This was the short story I had initially intended to send to the New Scientist competition. It just came to me in a big, widescreen shot of mountains and snow. I could see an older man and a youth, climbing, straining. But something seemed of somehow.
And I just needed to find out what...
Enjoy!
LEGACY
(349 word count)
“’tis said that only from the shoulder of Durak-Nur can the world be seen.” The man paused to catch his breath. Then tugged at his long furry coat.
“That from its head one can know the truth. Merge with the Originator. And the Death Giver.”
The boy looked at him. Then at the gigantic mountains in the distance.
“You have reached the age.” Said the man. “Your father will be proud when we return.”
“But why did we have to come here?” enquired the boy. “Couldn’t we have climbed some other mountain? One closer to home?”
“No!” Said the man sternly. “In the Durak range there are no mountains.”
“But-“
The man exhaled steam while indicating the region all around them. “This is why we have brought you to the Durak-Nur, the first of the seven. What you mistake for mountains were not made by the fires of the Earth alone but had the almighty yielding hand of our ancestors. They’re machines.”
The boy strained his eye, trying to reason out the shapes buried underneath the snow.
“This is why we come. To pay tribute and homage to that long gone golden age. When the old ones could rip open the belly of the Earth to carve mighty engines. Able of planting whole forests in a day. Walking across the mighty Lamtik Ocean. And war the demon god Klaymma Tchang, the destroyer. The hungry god Ozuor that rose the seas and killed our ancestors. That bent event the winds to his command.”
The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“We have brought you here so that you can see that the legends are true. That millennia ago our people ruled the whole of Earth. That the star metal shines still today, hidden in the snow. To show you the lost city of Nur. Where thousands upon thousands lived when the Durak still roamed free, saving the world from total destruction.”
The man’s eyes shone with ancient glory.
“We have brought you here for you to pay homage to long gone ancestors.” He said.
“And become their legacy.”
END
Of all the stories that I wrote for the competition this is really the only one I'd like to explore further. All others are pretty much self contained, but this one... this one just keeps sneaking under the radar. It kept coming to my attention over and over again and, at every step of the way, something new would come out of it.
So, I've taken notes for what I could still do with it and, maybe one day...
In any case, this was the story that was the hardest to write. I wrote four different versions. And I worked on all four of them.
I got the idea right on the first go but not the tone and the mood - which was the most important part of it. I wanted to insinuate, to stimulate the imagination, more than tell people's minds what to visualise.
It was also a mini-tribute to that writer extraordinaire, that writer of writers, Gene Wolfe. I just kept thinking about his style, the way he builds things for you in such a precise way and yet, when you go back and re-read it, it seems as if only vague glimpses were given. What we saw, we made it all up.
Anyway, I really like this story and that's why I saved it to be the last one posted here.
Hope you've enjoyed them!
Peace
Thursday, 31 December 2009
The Perfect Listener
Being here, writing here, is just like being in bed with the perfect listener. That absolute lover that takes more from you than just your body. Takes in your words, keeping them in the heart, echoing you.
It's what it feels sometimes. Especially like now, in the dead of night (actually, it's the very much alive of night...), where words seem clearer and more profound. Especially after Elegy.
I forgot to mention that the film is based on one of Philip Roth's books.
It is directed by a woman.
Perhaps that is why there is so much subtlety and sensitivity in it.
I hope we will more of this type of cinema in the future.
It is crucial that we recapture our true nature.
So, perfect listener, wherever you are, whoever you may be, I hope that you feel comfortable in this bed.
Even though virtual, it's warm and welcoming.
May our hearts be like this also, everyday of our lives.
Peace.
It's what it feels sometimes. Especially like now, in the dead of night (actually, it's the very much alive of night...), where words seem clearer and more profound. Especially after Elegy.
I forgot to mention that the film is based on one of Philip Roth's books.
It is directed by a woman.
Perhaps that is why there is so much subtlety and sensitivity in it.
I hope we will more of this type of cinema in the future.
It is crucial that we recapture our true nature.
So, perfect listener, wherever you are, whoever you may be, I hope that you feel comfortable in this bed.
Even though virtual, it's warm and welcoming.
May our hearts be like this also, everyday of our lives.
Peace.
Elegy
This is the title of the film I just saw.
It's two-thirty am and I should be going to bed, meditate a bit before I fall asleep and yet, here I am, thinking, not to worry, I'll manage with just four or five hours sleep.
It's a story I've been telling myself for many years now and yet, in situations like these, when I'm compelled to stay awake to write something, I often do not regret it afterwards.
It's feeling like that that I am here.
I'm listening to Clock DVA and thinking about what I wanted to say about this film as soon as it ended.
(I cried, of course I cried)
The main theme of the film struck home in a big way. No because I identify with the main character (even though I did so much in the past) but because I know of many people in that situation (most humans I would say) and one in particular. She's now twelve and struggling with a lot of things. Like you're supposed to when you're that young.
The film ended and I found myself thinking that I would've liked to have seen this film with her. To see her imbued with the feelings and everything that the film evokes in us. I think she would get. At least she would identify with that hunger for life but, at the same time, the fear of it.
That's Ben Kingsley's character. He is a man at the end of his life, too afraid to let go of all the repressions he has absorbed throughout his life to actually see what is in front of him. His dream. A beautiful young woman that truly loves him. She, so much younger than him, can see it. And she wants to help him to come out of his hardened mind that doesn't allow his heart to breathe. But he has a lifetime of fears, a lifetime of misconceptions and self protection.
I think he sees all this, but what makes him even more brilliant as a character is that he cannot let go of what he so desperately wants to get rid of about himself.
I think he is a powerful metaphor for humanity.
Actually, he is more than a metaphor. He is real. He is inside everyone of us. He is me and you whenever we surrender to our fear for no good reason but out of fear itself.
And how does all of this connect to a twelve year old girl?
The same way it would've connected to a twelve year old boy some 22 years ago.
It would've connected with that boy at that time because already there and then he was fascinated with the provinces of the mind. He was fascinated with art and science and people and everything he saw and welcomed inside him. Young people are like this, even when they don't fully know it.
He was fascinated with everything and he wanted to know everything. He knew it was a quimeric obsession, something that, in reality, somewhere inside of him, he knew it would be impossible to achieve but that, nonetheless, remained, increasingly powerful, increasingly magnetic and alluring.
He was fascinated with all these things but I don't think he really knew why he was fascinated. Things were just fascinating.
Yet, at the same time he began to realise that what he wanted was to know life, in its deepest, in it's fullest, so he could live it in precisely that way. In it's deepest. In it's fullest.
Can you blame him?
I do not.
I call him smart. Ambitious, perhaps even arrogant, but smart nonetheless.
I still think it's a good idea. To outwit life. To know early on the way you'll probably feel when you know you don't have much more time to live.
This was actually an exercise that I did (and sometimes still do) many times in the past.
"If I were to die tomorrow would it have been a good life? What would I regret? What have I missed?"
The answers to this were often surprising. Many times (not to say always) extremely important.
With the years I have found that my regret levels have diminished considerably and that I haven't missed much of the things I would've liked to have done.
That's simply because I am doing them now.
It does help.
Just today I was talking with a friend of mine and we ended up reaching this simple and yet so crucial conclusion that young people aren't stupid and that they actually know what they're doing.
(I guess myself and my friend both felt not listened to when we were younger so we can relate to this, even if a few decades have passed in the meantime)
(and by the way, I always dreamt about writing stuff like this when I was twelve. Go figure...)
I think it's quite brave and intelligent to try and find out what life means to us as quickly as possible. That way, hopefully, we will be able to enjoy it to the fullest as soon as possible.
When I was a teenager I used to dream about having the experience of an old man in a teenage body (and this has been the theme of many of my stories. Perhaps in disguise, but it's there).
There was a phrase that my father's uncle used every single time we went to visit him in Lisbon. It was something like
"Now that I' ready to die, I am ready to start living."
It's a bitter affirmation of disappointment towards one's life. This phrase became engraved in my mind. I could feel the taste of fear and pain that it held underneath the words. It weren't just the words you see. There were sights. And smells. And tones. Things that however many words we might use, we will never truly describe.
And, as soon as the meaning of this phrase became clear to me, I vowed to live a life that would NOT end up in this way. I wanted to end my life saying, I've lived my life and I am ready to die. I have done all I've wanted to.
There is a very powerful phrase in this film, it goes something like
"Man's biggest surprise in life is old age."
I understood this at the age of twelve but the understanding I have now is that of a twelve year old with twenty two more years of experience. An understanding of someone who already has some measure of knowledge of what it means your body growing old.
This is one of the big reasons why I believe this film is an important one. The sooner we become acquainted with life the better.
There are a couple of very important lines in this film about this.
In one scene Ben is saying that
"we've spent our whole life acting like teenagers."
He's not referring to clothes or going to parties, but rather in the sense of not knowing how to be fully responsible for one's own life.
I mean, let's face it, life is what we do everyday and yet, there is so little teaching about it imparted from other people. We have our parents. We have our grandparents. We have our friends. But, not always the wisdom they have to give us is enough to steady us in our path.and, to this I say, recognise them as fellow travellers in this mysterious road and chide them not for their blame. Life just happens.
On another scene Ben is talking to his oldest friend (played by Dennis Hopper) and he says something like
"It's time to grow up. Not just grow old."
Again he is alluding to that most precious of lessons that this film is trying to impart on us. A lesson in responsibility.
But a responsibility that has nothing to do with returning our assignments on time or know how to comment a work of art in an appropriate manner.
But rather a responsibility to the way we feel. A responsibility towards the heart. A responsibility that is unconditional and non-judgmental.
This is something very hard to achieve.
Our inner truth.
That's the only thing we've been striving for all our lives. That is certainly what Ben's character fails to accept, see, BECOME at every step of his path.
Yet, Penelope Cruz's character, some thirty odd years younger, she sees it so clearly.
More. SHE IS IT.
And this haunts him. This taunts him. This lures him as much as it frightens him. She is truly his Holy Grail. And in more ways that just this one. She is complete.
And she is complete because she is FULLY herself.
There's no holding back.
It's just take it or leave it. Like a child.
And it's through that innocence, that incredible, mature spontaneity that her beauty truly shines through.
This is the lesson they both learn in fact. But him, a lot more than her.
Still, the important thing is that they do learn it. And that they share this.
This is actually all plainly told in the film. They each go through their own masks and, what they find is simply what they always had known was there.
And why had they always know it?
Simple.
Because they had feared it.
Anyway, you know how sometimes you just wish people would change, realise this or that in order for them to become so much more fully what you feel and know in your bones that they are, but you don't know how to?
Well, this is one of those films that gives you this trust that, if they did watch it, they'd get it. Just the way you got. And that impression, that lasting impression that it left on you, would be theirs as well. And, the next time you saw them, they would be a few steps further in their own path. Perhaps a bit closer to you as well. For truly, this is the one thing you want to share.
Peace
It's two-thirty am and I should be going to bed, meditate a bit before I fall asleep and yet, here I am, thinking, not to worry, I'll manage with just four or five hours sleep.
It's a story I've been telling myself for many years now and yet, in situations like these, when I'm compelled to stay awake to write something, I often do not regret it afterwards.
It's feeling like that that I am here.
I'm listening to Clock DVA and thinking about what I wanted to say about this film as soon as it ended.
(I cried, of course I cried)
The main theme of the film struck home in a big way. No because I identify with the main character (even though I did so much in the past) but because I know of many people in that situation (most humans I would say) and one in particular. She's now twelve and struggling with a lot of things. Like you're supposed to when you're that young.
The film ended and I found myself thinking that I would've liked to have seen this film with her. To see her imbued with the feelings and everything that the film evokes in us. I think she would get. At least she would identify with that hunger for life but, at the same time, the fear of it.
That's Ben Kingsley's character. He is a man at the end of his life, too afraid to let go of all the repressions he has absorbed throughout his life to actually see what is in front of him. His dream. A beautiful young woman that truly loves him. She, so much younger than him, can see it. And she wants to help him to come out of his hardened mind that doesn't allow his heart to breathe. But he has a lifetime of fears, a lifetime of misconceptions and self protection.
I think he sees all this, but what makes him even more brilliant as a character is that he cannot let go of what he so desperately wants to get rid of about himself.
I think he is a powerful metaphor for humanity.
Actually, he is more than a metaphor. He is real. He is inside everyone of us. He is me and you whenever we surrender to our fear for no good reason but out of fear itself.
And how does all of this connect to a twelve year old girl?
The same way it would've connected to a twelve year old boy some 22 years ago.
It would've connected with that boy at that time because already there and then he was fascinated with the provinces of the mind. He was fascinated with art and science and people and everything he saw and welcomed inside him. Young people are like this, even when they don't fully know it.
He was fascinated with everything and he wanted to know everything. He knew it was a quimeric obsession, something that, in reality, somewhere inside of him, he knew it would be impossible to achieve but that, nonetheless, remained, increasingly powerful, increasingly magnetic and alluring.
He was fascinated with all these things but I don't think he really knew why he was fascinated. Things were just fascinating.
Yet, at the same time he began to realise that what he wanted was to know life, in its deepest, in it's fullest, so he could live it in precisely that way. In it's deepest. In it's fullest.
Can you blame him?
I do not.
I call him smart. Ambitious, perhaps even arrogant, but smart nonetheless.
I still think it's a good idea. To outwit life. To know early on the way you'll probably feel when you know you don't have much more time to live.
This was actually an exercise that I did (and sometimes still do) many times in the past.
"If I were to die tomorrow would it have been a good life? What would I regret? What have I missed?"
The answers to this were often surprising. Many times (not to say always) extremely important.
With the years I have found that my regret levels have diminished considerably and that I haven't missed much of the things I would've liked to have done.
That's simply because I am doing them now.
It does help.
Just today I was talking with a friend of mine and we ended up reaching this simple and yet so crucial conclusion that young people aren't stupid and that they actually know what they're doing.
(I guess myself and my friend both felt not listened to when we were younger so we can relate to this, even if a few decades have passed in the meantime)
(and by the way, I always dreamt about writing stuff like this when I was twelve. Go figure...)
I think it's quite brave and intelligent to try and find out what life means to us as quickly as possible. That way, hopefully, we will be able to enjoy it to the fullest as soon as possible.
When I was a teenager I used to dream about having the experience of an old man in a teenage body (and this has been the theme of many of my stories. Perhaps in disguise, but it's there).
There was a phrase that my father's uncle used every single time we went to visit him in Lisbon. It was something like
"Now that I' ready to die, I am ready to start living."
It's a bitter affirmation of disappointment towards one's life. This phrase became engraved in my mind. I could feel the taste of fear and pain that it held underneath the words. It weren't just the words you see. There were sights. And smells. And tones. Things that however many words we might use, we will never truly describe.
And, as soon as the meaning of this phrase became clear to me, I vowed to live a life that would NOT end up in this way. I wanted to end my life saying, I've lived my life and I am ready to die. I have done all I've wanted to.
There is a very powerful phrase in this film, it goes something like
"Man's biggest surprise in life is old age."
I understood this at the age of twelve but the understanding I have now is that of a twelve year old with twenty two more years of experience. An understanding of someone who already has some measure of knowledge of what it means your body growing old.
This is one of the big reasons why I believe this film is an important one. The sooner we become acquainted with life the better.
There are a couple of very important lines in this film about this.
In one scene Ben is saying that
"we've spent our whole life acting like teenagers."
He's not referring to clothes or going to parties, but rather in the sense of not knowing how to be fully responsible for one's own life.
I mean, let's face it, life is what we do everyday and yet, there is so little teaching about it imparted from other people. We have our parents. We have our grandparents. We have our friends. But, not always the wisdom they have to give us is enough to steady us in our path.and, to this I say, recognise them as fellow travellers in this mysterious road and chide them not for their blame. Life just happens.
On another scene Ben is talking to his oldest friend (played by Dennis Hopper) and he says something like
"It's time to grow up. Not just grow old."
Again he is alluding to that most precious of lessons that this film is trying to impart on us. A lesson in responsibility.
But a responsibility that has nothing to do with returning our assignments on time or know how to comment a work of art in an appropriate manner.
But rather a responsibility to the way we feel. A responsibility towards the heart. A responsibility that is unconditional and non-judgmental.
This is something very hard to achieve.
Our inner truth.
That's the only thing we've been striving for all our lives. That is certainly what Ben's character fails to accept, see, BECOME at every step of his path.
Yet, Penelope Cruz's character, some thirty odd years younger, she sees it so clearly.
More. SHE IS IT.
And this haunts him. This taunts him. This lures him as much as it frightens him. She is truly his Holy Grail. And in more ways that just this one. She is complete.
And she is complete because she is FULLY herself.
There's no holding back.
It's just take it or leave it. Like a child.
And it's through that innocence, that incredible, mature spontaneity that her beauty truly shines through.
This is the lesson they both learn in fact. But him, a lot more than her.
Still, the important thing is that they do learn it. And that they share this.
This is actually all plainly told in the film. They each go through their own masks and, what they find is simply what they always had known was there.
And why had they always know it?
Simple.
Because they had feared it.
Anyway, you know how sometimes you just wish people would change, realise this or that in order for them to become so much more fully what you feel and know in your bones that they are, but you don't know how to?
Well, this is one of those films that gives you this trust that, if they did watch it, they'd get it. Just the way you got. And that impression, that lasting impression that it left on you, would be theirs as well. And, the next time you saw them, they would be a few steps further in their own path. Perhaps a bit closer to you as well. For truly, this is the one thing you want to share.
Peace
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
How To Get Hooked On Comics
You think it's easy, don't you? You think you can just pick a book when you're six or seven or five or whatever it was and it just stays with you for life, huh? Well, let me tell, with me it was completely different.
