Creative Writing

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‘Tis all men’s office to speak patience to those that blog under the load of sorrow

Hello and good morning.

I’m back on the smartphone again today, so hopefully I can at least avoid going on and on and on like I did yesterday.  That ought to be easy enough, but apparently, it is not.  I don’t know why I get so “talkative” here all the time, but it doesn’t seem to be because I have anything important to say.

As I’ve noted before, typing on a QWERTY keyboard feels almost more natural than speaking to me (and I do it far more often now) but that’s definitely not true for using the smartphone, and it probably never will be.

For one thing, I haven’t stopped having arthralgia/tendinopathy in and around the bases of my thumbs related to such use.  It’s not severe discomfort, certainly not compared to my chronic pain, but it is there and it is annoying.  It seems, however, to interfere with playing guitar more than with using my smartphone (or anyone else’s, I would guess).

Yesterday, I wasn’t sure I wanted to play any, so I figured I’d give fate a hand in things.  I carry four dollar coins with me every day‒two Susan B. Anthonys and two Sacagaweas‒and I use them to help make decisions when I feel no particular pull in a given direction.  I also use them to clarify my own inclinations:  if I get a result and dislike it, I know that I really want to do the alternate thing.  I’m told that my son has adopted this sort of habit as well.

Anyway, I flipped all four coins and got a unanimous set of heads*, so I played guitar and sang some.  I did it somewhat reluctantly, but when all four ladies agree, I find it hard to ignore them.

It wasn’t anything fancy, I just mainly went through a series of songs I know by heart, plus I think I played through Desperado using the pdf I have of a printout of the chords.  There were a lot of twinges in both thumbs/wrists while I was playing, though.  Still, I’ve come to realize that I have a decent repertoire of songs that I can do off the cuff, so if I needed to do some busking, I could probably do it.

I also recently realized that the Radiohead song(s) Polyethylene (Parts 1 & 2) ends with the same chord on which their song Fake Plastic Trees begins.  That was too funny a coincidence (given the subject matter/titles of the songs, especially), so I’ve taken to playing them as one combined song, a sort of mini-medley.

Several days ago, I even tried taking a video of me playing and singing (not those songs), using the desktop’s camera, and I discovered something:  if I ever do want to record myself doing music again, then I need a new microphone, probably more than one.  The sound quality was terrible, full of clipping and distortion and such.  Also, I need a new face, but that’s a separate matter.

I have also been working on learning Bach’s Two Part Invention number 13 for the guitar (mainly the right hand part so far‒the left hand had to be restranscribed and brought up an octave and I don’t enjoy it quite as much).  This has long been one of my favorite piano pieces to play, though I am way too rusty to play it now on a keyboard.  I used to like it so much that, whenever I was antsy, I would find a surface with an edge and “play” that Bach piece.  I guess I have always been a “stimmer”.

Anyway, all this crap isn’t really here or there, it’s just silly trivia that I’m spouting in lieu of having anything substantive to say.  I’m sorry if it’s boring or all over the place.  My mind has not been doing well lately, in case you haven’t noticed (or just haven’t read my blog lately).

I was just thinking recently about whether it would be workable for me to start going back to writing fiction maybe say two or three days a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday for instance) and blogging only on the other days.  I don’t know if that would lose me readers on the blog or perhaps bring more people in, but it’s not as though I ever have more than a few dozen people coming to the blog in the first place.

Then again, no one’s exactly champing at the bit to read any of my fiction, either.  This is mainly just a self-indulgent, foolish exercise, a lab sample of concentrated futility.  Come to think of it, that could actually be said about pretty much my entire life since roughly 2013 (at the latest).  Trying to find any meaningfulness in my life since then is like wandering through the ruins of an ancient Egyptian city, looking for a 7-11.

Anyway, that’s enough of my stupidity for now.  Not that my stupidity will stop, but at least I won’t spew any more of it on you for the moment.  I hope you have a day that improves after you finish reading this; it’s unlikely to be much worse, right?

TTFN

*This is not terribly improbable; it will happen in one out of 2 to the 4th, or 1 in 16, runs of four coin flips.

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I’m back, but not to save the universe

It’s Friday now and I’m writing this post on the lapcom*.  According to the list of my saved blog posts that auto-fills as I write in the new file name, I wrote a post using the lapcom on this date last year, though that was a Thursday and this is a Friday.  That day mismatch by one is the sort of thing that tends to happen, since the “normal” year is 365 days, which gives 52 with a remainder of 1 if you divide it by 7 (the number of days in a week, in case that was unclear).

That’s a bit interesting (though only just) because of my tendency in recent time to write mostly on my smartphone; it’s relatively uncommon for the same dates to appear on the smartphone’s saved list two years in a row.  I think my smartphone-writing tendency was well in place since at least last year, but I am far from sure.  I have not been keeping track of that development precisely over time, so I’d be building my impression de novo if I were trying to recall the specifics.

Of course, I could just look through my list of “blog post for x-x-xxxx Xday” from the last years, sorted by date, and I would see how many posts I wrote on the lapcom in 2025 versus the number I wrote on the smartphone, which are saved to Google Drive.  That’s not exactly a difficult task, but it’s also not very interesting, so I don’t intend to do it.

I’m sure it’s also not very interesting for you all to read about, presumably**, so I’ll drop that topic now.

I did not write a post yesterday, in case you were wondering, because I did not go to work.  I was not “ill” in the sense of having a contagious disease; rather, I was in very severe pain and the meds I was taking to try to combat it were making me feel physically ill at various levels, so I tried to stay back at the house and rest.

It’s not very comfortable there, and I don’t especially like being there, but at least I don’t have to try to do work while feeling crappy, and I can lie down to rest my back and try to nap a bit.  I can also try to pass time doing some distracting things, though nothing really entertains me or even catches much of my interest anymore.  I’m just passing time all the time.

