Not that my proclivity towards nigh-arrogant ranting and circuitous introspection demands any apologies*, but I realized this weekend there are some significant though well-concealed advantages to being a self-absorbed navel-gazer.
You’re going to need me to back that one up, aren’t you?
OK, let’s start with this brilliantly clever circle graph that received its fifteen minutes of fame when it landed on the front page of HuffPo last Friday.
To some, this may seem like an outright insult to Christians on a national level. To others, it comes off… well, it comes off exactly the same way; it’s just that this group of people delights in the insult instead of taking offense to it. It’s why we have wars, you know.
But what if the philosophical implications of this graphic are deeper than either of those cramped assumptions? Isn’t it possible the obvious joke is only there as an appetizer for your brain? Could there be something beyond the glib comparison of three movie monsters to the Messiah?
And if I can get you to see what I’m pointing at, can I then use the same similes and metaphors to confuse things and diminish the entire thing back down to a trite GraphJam entry?
Only one way to find out, I guess.
So anyway, being an artist by profession, I have an appreciation for color that perhaps my non-creative friends lack. Nevertheless, most people who see the above image would take note, albeit to varying degrees, of what could potentially be the most significant aspect of the illustration: that the hues change tint as they overlap. Oh sure, it’s done primarily to distinguish the individual circles while avoiding the clutter of each circle having a black stroke around it. But if we’re willing to assume a respectable level of intelligence for the graphic artist, we can very easily contrive some other, more important symbolism in this design.
For example, considering the person’s artistic nature, we can decide that the three circles are a subliminal color-mixing palette. Voila! Instant Philosophical Proposition! We are now conveniently positioned to make the symbol represent whatever we want simply by piously stating, “The final question is this: do you see God as additive or subtractive?”
The beautiful cleverness of this is that we’ve now opened up the argument for what defines something as additive and what makes something subtractive. Further applying these parameters to an omnipotent being keeps the idea immortal by giving rise to mutually exclusive factions, each with its own specialized and unequivocal interpretation of the image.
The Three-Circle Purists say the underlying message merely reinforces the graphic’s original idea that God is the culmination of all monstrosities to the point of becoming the blackest monster of them all. They refer to the very manner in which the tints darken as they progress towards Jesus Christ as their evidence. Declaring him to be a subtractive deity, they give God the name “Simmik” (spelled cmyk) and dub him the Bringer of Blackness.
The Paradoxicals, however, insist that the diagram represents Jesus’ tendency to spend the majority of his ministry in the presence of the most misguided, baleful sinners and that the choice of colors is intended as a subtle testament to that necessary irony. They claim repeatedly – almost to the point of recitation – that it is light from which God and all good things are born and thus, just like light, God must be additive, To them, the completeness of God results in a clean, perfect whiteness. He is given the title “Regrebloo the Pure”. Countless hymns are composed rejoicing in the promise of that glorious day when all colors will come together to form the most perfect White.
Of course, the cynical 3-CPs are all over that with shouts of racism and accusations of a religiously driven eugenic agenda. Science fiction novels begin to be regularly presented as oracular tomes. PK Dick and Isaac Asimov become revered as great prophets.
The Doxies then issue a collective sardonic snort by taking out full-page ads and erecting billboards likening fundamentalist 3-C doctrine to that of the Church of Scientology, citing as fact the very arguable notion that L. Ron Hubbard was also a science fiction author. This campaign fails miserably, however, as does their droll attempt to humiliate their adversaries by referring to them as “C-3POs”.
The battle rages for decades. Nonsensical self-help books emerge with titles like I, Robot. U Can’t Subtract! and Paradoxicals Do It With Guile. Passion becomes petulance and devotion turns into duress. A purist menacingly holds a 2x4 like a baseball bat and a doxie pulls his handgun…
Then, only after countless lives have been lost to the argument, does the illustration’s creator (by now aged 106) finally issue a public statement declaring that he is, in point of fact, completely colorblind.
And just like that, the sum of time and energy dedicated to either side of the debate is fully devalued. All the stock placed in both ideals is instantly obliterated. Every measure of strength and motivation imbued by the conflict is just as effectively depleted.
There was really never anything more to the illustration than an insensitive jape…
…right?
*In fact, some people actually like that sort of thing. I simply provide a service – an abrasive but oddly arousing service. So do hookers, but unlike a prostitute, I service you free of charge.
I was walking home - desperately - from work one day, shuddering with my disinterest, when I looked up and saw a simple composition floating in the impatient sky. All of the elements were ruled by astronomy, so as each second passed, they were shifted by a celestial sleight-of-hand.
I saw a crescent moon, hanging in the sky like a slice from a ghostly fruit. A rag of cloud, the color of sweetness - apricots, irises - was pulled across the pale lunar fraction. The sky was a gentle product of the negotiation between daylight and sunset: a lavender agreement.
The sky assembles visions like this every evening. It is common drink. But I would dare anyone to take a sip from this vignette ordinaire and not return home happy and reeling.