As with most people (at least in portugal at the time i was growing up) my introduction to comics was a surreptitious one. I don't recall now precisely, but I believe it all started with those strange and wonderful fairy tale books. Words and images. What could go wrong? They sure looked innocent enough in those days.
Little did my family know what they'd created in those first innocent steps into language and form...
Flash forward a few years and I'm six or seven or five, i don't quite remember, all I do remember is that I'm walking down the road, back to my grandparents house, carrying two disney special editions (they came out once a month, brasilian translation, and had more than one hundred pages). I believe I even took the long way around, right next to the beach and the sea, in order to get home. But maybe this is a later memory, after I'd read them (which i did, many times, and for many years these would be my favourite books, to be reverently revisited whenever my heart thus deemed), for it felt I was carrying something momentuous, terribly important and secret. No one knew this but me. It was as if I was carrying the keys to an incredible universe only I knew about.
What could a kid want more than that?
The answer is obvious: MORE!
Up until I was sixteen or so, Disney comics were the big thing in my life, reading wise. Sure there had been other things: i developped an interest in all kinds of literature, classics, sci-fi, adventure, etc, i even read really weird stuff like Kafka and William S. Burroughs at the time but, still, I kept buying as dilligently as possible my weekly fixes of disney comics.
(and I have to thank my grandparents for it; that, despite my father's many prohibitions, martial laws and curfews, they defiantly supported this love of mine)
Like many other kids I read the Asterixes, Tintins, Lucky Lukes and many other european titles that graced all of our bookshops. I loved them but, in my mind, these were different books. For once, these european collections seemed always to be complete, whilst Disney was one huge and incredible mess. There was always new stuff, always a new adventure. And always with the characters you knew so well.
At the age of sixteen (or perhaps before, I don't remember) I started growing impatient with Disney comics. They felt too childish. I wanted something else.
I remember one day going to my usual comics shop and browsing through the rotating display. I'd seen the super-hero stuff many times before but I'd never dared to add any of those titles to the already heavily burdened grandparent financing.
There were several titles that day. Two attracted my attention. One was an Incredible Hulk issue and another was a Superman special with the Legion of Superheroes (John Byrne).
I picked them up. And I remember so clearly thinking: "if I take these with me I'm gonna get hooked on this for life".
I just knew it.
What do you think I did?
Right...
Well, I have to say that recently I browsed through those two books (they're always close) and I still think they're incredible stories. Those two stories left such a deep mark on me that still today I can recall many of the images and the ideas behind both of them.
The Hulk story talked about humans tinkering with nature for personal gain and the Superman story was one of the most powerful stories about love and sacrifice I've ever come across.
This holds true still today, especially the superman story. Whenever I read it I always takes the better out of my emotional side...
I was hooked from then on and I started buying the DC Comics and Marvel stuff instead of Disney's.
Actually this must've been before I was sixteen because I was fifteen when I went to Caldas to study and I was already looking for super-hero comics in english... well, nevermind...
the next big moment was sometime during the summer. I entered one of the local newsagents (there were two in são martinho do porto and, since the distribution was erratic more often than not, i quickly began to check all possibilities in order not to miss any important stuff...) and once again was faced with that comic that had some kind of vampire on the cover, whose artwork seemed really dodgy and that I'd seen there for the last two or three months.
But there was nothing new...
So, for the sake of pure experimentation I bought the damned thing and proceed to read it when I got home.
It was, of course, BLOOD: A TALE by JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams...
Suffice to say, this was one of the most incredible pieces of literature I'd read up until then and a comic that in subsequent years I bought many times to give to friends. My copy, then a brasilian translation, was lost in some lending or other to a friend.
(but i think I have an english one, my second english copy... I never learn...)
The narrative was just something entirely different from what I had seen so far - in any book. The drawings suddenly became these amazing pieces of artwork. That it had a vampire as the main character seemed of little importance. It wasn't a story about horror or fear. At least not blood and guts horror, but a fear of death and dying and, especially, of living. This was a story about the big themes, life, death, sex and JM DeMatteis was subtly punching me in the stomach of expectation.
I was happily bleeding away, along with the story.
JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams therefore became my first references in comics.
Soon after that I read another of JM DeMatteis stories, this time a Spiderman story called Kraven's Last Hunt. It also moved me incredibly for it was the first story that made me take an otherwise relatively uninteresting character as Spiderman seriously.
I read it about a year ago and what a disappointment it was... still a good story but all the magic and flow that I had felt that first time seemed to have evaporated...
Also when I re-read BLOOD: A TALE a few years ago, itdidn't feel as profound as that first time. But, by then, I had read many other things and the element of wonder had been taken out of it somewhat.
Time moved on and I suddenly found myself living in Lisbon, supposedly studying physics and eagerly searching for a comics shop in that city that would sell my lovely comics in their untranslated form.
It was through a good good friend of mine (studying psychology at the time - and I was so madly in love with her then... still am, just in a different way...) that she pointed me out to one of her colleagues, and he pointed me out to a street in Lisbon I'd never been in before, address in hand, rang a bell to an inconspicuous building, went to the third or fourth floor, had a guy with glasses called Pedro Silva opening the door for me and welcoming into my Aladin's Cave of comics.
I had entered BDMania and I knew I'd never get away.
If it wasn't that very first time, it was on the second time that I went there that I grabbed a copy of WATCHMEN. This was 92 or 93 mind you. I was 18. The book was already almost 10 years old. Already a legend. And Pedro said, read this. This is good.
I obeyed.
And, my god, I loved it. I loved it so much and yet I didn't really quite get it that first time.
It was something too big, too vast, too complex for me to fathom its repercussions in its entirety. Alan Moore was really the man...
From then on things rapidly escalated.
I read PREACHER as it was coming out. Same thing with THE INVISIBLES. Grabbed THE SANDMAN in all its compiled editions (now safely stashed at a friend's house that blatantly tells me that she will keep them for me for as long as I don't need them... obviously hoping that this will be for the remainder of my natural life... probably hoping that I'll buy the Absolute Edition, only then to swap my old, first and battered paperback editions, by these new, mint, wonderful, beautiful hardcovers... and I'm sucker enough to let her get away with it...). Grabbed TRANSMETROPOLITAN as it was coming out.
And the list goes on.
With the years I've learned a bit about comics. I've followed both artists and writers. The rise and fall of titles and companies and markets and games and films and whatnot. Not obsessively, but, as part of being a consumer and chatting to the experts at BD Mania.
(my usual question still is, what are you reading right now? what do you recommend?)
(and I've learned and enjoyed a lot from those answers!)
but a bit about WATCHMEN and all the other stuff I've talked about a few lines ago.
WATCHMEN is this incredibly complex narrative that tears the superhero dogmas apart by being more true to them than anything had ever been before. This is one of the things that Alan is great at doing. A bit like what Nietzsche did in philosophy he has done with comics.
In any case, WATCHMEN talks about a bunch of superheroes being preyed by a mysterious assailant. Even though their identities are secret somebody knows who they are and is taking them out one by one.
This is the shell. But the heart is really a story about the corruption of power, love and the two opposing forces of fate and freedom.
It's an incredible piece, one that I finally began to really understand on my second read. You can see the film of course, but the book has a lot more. The book tells that story in a much deeper and perhaps more devious way.
It's as scary as it is intelligent. And, let me tell you, in all it's fictional analysis of this would-be world, is frighteningly real and terrifying to contemplate upon.
This is a must for it heralded a new age in comics and redefined the boundaries of the medium by simultaneously destroying and rebuilding the foundations of american comics.
With THE INVISIBLES the story was completely different. I had read WATCHMEN you see. I knew some pretty strange stuff by then. I was used to the language. I was ready.
So THE INVISIBLES became to me exactly what it had been designed to be: a consciousness bomb.
(and thank you for that Grant Morrison)
In fact THE INVISIBLES did precisely that with me for 4 times so far. The first time I read the first volume. The first time I read Grant Morrison's final letter about the series. The first time I read an interview about his work on a book about Comics Writers on COmics Writing. And the first couple of times I watched his stint at a live conference about weird stuff (chaos magic, conspiracy theories, comics and the such)
THE INVISIBLES is this amazing destilation of revolutionary, mind boggling ideas in an adventure setting.
Again all the big themes were here but the level of connections, the depth of insight and newness content was unbelievable. it was this mindful rollercoaster destined to challenge every single aspect of my being and taking it into a different level. So rich it made you feel rich to the point of bursting.
which was what i did.
As soon as I finished reading that first volume (and I did not read it in one go, such was my pleasure at it) I ran out of the house, went into a phone booth and called two friends of mine. One didn't answer. The other did. I had to tell him all about it because I felt i was going to burst otherwise and that I needed to share this incredible gift I had received.
My second and third reads were almost as powerful. Or rather, powerful in a different way. That cathartic element was still there.
As with most people (at least in portugal at the time i was growing up) my introduction to comics was a surreptitious one. I don't recall now precisely, but I believe it all started with those strange and wonderful fairy tale books. Words and images. What could go wrong? They sure looked innocent enough in those days.
Little did my family know what they'd created in those first innocent steps into language and form...
Flash forward a few years and I'm six or seven or five, i don't quite remember, all I do remember is that I'm walking down the road, back to my grandparents house, carrying two disney special editions (they came out once a month, brasilian translation, and had more than one hundred pages). I believe I even took the long way around, right next to the beach and the sea, in order to get home. But maybe this is a later memory, after I'd read them (which i did, many times, and for many years these would be my favourite books, to be reverently revisited whenever my heart thus deemed), for it felt I was carrying something momentuous, terribly important and secret. No one knew this but me. It was as if I was carrying the keys to an incredible universe only I knew about.
What could a kid want more than that?
The answer is obvious: MORE!
Up until I was sixteen or so, Disney comics were the big thing in my life, reading wise. Sure there had been other things: i developped an interest in all kinds of literature, classics, sci-fi, adventure, etc, i even read really weird stuff like Kafka and William S. Burroughs at the time but, still, I kept buying as dilligently as possible my weekly fixes of disney comics.
(and I have to thank my grandparents for it; that, despite my father's many prohibitions, martial laws and curfews, they defiantly supported this love of mine)
Like many other kids I read the Asterixes, Tintins, Lucky Lukes and many other european titles that graced all of our bookshops. I loved them but, in my mind, these were different books. For once, these european collections seemed always to be complete, whilst Disney was one huge and incredible mess. There was always new stuff, always a new adventure. And always with the characters you knew so well.
At the age of sixteen (or perhaps before, I don't remember) I started growing impatient with Disney comics. They felt too childish. I wanted something else.
I remember one day going to my usual comics shop and browsing through the rotating display. I'd seen the super-hero stuff many times before but I'd never dared to add any of those titles to the already heavily burdened grandparent financing.
There were several titles that day. Two attracted my attention. One was an Incredible Hulk issue and another was a Superman special with the Legion of Superheroes (John Byrne).
I picked them up. And I remember so clearly thinking: "if I take these with me I'm gonna get hooked on this for life".
I just knew it.
What do you think I did?
Right...
Well, I have to say that recently I browsed through those two books (they're always close) and I still think they're incredible stories. Those two stories left such a deep mark on me that still today I can recall many of the images and the ideas behind both of them.
The Hulk story talked about humans tinkering with nature for personal gain and the Superman story was one of the most powerful stories about love and sacrifice I've ever come across.
This holds true still today, especially the superman story. Whenever I read it I always takes the better out of my emotional side...
I was hooked from then on and I started buying the DC Comics and Marvel stuff instead of Disney's.
Actually this must've been before I was sixteen because I was fifteen when I went to Caldas to study and I was already looking for super-hero comics in english... well, nevermind...
the next big moment was sometime during the summer. I entered one of the local newsagents (there were two in são martinho do porto and, since the distribution was erratic more often than not, i quickly began to check all possibilities in order not to miss any important stuff...) and once again was faced with that comic that had some kind of vampire on the cover, whose artwork seemed really dodgy and that I'd seen there for the last two or three months.
But there was nothing new...
So, for the sake of pure experimentation I bought the damned thing and proceed to read it when I got home.
It was, of course, BLOOD: A TALE by JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams...
Suffice to say, this was one of the most incredible pieces of literature I'd read up until then and a comic that in subsequent years I bought many times to give to friends. My copy, then a brasilian translation, was lost in some lending or other to a friend.
(but i think I have an english one, my second english copy... I never learn...)
The narrative was just something entirely different from what I had seen so far - in any book. The drawings suddenly became these amazing pieces of artwork. That it had a vampire as the main character seemed of little importance. It wasn't a story about horror or fear. At least not blood and guts horror, but a fear of death and dying and, especially, of living. This was a story about the big themes, life, death, sex and JM DeMatteis was subtly punching me in the stomach of expectation.
I was happily bleeding away, along with the story.
JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams therefore became my first references in comics.
Soon after that I read another of JM DeMatteis stories, this time a Spiderman story called Kraven's Last Hunt. It also moved me incredibly for it was the first story that made me take an otherwise relatively uninteresting character as Spiderman seriously.
I read it about a year ago and what a disappointment it was... still a good story but all the magic and flow that I had felt that first time seemed to have evaporated...
Also when I re-read BLOOD: A TALE a few years ago, itdidn't feel as profound as that first time. But, by then, I had read many other things and the element of wonder had been taken out of it somewhat.
Time moved on and I suddenly found myself living in Lisbon, supposedly studying physics and eagerly searching for a comics shop in that city that would sell my lovely comics in their untranslated form.
It was through a good good friend of mine (studying psychology at the time - and I was so madly in love with her then... still am, just in a different way...) that she pointed me out to one of her colleagues, and he pointed me out to a street in Lisbon I'd never been in before, address in hand, rang a bell to an inconspicuous building, went to the third or fourth floor, had a guy with glasses called Pedro Silva opening the door for me and welcoming into my Aladin's Cave of comics.
I had entered BDMania and I knew I'd never get away.
If it wasn't that very first time, it was on the second time that I went there that I grabbed a copy of WATCHMEN. This was 92 or 93 mind you. I was 18. The book was already almost 10 years old. Already a legend. And Pedro said, read this. This is good.
I obeyed.
And, my god, I loved it. I loved it so much and yet I didn't really quite get it that first time.
It was something too big, too vast, too complex for me to fathom its repercussions in its entirety. Alan Moore was really the man...
From then on things rapidly escalated.
I read PREACHER as it was coming out. Same thing with THE INVISIBLES. Grabbed THE SANDMAN in all its compiled editions (now safely stashed at a friend's house that blatantly tells me that she will keep them for me for as long as I don't need them... obviously hoping that this will be for the remainder of my natural life... probably hoping that I'll buy the Absolute Edition, only then to swap my old, first and battered paperback editions, by these new, mint, wonderful, beautiful hardcovers... and I'm sucker enough to let her get away with it...). Grabbed TRANSMETROPOLITAN as it was coming out.
And the list goes on.
With the years I've learned a bit about comics. I've followed both artists and writers. The rise and fall of titles and companies and markets and games and films and whatnot. Not obsessively, but, as part of being a consumer and chatting to the experts at BD Mania.
(my usual question still is, what are you reading right now? what do you recommend?)
(and I've learned and enjoyed a lot from those answers!)
but a bit about WATCHMEN and all the other stuff I've talked about a few lines ago.
WATCHMEN is this incredibly complex narrative that tears the superhero dogmas apart by being more true to them than anything had ever been before. This is one of the things that Alan is great at doing. A bit like what Nietzsche did in philosophy he has done with comics.
In any case, WATCHMEN talks about a bunch of superheroes being preyed by a mysterious assailant. Even though their identities are secret somebody knows who they are and is taking them out one by one.
This is the shell. But the heart is really a story about the corruption of power, love and the two opposing forces of fate and freedom.
It's an incredible piece, one that I finally began to really understand on my second read. You can see the film of course, but the book has a lot more. The book tells that story in a much deeper and perhaps more devious way.
It's as scary as it is intelligent. And, let me tell you, in all it's fictional analysis of this would-be world, is frighteningly real and terrifying to contemplate upon.
This is a must for it heralded a new age in comics and redefined the boundaries of the medium by simultaneously destroying and rebuilding the foundations of american comics.
With THE INVISIBLES the story was completely different. I had read WATCHMEN you see. I knew some pretty strange stuff by then. I was used to the language. I was ready.
So THE INVISIBLES became to me exactly what it had been designed to be: a consciousness bomb.
(and thank you for that Grant Morrison)
In fact THE INVISIBLES did precisely that with me for 4 times so far. The first time I read the first volume. The first time I read Grant Morrison's final letter about the series. The first time I read an interview about his work on a book about Comics Writers on COmics Writing. And the first couple of times I watched his stint at a live conference about weird stuff (chaos magic, conspiracy theories, comics and the such)
THE INVISIBLES is this amazing destilation of revolutionary, mind boggling ideas in an adventure setting.
Again all the big themes were here but the level of connections, the depth of insight and newness content was unbelievable. it was this mindful rollercoaster destined to challenge every single aspect of my being and taking it into a different level. So rich it made you feel rich to the point of bursting.
which was what i did.
As soon as I finished reading that first volume (and I did not read it in one go, such was my pleasure at it) I ran out of the house, went into a phone booth and called two friends of mine. One didn't answer. The other did. I had to tell him all about it because I felt i was going to burst otherwise and that I needed to share this incredible gift I had received.
My second and third reads were almost as powerful. Or rather, powerful in a different way. That cathartic element was still there.
Monday, 28 December 2009
These Days
I don't know why but during the last few days I've been thinking a lot about a story I began to write some 3 or 4 years ago. It's called The Time Dolls Of Stephen Tempus. It was one of those projects that was supposed to be finished in a jiffy and that, as soon as I started working on it, it just kept growing more and more, out of my control but also getting better and better.
So, yesterday, after working a while on Morto, I decided to appease my mind and heart and pulled out the dossier and started browsing through the sheets of paper.
Now it was clear why this was still a mess.
