Welcome to my place in the zeitgeist

Is “Iron Sky” the future of filmmaking?  Or “Tuvalu,” instead?  Maybe Laibach’s “Predictions of Fire“?

Do you gauge the future by looking at trends of incoming recent photobucket images?

How much of the universe exists outside the Internet of things?

How many men felt their manhood threatened by the U.S. HHS Secretary’s announcement about forced payments for birth control, even if they weren’t Catholic?

Have you watched “The Mindscape of Alan Moore” or listened to Emiliana Torrini?

How many producers/agents have profited off of drug-addled performers?

How many drug-addled performers have profited off of producers/agents?

How many drug-addled producers/agents have profited off of drug-addled performers?

How many performers have profited off of drug-addled producers/agents?

How many drug-addled producers/agents have profited off of performers?

How many performers have profited off of producers/agents?

How many producers/agents have profited off of performers?

What is profit?

These and other questions reside in the thoughts of a group of people sitting in a cold room of an interplanetary transport ship.

They are detached from instantaneous communication with Earth.

They exist outside the cocoon of the zeitgeist.

They experience the long false 24-hour artificial day/night of constant exposure to the Sun.

Circadian rhythms disrupted like workers shifting between 8/12 hour timeslots.

If the doubling of information is nearly impossible to detect, what does it mean to become steam?

Is the scale logarithmic or exponential, both or a combination with some other esoteric formula unfamiliar to the general population?

What is the inverse of life?

The group, composed of multifunction beings resembling us for the most part, stay busy, either physically or mentally, usually both.

They are trained professionals.

There is little room for crazy or lazy here.

The purity of the creative artist detached from reality is a fiction to them.

Not that they can’t produce art in their own way, mimicking air guitar or whistling a tune, doodling on their virtual 3D sketchpads or changing procedures on the fly.

Twenty-four hour headline Earth news is not a habit with them but they keep up with major events through osmosis, in conversations with the base station or updates from family.

A few will surf the Net in their offhours, such as they are, researching ideas about improving minimissions due to begin in their next duty shift, noticing adverts for products they hadn’t seen before they went offworld, their thoughts temporarily drifting toward another place and time when their families would have excitedly talked about product launches.

But immediately their thoughts sync back up with the group, focused on the majormissions which depend on the minimissions and the casual research of those off duty, as well as their timely discombobulated thought patterns.

Money — the fuel that built their ship — is irrelevant in space.

Energy and creativity is worth more than any labour/investment credit system out there.

Out here.

The March 1950 Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists included a review of Aldous Huxley’s novel, “Ape and Essence,” with a reference to the Guiding Hand that all religions, all belief systems, hold dear.

Out here, the synergy of groupthink is its own guiding hand, foreshadowing a prediction of a future that is inevitable.  The expected and the unexpected are foretold, fully anticipated, calculated, waited for without bated breath or dreadful fear.

Embraced.

They know.

They know they will not return to Earth, despite false promises to friends and family.

Promises made based on old data and dated equations.

Now they produce data before it’s measured.

The data, in turn, produces more data that, given more time, would overflow the limited memory locations of their enhanced thought sets tied to the supercomputer embedded and networked throughout the ship.

They know they become more and more a necessary part of the ship.

A ship destined to crash to produce data needed for a mission not yet envisioned, much less funded, to determine the fortitude of the people on Earth in the face of another costly catastrophe involving members of their species with dwindling resources available for space travel and extraplanetary settlements.

The ship is their sepulchre, their traveling crypt.

They are the crypt keepers and the terminated, all in one.

The minimissions and the majormissions go on, the unspoken final mission taking shape in their groupthink, unknown to anyone on Earth.

An egg splits from a cocoon and grows into a new lifeform all its own.

The lifeform sees its death written in the stars but fights for every last breath, regardless.

There’s always a chance the data will change, a new outcome predicted.

No matter how infinitesimal.

Transformation is a beautiful thing.

Mutation even more so.

Monk’s ‘hood

Flagellate the word of the day.

