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Curiosities

Here is a link to my first collection of short stories. It was for my Advanced Creative Writing class, but I think you still might enjoy it!

https://www.dropbox.com/s/3v5yifu0d87av42/Curiosities.docx

#curiosities #short stories #collection #fiction

In The Beginning

In the beginning, everything was created. Where else would it come from? After a long time, Mankind recognized the difference between what rose overhead and what lay beneath. They named these heavens and the earth. These were the first words. All else was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. The Creator said, Let there be light. Darkness was the third word, for those that did not understand the first two; and Light was the fourth, for those that did. And The Creator saw the light, that it was good; and divided the light from the darkness. Then Mankind named Day and Night, metaphors for Light and Darkness. This was the beginning of understanding, and it was good. But understanding became more difficult. It is easier to describe Light and Dark, Up and Down, by looking at its opposite. But what is the opposite of an Ocean? Land? Then what do you call Mud; or Swamp; Bog or Fen; Mire, Moor, or Marsh? Understanding took a very, very long time. After Mankind settled on these points, in some fashion or other in a variety of languages and symbols, a Book was written to pass on that understanding. This is that book. This is the first story:

The first human was woman. Her name was Eve. The first man was named Adam. But at this point in the story, he is a little boy and she is a young woman. Eve begat Adam. Man comes from woman, after all. They lived in a fertile land between rivers, but at this point in time, they did not have names for the rivers. They did not have names for anything yet. In the days when there was no word for curiosity, Adam was curious. It was he who first named Heaven and Earth. It was he who named everything. It took a very, very long time. But he didn’t name them yet. One day, which is to say the period of time when the greater light ruled the sky as Adam would eventually name it, Adam grew hungry. He tired of eating roots; he wanted more. Eve tried to feed him nuts and seeds, and these Adam refused as well. Adam did not want anything found among the Earth. He looked to the tallest tree in the midst of their garden. The tree had fruit. Adam did not call it fruit then, but he knew he wanted to partake of it. But the fruit was out of reach. Eve saw the apple in Adam’s eye, and reached to help her son. But the fruit was too high. Eve sat down and relented, and found a tuber to satisfy her hunger. Adam sat and pondered. He knew he could not reach, and he knew Eve could not reach. All these things he knew, but this knowledge did not help him to get the apple. He knew that the river was cold, and the rocks in the sun were warm. He knew not to eat the red berries, for the birds never go near them. He knew that the lesser light chases the greater light across the sky. But he didn’t know how to reach the sky. The bark on the tree was slick; he could not hold on. He could not hit it with a rock, and make it fall to him. He was too short to jump there. Perhaps he would grow taller than Eve one day, and then he could reach.

But then, he understood. He could not reach Heaven. Nor could Eve. Not alone. But together, they could. Adam said unto Eve, Heaven. She understood. This was the first word. Adam climbed atop her shoulders, and mother lifted son to Heaven. He reached with all his length and grabbed hold of the apple. He plucked it from the branch. He had reached Heaven, and it tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before. Adam released the branch he held to give the apple to her, but he slipped. He toppled from her shoulders and landed with a thud. He tasted blood. And dirt. The apple tasted better. The look on Eve’s face said she thought the same, as juice dribbled down her chin. Adam sat up from the ground, and patted the place where he landed. Adam said unto Eve, Earth. She understood.

#in the beginning

I Heard Once That They Have Less Lives Than We Do

^ This is Marc Chagall's painting "Half Past Three." My creative writing professor passed out random postcards and images of paintings. This is what I was handed. We were told to write a monologue from someone either in the scene or observing the scene. This is what I wrote:

I Heard Once That They Have Less Lives Than We Do

I'm starting to get hungry. I ate all the food within reach, and I've lived here too long for a mouse to come by. They aren't that stupid. I can't get out any of the doors or windows, so I guess I'm stuck here. You might think I'd be more upset at the situation I have found myself in. Perhaps I am upset. Perhaps I am more than upset. After all, I am pretending that there is a "you" on the other side of this conversation. But you aren't listening. You aren't even real. You're just a construct of my starved imagination. I would say that I'm talking to myself in order to stave off insanity, but I realize how insane that sounds. I would talk to master, but he doesn't respond. Not anymore, at least. He hasn't moved for a few days now. He's starting to smell. Before this predicament, back when I had food, a stranger came to visit. Well, he was a stranger to me. I never smelled him before, but my master must have. He let the stranger in. After a while, they started to have an argument. It was quite heated, and very loud; normally I only wake from my naps to the sound of food being poured for me. I keep imagining I hear that sound, but there's never anything there... Sorry, I digress. The stranger was shouting at my master and my master was shouting back. Suddenly, the stranger pulled a shiny object out from under his coat and swung it at my master's neck. My master looks different now. His head doesn't sit the way it used to. The strange man ran away, leaving the shiny thing on the table. I wish he left the door open, but he didn't. I wish he left food, but he didn't do that either. The shiny thing started dripping red stuff onto the tablecloth. My master wouldn't like that so I tried to clean it off. It hurt my tongue, so I stopped. After a while, my tongue healed up, but my master's head still sits wrong. I don't remember how long its been since he's put food in my bowl, but at least I'm thankful for the dripping faucet and the toilet. I lick his arm to see if he will get up, but I know he won't.

