What does activism mean, really?

You know, people like to say something, usually in reference to politics: If it ain't broke, don't fix it (IIABDFI).

"Fix" and "broke". Nice choice of words. Seems to imply something mechanical.

So let's apply this precept to engineering!

Do we maintain the same technology year after year, only fixing problems when they crop up? Or do we seek to improve them a bit?

If we do, then

Would it be better to continually improve the oil lamp, or replace it with something entirely different--say, a lightbulb?

Do we just keep souping up our horse and wagon, or shall we overturn the whole damn system and drive cars?

IIABDFI is, we can see, an entirely silly aphorism based on--what, ignorance and lack of basic sense? Often the best thing is not to fix what ain't broke, but improve upon it.

And the greatest advances in human history are based on sweeping away what came before entirely, and making something new.

It is taking an active stance towards world affairs and society. We don't seek to repair what's broken (return to the past, which nostalgia proves was better). We may make small improvements.

And sometimes we'll pull out the tablecloth from under the dishes and change the whole thing. And that's gonna be a good thing, in the long run, and people have to learn to cope.

Activism. Not trying to preserve order or return to an older state of being, but advance in a new and better one.

I come upon the giants in the fields, sleeping in the aftermath of their grim slaughter.

Their bodies rumble with deep, earth-shaking roars, and I whisper in my noble mount's ears to calm him. The stench of blood fills the air, and I restrain my stomach as it struggles for freedom. Beside each hulking body lays piles upon piles of sheep, torn to pieces. I expect to see white fluff floating on the wing--a silly conceit.

My mount skitters nervously as it catches the ubiquitous smell, and my helmet falls over my eyes. I push it up and drop my lance; my squire hands me the lance and my helmet tips again, but I have, in my wisdom, anticipated this. As I fling my arm up to stop my helm, the edge of my shield hits my forehead, knocking me to the ground.

I blink and groan, rolling onto my knees. It is a struggle to stand in armor, but my efforts are not in vain. I rise to my feet, my head searing with pain. Worse, the clanging thud of my fall has wakened the giants, and they lumber to their full heights.

They rise above the treetops--fearful, hideous aberrations on the face of nature. Ones rolls as it tries to stand and crushes the nearby farmhouse; I wince and pray to God that the farmer and his wife were not inside. There are two of them, clumsily constructed, as of cold clay and rock. Lumpy, crude parodies of human beings--God's misbegotten children.

But not without great strength, I remind myself, as a massive club thuds into the ground immediately to my left. My horse rears and tries to run, but I lunge--painfully slowly in my heavy armor--and catch the reins. It is a strong horse, but the weight of a man in armor dragging on its reins is enough to slow it. I call for my squire, and he helps me hoist my bulk onto my mount's back.

I am fearless. The giants stand over me, but I do not move in the face of them until I am fully in the saddle. Then I urge my horse on, galloping past them and turning. They are slow-witted, weak-minded, and it takes them a moment to realize where I have gone.

In that moment I charge, and stab the larger of the two in the back of the knee with my lance. He roars and stamps the ground--I barely escape his pounding feet, and the great quaking earth in the wake of his feet nearly dismounts me again. But I am valiant and strong, and even as the stinking spittle of his cry rains down on me I turn, and catch him a second time. This time I aim higher, sticking my lance into the meat of the other giant's thigh.

Their flesh, though it appears rocky, is rotten with pox, and my wooden lance tears it away to the bone. This smaller giant tries to turn more quickly, to pursue me, but her newly ruined leg betrays her and she falls to the ground, taking part of the forest with her. She moans and raches for me, pulling trees from the ground and throwing them at me. We are nimble, though, and dodge between them, the blood pounding in my ears.

She will present no more problem, and I turn my attention again to the male, who now chases me, limping only slightly. I toss my lance aside, draw my crossbow and load it, turning my mount to face the monster. It neighs in fear, but I pay it no mind. I fire an hour, and strike the great titan's eye. He screams and clutches his face. The foolish beast tries to dig the arrow out, and so completes the injury. I use the time to load a second arrow and take his other eye.

