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.

Hell is a Real Place (p2)

See part one. Tone's changing. Still rough. Criticism still welcome.

===

John had stepped inside the deepest bowels of the most ancient volcano on the most unforgiving alien world. Lava poured from above and spewed forth from the charred ashen trails underfoot. Acrid smoke choked the air out of his lungs, burned his eyes and seared his throat. Caustic acid belched from fissures, threatening to eat flesh from bone. Terrible creatures milled about, seemingly unaffected by their surroundings, carrying grotesque implements they used to flay, maim, and rend the remains of fallen souls. These creatures would have given nightmares to even the most hardened criminals who could perpetrate the most heinous acts known to man. It was this knowledge of man, or lack thereof, that would have caused the nightmares in any witness. These creatures could perpetrate acts so heinous that they were unknown to man. Not only would any rapist, murderer, or pedophile weep at the mere sight of these creatures, but it is estimated by the Grand Defiling Council that one in three earthly politicians would be slightly troubled in the knowledge of the acts carried out by these monstrosities.

Some had wings, leathery and clawed. Some had fangs, gnarled and razor sharp. Some had no flesh, leaving whatever viscera God or Satan had cursed them with exposed and pulsating sickeningly. Some had heads, head shaped and sitting right upon their necks. Others still had appendages and parts incomparable to any known living creatures. In fact, the common biologist, should she ever observe this scene, might guess that these creatures had no less than thirteen different genders, based on their various parts and the manner in which they were using them.

This multitude of varied creatures was imposing itself upon the wretched and pitiful remains of what appeared to be human souls. Some were being buried in the burning offal that flowed through a natural tunnel forming a sewer in hell. Others were being torn to shreds in hideous machinery made of rusty metals not seen on earth and the bones of martyrs. Others still were hung by their flesh while fleshless dogs snapped at whatever parts of them hung too low. Possibly the worst torture John witnessed was inflicted upon those who were constantly being chased up a hill of broken glass and barbed metal by creatures foul, made of legs and teeth. At the top of the hill was what appeared to be a portal to a sunny vista free from care. From his vantage point John could see that the portal actually dropped a thousand feet into a pit of spikes and worms that burrowed into the flesh of those that made it to the top. This form of torture seemed to add a personal insult on top of the sheer agony of eternal damnation by waving a false hope over the damneds' heads.

It was the worst thing John had ever seen. Then things got bad. Despite the horrendousness of these terrors, John didn't believe in hell. For this he was grateful. He made he way onward and through a fissure in a large rock wall that seemed to divide the area he was in from another, much larger domain of punishment.

John saw a muscular figure ahead of him just beyond the portal heading further into the maw of the earth. It no longer resembled a domestic cat, but rather walked about as a man. Yet it still had feline features: its ears and tail and claws, and was still missing its flesh. It continued on and ignored John, clearly unworried about his presence. Just before it exited through another narrow chasm in the wall ahead, it turned to face John, who could now glimpse the sheer magnitude of the horror he was following. The creature's eyes glowed brilliantly and malevolently at John as its tongue slithered out of its mouth revealing its forked nature. Brimstone tinged smoke poured from its nostrils and its wrists and ankles caught flame. It laughed a deep guttural utterance and vanished through the chasm, which closed behind it.

Had John thought he was sober and awake, he would have shit himself. Among another stroke of brilliant luck, he was still just buzzed enough to remain sane in the face of unimaginable horrors. Also lucky was the fact that none of the unimaginable horrors had to be imagined because they were right there within perfect viewing distance. Beginning to worry about his possible return if in fact he really was here, John turned to head back. Once he managed his way back to where he thought he arrived, he found the portal vanished, leaving not so much as a scorch upon the rock wall. He turned back again to his original direction and continued on in careful trepidation.

From the "Phrases Unlikely to be Uttered" Dept.

I actually found myself using the exact term "apple gingersnap Hitler-mustache" in conversation tonight. It's neat to think that something you say might be unique among the entire history of human conversation. Frankly, I don't want to live in a world where someone else has already said that phrase. Any society producing two such members capable of uttering such nonsense probably doesn't deserve to survive. So, I'm sorry world. I may have just brought about the apocalypse.

Hell is a Real Place (p1)

Deep in the darkest of nights, John stumbled about looking for his way. He was slightly inebriated and much to his dismay, this was causing him no small amount of trouble finding his car. He was fairly certain that he had parked it here on Third Street, but in his haze, even he admitted that all the streets looked the same. Finally deciding even while drunk that not being able to find one's car was a disqualification for driving it, he decided to walk home and potentially save the lives of himself and anyone between here and his apartment.

Unfortunately for John, the distance between these locations was greater than travel by foot would easily accommodate. Again, John's current level of cognition allowed to reason that driving was not a good idea but not that walking the double digit number of miles back to his place was not a good idea. Luckily for John's feet and unluckily for he himself, John got lost in a side alley about one block into his journey. He had thought that he had seen a cat wander down the alley and so naturally decided to follow. This was a perfectly reasonable course of action.

He entered the alleyway gazing upwards like a child in amazement at all the new sights to see in a world just being discovered. This was John's favorite part of being drunk, ranking well above hangovers. To John, being drunk was to rediscover the wonders of the world. The way the light shone down in a certain way, or the rhythmic shadow cast by a ceiling fan, or the smell of an open field on a warm spring day could all arrest John's sense of normalcy and fascinate him to no end. What this fascination began brought contentment, at least for a time. John looked down from a flickering neon light. "Why didI come down this way?" he said aloud. "Oh right, the kitty cat." He centered his head with each hand to its matching temple and continued down the alley, determinedly.

He couldn't seem to find the cat at this juncture and became weary for all his travels. He sat down between two small garbage cans just outside the rear entrance to a Chinese takeout and lolled his head back, jarring it slightly on the brick wall behind.

This was a small inconvenience and not one to take notice of. When John came to, it was not morning as would be expected. He also was still not entirely sober. He heard a noise from further down the alley and peered around the can to discover its origin. Slinking through the shadows, John thought he glimpsed the shadowy form of a small cat meandering warily, much like a cat would. However, and John wasn't sure if this was the alcohol speaking to him, it seemed that the cat was slightly different than the average cat. It did not appear to have any fur.

John arose and crept slowly and deliberately to close in on the creature. As he got close enough to make out further details he also noticed that this thing was slightly different than your average mammal in that it had no flesh. John blinked. John rubbed his eyes. It still had no flesh. It looked back at him and with glowing eyes, hissed a ferocious growling threat that seemed to speak in words to John that said, "Don't follow."

Always willing to heed good advice when drunk, John waited for almost three seconds before following the creature into where only after entering its veil did John see a great brilliant portal of flame standing innocently in the middle of a downtown alleyway. This was not the sort of thing John was used to seeing in alleyways, but he was also not used to drunkenly wandering through alleys in the middle of the night. Curious beyond measure, John reached out a finger towards the portal. It felt warm, but its blazing appearance lied of its apparent heat. John, feeling the bravery of alcohol, leaned in closer and gingerly poked his head through the portal for a peek of what absolutely cannot be described in words. What follows is a description in words of what he saw.

--
To be continued...
Constructive criticism welcome

Don't Worry...

...be happy.

And that's an order.

Saying Things

I should say more things. For now, check out the .stuff sidebar over there. It dynamically loads links to blog items I share in Google Reader. What this means is that when I see an interesting link in a blog I am reading I can and might share it and it will automatically update over there. So at least something on this blog might update regularly. While I'm here, Google Reader is the most useful application I've used in some time.