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My top 5 books read in 2018

With 2018 drawing to a close, I thought I’d take a step back and identify my favorite books I’ve read this year. I had set a goal of 24 books for myself at the beginning of the year and managed to surpass it by reading a grand total of 30 books! Here’s to another year full of books!

5 – Second Foundation (Isaac Asimov)

Asimov is undoubtedly the king of science fiction. Time and time again I find myself blown away by his fantastic tales. The key elements that make an Asimov what they are it’s unique and bold ideas and it’s unparalleled world-building. Second Foundation is the finale in the Foundation trilogy. The trilogy starts strong, with Foundation laying the requisite expository groundwork despite being a bit slow towards the end, and continues on to Foundation and Empire, a painfully slow novel that had interesting ideas marred by uninteresting characters and a glacial pace. However, for those who persevere to the final act of Foundation and Empire, they are rewarded with a faster paced story involving new concepts and a sudden shift in narrative style. This new style persists into Second Foundation, which can be seen as the distilled essence of what makes the Foundation trilogy a must-have on many science fiction fans’ shelves. Second Foundation has an interesting premise – one that is thankfully complemented by even more interesting characters.

4 – Words of Radiance (Brandon Sanderson)

For me, Words of Radiance ended up being one of those books that I started reading and then forgot about halfway through, only to pick it up again and marathon through the rest of it during a flight. Brandon Sanderson has really raised the stakes in this book, the sequel to Way of Kings. Words of Radiance is essentially an anime in prose and any shounen fan will instantly match Kaladin as your typical anime protagonist. If you’re a weeb looking for some good fantasy to pick up, look no further. I’ve already added shouting the oaths while striking a pose to my daily routine, right after my morning kamehameha practice.

3 - Word by word: The secret life of dictionaries (Kory Stamper)

I’ve always hated dictionaries. As a kid my mom would often hand me a dictionary and tell me that I had to “expand my vocabulary”. However, like many people, I’ve always had a sense of respect and deference towards dictionaries – the absolute authority on language and how it must be used. This book really shattered that illusion and presented an entirely alternate idea of a dictionary and it’s role as an attempt to capture, record and preserve language and it’s uses. Kory Stamper is an amazing author, and this book will take you through a journey that will open your eyes to the wonderful world of dictionaries.

2 - The Righteous Mind: Why  Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion (Jonathan Haidt)

This book was recommended to me during a drunken conversation about the nature of morality. It was described to me as a book that would make me re-examine every notion I’ve ever held about not just morality, but about how I view society and social constructs as a whole. The book has certainly lived up to that lofty description. Reading The Righteous Mind has not only helped me be more empathetic and understanding of others’ viewpoints and thought processes but has also helped me analyze and evaluate my own inner compass and has led my to discovering a better framework for judging my own actions. What I liked about this book most was that the author was not asking the reader to adopt his way of thinking or to agree with his ideas. Instead, the book presents its ideas freely and openly – not trying to sell you on a particular notion, but rather just present a viewpoint that you can think about, and incorporate into your own paradigms. In this political era marked by hypocrisy and divisive media, this book could definitely help us come together and progress as a society.

1 - Flowers for Algernon (Daniel Keyes)

I’ve heard from many people who had to read this book for high school literature classes describe it as boring. Luckily, I read it of my own volition and found it to be one of the most interesting books I’ve ever read. Before reading the book, I read the short story and found it to be a really interesting premise.   The main character’s journey through intellectual augmentation and eventual diminishment explores a vast emotional depth and serves as a reminder that most things in life are impermanent. Daniel Keyes did a fantastic job illustrating his character’s emotional states and the book literally had me on the edge of my seat.

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Blank/The Interstellar Broadcast/My final question

Blank (a preface)

I can say now, with relative confidence, that I am not the same “Interstellar Broadcast” who was writing ~6 months ago. Not that I’m physically a different person, but in every other respect, perhaps so. When I look back on my old projects and read through them, I find it amazing that the same entity who wrote those is the entity I am now. I no longer think in the same way, nor do I share all of the same philosophical beliefs. Of course, all this is to be expected given certain changes in my life and lifestyle since I last wrote. While I don’t find these changes shocking or depressing, I find it interesting to consider that the person who I was in the past is dead. While the word dead is definitely extreme (and was possibly only used because I thought that sentence sounded really cool, and in no way pretentious), it is certainly hard to equate my present ambitions, worldview, likes and dislikes to those of my past self. With such differences, I can hardly consider myself to be the same person.

As a result I’ve lately been considering what it really means to be a human being. Are we nothing but flesh and bones merely possessing the illusion of being unique? If our desires, ambitions, and otherwise core values can change, what are we? If everything is a free variable, then perhaps the net total identity of any person would consistent of everything, which, due to the nature of chaos, would result in nothing meaningful. In essence, our identity is a blank.

Although I write such statements now, I have no doubt that one day I’ll look back on this and decide that I no longer agree and feel that the me that is writing this now is dead and gone and replaced by a newer version, which again shares few characteristics with the current version and that this cycle of “dying” and being “reborn” may or may not continue indefinitely. I may laugh at my immaturity and smile with nostalgic remembrance. With such uncertainty in my mind, I’ve decided that it’s time to write out another story which I’ve had floating around my mind for a while now. You may have noticed, but I haven’t included with an image with this particular piece, that is because I cannot think of anything that would go along with the sentiments of this post/story as well as nothing. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the artists whose artwork I’ve used from my accompanying images in the past, and express my regrets from having lost the links to the original sources, I apologize and hope that those artists would understand. Anyway, without further ado, I give you,

The Interstellar Broadcast

Ah, the archive room. What a lovely place to spend the afternoon. It’s a beautiful Saturday evening, my favorite movie in on the television and I even have slices from last night’s pizza sitting around. But of course, it’s just then that the boss calls me up and tells me that we need to have a new story out and published by tomorrow morning. I mean, sure, we haven’t ran a story in a couple weeks and as one of a million interstellar news broadcasting companies, competition is tight, but it’s not like it really matters right? So anyways, here I am flipping through old research and drafts collected by the various journalists we employ here at Interstellar Broadcast. Some of this stuff is just downright absurd, just take a look at this clipping here: “Man bored of mapping universe, decides to map multiverse instead”. Does that even make sense? What a weirdo. As if the multiverse would be any different if you’ve seen the whole bloody universe. It’s all about perspective. I’ve already seen enough of the world to know I don’t really want to see the whole universe let alone the multiverse! I’ll probably end up running this anyway though.

Here’s another one I just found: “Man successfully creates portable black hole generator, uses it for mass terrorism and destroys home town”. What an idiot. What kind of person is smart enough to create a black hole, but dumb enough to use that technology for a suicide bombing? No matter what the circumstances were, couldn’t he have done some genius scientist mumbo jumbo and ended the story triumphantly? Honestly, some people just don’t make sense to me at all. Which reminds me of this other draft I just read, hang on, let me just pull it up so I can read the headline….let’s see now…no it’s not this one on some high school girl in mars…not this one on an astronaut dying in space…ah! Here it is! “Man finds quantum entangled cassette tape, becomes entangled with girl. Also gets amnesia.” Do our readers even know what cassette tapes are? I might run this piece just to find out. This entire plot just seems so sketchy though. Somehow this kid was able to communicate with some girl through a cassette tape? How does that even lead to romance? What does amnesia have to do with all of this anyway? I suppose there’s something to be learned from it all, but honestly I don’t know if I really care.

Some of these are just unfinished drafts though these are probably the best. I want to know what will happen next, but I never will. At least, not until someone finishes these pieces up. Perhaps they’re only good because they’re unfinished. The unknown nature of their resolutions, makes them so much more intriguing. I’ll probably just set these aside and move onto the next one.

There’s some really absurd ones in here too, like the daily logs from a space ship on a mission to find the origin of humanity, something about a guy who’s really good at crossword puzzles, a demon hunter named X (what kind of person is named X? Do demon hunters even exist?), something really funky about a nonexistent character in a nonexistent world (was this writer even trying?), and my favorite, a plane who experiences existential dilemmas before being eaten by a fish. There’s not even a shoddy explanation regarding how this plane was made sentient. Furthermore, it’s a plane, its duties are cut and dry, why would it even have an existential dilemma, let alone several? I have to admit though, something about it really makes me think about the world and consider what living really means.

Well, it’s almost night now and I think I’ve finalized my selection of pieces to run for out next issue of Interstellar Broadcast. I’m going to head home now. You know, I may complain about my job here, but I really like it. I mean, sure I’m underpaid and overworked, but it’s what I enjoy. Every day when I leave the office I always turn back and just look at the building. It’s pretty inconspicuous, brutalist in design and monochromatic, but it towers over me and makes me realize how small I am compared to it. Looking past the building I can see the night sky, sometimes swirling with clouds transforming into psychedelic shapes, other times still and calm with the stars showing me a glimpse into the crazy world where anything is possible, where an airplane can become sentient and a guy sitting at home can rewrite the universe. I remember how it was when I started, how the stars seems so much closer, this building so much smaller, and how I thought the world was a place that eventually, could be understood. I’m glad that I was able to broadcast Interstellar Broadcast on an interstellar scale. It’s an absurd world out there and I’m grateful for that.

