The Art of Cunning

There are times in life when you need something, but aren't able to get it by charm or main force - when you must resort to "sneakiness". Today I came across one of those times. This method of obtaining results is often viewed as dishonourable; sneaky (I saw you cringe) is not a nice word. Very well, I don't really like it either. Let's call it cunning. Our distaste for this (whatever you wish to call it) comes, I believe, from a culture where it has long been customary to blatantly take whatever it is you want. We are but lately "civilised". But, you mean you think we should manipulate people? Erm - yes. When necessary. The question that should be asked is not Should I excercise cunning to achieve a goal? but rather Am I being selfish in the execution of my plan? That's a much more pertinent and easily answered question. Is there anything cowardly, in itself, about using ones intellect to the fullest extent? Of course not. But people still think like the ancient Greeks who scorned the art of archery, because it offered a ranged form of combat. The method is not that important - it's the intent that counts. It's only prudent to use every weapon that we've been gifted with. Wisdom is required of course, especially as the paths of the mind are not so plain as bodily action, but that's no reason to shun cunning. It has raised great men and established great empires. Rome had seige engines, yes, and the tortoise and the ala, but these were merely the tools, not the guiding hands. It was cunning that played foe against foe, retreated when something could be gained by it in the future, and offered peace (at a price) to disadvantaged enemies. No, there is no shame in that. Use arrows, liberally - only be careful, as always, who you shoot them for.

Altering the Planets

It's official (has been for some time now, though few have realised) - there are only eight planets. What happened? Did Pluto spin out of orbit, or was it perhaps sneakily destroyed by some anarchist society? Nothing so spectular. The International Astronomical Union decided to redefine the term "planet". And the Wee One, so recently admitted into the exclusive 'Sol Planetary Club' has once again been cast into the outer darkness. Humans seem to like labeling immutable things and then jimmying with the definitions. I suppose it grants a certain (shallow) power rush. One of these days someone will decide that there's only six continents. At least that would have some sort of logical grounding. We must sort and define - and we will; it's built into our nature. However, we'd do well to remember that in doing so we change nothing. Many see it (if perhaps subconciously) as a source of pride that we are able to say what is a planet and what is merely a large piece of orbital rock. Well, yes we can do that, and the planets have never spoken back (fortunately for us, I suspect). But neither have they deigned to alter their courses or characteristics. They are what they are, and will continue to be long after the fragile breath that once defined them has left our bodies. We are wise after our own fashion; that is our glory. We are also small, frail, and in the face of Natures grandeur, remarkably impotent. This is no shame, but hopefully the realization is sufficient to keep us in our place. For now, at least, we should remember which can really change which.

Fighting Drive

I had a bit of free time earlier today; I contemplated writing my post then - but I looked out the window and saw my brother swordfighting with his friend. There was a brief internal struggle, then blog writing lost. I'm glad it did. For one thing, it did me a bit of good to go outside and do something physical instead of staring at a monitor. But I'm not quite conscientious enough to have done just for that reason. In all honesty I did it because I like whacking people with sticks - as long as it's a fair fight of course. What makes it fun is that you too are in imminent danger of being hit. It's a game, and it has stakes. That's why Laser Tag, for instance, has never had the same appeal for me as BB wars. When people are shooting real little projectiles at you, it's not just about the points. It's about not getting shot because you'll get a jolly big welt if you do. However toned down and tame that is, it does connect with me at a visceral gut level. Why? The adrenaline rush, yes - but I would go so far as to say that we as humans (and particularly as males) are hardwired for conflict. That's not a very politically correct idea, I know. It's supposed to be all forbearance and peace and gentleness. Well, all those things have their place. Perhaps they are even ideal. But in case the PC brigade haven't noticed (and they haven't) we don't live in an ideal world. And no amount of faking it is going to get us there. We were born onto a planet where blood, sweat and, dare I say it, spit is going to get you a lot further than any quantity of tears. Fortunately Someone knew that. That doesn't mean that we automatically rejoice every time we run across a difficulty - too often we just whinge - but there is something in us that, provided we don't squelch or smother it, will come to our aid and give us the energy and drive to fight. There is no shame in that; this instinct never caused a war. Wars (or the need for them) are kindled through greed or pride or insecurity. This drive is, in spite of the impression it gives, a fragile thing and can easily be broken or lost - do not suppress it. Once gone, it can only be regained with much pain.