I haven’t played guitar or keyboard (nor sang) in over a week, maybe almost two weeks.  My left hand fingertip calluses haven’t significantly faded, but if this goes on too long, they will.  Of course, guitar calluses aren’t as impressive as cello-related ones, which I had for probably nearly twenty years back in the day.  Sometimes you could see those without even having to look too closely.

My cello calluses are long gone—though there’s a “ship of Theseus” style question of whether one should consider my current calluses to be anything but the same ones, or on the other hand (no pun intended) if one can consider any calluses the same ones over time, since the skin cells turn over and so do the very atoms in the underlying living cells.

It doesn’t matter, but sometimes such philosophical questions can stimulate thought and train one to be careful and rigorous in the way one thinks, and so perhaps make one less prone to certain kinds of mental errors.  They are probably worth your time if you’re interested.

Anyway, I’m going to work today, and I should also be working tomorrow, so you’ll get probably five posts this week, at least, though not contiguously.  You also won’t be getting one of my altered Shakespeare quote headlines.  I do those on Thursdays, out of a sense of…nostalgia, I guess, for the times when my blog was only posted on Thursdays, and was meant as a promotion/author’s note on what was going on with my fiction writing.  I’m not doing any fiction writing now—and I don’t just mean “at this very moment” because that’s all too obvious—and I don’t know whether I will ever again, any more than whether I’ll ever sing or play an instrument or anything like that again.

Oh, but I did come up with and write down a rather silly story idea yesterday, for the first time in a while.  It concerned the expression “time flies when you’re having fun”, but takes the point of view that “time flies” could be some form of supernatural insect.  The main character could be someone who is cursed such that, whenever he was becoming joyful or satisfied with his life, these supernatural insects would begin to swarm him and eventually transport him through time to some random place whence he’d have to start all over.

It’s a goofy notion, I know.

I actually prefer the idea I had apparently written down most recently before that.  It concerned a scientist who invents a truth serum or device or combination thereof that makes a person under its influence always tell the truth—even truths that they did not know before.  For instance, you can ask them what the weather is like in Kuala Lumpur at the moment and they will tell you and it will be correct, even if they are in Jakarta or Tannu Tuva or Massachusetts or Poughkeepsie or some other entertainingly named place.

But the more rarefied the information is, the greater toll it takes on the mind being questioned.  I proposed the possibility of asking someone what the next day’s winning lottery numbers would be, but the sheer improbability of specific answers and the fact that they are in the future overstrains and severely damages the brain of the person involved.  But they would get the numbers right if they survived the process.  I wonder what might come of such an invention.

I am not, by the way, giving anyone permission to use those ideas by sharing them here.  You do not have permission, and I might well be inclined to bring down truly horrific vengeance upon you if you steal them in any sense.  However, if I should die without ever writing either story, then after that, you should feel absolutely free to use them.  You don’t even have to give me credit; I’ll be dead, I won’t care (though the present person I am thinks it pleasant to imagine being given such credit, so do with that what you will).

Anyway, that’s enough for today.  As I said, I expect to write a post tomorrow, barring (as always) the unforeseen***.  I hope you all have a good day today, and that you have a good weekend and so on.  Heck, carry that forward as far as you can.

*I wrote Tuesday’s post on the smartphone, by the way, for those who took up my challenge to try to see if they could tell whether that had been the case or I had written on my lapcom.

**Though we must be careful with such presumption, because as we all know, “when you presume, you make a pres out of u and me”.  In the past, being a “pres” could have been a good thing, at least to some degree, but that time is gone.  Nowadays, I’d rather assume than presume, since I’m often an ass entirely on my own, anyway.

***I tried to find a pithy Latin phrase that would encapsulate that expression, since I use it so often—you know, something like ceteris paribus for “all other things being equal”—but the attempts I have made so far produced cumbersome phrases that didn’t quite truly mean what I had intended when I reversed the translation process.  Alas.

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“…who could think you under the table.”

Well, I feel a bit better than I did yesterday, at least.  I guess that’s not necessarily all that impressive, when you consider how grumpy and gloomy I was yesterday.  Honestly, I can barely remember what I wrote then or what thought process was going through my mind.

I think maybe some of the difference today (which can’t be due to pain levels, because they are pretty steady) is because I got a few hours’ continuous sleep last night‒maybe 2 or even a little more before any stirring started to happen.  I don’t want to get too excited about this; after all, it’s possible that I’ll never sleep that well again for the rest of my life.  That may not be likely, but it remains possible, at least until I do have a better night’s sleep in the future.

Still, you take what you can get, right?

I find myself quite chagrined‒quite often‒by how grumpy and angry I have become.  This is largely due to my chronic pain, of course.  Even the most loyal and lovable family dog may growl and sometimes snap if it’s hurt and someone seems to mean to touch it.

Not that people seem to mean to touch me.  I’m not drawing that tight an analogy.  Nobody touches me, and for the most part I’m okay with that.  I really dislike it when, for instance, acquaintances want to pat me on the shoulder or what have you.  I can tolerate handshakes, but I like fist bumps better.  They feel almost like something Klingons might do.

Though, more often, I prefer the Vulcan salute, which I use to greet people who know me (and sometimes, without thinking, people who don’t know me).  I even use the emoji for it when texting: 🖖

In addition to the preceding, I created my own Vulcan-salute-based flip-off (there’s no associated emoji), and that is basically to do the Vulcan salute but with the back of my hand outward instead of the palm.  In my mind, the meaning is pretty clear and harsh:  Since the usual Vulcan salute means “Live long and prosper”‒at least, those words accompany the salute*‒then the Vulcan flip-off means roughly “suffer, and die young/soon”.

I know, that’s not a sentiment the Vulcans would be likely to endorse, but in case it wasn’t clear to anyone, I am not a Vulcan.  Quite apart from the obvious physical characteristics, Vulcans are a fictional species, and I am not.  At least, as far as I know, I am not.

I suppose I could be a work of fiction in a sense, as could you:  we could be simulated in some fashion, including being simulated within the mind of some truly vast intelligence, one powerful enough to imagine even all the thoughts of the things they imagine.

