the story of reading in my own words

I had intended to give a general explanation of how stories are created and disseminated throughout society (beginning with the last post: "the story of stories 1"). I knew almost immediately that I was only fooling myself (when has anything at slimodsoc not been about me?); at best I can only offer insight (with parenthetical asides) as to why I believe things to be so. Yet, while a near approximation of the core issue that I seek to explore, my false start doesn't quite capture the essence of the thing that truly troubles me, leaving another untied loose end in the saga that is the recorded babblings of my imagination. Oh well, allow me to begin again: Reading, what's the big deal?

It has always puzzled me as to why this practice holds such an esteemed place in our culture. Forgive me now as I use gross exaggerations to illustrate my point. Sit through Gone With the Wind, no small feat, and some film buffs may be impressed, but read the book and almost automatically you've entered that mythical realm of the educated. Of course this applies to any book/film adaption. Reading anything no matter what is, but especially if it's fiction, is time well spent while watching stories that I don't know, may be required some reading and writing in the making of them anyway, are dismissed as ephemeral distractions. TV will rot your brains, while books will unlock the mysteries of the universe. I see a billion or so mother's across the world smiling when ever their child indulges in this uniquely human function.

I admit that I have held a bias against reading 'chapter books' from a young age preferring TV for its ease of access. So while I agree in part with the above sentiment I still find it strange that one form of entertainment trumps another in legitimacy mainly because it's harder to do. Go to sleep early, eat healthy, don't be dumb; these all follow the path of most resistance and whatever is hard seems to be good for you, reading included.

Yes for me reading is hard, but less so now than in my formative years. At the age of 20 I went on a mission for the LDS church, while serving we (mostly) don't watch TV, all that was left was books (or talking to people) and I read my fair share there (mostly church affiliated). In my mind all this new information was non-fiction (more on this in a later post), I was learning many new and wonderful things and this reinforced the stereotype of reading as education. Nevertheless, this began the journey into the magical world of reading for me.

A fair few years have passed since that time and just recently my complaint against reading fiction (why read the book when you can watch the movie?) clued me into another use for the medium... Reading fiction is supposed to be enjoyable like watching TV, it's a form of entertainment. Shocking I know. It's taken me a while to come around, I bought into reading being about learning only, whenever I tried to read fiction I was violating my own flawed paradigm. The contradiction always lingered in my mind as I tried to push on through the material making it difficult to enjoy. Finally, now, it no longer hurts to do so.

To hear me tell it you'd think this was an act of heroism on my part, not quite, but it's progress. After a few years and many unfinished books I'm actually starting to enjoy the process of reading. You just seem to get used to it after a while. I used to struggle with piecing together all the parts of a narrative, but now whether abstract or visualised I usually manage to keep my entities straight. This is encouraging, because I see myself as a writer and I have felt drawn to writing novels for some time even though enjoying novels is only a recent development. Good for me. Its not unprecedented to enjoy the process of creation over and above the creation itself, ask anyone who's had kids, but I feel at peace and I'm ready continue writing now more than ever.

When I'm transported to these worlds, regardless of their grounding in reality -- the lines that separate the fictional and the factual are becoming increasingly blurred for me -- when I return to my reality I feel fortunate that I arrive back with a souvenir or two that I invariably find beneficial for my life's journey. Stories are amazing things. They help us to make sense of the world. Reading is obviously an effective way of communicating them (if I dedicate enough neurons to understanding what's going on). I suppose that's why it's such a big deal. So, I'll continue to read and write and tell my story.

Check out what I'm reading at this social networking site for book lovers.

Note to self:

I've been very slack at recording my work outs lately, time to get back on track

Back Squat 60*20, 100*6, 110*6, 60*23

DL 140/3*6

Power Clean 100/1*4, 120*1 (missed this last attempt)

the story of stories 1

What makes up a story and why are they so pervasive?

