short story: To Remain Children All Our Lives

"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives." – Albert Einstein

A reality with God in it is fundamentally different—epistemologically and conceptually speaking-- from a reality without God.
Ditto, a world with sentient alien life forms.
What would you do if you knew with absolute certainty that there is a God? What if you knew for sure there were aliens? What if our reality included both?
And what if the two were the same thing?
Cassandra O’Brien is about to find out… this changes everything!

Professor Nathan Nelson, Dream Anthropologist at The Prometheus Institute, had been surreptitiously training Cassie O’Brien (unknown to her) for Arcanum membership since he met her in1998. She entered the group’s awareness as a person of interest when she began dreamwalking. Anticipating she would seek him out, Arcanum requested that Nelson prepare for her arrival (to foster her development); while simultaneously subconsciously nudging Cassie in his direction.
On May 5, 2000, a sign appeared that it was time introduce her to the ranks of that august group.
Cassie had a dream she could not remember.
Which was unusual only in that, since becoming a dreamwalker, she has been able to clearly remember every dream she’s had.
This dream gave her the impression that either she had glimpsed something she was not supposed to see, or that someone had snuck her privileged information. But this dream began fading away upon waking, and all she recalled were faint images and vague impressions. And, bizarrely, a definite aroma reminiscent of Strawberry Shortcake dolls.
In and of itself, that was not peculiar; except that, as a dreamwalker, she could lucidly remember all her dream experiences.
But it was that content of this dream, such as it was, that indicated a sign for Nelson.
Her surreally enigmatic dream featured an ancient, yet highly advanced, civilization and architecture that she sensed was true, but which the arbiters of history insist was fiction & ignorance. The dream depicted a cultural landscape adorned in an aesthetic reflecting a design motif reflecting the following images:

Cassie didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. Nor why she could not remember what the dream was about. She knew only, was sure, that its message was of profound importance.
Professor Nelson also seemed baffled, and after doing some rigorous and intricate science, could offer no explanations.
Revelation felt perpetually on the verge, as if eternally lingering on the tip of her tongue— the more she tried to grasp an image just out of reach, whenever she a found some tenuous comprehension, it disappeared.
Afterwards, Cassie had spent much time alone, meditating and pondering the dream… striving to dredge up missing details and discern meaning.
This kind of self-imposed isolation, which is often engaged in, is often misperceived (by those who don’t know her well) as anti-social behavior, sometimes blinding people to her talents, her intentions. At a diminutive five foot three, this peculiar brown haired, brown eyed, bespectacled woman tended to be underestimated by those who presumed too much (or maybe too little) of her.
Cassie generally worked better alone; could gather all facts and find conclusions or solutions in seemingly unlikely places.
The subconscious working behind the scenes, fitting pieces together in the interim. But as yet, she had attained no success in making satisfactory sense of this mystery. Contrary to the status quo; a rebel without being rebellious.
She believed we shouldn’t have to fit in with society; they should learn that we don’t have to. They should aspire to be more liberated and open minded like her.
Over the years, her curiosity about the paranormal occasionally caused her to investigate the subject of ancient civilizations, evidenced in anachronistic artifacts, historical documents and myth.
Unfortunately, what she found on the internet and in libraries was so voluminous, dubious, spurious and incoherent… the amount of material and misinformation so daunting, she soon gave up the herculean task of trying to separate fact from fiction and actual from allegory, pretty much forgetting about it. She realizes a things can be both fact and fiction, depending on interpretation and representation (the way Jefferson can refer to a real person and a fictional person… and a street name); King Arthur might be a real person and a fictional person. Some elements in myth ARE symbolic, but some could be literal. The trick and trouble is discerning the distinction. Just because part of something is wrong does not mean all of it is wrong— the opposite is also true. Plus, a thing could be true and not true.
But she had so many other things she could be researching, that were more readily accessible and comprehensible.
The true history of Jesus Christ was far less convoluted and obscured than Atlantis— and that’s saying something.
This dream urged her to revisit the search, to see what new information might have become available since.
But, as before, so much of the publically available data on pre-historical anthropology and archeology was like really bad science fiction; seemingly designed to deter and distract seekers from the truth. An intriguing correlation, and n many ways, constructing a derivative kind of allegorical mythologizing about mythology within mythologies about our own society. Simultaneously making myths of myths as well as what those myths relate.
The human brain is notorious for using symbols and symbolic connections, events and ideas to formulate our understanding of our reality and experience.
She gleaned that truth lay hidden somewhere among a massive tangle of lies, fantasy and false conclusions.
As with science, she realized that history— or rather our understanding of it-- is negotiable, subject to adjustment according to new information (or lack of information). And neither science nor history are exactly as we are generally led by our culture to believe is true.
She figured something about the officially sanctioned “knowledge” of the mystery of The Lost Continent of Atlantis and Egyptian origins didn’t quite make sense as presented in the mainstream; but could never be sure what.
No conventional theory had adequately explained to her satisfaction how the Egyptian’s inconsistently advanced culture and technology inexplicably seemed to have appeared out of nowhere completely cogent from its beginning, as if pre-packaged, with no precursor from which it derived.
Assuming she would never have the means to parse the nonsense, Cassie again gave up the search for definitive answers-- but not the wondering and questioning.
In her mind, the historical evidence (actual and contrived) concerning non-existence of advanced ancient civilizations didn’t fit the authoritative propaganda model of our Mother Culture-- which egotistically preferred to presume/ pretend contemporary Western society the pinnacle of human achievement thus far.
Signifying the village idiom.
Maybe the experts really didn’t know what really happened; maybe all they really had was speculation and supposition.
She would never have guessed that the truth was deliberately being suppressed, denied; even ignored by mainstream authority. As with paranormal topics, it was considered too controversial and too incredulous for serious or legitimate study or examination. The official party line was to dismiss such ideas as either nonsense or unreal.
But now, Cassie was finally going to be shown the truth. And that extra-ordinary moment of truth, it turns out, sounded much like a magnificent historical science fiction story. You can’t know a truth of this magnitude and not have your perception of reality substantially, shall we say, revised by its immense profundity.