It started coming back to me...
When I dropped it I still hadn't worked out a structure that did it for me and there were still a few scenes left to be written.
But boy, does this story appeal to me. And I know why. It ticks some very old boxes of mine, it takes me to themes that I've grappled with or have grappled with for years now. Like every story is as much about me as it is about what I think is important to be said.
So I took the easy way out. I reached a compromise. I pulled out the folder containing a short essay I had written within the larger framework of the story and began revising it.
It was interesting to see that it wasn't as ridiculous as I expected. It still made sense. More, I could see the holes more clearly now.
And there were things I wanted to add. I loved the feel of being hinted something greater.
So that's what I did. That's what I spent most of last night doing. I even ended up not seeing the film that I had wanted to watch...
I didn't finish the revision up until an hour ago or so.
It's strange but I just want to finish this story. And, I'll be honest with you, I feel really tempted to just drop Morto and do it...
But I won't.
I'll strike another deal with myself.
I'll keep working on Morto. The Time Dolls will have to come into play in my "spare time".
Let's see where this takes me...
Peace!
So, yesterday, after working a while on Morto, I decided to appease my mind and heart and pulled out the dossier and started browsing through the sheets of paper.
Now it was clear why this was still a mess.
It started coming back to me...
When I dropped it I still hadn't worked out a structure that did it for me and there were still a few scenes left to be written.
But boy, does this story appeal to me. And I know why. It ticks some very old boxes of mine, it takes me to themes that I've grappled with or have grappled with for years now. Like every story is as much about me as it is about what I think is important to be said.
So I took the easy way out. I reached a compromise. I pulled out the folder containing a short essay I had written within the larger framework of the story and began revising it.
It was interesting to see that it wasn't as ridiculous as I expected. It still made sense. More, I could see the holes more clearly now.
And there were things I wanted to add. I loved the feel of being hinted something greater.
So that's what I did. That's what I spent most of last night doing. I even ended up not seeing the film that I had wanted to watch...
I didn't finish the revision up until an hour ago or so.
It's strange but I just want to finish this story. And, I'll be honest with you, I feel really tempted to just drop Morto and do it...
But I won't.
I'll strike another deal with myself.
I'll keep working on Morto. The Time Dolls will have to come into play in my "spare time".
Let's see where this takes me...
Peace!
Collapse
This was the short story I sent to the New Scientist competition a couple of months ago though it wasn't initially the story that I had planned to send.
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
Sunday, 27 December 2009
The Tunnel
This one wasn’t really one of the short stories that I wrote for the New Scientist competition. It was actually a dream that I had during the period while writing them. Because it left such a strong impression on me (after more than two weeks I could still recall it vividly) I have decided to include it here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to recreate the intensity that permeated me while experiencing it but I hope I do.
To strange places I awake...
THE TUNNEL
(1413 word count)
I’m walking through a huge club where a massive rave party is going on. I’m following a girl, perhaps someone I know from work, perhaps not. There is some sexual tension on my part but mostly some strange kind of friendship that not even I quite understand myself.
I am following her because I know she is getting herself into trouble.
And I want to be there to ameliorate the impending consequences of her present actions.
She wades easily through the crowd, moving closer and closer towards the back of the club. The music is booming all around us but I know my words of caution are drowned both by the sound and by her stubbornness.
Everybody’s high, taking the music and the experience to the limit.
But there are drugs and there are drugs.
And she wants the most dangerous, the most hard to get and the most potent of them all. She doesn’t say it but I know.
I know as soon as she says
“Come with me. I’ve got to pick up something.”
“I really think you shouldn’t.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“If you want to make it there, there has to be no place for fear.”
“I know. That is why I am afraid.”
“Stay here then.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Sure.”
I follow her through the steaming crowd, pumping more than blood and sound through their system. As we move closer to the back of the club the music seems to become heavier, denser. And so do the people. They seem more sinister and brooding. I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. This is what I knew would happen.
She moves between all these people almost as if they weren’t even there. She is on a mission and nothing will deter her. This is the correct attitude to have, I’m sure, if one is to come back out alive.
At the back of the club, instead of a wall there is an entrance. A tunnel. It slopes downwards softly, whilst curving to the left, a spiral, always to the left apart from the odd stretch straight ahead.
The tunnel has walls like a cave, the rough hewn edges of stone showing. Dimly lit by a light whose source I cannot fathom. It seems that the light is permanently coming from the tunnel’s end though it is never in sight. But there’s that feeling that it’s just around the next corner.
She enters the tunnel without hesitation. I try not to show mine and follow.
After a few steps I look back. I can still see the lights of the club we’re leaving behind along with any feeling of safety. They dim more and more. And so does the sound. And that’s the scariest part. Losing whatever feeble connection we can have to the place up there.
One more curve to the left and it fades away. The sound quickly follows.
There are steps along the way. They are broad and shallow. Slowly they take us down. We walk at a good pace but carefully. There isn’t enough light to see where we are going and there’re plenty of people inside the tunnel. Waiting. Waiting for customers. Waiting for prey.
We move ever downwards with a constant pace. There is a new sound here. I can’t place it, there’s no perceptible rhythm or riffs. It’s like this gigantic but also blurred mass of distorted guitars, continuously strumming their mass of industrial Goth metal rock. It’s a continuous onslaught of distortion with only a vague discernment of variation. The sound doesn’t seem to change for a long time. It’s always there. Always the same. As if telling us we are never going to reach the objective.
All I know is that at the end of the tunnel there is a terrible thing. That more often than not people that go in search of these drugs that can only be obtained there, do not return. But I wish to protect her and so I move on.
At each step of the way, at each turn, men gage us. Trying to ascertain who we are and what they can do with us. At each step, at each new turn their faces and looks become more and more menacing. Even she’s feeling more and more anxious. I can feel it. We don’t say anything. Exchanging any word here would be an assumption of doubt or hesitation, which are just another words for fear. And that would be deadly. We press on and we look to these people less and less. As if they didn’t matter. As if only the end of the tunnel mattered.
Another turn to the left. Again that vague eerie steely glare escorts us downwards. It never seems to change. I feel that these men want to kill us but, as soon as we drop another step below them it’s as if we drop beyond their reach, their maximum tolerance level and are thus spared. This is why we can never stop.
The steps seem endless. Always the same. Always shallow and long. I calculate that if we had to run back we’d easily trip in them for their length is unnatural and hard to judge.
Then the glare increases and so does the sound. Some sort of ongoing repetitive mass of chords keeps ringing, over saturated.
I don’t know what to do.
I can see the glare as we descend the last few steps. The wall now curves to the right. There’s a dark golden red light coming from inside.
The sound increases.
The men move aside as we pass by them. Staring at us from behind their black shades. As if we are mad to enter that place.
I don’t know what to do.
I follow her.
We enter a small cave. There’s a crowd dancing to the sound of this music that I can’t place where it’s coming from. The wall behind them is completely black and I know that even if I got close to it I would not see anything.
On either side of the crowd there are two hierarchies. They watch the crowd dance, presiding to the whole thing. They are both demonic. I suppose she has sold her soul as soon as we entered the tunnel. Intention is everything and as soon as she made her wish and began down the tunnel, the pact was sealed. This is how it works.
She hesitates. She is so close but it’s as if for the first time it hits her what she can really lose if she goes ahead with this. I don’t know what it is but it’s bigger than life, death and the soul combined. It’s as if she’s about to lose everything and more. I try to stop her. She just shrugs me away and moves towards the crowd. I cannot go any further. This is my limit. It’s not something that I can even conceptualise to do. To follow her. I just watch her move between the hot, pulsing bodies, oblivious to anything but their motion. She goes to the left crowd, passes between the dancing bodies and is received upon the hierarchy. A man with long flowing hair welcomes her courteously and begins to speak with her. Greets her as if he had always known her.
I feel I shouldn’t be here. I feel that they will find me and do something worse than death to me. To her. But I should stay. To protect her. If anything goes wrong I will try and save her, even though I know that my abilities are next to zero when compared to those of the ones playing host to this place.
She makes her request.
The demon in human form pauses and draws a soft smile. He concedes. Something is brought to him and he gives it to her. He leaves her and she wades back into the crowd. She comes towards me with a triumphant yet somewhat nervous look in her face. She has what she wanted. She feels she’s won.
We begin walking away.
We start climbing the long staircase once more.
Her eyes shine.
None of us says anything.
I’m terrified because I know that the pact is now definitive.
I know she is doomed.
She knows it too.
But, right now, she doesn’t care. She has precisely what she’d wanted.
For now, she’s won.
END
To strange places I awake...
THE TUNNEL
(1413 word count)
I’m walking through a huge club where a massive rave party is going on. I’m following a girl, perhaps someone I know from work, perhaps not. There is some sexual tension on my part but mostly some strange kind of friendship that not even I quite understand myself.
I am following her because I know she is getting herself into trouble.
And I want to be there to ameliorate the impending consequences of her present actions.
She wades easily through the crowd, moving closer and closer towards the back of the club. The music is booming all around us but I know my words of caution are drowned both by the sound and by her stubbornness.
Everybody’s high, taking the music and the experience to the limit.
But there are drugs and there are drugs.
And she wants the most dangerous, the most hard to get and the most potent of them all. She doesn’t say it but I know.
I know as soon as she says
“Come with me. I’ve got to pick up something.”
“I really think you shouldn’t.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“If you want to make it there, there has to be no place for fear.”
“I know. That is why I am afraid.”
“Stay here then.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Sure.”
I follow her through the steaming crowd, pumping more than blood and sound through their system. As we move closer to the back of the club the music seems to become heavier, denser. And so do the people. They seem more sinister and brooding. I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. This is what I knew would happen.
She moves between all these people almost as if they weren’t even there. She is on a mission and nothing will deter her. This is the correct attitude to have, I’m sure, if one is to come back out alive.
At the back of the club, instead of a wall there is an entrance. A tunnel. It slopes downwards softly, whilst curving to the left, a spiral, always to the left apart from the odd stretch straight ahead.
The tunnel has walls like a cave, the rough hewn edges of stone showing. Dimly lit by a light whose source I cannot fathom. It seems that the light is permanently coming from the tunnel’s end though it is never in sight. But there’s that feeling that it’s just around the next corner.
She enters the tunnel without hesitation. I try not to show mine and follow.
After a few steps I look back. I can still see the lights of the club we’re leaving behind along with any feeling of safety. They dim more and more. And so does the sound. And that’s the scariest part. Losing whatever feeble connection we can have to the place up there.
One more curve to the left and it fades away. The sound quickly follows.
There are steps along the way. They are broad and shallow. Slowly they take us down. We walk at a good pace but carefully. There isn’t enough light to see where we are going and there’re plenty of people inside the tunnel. Waiting. Waiting for customers. Waiting for prey.
We move ever downwards with a constant pace. There is a new sound here. I can’t place it, there’s no perceptible rhythm or riffs. It’s like this gigantic but also blurred mass of distorted guitars, continuously strumming their mass of industrial Goth metal rock. It’s a continuous onslaught of distortion with only a vague discernment of variation. The sound doesn’t seem to change for a long time. It’s always there. Always the same. As if telling us we are never going to reach the objective.
All I know is that at the end of the tunnel there is a terrible thing. That more often than not people that go in search of these drugs that can only be obtained there, do not return. But I wish to protect her and so I move on.
At each step of the way, at each turn, men gage us. Trying to ascertain who we are and what they can do with us. At each step, at each new turn their faces and looks become more and more menacing. Even she’s feeling more and more anxious. I can feel it. We don’t say anything. Exchanging any word here would be an assumption of doubt or hesitation, which are just another words for fear. And that would be deadly. We press on and we look to these people less and less. As if they didn’t matter. As if only the end of the tunnel mattered.
Another turn to the left. Again that vague eerie steely glare escorts us downwards. It never seems to change. I feel that these men want to kill us but, as soon as we drop another step below them it’s as if we drop beyond their reach, their maximum tolerance level and are thus spared. This is why we can never stop.
The steps seem endless. Always the same. Always shallow and long. I calculate that if we had to run back we’d easily trip in them for their length is unnatural and hard to judge.
Then the glare increases and so does the sound. Some sort of ongoing repetitive mass of chords keeps ringing, over saturated.
I don’t know what to do.
I can see the glare as we descend the last few steps. The wall now curves to the right. There’s a dark golden red light coming from inside.
The sound increases.
The men move aside as we pass by them. Staring at us from behind their black shades. As if we are mad to enter that place.
I don’t know what to do.
I follow her.
We enter a small cave. There’s a crowd dancing to the sound of this music that I can’t place where it’s coming from. The wall behind them is completely black and I know that even if I got close to it I would not see anything.
On either side of the crowd there are two hierarchies. They watch the crowd dance, presiding to the whole thing. They are both demonic. I suppose she has sold her soul as soon as we entered the tunnel. Intention is everything and as soon as she made her wish and began down the tunnel, the pact was sealed. This is how it works.
She hesitates. She is so close but it’s as if for the first time it hits her what she can really lose if she goes ahead with this. I don’t know what it is but it’s bigger than life, death and the soul combined. It’s as if she’s about to lose everything and more. I try to stop her. She just shrugs me away and moves towards the crowd. I cannot go any further. This is my limit. It’s not something that I can even conceptualise to do. To follow her. I just watch her move between the hot, pulsing bodies, oblivious to anything but their motion. She goes to the left crowd, passes between the dancing bodies and is received upon the hierarchy. A man with long flowing hair welcomes her courteously and begins to speak with her. Greets her as if he had always known her.
I feel I shouldn’t be here. I feel that they will find me and do something worse than death to me. To her. But I should stay. To protect her. If anything goes wrong I will try and save her, even though I know that my abilities are next to zero when compared to those of the ones playing host to this place.
She makes her request.
The demon in human form pauses and draws a soft smile. He concedes. Something is brought to him and he gives it to her. He leaves her and she wades back into the crowd. She comes towards me with a triumphant yet somewhat nervous look in her face. She has what she wanted. She feels she’s won.
We begin walking away.
We start climbing the long staircase once more.
Her eyes shine.
None of us says anything.
I’m terrified because I know that the pact is now definitive.
I know she is doomed.
She knows it too.
But, right now, she doesn’t care. She has precisely what she’d wanted.
For now, she’s won.
END
Friday, 25 December 2009
Echoes
This is another of the set of short stories I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. I don't really recall how it came about but it probably had something to do with some family stuff going on then. That feeling that most kids seem to have when they hit adolescence (well, at least I did, 'cause I remember it well) of wanting to grow too fast, to reach maturity as quickly as possible.
So, in a way, this little story is a short meditation on that, from both sides of the equation.
Enjoy!
peace.
ECHOES
(591 word count)
What happened? Are you alright? You look terrible.
I’m fine I guess. Humm… no really. It’s ok. I’ve just been looking through my great-grandparents stuff.
Really?! Why would you want to do that?
Genealogy. I just wanted to find out a bit better how they lived back then. You know, twenty first century style.
Honey, why would you want to do that?
I guess I’m trying to find some closure in my own life, you know? What’s it all about? Did they know any more than us? Did they learn anything?
The woman paused and looked intently at her daughter. Then said
Well, did they?
I don’t know. I don’t think so. They spent an awful lot of time doing lots of pointless things. “Surfing the web” Publishing snippets of their emo-mind states and hoping that others would spot them.
Well, we do the same. We’ve got Z.
Sure. But that’s not an activity in itself it’s-
-just part of the landscape. I know. But don’t be too hard on them. This kind of stuff was born there. They godfathered our era. For better or for worse.
It’s just that I’ve gone through all this drivel about what I’ve done or eaten today or what I’m planning on buying or whatever and what strikes me the most is all the misinformation they were surrounded with. The world was upside down. Couldn’t they see it?
Honey. Of course they could. They were just stuck in their own time. We all are.
I know that. But why didn’t they realise it faster? Why did they get so easily stuck?
Honey, they didn’t have the technology we have today. Neuron balancing therapy, synaptic realignment and cortical regenerative processes were only invented less than thirty years ago.
Sure. But these techniques, they didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t know before…
I know honey... but they did allow us to reach those ideas much faster than ever before. That’s why they were so important in the first place. Now what I think is that you shouldn’t get yourself so worked up simply because you can’t sort out the past. No one can. What’s done is done… You know, when I was your age, we used to spend so much time in I-Reality. Who pays any attention to that these days? You’re seven. Don’t worry yourself about all this stuff. You have the rest of your life to do that. Just enjoy what you’ve got right now. All these mementos… honey, they’re just echoes from the past…
Is she alright?
Yeah. She is… I had to have the “you’re looking too much, too deep” conversation again.
Well, if anyone can, it’s you honey. I’m crap at that sort of stuff.
You’re not… but thanks. The woman leaned over to her husband and rested her head on his chest. She’s just so young and already so much into all this deep brooding stuff. Were you ever like that when you were a kid? More worried about the philosophical consequences of your ancestors than actually spending time with your friends?
Nah. You know me. Always a sucker for putting up with my mates. But don’t start getting worried on me to. One out of three females is as much as I can take.
Oh, poor baby… does that mean you’re not planning on worrying then?
You better pray I don’t even show early signs. I’m impossible to put up with…
Thanks for the fair warning…
Hmm… Kids these days hey? They just grow up too fast.
END
So, in a way, this little story is a short meditation on that, from both sides of the equation.
Enjoy!
peace.
ECHOES
(591 word count)
What happened? Are you alright? You look terrible.
I’m fine I guess. Humm… no really. It’s ok. I’ve just been looking through my great-grandparents stuff.
Really?! Why would you want to do that?
Genealogy. I just wanted to find out a bit better how they lived back then. You know, twenty first century style.
Honey, why would you want to do that?
I guess I’m trying to find some closure in my own life, you know? What’s it all about? Did they know any more than us? Did they learn anything?
