Thursday, October 22, 2020

Maggot's Work - A poem. A story. A life.


 Maggot's Work


 I’ll clean this up, assures the maggot

The voice whispers in my ear as I pick myself up

After a sucker punching shadow grew from my candle

Standing in a field I continue the work

I train a sun dog to sit

I dance with Grendel

I absolve a murder of crows


I’ll clean this up, assures the maggot

The voice whispers in my ear as I pick myself up

After a pleading shadow clawed at my feet

Standing on a road I continue the work

I buy a value

I cheat a mettle detector

I reflect on a mirror


I’ll clean this up, assures the maggot

The voice whispers in my family’s ear as I am lowered

After a light stepped out from the shadow in my eyes

Lying under a low ceiling I continue the work

I count the sand of the world

I hold tight to a moment

I ask for more





Monday, September 28, 2020

Trying to bring Kung Fu movie sound effects into the real world

A video in which I (poorly) try to duplicate some Kung Fu movie sound effects in the real world using the guts of a (cheap) motion activated toy. A proof of concept, if you will. I know someone more skilled than I can make this happen. I believe in you!

Be well!


Tuesday, July 7, 2020

"The Second Going" by Yeets


 The Second Going
        By Yeets

   Buffering and refreshing in the widening gyre   
   The vote cannot hear the voice;
   Things fall apart; the center is naught to behold;
   Monetized anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
   Innocence is drowned in the ceremony;
   The best convictions lack all passion, while the worst   
   Are full of intensity.

   Surely some adumbration is at hand;
   Surely the Second Going is at hand.   
   The Second Going! Hardly are those words out   
   When a vast image out of Simulatum Mundi
   Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
   A shape with lion body and the head of a human,   
   A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   
   Is slowly moving its thighs, while all about it   
   Reel shadows of the ignorant desert birds.   
   The darkness drops again; but now I know   
   That twenty-one centuries of stony sleep
   Were vexed by a nightmare hand rocking the cradle,   
   And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   
   Slouches towards to be born?

Tuesday, June 9, 2020

The 2020 Post: Humans, History, and Hope.

History will tell many tales of this latest pandemic, if history tells us anything. Some we today may scarcely recognize depending on how differently the night sky looks in those future ages. Yet, even then they will hold value. Ancient stories still strike intimate chords today, still carry Truths to teach. Fortunately, we won’t have to wait that long. Clever humans, at this very moment, are weaving medicinal tapestries from the threads of daily events. When their looms will stop, I do not know. I can say many will carry fear long afterward. This is understandable. Disease is only a little younger than Life itself, let us remember. The Fourth Rider and its pale steed have always cast a cold shadow near our doorway. Will it enter? Will it pass? we ask in the long night. And what of the shadow’s umbra? Its name is Uncertainty, mother of Panic. As I said, flinching in their presence is understandable.

I offer these words as a small balm for the stream of tribulations 2020 seems hellbent on throwing at us: We’ve been through worse. We’ve learned from it. We’ll get through this.

Our ancestors braved storms and gales to travel unexplored oceans.
Our ancestors raised structures of breathtaking height and sophistication around the globe. Some of which we, who now plan to walk the surface of Mars, still cannot fully explain or replicate.  
They invented Art and Philosophy and Music and the Scientific Process.
They dug themselves out from under earthquake rubble to rebuild larger and stronger than before.
They set aside time for special celebrations despite (and to spite) the precariousness of daily life.
They saw lobsters and boldly declared I am going to eat that! With butter!
They survived other humans.  

All of human history is within YOU. Give yourself the gift of learning about your past. It is your birthright. Your inheritance. Rest upon it. Take strength from it.  