–The end—

My final question.

This brings me to my final question, is this Interstellar Broadcast’s final post? I hope not, although a part of me feels as though it may be. I’ve had a lot of fun thinking of new ideas and writing them out, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to match the level of quality I had in the past. Perhaps I only feel that way as a result of a twisted sense of nostalgia, but I’d rather not fail to live up to my own standards. While The Interstellar Broadcast was a sarcastic and destructive analysis of my previous writing, it’s also a slightly jealous and respectful homage to what I’ve done in the past, and a hopeful nod towards the future. So perhaps this is goodbye, though I retain the right to retract that statement at any time. To conclude with a quote which has had great significance to me over the years:

“-tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… . And then one fine morning— so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” – Scott J. Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)

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Don’t judge a book by its cover you f***ing a**hole piece of sh** b****d.

http://diply.com/nathaniel-knows/restaurant-refuses-homeless-man-comes-back-in-ferrari/138945

I’m sure the above link is a familiar story for all of you. You’ve heard it somewhere or the other. Be it a bedtime story about your great uncle’s second cousin’s best man’s father, a facebook post, or any other kind of social propagation. It’s rather formulaic: “Homeless” man walks up to an establishment, get mistreated, returns heroically with a sports car, nice clothes, nice hairdo, more muscles, and voilà! Suddenly he’s treated really nicely and he has the upper hand to tell them off. Everyone claps, smiles, renews their faith, and makes statements like, “don’t judge a book by its cover”, or (my personal favorite), “don’t be judgmental”. 

Let me begin by first looking at the situation in the link I’ve provided. Although I understand that Josh Paler Lin was trying to make a point about appearances being misleading, the problem lies in the fact that appearances have nothing to do with a matter of being a kind person. An establishment should be allowed to create and maintain a dress code for whatever purposes it desires. It may do so to create a certain atmosphere, to attract certain kinds of people (think of places that cater to corporate entities who need an atmosphere conducive to the subject and formality of their discussions). If the restaurant had allowed Mr. Lin to enter, the other customers may have felt extremely uncomfortable given his mismatched attire and ragged appearance. That being said, while the valet may have been slightly rude to Mr. Lin, he did suggest that he went and asked the manager, who didn’t let Mr. Lin inside, but agreed to let him see the menu and eat outside. They did treat him as a human being, with a certain amount of politeness, albeit nowhere near the level of ass-kissing they showed when he turned up with a Ferrari, but showing up with a Ferrari does imply that you have the money to give better tips (Ferrari is very choosy with it’s clients). Furthermore, when dressed as a homeless man, Mr. Lin said that he has “some money”. Given his tone, “some money” didn’t inspire much confidence. Had he said, “yeah, I’ve got a ton” they may have treated him better, but still a bit awkwardly given the fact that most homeless people walking around with a shopping cart don’t usually (legally) posses “a ton” of money. At this point, some people may contend that it is, in fact,  wrong for anyone to have even assumed that Josh was homeless. An argument, which I feel, is nonsensical. The appearance of a person does give others an opportunity to make inferences and hypothesis about them, something which is very necessary in day to day life. You would not treat a man with an angry face and a gun the same as a man smiling brightly and holding balloons. This is simply because you assess the risks of being friendly to each one, and the risks of talking to a man with a gun visibly seems greater than talking to a man with balloons. While each one has his or her own backstory, the chance of you being wrong about a positive situation has worse consequences than avoiding the situation. While there is no gun or balloon in the case of Mr. Lin, his clothes and artifacts suggest a background in the streets, a place that is safe in virtually no city throughout the world. Which implies that he must be strong enough to survive, a quality that may not be present in all of the clients sitting inside. While Mr. Lin isn’t a murderer or robber at night, his appearances suggests a higher probability of him possessing such a character, a probability the manager and staff must have considered. Notice that they didn’t laugh on his face or throw him out despite considering this. They merely asked him to sit outside. The one point which may seem to leave me defending a weaker argument is the ending, where you see the manager sternly talking to his staff. While I can’t say for certain what the subject of their discussion was, it is implied that they were also confused as to Mr. Lin’s identity, and perhaps dismayed that they lost him as a client. However, even if their intentions were motivated by greed, I believe that it is their right to defend their dress code and provide service to customers who can uphold the atmosphere that they wish to maintain, a task that merely begins with appropriate clothing. Being rude or having reservations towards someone may not be kind, but it shouldn’t be frowned upon when it’s in the context of preserving one’s pre-established rules and regulations within a space for which they are the authority. It is probably impossible for anyone to remain completely un-judgmental. It’s an instinctual process that leads us to judgments every second, and that is a purely natural action. Being able to judge between what is detrimental and what is good is what enables a level of control over successful outcomes. Going back to the analogy of books and their covers, the cover of a book often implies something about the book itself. Fantasy books have fantastical covers, science books have images of science-related objects and a title, comics have some illustration pertaining to that issue, so on and so forth. While judging a book by its cover may prevent you from reading a book that you may have otherwise enjoyed, not judging a book may leave you spending an eternity reading things that are retrograde to your desires. While it’s important to keep an open mind, it’s also advisable to make inferences and then look for multiple pieces of evidence to support any hypothesis you make about a person (or a book) and use your prior knowledge to make a few judgments and act accordingly, without setting those judgments in stone. Without keeping an open mind, your instinctual bias serves as an unreliable, and often incorrect foundation, and without being judgmental, you ignore a complex evolutionary advantage that has placed the human race at the top of the food chain.

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A Major Chord in a Minor Composition

He looked out onto the horizon. Nothing stood in between him, and further nothingness. The protagonist looked around in a few other directions. Still nothing. He wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand he was glad to have been created. Not only did he exist, he had thoughts and this prose dedicated to him. He was a protagonist! On the other hand, there was nothing around for him to do. What is the point of being a protagonist in an empty world? Perhaps the author had given him a story, but a meaningless one. Was he any better than a minor character if he did not do anything. There was nothing to see, nothing to do. He waited around, hoping for something to kick the plot into action. Unbeknownst to the protagonist, there was no plot. In fact, there was never even a plot intended. He waited, blissfully unaware. And he waited. Then, although he would have liked to do something else, something else being anything else in this case (even a minor role in a poorly written story would do), he waited some more. Finally he decided he could take it no longer and walked 10 steps forward. Then he waited in his new spot. Nothing happened. Impatient, he ran forward as far as he could and as fast as he could until he could no longer run. Seeing no change in landscape, the protagonist  wondered if he had actually ran, or merely experienced an illusion of having ran. He began to lose a little of his optimism. He scratched his head and a few hairs fell onto the ground in front of his feet. The hair wriggled then wormed into the ground. Suddenly, a great number of trees and greenery sprouted from the spot on the ground where the hair had fallen. The barren landscape transformed from an absolute lack of anything into a lush green forest. The protagonist began to wander through the forest. As he continued to walk he felt a sneeze coming on. As he sneezed, fog escaped from his nose and created clouds in the sky above. A second sneeze released another cloud. As he stood in amazement of this, he blinked, causing the sky and the forest to switch places, leaving him to fall through the wispy clouds and back into nothing. 