Now he is blind and mad, stumbling for me. I turn and dig in my heels, urging my mount onward. There is a ravine not far from here that my squire and I passed not long ago, and this is where I now ride. I whoop loudly, triumphantly, as I ride, and the injured foe follows the sounds of my yells.

We run together now, the space between us drawing to a close as I ride for the ravine. Twice his hands reach and nearly catch me; I dodge, quick as a bird. At last I see the brush that marks the ravine's edge and ride straight for it, making sure to sing my triumph all the way. As I reach the edges I turn, my horse's hooves skittering on the crumbling soil, and double back, ceasing my cries. From behind me I hear a great cry of surprise, then nothing more. From a safe distance I listen to the first fall to his death, then turn my attention back to the female.

She is limping, lumbering to me, her wound gushing great spouts of thick yellow fluid and slow red blood. I make a wide circle around her, seeing my squire with my discarded lance. A good servant anticipates his master's needs. I come to retrieve it, and he opens his mouth to speak, to beg me off. I do not listen. I take the lance and ride back into the fray.

I charge straight for the female, her face gaping wide in stupid glee. She bends to catch me and I dodge around. In her excitement she tries to folow me and trips, falls. I ride away a little and turn. The giant is on her back, trying to life herself to her side.

This charge is my strongest, my lance steady and my mount pounding hard at the soil. As she rolls to face me, myy lance strikes the giant, digging deep into her stomach. She screams, high and painful, and her flailing arms fling me from my horse. I hear my horse scream as well.

It takes me a moment to regain my senses, lying in the eves of the wounded giants great loins. The blood is puddling around me, and the putrescent stink brings me to my feet. My lance is gone; I do not know what has become of my horse.

I draw my sword. She is a lovely thing--I found her in a museum and took her away under cover of night. This charge may well be my last, and so I put my full strength into it, jabbing and slicing at her hands when they come to me. I leap over the expanse of her arm, and her throat is in view. My blade swings out and cuts deep into her throat. I withdraw and swing again and again, until her limbs fall still, and finally her head is severed.

I am covered in gore and sweat, standing amid the corpse of a giant. My squire appears, breathless, leading my miraculously unharmed horse. He pats me all over, making sure I am not injured. "Good show," he says, "good show. A battle that will live on in legend, no doubt, sir. Only . . ."

I sigh. "Windmills again?"

He shrugs apologetically. "It's what they are, sir."

I stare across the field of battle, thinking of the adventure of my long life. I have rescued maidens and pursued great deeds of valor; I have seen such sights as most mortal men never will. And . . . windmills.

"It is peculiar," I say, "that where I see the beautiful and fantastic, everyone else sees the ordinary. The pale dross of the everyday. So then, my friend, which one of us is mad?"

My squire thinks a moment, then answers. "You, sir."

"That's as may be." I wipe my sword clean and stow it in its scabbard. "Come, my friend--perhaps there is a damsel still to be rescued before nightfall."

He nods. "Very well, sir."

I saw Transformers (the new film) tonight. When Optimus Prime first appeared, I freaked out. I explained to my wife: "This is Optimus Prime. He is everything that is good and noble and high-minded in the world. He is order and light." And--I did not add out loud--in the animated series, he died in fighting for good.

Which had me thinking--because, you see, I often side with the bad guys. Jesus Christ could be argued as exactly the same deal, but in Paradise Lost, I prefer Satan. Frankly, if nothing else, Satan is a far more interesting character.

And yet Optimus Prime is interesting and compelling. There are good and interesting and overall worthwhile characters that fight on the side of good.

Perhaps it is because Christ, in PL, is primarily a static figure. He is not a thing of change. His speeches are simply hymns to glory. Moreover, we know that the good guys in PL did not rise to their position of greatness. They simply dealt themselves the highest cards. Jesus is great and mighty and wonderful because he decreed it should be so, not because he worked for it.

