The Dream of Perpetual Motion

Hello, audience! I read one of my very favorite books again this week and wanted to post an oodle or two of quotes from it on facebook as I went along, but then I had the genius idea today to compile all of them and then add my commentary and turn it into a blog! So, here's me ranting about the fabulous first work of Dexter Palmer, The Dream of Perpetual Motion.

Now, I have become rather formulaic about my blog titles, using a word or two topic followed by a colon and a neat little sub-heading that would show up in smaller letters were my post titles on the front of a book. The sub-heading for this post would have been "The Decay of Innocence and Childhood Wonder," but I decided that would make the title far too long and no one would want to read it. It is still highly relevant though, and it seemed to be the major theme that stood out in my fourth read-through of this phenomenal book.

The Dream of Perpetual Motion is a steampunk spin on Shakespeare's "The Tempest", which I have yet to read, but I have heard mixed feelings about it. The general consensus about it is that it is highly atypical considering the rest of Will's plays, alongside "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics lend an interesting perspective on the matter, which is highly irrelevant to the point here. Dexter Palmer took his Doctorate in English Literature and his love of Shakespeare and turned it into this haunting novel about a man's slow descent into insanity and his love of an equally crazy woman.

Harold Winslow is a former writing student that now works in the greeting card works of his lovely industrialized metropolis of Xeroville. The story begins with him explaining his current situation, trapped aboard the good ship Chrysalis, a massive zeppelin powered by the world's first perpetual motion machine. The voice of Miranda (his life long love and daughter of Prospero Taligent, the world renowned engineering miracle worker who dresses like a wizard) haunts him everywhere in the zeppelin, begging him to talk to her, to say even a single word. Harold has decided to write down the story of his life from beginning to end, to try and relate each phase of his life and each person he became to the next in an attempt to make sense of everything that happened to him.
The story is told in five parts, each going back to a portion of Harold's life relevant to his changing character and the major events that caused the shifts that turned him from one person to the next, with interludes that tell more of himself in the present aboard the good ship Chrysalis. The first, titled "nightfall in the greeting card works" is a sort of introduction to the adult Harold and his mental state at the end of this ridiculous series of events, but before the events that led to his imprisonment on the zeppelin. The second, "lovesongs for a virgin queen" tells about Harold as a ten year old boy, how he met Miranda, was brought to study with her in the magical island playroom her father built for her, and how he was banished for 'staining her innocence'.

The third, "music for an automatic bronzing," tells of Harold and Miranda's kidnapping by luddite extremists ten years later, his heroic rescue of the damsel, and the events that lead up to the loss of his sister Astrid. Section four, "romance in a mechanical dancehall" talks about Harold at thirty, the letter from Miranda begging him to come rescue her from her psychotic father, Prospero's declaration of his lordship over the earth and his airship loaded with death rays, and the events preceding Harold's decision to go to Taligent tower and rescue Miranda. The final portion, "the dream of perpetual motion" tells of Harold's journey up the tower, the people he meets and the stories they tell him, and then his final confrontation with Prospero atop the tower.

Through the whole book, there is an on-running theme of the decay of the old world of miracles and the advent of the noisy and mechanical new age, where there is no place for feelings or spoken world any longer. The children are taught with horrific 'teaching machines'; mechanical men perform most of the basic services to humanity; the new mode of transportation, that also meets the psychological needs of the population, is the 'Shrink-cabbie' with a trained psychologist/cabbie-driver; drugs and intravenous absinthe drips are a totally acceptable way to deal with the neuroses your trip in the shrink-cabbie didn't cover; and the sound of machinery is a constant and inescapable part of reality.

Imagining the Perpetual Motion Machine, by Myke Amend

Now, the fun part: quotes and excerpts from the book.

"Sometimes I have a little trouble holding things together. It seems strange and inaccurate, when writing of what oneself once was, to speak of oneself as "I," especially when I find it difficult to own up to some of the actions performed by the people I once was: the ten-year-old boy who played innocent games on Miranda's magic island; the twenty-year-old who returned that island when he had no business there; the thirty-year-old who committed the crime for which I have been imprisoned aboard this ship, with the madwoman. In this last year I've spent time with all of my past incarnations (oh, yes, they have their voices, too, they have just as much to say to me as Miranda), and we have decided that the only way to make sense of our existences is to set the stories of our lives down on paper, to try to make one tale to show how the twentieth century turned Harold Winslow into Harold Winslow into Harold Winslow into me.

Any story told in this machine age must be a story of fragments, for fragments are all the world has left: interrupted threads of talk at crowded cocktail parties; snatches of poems heard as a radio dial spins through its arc; incomplete commandments reclaimed from shattered stones.

Every story needs a voice to tell it though,or it goes unheard. So I have to try."

And my favorite part of this first monologue of Harold's:

"I still have enough faith left in language to believe that if I place enough words next to each other on the page, they will start to speak with sounds of their own."

-Harold Winslow, the last portion of the prologue of the book.

I picked up the book because of the title, opened it because of the cover, the first picture above, and decided I had to own it because of the prologue. And never has a book impressed me more in less than five pages. This quote sets up the book fantastically, better than any words I could have put together could. And this is only the last piece of the prologue.

"'When I was your age,' Harry Winslow's father says, 'miracles were commonplace. To me my childhood and adolescence seem as if they happened just a little time ago, just on the other side of the line dividing centuries. But you, who cannot remember a world that was not filled with machines, will never be able to imagine the drastic differences between your youth and mine. When I was a child people could fly without the need of jerry-rigged contraptions that were just as likely to explode as not. When I was young angels and demons walked the city streets. And they were fearless.'"...
"'Fearless,' Allan says. 'You could be strolling down a sidewalk one morning, minding your own business, chewing on a still-steaming hot cross bun and planning your day's youthful exploits, and then suddenly an angel would fly out of nowhere and stand in your path and just stare at you. Winking and leering, doing a little dance and flapping its wings, chuckling to itself, as if to say: Go ahead and try it, child. I dare you to disbelieve in me.'"
-Allan Winslow, Harold's father, on the age of miracles he grew up in.

This is your first peek at the supposed time before machines and mechanical men started to be everywhere in the world, through the aging mind of Harold's father.

"'The girl in the class says it helps to have  an eye for art to get the problems right,' Harold says. 'She's always going on about elegant solutions and symmetry and things like that. And sometimes I see something like that, and I get it, but where I guess I'm supposed to feels some sort of universal awe at the order of things, instead I feel - I don't know. Nervous. Terrified. Take - take destructive interference. Now here is one of the things I kind of get,' he says, feeling once again the pleasure of having got it. He takes a fresh index card from the stack on the table and draws a wave across it, nothing like a sine wave, but close enough to get the point across.
'That's the shape of a sound,' says Harold. 'But every sound has an enemy. And to discover the shape of a sound's enemy, you hold a mirror up to it.' Harold scribbles on the card some more, adding to the original drawing. 'Now take this sound on the other side of the mirror and pull it into your own world. And if you add these sounds together, this is what you get.' Flipping the card over and drawing a straight line across it from corner to corner. 'Nothing.'

