Today's Word: Blink
The eyes darted away, closed for a split-second, and returned in their fix on me. She died a second later.
Just a thought
Been fantasizing this afternoon about a series of Crimes Against Reality tribunals for people who disseminate massive and toxic levels of propaganda. A near-future Nuremburg trial for professional liars and sociopaths, done up by neo-Rationalists and a world league of empiricists.
Fiction writers are naturally excluded, but are brought in as expert witnesses for the prosecution. We also get the prime talking-head spots on cable law programs as insta-analysts.
Court TV, here I come.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Today's Word: Tide
One day, she said, the water's gonna either rise up and swallow us or poison us to death. It doesn't care either way. It'll just sway to the dance of the moon and drift on for another billion years.
Wielding a Sharp Occam's Razor
Moby (who like Peter Gabriel, Massive Attack, Bjork, and Halou always finds a way onto my iPod) steps in and saves me from making a flailing rage-hole out of myself about the whole Schiavo affair. Maybe it's his full-on embrace of being an artist who can step outside of culture to study it. Maybe it's the fact he's that increasingly rare American Christian who, you know, remembers something about Jesus being sympathetic and compassionate. Maybe it's because he's damn smart. Anyway you slice it, he fires a proton torpedo down the hypocrisy hole of the Right Wing Death Star with this bon mot.
Nothing to add, except go buy Moby's new album. Piss off the Necrophiliac Right.
One day, she said, the water's gonna either rise up and swallow us or poison us to death. It doesn't care either way. It'll just sway to the dance of the moon and drift on for another billion years.
Wielding a Sharp Occam's Razor
Moby (who like Peter Gabriel, Massive Attack, Bjork, and Halou always finds a way onto my iPod) steps in and saves me from making a flailing rage-hole out of myself about the whole Schiavo affair. Maybe it's his full-on embrace of being an artist who can step outside of culture to study it. Maybe it's the fact he's that increasingly rare American Christian who, you know, remembers something about Jesus being sympathetic and compassionate. Maybe it's because he's damn smart. Anyway you slice it, he fires a proton torpedo down the hypocrisy hole of the Right Wing Death Star with this bon mot.
this is why it's hard to take the far-right seriously. they believe in the sanctity of human life, but yet they begin wars that result in hundreds of thousands of deaths.they believe in the sanctity of human life, but yet they pass legislation that allows polluters to put toxins into the air and water that will result in miscarriages and still-born deliveries. they believe in the sanctity of human life, but yet they allow americans to buy assault weapons. they believe in the sanctity of human life, but yet they are pro-death penalty. it just makes no sense to me.
Nothing to add, except go buy Moby's new album. Piss off the Necrophiliac Right.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Today's Word: Fare
You put it all out there. You bare your soul and rub the nerves raw, hoping you'll come up with enough karmic pocket change to get in. What you never want to admit is, for all your hard work and suffering, you might never be allowed inside. You'll be told No.
Boldly Going Where I've Never Gone Before
Currently hunting down places to submit short stories of the sci-fi flavor. Need to read my 2004 copy of Writer's Market when I get home. Found a writing contest online, but am finding myself getting snobby about the destination of my little story. Would prefer print over online, although online might have more eyeballs in the end. Oh well. Back into the fray.
Also, the final term of the Writing Program starts next Tuesday. I drew the teacher I had at the very beginning. Almost cliche in sci-fi/fantasy epic terms. The student returns to face the master one last time.
Except this teacher likes me, so there goes that overwrought final battle to the death.
You put it all out there. You bare your soul and rub the nerves raw, hoping you'll come up with enough karmic pocket change to get in. What you never want to admit is, for all your hard work and suffering, you might never be allowed inside. You'll be told No.
Boldly Going Where I've Never Gone Before
Currently hunting down places to submit short stories of the sci-fi flavor. Need to read my 2004 copy of Writer's Market when I get home. Found a writing contest online, but am finding myself getting snobby about the destination of my little story. Would prefer print over online, although online might have more eyeballs in the end. Oh well. Back into the fray.
Also, the final term of the Writing Program starts next Tuesday. I drew the teacher I had at the very beginning. Almost cliche in sci-fi/fantasy epic terms. The student returns to face the master one last time.
Except this teacher likes me, so there goes that overwrought final battle to the death.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Today's Word: Welt
Months after the final argument, the apartment was bare except for her. In the middle of the buff hardwood floor, she felt every violent moment of their last falling out over again, beating on her inside and out, until all she felt were tears and bruises.
A Smaller Finish Line
Last night, I finished a new short story I had been working on for just a few days. This is unheard of for me, crafting a story from start to finish, barely 2,000 words in total. Done with the minimal of strain or stress, and I feel a little proud of the quality of it. It has nothing to do with the tar pits that are the novels, except the theme of the end of one world and the beginning of another, but you know what they say: Every day the world ends, every morning the world begins.
Voices Inside My Head
I humbly request you seek out and wrap your ears around the new Bjork ("Medulla") and an old Halou ("We Only Love You"). I got the former form the library, and got the latter through a long, hard march via iTunes and a slow modem.
But still, you...yes, you...go get them. And go get "A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular" by Hooverphonic. Put the music on, turn down the lights, don your headphones.
Trust me, you'll like them. And would I lead you astray?
Months after the final argument, the apartment was bare except for her. In the middle of the buff hardwood floor, she felt every violent moment of their last falling out over again, beating on her inside and out, until all she felt were tears and bruises.