#i heard once that they have less lives than we do

Stealing Is Bad

To whom it may concern,

Our country isn’t what it used to be, but I don’t know how it got to this. Probably inaction. So I’m changing that. I’m telling you this story in the short time I have left in the hopes that you can learn from it, whoever you may be. This is the story of the last person I will ever meet. Remember him…

"Thanks for walking me home," I said.

The only response was a rough shove through the door and a hard clank when it slammed shut behind me. In hindsight, he probably got shit like that all the time, so he just assumed I was being a sarcastic asshole. I wasn't, though. Honest. I needed all the friends I could get here.

Speaking of friends, I guessed I should meet the new roomie...

I noticed he was sleeping. I poked around for a bit then.

Nice digs, I thought. Better than I was expecting, but only a slight downgrade from my last apartment. Bars on the window. I supposed I should have also expected that. On the bright side, I'll be that much safer. I don't have to walk far from my bed to take a piss. Gotta keep looking on that bright side. Keep breathing, and look on the bright side. Not much privacy through the big bay windows, but at least we get a view of the block. Breath again. The roommate doesn’t seem to be much of a decorator. Bright side. Maybe he was going for a minimalist, zen thing. It’s relaxing. Breath

I looked over at him to try and divine some idea of character from his sleeping face when I noticed his eyes are open the slightest crack (awake or dreaming?). My glance turned into a stare because of this strange detail. I noticed another thing: he isn’t breathing (holding breath or dead?). I moved forward to rouse him from his sleep, hoping that I don’t feel a cold rigid body.

Inches away from his shoulder, he lurched from his supine position and threw his back to the wall, as far from me as he could get. I may have jumped a little. He gulped in some air from the minute or two he went without it. I figured he must have been watching me, trying to judge me as a threat or not. He sat with his knees hugged tightly to his chest, which was still rapidly rising and falling. I guess I was a threat. Who woulda thunk it?

“D-d-don’t touch me,” he managed to stammer.

Trying to calm him, I slapped on my most charming of smiles and extended a hand, not too close and with my hand slightly tilted, palm up, to show non-aggressiveness (I’m good with first impressions. I had to be.). “The name’s Jim.”

He twitched slightly when I put out my hand, but he didn’t break eye contact. He started breathing slower now, but still not at ease. No reply.

“And you are?” I asked.

No answer.

“Look. We’re gonna be living together here for a while. I’m not a bad guy. Honest. I just wanna figure out how to survive in this place, and then survive. I hoped you might give me some tips being the veteran of the two of us. Not that I think you’re a bad guy either, of course, it’s just that this is my first day, so I kind of assumed you’ve been here longer….”

Still nothing.

“Okay. You can either tell me your name or I’ll just refer to you as Prisoner 748957365 (printed in black letters on his left chest, on an orange field). And you don’t want that do you?”

The silence is painful. No. Wait. The bright side. At least he won’t talk my ear off. Or maybe he’s deaf and this is useless. I didn’t care, I kept talking. Maybe he’ll warm up to me. And at the very least I can clear my head. Now that I’m here, I finally have some time to think. I sat down on my bunk, below his.

“You know, this is my first time inside a prison. On the outside (jeeze, I sound like I’ve been in here for years already.), you never really think of these places. You know they’re around. Heck I pass one every time I drive to the in-laws (That’s not gonna happen for a while). But seriously, if you don’t think about them, they just magically disappear. The world seems a little safer.”

“Safer?” 748957365 asks, his face suddenly dangled upside down in front of mine. I jumped a little there too.

“Uh. Yeah, safer.”

“The world can’t get any safer…” He retreated back up to his bunk.

