog updates, or perhaps a series of longer pauses.
Anyway. I was talking of my work-related sojourn to Alabama with this trainee. It is noteworthy that he appears to be of Indian descent, possibly first generation American. He made a comment that reflected that the old stereotypes about Southron "Good Ole Boys" were alive, well, and prospering. I pointed out that while I certainly found strong evidence of rampant Conservative Christianity, there was no racism evidenced in the places that I visited. I went on to say, before I caught myself, that while there were still traces of the Old Ways, Southroners in general had become largely "Westernized".
Now wasn't that a strange thing to say?
I cannot even claim that I was consciously using a language more suitable to my audience. I don't normally do that (to an extent that I am aware). Nor is the term "Westernized" a normal part of my speaking vocabulary. "Y'all", on the other hand, makes a regular appearance - making a sailor's dive from my lips into the cauldron of conversation.
For as strange a thing as it was to say, it seemed the right term to use in that context. The definition of 'Westernized' is particularly bland. It is more informative to define what we typically uphold as a contrast to the trappings of Westernization. What comes to my mind immediately is the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The majority of the population lives in traditional Muslim culture while all 4000 or so of the Saudi Princes jet-set around living it up in a fashion that is common to Western Capitalists. Thus the contrast in this case is a culture that is deeply rooted in religious tradition, typically poor, subservient to its rulers in a feudalistic or tribal hierarchy, and relatively poor access to a 'liberal' (non-religious) education.
As you can see, there is a huge difference between the 'backwards' culture that I describe and the stereotypical Southron American man: most middle-eastern Muslims simply hate Westerners whereas the xenophobia of the Southroner is much more pervasive.
So I suppose that 'Westernized' must refer to a culture found near an imaginary "pole" that is located significantly north of the Mason-Dixon line.
My apologies to any Southron folk that take offense. I would wager, however, that anyone who does take offense can also take you aside and tell you that most Southerners "....aren't like that hereabouts. But now, you go visit that town in the next county? You know the one? Now that is like being in the Land That Time Forgot!"
I had an interesting conversation the other day. I was training a new contractor to take up some of our workload in anticipation of a Zero hour that is expected to coincide with August 1. Things will then return to the normal level of mind-unraveling frenetic here at work. Naturally that will precipitate a long pause in blog updates, or perhaps a series of longer pauses.
Anyway. I was talking of my work-related sojourn to Alabama with this trainee. It is noteworthy that he appears to be of Indian descent, possibly first generation American. He made a comment that reflected that the old stereotypes about Southron "Good Ole Boys" were alive, well, and prospering. I pointed out that while I certainly found strong evidence of rampant Conservative Christianity, there was no racism evidenced in the places that I visited. I went on to say, before I caught myself, that while there were still traces of the Old Ways, Southroners in general had become largely "Westernized".
Now wasn't that a strange thing to say?
I cannot even claim that I was consciously using a language more suitable to my audience. I don't normally do that (to an extent that I am aware). Nor is the term "Westernized" a normal part of my speaking vocabulary. "Y'all", on the other hand, makes a regular appearance - making a sailor's dive from my lips into the cauldron of conversation.
For as strange a thing as it was to say, it seemed the right term to use in that context. The definition of 'Westernized' is particularly bland. It is more informative to define what we typically uphold as a contrast to the trappings of Westernization. What comes to my mind immediately is the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The majority of the population lives in traditional Muslim culture while all 4000 or so of the Saudi Princes jet-set around living it up in a fashion that is common to Western Capitalists. Thus the contrast in this case is a culture that is deeply rooted in religious tradition, typically poor, subservient to its rulers in a feudalistic or tribal hierarchy, and relatively poor access to a 'liberal' (non-religious) education.
As you can see, there is a huge difference between the 'backwards' culture that I describe and the stereotypical Southron American man: most middle-eastern Muslims simply hate Westerners whereas the xenophobia of the Southroner is much more pervasive.
So I suppose that 'Westernized' must refer to a culture found near an imaginary "pole" that is located significantly north of the Mason-Dixon line.
My apologies to any Southron folk that take offense. I would wager, however, that anyone who does take offense can also take you aside and tell you that most Southerners "....aren't like that hereabouts. But now, you go visit that town in the next county? You know the one? Now that is like being in the Land That Time Forgot!"
10 July 2005
Turn Your Coat and Cough
On July 6, 2003, Joseph C. Wilson the 4th was published in the Op-Ed section of the New York Times, where he stated:
"I have little choice but to conclude that some of the intelligence related to Iraq's nuclear weapons program was twisted to exaggerate the Iraqi threat."
I suppose that it is a bit late to say this, but I suddenly realised who the Prime Mover behind the Valerie Plame leak is.
I was reading Frank Rich's latest treatise on the ultimate developments of the same issue, and while surfing over his hyperlink back to Wilson's article I dashed my brains on the shoals of insight. I'll omit where the surf-board hit me.
I'll expand on this tomorrow, I have work to do now.
"I have little choice but to conclude that some of the intelligence related to Iraq's nuclear weapons program was twisted to exaggerate the Iraqi threat."
I suppose that it is a bit late to say this, but I suddenly realised who the Prime Mover behind the Valerie Plame leak is.
I was reading Frank Rich's latest treatise on the ultimate developments of the same issue, and while surfing over his hyperlink back to Wilson's article I dashed my brains on the shoals of insight. I'll omit where the surf-board hit me.
I'll expand on this tomorrow, I have work to do now.
09 July 2005
There's a Hole In My Bodkin, Dear Liza, Dear Liza
Message from Alabama - summary and prologue
So, how'd I come to be here, and what's with the disjoint continuity??
Kind reader, the fact is that I am lucky to have any access to media services beyond rudimentary telecommunication. When I suddenly achieved blog update capability, I felt it my duty to convey the most amusing tidbits available - in case this ability turned out to be fleeting. I have managed to configure an Outlook accout at work to receive e-mail from my personal accout, but it seems incapable of sending anything. I am, however, getting ahead of myself.
How did I come to be ejected out into tornado Alley?
Greed did play a large role. On June 28 or 29 (I forget which) my boss sauntered in awkwardly and sat down. [That sounds an odd, doesn't it? perhaps an awkward meander would be a better description?] The very fact that he was willing to remain in the hot room long enough to sit down was sufficient to gather my attention. He stammered something about how one of the other company facilities was experiencing difficulties and was significantly shorthanded; since our facility was relatively inert (sufficient for me to be concerned about being cast off for a month or so) would I be willing to willing to go down to Alabama for 2-4 weeks to help them out?