The woman paused and looked intently at her daughter. Then said
Well, did they?
I don’t know. I don’t think so. They spent an awful lot of time doing lots of pointless things. “Surfing the web” Publishing snippets of their emo-mind states and hoping that others would spot them.
Well, we do the same. We’ve got Z.
Sure. But that’s not an activity in itself it’s-
-just part of the landscape. I know. But don’t be too hard on them. This kind of stuff was born there. They godfathered our era. For better or for worse.
It’s just that I’ve gone through all this drivel about what I’ve done or eaten today or what I’m planning on buying or whatever and what strikes me the most is all the misinformation they were surrounded with. The world was upside down. Couldn’t they see it?
Honey. Of course they could. They were just stuck in their own time. We all are.
I know that. But why didn’t they realise it faster? Why did they get so easily stuck?
Honey, they didn’t have the technology we have today. Neuron balancing therapy, synaptic realignment and cortical regenerative processes were only invented less than thirty years ago.
Sure. But these techniques, they didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t know before…
I know honey... but they did allow us to reach those ideas much faster than ever before. That’s why they were so important in the first place. Now what I think is that you shouldn’t get yourself so worked up simply because you can’t sort out the past. No one can. What’s done is done… You know, when I was your age, we used to spend so much time in I-Reality. Who pays any attention to that these days? You’re seven. Don’t worry yourself about all this stuff. You have the rest of your life to do that. Just enjoy what you’ve got right now. All these mementos… honey, they’re just echoes from the past…
Is she alright?
Yeah. She is… I had to have the “you’re looking too much, too deep” conversation again.
Well, if anyone can, it’s you honey. I’m crap at that sort of stuff.
You’re not… but thanks. The woman leaned over to her husband and rested her head on his chest. She’s just so young and already so much into all this deep brooding stuff. Were you ever like that when you were a kid? More worried about the philosophical consequences of your ancestors than actually spending time with your friends?
Nah. You know me. Always a sucker for putting up with my mates. But don’t start getting worried on me to. One out of three females is as much as I can take.
Oh, poor baby… does that mean you’re not planning on worrying then?
You better pray I don’t even show early signs. I’m impossible to put up with…
Thanks for the fair warning…
Hmm… Kids these days hey? They just grow up too fast.
END
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Coincidences Remixed
Weeks have slipped by and I kept meaning to post the last few short stories for that New Scientist competition but I just kept postponing it and postponing it and postponing it...
Well... no more!
COINCIDENCES REMIXED
(300 word count)
Heading home? Already?!
Yeah man… boss been giving me a hard time… you know how it is… too much work and no time to do it… I’m just gonna head home and chill watching a movie…
Alright. I’m feeling a bit tired myself. I think I’m gonna do the same…
Oh yeah? What are you gonna watch?
Oh… I don’t know… maybe Casablanca. It’s been a while, you know?
For real?! That’s what I’m gonna watch! What a coincidence! I’m such a fan of that classic, you know? With whom playing?
Ah… you know… I don’t really know. Maybe with Demi Moore and Shia LaBeouf.
Really? Hmm… funny, never heard about that one… Directed by?
Er… either Woody Allen - in his early, Bananas, phase mind you. Or Fellini. Think 8 and a Half. I want something moving and weird but funny as well. But I’ll probably go with Woody Allen this time.
Right… old school hey?
I guess… How about you?
I’m prefer something a bit more contemporary. You know. Ted Malek. Vicky Stratsmore. Kev Lubin behind the scenes. Nothing fancy.
The action adventure angle, right?
Yeah, you know. I just like to go home and relax with a good punch up… How’re you watching it? Total I-Reality immersion or what? I just can’t get enough of it! It blows me away! Sometimes I’m still in character by the time I log into work!
Yeah… I know what you mean… but man, believe it or not, as soon as I’ve configured all the specs for the film, I’m gonna watch this latest production of mine in pure and simple 3D.
What?! Come on, tell me one thing: you just like to be different from everybody else don’t you?
Hey, what can I say? I’m a traditional kind of guy.
END
This one was written thinking of a cartoony feel. A simple story with a humorous punchline at the end. I just find it funny how what we define as being traditional keeps changing all the time. What is usual is something that stems from the moment. And, since the moments keep changing, so do our references.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
Peace.
Well... no more!
COINCIDENCES REMIXED
(300 word count)
Heading home? Already?!
Yeah man… boss been giving me a hard time… you know how it is… too much work and no time to do it… I’m just gonna head home and chill watching a movie…
Alright. I’m feeling a bit tired myself. I think I’m gonna do the same…
Oh yeah? What are you gonna watch?
Oh… I don’t know… maybe Casablanca. It’s been a while, you know?
For real?! That’s what I’m gonna watch! What a coincidence! I’m such a fan of that classic, you know? With whom playing?
Ah… you know… I don’t really know. Maybe with Demi Moore and Shia LaBeouf.
Really? Hmm… funny, never heard about that one… Directed by?
Er… either Woody Allen - in his early, Bananas, phase mind you. Or Fellini. Think 8 and a Half. I want something moving and weird but funny as well. But I’ll probably go with Woody Allen this time.
Right… old school hey?
I guess… How about you?
I’m prefer something a bit more contemporary. You know. Ted Malek. Vicky Stratsmore. Kev Lubin behind the scenes. Nothing fancy.
The action adventure angle, right?
Yeah, you know. I just like to go home and relax with a good punch up… How’re you watching it? Total I-Reality immersion or what? I just can’t get enough of it! It blows me away! Sometimes I’m still in character by the time I log into work!
Yeah… I know what you mean… but man, believe it or not, as soon as I’ve configured all the specs for the film, I’m gonna watch this latest production of mine in pure and simple 3D.
What?! Come on, tell me one thing: you just like to be different from everybody else don’t you?
Hey, what can I say? I’m a traditional kind of guy.
END
This one was written thinking of a cartoony feel. A simple story with a humorous punchline at the end. I just find it funny how what we define as being traditional keeps changing all the time. What is usual is something that stems from the moment. And, since the moments keep changing, so do our references.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
Peace.
Ritual II
This is the other version of the short that I posted here a while ago. I wanted to capture the same escaping reality feel of the first one but in a smaller space. Curiously enough, even though the end is more or less the same, the way that the story developed was very different. Feel free to compare them.
Go on...
Peace!
RITUAL II
(374 word count)
He was running through the forest. The ground shaking underneath his feet.
Is there where I’m supposed to be? Am I doing this right?!
The forest began to disappear and then there was mist all around and he couldn’t see where he was going and, before he could stop, he felt himself starting to sink in quicksand.
This isn’t real! I just need to tell myself that this isn’t real! This isn’t real!
“As if buddy boy. You’re chained. And I’m free. You’re mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
A hulking man, half his face disfigured paced the room around the metallic chair to which he was bound, naked, sharpening a long, wide blade.
“It cuts pretty well too. So much so that you can’t even feel it at first…” He pressed the blade against his skin and he saw in horror the blade sinking through his flesh as if it was barely there. Blood began to flow easily, as if waiting to be released.
“Stop!! This isn’t real! Nothing of this is real! You’re not real!”
“If it isn’t real what are you so afraid of? Why should I stop? Especially since I’m having so much fun…” And he placed the blade against his chest and began to cut it open.
“Now let’s lookee here and see what you’re really made off…”
He screamed. As loud as he could. But the sound came out muffled. He felt his insides starting to spill and soon it was as if the waters were parting above him as he sank. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe. He couldn’t. He was being dragged down, deeper and deeper. It was getting cold. The lights above him had ceased to be. His lungs about to burst.
…just…
He released all the air. Water came in. He wanted to breathe it all but couldn’t. He struggled to swim upwards to no avail. He felt heavier than ever before, his body turning to stone. Sinking. His eyes open. The darkness eating him up.
“Bring him out. We ‘re done.”
“He alright?”
“Of course not. But he will be. This is what he paid for. This is what he got. A true 22nd century shamanic ritual.”
END
Go on...
Peace!
RITUAL II
(374 word count)
He was running through the forest. The ground shaking underneath his feet.
Is there where I’m supposed to be? Am I doing this right?!
The forest began to disappear and then there was mist all around and he couldn’t see where he was going and, before he could stop, he felt himself starting to sink in quicksand.
This isn’t real! I just need to tell myself that this isn’t real! This isn’t real!
“As if buddy boy. You’re chained. And I’m free. You’re mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
A hulking man, half his face disfigured paced the room around the metallic chair to which he was bound, naked, sharpening a long, wide blade.
“It cuts pretty well too. So much so that you can’t even feel it at first…” He pressed the blade against his skin and he saw in horror the blade sinking through his flesh as if it was barely there. Blood began to flow easily, as if waiting to be released.
“Stop!! This isn’t real! Nothing of this is real! You’re not real!”
“If it isn’t real what are you so afraid of? Why should I stop? Especially since I’m having so much fun…” And he placed the blade against his chest and began to cut it open.
“Now let’s lookee here and see what you’re really made off…”
He screamed. As loud as he could. But the sound came out muffled. He felt his insides starting to spill and soon it was as if the waters were parting above him as he sank. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe. He couldn’t. He was being dragged down, deeper and deeper. It was getting cold. The lights above him had ceased to be. His lungs about to burst.
…just…
He released all the air. Water came in. He wanted to breathe it all but couldn’t. He struggled to swim upwards to no avail. He felt heavier than ever before, his body turning to stone. Sinking. His eyes open. The darkness eating him up.
“Bring him out. We ‘re done.”
“He alright?”
“Of course not. But he will be. This is what he paid for. This is what he got. A true 22nd century shamanic ritual.”
END
Seven Pounds
Another amazing film that I saw recently was Gabrielle Muccino's Seven Pounds starring Will Smith incredible performance.
This was also an unexpected journey. But, fortunately, one that I will treasure. I think this will be one of those rare films that I revisit from time to time.
I will try not to spoil it too much for you but, in any case, I'd advise you to simply watch it and then come back here and read some more.
One of the great things about this film is that, even though it relies heavily on plot (and it's a great one), the story itself and the performance of the actors are really the thing that makes this film work. For this reason, the journey will always be true, even if you already know the end point at the beginning. In fact, I think that on a second viewing the film will feel even deeper and more meaningful...
I mean, after a point, I saw the end coming but, even so, it was still so intense and deep.
Together with Paranoia Agent, I think that this film is what the 21st century film making should be all about. Both are filled with human compassion and, to me, this is the only way forward.
(well, obviously not the ONLY way forward, but the one that in my opinion should be the reference in years to come)
I loved the way how throughout most of the film we did not know what to think about Will's character. Is he good? Is he evil? Who is he? And why is he doing the things he is doing?
Clearly the story plays with our own fears and misconceptions along the way. It is an incredible tribute to the human soul and to the swamps we all have inside and that we must traverse if we are ever to reach a more complete view of ourselves. I feel that this film does this for us, albeit in a much more subtle way than in Paranoia Agent.
Even though one of the tag lines for this film could be "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth", the story turns this upside down. Sacrifice is mixed with redemption and true unconditional love.
It is also a tribute to reason by presenting us with this summit of mathematical retribution but on a very high level of compassion. He is tormented but, even in his torment he uses his darkness to reach liberation.
It is a tribute to the best of us being able to traverse the worst of us, if even with dire consequences.
Even though this film is haunting in many ways, it is also a reminder of life attempting to deal with the unchangeable consequences of its actions, of its very being. I do not necessarily agree with all the outcomes but I believe that they-re never done in a gratuitous way.
If you've seen it you know what I'm talking about.
If you haven't you're not missing the point of this tangential review.
You're missing a great film.
Peace.
This was also an unexpected journey. But, fortunately, one that I will treasure. I think this will be one of those rare films that I revisit from time to time.
I will try not to spoil it too much for you but, in any case, I'd advise you to simply watch it and then come back here and read some more.
One of the great things about this film is that, even though it relies heavily on plot (and it's a great one), the story itself and the performance of the actors are really the thing that makes this film work. For this reason, the journey will always be true, even if you already know the end point at the beginning. In fact, I think that on a second viewing the film will feel even deeper and more meaningful...
I mean, after a point, I saw the end coming but, even so, it was still so intense and deep.
Together with Paranoia Agent, I think that this film is what the 21st century film making should be all about. Both are filled with human compassion and, to me, this is the only way forward.
(well, obviously not the ONLY way forward, but the one that in my opinion should be the reference in years to come)
I loved the way how throughout most of the film we did not know what to think about Will's character. Is he good? Is he evil? Who is he? And why is he doing the things he is doing?
Clearly the story plays with our own fears and misconceptions along the way. It is an incredible tribute to the human soul and to the swamps we all have inside and that we must traverse if we are ever to reach a more complete view of ourselves. I feel that this film does this for us, albeit in a much more subtle way than in Paranoia Agent.
Even though one of the tag lines for this film could be "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth", the story turns this upside down. Sacrifice is mixed with redemption and true unconditional love.
It is also a tribute to reason by presenting us with this summit of mathematical retribution but on a very high level of compassion. He is tormented but, even in his torment he uses his darkness to reach liberation.
It is a tribute to the best of us being able to traverse the worst of us, if even with dire consequences.
Even though this film is haunting in many ways, it is also a reminder of life attempting to deal with the unchangeable consequences of its actions, of its very being. I do not necessarily agree with all the outcomes but I believe that they-re never done in a gratuitous way.
If you've seen it you know what I'm talking about.
If you haven't you're not missing the point of this tangential review.
You're missing a great film.
Peace.
Paranoia Agent
I've been meaning to post something about this amazing animation series for a while now. This was one of those series that seemed to take animation and film making to that level where one seems to reach a core of reality so deep that any attempt to discuss it seems futile.
Satoshi Kon is an accomplished master.
He can not only see through the medium but also through ourselves.
To be honest this whole series deserves far more than just a post. It deserves to be seen. To be experienced.
perhaps that is the core of this series. Experience itself.
Like Lynch, Satoshi Kon takes us to a place where logic breaks and where, by being lost, we regain something that we have forgotten about.
It still astounds me how Satoshi Kon has managed to pull off such a series. It's like a breathing organism, growing and mutating, adapting to our own growing perceptions of it. And, by knowing this, it takes us on a carefully established journey through our own lunacy.
When I went to Panditarama Forest Monastery for my first ever meditation retreat a few years ago I did not know the many surprises my own mind had kept so well hidden away from my intense conceptual/philosophical soul searching throughout the years. I thought I had seen it all. That I knew it all.
And, in a way, I had.
But I had not experienced it all.
Knowing madness is quite different from experiencing it.
We all, by one reason or another, come close to these experiences in our lives. Through loss or sheer frustration, through an unbearable pain or some sort, our minds seem to want to recoil and slingshot into a different level of awareness where the normalcy of feeling is lost and thus, the seemingly uncontrollable experience at hand shifts into a more manageable level.
Sometimes we just want to lose control. Perhaps because a part of us knows that if we do so, we will regain another sort of balance.
But, we also know, even if vaguely, that the consequences might not be the best and so, we refrain.
I think Satoshi Kon knows very well how the human mind works. If not in a scientific way surely in an experiential way. The intensity and clarity of such experiences are clearly demonstrated throughout the series by the mastery with which he takes us - safely, nonetheless! - in such a perilous journey.
At first I was puzzled with this story. Captured by the images, by the sequences of strangeness and beauty being offered at every moment. But I did not understand this kid with golden rollerblades and golden bat beating people up. This was no ordinary thriller, that much was clear...
After two or three episodes a pattern began to emerge. All those that had been attacked suffered from some form of mental breakdown.
The girl that had created the doll and that was so pressure that started to hear the doll talk back to her.
the boy collapsing under his own success at school.
The woman that had dual personality, crashing under her own desire to regain herself, crushed by the weight of her two opposing sides.
The cop with too much to hide.
I thought I had cracked it.
I didn't know how Shonen Bat (golden bat) had managed to tap into all those people but this was nonetheless the pattern emerging. And, somehow, I doubted that a paranormal explanation would be the correct one.
Then one of the police officers said a very important thing half way through the series.
That maybe this case was the signaling of a new type of crime. A crime that avoids patterns and reasons. A type of crime that no one can hunt or be prepared for.
An this is the key for the whole series, in my view.
The series then apparently seems to lose its focus after episode seven when the basis for the whole Shonen Bat story is no more. Episodes range in their surrealism and darkness, but always depicting madness in one way or another.
But, slowly, the story seems to return to where we had left it. Maromi's creator, the two cops and the dying man in the hospital seem to begin to coalesce once again.
It then becomes clear that all of them have become infected with the Shonen Bat paranoia. in one way or another, this mystery has taken over their lives.
This is what they begin to find out with different levels of awareness.
In the end, even though the mystery is cracked, at the same time it continues.
My interpretation is simple. What Satoshi Kon is targetting is not Shonen Bat itself but the paranoia that exists within each and everyone of us and thus, that pervades the whole of society. The only reason why Shonen Bat becomes the cult phenomenon it does is simply because we resonate with it. Ie, we resonate with the fear of the unknown - which is the basis of paranoia.
This is Satoshi Kon's masterstroke.
He's not talking about a boy in rollerblades.
He's talking about the pressure we experience in our everyday lives and how this causes paranoia to creep into us.
All the episodes are merely examples of how this might happen. If you take a closer look, you will see that he has attempted to look at every significant strata of society. First and foremost he focuses on those we already know that are on the edge. Either because of their professions or their lifestyle but then, as the cult catches on, everyone becomes a vehicle for this. Because all of us have stresses in our lives, in one way or another.
To me the experience is truly to see the series from beginning to end and see the circle forming. Realising that, even though Shonen Bat is no more, Shonen Bat is still very much alive. It was never a person. It was an idea. It was the expression of our individual paranoias that had finally found a way to reach the surface of our minds.
