Okay, I know it's a day late, but I thought it prudent to wait until the dreaded doomsday was fully over before I aired my views. So we survived again. Maybe not totally unexpected. Yes, folks. It means all the bills will still have to be paid. The Christmas madness will still prevail.
It sometimes makes me think we should put paid to this madness once and for all. We had a similar anticipation of dread with Y2K - wondering if the world might be thrown back to the dark ages at midnight Dec 31st 1999.
Nothing happened - or hardly did.
We didn't grind to a halt. On New Year's Day 2000 it was business as usual, pretty much. There were a few glitches, but nothing that might constitute anything like the disaster predicted. Looks like pretty much the same here. Nibiru didn't hit us. The poles didn't shift, although I'm sure there'll be some wacko who claims they did and we just didn't notice! And I'm sorry, that's what they are. Wacko. When you have primary school children scared out of their wits, because they have overheard conversations, or seen media reports about this stuff, then we have to take notice. There are of course, some who are seeing this as a business opportunity, manufacturing underground bunkers at $75000 a time. When there is a growing spirit of fear, those who have the means will certainly spend the money to save themselves. But the question is, just what kind of a world are they going to come out of their expensive holes into? In this case it sounded like potential Armageddon. So who really would want to live in a world like that?
It all boils down to fear and the futile desire to hang onto this life as long as we can - even if it means living in a nuclear wasteland. That's one thing I possibly agree with David Icke on: the procuration of fear. If there is some sinister New World Order rising up, they are certainly using mass fear as a tool to cause unrest and unease on a constant basis. This will not be the end of it for sure. We have survived this 'prophecy', but there will be others, promising world destruction. And they will ridicule religion as the opiate of the masses. Yet I think for many, holding to a Biblical view on this matter probably helped men and women see it with a more informed eye.
The truth is, we know less than we think, about or world, the universe, about ourselves. Theories abound concerning every mystery, putting forth answers that could very well be wrong - and probably are. If the Earth is just a pool ball in the middle of a table, halfway through a game, then we have cause to worry. For me I believe there is order in the universe, upheld by God Himself. The only danger we have right now, is from ourselves.
This Sunday . . . Starks, Lannisters and Baggins'
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Deception is a light - and dark art . . .
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas - and feel like it too. This, I find, is the time of year in which nostalgia crashes in on the cranial party with little shame. And if you are beyond a certain age, it reminds one of a period where things were so much better, a time where it took maybe a little less to raise a smile of joy. It seems that way, but what was it like really? Passing years, I suspect, do some steady work in numbing memorable reality into a 'feel good' haze. And I'm sure things can't have been as rosy as we all tend to remember.
I'm very sure they weren't, actually.
It occurs to me that our minds are fooled every day; that we wrestle with questions of deception more than we would care to admit. From the simple 'white' lie, to a life defining belief system, our capacity to deceive - and be deceived, is one that deserves consideration, as we are all subject to its subtleties from time to time. As a writer, the creation of convincing deception is my art, even though the receiver of the deceit is largely in on the act. It's when the person is ignorant of the fact, that deception takes on a more sinister and disquieting edge.
Deceptions that deal with cold fear are the worst for me. As I have stated in previous posts leading up to Christmas, there is increasing talk about the Mayan prediction of the world ending on 21st December 2012. Now, that's only a few days away - and all seems well right now, apart from it being perishing cold. If something is going to happen it's going to be a flick of a switch occurrence, as if God has his finger poised over the button - like Martin Sheen did as the lunatic president Stillson in 'The Dead Zone'. Remember it? "The missiles are flying . . . Hallelelujah . . . hallelujah." And yet, are we effectively deceived? All these people buying up goods and heading for bunkers on that date might be wasting their time. If nothing at all occurs they'll have wasted money - and risk some embarrassment into the bargain. If the kind of cataclysm predicted occurs, they'll have still wasted money. We're not talking about an atomic bomb going off here people, where it might be okay after. What I have read describes complete annihilation on a global scale. The bunkers ain't gonna help you.
I suppose it depends where your conspiracy theory loyalties lie - and which texts (if any) you might buy into. Jesus says in the Bible that 'no one will know the day or the hour when the end will come' - saying also to be ready for his return 'at all times'. That's a common sense move from a man who had it all worked out. You leave a place with others in charge, you don't tell them when your coming back. It's a no brainer. That's going to keep people on their toes like they were dancing on coals! And yet, it seems the passing of days, into months, and then years has rather numbed the urgency. To God, a day is as a thousand years. That's what it says - and more often than not, this old chestnut is used as a convincer for the days of Creation not being literal twenty-four hour periods of time. To me however, it gives a small clue as to why it appears things in His world move so very slowly. What is a crawl pace to us, might be a flash of time to some other being, especially someone who has eternity to play with.
Anyway, the more I read, the more crazy it seems. The theories abound, good and bad. We are told to expect aliens, a new dawn of enlightenment, mass destruction, death, and so on. Oh, it's all good.
I rather suspect we'll still be around on Saturday morning, and then, like Harold Camping someone will adjust the date, so we can sweat again for a few months.
Next post will be on Friday . . . doomsday.
I hope.
I'm very sure they weren't, actually.
It occurs to me that our minds are fooled every day; that we wrestle with questions of deception more than we would care to admit. From the simple 'white' lie, to a life defining belief system, our capacity to deceive - and be deceived, is one that deserves consideration, as we are all subject to its subtleties from time to time. As a writer, the creation of convincing deception is my art, even though the receiver of the deceit is largely in on the act. It's when the person is ignorant of the fact, that deception takes on a more sinister and disquieting edge.
Deceptions that deal with cold fear are the worst for me. As I have stated in previous posts leading up to Christmas, there is increasing talk about the Mayan prediction of the world ending on 21st December 2012. Now, that's only a few days away - and all seems well right now, apart from it being perishing cold. If something is going to happen it's going to be a flick of a switch occurrence, as if God has his finger poised over the button - like Martin Sheen did as the lunatic president Stillson in 'The Dead Zone'. Remember it? "The missiles are flying . . . Hallelelujah . . . hallelujah." And yet, are we effectively deceived? All these people buying up goods and heading for bunkers on that date might be wasting their time. If nothing at all occurs they'll have wasted money - and risk some embarrassment into the bargain. If the kind of cataclysm predicted occurs, they'll have still wasted money. We're not talking about an atomic bomb going off here people, where it might be okay after. What I have read describes complete annihilation on a global scale. The bunkers ain't gonna help you.
I suppose it depends where your conspiracy theory loyalties lie - and which texts (if any) you might buy into. Jesus says in the Bible that 'no one will know the day or the hour when the end will come' - saying also to be ready for his return 'at all times'. That's a common sense move from a man who had it all worked out. You leave a place with others in charge, you don't tell them when your coming back. It's a no brainer. That's going to keep people on their toes like they were dancing on coals! And yet, it seems the passing of days, into months, and then years has rather numbed the urgency. To God, a day is as a thousand years. That's what it says - and more often than not, this old chestnut is used as a convincer for the days of Creation not being literal twenty-four hour periods of time. To me however, it gives a small clue as to why it appears things in His world move so very slowly. What is a crawl pace to us, might be a flash of time to some other being, especially someone who has eternity to play with.
Anyway, the more I read, the more crazy it seems. The theories abound, good and bad. We are told to expect aliens, a new dawn of enlightenment, mass destruction, death, and so on. Oh, it's all good.
I rather suspect we'll still be around on Saturday morning, and then, like Harold Camping someone will adjust the date, so we can sweat again for a few months.
Next post will be on Friday . . . doomsday.
I hope.
Monday, 3 December 2012
November 21 - and counting . . .
I'll be honest about something from the start. I maybe won't look back on this year with any particular affection, and really have no desire to hang onto it - or see it miraculously drag on. Financially and spiritually, it's been a struggle. The whole year has been somewhat a strain to be sure. But that's my (yawn) story . . .
On the plus, I am going to finish my first novel, so for that reason, I suppose it's not all been bad. Don't misunderstand me here, there have not been any great tragedies in my life to contend with, and I am very grateful for that much. It's merely that a line of linear existence I enjoyed/endured, was broken after many years. Such a jump from an expected timeline can be a jarring - sometimes depressing experience - I suppose I have found it both.
If you recall, back in February, I posted a blog about Planet X, sometimes referred to as Nibiru, and the so called threat this heavenly 'body' might pose to Earth if the 2012 doomsday enthusiasts were to be believed. Well folks, it's only weeks to the fateful day now; the day some people believe the world will end. I have read a few articles and a couple of books on this subject in recent days. Some of these 'forecasts' were written as much as two or more years ago, with the perspective of 2012 being a fair distance away from the author's pen. All I can say right now is - if that planet is there, and it's supposed to be ten times the size of Earth, I think we might have seen the thing by now - and surely we would feel it. Remember the old George Pal classic, 'When Worlds Collide' made way back in the 50's? The planet Zyra, on collision course with Earth became visible weeks before the fateful day, but her effects, along with her moon Bellus, are felt way before that, with earthquakes and tsunamis devastating the planet as her gravity starts to drag our fair world into a death dance.
This isn't far from what all the doomsayers say we should expect, among other calamities. Well mateys, I hope they all have a Merry Christmas too.
This blog was primarily designed to talk about writing and movies, and that I will certainly do in future posts. These next weekly posts through Advent up to Christmas Day, by your indulgence, will major upon some spiritual aspects - opinions and information rather than preaching, because I suppose people have had a sour bellyful of that already. I just find it hard to accept as I move through every new day, the rising claim that we are a less spiritual people - and I think it's more than merely the frightened soul unable to embrace a proven reality that states we are nothing more than animals. I have no concrete evidence on my own table to suggest otherwise. We might well be intelligent apes for all I know! I personally however, would like to think we are not.
For a start, no orthodox church is going to convince many people of anything when they can't get their own house in order. Just recently, the Church of England has been thrown into turmoil by the refusal to accept women bishops. Not a story I have followed with any great interest, but I get more than the impression the decision was a shock to the clerical system, if the television scenes of weeping female clergy were anything to go by. A crisis? Only if you give a hoot about the Church of England, I suppose. And (forgive me) - from where I am, it seems most people don't give a hoot. And why would they? We live in a culture that claims God is dead - and it seems for the most part there's not a lot of shouting from Heaven to suggest otherwise. If we are expecting God to jump in and say 'here I am' (no pun intended) I think we may be disappointed. It seems he just doesn't work that way.
Not for now anyway.
As far as the 2012 thing is concerned, no one appears that phased by it. We are all pre-occupied with the onslaught of Christmas 'cheer' . . . a gradually increasing dash to get the gifts we need, to make sure 'the house is in order' so to speak. And I suppose I'm no exception to that rule. But every now and then, I wonder what would happen if the focus suddenly shifted - if there came a news flash that finally stated we were actually on the cusp of doomsday? And by the way, I'm not nuts on this. I think the scare-mongerers are definitely out in force yet again. But if the Bible has any authority at all, it usually begins with some good sense, stating 'no man knows the day or the hour when the end will come'. That to me, is a good plan. We just couldn't be trusted with such dire information.
Not unless you were Noah, I suppose.
Later this week: Depths of Deception . . .
On the plus, I am going to finish my first novel, so for that reason, I suppose it's not all been bad. Don't misunderstand me here, there have not been any great tragedies in my life to contend with, and I am very grateful for that much. It's merely that a line of linear existence I enjoyed/endured, was broken after many years. Such a jump from an expected timeline can be a jarring - sometimes depressing experience - I suppose I have found it both.
If you recall, back in February, I posted a blog about Planet X, sometimes referred to as Nibiru, and the so called threat this heavenly 'body' might pose to Earth if the 2012 doomsday enthusiasts were to be believed. Well folks, it's only weeks to the fateful day now; the day some people believe the world will end. I have read a few articles and a couple of books on this subject in recent days. Some of these 'forecasts' were written as much as two or more years ago, with the perspective of 2012 being a fair distance away from the author's pen. All I can say right now is - if that planet is there, and it's supposed to be ten times the size of Earth, I think we might have seen the thing by now - and surely we would feel it. Remember the old George Pal classic, 'When Worlds Collide' made way back in the 50's? The planet Zyra, on collision course with Earth became visible weeks before the fateful day, but her effects, along with her moon Bellus, are felt way before that, with earthquakes and tsunamis devastating the planet as her gravity starts to drag our fair world into a death dance.
This isn't far from what all the doomsayers say we should expect, among other calamities. Well mateys, I hope they all have a Merry Christmas too.
This blog was primarily designed to talk about writing and movies, and that I will certainly do in future posts. These next weekly posts through Advent up to Christmas Day, by your indulgence, will major upon some spiritual aspects - opinions and information rather than preaching, because I suppose people have had a sour bellyful of that already. I just find it hard to accept as I move through every new day, the rising claim that we are a less spiritual people - and I think it's more than merely the frightened soul unable to embrace a proven reality that states we are nothing more than animals. I have no concrete evidence on my own table to suggest otherwise. We might well be intelligent apes for all I know! I personally however, would like to think we are not.
For a start, no orthodox church is going to convince many people of anything when they can't get their own house in order. Just recently, the Church of England has been thrown into turmoil by the refusal to accept women bishops. Not a story I have followed with any great interest, but I get more than the impression the decision was a shock to the clerical system, if the television scenes of weeping female clergy were anything to go by. A crisis? Only if you give a hoot about the Church of England, I suppose. And (forgive me) - from where I am, it seems most people don't give a hoot. And why would they? We live in a culture that claims God is dead - and it seems for the most part there's not a lot of shouting from Heaven to suggest otherwise. If we are expecting God to jump in and say 'here I am' (no pun intended) I think we may be disappointed. It seems he just doesn't work that way.