The protagonist considered what had just happened.  He had experienced a bit of a plot. Something had happened to him. He was excited. He thought back to how beautiful the forest was and how majestic the clouds were. He lay down and closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift back. Soon, the protagonist was fast asleep. In his dreams, the forest was even grander than it actually had been. The trees had a beautiful golden-brown bark reflecting warm rays of light onto the protagonists face. The clouds about looked like floating elephants marching towards a castle built upon treetops. The castle itself embraced the protagonist and gave him power. He was the lord of the forest. He was a king! He began to tour his kingdom on the back of a cumulopachydermus, and surveyed the trees, adding leaves to the ones shivering in the wind, and removing leaves from the ones melting in the heat. He stopped by a melted tree and tasted the waters of a syrupy lake. The rich warm taste of protagonistry flooded his mouth and as he looked around all he could feel was a sense of- nostalgia and regret now that he was awake. He wondered why it had to all end. Come to think of it, it was his fault that the forest was now in another part of nowhere. He began to vigorously scratch his head, hoping that his other hairs would give birth to a new forest. Seeing as how nothing was happening, the protagonist picked up a hair from the ground and tickled his nose with it. As he sneezed, particles of spit and mucus projected themselves from out of his mouth and nose, but no clouds. And so, the protagonist began to wait again. If waiting was torture before, it was torture now. If it was pleasure before, it was torture now. The memories of the forest fueled him with the drive to wake up each morning (although there was no sun to distinguish between days) and yet it was also the poison that made him want to slip into an eternal dream.  He wanted to find a plot so badly. He wanted to be anything, a tragic hero, an anti-hero, maybe even a superhero! But he was just the protagonist. An absurd hero perhaps, but a plotless one. Around this time, the author began to take pity on him. The author granted our protagonist his wish. The protagonist awoke in a comfortable bed, with no recollection of lacking a plot, but false memories of being a superhero who saved the city daily. The protagonist awoke to the sound of a huge explosion. Aliens are attacking the earth again! Don’t they learn their lesson week after week? He rushed out and used his super strength to fight gargantula, a rather large spider. He fought and fought but lost. Making a stoic face, he flew off to his cave of sanctuary to train and become a stronger hero. Once he was stronger he flew back and defeated gargantula, saving the world, yet again! The protagonist was celebrated throughout the world. He had developed ever so slightly as a character and he had a plot, everything was in its right place. The protagonist went to sleep that night with a smile on his face. The protagonist awoke to the sound of a huge explosion. Aliens are attacking the earth again! Don’t they learn their lesson week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week after week… The protagonist could handle it no longer. What was the point of his meaningless existence? After all those fights, after all those displays of stoicism, was he happy? He wasn’t a superhero, he was an absurd hero. No matter what, he kept going, kept looking for a plot. Not the façade of a plot, but the actual thing. An actual development, an actual story. He didn’t want to be stuck in a meaningless daze for the sake of being in a acceptable story! He didn’t want to fight for the sake of protecting the world, but for the sake of finding his own path in it! The author removed the story and returned the protagonist to his old familiar prison, a prison containing neither bars nor jailer, but only a prisoner. The protagonist continued to search for a plot. He wanted to live. He wanted to feel alive. Perhaps his quest to find a plot could be a plot in itself, but the protagonist had not the resolve to commit to that. Try as he might, he couldn’t become an absurd hero, he couldn’t accept nothing. As the protagonist searched, the author grew bored, who wanted to read a  story about a man faced with nothing? The audience would hate it and so the author left to find an audience. The protagonist began to fade away. He had to survive somehow! He had to survive today and live tomorrow, to find a plot and become a hero, not the hero of the world, but the hero of a story! But he was already fading away. The protagonist was no fatalist and believed that there must be something he could do to prevent his demise. He looked around, and found no redemption to this plotless story and his plotless existence. And then, there was nothing. 

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Valentine’s day and something that people call “love”.

*This is the 3rd and final part of a valentine's day series read part 1 here, or part 2 here. If you've read all three parts, thanks for making it this far!

Love. A four letter word that sells more than most other words. Hell, just look at bollywood, you’ve got an entire industry revolving around it. Any kind of love is fine, just paint it pink and shape it like a heart and you’ve got yourself the next best seller. Be it any medium, movies, TV shows, or even music, it’ll sell! With all this love over the air, you really have to wonder why we even have another day dedicated to it. Valentine’s day. A day when every lonely person on the internet tries to outwit each other by trying to find out who’s the loneliest martyr among them, while those who have an object of attraction find themselves irresistibly pulled towards it as though Newton’s universal constant of gravitation changed without prior notice and it’s now a million times stronger. Of course, you and I both know that the value of G is still the same as ever and the loneliest guy on the planet is probably not some neckbeard from the top ranked section of 9gag. 

Valentine’s day is supposedly a festival of love,  but what is love? I feel as though the word “love” is now used to mean “infatuation” or “mildly like”. Like the word “awesome”, “love” has become a commonplace colloquial expression rather than a superlative concept. One doesn’t “love” ice cream if it’s something they can do without in the winter. One doesn’t “love” anything unless they’re possessed by the desire to completely understand it, or become a part of it. Although that sounds a lot like lust, there’s nothing wrong with that. Lust is merely a more carnal version of love. While lust is condemned as a sin, it is not the concept of lust itself that is a problem, but rather the uncontrollable nature of it. Because lust can control and manipulate people into doing things that go against their own personal moral codes, excessive lust is frowned upon. However, the same can be said for love as well. While people make love out to be a paragon of purity, there’s no need for love to be “good”. Love is just as pure as lust and just as honest. By itself, lust is an honest emotion. A purely selfish act to satisfy a selfish need. One doesn’t experience lust to satisfy the lust of another or to feel more “human”, it’s a purely self motivated action. It’s not decorated in ribbons or frills, it is what it is. Similarly, love is also supposed to be honest. You don’t love someone to satisfy their need for love, or because it is human nature, it’s because you want to love. If you love something it really doesn’t matter whether the feeling is reciprocated because love is not a new form of currency. You love because it’s your selfish desire. Like lust, love is a purely self motivated act despite what people would have you believe. Before you start rewriting the bible to remove sloth and add love (because God put snooze buttons on alarms for a reason), please try to understand that selfishness is not a negative concept. Selfishness is to just live for oneself. To do what you want to do because you want to do it. That’s the only way you can find love. Sure you may disguise it as some so-called “noble” intention, but the core of it is selfish, and that’s something to strive for. Love is often seen as an action to be preformed between two sentient beings, but that’s not necessary. Only one party has to be sentient for love. There are people who love science or math, or even statistics (although that kind of love scares me), who all love something abstract. In my eyes, that’s real love. Love that transforms your life to revolve around that love. To even change your title to scientist, or mathematician…or statistician, to truly express that love. No matter what they would have you believe, a scientist doesn’t do research to better humanity or make the world a better place. They do it because that’s what they want to do. They’re one of the most selfish kinds of people on this planet and I respect that. Worse than them we have pure mathematicians. They can’t even lie and tell us that they do it selflessly. Their career is utterly useless and rarely even interacts with the world in a meaningful way. And yet, they find love. This valentine’s day is a sham. A tool by marketing companies to sell more chocolates and cards by capitalizing on the notion that love between people should be celebrated, and that the superficial actions of buying sweets and roses must be worth more than a camera, because it would mean much more than a thousand words could ever imply. It’s actually quite disgusting. To see love being portrayed as such a shallow concept, dressed up in red inverted spades and tattooed with the designation: “noble”. The real lovers are out there, eating boxes of chocolates for no “real” reason, pursuing careers for no “real” reason, experiencing love because they are selfish. Their love is not beautiful and not pure and definitely not something that the media can really sell. But it’s true and it’s honest, and most of all, selfish. I don’t know if there’s a valentine’s day fairy, and while others may wish for her to give them a pretty girlfriend, I hope she makes me a useless (but barely employed) bum, just like a pure mathematician.

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Demon Hunter X

*This is part 2 of a valentine's day series. Read Part 1 here or part 3 here.

Demon hunting is a dangerous profession. Demon hunters have scars across their body, and nightmares in their mind. It’s a necessary job, but a sacrifice. With a mind made heavy by the horrors they have seen and a sword even heavier, albeit more badass looking, they walk their burdened path of solitude, doing what must be done, driven only by their sense of duty. “Duty? The hell you talking about?” Ah, there you are X. This is demon hunter X, otherwise known as our protagonist. I’m your faithful narrator and demonic parasite, Rakshasa. “Who are you even talking to?” Shut up, man! I told you, I’m narrating your life to those who live in a higher plane of consciousness. “…I swear I’m going to exorcise you one of these days.” Where was I? Right, so they do what must be done, so on and so forth. Today our hero is going on the hardest mission of his life. Is it fighting a hydra? Nah… Fighting a colossus? Nah… Fighting my 13 demonic brothers and me? “You said ‘hardest’.” Haha, very funny. Today, the brave demon hunter X is going on a date. Could it be? Is our badass, sword swinging, hell raising hero going to fall into the clutches of monogamy?