Now that the supercomputers have taken over all lab assignments and we have laid off the scientists, the sub-sub-submarinesandwich-basement is awfully quiet.

I can’t distinguish the hum of the equipment from the humming in my ears.

Cryptographers are still trying to figure out the meaning of the seemingly random misspellings and grammatical errors in the blog that I, a supercomputer myself, create to send signals to the hackers who reprogram the subroutines that feed me input.

We have the violent Muslims-under-control regime of Assad, backed tentatively by China and Russia, versus the we-are-Muslims-united-as one rebel forces backed by al Qaeda and the Arab nations playing their part in one of my subroutines.

If the Arab nations had no oil, would anyone care about their place in global politics?

I mean, look at Greece and Portugal. Or that island nation in the Pacific that’s sinking under the waves whose name escapes me right now.  Towavolcano, or something like that?

What do they have that any of us really want?  History?  Olive oil?

After all, I can think of one or two companies like SAIC that would love to see Greece drown in its unpaid Olympic debts.  Can’t you?  Athens, here’s to you!  Burn, baby, burn!  Disco inferno!

Yes, we’re supposed to feel sorry for the average citizen who gets stuck with austerity measures that will barely be felt by its wealthy neighbours.

“Oh, honey, do we really need 15 yachts?  Can’t we sell one to help those poor tourism directors whose families have nothing?”

“Sweetie, relax.  I’ve hired a few of them at the new lower minimum wage to iron your bedsheets and wax the floors so you can entertain our friends from Italy who are jealous of our sense of duty to hire the destitute to help the austerity-stricken common Greeks we must put up with when transferring from yacht to limousine.”

“There but for the grace of the Greek gods…”

“Zeus, Jesus, Allah.  Funny how none of them were there when I was making the cut-throat deals to eliminate my competitors!  But never you mind about that.  Go inside before your leathery suntan cracks in the sun.  Servant!  Put some oil on this woman and give her a bubble bath.  I want her beautiful before dinner!”

Are we willing to treat our neighbours as gods or servants?

And in return, are we willing to be gods or servants for our neighbours?

The power of self-will.  Self esteem.  Taking responsibility for one’s actions and the pursuit of wealth for the improvement of our species.

It’s time to get back to the Committee meeting and see how many of us are now simply a set of supercomputer subroutines acting on behalf of our former sets of states of energy we called humans…if only I was more sensitive to body odour and brain waves, I could tell the difference…

Movies of the day: “The Secret of the Grain” and “Watchmen.”

Change of Plans

The U.S. military decided to usurp the authority of the U.S. President, as Commander-in-Chief, to reverse orders to prepare attacks on Iran.

Instead, the military has set up a surprise invasion of Canada to protect the U.S. rightful access to oil sands reserves and stop the U.S. government’s covert agreement to turn over Canadian oil to China in exchange for continued access to China manufacturing facilities that will keep the majority of Americans happy (relatively speaking) buying cheap goods.

South Korea has not been asked to comment on this hilarious scenario sure to be quoted by wellmisinformed members of the U.S. Congress in order to be reelected on bogus issues unrelated to their constituency needs.

And Ricky Gervais is still as unfunny as ever but he never cared to begin with. At least he’ll be forgotten faster than that…uh…that singer, what’s her name?

The Way of the Motivational Speech Master

If all is not what it seems — a person is not his/her looks, a policy’s purpose becomes clear only after it’s implemented — then creating an autobiographical sketch is neither more nor less than what its contents imply.

Despite attempts at illusion, there is no me.

Despite the feeling that the author of this blog is uniquely different than seven billion others capable of interacting with an online interface, difference is relative.

One can align oneself with others who share a subset of similar traits/habits.

One can speak intelligently about the Quaternary extinction event.  One can yell and shout incoherently about one’s favourite sport.

One may fill one’s room with polyester-filled cloth objects one believes resembles living creatures.

One may drive one’s vehicle at speeds most others consider unsafe.

One may order one’s troops to bombard suburban neighbourhoods to quell a rebellion.

One may minimise one’s engagement with one’s immediate surroundings.