Obviously, this series is aimed at a Japanese audience and looks intently on the Japanese lifestyle on the big city.
Thus the ending, which is so similar to the beginning is not only suitable but also fundamental. Satoshi tells us that the pressure is everywhere and we don't even see it anymore. We just take it as normal. But that the consequences of it live on while this pressure remains.
And that this is something that cannot be resolved by the normal analytical mind. It needs to be known and experienced. And then a choice be made upon this realisation.
This is the true importance of the detective that, connecting the dots, decides to stay real rather than succumb to his fears. Like his partner. That then replaces the old man in the weird calculations on the sidewalk.
At first I did not know what these scribbles meant. I only noticed that each of the numbers reached at the end of each step of the calculation were connected to the main character of each episode. Their age. Date of birth. Number of document. Car tag. Door number. Etc.
But what did they meant? What was the purpose of all this?
To me this insane character that believes he knows and predicts the fate of the next victim represents simply the logical trying to make heads or tails of something that is more a symptom rather than a pattern.
This is what Satoshi Kon is ultimately telling us. That our contemporary society is ill. And that some strange diseases are on the loose.
Illnesses of which we all participate.
And he's showing us the way of how to outgrow them.
This is why this series is so important to me.
It can safely take us to the other side of our own madness.
And make us whole again.
Peace.
Satoshi Kon is an accomplished master.
He can not only see through the medium but also through ourselves.
To be honest this whole series deserves far more than just a post. It deserves to be seen. To be experienced.
perhaps that is the core of this series. Experience itself.
Like Lynch, Satoshi Kon takes us to a place where logic breaks and where, by being lost, we regain something that we have forgotten about.
It still astounds me how Satoshi Kon has managed to pull off such a series. It's like a breathing organism, growing and mutating, adapting to our own growing perceptions of it. And, by knowing this, it takes us on a carefully established journey through our own lunacy.
When I went to Panditarama Forest Monastery for my first ever meditation retreat a few years ago I did not know the many surprises my own mind had kept so well hidden away from my intense conceptual/philosophical soul searching throughout the years. I thought I had seen it all. That I knew it all.
And, in a way, I had.
But I had not experienced it all.
Knowing madness is quite different from experiencing it.
We all, by one reason or another, come close to these experiences in our lives. Through loss or sheer frustration, through an unbearable pain or some sort, our minds seem to want to recoil and slingshot into a different level of awareness where the normalcy of feeling is lost and thus, the seemingly uncontrollable experience at hand shifts into a more manageable level.
Sometimes we just want to lose control. Perhaps because a part of us knows that if we do so, we will regain another sort of balance.
But, we also know, even if vaguely, that the consequences might not be the best and so, we refrain.
I think Satoshi Kon knows very well how the human mind works. If not in a scientific way surely in an experiential way. The intensity and clarity of such experiences are clearly demonstrated throughout the series by the mastery with which he takes us - safely, nonetheless! - in such a perilous journey.
At first I was puzzled with this story. Captured by the images, by the sequences of strangeness and beauty being offered at every moment. But I did not understand this kid with golden rollerblades and golden bat beating people up. This was no ordinary thriller, that much was clear...
After two or three episodes a pattern began to emerge. All those that had been attacked suffered from some form of mental breakdown.
The girl that had created the doll and that was so pressure that started to hear the doll talk back to her.
the boy collapsing under his own success at school.
The woman that had dual personality, crashing under her own desire to regain herself, crushed by the weight of her two opposing sides.
The cop with too much to hide.
I thought I had cracked it.
I didn't know how Shonen Bat (golden bat) had managed to tap into all those people but this was nonetheless the pattern emerging. And, somehow, I doubted that a paranormal explanation would be the correct one.
Then one of the police officers said a very important thing half way through the series.
That maybe this case was the signaling of a new type of crime. A crime that avoids patterns and reasons. A type of crime that no one can hunt or be prepared for.
An this is the key for the whole series, in my view.
The series then apparently seems to lose its focus after episode seven when the basis for the whole Shonen Bat story is no more. Episodes range in their surrealism and darkness, but always depicting madness in one way or another.
But, slowly, the story seems to return to where we had left it. Maromi's creator, the two cops and the dying man in the hospital seem to begin to coalesce once again.
It then becomes clear that all of them have become infected with the Shonen Bat paranoia. in one way or another, this mystery has taken over their lives.
This is what they begin to find out with different levels of awareness.
In the end, even though the mystery is cracked, at the same time it continues.
My interpretation is simple. What Satoshi Kon is targetting is not Shonen Bat itself but the paranoia that exists within each and everyone of us and thus, that pervades the whole of society. The only reason why Shonen Bat becomes the cult phenomenon it does is simply because we resonate with it. Ie, we resonate with the fear of the unknown - which is the basis of paranoia.
This is Satoshi Kon's masterstroke.
He's not talking about a boy in rollerblades.
He's talking about the pressure we experience in our everyday lives and how this causes paranoia to creep into us.
All the episodes are merely examples of how this might happen. If you take a closer look, you will see that he has attempted to look at every significant strata of society. First and foremost he focuses on those we already know that are on the edge. Either because of their professions or their lifestyle but then, as the cult catches on, everyone becomes a vehicle for this. Because all of us have stresses in our lives, in one way or another.
To me the experience is truly to see the series from beginning to end and see the circle forming. Realising that, even though Shonen Bat is no more, Shonen Bat is still very much alive. It was never a person. It was an idea. It was the expression of our individual paranoias that had finally found a way to reach the surface of our minds.
Obviously, this series is aimed at a Japanese audience and looks intently on the Japanese lifestyle on the big city.
Thus the ending, which is so similar to the beginning is not only suitable but also fundamental. Satoshi tells us that the pressure is everywhere and we don't even see it anymore. We just take it as normal. But that the consequences of it live on while this pressure remains.
And that this is something that cannot be resolved by the normal analytical mind. It needs to be known and experienced. And then a choice be made upon this realisation.
This is the true importance of the detective that, connecting the dots, decides to stay real rather than succumb to his fears. Like his partner. That then replaces the old man in the weird calculations on the sidewalk.
At first I did not know what these scribbles meant. I only noticed that each of the numbers reached at the end of each step of the calculation were connected to the main character of each episode. Their age. Date of birth. Number of document. Car tag. Door number. Etc.
But what did they meant? What was the purpose of all this?
To me this insane character that believes he knows and predicts the fate of the next victim represents simply the logical trying to make heads or tails of something that is more a symptom rather than a pattern.
This is what Satoshi Kon is ultimately telling us. That our contemporary society is ill. And that some strange diseases are on the loose.
Illnesses of which we all participate.
And he's showing us the way of how to outgrow them.
This is why this series is so important to me.
It can safely take us to the other side of our own madness.
And make us whole again.
Peace.
Friday, 18 December 2009
The Post Wrimo Blues??!
What's that?!
At least this year I didn't feel them. In fact, I don't think I ever did feel them... I think I always go through the highs and lows during the writing process rather than afterwards...
I any case, this year's nanowrimo is over and i more or less managed to fulfill my objectives. It's Not Too Dark Here stopped at 56 198 and The Lost Years ended at 60 129 (at ten minutes to midnight on the 30th of November...)
I was really behind my schedule when I got to portugal on the 26th. But then I spent a few good days at a very good friend's house typing away and avoiding most of the grey weather and rain that struck Lisbon.
I'm very happy to the way It's Not Too Dark Here turned out. I think this was the first time I had quite a clear idea of where the book was heading from the beginning and that really helped along the way. If you have the direction it's always easier to stay on course...
What I loved was the way the story kept changing as I wrote it. I knew there had to be a major clash between this strange anti-hero and the forces of the outside world but the way I had initially planned it was almost entirely discarded.
writing is an odd thing because it feels to me like a mix of being in the flow but also deciding where it will go next. I simply try to be in the flow and, when I'm not, that's when I start deciding about plot, characters and so forth. Maybe this will change in the future but, for now, this is the way I feel more comfortable with.
one of the good things that I enjoyed watching as I wrote was this character I had based on a friend of mine.
We had had a good long chat in september and, after telling her of my ideas for November, she said I should write her into the story. I took the bait right there and then and my mind automatically started browsing for possibilities. Very rapidly I thought of what I wanted her to represent in the book - which was (and still is) her core attitude towards life and something that i needed in the book. But i now had a character to insert somewhere in the story that I hadn't envisioned from the onset.
She was going to be the voice of consciousness. The voice throughout the story that every so often reminds us that the setting is utterly insane and that, despite that fact, everything is still pushing forward at incredible speed. She is the observer of the lunacy of it all. She is one of the bridges between intentions, story and readers.
I did a first attempt to place her in the story. I wanted her to be there more or less from the onset you see.
but that didn't work out. I wrote a couple of scenes but they felt too forced and not really going anywhere. It felt as if she shouldn't be there.
So i dropped it.
I forgot all about i, actually.
But then the story kept evolving. And, after a particular important climax, she just came back into the game for a few very important scenes.
With The Lost Years the story was a bit different. I quickly realised that this book was going to be more than what I have initially envisioned and that I needed a lot more time to bring it to blossom. So, I decided to forget somewhat the research aspect of it (I didn't have the time or internet when I was in portugal) and focus on the drama.
But, even so, this was a story full of surprises. The characters really grew on me and I think that even if you were to read it now, they would grow on you as well. I think there's a deep sense of humanity through it all. But, to be quite honest, it felt as if there was still much to be said. This story is one that I keep having ideas about, getting clearer and clearer every time I think about it. It's a place where i feel comfortable being and I believe it's an important story to be told in this way.
I thought a lot about Nietzsche's Anti-Christ (that I read many years ago) and the vision of a more human Jesus (in his case, in defiance of more "orthodox" christianity). In a way I think the purpose of this book is to reconcile what seems to me to be misinterpretations of both orthodox christianity and philosophy towards Jesus's message.
And that's why I need a bit more time to read through both the bible (a new version that a friend of mine bought which is based upon the "original" texts rather than the string of translations) and some more material (which includes Nietzsche's final work).
I don't know why but I just feel an incredible potential with this book. I know it has been done before (and most surely it will be done again in the future), but I feel that it is important and that it needs to be said. I don't know why, but there is really a calling for this one.
And the strange thing is that, even though I consider Jesus a pretty interesting character, I am much more fascinated by many other historical figures.
In any case, I do not want to turn it into an essay debating the pros and cons of two viewpoints. Rather, I wish to integrate seamlessly into the narrative some answers to much of the debate still going on about this greatly misinterpreted historical figure. I believe that if Jesus was alive today he would probably disagree with much that is being said in his name. The book tries to convey this idea more clearly through dramatic exploration of particular scenarios but also allow us to more clearly see Jesus as both a man of his time but also ahead of his time. The keywords here being his incredible adaptability and compassion.
Still, I have stopped thinking reasons for this and instead simply accepted the way things are currently in my heart and mind...
If you are interested in knowing a bit more about this just go to wikipedia and search for Essenes or, even better, go to this website:
http://www.thenazareneway.com/
there you'll have a plethora of information and this will easily help you get a better idea of where this book is headed. Connect this with Buddhism (which is the root of the Essene teachings) and you pretty much get it.
So, the idea is simple. To recreate Jesus's journeys, both inside and throughout the world. Hopefully the beauty of his teachings will become closer to all those that read it. To me, much more important than the divine (physical) birth of Jesus (and we're all divine anyway so there's really no need to differentiate...) is that other birth, the opening into full divinity inside his heart. I simply wish that that journey will help us recognise that aspect of ourselves. And awaken us to it.
Peace
At least this year I didn't feel them. In fact, I don't think I ever did feel them... I think I always go through the highs and lows during the writing process rather than afterwards...
I any case, this year's nanowrimo is over and i more or less managed to fulfill my objectives. It's Not Too Dark Here stopped at 56 198 and The Lost Years ended at 60 129 (at ten minutes to midnight on the 30th of November...)
I was really behind my schedule when I got to portugal on the 26th. But then I spent a few good days at a very good friend's house typing away and avoiding most of the grey weather and rain that struck Lisbon.
I'm very happy to the way It's Not Too Dark Here turned out. I think this was the first time I had quite a clear idea of where the book was heading from the beginning and that really helped along the way. If you have the direction it's always easier to stay on course...
What I loved was the way the story kept changing as I wrote it. I knew there had to be a major clash between this strange anti-hero and the forces of the outside world but the way I had initially planned it was almost entirely discarded.
writing is an odd thing because it feels to me like a mix of being in the flow but also deciding where it will go next. I simply try to be in the flow and, when I'm not, that's when I start deciding about plot, characters and so forth. Maybe this will change in the future but, for now, this is the way I feel more comfortable with.
one of the good things that I enjoyed watching as I wrote was this character I had based on a friend of mine.
We had had a good long chat in september and, after telling her of my ideas for November, she said I should write her into the story. I took the bait right there and then and my mind automatically started browsing for possibilities. Very rapidly I thought of what I wanted her to represent in the book - which was (and still is) her core attitude towards life and something that i needed in the book. But i now had a character to insert somewhere in the story that I hadn't envisioned from the onset.
She was going to be the voice of consciousness. The voice throughout the story that every so often reminds us that the setting is utterly insane and that, despite that fact, everything is still pushing forward at incredible speed. She is the observer of the lunacy of it all. She is one of the bridges between intentions, story and readers.
I did a first attempt to place her in the story. I wanted her to be there more or less from the onset you see.
but that didn't work out. I wrote a couple of scenes but they felt too forced and not really going anywhere. It felt as if she shouldn't be there.
So i dropped it.
I forgot all about i, actually.
But then the story kept evolving. And, after a particular important climax, she just came back into the game for a few very important scenes.
With The Lost Years the story was a bit different. I quickly realised that this book was going to be more than what I have initially envisioned and that I needed a lot more time to bring it to blossom. So, I decided to forget somewhat the research aspect of it (I didn't have the time or internet when I was in portugal) and focus on the drama.
But, even so, this was a story full of surprises. The characters really grew on me and I think that even if you were to read it now, they would grow on you as well. I think there's a deep sense of humanity through it all. But, to be quite honest, it felt as if there was still much to be said. This story is one that I keep having ideas about, getting clearer and clearer every time I think about it. It's a place where i feel comfortable being and I believe it's an important story to be told in this way.
I thought a lot about Nietzsche's Anti-Christ (that I read many years ago) and the vision of a more human Jesus (in his case, in defiance of more "orthodox" christianity). In a way I think the purpose of this book is to reconcile what seems to me to be misinterpretations of both orthodox christianity and philosophy towards Jesus's message.
And that's why I need a bit more time to read through both the bible (a new version that a friend of mine bought which is based upon the "original" texts rather than the string of translations) and some more material (which includes Nietzsche's final work).
I don't know why but I just feel an incredible potential with this book. I know it has been done before (and most surely it will be done again in the future), but I feel that it is important and that it needs to be said. I don't know why, but there is really a calling for this one.
And the strange thing is that, even though I consider Jesus a pretty interesting character, I am much more fascinated by many other historical figures.
In any case, I do not want to turn it into an essay debating the pros and cons of two viewpoints. Rather, I wish to integrate seamlessly into the narrative some answers to much of the debate still going on about this greatly misinterpreted historical figure. I believe that if Jesus was alive today he would probably disagree with much that is being said in his name. The book tries to convey this idea more clearly through dramatic exploration of particular scenarios but also allow us to more clearly see Jesus as both a man of his time but also ahead of his time. The keywords here being his incredible adaptability and compassion.
Still, I have stopped thinking reasons for this and instead simply accepted the way things are currently in my heart and mind...
If you are interested in knowing a bit more about this just go to wikipedia and search for Essenes or, even better, go to this website:
http://www.thenazareneway.com/
there you'll have a plethora of information and this will easily help you get a better idea of where this book is headed. Connect this with Buddhism (which is the root of the Essene teachings) and you pretty much get it.
So, the idea is simple. To recreate Jesus's journeys, both inside and throughout the world. Hopefully the beauty of his teachings will become closer to all those that read it. To me, much more important than the divine (physical) birth of Jesus (and we're all divine anyway so there's really no need to differentiate...) is that other birth, the opening into full divinity inside his heart. I simply wish that that journey will help us recognise that aspect of ourselves. And awaken us to it.
Peace
Friday, 20 November 2009
Word Wounds
It's the 20th of November.
I should be with 40 000 words on each of the books.
I'm with 38 000 and something on Nume and 31 000 on The Lost Years.
I can't seem to dodge that 11 000 backlog...
In any case, tomorrow I will be working but coming home early and sunday I'm gonna plough through the dictionary like a fever running wild...
But things are looking good. Preston Nume has managed to survive yet another trial (though he's got a few scars to show for it) but, even though he's getting ready for the next lot (he knew as soon as he got on that island that they had it in for him) he's not really expecting what's gonna hit him next...
Meanwhile in Egypt, Jesus and his two companions are finding out some of the awful and beautiful truths in the former land of the Pharaohs.
I've been tempted to just focus on one of the books, finish it off and then come back and finish the other one but... i feel that there's something to gain from moving from one story to the other. What I've been doing is more or less writing out all the sequences that I had planned out. When I hit a point where I don't really know how to move forward, I jump on the other wagon and see what I can do there.
But this has been a very different NaNoWriMo. Not just because of writing two books in parallel, or doing some research for them, but mainly because i have been writing the chapters in more or less the order they'll stay for the final version.
(I say this now...)
(who knows what's gonna happen when revision happens...)
Anyway, just a quick update.
And I've just realised that I haven't updated my NaNoWriMo webpage since the first day... shame...
Thanks for staying tuned...
(and happy writings for all of you!)
Peace
I should be with 40 000 words on each of the books.
I'm with 38 000 and something on Nume and 31 000 on The Lost Years.
I can't seem to dodge that 11 000 backlog...
In any case, tomorrow I will be working but coming home early and sunday I'm gonna plough through the dictionary like a fever running wild...