'Well, what's so god-awfully scary about that?' asks Astrid.

'It's scary because every day thousands of new sounds are born into the world: new machines with new rhythms; new words to name those new machines. Every day there are more sounds, and I'm afraid that, some day in the future, every sound that's possible to make will be in the world at the same time. And since every sound has its opposite, they will cancel each other out, and at the end of the day there'll be billions of machines with their percussive rhythms, and billions of words in a language that doesn't work anymore, and billions of people trying to be heard, screaming their lungs out, hurling their impotent noises into a world so saturated with noise that it might as well be deaf, and dumb, and blind.'
Now it's Astrid's turn to say nothing.

'All the noises of the world add up to silence,' says Harold. 'This world will begin and end in silence.'"

-Harold, talking about his Physics for Poets class and Destructive Interference.

A diagram that shows the gist of Harold's drawings from the book.

"'Son. What's happened to your voice? I hear something new in it when you read the papers. There used to be music in it; now there's metal in its place. Not something strong and forged, like steel - something cheap that breaks when you bend it. Tin, or the gilding on a cheap thing that makes it look like gold. Yes - there's metal in your voice now.' Allan's gaze drifts, and he looks confused.
 I don't know what he's talking about, Harold thinks. But he does.
'To tell the truth, it wasn't sudden,' Allan said. 'For years I've heard it creeping in, more and more, a cheap tin noise coming from something cheap and made of tin. Wait - that's too harsh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that. If I said it it's because I'm sitting here in these empty rooms and turning to tin as well. Just like everyone else.
'But your voice had music in it when you were a child! I remember when you were so excited about that silly roller coaster. Spinning yourself dizzy. Tornadoooo! I'd never hear high notes like that out of you now; haven't for years. You haven't felt like that for a long time, have you?
'All the high notes have left your voice. Mine too.'

Harold says nothing and looks at the floor.

'I can't blame you,' says Allan. 'Soft hearts provide poor harbor; tin hearts can better stand against time and bad weather, thin and hollow as they are. So you pray to change from flesh to metal, and the dying Author of the world hears your plea and performs his final miracle. He lays His hand on you and then He vanishes. And what mortal man can undo that? What human on this earth has the power to change a tin man back to flesh?'"

- Allan Winslow, during Harold's 20's, rambling about the loss of innocence.

This next excerpt is probably the heart of the philosophical purpose of this book, and it describes a conflict of interest visible in many different aspects of life.

"-Two moral forces shaped how we think and live in this shining twentieth century: the Virgin, and the Dynamo. The Dynamo represents the desire to know; the Virgin represents the freedom not to know.
What's the Virgin made of? Things that we think are silly, mostly. The peculiar logic of dreams, or the inexplicable stirring we feel when we look on someone that's beautiful now in a way that we all agree is beautiful, but the unique way in which a single person is. The Virgin is faith and mysticism; miracle and instinct; art and randomness.
On the other hand, you have the Dynamo: the unstoppable engine. It finds the logic behind a seeming miracle and explains that miracle away; it finds the order in randomness to which we're blind;  it takes a caliper to a young woman's head and quantifies her beauty in terms of pleasing mathematical ratios; it accounts for the secret stirring you felt by discoursing at length on the nervous systems of animals.

These forces aren't diametrically opposed, and it's not correct to say that one's good and the other's evil, despite the prejudices we might have toward one or the other. When we're at our best, both the Virgin and the Dynamo govern what we think and what we do. But the fear that we felt standing in the Hall of Dynamos stemmed from the certainty that the Virgin was in trouble, and that we needed her, just as much as we needed and even wanted the Dynamo. What the Dynamo threatened to do was murder the Virgin by explaining her to us, because it was its nature to explain. To us common men it wasn't worth the pleasure of looking at a woman and knowing that we found her beautiful because of the distance between the tip of her nose and her top lip and the size of her eyes, if it meant losing the equally wonderful pleasure of looking at that same woman and finding her beautiful without knowing why.

Imagine a damsel in distress, tied to a train track and screaming. Her impending death would be unfortunate, but would you call the engine that drives the oncoming train evil? You have to ask: how did the damsel get there? Where's the black-cowled dastard in the top hat and the handlebar mustache who did the tying? He is one who forces us to view the damsel and the engine as moral opposites when, in fact, they're nothing of the kind. He is a person who believes that all of our human problems can be solved by the all-knowing Dynamo. And if the Dynamo has to run over a Virgin or two as it barrels unerringly toward its final destination: no great loss, really, in the end."

I'll come back and talk about all this stuff when I'm done posting quotes and excerpts.

"What he can't bring himself to say to Miranda is:
'When I was a child, I used to look at adults half with conclusion, half with envy, trying and failing to imagine the nature of the mysteries to which they'd been initiated, the pleasures they were keeping to themselves. Have you ever watched the swings of moods that toddlers go through, the way they act as if they're attending their own funeral if the axle falls off a favored toy car, or the rapturous expressions that show up on their faces when they suck on sweet things? Though the memory's fading, I can still remember feeling like that, and I thought that being an adult would be even more like that - that the emotions that make us human got more intense, the older you grew. Even at the age of ten, simple surprise gifts could be enough to make me feel like my heart and my brain were both about to burst. I couldn't imagine how people even survived to the age of twenty when such pleasures were lying in wait, out in the world.
'But that hasn't turned out to be what happened - instead, my own father tells me that he thinks I'm turning into tin. Something inside me is dying, and I don't know what to do to save it; something inside me is slipping away, and somehow my memories of what you were as a child have come to stand in for all the things I want to keep alive inside myself and don't know how. In dreams I see you as a queen, standing at a roof's edge; again and again you beckon to me, and again and again I watch you fall, and with you fall all those things within me that make me best.
'There has to be a spell to speak to save you, and myself. But for the life of me I can't come up with the words.'"

- Harold, in what was a pivotal moment in his life, and he chose not to say what could have saved him.

"This is the time of night just before sunrise, the time that no one owns, and if you have found yourself awake and alone during this time, out in the city, outside the safety of the walls you call your own, then you know me, and you have felt what I have felt. This is the hour of the night it's best to sleep through, for if it catches you awake then it well force you to face what is true. This is when you look into the half-dead eyes of those who are either wishing for sleep or shaking off its final remnants, and you see the signs of the twilight in which your own mind is suspended.

"At any other time it's better. You can do the things you feel you should; you're an expert at going through the motions. Your handshakes with strangers are firm and your gaze never wavers; you think of steel and diamonds when you stare. In a monotone you repeat the legendary words of long-dead lovers to those you claim to love; you take them into bed with you, and you mimic the rhythmic motions you're read of in manuals. When protocol demands it you dutifully drop to your knees and pray to a god who no longer exists. But in this hour you must admit to yourself that this is not enough, that you are not good enough. And when you knock your fist against your chest you hear a hollow ringing echo, and all your thoughts are accompanied by the ticks of clockwork spinning behind your eyes, and everything you eat and drink has the aftertaste of rust."
- Harold, narrating this time, talking about the time of night he is heading home from the club.