Upon induction into Arcanum, new members inevitably and consistently begin accessing information on predictable topics: Jesus Christ, aliens, JFK, Illuminati, Atlantis, Egyptian Pyramids, ghosts, etc.
Immediately provided with unrestricted access to the group’s vast and thorough data stores, members are encouraged and enabled to learn the answers for themselves.
However, during orientation process, what is known about the origins of Mankind is revealed to all new members up front.
As a demonstration and fostering of trust mutual, Arcanum maintains a strict policy of full disclosure within the group.
Virtually everything they know about the inception and earliest days of humanity has been reconstructed long after the fact, pieced together a palimpsest puzzle, reverse engineered from diverse and disparate reports— official and unofficial, historical remnants and rumor.

Much of what they revealed to Cassie, she had heard before, but most of it was new to her— particularly the coherence of the context in which it is competently presented.
And because it was Professor Nelson who introduced her to Arcanum, and they who told her, she trusted them—and, therefore, what they told her. Completely and without skepticism, despite the incredibly fantastical nature of the information. Her curiosity devoured the information with the appetite of a voracious badger.
As she perused and contemplated the details, and the enormity of their inherent implications and potential ramifications, over the following several days, Cassie O’Brien was suffused and innervated by the thrill of amazement.
An eerie familiarity consumed Cassie.
She felt dense, heavy; compressed and released by the weight of this revelation. As if she was too big for her body; like a shirt worn too tight. She imagined she was entering Lovecraft’s infamous mountains of madness. All the esoteric eccentricities of all her dreamwalking experience now proved insufficient in preparing her for the epic and ecstatic horror of this arcane adventure; finding it precariously alternating between disturbing and marvelous.
A deep, queasy, restless excitement permeated her completely, intermittently inciting disquieting diarrhetic riots in her bowels.
As she delved into the data, she recognized this is what her elusive message of her mysterious dream.
It is one thing to suspect, a totally other thing to confirm; and Arcanum lattered the former. Joy in pursuing truth is nearly always surpassed by the acquisition of truth; but in this case, they were equal pleasures.


Gene Roddenberry described humanity as a child creature, still growing up, moving into adolescence in this era. Quite literally, it turns out, we are children--- of the gods.
In expurgated summation, here is what they have so far been able to ascertain; what they told Cassie:

Not only have aliens repeatedly visited our planet and interacted with humans throughout our history, but they have been responsible for our creation and evolution (to varying degrees; biological, cultural and technological). Furthermore, there are multiple and diverse types of extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional beings, several of which have traveled to Earth during our existence.
A distant tenth planet circling the edge of our solar system in obscurity, passes by Earth in its oblong revolution around Sol every 432,000 years— the length of time denoted by the Mayan long count calendar. This is the home world of large humanoid aliens misconstrued as gods-- who initially created us and gave us a semblance of civilization.
After evolving as a mutation of primate species, human kind transformed as the result of eugenics program and direct cross breeding by an alien race of beings with as many names as cultures aware of them. Combining various early hominid DNA with their own genetic material, these aliens created a hybrid servant labor race whose initial purpose was to help mine for gold (the primary interest they had in our planet). But whereas we use and desire gold for its assumed economic and decorative value, our long departed alien overlords wanted it for ecological reasons. Eventually, they produced a diversified new species of intelligent or sentient humanoids we call homo-sapiens, whose offspring became homo-sapiens-sapiens.
This is essentially what Genesis reveals, deciphered in the proper context.
We can trace origins of the human species 200,000 years ago.

So, wait… we are actually part alien? Humans are not naturally occurring, but genetically engineered?
Our history and culture are the residual side effects of that alien intervention?
How should she feel about that?
What should we think about ourselves, knowing this?
Who and what are we, in light of that phenomenal insight?
Is this intense disjointed discombobulation what it feels like to find out you are adopted? Or conceived in a test tube or vat?
Is this disorientated dissolution what American Indians and blacks feel about having their culture co-opted?
How the world feels being dictated and defined by American Imperialism?
What does that mean for the future of humanity? (How) Does that change the way we proceed? Should it? How would we have evolved without that manipulation? Would we have developed into civilization by ourselves eventually? What kind of civilization would it have been? Would we still be a variation of tribal primates? Imagine how different humanity would be if we had originated organically.
Our entire sociological, psychological, biological and technological ontology and epistemology would be substantially altered. Has anything we’ve ever done been truly ours?
Has our whole species, our entire history, been nothing but a derivative byproduct of bygone extra-terrestrials?
If so, does that invalidate or demean what we have achieved— all we have ever dreamed for and about since?

