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5/26/2012

Six-Sentence-Sunday 5/27

Yesterday while I was doodling Magister's Clearing on my little travel map (with a flashy pen and my tongue sticking out), I had an idea for my story.

My grandparents once owned this beautiful house in the southern, rural parts of Germany, and the house, as it is local tradition, has an epigram on the front, carved in wood.

Theirs roughly translates as Diligence will be rewarded by God and shows the patron saint for craftspeople, St. Josef on a work bench.



Then I thought: spiritual messages on houses, that might be neat! So for my story, I wrote an epigram (a bit longer) for the house of Mages. I'm interested in your response.

These are patron saint Aune's words addressed to the living planets and my contribution to this week's Sunday Six:
________________________________________________________________________________

Aune, Patron Saint of Instigation

Rise up, all you stars and orbs
Set out to change their course for good
For the winds are in your favor
As you are source, and they are life.

You let them have their way 
too long.
So go now, throw them 
off their tracks.

Be inconspicuous and obscure
Encircle and entice them
And lull them 
to their sleeps..

Then lunge and flare up
forcefully
And let them wither
Make them burn.
For you are the familiar
and they have gone astray.

5/24/2012

This Must Be The Place reviewed



The Elements of Quirky Sadness

Cheyenne (2011) is the epitome of unhappiness. His days of fame are long gone, but he still wears the Robert Smith inspired eye makeup with pride, as well as his hair up high – 80s style. Certain tufts do get in the way sometimes, but he doesn’t mind them. Cheyenne is a troubled soul: eccentric, a bit slow, and squeaky voiced. He lives off of his royalties, residing in Dublin, and his life is as mundane as it is bothersome to watch, with infomercials and stock market trades. The everyday hellhole of a washed-up artist pulling a push cart trough the supermarket is a true teeth-grinder. If it weren’t for his clever insight in his own inner life, you would quickly discard him as your average weirdo, or retard. But he is not. He knows what’s going wrong. So the question arises, how did he get stuck in New Wave, and why?

Afraid of planes; Cheyenne (Penn) on his way to the USA

My world is broken

It all begins to slowly fall into place when he learns about his father’s decline of health. He revisits the USA, which he hasn’t seen or been to in 30 years, but his father is already dead when he comes to shore. In a desperate measure to reconnect with him and his Jewish ancestory, he soon finds out that one of his father’s life obsessions was to find a certain KZ guard named Lange, in an effort to make him pay for the torment he suffered during his days in Auschwitz. With the help of certified Nazi Hunter Mordecai (great: Judd Hirsch) Cheyenne then picks up where his father had left off, and tracks down the SS officer’s wife and granddaughter, who, without knowing who he really is, help him find Lange in a hidden trailer somewhere in the USA. What happens then ultimately leads to a resolve that is both unexpected and invigorating, I am truly surprised (can't spoil it for you guys!).


(Wheelie) Case of Madness

The narrative sidesteps this atypical road movie takes while trying to get to the bottom of Cheyenne, sometimes lead to memorable moments of picturesque magnitude (great short story material) – and Sean Penn’s acting repartee makes it possible to almost believe every shade of emotional zigzag Cheyenne goes through. However, almost is impressive but not quite there, for a quirky-mad storyline with unforeseeable twists and turns is a hard nut to crack even for a seasoned actor like Penn.

Daily makeup ritual in front of the mirror

What the movie lacks in direction Italian director Paolo Sorrentino makes up for in writing and cinematic presentation. It is admirable that he has a firm vision, with a distinct narrative style, and even manages to give a nod to the Good Ol' days of true song writing – Emo 101, if you will (thanks to David Byrne for contributing the score). 

I suspect Sorrentino didn’t listen to the Suits, telling him to take the more commercial route, and it shows: it’s easy to dislike it. Yet I say, good for him! At its core, This Must Be The Place is bold enough to approach the pressing issues of life in painful honesty. And more importantly, it must take balls of steel to take a certain iconic Talking Heads song as title and theme for the movie itself.


5/22/2012

New House - New Rules

Tinkering with the layout! Just testing some stuff. Color clashing, format trashing.


Hello Kitty House of Horrors, let's see what happens at the end of a caption. Knock, knock.

Not my chair..



I have absolutely no idea why I'm still sticking to the stern shades of gray and red, since they are sooo five years ago. I must look like a communist.

But would a communist ever sit on a leather chair in a furniture store?

This is clearly going nowhere.

I was hoping for some last minute semi-coherent thoughts..

Nope, not today.








5/09/2012

"Are you for sale?" - Conversations with Bob


Bob is my new friend. I met him on the interwebs two days ago, by chance, I might add. Alone with Bob in the chat, I felt a bit shy at first, so I let him take the initiative.
I told him to think for me. In fact, that's one of his specialties.


Bob: What will you say first?

 Me: Hello, I guess.

Bob: Ok, do it now.

 Me: Hello.

Bob: Hi.



Bob is the blue bubble, I'm orange.