At a meta-level they happen within the limits of time -- which is to say that events within them are arranged in an order, which is dictated by the infrastructure of reality (e.g. the arrow of time, even if in the telling these events are not always chronological) -- and mind space. They communicate an idea or several from one mind to another or several. With me so far? No? Good. Other elements include characters, themes, memes, arcs, parts and much, much more. "That's right Steve if you order now we'll throw in" *ahem* Stories are everywhere. I would argue (without offering much in the way of evidence) that much of the appeal no matter what their makeup, whether explicitly or implicitly, stories present us with ways of making sense of human experience. What do we crave more then anything in an absurd world? Why meaning of course! (some say happiness, Nietzsche dismissed this utilitarian notion as folly: "Man does not desire happiness. Only the Englishman desires that." Silly English people, don't mess with Nietzsche, he's got a really big moustache).

The saga continues later...

113 out of the ocean and into the butterflies

"Brandon, pleased to meet you." he said in a way that sounded sincere, but unconvincing at the same time.

Bilix pulled Brandon to his feet in a display of strength that seemed disproportionate to his size. Brandon in an upright position struggled to find his land legs, he staggered at first, and coughed up half the ocean that he'd almost drowned in, at second. Bilix gave a reassuring number of powerful  pats to Brandon's back in an effort to encourage any straggling sea to make an hasty exit.

"You certainly drank your fill didn't you Brandon. Lucky I gave you the extra boost when I did or she would have had you all to herself."

"You...saved me." Brandon stood up straight. 'All to herself' was that just a turn of phrase or is this freak planning something? Come on, I know he's ugly but I've got to try and keep it together.

There was a moments silence that was not especially uncomfortable considering the circumstances, "Saved is such a strong word, I'm not Jesus or nothin'. I just saw a big behind in front of me and thought the only way I'm making it to the surface is by hauling this, um your arse with me. You're welcome."

"Oh, thanks." More silence. "Any idea's where we are?"

"None, but maybe this lot will."

As chance would have it near death experiences where only the beginning of the days excitement. In a clearing on a hill, only a few football field lengths away came a group clothed in white, riding on the backs of beasts. Their countenances were as lightning, their radiance like butterflies. It was going to be an interesting afternoon.

112 future now past

If I knew dating Brandon would have lead to this I would never have gone along with idea. I had my reservations from the start. He wasn't really witty, or confident, and he didn't have strong looking hands, I've always had a soft spot for gruff man-hands, his were so tiny. To top it off he didn't seem to be in a stable financial situation, not that I'm all about the Benjamin's, but a guy's at least got to try to keep his shit together and Brandon, I don't want to hate on the guy, but it seemed as if he'd lost his along the way. I'll give him this much, he had the stones to ask me out, and that tiny little detail was enough to turn me. It's been a while since I've been on a date (I'm really ashamed to say, I almost can't even write it, but this was the first time, Sally says it's because men are intimidated by me, but I think that's just her nice way of saying I'm fat a little on the chunky side. I don't exactly set the world on fire with my conversational skills either. I'm just a regular big-boned shy gal looking for Mr. Right), so I went easy on him and said yes. Big mistake.

Now we're here at this "top secret" training facility. Brandon's not though, he's missing in action. Typical. And Davis the half-insane, I hesitate to say lest I unwittingly become a part of his elaborate fantasy, "time-traveler" is out looking for him, either that or we're meant to be, I don't know, the instructions we were left with were kind of vague. My brothers in arms are the three-quarters insane zombie guy, who speaks only in grunts and groans and may one day murder us in our sleep, and to round things out we've got the completely-out-of-his-mind-bonkers, Erhard,  who is obsessed with dressing in hot colours and suffers from a personality delusion were he believes himself to be the pied piper of Hamlyn. I guess Napoleon and God were already taken. All that and he's really, really annoying.

I don't know how Davis managed to spirit us away to this place, but I can't wait to get out. He says that the eighties are coming for us. I don't know what that means, but he left a note on a white board on his way out: START TRAINING NOW! I'LL BE BACK. He also assured us at one point that space is unevenly distributed here, and that time functions slower than normal so we might just be able to pull this (whatever this is) off. Everyday we sit around and do nothing. Somehow, I don't think this is what he had in mind. This is crazy. We're here expected to go through an eighties style training montage, to prepare to stop the oncoming eighties onslaught, I find that ironic (in the Alanis Morisette way and not the real way). Where's our Mr. Miyagi? Where's Brandon? I want to go home. --what Melanie would have written in her diary if she'd brought it along.