I thought for a moment. I realised that I was not on the verge of completing a major symphony. I did not recall any significant upcoming exams, probably due to my not being enrolled in any classes. Nor would I be leaving anyone of either sex at the altar if I was away over-long.
"Sure" I said.
My boss told me that I would be flying down there on Sunday, July 3, and then watched apologetically as I contemplated the best protocol for withdrawing my jaw from the floor.
The short version of the rest of the story is that the preparations for such a long away were relatively painless compared to the same endeavours as percieved in my mind's periscope. A minor hitch or three have occurred, but overall results have been positive - Yours Truly should bear no evidence of permanent scarring.
Positive ramifications are manifold.
One: I get to stay for free in a fancy home that the company took over in recent years.
Two: all my foodstuffs and related consumables will be reimbursed by said company.
Three: they even sprang for a rental car (this eliminates the need for a second person to act as a taxi service). Dashboard design aside, I am liking the 2005 Toyota Camry.
Four: (and not entirely foreseen) I am getting lotsa working hours. They generate the same products here as at the Chicago facility, but have all different customers. This mandates different tests to qualify the material for the customer's specifications. While there are similarities and differences between the procedures of the two facilities, the similar things are often done differently, and add to the completely foreign methods I must learn.
Five: while I am riding an ersatz gravy train here, I am not at home augmenting the sortfall of energies that must be supplied by the utilities.
Six: while being away for so long, my car will be idle for an unprecedented number of consecutive days. I took swift advantage of this by delivering it to my mechanics on July 1. At the time of this writing, a palpable drain on my finances indicates to me that their arcane manner of posturing around my horseless carriage has reached its climax. Hopefully that means that meine auto has regained its superb fuel economy. That will be most welcome for the imminent gasoline crisis that will materialize in approximately Q3 of 2006. If not sooner.
In short: Having a good time. Wish you were here sweating your balls off (instead of me). Suffering withdrawal for lack of unrestricted internet and e-mail access. Money and rental car good, weather ambivalent, tornadoes bad, don't whiz on the electric fence.
I have been told that I "talk like a Northerner, but ya dress like a Southroner."
Truthfully, I do like it here.
Now if only I could sleep for more than 5 hours a day....
So, how'd I come to be here, and what's with the disjoint continuity??
Kind reader, the fact is that I am lucky to have any access to media services beyond rudimentary telecommunication. When I suddenly achieved blog update capability, I felt it my duty to convey the most amusing tidbits available - in case this ability turned out to be fleeting. I have managed to configure an Outlook accout at work to receive e-mail from my personal accout, but it seems incapable of sending anything. I am, however, getting ahead of myself.
How did I come to be ejected out into tornado Alley?
Greed did play a large role. On June 28 or 29 (I forget which) my boss sauntered in awkwardly and sat down. [That sounds an odd, doesn't it? perhaps an awkward meander would be a better description?] The very fact that he was willing to remain in the hot room long enough to sit down was sufficient to gather my attention. He stammered something about how one of the other company facilities was experiencing difficulties and was significantly shorthanded; since our facility was relatively inert (sufficient for me to be concerned about being cast off for a month or so) would I be willing to willing to go down to Alabama for 2-4 weeks to help them out?
I thought for a moment. I realised that I was not on the verge of completing a major symphony. I did not recall any significant upcoming exams, probably due to my not being enrolled in any classes. Nor would I be leaving anyone of either sex at the altar if I was away over-long.
"Sure" I said.
My boss told me that I would be flying down there on Sunday, July 3, and then watched apologetically as I contemplated the best protocol for withdrawing my jaw from the floor.
The short version of the rest of the story is that the preparations for such a long away were relatively painless compared to the same endeavours as percieved in my mind's periscope. A minor hitch or three have occurred, but overall results have been positive - Yours Truly should bear no evidence of permanent scarring.
Positive ramifications are manifold.
One: I get to stay for free in a fancy home that the company took over in recent years.
Two: all my foodstuffs and related consumables will be reimbursed by said company.
Three: they even sprang for a rental car (this eliminates the need for a second person to act as a taxi service). Dashboard design aside, I am liking the 2005 Toyota Camry.
Four: (and not entirely foreseen) I am getting lotsa working hours. They generate the same products here as at the Chicago facility, but have all different customers. This mandates different tests to qualify the material for the customer's specifications. While there are similarities and differences between the procedures of the two facilities, the similar things are often done differently, and add to the completely foreign methods I must learn.
Five: while I am riding an ersatz gravy train here, I am not at home augmenting the sortfall of energies that must be supplied by the utilities.
Six: while being away for so long, my car will be idle for an unprecedented number of consecutive days. I took swift advantage of this by delivering it to my mechanics on July 1. At the time of this writing, a palpable drain on my finances indicates to me that their arcane manner of posturing around my horseless carriage has reached its climax. Hopefully that means that meine auto has regained its superb fuel economy. That will be most welcome for the imminent gasoline crisis that will materialize in approximately Q3 of 2006. If not sooner.
In short: Having a good time. Wish you were here sweating your balls off (instead of me). Suffering withdrawal for lack of unrestricted internet and e-mail access. Money and rental car good, weather ambivalent, tornadoes bad, don't whiz on the electric fence.
I have been told that I "talk like a Northerner, but ya dress like a Southroner."
Truthfully, I do like it here.
Now if only I could sleep for more than 5 hours a day....
08 July 2005
How Not To Be Seen In All The Old Familiar Places
Message from Alabama III
12 hour shifts are hardly new to me, so it was with some consternation I realised Monday night that my eyelids were bound and determined to engage in Greco-Roman wrestling. Similar occurred on Tuesday night, when I should have been much more rested than on the previous evening/morning/moment/eon/epoch/period/age. Ultimately, I determined that my symptoms were a product of my environment.
In Chicago, it had been warm of late. Warm/hot at work, and warm/cool at home. Typically I switch on a window air conditioner when I feign death, but of late I had become concerned that the power requirements of that unit were not being properly met. I had been trying (with little success) to get by without it until a relevant solution appeared. [That issue has yet to be addressed, so back to this one.] When I considered what was new or different about this Southron environment I could only pick out two interrelated factors. The air conditioning works here, and I am in it for a substantial time. At my job in Chicago, the building has air conditioning, but my corner of it is by far the hottest room or area within it.
