Video Games are Racist, Bruh

I have a sneaking suspicion that RPG games are inherently racist.

Hear me out.

I’ve thought about this for a while, and I don’t think it’s intentional at all. Or maybe I just read too deeply into things like this. If you’ve ever read Umberto Eco’s Inventing the Enemy you’ll know that we seem to naturally, throughout history, create enemies to propel our societies forward. We rely on differences (physical, political, religions, social, and economic) to separate the undesirables out. All this hinges on a lack of empathy toward this “other,” because once we feel empathy for the other, these differences can no longer be superficial.

From birth we are trained to recognize and pick out classes, like being a young kid and seeing a homeless person, and then—in the same day sometimes—going to a neighbor’s house of moderate wealth. Then, while still being kids, we encounter as we get a little older videogames of varying complexity that implement progression and class based forms of entertainment. Not only are they competitive, but each class’s specialization locks you into a certain path of gameplay. Fantasy roleplaying games take this concept further and suggest perks and disadvantages for playing a certain race. Elves may have bonuses to stealth and intelligence, or charisma even, evoking the image of an elite member of society, connected to social and political strongholds. Conversely, orcs may have penalties to intelligence and charisma, but they have proficiencies that boost strength and traits that are integral to physical combat. To add insult to injury, at least in the Dungeons and Dragons game system, orcs are also typically evil in alignment. (I once played a game as an orc paladin, and the whole time I was reminded by the dugeon master that orcs could not be paladins because they were evil and having a good, or even neutral alignment, was tantamount to breaking the rules!)

Race is an artificial term already, as there is no genetic difference between a human from Africa and a human from North Africa. While there are physical differences between someone from Africa, who has extra skin pigment after exposure to blistering, equatorial sunlight, and a North American person, there is no degree of separation that would deny procreation between the two. Race, if anything is an artificial moniker that human beings have employed to categorically separate individuals from each other whom hail from a variety of geographical regions on the planet. Yet there are stereotypes, not unlike the class based systems in role playing games and other video games that implement class and skill progression trees, which entertain the idea of “racial traits” (I.e. Asians are intelligent, Blacks are lazy (yet exceedingly strong), Caucasians are politically cunning). These racial stereotypes supplant the familiarity we all share as human beings with a veil of obscuring unfamiliarity and suspicion. This is how “others” are created.

So imagine the reality that as children, while we are still building a conceptual framework of the work through our observations and experiences, we are encountering the ideas, suggestions, that certain people are better at some things and others are not. Not only that, we are doing battle with, struggling for resources with, engendering a “race” based competitive ecosystem with complete strangers. The entire premise is literally Darwinian in nature.

Obviously, this is all introspective speculation and the strength of this argument depends on how willing you are to look into it. But I could easily write a book on my experiences, incorporating trolling, anonymity, death threats against female developers, and Varg Vikernes’ roleplaying game MYFAROG. The latter is funny, because on my way to Norway a few years ago I sat right next to a personal friend of Varg who told me that certain, less desirable races, were meant to specifically emulate the stereotypes of people of color (specifically blacks).

Anyways, food for thought.

It's Not About The Lemons

I had this very bizzare, very “Santa Barbara” experience at the farmers market today.

I was picking up the essentials (lettuce), as I am wont to do every Saturday morning. Usually there is a vendor selling Meyer lemons (great for salad dressing), so I found one quickly and went to pick out four of them (50 cents each) and fumbled with three of them, attempting to reach a fourth. This woman, who came after me, swooped in and started grabbing the ones I was going for. I made a comment that I was grabbing at least one more and she looked at me unapologetically, holding her $5 cup of coffee from the Handlebar, and just said, “sorry.” (What she meant to say was, “Fuck you and your lemons!”)

A phrase that I own and coin often is something akin to, “I’m a socialist. But it would never work in America.” There are variations of the same phrase that I often rehearse but the essence is there. I say this to my chagrin because I have been influenced in my life by events that make me pine for fairness. (Getting beat up at school, being viciously made fun of, and raised up under unremarkable circumstances. Also, my own parents have never even read my first book.) It has made me characteristically cutthroat and exploitative and I often wonder if there is an alternate timeline where things were better. At its core I’ve always felt enamored with a political and social mindset where people shared their resources to make the world a better place.

Facebook, among other outlets, sings the same familiar tune. (And when played backwards, you hear the Satanic inverse.) But I don’t think people practice what they preach. I’m a god damned positivist and I don’t practice what I preach. The socialist voice in America isn’t the same pitch and timbre of the places where this actually works, and I think for the most obvious reasons.

American nationalism peaked at the conclusion of the War of 1812. Subsequent spikes are the work of foreign wars and social upheaval, intermittent incidents in a long national history of eulogized selfishness. Even a Christian cult emerged, Mormonism, which nationalized religion and mythologized America’s origins, placing the United States at the origin of the universe. (The opposite was the Jehovah’s Witnesses, a Christian cult emerging at the height of political corruption in the United States, which eschewed all appearances of nationalism.) At both of these peaks and valleys, American expression remained steady in its love of self-interested wealth. Our constitution is rooted in the Pursuit of Happiness, appended by the inferred, “And if you infringe upon mine, why I oughta’…”

The contrast that we see in Europe, the social milieu that makes socialism so viable, is their roots in tribalism that goes back thousands of years. There has always been infighting between states, but uncanny internal bonds. And while there has always been a sectarian conflict between ethnic groups within states, once these states matured past the frustrations of religious and class warfare, there has been a reasonably steady peace. War has also hardened these bonds on kinship. For instance, Russia has repeatedly attempted to invade Finland over the past thousand years, with the Fins rebuffing many, if not all of the assaults. The shadows of Empire have also strengthened national resolve, in the case of Norway being a property of Denmark for nearly 500 years. (They celebrate their “independence” every Seventeenth of May.)