Optimus Prime struggles for goodness--that is why he is worthwhile and interesting.

In PL, Christ offers himself as a sacrificial lamb to redeem all mankind. And yet this is not an awe-inspiring sacrifice, for we know that it is only temporary. He is certain to win. This is, perhaps, why it is easier to buy religion as a gnostic. The gnostics believe in a world of good and evil as nearly equal forces, and it is uncertain which will win. If we know good will always win, why should we care when it does?

In PL, there is a battle in Heaven. The angels under Lucifer design a mighty cannon and use it in their attack; the Host of Heaven responds by hurling mountains at them. One side creates an ingenious and complex projectile system, and their opponents throw rocks, like cavemen. This is the essence of the good/evil conflict of Paradise Lost: the Evil creates something new and brilliant, and the Good simply uses primitive, static force.

Perhaps this is the nub of it. It seems, very often, that Evil is the label applied to that which is simply new and different. It is what is unpredictable--and therefore somewhat dangerous. Evil is exhilarating, and ultimately it is innovation. These forces of Good that I discount do not seek to rise higher or to make things better; they seek only to preserve things as they are or return them to some previous state of superiority. Then they will rest easy.

They are not innovative, but reactionary.

Optimus Prime seeks to make things better than they were. So does every hero or champion of good that I have ever respected--PL's Satan included. You see, this is the center of the war in Heaven: Heaven could not be Paradise, for if it were, rebellion would be impossible. Sociologically speaking, we only rebel when we can imagine how things might be better. Desire, you see, is a flaw in Paradise. Any desire that is not instantly sated or eliminated means that there could be something greater than Paradise, and therefore proves Paradise a sham. Satan seeks something he believes is greater: the principle of liberty and personal choice. The forces of Heaven seek to simply preserve things as they are.

I watch Heroes with my uncle. He once remarked that it scared him a bit that I derided Peter Petrelli (the quintessential good guy) and admired Sylar (the unequivocably bad guy). I think I understand why I felt that way now. Peter is a static and reactionary force: he does not like his newfound powers and seeks to do away with them. Sylar understands the world has changed, and goes with the change. He sees the opportunity to, in his twisted mind, make the world better than it was.

But you see, we have such a character on the side of Good as well. Hiro. He finds joy in his powers, and he sees the world has changed. He does not fight that change, but seeks to make the world a better place. He does not idealize the past as a time that was better, but works in the hopes of a future that will be far greater.

I think, now, on all the good and noble characters in fiction I have admired. King Arthur. Optimus Prime. John Milton's Satan. Albus Dumbledore. They seek a new world better than the one we have. They know they fight against insurmountable odds, and they know that they very well may die in the attempt, without ever achieving any success.

And yet they go on fighting regardless.

NOTE: When I speak, I speak of characters in fiction. I do not speak of Christ or Lucifer as religion portrays them, but as John Milton does in Paradise Lost. Just as when I speak of Optimus Prime, I do not mean the real one, but the one we see in movies and cartoon shows.

Last night, I ran for the office of Seargent-at-Arms at Demosthenian Literary Society (I lost).

When I got up on the stump to give my speech, I was wearing
1 track jacket
1 sweater
1 dress shirt
2 t-shirts
2 shoes
6 socks, distributed variously over my body to, um, accentuate some things
1 pair of jeans
1 pair of pajama pants
1 pair of shorts
2 pairs of boxers

Yeah. Lots of layering.

At the end of my speech, I was wearing
1 pair of boxers

There are many reasons for this. One was that I was ill-prepared, and decided to add a gimmick. Another was that elections go very late, and it was 2:00 AM before I spoke--I needed to get my audience's attention.

Interesting observation, though. I am very very body-shy; very uncomfortable with my body. But I felt just fine speaking in my boxers--a good deal more than I do speaking fully clothed. I should wonder how full nudity affects my speaking. My speech began with a lot of jokes; the end was more serious. And it was delivered half-naked. So. Fun.