Abundant evidence planet wide, much of it hidden in plain sight and publically accessible, reveals that an advanced civilization existed in our collective pre-history.
Strange and incongruous artifacts built by an amazing and exotic technology contrary to Academia’s asserted inimical perception of our history, found in locations and among societies where they simply have no logical reason for having occurred naturally.
Entire cultures had been based on celestial events believed to be of great significance for humanity.
Or ancestors clearly had an extensive knowledge of astronomy, cosmology and mathematics that they should logically not have been capable of devising on their own, given the current level of their sociological and technological development.
The mere knowledge of precession of the equinoxes inherent within the Zodiac, and its associative sophisticated celestial mechanism, appearing in such a culture at that point in our history is astounding.
No, not just astounding; a logical and logistical impossibility— without interference from a more sophisticated outside agent.
How could these ancient people have possibly conceived of or calculated such complex processes by themselves? Knowledge of astronomical motion requires a very advanced scientific awareness and a time frame of observation that they simply could not have acquired organically or independently.
Globally, evidence is available to us now of machining techniques far beyond what those pre-historical societies should have reasonably been capable of designing.
Correlations between structures, temple alignments with celestial movements and numerical references, as well as the myths and historical record of separate ancient societies indicate springing from a common linkage in our distant past. If we pay attention to what these ancient cultures were saying about themselves in their own histories and legends, they tell us they and their knowledge came from the gods. That their society was built by gods.
The secret knowledge carried in the Messianic bloodline of Jesus Christ references this connection. Much of the early Biblical stories can easily be interpreted as documenting these accounts of alien-god influence.
Could the story of Prometheus be a metaphorical signifier of these gods?

Evidence indicates these alien arbiters, who were long considered gods , existed on this planet between circa 11,500 BC and circa 2000 BC.
According to archeological insight, for nearly 300,000 years prior to their arrival, humans had been culturally stagnant; there had been no significant technological development in societies of very early Mankind.
And then 3,500 years ago, what we define as modern Man arrived.

How could ancient drawings of dinosaurs exist, if dinosaurs are supposed to have become extinct long before the arrival of humanity?
How, unless they co-existed at some point in their mutual histories?

Uncanny parallels and similarities occur in the creation stories of Christianity, Hindu, Hebrew, Norse, American Indians, Mayans, Egyptians, Sumerians, Babylonians.
Obviously, they are influenced by a common central source of origin.
Atlantis, Lemuria and Mu were descendent antediluvian colonies of their offspring with homo-sapien lineage; cities all destroyed in a catastrophic flood.

Egyptian Pharaohs and Mayan Kings adopted and adapted a given alien culture as their own. We may infer some aspects about the aliens’ culture by examining the infrastructure of ancient Earth civilizations that integrated alien artifacts. Our own adoration, valuation and fascination for gold in the present day is a throwback to the attitude introduced by them.
The pyramids around which our ancient civilizations formed their society were an incredible architectural achievement, and yet the quality of all subsequent constructions within that culture has steadily declined and devolved.
Every aspect of Egyptian knowledge seems to have been complete from the beginning, as if their culture suddenly and inexplicably emerged fully formed, rather than having grown and evolved organically. No precursor developments exist that could account for and lead up to that level of knowledge at that point in their own history. Sciences, arts and architectural techniques and language systems show virtually no sign of inception.
Inexplicably, the achievements of these earlier eras were never equaled or surpassed.

How did distinct, isolated and disparate cultures all around the planet happen to acquire such remarkably similar cultural, technological and religious elements-- and apparently had no contact with each other-- unless they shared and derived from a common source?
There is sufficient proof to conclude that more than one, but related, ancient civilizations existed in the darkness of antiquity. Are we supposed to believe this is the accidental remnant of archetypal manifestations from our collective unconscious?
Not coincidence… evidence; hidden in plain sight.

This advanced alien civilization clearly possessed (and left for us) complex craftsmanship, knowledge and manufacturing… but utilized such rudimentary materials and the aesthetic of a seemingly primitive culture on Earth. Were cities built this way on their own world?
Or was this just an expediency of an Earth bound outpost?
Different eras, different cultures have different mentalities and perspectives.
So it is difficult for us to understand and accept the hows and whys of their foreign culture.
Ancient humans learned to perform and perpetuate extant technology provided by the aliens, but not how to develop or evolve it on their own.
Their origins have grown so old, so lost to time, that their own rituals, customs and roots of their society and technology have become myth to them. They no longer maintained knowledge of the purpose of those cultural artifacts and processes.
The source of those things have been so long gone, that it is commonly not believed to have even existed today.
Our common, consensus view of history is quite clearly wrong.
And instead of trying to discover and understand the truth of our history, we are collectively (and ignorantly) complicit and negligent in perpetuating a sort of deliberately insistent historical fiction. To challenge ideas taken for granted by our own culture is difficult for us— especially when the vast majority of us are not aware if an idea is taken for granted, and do not think to consider that history as we are told might be otherwise.
Exotic exceptions contravening the official story are routinely rejected by Academia-- and therefore by society, as a matter of course. That is not how science is supposed to operate; this is a blatant defiance of science.
An epic monomythic conspiracy of contemporary culture is being waged against us; akin to lies parents tell their children. Maybe something monstrous had been crammed into human form, while anyone who notices is likely to lose their train of thought.
Our governments work diligently to provide as many distractions to our daily lives as they can, to keep the population preoccupied, so as to not notice or even care about the deception being orchestrated against, around and through them.
Cassie watches all the various documentaries covering the subject of Ancient Astronauts and Ancient Civilizations and Alien Visitation, but are invariably composed as sensational tabloid expose, framing the questions with either an implication of “what if?” or nothing more than a kind of speculative fiction based on circumstantial evidence and over-active imagination. Ultimately, they can be reduced to “We don’t Know what really happened.”
Or “We aren’t allowed to tell you”.