The Abyss of Perfect

I decided to stop redrafting and fine-tuning my screenplay today. It's one of those choices that born editors like myself have the most difficulty with. After three drafts and countless other minor adjustments it is still not flawless - but it will do. Good may be the enemy of Best, but I know for a fact that Perfect is deadly to Very Good. Perfect is an alluring phantom that you can never touch, always tantalising you while just out of reach. I'm well aware of this, but it's still hard to leave that script alone. Time slides on, however, and any imperfections will have to fend for themselves. I am content - you see, I've learned the hard way in the past. If you wait until everything is "in place" before bringing something into daylight it will invariably wither in the dark. Too many goals have come to an unsung and inglorious demise because their masters were afraid or unwilling to send them out into the real world. When projects and ideas sink into this Sheol-like abyss it is sad enough, but they are not the only victims of this blood-sucking fear of faults. Humans too are subject to the same temptation, and the same fate if they do not resist. It is horrifyingly commonplace - people are waiting for this to fall into place, to get that sorted out, to be sure of the other, before they will go out and be who they know they should be. Striving to be the best you can is all very well, but if you're not actively carrying on in spite of any flaws, all your sweat will be wasted. No, we are not fully ready - got over that? Good. Now we must toil and run and fight with all our strength. And as we do so, the imperfections will begin to be chipped away.

Three Dimensions?

Well, I had a fascinating evening tonight - I met someone who enjoys discussing far out quasi-philosophical conundrums as much as I do. We covered topics as diverse as objective vs. subjective time, universe boundary lines, and the value and significance of phi. But among the myriad enigmas that we probed, one of the most interesting was the issue of dimensions. Not the fancy big type that contains the cosmos and everything (though we talked about those too) but just your line-square-cube type dimensions. It's common knowledge that our existence takes place in three dimensions; we take this fact for granted and can hardly imagine anything else. But what if (I questioned) we were two dimensional beings? A merely mildly engaging speculation until you pause to consider the consequences. If we were two dimensional, for instance, we would be trapped if a circle (or any complete shape) was drawn around us. We would have no height in our world, and therefore wouldn't be able to climb over or burrow under the line. Imagine then (stay with me now) a person, living in a two dimensional world, that was able to operate in three dimensions. Say that this person was imprisoned by his fellows (i.e. they drew a circle around him) - what is he going to do? Just step over the line of course. It wasn't even the slightest difficulty because he was able to make use of another dimension that built on and superceded the other two. Now make a wee mental transition and translate that to us. If someone was able to exist in four dimensions would he really have any problem walking through walls or appearing/disappearing at will? Probably not. You see, people are very quick to label certain accounts as "myths" or even flat false just because the events in them don't line up with their smallminded view of reality. For example, when Jesus came to his disciples after his death, he "appeared" among them (and the entrances were all closed and barred). It's easy to dismiss this as impossible, but all you can truly say is It would be impossible for me. For someone with the power of another dimension at their disposal, it would be as simple as stepping over a line.

When the Dark Comes

I read an article today that listed some of this years best inventions. A wine-tasting robot, a machine for making edible coffee, a shirt that can replicate a hug - all the fripperies of a prosperous, bloated society. And many believe that we will continue to build on and progress from here ad infinitum (at least, until the male Y chromosome dies out around 126,000 AD). Heavens, what a future. But I don't think it will happen. Those clappy-happy optimists that label themselves progressionists have obviously never read any history books. Or none of substance, anyway. If they did happen to attempt this feat, they would begin to notice patterns. An empire rises through hard work, cunning, and good principles. Then when affluence becomes widespread and the morals of the past are no longer respected or considered necessary, the rot sets in. A little while later, the barbarians arrive. They have that virility which the empire surrendered, and consequently make short work of the inebriated, geriatric nation - tearing it apart like wild dogs bringing down a sick wildebeest. A Dark Age ensues. The cycle begins again. Where are we on that timeline now? That's right - we're currently rotting. And the barbarians, while not yet pounding on the door, are beginning to gather. Our petty world of iPods and celebrities and obesity problems will not last forever. One day, perhaps sooner than we expect, it will all come crashing down like the great World Trade Center. Are we ready? No we're not. No nation has ever been ready for the Dark. That's why it overtook them in the first place. But there is another more useful, more pressing question to be asked: Are you ready?