But, of course, if you simulate someone right down to their mind, their thoughts, their feelings, then they are not a simulation.  Or, rather, even if they are a simulation, they are nevertheless thinking, feeling, experiencing beings.

It’s possible, of course, to simulate a person without simulating an inner mind.  You could put the whole range of responses you want them to give to most situations in a very large lookup table, and you would have something like the NPCs in computer games (or older-fashioned role-playing games).  Then you are not actually simulating a mind, you are only simulating external behaviors.  It would be something like a very advanced animatronic.

But once you actually simulate a mind, you have created a mind, something with (in principle) moral valence.  Then, even if you are the creator, you still have moral obligations toward your creations, at least if you have them toward anyone.

Maybe this is why God** doesn’t try to anticipate what humans will do, but gives them “free will”, because to know what they will do, God must simulate what they will do, in all detail, in various versions of all possible situations, so God could choose the best outcome.  But to do that would be to create all those versions, including ones that suffer horribly, and God may not be keen to create‒of necessity‒the worst possible versions of these lives and make its creations live them.

So, God leaves them to their devices with the intent to steer events to a very limited degree, and to make things up to them when they die.

It’s an amusing thought, isn’t it?  Maybe not.  If nothing else, this bit of mind play should demonstrate why you shouldn’t really pay too much attention to religious apologetics, especially to theodicy.  Any reasonably good writer of sci-fi and/or fantasy can come up with oodles of scenarios that can explain almost anything; these don’t have any bearing on external reality.

Huh.  How the hell did I get to that line of thought?  I guess I’ll see as I edit this.  In any case, I think that’s enough of my weirdness for the moment.  I hope this was better to read than yesterday’s post must have been.  Who knows what state of mind I will be in tomorrow?

Well, probably, it will be the state of Florida.  And as everyone probably knows (unlike the New York state of mind) Florida is a state of mind reminiscent of the “killer on the road” in Riders on the Storm:  it’s a mind that is squirming like a toad.  Or perhaps it squirms like a snake, or an alligator, or‒worse‒like a Florida politician.

Whatever.  I hope you have a good day.

*The usual, formal response is to return the gesture and say “Peace and long life.”  It is not always done with the right hand; I’ve seen responses to a right-hand Vulcan salute given with left-hand Vulcan salutes.  I don’t know if this was deliberate or just an “acting choice”.

**I’m assuming arguendo, and only arguendo, that this God exists.  So, then I am imagining God, including God’s thoughts.  Does that mean, in this sense at least, that God exists, if only in my mind?  I suppose one could say that, but only in a trivial sense.  I don’t have the processing power to simulate God very well.  And any God simulated by my mind would probably welcome its own rapid dissolution.

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Brownian motion, eat your heart out

Okay, well, it’s Tuesday.

Ummm…

I’m not sure what to say now.  I have probably already used all the potential plays on words based on the fact that Tuesday sounds like “twos-day” or similar.  I suppose I could invoke something like a “too’s” day, suggesting the notion that this is too many days in the work week already, or that there are too many weeks, or other similar ideas.  But that doesn’t seem too clever, let alone funny.  It’s certainly neither insightful nor thought-provoking.

So, I’ll leave that be for now.

I was thinking this morning about the time when I used to write my fiction in the morning, back before I did this blog every day (it used to be something I did only on Thursdays, partly in homage to DentArthurDent).  One of the things that made that process perhaps a bit more streamlined‒or less clunky or however you want to characterize it‒than this blog was that I was either editing or I was writing first draft stuff, but I wasn’t publishing what I wrote every day.  So, I would either write my four pages (roughly) of new stuff or edit for a certain period of time, and then I would just save my work (in two places) and then close the lapcom and get on with something else‒often working on music or summat.

This blog is not as seamless to produce as writing fiction was day-to-day.  I have to edit every post and then post it and share it every day*.  That can involve a fair bit of extra time.  On the other hand, at least some people actually read this blog.  It’s not as good as my stories (in my judgment) but it comes in smaller chunks, which allows it to fit into the stunted attention span of the modern adult human.

I don’t refer just to the latter generations in that statement.  Attention span seems to be a bit like muscle tone; it’s not a fixed thing, it’s a neurological habit (or, well, its set-point is influenceable through neurological habit).  It can be made stronger with exercise, and a lack thereof will tend to lead it to atrophy**.  On average, I suspect that everyone’s attention span is not what it would have been in the past.

I don’t know what I’m trying to do or what point I’m trying to make right now, with this post.  It feels like it’s just all over the place, though perhaps that’s merely me projecting the experience of my own attention-fatigued state onto the experience of other people reading my blog.  I don’t know.

I’m having difficulty deciding what to write.  And yet, I’ve already written more than 500 words (counting footnotes).  I feel, as I said, very much all over the place, and pretty stressed out‒not by anything in particular, just as a kind of baseline.  I’m also tired, of course, since nothing about my insomnia or my chronic pain has changed.  And other than talking to people at work, this blog is the only social interaction I have during the week, so I guess I have some pent up conversational or interactional urge in me.

I do feed some neighborhood cats‒so that’s a bit of social interaction of a sort‒but the ones who seemed to like me and let me pet them and sometimes even sat on my lap are all long gone.  The ones who hang around now are just self-serving opportunists.  That’s not a surprise; they are cats.  They are all unabashed, self-serving opportunists.  It is, as they say, the nature of the beast.

They are not solely self-serving opportunists, of course.  But it is always at least part of their character.  Probably, it’s also always part of ours.

The world is complicated.  The fundamental building blocks are‒duh!‒fundamental, but if simple water molecules stacking together stochastically, following precise, local laws can produce all the variegations*** of frost on a window pane, think what the possibilities are for all of reality, with its Planck-scale interactions happening at astonishing rates and in inconceivable numbers.  The possibilities include all that is around you, but also (almost certainly) much, much more.