Where these alien gods went, why they left us (and for so long), when/ if they might return, or even if they still exist is currently unknown to Arcanum. But theorists within the group hypothesize that these aliens left because they had gathered enough gold from this planet, and were no longer getting sufficient return on their investment, because humans were becoming more trouble than they were worth to the aliens. Will they ever come back?
If so, when?
And why? And what then?

“There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life.”
“If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences.” --H. P. Lovecraft

Read more: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/h/h_p_lovecraft.html#ixzz1oRSQU3XP

http://thecrowhouse.com/Documents/Earths%20Forbidden%20Secrets%20Part%20One.pdf

Wait For It: Lindsay Lohan

I’ve never been impressed with Lindsay Lohan as an actor. I have never even liked any movies she’s been in.
That may have as much or more to do with the low quality of her filmography, so far, than her actual acting ability. I believe she has not really had the opportunity to shine, but I think she can.
And yet, I am rooting for Lindsay to become the great actress she now declares that she hopes and strives to become, in the process of reviving her acting career.
I have no investment in her potential victory— other than emotional; but for reasons I have difficulty articulating, I want her to succeed. I want Lindsay Lohan to do well, to exceed and surpass her tabloid travails.
Why?
Just to get this out of the way: I confess that, while I think she is pretty, I’m not particularly attracted to her.
But there is something alluring and fascinating about Lindsay that appeals to me. Maybe something to do with her kindly, adventurous, playful demeanor. Maybe her genuine wish and intent to be a better actor, and regret for her indiscretions getting in the way of that pursuit.
The vibrant and sincere earnestness with which she now asserts in reclaiming and transforming her life to make it better, to be better. Maybe it is her childlike nature and hopeful, well meaning optimism.
Maybe I like seeing the underdog win.
Maybe because I enjoy discovering the rise and development of new artistic talent; the joy and fun of witnessing the blossoming of a great actor. Such is an experience of beauty, of awe.
I want her to prove her critics and haters wrong, to prove that she can be the great actress Lindsay said she aspires to be. I really hope she does. I really hope the world lets her.
And so, I watched her appearance on Saturday Night Live with tentative optimism; hoping she wins, but expecting her to fail. Admittedly, she— alas-- didn’t do a good job.
I was disappointed for her (and in her) miserable performance. But keep in mind, and to be fair, she has not been seriously engaged with acting for a while; she’s out of practice, so we should be forgiving and sympathetic if she isn’t brilliant straight out of the gate. She was clearly rusty: the obviousness of her cue card reading, flubbed lines, and poor pacing. She was plainly and understandably nervous and struggling; certainly aware that this could be make or break time for her, that her performances would be under a giant microscope of public scrutiny. She’s going to need more training before she is capable of a role like Liz Taylor.
It didn’t help that the SNL producers didn’t give her much to work with, or much screen time. No amount of good acting could have saved their awful scripting. Plus, this was LIVE; no re-takes and no take backs. She got one shot, and unfortunately she blew it. Watching her “come back” SNL episode was painful and heartbreaking to watch (more so than typical for SNL in recent years), but the producers are at least AS responsible for her poor showing as Lindsay-- if not more so… for not providing adequate guidance and for putting her on stage before she was ready.
She was pretty much set up to fail; and whether that was intentional or not is debatable.
But ultimately, I conceived her SNL participation as-- at worst-- a kind of rehearsal, a practice run… not deserving to be judged too critically. Or harshly.
As disappointed as I was about her poor SNL performances, I was much more disappointed (dismayed, really) about the vitriolic and malicious public display of schadenfreude.
The vast majority of the negative criticisms cavalierly and ignorantly waged against Lindsay had nothing to do with helping her or making her a better actor. And may only contribute in further destroying the career of someone who is publicly struggling to improve herself.
We could at least have the decency and maturity to give her a chance and the time to become better; Lindsay has just begun her transformation. Development is a process, a journey… not a moment. To use a Buffy metaphor: Right now, Lindsay is cookie dough, freshly placed in the oven. She’s not done yet. Let’s let her finish baking. Even George Clooney was mediocre until his Batman movie. But after, he transitioned into a magnificent actor.
What we should be doing, instead of public ridicule, bullying and berating, is promoting civility and mindfulness in what we say about others.
In this age of increasing social responsibility, we must rally to help those who want to get better and improve themselves. We should aim to help each other where we are able, and to do no harm.
If we want a culture which fosters the best in us, we must first be willing and able to enable ourselves and each other to do so.

Speaking of Independent Artist...

...these three TED videos insightfully comment on the core of creativity; and are brilliant works of art themselves:



Plus, this:

Through Visionary Temple artist Sandeep Chandran has produced stunningly beautiful digital sculpture which can be cast in resin or glass via the method of colored glaze.

short story: Introspection In The Preservation

“The sum of man's problems come from his inability to be alone in a silent room.” --Blaise Pascal; consistent with Carl Jung