The Value of Ceremony

I was reading Stephen Lawheads Arthur this afternoon. As I came to a particular pivotal section, the point at which Arthur obtains the legendary sword Caliburnus (Malorys Excalibur), the aspect that captured me most wasn't the gaining of the sword (I knew enough King Arthur stories to see that coming a long way off) but the manner in which it was received. The Sword of Britain, which Arthur had drawn out of a stone, was broken in combat. This was discouraging at the very least; a disastrous omen at the outside. Morale (Arthurs and that of his men) began to slump. But Merlin knew of another weapon that he had long foreseen would be taken up by the saviour of Britain. He knew where this sword was, and who kept it - it would not have been difficult for him to fetch it and present it to the young war leader. What he did instead caught my attention. He rode with Arthur to a secluded place nearby where the sword was kept, then told him to hold vigil all night and prepare his soul for the receiving of the sword. In the morning, Merlin brought him to a small boat tied at the edge of a lake and instructed Arthur to pole his way across to an island in the midst of the water - there he would be given the sword. All of this was, pragmatically speaking, patently unnecessary. It's just a sword remarked one character. Not to Arthur replied Merlin. No, it was much more - it was a powerful symbol, and the ceremony with which it was obtained reinforced this. We are losing (have, to a large extent, already lost) meaningful symbols and ceremonies in our society today. I'm well aware that in the past they've been blown out of all proportion and revered in fear and ignorance, but that doesn't mean we should throw them all out. Humans seem to be chronic reactionaries: when they finally realise that they have made an error, they purge every idea within ten leagues of the original mistake. Through this we've lost a valuable dimension in our lives - the physical representation of unseen truths. We live in bodies and often need to experience principles through our senses, rather than by purely cerebral methods. There's nothing wrong or "unspiritual" (in the pejorative sense) about this; any idea that the body is somehow unworthy of absorbing profound concepts is rooted primarily in Gnosticism - shaky ground for secular and theistic philosophers alike. Ceremony has ruled the western world with an iron grip in the past, and is now being aggressively marginalized. Both occurrences are tragedies. We must hang on to this art because if it leaves this earth forever, part of us will die.

A Road To Journey On

I pretty much finished up the third draft of the screenplay for my upcoming film this afternoon. I say "pretty much" because there's still a few bits and pieces that need to be polished and honed, but apart from that it's done. And, thank Heaven, it's a lot better than the second draft. Oh, my writing style hasn't radically improved in space of a few weeks, obviously; persistent editing and thoughtful critique can change (promising) rubbish into gold. But actually, as much as I'm indebted to these factors, I don't think that they're what made the final difference this time. Between the writings of second and third drafts I found something - namely, a path. See, the first two drafts weren't horrible exactly, but all that was going on was a periodically interesting conversation between two people. In a nutshell. So the script kind of meandered its way to an ending, highlighting this and that point but never really putting one foot in front of another. It was an exploratory foray - which is fine. Except. Except, most people (myself included) don't really want to be taken for a vague ramble. They want to go somewhere. They want to see progression and change and development. Anything else is (if prolonged for any appreciable amount of time) quite frankly frustrating. It's not just a writing problem either. For years I felt that, though engaged in interesting jobs and pastimes (well, the pastimes were interesting anyway) I wasn't really going anywhere. What I wanted (and needed) was a path to follow. Something that would transform a walk in the woods into a journey. Having now found it - for the present, at least - it's easier to relax and be content with everyday life, because I can see that I'm going somewhere. The funny thing though, and the encouraging part for those who are still wandering, is that now, looking back, I can see that I always was on the road.

