The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. — William Shakespeare, “As You Like It”
I have a great fascination with both science and fiction. One helps me find out more about our universe and the other helps me fantasize as to what could be an alternative to our present reality. Despite their differences, my approach to both are very similar because both, science and fiction, make me ask, “But, why?”
Growing up I always liked to look at the things around me, different objects, and try to imagine how they came to exist. Of course, as a child, my knowledge and/or ability to find out about something’s origin was limited, so my imagination was called into order. “Where did this notebook come from?” I would ask myself, for example. So I’d open it in and read on the inside sleeve that it was printed in Cleveland, Ohio. I’d never been to Cleveland, I wondered what it looked like and who made it.
Then my imagination would kick in…
A few states to the west was a man named Thomas Albertson, JR., son of Mother Abigail and Father Thomas, the elder. Thomas was a good man, not too bright, but very kind to all people he encountered. On August 18th, 1958, he was working at the Cleveland Printing Company, where he had been working for the past 7 years, packing the books into a box as they came down the final stage of production, nice, new, fresh and warm. It was a tedious and mundane job and any other man would have quickly gone insane, but Thomas enjoyed it. He enjoyed it for a good reason, love.
Thomas was fondly in love with Ms. Cynthia Jacobs, daughter of Arnold “Jack” Jacobs, owner of the Cleveland Printing Company. She was beautiful, bright, and emitted a radiance like Thomas had never before seen. Perched overhead, in the supervisor’s office that hung above the lines of production, where she worked as her father’s secretary, she was the the most important source of light to Thomas; much like the sun to a sunflower, his face followed her movements, giving him energy as he went on with his daily routine.
And as he picked up the book that I would eventually wind up with, he would muster up the courage in his head to finally ask her out on a date. While that book was in transit, he did so and she accepted. Thomas would eventually marry Cynthia, who saw him as the kind and gentle man who he was. After several years, Cynthia took over the role of boss from her father and continued to work from above while Thomas continued to work on the floor, as a warehouse manager, just so that he could always look up at his dear Cynthia, his source of light, happiness and love.
But there was more for me to know about this book. I mean, sure, that’s just how it ended up in a box and shipped out, but where did the materials that made that book come from? The paper from a tree, the glue, possibly from a horse, the ink, I would guess from an octopus. These were my guesses as a young child. And maybe that tree was a large redwood from California, that saw different native Indians come and go, maybe it witnessed the Spanish and their massive boats arrive to the coast of California or it experienced a massive earthquake and survived while others of its kind fell around it.
And that horse, where that glue came from, might have been a wild mustang that rode around Wyoming for many years before being tamed and brought to a ranch to be a stud to breed with many mares before his heart eventually gave way and his hooves were used to make glue. And that ink from an octopus that was caught off the coast of Maine while it battled a giant crab for its livelihood.
But my curiosity would not and could not stop there, because I wanted to know why there were horses in North America, why Octopi looked the way they do, or why redwoods grow so tall and as a child it made sense to think of a magical being in the sky creating it all, but as I grew older I once again found myself asking, “But, why?” And the more concrete that my answers would get, the less I believed in the supernatural. The more I learned about the universe around me, the more I realized how little I understood. And this made me happy, knowing that I could potentially live a long and beautiful life searching for answers and information, eventually dying like every other living thing, but leaving another step with a solid footing for those to follow my way of thinking to climb upon.
And I thank those who set the foundation before me and for those who continue to work for a greater understanding of life, the universe and everything. Here’s to all of those who have, do and will live to ask the question, “But, why?”
So I decided to reread “Brave New World” and stumbled upon something that seemed interesting. Now I’m not one to believe in prophecies or anything psychic or super natural but, I do find this a bit interesting.
“The Nine Years’ War began in A.F. 141″
A.F. stands for After Ford, as in Henry Ford. Now Henry Ford was born on July 30th, 1863. Which would make A.F. 141 equivalent to 2004 AD. Now, of course this is all just nonsense I’m pulling out of my ass, but just bear with me if you have nothing better to do. (side-note… reread the first three sentences in Nicholas Cage’s voice.)