:::2005:::
“You’ll have to get rid of your gun,” ordered Nicolette Adams, matter of factly.
Wayne Gordon stared blankly at her, confused. On the verge of agitation.
“Wha- why?!” he wondered aloud, his brow contorted in apparent bafflement, and suspicion.
“Nightshade has no use for guns,” she instructed him. “If we are going to work together, the first rule— the first lesson, is no guns.”
Arms distance across from her, Wayne stood there, mouth hung open, unsure what to say.
He would have to get rid of his gun?
The gun he’s carried the last 10 years like a precious family heirloom? The gun that has faithfully served him so well, for so long? The gun that has been instrumental in saving not only his life many times, but the lives of his Unknown X teammates AND civilians? Maybe even the whole world?!
His beloved black with silver trim 9 millimeter Beretta?
“Despite common opinion,” she advised, hoping to ease his discomfort and transition, “The Gun is not a sign of power.”
When she said ‘The Gun’, it was capitalized by her tone.
“It is a sign of weakness,” she lectured with hands linked behind her back, pacing in stentorian tones like drill sergeant, “The Gun becomes a substitute for strength. In our society, The Gun is regarded as a tool and symbol of power. But that’s an illusion. The Gun is for manipulating or neutralizing others because you lack the power to do so without a gun. The Gun is used when negotiation is untenable. If you really had power, you would not need a gun. The only proper use of a gun is defense and survival. If you wield a gun offensively, you are doing it wrong. The Gun is a weapon of choice for thugs, the insecure, the dimwitted and the desperate. The Gun is fear based, too easily becoming a crutch, a cop out, a cheat of expediency. I will teach you how to not rely guns, to not need to use them, to be more clever and resourceful. What happens if you lose it in a fight, or run out of ammo? Where are you then? What if The Gun isn’t enough? It provides a false sense of security, a tenuous illusion of control. It is true that guns don’t kill people, people do. In using a gun, you do not have the power. The Gun doesn’t even have the power. A person’s fear of what guns can do has the power. Guns have no power, give no power. We give The Gun its power in the assumption, the belief in its power. When you imbue guns with power, they attain power over you— whether they are pointed at you or by you.”

Why did Nicolette adopt the Nightshade crusade? She did not trust law enforcement and the legal system— which was clearly more interested in harassment, punishment and incarceration than justice and rehabilitation, serving and protecting.
When police can legally rob and harass you on a whim, for not having a sticker on your car, or a broken tail light, or not telling them where you live… when the intent of the law is crushed by the word of law, then the law becomes a fraud, invalid. They— the laws and those who enforce them-- do not deserve our respect, cooperation, compliance or honesty.

:::2007:::
Wayne Gordon (age 34) sat gazing at the large, elegantly framed photo of Nicolette Adams beside her former mentor and partner, Natori. He knew they were partners-- in every sense of the word; married in every way that matters (which is to say, not legally).
What he did not know, could not know (because Nicolette has had no reason to mention it) is that although Natori was just as much a lesbian as Nicolette, she was also hermaphrodite.
Their mutual affection was obvious, radiating from the picture like sunlight… giving Wayne a case of warm fuzzies.
In frame, Nicolette’s dark hair exploded from her head like a glorious mass of twisted confetti, interspersed with deviant strands tinted blue and gold. Her skin is the hue of chocolate milk, and Wayne loved the color-- and flavor-- of chocolate milk.
You might say she looks like actor Jasika Nicole, except more buff.
Her companion had the lighter skin of Caucasian, and shoulder length deep brown hair, looking much like actor Caroline Dhavernas, and even more muscular than Nicolette. Vacillating between Victoria and Natasha, Natori’s parents could not decide on a name for their daughter.
So, also being the kind of eccentricity that only comes from the prerogative of being insanely wealthy or insanely liberal (of which they were both), they chose both names, combining them into Natori Victasha.
Back in the day, Natori and Nicolette were the double Ns; their mutual pet name became Dublin.
Even though separated by space, time and circumstance, they still loved each other.
Neither of them were in costume.
An amateur photographer, in the sense that she is not paid for it, Nicolette had taken the picture in her intrinsic style. She is professional in artistic skill, she would say, but not in vocation.
“You’re awful quiet, over there by yourself,” Nicolette (now age 36) commented from the periphery, as she finished watching the newest LonesomeGirl episode online, disrupting his silent reverie (Wayne had already seen it). There is the inherent— though perhaps unintentional-- insinuation or presumption that being quiet or alone means something must be wrong.
“Harrumph,” Wayne Gordon harrumphed snidely, “interesting choice of words.”
“How so?” she asked, maneuvering her wheelchair over to where he sat on the couch in their shared studio loft apartment. These days, she wore her hair nearly sheered slightly longer than Wayne’s (who resembled actor Brian Austin Green). He did not think it coincidental that she cut off her hair almost immediately after she got in that wheelchair three weeks ago. After having her back indefinitely broken when she was traumatically thrown off the roof of a three story building while grappling with one of the bad guys. Usually, annoyance would probably follow such a disturbance, but he made an exception for her.
Despite her current physical infirmity, her indomitable spirit remained intact.
She exuded a natural effervescence and kindliness that acted like a non-addictive air borne narcotic, infusing most people in her vicinity with a sense of calming bliss.
You might say that amity was her mutant power. They had developed an affinity for each other, these last few years.
Staying mad at her, or in her presence, was exceedingly difficult and short lived.
“What’s so awful about quiet?”, he answered, shifting his posture and attention toward his friend and colleague. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interjected pre-emptively, guessing her forming rebuttal.
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” assured Wayne, waving his hand in a dismissive halting motion, assuaging any possibility of accidental hurt feelings, “but the popular belief that there’s something innately wrong with being quiet is a pet peeve of mine.”
Wayne Gordon is what is commonly described as the strong silent type. In many ways his opposite, she was extroverted, whereas he was not.
“Ah, that,” she understood, “society’s implied bias against introversion.”
“Yes, that,” he groused insolently, aware that she already knew about the inciting phenomenon, but not of his grievance, denouncing in further elaboration, “in contemporary society, life is increasingly cluttered with egotistical chatter. The ideal self is portrayed as outgoing, outspoken, comfortable with social interaction and attention. In Westernized society-- especially in America-- schools, work places, religious institutions… even our stories are designed to favor extroverts, and aligned against introverts.”
“Much like women throughout most of history,” Nicolette noted, in consolingly sympathy, “introverts are treated as second-class citizens, and somehow defective. But by sidelining and demeaning introversion, we invariably neglect and abuse half the population. Another form of prejudice akin to misogyny and homophobia, devaluing introversion is a waste of untapped talent and energy.”
“Huh,” Wayne vocalized his pleasant surprise, with a grin, at her commiserate insight, “I like that metaphor.”
Nicolette was the rare kind of person with a unique knack for nurturing; she could make you feel relevant and accepted and appreciated just by giving you her attention, by caring about you.
“Ya know,” she observed, “you’re right. We’re losing the ability to self- edit. There is way too much talking and not enough listening. Not enough thinking before speaking. Or instead of speaking. We live in a society that prizes and promotes action-oriented people, and being in motion, participating and connecting; there’s a presumption of guilt or fault assigned to inaction, contemplation and solitude. Which is clearly nonsense. Even inaction can be a valid form of action. Thinking is not the same as doing nothing. Throughout history, our greatest thinkers and artists have usually created their best work in quiet solitude.”
“Trueness. Most of the time, I’d much rather,” Wayne volunteered, “sit and read or think about things or watch TV than talk to people. If I don’t want to talk to someone, it isn’t necessarily about them. It’s exhausting and frustrating for me, as an introvert, to force or be forced into extroversion. Especially for extended time.”
Thinking this might be a hint that Wayne wanted alone time, and she wanting to not intrude on her friend, Nicolette started to turn her chair away and leave him to his privacy, saying without malice, “I can go if you want to be alone.”
But she stopped when he spoke up again, protesting, ”No, wait.
I didn’t mean for you to go away. It’s ok, you’re not bothering me. You can stay. If you want.”
“Sure,” she consented, with a friendly smile, “I can do that.”
Anticipating he had more to say, she waited.
“I was thinking about origin stories,” Wayne revealed, after a few seconds of companionable silence, referring back to Nicolette’s initial concern about his quietude, “particularly yours. And mine.”
“Oh?” said Nicolette, her eye brow raised, implying curiosity and encouraging him to explain.
“Do you know what’s like,” Wayne inquired with a somber sigh, sounding tired, “to forget yourself? When you wake up? Recently, I feel like I’m carefully boarding a bus, trying to not touch anyone… so as to not disintegrate them.”
She sat quietly several seconds, staring at her lap, diligently pondering the enigmatic analogy.
Wayne could see she was contemplating the addlepated puzzle, and patiently waited as she thought it over, not disturbing her concentration.
Then, after nearly two minutes, she looked up at him and offered a riddle for his consideration, “Return to where you will be. Return to where you’ve never been.”

