Fahrenheit 9/11

Just saw the film, and decided to write out my thoughts before they became less immediate. I have problems with the film, like remembering how to spell Fahrenheit. Moore made some good points, but was too - I'm not sure. Manipulative? Heavy-handed? Yes, propaganda can only be fought by the same, but to point out how the "enemy" has used emotion to manipulate people, and then have a mother crying about her son who died fighting in Iraq is the same thing. But probably inevitable. One can only fight rhetoric with more of the same, in the end. Words, words, words. Pictures, pictures, pictures. But this will not bring back the dead, will not offer any justification for lives lost, with not console or explain anything, nor really.



Perhaps, in the end, the person I felt saddest for was, obscurely, myself. Or, in terms of self-interest, not that obscure. I watched the mother cry on the screen, and part of my noted her sorrow, part of me was moved, and another part noted it was probably the part of the film with the most impact. However, the largest part of me said "He joined an army. Armies fight wars. He died. It was a risk he had been willing to take. And that is that. If it had not been your son, you would never have cried, never wondered, never blamed." But it happens, and you need someone to blame. So Bush is blamed. Rightly, in this case, but I'm not sure it *matters* if it was right, or wrong. We always blame others, we seldom blame ourselves.



I understood Abu Gharib at a new level ,as well. As Moore pointed out, it is the poor who join the army, the poor who fight and die in this. The backbone of a nation. Defending it? Hardly. It's a job, they're paid, and they do it. But there is pride, as well, somewhere, and when that pride is tarnished, when trust is broken - then you get frustration, taken out on innocent people who are frustrated at you. No one understands how they came to be where they are, and no one sees any way out. So, violence. Met with violence. Anger with anger, fear with fear. Not right, no, but in a war there is seldom any right.



But, as I walked home, annoyed at the movie for appealing to emotion while understanding that, in the end, that is all anything can really appeal to, I wondered if George W. Bush really new what he was setting in motion, really planned this, really let it happen at some level. And, if so, I wondered if he could sleep at night. And I thought of soldiers, earning money for college and driving by corpses, and I realized that he can, and likely does. Humans are very adaptable creatures. Sometimes, I wonder if that is really a good thing. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if we did not forget what had gone before. And I know I will sleep tonight, and soon. And that it will be a normal sleep. And I hate myself for that - but perhaps not enough. And in the end there is no one else to blame or hate, just the eyes that stare back at each of us from the mirror, and "whys" we dare not answer, for fear it would all come crashing down.

Two Poems

Todays poems from the fun I am having over on xanga doing a poem a day for the month of July. They're both from today (July 2nd)



Private Thoughts (#2 of 31)

(July 2004)



Waking things inside me.

Mute, I dare not name.

"What beautiful eyes she has,"

They say, "with flecks in them."

They don't know

My eyes are broken

And they're all fractured pieces,

Each one of them a dozen people

Judging me with their perfect eyes.

My voice, unheard buzzing

In the back of my throat,

Like a frog stuck.

I long to hide from them

Or rip out all their normal eyes

And hide in the darkness

Of their delicious screams.

And you laugh without laughing

Because you see it

And because you know

I will do nothing

As I do nothing

Every night

When you open the door.

I don't even

cry anymore.





I knew

(July 2004)



I knew it

Was over

When you told me

That you loved me

But I had forgotten

Your name.

Ah, love, let us be true to one another...

Or

A romance story



Okay, geological features, place names and beverages as character names is a staple of romance, it seems. So this is my contribution to the genre.



"Hey, babe," Stalactite said, but New Kemptville had never been able to tell him from his twin brother Stalagmite.

"Hey," she replied. "Sorry I'm late. I was with Paris and Amber, window shopping in Paris. It was fantabulous."

"Oh?" Stalactite gave her a smouldering raise of his gorgeous eyebrows that left her feeling week-kneed, but fortunately only in her left knee.

New Kemptville hop-skipped down the path, returning his stare with one of her own, like liquid water. "I bought clothing," she said, leaving unaid that it was for her ski trip to the Aspens and let his mind wander. His slow smile showed where it was wondering and left her feeling like here were butterflies in her stomach, but they were doing tantric sex.

