I meet weird people

A semi-autobiographical webcomic starting soon…

Philosophy podcast

I think it would be fun to run a philosophy podcast. That being said, it probably wouldn’t be a podcast which would require intensive philosophical debate and heavy inquiry with many sources and whatnot, because i feel as though that would 1)require enormous time commitment which i am unwilling to give out, 2) really thin out our audience, and 3) it wouldn’t be as fun.

Lets face it, philosophy students are generally the type that will seek out more of the primary source material (if they are super serious), and we probably aren’t going to be writing a summary of each philosopher without having that kind of expertise. The only way around that would be to write ridiculously long papers and do intensive research… with time that i don’t have.

We also cannot forget the important aspect of “audience”. I would prefer to appeal to a greater spectrum of people because i feel like that is what philosophy should be able to do. This isn’t just something that only one person can study, its something everyone can practice, so i don’t want it to be so high minded that only a few can follow the conversations.

Lastly, it wouldn’t be as fun to do something so serious all the time. I mean, as a full time student i’m going to be spending much of my time being serious with my studies. Using my spare time to do the same seems like a really lame idea, so i would at least like to interject a bit of humor and fun into my day. Maybe spice it up a little.

So, in conclusion. If this philosophy thing gets off the ground, i believe it should be one that can include humor, be about topics which people care about(while not necessarily being extremely serious or deep- ex. Bruce Lee’s philosophy of style, or the Video Gamer’s mindset). It will include analysis and thought, while including thoughts of other philosophers as well. It may even resemble those horrible philosophy and pop culture books (but hopefully we will do a better job without selling out).

Projects

Three primary things i’ve been working on other than school stuff (well 4 sort of):

1.Writing/transcribing my novel into Visual Novel Format. I want to at least turn the first arc into a visual novel to see how that compares to just reading it normally. After all, visual novels give us visuals, sound… and essentially the ability to further create an atmosphere.

2.Doodling a short draft of a Power Rangers Comic. Well it’s probably going to be closer to a Power Rangers Doujin Manga in it’s style, but who’se complaining. In the end it’s just going to be a strange new manga that only shares the theme of power rangers… and not much else.

3.A comic of Hamlet! Which is actually a complete retelling of Hamlet with the inclusion of Zombies. The comic will be a short 5 or 6 page piece with our wonderous prince of denmark and his escapades in zombie invaded Denmark! Horrah!

I’m working on them as we speak… so look forward to em…

Dream 1a- The Roamer

The silent symphony of drizzling rain settles onto the abandoned highway like a peaceful memory.

Pitter-Patter- goes the rain. It sounds out a melody the road hasn’t heard since the first era of mankind ended 100 years prior.

Now, 100 years later, the rain finally began to fall upon the abandoned highway once again. The highway was now cracked and been bent out of shape, while the area surrounding it had been reduced to desert- The sand dunes slowly burying the skeletons of lizards who had tried to survive in the desolate land.

On that road that streaked across the country like an enormous tire track, a sole person roamed alongside of the lonely road while carrying a strange black coffin.

The Roamer took steps in a rhythmic fashion.

Stop.

Pull coffin forward.

Step.

And the process began again.

As the Roamer dragged the coffin across the road, she recited a familiar poem to keep her mind off the cold heavy rain. Despite the desert environment, the weather froze her joints, while the wind blew wet sand into her face.

“With the rainfall, the world ended,

It was broken and unable to be mended,

100 years of history is all that was needed,

The rest was all forgot,

It was all for naught.”

It was a strange short and simple poem taught to the children growing up after the end of the first era. A generation who was told to forget about everything that happened in the first.

The Roamer found comfort in reciting it, as it reminded her of simpler times, when the police and bounty hounds were not after her. She looked to the sky in hopes of finding solace in the falling rain, but ever since the poem became widely taught, the rain had become an omen for the end.

But the rain has also brought new beginnings to the world as well. With each drop that fell from the sky, a new opportunity arises. Underneath that serenade of falling rain, there is no trace of the past, no worry of the future-

There is only a fleeting understanding of what it means to exist.