In the United States where we are so blessed with an abundance of natural resources, acquired over the centuries through many shrewd dealings, our sordid gains have likely made us complacent. Combined with the mentality of Frontierism, prosperity through expansion and entrepreneurship, we have inherited a mindset from our forebears that is untenable in our exhausted real estate. We expect wealth and receive it from the least of our peers: migrant workers, wage slaves, immigrants, etc. Even myself, a proponent of ensuring we invest in our citizens through community programs and education, I have everything to gain from an economy that favors my willingness to exploit the labors of others.

All this came to a head, flashed before my mind, as I sarcastically, non-confrontationally, replied, “Wow, this IS Trump’s America.” It is very likely that I will not see this woman again, but given the demographics of Santa Barbara, she is statistically likely to be a Democrat, a social progressive, anti-corporation, pro-choice, drive a fuel-efficient vehicle, and pro-immigrant. Yet, at our core, we are a despicable people trained to look out for “number one,” and like a handful of Meyer lemons, we are more concerned about our welfare than that of others. Imagine the paradigm shift that I experienced when I saw this complete reversal in Norway when I was able to spend time there. I constantly compare my brief time there with my lifetime here. And while I’m sure that Norway has its own kind of culture shock due to its inherent bureaucracy and insistence on social conformance and enculturation of immigrants, the underlying spirit of their social contract is present and palpable.

Enough with myself bitching about lemons…

My second book is coming along with the first draft complete and being out for feedback among my inner circle for notes. I am hoping for another set of great comments from my brothers of other mothers Desmond and Bern. Soon I can start draft two and really dig deep into it.

My daughter Eowyn continues her external gestation. She’s doing good, and my wife also.

RCT, Easy as 1,2,3

It’s been a long time – too long.

My book’s first draft is complete and I’ve sent it to my trusted advisors for their notes and insight. This is a common practice, one that I had only recently heard of and embraced by accident when I gave my first book to my good friend Desmond. He proceeded to shit all over my book. That sounds bad, but it wasn’t. It was eye opening. Everyone should be subjected to criticism, even if you’re fucking James Joyce.

I get these moments that come and go. Fleeting ideas that condense and then dissipate like morning mist in the desert. I like writing about these but I don’t, because they are rants. And no one wants to read that shit. Most of the time I think about them because I’m mad at something, or someone. Or, I am sitting alone and recounting the day’s events and considering the slights that I received and then avenge myself by articulating these brisk and colorful responses.

One, however, coalesced.

Something that has always bothered me is the concept of white guilt. Let me preface this by affirming that there is a deep need to reassess the social and economic damage that Americans have inflicted upon indigenous people. We owe the descendants of slaves, the victims of failed Reconstruction era politics, a fighting chance to compete and receive the education they deserve. I can go on, but it would detract from the point I want to make.

Like all things, the narrative of prejudice is hopelessly complex. Let me summarize: Realistic conflict theory, as demonstrated by the Robbers’ Cave Study. I find this study fascinating, mostly for the confirmation bias it offers me in my spiritual views on the nature of humans. The experimental model of the study is rudimentary, and lacking in the sophistication of modern psychological studies that attempt to account for extraneous variables, and deploy methodologies that curb all manners and sorts of bias. Still, I think it demonstrates a tendency for prejudice to occur as a byproduct of social, political, economic, and existential tension. And I suppose what bothers me so much about this concept of white guilt is that the narrative is embedded in western civilization, largely ignoring the social narratives of other cultures where there was a demonstrable presence of ingroup/outgroup prejudice. We only ignore it because we don’t wish to make the investment of investigating the “oriental,” the “other,” and bridge the gaps we make between western civilization and the myriad expressions of humanity.

In High School, I knew a “feminist.” We are decent friends today, Facebook friends (for what it’s worth), and our contact is cordial and mutually beneficial. But it’s interesting how our relationship evolved over prolonged periods of antagonism (mostly because, at the time, I had a crush on her). She would make these outrageous, though not misplaced, claims that because I had a dick, I had wronged her, which seemed a bit harsh, granted that I had never done anything to her. It was classic “guilt-by-association.” Nevertheless, it is wrong to pay a woman less than a man because of their sex. It is wrong to view a woman as not capable of arising to the occasional “manly” deed, mostly because men and women offer mutual benefits to working together in synchronicity. It seems disingenuous, if not hypocritical, to hoist one’s self onto a banner of moral superiority and commit the same crime: devaluing someone because of their genitalia. And the same is true of “race,” which is a bit overstated, as we are all homo sapiens.