Not for now anyway.
As far as the 2012 thing is concerned, no one appears that phased by it. We are all pre-occupied with the onslaught of Christmas 'cheer' . . . a gradually increasing dash to get the gifts we need, to make sure 'the house is in order' so to speak. And I suppose I'm no exception to that rule. But every now and then, I wonder what would happen if the focus suddenly shifted - if there came a news flash that finally stated we were actually on the cusp of doomsday? And by the way, I'm not nuts on this. I think the scare-mongerers are definitely out in force yet again. But if the Bible has any authority at all, it usually begins with some good sense, stating 'no man knows the day or the hour when the end will come'. That to me, is a good plan. We just couldn't be trusted with such dire information.
Not unless you were Noah, I suppose.
Later this week: Depths of Deception . . .
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Games of Thrones . . .
It's all quiet right now, and damn cold to be sure. But that's Britain for you. There's always plenty of light and shade here. I like the seasons, if I'm forced to admit it. You just can't sit and watch a Christmas movie effectively if it's tropically hot outside and still light at 7 o clock in the evening. Here, it's neither. Around this time of the year it gets dark around 5 p.m. and the temperature dips to freezing point somewhere in the dead of night.
Where I sit typing, the house heating system switched itself off hours ago - so you can imagine it's pretty parky (as we Brits say). America waits to find out who will be the next President, and the rest of us wait for our next influx of cash.
You might ask what this has to do with 'Game of Thrones'. If you do, you may not have read the blog title correctly. It says 'Games of Thrones', not to be confused with Mr. R.R. Martin's masterwork. No, the subject I wish to discuss in the latter half of this post is truly nothing to be celebrated, as we know George's books are - and should be. This is a cry against the festering heart of the darkest corners of British celebrity and politics - where the devil (be he detached monster or switch impulse in the black hearts of mere men) has spread his pervasive hand abroad.
For many, appreciation of the horror genre by its true followers is a complete anathema. There have been times in my own experience where flippant comments have been made, or queries as to just why I'm into 'all that horror stuff'. I suppose, on the one hand, it's a question worth asking. Those who are honest about it are not afraid to let everyone know about their passion; sometimes to their undoing, as they become tarred with a brush marked 'weirdo'. And yet, how wrong could we be? In my experience the true aficionados, are among the nicest people you would care to meet.
I suppose in the end it's as the old phrase says - 'horses for courses' - or as the Grinch so wisely said 'one man's poison being another man's potpourri'. We are fascinated by fear in all its forms because it's part of who we are. It has to be, otherwise there would be no quest to be had. Those who choose to explore the dark side are misunderstood at times. My own taste of horror delicacy is what might be branded as 'dark fantasy', with really no basis in reality, but still carrying the jeopardy of true horror to the characters involved. So, vampires taking over a small town in New England is not going to make news anytime soon. There can be a large body count, but it still feels like a Grimm's fairy tale, because in essence, that's all it is.
Conversely, there is the horror tale based in reality; the thing that could happen, were we not vigilant. Not particularly my taste of fare, but those intelligent people who appreciate this kind of work, as in breathtaking books like Truly, Deeply Disturbed by Andrew Nienaber - or films like Cannibal Holocaust would never be deemed as weirdos by this writer. They argue their case for a fascination in the disturbing with eloquence and flair, almost like it is a science. Good people mostly. My friends.
And yet, over recent weeks, the UK news has reported regularly of events that have taken place over a long stretch of time; events diabolical enough to make any of my horror appreciating friends squirm in their beds. Monsters have been, and are truly among us . . . in the guise of angels of mercy, or men of importance and celebrity. They have used the comforting skin of the good samaritan to sneak their way into the sanctuary of the most vulnerable, presenting an illusion of pure hearts, to then wreak a havoc that is only now breaking through a dam of fear fueled silence. While the media spotlight has often focussed upon the belief that watching horror movies can turn our children into potential mass murderers, these demons have done their 'work' right under our noses, even sometimes daring us to see their evil. And that's not too strong a word for it. See what true evil is my friends. It's not some movie director throwing fake blood and gore around. It's men like Mr. Jimmy Savile and others presenting themselves as agents of mercy, or people of standing, when all the time they have represented the Biblical 'roaring lion' seeking whom to devour.
Not everything is as it appears. I am almost hesitant to mention The Bible yet again, as it seems like an old chestnut across a few of my posts. But in this case, the wisdom there cannot be ignored. The Bible talks much about Satan's primary weapon being deceit and misdirection. If he was obvious in his actions there clearly would be little danger. We could always be ready. This current sex abuse scandal, to me, illustrates clearly how blind we can be. For years Jimmy Savile was on an untouchable celebrity pedestal - a true 'angel of light' as he went around 'serving' the community. He had the money, the power, and dare I say, arrogance, to call his own shots in all this. All the while, a sick torrent of evil acts were being perpetrated, covered by his impregnable veneer of confidence. I say, thank God the truth is now being revealed. And it's not merely a trickle, it's a tsunami - as many who were too afraid to come forward are now finding the courage to do so. The point is to learn from this - to always look further than the end of our nose. That guy or girl who likes wearing goth gear, or has a piercing through their tongue are saying it loud. Don't judge the horror fans, please.
You could well be laying blame in the wrong place.
Where I sit typing, the house heating system switched itself off hours ago - so you can imagine it's pretty parky (as we Brits say). America waits to find out who will be the next President, and the rest of us wait for our next influx of cash.
You might ask what this has to do with 'Game of Thrones'. If you do, you may not have read the blog title correctly. It says 'Games of Thrones', not to be confused with Mr. R.R. Martin's masterwork. No, the subject I wish to discuss in the latter half of this post is truly nothing to be celebrated, as we know George's books are - and should be. This is a cry against the festering heart of the darkest corners of British celebrity and politics - where the devil (be he detached monster or switch impulse in the black hearts of mere men) has spread his pervasive hand abroad.
For many, appreciation of the horror genre by its true followers is a complete anathema. There have been times in my own experience where flippant comments have been made, or queries as to just why I'm into 'all that horror stuff'. I suppose, on the one hand, it's a question worth asking. Those who are honest about it are not afraid to let everyone know about their passion; sometimes to their undoing, as they become tarred with a brush marked 'weirdo'. And yet, how wrong could we be? In my experience the true aficionados, are among the nicest people you would care to meet.
I suppose in the end it's as the old phrase says - 'horses for courses' - or as the Grinch so wisely said 'one man's poison being another man's potpourri'. We are fascinated by fear in all its forms because it's part of who we are. It has to be, otherwise there would be no quest to be had. Those who choose to explore the dark side are misunderstood at times. My own taste of horror delicacy is what might be branded as 'dark fantasy', with really no basis in reality, but still carrying the jeopardy of true horror to the characters involved. So, vampires taking over a small town in New England is not going to make news anytime soon. There can be a large body count, but it still feels like a Grimm's fairy tale, because in essence, that's all it is.
Conversely, there is the horror tale based in reality; the thing that could happen, were we not vigilant. Not particularly my taste of fare, but those intelligent people who appreciate this kind of work, as in breathtaking books like Truly, Deeply Disturbed by Andrew Nienaber - or films like Cannibal Holocaust would never be deemed as weirdos by this writer. They argue their case for a fascination in the disturbing with eloquence and flair, almost like it is a science. Good people mostly. My friends.
And yet, over recent weeks, the UK news has reported regularly of events that have taken place over a long stretch of time; events diabolical enough to make any of my horror appreciating friends squirm in their beds. Monsters have been, and are truly among us . . . in the guise of angels of mercy, or men of importance and celebrity. They have used the comforting skin of the good samaritan to sneak their way into the sanctuary of the most vulnerable, presenting an illusion of pure hearts, to then wreak a havoc that is only now breaking through a dam of fear fueled silence. While the media spotlight has often focussed upon the belief that watching horror movies can turn our children into potential mass murderers, these demons have done their 'work' right under our noses, even sometimes daring us to see their evil. And that's not too strong a word for it. See what true evil is my friends. It's not some movie director throwing fake blood and gore around. It's men like Mr. Jimmy Savile and others presenting themselves as agents of mercy, or people of standing, when all the time they have represented the Biblical 'roaring lion' seeking whom to devour.
Not everything is as it appears. I am almost hesitant to mention The Bible yet again, as it seems like an old chestnut across a few of my posts. But in this case, the wisdom there cannot be ignored. The Bible talks much about Satan's primary weapon being deceit and misdirection. If he was obvious in his actions there clearly would be little danger. We could always be ready. This current sex abuse scandal, to me, illustrates clearly how blind we can be. For years Jimmy Savile was on an untouchable celebrity pedestal - a true 'angel of light' as he went around 'serving' the community. He had the money, the power, and dare I say, arrogance, to call his own shots in all this. All the while, a sick torrent of evil acts were being perpetrated, covered by his impregnable veneer of confidence. I say, thank God the truth is now being revealed. And it's not merely a trickle, it's a tsunami - as many who were too afraid to come forward are now finding the courage to do so. The point is to learn from this - to always look further than the end of our nose. That guy or girl who likes wearing goth gear, or has a piercing through their tongue are saying it loud. Don't judge the horror fans, please.
You could well be laying blame in the wrong place.
Friday, 13 July 2012
A Verdict that demands Evidence . . .
I saw something interesting today on Facebook. One of my friends had posted a photograph (some of you might be familiar with it - I wasn't) of The Holy Bible on one side - and a Spiderman Comic on the other. Under each shot was the tag line more or less stating that each one was taken as the evidence for belief in its main protagonist. On the face of it it was quite funny, but it also smacks square in the eye those who maybe cling to the Bible as their life Oracle. At first glance I kind of thought 'Yeah, that's totally ridiculous'. Deeper analysis however, poses some deeper questions.
One of these players is clearly a fictional character, the other is believed by many to be a real sentient being who created the place and is one day going to reclaim ownership. Yet both documents scream in silence, with no power or effect. They just sit there on the tabletop, unless of course we endue them with a little more. Maybe that's obvious; the whole thing is intended to be a joke, but let's not make any bones here - any digs at holy scripture is bound to rattle a few religious cages.
The question of man's origins is one which will fascinate and challenge us until Doomsday - and I don't think these arguments will ever stop, even in the face of what one might claim as 'irrefutable evidence' one way or the other. It gets to a point in which belief, dogma, whatever you would wish to call it, become so ingrained, that acceptance of anything else becomes almost unthinkable - as it would challenge the very core of our culture. Hence there are conspiracy theories in abundance - covering just about everything. So if alien life was in contact with us, would it enhance societal breakdown? Or just bring us together like one big happy family? I sometimes wonder if the first instance might be the greater risk. The world is largely in a mess, but it kind of works in a perverse kind of way. To throw in a massive change to that mix now, could possibly drive us over the edge.
Anyone can claim to have written a holy book, an oracle that will bring peace and harmony to all - if they believe it, that is. And herein lies the problem. Our capacity to accept or reject an argument is what decides whether a far reaching soul message is the real deal or just a load of old hokem. Spiderman = hokem. The Bible = The Word of God. Nothing within the image in question can say if this is the case. It is a photograph of two items of printed material, and one has no merit over the other.
Unless we decide otherwise that is. Like I have stated before - a man's belief system is largely his own business and those who slip into dangerous fundamentalism can only perpetuate more hatred and confusion. And then on the other hand, each man/woman is responsible for their own action. The Bible says something about us 'working out or own salvation in fear and trembling'. That kind of suggests to me 'it's your call pal, but if you get it wrong then you're really gonna be screwed'.
So who knows for certain - if they're screwed or not?
One of these players is clearly a fictional character, the other is believed by many to be a real sentient being who created the place and is one day going to reclaim ownership. Yet both documents scream in silence, with no power or effect. They just sit there on the tabletop, unless of course we endue them with a little more. Maybe that's obvious; the whole thing is intended to be a joke, but let's not make any bones here - any digs at holy scripture is bound to rattle a few religious cages.
The question of man's origins is one which will fascinate and challenge us until Doomsday - and I don't think these arguments will ever stop, even in the face of what one might claim as 'irrefutable evidence' one way or the other. It gets to a point in which belief, dogma, whatever you would wish to call it, become so ingrained, that acceptance of anything else becomes almost unthinkable - as it would challenge the very core of our culture. Hence there are conspiracy theories in abundance - covering just about everything. So if alien life was in contact with us, would it enhance societal breakdown? Or just bring us together like one big happy family? I sometimes wonder if the first instance might be the greater risk. The world is largely in a mess, but it kind of works in a perverse kind of way. To throw in a massive change to that mix now, could possibly drive us over the edge.
Anyone can claim to have written a holy book, an oracle that will bring peace and harmony to all - if they believe it, that is. And herein lies the problem. Our capacity to accept or reject an argument is what decides whether a far reaching soul message is the real deal or just a load of old hokem. Spiderman = hokem. The Bible = The Word of God. Nothing within the image in question can say if this is the case. It is a photograph of two items of printed material, and one has no merit over the other.
Unless we decide otherwise that is. Like I have stated before - a man's belief system is largely his own business and those who slip into dangerous fundamentalism can only perpetuate more hatred and confusion. And then on the other hand, each man/woman is responsible for their own action. The Bible says something about us 'working out or own salvation in fear and trembling'. That kind of suggests to me 'it's your call pal, but if you get it wrong then you're really gonna be screwed'.
So who knows for certain - if they're screwed or not?