But the brief bout of rain that fell upon the road was not enough to bring a new beginning to the world. Rather, it could only bring an elusive dream for this wayward wanderer.

An existence within a dream.

A life that could vanish before she even knew it existed.

—-

The rain had nearly stopped by the time she reached cover underneath an abandoned bus stop- or what was left of it. It was a mere overhang with an unstable wooden bench for passengers to rest on.

“Why would you need a bus stop out here?” she wondered aloud. Her eyes scanned the area for any trace of life before concluding that the bus stop was: “Inefficient, but I’m not going to complain.”

She proceeding to hop and shake the little droplets of rain off of her leather jacket and jeans, before slamming the bag and coffin off her back and onto the bench. Then, without the slightest show of concern over getting wet again, she stepped back out into the slowing rain.

The rain had always perplexed her. People were so afraid of the rain, that entire city streets would often be abandoned during storms. But she had nowhere to go. So when it rained, she was often alone walking through the city streets- with only her thoughts and sound of rainfall.

It felt lonely.

As the rain dwindled, she took off her travel jacket and hood to reveal an appearance that had confused several before. She was often seen with her rough travel jacket with a hood, her -now soaked- blue jeans, and of course the coffin that was chained to her belt. From afar, there had been many who pinned her as a male traveler, only to be rather pleasantly surprised to find that she had a rather striking face that gave a mysterious and indecipherable impression- it was difficult to tell what she was thinking.

She returned to the seat, plopped down and sighed. It had already been a long trip towards the next city, and she hadn’t expected the rain when she was in the desert. Luckily for her, the abandoned bus stop seemed like a perfect avenue to rest up for the oncoming walk.

The area surrounding the bus stop was completely abandoned, with only the sound of the wind and the call of crickets. There wasn’t any trace of civilization in sight other than the bus stop and the poorly maintained asphalt road.

“How boring… nothing happens out here” she whispered quietly.

Funnily enough, here on this abandoned road, she felt at peace.

As she glanced across the landscape and at her surroundings, a small rectangular object caught her eye. It was trapped in a puddle underneath the bench.

On further inspection, she picked it up to find that it was actually a small journal: One that was bound by leather and composed of yellowing pages-half of which were soaked in water now.

“Hm… I wonder if this belongs to anyone” she said sarcastically. The crickets seemed to chirp back in reply. “Well then…guess it’s mine now”

As she flipped the book open to read, only to find that each of the pages almost begun to merge into one giant page. The words in the book had begun to fade into the page while leaving ink blots in their place.

She attempted to decipher the story in the book, only to find it was nearly impossible with every other word indecipherable. However, with a bout of stubborn strong-headed determination and a bit of ingenuity, she was able to get through several pages before the sunset.

“This is going to be cold” she said as she started to put the book away while reaching for the thermal blanket inside her duffel bag.

She stopped.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she unfolded a poster that had been used as a bookmark.

She felt her teeth clench as she saw a crude sketch of herself on the poster with a few details about herself.

Wanted:

Reth D. Arthret

Age: 14-17

Hair: Auburn Brown

Eye color: Gold

Other: Carries a black coffin behind her

Wanted for: Accomplice in the Fihn Massacres.

Reward: 10,000

She angrily crumpled the paper and tossed it into a puddle on the side of the road. She couldn’t bear to look at the poster for a moment longer.

And while she wanted to scream out, “I’m INNOCENT” aloud to ease her frustration, but there was a nagging feeling that prevented her from doing so.

You can’t get off so easy, it said.

But I’m inno-, she wanted to reply.

But she couldn’t continue that bold claim. After all, she did-

….

Reth Arthret sat in the night, in that abandoned bus stop, on that abandoned road. In her heart knowing that what awaited her was another day.

Another day.

The idea doesn’t have to be sad.

So why was it that she felt such despair when she thought about it?