"'You've told me many secrets," Prospero says, and smiles. "Now I will tell you one. It's my darkest. Are you ready?
'It is this.' He leans toward me and spreads his arms in mock surrender. 'I have no past. You may think that I was once small and young and unwise as you once were, but I have always been as you see me before you. Always an old magician in exile.'"

- Prospero Taligent, on his past.There are more quotes than that I'd like to share, but they're kind of vital to the plot and goings on and will spoil the story for you. The last one from Prospero almost earned a spoiler alert, but I decided it wasn't enough to ruin anything specific for you, given that you haven't seen his character's development up until that point in the book.

What I love about this book is the elegant and very subtle development of Harold's character through those series of events that lead him to become the man he is aboard the Chrysalis. It's the slow and inevitable and inescapable chugging motor of the Dynamo, turning everything into metal as time progresses. And it's not something it knows it's doing. It's just the natural progression of things. Time changes us and shifts the way we think and perceive and operate in life. Things that used to be important to us become trivial matters, and things that didn't used to even cross our mind now consume our thoughts and cause us to worry and fear and give us many sleepless nights out of sheer stress. And there's not a whole lot anyone can do to stop it.

There's a point in the book where Harold could have changed the entire series of events that came after that point and maybe even saved himself from his inevitable fate. But his failure to admit what is happening to him and accept it leaves him powerless to change it. He won't say out loud that he's terrified to death that he's turning to metal, and instead returns to Miranda's playroom and tries to deny what he feels inside. And, at the end of the day, that choice is what doomed him to end up on the good ship Chrysalis, circling the earth endlessly, trying to find Miranda and not accept his madness by talking to her.

In short, YOU HAVE TO READ THIS BOOK. I love it so much that the ending still gets me literally every time, though the tone and meaning has changed and shifted every single time I've read it. It's become so much more serious and so much darker as I peel back each successive layer and discover more about the characters and the series of events as they progress. It blows my mind how much stuff there is to be found and discussed in such a small story. It does have a pretty complex character development that took me a few reads to fully grasp, though I may not have read as carefully or paid close enough attention the first few times through. But it's totally worth taking the time to break down and pull apart and figure out, though that might just be the Dynamo in my crying out to understand everything going on.

Since I've read this book, I've been more conscious of the battle between the Virgin and the Dynamo in my life, in my need to explain and understand everything about my universe. I've started to appreciate life more at face value and stop trying to detect the motives behind everything or attach value to something that doesn't necessarily mean anything at all. I tend to take things way too seriously and not just lay back and relax and enjoy life and the progression of things. I'm rigid and ordered and systematic and analytical and structured, and because of that, I can be a stick in the mud on a lot of occasions. And, I don't understand people who aren't as structured and rigid as I am. They don't make sense to me.

So I've been striving to reconcile the Virgin and the Dynamo within me, and to learn to understand people who aren't like me so that all of our interactions aren't abrasive and difficult and just annoying. Which is why I've had a huge fascination with body language and personality types and reading people over the last few years. I'm trying to understand other people so that I can meet them in the middle and not have all sorts of arguments and ridiculous fights and disagreements over simple misses in communication like I tend to.

Anyway. Read The Dream of Perpetual Motion. It's awesome and amazing and I love it. Sorry this one was so long audience. I didn't intend for it to be this long. Till next time.

Topic: I Have No Idea

Hello, audience. I'm not dead or trapped in a well or something. I've just had writers block. Every time I've been online and had the freedom of time to write a blog lately, I haven't been able to come up with anything. Which is basically what I feared would happen when my ex convinced me to start writing a blog in the first place. The other thing I feared would happen is that I would be boring and no one would be interested in any of my blogs. So far, that doesn't seem to be true, but the only real feedback I've received thus far has been from people I already know, so I'm not positive as to whether I'm just getting sympathy views or whether anyone actually cares to read what I write. In fact, some of the blogs I had the most fun writing have the least number of page views, so apparently what I think people will read and what they actually read are two very different things. Shows how underdeveloped my foresight and/or mind reading powers are.

This chick seems to have it down.

Anywho, not a lot has been going on lately. Insomnia has brought me some really long nights, and chemical imbalances have put me in some really grey and pensive moods. I've been doing a lot of reading, and I've had some long conversations with friends I don't connect with very often. Long as in hours and hours sitting in a car in front of my house, or a booth in Village Inn after closing time but before the wait staff (who totally loves our Wednesday night group) kicks us out so they can go home. So plenty of mental stimulation.

I recently read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings for the first time in my life. I've long been a fan of the Peter Jackson movies, but until now I had never successfully read the books. I started Fellowship a couple years back, but I went into it with a totally incorrect mindset and preconceived notion of what to expect, so I never made it past Lorien. This time, however, I wasn't expecting the novelization of the movies, but a grand adventure of some Hobbits that got themselves into trouble of an epic scale and how they got out of it. Needless to say, it went much much better. I had to borrow a copy of Two Towers and Return of the King from friends, but I made it. And I tell you what, I'm going to have a whole new appreciation for the movies next time I watch them. Which will probably be in the next six months or so. I'm due to watch them again at some point this year. Also, Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn. /story.

You wish you could be Aragorn. It's okay, admit it. I do too.

Hmmm. What else....
I've resolved to buy some EMG pickups for my beautiful Roxanne and gentleman Ray Charles. A set of 81/85X humbuckers for Roxy, and one of their strat sets for Ray, if anyone cared to know. Umm.. I'm totally going to see Periphery, Protest the Hero, and Jeff Loomis TOMORROW NIGHT. It's going to be awesome. AND, Meshuggah next month. I'm super stoked for that one. I missed them on their last tour in America like three or four years ago. And they were playing with Cynic, too. I'm still mad about it.

I'm back on the active role of job hunting again. I've been super lazy for the last few months and haven't been doing a whole lot, but I'm finally sick to death of being unemployed, so I'm filling out online apps like mad and I'm taking down phone numbers to call en masse later today. I still feel like a major bum for not already having a job, but that's what I get for being lazy and not trying super hard. I don't take rejection well, and I get discouraged pretty easily when I'm in a down mood. I lose interest in doing most anything but trying to escape from reality, so I end up reading a lot or playing immersive games, like the ultra-popular Skyrim. To give you a taste of my capacity for escapism, I probably have more than 150 hours of play total across six or seven different characters on two different PS3 consoles, and I don't actually own the game myself. No, I really don't have a life.

And then I stop and think about how many jobs I could have had by now if I had dedicated that many hours to job hunting since Skyrim's release on 11/11/11 and go pull up an online application. And then, as soon as the first window pops up with information I have to fill out, I remember why I haven't. Because Skyrim is way more fun than filling out job apps. Applications are sobering and elucidating and generally put me in a bad mood, whereas Skyrim lets me be an Orc Warrior with bright red mutton chops named Scotty McOrcishbane and run around splattering people and monsters to death with a giant warhammer.

This is exactly what it's like.