Instruments of Power

I was discussing with my parents this evening how it's possible (and in fact mind-blowingly easy) to manufacture lethal gases and industrial strength explosives with common household ingredients. I won't go into specifics here (I'm sure you can find recipes somewhere else on the net) but most people could gather everything needed for these extremely dangerous cocktails in a few minutes. It's kind of cool to think that these things are at my disposal if I ever need them. And then that thought scares me. How different is that from countries who hoard complex weaponry systems? Okay, some nations need them for self-defense - but how many really need them? Not even a tithe of those who so jealously guard their right to possess these things. It's not a matter of rights - any nation has the right to own just about anything - but rather it's about necessity and motives. Why are these items stockpiled? They aren't beautiful, they don't feed people, they don't create wealth - they do, however, give power. Ah yes. That is their allure. One of the most compelling temptations known to man. Not that power, in itself, is evil - nor does power (contrary to the old adage) always corrupt - but the pursuit of power for its own sake is infallibly destructive. Power (and the instruments that give it) are amoral - they're a sword that cuts both ways. If we cultivate our influence and clout in order to build others up and empower them, then we ourselves are safe. But if we become enamoured of this tool, our souls will begin to surrender themselves to it - in the end, the sword will wield the man.

A Dark Love

Over the past few weeks I've been reading Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis' last novel, aloud to my dad. The brilliance of this book lies in the ability of the author to say several things at once while still spinning a compelling story, enabling the reader to slowly burrow through layers and enjoy or learn from every one. If you've not read this excellent book, this is one post you should skip. It would be better that you came at this work with a fresh mind.

One of the facets that caught my particular attention this time through (I've read it once before) was how the central character leeched away the life and joy of those close to her - by loving them. Hers was a strong love, a dominating love, a consuming love. She needed to love, like we need food or air. And when her loved ones removed themselves from her reach, she took any measure necessary to bring them back under her wing. Everthing she did, she did for love. But, ultimately, love of herself. For there was no questioning of whether the loved one might be better off without her, or if she was meddling too much or if her love was truly harming or helping. She did not allow herself to contemplate these things. And she considered herself completely justified. This sort of love is far from uncommon. It's fulfilling to be loved but if you cannot achieve that, loving others selfishly is a kind of substitute. It's a love that hangs over the loved one like a thundercloud; like a black god watching over them for its own gratification. This love professes to give, but in reality it sucks dry. It's like Tolkien's Ungoliant - a monstrous spider that devoured light, then spewed it forth again as material darkness. Of course in reality the effect isn't so graphic, to the casual eye at least. It's not difficult to commit this sin, because it wraps itself in a lovely, even righteous, cloak. But (and this is the main thing) if we don't wish to be decieved, we will not be decieved. The hardest part is not accepting the gift when it comes.

Clinging To Child Time

Finally I have finished everything I can do towards my application. I have one meeting on Monday to sort out my CV; after that it will be off. On to the next task. Life no longer deigns to pause. When I was a child, memorable events, experiences or jobs were like islands rising up out of a calm sea. Those days of loose archipelagos are gone; I walk a land bridge now. There are no gaps. I'm sure I'd be sorry if there were. I am glad, however, that I was eased into this change slowly - it would be a bit of a shock to the system otherwise. Perhaps that's why too many people never do change. They cling on to the scatteredness and unresponsibility of youth long after its time has passed. Maybe they fear that if they once embark on this journey they'll not be able to cry "stop the bus and let me off!" In a way, their fears are well grounded; it is true that once this rollercoaster starts the only way to get off is to jump - not a wise option, nor one that many are comfortable with. But is an inexorable trek such a bad thing? What do we have minds and bodies for, if not to use them towards achieving something? Refreshment is always welcome along the way, but not idleness. Those who strain to stay in child time don't see the waste until it's too late. We don't have the lifeblood of trees or the span of planets or the leisure of immortal gods. We have a small (as I grow older, even now, I begin to percieve how small) handful of days that flick away like marbles carelessly lost. We do not have any time to safely squander. We cannot make up for lost moments later: time works like entropy - you have to take from one thing to give to another. Living small percentage of life isn't good enough. Even if you don't regret it before the end, there may be worse to come. Remember the man who buried his one talent.