To further my point, over the last few months I binge-watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, which was a science fiction television show flexing its intellectual muscles in the late 80s and early 90s. In all seven seasons were captured hypothetical arguments and debate over the preoccupation with Cold War paranoia and interracial conflict – magnificent and worthy pursuits all. I enjoyed the show for its rampant, albeit unintentional, embrace of Globalism, sundering conflict and quieting planetary squabbles under the pretense of dissident races joining the Federation of Planets. It teaches us about the worthiness of our ethnic values, while at the same time devaluing them because they innately encourage the very realistic conflict theory studied by Muzafer Sherif. All ethnicities are, in the end, are artificial divisions based on superficial expressions. To be “enlightened” is to, instead, join hands toward a common goal, and cease the perpetual blame game that has progressed into the 21^st century. This is all the ad absurdum reductionism that I could glean from the show, whether they would like to acknowledge it or not.

The issue of white guilt that I have is the caveat of its proposition. I myself have never enslaved a human being or devalued one based on its sex, ethnicity, social tier, or religion. Yet I am devalued based on the assumption that my default predilections are innately sinister. Were I a Martian, living on mars with other Martians, with red skin, and there was an equally powerful group of green-skinned Martians, and we were at each other’s throats for our superficial differences, it would seem very silly to us, but it would make sense to Muzafer Sherif. He would watch us from afar taking field notes in a dust stained moleskin about our petty disputes over limited resources. And, suppose, that I am wrong, and there is no God, I have only just described the very basic principles of evolutionary biology, in which a dominant group supplants another because of their supremacy in means and resources. So I am at a precipice, a crossroads. I have the opportunity to believe that racism is as natural as Realistic Conflict Theory, but I won’t because that’s fucking stupid and we have a choice. We have always had a choice. I believe, wholeheartedly so, that this is who we are when we are blinded by our own egos. But I reject it as the definitive mode in how we operate.

Ghost in the Shell and Whitewashing

I will be seeing Ghost in the Shell fairly soon (not this Tuesday, but the following Tuesday). The Rotten Tomatoes aggregate reveals that I will be mostly entertained by the visual fidelity of the work, though I will likely read into the film from my own working knowledge of the source material and glean some added appreciation from the set pieces and characters.

The whitewashing controversy is the big question and I will have to judge for myself to see if this is any reason to discredit a film which is based off a series preoccupied with transhumanism and the transcendence of ethnic and nation boundaries because of the unification of the world through a thinking, feeling internet. In one episode of Stand Alone Complex (Season 1, Episode 19), a former Russian operative active during the Cold War undertakes a full body operation to implant her brain into a prosthetic body. This body, distinctly Japanese and likely made by Mitsubishi, or some fictionalized Japanese multinational heavy-manufacturing company, is younger, sexier, and masks the ethnicity of an old Slavic woman in favor of a Japanese appearance. One wonders why there is no uproar in Japan over the whitewashing (Japanese-washing? Yellow-washing?) and depiction of foreign nationals as Japanese citizens who speak impeccable Japanese with Level  N1 speaking comprehension. Or perhaps the show (likely) is making a statement about the malleability of race and how the advent of machine prosthesis supplants the need for racial classifications? Obviously, my dismissive tone indicates my position.

Whitewashing is a peculiar thing because the concept of it is exclusive to Americana. I say this because we have many distinct ethnic contributions to the “melting pot” (originally from a play, where the phrase is pejorative). That we originated as a British colony of varied religious diversity—and in the case of Pennsylvania, Pluralism—indicates a largely Continental European origin. It wasn’t until our success drew the eyes of the world to come and take part in the great “American Experiment,” albeit built on the back of slaves and the poor. But the original body of colonists, that heritage societies covetously illustrate (Daughters of the American Revolution, The Mayflower Society, Sons of Norway, etc), their rank in society managed to remain dominant. When those from other countries come to American they culturally assimilate to the “American Way.” And yet this way has changed markedly over the years. The “way” is not the same as it was in 1865, when the Irish acclimated to American Customs and traditions, not fifty-three years removed from the War of 1812, when the sons and daughters of the Crown eschewed their British customs and accents for more “American” expressions of their nation’s proof of concept, earned by a successful repulsion of the British incursion from both Canada and the Gulf of Mexico. Imagine being a Polish immigrant adjusting to the “way” paved by culturally normative customs purloined from the Irish, the Germans, the French, and the Italians. Imagine the strain and intercultural conflicts between blacks who had been there before all of them. Somewhere, in all of this historic complexity, is the Hollywood controversy of whitewashing.

                I do not presume to be a sociologist, or someone with the ability to read culture with lossless accuracy, but I do know a thing about myths and legends. But were I to ask a Greek what a God looked like, he/she would describe a Mediterranean man or woman, with smooth bronzed skin from the Agean Sea. Were I to consult a “Galatian” (3^rd Century Christianity), they would likely describe a Hellenistic Jew, with a dark complexion and curly dark brown hair that was short and groomed. Were I to ask a pagan Northman in the 8^th century (from Denmark or Sweden) to describe the complexion of Thor, they would more than likely describe a pale, muscular warrior, with dark brown beard and white skin, similar to a man that would not see the light of the sun for eight months out of the year. The Yoruba people, from Nigeria, would not describe their thunder god Shango, as a white Northman, but would likely think of him as a creature matching the same definitions of beauty and magnificence that a Yoruban would think. So for each ethnic group of people there are idealistic permutations of beauty and strength and grace that they believe. Our very “American” problem is that we have such a diverse culture that we no longer know what to worship as an ethnic standard of beauty.