Aha! So, the problem appears to be that the A/C here is making me cold and somehow sleepy. No problem, instead of just the T-shirt, I shall don a long sleeved shirt!
That is to say, I would - if I had one with me. In truth, I do have one. It is a nice dark royal blue dress shirt that is a blend of cotton and silk fibres. It is my precious. It is also not going to venture near a fithly lime kiln.
Whilst I was packing, I considered bringing several sleeved shirts. I dismissed the idea, however, since some miscreant had planted within my skull the notion that Alabama was hot. To be sure, its a bit warm here, but no more so than was Chicago when I left it. Apparently the significant meterological feature of Alabama is the humidity. This is a side-effect of Alabama being located within that special place called "tornado alley". When tropical storms saunter by (as they are wont to do) they have an annoying habit of sending rainstorm heralds to announce their potential arrival. This causes it to rain here a bit more often (and more suddenly) than might be normal in Chicago or elsewhere. So a sudden rainstorm in the middle of the afternoon which clears quickly to re-admit the powerfull sunshine gives rise to some nifty humidity. The locals tell me that it gets so humid that one has trouble breathing. (I'm all a-tingle in my nether regions with anticipation of this new sensation.) Digressions on weather patterns aside, I'm still up Alabama without a sleeved shirt.
Well, through the miracle travesty of Karl's dressing habits and the properties of cotton fabrics, I managed to solve the problem anyway. At this moment, I am alert, lucid, and functional at 4am. The fact that I am wearing two T-shirts is not a coincidence.
I know.
You are ever-so-glad that I could share that with you.
That's what I'm here for.
12 hour shifts are hardly new to me, so it was with some consternation I realised Monday night that my eyelids were bound and determined to engage in Greco-Roman wrestling. Similar occurred on Tuesday night, when I should have been much more rested than on the previous evening/morning/moment/eon/epoch/period/age. Ultimately, I determined that my symptoms were a product of my environment.
In Chicago, it had been warm of late. Warm/hot at work, and warm/cool at home. Typically I switch on a window air conditioner when I feign death, but of late I had become concerned that the power requirements of that unit were not being properly met. I had been trying (with little success) to get by without it until a relevant solution appeared. [That issue has yet to be addressed, so back to this one.] When I considered what was new or different about this Southron environment I could only pick out two interrelated factors. The air conditioning works here, and I am in it for a substantial time. At my job in Chicago, the building has air conditioning, but my corner of it is by far the hottest room or area within it.
Aha! So, the problem appears to be that the A/C here is making me cold and somehow sleepy. No problem, instead of just the T-shirt, I shall don a long sleeved shirt!
That is to say, I would - if I had one with me. In truth, I do have one. It is a nice dark royal blue dress shirt that is a blend of cotton and silk fibres. It is my precious. It is also not going to venture near a fithly lime kiln.
Whilst I was packing, I considered bringing several sleeved shirts. I dismissed the idea, however, since some miscreant had planted within my skull the notion that Alabama was hot. To be sure, its a bit warm here, but no more so than was Chicago when I left it. Apparently the significant meterological feature of Alabama is the humidity. This is a side-effect of Alabama being located within that special place called "tornado alley". When tropical storms saunter by (as they are wont to do) they have an annoying habit of sending rainstorm heralds to announce their potential arrival. This causes it to rain here a bit more often (and more suddenly) than might be normal in Chicago or elsewhere. So a sudden rainstorm in the middle of the afternoon which clears quickly to re-admit the powerfull sunshine gives rise to some nifty humidity. The locals tell me that it gets so humid that one has trouble breathing. (I'm all a-tingle in my nether regions with anticipation of this new sensation.) Digressions on weather patterns aside, I'm still up Alabama without a sleeved shirt.
Well, through the
I know.
You are ever-so-glad that I could share that with you.
That's what I'm here for.
28 June 2005
Quick reaction to headlines
Such interesting things happening: where to start?
Most noteworthy is CNOOC late attempt to buy Unocal - but that deserves a separate blog. Its actually a big enough topic where a cursory treatment doesn't do it justice.
Recently read about the "Evicted Three" - three young pro-Kerry people that got kicked out of one of Cheerleader W's "Social Security" forums for having a liberal bumpersticker on their car. If you haven't heard of it, that pretty much sums it up. The bumper sticker said "No Blood For Oil". They had tickets from a local congressman, and were stopped on their way in by one of the "extended" White House flunkies who was acting like a Secret Service agent. Oddly, the Secret Service says no, it wasn't one of theirs, and allegedly they are looking into it as a criminal investigation (which in itself is strange). Anyway, a liberal group is footing the bill for them to go to Washington and protest getting thrown out for that. In an ironic twist (I'm getting a real charge out of this!) some of the most White House freindly conservative Congressmen are coming out in support of them since the whole issue smacks of a Free Speech (or Assembly) violation. There was even a remark from a congressman like this: if W is only preaching to the choir, isn't that counterproductive?
Rah-rah! Go Evicted Three!
Mister Grey, former head of the FBI under Nixon, is feeling betrayed now that it turns out that his trusted #2 was the one that broke the Watergate story. Well golly. Apparently Mr. Gray didn't quite understand the terms of his posting. Mr. Grey, it says quite clearly in your job description that you don't get to complain or feel betrayed.
The Supreme Court refused to hear the case of Miller and Cooper, reporters who will now be jailed for contempt of court in what I ironically am led to call "the Valerie Plame affair." Ironic because her name becoming public is the guiding theme of this whole circus. I do sympathize with the reporters, but the legal precedent in Branzburg does ~not~ protect the reporters from the arena of a grand jury hearing (if I read it correctly). The precedent set there is clear enough to make the matter a non-issue.
There was at least one more thing in the news....
... ah well, thats probably enough entertainment for today.
Most noteworthy is CNOOC late attempt to buy Unocal - but that deserves a separate blog. Its actually a big enough topic where a cursory treatment doesn't do it justice.