Side note: The Sinclair/7-11 on Constitution and Academy is THE BEST 7-11 I have ever been to. Why? Because the employees are cooler, and because they totally kept the big green dinosaur and stuck it on the side of the building instead of out by the corner. I almost cried when I didn't see it mocking the drivers trying to cross Academy on Constitution during rush hour the first couple times I drove by. But all is well, because the big green guy is definitely still around.

Now that I have effectively wandered aimlessly for somewhere around ten or fifteen minutes, I'm going to call this blog a done deal. It's my first ever stream of consciousness blog, and I must say, I enjoyed it pretty well. Previous experience tells me that I am going to get very few views because of that. We will just have to see if that remains true. I'll let you guys who actually read this far know in my next blog where this one stands in the overall running. Maybe I'll even draw up a nifty graph like the guy who does XKCD does from time to time. Great web comic, by the way. I've read every single one, INCLUDING the secret text for each. How's that for not having a life?

I want to be the hat guy when I grow up.

I feel like I should start compiling a list of my achievements in not having a life. Among them would be watching the Theatrical AND Extended Edition of The Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson trilogy in marathon. On separate occasions, of course. Though, I think I may have cheated through a couple scenes I didn't like and let myself nod off, so maybe I'll have to try again...

Anyway. Now I'm actually done. Thank you again for reading, audience. It does actually make me happy to see that people read my blog from time to time. Until next time.

Balance: The Great Pendulum of Life

Hello, audience. I'm not going to lie. This blog is fifty percent because I had a topic, and fifty percent because I feel obligated to write after not having done so for most of February. I'm not sure where the last month went, but I have my suspicions, and I'll give you more information in a bit.

Also, I feel like I should inform you in advance that this blog is in intentionally shorter than usual. I tend to write a lot to begin with, but I've been getting longer and longer as time has gone on and I feel bad. So this one will be short, sweet, and to the point.

For a few years now, I've been interested in the concept of Universal Balance. Cultures since the dawn of time have also been fascinated by balance and have exhibited such in various displays of duality in their religious, mythical, and spiritual beliefs. Light and dark, good and evil, right and wrong, male and female, day and night, hot and cold, fire and water, earth and air, time and space, etc.

Lately, I've been pointing out little moments in life where it seems like things are really fantastic, and then everything sucks two or three days later. I have really stretched my belief in universal balance because of that, seeing all these instances of things staying balanced over some period of time. At some points, it even seems like the flow of time runs on a system of balance. Some days, time drags on and on and on, and others, it flies by so quickly, you're not sure you were even awake most of the day. A good example of this is that January took like five months to pass, and February took about two days. Or so it seems.

I get frustrated by this balance, blaming Murphy for ruining things once they started looking up, but that's not the final conclusion I've come to about it. I decided that it's like a pendulum, something that isn't by any means an original thought, but is still a great picture.

I couldn't find any pictures of a swinging pendulum, so you get this diagram instead.

Life is a pendulum, swinging between the good and bad things in life. It goes back and forth, into one half, then back to the other. Now, if someone were to put their hand on the bad side to try and keep it from swinging into that half of the spectrum, the pendulum would lose its momentum and therefore not be able to swing as far the other direction. Its range decreases on both sides if you limit one. So by limiting your ability to experience the bad, you also limit your ability to experience the amazing things in life that make it worth living. You can't have one without the other.

A good example of this is living cautiously. If someone is always afraid something bad is going to happen, then they  take all sorts of precautions to keep things from going wrong. They don't do dangerous things or exciting places, they don't do anything reckless, they always keep to the plan and live so as to preserve their life the best. Now, this person would surely be safe from danger, but they would also be safe from doing anything fun or exciting. They'd never go sky diving or rock climbing, they'd never listen to loud music, they'd never drink irresponsibly, they'd never stuff themselves silly with junk food,they'd never meet anyone exciting or new, they'd never go on adventures or do much of anything at all. They'd have less bad, but they'd keep themselves from just as much good.

Of course, this also works the opposite way. People who over-indulge in good things open themselves up to a lot of bad in equal amounts. The solution to this is the adage that has taken my group of friends by storm: Everything in moderation.

A pop culture example would be the movie Equilibrium, with Christian Bale. In the movie, mankind suffered through the tragedy of World War III, and decided that IV would leave no one alive. So they sought the root of humanity's problems and realized it was emotions. Hatred, anger, greed, lust, etc. To solve this problem for everyone's sake, an intravenous drug called Prozium was created to suppress emotions. There's a lot to the movie, but the eventual point is that though the drug gets rid of the root cause of violence, it also gets rid of the positive spectrum of human emotion. The decision must then be made as to whether or not allowing ourselves to feel the good emotions is worth the cost of the bad.

Also, lots of action-y violence and fight scenes. Cleric John Preston is way cooler than Batman.

In my opinion, it's worth it every time. Life wouldn't be worth living without all the good things. Sure, the bad things suck, but they're not everything. And if all you spend your time doing is focusing on the bad, of course that's all you'll see. I'm learning to accept the bad and hold onto the good. I've found this amazing new appreciation for life in understanding the balance of life and what it really means.

So don't forget, audience. Life may suck now, but it won't always suck. The pendulum will swing back around and things will be okay again. Till next time, just keep swinging.

Playing Guitar: Tips and Tricks From A Fellow Musician

Hello there, audience. My last blog was about music, and I decided that I would continue the trend in honor of the new addition to my musical family. A quick story first, and then I'll get to business.

Once upon a time, I played cello. I got really into guitar, and my parents traded in the contract on my lease to own cello and got me an electric guitar starter kit from Ibanez. It's a nice deep blue GIO, and his name is Ray Charles. Yes, I do realize Ray Charles played piano. I've had Ray for about four years, maybe five now, and he's still playing strong. A couple years ago, I got a Peavey Predator for Christmas/Birthday (they're close enough together that I get presents all at once, but far enough apart that I don't get them combined and get half the presents. :D). It was bright red, and I named her Anna Lee after the song by Dream Theater. In the last year or so, I needed money to repair Ray Charles and decided, after much deliberation, to sell Anna Lee to procure the funds necessary. It was sad, but it had to be done. This last week, my mother went to Arizona on business and took some of her down time to visit relatives living there. She visited my great uncle, who had a few guitars left to him when his son died in the early 2000's. He decided to present one of them to me as a gift, and mother brought it back to me last night. It's a dark red Epiphone SG Special. Her name is Roxanne, or Roxy for short.

This is one of me and Ray Charles, way back when I started playing. I've come a long way since.

In playing Roxy for a few hours, I sort of rekindled my passion for playing guitar. I've been feeling a bit stale lately, as I don't have much material to learn or any specific direction to practice in. Getting this new guitar as a gracious gift, and it being of better quality than Ray Charles, I decided to run over a lot of old songs I know in E standard tuning. Roxy plays smoothly enough that it was an absolute joy to play, and I ended up sitting around for hours playing old material from memory. Now, I'm sitting on the couch next to my gorgeous new guitar, and I decided to try and take some pieces from my own guitar playing experience and try and pass on some tips to aspiring fellow guitarists, whether I know you personally or if we have never met and doubtfully ever will. So, without further ado, here are some things I have done in the past or still do to keep up my skill and continue to improve.