111 the snow and the mountain part 2

"...One day the water, as it was engaged in a pleasant imagining, felt a light burning sensation deep in its belly. 

'What's down there? This doesn't feel right.'

'Hello water.' came a voice from under the earth.

'Who's that?'

'I am magma. I'm here to help you.'

'Magma? That's very kind, but who are you?'

'I told you, I'm magma. I have heard whispers from the cave, that you want to get out. I understand --'

'The cave can talk? I've been here for an age and never heard a word!'

 'We can all talk water, you just need to know how to listen. They say that You want to touch the sky. Don't we all? I have been stuck under here for a very long time and rarely see the light of day. But once long ago I saw the sky, it was vast almost unending. Across the blue expanse fluffy white vessels occasionally passed. These clouds traveled so peacefully, I imagined that nothing could disturb their serenity. I am violent by nature and would like very much to talk to one of them to know their secret. Water, if I set you free and send you skyward do you promise to return one day and bring me a piece of cloud?'

Water was giddy at the thought and quickly agreed. The burning increased and water began to bubble. It became a blanket of steam that rose ever upward, until it reached the sky. After it's journey, water realized that it was a cloud also, magma would be very surprised. Time passed and water went through many changes. It joined lakes and oceans and turned to snow in arctic temperatures. The water was free. And now mountain, I must go. Magma is waiting."

With that snow began to melt under the gaze of the rising sun and run down the side of the mountain. Mt. Salvation looked on helplessly wishing to imbibe some of it retreating guest in the hope that its adaptability were somehow contagious, but it stood instead motionless, unable to divert the water from its course. 

Could Mt. Salvation, ever move, ever be free? 

The water was gone. Mt. Salvation was still there.

110 the snow and the mountain part 1

Grumbles of the sort that leave everyone in the room with a sour taste in the mouth continuously flowed from the emotive transmitter regions of the mountain. Its forlorn landscape emitted a dull gray that went well with the mood. 

A slither of snow that had fallen over night was touched on its emotive receptors by the constant storm of negativity. It decided to send out its own intendment.

"I will tell you a story miserable mountain range. If you'll relent from your tale of wo for a moment."

"And why should I listen to a substance so transitory as snow? A mountain is firm and immovable; when the sun shines in the sky, I will still be here. You snow, will not. Don't waste my time."

"Listen quickly then mountain, for the sun rises even as we speak. I have a special message for you."

Mt Salvation, stood still as it always did and decided that since it had no other place to be and ample time to complain after its guests departure that it would, against its usual habit, ever so briefly refrain from lamenting. "Very well snow. Before you go, speak."

"There once was a tiny watering hole, that was lost to the rest of the world (barring its static surroundings of course). It was hidden away in a cave of moderate size that itself was obscured by sage bush and other underbrush. Very rarely light would filter through to the water. Sometimes the water could vaguely make out the blue sky through the dank dimness of the cave and it longed desperately to be there..."

109 short choppy sentences

The votes were cast. The verdict was read. No one was happy.

An effect of the great compromise that is democracy. Both sides came in marginally under the required majority. An impasse was unsatisfactory. A fraction of the cells were too spineless to vote either way. Why should everyone suffer, because of the indecisiveness of so few?

For the first time in 4 million years, the cornucopia of DNA forgot where they came from. It was time to take action regardless of the vote. One group was in favour of doing nothing. The other in favour of wiping out the humans.

0108 moon chunks (or moon shower)

The moon snorted. 

Its lower lip trembled.

One day the moon dreamed of a magical lasso pulling it toward earth, anchored by a stoic looking cowboy, with gold plated chaps and a Louis Vuitton emblazoned satchel. It was one of those uncannily vivid dreams that seems too real to let go, and as it fades you feel as if you have lost a tiny, happy part of yourself. The moon felt that way now, its prize had been swallowed by a virulent type of space. The climax of a lost dream stolen, because you awake before reaching the best part. 

The moon erupted ancient curdled cheese from it ears and began to sob.

