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078: The Rediscovery Sphere

When I was in short pant school, I came up with the phrase "sphere of personal influence" which was funny the first time I said it and after that it became just another example of how much a geek I really was. I couldn't just say, "Hey, you're standing too close to me." It had to be: "Ah, you're inside my sphere of personal influence." As you can imagine, there is very little which communicates more effectively to the team on the other side of the volleyball net that you are a kid who will be afraid of the ball when it comes hurtling across the net at your noggin.

There are invisible spheres which we carry with us -- headspaces, if you will. We climb inside of these spheres and they protect us, they ward us against the external forces coming to bear. Our very own occult circles, imagined by our paranoia and made real by our inadequacies and fears. But not all of the circles which Solomon built were intended as protective, some granted assistance or aided you in your searches. The Rediscovery Sphere is that bubble in which you store your other self.

I have a day job -- that eight hour existence which keeps the roof over my head and allows me the luxuries which I enjoy -- and my writing time is slices that I steal during the other hours when I'm not sleeping. And, as such, my existence is somewhat schizophrenic: all that I become during the writing process must be quickly swept aside when other priorities take effect. I have to be able to sweep everything into the Rediscovery Sphere where it will hang in space until I can get to it once again.

I call this the "Rediscovery" sphere because when I come back to it -- if I've been away for awhile -- I have to rediscover the self which I have deposited here. I have to reassemble the pieces which I've so hurried tossed aside previously. Things have a tendency to change if you leave them in the sphere too long. It's almost as if moss grows. I need an effective moss-killer or, at least, a way to come and go in this sphere without leaving dead things which fester.

Posted by Teppo at 08:09 AM | Comments (0) March 13, 2004

077: The Active Conspiracy

It's turning into a gorgeous Saturday -- most of the early fog has burned off the water and I can almost see the white caps of the Cascade Range off to the east. My office is downstairs and the only window I have looks out at the cracked and weather-beaten planks of the fence separating our yard from the neighbors. This is the reason I have my desk facing the opposite wall.

However, this morning I'm on Baby Watch and I'm upstairs at the dining room table and the view from either window up here is the "limited water view" which our property assessment reads. The days have become noticeably longer as well. Sunrise happens near the beginning and end of my daily train commute; we no longer travel in darkness up the valley to Seattle.

As you can well imagine, the solitary act of writing is tough to accomplish in environments like this. We need our dark holes in which to craft our magic. You never imagine the alchemist's laboratory as having 360 degree floor-to-ceiling windows or an expansive deck which looks out across water or lush forests. You always think of dark cells, bleak dungeons, underground laboratories, forgotten oubliettes and barricaded garrets when you imagine where the creative process takes place.

Conspiracy theorists have the same trouble. No one really believes them during the daytime. There's no place for monsters to hide in sunlight. Subterfuge and evil machinations can't go out during the daytime, we tell ourselves. Following the byzantine threads of an ancient plot to control our minds and our souls is impossible against a backdrop of spring flowers and bright afternoons.

There's a conspiracy at the heart of THE BOOK OF LIES. Naturally. There's more than one, actually, and I'm sitting here in the warm sunlight, trying to think like a conspirator. But it's tough. It's a good day to do very little, which is exactly the attitude THEY want me to have.

If there is an agency whose raison d'etre is to control the minds and spirits of the population and the population is fairly content with their lot in life, could you actually consider the actions of this agency to be a conspiracy? Against what? If we don't care that we're being controlled, then aren't we tacitly agreeing to being participants in their plan? Is "conspiracy" simply then just "policy"?

And, if someone stumbles upon this "policy" and decides that it is wrong and must be overthrown, then aren't they the conspirators?

Posted by Teppo at 11:13 AM | Comments (1) March 08, 2004

076: Last Modified

The "Last Modified" flag on a Word file is not your friend; this little detail which stares at you unblinkingly is the sort of reminder which the self-conscious writer hates to read. "Last modified on 2/26/04." What have I been doing since the end of February? I ask myself. Will I even remember where I left off?

With all honesty, I'm having to admit that I don't have as much time as I would like; I don't have the luxury of uninterrupted hours in which to crank out several thousand words. Flow -- if it ever something which I might be able to capture again -- will have to exist in a suspended state, a nebulous cloud of stored work which hangs in my head and that I can easily dip into as necessary. Writing will become even more of a process of transcription as if I were just an agent through which the Divine were speaking. ("Mr. Kelly, I am ready. Please look into the scrying stone now.")

I've been spending time being fussy -- petulant, even -- and I haven't accomplished much other than annoy and frustrate my family. It's a vicious loop, actually, as this energy gets reflected back on me (and as I devour myself with guilt for instilling it in the first place) and, when writing time actually occurs, it isn't terribly constructive. My wife bluntly pointed out last night that it doesn't really matter what I've found to complain about, it's the act of being dissatisifed that I really cleave to, and she's right. It's easier to bitch about not having time and/or energy and/or the proper work space than to just get down and do it. Because when you're stuck in this headspace, you have an excuse handy when someone asks about your work. "Oh, it's not ready," you say and insert whatever excuse you're using this week.