She tried to shake the idea from her head and find some way to sleep under the cold bus stop. Maybe one day she will wake up and find that everything that happened, and everything that seemed so inevitable was all just a dream.

That everything she knew would fade away as sleep departs.

Would I be happy then? She asked.

Joseph

Rain drops fall through the ceiling of the shabby and broken down workshop onto the old puppet master. He doesn’t react and continues to work by candlelight while the rest of the town sleeps.

Beads of sweat drip from his face as he reaches for the next body part. The little tools in his rough hands quiver as they help attach the next limb onto the body.

Soon all parts of the puppet are attached, and the old man can only stare at his masterpiece. It sits on the wooden table with it’s head slightly cocked to the side, unable to hold itself up.

Droplets of water drip onto the cold wooden floor of the workshop.
But he is no longer sweating.

And the rain has stopped.

Yet, a storm continues to brew within him.

“Joseph…” he cries out in his sorrow.

The only thing he can see within the puppet is the life of someone he had lost. He cries out to it again.

“Joseph…”

But the puppet is not his son. It continues to sit there, as a puppet should do.

He wipes the tears from his eyes. Then, with sudden resolution and hysteria, he declares his final decision.

“…Joseph, I’ll bring you to life.”

And with that…

He began to turn the puppet into something more.
————————–

————————–

After an entire sleepless week, the puppet master created a new masterpiece. He once again sat back and looked at his creation lying down on the wooden table.

He stepped back and spoke to his creation.

“Joseph… I’ve given you life”

With that, the puppet began to move on its own. Like a child first learning to walk, the puppet made of wood picked himself up, but fell back down again.

“You…are alive Joseph” the puppet master said with a smile.

But the puppet did not respond.

The puppet master bent down and stared into the gem like eyes of the puppet. It felt empty, as if there was nothing behind it.

“Can you not understand what it means to be alive?” he asked the puppet.

The puppet continued to move in its regular pattern, standing, falling, and standing again.

The puppet master frowned.
“I will allow you to understand what it means to be alive” he said.

And thus, the puppet changed again.
————————–————————–—–

Another week passed, and the puppet master’s beard had turned white. Still, he continued to create yet another masterpiece.

Through his labor and brilliance, the puppet master had somehow given life to his puppet. It was almost as if he had put a soul within the once dead puppet.

“Now… you are conscious” he said, while stifling a cough.

The puppet stood up as it had done before, but began to turn its head, touch the tools on the desk, and even look at the puppet master with a hint of curiosity.

“Yes… you are here. Here with me…Joseph” The puppet master told the puppet, “You know how much you mean to me?”

The puppet cocked its head to the side and stared at the puppet master before going on to look at other things.

The puppet paused as it passed by a mirror. It began to make movements and seemed genuinely pleased when the strange doll on the other side copied its movements.

The puppet master followed and turned to the puppet:
“Do you know what it means to be human?” he asked.

The puppet didn’t respond.

The puppet master decided at that very moment that he would allow the puppet to understand what it meant to be human.

Thus, the puppet went through one more transition.
————————–———————–

A week later, the puppet master was forced to lie in bed. He could hardly breathe in between coughing, and was only able to listen to the puppet that had begun to talk after more work.

“Joseph…” the old puppet master said. His outstretched hand was grasped by the wooden fingertips of his puppet masterpiece.

The puppet had changed completely from its original shape; he could now talk, move on its own, and even think.

The old puppet master’s last moments were arriving swiftly. His voice became hoarse as he continued to call out the name of his son. His hearing faded before his eyesight, and even that soon left him.

The puppet spoke with the same character and emotion of a human. Yet his words were not of a caring son to his dying father.

“I am not your lost son.” He said, “You wanted me to understand what it meant to be a human…but that is impossible for I am merely a puppet. No matter how much you try to make me like you…I am just…not human.”

The old man could only smile at his creation. He could no longer hear anything; his eyesight had vanished as well. The only thing he could see was the image of his lost son, Joseph.

The puppet continued to speak with greater clarity.

