The Big Electron ;)
“We’re so self-important. So self-important. Everybody’s going to save something now. “Save the trees, save the bees, save the whales, save those snails.” And the greatest arrogance of all: save the planet. What? Are these fucking people kidding me? Save the planet, we don’t even know how to take care of ourselves yet. We haven’t learned how to care for one another, we’re gonna save the fucking planet? I’m getting tired of that shit. Tired of that shit. I’m tired of fucking Earth Day, I’m tired of these self-righteous environmentalists, these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren’t enough bicycle paths. People trying to make the world save for their Volvos. Besides, environmentalists don’t give a shit about the planet. They don’t care about the planet. Not in the abstract they don’t. Not in the abstract they don’t. You know what they’re interested in? A clean place to live. Their own habitat. They’re worried that some day in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn’t impress me.
Besides, there is nothing wrong with the planet. Nothing wrong with the planet. The planet is fine. The PEOPLE are fucked. Difference. Difference. The planet is fine. Compared to the people, the planet is doing great. Been here four and a half billion years. Did you ever think about the arithmetic? The planet has been here four and a half billion years. We’ve been here, what, a hundred thousand? Maybe two hundred thousand? And we’ve only been engaged in heavy industry for a little over two hundred years. Two hundred years versus four and a half billion. And we have the CONCEIT to think that somehow we’re a threat? That somehow we’re gonna put in jeopardy this beautiful little blue-green ball that’s just a-floatin’ around the sun?
The planet has been through a lot worse than us. Been through all kinds of things worse than us. Been through earthquakes, volcanoes, plate tectonics, continental drift, solar flares, sun spots, magnetic storms, the magnetic reversal of the poles…hundreds of thousands of years of bombardment by comets and asteroids and meteors, worlwide floods, tidal waves, worldwide fires, erosion, cosmic rays, recurring ice ages…And we think some plastic bags, and some aluminum cans are going to make a difference? The planet…the planet…the planet isn’t going anywhere. WE ARE!
We’re going away. Pack your shit, folks. We’re going away. And we won’t leave much of a trace, either. Thank God for that. Maybe a little styrofoam. Maybe. A little styrofoam. The planet’ll be here and we’ll be long gone. Just another failed mutation. Just another closed-end biological mistake. An evolutionary cul-de-sac. The planet’ll shake us off like a bad case of fleas. A surface nuisance.
You wanna know how the planet’s doing? Ask those people at Pompeii, who are frozen into position from volcanic ash, how the planet’s doing. You wanna know if the planet’s all right, ask those people in Mexico City or Armenia or a hundred other places buried under thousands of tons of earthquake rubble, if they feel like a threat to the planet this week. Or how about those people in Kilowaia, Hawaii, who built their homes right next to an active volcano, and then wonder why they have lava in the living room.
The planet will be here for a long, long, LONG time after we’re gone, and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself, ’cause that’s what it does. It’s a self-correcting system. The air and the water will recover, the earth will be renewed, and if it’s true that plastic is not degradable, well, the planet will simply incorporate plastic into a new pardigm: the earth plus plastic. The earth doesn’t share our prejudice towards plastic. Plastic came out of the earth. The earth probably sees plastic as just another one of its children. Could be the only reason the earth allowed us to be spawned from it in the first place. It wanted plastic for itself. Didn’t know how to make it. Needed us. Could be the answer to our age-old egocentric philosophical question, “Why are we here?” Plastic…asshole.
So, the plastic is here, our job is done, we can be phased out now. And I think that’s begun. Don’t you think that’s already started? I think, to be fair, the planet sees us as a mild threat. Something to be dealt with. And the planet can defend itself in an organized, collective way, the way a beehive or an ant colony can. A collective defense mechanism. The planet will think of something. What would you do if you were the planet? How would you defend yourself against this troublesome, pesky species? Let’s see… Viruses. Viruses might be good. They seem vulnerable to viruses. And, uh…viruses are tricky, always mutating and forming new strains whenever a vaccine is developed. Perhaps, this first virus could be one that compromises the immune system of these creatures. Perhaps a human immunodeficiency virus, making them vulnerable to all sorts of other diseases and infections that might come along. And maybe it could be spread sexually, making them a little reluctant to engage in the act of reproduction.