When the motion picture industry began, our caste like system, invigorated by failed attempts at post-Civil War Reconstruction, placed non-whites at the bottom of the barrel. And so the trend continued. No “respectable” film company would star a black man as Othello. So, instead, they cast Orson Wells and Lawrence Olivier, and put them in black face. America’s problem continues to this day where Motoko Kusanagi is white, and I recalled reading somewhere they were considering using CGI to make her look “more Asian.” I can’t confirm that so take that with a grain of salt.

In Ghost in the Shell, the producers-that-be felt, for some reason, that Motoko Kusanagi would actually be named “The Major” (a short-hand name for the character in the manga and animated productions), which is coincidentally fitting given the subtext of the near post-human future where ethnicity doesn’t matter and a four hour operation can change your skin color, height, weight, and eye color without consequence.  

I’m not saying that I wouldn’t have preferred a Japanese woman to play Motoko. (Maybe Lucy Lu, who is Chinese. Would that still count?). The Major’s character consistently is an over sexualized, lean and athletic, no-nonsense commanding officer, who is bi-sexual and also sexually ambiguous (if you have seen the latest incarnation, ARISE). Scarlet’s stint as Black Widow is an approximation to Motoko’s character, but there is still a lot left to desire, and I am certain that an equivalent actress of Japanese ancestry or nationality could fit the bill. Lasarus Ratuere, who plays Ishikawa, a very typical Japanese intelligence officer and A-Class hacker, is a Fiji born, Australian actor. Does that mean he was “brownwashed?”

Whenever I see these articles on whitewashing, there is little thought to the deep cultural, social, mythological biases that particular cultures embody. Moreover, every country is guilty of doing exactly what we do in other aspects. In Dr. Who it’s the United Kingdom that always makes first contact with the alien invaders. In Star Trek: First Contact, the origin of faster than light travel originates in the American heartland of Montana, on an American missile base. (Thus from the vestiges of the military industrial complex rose the event that catalyzes global peace and interspecies communication.) And, must I remind you, the rampant cultural appropriation made by Bollywood, where the government isn’t in a constant state of upheaval and isn’t profoundly corrupt. Evolutionary Biologists recognize that within our own groups we see those most similar to us favorably and keep away those that are foreign and unfamiliar. They, in essence, suggest that this odd brand of cultural antagonism is bred into us as a survival mechanism and is our “human nature.” But, while I believe in the process of Evolution and the ability for organisms to adapt to their environment, I also don’t want to believe that we are hopelessly shitty and destined to fight over resources with one another like a pack of wild dogs. I believe that we are sentient and enabled to make decisions that descend from our will and not our biology. Which means we can work past our monkey brains to make a responsible, adult decision to not need Emma Stone to play a half Asian Air Force Captain.

And can I add something, slightly unrelated? “White people” itself is sort of a pejorative categorization of lumping anyone with fair colored skin into a larger group of people. There are Germans, Norwegians, Polish, Bulgarian, Czechoslovakians, Italian, French, Belgian, British, Scottish, Irish, Finnish, Russian, and Greek, all with “fair colored” skin. Each of these are simplistic reductions of larger bodies of minorities, that are underrepresented in mainstream culture. (Such as the Soumi people, who are the indigenous people of Finland, and live as nomadic tribes, and, are you ready? Very white.) To say that all white people are alike is, frankly, fucking offensive.

The Bottom Line is, the only way to stop whitewashing is to stop reducing people to skin colors and geographies, but see people as fellow humans who occupy the world alongside us, and to be acquainted with their cultures, and to understand the reality that culture is fluid and ever changing. As a Christian, I know the Gospel of Christ referenced a Kingdom of Heaven, wherein ethnic, social, financial, and gender boundaries co-inhabit  the same lands. There are non-religious alternatives also. But, in either case, I believe a shakeup is in order. All this social outrage is nauseating. 

To the Co-Worker That Said I Believe In "Creepy-Christian-Shit"

At happy hour two months ago, you said something to me that I have thought about in the passing weeks and I have been burdened with it since. Not that what was said I found distasteful, or disagreeable, but that I felt excluded from something far deeper; a dialogue of trust and friendship.

Generally words like these have hidden in them a lifetime of experiences. Experiences warranting legitimacy. Who is anyone to tell us that what we believe, and how we came to believe it—short of being brainwashed, or impressed with another's knowledge—is wrong? We are, after all, the sum of our experiences, moments weaving a canvas patched with assumptions and conceptual gaps informed by the majority of the fibers. So when I hear you say “creepy-Christian-shit,” in reference to my beliefs, I can only assume that you were brought to that conclusion by legitimate means and that the defense of that truth is warranted.

                There are common assumptions made about one’s beliefs by the Other, that we succumb to naturally, if not due to some form of mechanic employed by social evolution, to preserve our identity in the presence of something we don’t understand. I do this all the time, usually in the presence of the marginalized and the poor, occasionally in the presence of those of a different faith. If introspection is worth anything, and it likely is despite what postmodernism has suggested, I would say that I am afraid of losing my identity in the presence of another, more convincing and powerful one. Warding off intellectual and spiritual fascism with definitive statements.  Without overstepping my bounds and assuming your prejudices, I would say that this is at least, in part, something that influences your beliefs about my beliefs.