"I could help you try them on," the hunk offered, the white of his teeth when he smiled reminding her of moguls.

"I'd love that," she said, emphasizing love delicately, like eating a truffle. "But Cliff said he'd rather do it."

Stalactite scowled, his brows moving downward like his namesake. She knew he hated Cliff almost as much as Sedimentary hated Igneous. "I could take Storm, or Gintonic," he said, referring to her own rivals.

Stymied, they stared at each other, wondering who was bluffing, their faces like jewls in the sunshine, and then he laughed his deep belly laugh. "Ah, Kemp. You always know what turns me on...."

Same story.

"You had much experience in other worlds?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well? It's a yes or no type of question."

"No."

"You could have just said so."

"I didn't even know there were other Earths!"

"What did you think Faerie was, then? There are a lot of Earths, a lot of Mars's, and even a handful of Mercurys, and that's just this solar system. It's God's way of curing boredom, unless all the realities are meant to be used in a large game of twelfth dimensional pool. "

"Now I know you're joking."

Amanda grinned. "I am. I'm not sure if God was. It's hard to tell sometimes."

Excerpt from a current story...

"I used tricks, here. Things get noticed when you toss power around, and can't provide good expense claims for the expenditure."

I stared at her. "What?"

"Energy isn't free."

"You have to - to justify energy used?"

"Of course. Well, not right away, but we have to have explanations ready for when we're audited."

"Angels get audited?"

Amanda nodded, drinking her coffee. "Of course. It's the big reason you don't see many real miracles these days. Too many people in the world to look after, so we can't break the budget like we used to in the old days."

Layout change

Because I could. Though, thanks to it, the previous posts look all wonky due to removal of the <br> etc tags no longer being needed as of this post.



So, writing wise, the LoLaD novel is continuing onward, slowly but surely. The Continuum game is taking up a lot of the LoLaD novels time, but that's to be expected. Once the idea is done and out of my head, I'll finish up the Toon story, work on this novel, and the fantasy spoof novel. And, with luck, finish 'em :)

There's music in the air...

Or poetry. I like poem/song things, for novels. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's just me. So, here is from the LoLaD novel... (Or, more accurately, something that probably won't be in it)

You’re dead and buried in the grave, it’s true.


Not even my love could save you.


They grave’s a cold comfort they say


But you didn’t come back from it today.


How could you go on without me?


The questions will not cease.


Just tell me how, and I’ll be


At peace - and maybe if souls are real


One of us shall be free to heal.


Free of the ideals, making it all unreal,


And able to call it a good deal.


I’ll don a mask of cheer upon


My face; not wonder if you’ve lost or won


I’ll pretend Life is a race with the end forgone,


That we’re all life pawns, that what’s done is done.


My love withdrawn I’ll solider on - and on.

Life... and stuff

I don't use blogs like diaries.

I just thought I'd get that off my chest and out into the open. A diary is something private. Mostly a blog isn't. And besides, it's not like I have lots in my life I'd write about. So.

I got to thinking today. Things I'd like to do before I die. 'cuz we never know, do we? It's going to be a nice, simple list.

• Publish something.
  
  
• Laugh in the face of rejection (and don't return to visit it with a tire iron).
  
  
• Fall in love.
  
  
• Do something so that I I can, at the end of my life (if I live a long time), look back on it and be proud. Preferably something legal.
  
  
• Finish the bloody novel(s).
  
  
• Fall out of love.
  
  
• Have my ashes spread in the woods when cremated. Actually have people show up for the wake.
  
  

Novel wise, I plan to finish chapter 3 today (hah) and begin chapter 4. It should be funny. I've begun writing it in my head at work.

And that's all for now.

Ah, relevations :p

<Chaos`^> he's young


<Chaos`^> you allways try to kill off the young ones


<alcar> lol.


* alcar has never really noticed that


<alcar> added incentive to never have children :P

Yes, the LOLAD novel goes well :)

The problem

isn't having ideas, more than having too many ideas. I begin one thing, and midway thrugh get a deluge of other ideas that are cool but won't work for said idea. Ah well. such is the life.....