Don't laugh. This is where all great guitarists started out.

Always always always start with a strong foundation.
If you don't know how basic music theory works, put down your guitar and go sit in on an elementary school music class. You need to understand what scales are, sharps flats and naturals, chords, time signature and meter, and how to read basic sheet music, tabs, and chord charts. These are VITAL to getting a proper base in music. You can learn everything and anything if you know just a few basic things that you can pick up from any 

music class or book on the basics of playing an instrument. Take the time to learn it.

Along with that, you need to understand the fundamentals of the instrument. Know what all the parts are and what they do. I know it sounds childish, but it really is important. Think of how foolish you would feel talking to another guitarist about playing and not being able to even talk to them about your instrument, let alone how to play it. Learn how to hold a pick, or how to finger-pick or strum with your nails if you would rather not use a pick. Be able to play all the strings at once, or one at a time, or isolated groups of two or three. Know how to place your finger on the frets to get the proper tone, how to palm mute, how to alternate pick, etc. Basic guitar techniques. If you don't know how to do any of these, go out and get a starter book for guitar and begin to learn there. Or, look it up online. Or ask a friend. Or get a teacher. But don't move forward until you have those basics down. 

Everything is 200% more frustrating without them. This is where a lot of aspiring guitarists slip up and then quit when things get hard. I wouldn't have made it this far without a firm grounding in basic music theory and guitar playing technique. So learn it.

Start with what you know.

The easiest place to begin is somewhere familiar. Pick a band you know and love, and choose a song by them you've always wanted to learn. Go online and try to find tabs or chord charts or sheet music of their songs. There are countless sites for archiving music for guitar, but my personal favorite is [ultimate-guitar.com]. If you can't find it online, then try listening to the song and picking out parts by ear. This is more difficult, but ultimately more rewarding, as it trains you to actively listen, to seek out pitch and teach yourself by repetition how to listen to guitar parts. If you do find an outside record of the music, sit down with it and read it over while listening to the song. Familiarize yourself with the flow of the song, the order of riffs, which melodies repeat or are varied upon and where, etc. Really drill it into your head. Then, start playing.

No snarky remarks here. Just do it.

Take it one step at a time.

Pick out individual riffs or licks, starting from the top, and play them by yourself. Do it over and over and over again until you're comfortable playing it straight through with relatively little mistakes on most of your runs. No one is perfect, but if you strive to play it perfectly, then you'll always do better. Once you're comfortable, try playing along with the song. Again, do it over and over and over again, until you can keep up with the song and play it as much like the recording as possible. With that piece down, go back, pick up the next portion, and start again. When you have that down, play the song from the top. Keep going until you can play everything straight through comfortably with the recording. Take it piece by piece one step at a time until you're playing the entire song straight through. After that, you can shut off the recording and play through it by yourself to ensure you've really committed everything to memory.

Don't get discouraged if you're not very good. Most of the songs I learned for the first year or so of playing were played entirely on the low E string, and were very very simple. You have to start somewhere, and that's why starting with something you like will help. It's a song you like to listen to, one you know, and one you really want to play, if only the simplest part or your favorite melody. Every hour of practice you put in strengthens your callouses, builds muscle memory, reaction time, and overall comfort with your instrument. The best way to ensure you never learn to play is by choosing something too difficult or a song you aren't familiar with and then giving up because you can't do it right away. It takes lots of practice to learn an instrument, and guitar is especially hard because it hurts your fingers to be pressing on the strings for long periods, as well as frustrating your brain when trying to make your fingers move in the correct order or with the proper timing and speed or to go to the correct positions without much difficulty. Just keep trying over and over again, and you'll be sure to make progress.

Trust me. Everyone has one of these moments.

Keep broad horizons.
As much fun as it would be to learn every song by a single band, most artists only have a few tricks up their sleeves as to the way they write songs. Once you learn a few songs by your favorite artist, pick another and learn some of theirs. Pick different genres, styles, tempos, and difficulty levels. If you know four fast songs, start learning some slow ones. Balance is key to becoming a well rounded musician. That includes genres as well as difficulty levels. If all you know how to play is super fast songs, you may not develop proper technique for keeping rhythm. Super technical songs are fun, but they get you accustomed to memorizing patterns, not actual song structures. You should be able to strum the guitar to a soft rock song as well as you can shred your technical metal songs. The same applies the other direction. Don't learn all slow, easy going, simple songs. Pick some faster or more upbeat songs, or ones with riffs rather than chord progressions. Or just learn the lead guitar parts to simpler songs.

I started off playing Metallica and The Misfits on one string, then taught myself some Dio. I picked up tabs for Iron Maiden and Megadeth, some AC/DC, Led Zeppelin. Eventually I got into Dream Theater and burned blood sweat and tears trying to learn it. I got some simpler things like Ludo, or some pop rock songs with simple tunes. I also played for the worship band at my youth group, so I learned songs with simple repetitive chord progressions but specific strumming patterns or rhythms. I learned fast songs and slow ones, easy ones and much harder ones. 

Sometimes, I only knew two riffs out of a song because the rest were too difficult to play at the time. Eventually I came back when I was better and tried again. Now I can play a stack of Dream Theater songs, a lot of Megadeth, As I Lay Dying, All That Remains, The Human Abstract, some Red, some Forgive Durden, I learned to play and sing a bunch of Ludo, I've even learned some classical songs I transcribed for guitar. I let my playing repertoire reflect my taste in music and spread out the type of things I learned to encompass a lot of it. It keeps things interesting, and it keeps my playing from getting too shred heavy or too slow-strumming filled.

Use your senses to improve your own playing.
Listen carefully to what you're doing. There are plenty of guitar tabs or chord charts that were put together incorrectly, and what you play can end up sounding very different from what the song sounds like. Listen to the parts that sound incorrect and determine whether it was a mistake in the written music, or if you're playing something incorrectly. If something feels awkward to play, try to find a different way of playing it. Move the notes around on the fretboard to a place that might be easier for you to play. Run through the song over and over and try to discover what notes are wrong and correct them for yourself. There's almost nothing quite as rewarding for me as discovering an error in a tab and figuring out the right way to play it on my own by ear. Especially when 323 people gave that tab a 5 star rating and told the author it was perfect and awesome and magical.

Ear horn is optional.

Above all, trust your senses. After listening and playing to a song a few dozen times, you should be able to tell if something is wrong or needs adjusting. If you find out you're playing something wrong, play it over and over the right way to correct your muscle memory. Constantly check up to make sure that everything is falling properly into place before you go on playing. There's not much worse than learning to play a song, and then realizing weeks later that you have been playing it wrong the whole time and having to re-teach your fingers what to do.

Constantly practice and refine your playing.
Practice may not always make perfect, but it makes it damn close. You have to set aside time to play regularly or else you will lose callous, finesse, muscle memory, or just forget entire songs. If you're really serious about learning, you'll find the time to play an hour or two every few days. Start by warming up your hands with something simple, some exercises you get from elsewhere or you come up with yourself. Things that get both hands awake and ready to play. Play things you know really well first, to keep them solid in your memory and to refine whatever techniques those songs use. Then move onto things you're learning or are having trouble with. Dedicate most of your time to working out mistakes and correcting them. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over should be exactly what your practice time looks like. Until you get it right, or you've made progress and want to move onto something else.