                Likewise, in a current climate of relativism, not to be confused with pluralism, I will be bold enough to say that not all beliefs are as valuable as the rest. Prejudices, for instance, are not worth as much as truths, because they are innately defamatory and aim to devalue something else, person, institution, presupposition, etc. A belief that declares a value statement needs to be assessed and vetted to determine whether or not it is a prejudice. Being that you and I are cut from the same cloth, or that I aspire to be what you are, I hope you can appreciate the social obligation we have in a pluralist society, to establish a mutual dialogue that encourages a common understanding and a collaborative spirit.

Transparent Faith For a Transparent World 

                I admit that in your life you have crossed paths with undesirable permutations of Christianity. History subjectively describes movements and campaigns that highlight the forceful and dominant expressions, which I have struggled to reconcile. Those in a position of power leveraged their social and political influence to perpetrate acts out of self-interest that tainted the reputation and following of forgotten followers, their voices drowned out by the influence they did not have over the events they did not initiate. (The same is ever true today, with the rise of the “Moral Majority” and other caricatures promoted by fringe groups and leveraging fear of the the Other.) We are all familiar with the corruption of institutions and the choice we make to generalize that quality across the diverse spectrum of historical expressions. I have chosen to not do that in regards to secular humanism, to see the good that it has brought to society by questioning beliefs long held, and often proven untrue upon further reflection. I would not wish to make a straw man like administers of my faith have made, often to draw simple comparisons and conclusions for those without formal education, to create a digestible, conceptual framework; much to my chagrin as I know full well, the multiplicity of expressions. As I have had patience for those accepting simple explanations I ask you do so as well, understanding, with positive intentions, the intended effect.

                But there is a personal dimension to all this, for without it I would just be blustering elevated quips.  Rather than see you as the Other, I wish to traverse that gap as a confederate, a brother to you in attempt to achieve a common goal of understanding. Regardless of my points of view, informed by my personal theology, I would like to express my love for you as a person, with identity and worth. I see you as unique and capable of great things, as we all are the same at the core, acting out of self-interest on the small and large scale. I wish to express my intentions that I am committed to your well-being because of what I believe, and that I am committed to doing good for you, your family, your friends, regardless of their positions and beliefs. I believe that my truth is definitive to this reality, but that does not stop me from appreciating what you offer to the world, what I believe my maker has given you to advocate for those that cannot advocate for themselves, to seek equal opportunity and rights, for dignity in an undignified world. While it is true that I have given myself over to what others would declare an insane proposition, the belief in an entity unverifiable by empiricism and its tools, of a poor, homeless Jew embroiled in the socio-political conflicts of 1^st century Palestine, I have paradoxically employed tools of reason to do so, just as you have defended the antithesis. Without the guarantee that I would dully receive your blessing and acknowledgement of my beliefs, I would like to acknowledge yours are valid and legitimate and it is my deepest hope that we can foster a relationship of mutual empathy.

My Best to You for the Betterment of All,

Stuart J. Warren

SJWs, Freedom of Speech, and The Revelation of St. John

Second attempt today writing. Here. We. Go!

My friend Trey pointed out earlier this week that my initials spell S.J.W. This is incidental because I also happened to rain on everyone’s parade growing up. I was at the epicenter of the phrase’s inception back in 2014, when I was at Sequart Organization. (At least it was brought to my attention / I noticed it, and others making a scene about it.) SJW stands for “social justice warrior,” a pejorative word that typically hyperbolizes a liberal minded person that takes a stand on a number of social issues, to the effect of making others very aware of systemic disenfranchisement of minorities and the LGTBQ community. My careful wording of this implies that, while I cringe at the small proportion of the general population that such a label applies to, I do not enjoy the term, its use, and practice. It’s very misleading. It supposes that someone who wants to be a part of something but is denied entry to that subculture / practice and voices their very reasonable concern for not gaining entry has sinister motives for doing so.

                As a white male I have yet to assess my privilege. (Many online surveys I have taken suggest it to be “Moderate to High”.) I have been told that it is “very good.” But the issue I have with SJWs is the impact they have on a very moderate population of women and minorities that are trying to be accepted into the fold of popular entertainment. In order to pave the way for change, an open dialogue has to be made with the opposing side. Empathy, to understand the impact that disenfranchisement has on the Other, is key. This is what was revealed in Kenneth and Mamie Clark’s doll experiments during the Civil Rights case, Brown Vs Board of Education. The arguments I’ve seen thus far are artificially divisive where each side regurgitates the company line like a 14 year old using their parent’s arguments for why abortion is right / wrong. I recall one article a colleague of mine wrote where he attempted to engage in dialogue with an Anita Sarkeesian harasser, to no avail. Note: there is no intelligent repartee between Marc and his specimen, just an oddly robotic dialogue.

                The controversy (still ongoing, last time I checked) generally positions one in the camp of Sarkeesian’s following, because who wants to side with misogynistic near-rapists? This is frustrating because there could be something intelligent to say on behalf of the often paranoid doomsayers. There is a real problem today with the creation of safe-spaces at universities, the unchecked postmodern deconstruction of institutions, and the growing sentiment of nihilism, which, in turn, produces similar soldiers that one could term “SJWs.” I was once told by Julian Darius that for every Ku Klux Klan parade held, there is a line of Jewish and Black lawyers willing to defend the KKK’s right to assembly and freedom of speech. To censure a hate group is still censure. America is great because people get to have an opinion, even if it is really fucking stupid, still many college professors have been incorrectly coined racists and bigots because of their failed attempts to explain this caveat to their students. Freedom of speech extends to all, including the multinational corporations that own the tights that Superman wears. People have every right to stop buying comics, organize protests, and initiate and dialogue between the other side. They do not have the right to harass and emotionally harm another person because they believe something different. It’s a two way street people!