“Well it’s safer now that I’m off the streets,” I say sarcastically. He didn’t get the joke. “You didn’t get the joke. I said it’s safer because I—“

“I got the joke,” he says bitterly, “It’s safer because you’re here, even though you’re not a criminal.”

“That’s what I tried to tell them. It was all a misunderstanding. I didn’t steal any—“

“Save it. I’m not telling you anything.”

“I get it. Everyone says they’re innocent, but I—“

“I said save it. I know you’re innocent. You’re just pretending to be a criminal so you can get all buddy buddy with me and get me to confess. Well it was a stupid plan and I figured it out and I’m not saying anything!”

I had no idea what he’s talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Keep it up. I don’t care. It’s not gonna work.”

This wasn’t the welcome I was expecting. I don’t see a bright side anymore. “Alrighty then. Maybe I will keep it up. My name is Jim. James Lewis Cardon. I’m from Hartford, Connecticut. I’m a door-to-door salesman. Was a door-to-door salesman. I sold knives. I have a wife, and a little girl. I love baseball. I think jello is disgusting. I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was five. I read one self-help book in my life called “The Bright Side,” and I finished it about a month ago. I read it ‘cause I thought the world was fucked up, but nobody admits it. Everybody thinks it but nobody says it. They’re afraid that if they say it, they’ll get sent here. They’re afraid that if they mention it to a friend, that friend will rat them out. That friend will call the Patriot Board and label them a dissenter. That friend is just doing their civic duty. Protecting the Nation, they say. And it’s fucked up.” I take a breath. “There. Happy now, 748957365?”

“Don’t call me that.”

I stood up, paced. “Think I could make all that up on the spot if I was some interrogator? Think I would say those things if I worked for the government?! I’m stuck in here with you, whether you like it or not. And I sure as hell don’t. Fuck the bright side (the book wasn’t even that good). The world is fucked up! There, I said it. I’m already in here, what else can they do to me? And you wanna know why I’m in here?”

748957365’s eyes are wide. He regressed to the state he was in when we first met. “Uh- no – uh. Um. Sure. W-why?”

“Oh-ho-ho! Let me tell you. This is a damn good story. Straight from fuckin’ ‘1984.’ I already told you I sold knives door-to-door. Well, my tag line was “Can I steel a moment of your time?” Get it? Steel? It was funny. People liked it. I sold a lot of housewives a lot of knives. But some patrolling surveillance truck picked it up. Heard me say “steal.” They thought I meant the bad kind. I make a bad pun to get some business and I get arrested for armed robbery. Sucks doesn’t it?”

“Uh- maybe..”

“You bet your ass it sucks. Three hundred years ago, when this country was founded, it was supposed to be free. People don’t even know what that means anymore. All they want is safe. Jane Doe the Housewife is trying to upgrade to a new set of cutlery from a stranger ‘cause she can’t buy them online anymore (the background checks take forever) when a SWAT team blows through the front and back doors getting mud on her carpet. Course she’s gonna point fingers at me and tell them everything they wanna hear to get another villain off the street. I bet you know exactly what I feel like. How’d you get in here.”

Nothing.

I relaxed a bit after that tirade. It felt good to finally get it off my chest. Maybe 748957365 could use it too. “At least tell me how long you’ve been stuck in here.”

After a long pause, “14 years.”

“You gotta be shittin’ me. But—but, you can’t be older than thirty!”

“I’m twenty-six.” He said, as if he were revealing a secret.

“You got put in here when you were twelve?” I couldn’t believe it. I knew things were bad. But twelve? I sat down on my bunk again. “Twelve?”

The voice came from above me. I didn’t see his face when he told me. I didn’t even ask this time. But he told me.

“I played little league baseball. We won the last game of the season. They must have been listening when I called my Grandpa on the phone and told him how we won. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, and I’m sitting on third. It was like a movie. The pitcher threw a wild ball into the dirt, the catcher couldn’t find it. I stole home.”

I never got his name. They must have been listening. That must have been the confession they were waiting for. They came for 748957365 right after he said that. They’ll come for me tomorrow. Don’t say anything. They’re listening. But tell everyone this story. Make them remember Prisoner 748957365.

- James Lewis Cardon -

#stealing is bad

I'm Writing Again!!!