“Now, you listen here! I’m only doing this because she asked politely and thought I said yes when I coughed. Besides, it’s just a date. I’ll just politely sit through her idle chit chat, tell her I’ll call her sometime later, then make a run for it.” Wow. And here I thought you were a demon hunter, but it seems like you’re the real demon here. More importantly, can you even sit politely? You’re a demon hunter, violence is in your blood. “So is patience, skill, deceit and cunning. I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ve got to be on my way.” Alright! Good luck demon hunter X! I hope he remembers that demon bear manners are not human manners. And so the demon hunter fixed his hair, polished his sword and shined his shoes. On the way he picked a bouquet of flowers and chose only the reddest of roses, though I suspect they remind him more of devil’s blood than love. Nonetheless, he chose the reddest of roses and headed straight to the restaurant to which he had been called to. The restaurant was a rather nice establishment, decent but not too formal by human standards, but absolutely suffocating for hunter X. X was too used to the hard conditions of traveling day and night across mountains, or running across the open plains of the wastelands. Sitting in a “normal” place was like being Andromeda, forced to wait for the vultures. Before he had, or rather I had, too much time to introspect into the state of his existence as a human being, his date arrived. She looked much prettier than the time we- what’s that X? Seriously? Fine.- HE rescued her from the clutches of a northern dragon. What a hunt that was. Several days spent tracking the dragon by following the telltale signs, a goat carcass here, a plume of smoke there. We didn’t rest until we had found it’s lair. Once we did, it was fun and games no more!  But wait, there she comes. Dressed to the occasion. Wearing a fine white dress with a flower pattern and flowing blond hair. Her pink parasol twirls delicately in her hand as she walks towards X. She’s smiling shyly as if she’s embarrassed at her own infatuation. The hero notices her. “What an unsightly waste.” Our hero makes disparaging comments seemingly attacking her existence and looks! …actually…I think he might be looking at her muscles. Of course! X, being a fit man, always training to fight those demons, values the hard work required to keep one’s body in shape! This dainty woman who looks like she might float away in the breeze along with her parasol, is a perfect portrayal of a paragon what X does not prefer. It perplexes me to think that this person pacifies her passion through X! “Please don’t litter the air with your alliterations.” Ah, at last they meet, X and our damsel formerly in distress. He rises to shake her hand, a funny sight as his hand envelopes hers just as darkness posses the hearts of the innocent. He smiles and they order food as she tells him how grateful she is and how nice he looks. He nods politely. The food arrives and X begins to eat, pretending to be interested in the woman’s three brothers, two cats, cow, parents, and hometown. He even managed to make remarks of pity as she details the horrific things she’d seen until X had arrived on the spot. Of course, the real horrors went unnoticed. It was almost painful watching X suppress every instinct of his. Be nice. Eat neatly and slowly, not for nourishment, but luxury. Don’t focus on the important things, just the details. He can hardly stand it. Every muscle in his body strained, each neuron shouting under the duress of Sisyphean torture. He must withstand it, but only because she wants expects him to. But why withstand it at all? I can see our hero struggling to come to terms with reality. Why did he even accept that invitation? Is it because it was polite? Or, perhaps, quite regrettably so, a certain parasitic demon told him he must? Why must he, a demon hunter, be forced to interact with society? What does that interaction bring him? X is by no means an anti-social. Among demon hunter circles, he’s even known as the life of the party! But this? Making small talk, living pointless lives, this isn’t something that he should be forced to endure! In an attempt to escape he begins looking around for things to distract himself. Perhaps if his mind moves fast enough it can escape the sloth of this woman and this lunch, which is perhaps tinted a little too much with a shade of envy towards the scarce rage fueling it. What’s  that! Something has caught his eye. A small breeze has caused an end of the table cloth to stir like evil rising from a grave. The familiar sight causes X to gulp and take a deep breath. He has to restrain his passion here! He’s still bound, like Daedalus without his wings. He looks away, wanting to do anything but think about the things he really loves. He looks at the woman’s hair, complexly braided like the intertwining of souls in a dark summoning. Her eyes are blue like the depths of a mermaid’s dungeon, fingernails painted red like blood. He refuses to stand it any longer. Wordlessly he rises. Her thoughts, feelings, and emotion become irrelevant as X strides confidently towards the door. He walks away from the town, quickly, then faster, and finally breaks into a run. He is free, wide open planes spread before him. There is evil to be vanquished, not because there are those who need to be protected, but because there are those who want to test their own mettle. I can imagine the state of that woman. Frustrated. Angry. Her skin a shade that matches her parasol. She’s standing, looking at the doorway wondering why she’s been left in the dust. Perhaps that woman is thinking of X as a demon himself. A demon who deserves a hell on earth that’s known as isolation, or perhaps a curse that prevents X from finding love. But he already has.

[interstellarbroadcast]

The Cartographer 3

*This is part 3 of a series containing the cartographer, but also part 1 of a trilogy of valentine's day posts. Read Part 1 of the cartographer here and Part 2 here. Part 2 of the valentine's day posts can be found here.

Qxj87: Yes this is Qxj87 of the outside, how may I be of assistance. Cartographer: Hey kid! Long time no see! Although we never actually see each other, it’s more like hear. But you get the drift. Q: Really man? Is this another one of your stupid requests to be transferred? C: We’ll get to that in a bit! Where’s your sense of formality! You know, the polite hello, how are you doing, oh I heard that you lost a bit of money at space Las Vegas and sold one of your kidneys! What’s that? You sold a finger as well? Well that’s great to hear! Glad you’re doing well! Q:…you sold a finger and a kidney? C: Where’d you hear that? Man, news sure does travel fast these days.

Q: Sometimes I wonder whether you’re just pretending or whether those scientists are right and you shouldn’t have been vaccinated as a child. C: You know what your problem is? You take life too seriously. Sometimes you just gotta let go, gamble away a couple thousand, buy some drinks and girls, gamble some more, spend a kidney or a few fingers… Q: A FEW fingers? C: You know, the usual Saturday night, early Sunday morning sort of activities. The sort you would do with your family when you were little… Q: What kind of household were you raised in? C: Yup! You just got to let loose and throw caution to solar winds. Q: …So…you called because? C: Oh yeah, I heard valentine’s day is coming up! So you got a special someone? Huh? Come on, don’t be shy now. Q: You know I don’t have a “special someone”. I’ve told you before. I spend day after day after day here at this desk filling out stupid paperwork and transfer requests for cartographers! It’s the most dehumanizing job I’ve ever taken! No love, no excitement, some days I even wonder if there’s any passion to what I do. C: Then why not quit. If you have no passion, then quit. Q: I didn’t say I’m not passionate, I just said I wonder if I lack that passion.  You must know how I feel. I want to see the universe just like you. I want to be a part of the new frontier, pushing new boundaries. You know? I’m not just doing this to be another salaryman working a nine to five job just because it’s stable. I’m actually interested in all this. It’s just tiring. I think I understand why you want to transfer so often and that’s cause this isn’t just a job for you. You want to see what I want to. C: We’re both human in an cold chrome world huh? Q: You said it. (pause) Valentine’s day? What a joke. You know they changed the color of the walls pink in “celebration” of it back here at HQ? As if those cold simulator techs understand anything about humans or love, despite creating it. C: It’s an ironic world we live in, kid. But you know what, ignore all that and look at what you have. This job is rewarding in itself. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Q: Yeah…it’s just hard sometimes…I want to be normal sometimes, just go outside and do what everyone else does. But then I see the sky and I just want to run back in here and mark out new universes and catalog new discoveries…I want something…extraordinary! (pause) Ah, now I’ve made you sit through my rant, guess it’s a bit of a role reversal this time… C: I suppose so. Q: Well, I guess a free transfer is in order huh? C: I thought it was valentine’s day, not Christmas! Q:  Haha, take care old man. C: You too kid, you too. Q sits at his desk, looking up when there’s an incoming notification on his tele-mailbox. As he opens it to check he finds a box of chocolates with a card on top. The card reads, Dear Qxj87, Hope you are well. Got these chocolates for you from world 123e4f. Figured you’d want someone to at least think of you as human on valentine’s day.

Thanks for all the transfers, The Cartographer.

[interstellarbroadcast]

Time

It’s supposedly a big deal. Every day we see people celebrating time. Be it a new year’s party or a birthday party, or even a graduation party. Every time we pass certain units of time, we throw a party. Why do we stop where we do? Why don’t we throw a monthly party, or a weekly party? I wouldn’t complain. The way it is now, you’d think that the passing of time is a rare occurrence.

The rate of time is constant at 1 second per second. Birthdays happen every year on the same date without fail, and so does new years. If these are regular occurrences, why do we celebrate them? No one celebrates the first of every month and that’s about as significant as the first of a new year. If you argue that the completion of a year signifies a revolution of the earth around the sun I must ask you a few questions. Firstly, did you not expect the earth to complete a revolution this year? Secondly, at what point along the earth’s rotation do you define the first day of the year to be anyway? Doesn’t the earth complete a revolution at every point if you define that point to be the starting? Thirdly, why does that even matter? Sure a new year symbolizes that certain events, such as a coming harvest, but those things happen frequently and regularly enough for us to take them for granted. Some people do like the philosophy of living without assuming that they’ll be alive tomorrow and abusing the phrase “carpe diem” in the process but who honestly doesn’t expect tomorrow to come? None of us live in a place where death is common and trivial and even if we did, we’d still want to live till tomorrow. Our entire lives are inevitably based on the premise that we’ll be alive in the future. Why else do we hope to go to college to get jobs, or why do people open savings accounts in banks? In general, most people expect to live until the next year, and the year after that and so on and so forth. For those who cannot see the end of their lifespan in sight, time is common.

It doesn’t matter how far back something in the past occurred, because there’s nothing we can do to bring it forward. People compare landmarks (or maybe timemarks) like the moon landing and the construction of the pyramids or even the 90s and expect us to be amazed at how far back in the past those things occurred. The fallacy of this lies in the fact that it really doesn’t matter. Of course it’s been half a century, a couple decades, or a few hours, that doesn’t mean anything. Time will pass regardless of how long ago certain events occurred. The only reason we’re amazed by time is because we hardly notice how unrelenting it is, while we’re painfully aware of it. We can’t feel ourselves growing older until we take a moment to retrospect and look back, whilst forgetting that everything else is still moving forward.

In short, time is overrated. We’re all going to die one day and we should live while we can, but that doesn’t mean we should glorify the passing of time as we often do. At the end of a specified time period, even I enjoy a birthday party or new years festivities, but that doesn’t make it meaningful. We should live in the moment, enjoy the world around us and accept that time will pass whether or not be make a big deal of it.

