Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I know, two posts in two days? What's the world coming to? I blame the heat.

I still can't get a title out, so the last post and this one will have to go nameless. Yesterday, I had to write up that story because it was there, percolating if you will. Had I not at least written it down somewhere, it would have slipped away into the back of the mind and gnawed at me. Given that I wanted to go to sleep, I figured it was better to get it out where I could get a look at it.

I'll blame the heat as well for posting it. It's kind of what I think of as a rough draft on it's way to a first draft. Not that I ever bother really with drafts, that's just the classification I'd put it in if someone asked.

For example, normally I start with an idea or an instance/situation. For this story, the idea was the character's dream that had the prophecy of their death. Using my own life, I was able to give the idea a situation, the four friends looking for a place to live. From there, the writing just flowed out. All I did to really edit it was nip a few of the nonsensical phrases and correct spelling.

If I was going to keep writing this story (I'm using "if" only because what further writing is done on it, may not be posted given that its previous incarnation is here), I'll probably either expand on the role that the roommates have and flesh them out or trim them down to being little more than a mention. Since this is an idea story and not a situation one, the other characters can be altered without me risking the loss of the story by being drowned in others.

So, how would I decide? Since I've addressed the idea, it rather depends on how long a story I'm aiming for. To make the most of the story, it would be better to trim it down and make it neat and proper. To make it interesting though, would probably mean making it a little longer and making the world "real."

But making it larger means expanding the roommates. There's only a little more backstory to it that might be needed, and other than the words added in rewrite to make the flow better, I don't think there's many large details I skipped over in the interest of getting the idea out of my head.

Alright, so why this post? In part, morning after regrets. I usually want to make my works "better" before putting them out for public consumption. Which is why I have only two stories up here instead of the many that I had envisioned when creating the blog. So I put this up as an excuse for the quality of the work and an explanation of where it will be going.

Finally, because I've got the need to write. I'm bouncing back and forth between this, the story and a few chats. It gives me something to do to focus my mind in whatever direction it needs to go. When I was mudding, I used to enjoy balancing the three focuses. RP, the controlled creativity. OOC, the uncontrolled creativity where I might express my randomness that was built up by the expressed creativity but had no outlet there. And then IMs, where I could be calm, serious and reflective instead of creative.

So, I guess the burden gets passed to you few who visit the blog. Nameless, as the titles of these posts are... Shall I continue to toss up rough work? Toss out only the stuff that meets minimum quality? Write posts that are merely a summation of thoughts instead of creativity? You're welcome to say all of the above, but if you're that trite I can't promise a proper response. :)

Monday, July 9, 2007

I should warn that this story is a little different from what I usually write. But it's another of those lunch time ideas that germinated and needed to be posted. I wonder if there's a pattern to this? (On a side note, for some reason I can't get a title up. So I guess this story remains nameless until such time as I A) get a good title and B) figure out how to make the title bar work. It's just blank right now and no matter how I click on it, I can't write one in.)

The tour had been Nat's idea. Natalie, Nat for short, was her usual over excitable self. She'd been overjoyed at the prospect of the four of us reuniting, and had gone house hunting months in advance. While she and Robert could move in at any time, were in fact looking to move in now, there were still a few months left on my current lease and Larry would not be ready until after the summer.

Yet, she had found houses and was happily showing them off. As Robert was indulging her in her hunt, Larry and I could do little but shrug and follow. We were two boys, two girls; two single and one couple. That Robert was the calm and collected one of the pairing made with Nat... When he yielded to her desires, it was best that we followed suit. He would rein her in when the need arose.

Of course, that was one bad mark on the four of us moving in together. We had done so years ago and survived, and from it looked forward to repeating the experience with a more permanent effort. But we'd each grown; admittedly Robert and Nat had merely grown closer together. But she had no signs of tempering her zest for life. I remained the mouse that I was and Larry was still the somewhat shy guy who found his contentment in making others laugh.

For Robert and Nat, this was going to represent freedom for their future. This was one of the steps they needed to free themselves from their past. For Nat it was to escape from her own misfortunate childhood. For Robert from his parents that disapproved of his choice in love. Larry was going to try to make something of himself, to break out of what remained of his shell. Me, I just wanted to see what there was and I didn't want to be alone.

The first house of the tour had been a bit of a let down. The ads had, not surprisingly, painted it in a better light than it truly was. The house had all that they said, but the street was not pleasant and the rent was not worth what we would get in exchange. Still there were other houses and so we drove on.

But the second house, ah. The other three liked the look of it simply from the car. The house was set back from the main street, its front awning hid behind a pair of firs. I knew that the backyard would be ideally fenced for the dogs, that the inside would hold our things and we would all find rooms to our liking. The back room would have coat hangers on the wall that we could use for our bags and dog leashes.