By the way, I shall have to hurt my brother. I asked him if anyone had done this sort of thing before--I'd not like to copy anyone else. Turns out there is a precedent--except that he didn't keep anything covered.

So. This is another step in breaking me of my body-shyness. Yay!

And I think the fact I did well at all in the elections (though I lost) had a lot to do with my, um, presentation.

Congratulations to all the new Demosthenian officers, especially Sarah May, the new Seargent-at-Arms!

There are a few fields in literature that are mostly neglected, especially when introducing literature to kids. While fantasy is getting a lot attention all of a sudden, many others are not. Trouble is, these are important--far better, I think, than general fiction. It's a good thing for children to read good science fiction and fantasy, and especially good comic books.

(Note: By children, I mean grade school age)

For some reason, these genres--and this medium--are regarded as somewhat sub-par. I'd argue that this is not the case; I would say they are superior to those typically called "literature", offering far more opportunities for thought and personal growth.

Why you should give your kids science fiction:
Good science fiction encourages patterns of thought that are rarely developed in the outside world, though they are unquestionably important. Authors like Heinlein, Asimov, Card, and Clarke slowly develop scientific thinking, moral reasoning, a sociological perspective, and an affinity for philosophical thought.

1. They develop scientific thought because they often deal with scientific problems. Moreover, to understand science fiction concepts one must have some level of scientific understanding, or quickly develop it. By scientific understanding, we do not mean the ability to name off parts of a generator or explain the workings of theoretical cold fusion. I mean an ability to reduce a problem to its essentials, to explore different options, and to come to a logical conclusion. Readers are forced to look at the world with the skepticality, curiosity, rationality, and wonder of a scientist.

Science understanding tends to be abysmal in this country (sidenote: 57% of students in the graduate journalism program at Columbia university believe in pseudosciences like reading auras, ESP, etc--how's that for good critical thinking skills?). Perhaps this is because to understand and--naturally--debunk scientific ideas, one must be able to use scientific thought patterns. It is never too early to begin establishing these in a child's mind.

2. Sociological thought is developed again in understanding premises and storylines. For one, a good science fiction writer who sets his work in the future will attempt to extrapolate the nature of that future by following the cycles of trends. For another, many of the greats deal with specifically sociological problems (Asimov, Heinlein). One learns to follow a sociological argument and to make sociological predictions.

3. Face it, the good guys in the field are masters of character as well. Their characters usually struggle with moral conflicts. This isn't the wishy-washy emotional stuff of "serious" literature; these are usually attempts to deal with morality on an analytical basis--a far more useful tool.

4. Philosophical thought belongs to the realm of science fiction. Science fiction allows you to create a new world with a few different rules but without discarding the rules of the old. "Serious" literature usually works within the real world, strictly by real world rules. Science fiction allows you to change a few rules and settings, but holds most things constant. This allows you to set up thought experiments and follow through on them. It strikes a careful balance between fantasy (where anything can happen, so you can't follow a thought experiment) and general fiction (where very little out of the strictly possible ever occurs).

These characteristics are distinct from general fiction. General fiction encourages examination and interpretation of the world and characters of the book, with the careful caveat that it is all, after all, fiction. Science fiction gives the mind tools to see the world, then encourages the eye to turn outward and examine it under a microscope. Do you see? Most fiction, therefore, is somewhat sterile, encouraging self-contained reflection; science fiction is a teacher, forming the mind to be able to create and understand the world outside the book.

Also: what is science fiction today is often reality tomorrow. I recently read a science fiction novel from the 1970s where a character carefully explained what the word "mutate" means. This surprised me; the concept of mutation is a standard one to the modern mind. Science fiction makes it easier for the brain to constantly surf the wave of new knowledge.

Why you should give your kids fantasy:
I go to hear creative people speak fairly often: mostly writers, sometimes artists and directors.