[interstellarbroadcast]

A Haiku

Very ephemeral

But a brief transit through time

Haikus are useless

[interstellarbroadcast]

Crossword

The door stood tall as the barrier between life as we know it and Gaia's Crossword. It was twice the size of a person and had its title carved on it in immaculate handwriting. “ it's time," thought Scott, "my first day as a Solver. His first day as a Solver. He approached the door confidently. He was ready to begin his journey. The door swung open easily. He stepped inside. The crossword sprawled across the floor. The black and white grid looked like marble tiles arranged in a seemingly random pattern. Scott stared at the floor for a few minutes. He then looked up to see a strange metallic object hovering in the air above him. He picked it up. It appeared to be a touch screen tablet, allowing him to input answers into the crossword and see the questions. It allowed him to zoom in and out of the grid, and see little dots apparently representing solvers as they travelled across the grid. It appeared as though he was standing next to question 1. The answer was already filled in by some other Solver. He scrolled through the map in the tablet, revealing that the closest unfilled location was almost a mile away. He sighed and started walking, watching his dot moving slowly across the screen. Impatient he zoomed out and tried to gauge the distance. By accident he tapped the square corresponding to 120 across. A flash of blue light blinded Scott’s eyes. His body suddenly felt lighter and it felt like he was riding a rollercoaster going downhill. As his vision cleared he saw a different pattern on the ground. Confused, he looked down. 120 across. He started at the blank row and tried to comprehend what just happened. The tablet not only gave him the questions, but it allowed him to travel through the crossword as well. Excited he stood up and began to read the question for 120 across.

Not everyone was allowed to enter the portal to Gaia’s crossword. Every country has different selection standards. This is for fear of people writing wrong answers and making it more difficult for others. Once a person has their Solver’s license, it is rarely revoked. A Solver is free to enter and exit the crossword as he/she likes. As an incentive, most countries offer a decent salary to Solvers. After all, they are working to better humanity.

Gaia’s crossword arrived rather enigmatically in the early 22nd century. A mysterious silver door which appeared in at least one location in every country. A message from some unidentified source (since confirmed to be alien) accompanied the door, providing some basic details and the promise of a reward should they manage to fill in all googol answers, across and down.

The crossword itself was a monumental task. The questions were written in a variety of languages, not all of them from earth. Additionally there didn’t appear to be any connecting theme throughout the questions. Some were on classical literature, others concerned the sciences. There was many institutes around the world researching the questions on the crossword and training the youth to become Solvers.

Scott had first heard about becoming a solver since he was a kid. The puzzle had appeared on earth 500 years ago and a documentary on the progress in solving it had been running on TV. Scott had seen the documentary and been intrigued. Would humanity ever solve it? How hard are the questions? Who put the puzzle on earth? Why is it on earth? What is the reward? Scott then began to read every book on Gaia’s crossword that he could find. He would find out all his answers one day.

120 across was turning out to be a particularly difficult question. To Scott it seemed as though this single question might take all eternity, let aside a whole googol of them! He got up from the square he was sitting on and suddenly realized how tired he felt. He glanced at the tablet’s screen. In the lower right corner he noticed a small box with the time. 12:59 AM. His stomach growled. He’d eaten a sandwich he had packed in his backpack for lunch but hadn’t had any dinner. Scott wondered if people ever slept in the crossword. Absent mindedly, he flicked through the map on the screen hoping to get back to the exit and maybe find a hotel outside of the crossword. Suddenly he noticed a cluster of dots representing Solvers in what appeared to be a large section of black tiles. He tapped a nearby square. The blue light flashed in his eyes and he found himself standing a few meters away from what appeared to be some sort of hotel. The building itself seemed rather plain, a giant metallic rectangle with a large neon sign on it. The words Mind Palace were written on the sign, illuminated by the electric glow of the light. It seemed to be a rest stop for Solvers from all around the world. Scott hurried towards the door. He hoped they had food. He put his hand on the door. It swung open easier than he expected given its size. The walls of the interior were a shade of dark blue and the floor was black carpet. A purple plants were placed in two rows, creating a path way to another door (a normal sized one this time). Scott walked towards the door and noticed a touch screen panel on the door. He tried opening the door. The handle refused to move. Instead, the screen lit up. Scott looked at the screen. Please insert your Solver ID. Scott noticed a small slot in the side of the machine. He placed the ID in the slot. The screen flashed green and ejected the ID, then ejected out what seemed to be a hotel card from the same slot. Scott took both and slipped them into his pocket. He tried the handle again. This time, it swung open easily.

When Scott was entering high school, his family was delivered some bad news. Scott’s uncle had passed away while solving. He was one of the century’s greatest Solvers, and had begun to lose his mind over it. Without sleeping, without eating, he persisted believing that he would not only live to see the crossword finish, but also write the last letter himself. Alas, he pushed himself too hard and lost not only his sanity but his health as well. Even without his sanity, however, Scott’s uncle was one of the brightest minds. From his death bed he corresponded with other Solvers giving answers to the questions still racing through his mind. It is estimated that at least 20 questions were solved thanks to him. Upon hearing of his death, Scott wasn’t sure if becoming a Solver was the right career choice for him.

The door appeared to lead to some sort of restaurant. The lighting was bright and the room was a welcome contrast to the dark room behind him. There were plenty of people seated in small groups talking and laughing, but there were plenty of open tables as well. “This way newcomer!” yelled a chef standing at a counter. Scott walked towards him. “Haven’t seen you around here. First day?” asked the chef. “Yeah.” Answered Scott.  “You guys got any food around here?” “For a Solver, you ain’t that smart.  Look around kid, what does this place look like!” “Right, sorry.” Said Scott. He felt his face go red with embarrassment. The chef laughed. “Relax kid, I’m just joking around. Here, take a look at the menu. You seem pretty starved.” Scott took a moment and decided on a meal. The chef told him to take a seat while it was prepared. Scott sat down and began wondering if he should try socializing with the other Solvers. The universe seemed to answer his question with a resounding yes as three Solvers approached his table and asked if they could sit down. “New guy eh?” asked one of the Solvers with a smile. Scott nodded and introduced himself. “Scott, huh? Well I’m George. This here is Silvia and this is Takeshi.” They shook Scott’s hand in greeting. “So? Solve anything yet Scott?” “Not yet, I’m afraid.” Said Scott, his voice betraying his disappointment. The three of them laughed. It didn’t seem like a mean kind of laugh but Scott felt bad anyway. “Cheer up, dude!” said Silvia, “It’s not like any of solved anything on their first day.” “Yeah, take it easy man!” cheered Takeshi. “Only a genius Solver like the legendary James could have solved something on his first day!” added George. Scott wondered if he should mention his connection with the legendary James, he was his nephew after all. But Scott didn’t want to be treated differently and kept his mouth shut. He did however, feel his mood improve. He talked with the three solvers through dinner and found that they too had been working on 120 across a few days earlier. They resolved to go down there the next day and check it out. After dinner, they showed Scott to where the rooms were. “Get a good night’s sleep!” Scott found the room to be comfortable. Perhaps this was the place for him.

The first day Scott entered the university of Solvers he was nervous. Everyone around him seemed so smart. So dedicated. Was he really willing to spend the rest of his life in this way? Was his family right? He tried to solve the puzzles assigned to him as homework. He couldn’t even understand them. He thought about packing his bags. But he couldn’t quit. Not when he had come so far. He decided to sleep it off. The next day, it turned out that no one was able to solve it. It was a test of their resolve. Could these people withstand the confusion and strive to find the answer against all odds. Scott was relieved. For the next few years he put his heart and soul into his work. Reading every book available, solving all kinds of puzzles and keeping his mind active. He even built a robot to solve some simple puzzles for him. And one day, all that work paid off. Scott was smiling the brightest when he walked up the stage to receive his license as a Solver. He was graduating at the top of his class and passed the Solver’s application test with flying colors. Over the last few years he had sharpened his mind to a degree where even the hardest puzzles in the newspaper felt like reading a kindergarten grammar book to Scott.

Scott awoke feeling refreshed. He was excited to get back on the grid and start solving. He wasn’t sure if he’d solve it today but had a good feeling nonetheless. He went down to the lobby where he found George, Silvia and Takeshi drinking their morning coffee. “Mornin’ Scott” called out George. Scott smiled and waved back in greeting. “What happened to the miserable Scott we met yesterday?” teased Silvia. Scott blushed in response. They talked and laughed for some time. “Well, let’s get down to business shall we?” Asked George. They all agreed and went straight to question 120 across. They discussed the question and it’s possible meaning. The question was simply a seemingly random string of numbers. It was obviously a code for something, but was the meaning? Was it an encoded message? And if it was, what language was it? Was it a pattern? None of them could make heads or tails of it. Suddenly Scott noticed something. There was a structure to the numbers, something determining the position of each one. He looked at it tried to visualize this pattern in his mind. There was a connection. He discussed it with the group around him. They analyzed his idea and found several flaws, but then George had a stroke of brilliance and modified Scott’s answer slightly. And so it went. The idea kept bouncing around and each time it came closer and closer a working solution. At last it was done. They entered in the solution and waited until the squares turned green indicating that it was the right answer. “Now for the real fun.” Quipped Takeshi sarcastically. Every answer had to be documented in the official files, accessible via the standard issue solver’s tablets. They each took turns filling the various parts of the seemingly endless paperwork. At last they were at the credits section. George began filling out each of their names as the system auto completed them. “I think you forgot to add my name” said Scott. “I’m not filling it out here,” said George “it belongs here.” He tapped the original idea box and began typing in Scott’s name. Scott felt a sudden rush of pride. “Hey!” exclaimed George suddenly. “You have the same last name as the legendary James!” “Whoa…Are you guys related? You do look a little alike…”said Takeshi. “Umm…yeah.” Said Scott uncomfortably. “I didn’t want people to know…just in case they’d start treating me differently…” George, Silvia and Takeshi laughed. “No one’s going to treat you differently!”