Recently read about the "Evicted Three" - three young pro-Kerry people that got kicked out of one of Cheerleader W's "Social Security" forums for having a liberal bumpersticker on their car. If you haven't heard of it, that pretty much sums it up. The bumper sticker said "No Blood For Oil". They had tickets from a local congressman, and were stopped on their way in by one of the "extended" White House flunkies who was acting like a Secret Service agent. Oddly, the Secret Service says no, it wasn't one of theirs, and allegedly they are looking into it as a criminal investigation (which in itself is strange). Anyway, a liberal group is footing the bill for them to go to Washington and protest getting thrown out for that. In an ironic twist (I'm getting a real charge out of this!) some of the most White House freindly conservative Congressmen are coming out in support of them since the whole issue smacks of a Free Speech (or Assembly) violation. There was even a remark from a congressman like this: if W is only preaching to the choir, isn't that counterproductive?
Rah-rah! Go Evicted Three!
Mister Grey, former head of the FBI under Nixon, is feeling betrayed now that it turns out that his trusted #2 was the one that broke the Watergate story. Well golly. Apparently Mr. Gray didn't quite understand the terms of his posting. Mr. Grey, it says quite clearly in your job description that you don't get to complain or feel betrayed.
The Supreme Court refused to hear the case of Miller and Cooper, reporters who will now be jailed for contempt of court in what I ironically am led to call "the Valerie Plame affair." Ironic because her name becoming public is the guiding theme of this whole circus. I do sympathize with the reporters, but the legal precedent in Branzburg does ~not~ protect the reporters from the arena of a grand jury hearing (if I read it correctly). The precedent set there is clear enough to make the matter a non-issue.
There was at least one more thing in the news....
... ah well, thats probably enough entertainment for today.
23 June 2005
Send Bolton to the Sudan! Please???
O.K.
As I previously telegraphed, the topic is John R. Bolton.
Why him? Why now? Why are some legislators that I otherwise respect (e.g. Sen. John McCain) supporting him? And just... why?
When I think of the United States' Representative to the United Nations, I picture a kindly gentleman schooled in the subtleties of statesmanship. I imagine an atmosphere of negotiations, where an economy of international relations is transacted in the coin of prudently chosen words of goodwill.
The stark reality callously betrays my idealism.
I did some diggin' around on the 'net. At first I wasn't sure where to start. I'd been following the story in the NYT, and outside of overt support from the left (esp. Cheney) there hasn't yet been any significant reasons given why this thug should be Representative to the United Nations. Without a clear motive and no significant clues in the news articles I had little to start with. I didn't bother trying conservative websites, they'd only rehash the say-nothing tagline the White House has been using. The past usually makes a good starting point for understanding the current situation. So, who were the previous Reps to the U.N.?
A quick search reveals that John C. Danforth was the last Representative, with a tenure of 6 months (????), and before him John D. Negroponte. Those are interesting names, and we got more Johns' than a whorehouse already!
Go ahead and read up on Negroponte first, I'll wait right here.
All of a sudden his new job as Spook Master makes more sense, doesn't it?
The important part for this discussion is that for 2001-2004 (when, for his faithful dervice, he got shipped off to darkest Iraq!) he was W's point man for trying to bully the Security Council into going along with resolutions against Iraq. Aha! The plot thins! Now Bolton makes sense! Also bully-boy would be helpful to the Neo's for the upcoming expansion of the U.N. Security Council. More members means the U.S.'s influence on the council will be diminished. So the conservatives came up with a plan - we'll support you as a candidate for the Security Council if you agree to not gaining veto power until a later date. Much later.
Here's yet another situation at the U.N. Bolton should be well prepared for.
Danforth doesn't fit this picture though. I like this guy. He's written several opinion peices since resigning from his U.N. post. Often suggesting that conservatives are only hurting themselves by going along with the Christian extremists.
Here's an article that I found really interesting though:
It has been an important time to be in this position, especially as we attempt to enlist greater U.N. participation in the future of Iraq, and as we advance the interest you have personally shown in helping the desperate people of Sudan."
"the interest you have personally shown" ???
Having read this man's writings, and thinking what I do about W - I think that was a swipe!
W is personally interested in not being accused of ignoring the Sudan conflict, but otherwise I am sure his attention flags.
It seems clear that Danforth's experience as a mediator in the Sudan was poor preparation for the dissonance of the U.N. I rather think he would have resigned (or been asked to resign) from the U.N. had his wife not been ill.
So that's why Bolton.
W needs someone who can bully the security council and threaten the Islamic nations that think that terrorism is a 'right'. If he has any spare time, he can go back to trying to force Dr. El Bardei, ther head of the IAEA to resign. Man's gotta have a hobby I guess.
The good news is that, much like Negroponte, Bolton doesn't have much hope of being appointed by the Senate. They only caved on Negroponte a few days after 9/11.
So there's still some hope for a bright future.
As I previously telegraphed, the topic is John R. Bolton.
Why him? Why now? Why are some legislators that I otherwise respect (e.g. Sen. John McCain) supporting him? And just... why?
When I think of the United States' Representative to the United Nations, I picture a kindly gentleman schooled in the subtleties of statesmanship. I imagine an atmosphere of negotiations, where an economy of international relations is transacted in the coin of prudently chosen words of goodwill.
The stark reality callously betrays my idealism.
I did some diggin' around on the 'net. At first I wasn't sure where to start. I'd been following the story in the NYT, and outside of overt support from the left (esp. Cheney) there hasn't yet been any significant reasons given why this thug should be Representative to the United Nations. Without a clear motive and no significant clues in the news articles I had little to start with. I didn't bother trying conservative websites, they'd only rehash the say-nothing tagline the White House has been using. The past usually makes a good starting point for understanding the current situation. So, who were the previous Reps to the U.N.?
A quick search reveals that John C. Danforth was the last Representative, with a tenure of 6 months (????), and before him John D. Negroponte. Those are interesting names, and we got more Johns' than a whorehouse already!
Go ahead and read up on Negroponte first, I'll wait right here.
All of a sudden his new job as Spook Master makes more sense, doesn't it?
The important part for this discussion is that for 2001-2004 (when, for his faithful dervice, he got shipped off to darkest Iraq!) he was W's point man for trying to bully the Security Council into going along with resolutions against Iraq. Aha! The plot thins! Now Bolton makes sense! Also bully-boy would be helpful to the Neo's for the upcoming expansion of the U.N. Security Council. More members means the U.S.'s influence on the council will be diminished. So the conservatives came up with a plan - we'll support you as a candidate for the Security Council if you agree to not gaining veto power until a later date. Much later.
Here's yet another situation at the U.N. Bolton should be well prepared for.