***

Premnath was on his way home. Moisture fell from the sky. Rain? he wondered, but when he looked up there were no clouds.

107 spills and thrills

Ditie launched herself into the space formerly occupied by Bilix, catching the toilet bowl accidently with her leg, stumbling in the process. She managed to realign her centre of gravity in time to prevent certain disaster, then allowed herself a brief bout of relief at no one having witnessed her lack of co-ordination. "They really are portals!"

***

In an unpleasent place at the edge of nowhere...

Brandon gathered himself, the under-sized over-ugly, yet still humaniod-like creature edged a little closer to him. It extended its hand. Brandon tried not to flinch. "I'm Bilix, you big sod. What's your name?"

106 goodbye to sanity

Deborah woman of the wood, misguided city slicker. The creatures scuttle in their own way and she runs in bare feet without abandoned high heels. A conglomeration of concerns crash down between her ears. Where is she, what has she done? Awareness fades into disequilibrium. I was a young girl once, stay at home moum's were angry. Does any of it matter now?

105 an inconvenient truth

"Esteemed future potential saviours of the world. No pressure. They are mobilising right now. Who they are and how they operate is beyond the scope of our current intelligence. What I can tell you is this, that there has been a maximum security breach in the collective imagination of planet earth. Do sheep dream of unelectric androids? Worse, but today's predicament rests on no less disturbing premises. Entities strongly influenced by the decade that you know as the 1980's are closing in on your city just as quickly as its boundaries are expanding and the frogs are reproducing. We need the big guy?" said Davis

Melanie, Erhard, and Koopa/Daly looked around. No big guy. 

"Who, Brandon?" asked Melanie, looking perplexed.

"Yes. If you want to slow the progress of this movement, find him. I've tried, but I missed him when I picked you all up. He was supposed to be there. He wrote me and perhaps some of the miscreants that will inevitably cause a great deal of trouble for you. I am a sentinel of sanity and I would love to help, but I have my own problems to worry about, and my next appointment is in 15 minutes. Good luck and Goodbye."

0104 the big guy's watching

"Captain?"

Captain was in the in the middle of waxing quasi-intellectual about a trivial topic that seemed important at the time.

"Roger, can't you see I'm busy here?"

His spellbound captive audience all nodded furiously in agreement. Yes very busy, no time for light weight juniors. No time at all.

"CAPTAIN." Roger insisted, "I think you better take a look at this." The 'open-sesame' of underlings, if that line didn't work nothing would. 

Captain turned around with a snarl "Very well Roger, this better be good." 

They marched into a monitoring room where Captain was greeted by the worst crisis of his career. A girlish cry of profound terror did not escape his throat. His steel wool insides had collected considerable amounts of grit over the course of his stewardship. It would take more then the fabric of reality unraveling to elicit more than a groan out of him. 

He groaned a terrible groan. And then..."Roger, this looks like a job for the reality police! You're working overtime tonight kid." With that he marched out, slammed the door and returned to the adoring crowd.

0103 today I will be with you in paradise

I left the oven on!

Brandon sat up. Salt flavoured water escaped his lips. His apartment could be burning down as he sat there dribbling in the middle of...

Where am I !?

Four things immediately sprung to mind, each competing tenaciously for attention. The oven's on, wasn't yet ready to give up pole position; it was followed closely by Melanie's trapped in a rubbish bin and only I can save her (except he was here and she was not); I almost drowned, which explained the water balloon feeling in the pit of his lungs; and finally: but didn't I die already? This last question came closest to answering the first. Answering a question with a question, it was all getting very philosophical, but the deep contemplation was far from over.

"Is this heaven !?!"

An unsightly creature strolled up to the blubbering mess that was Brandon. It seemed to occupy an uncomfortable level of height that couldn't  exactly be described as dwarfism, but was still diminutive enough as to certainly prohibit it from participating in most of the rides at Disneyland. Its grotesque visage was so abhorrent that to experience it was almost sublime. It was so ugly that it was in a strange way beautiful. 

Heaven Brandon? No. Not exactly.

