Top 5 List

Of Albums. This list doesn't necessarily comprise my favorite songs or artists, but reflects the albums as a whole. The songs on these albums worked in unison and have special meaning to me. So much so that when I listen to them through now, I feel an ineffable sense of familiarity with my past self's emotions from when I originally listened. There must be a deep psychological tie. It seems to be stronger by album than simply by song. This was something I got to thinking about the other day when listening to an old album all the way through. My top five, as best as I can tell, in no particular order:

• Siamese Dream, Smashing Pumpkins - I don't care what anyone says about all that Mellon Collie business. This was the Pumpkins' best album.
• Little by Little, Harvey Danger - A little known and independently released album that shows a lot more depth than their earlier stuff. They released it free here. I even bought this album after already having the digital version in support of the band.
  
• Lateralus, Tool - My favorite of Tool's stuff, thematically linked. Transcendence was really big then.
• Play, Moby - Probably my least favorite of these artists, but it contains too many "theme songs" for a certain time of my life to be discounted.
  
• The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails - The classic. Ambient. Industrial. Heavy.
  

This list is a tad more skewed towards popular stuff than I generally am, but not too much.

Hell is a Real Place (p6)

Part 5

"But seriously, how do we get out of this place," John asked politely, carefully avoiding the use of the word hell to describe hell.

"Well, you might have a chance since your mortal and technically still alive, but I'm afraid there's no 'we'. I'm trapped here forever."

"Wait a minute. What do you mean, 'technically still alive'?"

"Oh good. Glad to see you're worried about my predicament and not concerned with the selfish matter of yourself. If you'd been paying attention, I did say you might be able to get out of here, even though you'll need my gracious help. But don't worry about me. Just worry about yourself, taking advantage of a kind devil who happened to be wandering by, coincidentally. Even though you've done nothing but shown animosity, out of the goodness of my heart, I'll help you out. We'll just need to head to the Capitol City of Outer Discordia."

John was skeptical of the devil's intentions.

Conundrums and Quandaries

Is drinking hot sauce a good solution to the burning sensation caused from eating a fresh ripe jalapeño?

Also, as I finished up Death by Black Hole by Neil DeGrasse Tyson today, I came across this particularly interesting thought:

And what comedian configured the region between our legs—an entertainment complex built around a sewage system?

This was one of Tyson's rebuttal's to so-called Intelligent Design, which he dubs Stupid Design.

Hell is a Real Place (p5)

Part 4

What makes you think I'll end up in hell, let alone some inner circle?" John started. "Wait. Why aren't there any French in this part of hell?"

"The French are automatically disqualified for getting off as easy as this. If you're French, you'd better hope you're a saint. Or an atheist." Baram chuckled. John couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "But you, I can see the taint of sin all over your soul. No way, you'll end up in heaven, not at this rate. And definitely not the vacation spot of hell. And I'm not joking either. This really is a vacation spot in hell. They'll say,'Gee I sure am tired of all these molten dung pits filled with the remains of tortured souls. Let's go to Outer Discordia for a nice lava bath and soul straining.'" John still couldn't tell if Baram was joking.

"Wait a minute. I think I understand now. I _am_ still drunk. This is all just a vision and you're just a figment of my imagination. Maybe even part of my conscience, trying to make me feel guilty about all the drinking."

"Excuse me?" Baram blurted, insulted once again.

"I," John began, but Baram had already zoomed up into his face, wings flapping vigorously, and smacked John hard with the back of his tiny opened imp hand. One might assume at this point that the slap of an imp was a slight offense, but John was of another opinion. "What was that for?"

"Let's just say it was for flagrant stupidity!" Baram snapped. "I mean, I know humans are self-centered, but come on. Do you have to insult the possibility of my very existence? The whole world must revolve around you, huh? Is that it? Well, I got news for you kid: Hell wasn't built in a day and it's a lot bigger than both of us. You'd be a hell of a lot better off if you were just dreaming, but you're not."

"Well, how can I be sure? Maybe that's what you'd say in my dreams too."

Baram whipped around faster than leaving church and lashed John across the face with his spiked tail.

"Damnit! Stop doing that!"

"Convinced I'm real yet? Do your dreams hurt?" Baram snickered.

"Okay, okay. You're real. I admit it. Happy?"

"No, remember how we're in hell?"

"Yeah. Why don't you just tell tell me how the hell to get out of here."

Baram kicked John in the chin, his sharp toenails digging into John like five ants assaulting Mt. Beard.