Moments

As I came home from work this evening I could smell the scent of cooking. Not of any kind of food in particular, just that mild yet distinctive aroma of warm oil, hot iron and smoke. I went out into back yard to find my dad seasoning our old barbeque and boiling some eggs at the same time. The fire and warmth, with dusk just closing in, gave me a strong, gentle sensation of peace. Such moments are being squeezed out of lives. It's not that the ingredients no longer exist or are becoming scarce - the problem is that we don't find the time to fit them in. These moments are not "productive" as we in the 21st century define the word. Most often they are spent doing almost nothing at all. In spite of this they have great value. For one, they refresh us at some level which a mere holiday or vacation can never reach, because their strength is not in leisure, but stillness. They also present us with the opportunity to think. Most of us do much less of this than we would like to assume. In reality much of our mental activity falls under one of two modes: cruise control or panic stations. But in these moments we are free to explore, to probe, to ponder - under absolutely no pressure. It's on these occasions, also, that true communication can occur. Not that this can't happen in any other time or place - but these times provide a smooth channel when soul reaches to soul. And, perhaps most importantly, they teach us that the really great things in this life (and, I believe, the next) are not won by straining and striving, but are given to us as beautiful and fragile gifts; all we have to decide is whether to cherish them, or to mindlessly throw them away.

Self-Management

This morning I was in a business meeting, trying (alongside a friend) to negotiate ourselves into another video job. The idea that kept rising (do what I could to suppress it) in my mind was This isn't like last time. No, this project, if it goes through, will be very different from our previous gig back in July. Different time schedule, different requirements, different financial situation - different boss. And my first instinct is to grasp at what we had before. After all, our previous job looks much better (in hindsight) than this one does (obviously without hindsight). But that grasping is a fault, and a deadly one at that. Our desire to have again that which is past, instead of gratefully receiving the present has wrecked many lives and destroyed many souls. Why? Because, in effect, it is an attempt to take full control of our destiny and that of those around us. The tragedy is that we too often succeed. While taking control sounds like a noble and idealistic concept, in fact it's the worst type of foolishness. When we wrest our lives out of the great Design we will gain freedom - but only the freedom of a man overboard. He is free to swim where he wishes for a time. But eventually he won't be free to stay afloat. Who do we think we are anyway? We fancy that we're capable of micromanaging our lives. We who have difficulty keeping warm or controlling our mood swings. Ever wondered why money's the root of all kinds of evil? Maybe because it gives us the ability to bring back what we had before, to order things exactly as we wish them, to create a microcosmic universe where all things are comfortable, expected and will unquestioningly bow to self.

Natural Powers

I was reading a book today in which a man learned secrets "which men, in their ignorance, have called magic". The real source of the power was not supernatural at all; it was as natural as gravity or magnetism, though less well known. I often wonder how often events or phenomena that the spiritually-inclined label "supernatural" and the materialistically-minded call "superstition" are in actual fact real but purely natural. Humans are great interpreters and reasoners, but sometimes we reason ourselves into a muddle. Take "ghosts" for instance. Some are adamant that they are in fact the spirits of the departed, and others insist that they are demons out to decieve us. On the other hand we have the school that believes they are nothing more than the result of our delusions. I'm not saying that any of them are necessarily incorrect - but must we either dimiss or supernaturilize everything we don't understand? Electricity would be dealt with in the same way, I suspect, when presented to those who were ignorant of its true causes. What if another, wholly natural, explanation could be made for ghosts (just as an example). Maybe their appearance is the result of inconsistencies or faults in the space/time fabric, allowing us a glimpse of another era or place? But that's silly you say. Oh really? It's a lot easier to call them delusions or demons isn't it? We're comfortable with those ideas. Any natural solution is pushing at the fringes of what we know and have believed, and therefore tends to make us uneasy. We would be fools, though, to shun these theories and avenues of investigation just on account of a little unease. After all, while we cannot harness illusions and would be wise not to attempt to manipulate the supernatural, the powers of nature lie waiting for stewards to take them up. All we have to do is stretch out our hand.