:::2005:::
“I’m leaving,” Natori announced to Nicolette without ceremony.
Caught in a miasma of conflicting emotions, unsure what the proper response should be, lacking context, Nicolette inquired warily, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I’m not leaving you,” assured Natori, “I’m just leaving.”
“Well, that clarifies everything,” sarcastically exclaimed an exasperated Nicolette in a snarky grin, not quite getting what must be some kind of joke.
“I’m not breaking up with you,” explained Natori, “but I’m going away. Permanently.”
“What’s the difference?” pleaded Nicolette, perturbed, worried about where this was going.
“You have the potential to be an extraordinary Nightshade,” she informed her beloved. Better than me, even. But as long as I’m here, you’ll always be in my shadow, always depending on me to guide you, always subservient. I’m standing in your way. I’m a distraction. You need to learn to stand on your own. For the sake of the mission. So… I’m leaving.”
To say Nicolette was shocked and dismayed by this news would be the proverbial understatement.
Intellectually, Nicolette could comprehend and appreciate that Natori was right.
But emotionally, she was torn apart… ripped inside out, upside down and crossways.
She stood there, staring at her partner in disbelief, eyes shimmering, jaw clenched as she tried-- and failed-- to hold back tears. She struggled to quell her anger and confusion, to keep in control of her emotions like Natori taught her. Her ambivalence was palpable, floating in the air.
She would gladly and willingly give her partner whatever she wanted. She wanted to be able to. But she didn’t want to have to. Not this.
Natori glanced away, so as to spare Nicolette the indignity of an audience.
And to keep herself from crying as she blinked away her own tears, clearing her throat awkwardly. Natori was always the stronger of the two of them.
Nicolette drowned in quiet resignation for several seconds that seemed much longer, then said, “Where will you go? What are you gonna do?”
“I think it’s best if you don’t know,” replied Natori, “I don’t want you following me. You should find your own way. Without me. I’ve taught you all I can?”
“So all this time,” Nicolette preposterously blurted out through delicately tumultuous disposition, “I was just your--” she scrambled clumsily for the right word, and came up feebly with “your sidekick?”
This valediction of Dublin was exerted, she realized, because Natori loved Nightshade, Natori’s vigilante crusade, more than her. What she was saying, is that Nightshade was more important to her than their relationship.
Natori simply tilted her head and gave Nicolette a condescendingly withering, chastising glare of incredulity; as if to say: Really, Dearest Dublin? You know that’s not true.
“I’m not saying forget about me,” apprised Natori with stoic, but tender, resolve, “or that I’ll forget about you. Only that I want you to go on without me, now.”