What if our reality were a simulation, but a fully simulated one, down to the quantum state.  Perhaps it could merely be simulated as those quantum states, with no eye to any larger patterns.  To calculate each next Planck time “frame” of that simulation could require a billion years of processing time in the simulators’ world, and so to them their simulation would plod at a ridiculously slow rate.  And yet, for us‒the simulated‒time would proceed as it always has and does, since our experience of time is internal to our universe and based on interaction rates within our universe.

Okay, that was a severe tangent, sorry.  I don’t know that it actually made sense relative to what I was trying to discuss (if such a thing really exists).  So, I think I’ll wrap this up for today.  I hope you all have a good one.

*I can no longer share it to Meta♣-based platforms, so a fair few people who occasionally stumbled upon it before (and people I knew from back in the day) won’t see it now.  That’s frustrating.  If anyone out there wants to share my posts to those platforms, I would be grateful.  I know it won’t reach the same specific people, but that’s okay.  I don’t have much choice, anyway.

**This is the general tendency of most biological traits or functions or attributes.  In the sieve of natural selection, if one wastes one’s energy and other resources maintaining functions at peak strength that are not actively used, one uses resources that could go to things that are actively useful, and resources are always finite.  Genes that tend to create bodies that tend to do such things will be less likely to get through the filter to the next generation.

***That’s not quite the right word, but it sounds so nice that I’m leaving it.

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Let airplanes circle screaming overhead

After my little test yesterday of the “writing a blog post directly on the app related to my WordPress account”, I considered writing this morning’s post directly on that app, just to see how it went.  However, I don’t yet know how to keep track of my word count on that app*, and I don’t feel like doing any trial and error exploration this morning‒not of that, anyway.

So, I’m writing this instead on the usual Google Docs app.  Google Docs has the advantage that when I write this document on my phone, it automatically saves to my Google Drive, and I can then readily open it up on any computer that has an internet connection.  That’s fairly handy.

Of course, it means that I’m putting many eggs in the Google basket, but for these purposes, I’m okay with that.  Also, when it comes to phone apps, Google Docs is so far the best word processor I’ve tried, as far as interface quality goes.  The same cannot be said for the desktop app, but it’s perhaps better than it used to be.

I don’t really like to leave my fiction in Google’s hands if I can help it.  I like having a hard copy, so to speak, of my fiction writing.  So far, except for those which were written with pen and paper for the first draft, all my fiction has been written on MSWord (and even the handwritten ones were completed on Word).  I used to recopy each file onto a thumb drive after a day’s writing, in addition to keeping it saved on my mini lapcom, so I knew I had at least two up to date copies.  Then‒once it became a thing‒it would also auto-save onto my Microsoft OneDrive.

The inception of the latter made me think that maybe I could write everything on the Word app for smartphones.  It auto-updates in a fashion similar to Google Docs.  Alas, it’s not nearly as fluid and seamless as the Google app.  If it were, I would probably use it, although‒the nature of Microsoft accounts being what they are‒I wouldn’t be able just to pull it up on the work computer, since it uses a different (boss-related) Microsoft account.  So, I would have to send a file as an email or something no matter what.

I’m sure there are ways around that‒or, well, there may be ways around that‒but the phone app for Word just is too cumbersome for now.  It’s not worth the effort.

Sorry, I know this is probably dreadfully dull to all of you.  I’m impressed that you’ve read this far.  You may know, I guess, that I don’t plan these posts out ahead of time, I just spew out whatever comes into my head.  If you find it tedious or infuriating, just imagine how I feel!  You, at least, could always navigate to another website.  What am I supposed to do?  I can’t even get away from myself by sleeping most of the time.

Anyway…

I’ve been doing a little bit of rereading of some of my fiction recently.  For instance, yesterday afternoon, while waiting for my train, I finished rereading The Chasm and the Collision.

I still like it.

I have a hard time feeling good about things that I do (and am) but I think CatC is a good story, and I think its world is interesting and that the characters are good and so on.  I think there are probably a lot of people out there who would like it.  And, like I mentioned sometime earlier this week, it would be really cool to encounter fanfiction based on it.

Alas, I am not good at self-promotion.  I don’t like myself, so it’s hard to find the will to promote my work, even when I like the work.  It’s quite dispiriting, and the fact that I can only hold myself, and my nature, responsible for it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow that bitter pill.

Now I’m rereading Unanimity: Book 2, though I’m not sure if I’ll read it all the way through to the end.  That’s another book that I think is good, though it is long, and some of the characters aren’t as likeable as in CatC.  Of course, they’re not supposed to be likeable, when they’re not.  It is a horror story, after all, and in many ways it is one of my two most horrifying stories.  Weirdly enough, those two most horrifying stories are my longest and my shortest works.

On the other hand, my sister recently pointed out to me that‒ironically‒my most lighthearted story is The Vagabond, which is a sort of old-school, gonzo horror story.  She’s right.  I guess that lightness shows that I wrote it (originally) while in college and med school.

The heck with it, all of my stories are good.  Some are better than others, and different people would surely prefer different ones, but I think they’re all pretty good.  Even the stuff only published here like Extra Body (which is complete) and Outlaw’s Mind and The Dark Fairy and the Desperado (those two are not complete) are good.  So read them.  Read all of my stories.  Tell your friends and families and even your enemies and strangers about them.  Spread the word far and wide across the land.  “Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, prevent the dog from barking with a juice bone”.  Okay, well, maybe not that last bit, but do get the word out.

Thanks.

Okay, well, tomorrow I work, so expect a blog post tomorrow, whether you like it or not.  I may do another test post this afternoon if I get a bit bored, mainly to see if I can sort out the word count stuff on the app for WordPress.  If so, I’ll post it.  If not, of course, I won’t.  It’s funny how that works, isn’t it?

I hope you have a good day.

*I need to keep track of that because I can sometimes get quite carried away.