But things are looking good. Preston Nume has managed to survive yet another trial (though he's got a few scars to show for it) but, even though he's getting ready for the next lot (he knew as soon as he got on that island that they had it in for him) he's not really expecting what's gonna hit him next...
Meanwhile in Egypt, Jesus and his two companions are finding out some of the awful and beautiful truths in the former land of the Pharaohs.
I've been tempted to just focus on one of the books, finish it off and then come back and finish the other one but... i feel that there's something to gain from moving from one story to the other. What I've been doing is more or less writing out all the sequences that I had planned out. When I hit a point where I don't really know how to move forward, I jump on the other wagon and see what I can do there.
But this has been a very different NaNoWriMo. Not just because of writing two books in parallel, or doing some research for them, but mainly because i have been writing the chapters in more or less the order they'll stay for the final version.
(I say this now...)
(who knows what's gonna happen when revision happens...)
Anyway, just a quick update.
And I've just realised that I haven't updated my NaNoWriMo webpage since the first day... shame...
Thanks for staying tuned...
(and happy writings for all of you!)
Peace
Monday, 16 November 2009
Wordy Weekends
Well, last thursday night, when I arrived home I looked at my word count.
it was something like 12 000 for one book and 18 000 for the other.
Then I thought
On sunday i should be on 30 000 on both.
And that means...
I've got to write 18 000 on one and 12 000 on the other... roughly...
In three days.
Which means 10 000 a day.
(a healthy diet)
Well, I'm now more or less on 27 500 on both.
Short of my objective but definitely much closer to what I needed doing!
And let me tell you, I struggled this weekend. I struggled because I wanted to watch films and relax and read and read stuff that could be quite important for the book (and i did do a bit of all these things, just not as much as I'd like to...) but I managed to stay more or less on track (yes, there were guitar playing sessions that lasted for more than an hour to chill and collect my ideas...) and do the deed.
And once again I discover that "this stupid idea I had for a book that is now so obviously proven doesn't work" (that was my down moment on saturday... a few hours actually) is somewhat wrong...
The Lost Years was more or less on track by friday/easrly hours saturday, so I spent the rest of the weekend focussing on It's Not Too Dark Here. After a while I knew pretty damn well which scenes I needed to write but I'd lost the will power to do them. It seemed pretty pointless.
I decided to call it a day on 23 or 24 000. I'd done my best, that was it.
Then I decided to just write the synopsis for what I need to write today (still). It was a scene where the main character comes face to face with a wild tiger (and yes, there are no wild tigers naturally on that island so some very naughty character must've brought it in...).
And there was going to be a clash there...
(this is a thriller after all... what better than tigers on desert island preying on unarmed men?!)
I just didn't know how they'd meet.
I was tired.
I didn't want to write anymore.
I wanted to sleep.
(bad!)
But the images about what was going to happen after they'd met were so vivid that I started writing them down.
I thought I didn't have enough stuff for the book.
And I might just have more than enough now...
And a few thousand words more for my word count that day. I wrote for another hour or two hours. I can't remember. I was in that mood where everything just flows. If I'd been more awake I'd continued to write until I'd run out of inspiration.
Unfortunately, these things only seem to happen when it's already 1.30 in the morning and I'm about to call it quits.
(I'm sure there's a pattern in there somewhere...)
This morning I wrote a bit more tying up loose ends. And I still have a bit more to do today when I get home.
But the most important part was that, a chapter that I thought was going to be quick turned out to be long but extremely exciting to write (and, I think, to read as well). A chapter that I thought was going to be dull and predictable, turned out to be almost central to the whole book. For me it turned it's direction around. And managed to do something that I'd wanted from the onset. Which is to make this character respected in some way by the audience. Make him human.
I think this chapter takes the bonding between reader and character to a different level. For the first time we see this aspect in Preston Nume. And it took me by surprise. But it made sense so I tried not to change it much.
I'll admit that, instinctively, a different outcome was present but, that's one of the pleasures of writing, you CAN turn things around and twist the story to your particular wishes.
In terms of The Lost Years, I'm on the doorstep of the Egyptian phase. I've been reading some stuff about Hermes Trismegistus (that existed a couple of millennia before Jesus - so he won't be a character, if that's what you're thinking...) and about the Egyptian Pantheon of gods.
And this is another of those chapters that I don't have the faintest idea how I'm gonna write it...
In an ideal world I'd spend a couple of decades reading books and learning Egyptian mythology and THEN write this chapter.
Because I live on Earth, Europe, UK, London, it has to be more like some Wikipedia on the diagonal side of perception, mix that with my very own and true to life experiences and ideas and start typing!
But seriously, this book isn't really about historical accuracy (though I have amazed myself at how much of that actually is there so far), it's much more about the spiritual journey of this man that was to become one of our most powerful myths.
Obviously it is a metaphor for any journey of this type. That's my objective. I want people to identify as much with the character as with the journey itself.
The fact that we have Egyptian mythology, Greek philosophy, Assirian mysticism, Hinduism and Buddhism (these are the next chapters, in that order) is merely to frame this with a sense of completion and UNIFICATION between all these different view points.
So I'm not interested in Egyptian mythology per se, but really more in the aspects it mirrors that day and age. It becomes a vehicle to create a better sense of time and place, of the obstacles that would be those living in those days and their own journeys.
In any case the penultimate chapter will be one of the most important (and one that I am incredibly eager to start writing... but it makes sense that I wait so that I can put all the previous chapters in perspective throughout that one...) of the whole book. This is where the journey achieves a first sense of completion, of roundness. Of true purpose and meaning.
It represents our true awakening.
Where the masks have fallen beyond return.
It represents the beginning of what many call the Christ Consciousness.
So, I'm sure it will be an interesting one...
(even though I still don't know very well what I'm gonna write when I get there... then again, what else is new?!)
Peace!
it was something like 12 000 for one book and 18 000 for the other.
Then I thought
On sunday i should be on 30 000 on both.
And that means...
I've got to write 18 000 on one and 12 000 on the other... roughly...
In three days.
Which means 10 000 a day.
(a healthy diet)
Well, I'm now more or less on 27 500 on both.
Short of my objective but definitely much closer to what I needed doing!
And let me tell you, I struggled this weekend. I struggled because I wanted to watch films and relax and read and read stuff that could be quite important for the book (and i did do a bit of all these things, just not as much as I'd like to...) but I managed to stay more or less on track (yes, there were guitar playing sessions that lasted for more than an hour to chill and collect my ideas...) and do the deed.
And once again I discover that "this stupid idea I had for a book that is now so obviously proven doesn't work" (that was my down moment on saturday... a few hours actually) is somewhat wrong...
The Lost Years was more or less on track by friday/easrly hours saturday, so I spent the rest of the weekend focussing on It's Not Too Dark Here. After a while I knew pretty damn well which scenes I needed to write but I'd lost the will power to do them. It seemed pretty pointless.
I decided to call it a day on 23 or 24 000. I'd done my best, that was it.
Then I decided to just write the synopsis for what I need to write today (still). It was a scene where the main character comes face to face with a wild tiger (and yes, there are no wild tigers naturally on that island so some very naughty character must've brought it in...).
And there was going to be a clash there...
(this is a thriller after all... what better than tigers on desert island preying on unarmed men?!)
I just didn't know how they'd meet.
I was tired.
I didn't want to write anymore.
I wanted to sleep.
(bad!)
But the images about what was going to happen after they'd met were so vivid that I started writing them down.
I thought I didn't have enough stuff for the book.
And I might just have more than enough now...
And a few thousand words more for my word count that day. I wrote for another hour or two hours. I can't remember. I was in that mood where everything just flows. If I'd been more awake I'd continued to write until I'd run out of inspiration.
Unfortunately, these things only seem to happen when it's already 1.30 in the morning and I'm about to call it quits.
(I'm sure there's a pattern in there somewhere...)
This morning I wrote a bit more tying up loose ends. And I still have a bit more to do today when I get home.
But the most important part was that, a chapter that I thought was going to be quick turned out to be long but extremely exciting to write (and, I think, to read as well). A chapter that I thought was going to be dull and predictable, turned out to be almost central to the whole book. For me it turned it's direction around. And managed to do something that I'd wanted from the onset. Which is to make this character respected in some way by the audience. Make him human.
I think this chapter takes the bonding between reader and character to a different level. For the first time we see this aspect in Preston Nume. And it took me by surprise. But it made sense so I tried not to change it much.
I'll admit that, instinctively, a different outcome was present but, that's one of the pleasures of writing, you CAN turn things around and twist the story to your particular wishes.
In terms of The Lost Years, I'm on the doorstep of the Egyptian phase. I've been reading some stuff about Hermes Trismegistus (that existed a couple of millennia before Jesus - so he won't be a character, if that's what you're thinking...) and about the Egyptian Pantheon of gods.
And this is another of those chapters that I don't have the faintest idea how I'm gonna write it...
In an ideal world I'd spend a couple of decades reading books and learning Egyptian mythology and THEN write this chapter.
Because I live on Earth, Europe, UK, London, it has to be more like some Wikipedia on the diagonal side of perception, mix that with my very own and true to life experiences and ideas and start typing!
But seriously, this book isn't really about historical accuracy (though I have amazed myself at how much of that actually is there so far), it's much more about the spiritual journey of this man that was to become one of our most powerful myths.
Obviously it is a metaphor for any journey of this type. That's my objective. I want people to identify as much with the character as with the journey itself.
The fact that we have Egyptian mythology, Greek philosophy, Assirian mysticism, Hinduism and Buddhism (these are the next chapters, in that order) is merely to frame this with a sense of completion and UNIFICATION between all these different view points.
So I'm not interested in Egyptian mythology per se, but really more in the aspects it mirrors that day and age. It becomes a vehicle to create a better sense of time and place, of the obstacles that would be those living in those days and their own journeys.
In any case the penultimate chapter will be one of the most important (and one that I am incredibly eager to start writing... but it makes sense that I wait so that I can put all the previous chapters in perspective throughout that one...) of the whole book. This is where the journey achieves a first sense of completion, of roundness. Of true purpose and meaning.
It represents our true awakening.
Where the masks have fallen beyond return.
It represents the beginning of what many call the Christ Consciousness.
So, I'm sure it will be an interesting one...
(even though I still don't know very well what I'm gonna write when I get there... then again, what else is new?!)
Peace!
Saturday, 14 November 2009
RITUAL version I
This is another of the short fiction texts that I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. The idea behind this one was quite simple as you will soon see...
Because I really liked it but this version was definitely too long, i decided to see if I could write a different one.
And that you will see next week...
Enjoy!
RITUAL
(936 word count)
As he began to walk down the corridor he started to doubt if all of this was just happening in his imagination.
Was he really dreaming? How long had it been since he arrived? And how many had died simply because he refused to believe all of this was real? He remembered the car being torn apart, bits of metal flying everywhere, eating lives away.
I can feel it now.
He motioned cautiously, trying to be as silent as possible, blood pumping in his temples, breaking his focus. He held his breath but his chest burned more and more. Behind him there was a scrapping sound.
I’m getting closer.
He started to run. He could hear the hooves and the crescendo of the odzark’s sucking sounds. The walls shook in fury and began to collapse. He plunged into a large room filled with all manner of animals. He darted between them looking for cover. They stared at him, barely moving. The odzark burst into the room shortly after. Everything went silent and cold for a moment. He turned. The animals tried to run but, one by one, they were sucked out of existence as they fled. Then it saw him. It advanced. He tried to run. But there was no window. No door. He was trapped.
Emotions gathering. Taking over.
He was inside water. A pool. He couldn’t move. The waters were too thick, lukewarm and gelatinous. There were screeches and wails everywhere. Something bit hard into his leg. He screamed as he felt it being ripped apart. He tried to push it away but teeth gnawed it off.
Then they began to emerge.
The dead.
The dead were eating him alive.
My body is breaking up. My mind will surely follow. And the soul will become clearer.
The air, too dry for him to breathe. No. Not dry. Something stuck in his throat. Dust? No, not dust. Something else. Something tightening. All around him. Ropes? No, not that. He tried to move but at every gesture thin and strong threads won him over, again and again. Then a thumping sound and a whisper almost below hearing level. With utmost effort he turned his head and he saw a huge spider rushing towards him. Its fangs reared, dripping poison. Its mouth ajar, glowing jade green, hungry for his flesh. And he could feel his flesh beginning to melt as the acid dripped all over.
A burning sensation all over me. Is this what I was meant to feel? Where am I again?...
Everyone had died and he was alone. There was no escape. There never had been. It had all been a trick since the beginning. The ghosts started emerging from the walls and the trees and the lake. And at each time that they touched a fragment of his being dissolved and vanished. He could feel himself disappear one piece at a time.
What if I’m not dreaming this time? Is it going all wrong? Am I dying?!
He was running faster than he’d ever ran before. His heart racing so fast he thought he would soon die of a heart attack rather than sheer exhaustion. He could feel the hunger of the creature chasing after. It was like a scent that traversed his skin and made his brain want to scream. He could hear its claws tearing down the trees like paper. Its footsteps falling on the ground like a jackhammer.
Can someone save me?! Please!!!
As the ceiling of the cave collapsed in a great THUD! He could feel the dust crawling slowly into his lungs. How could he breathe? He couldn’t even move. It was getting hot. Hotter. The dry air, unable to fill his lungs. His heart pumping out of control. He kept on, trying to breathe, pushing his lungs in and out, desperately, but there was never enough oxygen. His mind raced. He was going to die here. He was trapped and he was going to die. He would suffocate so far away from everybody else that no one could ever possibly rescue him in time.
I can’t breathe… I can’t think… I can’t…
The air stopped working. His body felt made of sand. Then it went numb. His mind was retreating fast, into a corner of itself where it could not be seen. He was going to die.
His mind disappeared.
And with it all fear vanished as well.
A great peace washed over him. A burning sensation overcame his senses, eliminating everything, everywhere.
He felt himself wake up as if he’d always been awake within a sleepless dream.
“Welcome back.” said the smiling man with the long white hair.
“For a moment there we thought you were not going to make it.” said a younger man with dark rimmed spectacles.
He tried to get up from the table. The two men rushed towards him.
“Now now. Don’t move. You’re not ready yet.”
“You’re still plugged in. Your brain is still digesting the information cocktail we’ve been feeding it.”
“Don’t worry. In a couple of hours everything will be alright.”
“What happened? What’s all this?” He asked.
The room began to coalesce in his mind. There was a bonfire. There were candles burning. Stones carved with runes. Strange symbols painted in red on the husk of trees.
He was outside. There was a lake. A forest. And… cables?
He could now see the neural disruptor half hidden beneath a fabric depicting an epic battle scene on a great plain. There was also a tipi.
“Congratulations. You’ve just completed your shamanic vision quest. But, tell me, what did you see?”
END
Technology fascinates me. And one of the things that attracts me about it is the fact that technology doesn't merely deliver some sort of future to our doorstep. For me technology also allows us to retain the past in a different form. I think this has been at least part of the history of our world. After all many of our traditions have simply been changed superficially, accomodated within the new technological constraints.
when the Guillotine appeared it was said to be a most humane method of serving the death penalty.... and so many centuries have passed and, even though the guillotine is no longer in use, the death penalty still is around...
In any case this story affirms my belief that the near future at least will still carry today's beliefs in disguise.
I was just reading a bit about Ancient Egypt, how the Greeks and then the Romans took over the leadership of the country. Their beliefs were affected by this, of course, but more than simply disappearing and being replaced, they were altered. After all it is best to use what's already there to one's advantage rather than start from scratch (in these cases at least... the last time someone attempted to start from scratch things didn't go that well for a lot of people... and yes, I am thinking of Adolf H...)
I think that the methods may change but the core reality will not.
So, to me, this story is not saying, Shamanism will always be an illusion and a creation of the mind. For me it is saying that our own quests will make usage of anything in their way in order to make themselves real.
Technology merely opens doors in new ways, perhaps more easy ways.
It is up to our perception to cross them or not...
but beware of consequences.
Like the Hermetic Tradition teaches, there are many levels of causality and consequence - not all of them perceptible...
peace
Because I really liked it but this version was definitely too long, i decided to see if I could write a different one.
And that you will see next week...
Enjoy!
RITUAL
(936 word count)
As he began to walk down the corridor he started to doubt if all of this was just happening in his imagination.
Was he really dreaming? How long had it been since he arrived? And how many had died simply because he refused to believe all of this was real? He remembered the car being torn apart, bits of metal flying everywhere, eating lives away.
I can feel it now.
He motioned cautiously, trying to be as silent as possible, blood pumping in his temples, breaking his focus. He held his breath but his chest burned more and more. Behind him there was a scrapping sound.
I’m getting closer.
He started to run. He could hear the hooves and the crescendo of the odzark’s sucking sounds. The walls shook in fury and began to collapse. He plunged into a large room filled with all manner of animals. He darted between them looking for cover. They stared at him, barely moving. The odzark burst into the room shortly after. Everything went silent and cold for a moment. He turned. The animals tried to run but, one by one, they were sucked out of existence as they fled. Then it saw him. It advanced. He tried to run. But there was no window. No door. He was trapped.
Emotions gathering. Taking over.
He was inside water. A pool. He couldn’t move. The waters were too thick, lukewarm and gelatinous. There were screeches and wails everywhere. Something bit hard into his leg. He screamed as he felt it being ripped apart. He tried to push it away but teeth gnawed it off.
Then they began to emerge.
The dead.
The dead were eating him alive.
My body is breaking up. My mind will surely follow. And the soul will become clearer.