Danforth doesn't fit this picture though. I like this guy. He's written several opinion peices since resigning from his U.N. post. Often suggesting that conservatives are only hurting themselves by going along with the Christian extremists.
Here's an article that I found really interesting though:
It has been an important time to be in this position, especially as we attempt to enlist greater U.N. participation in the future of Iraq, and as we advance the interest you have personally shown in helping the desperate people of Sudan."
"the interest you have personally shown" ???
Having read this man's writings, and thinking what I do about W - I think that was a swipe!
W is personally interested in not being accused of ignoring the Sudan conflict, but otherwise I am sure his attention flags.
It seems clear that Danforth's experience as a mediator in the Sudan was poor preparation for the dissonance of the U.N. I rather think he would have resigned (or been asked to resign) from the U.N. had his wife not been ill.
So that's why Bolton.
W needs someone who can bully the security council and threaten the Islamic nations that think that terrorism is a 'right'. If he has any spare time, he can go back to trying to force Dr. El Bardei, ther head of the IAEA to resign. Man's gotta have a hobby I guess.
The good news is that, much like Negroponte, Bolton doesn't have much hope of being appointed by the Senate. They only caved on Negroponte a few days after 9/11.
So there's still some hope for a bright future.
21 June 2005
Ahhhhhh, the pain!
Its been a while, so I apologise for the lull.
I have scarcely done anything but work, so I didn't have much to blog about. What I did percieve happening politically, and did intend to blog about - W losing his mandate, some republicans wriggling free of the party straitjacket, and Dr. Frist made to look bullheaded (W-esque) by 7 'rogue' Reps forging a compromise with 7 Dems - was all covered fairly succinctly in the New York Times. In fact, so many things are going not quite so well for our Cheerleader-in-Chief that I may well reduce the effort and requency of my disaffection.
Many years ago (early 1990's I think) I was watching the NFL draft on ESPN. They had the 'war room' cams going at several team headquarters, including for Jerry Jones' Dallas Cowboys. Now, I suppose that there must be many people with good things to say about Jerry Jones. I can only recall how upset Russell Maryland was when he was told (camera footage of Jerry talking to Russell, who had put down the weights he was lifting and was visibly upset) by Jerry that his contract WAS being restructured so that Jerry could raise the money to offer a one-year contract to some baseball player. On this particular draft day, Jerry wasn't getting what he wanted. I gathered that he had been trying hard to trade up into the top 8 picks or so (I think they were coming off of a Super Bowl victory, making the task that much harder). It was simply not happening. So there was Jerry, on live TV, losing his cool in a fit of frustration in his war room. It was beautiful.
I loved it. It was much better than 'Cats'. I laughed. Icried laughed. I want to see it again and again.
I want to believe that somewhere, in the White House, W is having a fit. Just like that. That bullheaded, obstinate man that we caught a glimpse of during the first debate with Kerry when he let his cool facade slip. He's punting the designer wastebasket and flinging poll results across the room.
Ahhhhhhhh. Such a wonderful image.
Anyway.
I do have something to blog about today.
You may have noticed in the past - um, I probably blogged about this previously - that I was at a significant loss for why a Neocon policy maven like Bolton would be nominated as Representative to the United Nations. More to the point, why would he want to go there??
It would seem to me that he would be happier in the State Department bullying analysts and skimming secret communiques.
So, I did me some of that thar interweb suff'rin.
It had suddenly occurred to me to compare Bolton to previous Reps to the U.N. I found what I was looking for. Not quite a smoking gun, but enough to satisfy me.
I don't recall who the Rep to the U.N. was under Clinton. W nominated John Negroponte early in 2001. His reputation... or..
hmmm, time got away from me again.
I'll finish this Tomorrow as a separate blog entry.
However, heres a chance for you kids to try and guess what I know.
John Negroponte UN Rep 2001 - 2004, then sent to Iraq as ambassador
John C Danforth UN Rep 2004, resigned after 6 months
Gentlemen, start your browsers.
I have scarcely done anything but work, so I didn't have much to blog about. What I did percieve happening politically, and did intend to blog about - W losing his mandate, some republicans wriggling free of the party straitjacket, and Dr. Frist made to look bullheaded (W-esque) by 7 'rogue' Reps forging a compromise with 7 Dems - was all covered fairly succinctly in the New York Times. In fact, so many things are going not quite so well for our Cheerleader-in-Chief that I may well reduce the effort and requency of my disaffection.
Many years ago (early 1990's I think) I was watching the NFL draft on ESPN. They had the 'war room' cams going at several team headquarters, including for Jerry Jones' Dallas Cowboys. Now, I suppose that there must be many people with good things to say about Jerry Jones. I can only recall how upset Russell Maryland was when he was told (camera footage of Jerry talking to Russell, who had put down the weights he was lifting and was visibly upset) by Jerry that his contract WAS being restructured so that Jerry could raise the money to offer a one-year contract to some baseball player. On this particular draft day, Jerry wasn't getting what he wanted. I gathered that he had been trying hard to trade up into the top 8 picks or so (I think they were coming off of a Super Bowl victory, making the task that much harder). It was simply not happening. So there was Jerry, on live TV, losing his cool in a fit of frustration in his war room. It was beautiful.
I loved it. It was much better than 'Cats'. I laughed. I
I want to believe that somewhere, in the White House, W is having a fit. Just like that. That bullheaded, obstinate man that we caught a glimpse of during the first debate with Kerry when he let his cool facade slip. He's punting the designer wastebasket and flinging poll results across the room.
Ahhhhhhhh. Such a wonderful image.
Anyway.
I do have something to blog about today.
You may have noticed in the past - um, I probably blogged about this previously - that I was at a significant loss for why a Neocon policy maven like Bolton would be nominated as Representative to the United Nations. More to the point, why would he want to go there??
It would seem to me that he would be happier in the State Department bullying analysts and skimming secret communiques.
So, I did me some of that thar interweb suff'rin.
It had suddenly occurred to me to compare Bolton to previous Reps to the U.N. I found what I was looking for. Not quite a smoking gun, but enough to satisfy me.
I don't recall who the Rep to the U.N. was under Clinton. W nominated John Negroponte early in 2001. His reputation... or..
hmmm, time got away from me again.
I'll finish this Tomorrow as a separate blog entry.
However, heres a chance for you kids to try and guess what I know.