Then, gentle reader, please help ME remember to do the same! I have those dark, cold nights, too. What reminded me this time round was a re-watching of the extended version of “The Lord of The Rings” trilogy. My hope was the pandemic would have long passed when the final credits rolled. Alas, no such luck. Instead, two ideas smacked my skullcap. The first was Theoden’s story arc. I have no idea how the tragedy of his character eluded me all those previous viewings. Some squirrels don’t make it to the top of the tree, as the old saying I just made up goes. Much has been written about him over the decades (I’ve since learned) so no need to expand that. The second smack came from a visual. Felt like a hammer. Here is the clip posted by Warner Brothers Entertainment on YouTube.  

Every time I see the families in the cave it gets me. Every. Damn. Time.

Orcs, Humans, Elves, and a stone wall. It dawned on me that this scene is an analogy of human history, and by extension a broad model of the human psyche. Let’s start with that wall. A wall is a line lifted into the third dimension. Its sole purpose is to set boundaries. This one is scarred from the many times it fulfilled its role as protector. Outside the gate comes destruction and chaos under the cover of night. Animalistic yet not unintelligent, Orcs are a constant threat. They steal, kill, burn, or destroy to suit their own ends. They are kept in check by strength alone, ruled by strength alone. These new Orcs, however, are far worse. They have been augmented and organized by the intellect of a once ally. Behind the wall stand humans and Elves. And Gimli. Elves are everything Orcs are not. Remember, Orcs were created by the purposeful spoiling of Elves. They are negative images of each other in both action and thought. Elves embody grace and order. They value knowledge and taught the Ents to speak in the deep past. Then we have humans. They exist in a mired middle ground between Elf and Orc. Humans can embody grace and knowledge. We can demonstrate bravery and kindness. We can also grow apathetic or spiteful. Indifference leads to stagnation. Wisdom rots from memory until what’s left is human in form, but Orc in spirit and nature. The Wildmen were aptly named.

The battle was new to the participants, but the setting was old: a line, an enemy, and a battle to survive. Change the names. Adjust the ideologies. Martin Luther attacks the walls of a religious bureaucracy with words nailed to a door. La Malinche whispers a calculated suggestion into Cortez’s ear to guide his eye toward victory over the Aztec empire. Dr. Ignaz Semmelweis argues handwashing saves women’s lives despite the fierce objections of colleagues and the medical establishment. It costs him his life. A victim of violence, slavery, and hunger decides stability must be imposed upon his world, thus Temujin becomes Genghis Khan. Off the Cuban coast in a Russian sub, Commodore Vasili Arkhipov weighs patriotism and sworn duty against the fire of nuclear holocaust. Lenny Bruce keeps using schoolyard vulgarities in front of adult audiences.  

And again. And again. 

The Established battling The New. Rulers battling Revolutionaries. The Invaded battling Invaders. Home battling Visitors. Brother Order twirling with Sister Chaos across the floor of Time without a care, save only for their dance. We live in their wake. We are of their wake. Life, after all, depends on them, not the other way round. Humans can see the dance, for some reason. Seems that way, anyhow. I think it’s linked to knowing we’re mortal. Most days I suspect the perception of personal mortality (I have an ending?!) came first. Something went into our Options and switched off the ‘Live In The Moment’ setting. Time and Memory orbited a new version of Self thereby inventing questions, which lead to symbolic language to ask better questions. The primal, predatory Why? was born. Maybe it was the Dance that changed our Options settings. Maybe. Whatever the reason, our mind’s “Territory” dial turned to Eleven to match our rapidly expanding mental landscape. We drafted metaphysical lines, build mental walls, and dropped symbols on whichever side of the map worked best for achieving our needs. Flags, ink, and paper replaced urine. I wonder sometimes if early material maps looked that dissimilar from mental ones. Here be monsters might be truer than we thought. Do they look dissimilar today in our enlightened, sophisticated current year? All maps tell a story, so probably not. As Robert Anton Wilson used to point out, “The menu is not the meal.” Which is, of course paraphrasing Alfred Korzybski’s, “The map is not the territory.” and “The word is not the thing.” Both were influenced by the Surrealist movement in art. (The human mind? Surreal?) Perhaps you’ve seen this piece from ninety-one years ago.

