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Saturday, 21 November 2009
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The XPresso 1200 Story Excerpt
Our hero returns home after a grueling mental ordeal with a hyper-intelligent octopus from space. He finds everything in his apartment completely dismantled. Here is an excerpt from that part of the story:
Yes, Americans love their caffeine, and by the word "love," nothing is being exaggerated. They truly love the stuff in just about any form they can get it. Xed was no exception. He adored caffeine, and he truly loved great coffee. His love affair with coffee began when he visited France after obtaining his bachelor's degree. He sat with a small group of other American tourists in a small cafe in Paris and ordered coffee. After getting a few strange looks for ordering coffee at 6:00 PM (a cultural oddity to the French), the waiter returned with his order. The coffee itself came in a large earthenware mug. The creamy foam on top was perfectly formed; it almost looked like a rounded handmade lid for the ruddy red vessel. His first sip was a trip to caffeine Nirvana. It was a perfect blend of complex earthy flavors, glorious, stimulating caffeine, and deliciously delicate cream. He used to dislike coffee, but this... this was completely different. He changed that day. He came to Paris in search of, well, nothing in particular, but he left a lover of fine coffee, and he swore that one day he would be able to recreate the brilliance of that wonderful French cafe. When he returned home, he spread his love of fine coffee to his friends and relatives with the kind of passion and dedication usually only found in girl scouts who truly believe in the power of cookies. His relatives bought him an espresso maker in light of his newfound love - the XPresso 1200. For $600, it was a superb espresso machine and only weighed as much as half of a small child. With the XPresso 1200, Xed could make himself a perfect cup of coffee in no time at all. He didn't make coffee every day, however. He felt that in doing so, he might dilute the absolute pleasure of relaxing and spending a few moments of a busy day with a cup of perfect coffee. He treated the machine not as a wife, but as a mistress, only indulging in her pleasures just enough to satisfy himself and to keep the relationship mysteriously intriguing. She was his muse, his inspiration in the morning and his comfort in the evening, and now, she had been meticulously disassembled on his kitchen counter.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
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Progress Report
I'm a little over 1/5 of the way through with my novel! Things are still going well, albeit slowly. At least they're going, though. Here's another excerpt:
After receiving his instructions, Xed began dreaming again, this time, completely on his own. He dreamt of falling through the sky and crashing into a primitive ocean. As he sank to the bottom, he continued looking up
at the sky. It was bright, but he couldn't make out anything. It all became an imcomprehensible blur as he sank even lower. The light slowly began to dim, and before long, he found himself on the ocean floor, his fall
gently cushioned by the fine sand. The pressure should have killed him, but in his dream, he had nothing to worry about, unless of course, he wanted to worry. Cold, lost, and completely alone, he righted himself and stood on the bottom of the ocean. He began walking, but the intense pressure and the frigid temperature soon began to sap his remaining energy. As he fell once again to the soft, sandy surface beneath him, he suddenly felt as if his body was being ripped apart. His mind felt as though it had exploded, and then, as if by a miracle, reassembled to a state of perfection. The shock had woken him up, but he was no longer in the saline tank. He blinked his eyes a few times and looked around. To his horror, he found himself alone in the woods, completely naked and terribly pruny.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
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Story Excerpt
This is an excerpt from my story. If it feels as though I'm trying too hard to copy Douglas Adams, you're probably right.
This time, the entire message took 0.52 seconds to transmit. Failure to communicate was a non-issue. Success in communication was the key problem. Telepathy is an interesting topic and has been mentioned several times in human history, including the famous development of Zen Buddhism, in which the Buddha's final teachings were transmitted purely by thought. It was said that only one man was able to receive the message, and by smiling and acknowledging this gift, he was able to show the Buddha that the message had been broadcasted and received perfectly. In reality, the message itself had nothing to do with the revelation of telepathy to the Buddhists, but rather, it was a request for the founder of Zen Buddhism to remember to feed his neighbor's cat since he had been on vacation all week and the meowing was starting to bother people. There were a few other people at that meeting who had received the message, but their looks of confusion weren't from their lack of ability in telepathy, but rather from the unsettling fact that no one in their entire village had a cat, and that the founder of Zen Buddhism's neighbor only had a pet goldfish. The eternal puzzle for many that day had been revealed, and it was "How can a goldfish meow?" Apparently, the path to true universal wisdom was not found in wordless communication, but rather in the existence of a meowing fish.
Monday, 16 November 2009
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Atheism and Immaturity
For those of you who know a little about me, you'll know that as far as religion is concerned, I'm of the opinion that I don't know anything for certain, and as of now, I can't really prove much of anything, either. The Flying Spaghetti Monster could be the real creator of the universe for all I know.
Reading the arguments on Xanga can be fairly interesting, although most of the time, the debaters end up agreeing to disagree. It's highly unlikely that you can convince someone to make a complete about face just by citing the same arguments we've all heard since the beginning of the Interwebz. Amazing testimonies are matched up with sound scientific theories, biological explanations of the mechanics of the mind are pitted against personal revelations, ad nauseum. To me, it simply comes down to a matter of faith. What did you feel? What did you experience? How could it be explained, if it could be explained at all?
I don't know how people answer those questions, since I'd have to get in their heads to find out. I don't mean "get in their heads" like a psychologist might, but I mean "really get in there and see what synapses were going off." Until I can do that, I'll never know exactly what you or your aunt or your brother experienced, so I'm not qualified to make any judgements.