John Negroponte UN Rep 2001 - 2004, then sent to Iraq as ambassador
John C Danforth UN Rep 2004, resigned after 6 months
Gentlemen, start your browsers.
31 May 2005
Cogito ergo kama sutra
It's been a while, yes.
Mostly I've been working, but there has also been an interesting pause of sorts on multiple political fronts. I'll say something about that soon. I'll have to because, from my perspective, there is an interesting and unusual power shift taking place. Hell, I may be wrong again, but we'll see.
For now I thought I'd mention something on the Oldsmobile front.
Due to workload, I'm prevented (in general terms) from getting Oldsmobile-related things done. Most of my usual free time is immediately after work. I am variously prevented, however, from using that time for car work.
Firstly, the car area is out in the open, so I am at the mercy of the weather. Then there is the after-work problem - it is always at an awkward time of day. After second shift its too dark. After third shift... well, I just dont care to be hammering away at 8am; that strikes me as bad form from a neighborly perspective. [I don't know why I care - the neighbors seem to hate me] That leaves what daylight remains after first shift, which is workable. The problem there is that the first-shift guy (the "day-slave" as I call it) gets run around and generally abused such that I'm often feeling too drag-ass to do anything constructive.
I do keep some car parts indoors, and for some time I have rather wished that I could do some things inside. Most of what I need to do involves grinding rust off of parts, and that would generate airborn mettalic particles which would generally be bad for everything from the carpet to my stereo equipment. I do store some flammables in the bathroom, and have been cleaning some small parts, but it really hasn't been that fruitful. Not like it should be.
Yesterday I realised that there was a fairly simple solution: I can work indoors, I just need to prepare for it properly. {ooops, pepsi evaporated again} What I intend to do is fabricate something like a blasting cabinet. The purpose of such a unit is to contain and recycle blasting media. I don't have a media blaster, and I don't intend to buy one, but I would like to restrain any metal particulate matter to the area in which I am working. What I mean to build is more in the vein of a glove box. Well, a glove box the size of a large blasting cabinet. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner, since I already have a majority of the materials I will need: plastic sheeting, wood scraps, and a table with a metal top. I have previously used my small Hoover 'cannister' (its not a proper cannister, but I call it that) vacuum for car/shop related jobs so that will serve for cleaning the interior of the glove box.
Of course, a commonly recurring theme will re-appear now as my current impediment. I need to clean up a bit in here to make room for this endeavor. Funny how that keeps happening. Its a goal that I seem to approach tangetially. Or is that asymtotically?
I'm starting to beleive that the Zeroth Law of Termodynamics is wrong. Simply stated as an equation; E > 0, or entropy is positive. It is expressed as "entropy increases" with the implication that it perpetually increases. One expression of that law is the phrase "nature abhors a vacuum." If entropy increases, then disorder propagates and displaces order, and a vacuum is a nice orderly lack of anything in particular. I think I'll go ahead and take that one further. I think the situation is much more pronounced than that.
Its not that nature abhors a vacuum.
Nature abhors my vacuum.
That would satisfactorily explain the mess in here.
Mostly I've been working, but there has also been an interesting pause of sorts on multiple political fronts. I'll say something about that soon. I'll have to because, from my perspective, there is an interesting and unusual power shift taking place. Hell, I may be wrong again, but we'll see.
For now I thought I'd mention something on the Oldsmobile front.
Due to workload, I'm prevented (in general terms) from getting Oldsmobile-related things done. Most of my usual free time is immediately after work. I am variously prevented, however, from using that time for car work.
Firstly, the car area is out in the open, so I am at the mercy of the weather. Then there is the after-work problem - it is always at an awkward time of day. After second shift its too dark. After third shift... well, I just dont care to be hammering away at 8am; that strikes me as bad form from a neighborly perspective. [I don't know why I care - the neighbors seem to hate me] That leaves what daylight remains after first shift, which is workable. The problem there is that the first-shift guy (the "day-slave" as I call it) gets run around and generally abused such that I'm often feeling too drag-ass to do anything constructive.
I do keep some car parts indoors, and for some time I have rather wished that I could do some things inside. Most of what I need to do involves grinding rust off of parts, and that would generate airborn mettalic particles which would generally be bad for everything from the carpet to my stereo equipment. I do store some flammables in the bathroom, and have been cleaning some small parts, but it really hasn't been that fruitful. Not like it should be.
Yesterday I realised that there was a fairly simple solution: I can work indoors, I just need to prepare for it properly. {ooops, pepsi evaporated again} What I intend to do is fabricate something like a blasting cabinet. The purpose of such a unit is to contain and recycle blasting media. I don't have a media blaster, and I don't intend to buy one, but I would like to restrain any metal particulate matter to the area in which I am working. What I mean to build is more in the vein of a glove box. Well, a glove box the size of a large blasting cabinet. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner, since I already have a majority of the materials I will need: plastic sheeting, wood scraps, and a table with a metal top. I have previously used my small Hoover 'cannister' (its not a proper cannister, but I call it that) vacuum for car/shop related jobs so that will serve for cleaning the interior of the glove box.
Of course, a commonly recurring theme will re-appear now as my current impediment. I need to clean up a bit in here to make room for this endeavor. Funny how that keeps happening. Its a goal that I seem to approach tangetially. Or is that asymtotically?
I'm starting to beleive that the Zeroth Law of Termodynamics is wrong. Simply stated as an equation; E > 0, or entropy is positive. It is expressed as "entropy increases" with the implication that it perpetually increases. One expression of that law is the phrase "nature abhors a vacuum." If entropy increases, then disorder propagates and displaces order, and a vacuum is a nice orderly lack of anything in particular. I think I'll go ahead and take that one further. I think the situation is much more pronounced than that.
Its not that nature abhors a vacuum.
Nature abhors my vacuum.
That would satisfactorily explain the mess in here.
18 May 2005
Our Father, Who Art in America, Hallowed be Thy Name
That little dialogue about abortion directed my thought in a direction that they had seldom traveled before. As a result, I suddenly realised that America no longer has Freedom of Religion.
America's ties to religious freedom began in 1681 with the founding of Pennsylvania, "a holy experiment in religious toleration." and was crystallized in the First Amendment to the Constitution. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;" It is in modern times, after 300 years of success, that this freedom is being curtailed. I would submit that the spirit of this freedom has already been destroyed.
Allow me to explain with a rather extreme example.