Never stop learning new things. Always try to find something new to play that challenges you in a new way. Something that requires more finesse and attention to strumming or picking patterns, something that stretches your muscle memory by using weird chords or chord progressions, learning new riffs or techniques that make your hands do things you haven't done before. Keep it diverse, keep it interesting, and keep it challenging. If everything you pick up to play is really easy, look into another artist or genre of music.

Along the way, pick up as much music theory as you need to continue getting better. Learn about different scales or keys or modes or chord progressions. Look into blues and jazz and learn about improvising. Start trying to come up with songs of your own using techniques or styles you have learned and become comfortable with. Nothing stretches your ability with your instrument like putting all your knowledge on the table and trying to create something of your own out of it. Write your own songs, then come up with lyrics. Write chord progressions and fun licks to play on them. Come up with riffs or lead melodies. Write solo parts. Write harmonies. Find another guitarist to play with. Always try to find something new and challenging to present yourself with when you become comfortable and capable with the last. The greatest guitarists in the world are still learning and growing and practicing and developing their abilities every single time they pick up their guitar.

Even now, when they're playing for crowds like this.

Most important of all, Have fun.
If your practice sessions consist of you getting really frustrated at a new song or a difficult riff, and then giving up and storming away, try to lay off on the new stuff for a while. The whole point of playing guitar is to have fun making music that you enjoy. The second it stops being fun, you're crossing out of the zone you should be playing in. Now, if you're just giving up because you don't want to try, then maybe you should push yourself a little harder. It takes lots of practice, and sometimes things just seem impossible. But if you keep at it, you'll work through it and learn to overcome whatever difficulty you're facing. And then you can be proud of yourself for having learned that really difficult song, and you can show it off to all of your friends. If you give up, you really never will get any better, and you might as well sell your guitar, because it's not that you can't do it. It's that you're choosing not to try.

So there you have it. A bunch of things I spewed off the top of my head to try and help point you in the right direction. I hope that you find something useful in there, because it's these kinds of things that helped me get as far as I am today. I've been playing for 6 years now, I've learned probably more than 50 songs, written a handful or two of my own, I've played all different styles of music at all different kinds of concerts, from talent shows to worship sets to actual paid gigs at a local venue, and with all different kinds of musicians of all different styles and music tastes and backgrounds and skill levels. If you stick to it, and you really want to go somewhere with guitar, you will. But it's constant work, and it's not always easy.

Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this, audience. I hope I could help. I look forward to seeing albums with your names on them in music stores soon, or at least getting the opportunity to play with some of you sometime. Farewell for now, my invisible friends.

Maybe I'll see you again someday soon.

From Sludge to Ambrosia: Popular Music and Why I Hate It

Hello again audience. It hasn't been too long since I last wrote, and some personal thinking and a couple conversations and such in the last few days have led me to want to write this blog about music.

Before I begin, I want to explain that music is so ingrained into who I am that it's practically an organ in my body. When I was still a tiny growing fetus, I would go completely nuts as soon as the worship portion of Sunday morning church service began. As I grew up, music continued to fill the air around me, and as soon as I learned to whistle, my fate was sealed. I'd pick up jingles from commercials on TV or the radio and whistle them over and over and over again until my dad was ready to glue my mouth shut. I sang at church in plays and in front of the adults during Sunday evening services. In fourth grade, I was introduced to the cello and began playing in my elementary school string orchestra. My sister was interested in playing piano for a while, and I took what I knew of reading music and such from cello and taught myself how to play some things on piano. I picked up guitar around seventh or eighth grade and fell totally in love with it. My brother played bass for a while and I used to sit in his room every once in a while and listen to him play. I played cello up until ninth grade, and then my parents traded my cello for an electric guitar halfway through tenth so I could pursue that. And I've played it religiously ever since.

My music tastes started humble, listening to classical music and contemporary christian from the radio. I got into some christian rock, and then my friend Alex introduced me to classic rock, punk and metal. The Beatles, Pink Floyd, The Who, The Doors, The Clash, The Ramones, The Misfits, The Offspring, Beastie Boys, followed closely by Iron Maiden, Metallica, Megadeth, Guns N Roses, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, AC/DC, that kinds of stuff. Some more modern stuff came up, like Disturbed, System of a Down, Korn, Slipknot, Breaking Benjamin, Chevelle, secular radio tunes and such. I stayed pretty close on the christian side of things for a while, but eventually branched into heavier metals. Dethklok came really early, along with Children of Bodom, Amon Amarth, then heavier stuff like Psycroptic and Quo Vadis, then even heavier stuff like Origin and Fleshgod Apocalypse. I got into hardcore, growing into liking early Haste The Day, As I Lay Dying, August Burns Red, The Devil Wears Prada, Underoath, earlier All That Remains, Anterior, Trivium, Killswitch Engage, and eventually more southern style stuff like Every Time I Die and Norma Jean. Everything changed pretty drastically when I was first introduced to Dream Theater.

All of these men are better at music than I'll ever be. Especially the little Asian one.

Progressive metal became my thing, and I fell in love with Andromeda, Pain of Salvation, and Cynic, and Coheed and Cambria on the lighter prog rock side of things. I got really into technical stuff again around then, discovering one of my very favorites, The Human Abstract, and getting into Meshuggah thanks to obZen. I started really liking the subgenre some call 'djent' this last year, picking up one of my other favorites, Periphery, and being introduced to bands like Textures, Heart Of A Coward, and Wayfarer. Now, between all of those, I found some more indie or alt rock bands I liked, including some stuff I can only honestly label as pop punk. Those bands had less influence on me, but are still things I like to listen to. I've carried a stereo to and from school because I didn't have a smaller cd player to listen to music during study times or such. I eventually got an iPod and filled it to the brim, then got a bigger one and now that one stays consistently full, around 3500 to 4200 songs or so and at least 150 artists if not more. Its headphone jack and screen broke and I cannibalized another iPod to replace them, and now I've ruined the headphone jack again. I constantly whistle or tap my feet of click my teeth back and forth against each other or hum or sing to myself or listen to music in my head. As long as I'm awake, there is some form of music going on, either physically or just where I can hear it.


I say all of this to make one point clear: When I say 'Music is my life,' I don't mean what most people mean, being 'I like to listen to some top 40 songs off the radio that are kinda catchy so I can memorize the lyrics and not be a social outcast at school.' Music really is my life. I've been doing something musical for as long as I can remember and I really don't go a day without listening to at least two to four hours of music and playing music on my guitar for a similar amount. It's my favorite thing to do, my primary way of connecting to people and getting to know them, and it's the first thing I have ever been dead set on doing for the rest of my life.