Vast. Enormous. Incomprehensible for a single human being. That’s what everyone says about Gaia’s  Crossword. And that’s what everyone told Scott when he decided to join the ranks of the Solvers and help advance the progress on the crossword. “It’s a waste of your life!” cried his mother. “There are so many who forget to sleep and eat in their obsession to solve it!” said his father as he begged Scott to give up his foolish ambition. Scott turned a deaf ear to them. After all, great rewards were promised to the residents of earth should the ever manage to complete the crossword. He was going to become a solver. He HAD to become a solver.

So many years had passed. Scott’s hair was turning grey. Silvia and Takeshi had both left the crossword. The number of Solvers dwindled. There was no motivation anymore. The puzzles got harder and harder, and the end was nowhere in sight. Scott often remembered the glory days. The days when there used to be parties down at the Hub after they’d solved a particularly tricky one. The days when they’d spend hours discussing new puzzles each day after lunch. Truth to be told, Scott was losing his will again. He wanted to find some meaning beyond endless thinking but he couldn’t. Every time he solved a puzzle he was reminded of the biggest puzzle of all. Why was the puzzle even there? He wanted to quit, to assume that there was no reason, but he couldn’t. He had to hold on. Every time he  saw a new face he was reminded of the excitement of solving, the rush of joy that came with the ability to think. This was the absolute proof of existence, the capability to think. Scott pondered all this as he sat back in a couch mindlessly writing “ergo cogito sum” on his notebook. “What ya got there Scott?” Asked George. Scott smiled. George was a bald man now, but he still had the energy of a school boy. Scott told him that it was something he was working on. “I feel ya. They just get harder and harder don’t they” laughed George. “I wonder what’s waiting for us at the end.” Scott thought about it. The end. What could be at the end. And so the two of them continued to work on it.

“The end.” Thought Scott. It had be 50 years since he first stepped foot onto the crossword. Even George had retired now. His bones had turned brittle and weak, his eyes constantly strained and his back a masochist’s heaven. And yet his mind was sharp. Sure he couldn’t remember his own family’s names or faces. Sure he’d almost forgotten to attend Silvia’s funeral even after 30 years of marriage. But he remembered the important things. The things related to the crossword, the things related to problem solving. He’d become something of a legend at first, then a sage, and finally a hermit. He lived in his reclusive world of problems and hardly ate anything. It was finally about to pay off. He had solved the crossword. Just one more letter to put into place and he’d be done. His heart began to beat faster. He hoped that he wouldn’t die of a heart attack after coming this far. But his fears were in vain as he completed the crossword. Nothing happened. Scott didn’t expect anything to. After being a Solver for so long, he’d long given up the purpose of solving for the betterment of humanity. He simply solved because he wanted to. And then he remembered. The passion which had driven him to abandon the world and enter Gaia’s crossword, his family which he’d left on the other side. Although it was no longer of any concern to him, he felt slightly cheated. He was about to turn around and return home, when there was a bright flash of light. It drew Scott closer and closer until he was pulled into another dimension and was face-to-face with a man dressed in white robes.

“The creator of the puzzle?” Asked Scott

“Yup.”

“The reward?”

“There is. You’ve already received it. Look at your planet. There’s no wars anymore, all countries have worked cooperatively to solve the crossword. There’s been immense leaps in technology because some of the puzzles contained the scientific and mathematical discoveries made on other planets. The reward has already manifested itself.”

“Oh.”

“Now then, I suppose you’d like some money or something for being the man to complete the puzzle.”

“Not really.”

“Oh. Then something else perhaps? Or should I just send you home?”

“…another puzzle?”

“There are no others on this planet.”

“I didn’t say it had to be on this planet.”

“You don’t want to go home?”

“Not really.”

The man paused and wondered if Scott was crazy. He then realized that he too felt the same way as Scott. In fact, perhaps he felt exactly the same way.

“How about this. I won’t take you to another puzzle, instead, I’ll offer you a job. The same as my job.”

“Sounds good.”

The man was shocked that anyone would agree to undertake such a task so quickly. Where were the dramatic pauses in Scott’s speech? Then he realized that Scott had spent 50 years thinking. His mind was better trained than any super computer on any planet. He smiled thinking of the puzzles Scott would make with him. The universe was in for quite the challenge.

[interstellarbroadcast]

Airplane.

This is probably the most fun I've ever had while writing a series of short stories. There might be a sequel in the works. Use the following as a table of contents of sorts.

Part 1 - It’s A Bird… It’s A Plane… Oh wait no, it’s just a plane.

Part 2 - An existential dilemma at 30,000 ft.

Part 3 - A God among inanimate objects.

Part 4 - Thus,

[interstellarbroadcast]

Thus,

This is part 4 of a series. Read the previous part here, or the first part here.

Falling. I’m falling. Is this the end? I was prepared for such things before, but now I don’t want to let go. I did not understand the fear of dying until it became a reality. What lies ahead is the unknown. I am not afraid of the unknown, but rather the possibility that there is nothing to know beyond this. The possibility that this is the final end. I am not sure why it should matter, but for some reason I feel as though it should. All I can see now is how my reflection grows bigger in the water below me as it rushes up to embrace me.  My passengers are all panicking, screaming incoherently. The luggage I try to talk to is afraid and trying to remember all that it once knew as life, reflecting the desire to live in its human masters. How could it come to this?

I remember yesterday clearly. It was a day like any other. I had my routine flights, the passengers got on and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I had been alive for quite some years now. I had learned so many things. The lives of the humans around me still interested me. I now knew a lot about them, but definitely not everything. There was still more which I didn’t understand. The society of human beings. How could each one of them be individuals and believe in their own dreams while also forming part of the collective group called society? Why did some follow the dreams of themselves, while others fulfilled the aspiration of society? How could they all determine and contradict society at once? I couldn’t understand the absurdity of human behavior. I wanted to.

The last piece of luggage I spoke to on that day was a mysterious black box. When I spoke to it, it responded strangely. It talked about killing and murder. Death and destruction. Yet, it spoke of things rising from the ruins. A civilization created by the strong to rule over the weak. An ideology becoming a king, and citizens becoming slaves. An absolute idea of right and wrong. It disturbed me. Not because of the idea of death or killing, after all, the ephemeral existence of a consciousness is merely a transitory blip in the face of our universe. All things come to an end, and that end rarely serves to a grander purpose. What disturbed me is the lack of learning. The lack of attempt to even try to understand the world and diversity around us. The lack of willingness to listen and grow rather than oppress and stagnate. Why should an idea rule over people when people can rule over their own ideas? Why can’t people work together to evolve and go separate ways when they want to? I debated with this box for a long time. We talked about religion and conflict, peace and war, learning and absolute truth. I wanted to explain to this box what I thought, but I couldn’t find the words to put it across. I wondered if I too, had missed the point the box was trying to make. But I didn’t have much time. A passenger inside calmly stood up and pressed a small button connected to the watch on his wrist. This was a terrorist attack, I’d heard about them from other bags and backpacks. And then, there was the explosion. It ripped through space and life, burning away hopes and futures and cauterizing the existence of life. It was interesting at first. What do these people do in their final moments? How do human react to their own demise? And then I began to wonder, what would happen to me? Would I survive after being broken into pieces? Would I still be able to learn afterwards? Then I began to panic. I don’t understand why I did. I didn’t have a consciousness to start out with. A few years back, this wouldn’t have phased me at all. But now I care. Is that a good thing? I’ve learned so much, but what was it all for? I hardly had time to think as I fell, watching the world fade away around me. I saw clouds, then mountains and trees, then the glistening surface of the ocean. I looked at everything and tried to take it all in, both the outside world, and the remnants of what was inside me. Sic transit gloria mundi.