Since we have Freedom of Religion, Freedom of Speech (and inferentially 'freedom of expression'), and Freedom of Assembly, any otherwise law-abiding citizen (such as myself) is free to create and subsequently observe any crackpot religion of his choosing. I'll make the rash assumption that you agree to the last statement.
So...... as an example, I am herewith forming a crackpot religion.
My new deity is the Great Dismembered Foetus who reigns on high from his Shattered Womb of Heaven.
(Yeah, its tasteless, but I do have a point coming....)
As a minor tenet of my new religion, practitioning females will willingly have abortions performed, by the "Dilation and Extraction" method. Yes, this religion involves partial birth abortions.
You can already, without my assistance, detect a problem with my new religion.
Right from the inception of my new Holy Cause, my religion, and its practices are subject to persecution. Despite the "freedom" that I am alleged to enjoy.
"Karl, you dumbass, you are intentionally using an extreme example in an effort to distort the facts!"
Extreme, yes M'lud, guilty as charged. I have not, however, distorted anything.
[Speaking of distortions, you might note on that last link, that the D&X method accounts for a mere 0.85% of all Ohio abortions in 1999. Isn't it odd that prevention of so rare a practice requires an overt act of Congress?]
The concepts that "all life is sacred" and "abortion is bad", or even "evil", are borne of religious convictions and not requirements of civil law. As you can see in my extreme example, the insertion of religious views into the legal code is only to the detriment of Religious Freedom.
And infringes upon my Constitutional right to worship the Great Dismembered Foetus.
America's ties to religious freedom began in 1681 with the founding of Pennsylvania, "a holy experiment in religious toleration." and was crystallized in the First Amendment to the Constitution. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;" It is in modern times, after 300 years of success, that this freedom is being curtailed. I would submit that the spirit of this freedom has already been destroyed.
Allow me to explain with a rather extreme example.
Since we have Freedom of Religion, Freedom of Speech (and inferentially 'freedom of expression'), and Freedom of Assembly, any otherwise law-abiding citizen (such as myself) is free to create and subsequently observe any crackpot religion of his choosing. I'll make the rash assumption that you agree to the last statement.
So...... as an example, I am herewith forming a crackpot religion.
My new deity is the Great Dismembered Foetus who reigns on high from his Shattered Womb of Heaven.
(Yeah, its tasteless, but I do have a point coming....)
As a minor tenet of my new religion, practitioning females will willingly have abortions performed, by the "Dilation and Extraction" method. Yes, this religion involves partial birth abortions.
You can already, without my assistance, detect a problem with my new religion.
Right from the inception of my new Holy Cause, my religion, and its practices are subject to persecution. Despite the "freedom" that I am alleged to enjoy.
"Karl, you dumbass, you are intentionally using an extreme example in an effort to distort the facts!"
Extreme, yes M'lud, guilty as charged. I have not, however, distorted anything.
[Speaking of distortions, you might note on that last link, that the D&X method accounts for a mere 0.85% of all Ohio abortions in 1999. Isn't it odd that prevention of so rare a practice requires an overt act of Congress?]
The concepts that "all life is sacred" and "abortion is bad", or even "evil", are borne of religious convictions and not requirements of civil law. As you can see in my extreme example, the insertion of religious views into the legal code is only to the detriment of Religious Freedom.
And infringes upon my Constitutional right to worship the Great Dismembered Foetus.
14 May 2005
To Tree, or not to Tree
It looks like I posted about abortion after all.
I meant to lead up to it, but then I seemed to strike the right vein, and just kept going with it.
I thought it went well.
Going to be far busier than I had imagined. The money will be proportionally good. No. Exponentially good. I'm looking at 68 hours next week.
I'm mostly using this space now because I think I came up with an ending for "sorrow" and I wanted to get it down without too much distraction.
Fred was losing focus. His perspective had slowly been drifting from a subjective bystander to an objective one. He no longer sensed the wind on his skin or rustling his hair, but he felt the wind. It pushed at him playfully; he could sway gently with it, but never yeild. He sensed the sustaining earth beneath him and the airy sky above - and at the same time the world was fading from his eyes. He realised that the pain was subsiding, and then the memory of his wounds was gone.
He heard a noise. Sobbing? He looked/felt/sniffed around and detected a figure huddled against the trunk of a tree. It was Morgaine. And Fred was the tree. That puzzled him for a moment. She was caressing the tree and calling his name. He thought he should say something but found no voice, only the rustle of his leaves in the wind and the creaking of his branches.
Fred had a last fleeting memory of holding her in his arms. He thought he should do that now... before that memory fades as well. Then he found he had no arms to reach for her with. He had only branches now, and they could grasp only at the sky.
A breeze sighed through helpless branches.
I meant to lead up to it, but then I seemed to strike the right vein, and just kept going with it.
I thought it went well.
Going to be far busier than I had imagined. The money will be proportionally good. No. Exponentially good. I'm looking at 68 hours next week.
I'm mostly using this space now because I think I came up with an ending for "sorrow" and I wanted to get it down without too much distraction.
Fred was losing focus. His perspective had slowly been drifting from a subjective bystander to an objective one. He no longer sensed the wind on his skin or rustling his hair, but he felt the wind. It pushed at him playfully; he could sway gently with it, but never yeild. He sensed the sustaining earth beneath him and the airy sky above - and at the same time the world was fading from his eyes. He realised that the pain was subsiding, and then the memory of his wounds was gone.
He heard a noise. Sobbing? He looked/felt/sniffed around and detected a figure huddled against the trunk of a tree. It was Morgaine. And Fred was the tree. That puzzled him for a moment. She was caressing the tree and calling his name. He thought he should say something but found no voice, only the rustle of his leaves in the wind and the creaking of his branches.
Fred had a last fleeting memory of holding her in his arms. He thought he should do that now... before that memory fades as well. Then he found he had no arms to reach for her with. He had only branches now, and they could grasp only at the sky.
A breeze sighed through helpless branches.
13 May 2005
Of Specks and Boulders, Beams and Splinters
I know, I'm late.
I owe you lot a dialogue on abortion.
All of my sheduled 8-hour shifts grew to 12-hour shifts, so perhaps you'll understand that I simply don't have time at the moment to lay awake pondering the existence of Dog.
However, in anticipation of that dialogue - no, thats wrong, at best it is a soliloquy - here is a follow-up thought on the soul and yet more about what I believe.