Barren and Cramped

Yesterday, while editing The Warren, I fell to discussing film clichés with the director. As the movie we're making is more than half spoof, it's good to be aware of them so you can exploit each overdone convention to the fullest. One in particular kept cropping up - the use of jumpcuts to increase the intensity of action or to give a disjointed feel. We've incorporated this effect several times, in some instances tastefully and other occasions less so, but each time we had a reason. It occured to me later that though the jumpcut is a far cry from the way we percieve life, it's not so different from the way we remember it. We see an uninterrupted stream of events, but if asked to recall a particular event, day, occasion et cetera, we (if we are paying close attention) will notice that small clips stuck together, rather than smooth continuity, is presented before our minds eye. All pieces of a picture that we regard as insignificant are relegated to oblivion. Perhaps this is why we're such so learners. How many babies do we throw out with our mental bathwater? How much gold is lost, never to be recovered? But we can't help it I hear, that's how we're wired. It's not our fault. That's true; it isn't. But here's my point: we should be very slow to assume that we have a firm grip on the big picture. We may have been there, we may have heard all sides, we may have worked it all out logically - but would we be flawless? I say not. Once information enters us it is tinted, sculpted and interpreted. Realsing this can be a little disquieting for some. They feel that it kills truth, or the need for it. But I don't think it does - the quest for truth shouldn't be abandoned, but the key factor in our search must be humility. Without this vital quality we will fall to existing solely in an isolated, user-defined world that is barren and cramped.

A Fight To Remember

As I write, my sister is rooting through our copious family photo stash. We have hundreds, if not thousands, of the things - the result of a camera happy mother. Because of this I am fully aware of what I looked like at every stage of my childhood, something that certainly would've been lost in the vast inaccessible badlands of my memory. People value family photos highly; many list them as the one thing that they'd save from a house fire. To lose them, they say, would be to lose priceless memories. Hang on a second. Losing memories? Implying that they don't actually remember those events in the first place. Are we capitulating our natural memory capacity in favour of an artificial alternative? As home videos and digital photos proliferate we need to remember less and less - external sources do a better job. Or so we think. Sure, these media duplicate exactly what was there - but do they, in spite of that, really tell a true story? They miss a whole dimension which is as much part of reality as what our eyes see. The feel of our bodies, our thought and impressions, the smells that surrounded us, the emotions that coursed through our veins - all these are stripped away. Vision is paraded, paupered and naked, before us and we call it memory. When writing came to maturity we lost our ability to remember words - now we are, much more tragically, losing our capacity to recall events. We have become reliant on outside sources, but I fear that they will prove a broken reed - an ineffective prop that will injure us as it collapses. Among the many things we must now fight for that we've long taken for granted, the ability to reexperience our past in all its multilayered richness is one of the most vital.

The Price & Prize of Gambling

This afternoon I received some software that I had ordered; an video editing package. I was very anxious to try it out because of the price I'd bought it for. See, I'd got it on an online auction site for about a third of the retail price, so naturally I was a wee bit suspicious. Not enough to prevent me from buying it, obviously, but I knew it was a gamble. Well, I'm happy to report that it's fully functional and totally legit. Phew. I'm not a great gambler by nature (most of my bets are well hedged) but I am learning to take occasional calculated risks. Giving up what you have in exchange for an uncertain chance of gain is a practice that's frowned upon by some and extolled by others but in spite of all opinion the fact remains: we would still be in the Stone Age without it. Safe money will only get you so far. Eventually you will (if you wish to continue advancing) need to put your time, your resources, your reputation or your emotions on the line. If you've been burned in the past or are naturally cautious this will be no easy task. Once bitten, twice shy is a true maxim but If you fall off a horse, get back on is a better one. It's possible, I suppose, to live an entirely safe life - but if this is your chosen route be prepared to sacrifice adventure, beauty, not guaranteed a return. True, sometimes you will lose. Occasionally you will lose badly. No one said there wasn't a cost. But before we get frightened away by the prospect, we must ask ourselves - what are we paying for? Then, taking all that into account, is it worth it? Every individual has to ask and answer those questions for themselves; I can only give an opinion and my own findings. From that standpoint I say it is worth the panic and the pain - not because these things are light matters but because the prize is so magnificent.