"Now what the hell was that for?" John exclaimed.

Baram kicked him with his other foot.

"Stop it!"

"That was for the overuse of a hell related colloquialism while in hell. Do you have any idea how tiring that becomes? Everyone thinks they're a comedian. 'Hyuk, hyuk. Look where I ended up. It's a hell of a place.' Lucifer dammit."

"Look! You just did it too! You said dammit in hell!" Baram glared at John. "For God's sake, don't hit me!"

"Just be glad that I'm the only one down here on your ass. That and that I'm in my cursed form. My real self would rend your soul or some other nonsense; I've lost the knack of demonic threats over the millenia.

John started to look perplexed then resigned, "Oh, I'm not even going to ask."

"Good."

On Minimalism

Reading Shelf

I've been reading more of late and I wanted to express some thoughts about the material as well as some subjective judgments about their quality.

The Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

The Black Swan is essentially a long essay on the problems with probabilities that depend on Gaussian distributions (i.e. the Bell curve). As it turns out, the Bell curve is only useful in describing mostly useless qualities such as the height or weight of a population. Things that defy the Gaussian distribution (but perhaps not obviously or within a certain sample) are those such as wealth, performance of a stock market, or weather trends. The problem is that you can't just take past data as a good indicator for future performance. Because that's when the Black Swan bites you in the ass. The namesake of the book derives from the once commonly held belief that all swans were white, simply because all observed swans were so. Then, surprise! The same sorts of things happen in the real world. The stock market can steadily climb, and then for no apparent or attainable reason, crash. The book claims that the reasons that things happen is almost impossible to know for anything worth knowing. Therefore you can't really predict anything. Even worse, it's often harder to tell what happened in the past than what will happen in the future. At least, barring the Black Swan. There's really so much more to the book than this, but this is its central thesis as seen by me. An excellent read for anyone interested in philosophy, economics, mathematics and probability, or history.

Hiding in the Mirror by Lawrence M. Krauss

Essentially the history of physics from the discovery of electrodynamics through relativity and up to current postulations using string theory. It claims to focus on mankind's fascination with extra dimensions and it does to some degree. There are, however, only a couple of chapters directly dealing with cultural and artistic relations to the idea of living in a place with more dimensions than we can sense. Otherwise, it falls back to the journey from electricity to strings. There are, during this history lesson, consistent references to humanities preoccupation with these hidden dimensions, including the use of such to attempt to describe religious and psychic "phenomena". As it progresses the physics gets thicker and thicker and stretches the capacity of the average reader's cognition. Or at least mine. There were some pretty heavy physics going on, without enough detail for me to really "get it". But that's somewhat understandable, given the depth of its subject matter covered in relatively so few pages. Still an interesting read, infused with amusement (reference to the mathematical equivalent to masturbation) and a realism about the state of affairs in theoretical physics. Krauss makes no arguments that string theory is going to do anything for real physics and indeed, still seems on the fence about the matter. He also refers to the hubris of theoretical physics and admits that it may be so far into left field that in may actually be in the infield (this is, of course, a reference of my own invention relating to the possible curvature of space discussed in the book). Still a good read, but I'm not sure who the audience is supposed to be. Physicists probably wouldn't find too much insight and the layman will probably have an aneurysm. Recommended if you enjoy science and have some intuition with it.

Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett

This is a Discworld novel. My twenty-fifth have I not lost count. It's definitely in the better fifty percent of Discworld novels, but probably not much further on the list of my personal favorites. It is, as usual, satire of the real world, about an army regiment in Russi..., I mean Borogravia, where women aren't allowed to serve, but have nonetheless snuck into the service by cutting their hair and finding a creative use for a sock. Very entertaining and simultaneously poignant regarding the position of women in the past and to some degree the present. A nice twist in the plot and change of pace with all new characters in the Discworld universe, with cameo appearances from some of the Watch.