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Wotan can KEEP this day as far as I’m concerned

Okay, first off, to begin with‒or should it be “with which to begin”?‒it is the 6th of May today (a Wednesday, though that fact is not terribly relevant) and to continue the Star Wars related references, I will note that today is the date of the Revenge of the Sixth.

Get it?  It’s a bit tortured, I’m afraid.  I don’t think anyone would have come up with the notion had it not been for “May the 4th be with you”.  That, at least, is a more straightforward play on words, and is specific to this month and that day.  “Revenge of the Sixth” doesn’t specify the month; one could, in principle, use that line on any 6th of a month.  But one would not, because this day is “celebrated” only in reaction to Star Wars Day on May 4th.

It’s sort of funny and fun, but it reduces the Sith to merely a perverse notion, existing only in reaction to the Jedi, like a whole order of Force users acting out the parts of rebellious teenagers.

Of course, probably that was sort of what happened in George Lucas’s mind when he came up with the Sith:  They were the anti-Jedi, a parity-violating, distorted reflection of the “good guys”.  But, of course, a whole philosophical movement that sprang up only as an enemy to another is intellectually and narratively vacuous.

It’s somewhat reminiscent of the moronic religious people who seem to think that if one does not believe in God, then one must worship Satan.  It can be very hard for some people to get around the whole “if you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy” notion.  Only in this case it’s not even a philosophical enmity, but is merely a reactive enmity.  Also, it doesn’t take too much thought to realize that such a situation would seem to imply that whichever of the two sides came first would be assumed to be the “good guys”.

But one doesn’t look at any random patch of spacetime and think, “if there’s no electron in this spot then there must instead be a positron”, or vice versa.  As a matter of physics and of logic, this is a pretty glaring error.  Just as indifference, not hate, is the complete absence of love, the default state of reality is not the opposite of some particular presence, it is simple absence.  In physics, that means all the quantum fields being in their vacuum states, with minimal energy (it’s not zero because of the uncertainty principle).

In the Star Wars extended universe, the Sith have a background that is separate in origin (I think) from the Jedi.  I think they began as a race of Force users.  I could be wrong about this; I’m not all that much of a Star Wars nerd.

Ask me questions about the backgrounds of things in the universe(s) of my stories and I could share some serious lore with you.  But no one is going to ask me about those because essentially no one has read them.

Boy, it would be cool to have someone write fanfiction based in the worlds of my stories.  I remember reading a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction while waiting for the next book(s) to come out, back in the day.  Some of it was bad, of course, but not much of it, and some of it was really quite good.  People who love to read and feel the urge to write an homage out of love for a work and its characters tend to be at least somewhat okay at it.

Some of it was downright brilliant.

Of course, humans being what humans are, some of it was smut.  There’s nothing really wrong with that, when you get right down to it.  Members (ha ha) of a sexually reproducing species are going to tend to find sex…engaging, to say the least.  Every human alive (and that has ever lived) comes from a long, unbroken line of ancestors who had sex at least once*.  That includes your parents and your grandparents, by the way.  You’re welcome.

In a species like humans, those who are more into sex and more driven toward it and obsessed with it are, ceteris paribus, going to have more offspring.  It won’t take very many generations for any genes that make one less interested in sex to fade out of the gene pool‒again, and very importantly, ceteris paribus.

All other things are essentially never equal, of course, and there are complex tradeoffs in all such behavioral tendencies, but that’s a can of bees I really don’t have the energy to open right at this moment.

I’m in a truly terrible amount of pain this morning, I’m afraid, continuing from last night and yesterday and so on. and it’s making it a bit hard to write, though that somehow doesn’t keep me from running off at the figurative mouth.

I think it would be harder for me not to write right now, though.  I don’t know for sure.  I haven’t tried.

Even thinking about not writing at all makes me feel squirmy and cringey and quite strange.  It’s not quite as bad not to play or listen to or sing any music‒which I haven’t done for weeks now, alas‒but that does also feel bad.

But I think if I were to stop writing, and at least every week sharing my writing‒particularly now that I don’t have access to Facebook or Threads‒I would pretty rapidly feel that I didn’t even exist.

I have no real life here from day to day.  There is no joy, there is only (attempted) distraction.  Other than my episodic interactions with my youngest child (which are distinctly good and real and joyful to me, a real oasis in the desert) everything in my life from day to day feels less real than the events of the most banal video game.

Yesterday, I started searching eBay and other online sources for used ECT devices (they are out there) and looking up whether one can legally buy insulin over the counter (one can, to some degree), or what medications are prone to produce seizures.  The idea was to see if it would be possible for me to induce a seizure in myself and hopefully treat my depression.

I know it can’t help my underlying ASD, but ECT and other kinds of induced seizures have consistently been shown to work against even highly treatment-resistant depression.  I have tried every class of (legal) medication and many different types of therapy for my dysthymia/depression.  I think most regular readers can tell just how well that arsenal has worked.

Of course, pain complicates everything.  It taints everything, it erodes everything, it corrodes everything, it corrupts and desecrates everything.  I really want it to stop.  Sometimes I want it to stop at nearly any cost (at least to me, though I can’t in good conscience invoke avoidable costs upon other people).

If I thought inducing seizures would help my pain, I would probably just do it.  I know how to make such things happen‒the research I did yesterday was just to indulge myself so I could more realistically fantasize about the outcome if it were to work.  It was one of those distractions I mentioned above.  But having seizures would probably make my physical pain worse, since seizures are not easy on the body.

They could also kill me, but that would be far from the worst outcome.

Death‒not necessarily seizure-related death, but death generally‒will probably be the only thing that relieves my pain.  Well, “relieves” is not really the right word.  But could death be what ends it?  Yes.  And thankfully, no one is dependent upon me or is very close to me or is really used to having me around, so the collateral damage would be minimal, no matter what all the simple-minded (but well-meaning) Instagram videos try to tell you.