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Stephenie Meyer, E.L. James - and The Vampires of Wincolmlee
Yes people, I am still alive. Life just got in the way a little, that's all. Anyway, it's been a Summer of sport in England, and we know we always have a lot to shout about on that score. What it really means is that many more Brits are glued to their TV screens rather than their computers - to be summarily disappointed at what appears to be similarly losing performances year in, year out. The Olympics start very soon, so there's plenty yet to get excited about.
Or should we just read a good book?
What does that mean, anyway? What constitutes a 'good' book? Is it the quality of the prose? A fantastic plot? Characters who leap off the page and almost slap you in the face? I'm coming to the conclusion it's really none of these attributes essentially. If you manage to hit the mark of demand, a rather mediocre effort can still become a best seller. And clearly has. And that's not necessarily my opinion of any of the writers mentioned here, so let's make the point quite clear before the discussion starts. It's quite common knowledge that Stephen King has allegedly stated an opinion about Stephenie Meyer, author of the Twilight books. It's something along the lines of 'she can't write worth a darn.' Well, I suppose those words are quite polite, really. But let's look at the facts. Stephen King, in my opinion, is a genius storyteller. But that didn't happen overnight. The skills he has accrued have come with years of practice; devotion to a passion that has largely consumed a great percentage of his life, in time and effort. You'd expect King to be good by now. Saying that, King, for me, did his best work early in his career, when he was actually redefining the genre with books like Salem's Lot and The Shining. Now, let's take Ms Meyers rise to glory. She has openly admitted she had no particular desire at the outset to be a professional writer, and was equally candid about the fact she had never written any creative prose of any great length before Twilight appeared. Consequently, a rather more 'raw' style of writing is to be expected. But I believe inconsistencies of logic, rather than mere sentence structure, can often mark out the experienced wordsmith from the mere apprentice. A long piece of fiction soon puts out many varied story threads, and only a master can weave those threads into a coherent, satisfying tapestry. It is so easy to have worked hard on a manuscript, only to find some way down the line you have left some important issue out - or put something extra in where it should not be.
I have also begun to read similar derogatory comments about the quality of the writing in the erotic 'Fifty Shades of Grey' trilogy, by E.L. James, which as you will probably know by now, is taking the book world by storm. Is this success an encouraging sign - or simply damning of the world of serious literature? I have taken a look at the prose in both cases discussed and I don't imagine either would hit the Booker short list anytime soon. However, the fact remains, both these authors are incredibly successful. They are earning pot loads of money, from what some critics would shamelessly describe as 'pedestrian' prose. I for one, see this as a great hope.
The advent of easy self publishing has not merely moved the goalposts for the would be author, but rather removed them completely, to the point in which anyone with a modicum of talent and staying power has a chance to get their slice of the market share. And it seems once you hit a niche, you never look back. Although, there is one other self published author I know of (who I won't name here) seems to have kind of disappeared off the map. This after a huge media fanfare a few years ago. There had been talk of movie deals and mega bucks - until somebody kind of realised the work maybe wasn't quite as revolutionary as first thought. I scanned reviews for the said book, and found to my dismay, a plethora of one star reviews and scathing comments. The author in question has continued to write, with some success - I'm pleased to say - and made some serious money to boot. I think I would have been rather discouraged by the same amount of poor feedback. But I suppose that's a risk all authors must face - if they want to be read.
And the same goes for me.
I have just released the first part of a five instalment horror novel called "Vampires of Wincolmlee". Of course, for those who know not the City of Hull, nestling quietly on the east coast of England, that title probably means nothing. It is essentially my love letter to the people of a city that has taken so much negative press in recent years. I suppose it's also a fan letter to Stephen King, who though I don't know personally, I feel has somehow 'coached' me down the years, to the point where I'm actually now practising the craft. And my work is at last out there. Thank heaven for Kindle, eh?
The path to writing success has widened - and changed. Getting your work into a public forum has become the easy part. Now, would be authors have to think more about marketing strategies. This is the dilemma I now face. It occurs to me though, if I can get the majority of people who own Kindle readers in Hull alone to buy my book, I am going to be a very satisfied man. It's all about self promotion and momentum; something I am sure Ms Meyer and Ms James know all about.
So, where will "Vampires" be in a year's time? Well, who knows? But this much is sure; there has never been a better opportunity for those who wish to tell and sell stories . . .
So go write.
Or should we just read a good book?
What does that mean, anyway? What constitutes a 'good' book? Is it the quality of the prose? A fantastic plot? Characters who leap off the page and almost slap you in the face? I'm coming to the conclusion it's really none of these attributes essentially. If you manage to hit the mark of demand, a rather mediocre effort can still become a best seller. And clearly has. And that's not necessarily my opinion of any of the writers mentioned here, so let's make the point quite clear before the discussion starts. It's quite common knowledge that Stephen King has allegedly stated an opinion about Stephenie Meyer, author of the Twilight books. It's something along the lines of 'she can't write worth a darn.' Well, I suppose those words are quite polite, really. But let's look at the facts. Stephen King, in my opinion, is a genius storyteller. But that didn't happen overnight. The skills he has accrued have come with years of practice; devotion to a passion that has largely consumed a great percentage of his life, in time and effort. You'd expect King to be good by now. Saying that, King, for me, did his best work early in his career, when he was actually redefining the genre with books like Salem's Lot and The Shining. Now, let's take Ms Meyers rise to glory. She has openly admitted she had no particular desire at the outset to be a professional writer, and was equally candid about the fact she had never written any creative prose of any great length before Twilight appeared. Consequently, a rather more 'raw' style of writing is to be expected. But I believe inconsistencies of logic, rather than mere sentence structure, can often mark out the experienced wordsmith from the mere apprentice. A long piece of fiction soon puts out many varied story threads, and only a master can weave those threads into a coherent, satisfying tapestry. It is so easy to have worked hard on a manuscript, only to find some way down the line you have left some important issue out - or put something extra in where it should not be.
I have also begun to read similar derogatory comments about the quality of the writing in the erotic 'Fifty Shades of Grey' trilogy, by E.L. James, which as you will probably know by now, is taking the book world by storm. Is this success an encouraging sign - or simply damning of the world of serious literature? I have taken a look at the prose in both cases discussed and I don't imagine either would hit the Booker short list anytime soon. However, the fact remains, both these authors are incredibly successful. They are earning pot loads of money, from what some critics would shamelessly describe as 'pedestrian' prose. I for one, see this as a great hope.
The advent of easy self publishing has not merely moved the goalposts for the would be author, but rather removed them completely, to the point in which anyone with a modicum of talent and staying power has a chance to get their slice of the market share. And it seems once you hit a niche, you never look back. Although, there is one other self published author I know of (who I won't name here) seems to have kind of disappeared off the map. This after a huge media fanfare a few years ago. There had been talk of movie deals and mega bucks - until somebody kind of realised the work maybe wasn't quite as revolutionary as first thought. I scanned reviews for the said book, and found to my dismay, a plethora of one star reviews and scathing comments. The author in question has continued to write, with some success - I'm pleased to say - and made some serious money to boot. I think I would have been rather discouraged by the same amount of poor feedback. But I suppose that's a risk all authors must face - if they want to be read.
And the same goes for me.
I have just released the first part of a five instalment horror novel called "Vampires of Wincolmlee". Of course, for those who know not the City of Hull, nestling quietly on the east coast of England, that title probably means nothing. It is essentially my love letter to the people of a city that has taken so much negative press in recent years. I suppose it's also a fan letter to Stephen King, who though I don't know personally, I feel has somehow 'coached' me down the years, to the point where I'm actually now practising the craft. And my work is at last out there. Thank heaven for Kindle, eh?
The path to writing success has widened - and changed. Getting your work into a public forum has become the easy part. Now, would be authors have to think more about marketing strategies. This is the dilemma I now face. It occurs to me though, if I can get the majority of people who own Kindle readers in Hull alone to buy my book, I am going to be a very satisfied man. It's all about self promotion and momentum; something I am sure Ms Meyer and Ms James know all about.
So, where will "Vampires" be in a year's time? Well, who knows? But this much is sure; there has never been a better opportunity for those who wish to tell and sell stories . . .
So go write.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
"Have you heard THE Good News . . . "
Okay, that's not quite what you get when the Jehovah's Witness's come to your door. They're far more subtle than that. Some of the techniques of cold call selling have to be employed these days if they want to make any progress at all. But at least they're out there selling their wares. And as far as they're concerned it's the best thing since sliced bread for the wayward soul.
That's great. But what if the message they are pushing is past its sell by date? Or poison? Surely it can't be that bad. Anything that sets us on a path of spiritual enlightenment has to be some good. Well, not if it's facts are wrong and it leads people down a pathway to oblivion. The only excuse we would have before a Creator in this instance is "Sorry, I was hoodwinked, shan't do it again." No. We certainly wouldn't do it again - not in a one shot deal anyway.
As a matter of fact, I had a lengthy discussion on my front doorstep with two of these good people, perfectly decent souls by the look of them. They were soft spoken, polite, totally committed to their message - and very convinced it was the right one. Now - that's the part that made me take a step back and consider. As I slowly drifted into a heated debate with them about doctrine and deity, I took stock - and then cut the conversation short. There was no way either party was going to be convinced of the other's argument, not in such a short parley of words. Looking a little deeper one could say at least a seed of truth might have been sown in those few minutes. But whose truth? After all, a doorstep joust of wills can only be a battle of ideas, a clash of opinion and belief. Truth might well be be a thousand miles away, locked in some prehistoric tomb somewhere.
It occurs to me, this is the problem with religious argument the world over. On the one hand you have the doorstep debate, on the other, reports of mass slaughter in the name of whatever god happens to be declaring world ownership at the time. I won't go too deeply into the celestial players here. We all know who they are. From real sentient beings, to a mere set of ideas and ideals, we all have dealings with the arguments. Even if you believe in nothing you are drawn into the game by default.
The more I think about religion and our possible origins, I always come up with two big options. Either we are pointless creatures that have risen from the primordial sludge, or we are pawns in a Cosmic battle that stretches beyond anything our minds have ability to contemplate. The first option is the one most people seem to go for because it's the rational 'scientific' argument. It's the option that owns most evidence to support its claims - or not, as the case may be. It all depends on which side of the theoretical fence you sit.
I kind of like the Cosmic battle side best, but maybe that's because I have a fertile imagination. Religious organizations have done precious little in my opinion to advance the wonder or possibility that we might be more than an accident. And forget it. I am not going to even speculate on that particular hot potato; there are plenty of people doing it already. The Bible lays out a world history that maybe to a straight thinker is fantastical, to say the least. Yet it is, when you get to the heart of it, just words on paper. It's like anything that purports to boast a mystical property to affect lives - it needs a special component ingredient to make it truly come alive.
It needs us.
Without the back up of belief and action the wise words simply lay dead in a cave for thousands of years. But when that conviction is strong enough, a movement is created that can challenge any well established idea we might have held, even if it flies in the face of what might have been regarded as hard fact. This I think, is the beauty - and indeed the danger of religion. When following becomes fanaticism, then we have a recipe for disaster, as we know all too well.
It's clear to me now, there are always going to be the two camps - and some who embrace a little of both. But the point here is about belief not becoming dogma. I had an urge to throw my knowledge, gained through listening to years of Christian teaching and reading, right into the face of those two sincere Jehovah's Witnesses. Because those years had convinced me I was right. Just like they were convinced they were right. That's what pulled me up short, because on the face of it, the simple mistake of interpretation meant one of us might possibly be going to Hell. I personally find that one very hard to swallow, but as I've said before, that's just me. In any case I let them finish their diatribe, took their literature and they went on to the next house. And I say now, I wish them the best in their efforts to expand spiritual awareness. No doubt they will get some converts in the fullness of time, who will attend meetings, be convinced even further, then go out and spread the message abroad. In the end, it is clear there is a battle for hearts and minds globally - a battle that will likely go on until time burns out. And we will continue to wrestle and wrangle over spiritual world supremacy, until one is finally victorious. Or until we find out . . .
We might all have got it wrong.
That's great. But what if the message they are pushing is past its sell by date? Or poison? Surely it can't be that bad. Anything that sets us on a path of spiritual enlightenment has to be some good. Well, not if it's facts are wrong and it leads people down a pathway to oblivion. The only excuse we would have before a Creator in this instance is "Sorry, I was hoodwinked, shan't do it again." No. We certainly wouldn't do it again - not in a one shot deal anyway.
As a matter of fact, I had a lengthy discussion on my front doorstep with two of these good people, perfectly decent souls by the look of them. They were soft spoken, polite, totally committed to their message - and very convinced it was the right one. Now - that's the part that made me take a step back and consider. As I slowly drifted into a heated debate with them about doctrine and deity, I took stock - and then cut the conversation short. There was no way either party was going to be convinced of the other's argument, not in such a short parley of words. Looking a little deeper one could say at least a seed of truth might have been sown in those few minutes. But whose truth? After all, a doorstep joust of wills can only be a battle of ideas, a clash of opinion and belief. Truth might well be be a thousand miles away, locked in some prehistoric tomb somewhere.
It occurs to me, this is the problem with religious argument the world over. On the one hand you have the doorstep debate, on the other, reports of mass slaughter in the name of whatever god happens to be declaring world ownership at the time. I won't go too deeply into the celestial players here. We all know who they are. From real sentient beings, to a mere set of ideas and ideals, we all have dealings with the arguments. Even if you believe in nothing you are drawn into the game by default.