This I knew before we got out of the car, having seen the house once before. It had been a dream 15 years ago, and I had wondered if it had been only a dream. Yet here was the house, with each step that drew me nearer another memory was confirmed in detail. Amid the excited chatter of the others, I knew it was the one. It cemented vague childhood fears into a reality that chilled me in the late spring sun.

"This is where we'll be" I said, drawing their attention away from exploring the empty house. Robert shrugged, "we still have another two houses to go." "And a few more months" added Larry whose lease had longer to go than mine. Even Nat paused and shrugged. "The next two might even be better than this."

I said no more about it as they finished their explorations. How does one explain these things to others? A casual conversation that starts with, "This is the house I'll die in"? I stayed away from the back room, but that didn't stop me from hearing Robert's happiness at the discovery of the compost pile in the back yard. I scarcely remember the details of the rest of the day. The other two houses were quite nice, though one of them was popularly agreed to be too expensive for us to rent.

As summer neared its conclusion, we were ready to look for a house to commit on. Nat drew up a new list, with that house being the only one still vacant from the original list. In the end, it was chosen. The new houses were either too expensive or were simply not what we needed. I could have spoken up then, I suppose. I could have tried to arrange somewhere else. Perhaps it's pride.

It was just a dream, one that as a child I had treasured as special and later grew to wonder if it was only a nightmare. But these things come in threes. It was the same kind of dream that predicted my friend's moving day, the day that their house was finally sold after being on the market for months. The same that predicted time and again that I was to be awoken for the phone so that when I stir and ponder on it I would have only a minute before the phone rang out.

If it was a gift, it had left me after that last dream. Leaving me to wonder instead of knowing with certainty was certainly a cruelty. If it was a curse, perhaps that uncertainty was to be part of it. To know and yet doubt, trapped in my own Greek tale of knowing the future and being unable to alter it. I wondered if I was determined to be right even if it meant my own death. To be guided by half remembered dreams from the dark of night while I was 12. I had carried this memory for over half of my life, for 15 years to wonder at it and never know for certain.

What I could remember was that I was certain I had been in my 20s. An age that seemed safely far off as a child and one whose timeline seemed less certain the older I got. I was walking home, to this house, carrying a sack of groceries. It was winter, dark already even though it was not yet late. The snow crunched underfoot and the cold all around as I crossed the street and entered a house whose front door was hid behind a pair of trees or bushes.

Inside was warmth but silence. I had expected to hear someone home, but I did not know who. It wasn't worrying to hear the silence though, and so I gave it no more thought as I took off my boots and left the groceries behind. I went to the back room, to leave my wet winter things. It was there that it all went bad.

I know there was nobody in the back room. Yet I was still possessed by a feeling of fear when I entered it. I turned, dropping my things and preparing to run back down the hallway to escape. It grabbed me. What, I do not know. I saw no one, heard no one. I do not know what sparked my fear, only that it claimed me. It only grabbed me and flung me back. I flew through the backroom towards the back door and then...

I was standing outside in the corner of the yard, watching something crash through the door and land beside the compost pile. The memory invokes tears as it comes to its conclusion. Though young, the symbolism was not lost on me.

The first tears I shed were the ones I had when I awoke. I was still a child then, for all that I thought I had grown up. The tears flowed freely until I remembered myself that I was sleeping over at a friend's house. A friend who mercifully had slept on through my dream and awakening. I was in no state to explain it then. I calmed myself and tried to commit to memory what I could recall of the dream.

Memory that was confirmed with each box we brought into the house, each shelf we filled and each piece of furniture that was brought in and arranged. In a month, fall will end and winter will begin. Perhaps a month after that, we'll have our first snow fall which will melt and be replaced by another one or two before the season ends a month or two thereafter. If this is the year and this is the house, I have at most four months left to me.

I could flee. Apologize to my friends for leaving them with my part of the rent and run. Perhaps the dream was a warning rather than a prophecy. But death might simply claim me at the same time and I would not be ready for it then. Or it might come even sooner if I am else where. Would I have a better future if I run and remain perpetually in fear? Or should I stay here and brave chance that perhaps it was a foolish dream of a foolish child?

It's strange to know that hope and fear exist about the same thing and for both ways. I hope that I'm wrong; I fear that I'm right. Yet, I also have to admit that there is a side to me that hopes I am right, that the dream was special and fears that I am wrong and have lived my life in anticipation of something that will not come.

Is it better to die as someone special, or live freely and normally? So do I stay here because of pride to find out if I'm special? Or should I defy that and show that I am ready to live and face my fears?

Following the first week of winter, I think it was Robert who prodded the group into engaging me. I don't know for sure, but it seems like his style. It was Nat who clued me in by acting unusually concerned. Her way would be not to notice things, or if concerned to proceed directly. The almost timid manner that she asked after my well being was too out of character for it to have been on her own. After I caught that, I found Larry watching me from a distance with concern and only Robert seemed unchanged. Though he was quick to offer me a shoulder and an ear when I confronted him about his role in the matter.