All that being said, I'd like to return to the title. Recently, while listening to Meshuggah in bed, I listened to the final track off their album Nothing, titled Obsidian. It's almost six minutes long and completely instrumental. Due to recent events and general stress, I had a strange ache in the pit of my stomach. Now, I'm usually affected by music in a way that is sometimes tangible, feeling warm and fuzzy or indestructible or getting the chills or whatever, but I have never been made to feel ill by a song, up until I listened to Obsidian that day. It took my stomach ache and made it twist and wrench and grow in an uncomfortable manner. I thought about it for a bit, and it's definitely not the heaviest or most extreme music I listen to, but it's probably the most extreme I've been exposed to in a while.


I talked to my metalhead pal David about it, and I asked if maybe it would have an even stronger effect on people less accustomed to extreme music. He suggested the idea that maybe it was like ambrosia, the food of the ancient Greek gods. It was reserved specifically for them and kept from mortals, and it was said that consuming ambrosia and nectar would cause ichor to flow through ones veins rather than blood. The gist of that being that extreme and technical music is powerful and amazing, but that it isn't meant for mortals to enjoy. Which would explain my reaction to such a strong dose of the stuff. Here it is for you to listen to and understand.






Along with that, I have a continuing hatred for popular music, and here's why. The artists may be passionate about what they do, but the product they put out is written and produced and designed purely to sell to the widest audience possible. Their goal in creating music is to sell records and make money, while doing what they enjoy and performing for audiences and such. My problem with this is that their music lacks integrity. It is shaped to be liked by as many people as possible, and therefore has to be simple and catchy and repetitive and talk about topics people like and want to hear about. Some examples of this are just about every song on the radio about dancing, going to the club, having sex, doing drugs, hanging out with friends, being happy, being sad, or partying. You know exactly what I'm talking about, Party Rock Anthem, you despicable piece of useless noise.

A lot of the artists I admire these days are the ones who play exactly what it is they love and are damn good at it. They find influence in really creative and unique musicians or bands, and then write and perform songs grown out of that influence. They end up with a really particular and interesting sound that sets them apart from most music these days. It's usually not the most popular sound, and they don't even end up on the radio a lot of times. In times before the internet music sharing craze, bands like this would gather a devoted cult following and then they would end up having to call it quits due to lack of support. Now, bands from cities all over the world can get their names spread out there and gain publicity and momentum without having to meet all of those people in person or reach them in a physical manner.

Periphery, as I mentioned above, is one of the primary forces in the 'djent' subgenre, finding influence in both progressive and heavy places. They have sounds ranging from light, melodic, and beautiful, to thick, chunky, and gritty grooves. They blend the two with clean and distorted guitars, sung and screamed vocals, and some techno fillers inbetween songs that act as a sort of palate cleanser and interlude. The band started as a result of the lead guitarst Bulb writing and creating music he posted free on the internet, and then pulling together a band to perform it live. Periphery's audience was primarily scattered widely at first due to their birth on the internet, giving them a wider base of support than a band who starts gaining popularity in one city and moves on. The greatest feat of the band is having achieved such success in a generally less popular genre without the help of a major record label, radio support, or large scale promotion. Their music spoke for itself.

All of these men are also better at music than I'll ever be. Especially the ones with hair.

There are plenty of groups like Periphery out there, striving to remain unique and true to themselves while still trying to gain popularity enough to make a living off of their music. But, due to the shape of the music industry today, this just isn't possible anymore. Huge record labels and widely sponsored popular artists make millions, while honest musicians just trying to make it playing what they love get choked out and have to rely on other means to support their music careers.

Here's where it all ties together. 


Popular music is like sludge. It's colorless, shapeless, has a disturbing consistency, and there's plenty of it to be had. It's consumed in small amounts no matter what you do or how hard you try to avoid it, and it's very easy to spread over a large area. You can tell people it's anything and everything you want them to think it is and they'll pay you for it. And it makes me ill.

Mmmm... sludge.

Honest, creative, inspired music is like ambrosia. It's valuable beyond words, difficult to get a hold of, and impossible not to crave once you've tasted of it. It is what it is, and is unmistakable when you find it. It can't be covered up and it can't be diluted. It's not for the faint of heart or the casual consumer, and once it has its hold on you, it changes you inside forever.

The Human Abstract - Digital Veil. Ambrosia.

Music today is either sludge or ambrosia, with very little middle ground between the two. Either it was made to be consumed by the masses, or it was made simply because the artist wanted to write it and it is consumed by the discerning. Either it belongs to the crowd, or it is kept apart from lesser mortals and reserved for those who can understand and appreciate it for what it is.


I hope to one day be able to stand proudly and say that I wrote and performed music that I wanted to play, and not that I sold out and played what would make me popular or liked the most. I want to listen to my own creations years and years down the road and still be proud of what I made. And it would be nice if I wasn't the only one still listening to my songs that far in the future, if my music had gotten under someone else's skin and lodged itself in their brain, if it meant something to them and inspired them, if it made any difference at all to anyone, if it was something more than just noise to even one person. Then I could say that I had been a success. It's not about the money or the fame or the fans or the lifestyle. It's about creating something you're proud of and wanting to share it with anyone willing to listen and appreciate it.

So, audience (who I only assume is still there because blogger continues to tell me I have more page views), what kind of listener are you, and what kind of music are you consuming? Do you believe that all music created to please the masses is sludge, or do you think i'm being harsh in my judgement of popular culture today? What kind of music do you think will still be around forty or fifty years from now, when our children's children are growing up and starting to really listen? Which artists do you think will look back and smile at what they've done, and which do you think will laugh in nervous embarrassment and wish you hadn't brought that album up? I know what I think. I want to hear what you think.

Egoism and Arrogance

Hello, audience. It's been a while since I've written last. A lot has transpired; much more than I'm willing to post willy-nilly all over the internet. Let's just say that the entire structure of my world has been collapsing at a pretty rapid pace lately, and it has changed things a lot. There has been lots of confusion and hurt going around, and it seems that i'm to blame for a lot of it. But, despite all of that, I still found the time to sit down and read. And the book I read, ladies and gents, is one of my very favorite books.

Can you guess?

It's this one.

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Close to 700 pages of amazing literature that draws a picture of Rand's philosophy, egoism. Now, before you all freak out and call me an egotist, let me explain what egoism is.

The philosophy revolves around placing the self as the highest thing of value in your life. All of your decisions and choices, everything you do, revolves around what you want for yourself. The idea is that you remain true to yourself and stay in control of your own life by refusing to submit pointlessly to others wants and needs. An egoist does not feel obligated to help someone less fortunate, does not feel obligated to give others things they want, does not feel obligated to give up anything. Unless they want to do so. Everything depends on their personal opinion. If they do not want to give a beggar change, then no one can make them do it. No amount of guilt or sense of duty can make them change their mind. They will not be swayed by the opinions of others, unless they decide for themselves that it is the course they wish to take. Egoism is about freeing your decision making process from other people and taking it upon yourself.

The idea is that people today sell themselves out and try to be who other people want them to be. They spend all their time trying to look fashionable and watch the right movies and say the right things to fit in with the people around them. It's all about being who people want you to be so that they will like you. Public opinion decides who you are and who you'll be in the future. And it makes me sick to think about.