The most common and groan-worthy question that is always asked is, "Where do you get your ideas?" A lot of the time, the moment some dude asks this you can see the speakers developing facial tics.

I am a somewhat creative person. I hate this question--both hearing it and being asked it--because it presumes there is a place to go where ideas come from, or a strategy. This is not so--not at all.

The fact is, everybody has "ideas" to start out. Watch little children playing or telling stories: they are far, far more imaginative than the most creative adults will ever manage to be. They explore new ideas constantly, and always allow for impossibilities.

It is not a question of where the artist "gets" his ideas. It's a question of at what point the fan lost his.

Children do this less and less as they grow older, to the point where highly imaginative people become rarer in the adult world. You might ask me, then, why imagination is important if you don't intend to work in a creative field. The fact is, imaginative ability is required to see your way around corners. We tend to rule out certain solutions to problems because we see them as utterly impossible before really investigating them; we need the ability to ask "what if" we pursued unprecedented avenues of thought.

Fantasy encourages this. When reading a fantasy novel--though good fantasy, as well, has strong rules--almost anything can happen. This requires a reader to maintain an open mind, and to accept new ways to understand the world. It keeps the imagination constantly open and capable.

Besides, good fantasy often relies on a lot of research. A reader can take away a lot of knowledge of world cultures, mythology, folklore, and any number of subjects from an excellent fantasy novel.

Fantasy has a strong tendency towards escapism, which is often decried. I ask why. Escapism is healthy--it is often the best way to survive a harsh outside environment. It doesn't mean you're avoiding or not dealing with problems in the outside world; it just means you're taking a break from them and possibly ruminating on new ways to handle them. Not only that, escapism gives you the opportunity to ride in someone else's brain for a little while, and hey, the world could use a bit more understanding. Interpretive fiction often makes you more aware of the technical aspects of the work, losing ground to the simplicity of the new world presented.

Why you should give your kids comic books
Oh comics. My loves. My heart. Why are you so much maligned? Why are you percieved as prurient and worthless? Granted, some of the content fits the definition, but all of it?--surely not.

Comics are the most important. Perhaps this is simply because the medium deserves as much recognition as any other. Perhaps it is because one must actually learn to read comics as much as one must learn to read any other book.

Mostly, though, it's because comics are the most effective medium of visual communication out there today. They are cheaper and easier to transport and view than film, and far more efficient at dispersing information than text.

Consider how much comics show up in our daily life: the little safety diagrams on the airline, before-and-after pictures in ads, and of course the newspaper funnies. The political cartoon has proben a powerful instrument of opinion. All of these are forms that depend on quick and full comprehension on the part of the audience. Imagine that power harnessed to almost any end in communication. Until you can print a video in a magazine, I don't think we'll see its match for quite a while.

Besides, comics change the way the brain processes information, and makes it develop an incredible multitasking ability. Consider:

When you view a page of comics, you are doing many things:

You are reading and processing the text and the information contained therein.

You are looking at and processing the image and the information contained therein.

You are putting the text and image together to make a coherent whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

You are processing this set of information in the context of a longer narrative, attempting to fit it into the structure of the story and--with your imagination--providing all the details that occur in between the panels.

All this is done in the blink of an eye. The brain is processing at incredible rates when reading comics with almost no effort. The brain is stronger for it.

Conclusion
The genres of science fiction and fantasy and the comics medium are usually disregarded beside "serious" literature. The escapism and unrealistic nature of these are usually cited as strikes against them, when they are indeed the fields' strengths. These are more effective than "serious" literature, and more capable of developing important patterns of critical thinking that are essential to a child's intellectual growth.

I couldn't remember the login for the blog I created a couple weeks ago, so I tried logging in with my GMail account. And I found this.