Beowulf: A New Verse Translation by Seamus Heaney

I had always meant to read a translation of Beowulf, so here was one I found. The book itself is bilingual with the original text set parallel with the translation. This was a nice touch. As a heroic myth, it was enjoyable and I can see where authors, such as Tolkien, got some of their inspiration. I can't really remark on the quality of the translation since I don't read Old English. For a poem, however, the translation's not very poetic, but that may be an artifact of the original; I can't say. Lots of fighting, death, singing, drinking, etc. Honor and tradition play a big part in the story and probably bring more harm than good to the characters. Even though it's over a thousand years old, it's not completely antiquated in its views of the world. But mostly it is. But what do you expect? Recommended if you've never read it and enjoy that sort of thing.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

This is a delightful little book about the spiritual journey of a man named Siddhartha. He suspects teaching and teachers of being useless and that real lessons and ultimately enlightenment must be learned through experience. Interestingly enough, he later learns this lesson itself through experience. It's about finding happiness and contentment but not seeking for it. It's about learning about the self and about wisdom. Again wisdom isn't something that is taught or learned as much as it is trained through experience. Life is a pretty amazing place to be and just getting to be there is pretty sweet. It rang some bells with with its treatment of asceticism and its allegory of the Hindu/Buddhist concept of samsara. An excellent read that can be finished in an afternoon, although I recommend taking longer, eyes open.

And I'm currently reading The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. This was in the queue and I was itching to get to it, not exactly remembering why it was that I bought it. I opened to it randomly and saw a reference to atman and Krishna and thought, "well, this will be a good follow up to Siddhartha." I started it yesterday and so far I've been blown away. It's the story of an Indian man told from his perspective (possibly as told to the author as a plot device, but I haven't figured that out yet). The man goes by Pi Patel, was raised in a zoo and simultaneously considers himself Hindu, Christian, and Muslim. He doesn't mind atheists, but agnostics bother him. The most amazing piece yet was his comparison of religion to a zoo - in that people always assume that the animals would be better off out of the zoo and "free", while Pi shares that this is not generally the case. The parallels here go further and are only hinted at subtlely. So far, so great.

Hell is a Real Place (p4)

Part 3

"I'm still not convinced that I'm not still passed out on the street. It seems the simplest explanation." John reasoned.

"Just because the simplest explanation is usually the correct one doesn't mean that a more complicated one isn't actually the case. In fact, in hell it's usually the more complex explanation that's true."

"So Occam's razor doesn't hold in hell?" John asked with surprising lucidity for a drunk man.

"We have plenty of razors in hell, but none of them make life any simpler, I'm afraid."

"You call this life?"

"Life. Eternal damnation. Whatever."

"Well, this is certainly new. I suppose I *should* be heading home. Things to do and such. My name's John, by the way." He introduced himself merely to feign the politeness that comes with leaving a party early before all the presents are opened.

"Pleasure to meet you John." the imp said while wistfully grinning in a disturbing manner as if appraising his new acquaintance. "My name's Urakabarameel Rathael Mirzvon Chaotzacoatl."

"Okay. That's interesting. How's that spelled?"

"Not important." he answered while rolling his tiny imp eyes.

"Is there something else..."

"Look, if pronunciation's a problem for you, like I know it is for some of the duller mortals, you can just call me Baram. That's what's all my friends call me."

"Demons have friends?"

"No. And strictly speaking, I'm not a demon." Baram replied indignantly.

"What are you then?"

"I really don't feel comfortable talking about it with someone younger than dirt, kid."

"Fair enough I suppose. Can you just get me outta here, then?"

"'Fraid it's not that easy, you see. That fellow you followed in was special. He's a favored servant of Astaroth, who happens to be the grand duke these parts of hell. He has special dispensation to leave when it suits his master's needs. I have no such special dispensation. In fact, even if I needed to leave, they wouldn't let me."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose if you could just leave any time you pleased it wouldn't be hell." John reasoned.

"Right. I'm stuck here as punishment. Hell is other demons."

"Wait, if you're not exactly a demon, and you're trapped here as a punishment, wouldn't that make you a mortal just like me, only dead?"

"Do I _look_ like a mortal to you kid? Wings? Horns? Eight inch body?" Baram spat insultedly.

"Part of your punishment, maybe?" John hazarded.

"Well, actually my form is part of my punishment. I used to be very tall, thousands of years ago, yesterday. But still, I'm not a human. I am a devil."

"I thought you said that 'strictly speaking'..." John started confusedly.

"I said that I wasn't a _demon_. And I'm not. They're the lower class. Those you see in menial tasks, rending flesh, gargling souls, scorching the damned, pissing lava in the mouths of the thirsty. That sort of thing. I'm much nobler than that. At least I was. Now, I don't really do anything." Baram trailed off dejectedly.

"So..."

"So, I'm not a demon and I'm definitely not a human. If you must classify me, devil will work, as that can refer to my class."

"Which is?"

"I said that I didn't want to talk about it. Why so curious, meatlocker?"