I've have worked for several years now on developing myself as a person, and as an individual, set aside from the public opinion mindset. I am by no means a pariah in this, as plenty of other people strive to do the same. I don't think this makes me special. I just think it makes all of us who choose to live by our own rules much smarter than the rest. Because we don't live to please others. We don't live to make other people feel happy or comfortable or content. We live to make ourselves happy, to do things that please us, that make us feel comfortable or content. And that's all that matters.

The Fountainhead is about a man named Howard Roark, a modern architect in a world that doesn't want to move forward. He is an architect because he loves buildings and designing structures. He designs buildings based not on what will look pretty or please the public, but based on what is the most efficient design for the building. The shape is created by the rooms, and the rooms are created by their purpose. The entire building is shaped and designed to fit a specific purpose, and only to meet that purpose. No added ornamentation or additions that have no actual purpose. He dropped out of school after he failed most of his classes for not completing the requirements of the assignments. He designed the buildings he wanted to rather than the ones the professors wanted him to, simply because he saw no point in it if he hated how they would turn out. Roark is driven completely and totally by his passion for architecture, and nothing else matters to him but what he wants. This is the image of the egoist.

"Do you always have to have a purpose? Do you always have to be so damn serious? Can't you ever do things without reason, just like everybody else? You're so serious, so old. Everything's important with you, everything's great, significant in some way, every minute, even when you keep still. Can't you ever be comfortable--and unimportant?"

"No."

-Peter Keating asking Howard Roark

On the opposite side is Peter Keating, another architect who designs exactly what people want. In fact, his entire purpose in life is to please other people so that they will like him. He wanted to be a painter, but instead, he became an architect in order to please his mother. He sucked up to all of his professors so they would like him, graduated head of his class, and joined a big firm so that he could become famous. Everything he says or does is to please someone else. His entire self is empty, containing only a mirror, because that's what he wants to be. Exactly what you want him to be. He relies on Roark's ability on many occasions, because Peter isn't good enough on his own, and he needs help from someone who is.

Peter is what Rand calls a Second-hander, someone whose lot in life is to feed off of the ability of another. All he knows is how to be a parasite and devour the fruits of someone else's labors. He does everything and anything he can to be liked, because he has no self-esteem. He derives his esteem entirely from what others give him, because without them, he would be nothing.

Roark is the Prime Mover, or the force that creates the world. He is one of many over thousands of years whose sole purpose was to find what they loved in life and to do it to the best of his ability. They are scientists, architects, musicians, industrialists, tradesmen, poets, authors, engineers, people who create things for the sole purpose of having created something. They do it because it brings them pleasure, not because anyone told them to or requires them to.

"I often think that he's the only one of us who's achieved immortality. I don't mean in the sense of fame and I don't mean that he won't die some day. But he's living it. I think he is what the conception really means. You know how people long to be eternal. But they die with every day that passes. When you meet them, they're not what you met last. In any given hour, they kill some part of themselves. They change, they deny, they contradict--and they call it growth. At the end there's nothing left, nothing unreversed or unbetrayed; as if there had never been an entity, only a succession of adjectives fading in and out on an unformed mass. How do they expect a permanence which they have never held for a single moment? But Howard--one can imagine him lasting forever." 

-Steven Mallory, about Howard Roark


The Second-handers feed off of the Prime Movers, taking their creations and using them for their own purposes. They can not create anything of their own, so they must take from those who can to survive. Otherwise, they are lost, and their world would end quickly. The Prime Movers are the reason they exist, because without someone to create or produce, the Second-handers wuold starve and die out.

Egoism is about doing what makes you happy, about finding something you really love and sticking to it, no matter what. Throughout the book, Roark faces hardships and trials that test his resolve, but through it all, he never wavers, never falters, and never gives a single inch in the face of adversity. He is solid all the way through to his core, and it is beyond anyone's ability to break him, or to even know where to start trying. And it's not that Roark finds it difficult to stick to what he believes and do what makes him happy. It's just his nature. He can't conceive of a person doing anything but exactly what makes them happy. He doesn't concern himself with impressing people who don't matter or changing himself to make others comfortable. He's completely arrogant, but is completely innocent about it, because he doesn't do it on purpose. It's just the way he is.

Needless to say, I admire the hell out of Howard Roark, and I want to be like him. I want to be so dedicated to what I want from life that no other person on the planet can ever drive me from my course. I want to live for me, to do the things that make me happy, to reach my highest potential in life, and do if for no other reason but that I wanted it. I don't want to live to please others or to meet their expectations. Damn their expectations. If I meet them, then it was by coincidence while on my way to please myself. That kind of passion and dedication would make me unbelievably happy.

Now the downside to all of this is that it's incredibly hard to do in real life. Roark, as a fictional character, was written to be hard and cold all the way through. But in most real people, being hard and cold isn't something that comes naturally, nor is it something most desire. Arrogance and egoism are considered undesirable traits. I'm still confounded as to why wanting to make yourself happy is a bad thing, though the decision to consider everyone else as less important unless determined otherwise by one's own mind is less mysteriously undesirable. It makes some small sense that people are offended when their opinion is not taken into consideration. 

Here's the deal, though: Nine times out of ten, I genuinely do not give a crap what anyone else has to say about what I think or say or do. Those things are my own personal business, and outside opinions have little to nothing to do with it. So I don't apologize for doing things my way or for thinking or saying what I want. It's my right as a human being. I won't tread lightly in order to keep from hurting someone's feelings, and I won't refrain from saying what I think when I deem it appropriate. Within reasonable bounds of common respect, I will hold my tongue. But not every minute of every day. As an INTP, my personality type makes up a very small portion of the population, and I am therefore outnumbered greatly in everyday life. This means that in all but a very select few social situations, I am expected to submit to the way other people would prefer things be done. I have to do things the way others want in order to keep them happy and pleasant. But that's just not how things are going to go.

I'm not going to submit every single time I am faced with another human being so that they can be comfortable. I'm going to continue being who I am and doing exactly whatever I want, and everyone else can get out of the way or get stepped on. It's not exactly a nice or polite way of doing things, but I never said I was either, and I never intended to be.

"Every form has its own meaning. Every man creates his meaning and form and goal. Why is it so important--what others have done? Why does it become sacred by the mere fact of not being your own? Why is anyone and everyone right--so long as it's not yourself? Why does the number of those others take the place of truth? Why is truth made a mere matter of arithmetic--and only of addition at that? Why is everything twisted out of all sense to fit everything else? There must be some reason. I don't know. I've never known it. I'd like to understand." 

-Howard Roark
That's about all I have to say for now, audience. The Being Angry portion came without notice at the end of my discussing Ayn Rand's wonderful book because I'm sick of always having to submit and it was time for me to yell about it. If you haven't read The Fountainhead, I recommend it, though only to those mature and understanding of you readers. It tends to be dense at points, and there are some controversial and complex themes running through the whole book that must be read with an open mind in order to be understood fully.

So, until next time, be whoever it is you want to be without question. Good day, audience.