                My milquetoast rallying cry to moderation could be extended to many dialogues, including our own recent presidential race. I don’t think for a moment that Trump has anything to offer America, or her people. He is Satan. (Owning most if not all of the biblical titles.) It’s possible that we could have avoided Trump by having these conversations on consensus, say, thirty years ago, but here we are. Now we have to make the best of 2017, which I have money on being an amped up iteration of the Apostle John’s Vision of Revelation.

                I’ve made it a goal to hear someone out this year and next, regardless of their position on life. This is my resolution for the new year. I hope it can be yours too.

XOX

Sequart Memories

I was at the comic book store Saturday picking up a floppy (or single issue, to those who aren't familiar with comic jargon). It's something I've only recently started doing, knowing full well that I would soon have boxes of ad-filled, twenty-something paged, incomplete story arc, relics. It's funny because I actually love reading them. I never thought I would say that. But it occurred to me, walking back to my house, that I was on the cusp of a personal revelation, one that I certainly wasn't expecting then, of all days.

There was a time when I was reading comics very actively. I was working with Sequart Organization as their Webmaster and Managing editor, attempting to build the fame of Sequart and establish it as a reputable place for comics journalism and scholarship. Little did I know, it already was, but it was nice to think I had something to do with it's fame at the time. There were many initiatives and projects I undertook. Why I did them escapes me. My only lasting legacy from Sequart is my anxiety disorder and my moments of complete  mental collapse that still plague me to this day. Somewhere at Desmond's cabin (a friend of mine, one that you should read and follow!) there is a pile of Sequart merch from SDCC 2014. Julian still has a press list I  built of academics, a 6 month project where I cataloged every non-profit academic institution, picked over their English department websites, and had my manager run a web-based info blast. (We got a few responses, certainly not a worthy amount.) I learned a lot from the experience, notably that it's hard to sell comics scholarship. 

I think that here is where I made the connection in my mind about the nature of anything that is creative. In the sea of genres, art-forms, and media types there is a subjective line in the sand between so-so manifestations and quality ones. There are some really shitty comics out there. Many of them don't challenge creativity or convictions. It's just a bunch of shit. But in the quagmire of shit there are vindicating articles of art that are really good. When I was at Sequart I would write articles about the noteworthiness of a series, elevate its form to death-defying heights, when in reality it wasn't worth the paper it was printed on. Like my fascination with beer transitioning to wine, I have moved from comics to novels. Though there are some good stories worth revisiting. 

I think if I could go back and tell myself to avoid Sequart I wouldn't. I wouldn't tell myself about the incoming panic attacks, or the compromising, though valuable, conversations I would have with Julian (who I still love and appreciate to this day), or the slow rift it would create between one of my good friends in part due to the liberal education I  would receive from my contributors and colleagues. Comics have indeed taught me more about art, spirituality, film studies, and myself and what I want to be. I've learned about those that I idolize, their flaws and dreams. I've realized the difference between myself and Neil Gaiman is very little. We are just two creators in different life stages and places. I no longer envy him, but admire him. 

Alan Moore would say, cynically I imagine, that his tenure in comics did nothing for him, that it was all wasted effort. (He lacks the critical distance from his work that is both moving and personal.) But I know that comics have affected me in many ways, mostly good. At the end of the day, are they worthy to pass on to my children? Of course. But are they worthy to be embodied? To draw identity from? I don't believe so....

XOX

PS:

I wrote quite a bit today while I was drinking tea. 

I'm Not a Woman, But Can I Write About Them?

My second book happens to be the first one that will feature a “female” protagonist / antagonist. She isn’t really a woman, but an AI. Still she is supposed to largely reflect what a woman is and what women value. I’ve written before on the difficulty in creating authentic women characters. Frankly, I don’t know how other great authors like Stephen King and Neil Gaiman have done it. Traversing the gender gap, is something I, personally, think is impossible. Rather, we can get close to the other side, maybe within the casting of stones. Who knows? The future holds many possibilities.

I’m sure people have written about this before. There’s no reason to reinvent the wheel. Women are physiologically different from men and possess abilities that men can never realize. Social history aside, if we look at the here and now, women are doing things today that have never been done before. Currently, Hilary Clinton is running for president, something that 100 years ago was a laughable prospect among the American people. It’s a struggle for me to take that history and experience, the many thousands of years of anthropology, and condense that into a blog post. My meager thoughts on writing them are below.

I’m a big fan when it comes to animated sitcoms. Despite the cliché of the stay-at-home mom, or in the case of King of the Hill, a secondary earner, the women here server a role as a foil of the men. Even though Homer Simpson, Hank Hill, and, only recently, Jerry Smith, have many layers to their characterization, these men are undermined by their stupidity, which is mostly benign, if not occasionally selfish. I think men are pressured to be alphas, or various manifestations of masculine archetypes. Their decisions are made impulsively, citing a certain male intuition that is mostly wrong and self-centered. The women often clean up the resulting and inevitable mess. Why this is the default mode of writing males I can reasonably infer, but how the women act in return I find more interesting.