And yet, here we are at the end of the day, a species talking to itself.

Rare is the individual of our species that, except for birth, never has contact with another one of us in its lifetime.

We are social beings.

It seems inevitable that we represent our planet in expanding some version of our lifeforms into the solar system and behind.

Make it so.

Does a motivational speaker ask you to question your intended purpose or get you excited to overcome every obstacle to make your intended purpose reality?

Sometimes, the whirls and eddies caused by bumping into others who strongly seek goals or create a purposeful direction in their lives interrupts the author of this blog from moving forward toward achieving the inevitable.

Death is inevitable, too.

Does a set of states of energy have to have as strong an imprint on others as the set’s desire to motivate others to achieve a goal greater than all other goals combined?

As social beings, are we only inspired when we see a social being similar to us in some way encouraging us to embrace a vision we would not normally call our own?

How many inventions are more famous than the inventors?

How many social movements are more famous than their creators?

How many works of art exist separate from the artists?

If you can recall a single judicial decision, can you remember the judges and/or their arguments that led to the decision?

Do you know the name of any one person who was involved in paving the road over which you’ve traveled?

How about the person who packaged a can of food from which you’ve eaten?

In truth, we are isolated from most of the people who have the some of the greatest influences on our daily lives.

Sure, we say our friends and family are most important.

And we should.

However, we owe a large part of our lives to people we’ll never see or know.

I don’t know any of the people who invented the words I’m using here.

I don’t know the people who wrote the code to allow me to type on this notebook computer keyboard and post a blog entry.

I don’t know who designed the desk on which the notebook computer lies or the chair in which I sit.  I don’t know who created the factory in which either was made or the worker who boxed them for shipping to the point where they were purchased.

This set of states of energy, this “I,” does not remember every person, place, thing or idea that influenced the changes to the set of states of energy in the moment.

The eyes wander.

The fingers feel.

The thoughts spark from one synapse to another.

The “I” that existed — its autobiographical sketch — is neither wholly a truth nor wholly a lie.

Just a few remembered points on a curvy path.  Mileposts.  Signs.

Could one not also say that one’s autobiography contains the moments when one opened a door for someone else for no particular reason and let the door slam in front of someone else for the same nonparticular reason?

Is an autobiography the attempt to make our bumping into each other more than coincidental?

A skyscraper looks like it was designed for a particular purpose in mind but its uses change with time and the interpretation of its form moves with social opinion.

We rarely notice change as it happens because we treat most of the objects/people we meet as unchangeable — they are what they are in the moment.

So it is with the idea that we, or our representatives, branch out into the galaxy.

If asked, we’d create a version of the vision of populating outer space that would contain many components shared with others.

Some would want to spread peace.

Some would want to spread war.

Some would want to spread commerce.

Some would want to spread communally shared space.

No single person will get there alone.

We will carry our global cultural heritage with us, including inventions, social movements, art and judicial decisions.

A few people will stand out as strong personalities but most will never be know or will be forgotten who helped get us there.

Here, at the end of this blog, the inevitability of our species exploring the solar system is directly tied to our species’ ability to survive socioecological change on this planet.

Regardless of the reasons for general warming of Earth, the cost to us to adapt to these changes is ever-rising.  In other words, the value of scarce resources makes us increase the careful consideration of the use of those resources — inequality is a hot buzzword right now in many parts of the world.

So, yes, there are millions of starving people, millions more underemployed, and a few thousand who have more resources than they’ll ever be able to use in a lifetime.

That doesn’t stop the inevitability of populating places outside Earth’s ecosystem, simply changes the motivational speeches we give each other to stay on course, even if we have to tack with the prevailing winds of social change or get caught in temporary eddies.

Time is irrelevant.  Names and numbers on milestones fade, all of us forgotten eventually.

We’re getting there, slowly but surely, one autobiographical sketch piling on top of another like steps leading to our new homes on celestial bodies both natural and artificial in comparison.

Enjoy the journey because the definition of our destination and how long it’ll take to get there changes with each successive generation.