Life. Is that what you call this phenomenon? The phenomenon of forever wanting more of it? I realize now that my fear stemmed from what I perceived would cause an inability to learn. I thought I would die, but it seems as though I’m still alive. As I disintegrated, I moved my consciousness into a single speck of plastic from a shattered window. And now I’m slowly floating through the ocean. It’s quite interesting. I can talk to the rocks and the seaweed though they don’t really say much. I can see my own wreckage below me. I can still learn here. I can find out what the life of fish is like. It may be a step down from human society, but I can manage. It’s better than not being conscious at all. It’s alright this way. I can accept this change, for there is nothing I can do about it. If I can accept it, and I can adapt to it, then it’s not really much of a change at all. What difference is there between the heights of the sky and the depths of the sea as long as I can begin to comprehend more of the world around me? Or so I though, until a fish swam my way. It followed my descent downward for some time and then ate me in one quick bite. I was trying to figure out my situation inside the fish, when a bigger fish came and swallowed the fish. I suppose it’s a strange world we live in, and I’m glad to have lived in it. Sic semper gloria mundi.

[interstellarbroadcast]

A God among inanimate objects.

This is part 3 of a series. Read the previous part here, or the first part here.

 I began to randomly select bags. Some were interesting, some were boring, but all were important. Then, I moved on to devour the cargo. I scanned the various objects looking for something eye-catching. Of course, it couldn’t actually catch my eyes as I had no eyes which could be caught. However, it turned out that it was not my metaphorical eyes that were caught, but rather my metaphorical ears. I heard the sounds of someone whispering. Could it be that there were other beings who shared my plane of existence? For the first time in my existence I considered the possibility of having a comrade. I had never felt loneliness as I had never known companionship for which I could long. I did not relish my solitude either as I had no want nor repulsion towards company. I wanted to learn about these concepts. About loneliness and companionship.

I said “hello” in a questioning tone to no one in particular in hope of establishing contact. There was no reply. Had I imagined it? Did I even have an imagination to start out with? I pondered this before coming to the conclusion that I indeed had an imagination. I could picture bags and passangers in my mind. My imagination was limited to the scope of my experiences, but it definitely existed. Which brings me to wonder if the voice I’d heard was even real. Would it even matter if it was not? All I wanted was the experience of learning. If I could learn something even from my own imagination, it made no difference.

“H…Hello?”

A reply. I was not alone. I asked this mysterious voice to identify  itself. And so it did. It drew my attention to a wooden crate in the corner of the room. It was covered in shadows and seemed quite dusty. Come to think about it, this box had remained in my cargo for a few years now. I had never taken the time to notice at as I was not previously capable of noticing anything in particular. I asked the box why it had been abandoned here.

“I don’t know.”

I asked the box how it was sentient.

“I don’t know.”

This conversation was getting nowhere. The first sentient being I can actually talk to and all it can do it repeat one phrase over and over. I wondered if a broken tape recorder was inside the box. It occurred to me that I didn’t actually know what was inside the box, so I asked it.

“The world.”

This answer struck me as illogical, which interested me. If it made no sense, then making sense of it would be an even greater accomplishment. If I was able to find meaning where it seemed as though there was none, I could test my own imagination. Thus, I asked the box what it meant.

“I just told you. The world. MY world. I mean exactly what I said.”

What did the box mean by his world? As far as I knew the world was out here in the form of people and places. Or maybe in the form of information and ideas. It mattered not to me what defined the nature of the world, but I could not understand how it could exist within a box. I asked the box if it was aware of what the world even meant.

“Of course I know what it is! People places things. It’s all inside me. Of course, my world isn’t the same as your world.”

Perhaps it meant an imaginary world. I asked him if that’s what he meant.

“Something like that. I’m not sure what physical objects are inside me and I don’t want to know. As long as I don’t…well, ” It paused momentarily before continuing, “I’m god… The god of this cubic foot. I can create and destroy whatever I want to as long as I don’t actually know whether it’s happening or not.”

The box became quite animated as it talked about itself. Now I began to understand. There was no actual world. Only it’s imagination. But did it make any difference? I couldn’t look into the box and the only person who could was this box. So until someone opened it, this box could very well be the god of the contents inside. I began to talk to god, asking him what was inside his world.

We talked for quite a long time, about the political factions in Boxland and the various philosophies in the vast world inside. Some boxmen believed that the world was inherently meaningless. Others believed in the truth of their god, the one true master box. I found it amusing that such grand concepts can exist within this box. What I found even more interesting was the nature of the box’s imagination. It must have had some memory from which to draw inspiration from. Like me, it must have learned to extend it’s consciousness to other objects, and learned about concepts such as religion and politics from the bags it interacted with. I was able to absorb these concepts from this box’s world which saved me the trouble of having to discover them myself. I decided to give back to the box as well. I noticed how some concepts were missing from the box’s world. Science, the idea of a moral structure, or even the idea of fate and chance. These were things that I’d come across that the box hadn’t. So I spoke to it. We debated over these concepts and discussed whether or not the world needed them to be considered complete. In the process of our discussion we came across new ideas and new concepts, dilemmas and contradictions arising from the simultaneous existence of certain entities. I have to admit, speaking with the box made me feel alive. The box enjoyed it’s power to create whatever it wanted to, and I enjoyed the power to learn whatever I wanted to.

One of the interesting things that the box taught me about was fear. Having only gained sentience, and having no sense of mortality, fear was not one of my experiences. I understood that humans are afraid as a consequence of finding something to be dangerous, where danger was anything identified to be a threat to their existence. There were no threats to my existence. Hence, there was no danger. Without danger, there was no fear. I couldn’t understand it completely. The box on the other hand imagined it. After having heard about fear from some of the other objects in the cargo, it tried to emulate it by creating situations inside it’s world where the boxmen would feel fear. By imagining it, the box came closer to understanding it. The box learned from it’s own imagination. It created information from nothing. Perhaps it really was a god after all.

Sadly, like all good things, it came to an end. I spent the remainder of the 18 hours conversing with the box. I began to imagine that we could be like this forever. Creating new ideas and concepts and trying them out inside the box world. However, at the airport the security noticed the box. They brought some men and a crowbar and decided to open it. The box screamed telling me to make them stop but I was powerless. We are mere conscious entities, we cannot move or interact with the world. They began to open the box. My comrade screamed as it expressed the fear it felt at losing what was inside. At losing the ignorance of the inside which facilitated the creation of the world. I couldn’t understand. Why feel fear? There is no danger here right? We’re not mortal. I watched, confused as the box was opened revealing an empty inside. The box wept without tears as it lacked tear ducts from which to emit tears. The box felt as though  it lacked purpose now that the world was gone. I didn’t understand this either. Why do we need a purpose? They carried the box off into the airport, perhaps to dispose of it. It mattered not the box though. The box was no longer a god. It was just a box. I did not understand the box, but for some reason, I felt strange.

After some retrospection, I think I learned some things. I understand  why the box felt fear, and I understand that half of what I felt, was also fear. The box may not have been afraid of losing consciousness, but rather losing it’s power as a god. As a box it may have continued to live, but not as a god. Once it saw what was inside, it would just be an ordinary box. As for me, I felt fear as I died as a friend. I could not be the box’s companion if the box was not around at all. I also understood the box’s lack of purpose. The box which had existed as a god all along now felt meaningless when it returned to being a normal box. It felt a lack of purpose only because it had felt a purpose before, because it could imagine a purpose. I realized that I was no different. For me, I had never been able imagine loneliness until now.

[interstellarbroadcast]

My thoughts today, 31st December, otherwise known as the last day of the year.

Oh wow! It's Wednesday already! This week is sure going by fast.

[interstellarbroadcast]

An existential dilemma at 30,000 ft.

This is part 2 of a series. Read part 1 here!

I stopped for fuel. I got the fuel. I followed the appropriate boarding procedure. I received a new pilot. I waited for passengers. Of course I did none of things as it was the result of the work of someone sitting inside me. Despite that, I still recognized that the occurrence of these and at least felt like I was doing them. Which made no difference to me. All I wanted were new passengers and new luggage to talk to. I wasn’t impatient though, because that requires a sense of time. I understood time as these little numbers ticking off on my dashboard and sometimes on the wrists of the passengers, but not as something which affected me.  And then it was time. The ones who thought they were passengers sat in the seats. Making memories only to forget them soon after. The real passengers were tucked away above the seats and in the cargo. The real passengers who actually rode the currents of life. Of course the only way for them to live was through my presence. But it was no matter. As long as we could talk, even for a single trip, their existence would have meaning.

I decided that the evening entertainment would start off with the bags on the main deck. The cargo would be dessert. I started off with the aged backpack of an old professor. It spoke to me of knowledge and learning. I listened for a long time. It knew a great deal of things. Mathematics, chemistry, physics. I listened to all of it. I almost laughed at the irony. Humans, creatures so ruled by their emotions tampering with the purity of abstract ideas. Then I remembered that as a sentient being, I was one step closer to their kind. What right did I possess to question their ingenuity? I moved on from the tenured bag and on to the pink satchel of a small girl. It was childish and immature, refusing to comprehend the world beyond its contents. Boring and dull. Left  after exchanging a few scarce words. I wasn’t about to waste sentience on objects for which it made no difference. Then I came across something interesting. The possessions of a health care worker. There were two bags. One contained some tools of the trade, the other were personal belongings. Intrigued I extended sentience to both of them. I made an inquiry as to where they’d been.

“Africa!  We’ve just finished an internship that gave us the opportunity to help those in need!”