A Smaller Finish Line
Last night, I finished a new short story I had been working on for just a few days. This is unheard of for me, crafting a story from start to finish, barely 2,000 words in total. Done with the minimal of strain or stress, and I feel a little proud of the quality of it. It has nothing to do with the tar pits that are the novels, except the theme of the end of one world and the beginning of another, but you know what they say: Every day the world ends, every morning the world begins.
Voices Inside My Head
I humbly request you seek out and wrap your ears around the new Bjork ("Medulla") and an old Halou ("We Only Love You"). I got the former form the library, and got the latter through a long, hard march via iTunes and a slow modem.
But still, you...yes, you...go get them. And go get "A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular" by Hooverphonic. Put the music on, turn down the lights, don your headphones.
Trust me, you'll like them. And would I lead you astray?
Monday, March 21, 2005
Today's Word: Sapphire
The water of the ocean was turned to stone, carved up, and divided among the goddesses for their treasure. While they played with their gems, they watched the fish dying from the loss of their habitat. Heartbroken at their greed, the goddesses returned the gems to the water. A few of the stones remain, haunting the world today.
Just a few words about current events
First, if my wife spent the past 15 years in an irreversible coma, and her brain was the quality of rice pudding, then I would be rightly pissed if complete strangers were rushing to pass legislation to keep her alive. She's nothing more than a meat puppet, occasional synapses twitching together to imitate signs of life. My wife, my love, is long gone. The fire that made her what she is has been atrophied. Take your political posturing from my sight Mr. Delay, and you right-to-lifers, get the hell off my lawn. You'll never know my pain in losing the love of my life. Let me say goodbye. The rest of you can rot in hell.
Second, (via Cursor, which you should read every day) the Pentagon is looking to deploy robots to aid American troops on the ground in Iraq, which strains Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics.
All kidding aside, it goes to show that the Pentagon is acting (as blogger Tbogg once said) as a near-sighted basset hound would about Iraq: banging into the doorway, backing up again, banging into it again, repeat. Perhaps the fact that the Pentagon needs robots to go into Iraq signals, oh I dunno, the obvious sign that people don't want to sign up and fight.
Also, I'm starting to catch up on the backlog of Battlestar Galactica episodes on my DVR. So far, the episodes (this is the re-envisioned series, not the "Exodus-in-disco-pants" version with Lorne Greene) are a lot better than expected (good writing/effects/drama). Worth your time. The gist: Mankind is on the run from a man-made race of robots, which (as sci-fi stories with robots are wont to go) rebelled at their slave status and started butchering their masters. I'm reading the Robot soldier article again after a weekend of BSG thinking, "You mean no one in the Pentagon has watched a sci-fi movie in the past 50 years? They're not watching BSG now? Never watched the Terminator movies? Don't we have anyone in government with any sort of pop culture awareness?" I mean, the robots always rebel. The mainframe gains some sentience, decides humans are pretty obsolete and -bloop- there goes Los Angeles in a mushroom cloud. There's always a flaw in the programming, from HAL to Data, to give them a creepy sociopathic awareness without proper social balance. The machines always rise.
Of course, this comes from the same government that decided to name a proposed omniscient computer-based surveillance program "The Matrix."
Four years after the Keanu Reeves paranoid-action film hit theaters.
The water of the ocean was turned to stone, carved up, and divided among the goddesses for their treasure. While they played with their gems, they watched the fish dying from the loss of their habitat. Heartbroken at their greed, the goddesses returned the gems to the water. A few of the stones remain, haunting the world today.
Just a few words about current events
First, if my wife spent the past 15 years in an irreversible coma, and her brain was the quality of rice pudding, then I would be rightly pissed if complete strangers were rushing to pass legislation to keep her alive. She's nothing more than a meat puppet, occasional synapses twitching together to imitate signs of life. My wife, my love, is long gone. The fire that made her what she is has been atrophied. Take your political posturing from my sight Mr. Delay, and you right-to-lifers, get the hell off my lawn. You'll never know my pain in losing the love of my life. Let me say goodbye. The rest of you can rot in hell.
Second, (via Cursor, which you should read every day) the Pentagon is looking to deploy robots to aid American troops on the ground in Iraq, which strains Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics.
All kidding aside, it goes to show that the Pentagon is acting (as blogger Tbogg once said) as a near-sighted basset hound would about Iraq: banging into the doorway, backing up again, banging into it again, repeat. Perhaps the fact that the Pentagon needs robots to go into Iraq signals, oh I dunno, the obvious sign that people don't want to sign up and fight.
Also, I'm starting to catch up on the backlog of Battlestar Galactica episodes on my DVR. So far, the episodes (this is the re-envisioned series, not the "Exodus-in-disco-pants" version with Lorne Greene) are a lot better than expected (good writing/effects/drama). Worth your time. The gist: Mankind is on the run from a man-made race of robots, which (as sci-fi stories with robots are wont to go) rebelled at their slave status and started butchering their masters. I'm reading the Robot soldier article again after a weekend of BSG thinking, "You mean no one in the Pentagon has watched a sci-fi movie in the past 50 years? They're not watching BSG now? Never watched the Terminator movies? Don't we have anyone in government with any sort of pop culture awareness?" I mean, the robots always rebel. The mainframe gains some sentience, decides humans are pretty obsolete and -bloop- there goes Los Angeles in a mushroom cloud. There's always a flaw in the programming, from HAL to Data, to give them a creepy sociopathic awareness without proper social balance. The machines always rise.
Of course, this comes from the same government that decided to name a proposed omniscient computer-based surveillance program "The Matrix."
Four years after the Keanu Reeves paranoid-action film hit theaters.
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