I told them I was fine and put on a show of smiling. They accepted it, and did not push. But I know they whispered as the days grew shorter and I asked more frequently and urgently about the weather forecasts. The skies are usually grey here in the winter, and the temperature can get cold enough for snow. But it usually goes either cold and dry, or too warm when wet. Some years pass without snow, and others snow briefly... only to fill the sky and rarely the ground.

I look out at the skies and I wonder about the school children who are praying desperately for snow to close to the schools. They understand it means a day at home instead of one spent doing school work. Not of the drivers who must be careful on their way to work, or of the people who are put out and trapped.

I could leave. I tell myself this as the white flakes fall. I could abandon this and leave it behind. Or at least until winter has ended and the snows retreat. I'd have to be content with not knowing the answer, never being able to return to find out. I'm afraid. I want to find out what it is that I've carried for so long. I want to live and I want to be right. I don't know which is stronger. What fights in me is the fear of being right with the fear of being wrong.

I hate this, being driven by fear. So I try to take my mind off of it, but the white flakes that fall do not offer absolution. They blot out the landscape and the white void that's left is one my memories can paint all too easily with terror. I can stay to face my fears, or I can run. But I do not yet know if I'm staying now to face them or because I'm paralyzed by them. The landscape outside freezes as I wonder quietly if I was already trapped in the ice all those years ago.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

For want of a nail

Sometimes, we can't see the forest for the trees. And sometimes, we can't see the trees either.

I think, that we lose track of the whole because we get lost in the details. For example, I'm dropping you readers into the middle of this after a week's absence from posting... So give me a minute to back up and explain.

I was sitting here tonight trying to figure out what to write. Checking over the blog, I realized it had been a week since the last update. I do feel some obligation to keep putting stuff up while I'm writing. Both for any unfortunate soul that visits and for my sake, to keep me actively writing instead of being distracted by daily life.

As I sat staring at the blank post screen, I realized I could write about why I didn't have anything to write about. I was going to ramble on about the importance of having an idea, drafting it, editing it and then posting. Even the lack of having a title was going to make a good point, despite the fact that it was obviously going to have one by the time I posted.

That lead into a large discussion (or monologue) about what it meant to have details. Examples and counterpoints about how we can see the whole of a book but not understand what went into making it. That we had to have it broken down into parts like letters and words so that we could understand it, without breaking it down into authors, publishers, printers.

Then I got to thinking about how it applies to people.

I think that we get accustomed to being able to put things in their place. We break things down by defining them, making parts a whole entity themselves and then breaking those entities down into smaller parts and repeating the process. The Greeks once thought that the smallest thing that existed was an atom. And we held onto that idea in physics until we found a way to break it down into smaller and smaller parts.

Kids don't have that hang-up. When a child moves, they're usually able to make new friends and eventually adapt to their new home. Maybe it's because they like to play tag, and find a game that's the same or similar enough at their new home. Or maybe the new kids are outgoing enough to draw them in (or the child herself is outgoing enough to engage the new kids). The point is that they are usually far more flexible than adults to deal with changes in their life. They haven't broken themselves down into tiny pieces that have to be defined so that they are the same person that they were. They were at their old home, now they're at the new home. It doesn't affect that they like to play tag (or whatever game is preferred), it's just that they appreciate the individual segments of themselves without needing it to broken down to atoms.

As we get older, we get used to playing tag "our way." We start to lock down details and define them beyond being fuzzy concepts. We make parts of parts, so that we can better understand them. Teenagers are a prime example. They're busy trying to establish their own cultural view, appearance, even knowledge and general demeanor. They try to say who they are, while figuring out how catalogue their details like a score card. It helps them to find others when they have similar score cards, and perhaps gives them a path to follow to be more like the people they idolize. Except that some things are exceedingly hard to define.

When we finish the transition from those years, we're told it's a good time to "find ourselves." And a few years after that, you're expected to have finished logging your values and virtues and be that kind of person.

But people aren't permanent like stone; they're far more like water. While we're far more fluid as kids and kind of freeze up into ice as we become adults, we're still able to alter and change. The characteristics that compose us are both internally defined and externally given. But they aren't permanent.

We can get lost just trying to define ourselves and wonder why that is. I think it's because we can change. Our parts don't stay the same; they wear out and get replaced or improved. The details that make us "us", aren't things that you can continuously break down until you find their atoms and understand them.

You can be a generous person your whole life, and but not for the same reasons all the time. It could be because you had a good day, or because someone had a bad one, or maybe just because you had a lot and felt like sharing. Even breaking a person down into parts to say that they're generous or stingy might be going too far. But it's as far as we can go before we stop seeing the forest because of the atoms in the trees.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The (g)reefs of community

Reading over a fellow blogger's post last night, and I was struck by a thought. Human communities are kind of like coral. Seems odd, doesn't it? But bear with me.We kind of form communities by aggregate. A couple of like minded people meet, bond, and start to develop something. They invest work, time and energy into making that something grow. Meanwhile others stumble across and decide to join in or make their own.