Well, that’s a poetic note. And it’s a start. And I can dream, can’t I? See I don’t worry about the little things: bees, trees, whales, snails. I think we’re part of a greater wisdom than we will ever understand. A higher order. Call it what you want. Know what I call it? The Big Electron. The Big Electron…whoooa. Whoooa. Whoooa. It doesn’t punish, it doesn’t reward, it doesn’t judge at all. It just is. And so are we. For a little while.”
- George Carlin, The Planet is Fine
Shattering
“How odd that we speak against linearity but adhere to alchemy, a linear, evolutionary model of consciousness. Even if our paradigm doesn’t include alchemy, the work of therapy is almost always conceived as evolutionary. Shattering is demonized. But, I aver, soul demands shattering. For where there is dismemberment there is the ecstatic — not an ecstasy of pure pleasure or emotion but of penetration to the objective psyche. If any emotion is present at this level, it is usually akin to heartbreak, the affect of sehnsucht.”
(Link)
DT7 Review/Speculation
I was prepared for it to be much worse. I wasn’t quite prepared to actually weep over characters that I didn’t know I was so attached to. I think the ‘second’ ending was good and satisfying in a way that I found acceptable. I find myself struggling for the correct words here, if only to avoid the sort of smarmy hyper-criticism that Anne Rice’s fans recently offered up to her. It’s not that I think they were wrong, but I tend to think of my stories as children, and even if it was a 20 year old grown up son (who bore a striking resemblance to Clint Eastwood), I’d still be upset if someone publicly trashed him for what amount to differences of opinion. So please keep that in mind as I continue.
There are several elements I’ll elaborate on that lead me to a single conclusion. The inspiration for the Dark Tower that King had, at some point, possibly after Wizard and Glass, vanished. It was gone. He describes it as ignoring the Song of the Turtle, and I think that’s a perfectly apt symbol. In the story the act of ignoring the song culminates in a tragic event that actually occured in the author’s life. I think what I saw most of all, is that from W&G on, he was writing a different story than the one he started. Not the same story that had altered with the changes in him through time, but an entirely different current of inspiration. As I said earlier, this is not necessarily a bad thing. Grafting in a new current when the old one has dried up, or part of you has been shattered is a necessarily healthy process, in my opinion. Now it may be that others will put it down to simply an arc of story that altered as he did. I think he gave every indication that he could that it was changed. First there was the hint in all of his talk about the Song of Gan. The second clue he gave was the talk of the Artist and his lack of an eraser. In the story the Artist learns of the ability to erase portions of reality in order to further the goals of the travellers. I think that the eraser is a symbolic representation of events in the author’s life that changed him permanently.
You see, I too once had a story. It was an epic tale of a man seeking a tower. Perhaps I shouldn’t say a man per se, but rather an angelic being. The inspiration flowed forth and I could not stop hearing the song. Things happened. The world moved on. I found a paradox within my story and I couldn’t see the way past it. I stopped writing it. The languages I’d created, the histories invented, the stories of the minor characters I’d known by heart, all of them froze at that instant, and they ceased to grow. A moment, frozen in time, was all I had left. There was no beginning in that moment, only a premature ending. It literally broke my heart. I wasn’t sure how I’d go on, and in some respects all writing became a chore. Even the simplest essay was tedious and difficult, unless I adhered to some pre-made template. What was worse was that it wasn’t just in writing that my creativity had slowed to a halt. It was in creating songs, writing programs, and even in everyday speech. The font of invention had simply left me.