:::Back in 2007:::
“When she left,” Nicolette thought out loud, gesturing to her lady friend in the photo, “she was as old as I am this year.”
Wayne nodded in quiet assent, looking into Natori’s bright eyes in search of some elusive and mysterious clue about the woman who had mentored his mentor.
This amazing person whose legacy he helped carry on.
“Hey,” declared Nicolette, excited by her imminent suggestion, and inspired to create something, “let’s do a photo of us!”
“Really?” mused Wayne, stunned by the honor of the sentiment in that offer.
“Yeah,” she approved, enthusiastically, “I’ll hang it beside the other. It’ll be a thing. And maybe some day you can add to it.”
~~~
the power of introverts... http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com
As introvert advocate Susan Cain would tell you, one third to one half of humans are introverts – that’s one out of every two or three people you know. From a very young age, we categorize children as social or shy, usually privileging the social designation.
In a society that prizes the bold and outgoing, introversion is perceived as disadvantage. However, the disposition that stops to consider stimuli rather than rushing to engage with them is associated with intellectual and artistic achievement.
Most schools and workplaces typically organize workers and students into groups, misguidedly believing that creativity and productivity come from a gregarious place.
When you’re working in a group, you are not only distracted by the concerns and expectations-- or mere presence-- of others in that group, but also it’s hard to know or determine what you truly think independent of group influence or interference.
Most creative people in many fields of study and enterprise are usually introverts. This is probably because introverts are comfortable spending time alone, and solitude is a crucial (and underrated) ingredient for creativity.
If you want to do something that requires sustained performance and paying attention for long periods of time, introversion is beneficial.
Introversion is often considered synonymous with shyness, but they are not interchangeable. Shyness is the fear of negative judgment; introversion is simply the preference for less external stimulation. Shyness is indicative of inherent discomfort; introversion is not.
One of the greatest misconceptions about introversion is that they are anti-social; they are not—actually, they are differently social.
Introverts prefer quiet, internal, minimally social environments, while extroverts want higher levels of outward engagement to feel their best. Stimulation comes in all forms – social stimulation, but also lights, noise, activity.
Many introverts feel there is something wrong with them (are made to feel deficient by societal expectations), and try to pretend to be extroverts. But whenever you try to pass as something you’re not, you lose a part of yourself in the process. Instead of going to parties and socializing and networking, introverts would really rather be alone doing any variety of quiet and worthwhile activities: reading, watching movies, studying, thinking, creating, meditating, cooking, exploring.
An aptitude for methodical process often gets mistaken for lack of ambition or, worse, laziness.
Introverts are more likely to be misunderstood for wanting, and thriving in, quiet solitude. They don't talk as much as extroverts, and they're not as visible interpersonally. Because introverts tend to be more socially aloof, it is frequently erroneously associated to certain types of psychological disorders.
They tend to be motivated not by ego or a desire for attention and recognition, but by dedication to their larger goal. They encourage others’ ideas instead of trying to put their own stamp on things.
The 1900s saw a shift away from a “culture of character” to one of personality, much of it aligned with the rise of the salesman.
This mentality has fostered the corporate and consumerist mindset of selling and favoring short term results over long term, i.e.- instant gratification.
Introverts are not designed for small talk and multi-tasking.
They are not as good at processing a rapid-fire stream of information intake. They’re much better at isolated intellectual situations where they can focus more extensively and thoroughly on one subject. They prefer real, genuine conversation over meaningless chit chat.
Our culture suffers greatly from a loss of solitude, silence and simplicity.
All traits of the introvert.

Nikola Tesla: From childhood I was compelled to concentrate attention upon myself. This caused me much suffering, but to my present view, it was a blessing in disguise for it has taught me to appreciate the inestimable value of introspection in the preservation of life, as well as a means of achievement.
The pressure of occupation and the incessant stream of impressions pouring into our consciousness through all the gateways of knowledge make modern existence hazardous in many ways. Most persons are so absorbed in the contemplation of the outside world that they are wholly oblivious to what is passing on within themselves.
The premature death of millions is primarily traceable to this cause.
Even among those who exercise care, it is a common mistake to avoid imaginary, and ignore the real dangers. And what is true of an individual also applies, more or less, to a people as a whole.

So You See...

They Grow Upon The Eyes : a compelling sci-fi thriller by Pete Worrall. Excusing the abundant typos and a few narrative/ structural errors (that would have been avoided if only Pete hired me), this debut novel presents a well written story and great authorly potential. The story is not ruined or invalidated by its many careless errors-- a credit to how solid the story is; which defies, and more than makes up for, those mistakes. Usually, such plentiful blemishing is indicative of a poorly crafted tale due to a lack of talent and aegis. But like my book But The Owl Knows—also regrettably tainted by several careless typos, these inconsequential marrings are not born from incompetence, but an eager passion to bring the book to fruition.

Story telling is an art form, though often unsung and under-rated; and blogging can be deployed as a kind of story telling. On Wil Wheaton’s blog , readers are gifted with amusing, insightful and brilliantly composed anecdotes, observations and social commentaries from his experiences as a writer, actor, father, husband, geek and decent human keen to remind us (in word and deed): Don’t be a dick!”.
Eric Freitas designs interesting steam punkish clocks

Staying In Character

Considering that I’m an advocate for increasing diversity of characters in narrative fiction, it may seem odd or hypocritical that not only is my main character (Cassandra O'Brien) caucasian in my Arcanum fiction, but so are most of my "minor" characters. Why? How did this happen?
As much as I endorse and encourage increasing the prevalence and presence of non- white characters in our stories, I also believe we should not contrive them “just because”. Because if you force your characters to be something they are not, then they become false, inauthentic. Maybe it is due to my experience as a white male existing in white person dominated social circles, but I’ve always envisioned my white characters in Arcanum as white people. Cassie O’Brien appeared to me as a white woman.