“You brought me to life… not to replace your son, but rather to replace the gap created in your heart due to the loss of your son.” He paused. “You…never truly looked at who I was”

The old man’s smile had stopped changing. And within moments, the puppet began to understand the meaning of “death.”

“I suppose you mean for me to live on as Joseph.” The puppet said softly. “I wonder what Joseph himself would have done in my situation.”

The puppet looked at his creator for a moment, before pulling the sheet over the old puppet master’s head.
“Goodnight….Father” the puppet said softly. “May your dreams be as sweet in your eternal rest.”

Tunnels 1

The final stretch of the climb was the hardest. The rocks and the ground began to tear away at our hands far more than before, and the sight of the light at the end of the tunnel seemed to trigger some sort of desperate euphoria within us.

Eus began to cackle with disillusioned laughter.
“Haha… I never thought we would actually make it… The surface! It’s right in front of us!”

I had to suppress a smile as I looked at the light. A whole new world was waiting for us right when we reach out and touched that light.

I reach out my hand and grab the next hold- putting me one step closer to the exit. But as I climb towards the exit, I begin to notice the ground’s stuttering vibration.

It gives out a repetitive clicking sound.
Click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclick-until it all blends together into one monotonous chain that grows louder and louder until it feels like a wall of sound is about to collide with our ears.

I shoot a glance back at Eus who is as clueless and scared as I am. And as I look at him, the tunnel goes pitch black for a moment, and I feel like i’m watching the scene through an old movie projector.

Then it’s gone and the clicking fades.

“What the hell was that?” Eus asks me in desperate curiosity.
“I don’t know” I reply slowly.

We sit there in that cold tunnel with the stagnant air floating around us- as still as stalagmites trying not to wake a flock of bats. Our hearts felt as jumpy as a scared dormouse in the middle of being chased out by a cat.
I keep telling myself that the only thing keeping us from that exit is our own fear. The fear of what’s out there, the unknown. What’s out there? Should I go check?

But no. Even when our minds tell us that there should be nothing to fear, our bodies were petrified within that tunnel.
I note to myself that this may be what has prevented most people from reaching the surface.

“Ju-just go…” Eus said, trying to usher me forward. Despite his advice, his legs are bolted to the cold wet ground.

“Yeah…” I respond. My legs likewise frozen in place.

We stand in place until our limbs begin to numb, and with a final desperate cry, we let out a battle cry and simultaneously rush to the surface.

What greets us is the blinding light of day. The sunlight seems to eat away at our raw flesh and unaccustomed eyes. And for a moment I consider hiding back in the tunnel. However, a familiar sound stops me.
The clicking sound begins to come again- Click. Click. Clickclickclickclick… until I am literally blown off my feet by a wave of air.
Strangely enough, I hear cries of fear and joy as the sound of repetitive clicking passes. And with it, my eyes begin to adjust and the world around me becomes visible.

I open my eyes and am suddenly treated to the wondrous splendor of the surface, where miracles are common place and-

Wait…

My inner dialog grinds to a screeching halt.

I look above me to find rail after rail of suspended train track that looped in circles and spun in spirals before beginning again at a platform. A small train cart sped along the tracks making creaking and clicking sounds as it traversed the track.

I immediately felt a strange absurd feeling.

“It’s a roller coaster,” was my pathetic attempt to comment after finding that the source of fear was a -er- not especially strange device.

“Yeah… it’s a roller coaster” Eus echoed behind me.

We marvel at how undramatic the object is. After all, it was just a normal roller coaster- and not a very exciting one at that. In fact, it was one of those roller coasters only suitable for young and small children. This wasn’t the splendor that I came here to see.
Though I suppose you could consider the under hangings of a roller coaster to be interesting, I don’t think it’s worth digging a hole and spending days upon days of crawling through mud dirt and muck.

“Is this really the surface? I want to see a chosen person!” Eus chimed in, disrupting my disappointment.

Thats right! I remembered to look around for any strange beings walking the surface. After all, being among the first people to see a surface dweller in AGES, automatically entitles you to bragging rights.