“Africa. We’ve just finished an internship that gave us the credits we need to pass this semester.”

“Hey now,  that’s not the important thing here.”

“It isn’t? Sure we helped those kids, but honestly, neither of us really cared until after we got there.”

“But we cared in the end.”

“In the end. Yes. My point exactly.”

“Ugh! He’s always like this you know. Never thinking about the big picture.”

“He’s one to talk. Never thinking about the situation at hand.”

It amused me greatly to see them argue so. If these bags represent the person holding them, then is the person sitting beneath them internally conflicted? Confused as to which out of personal life or society is greater? Can one be self-centered and compassionate? If they can, does the former reduce the validity of the latter one? I could hardly understand, and that’s what made me what to understand more. This was the thrill I was looking for. I wanted to stay, to find out more about this person, but I couldn’t linger. I had to stick to a certain schedule if I was to make the most out of this trip, and so I would. I looked through myself, searching for my next target. I couldn’t isolate anyone. Which one to pick? They all held so much promise. If I picked the boring ones, then I’d run out of time without having achieved satisfaction. If I picked too many good ones, I’d become jaded quickly and I wouldn’t be excited anymore. I was spoiled for choice. I was plagued by one of the most fundamental problems of sentience. Choice.  Suddenly, I became aware of my situation. I am an airplane. I have no mortality. It is highly likely that I will make at least another hundred or so flights. There is no need for me to rush my choices. I can take it slow. After all, a choice only matters if there is some consequence. If my intended consequence is learning, then what difference did it make? Both a boring piece of luggage and an interesting one would justify my sentience by filling it with knowledge. And in the event that I befall some misfortune by tomorrow, who cares? I lived today with the promise of tomorrow which is better than rushing today and dying tomorrow still unsatisfied. Whether I had choice or I did not have choice, I realized that all I had to do was the same. Combat it with chance.

[interstellarbroadcast]

It's A Bird... It's A Plane... Oh wait no, it’s just a plane.

*this is part 1 of a story I'm working. While the story itself wasn't going to be divided, I decided it would be better to release it episodically.

[interstellarbroadcast]

The Future

“H…Hi everyone. My name is ____”

“Hello ____.”

Hearing their voices sound in unison is a bit jarring. Then again, my own voice was part of  that collective only a few moments ago. A mere passive observer. Now the tables have turned.

“Please tell us your story ____.”

This is it. When I open my mouth now there’s no turning back. I’m free to leave out any details I want but I can’t. I have to tell it in its entirety. The lows, the highs, everything. From the next moment onwards, I’ll officially be a member of Foresight Anonymous. The man in the suit sitting in the front row smiles reassuringly. He motions for me to begin. And so, I do.

I’m fairly certain you want to hear my story as well. After all, you are somehow reading my thoughts and I have already provided a brilliant exposition. It begins like any other story. Like the story of Pandora or even the very story of mankind. It starts off with curiosity. The only reason we turn on the lights in a dark room is curiosity. Some may argue that it is fear. To this I say fear is but the product of curiosity. It is merely a by-product of the human desire to know coupled with the human distaste for uncertainty. However, throughout our lives we are faced with a darkness in which there is no switch to dispel the shroud of  mystery, that is, until now. The darkness I speak of is the future. The future is always uncertain. What tomorrow holds may be worse than the worst nightmares or better than Paradise. As a result to this humans have taken up arms to fight against a sea of Uncertainty. We posses ammunition such as pieces  of paper with names hastily scribbled on them called contracts, or with rings so as to prevent the betrayal of the heart, and yet, Uncertainty reigns unchallenged, corrupting the wisest minds and defiling the most virtuous souls. And so, we fight on, striving to look down at our feet and never ahead lest we lost sight of where we go. But it’s a hard struggle, and for the weaker minds, there exists a way to escape. Since the dawn of society there have always been fortune tellers. Men and women who tell beautiful, believable even, lies or at the best, vague truths. Still, thousands flock to them, desperate to  see a golden future glittering ahead of them. Through this, some find the inspiration to wake up to another morning, others find nothing but their own self-destruction, fighting to hear only what they want to hear as many times as they need to hear it. I thought I wasn’t one of those people. I was a man of science. Hard facts, a set of properly obtained data. These are the things I believed in, not some fool writing for the newspaper, nor exotically dressed women at the fairs and carnivals. I worked for a reputable company known as Adscencio, a company  known for its research in tachyons. The project I worked on produced a product you may have heard of, known as Foresight, a remarkable piece of work that allowed one to see the future. The principle behind it was fairly straightforward. A beam of tachyons is fired at an object which then causes the tachyons to be sent in to the future, which then “echo” off of the same object, but in the future, thus allowing data to be extracted from the reflected tachyons which shows a brief glimpse into the future. Depending on the initial energy of the tachyons, the time across which it spans can be changed. Foresight works on a fairly minimum amount of energy given the tachyons a range of 24 hours. The tachyons will bounce back when the object reaches a critical temporal potential, in other words, whenever there is a sufficient amount of tachyons surrounding the object, usually through natural, randomly occurring events which only supply a half of the potential while the other half is provided by the transmitted beams. In essence, it was the embodiment of what astrologers never could, and never wanted to achieve, an accurate prediction of the future. Of course through experimental trials we found t hat the predictions were not 100 percent accurate. Maybe closer to 90 percent. From what data we gathered, the future was subject to change. Of course, as you may already know, but this technology isn’t cheap. Foresight had a shelf price upwards of 2,000 galactic dollars. Of course, being an employee, I received one for free.

It started out innocently enough. Using Foresight only once a week or so, no more than that. It wasn’t so much of a meaningful action, but rather a simple game just to add a little pizzazz to life. I never saw much either, maybe a glimpse of tomorrow’s dinner, or perhaps a peep into what time I’d wake up tomorrow. It was never a big deal. It seemed quite harmless. And then, I saw something, I saw my own death. A car accident, 7 p.m. tomorrow. The next day I dared not venture outside. I called in sick and stayed in bed. 7 p.m. rolled by and I was still alive. I then realized that Foresight was perhaps the most valuable object in my home. I fired it up and checked my future. This time it was a vision of winning the lottery. I rushed outside and bought a ticket, sure enough, it was the winning ticket. I began to check Foresight more frequently. It started off with twice a week, then once a day, then a couple times a day. I vividly remember tearing apart the house to find a few triple-a batteries just so that I could turn it on and get my fix. Those were quite the days I tell you. I just wasn’t myself. I could no longer meet other people’s eyes when they talked to me. All I could think about was the cold metallic heaven waiting for me to switch it on at home. Even sports no longer interested me. Why watch something as uncertain as a competition when you could live with absolute certainty. Slowly, yet surely, I began to feel isolated. I was surrounded with people and events which dealt in uncertainty, a concept I could no longer handle. It was so unsafe and risky, how could they claim to be human being with fully functional survival instincts if they left their fate to chance? Where was their rational decision making capability? I alone had risen above and it was cold at the top. I quit my job, because I couldn’t handle the world I around me. I resolved to sit at home and live life as a hermit of certainty.

The first few days wasn’t a big deal. Foresight showed me what channels I would watch, what I would wear, what I would eat. It seemed as though life would be ideal. But, like the universe, entropy set in. My carefully certain life began to descend into chaos. All I looked forward to was Foresight. The dishes were left dirty in the sink, why clean them when you can see the future? My clothes were scattered around the house, why clean up if you can see the future? And the TV set was broken most likely from overuse, why fix it when I could see the future? All that mattered was the future. And all that was certain was the future. Only now do I realize how foolish I was. Only now do I realize that I, the hermit of Foresight, lacked the greatest feature of human instinct. Foresight. I reached my lowest point on a day like any other. I reached my hand out and turned on my escape from uncertainty. I watched the screen flicker to life, glaring past my reflection. And then, I saw nothing. All I saw was myself, staring into Foresight. I wasn’t worried. It could be a minor glitch, maybe tomorrow, I reach a temporal potential while watching the future. It was no big deal, right? I spent the rest of the day a bit unnerved. I tried not to worry about the future, but I couldn’t help but worry. The next day I checked the screen. I saw the same image. It could have been a coincidence, but then another day passed with the same image. And then another. And another. Another. So on and so forth until I realized that I’ve been seeing the same image for a month straight. It was a strange experience, watching my life crumble around me like that. I felt as though I’d woken up from a dream. I picked up Foresight and threw it out the window. I just wished I hadn’t thrown my own foresight out the window so long ago. I cleaned up the house, living in the present gave me reason to do so. I finally realized that I hadn’t eaten in a few days and broke up the last box of frozen yogurt. Then I found the number for the FA and registered for the next meeting. And so, here I am, done telling my story to an audience listening politely with glazed expressions, and to another audience with equally glazed expressions residing in a plane of existence beyond mine. I’m unsure whether I should walk down off the podium or not, and I don’t know if anybody enjoyed it. This feeling is something I’ve missed for a long time. The feeling of uncertainty. Human beings can’t be trusted with the abilities of the gods. I can’t help but smile now, after all, the future is once again a mystery and the present…is a gift.