The air, too dry for him to breathe. No. Not dry. Something stuck in his throat. Dust? No, not dust. Something else. Something tightening. All around him. Ropes? No, not that. He tried to move but at every gesture thin and strong threads won him over, again and again. Then a thumping sound and a whisper almost below hearing level. With utmost effort he turned his head and he saw a huge spider rushing towards him. Its fangs reared, dripping poison. Its mouth ajar, glowing jade green, hungry for his flesh. And he could feel his flesh beginning to melt as the acid dripped all over.
A burning sensation all over me. Is this what I was meant to feel? Where am I again?...
Everyone had died and he was alone. There was no escape. There never had been. It had all been a trick since the beginning. The ghosts started emerging from the walls and the trees and the lake. And at each time that they touched a fragment of his being dissolved and vanished. He could feel himself disappear one piece at a time.
What if I’m not dreaming this time? Is it going all wrong? Am I dying?!
He was running faster than he’d ever ran before. His heart racing so fast he thought he would soon die of a heart attack rather than sheer exhaustion. He could feel the hunger of the creature chasing after. It was like a scent that traversed his skin and made his brain want to scream. He could hear its claws tearing down the trees like paper. Its footsteps falling on the ground like a jackhammer.
Can someone save me?! Please!!!
As the ceiling of the cave collapsed in a great THUD! He could feel the dust crawling slowly into his lungs. How could he breathe? He couldn’t even move. It was getting hot. Hotter. The dry air, unable to fill his lungs. His heart pumping out of control. He kept on, trying to breathe, pushing his lungs in and out, desperately, but there was never enough oxygen. His mind raced. He was going to die here. He was trapped and he was going to die. He would suffocate so far away from everybody else that no one could ever possibly rescue him in time.
I can’t breathe… I can’t think… I can’t…
The air stopped working. His body felt made of sand. Then it went numb. His mind was retreating fast, into a corner of itself where it could not be seen. He was going to die.
His mind disappeared.
And with it all fear vanished as well.
A great peace washed over him. A burning sensation overcame his senses, eliminating everything, everywhere.
He felt himself wake up as if he’d always been awake within a sleepless dream.
“Welcome back.” said the smiling man with the long white hair.
“For a moment there we thought you were not going to make it.” said a younger man with dark rimmed spectacles.
He tried to get up from the table. The two men rushed towards him.
“Now now. Don’t move. You’re not ready yet.”
“You’re still plugged in. Your brain is still digesting the information cocktail we’ve been feeding it.”
“Don’t worry. In a couple of hours everything will be alright.”
“What happened? What’s all this?” He asked.
The room began to coalesce in his mind. There was a bonfire. There were candles burning. Stones carved with runes. Strange symbols painted in red on the husk of trees.
He was outside. There was a lake. A forest. And… cables?
He could now see the neural disruptor half hidden beneath a fabric depicting an epic battle scene on a great plain. There was also a tipi.
“Congratulations. You’ve just completed your shamanic vision quest. But, tell me, what did you see?”
END
Technology fascinates me. And one of the things that attracts me about it is the fact that technology doesn't merely deliver some sort of future to our doorstep. For me technology also allows us to retain the past in a different form. I think this has been at least part of the history of our world. After all many of our traditions have simply been changed superficially, accomodated within the new technological constraints.
when the Guillotine appeared it was said to be a most humane method of serving the death penalty.... and so many centuries have passed and, even though the guillotine is no longer in use, the death penalty still is around...
In any case this story affirms my belief that the near future at least will still carry today's beliefs in disguise.
I was just reading a bit about Ancient Egypt, how the Greeks and then the Romans took over the leadership of the country. Their beliefs were affected by this, of course, but more than simply disappearing and being replaced, they were altered. After all it is best to use what's already there to one's advantage rather than start from scratch (in these cases at least... the last time someone attempted to start from scratch things didn't go that well for a lot of people... and yes, I am thinking of Adolf H...)
I think that the methods may change but the core reality will not.
So, to me, this story is not saying, Shamanism will always be an illusion and a creation of the mind. For me it is saying that our own quests will make usage of anything in their way in order to make themselves real.
Technology merely opens doors in new ways, perhaps more easy ways.
It is up to our perception to cross them or not...
but beware of consequences.
Like the Hermetic Tradition teaches, there are many levels of causality and consequence - not all of them perceptible...
peace
Sunday, 8 November 2009
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
I almost forgot to post my next story for the new scientist competition this week but here it is.
Comments only after you read it...
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
(982 word count)
“We’re only around because we’re still needed.” Omar shifted in his seat. “Artificial, virtual – it’s all real.” Shazzaad sniggered.
“You a fool man…”
Omar smiled. “Get your Cloud Squared…” he said. “ Oh man… the future is the worst disease a worrying man can have. Maybe we won’t have the gene policing anymore. Maybe credits won’t be a part of our DNA anymore.” He dropped his elbows on the table and stared at the youth in front of him. “Who cares? People will still want their thrills. And there will be someone - or some thing - to provide it for them.”
Shazzaad shook his head.
“Just plug yourself fool.”
“With what?!”
Shazzaad took Omar’s tattooed and rebuilt wrist and placed it inside a hollow cylinder.
“They can read our bodies. Maybe in a hundred years from now they’ll be able to read our minds too.”
Omar leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking him straight in the eye.
“We’ll be in trouble then.”
Shazzaad looked at him dismissively. Then pressed a few keys on the panel in front of him.
“Nah.” Omar continued. “As soon as you put a system up there will be someone takin' it down. People just take advantage. Of whatever is around. To end it you need to end society altogether…”
Shazzaad paused and raised his eyes from his work.
“Like that’s gonna happen…” said Omar. “If we’re not selling clouds we’ll be selling the stars.”
“Could you please shut up and stay still? Contrary to what you may think, this requires concentration and expertise…”
Omar raised his free hand and arm.
“Peace El Doctore… I’ll be good…” Shazzaad seemed not to pay any attention to him and continued to tap and stare intently at the panel.
Omar shrugged.
“And if it’s not that, it will be something else. Maybe love. Maybe forbidden thoughts. What I know is that, right now, things aren’t gonna change. We do the business. We keep the market going. Tradition. You know what I mean?”
Shazzaad leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled. “You sound like you should get a medal or something. Not prison…”
Omar pointed vigorously at the table. ”Hey, trust me man, one hundred years from now and we’ll still be here.”
“I sure hope not.”
“Nah man. Do the rehab. Let them believe what THEY want to believe. The game is still gonna be out there. Waiting for you, either you like it or not. You just gotta adapt.”
“And thus spoke ZeroTrust’Ah…”
“No less.”
“No less…” said Shazzaad start to key in once more.
“Just be sure you give me something nice this time, a’ight?”
“As if… you’re gonna get what you need and make no mistake. Cussin’ my work…” Shazzaad peered intently on the screen, his eyes fixed on a point that Omar could not see. “Man, technology is advancing faster than at any other point in human history. Things are gonna change. For both of us.”
Omar shuffled impatiently on his chair.
“And why would it be any different? Man, you gotta remember it’s still us running this show. And the show only runs ‘cause there’s plenty of fools to keep us busy.” He ran his free hand over his hair. “Like I say, if things were to change you’d have to get rid of humans altogether…”
“Have it your way. I can change your identity but I’ll be damned if I can change an iota of that stubbornness of yours. Mark my words.” He said. “This network of yours is not gonna last very long. Only a matter of time until you’re found out.”
Omar frowned. “You done?”
Shazzaad, matching his gaze, bent over the table towards him. “And then all of us we’ll in trouble.” Then he leaned back, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
Then he said
“Yeah. We’re done.”
Omar removed his wrist and rubbed it with his other hand.
“Nothing lasts forever man. So let it rip while it lasts. You know what’s your problem? You worry too much about the future ‘cause you just don’t wanna be in the present. But guess what? The present is all you got. Heck, all of us got.”
Shazzaad started packing his stuff into a woolie bag.
“Things will change.” He said.
“Sure. The nature of the product, for sure. But not the need.” Omar got up and started pacing the room, looking around. “Getting high is far older than any of the people that want to throw us away with their goddamned keys would like to admit. It’s just not gonna disappear in a puff of smoke. If it doesn’t grow on soil, it grows in someone’s lab. People like to party man. What else can most of us do with our lives? High is even better than busy. Or else things will seriously start going wrong.”
Shazzaad buttoned his bag and placed the strap over his shoulder.
“Your product is old. You’re risking too much.”
Omar rapped Shazzaad in the bag and followed him out.
“Man, who the heck wants safe drugs?! If I wanted safe, I’d stay at home taking care of the kittens. People want what their life lacks. ‘sides, with gene drugs dropping out and the new fixed-state ones pouring from Asia who am I to argue? The cops have better things to do than worry about what they know is on the way out.” Shazzaad simply shook his head and held his hand out for him to shake.
Omar took it, then hesitated and said
“Hey, by the way, who am I gonna be tomorrow?”
Shazzaad smiled. “I think you’re gonna like this one. Tomorrow you’re gonna be one of the good guys.”
“Serious?! A cop?! Bloody heck!” said Omar grinning.
“Later.” Shazzaad began walking away.
Omar shouted after.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear?! The new bogeyman is here…”
END
If, like me, you have been watching The Wire, you'll see what this story is also about... I was playing in my head with this thing of writing short stories for this competition, playing with this idea that one often times find in science fiction, which is a different surface (or packaging) that reveals nonetheless the same content.
So the theme of drugs came through. Quite possibly as a vague homage to Brave New World (when you start the references game in your head it never really stops...) and, necessarily so, to The Wire, being the one TV series that I've watched lately that actually says something about this theme.
To me the true basis of this story is the same as a few others that I wrote for this competition: there are somethings about being human that are very hard to change. Technology will most surely change but our nature tends to adapt to it, only to remain the same...
Hope you've enjoyed it!
Peace.
Comments only after you read it...
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
(982 word count)
“We’re only around because we’re still needed.” Omar shifted in his seat. “Artificial, virtual – it’s all real.” Shazzaad sniggered.
“You a fool man…”
Omar smiled. “Get your Cloud Squared…” he said. “ Oh man… the future is the worst disease a worrying man can have. Maybe we won’t have the gene policing anymore. Maybe credits won’t be a part of our DNA anymore.” He dropped his elbows on the table and stared at the youth in front of him. “Who cares? People will still want their thrills. And there will be someone - or some thing - to provide it for them.”
Shazzaad shook his head.
“Just plug yourself fool.”
“With what?!”
Shazzaad took Omar’s tattooed and rebuilt wrist and placed it inside a hollow cylinder.
“They can read our bodies. Maybe in a hundred years from now they’ll be able to read our minds too.”
Omar leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking him straight in the eye.
“We’ll be in trouble then.”
Shazzaad looked at him dismissively. Then pressed a few keys on the panel in front of him.
“Nah.” Omar continued. “As soon as you put a system up there will be someone takin' it down. People just take advantage. Of whatever is around. To end it you need to end society altogether…”
Shazzaad paused and raised his eyes from his work.
“Like that’s gonna happen…” said Omar. “If we’re not selling clouds we’ll be selling the stars.”
“Could you please shut up and stay still? Contrary to what you may think, this requires concentration and expertise…”
Omar raised his free hand and arm.
“Peace El Doctore… I’ll be good…” Shazzaad seemed not to pay any attention to him and continued to tap and stare intently at the panel.
Omar shrugged.
“And if it’s not that, it will be something else. Maybe love. Maybe forbidden thoughts. What I know is that, right now, things aren’t gonna change. We do the business. We keep the market going. Tradition. You know what I mean?”
Shazzaad leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled. “You sound like you should get a medal or something. Not prison…”
Omar pointed vigorously at the table. ”Hey, trust me man, one hundred years from now and we’ll still be here.”
“I sure hope not.”
“Nah man. Do the rehab. Let them believe what THEY want to believe. The game is still gonna be out there. Waiting for you, either you like it or not. You just gotta adapt.”
“And thus spoke ZeroTrust’Ah…”
“No less.”
“No less…” said Shazzaad start to key in once more.
“Just be sure you give me something nice this time, a’ight?”
“As if… you’re gonna get what you need and make no mistake. Cussin’ my work…” Shazzaad peered intently on the screen, his eyes fixed on a point that Omar could not see. “Man, technology is advancing faster than at any other point in human history. Things are gonna change. For both of us.”
Omar shuffled impatiently on his chair.
“And why would it be any different? Man, you gotta remember it’s still us running this show. And the show only runs ‘cause there’s plenty of fools to keep us busy.” He ran his free hand over his hair. “Like I say, if things were to change you’d have to get rid of humans altogether…”
“Have it your way. I can change your identity but I’ll be damned if I can change an iota of that stubbornness of yours. Mark my words.” He said. “This network of yours is not gonna last very long. Only a matter of time until you’re found out.”
Omar frowned. “You done?”
Shazzaad, matching his gaze, bent over the table towards him. “And then all of us we’ll in trouble.” Then he leaned back, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
Then he said
“Yeah. We’re done.”
Omar removed his wrist and rubbed it with his other hand.
“Nothing lasts forever man. So let it rip while it lasts. You know what’s your problem? You worry too much about the future ‘cause you just don’t wanna be in the present. But guess what? The present is all you got. Heck, all of us got.”
Shazzaad started packing his stuff into a woolie bag.
“Things will change.” He said.
“Sure. The nature of the product, for sure. But not the need.” Omar got up and started pacing the room, looking around. “Getting high is far older than any of the people that want to throw us away with their goddamned keys would like to admit. It’s just not gonna disappear in a puff of smoke. If it doesn’t grow on soil, it grows in someone’s lab. People like to party man. What else can most of us do with our lives? High is even better than busy. Or else things will seriously start going wrong.”
Shazzaad buttoned his bag and placed the strap over his shoulder.
“Your product is old. You’re risking too much.”
Omar rapped Shazzaad in the bag and followed him out.
“Man, who the heck wants safe drugs?! If I wanted safe, I’d stay at home taking care of the kittens. People want what their life lacks. ‘sides, with gene drugs dropping out and the new fixed-state ones pouring from Asia who am I to argue? The cops have better things to do than worry about what they know is on the way out.” Shazzaad simply shook his head and held his hand out for him to shake.
Omar took it, then hesitated and said
“Hey, by the way, who am I gonna be tomorrow?”
Shazzaad smiled. “I think you’re gonna like this one. Tomorrow you’re gonna be one of the good guys.”
“Serious?! A cop?! Bloody heck!” said Omar grinning.
“Later.” Shazzaad began walking away.
Omar shouted after.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear?! The new bogeyman is here…”
END
If, like me, you have been watching The Wire, you'll see what this story is also about... I was playing in my head with this thing of writing short stories for this competition, playing with this idea that one often times find in science fiction, which is a different surface (or packaging) that reveals nonetheless the same content.
So the theme of drugs came through. Quite possibly as a vague homage to Brave New World (when you start the references game in your head it never really stops...) and, necessarily so, to The Wire, being the one TV series that I've watched lately that actually says something about this theme.
To me the true basis of this story is the same as a few others that I wrote for this competition: there are somethings about being human that are very hard to change. Technology will most surely change but our nature tends to adapt to it, only to remain the same...
Hope you've enjoyed it!
Peace.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
NaNoWriMo...ing
Well, the great word race has started!
As in previous years I started just after midnight, in the first few hours of the 1st of November.
I'm writing two books this year. One about the "missing" years of Jesus life and another about a killer on a (almost) deserted island. The Lost Years and It's Not Too Dark Here, respectively.
They're both being written in English and, believe it or not, I feel that the two somehow mirror each other...
Not to say that the plot is the same (far from it), but there are definitely lost of elements in common. Human misunderstanding being a major one.
The killer story had been brewing in my mind since last November and I had a chance to plot it out in broad terms. It's just one of those stories where, at eash step of the way, you can just feel it's incredible potential. And I'm hoping that it will be challenging (and sometimes chilling...) one.
A part of me is trying to keep away from gore and extreme violence but, I do think some good measure of it will be needed in order for me to be able to drive the point forward.
I'm just at the beginning of this story. Only 6000 words into it, but it's picking up speed and there's a feeling of something alien present underneath what's happening. This is what I want to aim most of all. The world has its ways and ideas but, sometimes, there are those that are truly outcasts. Because they way they see the world is entirely different from ours. Well, at least on some very fundamental ways it is.
This is why I say that this story is a mirrored image of The Lost Years. They focus on the same themes but from different viewpoints.
In fact The Lost Years is nothing but a continuation of Morto. And, to a certain extent, also a mirror of that story. But that's a tale for another day...
I was a bit afraid of doing two books in one go but since I couldn't decide which and both were so incredibly appealing I decided to take the long route...
For the first time since I started NaNoWriMo (and actually finished at least the first draft of a book) I've never felt so much in control with this whole thing about writing a novel. It feels doable. It feels almost easy. I struggle here and there but I know at every step of the way that any obstacle is not unsurmountable. And I know it not only in my head but also from past experience.
As before, the project that I was more afraid to start - The Lost Years - is the one that's been the easiest to write. I must've put s much energy into it, in trying to work out some of the details and problems I could foresse, that it has been such a pleasant and enjoyable experience to write.
This week for instance, on tuesday, I spent the whole day at home, reading stuff and writing. It was long day, some 12 or 15 hours spent around this book and only 8 or 9000 words to show for it, but it was such a smooth and consistent ride. It felt really good.
Nume (that's the other name I give to It's Not Too Dark Here) has been a different matter. I feel I haven't resolved some of the important parts of the story quite clearly yet and so I'm always giving myself preference to write The Lost Years.
Aside from that Nume is also a more descriptive book than The Lost Years, which is more dialogue based. Something that I'm loving as well!
In both books we have quite few flashbacks showing us a bit better the conditions that brought these characters to the present moment in the story.
So far Nume is a bit behind schedule but The Lost Years is more or less on track. Days at work have been long and busy and at home there has also been quite a few things needing sorting out. So, writing has been minimal for the last two or three days. Which, in NaNoTime is a lot!!