The more I think about religion and our possible origins, I always come up with two big options. Either we are pointless creatures that have risen from the primordial sludge, or we are pawns in a Cosmic battle that stretches beyond anything our minds have ability to contemplate. The first option is the one most people seem to go for because it's the rational 'scientific' argument. It's the option that owns most evidence to support its claims - or not, as the case may be. It all depends on which side of the theoretical fence you sit.
I kind of like the Cosmic battle side best, but maybe that's because I have a fertile imagination. Religious organizations have done precious little in my opinion to advance the wonder or possibility that we might be more than an accident. And forget it. I am not going to even speculate on that particular hot potato; there are plenty of people doing it already. The Bible lays out a world history that maybe to a straight thinker is fantastical, to say the least. Yet it is, when you get to the heart of it, just words on paper. It's like anything that purports to boast a mystical property to affect lives - it needs a special component ingredient to make it truly come alive.
It needs us.
Without the back up of belief and action the wise words simply lay dead in a cave for thousands of years. But when that conviction is strong enough, a movement is created that can challenge any well established idea we might have held, even if it flies in the face of what might have been regarded as hard fact. This I think, is the beauty - and indeed the danger of religion. When following becomes fanaticism, then we have a recipe for disaster, as we know all too well.
It's clear to me now, there are always going to be the two camps - and some who embrace a little of both. But the point here is about belief not becoming dogma. I had an urge to throw my knowledge, gained through listening to years of Christian teaching and reading, right into the face of those two sincere Jehovah's Witnesses. Because those years had convinced me I was right. Just like they were convinced they were right. That's what pulled me up short, because on the face of it, the simple mistake of interpretation meant one of us might possibly be going to Hell. I personally find that one very hard to swallow, but as I've said before, that's just me. In any case I let them finish their diatribe, took their literature and they went on to the next house. And I say now, I wish them the best in their efforts to expand spiritual awareness. No doubt they will get some converts in the fullness of time, who will attend meetings, be convinced even further, then go out and spread the message abroad. In the end, it is clear there is a battle for hearts and minds globally - a battle that will likely go on until time burns out. And we will continue to wrestle and wrangle over spiritual world supremacy, until one is finally victorious. Or until we find out . . .
We might all have got it wrong.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Titanic . . .
I remember many years ago, singing a song at school about the Titanic disaster. It was as I recall, way beyond the understanding and empathy of a mob of kids from the seventies, probably because of the almost whimsical way our music teacher always played it on the piano . . . like some pub room sea shanty, best suited to be sung with a belly full of rum, or Tetley's Yorkshire Bitter. Whatever the reason, we let the event go bang over our heads, through our ears and out of our minds.
A complete heart bypass.
But, now we have reached 100 years since that great ship went down and the years since the school shanty's have rolled along to remind us all of our frail mortality, it has hit me with a greater force than ever before. Maybe for me the writer's mind has kicked in a little here, but I think it's more down to the gauntlet challenge the numerous TV documentaries have laid down; just to consider what we might have done if facing an almost certain death in those icy waters. And I have been staggered afresh by just how much serendipity might have played its part in the disaster, almost - like it was meant to happen. Now, I know such a notion is surely ridiculous to most people. These kind of unforseen disasters have happened before. You can look back at any tragic event, take it apart, and find therein a web like tapestry of occurrences beforehand that finally led to the terrible climax.
The aforementioned song goes on further about the Lord's Almighty Hand knowing that 'ship would never land'. Now He might well have known it was never going to reach it's destination, but I don't believe for one minute divine interference caused the tragedy. It was, as is usually the case, a succession of 'unfortunate events' that placed the 'unsinkable' ship in the wrong place at the wrong time, to meet up with an iceberg she should have been nowhere near in the first place. Throw in the vain eagerness to have her reach New York in record time, the calmness of the water that night, the cable messages warning of ice being missed - and you have a neat recipe for disaster, a perfect killer combination.
It's almost as if fate planned the disaster.
The unsinkable Titanic did just that. She sank - with a loss of life to match the ill provision of the ship's owners. Titanic carried the amount of lifeboats the wise thinkers deemed necessary, nowhere near as many as she needed. There were 20 on her flanks, with room for about 1800 people. She carried well over 2000 souls on board. In fact she could have easily carried at least 30 boats, but it was thought unnecessary and not aesthetically pleasing to do so. From all I have read and seen there appears to be a certain arrogance on the part of those who conceived the ship, to the point where they almost defied nature to do her worst. In hindsight it seems that's exactly what she did. Her very worst. She destroyed Titanic with the quiet precision of a Ripper's cut.
The damage she sustained was just in the right position to kill her; a flank gash of around 300 feet long, well below the waterline. It was an incision the designers had made little provision for, because they simply thought something like this would never happen. The thing I have always found the most disturbing about this tragedy is seeing a CGI Titanic in every TV and movie adaptation, sitting there, moveless and crippled, like a floundering whale in a sea of black glass. It was a mocking ocean that night, that saw no need now to kick up a storm to do it's damage. It is an image for me of how man's greatest fanfare of ideas can be knocked cruelly into silence by the power of other, more mysterious forces.
The aftermath of the Titanic sinking will have been fraught with 'what ifs'. That's the essence of regret. And it's part of being human. Ill considered actions are taken every minute of every day. Some lead to an event as trivial as getting lost in a strange town. Others culminate in death and disaster. It's this freedom we have to invite such disaster or triumph makes us free indeed.
To me the fact remains; if things regarding that fateful voyage had been going 'by the book' Titanic might never have gone down at all. And if we were able to go back in time from this reality and warn Captain Smith of impending catastrophe, would it cause even greater disaster? Is this fine tapestry of existence peppered with occurrences we would rather have not happened, because they were just meant to be? You can either look at the past and see it as an elegant interweave of events that has led to where we are today, or you can call it a big mess. It doesn't seem like endless chaos from here, because the world adapts to it's wounds - and then we carry on to the next crisis. The thing that seems the hardest of all, is not being able to go back and fix things. I have wondered just how many of those survivors, huddled and freezing in the lifeboats, remembered the comfortable experiences of the previous night. Probably more than we think. Yet, that iceberg was waiting, even as they wined and dined; waiting silently and callously to commit mass murder.
We remember tragedy down the years and the loss of life, and so we should. But I sometimes worry about the 'game' the Cosmos likes to endlessly play - to put us in harms way. Or maybe it's all just down to whatever we decide . . .
A complete heart bypass.
But, now we have reached 100 years since that great ship went down and the years since the school shanty's have rolled along to remind us all of our frail mortality, it has hit me with a greater force than ever before. Maybe for me the writer's mind has kicked in a little here, but I think it's more down to the gauntlet challenge the numerous TV documentaries have laid down; just to consider what we might have done if facing an almost certain death in those icy waters. And I have been staggered afresh by just how much serendipity might have played its part in the disaster, almost - like it was meant to happen. Now, I know such a notion is surely ridiculous to most people. These kind of unforseen disasters have happened before. You can look back at any tragic event, take it apart, and find therein a web like tapestry of occurrences beforehand that finally led to the terrible climax.
The aforementioned song goes on further about the Lord's Almighty Hand knowing that 'ship would never land'. Now He might well have known it was never going to reach it's destination, but I don't believe for one minute divine interference caused the tragedy. It was, as is usually the case, a succession of 'unfortunate events' that placed the 'unsinkable' ship in the wrong place at the wrong time, to meet up with an iceberg she should have been nowhere near in the first place. Throw in the vain eagerness to have her reach New York in record time, the calmness of the water that night, the cable messages warning of ice being missed - and you have a neat recipe for disaster, a perfect killer combination.
It's almost as if fate planned the disaster.
The unsinkable Titanic did just that. She sank - with a loss of life to match the ill provision of the ship's owners. Titanic carried the amount of lifeboats the wise thinkers deemed necessary, nowhere near as many as she needed. There were 20 on her flanks, with room for about 1800 people. She carried well over 2000 souls on board. In fact she could have easily carried at least 30 boats, but it was thought unnecessary and not aesthetically pleasing to do so. From all I have read and seen there appears to be a certain arrogance on the part of those who conceived the ship, to the point where they almost defied nature to do her worst. In hindsight it seems that's exactly what she did. Her very worst. She destroyed Titanic with the quiet precision of a Ripper's cut.
The damage she sustained was just in the right position to kill her; a flank gash of around 300 feet long, well below the waterline. It was an incision the designers had made little provision for, because they simply thought something like this would never happen. The thing I have always found the most disturbing about this tragedy is seeing a CGI Titanic in every TV and movie adaptation, sitting there, moveless and crippled, like a floundering whale in a sea of black glass. It was a mocking ocean that night, that saw no need now to kick up a storm to do it's damage. It is an image for me of how man's greatest fanfare of ideas can be knocked cruelly into silence by the power of other, more mysterious forces.
The aftermath of the Titanic sinking will have been fraught with 'what ifs'. That's the essence of regret. And it's part of being human. Ill considered actions are taken every minute of every day. Some lead to an event as trivial as getting lost in a strange town. Others culminate in death and disaster. It's this freedom we have to invite such disaster or triumph makes us free indeed.
To me the fact remains; if things regarding that fateful voyage had been going 'by the book' Titanic might never have gone down at all. And if we were able to go back in time from this reality and warn Captain Smith of impending catastrophe, would it cause even greater disaster? Is this fine tapestry of existence peppered with occurrences we would rather have not happened, because they were just meant to be? You can either look at the past and see it as an elegant interweave of events that has led to where we are today, or you can call it a big mess. It doesn't seem like endless chaos from here, because the world adapts to it's wounds - and then we carry on to the next crisis. The thing that seems the hardest of all, is not being able to go back and fix things. I have wondered just how many of those survivors, huddled and freezing in the lifeboats, remembered the comfortable experiences of the previous night. Probably more than we think. Yet, that iceberg was waiting, even as they wined and dined; waiting silently and callously to commit mass murder.
We remember tragedy down the years and the loss of life, and so we should. But I sometimes worry about the 'game' the Cosmos likes to endlessly play - to put us in harms way. Or maybe it's all just down to whatever we decide . . .
Friday, 6 April 2012
The Passion . . .
Today is Good Friday in the UK, the day in which we remember the public crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth. Well, that's part of the day anyway. There are the chocolate eggs of course, and those cute Easter bunnies . . .
For me, I wanted to get some kind of hold on the religious significance, so I decided to take a drive into the local market town and see the street Passion play the local churches had organised. Call me indoctrinated and brainwashed if you like, but my church upbringing sort of demanded I do it, rather than take yet another trip to the supermarket shops, which is what most other days might turn up. It's an interesting thing when you think about it, and I suppose most people wouldn't give a damn, but how could a man who did nothing but good end up being in a terrible situation like that? He was obviously a little too dangerous for his own good, I suspect. The possibility that someone might be conveniently done away with because of mere popularity is right out of conspiracy theory, and outlandish on the one hand, but maybe just a little thought provoking.
The Bible makes it clear that the religious leaders of the day wanted Jesus out of the way very quickly. And it was certainly not because of the trumped up charges of blasphemy they finally snared him with. It was, I think, because he was a formidable man in all departments. The gentle Jesus - meek and mild, was really anything but - as far as they were concerned. He was a real threat to their authority . . . a true man of the people.
On this day of course, it all goes painfully downhill for Jesus - a battered, ripped individual who hardly reflects the future glory he has described to his disciples. I suppose if you want to know the whys and wherefores of why he finished up on that cross at all you would probably be well advised to see a good clergyman or pastor, rather than listen to some simpleton blogger . . . but it occurs to me, many of the people charged with the communication of such a deep word have let years and an ever changing culture blur the vital imagery of a man with a message - and what motivated him in the first place.
The scale of his physical suffering is not that difficult to describe, but maybe more of a problem to fully imagine. The Bible uses very succinct phrases in various passages to illustrate the severity of his injuries, and consequently the barbarism of treatment by his Roman captors. Mel Gibson's - 'The Passion' shows this abuse all graphically, and if Scripture is to be believed very accurately. His film is a horror movie at it's base level, using the Old Testament Biblical template of Jesus being 'marred more than any man' as a primary basis for two hours of relentless and cruelest torture, culminating in a bloody death on a wooden cross.
This morning's presentation was certainly not as graphic as Gibson's but truly a noble one, as the image above will hopefully show. The area here is usually used as a car park, with all the noise and hustle and bustle that goes with it. But for a brief few minutes it was a silent representation of a time and far away hill called 'The Skull'. There were no idling engines to be heard at all, just the weird sound of a chill wind running a rumble over the few microphones that had been set up across the square as the actor lowered his head and 'died'. Oh yes, there was plenty of respect, for sure, but I knew within the hour the noise of rattling exhausts would be crawling back to reclaim the ground and carry eager shoppers to their weekly 'fix'. People were still wandering and shopping, even as the marching Roman centurions demanded they move aside to let them pass. And why you ask, should we care? None of this 'God' crap is scientifically provable when it comes right down to it. But to me, that's half the beauty, and maybe the fun too. Whether we believe God exists or not, I don't think He's going to tell us anytime soon. The Bible says those who seek Him diligently - will find Him. It kind of throws down a fat gauntlet to the few people with half a mind to even look. And as for the rest of us . . .
I know some people think believing in all this stuff is just a crutch for the weak minded. Well, maybe so. No divine entity has popped up yet to tell me otherwise. I know one thing though, arguing about it can only have me dancing inside the territory of those who have forgotten what the Passion is all about, those who think that they're right and everyone else is wrong. Well friends, we might all be wrong - and all right. One thing will remain constant . . . truth will always be truth, no matter what anyone thinks . . .