If we take into account that predictions could be possible, then let’s say that Huxley was off by a year since the Iraq War officially began on March 20th, 2003. So not bad, but there is more.
“The Nine Years’ War, the great Economic Collapse. There was a choice between World Control and destruction. Between stability and…”
“Liberalism, of course, was dead of anthrax, but all the same couldn’t do things by force.”
“Government’s an affair of sitting, not hitting. You rule with the brains and the buttock, never with the fists. For example, there was no conscription of consumption.”
“Every man, woman and child compelled to consume so much a year. In the interests of industry. The sole result…”
Now I know that Huxley was simply a very intelligent man who perceived what was occurring, currently at his time, in the world with a much keener sense than most others, but I still must admit that his words never sounded as spot on as they do now. As if war were not enough to control the world, an economic collapse helped seal the deal. This would finalize the role of a consumer based society as servants to it’s corporate (dare I say it it? sure why not?) overlords.
overlord |ˈōvərˌlôrd|
noun
a ruler, esp. a feudal lord.
• a person of great power or authority
Hopefully we all find Ford someday and are showered with Soma, but until then, I shall be having fun finding non-existent prophecies within the books of the best sci-fi writers this planet has to offer.
There are legends telling that somewhere deep within the depths of the mighty seas are giant creatures, known as Kraken, slumbering deeply, waiting for the moment to rise above the oceans and inflict terror and fear amongst men.
The Kraken was exposed into modern culture with the release of the 1981 film Clash of the Titans. In the movie, Zeus orders Poseidon to “RELEASE THE KRAKEN!” to unleash the creature upon the city of Argos to fulfill a prophecy. The protagonist Perseus eventually defeats the Kraken by exposing it to the head of Medusa, thus turning it to stone.
The Kraken, however, is not part of Greek mythology but instead it is a massive mythical creature from off the coast of Norway and has been described as a giant octopus or squid. Of course, giant squids are real, but they have not been known to create the same havoc that the Kraken was reported to do.
But the ocean is large and not yet fully explored. So just maybe, somewhere there is a giant creature lurking within the darkness, waiting for man to awaken it from it’s slumber so that it might once again rise and feed on those who disturb it.
“The Kraken” by Alfred Tennyson
Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber’d and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
There once was a time when young 10 year old kids worked 50 hours a week stealing wallets on the streets of Manhattan, smoked pipes and unfiltered cigarettes, and had nothing but piss and vinegar flowing through their veins. These are the same type of kids that would be shipped off four years later when they joined the Navy, land at Normandy and kill Nazi’s with their bare hands, just to do something nice for a change.
Having grown up within a shadow’s fall of the New York City Skyline, I have always admired the beauty of the Empire State Building. Despite being once the tallest building and man-made structure in the world, and still being the most famous of them all, the Empire State Building still holds a few secrets. My favorite is its airship mooring.
Postcard from Walker Evans Collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art NYC
According to Skyscraperpage.com, “The observation tower at the top of the Empire State Building was originally intended to be a dock for mooring airships. However, after several futile attempts at mooring a zeppelin in the strong winds present at 1250 feet, the idea was scrapped.”
Article from Modern Mechanics, August 1930
For more information about the Empire State Building’s Airship Mooring and why it was never followed through, visit the official site.
I wish I knew the context behind this picture. Regardless, it is quite disturbing. No matter how bad life may seem at times, it is nowhere as bad as this. Apparently this is a photograph by James Nachtwey.
That’s mike the sea lion and he’s cooler than you. You see whereas you might want to become rich and have a hot wife or husband, a big house, a fast car and all the luxuries money can buy, that still doesn’t guarantee a good death. Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to read, write or drive a car. A native Californian,the father of 12 (so far) was mature for his species at 19-years of age and lived at Nuremberg animal park in Germany with his three beautiful brides, Farah, Tiffy and Soda.
Well love was in the air and elder cocksman, Mike, managed to bone his three little girlfriends until his heart simply gave up. Well, good for you Mike, good for you.