No, it's not the name of a new Disney after-school TV series. Sorry to disappoint.
The title of this post is actually referring to a couple of super-awesome photos from Amanda's recent trip to Colorado, where she enjoyed the rare and thrilling experience of having her face tasted by a full-grown wolf. Not many can say they've done that, you know, because usually they are dead or unable to form words through all the scar tissue...
What are your favorite web or mobile apps? Which ones do you use everyday?
I'd be lost without my Tweetie.
I've made the mistake of writing the "end" of my NaNoWriMo story.
It was in my head, and I was excited, because I'd actually come up with an ending. Which I didn't start out with - so you can imagine my pleasure. This freak of a story which I'd embarked upon without any knowledge of the characters or the world they live in (or, rather, die in, since I've already killed off half the cast) was just sort of flopping along, without any arms or legs, and while I pitied it, I kept on writing.
And then last night while at the gym (it's annoyingly cliche that my brain really DOES work better during exercise) I struck upon how this monster would actually end. So I rushed home and wrote it, while it was still all pink and fresh and gleaming.
And now I feel like I'm done. I know I'm not; I mean, there's a whole lot of middle-stuff that I haven't even considered yet. Step one, character. Step two, ?? Step three, result! It's the Underpants Gnomes of stories. I'm finding it incredibly hard to care about the middle stuff though. My brain has convinved itself that it's finished this story, and it wants to move on to the next one.
I sense the rest of this month of writing is going to be very painful.
"And behold, and lo," it was said. And thence came a creature empowered with seven horns, seven eyes and seven Spirits.
And there were seven seals.
The first seal...
was Conquest:
Boyfriend had an excellent day of surfing at Asilomar Beach. I couldn't tell: there were dozens of black wet-suited figures in the water. But all I could tell was that it was early, I was hungry and I wanted to go to the Monterey Aquarium.
The second seal...
was War:
I chased Boyfriend down on the bumper car rides at the boardwalk in Santa Cruz. Always hug the curb, friends, and then attack from the inside.
The third seal...
was Famine:
I was so hungry on Saturday. Fortunately there is a place on the Santa Cruz wharf that serves a dish that is built thusly: a slice of sourdough bread is covered with a mix of crabmeat, shrimp and mushrooms in a cream sauce and then topped with Monterey jack cheese.
The fourth seal...
was Death:
Something, that is, that I wished on Boyfriend and something I believe I narrowly escaped after he insisted I ride the Hurricane rollercoaster on the boardwalk. And yes, the website is correct: I did not notice the beautiful ocean views.
The fifth seal...
was a Vision of Martyrs:
On Halloween, Boyfriend and I saw the original 'Night of the Living Dead' on TV. I'm not sure - is the story here a little martyr-like? This was my first zombie film, so there were many things that confused me.
The sixth seal...
was Earthquake:
There was a 3.7 magnitude earthquake on the Sunday that we left for home. The earthquake was in Central California. We were in Central California. I don't think I need to explain further.
The seventh seal was the Trumpets of Angels and the end of the world:
On Sunday we went to the Monarch Butterfly Habitat. The butterflies fluttered like gilded angels. The migrations forced upon them are tremendous, and many do not survive.
Boyfriend and I have made this trip every year that we've been together: a considerable time. We stay in Pacific Grove, visit Monterey, spend the day in Santa Cruz.
We haven't encountered anything yet to make us change our plans.
Go forth and fill your libraries with media.
Seriously, thanks to everyone for being so amazing and patient. You are the reason I love Vox.
I was just told that the Amazon Conduit will be fixed by tomorrow. I will post here as soon as I get word that it's back up and running.
I know this has been frustrating and I am sorry there wasn't more I could do to make it less so. I really appreciate your patience though.
Cheers,
I have 20 minutes before the bus drops off SkyWalker. Both girls are napping and it is lovely. We had a pumpkin painting playdate this morning and because we were home/Chewie was fed enough/active enough/the planets were aligned enough/ she actually took a decent morning nap. Which will hopefully also mean a decent afternoon nap and then a decent night. We were thrown off when we had to postpone lunch so we could bring new pants to SkyWalker at school. And they were barely wet! He could have made it. They don't even smell like pee!
So guess what? My Minchin-heavy blog will soon be filled with my so-entertaining moanings about writing. I shall write in order to procrastinate from writing. That's brilliant, isn't it?
I haven't really got much of an idea of what I'll be attempting... I mean, I do have an idea, but there's no plot to it at all. Which might be all right - in the past, when I've had a plot in mind, the characters just sort of went off on their own anyway and completely ignored my wishes. Rampant, they ran. I have no control. It's a damn good thing I'm not a parent if I can't even keep track of my imaginary people.
SO, you've been warned. I think that's rather nice of me, don't you?
Oh and also, if you want to join in, please do visit nanowrimo.org and sign up. It's crazy-fun.