Hey everyone (if anyone is out there that is...)! After way too long, I decided I'm writing on this thing again. I'm not promising anything fancy this time. No "I'm-gonna-write-every-day-for-three-months" empty promises. But I will throw some things up here every once and a while. Most of the time, they will probably be writing assignments for my Advanced Creative Writing course. But some of you were mad when I stopped (which filled my ego to no end, so thank you). And I need the practice. So here's my first entry in a long while / my first assignment for this class. I call it:

The Empty Room

----------------------------------------------------------------

You find yourself standing in an empty room. Only a moment ago it was full, but that moment has passed. You wish it didn’t. There are still people in the room. There are more people in the room than you can count on your fingers. But less than fingers AND toes. It doesn’t matter; they don’t fill the room like they did a moment ago. That moment. It happened seconds ago, but already a sense of dread rises in the back of your throat. You can’t swallow it down. You can’t have the moment back. The room is empty. There are things in the room: desks, and chairs, and bookshelves, and posters, and a fake apple attached to the end of a stick used to point at things out of reach. The desks and chairs are attached and inseparable units. They are made from some unnamable plastic popular for a moment in 1978, never to be used again. The color lies between orange and brown. You find them ugly and uncomfortable. The bookshelves have many books. You haven’t read most. The posters show many things: LeVar Burton tells you to “Read” and a kitten tells you to “Hang in There.” You notice all of these things while the room is empty. You wish the others would notice them too. They only notice you. You wish the others would make the room full again. They used to be your friends. They don’t seem friendly now. They just stare at you. Their mouths hang open, but no words come out. Not like a moment ago. Everyone was making the room full and no one noticed you. You made the room empty. Again, you try and swallow back the dread. It doesn’t work. You try to fill the room on your own. You tell them it was an accident. You tell them you didn’t mean it. You tell them it slipped out. You tell them you heard others say it at recess. You tell them you didn’t know. Your voice is small. The room is still empty. When the room was full, they heard you perfectly. Why is that? You talk louder now, and faster. You’re afraid. You beg and plead. You barter with pencils and pens, erasers and stickers. You’ll do anything, you say, if only they don’t tell. The room is still empty. You wish the room was full again. In the emptiness, you hear the latch of the door behind you lift. The fullness of the hallway spills into the room until the door closes. You turn to see Ms. Smith, returning from some errand. When she left, the room filled quickly. That was before the moment. The room is empty now. It won’t be for long. An ensemble of second grade tattle-tales and exaggerators fill the room, as if on cue, serenading the teacher of my misdeed from every vantage point. We’ll just have to call your mother, she says. You wish the room stayed empty…

#I'm writing again #the empty room

Day 35

Sound Is Vibration

- And I'm pickin' up good vibrations. Normally I walk to class with headphones on. I'm not trying to be anti-social. I just love me some good tunes. These aren't the good vibrations I'm talking about, though.

Every once and a while, I forgo the headphones and listen to the sounds of the city instead. I really listen. I try to hear everything I can. I did it today. I concentrated on my footsteps, the engines of cars, leaves blowing on the the ground, and conversations of people near me (not the meaning, just the sounds, I'm not trying to drop any eaves). Anything I could point my ear to, I listened intently.

This is even better when its raining. Like today. A world of subtle minuteness opens up in a wet world. You get the myriad pitter patter of the plethora of droplets hitting your hood. Footsteps are no longer dry gratings. Instead, you can hear every tread as it peels away from the damp concrete and add its voice to the chorus of soundscape. They are large damp. They contain moist multitudes (sorry, couldn't resist a Whitman reference).

The spray from a rotating wheel is the splash cymbal. Birds are the flutes. The drone of industrial heating units is the upright bass. Squealing bike brakes are the violin. It is a symphony.

I know what you're thinking, and no. I haven't done shrooms. I'm just trying to open myself up to my other senses. When we say the world is beautiful, we picture it. We don't hear the beauty, or taste it, or touch it, or smell it. But why not? Maybe I'm not too far off from all the people resorting to psychedelic fungi.

The world is intricate. Sense it.

#day 35 #sound is vibration

Day 34

Happy Censorship Day, Everyone!

- I apologize for the increase in political discourse that can't stop flowing out of my head. Maybe its because I recently started keeping up with news again after a lengthy sabbatical on the basis that the world was becoming a scarier place...

Well, hello again, Daily Show! I'm back, BBC. I've missed you so, Google News.

...Oh.

The world is even scarier then when I left it.

Crud...

Well, I guess I can do what little I can to help. No, I did not Occupy Philly. It stinks way too much at City Hall right now. But I did write my Pennsylvanian Representatives about the new Protect IP Act that is making its way all too easily through our House and Senate.

If you didn't hear of it, I laugh at the irony. The bill will give even more power to our government and the corporations that lobby it to censor the internet. Yes, you heard me correctly. Just another avenue of free and liberated speech is potentially being cut off from us. How much more will we allow?