When I was writing about Mòr in Spirit of Orn, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a sister. I grew up only with my brother, but in the families that I interacted with I noticed that older sisters tended to be those that people would go to for wisdom or insight. During adolescence, that relationship would become strained with sexual tension and infighting, resolving to a common understanding with mutual affection. (This is in the case of an older sister with a younger brother.) Conversely, in the relationship between a younger sister and an older brother is more martial, with the older brother protecting the younger sister, or feeling concerned for their wellbeing either implicitly or explicitly. In Spirit of Orn, Mòr is Conn’s younger sister. She is an aunt despite being of similar age to Conn’s son. She takes care of Conn and looks out for him in the midst of his grieving for his recently departed wife. The age gaps between each of the characters are far and wide, eschewing the nuclear family model for a non-conventional look of a family dynamic. Spirit of Orn was my first book, so I’m not surprised that my own characters were fraught with this kind of dysfunction. It likely mirrored my own angst I felt towards my family.

I wrote Mòr in a detached way. She is attempting to grieve in her own way and, in doing so, accepts the religion of the people in Orn. She also is firm in her believe that she can take care of Conn, only Conn can only fix himself and come to that conclusion on his own. I felt that Mòr also had her own sexual identity, not conforming to the mores of Skara Brae (which, at the time I wrote Spirit of Orn, were cavalier and hedonistic). She was very independent, trying to prove herself as a child, but also gave up those desires when she accepted the Orn religion because she no longer needed to. I feel that most women in literature are trying to prove themselves (as men also do). But this might be juxtaposing my own masculinity onto female characters.

The difficulty with my latest book is that my main protagonist is an outsider looking in. She chooses to be a woman. (Artificially intelligent machines are not organic and therefore have no gender.) She also chooses her own appearance, a scene that I am writing currently that I’ve labored over for the last month or so. The only experience I can relate to in designing a character from an outsider’s perspective is creating a character in a video game, an experience that is shallow and self-serving most of the time. My character will be doing what no one has done yet: embrace that identity permanently and decisively, while taking with her, the emotional and mental expectations of donning that persona. It makes me wonder if that is what a person undergoing sexual reassignment goes through. Honestly, my guess is limited by third hand knowledge.

I’m hoping though that the experiment bares good fruit. I want to continue to challenge myself as a writer. Expanding my written vocabulary and ability to describe gender are all on my list of things to grow in this year.  We’ll see what happens. There’s only 2 more left!

XOX 

History in the Making

I've only just started to question my Americanity.

Cleaning out my bookcase has led me to read again. I'm the kind of person to visit bookshops and buy books, only to never read them. My bookcase is a massive 7 foot tall, 6 feet wide hardwood behemoth. Plenty of room has been reduced over the years to an overburdened mortuary of titles. If the existential purpose of a book is to be read, I have read most of them, leaving them to die some kafka-esque death, smothered to death by comic books and my wife's cooking magazines.

One of the many titles I've begun to investigate is Robert Remini's A Short History of the United States, a chronicle of the nation's past and present, from the early settlers of North America to the bustling coast-to-coast megalopolis we are now. I was taught American history in school at the high school level, where I took AP US History, which I then took out of obligation. Only now as I find myself becoming aware of my citizenship do I value the idea of American history. It's important to understand the past victories and defeats of any nation. The United States is prestigious enough, so I've been told, to explore and encounter.

Halfway through I'm struggling. Much evil has come of this country. Though that is the same of any nation. (We are not exempt from fault simply because of the O'Sullivanite principals of Manifest Destiny that implicate and enunciate the divine like a crude incantation.) Germany has done as much wrong as France, or Britain, or Spain. So maybe I'm just coming to terms with my station in the world and position in time. Stricken by "White Guilt" because from a young age I was told I was evil because of the color of my skin. But it really grinds my gears to hear people utter the successes of the nation with no little regard of the skeletons lurking nearby.

Last night I was on Facebook and one of my old christian familiars prompted my viewing of the above picture.

Understanding that I am aware of my limited exposure to American history, its myriad interpretations and subjective deductions, and that I have really only read one of three books that I plan on skimming in the coming months, I feel that I have at least some knowledge of history that forces me to call bullshit on this wildly positivist statement.

I feel capitalism isn't some new invention, though it's identity was defined profoundly during the industrial revolution. My opinion is that the marketplace of ancient Rome operated on the founding principals concerning the exchange of goods for services. Agriculture, skilled-labor, and prostitution are all safeguarded by the passing of money between hands. And all instances are some form of exploitation at one point or another. What makes me mad though, mad enough to weep my righteous tears on digital papyrus-on my day off no less-is that this statement is likely invoking the golden age of American capitalism, which was at the epicenter of the industrial revolution. It also happened to be the most notorious age of corruption in american history. As if the entire House and Senate were populated by Trump disciples, sowing the seeds of conspicuous corruption.