For me, I wanted to get some kind of hold on the religious significance, so I decided to take a drive into the local market town and see the street Passion play the local churches had organised. Call me indoctrinated and brainwashed if you like, but my church upbringing sort of demanded I do it, rather than take yet another trip to the supermarket shops, which is what most other days might turn up. It's an interesting thing when you think about it, and I suppose most people wouldn't give a damn, but how could a man who did nothing but good end up being in a terrible situation like that? He was obviously a little too dangerous for his own good, I suspect. The possibility that someone might be conveniently done away with because of mere popularity is right out of conspiracy theory, and outlandish on the one hand, but maybe just a little thought provoking.
The Bible makes it clear that the religious leaders of the day wanted Jesus out of the way very quickly. And it was certainly not because of the trumped up charges of blasphemy they finally snared him with. It was, I think, because he was a formidable man in all departments. The gentle Jesus - meek and mild, was really anything but - as far as they were concerned. He was a real threat to their authority . . . a true man of the people.
The scale of his physical suffering is not that difficult to describe, but maybe more of a problem to fully imagine. The Bible uses very succinct phrases in various passages to illustrate the severity of his injuries, and consequently the barbarism of treatment by his Roman captors. Mel Gibson's - 'The Passion' shows this abuse all graphically, and if Scripture is to be believed very accurately. His film is a horror movie at it's base level, using the Old Testament Biblical template of Jesus being 'marred more than any man' as a primary basis for two hours of relentless and cruelest torture, culminating in a bloody death on a wooden cross.
This morning's presentation was certainly not as graphic as Gibson's but truly a noble one, as the image above will hopefully show. The area here is usually used as a car park, with all the noise and hustle and bustle that goes with it. But for a brief few minutes it was a silent representation of a time and far away hill called 'The Skull'. There were no idling engines to be heard at all, just the weird sound of a chill wind running a rumble over the few microphones that had been set up across the square as the actor lowered his head and 'died'. Oh yes, there was plenty of respect, for sure, but I knew within the hour the noise of rattling exhausts would be crawling back to reclaim the ground and carry eager shoppers to their weekly 'fix'. People were still wandering and shopping, even as the marching Roman centurions demanded they move aside to let them pass. And why you ask, should we care? None of this 'God' crap is scientifically provable when it comes right down to it. But to me, that's half the beauty, and maybe the fun too. Whether we believe God exists or not, I don't think He's going to tell us anytime soon. The Bible says those who seek Him diligently - will find Him. It kind of throws down a fat gauntlet to the few people with half a mind to even look. And as for the rest of us . . .
I know some people think believing in all this stuff is just a crutch for the weak minded. Well, maybe so. No divine entity has popped up yet to tell me otherwise. I know one thing though, arguing about it can only have me dancing inside the territory of those who have forgotten what the Passion is all about, those who think that they're right and everyone else is wrong. Well friends, we might all be wrong - and all right. One thing will remain constant . . . truth will always be truth, no matter what anyone thinks . . .
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Those who are about to fail a lie detector salute you . . .
Excitement! 'The Hunger Games' starts at my local Multiplex this weekend, and from what I've seen, it looks like it's gonna be good. I've not read any of the books mind, and in truth had never heard of it until a couple of months ago, when the promotion machine started to crank up. It kind of got me thinking about what levels we might eventually sink to in the name of entertainment.
Okay, life is still sacred, as far as television programming goes, so we have not yet plummeted to the depths of Gladitorial style combat for prime viewing. But maybe that is only a matter of time. The bulk of TV listings is now dominated by what has been aptly named 'reality television'. This is a convenient tool to save on devising proper concepts, and take us out of our own mundane lives - into someone else's. It's usually ramped up to the hilt with some contrived conflict, but it seems to me that just having the mere ability to peer into some other person's world is enough to keep us glued to the sofa. After all isn't this what the soaps do? Except they're not reality, and we know it. So they can do anything they like, to a point. Interesting though, that two of the major, long standing serial dramas in the UK have both featured murders over the last two weeks.
That never happened years ago. Petty theft - and maybe an armed robbery might have been the worst we could expect in one year of viewing. I don't recall 'homicide on your very doorstep' being a common thread. Granted, we know a close to home murder is about the worst thing a neighborhood could experience, so to use it as a plot too often would be unrealistic, but its the dramatic parallel to reality that is interesting. That's why these events are so shocking, because they disturb our linearity, they make us realise things will eventually change . . . whether we like it or not.
To ponder why we love RT so much is maybe a tough question, because it probably says more about us than the participants on the screen. An age ago a well recognised and advanced for the time empire used the plight of the ill fated and despised to provide entertainment for the masses. The Roman Arenas must truly have been places where the most brutal visual horrors were played out, yet I wonder if Christians being torn limb from limb might have been the normal Saturday afternoon pleasure for many families of the rich and noble. Probably so. It wasn't a problem to them, you see. There was no moral dilemma to address. These filthy creatures were nothing to Rome after all, little better than animals.
These days we are more civilized. We fake and fudge our arena games, water them right down and find some way of making them fully acceptable. Get rid of the blood letting, but use just about every other situation one might face instead: Family feuds, infidelity, kitchen nightmares,weddings, blind dates, hidden cameras . . .
The only problem is, the list of the mundane will eventually burn out - and maybe we'll start to creep back . . .
That will never happen, right? But movies and books do keep on giving us this scenario speculatively. From 'The Running Man' years ago, to 'The Hunger Games' today, we still insist in fiction that the final offspring from this whimsical child might be the age old scenario we all fear. How bad must things get before we find good reason to pull Rome back out of the play box? Unthinkable? I don't know. Nothing surprises me these days. The call for capital punishment to be reinstated in Britain comes up year upon year as crime increases. What about giving the convicted felon a fighting chance for a change? Maybe manipulating a combat handicap for a10% chance of survival if it's an open and shut case - 60% if there's some doubt of guilt? Yes, it is a disgusting premise but some of the stuff in today's arenas dances on the fringes of poor taste. If you can get away with it, bad taste sells - and sells big.
Shows that purport to provide help and support now have a good excuse for their voyeurism. And maybe they do help the poor souls who voluntarily put themselves forward for the 'games'. But there is a price to be paid. Exposure, ridicule, and humiliation in front of a baying crowd is usually a standard, being goaded to the point of violence, before being ushered away by a nightclub bouncer for much needed counseling. Thank you, doctor.
Maybe this is a tried and trusted method of emotional cleansing. But it does boast a nice little bi-product of huge TV ratings, along with celebrity for the host, the heavies hired to protect them, and the counselors who comfort from the back.
Oh yes, we still have our own 'Hunger Games'. Maybe one day ancient Rome might return, to take us that one step further . . .
Okay, life is still sacred, as far as television programming goes, so we have not yet plummeted to the depths of Gladitorial style combat for prime viewing. But maybe that is only a matter of time. The bulk of TV listings is now dominated by what has been aptly named 'reality television'. This is a convenient tool to save on devising proper concepts, and take us out of our own mundane lives - into someone else's. It's usually ramped up to the hilt with some contrived conflict, but it seems to me that just having the mere ability to peer into some other person's world is enough to keep us glued to the sofa. After all isn't this what the soaps do? Except they're not reality, and we know it. So they can do anything they like, to a point. Interesting though, that two of the major, long standing serial dramas in the UK have both featured murders over the last two weeks.
That never happened years ago. Petty theft - and maybe an armed robbery might have been the worst we could expect in one year of viewing. I don't recall 'homicide on your very doorstep' being a common thread. Granted, we know a close to home murder is about the worst thing a neighborhood could experience, so to use it as a plot too often would be unrealistic, but its the dramatic parallel to reality that is interesting. That's why these events are so shocking, because they disturb our linearity, they make us realise things will eventually change . . . whether we like it or not.
To ponder why we love RT so much is maybe a tough question, because it probably says more about us than the participants on the screen. An age ago a well recognised and advanced for the time empire used the plight of the ill fated and despised to provide entertainment for the masses. The Roman Arenas must truly have been places where the most brutal visual horrors were played out, yet I wonder if Christians being torn limb from limb might have been the normal Saturday afternoon pleasure for many families of the rich and noble. Probably so. It wasn't a problem to them, you see. There was no moral dilemma to address. These filthy creatures were nothing to Rome after all, little better than animals.
These days we are more civilized. We fake and fudge our arena games, water them right down and find some way of making them fully acceptable. Get rid of the blood letting, but use just about every other situation one might face instead: Family feuds, infidelity, kitchen nightmares,weddings, blind dates, hidden cameras . . .
The only problem is, the list of the mundane will eventually burn out - and maybe we'll start to creep back . . .
That will never happen, right? But movies and books do keep on giving us this scenario speculatively. From 'The Running Man' years ago, to 'The Hunger Games' today, we still insist in fiction that the final offspring from this whimsical child might be the age old scenario we all fear. How bad must things get before we find good reason to pull Rome back out of the play box? Unthinkable? I don't know. Nothing surprises me these days. The call for capital punishment to be reinstated in Britain comes up year upon year as crime increases. What about giving the convicted felon a fighting chance for a change? Maybe manipulating a combat handicap for a10% chance of survival if it's an open and shut case - 60% if there's some doubt of guilt? Yes, it is a disgusting premise but some of the stuff in today's arenas dances on the fringes of poor taste. If you can get away with it, bad taste sells - and sells big.
Shows that purport to provide help and support now have a good excuse for their voyeurism. And maybe they do help the poor souls who voluntarily put themselves forward for the 'games'. But there is a price to be paid. Exposure, ridicule, and humiliation in front of a baying crowd is usually a standard, being goaded to the point of violence, before being ushered away by a nightclub bouncer for much needed counseling. Thank you, doctor.
Maybe this is a tried and trusted method of emotional cleansing. But it does boast a nice little bi-product of huge TV ratings, along with celebrity for the host, the heavies hired to protect them, and the counselors who comfort from the back.
Oh yes, we still have our own 'Hunger Games'. Maybe one day ancient Rome might return, to take us that one step further . . .
Sunday, 18 March 2012
Mind Games and a latex shark . . .
The mind is the writers playground - and for some it can be a lifetime's battlefield. It is the Gladitorial arena in which we fight all our internal battles before moving forward with life and its many dilemmas. For those who weave words, of course, the human mind is far more than the simple movie screen brought to us by directors of film. Forget all about 3D. When one is absorbed by the reading experience, when you're lost in the written word, no movie can match the vitality of the vision being played out before you.
Just why then is Hollywood spending millions on 3D, when we know the novelty is soon to wear off? Well, we've had 3D a few times before, but it was maybe a little before my time. Back then it was a new gimmick. Obviously, I never saw 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon' in 3D at the theatre. I have a standard DVD copy of the movie. A classic? That's a matter of opinion, but I personally don't think so. The interesting point is, there are films being released today of a similar ilk that are meant to wow us with spectacle for one thing, and then floor us with 3D action for another.
They don't.
We've already seen far too much. The advent of computer generated effects has ensured every situation imaginable can be flung onto the screen to blow us away . . . and unfortunately now, it's turning us away. I am currently reading 'The Woman in Black'. Apart from personally knowing the description of the locale, (which I can relate to because I live on the East Coast of England, close to where Susan Hill, who wrote the book grew up) I have found the experience of the written story more vivid and frightening than anything the movie could muster up. There has been no creepy music in my head, no real jump scares so far, yet the excursion has evoked far more unease for me. The film, for all its noble worth, has obeyed a requirement to employ standard horror devices to lay out its thrills. There are hence plenty of jumps, loud noises, blurry images of figures in the background, and children with expressionless pale faces . . .
There are, of course, certain ways and means of creating similar spills and chills in the written word; little tricks to make things move a little quicker or provide the 'jump'. A nice slow build up of description, followed by a single line paragraph usually does this quite nicely. You know, you ramble through a description for quite a bit about some guy coming up a flight of stairs in an old dusty house, and then in a single paragraph line at the very end you might suddenly declare . . .
'And the guy had no head.'
For heaven's sake, please don't slot in an exclamation mark after it. That would kill it dead! Okay, the example might be fairly crude, and it's not a great line, but you get the point. Stephen King and others use this technique to great effect time and again. So you can create cinematic effects on the written page. Of course, there are skills involved in all of this, to prevent it becoming hackneyed, to make it build up effectively; skills which I'm sure many of the writers who read this have already perfected.
So, let's allow the imagination have some sway, even in the movies. The insistence of some film makers to 'show' everything is a poor one, in my opinion. Just some insight, to let the audience do a little work themselves, to collaborate, must surely go a long way. I remember seeing 'Jaws' for the first time. I was absolutely terrified before I'd even entered the theatre, such was the ground work already laid by the hype, to ramp up any anticipation of unbridled fear. For me, the thing that was so great about that movie was the fact you saw barely anything of the shark for most of its running time. So when the rubber fish finally was revealed, the subconscious part of my head had already bought into it. I was convinced the thing was real, dangerous and very deadly.
And it was all because - 'the shark was not working.'
Apparently, this was the loud hailer declaration for most of the shoot. The mechanical shark, designed and constructed to replicate a Great White, failed many more times than it worked! Under pressure from the studio to finish the shoot Steven Spielberg had to devise ways to allow them to carry on filming. I get the feeling from recent interviews he had no idea this apparent annoyance was to become a masterstroke of good fortune. The initial intent was to show a hell of a lot more of the shark than finally ended up on screen. And boy are we glad now he didn't - because I believe it allowed 'Jaws' to become the masterpiece it is. The opening scene of Chrissie Watkins' death is so chilling because you are constantly expecting that Great White's snout to break through the water in a fountain of spray and gore.