What I do know is that a lot of religions seem pretty ridiculous. From a detached point of view, there aren't many out there that seem completely reasonable in their development or current incarnations, but then again, nature itself is pretty strange, too. I'll admit, the strangeness and abstract ideas in many religions are a little unsettling to me, considering many people use them as a basis for how they live, but in many cases, I can't disprove a lot of the deeper assumptions. Namely, issues like the existence of a supreme being, a collective human psyche, the afterlife, or final judgement. There are so many different incarnations of those ideas, and they're so abstract it's difficult to say "Myth Busted" about any particular one since the proof would be impossible to formulate.
Given certain assumptions, we might be able to rule things out. For example, if a religion stated that a certain Thomas W. Wesker of Liverpool was the one true God, and that in His glory, He will run naked through the streets next Tuesday, no exceptions, we have a few things to watch out for. If in fact there is no Thomas W. Wesker, or for that matter, anyone running through the streets naked at all next Tuesday, then all we can say is that Thomas W. Wesker isn't the one true God. We can't say there isn't a god at all, since the idea is so abstract that we can't even begin to answer it.
For my own spiritual development, I choose not to make many assumptions. I tend to view things skeptically before I assume they automatically work. I know people who take Ouija boards very seriously (owing in part, I think, to the movie Paranormal Activity), but I'm a little less convinced. I know a few people who believe in auras, but since those are things I can't measure, I'm less inclined to have an opinion one way or the other. If I cannot measure it, then I treat it neutrally.
But anyway, I'm going to shift gears here and rag on my atheist buddies for a while. I know a few folks who are atheists, and for the most part, they're pretty good people. They're kind, respectful, and usually quite intelligent. However, there are a few who make me wonder why they chose to be atheists, considering the subject of their most vitriolic verbal attacks. To clarify, I'm writing about the atheists who have it out for one particular religion.
That religion could be Christianity, or any of its many derivatives. It could be Judaism, it could be Islam, it could be anything. But more often than not, these atheists will generally pick on one particular religion without mercy. Of course, there are a few who opt for equal opportunity, i.e., no one is safe, but I don't see many of them. I even know a couple who will extol the benefits of certain religions over their particularly hated target. Why is this? Why do so many atheists almost exclusively pick on one religion versus the thousands of others in the world?
I can't speak for everyone, but I felt this way for a while. As I became more agnostic, I was repulsed by some of the more unsavory elements of my old Christian ways. The power structures, the dogma, the televangelists... they sickened me. Other religions still seemed to become increasingly unbelievable, but I still had it out for Christianity. I felt angry that I had spent so much time on it as a kid, that so much of my personality had been developed around its scripture and its teachings. Where was my input in this? I couldn't believe what I wanted to believe, and I felt as though the first 20 years of my life were spent in a brainwashed stupor. Damn it! Why did it happen this way? What did they do to me?
I began discrediting Christianity as though it were my own personal blood vendetta. I resented having no say in my religion as a child, and I resented having my spirituality prepackaged for me. Then, something happened. I remember listening to one of my colleagues in my old research group talk about religion. He lambasted Christianity, and for a moment, I felt sorry for it. Strange thing, to feel sorry for an idea, but I did, even though I harbored a lot of the same feelings. His attacks were well-prepared and well-executed, but I couldn't help pointing out flaws whenever they surfaced. The thing I noticed later was that his whole argument was about religion, not just Christianity, but it was the latter that got all the flak.
What I'm trying to say here is that I realized I was missing the point of being an agnostic. It wasn't about hating Christianity. It wasn't about hating religion. No, to do that would just be immature. It wouldn't be the way I saw the universe - it would just be a rebellion against my upbringing. At least, that's how I was treating it. To be an agnostic, what I really needed to do was be a skeptic. I needed to demand proof before passing judgement, and that went for everything, not just one particular belief.
I've definitely been less confrontational about religion lately, and frankly, I like it. Being an agnostic is to be a free man. I'm not tied down by anything, and I'm free to explore and investigate to my heart's content. The investigation is what keeps me going, and the fact that I'm able to float freely through this universe is one of the best feelings I can describe.
Thursday, 12 November 2009
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Story, Part 3
So far, new additions to the story include two typical "bro" characters of little importance, a stern-yet-lovable German chemistry professor, and an adorable extraterrestrial octopus with a bubbly personality.
Yes, an octopus. A telepathic, hyper-intelligent octopus. This story is getting weirder, but I kind of like it that way.
I like letting the story evolve into its own thing. At first the idea was to make something like a more profound version of Office Space. The satire of office politics and regulatory drudgery would still be there for a little bit of a "hey-that-sounds-like-my-job" kind of relationship to the reader, but I wanted it to dive further into the meaning of it all. After realizing that not only would that take tremendous effort (and I'd most likely get it wrong anyway), I decided that the story needed a new turn, and as it turns out, that new turn would've made Douglas Adams proud. If you really want to analyze the style change, you could just say that I wanted to be Jung, thought "fuck that noise, this is hard," and then got lazy and just started copying Adams. Think what you want, it's all good.
I have the feeling that if I tried planning all of this out, I wouldn't have a space octopus floating around in the story.