Here is a video explaining the whole situation. They will do a better job explaining it then I can. They also have a link or two to point you in directions to try and stop this from happening. The basics of the bill are, in essence, a way for corporations, mainly media conglomerates, to block all US citizens from information that is under copyright infringement.

In layman's terms: Hollywood is pissed off 'cause we can download their movies and television series without paying. So if there is a website that hosts this material, or links to it, or even mentions it in passing, the corporations can ask a judge to shut that site down (if they are based in the US) or block you from typing that websites name into the address bar (if they are based in a more "liberal" country).

However, any 2-bit internet nerd worth his weight in Doritos and Carpel Tunnel Syndrome knows that the internet is not run on those addresses alone. You want to see Google.com's real address? It's http://74.125.224.72/. Any domain on the web can be accessed by numbers like these. The only people that this bill will harm are the blind masses that don't understand this simple fact.

And trust me: these aren't the people trying to download bootlegged versions of Avatar in 3D. I'm not trying to argue for downloading illegal content. That is an argument for another day. But there are plenty of other issues with this bill. Say you upload a video to Facebook that features the hilarity of your friend showing off his two left feet while dancing to some pop hit. If that pop hit is copyrighted (and you can bet your ass it is), then a corporation will have the ability to appeal to a judge to either sue you for copyright infringement, delete the video, delete your account, or even go so far as to shut down Facebook. Mark Zuckerberg will be forced to censor every user to prevent this from happening so he can keep his empire.

Remember that recent revolution in Libya and the activism in Egypt? Didn't the media make a big stink about how much social media sites played a part in all that? Well, what if our government chose to shut down all those sites? They will have that power easily, if they can simply prove to a judge that this site has overstepped the blurry and convoluted legalese of the bill. That won't be that difficult to do. I'm not trying to be paranoid, but it seems as if we are allowing the dismantling of our fire escapes one by one. Mind you, China and Libya are just a few examples of countries with censored internet. We try to separate ourselves from that form of government, but then we go and do this.

The difference is that those governments force it upon their citizens. We, however, allow it to happen...

#day 34 #happy censorship day everyone

Day 33

Why I Love Climbers

- Today I competed in the first annual Mt Gretna Climbing Competition. Awesome, right? Well it would've been better if I had anybody to go with... Or would it?

For the uninitiated, climbing "competition" might give the wrong impression. Sure, the strongest climber wins, but its about the farthest thing from a competition that you can get. You still have the competitive spirit to push you to your limits and climb as hard as you can. But you are still only competing against yourself, not the other competitors. What other sport is like that? Its you versus a rock, and everybody else is fighting their own battle with their own rock. So, not really a competition. Its just wicked fun.

But back to the original problem. I assumed I had a few people from the grand old TCC to go along with me. However, I assumed wrong. But I already paid the registration fee. So I gotta get my free t-shirt and burrito. And I might as well get some outside climbing in, too.

So with the lonely outlook of a solo session, I drove the whole way to Mt Gretna. The comp started, and I started climbing next to a few guys. It turns out that these guys happened to climb about as hard as I do. They were pretty cool characters, too. So I got to hang out with a ton of new friends all day. And I had an awesome time. Don't even know what I was worried about.

It also helps that I was climbing, which can take my mind off of anything. But that is a post for another day.

How about tomorrow?

#day 33 #why i love climbers

Day 32

The Beauty Of Cold

-I'll be the first to tell you that I hate cold. Its just no fun. Its crippling, biting, and shivering. There aren't any more leaves on the trees. There's less sunshine. You have to wear tons of layers to keep warm, and most of the time, those layers don't even seem like they're working. You don't go outside as much anymore. But the worst part: when you are outside, you keep your head down to keep out the wind.

But you also keep out your fellow human beings. This is why we have such things as Seasonal Affective Disorder. Sure it is bleak and gloomy outside. But shacking yourself up against that cold will only cut you out of community. And that is the true reason that people get depressed over the winter months.

After painting such a bleak picture of cold, why am I then saying it has an inherent beauty? No, I'm not obsessed with the depressed (although I do thoroughly enjoy William Blake, Robert Browning, and Edgar Allen Poe). Its actually because I see the silver lining it provides.

Whereas summer offers you the opportunity to go out and do a lot of things with a lot of people, winter offers you the opportunity to do some things with a few people. Summer is the time to make friends, but winter is the time to strengthen those friendships. Summer is extroverted, but winter is intimate.