You get to see a little more later as poor Alex Kintner gets munched. Even taking the scene in slow motion it's hard to make out what just happened. It kind of looks like the shark rolls over as it strikes, in the manner of a crocodile. Two fins flip over in the water and in the next second the boy is gone. Very effective. Again, as the movie reaches its nail chewing climax on the 'Orca', the 'three floating barrel technique' covers efficiently for the lack of a mechanical shark. When a barrel pops up, bobbing around in the waves, you know the shark is somewhere near. Actually, there's nothing there at all, but we all think there is.
Thankfully, the shark did work long enough for the movie to be finished, and when it did finally show up in full glory you could tell that no way could it be a real Great White, not even close. But by then Spielberg had played his winning move in the mind game and convinced us all of its deadly validity.
So who needs to see everything? Some of the worst horror writing currently published is that in which the author has seen fit to describe every last detail, of every last thing. From time to time this method may be desirable, even required, but I would venture to say that most decent stories and novels have managed without it.
So please, let's continue to let words stimulate the mind first . . . because we all know, massive IMAX screens, over used CGI and even, dare I say, 3D is never going to come close.
Just why then is Hollywood spending millions on 3D, when we know the novelty is soon to wear off? Well, we've had 3D a few times before, but it was maybe a little before my time. Back then it was a new gimmick. Obviously, I never saw 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon' in 3D at the theatre. I have a standard DVD copy of the movie. A classic? That's a matter of opinion, but I personally don't think so. The interesting point is, there are films being released today of a similar ilk that are meant to wow us with spectacle for one thing, and then floor us with 3D action for another.
They don't.
We've already seen far too much. The advent of computer generated effects has ensured every situation imaginable can be flung onto the screen to blow us away . . . and unfortunately now, it's turning us away. I am currently reading 'The Woman in Black'. Apart from personally knowing the description of the locale, (which I can relate to because I live on the East Coast of England, close to where Susan Hill, who wrote the book grew up) I have found the experience of the written story more vivid and frightening than anything the movie could muster up. There has been no creepy music in my head, no real jump scares so far, yet the excursion has evoked far more unease for me. The film, for all its noble worth, has obeyed a requirement to employ standard horror devices to lay out its thrills. There are hence plenty of jumps, loud noises, blurry images of figures in the background, and children with expressionless pale faces . . .
There are, of course, certain ways and means of creating similar spills and chills in the written word; little tricks to make things move a little quicker or provide the 'jump'. A nice slow build up of description, followed by a single line paragraph usually does this quite nicely. You know, you ramble through a description for quite a bit about some guy coming up a flight of stairs in an old dusty house, and then in a single paragraph line at the very end you might suddenly declare . . .
'And the guy had no head.'
For heaven's sake, please don't slot in an exclamation mark after it. That would kill it dead! Okay, the example might be fairly crude, and it's not a great line, but you get the point. Stephen King and others use this technique to great effect time and again. So you can create cinematic effects on the written page. Of course, there are skills involved in all of this, to prevent it becoming hackneyed, to make it build up effectively; skills which I'm sure many of the writers who read this have already perfected.
So, let's allow the imagination have some sway, even in the movies. The insistence of some film makers to 'show' everything is a poor one, in my opinion. Just some insight, to let the audience do a little work themselves, to collaborate, must surely go a long way. I remember seeing 'Jaws' for the first time. I was absolutely terrified before I'd even entered the theatre, such was the ground work already laid by the hype, to ramp up any anticipation of unbridled fear. For me, the thing that was so great about that movie was the fact you saw barely anything of the shark for most of its running time. So when the rubber fish finally was revealed, the subconscious part of my head had already bought into it. I was convinced the thing was real, dangerous and very deadly.
And it was all because - 'the shark was not working.'
Apparently, this was the loud hailer declaration for most of the shoot. The mechanical shark, designed and constructed to replicate a Great White, failed many more times than it worked! Under pressure from the studio to finish the shoot Steven Spielberg had to devise ways to allow them to carry on filming. I get the feeling from recent interviews he had no idea this apparent annoyance was to become a masterstroke of good fortune. The initial intent was to show a hell of a lot more of the shark than finally ended up on screen. And boy are we glad now he didn't - because I believe it allowed 'Jaws' to become the masterpiece it is. The opening scene of Chrissie Watkins' death is so chilling because you are constantly expecting that Great White's snout to break through the water in a fountain of spray and gore.
You get to see a little more later as poor Alex Kintner gets munched. Even taking the scene in slow motion it's hard to make out what just happened. It kind of looks like the shark rolls over as it strikes, in the manner of a crocodile. Two fins flip over in the water and in the next second the boy is gone. Very effective. Again, as the movie reaches its nail chewing climax on the 'Orca', the 'three floating barrel technique' covers efficiently for the lack of a mechanical shark. When a barrel pops up, bobbing around in the waves, you know the shark is somewhere near. Actually, there's nothing there at all, but we all think there is.
Thankfully, the shark did work long enough for the movie to be finished, and when it did finally show up in full glory you could tell that no way could it be a real Great White, not even close. But by then Spielberg had played his winning move in the mind game and convinced us all of its deadly validity.
So who needs to see everything? Some of the worst horror writing currently published is that in which the author has seen fit to describe every last detail, of every last thing. From time to time this method may be desirable, even required, but I would venture to say that most decent stories and novels have managed without it.
So please, let's continue to let words stimulate the mind first . . . because we all know, massive IMAX screens, over used CGI and even, dare I say, 3D is never going to come close.
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
Spend, spend, spend . . .
Good if we could, eh? The desire for cash wealth is something that consumes all of us. Okay, maybe 'wealth' is the wrong word to use. But we all need the green stuff, don't we? It's the thing that has a bearing on just about every aspect of human existence. The lack of it causes misery and hardship for anyone, and if we go from lack to total absence we are in real trouble. A wise man once said 'Money isn't everything', and maybe many could agree with him. Another dare I say, wiser man, gave an interesting addition to that pearl, which kind of changes the mood: 'Money isn't everything, but it ranks right up there with Oxygen!'
Yeah, that's funny. But it's true, isn't it? If you're quoting the first statement too often you are probably someone who could do with more cash. Even while we say it wearing a sickening grimace smile, we know in our gut that money is everything, truly as essential as Oxygen. But what's the point, you ask? Well, I kind of got thinking about the word 'spend'. It gets thrown around a lot. And it's not always talking about splashing cash, either. Spending quality time with those we love is what we all seem to want right now - and loads of spending money to go with it please! Maybe that's why all these big daily cash competitions do so well. And don't you just cringe when someone on welfare or Job Seeker's Allowance scoops 40 million on the lottery? Are we pleased for them? In your dreams.
Time verses money?
Which gets a higher billing? For me, Time wins hands down. It's the one darned illusion we can't fool with, or get back once we have 'spent' it. There it is again, that word. And as you get older it becomes more of a pressure just knowing how to spend it, because there's less of it for you left to waste. When you're a kid, looking out on a vast horizon of endless days - you know you've got plenty of years to grab all the things you dream about. I don't know about now, but when I was young there was an idealistic dream pot in which you could pick out any career of your choice. Johnny wanted to be an astronaut; Jimmy, a train driver; Jane, the President of the United States. In the classroom it was all doable, because there was a shimmering vista of procrastination time stretching out to infinity. Wait long enough, dream, and it would all happen. But for now, why not have some fun?
If time had a voice, it would be laughing its ass off. Because what we thought then was a slow flowing river, barely moving, was in fact a torrent, accelerating inexorably toward Niagra Falls. Johnny, now in his forties, is unemployed; Jimmy is working at McDonalds, and . . . Jane? Well, she's waiting to find out if it's twins this time around. Okay, I know. What a cynical old fart, you say. Maybe. Or possibly I'm just a realist. There are those people out there who do know how to win, so its not all bad. Shapeshifters. These folk started well and have made the miniscule 24 hours we all share really count. You probably know many of them: Stephen King, Oprah Winfrey, Steve Jobs, Richard Branson. Need I go on?
Take a look and see how these winners manipulated time, and so generated empire and great wealth into the bargain. Time didn't buffet them, they deftly slipped the bird and told it what to do. To me cash has always been Time's prisoner. Money is fluid. It will come easily - and go just the same. And every soul on Earth right now has the celluloid of their life running through the projector. Some of us are on the last reel. On the good side though, you can still be in a feel good film. They don't all have to end like a horror movie. It's not my place here to talk so much about self help. This blog is meant to be commentary on writing and movies, so I'm not sure how I got onto all this! Spending. Oh yes, that was it . . .
Time is precious friends, nay priceless. Money is drifting sand. Yet we put so much emphasis on the gaining of wealth. And why wouldn't we? Everything in our world screams about money, the lack of it, who's on the rich list, who's on the street? We may not always be able to spend wads of cash. But we all must spend time. No choice in the matter. We live in it, all traveling together down a seemingly straight river, flowing at one speed. Except what is an easy journey for some, is a white water nightmare for others. And even harder to take is the fact that we make many of the choices, Destiny is ours, and that's no movie. So choose well. Spend wisely, and know that kids have to have goals, as do we all. That's the thing we should teach before getting to the dream pot bit. See the destination, and then make plans to get there. Because Time won't wait. Whether you're rich or poor, it'll string you along, big time . . .
Unless, of course, you slip it the bird.
Yeah, that's funny. But it's true, isn't it? If you're quoting the first statement too often you are probably someone who could do with more cash. Even while we say it wearing a sickening grimace smile, we know in our gut that money is everything, truly as essential as Oxygen. But what's the point, you ask? Well, I kind of got thinking about the word 'spend'. It gets thrown around a lot. And it's not always talking about splashing cash, either. Spending quality time with those we love is what we all seem to want right now - and loads of spending money to go with it please! Maybe that's why all these big daily cash competitions do so well. And don't you just cringe when someone on welfare or Job Seeker's Allowance scoops 40 million on the lottery? Are we pleased for them? In your dreams.
Time verses money?
Which gets a higher billing? For me, Time wins hands down. It's the one darned illusion we can't fool with, or get back once we have 'spent' it. There it is again, that word. And as you get older it becomes more of a pressure just knowing how to spend it, because there's less of it for you left to waste. When you're a kid, looking out on a vast horizon of endless days - you know you've got plenty of years to grab all the things you dream about. I don't know about now, but when I was young there was an idealistic dream pot in which you could pick out any career of your choice. Johnny wanted to be an astronaut; Jimmy, a train driver; Jane, the President of the United States. In the classroom it was all doable, because there was a shimmering vista of procrastination time stretching out to infinity. Wait long enough, dream, and it would all happen. But for now, why not have some fun?
If time had a voice, it would be laughing its ass off. Because what we thought then was a slow flowing river, barely moving, was in fact a torrent, accelerating inexorably toward Niagra Falls. Johnny, now in his forties, is unemployed; Jimmy is working at McDonalds, and . . . Jane? Well, she's waiting to find out if it's twins this time around. Okay, I know. What a cynical old fart, you say. Maybe. Or possibly I'm just a realist. There are those people out there who do know how to win, so its not all bad. Shapeshifters. These folk started well and have made the miniscule 24 hours we all share really count. You probably know many of them: Stephen King, Oprah Winfrey, Steve Jobs, Richard Branson. Need I go on?
Take a look and see how these winners manipulated time, and so generated empire and great wealth into the bargain. Time didn't buffet them, they deftly slipped the bird and told it what to do. To me cash has always been Time's prisoner. Money is fluid. It will come easily - and go just the same. And every soul on Earth right now has the celluloid of their life running through the projector. Some of us are on the last reel. On the good side though, you can still be in a feel good film. They don't all have to end like a horror movie. It's not my place here to talk so much about self help. This blog is meant to be commentary on writing and movies, so I'm not sure how I got onto all this! Spending. Oh yes, that was it . . .
Time is precious friends, nay priceless. Money is drifting sand. Yet we put so much emphasis on the gaining of wealth. And why wouldn't we? Everything in our world screams about money, the lack of it, who's on the rich list, who's on the street? We may not always be able to spend wads of cash. But we all must spend time. No choice in the matter. We live in it, all traveling together down a seemingly straight river, flowing at one speed. Except what is an easy journey for some, is a white water nightmare for others. And even harder to take is the fact that we make many of the choices, Destiny is ours, and that's no movie. So choose well. Spend wisely, and know that kids have to have goals, as do we all. That's the thing we should teach before getting to the dream pot bit. See the destination, and then make plans to get there. Because Time won't wait. Whether you're rich or poor, it'll string you along, big time . . .
Unless, of course, you slip it the bird.
Monday, 5 March 2012
Filled with such hope . . .
I listened on the radio to the distinctive timbre of Nicholas Cage last week. He was being interviewed about his second excursion as Johnny Blaze, the Ghost Rider. I have to admit, he made a valiant attempt at making the film sound like it might have at least some artistic merit. It was, upon seeing it, a hope against hope. It's probably prudent to make sure you have a story before you go any further with a movie project and I sometimes wonder if finding a viable plot is ever part of the discussion process at all for what might be called 'knock off' movies. These are either sequels to films that surprisingly made money against the odds or 'fresh' interpretations of an already established theme - usually live action plays on R rated video games.
To my memory none of these adaptations have been anything to write home about, and some have been awful. Yet, someone clearly green lights this stuff, puts cash into it and we punters end up getting to see the finished product, warts and all. Well, we do if we're fool enough to pay the money and sit there long enough. I know - I just did it with Ghost Rider - in 'eye popping' 3D no less. Headache inducing more like. Even thirty seconds in I was dropping the glasses down my nose and checking to see if the film was actually 3D at all. It was another poorly retro fitted rendering that could surely provide no thrills. Worse was the fact that there was no 2D version on offer. It was buy glasses or nowt, my friends. I should really have gone for the nowt option. Don't get me wrong here. I am quite prepared to sit and give just about any film the benefit of the doubt, but there are limits, even for me. There was a time I think, when breathtaking special effects could cover a multitude of sins. It was a time I would suppose that if the effects looked good the film itself must be good. Okay, I was young and impressionable - and dazzled by technology.