This holds true for muds and even for this blog. Because of the Karinthadillo, I'm here posting originally and even now on this post. Others followed his example and started up a few blogs of their own. Perhaps eventually, a community of semi-linked individuals will gather. But like coral, these communities can be fragile.

Environmental changes can have a dramatic effect. We don't have a formal link, one blog is independant of another. I can think of three others that are linked in this fragile web and no single blog relies on the others in order to post or create. I don't necessarily know all those who keep their blogs or posts, but because of the activity and survival of those blogs I am familiar with, I'm inspired to maintain my own. If something were to happen to reduce the blogs or perhaps a prolonged period of inactivity, then this early reef would die.

This applies to muds as well. The coders create that first all important base. Next come the dedicated players and developers that try to make the fledging community grow. So long as the players do their part to build up the mud, it grows. But when they allow their portion to wither away and die, it makes it harder for the next person to find a place to grow.

*shrug* A thought, one I thought might be worthwhile to post in the currents.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Lessons for me

So, it's been a few days again and people are bound to get a bit touchy wondering what's happened. Yeah, for those that are regular readers they're bound to be aware of the delays that happen. Just not able to be around to post. Nor do I feel it's fair to post a blurb to the effect of "I'm here." I could do that if people were anxious, but it doesn't really give them any reward beyond that. No knowledge, nothing really to think about, yet...

Meh, anyways, the point of this post. Yeah, this is one that has more of a point than a "I'm here." Lessons. It's amazing what a person can learn when they try.

First, I've learned that it's hard for me to get into a proper habit. I've had a few days since the last post, and technically a few days before that one as well. A few days? For what? To think, to contemplate, all those bits that I normally do. Yeah, I'm a self-meditator.

Anyways, I created this blog as a sort of way to jot things down. To express things that I haven't yet finished thinking about, but at least had enough of a grip on to say something. That it may incidentally provoke others to think and respond with their insights, was the bonus and reason why it's up here on the net instead of quietly existing as one of the myriad of text files I have on the computer. (Which I realize, might serve as future posting material or "Filler"... hmm, this bears thinking about).

I can not keep on topic tonight! This was created to post ideas, so that they didn't slip away. Well, I've had a few ideas that came to me, that I intended to address and maybe even post here and most of them escaped over the period of time since the last post. The story was one idea that came to me and had to go out. But the others, save one, escaped. That rather irks me. I'll probably conjour them anew later, and then have to again go through them and re-establish what I was able to achieve before, without having a chance to get further or get more.

Alright, second lesson. (Those of you who have kept pace with tonights various feints and outright misdirection earn a point) I learned that you can edit posts without disrupting their place in the blog! I can practically hear some of you groaning, and others wondering why I didn't already know that. Point there is, I hadn't tried and I'm not familiar with it. I thought to myself that perhaps by editing the post, it might consider itself to have new material (which in a way, it does) and then try to hit the top of the blog as a "new" post instead of remaining stoically where it should at its original post point.

I have, this should come as no surprise, made typing mistakes before and undoubtedly will again. But one typo in particular was annoying. I used the wrong word entirely. Pronounced the same, spelled quite differently and of course, meaning something else entirely. I guess this means I'm an audio thinker? I found it when I was trying to pick up the threads of thought to try to find the escapees, and decided that it was worth the risk of changing the post's spot, to edit it and correct the typo.

Now, onto something else yet again!

Thought. Where do thoughts come from? What are they supposed to represent? Stay with me here. Why are thoughts necessary? We know memories exist without being concious of them all the time. You can dredge up memories of last week or years ago without needing to have kept them as a concious thought from last week or years ago. Now, to actually remember them you need to think of them. But when you don't think of them, it isn't as though the memory is lost forever or ceases to exist. It just, disappears effectively from your conciousness.

As for the flip side, why is there a concious need for thought? Could you not achieve the same without needing to conciously express the idea? For instance, when you can't understand something that somone is trying to explain to you, you're working to put their words together and derive an understanding. Sometimes, you just get it. It's there, without a thought or process to have arrived at it. Other times, you have to follow them premise by premise until you reach the conclusion they were trying to express.

Something I'll continue to think about, now that I remember it.

Monday, June 4, 2007

Story for a grandma

Someone else told me to post a story. A second somebody posted up stories of their own. My muse gave me this one at lunch, and I've spent a little while working on it. Different vein then I normally intend to write, but you don't get to control what your muse tells you. Could do with more editing and all that, but I have to get to sleep. Since this blog was to help me to release some creativity, I figured it would be a good spot for it.

With that, enjoy...