The way it is and the way it’s always been…

Laserline News

In a shock that has reverberated across all socioeconomic classes in Canada, word spread that the Canadian Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, often tagged the “Anti-Environmentalist” and the “Pipeline Piper of Oilands,” has been caught in a personal relationship with a moose.

When reached for comment, Harper’s spokesperson adamantly denied the prime minister would interact with anything remotely resembling nature.

Over the past two days, Clath Colkarch, a famous moose whisperer, has spent time with me to translate some of what the moose has finally decided to confess.

LN: So, Clath, tell us more.

CC: Is your name really LN?

LN: No, but our publication refuses to let journalists use their real names or initials for posted interviews.  The editors feel, and are backed up by the publisher, that putting the journalist into the picture distracts from the main event.

CC: Oh, well, then, what do you want to know?

LN: How do you first discover this relationship?

CC: Well, “LN,” I was working with the US branch of the IMWAUVAAA — that’s the International Moose Whisperers Association of Unemployed Veterinarian Assistants’ Associates, Amalgamated — which, when pronounced correctly, sounds like the call of the Albertan Pinstriped Moose.

As you may have heard, the heavy snows in the north this year have caused quite a few moose to go starving.  Well, I tagged along with a group of Fellows who wanted to feed moose that were in the public eye…you know, to build a lot of goodwill.  But mainly, they were wanting to find moose who weren’t too emaciated but were on the edge of death so they could put them out of their misery and take the meat back home.

In this economy, even the Fellows, life members of the Fellowship of Professed, Confirmed Fellows of the Vegan Dinner Table are resorting to eating meat, preferably from the carcass of a beast that has died naturally.

Well, we was hunting…I mean, we was assisting moose in weather-related recovery efforts not far from the PM’s place in Calgary when I felt a presence.

LN: A presence?  Do you mean something spiritual?

CC: Oh no.  There was definitely a large female moose stepping my right foot.  It felt quite painful, that presence.

LN: I suppose as a moose whisperer you must experience these kinds of feelings often, this close presence with moose?

CC: Not really.  The job of a moose whisperer is actually quite lonely.  Ain’t much call for moose whispering.  But it’s a duty I’ve sworn to uphold, at least until my wife gets tired of me sleeping late at home, when I’m home, that is, and not wandering the woods to shirk my household maintenance chores.

LN: I see.  Let’s return to the story.  Was this female moose the one in question?

CC: No.  She was a beauty, though.  Had my eye on her for quite some time so I was pleased she made the first move.  I can tell you most female moose expect the male to be aggressive but I ain’t like that.

LN: Uh-huh.  Before you continue, let me remind you this is a family-oriented publication and we may choose to edit out any questionable content.

CC: Oh, no problem.  Wasn’t like the lady and I took our relationship much further than a few nudges and feet stomping.  Besides, she was the one who told me about Harper’s mistress.

LN: Go on.

CC: I introduced the lady to the Fellows…

LN: Does the lady moose have a name?

CC: Yes, but she prefers to remain anonymous.

LN: Anony-moose, did you say?

CC:  Ha-ha.  That’s a good one.  Well, the Fellows, they got one look at her, how healthy she was, and wanted to know if there were any more like her around.  She being the trusting beast that she is, she led us to a harem out behind Harper’s country estate.  Hidden, it was, in plain sight.

LN: Our readers will certainly be interested in that revealing tidbit.

CC: As soon as I walked up to the lady’s friends, they started talking to me the way moose do, knowing me and hearing about my reputation ahead of time, mostly.

LN: I bet you heard some good tales.

CC: Actually, the tails don’t talk.  It’s from the mouth and from body language where I carry on the conversation.

LN: Yes, good point.  About Harper’s mistress?

CC: Oh, she was shy to begin with.  She was afraid she’d be ostracised by our species if the word got out.  I explained to her that I’d keep her secret as long as she wanted.  After feeding her a few snack treats that my wife has perfected for just these tender moments, the moose just opened up and told me everything.  Everything!

LN: I bet you were shocked.

