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July 18, 2007
Fiction & Art, History & Society, In Other Words
(An indictment of the sedentary class, excerpted from an 1862 essay by Henry David Thoreau in The Atlantic)
I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least—and it is commonly more than that—sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements. You may safely say, A penny for your thoughts, or a thousand pounds. When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics and shopkeepers stay in their shops not only all the forenoon, but all the afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs, so many of them—as if the legs were made to sit upon, and not to stand or walk upon—I think that they deserve some credit for not having all committed suicide long ago.
I, who cannot stay in my chamber for a single day without acquiring some rust, and when sometimes I have stolen forth for a walk at the eleventh hour, or four o’clock in the afternoon, too late to redeem the day, when the shades of night were already beginning to be mingled with the daylight, have felt as if I had committed some sin to be atoned for—I confess that I am astonished at the power of endurance, to say nothing of the moral insensibility, of my neighbors who confine themselves to shops and offices the whole day for weeks and months, aye, and years almost together. I know not what manner of stuff they are of, sitting there now at three o’clock in the afternoon, as if it were three o’clock in the morning. Bonaparte may talk of the three-o’clock- in-the-morning courage, but it is nothing to the courage which can sit down cheerfully at this hour in the afternoon over against one’s self whom you have known all the morning, to starve out a garrison to whom you are bound by such strong ties of sympathy.
Filed by The Editor on July 18th, 2007
May 19, 2006
Fiction & Art
(continued from scene one…)
ON SCREEN:
An empty document window. Letters are spilling forward like the crest of a rolling wave.
Unfocused. Unsatisfied. Underwhelmed.
But it was never as bleak as all that. In fact, it all sounded pretty cool. Building a cottage. Writing a script. Traveling the world. Then back to work. 100 hour weeks. $100,000 contracts. A day at the spa. A night in Vegas. All-nighters spaced between social preoccupations like the worn-out discs of a middle-age spine.
Unable to make meaningful decisions.
He grabs a sweating beer from his desk and downs the whole thing. It’s gonna be a long night.
After a the last sumptuous gulp, his fingers suddely spring to life again with a short bust of inspiration.
“Humanity is distraction.”
The cursor blinks patiently as his mind folds back into a deep and profound thought…
(continued)
Filed by The Editor on May 19th, 2006
April 17, 2006
Fiction & Art
INT. TOWNHOUSE ANTECHAMBER - NIGHT
Forty-something guy in a suit is just getting home from work. It’s already dark, and the house is empty. First things first: a beer from the fridge. Next, a tug at the knot of his tie.
He checks his watch, then reaches back into the fridge and grabs another coldie, two peanut butter oatmeal bars and a jar of fresh Nutella.
INT. TOWNHOUSE LOFT
The room is massive. 12′ ceilings. A wall of shaded glass, leading out to a two-story terrace. The blinds are halfway drawn, and light from the city paints the room in two.
He places his dinner on a long glass desk. The monstrous display in front of him jumps back to life, but he continues over to the window and shuts off a nearby light.
For some reason, he can’t lower the blinds all the way. A glance outside through the 3″ gap reveals nothing out of the ordinary. The streets are empty, and he’s clearly in a nice part of town.
He looks up and sees a small knot tied a few inches above the end of the string. Loosening the knot between his teeth, the blinds glide shut with a single effortless stroke.
Starting back toward the computer, he tosses his blazer on the back of an leather recliner, pulls off his tie completely and unfastens the top button.
Three bites later, the oatmeal bars are gone, and he licks the superfluous Nutella from his manicured fingertips.
Next, a quick hand wash, followed by a few loud tunes on the stereo.
Before he even sits down, the keyboard is already rumbling…
(continued)
Filed by The Editor on April 17th, 2006
January 10, 2006
Fiction & Art, Travel & Life
2005 was a turning point of sorts; more sideways than forward, but welcome in every sense of the word. Writing became a very important priority, and it looks to remain so for quite some time. As I continue to explore the real reason I’m here, in this place, at this time, with ideas that are still begging for a place among the gentle white pages of history, I’ve come to realize something tremendously important: thought itself is fleeting without action. In fact, when left alone to brood and fester, thought is the very essence of inertia, like a cold and unmoveable stone, tied to the ankle of every brilliant idea you’ve ever had.
(more…)
Filed by The Editor on January 10th, 2006
November 11, 2005
Fiction & Art, Politics & World Affairs
in afghan fields, the poppies blow
beneath the mountains, row on row
that mark our peace; and in the skies
the army, bravely singing, flies
scarce heard amid their guns below
we are the dead, short days ago
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
loved, and were loved, and now we lie
in afghan fields
take up our quarrel with the foe:
to you, from failing hands we throw
the torch, be yours to hold it high
if ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in afghan fields
Filed by The Editor on November 11th, 2005
August 5, 2005
Fiction & Art, Science & Technology
Math is truly a beautiful thing. It’s a simple and elegant truth that isn’t distracted by words or feelings, and at the same time, explains virtually everything we see and hear and feel. In some cases, it’s simplicity is downright brilliant, and in other cases, it’s brilliance is surprisingly simple. That’s not to suggest that math doesn’t have its inherent complexities — as well as some extremely unusual by-products — but deep at the heart of it all, there’s always some important underlying truth.
In the case of fractal geometry, that truth is inherently beautiful, both in its underlying mathematical functionality, and in its tremendous visual appeal. Every spiraling swirl you see in these stunning Julia Sets is a marvel of algebraic innovation. Loosely defined, the pictures represent “a set of points…for which nearby points do not exhibit similar behaviour under repeated iterations…” And yet, with all this dissimilar behaviour, the images produced seem anything but random at all. In fact, they seem distinctly organized.
As computers grew to prominence through the end of the last millennium, interested observers have finally been able to gawk at the brilliance of their complex algebra, and at the same time, marvel at the natural beauty it creates. So what exactly are these “fractals” anyway?
(more…)
Filed by The Editor on August 5th, 2005