Sometimes events in our lives change us forever. They signal a new beginning and an ending to something old and comfortable. King knew that he had to finish this story of stories, and he did. He did so wounded and weary, perhaps by the attempt to imitate the song. It showed somewhat in what felt like shoddy plot devices sprinkled frugally throughout the last book. To some degree, the frequency increased as the last book progressed, but it was in the last two hundred pages that I found the most uncontrolled elements and objects that simply ‘pass’ out of the story world. I find that causing things to simply ‘wink’ out of the narrative is a bad sign, indicating weariness in finishing and tying up loose ends. Overall, in the last two books, I watched as he dug deeper and deeper into himself to find the source, unravelling the tapestry of consciousness that allowed him to hear the song in the first place. Tearing apart the radio doesn’t make the signal come back though. What it does, is allow for a new type of Art. That I do know, because what I gained from the loss of my artform was the capacity to seek out the Art.
It is in that spirit that I am glad for sai-King. Perhaps he now has a chance to take a step into a larger world. To speak truly, that is all any of us are given. A chance. There is no fate or destiny that can make a thing sure, but that’s the way to bet. I have heard the strong voices of those who proclaimed a glorious destiny to be within their grasp, only to watch them falter and fail when the cost was too high. There is no shame in that. We must all make choices with full awareness of the consequences of those choices. This is true responsibility: to be aware, awakened, to the full ramifications of our every action, large or small; to choose the role that we are suited for, not the one that has been chosen for us.
I may be wrong about King. I may be wrong about his story. This I grant. However, the signs and symbols are there for any to read. Interpret them as you will. Where others see an endless loop, I choose to see hope in the breaking of a cycle.
Thank you, Mr. King. It was a truly good story ([hyper-]critics be damned).
All these stories are true…
“I hope you enjoy the ride to the Absinthe-Moon”
- Marcelo F. Giscome’
Warning: Do not click the above link if you aren’t on a broadband connection.
Okay… this is amusing
“Be ready to shake up your world. Once it happens, you will never be the same. Although the changes will be subtle and slight at first, what they will usher in promises to be a definite turn for the better. Don’t worry about what it is or when it will happen — just be aware that something great is just around the corner, and it’s waiting for you. Aren’t surprises lovely?”
Or “Stand tall and shake the heavens” as Squaresoft might put it.
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I amAzathoth! Known as the “Blind Idiot God”, the center of all cycles known as Azathoth is the great void itself, infinite creation and inescapable oblivion made one. The Great God is without ego, as it has been embodied in a seperate consciousness as Azathoth has cast off the curse of self-awareness. Surrounded by the host of flautist servitors, piping the songs of the unknowable, Azathoth is not to be known by his aspirants. That is the purpose of another God… |
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| Which Great Old One are you? | |
Dream
I dreamed I was sitting in the living room of my parent’s house. N was there and apparently was waiting for me. He started out being really friendly and pleasant, but then started asking me about a job they had ‘hired’ me to do for them. It had something to do with a cartoon moose named Quimby, and I was supposed to make a card with some data on the character, but they had never received it. I argued that the card *had* been created, and described it down to the last detail. His mom was there as well, and said something really shitty. Then insults started flying back and forth and I walked out to my truck, preparing to leave. It was fall, but the pomegranates were already looking dead. There were yellow leaves all over the ground.
What next?
[upwards, greening, branching]
[covering, shifting, creating illusion]
[water seeps down - a single drip creates two objects that reach for each other]
The ghosts in the mist swirl and change. Here I’m reminded of the wavering mirage that shimmers then vanishes as one arrives. I saw a man today and a wisp of smoke above his head. The magazine he was reading reflected light into the dark plastic of the shelf next to him, and it caught my eye. The past alters the moment of truth, and nothing can remain the same.
Of course, a single story must bridge the gap between inspiration and perspiration, remaining a single flow. In a moment of kvetching, a woman complains of people with a narrow scope, then proceeds to call someone else’s music ‘really wierd.’ I was, unfortunately, laughing at her, not with her. Changes are hard to deal with, especially if you are used to the story, but the flow is more important than any of the trappings thereof.