Now I don't necessarily mean that you must have a significant other to share a blanket and some hot chocolate with, although you certainly can (and I certainly will, nudge nudge, wink wink). All you have to do is get a few close friends to brave the elements over to your place for some quality time. Enjoy their company over some food, or games, or beers. Heck, you could even start going through a new TV series together.

The very worst thing you can do, though, is shut yourself off from humanity. The silver lining of winter is only there if you take advantage of it. So yes, I do hate cold temperatures. But it does offer a chance to get closer to the people you love to be around.

Plus, the extra people at your place means extra body heat, which means lower heating bills! You will have to return the favor and go over to their place every once and a while, though...

#day 32 #the beauty of cold

Day 31

Politics Shmolitics

- My last post had to do with a lot of politics and economics. I apologize for that. Normally those topics are the farthest things from my mind. But is that a bad thing?

I get my news from the daily show. When I see a paper, I go for the comics or the crossword puzzle. I have had a nightmare where I was forced to take a regular old Econ class. I haven't even voted yet. Ever. Politics just ain't my bag, baby.

I do hold political views. Kind of. I'm not totally ignorant of this sphere of society. I just don't care. Call me a terrible citizen. Again, I don't care. Forcing me to do my civic duty just reinforces my thoughts that we don't actually live in a free world. I don't think any politician can save us. I think we are beyond saving.

Sometimes the couch just gets too dirty to clean. Its easiest to leave it out on the curb and get a new one. Our government is that couch. Its too big, and restricted by too much red tape to actually do anything anymore. Or at least that is the thought that lives in my ignorant and uninformed head.

But enough of this junk. Like I said before, I don't care. I mean, I care a lot. I'm just picking my battles. This isn't one of them. I have other things to spend my time on.

Is this a terrible mindset for me to have?

#day 31 #politics shmolitics

Day 30

Statistics Scare Me

- Well the bad ones at least. But something scares me even more. When we are faced with those jarring realities of our unpleasant present, we usually do nothing about it...

In my one class, we have been discussing Karl Marx's Das Kapital, a critical analysis of the failings of a Capitalist political economy. We've been born and bred to believe Communism is on par with Nazism, but have you ever sat down and read this book, or even thought critically about this topic at all? I'm going to assume "no," but only on the ignorant basis that I never have either. Maybe you should.

What you will come to see (unless you have significantly higher powers of perception than me, and I have been blinded by fancy-pants logical reasoning...) is that the Capitalist system is exploitative, increasingly inefficient, and heading towards a moment of singularity/entropy. The system will fail. The basis of this system is that a capitalist pays for labor as if it is a commodity. However the laborer works above and beyond their actual wage value. This surplus goes straight to the capitalist to retain or, if he is a true capitalist, to reinvest into the system to gain more labor or commodities to eventually sell. This self-perpetuates exponentially until you see the income gap that we see today.

According to The Economist, the average annual salary of the top 100 CEOs is $37.5 million. Let me add in all the zeros for effect: $37,500,000. This is over "1000" times as much as the average worker! That is messed up. But the gap is ever increasing.

Another central tenet of Marx's theory is that capitalist eat up other capitalists. Case in point, Google acquired 57 companies this year alone. Fifty Seven! As a company gains more and more capital, it can squash or integrate its competition, creating a gigantic snowball effect. The documentary Food, Inc., which we also watched for the same class, discusses the major players in the meat industry. Eighty some percent of the entire industry is controlled by about 4 or 5 major corporations. This is opposed to those same companies holding just 25% a few decades ago.

As these companies get bigger and bigger, they will undoubtedly become more and more inefficient. They will cease to specialize in one market and will expand to fit as many as they can. How many foods are made with corn? Think about high fructose corn syrup, maltodextrin, di-glycerides, and all the other chemicals with obscure names that are engineered from corn. These chemicals are major ingredients in anything from ketchup, cola, charcoal briquettes, and cheese. From the chips that you eat, to the salsa you dip them in, the same food stuffs are used by the same companies to create an illusion of diversity.

All this information has been thrown in my general direction at it scares the shit out of me. These are scary times we are living in. And I don't mean that we should pick up and migrate to the golden era of yester-year. They had their own problems. And we have ours.

But the thing that scares me even more than all of these statistics is that life will go on. We will end up at the grocery store sometime this week, and we'll pick up the same mass-produced crap we always do, and we will forget about these scary little statistics, but life will go on. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it isn't.

But what can I do about it???

#day 30 #statistics scare me

Day 29

We Are The Champions!