It's your fear of acceptance talking. It's your fear of not being liked that is swimming in your throat. It's the fear that what you're making isn't worth anyone's time. If it is never finished, then it is easy to call the work the "most amazing thing in the world" because it may very well be so in your head.

Push on, young soldiers, push on. Open that file. Do not be frightened off by delays and doubts and the FEAR.

This is how the Monday morning pep-talk goes.

Posted by Teppo at 08:02 AM | Comments (2) March 04, 2004

075: Missed Opportunities

I watched the premier of Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital last night, and I want my money back. I saw the original Kingdom -- Lars Von Trier's sepia-tone vision -- in the theaters when it had a limited US run back in 1996 and felt that if I had to pitch the series to movie executives that my simple statement would have been: Twin Peaks in a hospital. King's version, which is going to run like a two-legged dog for another thirteen weeks, may be classified the same way, but with the additional caveat of "as imagined by a first year film student."

I don't know who the hack is that they've got directing the pilot (and, frankly, this is one thing that Twin Peaks got right -- get someone who knows something about atmosphere to direct your opening shot), but Craig R. Baxley is a case study in missing opportunities. He apparently doesn't know much about atmosphere or direction (though, checking IMDB, it looks like he's had a long career as a stuntman/stunt coordinator before becoming the red right hand of King's teleplay work).

Not that King's script was any tighter. The teleplay tottered and collapsed under the weight of excessive dialogue. From the inane voiceover which spoiled the entire mystery as to why Kingdom Hospital was haunted -- they had to tell us three times that Hospital lay on "uneasy ground" in case we weren't smart enough to figure it out for ourselves after the historical flashback -- to the poorly rendered and reserved mental dialogue that the painter carried on with after he had been hit by the van to the laconic and folksy voices which were inserted to give the animals human voice, there was just too much talking. And maybe I just don't remember the original all that well or maybe it was a factor of it being subtitled which forced me to concentrate more on the action than the tersely worded dialogue that ran across the bottom of the screen. Regardless, what debuted last night was toothless, dull, and pandering even to eight year olds.

Which makes me miss Mark Frost's All Saints that much more. That would have done something.

Anyway, to tie this into the discussion about sound. Here's one suggestion as to what would have made Kingdom Hospital more memorable. The painter is out for a run, listening to his aw-shucks countrified rock music on his headphones. He's got one of those Walkman's which you strap to your hand so that you can run hands-free. The song he's listening to is blaring through his headphones. This should be all that we hear because this is what he hears.

He gets hit by the truck, left by the side of the road, hallucinates the ant-eater, sees the truck driver who finds him, and is eventually rescued by EMTs. All of this should have happened from his perspective with the music going. We know his getting hit by the van is a stand-in event for King's own accident; we can imagine what happens when someone gets fucked up by a speeding truck. What we don't know is how terrifying and horrible it would be to lie by the side of the road, unable to move, unable to turn off the music being pumped into your ears. You're cut off from the outside world, trapped in your own insulated bubble, and all you can hear is the music. You can't hear what the guy who hit you is blubbering before he runs off, you can't hear what the truck driver is saying when he finds you, you can't hear what the EMTs are saying as they diagnose your wounds. All you can do is stare at their horrified expressions as they look at your mangled body and listen to that fucking music.

You couldn't even hear yourself scream when they move you. You can feel it in your throat as you cry yourself hoarse; you can feel the echo of your pain in the back of your mouth. It feels like they've left part of you by the roadside, but you can't even turn your head and see which part. They may be trying to tell you, but no one has turned off the Walkman yet. It just spins on, keeping you in the prison of your own personal soundtrack.

Posted by Teppo at 06:06 AM | Comments (0) March 01, 2004

074: Running Solo

A question posited to me after I posted the quote from Berendt's book was: Would I rather lose my hearing or my sight? If you had the choice. I can't say that I'm eager to lose either, but if I HAD to, I'd lose my hearing. Which tears me up because I love listening to music. The rest of the noise of human culture -- the whining, the bitching, the constant drone of consumerism, the perpetual bla-bla-bla of disquietude -- I wouldn't miss. But music and the sound of the wind in the trees: these I would miss.

Because, you see, you can still function in human society without your hearing. You aren't a drain on someone else's resources if you can still see. It's when you lose your eyesight that you're solidly fucked. And I understand that there are people who manage quite well without their eyesight and I marvel at their tenacity and ability, but, in the self-reliance department, you're not a solo agent any longer.

Joseph Campbell's Hero Cycle argues that the hero is always alone, either in his cause (he's the only one brave enough, stupid enough, strong enough, etc... to accomplish the quest) or in the final solution when he is changed enough by the events of the quest that he no longer has a place in society -- the mythologically charged version of Colin Wilson's Outsider.

A conversation with Dr. Bull posted over at Wired News just the other day discusses the impact of the iPod on modern culture. Bell points out that the personal music device -- especially ones with the prodigious storage capability of the iPod and the like -- allow you to create your own environment. By insulating yourself from the rest of the world by a buffer of your individualized soundtrack, you create a world which you control. You are your own God and Hero.

But you can still see; you can still participate in the rest of human society. You may not be important There, but Here, you are everything.

Posted by Teppo at 11:13 PM | Comments (0)