At first I wasn't quite sure what it was. As I read over it, it sounded vaguely familiar . . . and then I realized why. Welcome to my first blog, from way back in the beginning of my freshman year of high school. Everything prior to this post is about four years old, and it's strange to see my writing. How it was, how it is now . . . all right, so, there's a lack of major change. So it goes, chilluns.

Well, I could take you on an introspective journey as I examine how I once was, how I've changed, as I check out the new me and the different writing style, but the truth is that it would be kinda pointless and kinda depressing. Reading this, it doesn't seem my writing's changed or improved much in four years--four ever-loving years!--which is probably my own fault, as I've written little enough in that time. It's shameful, isn't it, that I who call myself a writer and tell everyone I shall be a writer, have been avoiding actual work, practice, improvement. It's a sin against myself not to explore something I always enjoyed doing. I can claim I've been working on gathering experience before I start putting anything out there, but you and me both know that's shit.

----------

A lot of people have been posting about love and relationships lately, and I keep hitting on the idea that my feelings on the matter are rather different. I don't see the same progression everyone does; of course, I usually date people I've already known for some time.

In my case, I'm usually very good friends with someone before I go a step further than that. There's a pretty major reason for that: I have to trust someone a lot before I really get involved with them. And I'm pretty all-or-nothing: once I'm in a relationship with someone, I'm totally open to them. I feel like I'm giving them the power to hurt me, because despite the prickly and apathetic demeanor, it's pretty easy to tear me apart. I'm not gonna say at this point that I love a person, not romantically, but I'm letting them be part of me.

Then again, there's dating-but-not-a-relationship. I've never been as good with this. As I've seen this, it's a substitute for being friends for some time beforehand. If you're friends, you've got time to build a level of trust. If it's someone you've just met, you gotta spend some time around them before you get a good idea of how you feel about them.

Issue with dating, it's a false image. You're trying to present your very very best side, all the good and smart and special that would be especially loveable. You're covering the warts, which are sometimes what makes a person more interesting. More worthwhile. I have trouble trusting someone if I'm on a date with them, because I know they're trying to present their best side, and so am I. You know people that talk about someone changing right after they slept together, or married, or whatever? That's the switch from the simulacra to the reality of the person.

I've enjoyed being with people without loving or trusting them. I don't intend to do this more, because it's ultimately empty.

You see, there's a point when you cross into intimacy. That's, I would say, when the words "relationship" and "love" become accurate. Sometimes it's a conversation, when you talk about the true and important things in your life. When you're open and honest, and presenting that which you care about and fear. It is the point when you realize a person as a person, and they seem the same of you, and you can trust them.

I have been intimate with people long before dating them or being in a relationship with them. These are my closest friends, my other halfs, who I've held to me for some time. I think you four know who you are. These are people I'd date without a second thought (except that all four are women), because I trust them to look out for me, because I know I'd look out for them, and because I know I can rely on them, always. I suppose blood brother (or sister) might be the traditional term.

You see, I am all or nothing. When you have me, when I have that trust and intimacy, you have me entirely. Without that, I'm there for the fun and to take care of you best as I can when you need it, but that's it. Keep in mind that I apply this only to romantic relationships; my friendships have considerably different rules. It is the difference between open and shut; when I am open to you, I am utterly open, and when I am closed you will see nothing but the surface.

So I say the word "love" doesn't apply in romance until there's trust and openness. You can fake it, but that's pretty far into the wrong. There's . . . well, there's it to me.

By the way, that jump to intimacy takes a lot. Like a proper artistic endeavor, it's the baring of one's soul. And I don't think I've felt anything more painful than when you try to share those serious and personal parts of yourself, and it's ignored or treated lightly. There are some things, I think, that we all hold dear and will not see mocked or tossed aside. If anything is to compose what we call our soul, it's what we hold precious.

I can't think of a proper ending because I don't know how to put all this. There are places this entry is disconnected because there are major points that are part of what is serious and important to me. I'm not ready to bare my soul to anyone who might read this, so it's not entirely coherent.

Oh well. Fuck all, let it be.