I recall seeing 'Star Wars - A new hope' for the first time back in 1977. The Cinema showing it was a huge gothic place that had sat proudly through World War 1 and survived the heavy bombing of World War 2. The 'Dorchester' was a white painted carbuncle, single screen and (unknown to me at the time) only a couple of years off the end of it's run, before being closed and ending up as a storage facility for Comet Electrical. The film was to be projected in 70mm and a temporary surround sound system had to be specially installed for the stereo soundtrack. I don't think anyone who saw the film with an open mind that first week will ever forget it. I know I won't, even though I have seen it many times since. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever witnessed on film. Or maybe I just - thought it was. Watching again and trying to conjure up that same feeling of wonder now is, alas, an impossible task. The flaws I never noticed, that bugged George Lucas enough to want to go back and produce the special editions, had been brought to light, and that immaculate sheen got tarnished just a little. Not much. Just a little. But it was enough. It was enough to drag me out of suspension of disbelief, to realise I was just watching another movie after all, made by people who wanted to make money and not merely give me a cinematic thrill.
So, it's really not enough to depend on special effects, gunfights, fist fights, and general carnage to make a lesser film work. We are all certainly beyond this as a more discerning audience, and I gladly say hallelujah to that. A film worth it's keep is surely more than a money making vehicle, when in essence that's probably exactly what it's intention has to be in most cases. It's only when the veneer covering a movie is embarrassingly wafer thin, as in Ghost Rider - Spirit of Vengeance, that we see through it all, to the substandard product beyond the glitter and shimmer.
Next time I'll know better, or I'll insist my son goes to the Cinema with one of his mates . . .
To my memory none of these adaptations have been anything to write home about, and some have been awful. Yet, someone clearly green lights this stuff, puts cash into it and we punters end up getting to see the finished product, warts and all. Well, we do if we're fool enough to pay the money and sit there long enough. I know - I just did it with Ghost Rider - in 'eye popping' 3D no less. Headache inducing more like. Even thirty seconds in I was dropping the glasses down my nose and checking to see if the film was actually 3D at all. It was another poorly retro fitted rendering that could surely provide no thrills. Worse was the fact that there was no 2D version on offer. It was buy glasses or nowt, my friends. I should really have gone for the nowt option. Don't get me wrong here. I am quite prepared to sit and give just about any film the benefit of the doubt, but there are limits, even for me. There was a time I think, when breathtaking special effects could cover a multitude of sins. It was a time I would suppose that if the effects looked good the film itself must be good. Okay, I was young and impressionable - and dazzled by technology.
I recall seeing 'Star Wars - A new hope' for the first time back in 1977. The Cinema showing it was a huge gothic place that had sat proudly through World War 1 and survived the heavy bombing of World War 2. The 'Dorchester' was a white painted carbuncle, single screen and (unknown to me at the time) only a couple of years off the end of it's run, before being closed and ending up as a storage facility for Comet Electrical. The film was to be projected in 70mm and a temporary surround sound system had to be specially installed for the stereo soundtrack. I don't think anyone who saw the film with an open mind that first week will ever forget it. I know I won't, even though I have seen it many times since. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever witnessed on film. Or maybe I just - thought it was. Watching again and trying to conjure up that same feeling of wonder now is, alas, an impossible task. The flaws I never noticed, that bugged George Lucas enough to want to go back and produce the special editions, had been brought to light, and that immaculate sheen got tarnished just a little. Not much. Just a little. But it was enough. It was enough to drag me out of suspension of disbelief, to realise I was just watching another movie after all, made by people who wanted to make money and not merely give me a cinematic thrill.
So, it's really not enough to depend on special effects, gunfights, fist fights, and general carnage to make a lesser film work. We are all certainly beyond this as a more discerning audience, and I gladly say hallelujah to that. A film worth it's keep is surely more than a money making vehicle, when in essence that's probably exactly what it's intention has to be in most cases. It's only when the veneer covering a movie is embarrassingly wafer thin, as in Ghost Rider - Spirit of Vengeance, that we see through it all, to the substandard product beyond the glitter and shimmer.
Next time I'll know better, or I'll insist my son goes to the Cinema with one of his mates . . .
Sunday, 4 March 2012
If I had a Hammer . . .
Nice to see Hammer films are back in the cinema. Needless to say they have seen a bit of a re-vamp (no pun intended, but I did laugh as I wrote that!) and obviously operate now within the sphere of modern day film making. When I recently sat at my local Multiplex through yet another repeat of that damn Muppet commercial for Orange phones, waiting patiently for 'The Woman in Black' to start, I was barely expecting it when the new Hammer logo showed up. It took me by complete surprise. It kind of looks like the one Marvel Studios use; a subliminal rapid flashing montage of images from past classics which flit before your eyes and then are gone in a second. But all the 'stuff' is there, deep in your subconscious, as quick as a flash.
Every now and then the TV executive powers stagger back from a pub lunch and dig one of the 'classic' Hammer films out of the dusty store room to treat us to some late night fright fare. Some of these works are admittedly pretty awful but others do deserve to be marked with admiration. I don't know why Christopher Lee has tried to forget wearing the Prince's cape, like it was something to deny for a 'serious' actor. The early Hammer Dracula movies are great entertainment. To see Michael Gough laying his performance on with a trowel in 'Horror of Dracula' fills me with sheer delight, even now. The blood fest that is 'Taste the blood of Dracula' must have totally cleaned out the effects stockroom of fake blood. And boy was it fake; like a mix of Heinz tomato ketchup and a tin of concentrated puree, ever ready to be thrown, drunk, spilt and spattered in a sickeningly overplayed, exquisite melange of grue! By todays standards I suppose many of those X rated shockers would struggle to make a 12A certificate. That's how far the line has moved on how much the impressionable, unsullied mind can tolerate. What once opened the mind's door to a Hammeresque nightmare in the 1970's is almost laughable today.
But not quite . . .
Watching 'The Devil Rides Out' one New Years Eve many, many moons ago, is a memory I'll carry as long as I live. There were a few of us gathered that winter night; friends, my younger brother and myself, choosing by a majority vote to view the late night horror movie as an alternative to enduring Andy Stewart's Highland sing and fling into yet another freezing cold January first. My parents were out, downing their umpteenth pint in some club or other, presumably teeing up to sing Auld Lang's Syne with people they didn't know from Adam, and would probably never see again this side of doomsday. Needless to say they would not be crashing our little party any time before 1 a.m. and wouldn't make much sense for some hours after that. So we settled in with crisps and Lemonade (we were basically good kids you see, and did not consume alcohol. You know the sort . . . nerds) to watch what we figured would be fairly tame fare.
Well, I have seen 'The Devil Rides Out' since then, within the last three years, in fact. And although the special effects look rather hokey to a more cynical and mature eye, it still holds for me as one of the most terrifying films Hammer ever produced. To the eyes of teenagers it truly was relentless terror. Watching as Mocata (played with casual menace by Charles Gray) sank to the very depths of Hell to summon diabolical creatures, we threw our crisps into the air and broke nervous wind with terrifying aplomb. Christopher Lee was marvellous as the heroic Count de Richleau, expert in the Occult, and the only one who seemed to have any chance of thwarting Mocata's plans.
I remember we were terrified by this film - and spoke about it well into February of that year. It illustrated that Hammer were in the business of making quality chillers, at least in the late 50's and 60's. It was only in the 70's things began to go somewhat awry, as Hammer's desire to retain high box office edged their efforts toward more nudity, sex, and maybe just one too many Dracula movies.
Eventually, the Hammer badge faded, to be replaced by paler imitators. Still, we have the back catalogue to enjoy, and those who followed in the Hammer footprints I suppose are not completely without merit. However, if you want that cosy, ghoulish feel of a well made British horror movie, Hammer is the one to go for. There are many older films under the H banner, but if you like it fresh, catch up with 'Woman in Black'. I suspect you won't be disappointed . . .
Every now and then the TV executive powers stagger back from a pub lunch and dig one of the 'classic' Hammer films out of the dusty store room to treat us to some late night fright fare. Some of these works are admittedly pretty awful but others do deserve to be marked with admiration. I don't know why Christopher Lee has tried to forget wearing the Prince's cape, like it was something to deny for a 'serious' actor. The early Hammer Dracula movies are great entertainment. To see Michael Gough laying his performance on with a trowel in 'Horror of Dracula' fills me with sheer delight, even now. The blood fest that is 'Taste the blood of Dracula' must have totally cleaned out the effects stockroom of fake blood. And boy was it fake; like a mix of Heinz tomato ketchup and a tin of concentrated puree, ever ready to be thrown, drunk, spilt and spattered in a sickeningly overplayed, exquisite melange of grue! By todays standards I suppose many of those X rated shockers would struggle to make a 12A certificate. That's how far the line has moved on how much the impressionable, unsullied mind can tolerate. What once opened the mind's door to a Hammeresque nightmare in the 1970's is almost laughable today.
But not quite . . .
Watching 'The Devil Rides Out' one New Years Eve many, many moons ago, is a memory I'll carry as long as I live. There were a few of us gathered that winter night; friends, my younger brother and myself, choosing by a majority vote to view the late night horror movie as an alternative to enduring Andy Stewart's Highland sing and fling into yet another freezing cold January first. My parents were out, downing their umpteenth pint in some club or other, presumably teeing up to sing Auld Lang's Syne with people they didn't know from Adam, and would probably never see again this side of doomsday. Needless to say they would not be crashing our little party any time before 1 a.m. and wouldn't make much sense for some hours after that. So we settled in with crisps and Lemonade (we were basically good kids you see, and did not consume alcohol. You know the sort . . . nerds) to watch what we figured would be fairly tame fare.
Well, I have seen 'The Devil Rides Out' since then, within the last three years, in fact. And although the special effects look rather hokey to a more cynical and mature eye, it still holds for me as one of the most terrifying films Hammer ever produced. To the eyes of teenagers it truly was relentless terror. Watching as Mocata (played with casual menace by Charles Gray) sank to the very depths of Hell to summon diabolical creatures, we threw our crisps into the air and broke nervous wind with terrifying aplomb. Christopher Lee was marvellous as the heroic Count de Richleau, expert in the Occult, and the only one who seemed to have any chance of thwarting Mocata's plans.
I remember we were terrified by this film - and spoke about it well into February of that year. It illustrated that Hammer were in the business of making quality chillers, at least in the late 50's and 60's. It was only in the 70's things began to go somewhat awry, as Hammer's desire to retain high box office edged their efforts toward more nudity, sex, and maybe just one too many Dracula movies.
Eventually, the Hammer badge faded, to be replaced by paler imitators. Still, we have the back catalogue to enjoy, and those who followed in the Hammer footprints I suppose are not completely without merit. However, if you want that cosy, ghoulish feel of a well made British horror movie, Hammer is the one to go for. There are many older films under the H banner, but if you like it fresh, catch up with 'Woman in Black'. I suspect you won't be disappointed . . .
Saturday, 3 March 2012
Words are his power . . .
World book day has come and gone, and the passion for reading goes on unabated. I for one will always cherish the written word. Because I do write. It was the reading of Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot' for the first time, many years ago, showed me just how cinematic reading a book could be. That guy seriously has the raw power to take you right into a situation using only words, without taking you out of the story by intruding there himself.
Believe me, that's no easy task.
Mr King makes it look easy. He has a skill many writers would give their right arm for (to coin a cliche). And it seems Joe Hill, one of King's three children, has inherited his father's prowess for crafting prose. Again, Joe writes much in the horror genre, and I am privileged to call personal friend the man who moved the wheels for Joe's first collection to be published. However, I rather think this particular discovery was an inevitability rather than a happy accident. Joe Hill would have been successful regardless, because he writes great stuff. '20th Century Ghosts' is an absolute master class in the art of short story writing - and his follwing novels display similar glister.
Let's not get 'sniffy' about horror, please. There is much to be gained by the would be author within the horror genre, and just as much skill involved in the construction of the horror tale as other genres. If you are wont to put words on paper you're already in the battle, wrestling with the clunk and grind of sentence construction, syntax, and all the stuff that places one in the category marked 'writer'. And it is a battle sometimes; one which can often feel like trawling through cloying mud. A scene plays out in real time in the story or novel and we enjoy it as a cinematic experience. Constructing that scene can be like building the Eiffel Tower out of matches . . . a slow process in which the author carefully plays out the situation over and again, ensuring the prose he/she uses conveys exactly what was intended, without stalling.
The interpretation of the scene after is now down to the reader. This is no single point of view laid onto film or digital video. The written word requires the participation of the reader to give it life. Here is another creative force in play, allowing the story to run out in vivid experience. It's only a shame we live in an existence that seemingly moves at an ever increasing speed. The day holds twenty four hours, the same as it always did, as far as I can tell (give or take a few milliseconds). Time is not the issue; it's the amount of 'stuff' we fill those hours with keeps some of us from habitual reading. For me as a writer the study of the written word is an essential, and yet I struggle with this same problem. But is it really that much of a problem? Reading is supposed to be a pleasure. Far too often the 'pull' of the TV easily drags me away to watch something that is ultimately less rewarding and demands no participation from me whatsoever.