"Just trying to figure out why you're even talking to me and why no one even seems to notice me."

"I've got nothing better to do, and I think even a human would be better to talk to than a demon. The upper echelons won't speak to me as an outcast and most of my brethren were punished far worse than I. I suspect that the demons don't see you because you're not dead, so you're not really a concern to them. At least not yet." Baram grinned.

"That's a comforting thought." John choked up.

"Don't worry, kid. You won't end up _here_." Baram said reassuringly.

"Oh. That's good to hear." John said, relieved.

"No it's not. What I meant was that you'll likely end up in a much worse part of hell than this. This is practically the Paris of hell. Actually, it's a little better than Paris: there aren't many French in this outer part of hell."

2 Things

"But master," the young student began, looking sincerely to his teacher. "What is the secret of life?"

"That is simple young one. It is not one secret but two," the old sage answered genially with a slight and troublingly deep smile. "First: nothing matters. Second: it doesn't matter that nothing matters."

Hell is a Real Place (p3)

Part 1
Part 2

He was finding it somewhat easier to breathe, a sign that he was somehow acclimating to his new environment. Nearby a small tub of crusted rock formed a tub of magma in which no less than three humanoid forms were being forced under by a grotesquely obese monster with jagged teeth protruding from its mouth in every direction and brandishing a rusty spear that looked older than time. It was taking perverse pleasure in the suffering it seemed to be causing in its victims. Still it paid no attention to John, which was some small relief. As he got closer, he finally noticed that the figures in the bath of flames were screaming in agony; screams so terrible they made John's flesh want to crawl away and hide under a rock.

It was like nothing he had ever heard before and it confused him that he only now noticed the unmistakable screams. As he listened in horror, he realized that all around him, coming from all directions was a low drone permeating the rocks, the lava, the flames and even the fumes. There was a constant noise that was so omnipresent, John had mistaken it for simply a rumble of the earth. The noise was not the earth. It was screaming. Screams were woven into a tapestry of madness that decorated this place as much as the motif of fire and brimstone. John stood perfectly still, afraid to move or be noticed. He was afraid, but began to remember that he was pretty sure that he was drunk and maybe he was still passed out on the street instead of here.

"Bummer kid..." came a voice from just over John's right shoulder. John turned and saw nothing, but then looked up to see a small winged creature flapping vigorously to stay afloat. It was deep red with tiny horns barely visible on its head. Startled, John said nothing.

"You really shouldn't have followed Grisshmah here. He's always going for late night hunts on earth."

"Who?" John responded perplexed.

"Grisshmah. The cat you followed that then walked upright."

"Oh, right. What was that thing?" John asked, suddenly unafraid in this presence of this tiny imp that seemed to be the only creature able to notice him. Surely it could do no harm, John thought. It probably wasn't logical, but John somehow felt at ease with the imp as if he were being calmed or soothed invisibly.

"Oh. he's a Felixasha. It's like a cat, except it's a demon; a pretty nasty one too. Kind of like an Arthallith, but without the poisonous pincers," the imp said nonchalantly, as if discussing the big game from last night.

"Ah. Well. That explains that then." John nodded, feigning comprehension. "So where am I?" John continued after a brief pause to reflect on his state of affairs.

"You're in hell kid." the imp said flatly.

"Hell?" John repeated incredulously. "There's no such place."

"Look around you. You think you're in heaven? Think you're still on earth? Earth doesn't have the boiling lava pits filled with monstrous abominations feasting on the souls of mortals. Least not the last time I was there, I suppose things could've changed."

"Hell? Hell. Well, I'll be damned."

"You're right there kid."

Recurring Patterns

Nature is old and wise
And knows that change is slow in coming.
Yet man is young and foolish
And has no time to allow

Man's empire is built in a season
And falls in a blink
So short is his life, that
He works feverishly in his labors
Lest he never gaze his fruits
Still so impatient.

What happens today and tomorrow
Has already happened yesterday
Patterns recur in history
And man is reborn
Along the same.

The true progress is made in time.
Nature knows this.
Man may learn.

Nothing truly changes
Save slowly over endless iterations.
Man is subject to fate's cruel trick,
Never able to see end results
Nor the writing in his soul
That eternity is here today.

The soul of mankind sings its same song.

Patterns emerge and express
A song
A tree
A cloud
A bee
A continent
Me.

All we are has always been
The stuff of stars
But the order and pattern distinguish
Plasma from psychopomp.