Crude Powers

This morning I trawled through several threads on an internet forum I frequent, and searched for pro-level camcorders on amazon.com. In the afternoon I read blog posts and checked emails. And I've just come back from a friends house where he showed me a burgeoning site dedicated to cartoons that respond to viewers feedback. Now I'm blogging. Is technology taking over my life? Well, at the heart, no. But I do admit that I spend far more time at my computer than in the back yard. I regret that, and while I'm not going to make any rash resolutions, I would like to spend more time outside instead of getting dry eyes and bad posture in front of screen. I sometimes wonder if we'll find a way to harmonise technology and nature. You know, like Tolkiens elves. People unthinkingly write off their wonders as magic, but isn't that what the ignorant have always called technology? Read carefully and you will see a different picture emerging. If we could see things from the past, present and future by looking into a bowl of water, or light our dwellings with effervescent trees, that would be a true achievement. Our powers are crude and contrived; more efficient than primitive methods, but far less healthy. I'm not hopeful that we'll even come close to a solution in my lifetime. For one thing many don't think there's any need for it, and also such a fundamental change would have to happen gradually. I believe we will get there eventually though. The utilitartians will have (and are having) their day in the sun, because their way is very effective in the short run. But long term the consequences of departing so far from our natural design will begin to emerge. Even now they are raising their heads. Some say this is indicative of our impending slide into a clinical, robotic dystopia, but I think not. Humans, though fundamentally stupid, are not entirely brainless, and we can usually figure out (if sometimes a bit belatedly) when something is killing us. Though we may be wrong about most things, we tend to get enough right to enable us to take one more step. Not ideal, perhaps, but valuable nonetheless. For in each additional step we're buying ourselves a bit more time - we run from the dark, because if it finally overtakes us, there will be no more learning.

Invisible And Disinterested

Many boys, when they're young, go through a stage when they pull things to bits - it doesn't really matter what it is so long as it's sufficiently complex. I wasn't one of those boys. I figured things were assembled for a reason, and taking stuff to pieces wasn't a logical thing to do. As you've probably guessed, I'm not mechanically minded. Today, however, I was initiated into the mighty ranks of disassemblers - sort of. I spent the vast majority of the day taking apart a script (that I had written) and then putting it together again visually. In other words, I created a shot list. It took a shocking amount of time for a very modest result: the script was only three pages long. At the end of it all I was tired, hungry and mentally spent. Very few of those who've not made a shot list really realise how much work goes into planning a short scene. Everyone notices the general impression that is given, the emotion that is conveyed, the prowess of the actors. But no one thinks about the angle and framing of every shot. And just as well. If the audience was cognizant of all the minutiae of filmmaking method there would be no room left for appreciating the big picture that is, of course, the main thing. The method should not be noticed. Only the result. Some (usually inexperienced) filmmakers can forget or even resent this principle; the result is exhibitionist and personality-oriented work, not made with the highest good of the audience in mind, but rather the kudos of the artist. Many people are quite happy to serve others but most are, even while serving, calculating what they can get out of the service; praise, credit, prestige, comfort. Charity (both word and idea) is fast being forgotten - anyone can be benevolant, but charity is disinterested benevolance. It doesn't care if what it does is invisible. It doesn't stop to think what it can get back. It expects nothing. It only gives. This is what the apostle John meant when he wrote Above all, little children, love one another.

Just As Well I'm Not A Cat . . .

Last night I sat with friends and family around a bonfire, watching the fireworks that one of my mates was setting off. Sad to think that in a year or less such displays will probably be banned. Another prime example of government sucking away responsibility and freedom. But no one (not even I) was pondering such things at the time. There was, however, at least one person who was doing enough pondering for the whole group - not surprisingly, a young child. She was sitting beside me for part of the evening and during that time she didn't once cease to pepper me with questions.