I sit at my grandmother's bedside, holding her hand and uttering the soothing phrases needed when she's conscious. Sometimes I'm me and she's herself and I am reminded of why I am here. But other times I am my mother, no matter how often I gently remind her otherwise. There are worse times, when she mistakes me for people who have moved on ahead of her a decade ago or longer.

It's only when she's fully lucid that she even realizes roughly what year it is. Other times I try, it seems like she's simply agreeing with me without understanding what I'm saying. As though by giving her assent, she might dispel the terrible voids forming in her mind. But I don't push it either. We can not change what time we have left or the form it will take, so we talk when the chance comes.

So here I am like the guardian of a light house, keeping the light lit so that everyone can make it back safe to harbor. Here, in this room I remember from childhood as being filled with the scent of lilac, the feel of fabrics and the bright colors of the cloth. The work that she filled her life with as she made things of beauty for her friends and family.

It's darker now, and cleaner. The nurse that comes once a week chastises me if it smells different. The fabrics have been folded and put away; grandmother won't be working on them again. I keep the room tidy, so that she doesn't worry when she rejoins us in the present. I feel that sometimes, that she's concerned about what has happened in her absence, while she was in a by-gone day.

I wonder what it will be like when I get older. The doctors say it is inheritable. Will I be laid up like this, and taken care of by one of my children or grandchildren? Will they cry tears into the comforter beside my arm. Tears I won't notice or understand while I am busy revisiting these days or even the days that I haven't yet lived?

I wipe away damp salty tracks which run across my cheeks and open the window curtains. It is midmorning and the army base across the bay has all three of their white domes visible today. When I was visiting her house as a child, my grandmother and I would eat our breakfast downstairs and watch the base. The domes looked like giant mounds of snow from her place, the only snow I'd see in our climate. We'd joke that it was too warm a day if we couldn't see them or that it was going to be cold outside when they were uncovered.

As an adult, that illusion was dispelled. I was too young to know of the cold war, and what it meant when they tried to hide the base. It wasn't something that you could explain to a child, so she found another way to let it exist without having it hang over my head.

She was always like that, finding ways to let me live my life without worrying about what was beyond my control. She had a cookie when I was sad, a shoulder when I needed to cry, and an ear when I had to talk. Wisdom when I was lost, a hand when I needed help. All the parts of herself that she could, she used to help me.

She did so much for me and loved me so dearly, that I could not stay away now. Not when she was in her hour of need and not when there was so much that I wanted to thank her for. But it is hard to sit here and hold her hand, to speak the comfort that she needs to hear when she doesn't know who I am, or why I am here. Or even that I love her.

But there are moments though, in those precious few moments that I am me and she is grandma, we squeeze each other's hands and smile. They may not be long or often, but they are moments that live in a time of their own, the moments when she knows my love and returns it.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

So where does the mind go?

It's kind of interesting to play a character when it's RP that's in mind. I'm not talking about single player RPGs or the grind and pay MMORPGs. The latter doesn't really have any aspect of RP to it, so I kind of take issue to it claiming RPG... but meh, a topic for another time (or place).

When playing a true RPG, it's fun making the character and trying to live true to what their life would be. Sure, you can get up and quit any time you want. Yes, their world is incomplete. People that your character knows might not even exist at a given moment. But when you are there the world is given a chance to live a little. When you meet others, it's not a scripted event designed to further a story line but instead something that's actually happening.

Of course, it's fair to argue that they are a form of escapism. Leaving your life behind to enter a world of magic. A world of certainties about the gods. One where you do not need to be afraid of dying, yet can be a great warrior instead of that person who does that lousy job. Being something other than what you are. A valued hero instead of a nameless person.

But, a true RPG is more than an escape. It's an adventure, exploration of a world and its people. In this case, you as a player also count as someone. Your character is an extension of yourself. Intrinsic in some ways, and external in others. You make the decisions that guides your character, even as you try to base those decisions on what it is that the character would intend. You practice your empathy by trying to be someone else. You learn about your own self when you make choices for them that you would avoid if it were your life.

Yet, there are other people in the world that are trying to do the same thing. You can learn from watching them and interacting what their values are. What they think of as evil, what things they cannot see that you can and what you may have missed in your own way. What you learn here, you can try to use in your own life. You might find an interest in a vocation that you never really thought about. Or discover a talent for the arts.

It's a world of inspiration, when you have to truly imagine another person and their life. An artist might see things in their head that have not yet been depicted in the physical world. Writers find stories that need telling. Musicians find the pulse of music in the delicate dances and tense exchanges.

But it also serves to broaden the mind itself. Atheists can play in a world of gods. Theists can explore what it means to have faith in a world without gods. You can explore your values of good and evil, and perhaps find better ways to live your life.

Finally, it is about what it means to be you and what it means to be someone else. Some prefer to not have to reach far, and instead play the world as themselves. Others try to explore their polar opposites. Some try just to be someone new, even if they wind up becoming more like one another.