Maybe I’m just as well off not to be able to go to that site anymore.  Everything there would be irritating.  Though, that’s just like more or less everything else in the world, to be fair.  Right now, I could almost wish for everything else in reality to cease to exist so I could just enjoy some silence.  But that would be unkind and terribly presumptuous.  It would be better to go back to the nidus of the pain and pluck that out.

Have a good day.

Though I suspect Mr. Smear would disagree with me:

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Had I but pens enough, and time…

Here we go again, again.  It’s Monday‒the last one in April this year‒and I’m writing another effing blog post.

I keep trying weird little things in the hope that they engender or otherwise encourage something positive in my life.  For instance, after briefly using a blue Bic® Round Stic™ pen on Friday, I realized that I had on some level missed writing with them.

I wrote Mark Red and The Chasm and the Collision, and the “short story” Paradox City all with blue and/or black medium Bic™ Round Stic® pens.  These were the only ones available through commissary up at FSP.  After a while, the guys who did tattoos would just give me new ones to use as long as I gave them back when empty/traded an empty one for the new one, so they could use them to make tattoo guns, and I went through such pens pretty quickly.

I thought to myself (since I have trouble thinking to anyone else*) that maybe if I started using these pens regularly again, I might help give myself the energy to start doing some new fiction writing.  So, I ordered a box of them, which is at least quite inexpensive, and I have one in my pocket now.

It’s a fairly childish notion, perhaps, but just because something is childish does not mean it’s wrong or bad.  Adults get rid of too many childish things‒sometimes on the advice of effing Saul of Tarsus of all the pathetic losers to whom to listen‒and adopt too many “adultish” things that are no more sensible, not as rewarding, and are reliably productive of negative outcomes.

Of course, some childish things do need to be left behind.  Ideally, one does not want to keep believing in Santa Claus or monsters in the closet or that stepping on a crack will break your mother’s back any longer than one must.  Wetting the bed is also worth stopping as early as one can.

But it can be good for one to keep asking questions about how things work and what they are and what they do and how they got to be the way they are, and being delighted in seeing and learning new things, and enjoying simple games and going outside and stuff like that.

Anyway, I doubt this particular choice of pens will actually get me to write any fiction again, but maybe it will at least feel good to use them again for a while.

As you know, I have at least a few stories, such as Outlaw’s Mind and The Dark Fairy and the Desperado that I have started that I’d like to finish, and I have some other stories on the back burner that I’d like to start and write.  If I could just find a patron to support me while I write, so I didn’t have to do anything else, I could probably do it.  But despite its name, even Patreon doesn’t really work that way.

People who support “creators” on Patreon pay regular, specified amounts and expect regular, piecemeal output (like daily blogs, for instance, though being the intellectually stunted populace that we are, people more often seem to want video stuff).  If I put up a Patreon, or a “Go fund me” thing (whatever the proper term for that is) I doubt that I would get a lot of people supporting me and just waiting while I work on a long form writing project.

If anyone wants to do that, and is able to do it, let me know.  Just remember, I’m slightly paranoid, so I will probably suspect some scam at first if you approach me‒unless I already know you, of course.

All of this is really just fantasizing, obviously.  I might as well request that the person who wants to be my patron for writing fiction is also a beautiful woman who is just my type (whatever that might be) and who wants to be in a long-term relationship with me.  Oh, and also, she owns a dragon, as well as an FTL spaceship.  Hey, maybe she’s a Time Lord and has her own TARDIS!

Actually, if I had the use of a TARDIS, it would probably distract me completely from writing fiction.  But I probably wouldn’t spend as much time (har) just traveling and having adventures as most of, for instance, the Doctor’s companions do.  I would want to learn how this technology works!

I don’t understand why none of the people who enter the TARDIS and gape at the whole “bigger on the inside” thing don’t right then and there ask how it works!  (Occasionally some do so, rather halfheartedly).

And when the trite little, dismissive answers such as Nardole gives are offered, they should say, “No, no, I mean how does it actually work?  What is the science and technology involved, how is it carried out and maintained?  What is the physics underlying it, how was it discovered, how was it harnessed?  Do you have any primers on that, any online courses, any textbooks, even any ‘how does it work’ for kids books?  And for that matter, how does the time stream and everything work, how is it traversed, what is the physics behind the functioning of the TARDIS?  We’ll get to the biology of regeneration in due time, but I want to understand all this.  To Hell with going and fighting Daleks or whatever, you can literally do that whenever you feel like, because you have a time machine!”

I guess it wouldn’t be a very fun show, just to watch someone studying Time Lord science and technology, but in real life, if I had access, I like to think that’s how I would spend a lot of my time.  And I think I think correctly.

All right, that’s enough stupid fantasizing for today, wouldn’t you say?  None of those or any other good things are likely to happen to me (some are far more probable than others, but none are worth betting on).

I am much more likely to keep developing new and harder to control pain and more frequently recurring and persistent pain and greater and greater frustration and despondency and depression until finally, at long last, it kills me.  Then, at least, everyone in the universe overall will be just a little bit happier.  On average, anyway.

*Though in a certain sense, this blog is an instance of me thinking to other people.  But that requires the other people to be active participants, and it certainly cannot be done all day every day or any such thing. 

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I have rather blogged as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness.

Hello and good morning.  It’s Thursday, the 2nd of April in 2026 AD/CE, the 1st Thursday in April this year.  It has to be the first one.  Any date that is the 7th or lower has to be the first whatever day in a given month.

That’s probably fairly obvious, but I think it can be useful to review‒from time to time‒the patterns of things that are “obvious”.  It’s not likely that one will discover that these seemingly obvious things are oversimplified and not so obvious after all, but at least one will gain a slightly deeper feel for the things, rather than simply going through life with a bunch of predigested “facts” which one has never examined seriously.

That sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?  I don’t know if it’s deep or anything, but it’s at least a good-sounding excuse for me to overthink and overanalyze things as I am prone to do by nature.