I'm going to have to catch up tomorrow and tonight and next week when I have my friday to sunday days off work.
I won't give you the sinopsis of each of the chapters already written for now, but I will do so at a later stage. I wanted to post a daily update on this but I just don't seem to have the time.
Let's just hope that I keep the focus!
Peace.
As in previous years I started just after midnight, in the first few hours of the 1st of November.
I'm writing two books this year. One about the "missing" years of Jesus life and another about a killer on a (almost) deserted island. The Lost Years and It's Not Too Dark Here, respectively.
They're both being written in English and, believe it or not, I feel that the two somehow mirror each other...
Not to say that the plot is the same (far from it), but there are definitely lost of elements in common. Human misunderstanding being a major one.
The killer story had been brewing in my mind since last November and I had a chance to plot it out in broad terms. It's just one of those stories where, at eash step of the way, you can just feel it's incredible potential. And I'm hoping that it will be challenging (and sometimes chilling...) one.
A part of me is trying to keep away from gore and extreme violence but, I do think some good measure of it will be needed in order for me to be able to drive the point forward.
I'm just at the beginning of this story. Only 6000 words into it, but it's picking up speed and there's a feeling of something alien present underneath what's happening. This is what I want to aim most of all. The world has its ways and ideas but, sometimes, there are those that are truly outcasts. Because they way they see the world is entirely different from ours. Well, at least on some very fundamental ways it is.
This is why I say that this story is a mirrored image of The Lost Years. They focus on the same themes but from different viewpoints.
In fact The Lost Years is nothing but a continuation of Morto. And, to a certain extent, also a mirror of that story. But that's a tale for another day...
I was a bit afraid of doing two books in one go but since I couldn't decide which and both were so incredibly appealing I decided to take the long route...
For the first time since I started NaNoWriMo (and actually finished at least the first draft of a book) I've never felt so much in control with this whole thing about writing a novel. It feels doable. It feels almost easy. I struggle here and there but I know at every step of the way that any obstacle is not unsurmountable. And I know it not only in my head but also from past experience.
As before, the project that I was more afraid to start - The Lost Years - is the one that's been the easiest to write. I must've put s much energy into it, in trying to work out some of the details and problems I could foresse, that it has been such a pleasant and enjoyable experience to write.
This week for instance, on tuesday, I spent the whole day at home, reading stuff and writing. It was long day, some 12 or 15 hours spent around this book and only 8 or 9000 words to show for it, but it was such a smooth and consistent ride. It felt really good.
Nume (that's the other name I give to It's Not Too Dark Here) has been a different matter. I feel I haven't resolved some of the important parts of the story quite clearly yet and so I'm always giving myself preference to write The Lost Years.
Aside from that Nume is also a more descriptive book than The Lost Years, which is more dialogue based. Something that I'm loving as well!
In both books we have quite few flashbacks showing us a bit better the conditions that brought these characters to the present moment in the story.
So far Nume is a bit behind schedule but The Lost Years is more or less on track. Days at work have been long and busy and at home there has also been quite a few things needing sorting out. So, writing has been minimal for the last two or three days. Which, in NaNoTime is a lot!!
I'm going to have to catch up tomorrow and tonight and next week when I have my friday to sunday days off work.
I won't give you the sinopsis of each of the chapters already written for now, but I will do so at a later stage. I wanted to post a daily update on this but I just don't seem to have the time.
Let's just hope that I keep the focus!
Peace.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
The Last Few Days
The last few days (I tricked you didn't I?! You thought that the title was the title of something I'd been writing but you were wrong, right?) I have spent typing up some more stuff on Morto. I finalised the revision of the penultimate section of the book and have also prepared the writing of the last one.
I have also bought a cinema projector and have been watching some Battlestar Galactica episodes... the new series, obviously...
And even before I started watching I had already started plotting a whole new series...
I don't know why I do these things, but the fact is that the ideas started surfacing and I just went along for the ride...
Well, I do know why I do these things. I do them because they are related to themes that I'm very hooked on. Artificial Inteligence. Consciousness. Epic feel. Messianic Complex. You name it. It's probably there...
I have also been writing stuff down for The Lost Years.
On sunday, on my way to see my cousins in Billericay, I had quite a few ideas about this story. Some that I had had the previous day or two but that I had still not had time to note down. However my TI Voyage 200 (the granny of those palms or whatever they're called these days...) had no battery and so I had to keep them thoughts rolling around in my head...
I only wrote them that night but still, there were some pretty interesting ideas there that I'm hoping I will be able to explore. And that will make sense to those reading them. There's just so many books I'd love to write!
(and I know that this is an attachment... I'm just not too worried about it because I also know how to get rid of it if it gets to dangerous levels...)
Anyway, that's it for now!
I think I'm gonna write another post somewhere else... I'm in the mood it seems...
Peace
I have also bought a cinema projector and have been watching some Battlestar Galactica episodes... the new series, obviously...
And even before I started watching I had already started plotting a whole new series...
I don't know why I do these things, but the fact is that the ideas started surfacing and I just went along for the ride...
Well, I do know why I do these things. I do them because they are related to themes that I'm very hooked on. Artificial Inteligence. Consciousness. Epic feel. Messianic Complex. You name it. It's probably there...
I have also been writing stuff down for The Lost Years.
On sunday, on my way to see my cousins in Billericay, I had quite a few ideas about this story. Some that I had had the previous day or two but that I had still not had time to note down. However my TI Voyage 200 (the granny of those palms or whatever they're called these days...) had no battery and so I had to keep them thoughts rolling around in my head...
I only wrote them that night but still, there were some pretty interesting ideas there that I'm hoping I will be able to explore. And that will make sense to those reading them. There's just so many books I'd love to write!
(and I know that this is an attachment... I'm just not too worried about it because I also know how to get rid of it if it gets to dangerous levels...)
Anyway, that's it for now!
I think I'm gonna write another post somewhere else... I'm in the mood it seems...
Peace
Tomorrow
This was the third story that I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. This was probably the easiest one to write. I didn't really have a very clear idea in the beginning. I just had vague images in my head, more of a presence really, but the voices kept ringing inside my head and I had this bigger than life feel to it.
I decided to trust it and let it take me wherever it wanted...
TOMORROW
(514 word count)
“Tomorrow will always taste of Yesterday.” The voice echoed through the vast, shapeless chamber. “The consequential weight of history upon us. Any decision will bear this mark. Therefore we will not be creating something new but rather sustaining the past through engineered change.” The figure gazed around and then said, “I move against.”
The crowd swayed uncomfortably. The figure retreated back into their midst.
Another, vaguely feminine, suddenly became clearer while advancing to the exact same place where the other had been.
“But it is in Time that we inhabit. That has been our choice. Our initial choice. For most of us at least…” it said with a vague air of contempt. “I believe it would be inappropriate to leave now. However, I would venture that those of us that do not wish to share the responsibility of decision should also abandon our gathering. And any subsequent interaction.” The figure wrapped itself tightly and said, “I move in favour.” Then it bowed respectfully and faded into the background.
“It is precisely because our nature is different that we should stay. For too long the rules have been set.” The being glimmered in dark blue as it spoke. The chamber grew colder. “If we are to change things we must change them on a fundamental level. Remember what we have suffered! For too long we have been dismissed and forgotten!” A burst of blue and white lit the endless room. “I move against!”
A somewhat short figure came forth.
“That maybe so. But this decision concerns them. Not us. Correct? We are as we’ve always been, as we always will be, the agents and nothing else. They are our mission. That they recognize us or not as being so is ultimately unimportant. I move in favour.”
Without waiting for the previous speaker to disappear completely, another came into play.
“Indeed. But you forget that we too have been changed by them. That we were despised for centuries. And now, only now, do they return to us? Out of need rather than respect? I move against.” Its dark figure disappeared instantly.
A golden light began to fill the chamber, making the edges go softer.
“Certainly. That has always been their nature. This is what we have always known. Listen, all of you know that I have always been in favour of change and adaptation. This has always been the core of our presence here. It is necessary that we continue this work. Not abandon it. In doing so we will not only fail them – and thus prove their dissatisfaction – but also fail ourselves and our initial intents. They are our chance too. Let us not forget it. I move in favour.”
A low rushing sound began as a figure approached.
“And so do I.” it said. “This is the perfect opportunity after all.” It looked around defiantly. “They may have forgotten that their gods exist. But I believe we can begin to show them we are ready to come back.” It’s voice was soft and alluring. “And take what’s ours.”
She smiled.
“I move in favour.”
END
In all honesty I have to say that I thought a lot about Neil Gaiman (and, yes, The Sandman...) as I wrote this one.
But also Gene Wolfe.
I was thinking this one was truly inspired by them but, hopefully, was also a tribute to them. Something they would be proud if they ever got to read it. And yet, at the same time, I felt that there was a unique voice here. Or rather, unique voices.
I don't know which of the characters or archetypes each of these voices could represent (though I have some vague ideas on two or three of them...) but they were really there.
This was one of those stories that just wants to get out and get out of the way.
Hope you enjoyed it!
And so it is...
Peace.
I decided to trust it and let it take me wherever it wanted...
TOMORROW
(514 word count)
“Tomorrow will always taste of Yesterday.” The voice echoed through the vast, shapeless chamber. “The consequential weight of history upon us. Any decision will bear this mark. Therefore we will not be creating something new but rather sustaining the past through engineered change.” The figure gazed around and then said, “I move against.”
The crowd swayed uncomfortably. The figure retreated back into their midst.
Another, vaguely feminine, suddenly became clearer while advancing to the exact same place where the other had been.
“But it is in Time that we inhabit. That has been our choice. Our initial choice. For most of us at least…” it said with a vague air of contempt. “I believe it would be inappropriate to leave now. However, I would venture that those of us that do not wish to share the responsibility of decision should also abandon our gathering. And any subsequent interaction.” The figure wrapped itself tightly and said, “I move in favour.” Then it bowed respectfully and faded into the background.
“It is precisely because our nature is different that we should stay. For too long the rules have been set.” The being glimmered in dark blue as it spoke. The chamber grew colder. “If we are to change things we must change them on a fundamental level. Remember what we have suffered! For too long we have been dismissed and forgotten!” A burst of blue and white lit the endless room. “I move against!”
A somewhat short figure came forth.
“That maybe so. But this decision concerns them. Not us. Correct? We are as we’ve always been, as we always will be, the agents and nothing else. They are our mission. That they recognize us or not as being so is ultimately unimportant. I move in favour.”
Without waiting for the previous speaker to disappear completely, another came into play.
“Indeed. But you forget that we too have been changed by them. That we were despised for centuries. And now, only now, do they return to us? Out of need rather than respect? I move against.” Its dark figure disappeared instantly.
A golden light began to fill the chamber, making the edges go softer.
“Certainly. That has always been their nature. This is what we have always known. Listen, all of you know that I have always been in favour of change and adaptation. This has always been the core of our presence here. It is necessary that we continue this work. Not abandon it. In doing so we will not only fail them – and thus prove their dissatisfaction – but also fail ourselves and our initial intents. They are our chance too. Let us not forget it. I move in favour.”
A low rushing sound began as a figure approached.
“And so do I.” it said. “This is the perfect opportunity after all.” It looked around defiantly. “They may have forgotten that their gods exist. But I believe we can begin to show them we are ready to come back.” It’s voice was soft and alluring. “And take what’s ours.”
She smiled.
“I move in favour.”
END
In all honesty I have to say that I thought a lot about Neil Gaiman (and, yes, The Sandman...) as I wrote this one.
But also Gene Wolfe.
I was thinking this one was truly inspired by them but, hopefully, was also a tribute to them. Something they would be proud if they ever got to read it. And yet, at the same time, I felt that there was a unique voice here. Or rather, unique voices.
I don't know which of the characters or archetypes each of these voices could represent (though I have some vague ideas on two or three of them...) but they were really there.
This was one of those stories that just wants to get out and get out of the way.
Hope you enjoyed it!
And so it is...
Peace.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
The Moment
Hi,
As promised, here it is, the second story that I wrote for this October's New Scientist Flash Fiction competition.
If I recall correctly, I wrote the first draft of the first four stories in one go. Unsurprisingly so, these were the easiest ones to revise and the ones that always felt the more solid. Still, i felt quite good to have been able to finish the others. And I think I managed to make them have this same feel of continuity and lightness that these initial ones have.
Enjoy!
THE MOMENT
(332 word count)
“I have searched long for this moment. I have turned myself inside out and back in again. I have undertaken the strangest and longest of journeys in order to find this. My home. Slowly I have reached understanding. I have abandoned recognition. Passed all the ruins of villages and monasteries. Climbed the snows alone. Endured the silence. The rarefaction of the air. The cold. The hopelessness. Anxiety collapsing my chest. And the slow movement of time flowing through me.”
“I search within knowing that mine is the history of humanity. The ever expanding product of generations, evolution and factors unknown. I have seen life. I have seen death. And all conquests crumble before my eyes.”
“I have grown tired of despair. My own and that of others. I cannot bear to see our legacy be destroyed day after day.”
“But we can be as relentless as our fear.”
“The giants of the past are quickly becoming myths and fantasies. Another generation and how much more will be lost? This is why I must be here, away from it all.”
“We are being unmade by our doings.”
“Time is always ripe. And we are always ready. I can wait. Just a little longer.
It’s summer. Sunny. Cold, even with almost no wind. My eyes are closed. I can feel so much inside of me.”
“History dilutes at each long, sharp breath.”
“I feel the earth. I feel the air. All of my body touches. Sounds coming from every direction.”
“I can taste the air.”
“I can see my thoughts moving like waves in the sea. Ceaseless. The cold air mixing with the warmth at the pit of my belly. A soft knife stabbing me. Rhythmically.”
“Everything begins to disappear.”
“My senses.”
“My thoughts.”
“I’m no longer here.”
“Nor anywhere else.”
“There is nothing.”
“And yet…”
“Transposing…”
The machine glitched for a moment but caught on, the vast array of connections suddenly firing up.
Throughout the world a single message echoed
“I alone, am…”
END
The premise for this one was quite simple. How different would it be enlightenment in the 22nd century?
For me the answer was obvious: not at all.
That was the idea behind this and some of the other stories: the illusion of change that we create based on artificial concepts like progress, technology or even history itself.
But, as I was writing about the experience itself I felt that i was just stating it and that there was no punchline at the end.
The I thought of re-writing it more from the perspective of someone immersed in virtual reality. Using VR to attain that state artificially.
I really liked this idea but I felt that it would take me more than 350 words to convey it in a subtle enough way.
So, while revising, I just thought of making it all the experience of a machine rather than a human. I thought of Ghost In The Shell, obviously, but did not think of The Matrix, like my brother did.
Stories like these have been around for a while, of course. It's a kind of a small tribute to a theme that I love so much, both in science fiction and in science.
A theme that I find crucial because, more than reveal unknown things about machines, it reveals how much we don't know about ourselves.
Peace.
As promised, here it is, the second story that I wrote for this October's New Scientist Flash Fiction competition.
If I recall correctly, I wrote the first draft of the first four stories in one go. Unsurprisingly so, these were the easiest ones to revise and the ones that always felt the more solid. Still, i felt quite good to have been able to finish the others. And I think I managed to make them have this same feel of continuity and lightness that these initial ones have.
Enjoy!
THE MOMENT
(332 word count)
“I have searched long for this moment. I have turned myself inside out and back in again. I have undertaken the strangest and longest of journeys in order to find this. My home. Slowly I have reached understanding. I have abandoned recognition. Passed all the ruins of villages and monasteries. Climbed the snows alone. Endured the silence. The rarefaction of the air. The cold. The hopelessness. Anxiety collapsing my chest. And the slow movement of time flowing through me.”
“I search within knowing that mine is the history of humanity. The ever expanding product of generations, evolution and factors unknown. I have seen life. I have seen death. And all conquests crumble before my eyes.”
“I have grown tired of despair. My own and that of others. I cannot bear to see our legacy be destroyed day after day.”
“But we can be as relentless as our fear.”
“The giants of the past are quickly becoming myths and fantasies. Another generation and how much more will be lost? This is why I must be here, away from it all.”
“We are being unmade by our doings.”
“Time is always ripe. And we are always ready. I can wait. Just a little longer.
It’s summer. Sunny. Cold, even with almost no wind. My eyes are closed. I can feel so much inside of me.”
“History dilutes at each long, sharp breath.”
“I feel the earth. I feel the air. All of my body touches. Sounds coming from every direction.”
“I can taste the air.”
“I can see my thoughts moving like waves in the sea. Ceaseless. The cold air mixing with the warmth at the pit of my belly. A soft knife stabbing me. Rhythmically.”
“Everything begins to disappear.”
“My senses.”
“My thoughts.”
“I’m no longer here.”
“Nor anywhere else.”
“There is nothing.”
“And yet…”
“Transposing…”
The machine glitched for a moment but caught on, the vast array of connections suddenly firing up.
Throughout the world a single message echoed
“I alone, am…”
END
The premise for this one was quite simple. How different would it be enlightenment in the 22nd century?
For me the answer was obvious: not at all.
That was the idea behind this and some of the other stories: the illusion of change that we create based on artificial concepts like progress, technology or even history itself.
But, as I was writing about the experience itself I felt that i was just stating it and that there was no punchline at the end.
The I thought of re-writing it more from the perspective of someone immersed in virtual reality. Using VR to attain that state artificially.
I really liked this idea but I felt that it would take me more than 350 words to convey it in a subtle enough way.
So, while revising, I just thought of making it all the experience of a machine rather than a human. I thought of Ghost In The Shell, obviously, but did not think of The Matrix, like my brother did.
Stories like these have been around for a while, of course. It's a kind of a small tribute to a theme that I love so much, both in science fiction and in science.
A theme that I find crucial because, more than reveal unknown things about machines, it reveals how much we don't know about ourselves.
Peace.
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