Regardless of the type of character that is played, we carry the knowledge of the consequences of our choices. Those that empathize with their characters fully might gain joy from the lives led, or sorrow for the inevitable losses. Humour might be found that can be shared with others. Finally, you learn more about what choices are really before you when you face challenging situations in the world. You learn how to interact with others, perhaps finding self confidence that you might have otherwise lacked.

After all, you can't choose to do things that you are ignorant about. These games give us a way to explore life without having spent our lives. Loss, gains, prestige, friends, family, and ethos. In the end they are still just games. But aren't games something you can gain from? Even if it's just enjoyment? It winds up being your choice if you're using them to escape or using them to explore.

For those interested in rpgs, who don't mind a bit of reading (hah, you made it this far didn't you? You can surely make it a little farther), explore muds. I'm rather partial to one named Legends of Karinth at the moment, you can backtrack to it via the Karinthadillo's page. But there are many out there. Some are crowded, some are quiet. Some have no bounds on imagination, others have defined worlds and roles. Pick your poison and pick your character. Give the worlds and players a fair shot, and if it ceases to be fun, move on.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Chasing away crickets

Sorry, just keeping the harbringers of silence and doom away. Anyways, where was I?

Ah right, the supposed mention of maybe, just maybe writing. Yeah, I might have misled you on that score. Everytime I get the inspiration to write, it goes into my little various compositions I've got saved. A few different works in progess. So instead, it seems like the things I keep wrestling with in my mind are what gets posted. Stories either resolve themselves and get written privately or they don't and in that case I'm stuck with nothing to write, thereby defeating the purpose of a post.

But, I ramble.

Reality. Theism. Human interactions. These are the three that are claiming chunks out of time I might have spent otherwise. Won't say productively, but they would have been spent somehow.

What, for you, defines reality? I don't mean necessarily this reality, or whatever you choose to say is your reality. I mean, what does it take for you to say that this life or plane of existance or anything, something, is real? Does it have to be tangible? Does it need to exist independant of yourself? What if it is intangible, or exists only because you pay it heed? We rather commonly accept that there is a physical reality. If only because, to date and to our knowledge, nobody has successfully convinced the oncoming semi truck that it doesn't exist while instead that person does.

So, what does it take for something to be called a reality?

The gods. Ah, what a hornet's nest. God, gods, goddess, divine, dieties or even simply the existance of the universe. Living in north america, one can probably safely assume what religion I'm typically exposed to. I don't know what I can say of the beast lurking in the murky depths of my mentalscape. It's there, nibbling at my thoughts when they stray to religion or faith or divinity. Whenever I can draw it farther out and examine what it intends, I suppose I'll make a post. For now, let's say it's a matter of faith?

As for human interactions. Humans are queer folk, I'm sure you knew that. It's come up in your mind once or twice when you observe lunatic behavior, and again separately when you read about decisions made in the news or heard about the latest out breaks of violence. It's there again when you see good comedy and occasionally at those moments when you just step outside of your established mental routine and just go "wow."

So why do we do what we do? Is it something beyond our control? Our choices merely a chemical reaction? Or are we programmed by our childhoods and education, shaped and honed by desires and experience into the entity we are today? Given that, how in the world do we really interact with others? Some choose to be hermits, others choose to be with more people than you know, let alone are familiar with. We are (generally) alone in our minds, unable to do more perhaps than empathize with others. Yet I can see how it's hard for some people to relate to other people. After all, you don't know what drives them to the choices that they make. So why are we driven to be communal, and yet also driven to be individuals?

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Heisenberg's uncertainty posting

The act of observing changes the subject of observation. And so it appears that I've been linked to! Which means, I'll react to that. Also having a little more fun altering the appearence of the blog to suit my own desires, yet by making those alterations it was also kept in mind who else might be affected by those changes. At least, whether it would suit their own aesthetics. After all, the moral is that one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but precious few follow it. I'm not throwing stones, I'm guilty of it as well even though I'd rather not be.

Personal wishes don't trump ingrained habit or the "easy" route. If it did, people would make massive quantities of money. It's far easier to wish for something, than to actually expend the effort required to get it. This is often times because the expense involved outweighs what we think of as the reward. Most often we prefer immediate gratification with a following long term debt. That way the debt disperses reasonably against the future while the pleasure is present now. These sorts of payments, though, are the ones that are most detrimental.

Which is the subject of Game Theory. What choices do individuals make for a perceived reward/cost, when they are interacting with other individuals who may be pursuing their own agenda? It's easy to say that we'd choose the route that would bring us the best reward. But there's an example of the Prisoners Dilemma where the best choice would be to work together, but it rarely actually works.

Here's the gist of it: The two players have been arrested and must make a choice of whether to remain silent about their crimes, or confess and implicate the other player. Both players must make their choice independant of the other player and in ignorance of what that other player is choosing. If they both were to remain silent, they'd be released after a minimum period in jail. However, if one remains silent and the other one talks.. the talker is released after a small period of time and the silent one is locked up for a long long time. If they both talk, they serve a moderate period of time in jail.