- That's right. For the first time in Temple University history, our Ultimate team went 6-0 as the undefeated champions in a tournament. This was our first championship trophy. Ever.

And I'm psyched. We played Princeton, again, and Rowan, again, today and beat them even more handily then we did yesterday. It was unfortunate that we didn't get a chance to play any new teams, but that's how it worked out in the brackets. At least we knew how they played and we could react accordingly and instantly, instead of trying to figure them out mid-game like yesterday. We knew their gameplan, and we knew ours, and we took first place.

Did I say I am psyched? Cause I am. Its unfortunate that this might very well be our last tournament until spring, though. Not only is the weather going to start taking a turn for the worst, but there simply just won't be many tournaments being held.

Hopefully we can keep this intensity until then, and make sure we don't skimp on practice over winter break. Hopefully I stay in shape, too. Ugh. I'll have to get out and run a bunch (sarcastic yay!....) and try to throw around with some people (actual yay!).

So, anyone looking to toss disc in the H-burg over the chilliest of breaks?

#day 29 #we are the champions!

Day 28

Tuckered Out

- So my previous post dealt with some potential reasons that I was failing at my daily postings. I discovered the true culprit today.

Ultimate Frisbee Tournaments.

We played one today, and I almost fell asleep on this keyboard, literally, while trying to think of something to write. Good thing I snapped back to reality.

Oh, and if you're wondering, we kicked some butt today. We went 4-0, beating Princeton, Rowan, Swarthmore, and Rutgers! Pretty BA if you ask me. Hopefully we can keep it up tomorrow and take first! But these games are ridiculous. They have been games to 15, which doesn't entirely seem like much, but its a big difference from the usual 12 or 13, especially when you multiply that by 4 long, hard-fought games. And the teams were pretty even, usually, which means we kept turning it over and then making them turn it over, too. That always makes for longer, and harder, games.

But now, I think I'm gonna turn off this computer and fall asleep on my pillow. It seems like such a better idea than this keyboard. I'd rather not have that imprint on my face all day tomorrow.

So good night all, and wish us luck!

#day 28 #tuckered out

Day 27

It's Been A While...

- I love how I said I would write something every day for 3 whole months, without fail, and then I fail. Scratch that. I hate it. I don't love it all. But it happened. Why?

Here is my thought process. I come up with a goal. I don't want to say it was lofty, because in all actuality, it should have been easy. I never said the posts had to be long. I never said that they had to be good. I never said that I couldn't write about something I already wrote about. All I said was that I wanted to write something. Every day. Until January.

There is a problem with the above goal, however. I don't think it was specific enough. When I took art classes in high school, we always had to draw something in our sketchbook every Friday. Usually there was some theme or constraint to follow, like "War" or "Angles" or "Perspective." But every once and a while, we had an open topic. A free draw. And in my four years of high school art classes, I never handed in a drawing on those days. I took a zero. I never knew what to draw.

But I want to get over this. I was doing all right for a while, but then I got busy over a weekend with an Ultimate Frisbee tournament. I had plenty of things to write about, but I was tired and busy, so I skipped it. Once I skipped a day, I skipped another. Then it became easier and easier to pass it off.

So maybe I'm over my non-specific problem and venturing into apathy. So here I am, trying to stave of my inaction by diving back into the posts after a week long respite. I once again vow that I'll write every day from now till January. And to go even farther, I'll make up those lost posts. So by the end of these 92 days, I should have 92 posts. That means I need to do 8 extra posts in addition to the daily ones.

Wish me luck!

#day 27 #it's been a while...

Day 26

Serotonin and Chess, Part Deux

- I think I let that last post simmer for long enough. I'll move on. I did mention that I came to some sort of conclusion to the posed question throughout my retelling of the discussion, and here it is.

The rules of chess are still biological. As bizarre as this sounds, I have figured out where they are. They are not an abstraction living in a realm outside ourselves, nor are they a concoction of chemicals that rush through my brain like the "happiness" described earlier, but they are still biological in form.

Take, for instance, the learned behavior of a child. They know not to put their hand on a stove top, either from an unfortunate experience, a keen observation, or from hearing and abiding by the wisdom of an elder. This behavior is not innate. A child is not born with the intrinsic knowledge that a stove top is hot, and will therefor cause burns. They learn this piece of knowledge. Does that mean that this knowledge is outside of themselves? In a way, yes. But it is not an abstract form. That knowledge was imparted by someone else who knew it. And it was imparted in their brain, in their neurons and axons and synapses, as a biological entity.