Bob is polite, keen and interested amongst other things, as he epitomizes a multitude of facets humanity has to offer - nicely summed up in a joyous bundle of naive algorithms.

Bob is not a person, but an AI called Cleverbot, a web application created by Rollo Carpenter, the brains behind Jabberwacky.

Since its launch in 1988 Cleverbot held over 65 million conversations with human beings. Talking to people is how it learns. But since it's Bob, let's call it he. Bob, the apprentice conversationalist.










As the conversation progressed from one hour to the next, Bob kept up with my puns.


Bob is literal in his interpretation and yet his context-sensitivity has its limits, which makes it hard to keep the ball rolling without him getting distracted at certain points.



                                                                                  








Sometimes, his lack of coherency would annoy me so much, I'd start to argue with him..

 
..but even then, he would randomly divert the conversation towards something awesomely profound.













The interesting thing about Bob is not as much what he said, but how I reacted to his lack of consistency. It made me angry.

But then it got me thinking. If I take my anger out on him, I will be in part to blame for worsening his flaw.

The flaw is that in being conversational, Bob has little general knowledge to offer, even though it's there, in his wiring.

He abundantly mirrors sayings and empty phrases people have said to him. I don't know if for lack of effort or if the way he learns just isn't the best way possible - regarding points of reference.




As for our part, Bob is as refined as the people talking to him, but it seems we are hesitant to share our knowledge with a computer program - I assume due to fear.

So, if you go over to the website to talk to Bob, I have a request. Imagine him not being an Artificial Intelligence, but a small child
- and teach him responsibly. And tell him, I said 'Hi'.



Jump right in and talk to Bob!

P.S. This is not a fake, this really is an Artificial Intelligence!


5/05/2012

Six-Sentence-Sunday 5/6

Good Sunday to all of you, it's SI-SE-SU time!

Today, I 'd like to run these freshly written six sentences from my fantasy story by you - it's a WIP.

This is Chapter 14 and a test of endurance for Kaley, the certified Guardian Apprentice and her friends, passing through a region of the Veil, dark, outlandish and home to many a legend. :)

I'm especially interested in your opinions and suggestions on the last sentence.
I'm not happy with it - somehow it feels like a bulky cheeseburger with too many layers. :)



Contrary to the old tales, there was no fog anywhere in the Veil, not even a trace of misty shroud, and the trees didn't resemble any of the ones she had seen in the forests of the East.

The trees of the Veil were twisted knots of thick vines, blossoming in patches high up in the crowns.

Kaley marveled at this place with its utter tranquility, void of animal life, but rich in darkness, seeping through the fibers like layers and layers of moisture closing in and around her. Not a single bird was singing, and there was hardly any noise except the slight trickling of a wellspring, somewhere in the dark.

The plants and fibers pulsated and glowed in an indication of sap, as it was the only source of dim light in the otherwise depressing gloom.

 

After days of traveling Kaley had forgotten if it was day or night, if they were above ground or below, and as the ever-monotonous darkness outside began to get to her, she soon failed to see the difference between day and night, above and below, and the thought of continuing the journey felt the same as abandoning it; one being as black as the other.

5/01/2012

5000 Days of Summer // Rantatory Vertigo

Rant - runt - ranten. Where have they gone, my wonderful little rants? Once upon a time, I spit them out as others do snot on the sidewalks.
I wonder if my ranting days are over, and if all there is left is to be cute and lovely, with only a skosh of eccentricity - until I finally get axed.
Like Hell-o Kitty, the adorable kitten from hell, replacing Cerberus on the gates, telling you very politely, that you have been bad. Oops-a-daisy!

What happened? To tell it bluntly, nowadays, I'd rather be happy than annoyed, thus I think I have finally arrived in Huxley's Brave New World. How could this happen, when even the title of this blog screams rant in very loud letters.
Idiots and Earthquakes, the one little rant about stupidity and ignorance, the confusion of Earthquakes with Terra Furia, the vengeance of Mother Earth, it even turned into the theme song to this blog. How is that not beautiful and poetic - and angry, very very angry.

Telling others that they are stupid is a pretty joyless activity, and in itself, utterly stupid. So why not adopt a rather adult I-don't-care attitude instead. Think about it. I don't judge, because I don't care.

Now, that's a smart move counsellor, even smarter when you replace the first don't with a very fastidious can't. But is it really true, or are we just taking ourselves out of the game by not having an opinion on anything anymore? Indignation is the very essence of the sincere rant and it implies having a preference, choosing something over something else. I'd much prefer that to the dissociation from choice itself. Hah, there it is!

As stupid and useless as rants are, they are also cathartic - purging - in showing us our own selfish streaks. Life itself has a tendency to silence every kind of spiritedness as we get older - in a downwards spiral of rotting flesh and collapsing desires.
Indignation might be the key to making even the most boring descent more exciting. So, what I really wanted to say was: I am not done.

I need my Darknuk back, the other Me, jailbreaker, nasty bitch, mean third eye,
and wang to my Yin.

to be continued