Greening, as some know much better than I do, isn’t about making the right choices at the precise moment. It’s about continual cycles and patterns of behavior. Mar/y Mar/y, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? It is the water of the ocean which permeates our lives, sets up our conflicts and our pathos, then causes that which we have planted to grow.
Shimmer, flow, greening. I think these were, are, and shall be my names for the processes of emanation.
Again, what next?
AC and XS
It’s bloody hot in here ’cause the air conditioner has broken again. Of course it’s only bad for a few hours in the afternoon, then it cools down pretty quickly in the evening. With the fan, I can get it down to about 57 around 9pm. Very nice.
So right now is the worst part of the day, and I’ve decided to make an effort at writing right now, because it’s unpleasant and uncomfortable, and working under uncomfortable circumstances makes it easier to work under good circumstances.
[...]
Ah well, things got hectic and I ended up writing the makings of a story. May all those who are fasting have an easy fast.
Also found the English translation to the Xenogears Perfect Works Guide (the ultimate guide to the Xeno-Verse, which was only available in Japanese to begin with) and have been reading and digesting slowly. YAY!
And to go with your freedom fries… you’ll need… W Ketchup!
You are Optimus Prime! You are a natural born
leader, brave and selfless and you will fight
to the bitter end for peace and freedom. You
have extensive knowledge in just about
everything from art to the art of war. You
would be a better leader if you were more
ruthless, but then you just wouldn’t be Optimus
Prime. Roll out with your bad self!
Transformers Generation One Personality Test
brought to you by Quizilla
Condolences to Al…
Parents of ‘Weird Al’ Found Dead at Home
(AP, 04/12/2004 7:33 AM)
The elderly parents of Grammy-winning recording artist “Weird Al” Yankovic were found dead in their home, apparently victims of carbon monoxide poisoning, officials said.
Nick and Mary Yankovic were found dead Friday in their suburban San Diego home by relatives who were worried because they had not seen the couple in a while, said sheriff’s Sgt. Conrad Grayson.
Paramedics found Nick Yankovic, 86, in a chair in the front living room. His 81-year-old wife was on the bathroom floor.
A wood fire had been set recently in the fireplace, Grayson said.
“The house was full of smoke when they opened the door,” Grayson said, adding that the family members found the flue closed.
“Weird Al” Yankovic, 44, had no comment during a performance in Mankato, Minn., on Saturday night.
Before the show, a graphic projected on the screens at the back of the stage dedicated the evening to his parents, KTOE-AM reported. Yankovic also canceled a meet-and-greet with selected fans.
A neighbor described Yankovic’s parents as nice people who were proud of their son.
“Everybody who came to the neighborhood knew Nick,” said John Buehman, who lives across the street. “They’re going to be missed, big time.”
Yankovic was scheduled to appear Monday in Grand Forks, N.D., as part of a tour for his new album, “Poodle Hat.”
Ah, the irony!
The president, who earlier in his administration challenged the United Nations to be more muscular or resign itself to being little more than an international debating society, took a much different tone today.
“The American people respect the idealism that gave life to this organization,” he said. “And we respect the men and women of the U.N., who stand for peace and human rights in every part of the world.”
DC Dream
Dreamed I was talking to a guy from Drug Court. I was explaining to him how I’d stayed sober, while we walked around in the lesser known areas of Porterville. He said he’d seen me before but he wasn’t sure where. I told him I was pretty untraceable, being as I am pretty average. We went into a building with a staircase leading down. I balanced myself against the walls and hung above the staircase. K, N, and another guy were there, passing around Torani syrups that they were putting in their cups of coffee (caramel and chocolate, nothing nasty). The kid and I sat down and started discussing Drug Court and some deeper stuff.
[/dream]