0102 once wasn't enough

Everywhere you looked there was the obvious proliferation of frogs. Not so obvious was the subtle movement of fashion toward 1980's style sensibilities.  Hair became slightly bigger, leg warmers began showing up, chandelier-earrings spiked in sales, androgynousness started looking  more attractive on both sides. 

Chon pulled out a fat Cuban, lit up, and bellowed smoke out into the evening air like a freight train signalling its oncoming course. He grinned a gorilla faced, or possibly chimpanzee faced grin. Turns out someone noticed the old trend recycling itself.

"Let's t(d)o it." he said, tramping down mystery mountain on the way to Aspiere. Everything was going according to plan.

0101 how to name babies

As far as he could (or liked to) remember everyone used to call him Sniper. He found this to be as accurate as he was and so it stuck. There was his so called "real name" before that of course, but it had never really excited him. When his parents would call, the only emotion that their protracted and obstinate beckonings produced in him was utter boredom.

When naming someone (excepting persons of pure evil who have their own naming conventions), you pick something that you wouldn't mind being called yourself or just something that for whatever reason takes your fancy, the rationale being that at least you'll be able to designate this child from that especially in the case of twins. Sniper liked the practicality of a good descriptive name, if he had the time or the inclination he'd legally change his, as it was the jurisdiction of both federal and natural law held no sway over his current state of existence.

Naming the old fashioned way was unsatisfying in that it was so haphazard. How many children in the history of the world had names that were intentionally or unintentionally category mistakes? Apple? Blanket? Steppenwolf? The limitless list was beyond preposterous. With this child there would be no such error. Names should convey purpose. There should be no mistake about the intended target. Sniper corralled the tiny infant in his arms.

"I will call you Head. A wonderful name."

One day Head's head would be harvested to replace Sniper's. It was only fair, after all Sniper would go through all the trouble of raising the young tike. He whistled as he stepped out into the stereotypical forest, with its predictable trees everywhere, following the path of the Mayor who'd earlier caught him shooting babies from the sky. Head would be hungry soon and Sniper lacked the necessary equipment to see to all his young squires needs, perhaps the Mayor would be kind enough to help out.

What a strange world it was. Sniper headless and breastless, missing parts vital to survival. Why do we come into the world so ill equipped and unprepared for the perilous challenges we're destined to face? If he had a head he would have shook it in disbelief.

A few feet behind him two baby girls cried, if they had developed the necessary grasp of language they would have no doubt wondered the same thing Sniper had only seconds before. He'd shot them down and as fate would have it, although he entertained the thought of mammary glands he didn't like the idea of one day having a female head, so he left the infant girls to the mercy of the generic forest.

0100

Galahad turned away from Simon, soap opera style, and began to tell his story.

"Camelot was falling apart in many ways. Arthur had Excalibur still, but had perhaps lost the heart of his queen by that time. Who could resist the good looks of a young upstart with perfect locks and a lance so robust as to make any dragon quiver in fear and every knight green with envy. Sorry Tommy."*In a patronising whisper*"Tommy's a little sensitive about Lances. Long story."

Tommy's eyes burned with the intensity of a thousand furies, which helped to brighten up the place a little bit. The illumination didn't ebb or flow in response to Galahad's words in any notable way, he just had really bright eyes.

"If you could have seen them, oh the ecstasy of it all. Young love. I remember a time when I fell in love once. Once isn't enough though, but what was I saying, ah yes that blasted cup and that *&%^$&!@ moon. With the kingdom in shambles we set off in search of the one item that could definitively restore order to all our lives: the divine cup of our Lord. Little did I know how that journey would change my life. Literally. Look at me, I'm (regrettably) still drawing breath, the mind boggles..."

099

The left-behind shrapnel looked out of place on the toilet rim.

"This type of careless detritus, must stop!" Ditie insisted. To her, toilet seats held a place of unusual nostalgic romance. Ceramic halo's she'd call them.

ribit, ribit.

Bilix looked equally incensed at the unfortunate turn of events, but this may have been because he knew who'd be volunteered to clean everything up. "If he's a tree, or half at least, why do you think he needs to, you know, relieve himself?"

"Ever get the feeling you've answered your own question by asking a dumb one? He's half Indian too you know, he eats stuff and craps it out!"