I still have no indication that my Meta-based accounts are anything but permanently disabled.  Then again, I probably wouldn’t expect to have such an indication, since I haven’t even tried to use them.  I very quickly uninstalled the Meta-based apps I had on my phone (Threads and Instagram‒I did not have the Facebook app, because when I tried installing it once, it rapidly became very annoying, and I uninstalled it forthwith).

I miss some of the interactions on Threads a bit, but although I enjoyed following the exploits of some other people on there, no one actually paid any attention to me.  Even when I shared or posted words of distress and self-destructive feelings, almost no one even saw them, let alone providing any kind of support.

Not that this is an unusual situation, of course.  It certainly wasn’t unique to Threads, nor to Instagram*.  It’s not as though anyone on Bluesky or Substack has expressed any concern for my wellbeing.  So, I shouldn’t unfairly vilify the Z(f)uckerverse.  It is what it is.

But I came up with the term “metaverse” (dammit!) years and years ago, intending to use it to refer to the broader, connected reality of The Dark Fairy and the Desperado, as well as other works of my fiction, going all the way back to Ends of the Maelstrom, the first sci-fi/fantasy (or any genre) novel I ever finished.

That novel, all handwritten, is now lost, of course, along with all but a smattering of everything I ever had up to 2012.  So, the loss of, for instance, Facebook, is really just more of the same, and not even very much of that.  What’s Facebook compared to the cello I’d had since high school, or the piano (an unused one they’d had for many years) I’d been given by my in-laws when I graduated medical school, or the thousands of books and comic books I’d accumulated since I was very young?

Okay, so, if it’s so relatively minor, this debacle regarding Facebook et al, why am I harping on about it?

Well, it has only been three or four days.  I’m sure I’ll get bored of it soon.  But I still hold a deep grudge against the Zuckster for “stealing” that term from me, though I do recognize that I had no actual, reasonable, proprietary right to it.  It’s just frustrating, and he is the source of that frustration, however unintentional it was with respect to me.

I don’t really hold too much against him for the foibles of his social media, and only feel slightly ill-used for having been kicked off them.  I can use my time in better ways.

However, I did not open Brilliant or Babbel yesterday, despite my wish to get more use out of them.  I didn’t even get on Arxiv to see what’s going on in physics/math/computer science papers lately, which can often be intriguing.  I once found a paper by David Deutsch on there, and I could even follow it, more or less, though the mathematical formalism was a bit outside my expertise.

No, I’m afraid I have not yet been able to turn my mind toward more long-term-interesting and beneficial matters.  But my life isn’t over yet, at least not as I write this.  I suppose, depending upon when you read this, my life may be over.  Indeed, I aspire to have the sort of durability in my writing such that, eventually, more people will have read my work after my death than before.  I would, in fact, prefer it to be orders of magnitude more.

I won’t be around to know it, of course, but no one ever is.  That doesn’t mean that hopes for things to happen after one has died are necessarily irrational.  We just need to recognize that it’s not our future selves that we’re actually serving.  We are serving the image of our future selves that we have in the present.  But that’s all we ever really do.  Despite the words of Ted Stryker in Airplane II (see 1:19) the future never arrives; everything is always the present.

TTFN

*Which, to be fair to it, has delivered several times a pop-up screen saying that “someone thinks you might need some help” or something, and gave me links to support ideas and the suicide crisis line.  Mind you, they were links to things I’ve tried before, multiple times**, and none have been terribly helpful, but at least Instagram’s “heart” was in the right place.

**Of course, even something that has never happened could technically be said to have happened “multiple times”; it’s simply that the multiple is zero, and anything but a gleeb*** multiplied by zero gives you zero.  But that’s not the spirit of the expression.

***A gleeb is a number (or concept, I suppose) that I invented long ago.  A gleeb multiplied by zero equals one.  I worked through some of the algebra of it while I was “up the road” and it’s rather interesting.  For instance, a gleeb taken to any positive power is still just a gleeb.

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“Something knocked me out the trees – now I’m on my knees”

Okay.  So.  I don’t know what to write today, even more so than usual.

It’s Tuesday, of course.  Though I guess there’s really no “of course” about it; I mean, it could be any day in principle, but it happens to be Tuesday, and I’m up and about, going through various stages of heading to the office as I write this.

At the end of the work day, I will head back to the house and prepare to do it all over again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  I won’t say “as needed”, because I think it’s probably rather nebulous just how necessary these daily repetitions really are.  Certainly neither the universe nor civilization depends upon me doing any of the things I do.

I suppose that “work” is weakly dependent upon me, in that if I suddenly just stopped coming, they would have to find someone else to do what I do, or divide things up among those already there or something.  That’s not such a big deal, of course.  It happens all the time.

There may be a few people who look forward to my blog every day, though it would be pretty arrogant to consider them “dependent” upon it.  I would much prefer for people to be “dependent” upon, or at least to look forward to, my fiction.  It would be easier to keep writing it if I thought more than one person would actually read my stories, and that maybe people would even tell me what they thought of them*.

I suppose that sort of thing might seem fairly trivial in the face of various events happening in the nation and the world, but on the other hand, those things are trivial in themselves.  There is certainly no good reason for any of them other than that human nature‒while possessing functionally limitless potential‒is almost always prone to default to the level of screaming monkeys.

Each political moment of the world feels so…well…momentous to the people going through it, but these kinds of things have arisen and passed away over and over throughout history.  Probably most such happenings are even outside of history, parallel to it if you will, because many of them are not even noticed beyond their immediate time and place, even by some of the people who experience them.

They are all rather laughable in their self-important yet ephemeral character.

I don’t know why I even notice, let alone care.  I guess maybe it’s because the human race does have such potential for greatness, for the creation of beauty‒by whatever criteria you might measure beauty‒and for making the world a place that’s better than it is in every reasonable way.  Yet, they do not have the intellectual and moral humility to realize how great they could make things.  Ironically, if people were able to stop thinking of everything as being about them, whoever they are, they could participate in a world that could easily be better not just for everyone else, but for them as well.