Remini's primary aim of his book is to follow the delicate dance between Federalism (a strong, centralized government) and Republicanism (a loosely constructed confederation of states under a common banner). And in his treatment of the development of American politics, he takes pains to establish the identity of the South as finding its origins in corporate colonies, owned by trading companies and established to run like businesses. Contrast this with the North, which was comprised primarily of Religious and Political refugees of continental Europe, which established colonies to espouse an array of philosophical principals, benefiting from the paternal neglect of Mother England. From the very beginning, the cosmopolitan climate of the north fostered the growth of a common identity that would precipitate the American Revolution. The hubris of the North would punish the South by levying tariffs against foreign exports. The South consequently couldn't export their cotton to England. The North would consolidate its infrastructure because of the increased interstate trade and growing of the domestic economy.

The picture above, in light of the following, so infuriates me because the "capitalism" of the South was borne upon the backs of slaves. Remini is clear to discourage the nostalgic pastoral imagery of antebellum south, with its wide plantations manned by hundreds of slaves. In reality, there were few plantations of this kind, the majority of slave owners being single households, with one slave or two. Pages could be written on the treatment of slaves and the post-Civil War Reconstruction efforts to establish Jim Crow laws to oppress ex-slaves. But even afterwards, our great nation was built on the backs of sweatshop workers exploited by trusts and monopolies. The country was fantastically wealthy, but hardly just, and the resulting opposition to the Gilded Age launched the Progressive Movement. Teddy Roosevelt, a figure enshrined by conservatives for primarily hunting related photos and surviving an assassination attempt (only to deliver a 90 minute speech afterwards), was dedicated to workers rights for women and children, the conservation of national parks and monuments, and thwarting corruption. I hardly think he felt the companies that forced women and children to work 12 hour days, with no respite to speak of, were "serving [their] fellow man."

Clearly my views will change on this over time, as most things do. As I read more American history, my knowledge will solidify into something more than lip service to the author of the week. But let it be known that I have made the attempt to understand our current state of affairs. I am not a sheep! Knowledge and its accrual keeps us from accepting bullshit like this and worshiping ideals without the foundation of experience and learning to stand upon.

Until Next Time

XOX

The Big M Question

I hear people use the word "millennial" to describe an individual every day now it seems. The expression is one of many, demonstrating the increased granularity of our society.

That's what we see more these days: an emphasis of quality, denominations of  culture, gradations that have tremendous weight. I think of, say, the Transgender community, a fraction of a fraction of the wider populous, that leverages so much power through appealing to hardened concepts like Justice, despite the depreciation such weighty concepts endure now that God is dead. 

Millennials have been described in a variety of ways. That demonstrates the wider problem of what to call a millennial definitively. We as a people are pulled in two different directions. On one hand labels are viewed as micro-transgressions. On the other, they are coveted and disseminated. When I listened to Metal I found it very interesting that the anarchist mobs, my brothers and sisters, coveted their genre particulars like they were species. More interesting is the renewed interest is ethnic studies of religion, dying languages, and anthropology. Our world has changed so much in the last two thousand years; our cosmology has changed. What does it mean to be human in the context of the great heat death of the universe? To those that still believe, is God entropy? Our epistemology has changed. at one time knowledge was knowable, then unknowable, now quantifiable, soon to be quantum. Information is volatile, ultimately. To know what a Millennial is, we must trace how we came to this road. A truly postmodern generation, Millennials are burdened with a duplicitous relationship with their world. They both aspire to find meaning in it and grapple with the futility of existence. 

I found it interesting, personally, that I contemplate who I am on a regular basis. I am a Nihilist, a Christian, a Socialist, and an Author. Capitals to emphasize the essence of each, their properties and true form. This makes me very much a Millennial in that regard. Labels, as used by Millennials, connote variety and innovation. Labels in reality imply qualities superficially. When someone who is black says, "I am Black," it could mean much different that when a person, who is white, says, "He is Black." This is why when I say I am a socialist, there are three meanings to the word: what the "world" believes a socialist to be, what a socialist believes a socialist to be, and what I believe a socialist to be. This doesn't even account for nationalism. Obviously, the Dutch may believe different things about socialism than say, an american, or a Brit. In the end each member of the three yearns for a kind of cohesiveness that negates the originating intention of a label, and at worst reintroduces the racism-like equivalent of category, the very state the Millennial was intending to avoid by expressing their uniqueness in the first place.

We live in a mad, rudderless world, that compels me to embrace forms of nihilism that thread through popular culture. On Facebook, there are meme communities that generate more meaningless content than a Dadaist monastery. I'm familiar with a few of them. Popular entertainment, though not as cutting edge, perpetuates what these internet communities call "shit posting" on television. I think its because we crave order that we cannot acquire, and we want the world to be okay with ourselves giving up, and feeling crazy with us. I ask myself, "why is Nihilism so funny?" everyday, and I can't produce a worthy answer. This morning while I was walking my dogs it occurred to me that #YOLO is less of a modern interpretation of the Latin "Carpe Diem," and more an expression of futility. 

"I just had sex with three different partners withing 48 hours. #YOLO" a Twitter feed iterates. Translated from the common vernacular: "Smashed all night. Smashed All day. Sick beats at the club. #fuckyeah #YOLO"

Might as well right? We are all going to die.

I don't mind this world as much as it may seem because it drives people to accept Christ. To defy convention by undertaking one. Nothing is certain anymore, so people yearn for certainty. Half of me writing this is an attempt to talk myself down the ledge, to turn away from the bleak world that was provided me by moderns and post-moderns alike. The other half is just procrastinating from starting my work on the novel.

XOX