I was talking about how unscrutable the soul is. If there is re-incarnation of the soul, how many souls are there total? There are 6 billion people on the face of the earth at this moment, so at present there are at least that many souls, right? Thats quite a large number of souls. What were they all doing before there were 6 billion corporeal entities to inhabit? Hanging out at a Nirvanic laundromat?
As part of research for my attempts at writing fiction, I have been trying to learn something about Hinduism. I was digesting this heady work when I came across this statement:
"Let the wise man, having examined the world and perceived the motives and the results of actions, realize that as from a blazing fire sparks proceed, living souls originate from the indestructible Brahman and return to Him. All doubts disappear and the attachment to work subsides when the Supreme Being is cognized."
A quaint little bit of circumspection with some interesting ramifications. Not only does this outlook make a tidy explanation for re-incarnation, but at the same time, it identifies God as greater than the sum of many parts. A gestalt of souls, if you will.
And now for something completely different.
The Quakers among the original colonists came here seeking freedom from religious persecution. That specific freedom, of all those freedoms that we enjoy, was the specific impetus that formed this nation. The other freedoms followed as a matter of course. Unfortunately, freedom of religion appears to have evolved into "freedom to practice conservative christianity," even at the expense of other freedoms.
Separation of Church and State is an important principle of American Government, and must remain so in the interest of religious freedom. It is not separation of the Christian Church from the State, but the divesture of all religions from government apparatus. For freedom of religion to be maintained, there must be balance, not bias. Murder is a crime not because it is specifically mentioned in the Ten Commandments, but because murder is contrary to the interests of social order.
If abortion is a political football, it should not be so. As I mentioned before, I believe abortion should be regulated better. Pregnant women should have the benefits of all the counseling or guidance that they could ever want. Anyone that doesn't like what happens in those places should chastize their randy male children instead of perpetrating social disorder. That book with all the thump-marks on it contains a word that's been overlooked far too often. The word is forgiveness; it starts at home and is not supposed to end, ever.
The so-called "Pro Life" movement consists largely of conservative Christians, and they desire that abortion be banned because it is against the laws of their God. I say that they are suburbanites with too much time on their hands and a burning case of "Not In My Backyard."
They claim that all life is precious, but I don't remember hearing much of a fuss from them about ethnic cleansing in Darfur, or Rwanda, or Yugoslavia. One would think that a greater hue and cry would be raised over such atrocities. This leads me to believe that some lives must be more precious than others. It would seem that the exchange rate for sentient beings has grown out of proportion, making foriegn lives worthless compared to domestics. If that is the case, perhaps Congress can regulate it due to their authority in matters of commerce. Perhaps this imbalance is an application of the 'new math.' They'll have to explain it to me someday.
These groups are only some of those that intend to affect the U.S. government by installing pro-life judges so as to bias the judiciary in the same way that the legislature and the executive branches have already been affected. The only possible result from this is an end to religious freedom. Speech will be the next casualty (it is already being affected) and assembly is sure to follow.
Once again our very way of life is imperiled by religious extremists: our very own conservative Christians.
May God help us all.
I owe you lot a dialogue on abortion.
All of my sheduled 8-hour shifts grew to 12-hour shifts, so perhaps you'll understand that I simply don't have time at the moment to lay awake pondering the existence of Dog.
However, in anticipation of that dialogue - no, thats wrong, at best it is a soliloquy - here is a follow-up thought on the soul and yet more about what I believe.
I was talking about how unscrutable the soul is. If there is re-incarnation of the soul, how many souls are there total? There are 6 billion people on the face of the earth at this moment, so at present there are at least that many souls, right? Thats quite a large number of souls. What were they all doing before there were 6 billion corporeal entities to inhabit? Hanging out at a Nirvanic laundromat?
As part of research for my attempts at writing fiction, I have been trying to learn something about Hinduism. I was digesting this heady work when I came across this statement:
"Let the wise man, having examined the world and perceived the motives and the results of actions, realize that as from a blazing fire sparks proceed, living souls originate from the indestructible Brahman and return to Him. All doubts disappear and the attachment to work subsides when the Supreme Being is cognized."
A quaint little bit of circumspection with some interesting ramifications. Not only does this outlook make a tidy explanation for re-incarnation, but at the same time, it identifies God as greater than the sum of many parts. A gestalt of souls, if you will.
And now for something completely different.
The Quakers among the original colonists came here seeking freedom from religious persecution. That specific freedom, of all those freedoms that we enjoy, was the specific impetus that formed this nation. The other freedoms followed as a matter of course. Unfortunately, freedom of religion appears to have evolved into "freedom to practice conservative christianity," even at the expense of other freedoms.
Separation of Church and State is an important principle of American Government, and must remain so in the interest of religious freedom. It is not separation of the Christian Church from the State, but the divesture of all religions from government apparatus. For freedom of religion to be maintained, there must be balance, not bias. Murder is a crime not because it is specifically mentioned in the Ten Commandments, but because murder is contrary to the interests of social order.
If abortion is a political football, it should not be so. As I mentioned before, I believe abortion should be regulated better. Pregnant women should have the benefits of all the counseling or guidance that they could ever want. Anyone that doesn't like what happens in those places should chastize their randy male children instead of perpetrating social disorder. That book with all the thump-marks on it contains a word that's been overlooked far too often. The word is forgiveness; it starts at home and is not supposed to end, ever.
The so-called "Pro Life" movement consists largely of conservative Christians, and they desire that abortion be banned because it is against the laws of their God. I say that they are suburbanites with too much time on their hands and a burning case of "Not In My Backyard."
They claim that all life is precious, but I don't remember hearing much of a fuss from them about ethnic cleansing in Darfur, or Rwanda, or Yugoslavia. One would think that a greater hue and cry would be raised over such atrocities. This leads me to believe that some lives must be more precious than others. It would seem that the exchange rate for sentient beings has grown out of proportion, making foriegn lives worthless compared to domestics. If that is the case, perhaps Congress can regulate it due to their authority in matters of commerce. Perhaps this imbalance is an application of the 'new math.' They'll have to explain it to me someday.
These groups are only some of those that intend to affect the U.S. government by installing pro-life judges so as to bias the judiciary in the same way that the legislature and the executive branches have already been affected. The only possible result from this is an end to religious freedom. Speech will be the next casualty (it is already being affected) and assembly is sure to follow.
Once again our very way of life is imperiled by religious extremists: our very own conservative Christians.
May God help us all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)