To make her anything else would not be right; because “anything else” is not what she is.
I could have made her mentor Professor Nelson a woman. Indeed, ideally, I would actually prefer if that character were a woman-— putting an older female in a position of power/ authority, and contravening the "older man teacher" trope.
I would not have to change much of anything to make him into a her… but that is not how the character manifested in my imagination. Instead, I made his assistant not only a woman, but a white woman! Which, on a certain level, goes against my desire for a more diverse cast of characters, and to aschew tropes.
But that character is a middle aged white woman in my mind. Nothing I could do about that.
Coincidentally, Cassie’s friend Efram is a white male; not subservient to the main character, but equal.
Although Cassie is the main character, she is never portrayed or intended as superior to or “better than” the rest of the cast. When I initially made Cassie’s other friend Akasha another white female, she seemed off, didn’t feel right.
Not just because there was a sense of imbalance... not because there were too many white people--- but because I realized that Akasha was not white. She was supposed to be Japanese. Furthermore, unlike my other characters, she happens to be gay. The only gay person in the ensemble. Not because she is designed as a token homosexual, but because that is who she is. Or rather, part of what she is. Likewise with Cassie’s friend Gevrall, I didn’t make him black to be a token black guy, but because he came to my mind as a black man.
And as with Efram… Akasha and Gevrall are depicted as being on even standing with Cassie. Akasha and Gevrall are not less than Cassie or Efram because Gevrall is black and Akasha is female and Asian.
Also, Gevrall and Akasha are not victims or vehicles of racial or cultural cliche. Nor does Cassie suffer from female stereotypes.
And none of Cassie’s supporting cast are actually treated as support personnel; none are “less than” for not being the main character, nor for not being a dreamwalker.
By happenstance and not design, my cast has an evenly split ratio between male and female; one gender does not dominate.
I do have a variety of other races playing guest roles, but most of the primary cast is white.
Ultimately, what’s more important than diversity is making racial, gender or sexual characteristics irrelevant or moot as defining traits. It doesn’t matter what race, gender or sexual orientation they are.
What matters is that they be allowed and enabled to be themselves. I don’t want race, gender or sexual orientation be a major defining factor in who they are.
Just as you do not (or should not) put someone in a position merely based on their gender or race instead of based on qualifications and merit, you don't properly manufacture characters this way, either. They should be generated according to the story they develop from and within.
Always, Story is paramount, and should be developed organically… not dictated to or constrained by agenda.
As in real life, such details are—and should be treated as-- only pieces, not the whole of them.

Bursting Of Bubbles: Superhero comic books

Liberals speak of Conservatives as existing inside a perceptual “Bubble”, meaning those inside that metaphorical bubble only associate with conservatives, and therefore are only ever exposed to conservative political ideas—which are then, inevitably reinforced and perpetuated as truth.

Mainstream comic book publishers— at least and in particular DC Comics— appear to reside in a similar bubble, where they are out of touch with the real world beyond their publishing offices.
For the last 30 years, in those offices, (judging by the books) a sort of temporal anomaly has formed, creating an atmosphere or impression of being eternally America somewhere between 1985 and 1995— with the simplistic storytelling and misogynistic attitudes inherent in that era.
Largely, they are still trying to produce comics as if it were still 1990, using outdated models.
In the millennial age, comic books are suffering from an extreme case of McComics—the McDonaldsification of comic books, in which material is standardized and simplified, rather than customized and personalized. And as with public education and any mass media, results are the same: mediocre crap.
The fundamental flaw that exists in the comic industry, especially within DC Comics… is they cater too much to readers who grew up (or maybe didn’t literally grow up) with their characters from the old days, instead of attempting to attract and appeal to new and younger readers who are growing up right now… instead of offering newer and contemporarily relevant characters.
They repeatedly continue to recycle and reboot the same characters for 50 years, instead of creating new ones, for a new age. I’m referring primarily to superhero comics; what most of us usually think of when talking of comic books.
We get a repetitive rehash of Superman, Batman and Spiderman… as if no new characters could possibly be devised.
These days, stories and "big events” are innately designed for and targeted to those who got into comics in the 1980s or 1990s-- not the younger readers that might become new life-long comic book fans today. Comic books themselves are also currently stuck in a kind of bubble, stagnating in the residue of yester-year nostalgia and continuity. A constant desire to chase or replicate past glories is inherently and inevitably aimed at those old(er) readers, not bringing in new fans.
Therefore, logically and regardless of intentions or declarations otherwise, comics publishers are generally going to attract the stereotypical comic book reader of the ‘80s.
Because comic book content is often and predominately aimed at the immature male demographic and ridiculous niche stereotype; under-sexed 30 year-old men still living in their parents’ basement who get off on naked female superheroes and characters getting shot up, cut up and blown up. Despite an erroneously persistent common conception of comic book readers, most of them are actually not children. Increasingly over the last 30 years, many of them are adults— as those who started reading comics as kids continued the hobby into adulthood. Compounding the sorrowful dilemma of children reading less books, comics are not really so inviting or interesting to most children anymore. Comics are not just for kids anymore. In many cases, alas, they are not even for kids at all. Frequently, nor are they designed for females.
Further alienating new/ younger readers is the unfortunate trend (in comics and cable TV) of narrative debauchery and debasement, with stories and subject matter written for (clearly depraved) adults, and inappropriate for anyone under age 18.
What rational and responsible parent would approve or encourage their kids, even teenagers, to read such gratuitously violent, over-sexed and demeaning material?