Of course, it’s honestly difficult not to knee jerk one’s responses to reality as if it were about oneself.  Meditation can help, if only by dissolving the “ego” and decreasing the tendency toward reflexive belief in the inner homunculus.

It would be nice if Earth had its own Surak who succeeded in convincing humanity that calmness, mindfulness, and rationality are not merely options but probably among the best ways to secure a beneficent future for Earth and life and intelligence.  That’s assuming that this is indeed true, which I strongly suspect it is, but do not know for certain.

Wouldn’t it be remarkable if, instead of training our children to believe in the literal truth of fairy tales that are hundreds to thousands of years old (and benighted even for their times of origin), extorting their behavior and “belief” with threats of Hell (or the equivalent), we encouraged our children to be mindful, to be curious, to be patient, to recognize their fallibility, but at the same time, as part of that, to recognize their potential to do truly remarkable and wonderful things.

But left to their own devices‒as they all always are, since even the Powers That Be are just other naked house apes, not significantly different than themselves‒people tend to choose the monkey way.  Or, rather, they go that way by default, never recognizing that they have a choice.

Only if you recognize that you are a monkey can you really, deliberately choose to become something greater.

Only by recognizing your fallibility can you begin to succeed at deliberately chosen and often amazing things.

Only by recognizing that you are not special can you truly steer yourself toward doing things that are special.

Okay, all those “only” beginnings to the above homilies are presumptuous in the extreme, but they make for better quotables than more restrained language would provide.

I’m not a fan of rhetoric‒if you need clever wordplay to convince others of your points, perhaps your points aren’t all that good‒and one of the reasons I’m not a fan is that it is just so damn tempting.

Oh, well.  This is all stupid anyway.  Sorry.

*No trolling though.  I don’t mind reasonable criticism, especially if I find it convincing, but when people are assholes just for the “fun” of it, I see no problem with them being dealt with as one would a troll in an RPG or a book or a movie.  Imagine how much more pleasant the world would be if all people prone to trollish behavior were turned to stone, or barring that, turned to worm food and ash.

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Is it small talk if you discuss the weather despite being alone?

Well, I brought the lapcom back to the house with me yesterday evening, but nevertheless I am writing this post on my smartphone.  Why?  Because the lapcom is more inefficient to get out of my bag and put back in my bag, and the smartphone is much easier to unsheathe and restow‒it just sits in my front pocket when not in use.  I can also use it to check the temperature, which is a bit chilly this morning even here in south Florida.  I’m sure that it’s quite a bit worse for regions north of us that have been hit by the wave of unpleasant recent weather.

I don’t find it unpleasant for it to get a bit cool down here‒55 degrees Fahrenheit* with a bit of overcast and some rain feels like autumn up north where I grew up, and that was always my favorite season.  It’s usually rather easy to adjust by wearing more clothes and moving around a bit if one feels chilly.

On the other hand, there’s not much to do about the heat and humidity other than to stay inside air conditioned buildings.  That isn’t very much fun, unfortunately, especially when one lives in a state that is touted for its beautiful and interesting nature.  After a point, though, one can take off as many clothes as one likes, but one will not get cooler; one will only be at risk for sunburn in rather uncomfortable places.

The worst part, though, is the humidity.  Yes, humans developed in sub-Saharan Africa, so we’re built well for endurance in hot environments (humans have more sweat glands per square inch of skin than any other animal).  But humidity is another matter.  Humidity is almost like an electronic counter measure to sweat’s ability to cool the body.  Sweat works by evaporative cooling; like blowing on soup, taking away the warmest liquid molecules lowers the average temperature of those remaining, and so on.

But evaporation depends at least partially on the differential in concentration between the liquid and the gas “above” it.  If the air is already saturated (or nearly so) with water vapor, there is going to be significantly less tendency for net evaporation to occur, and thus there will be less cooling.

This is why the reassuring and somewhat comical statement, “Yeah, but it’s a dry heat” is actually pertinent and indeed positive.  If the air is dry, and if they have adequate water, humans can tolerate surprisingly intense heat.  But when it’s humid, things don’t work nearly as well.

Also, when it tends to be humid and rainy a lot, one finds fungi and algae and the like growing on almost every immobile surface, as well as on some that are mobile, such as human intertriginous areas.

Anyway, to make a long diatribe slightly longer by summarizing it, I don’t mind cooler weather, but humidity is very annoying when it’s warm.

As for other matters, well, the holiday is over from yesterday, and I did not get to eat any corned beef and cabbage.  That’s a bit disappointing.  The next major holiday (which is coming soon) is the Passover/Easter holiday.  There’s no particular food related to these holidays that I like, though, nor really much of anything else come to think of it.

I did get into the St. Patrick’s Day spirit by drawing a shamrock yesterday, then scanning it and coloring it and fiddling with it a bit between other things at work.  Here, this is how it’s turned out so far:

It’s nothing terribly impressive, but it’s at least one very tiny, mild, creative act.  Not that writing this blog isn’t creative, but it’s not as creative as writing fiction, or not creative in the same way.  And drawing a picture is closer to writing a story than to writing a blog post.  Though I have to admit, at first glance drawing and writing would seem to be somewhat too different to compare.  And yet, I think I’m not the only person who has a deep, intuitive feeling that they are part of a strong, self-similar group.

It’s quite curious.  I wonder if such seemingly odd combinations are common among intelligent life forms.  Of course, if this planet is the only place in the universe on which intelligent life exists, then it’s a universal attribute of such life, if we count only creatures that use languages and create and use artifacts.

Well, this has been a weirdly inconstant blog post, especially for a relatively short one.  It’s not just meandering around among topics, it’s ricocheting.  I would prefer to meander; ricocheting seems like it would be very bad for my chronic back and joint pain.

*If it were 55 degrees Celsius, it would not be chilly at all.  Indeed, many people would be dying around here from the heat.  If it were 55 Kelvin, then, yeah, that would definitely be chilly.  Not that anyone would feel it, because we would all be dead if it were that cold.