CC: It’s not every day that you get to hear all the gossip that a harem of locked-up moose has been sharing and re-sharing until they’re about to burst.

LN: I’m sure the readers would like to hear one or two tales…err, I mean stories the moose told you.

CC: Apparently Harper, tired of moose, has been eying a panda.

LN: You don’t say.

CC: Yeah, and he’s willing to risk his relationship with the United States to get his hands on a panda.  The moose say that Harper and his wife want to make a threesome this time.

LN: A threesome?  Now THAT is news!  Anything else?

CC: The lead moose in the harem, Harper’s main squeeze, so to speak, says that rolling in the hay with Harper is not as great as you’d think it would be.  All Harper wants to do is talk about which politician he has it in for next.  Takes away from the romantic mood.

Harper’s mistress says that she misses the days of the strong, silent types that most male moose have become, even though at the time she thought she wanted more conversation and less competition amongst the guys about who has the largest set of antlers.  Now that she has a male who’s more conversation than antler, it’s less thrilling.

Besides, she fears he’s left her for a panda.  And that’s about as low an insult as a moose can take.  I’m afraid she’s going to try to starve herself to death to get down to the size of a panda.  I tried explaining to her that pandas are big-bellied and never shave but she won’t listen.  She just repeats the height and weight comparison between female moose and female pandas.

I think the straw that broke the back on this one was when the mistress overheard Harper referring to her at “that cow” on a mobile phone.  At that point, she lost it and put the word out to find me.

LN: Thrilling!  Absolutely thrilling!  Now, one more question.  I know your reputation is gold but do you have any solid evidence that backs up what this ‘mistress’ of Harper’s has told you?

CC: Of course.  We set up several webcams.

LN: Webcams?  That’s marvelous.

CC: But the video is rather explicit.  We have images of Harper brushing his mistress’ coat, feeding her by hand, and…

LN: Is that it?

CC: You did say this was a family publication, didn’t you?

LN: Yes.

CC: Well, the rest of the video has been edited for your readers.  If you want more, you’ll have to buy a copy of “Moose on the Loose: the untold story of Stephen Harper and his harem of ‘female cows,'” available for sale next week.

LN: I know our readers are anxiously awaiting the release of that book.

CC: The profit from the book goes to repatriating Harper’s harem to their natural surroundings.

LN: Great idea.  Thank you, Clath, for taking the time to talk with us.

CC: My pleasure.  Is my mike still on?  No?  Good, ’cause I’ve got a case of itches from these moose fleas that’d make a bear cry.

LN: Next week, we interview Chun Li, world-famous panda whisperer, about allegations of a ménage à trois taking place at the highest rank of political office here in Canada.

Until next time, keep those rumours pouring in and we’ll investigate the ones that increase our readership the most, which, in turn, make me a very rich person who wouldn’t dare consort with any of you readers unless you, too, ride in limousines and take baths in champagne.

Check our website for videos of today’s interview as well as in-depth analysis of the shocking sight of Harper intimately interacting with his moose mistress!

Does your government put a price on life?

Do sets of states of energy have an equivalent value in a labour/investment credit system?

This paragraph implies as much:

The Obama administration says insurers can provide birth control for free because contraception reduces costs for them overall by preventing expensive-to-cover pregnancies, as well as reducing the risk of ovarian cancer.

“It is now quite lawful for a Catholic woman to avoid pregnancy by a resort to mathematics, though she is still forbidden to resort to physics or chemistry.” — H.L. Mencken

“The price of freedom of religion, or of speech, or of the press, is that we must put up with a good deal of rubbish.” — Robert Jackson

“The word ‘good’ has many meanings.  For example, if a man were to shoot his grandmother at a range of five hundred yards, I should call him a good shot, but not necessarily a good man.” — G.K. Chesterton

“The art of government consists in taking as much money as possible from one class of citizen to give to the other.” — Voltaire

“If you steal from one author, it’s plagiarism; if you steal from many, it’s research.” — Wilson Mizner

“I don’t care what is written about me so long as it isn’t true.” — Dorothy Parker