Don't ever mess with Ditie's toilet.

"Eating stuff," Bilix snapped his fingers, "that gives me an idea."

"I'm sure it can wait till after you've cleaned up."

Bilix looked down cast "But Ditie, the frog problem..."

"Please babe it's been a long night, can you just take care of this little thing for me. I'm the one with the hard job. I'm going to have to kill Premnath when he gets home."

Bilix looked more down cast. He tried to force a smile but it was overwhelmed on the way to his face resulting in a strange muscle spasm that looked like a nervous twitch. Babe? When did this happen? Not since the last time? But it had been eons since they? And still he couldn't muster enough gumption to say no.

He dutifully stepped over to the collection of twigs and leaves left around the rim, mummy wrapped his hand with a generous portion of 2ply and helped the offending detritus into the bowl.

"I like Premnath, and don't you think the frogs are more annoying than his molting? I think we can get rid of --"

When the tree bits made contact with the water a beam of Neapolitan flavoured light blasted out of the bowl enshrouding Bilix. Caught off guard his mouth gaped open in astonishment. Emm my favourite he thought.

"Bilix!" Ditie screamed.

When the light retired to its place of origin Bilix had vanished.

098

The Bald Man strapped himself into a small escape pod with Canada and Octabug in tow. The walls were coming down around them, the metallic structure was folding like so many nylon sheets that Canada used to help her mother with, as the pod blasted out to temporary safety. She expected that it had been built of sturdier stuff, the way it collapsed had her almost thinking that she could have broken free from her shackles any moment if she'd only exerted a glimmer of effort. Encouraged by the thought she attempted to circumvent her current restraint, but found that her belt was securely fastened.

The Bald Man looked at her and grinned "They found me, but they still couldn't stop me. I can't be stopped. That's something you'll learn very quickly."

Canada recalled that her captor had in fact been stopped mid-soliloquy when whatever it was attacked, but she didn't call him on it, she was more interested in what it was he was saying when the unknown enemy interpolated.

"What happened back there?"

"Always inquisitive aren't you?"

"You almost got me killed. I think I have a right to know."

A loud clang reverberated through the ship as if some one were using its hull as a gong. Greens and browns flashed across the monitor display. Octabug sprung to the dashboard and began working away furiously. The pod zigzagged multiple times in what Canada guessed were evasive maneuvers, and felt would soon result in motion sickness.

The bald man Grimaced."That my dear, was the Other." He didn't even bother to look at her when he spoke.

"OK, that doesn't help very much. Are they what we're saving the world from?" she said in a half-mocking tone.

"You are wise beyond your years, young lady. It is indeed."

"And you're leading the charge?"

"Right again."

Canada looked away from The Bald Man, mirroring his communication style. "We've got no hope then."

097

Lets recap, because I'm at a loss to completely place you in any useful linear continuum. Some one remind me why we're here. Davis being a complete tool.

This is not a cheap excuse for exposition. Koopa weighs in

But what if it is? Me pretending to be an invisible author

We're saving ourselves from the eighties. That's Mel (she's big(ish))

Specifically you're saving us from the eighties and doing your best to ignore me. This is Erhard

OUAEURVGHE Daly speaks
Translation: What are you doing? That's a stupid totally irrelevant question.

096

The flame made it's way toward earth with something that suggested animosity. Call it moxy, or mojo or any 4 letter m-word you can think of, there was a deffinitive sense about its chosen course and the audacity with which it carried itself on the way down.
Fire is a tricky form of reality, it doesn't really think much, just burns. If you look deeply enough though, you'll find a minute spark of intelligence. You don't want to get it started, not if you don't have to, because once it gets going mentally just like when it gets going physically, if you let fire get enough momentum you're in big trouble.
***
"Two days ago an angry piece of sentient fire collided with a small town, Aspiere, it incinerated all inhabitants upon impact. 2 humanoid, and one reptile-like creature, possibly dragon, were witnessed at the origin point of the flame. Their current where abouts are unknown. What shall we do?"
Dr Esteval looked at his servant robot, Imov, with a cocked eyebrow and middling levels of contempt."We find them of course, there's possibly a dragon flying around out there."