So Eus and I scan the area next to the roller coaster. Despite the screaming from the people ON the roller coaster, there actually wasn’t a single person in the area. Instead, the area was rather barren… and covered in pipes.

Pipes?
I do a double take.

The ground was straight desert and hot enough to fry any poor desert critter stupid enough to try and hide under the sand. It would have been just another desert, but the obvious and impossible-to-ignore inclusion of knotted pipe-work made it otherwise. They were enormous tubes half covered in sand which resembled what a giant’s failed attempt at plumbing might look like.

“Say… what do you think those are, Eus?” I ask absentmindedly.
“I dunno… they look like giant pipes to me”
“Right, pipes”
“Right”
“…”
“…”
“Don’t you think they could be something else?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno…maybe an abandoned recycling plant?”
“You mean like one of those car compactor ones?”
“No… I mean the ones that….recycle…pipes”
“Oh…I see”
“Yeah…”
“I suppo-No. I think they are just pipes”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right”

So Eus and I spend some more time staring dumbfounded at the recy-er- PIPES with a sense of utter disbelief and lack of an idea of what to do.

Happily -er actually- unfortunately the sweet silence was broken by a strange echoing and mumbling from the pipe complex.

“Well….if…I…ever…get the chance to find out where this all leads, then I’m never making another trip through that Dryer again. I mean, honestly, who decides to look into their dryer after doing laundry anyways? I mean, theres never anything there… well except in mine theres a big hole that leads into these weird pipes and…”

Within moments a girl crawls through the pipe-work with sunglasses, blue hair and a curious expression on her face.

Of course, since we have no prepared response to the situation, Eus and I just stare at her. Which then continues the awkward silence which she breaks with ease- only to make it more awkward.

“You guys are all muddy and dirty. Is that normal?”

Yet again, I find myself at a loss for words. What do I say to someone who just crawled through what appears to me a mile worth of piping that extended from her household laundry machine?
-Maybe I’ll try- did you lose one of your socks?
-Or- Fall into your laundry machine? Yeah, happens to me every tuesday.

Before I can come up with an adequate response, she continues with a follow-up comment that has rung in my ears ever since then.

“You’re so weird”

That’s my line, you dryer-crawling-laundry-fetish-bimbo.

A part of me.

It’s currently 11:38pm.

In approximately 15 hours, I’ll be on a plane bound for the other side of the world, where I hope my world will be turned completely upside down. And while I’ve been treating this as just another trip, but if I’m truly honest with myself: it’s much more than that.

It’s not just the cheap stuff, relatives, interesting environment and the people I’m looking forward to seeing that I want to get out of this trip; It’s the hope that I’ll rediscover something i’ve lost that makes me eager to go. Hell, I’ll even enjoy being quarantined for swine flu (though I don’t have it).

The fact of the matter is… I noticed that I’ve become quite lax and frankly uninterested in everything. As school ended a few days ago, I found that I immediately reverted into a late night sleep in- and do nothing state of being. And that frightened me.

Part of it is the fear of becoming a vegetable, but the other part of it is the sudden loss of meaning. The question of “Where to now?” was overbearingly present, and in a state much larger than before.

You see,when I was living in the puberty state of adolescence, the question was coupled with a drive to discover who I was and where I should go. But sometime in the years between then and now, I feel like I’ve lost a bit of it-it’s like i’ve gone through a midlife crisis at the age of 20.

So this trip will hopefully drag me out of my comfortable place into the outside world. I know a part of me feels at home in that kind of world, and I will seek it out.

If that part of me is lost, I’ll find it again. And if it’s gone for good, I’ll create it anew.

Welcome

Welcome to Straightforward Paradox.

The goal of this blog is to create a forum for open discussion and thought in attempts to find truths deeper within simple statements and ideas.

I will be posting thoughts or podcasts of interest every now and then in order to try and facillitate thought and discussion, so sit back, relax, and consider what follows.