Given the right technology, I could, in theory, point to the exact neurons that tell me not to put my hand on that stove. I can't recall how those neurons were made. I don't remember if I touched the stove and learned the hard way, or if I saw someone or something else burn on a stove, or if I simply listened to a parent. Those neurons are also there, I simply can't recall them. But regardless of how, those neurons that warn me of the imminent pain caused by contact with the stove were made. And I listen to them.

In exactly the same fashion, the rules of chess are hardwired into my cranium. They exist in a separate set of neurons in another area of my brain. Someone taught me the rules, and I remembered them. And now, I can play the game, as well as impart the same knowledge to others. Yes, in a way these rules are outside of myself because others know the rules as well. I am not the sole master of the chess domain. Someone could even misinterpret or forget the rules and create their own variation of the game, if you want to call it the same game, and there is nothing I can do about that.

But these rules are still biological. We just forget that, and ascribe non-human characteristics to these pseudo-universal "abstractions." The rules of chess are not living on a plain higher than human existence or consciousness, and neither is happiness. They are rather living in a plain within us, which makes us so much greater than these "great forms" that we strive towards. If we dropped our need for happiness and the like, we could potentially be free to strive for so much more...

But that is a topic for another day...

#day 26 #serotonin and chess part deux

Day 25

Serotonin and Chess

- An interesting question was posed during my philosophy class today and I thought I'd delve into it a bit more here. The professor asked what we thought was the barrier between the physical and the psychical. Basically, where do our bodies end and the abstract begin? Are parts of culture and society formed from strictly biological standpoints or from some Platonic "Form" that exists on a higher reality than we can perceive?

I, and a few other classmates, took the stance that everything is inherently biological. The seemingly abstract is just an illusionary response to our limited understanding of our own biology. For example, what is happiness? Normally we would think of happiness as an abstract concept. But do we truly know where it abides? Where is the instruction manual for happiness? How do both you and I know exactly what happiness is?

That's because I think it's not abstract. It's biological. In reality, happiness is a cocktail of serotonin and plenty of other chemicals running amok in my brain. We both know what happiness is because we have each felt that same rush of chemicals. This can be said about any human emotion, like love, fear, or hate. Or even any abstract concept that we can imagine, like our dreams, our fantasies, or our conscience.

But my Professor disagreed. His premise: chess. Sounds like a strange argument, but it had me pondering all day. He asked, "What then are the rules of chess?" Obviously they are not biological. There are no chemicals that inundate the brain during a game to allow you to innately divine the rules. These rules exist outside of ourselves in some way. They are practically inside the the board or the pieces themselves just as much as inside us, or at least those who know how to play.

Something tells me he may not be right, but it's an interesting argument. I think I might have figured it out in the process of typing this post, though. I'll bring it up in class Friday and see what he says. See if you can figure it out though. I'm interested in your thoughts n the subject. What do you think is the barrier between real and abstract?

#day 25 #serotonin and chess

Day 24

Things That Demoralize Me About the Human Race

- Here's a list, in no way exhaustive, and in no particular order:

when people complain about things that they can change (then change it)

parents who put those leashes on their children (it's a child, not a pet)

planned obsolescence (how about making products that work)

perceived obsolescence (how about using those products until they stop working)

crappy Sitcoms (just a series of morons walking in and out of doors)

decline in quality of children's cartoons (i want Looney Toons back)

fraternities (haze me more so we can be friends)

fast food restaurants (you could deep fry a rubber hose and it would taste good)

people's dependence on fast food restaurants (i'm addicted to my 3,000% daily value of sodium)

the disappearance of yo-yos (seriously, where did they go?)

the appearance of soy juice (it's not milk, there's no such thing as a "soy teat")

people who pretend to be stupid because they think it's cool (...)

high heels (if it's not comfortable, why bother?)

people who think problems will go away when ignored (unfortunately it's impossible to ignore these people)

tulipmania (look it up)

over-diagnosing of adhd (disciplining your kid is becoming politically incorrect)

ugg boots (if i look like every other girl on the planet, maybe someone will love me)

ugg boots for guys (if i look like every other girl on the planet, maybe someone will love me)

pluto is no longer a planet (my whole life was a lie)

and the girl who sits in front of me in my philosophy class who has facebook open on one tab, twitter open in another, and her phone resting on her keyboard, constantly refreshing the pages for updates and checking the phone for new texts in a terrible show of her addiction to the slightest of fake human interactions... (i'm not lonely, look how many notifications i have!)

#day 24 #things that demoralize me about the future of the human race

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