Why is it dark? Because it's night time. But why is it night? Well, because the sun's gone. Where did it go? Um, you see where the sky meets the city? Yeah. The sun's gone over that line and underneath us. How come I can't see it? Uh well, because it's, ah, because the ground gets in the way.

This kid wasn't asking questions to be annoying or just for the hang of it - she really wanted to know the answers. I was the same at her age. I exhausted my parents with questions until I came to the stage where most of the time they didn't know the answers. So I stopped asking. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I probably assumed that if Mom or Dad didn't know, no one would. It's taken years to win back a mere portion of my native curiosity - and it can be safely assumed that I'll never regain what I once had. But a mere portion, well stewarded, is enough. Now I ponder and question, poke and prod; it's not relaxing and it's rarely comfortable, but it is fulfilling. It feels as if you've gained, not a sixth sense, but something that makes the other five worth having.

Casual Death

This afternoon as I was stacking wood in our dismally small woodshed, a huge (well, abnormally large anyway) daddy long legs spider crawled out of a gap and began making its way across the shed. And of course I did what seven eighths of Earths people would have done - I tried to kill it. But I missed, didn't I. So the wee blighter ambled through another crack and was gone. Ten minutes later it came back. I thought okay, this time. No such luck. It was gone, and my self-esteem was starting to get a little dinted. Twenty minutes passed and it came back again. Well, I got it that time. Maimed with the first blow, obliterated with the next. And I went back to work. I didn't pause, not till later, to ask myself why exactly I had killed it. It was just one of things that you do. Did I have any reason for exterminating it? Not really - it wasn't dangerous, harmful or even bothersome. Just a bit ugly. For that unchosen trait it died. Was I justified? I consider myself (and all others of my race) a lord of the earth; but as such I have certain duties and responsibilities. Should frivolity ever accompany the taking of life? Well, but it was just a spider I hear you say. Yes it was - but does that make it fundamentally different from any other animal? And how so? People would certainly raise a hue and cry if I bashed a cat, for instance, to death with a piece of four-by-two or an axe. It wouldn't really matter how quickly I managed it, and I didn't manage to kill the poor old spider quickly at all. It's cruel, it's cruel they'd exclaim, then Pass me the fly swatter. Double-standard, anyone? I'm not suggesting, obviously, that one is guilty of murder when killing an animal of any description. However, perhaps we should be a little more circumspect when dealing out death. It would be a good habit, for one thing, and one more step towards bringing our actions in line with our reason.

Working With Fire

In the past I've never really aspired to have much money - I certainly have had everything I needed and more than enough of what I wanted. But over the last few months I've found a hole, called filmmaking, that my carefully hoarded funds keep wanting to disappear into. So far no substantial amounts have been sucked in, but it's only a matter of time. And I'm beginning to see why people do so much for the stuff - it really does make the world go 'round. This costs x that costs y and the other thing costs a ludicrous z. I take out my pocket calculator every once in a while, and add up the value of all the items I 'require'. The sum never fails to shock me. The other funny thing I'm learning about money is that (the old adage is true) what you have isn't ever quite enough. Because, you see, if you have n amount, you won't want to buy something of that value - you'll want the item that costs n + x. This is why sages down through history have viewed money as dangerous - not bad, but dangerous - because it is, like adrenaline, caffeine and alcohol, addictive. If one is very careful however, it can be tamed. I'm preaching to myself also. The first and most important thing is only spending what you have. There are exceptions to this rule, but very few, and if it can be followed strictly it will yield marvellous results. The second thing to remember is not to upgrade your shopping list every time your income goes up. Ask yourself why you were content to buy model X500 last week - you probably did have your head screwed on at the time, and equally probably there's no rock solid reason to dump it and purchase model X600. Thirdly, just remember that you're working with fire - very useful, and increasingly powerful the more you have, but not to be trifled with. Give it half a chance, and it will eat you.