“The Treachery of Images” by Rene Magritte 1929

Perhaps you know this other work by Rene.

“The Son of Man” 1964. I’ll let you decide how it fits in to my words.

Let’s briefly turn back to Middle Earth for a possible explanation for the above.      

Orcs = ID
Humans = Ego
Elves = Super-Ego

Helm’s Deep as a model of one model of the intermingling operators within our psyche. This popped into mind when I asked myself why (There’s the old thorn again.) human history seems so repetitive. Then I remembered how old and cliché even asking the damn question is!

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
                                                                          Ecclesiastes 1:9   Circa 935 BCE

That was almost three-thousand-years ago. Put another way: Thirty centuries ago, humans were complaining there was nothing good on television, movies were all the same, and new music sounded like recycled crap. Nothing changes. Similar software running on similar hardware yielding similar results. My words have been written before. They will be written again. The cycle triumphant.

And yet.

Our ancestors braved storms and gales to travel uncharted oceans.
Our ancestors raised structures of breathtaking height and sophistication around the globe. Some of which we, who now plan to walk the surface of Mars, still cannot fully explain or replicate. 
They invented Art and the Scientific Process and Philosophy and Music.
They dug themselves out from under earthquake rubble to rebuild larger and stronger than before.
They set aside time for special celebrations despite, and to spite, the precariousness of daily life.
They saw lobsters and boldly declared I am going to eat that! With butter!
They survived other humans. 

But, Sam. You’re hopefully asking. Aren’t you contradicting yourself by making large number level observations on human behavior while citing those specific individuals? They all altered this immutable cycle you’re rambling on about despite having been a byproduct of it. 

Noticed that, did you? Yeah. Funny how individuals can do that. Funny how a single person can tip a scale carrying millions. Funny how the Dance sometimes sways to a single person moving to their own music. It’s almost as if there is an odd profundity to the Individual that’s fueled by the nature of their intent. And it just so happens I am talking to an individual at this very moment.   

Oh no, don’t drag me into this. I have enough on my plate. 

Ever wonder when Hope was invented? 

I’m wondering when this blog will end and hoping it’s soon.

Not the ‘wanting’ hope, the visionary Hope. The 'look around and wonder how better existence could be' Hope. 

Invented? You mean like a light switch or diet soda? Never thought of it that way. Weird to think that Hope didn’t exist until the second it did. But, “invent”? Is that the correct word?

Someone wiser than foolish me probably has a better one. Still, somewhere along our long path with all the hints of ages lost, there was a moment when Hope came into being. We’ve never let it go since. Maybe that was in our Options, too? To install the Hope DLC, press X. Who knows how many names or origins or sources we’ve given it over the millennia. Think about all the greeting cards that never would have existed without it.

A staggering observation.

I deal in the hard Truths. Explains why I don’t sleep well at night. 

So, take your own advice.

What do you mean?

You’re going to great lengths to encourage people to have Hope, to use Hope, based on what humans have endured since humans existed. Pandemic upheavals sparked this blog, but 2020 was just warming up. Here’s the reminder you asked for: We have endured much, yet still created much. We have endured much, yet still done much good. We’ve an established track record that doesn’t need platitudes, because we invented platitudes. We can picture the possible, then marry the image to action. A human is a spec of flotsam bobbing on an ocean of time that miraculously found ways to build ships and draw maps in the Hope of one day harnessing the storms that threaten to drown them. That’s you. That's Us. Don’t forget it. got me figured out. 

Of course, I do. I am you. I know what you know. I know what you’ve been through. 

I can't argue with a good point. Can I ask you, er, me some clarifying questions? I feel like we’ve just scratched the surface of all this...........Hello? 


I guess it’s just you and me again, gentle reader. Interesting. We’re all a product of and a producer of. And more. We often fall under the step of the Dance, yet sometimes we pick the beat. We can make decisions. Well, I certainly gave myself a lot to think about. 

I Hope I gave you something worth thinking about, too.

Be well. Stay well. 

I believe in you, fellow human.