So, the best option would be for both to remain silent. But if they don't know whether the other player is going to talk or remain silent, the safest (read easiest) option is for that individual player to talk. That makes it so that the best choice for either player is to talk, because the other one may not want to risk remaining silent.

Game Theory is quite an interesting thing to read through. It isn't about video games or board games (though the information involved can probably be put to good use in or about those). Instead, it is about how people come to their decisions about gains vs costs. Wikipedia, to which I've linked, has a few articles on it. It is probably still better to actually find a book on it to read if it really catches your interest, as it will provide a better education than the various postings.

Meanwhile, this brings us full circle. Our independant observer recommended that I read up on it after the last post. He then put up a post of it on his log and linked this site to it. So I figured I'd do the same. And it inspired the reflections that started this post and come together at the end. If you enjoy just following the full cycle of things, you can go ahead and read from the top anew... or follow the links and find more information for yourself. Whatever choice you do, good luck and have fun.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

On that matter of time and creativity..

The concept of Time and Precogs is one that continues to fascinate me. If you had a full view of the future, all futures, you could learn so much from it. You could examine your potential lives and gleam from them great answers, without actually having spent your life. Knowledge without cost, as it were.

An example: You could examine a potential life where you pursued an indepth study of medicine, and secured funding and a laboratory to experiment in. In this lab, you could seek the cure for cancer. As you would already be able to conduct thought experiments in pursuit of an answer, you would be able to continually refocus your efforts towards the cure. Each experiment that you might conduct, is instead supplanted by the new experiment using the results of the old that was never actually done. *sigh* I realize I'm explaining this badly.

In your first year of your lab conduct experiment Alpha, and learn that you can curb cancer's expansion with drug #1. The rest of your career is spent pursuing Drug #1 and how the world reacts to it.

Then... you reset back to the first year in your lab complete with the knowledge from Alpha and the world's subsequent research gains. You use those boosts to set up experiment Beta and discover a better drug. You spend your career pursuing that better drug and the world also posts its own research and development.

You reset again... still with the knowledge of Alpha and now Beta and perform... You get the idea?

So a full precog should have an expanse of knowledge that's perhaps approaches omniscience. It's still based on knowing the consequences of each of their potential actions. But because they can examine that before committing to a course of action their actual potential wealth far exceeds any. This is why, I suppose, most precogs are given either prophetic powers (Predict certain aspects of the future, but not the whole form) or can only peer a little ways into the veil.

So, what does all this have to do with being creative? I'm trying to write a story in a world of precogs. Most of the population is "normal", some of the population can peer into the future by about the space of a week before the possibilities blind them. Others can see all potential choices, but become trapped by that vision and live life little more than automatons, follow the course they've selected but forever in the future instead of the now. Two precogs are fighting over the protagonist, a simple (for the purposes of this post) normal person who one is trying to turn into a hero and the other is trying to claim for herself.

When wrestling over someone who can't see the future, against someone who can, what happens? What limits are required for precogs in order to allow the story to go? What happens when there aren't limits?

So, enough rambling. Maybe next time I will actually post writing (or free write). Or, and this is probably more likely given my trends, next time I'll post some more "hmm" questions. I don't know, can't see the future that clearly myself!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The last time we left

Was a discussion about Free will, Fate and responsibility. With a reminder to perhaps contemplate rock-paper-scissors. My reasons for this are as follows...

I've been interested in Free Will in sort of a round-about perspective. As a kid, I read Frank Herbert's Dune and loved the contemplations it invoked. The idea that those who can see the future can see the choices that others would make, and their own. Yet, they weren't trapped by their own choices. The protagonist could shape his future by exploring the different outcomes his choices would have. He could see how everyone else would decide things, and whether or not their decisions would be affected by his altered choices. (It never directly says if he knows their decisions directly, or if it was based off of his own observations of the consequences of those decisions, not important to my point though.)

Now, why was this interesting? The game rock-paper-scissors is played with an opponent and the two of you selecting one of the three objects. Rock beats scissors which beats paper which beats rock. You have a 1/3 chance of tying, 1/3 chance of winning and of course, 1/3 chance of losing.

For the purposes of our thought experiment, we'll take the world of Dune, or rather, the temporal physics of it.

Normal person plays against normal person: Conclusion- random. Neither can see what the other will throw, so they can only choose based on their own personal experience and preference. Neither person will necessarily dominate.

Foreseer vs Normal: Conclusion - Foreseer's choice. They can observe what the other person is going to throw, and as that is independant of what the Foreseer will do, the individual throw will remain a constant. At this point, the Foreseer can choose which outcome of the game she would like. The Normal person literally doesn't have a chance.