There's the rub. Reading demands, whereas most other armchair pastimes ask little more than parking your rump in a comfy chair and watching the pixels shimmer. Those pixels form all kinds of dazzling images, cool, titillating and often horrific, but somehow never match the written experience, once you get past the initial 'effort' it might take to open the darn book (or e-reader).
So my call here folks is, keep on reading. Those of us staring at our laptops for hour upon hour need your support - and there are millions of books out there just waiting for you to dive in and be amazed, delighted and dare I say, horrified . . .
Believe me, that's no easy task.
Mr King makes it look easy. He has a skill many writers would give their right arm for (to coin a cliche). And it seems Joe Hill, one of King's three children, has inherited his father's prowess for crafting prose. Again, Joe writes much in the horror genre, and I am privileged to call personal friend the man who moved the wheels for Joe's first collection to be published. However, I rather think this particular discovery was an inevitability rather than a happy accident. Joe Hill would have been successful regardless, because he writes great stuff. '20th Century Ghosts' is an absolute master class in the art of short story writing - and his follwing novels display similar glister.
Let's not get 'sniffy' about horror, please. There is much to be gained by the would be author within the horror genre, and just as much skill involved in the construction of the horror tale as other genres. If you are wont to put words on paper you're already in the battle, wrestling with the clunk and grind of sentence construction, syntax, and all the stuff that places one in the category marked 'writer'. And it is a battle sometimes; one which can often feel like trawling through cloying mud. A scene plays out in real time in the story or novel and we enjoy it as a cinematic experience. Constructing that scene can be like building the Eiffel Tower out of matches . . . a slow process in which the author carefully plays out the situation over and again, ensuring the prose he/she uses conveys exactly what was intended, without stalling.
The interpretation of the scene after is now down to the reader. This is no single point of view laid onto film or digital video. The written word requires the participation of the reader to give it life. Here is another creative force in play, allowing the story to run out in vivid experience. It's only a shame we live in an existence that seemingly moves at an ever increasing speed. The day holds twenty four hours, the same as it always did, as far as I can tell (give or take a few milliseconds). Time is not the issue; it's the amount of 'stuff' we fill those hours with keeps some of us from habitual reading. For me as a writer the study of the written word is an essential, and yet I struggle with this same problem. But is it really that much of a problem? Reading is supposed to be a pleasure. Far too often the 'pull' of the TV easily drags me away to watch something that is ultimately less rewarding and demands no participation from me whatsoever.
There's the rub. Reading demands, whereas most other armchair pastimes ask little more than parking your rump in a comfy chair and watching the pixels shimmer. Those pixels form all kinds of dazzling images, cool, titillating and often horrific, but somehow never match the written experience, once you get past the initial 'effort' it might take to open the darn book (or e-reader).
So my call here folks is, keep on reading. Those of us staring at our laptops for hour upon hour need your support - and there are millions of books out there just waiting for you to dive in and be amazed, delighted and dare I say, horrified . . .
Thursday, 1 March 2012
Nibiru . . .
Talking of doomsday, isn't this supposed to be the year of the Apocalypse? If YouTube and the conspiracy theorists are to be believed, we're all toast just before Christmas this year; 21st December, to be exact. Don't suppose most people will pay much attention though, unless this huge heavenly body that is reckoned to be hurtling through space is tapping us on the shoulder by then. We'll be pre-occupied with shopping 'til we drop, and the TV will be full of snow peppered festive ads for M&S, Asda, Tesco, Wal-Mart . . .
Maybe that's good diversion therapy. I don't suppose we'd get to know much about it anyway. Seems logical that such a devastating event would be kept from the masses to prevent panic, or maybe I've watched 'Deep Impact' too many times (twice). But maybe not. Even something we might class as a 'minor' crisis, like snow bound roads during a hard winter, preventing supplies getting through to the shops on a specific day, or the current financial turmoil we face, is enough sometimes to almost have us running for the hills. Or stripping supermarket shelves. Charity and 'goodwill to all men' goes right out of the window. It's dog eat dog now, translated as 'crazed shopper punches neighbour for a carton of milk'.
I found it hard to believe during the recent January sales, watching news reports that told of people becoming violent in their desire to get the early bargain. Is a dress with 90% off really worth caving someone's head in for? Surely not? I suppose it really depends on how much you measure the desire for goods against the consequences of the physical violence required to obtain. Isn't this just plain avarice in the end? Of course. But that's the way we are, isn't it? We're survivors and scavengers. Some would say, and have said, this all stems from the time we hung around in caves, as if a '50% off' sale is enough to regress us into hairy hunters again. It's our primitive nature coming out in the most distasteful way.
The Bible talks a lot about human nature - and it has little to do with us being ape men or hairy hunters. I'm not here to throw Bible quotes all over the place, or preach, it's just a point of reference, and most interesting. The battle, according to scribes, is Cosmic, and nothing to do with the savagery of our ancestry. It's to do with a high ranking angel who decided he could get one over on God by a little temptation in a garden called Eden. Now whether you believe that or not, it is a most fascinating premise. Just a story? Well, there's a lot of fuss going on about the Mayan calendar right now. To me it's not scientific; it's some other capacity for imagination we have inside us to give credence to the fantastical and prophetic. It's that thing that insists we're more than just flesh and bones. We have History, but we also have Myth, and sometimes the Myth is what we choose to embrace as reality.
Take Harold Camping for instance, the veteran American preacher who predicted the Biblical 'gathering' of the believers followed by the end of the world on May 21 2011, and then when that didn't happen revised it to October 21. That didn't happen either - or not so you'd notice. However, it made news and gave the guy notoriety - and took the credibility of the charismatic church movement to a lower rung. In all this there were many Camping followers expecting the event to happen, no question. They gave up their jobs, their earthly lives, convinced themselves they were about to be 'raptured'. To blazes with the physics involved to translate flesh into spirit. That didn't matter, because the believing mind was running in a Cosmic gear where facts are just as elastic as Myth, where both can intertwine to become pseudo reality, where the seemingly ludicrous is not only possible, but expected.
It does serve to illustrate how our marvellous imagination can be used for ill as well as good. Those speculative writers of the fantastic create worlds and situations in which we can escape and find value, and long may they continue to do so. To go along with this, however, is that strong ability to embody Myth with real flesh, where the lines between fantasy and reality merge. This facility, even now, is causing many questions to be raised about the validity of Scripture. We are obsessed by science and science/myth mash ups.
This to me, is why we fear the coming of Nibiru, shape-shifting reptiles, the illuminati, aliens . . .
All these things could be, and maybe should be, regarded as ridiculous to any rational person. Then the mash up mind kicks in.
And you start to wonder again . . .
What if all this is true?
Maybe that's good diversion therapy. I don't suppose we'd get to know much about it anyway. Seems logical that such a devastating event would be kept from the masses to prevent panic, or maybe I've watched 'Deep Impact' too many times (twice). But maybe not. Even something we might class as a 'minor' crisis, like snow bound roads during a hard winter, preventing supplies getting through to the shops on a specific day, or the current financial turmoil we face, is enough sometimes to almost have us running for the hills. Or stripping supermarket shelves. Charity and 'goodwill to all men' goes right out of the window. It's dog eat dog now, translated as 'crazed shopper punches neighbour for a carton of milk'.
 |
| Nibiru? Sorry folks, it's just the sun again. |
The Bible talks a lot about human nature - and it has little to do with us being ape men or hairy hunters. I'm not here to throw Bible quotes all over the place, or preach, it's just a point of reference, and most interesting. The battle, according to scribes, is Cosmic, and nothing to do with the savagery of our ancestry. It's to do with a high ranking angel who decided he could get one over on God by a little temptation in a garden called Eden. Now whether you believe that or not, it is a most fascinating premise. Just a story? Well, there's a lot of fuss going on about the Mayan calendar right now. To me it's not scientific; it's some other capacity for imagination we have inside us to give credence to the fantastical and prophetic. It's that thing that insists we're more than just flesh and bones. We have History, but we also have Myth, and sometimes the Myth is what we choose to embrace as reality.
Take Harold Camping for instance, the veteran American preacher who predicted the Biblical 'gathering' of the believers followed by the end of the world on May 21 2011, and then when that didn't happen revised it to October 21. That didn't happen either - or not so you'd notice. However, it made news and gave the guy notoriety - and took the credibility of the charismatic church movement to a lower rung. In all this there were many Camping followers expecting the event to happen, no question. They gave up their jobs, their earthly lives, convinced themselves they were about to be 'raptured'. To blazes with the physics involved to translate flesh into spirit. That didn't matter, because the believing mind was running in a Cosmic gear where facts are just as elastic as Myth, where both can intertwine to become pseudo reality, where the seemingly ludicrous is not only possible, but expected.
It does serve to illustrate how our marvellous imagination can be used for ill as well as good. Those speculative writers of the fantastic create worlds and situations in which we can escape and find value, and long may they continue to do so. To go along with this, however, is that strong ability to embody Myth with real flesh, where the lines between fantasy and reality merge. This facility, even now, is causing many questions to be raised about the validity of Scripture. We are obsessed by science and science/myth mash ups.
This to me, is why we fear the coming of Nibiru, shape-shifting reptiles, the illuminati, aliens . . .
All these things could be, and maybe should be, regarded as ridiculous to any rational person. Then the mash up mind kicks in.
And you start to wonder again . . .
What if all this is true?
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Origins . . .
Writing an apocalyptic novel is a huge undertaking to be sure - and not something to be taken lightly. It's something I have pondered doing for many a year. And now the timeline of life, in its infinite wisdom, has brought that literary challenge and passion into much sharper focus. What to write here on 'The Elder's Papyrus'? Well, outside of self congratulatory drivel it's sometimes hard to know. I certainly don't want to wobble on too much about stuff like the state of life in Britain, because on the face of it, it isn't at all good - according to News at Ten.
Then again, if we depend too much on the news and media to inform us, we have a mindset to live in a land that's constantly on the verge of a complete financial and social disaster. Yet, go around any shopping village at any time of year and it seems many people aren't getting the dark message, and never will. Now don't get me wrong, there are many struggling to make ends meet, or even survive, and always have been. Probably always will be if we are honest about it. All I'm suggesting is the picture painted by those who inform us is usually blacker than black. And things are clearly getting worse.
Taking that darkness into a further realm is what I'm talking about.
A big what if . . .
What if the world was, and always had been, overseen by an unseen deity and suddenly he'd got to the end of his tether? You know - blazing mad? No longer the benevolent and hidden question, waiting patiently for us all to confess our sins, but a sentient personality who's just got bored and decided to show some real power by bringing his plans to take over forward a tad. If a god controlled the ecosystem and left it on autopilot for years, what would happen if he decided to rearrange the balance? Well, I've said it already . . . chaos would likely be our portion. So there's a nice conflict to start. Man against the environment.
The very creation is against you. Okay, that's not good to begin with. Now everyone has suddenly realised there may actually be someone 'out there' because weird stuff is happening. Religious mania and fervor comes next. We know it all too well in the real world, heavily featured in those blacker than black news tapestries I've just spoken of. And that's the next potential conflict threat. Man against man. This particular premise has provided more horror over the years than anything any author could scribe, be it one man against his neighbour, or the all too real battlefield carnage of open warfare.
It seems pretty clear at this time, people would be ready to embrace any philosophy that sated their fear. Enter the 'Elders'. As their name implies they are mostly over ambitious men in their senior years, ready for a little action and recognition, robed up to the nines, and on the very wrong side of the fence.
And what of the clergymen? They're still around, but not as loud as they once were, with the words of those few remaining still falling on largely deaf ears. Worse now that their dog collars mark them as a spent force, rather than figures of comfort or counsel.
Oh, and demons kind of wander around everywhere.
And then there's Conscience . . .
Then again, if we depend too much on the news and media to inform us, we have a mindset to live in a land that's constantly on the verge of a complete financial and social disaster. Yet, go around any shopping village at any time of year and it seems many people aren't getting the dark message, and never will. Now don't get me wrong, there are many struggling to make ends meet, or even survive, and always have been. Probably always will be if we are honest about it. All I'm suggesting is the picture painted by those who inform us is usually blacker than black. And things are clearly getting worse.
Taking that darkness into a further realm is what I'm talking about.
A big what if . . .
What if the world was, and always had been, overseen by an unseen deity and suddenly he'd got to the end of his tether? You know - blazing mad? No longer the benevolent and hidden question, waiting patiently for us all to confess our sins, but a sentient personality who's just got bored and decided to show some real power by bringing his plans to take over forward a tad. If a god controlled the ecosystem and left it on autopilot for years, what would happen if he decided to rearrange the balance? Well, I've said it already . . . chaos would likely be our portion. So there's a nice conflict to start. Man against the environment.
The very creation is against you. Okay, that's not good to begin with. Now everyone has suddenly realised there may actually be someone 'out there' because weird stuff is happening. Religious mania and fervor comes next. We know it all too well in the real world, heavily featured in those blacker than black news tapestries I've just spoken of. And that's the next potential conflict threat. Man against man. This particular premise has provided more horror over the years than anything any author could scribe, be it one man against his neighbour, or the all too real battlefield carnage of open warfare.
It seems pretty clear at this time, people would be ready to embrace any philosophy that sated their fear. Enter the 'Elders'. As their name implies they are mostly over ambitious men in their senior years, ready for a little action and recognition, robed up to the nines, and on the very wrong side of the fence.
And what of the clergymen? They're still around, but not as loud as they once were, with the words of those few remaining still falling on largely deaf ears. Worse now that their dog collars mark them as a spent force, rather than figures of comfort or counsel.
Oh, and demons kind of wander around everywhere.
And then there's Conscience . . .
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