Foreseer vs Foreseer: Conclusion- Random. Why? In Dune, there was a sort of vortex that blocked one Foreseer from "seeing" another. They could observe the passage of the other (passage in time) but not directly observe the consequences of their actions. This was because the two of them were reacting to things that hadn't happened yet. In this game, we'll call the two Alpha and Beta. Alpha throws a rock, so Beta throws paper. Alpha sees that change and responds with scissors, Beta adapts to rock, Alpha to paper, Beta to scissors, Alpha to... You get the picture?

Dune pointed out that because they'd endlessly respond to one another's actions before those actions could occur, it rather blurred any action that one foreseer would take as far as another foreseer could observe. The consequences of decisions already made could be measured, but predicting the future or immediate effects were impossible.

So how does it resolve? For a Foreseer to win against another Foreseer, presuming a Free Will universe, it would remain sheer chaos until one of them actually threw and cemented their choice. Then the other could react.

In a Fated universe, I suppose it would be possible for them to observe their choices and realize who would win and who would lose, but be obligated to obey those choices. (This is an area I contemplate on the side. After all, in a Fated universe a Foreseer would be cursed with the knowledge of what's coming and yet not even be able to be more than a spectator even when directly involved.)

In a Dualist universe, it would appear to be a Free Will universe. Neither could see what the other one would do until one of them actually throws. I keep pursuing this to find an answer, and of course never can.

Maybe next time, I'll post some free writes. After all, this was supposed to help express creativity, not merely be a pretentious ramble by a bird.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

So about free will...

The ability to choose is usually held up as the most important part of being human. That we are self-aware and can decide not just for the immediate future but plan for the yet unknown future as well. Religions often involve not just faith, but that the person choose to worship. That you exercise your own mind and beliefs to walk the line between good and evil (if such is present in your faith). It also implies a responsibility.

For myself, I have to admit I'm a dualist. Forget the pistols, dualist not duelist. I do think that free will can co-exist with fate. "What's that?!" Well, to put it simply, we are responsible for our own decisions, even if those decisions were predetermined. To put it into an example, let's look at how most people view these things.

Free Will alone usually means that you can choose your own life or way at any point in whatever suits your mood. So, if you want to go out wearing a pair of mismatched socks, you can and will.

Fate usually means that you're bound to a preset condition, regardless of how you might personally feel. So you want to go out wearing matching socks, but nothing in your drawers or closet will provide such a set.

Dualists believe that Fate and Free Will coexist. That if you want to go out wearing matching socks, you will. That if you want to go out with mismatched socks... well, you will. BUT, the decision that you intend to make has (to all purposes) already been made. It is merely that you choose to follow that path.

So, I've probably lost a few and made others out-right disagree. Let's see about providing another example. You're on a freeway, you're driving south on one of the two lanes heading in that direction. Free states that you can choose to change lanes at any point, switching back and forth at whim. Fate states that you'll change lanes 10 miles into your drive, and again another 40 miles later. Regardless of personal preference, those are the only two times you'll change lanes. Now, Dualists state that you'll change lanes X amount of times, where X is the number of times you choose to change lanes. BUT, you're only going to choose to change lanes so many times. So X is a static number, unchanging. Furthermore, Dualists state that your lane changing will come at set points. You'll want to change lanes 15 miles in because there is a slow truck in front of you. And you'll change again 20 miles in because there's a police car with sirens behind you that wants to go past. You're making those choices at those points, and responsible for their consequences, but they are also predictable and predetermined.

I'll come back to this another time. For those who wish to contemplate in the interlude, think of Rock-Paper-Scissors. It'll be relevant in the next post, probably.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

The warning after

So I suppose I should have added a disclaimer, that I might not be posting daily. I'll post as often as A) I can, B) There's something to post. Posting simply for the sake of saying "yo" seems, well, a bit useless.

After all, at the moment there's only one person other person I know of that's reading this. True, it's "That I know of." But, given that I'm only two posts in and it's only been up for a few days, no point in worrying about those who are anxiously awaiting word that I don't know of.

I've got some thoughts floating around, and I'll drop them off here when they decide to condense into an actual idea instead of the fog-like state that they are right now. Points of considersation: What does Free Will mean to you? And for you?

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

The start

And hopefully not the finish.

So what is this going to be? A sort of a "write by the seat of your pants" thing or a planned post that helps to sort out thoughts and create an intelligent composition? Probably a mish-mash of both of those.

Ever get the feeling that sometimes you have a bit too many ideas and never enough time/ability/mental focus to actually get them all out? That whole sheer distraction of the other ideas keeps you from getting out that one (or many) that you could have.

So I figured I may as well make this. I might be able to trap a few of my ideas, log 'em here and come back when I can work on them. In the meantime, they might serve to inspire others. You poor poor souls that are trying to read this. There was also the thought that maybe, just maybe, this would serve to help me to improve my writing abilities.

Well, we'll see what comes of this, shall we?